"What do we want?"
"The right to self-determination and the opportunity to participate in the design and establishment of a fair and free governmental system based on a robust constitution and populated by members selected and appointed on merit rather than questionable hereditary rights and antiquated notions of genetic superiority!"
"When do we want it?"
"As soon as is practically possible and consistent with a peaceable transition from those existing governmental institutions currently tasked with wielding executive power, keeping in mind the need to ensure said transition is implemented in an efficient and sustainable manner!"
Slash nudged a waiter passing by their window table and gestured to the crowd gathered in the street outside. "What's all this?"
The goblin frowned at him. "Look, mate, it's just dirt, alright? If you can see through, it's clean enough. When you can't see out of 'em, that's when we clean 'em."
"No, not the window. I mean the bloke standing on the box and the mob listening to him and all the chanting back and forth and stuff. What's going on?"
"Oh, that? That's just Revolutionary Rodrick from down at the docks, crapping on with his usual guff about turfing the High Council and putting ordinary folk in charge. He's out there a coupla times a week these days, going on with all this palaver about dem...demo...um, democrapic rights and how he wants us all to hold a big erection and that everyone should have a boat, or some such nonsense. Getting a fair following, he is, too. The boss don't mind, 'cause all that chanting tends to make the punters thirsty."
"A boat, you say?" Hobe took a hefty swig from his tankard, adding another layer to his already substantial ale moustache, and gestured for the waiter to bring them another round. His eyes took on a faraway look. "I wouldn't mind me a boat..."
"I think you'll find that's 'vote'," said Carri. "Not boat. Anyway, I thought dwarfs couldn't swim."
"It's not that we can't swim, as such. It's the floating we have trouble with. We can swim just fine—all the way to the bottom." He belched. "That's why a boat sounds like a good idea."
"What is a vote?" asked Slash.
"And how much weight does it carry?" added Hobe.
"Around here?" Carri took a sip of her chilled white wine. "Not very much. But if we succeed in our little mission, it's not something you're going to need to worry about." For about the tenth time since their arrival at the tavern, she pulled aside her jacket and glanced down at the tracking orb's jar, tucked into an inner pocket. In response to the others' enquiring glances, she shook her head. "Still nothing."
Cradling his whiskey, Slash returned his attention to the scene outside, where the chanting had just died away and it seemed Rodrick was to make a speech.
"Fellow citizens of Irmway," he cried in a ringing voice, with the hint of an accent Slash couldn't quite place. "Hear me, hear me! The time has come for us to cast aside the oppressive yoke of the High Council and to reclaim our inalienable rights and freedoms."
"Mmm, yolk," murmured Hobe, scratching his midriff. "You know, I could murder an omelette right about now. Where's that waiter gotten to?"
"The tyranny of the aristocracy has held sway for too long," continued Rodrick. "First in the unquestioned and uncontested rule of the seemingly endless line of the Manticores and now in the shape of the self-appointed, invidious and odious High Council."
"Boo!" yelled a voice from the crowd. "Boo for the High Council!"
"Those guys sure do suck orc-butt!" shouted another.
"So odious!" added a third.
"Hear them!" shouted Rodrick. "Hear the eloquent voice of the people, crying out at the injustices of the current system. Crying out for a better way. Well, friends, I'm hear to tell you about a better way. A fairer way. In my travels around the world, you see—"
"What a steaming pile of slag," grumbled Hobe. "I dunno, this used to a nice quiet tavern, where a bloke could take a seat, enjoy his ale in peace, and perhaps watch a bit of harmless street-crime, instead of being subjected to a bunch of bloody politicking. I don't see what difference any of it makes. If you ask me, if it's not one bunch of idiots in charge, it's just another. And I bet none of them are gonna give me my boat."
Slash wasn't sure he agreed (about the interchangeability of the idiots, not the boat) but in the interests of group harmony elected to keep his doubts to himself. He looked up and down the street, as far as the angle of his position and the semi-opaque edges of the window allowed.
"Why haven't the High Council put a stop to this, and tossed old Rodrick—and his fellow chanters—in the dungeons?" he asked. "Given how on-the-nose they are, I'm surprised they'd allow even a whiff of sedition, never mind open protests in the street. There's certainly no way Queen Marise or any of the earlier Manticores would have stood for it. They'd have the place swarming with guards by now."
"I think you'll find that's why." Carri gestured with her glass at a tall, slim gowned figure standing beside Rodrick's box. "Countess Kay. Youngest member of the High Council. And, you might say, the most...open-minded. If a gathering has her approval—and her presence—there's not a whole lot the rest of the council can do about it. At least not without stirring up a fuss, and most of them are too busy looking lining their pockets to be bothered with a fuss."
Slash studied the young woman, gazing at the crowd with a serene smile on her unlined, aristocratic features.
"Okay, fine. I can see that. But given she's an aristocrat and council member, with all the luxuries and perks and power that entitles her to, why would she be in favour of a mob who want to tear down the body she's part of?"
The elf gave Slash one of the enigmatic smiles he was already growing tired of. "Well, it could be that she's an inherently fair-minded woman, with a strong sense of duty to her country and people, and that she genuinely wants to provide them with a better and fairer system of government."
Slash waited. "Or?" he prompted.
The smile became a grin. "Or, it could just be she wants to annoy the crap out of little Lord Farty Hirschnopple. He did try to have her dog offed, after all."
Hobe nearly choked on his ale. "He did what?"
"You heard me. It seems that's what passes for top-level political intrigue in Irmway these days."
"But...but...why would he want to do that?" demanded Slash. "What in the world could he possibly have to gain from assassinating a dog? And how do you even know about all this stuff, anyway?"
Carri shrugged. "Hirschnopple and Countess Kay have history, and the two of them can't stand each other—beyond even the usual High Council level of vitriol. So, maybe it was to make good on a threat. Or maybe it was to lean on her to get something he wanted. Or maybe he gets his jollies from having dogs snuffed. Maybe all of the above. Who can tell how that tosser's tiny little bwain works? As for how I know, that's easy—I was the one he tried to hire to do it. I guess even for someone with his questionable standards, it's the kind of job you tend to outsource."
"Bloody hell," muttered Hobe, looking down into his tankard. "Maybe it is time for a new bunch of idiots, after all."
"So, what did you do?" asked Slash.
Carri took another sip of wine and regarded him steadily. "I may not be one of the Irmshield's select few any more, and I might have had to take some jobs I'm not proud of just to make ends meet, but I still have standards. And dog-offing falls very firmly outside those standards. So, I told him to sod off. Although 'sod' may not have been the exact word I used. And then I popped around to Countess Kay's mansion, told her all about it, and scored a month's worth of sweet, all-expenses-paid work as a dog bodyguard. Easiest gold I ever earned. Got to know her a bit while I was at it. She's not so bad, for an aristocrat."
Slash shook his head. "That's some story. And I guess the moral of the story is, the sooner we get Vazor back on the throne—and give the High Council the arse—the better. How's our toy soldier doing?"
In answer to his question, Carri retrieved the jar and held it up. Shining brightly, without so much as a flicker, the little orb was pressed firmly against the wall of its glass enclosure, leaving them in no doubt as to the direction it wanted to go. Faces lit by the white glow, the party stared at the jar.
"It's pointing towards the docks," said Carri.
"Yep," agreed Slash, "it sure is. Seems the Nanny may have been right about the Erinoquo. And"—he clapped Hobe on the back—"looks like you might be gonna get that boat after all."