"No, I would not."
Miss Lund left the table immediately the meal was over, and as soon as she was gone the other two men laughed and clapped Lee on the shoulder.
"Fifteen!" said the photographer.
"I made it fourteen," said the economist, "but you win."
"Fourteen what?" said Lee.
"Words you got out of her," said the photographer. "I bet you'd get more than ten, and Mikhail here said you wouldn't."
"Careful, Lee," murmured Hester.
"So you gentlemen are of a sporting persuasion?" Lee said, taking no notice of her. "Best thing I've encountered today. What do you say to a game of cards, now this delicious repast is but a fading memory and our fair companion has withdrawn? Unless you'd like to take a chance on Flippety-Flop?"
"Nothing would please me more," said the photographer, "but I have an appointment to take a portrait of the local headmaster and his family. I can't afford to miss it."
"And as for me, I'm going to a meeting at the town hall," said the other man. "The mayoral election is hotting up. I need to see which way it's going to go."
"Well, this is an exciting town, and no mistake," said Lee. "I can barely contain my exuberance."
"Would you care to step along to the town hall and join me in the audience?" said the economist.
"I believe I would," said Lee, and the other man's robin-daemon twitched her tail.
The election meeting was certainly the place to be that evening. Men and women were making their way up the muddy street towards the town hall, which was brilliantly lit with gas lamps, Lee noticed with satisfaction: if there was a source of gas on the island, he'd be able to fill his balloon without too much difficulty—provided he could pay for it, of course. The people were dressed respectably, and so was Lee, to the extent of his one necktie; and they were talking with some animation.
"Is this the way they usually do politics on Novy Odense?" Lee said to his companion.
"There is a great deal at stake in this election," said the economist, whose name, Lee had learned, was Mikhail Ivanovich Vassiliev. "In fact it's the reason I'm here. My academy is very interested in this man Poliakov. He used to be a Senator, but he hates to be reminded of the fact. He had to resign over a financial scandal, and he's using this mayoral election as a way of rehabilitating himself."
"Oh, is that so?" said Lee, watching the crowd on the steps, and noticing the uniformed stewards. "I see there's a lot of Customs men around. Are they expecting a ruckus?"
"Customs men?"
"The bullies in the maroon uniforms."
"Oh, they're not Customs. That's the security arm of Larsen Manganese."
"I keep hearing that name . . . Who are they?"
"Very big mining corporation. If Poliakov gets in, they will prosper. Rumor has it that the company has been looking for a confrontation with the Customs; it's happening elsewhere throughout the north—private companies invading the public sphere. Security, they call it: what they mean is threat. I've heard they have a large gun that they're keeping secret, for example, and they'd love to provoke a riot and bring it into use—That gentleman is hailing you."
They were at the top of the steps leading to the main doors, but they couldn't move any further because of the crush. Lee turned to look where Vassiliev was pointing, and saw the poet Oskar Sigurdsson waving and beckoning.
Lee waved back, but Sigurdsson beckoned even more urgently.
"Better go see what he wants," he said, and made his way through the crowd.
Sigurdsson's butterfly-daemon was fluttering round and round his head, and the poet was beaming with pleasure.
"Mr. Scoresby! So glad to see you!" he said. "Miss Poliakova, may I introduce Mr. Scoresby, the celebrated aeronaut?"
"Celebrated, my tail," muttered Hester, but the young lady at Sigurdsson's side had Lee's interest at once. She was about eighteen years old, and a contrast in every way to the starched Miss Lund: her cheeks were rosy, her eyes were large and black, her lips were soft and red, her hair was a mass of dark curls. Her daemon was a mouse. Lee took her hand with pleasure.
"Delighted to make your acquaintance," he said, and swept off his hat as well as he could in the crush.
Sigurdsson had been saying something.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Sigurdsson," Lee said. "I was unable to concentrate on your words because of Miss Poliakova's eyes. I wager you have dozens of young men come from all over the northlands to gaze at your eyes, Miss Poliakova."
She let them fall for a moment, as if in modesty, and then gazed up through her lashes. Sigurdsson plucked at Lee's sleeve.
"Miss Poliakova is the daughter of the distinguished candidate for Mayor," he said.
"Oh, is that right? Are we going to hear your father speak tonight, miss?"
'Yes," she said, "he will speak, I think."
"Who is he up against in the election?"
"Oh, I don't know," she said. "I think two men, or perhaps one."
Lee looked at her closely, while trying to muffle Hester's grumbling from inside his coat. Was this young lady genuinely slow-witted, or just pretending to be? She smiled again. She must be teasing. Good! If she wanted to play, Lee was in the mood for that.
The obstruction inside the door had been cleared, and the crowd was moving up the steps, marshaled by the Larsen Manganese security men. Miss Poliakova stumbled, and Lee offered his arm, which she took readily. Meanwhile Sigurdsson was pressing close at his other side, saying something that Lee couldn't quite hear and wasn't interested in, because the closer he got to Miss Poliakova, the more he was aware of the delicate floral scent she was wearing, or perhaps it was the fragrance of her hair, or perhaps it was just the sweet fact of her young body pressed against his side; anyway, Lee was intoxicated.
"What did you say?" he said to Sigurdsson, reluctantly.
The poet had been plucking at his other arm, and was eagerly gesturing for Lee to bend his head as if to receive a confidence.
"I said you might be able to make yourself useful to Olga's father," Sigurdsson murmured as they entered the main hall. The place was set out with wooden chairs, and the platform was decorated with bunting and banners bearing the slogan POLIAKOV FOR PROGRESS AND JUSTICE.
'You don't say," said Lee.
"I'll introduce you after the meeting."
"Well . . . thanks."
Lee's attitude to fathers was that he preferred to keep them at a distance. Fathers did not want their daughters doing what Lee had in mind. But before he could think of an excuse, he found himself in the front row, where all the seats were reserved.
"Oh, I can't sit here," he protested. "These seats are for important guests—"
"But you are an important guest!" said the poet roguishly, and the girl said, "Oh, do stay, Mr. Scoresby!"
"Damn fool," muttered Hester, but only Lee heard her, as she intended.
They had hardly sat down when a stout official came out onto the stage and announced that they were closing the doors because the great desire of the people to hear the candidate speak meant that the hall was already full beyond its legal capacity, and they couldn't let anyone else in. Lee looked around and saw people standing three deep at the back and around the sides of the auditorium.
"He's a popular man, your father, no doubt about that," he said to Miss Poliakova. "What's his main policy? What's he going to do when he gets into office?"
"Bears," she said with a delicate shudder, and made a face expressive of polite horror.
"Oh, bears, eh," said Lee. "He doesn't like bears?"
"I'm scared of bears," she said.
"Well, that's understandable. They're—uh—they're pretty big, after all. I ain't never dealt with your special Arctic bears, but I was chased by a grizzly once over in the Yukon."
"Oh, how frightful! Did he catch you?"
And once again Lee felt as if he'd missed the bottom step in the dark: could she really be this stupid? Was she doing it on purpose?