Farus’ Triumph was one of the many great public works-including Ohnlei itself-erected by Farus V in honor of the military achievements of his late father, made possible by using the vast resources that Farus IV had expropriated from the dukes and other rebellious nobles.
It was a huge stone-flagged square, a quarter mile across, built in the very center of the Island. The square had four subsidiary fountains at the center of its four quadrants, boxing in one great central monster of statuary and foaming water. An equestrian statue of Farus IV, rearing with sword in hand, formed the centerpiece, while closer to ground level a ring of saints looked up at the king adoringly while various nymphs, water sprites, and the occasional swan spouted streams of water into a broad reflecting pool.
On the north side of the statue the pool was split by a stone staircase leading up to a flat disc that went all the way around the column, above the nymphs but well below the dead king. This had been the rostrum from which Farus V had loved to speak to the multitudes, at least until the ruinous expense of his projects had nearly wrecked the state and turned the commons against him. Since then, tradition had made the platform available to anyone who wished to speak publicly. The implicit understanding was that nothing treasonous or blatantly commercial was permitted, on pain of the displeasure of the Armsmen and the Last Duke. Danton’s speech today would push the boundaries of both, Raesinia thought, but Orlanko would have plenty of reasons to be angry anyway.
From the northwest corner of the square, Raesinia could see that the space was beginning to fill up, though from this distance it was hard to tell how many were Cora’s friends-of-friends from last night and how many were simply confused onlookers. There was a fair number of Armsmen as well, conspicuous with their head-tall staves and dark green uniforms.
She made a half circuit of the square, dodging touts and street vendors. In addition to the purveyors of food and drink, the pamphleteers seemed to be out in particular force today. Raesinia recognized several of her own broadsheets, along with quite a few others that had picked up the banner. ONE EAGLE AND THE DEPUTIES-GENERAL! blazed in huge type across half the papers she saw, along with DOWN WITH THE SWORN! NO OATHS TO ELYSIUM! NO MORE FOREIGN BLOODSUCKERS! and a great deal of anti-Borelgai raving.
The latter made Raesinia more than a little uncomfortable. The arrogance and general foreignness of the Borelgai, along with their dedication to the Sworn Church and domination of the banking and tax-farming establishment, made them an easy target for heated rhetoric. Some of Danton’s speeches had played on that theme, though Raesinia had done her best to keep the focus on the Church and the bankers rather than the Borelgai nation. Unfortunately, her efforts had not been enough to prevent a deep vein of anti-Borel sentiment from exploding upward along with the outpouring of anger they’d been hoping for. In particular, a great many young men of Vordan, having grown up with their fathers’ bitter stories of the War of the Princes, seemed to think that the best thing to do would be to go another round and hope to even the score.
Near the northeast corner of the square was a café, with wrought-iron tables and chairs set up in a jealously guarded bit of street space. One of these tables was already staked out by Ben, who sat with a cup of coffee by his side and his feet propped up on a second chair. Raesinia drifted over idly, as though she’d happened to see someone she knew, and he gave her a smile and gestured to another seat.
“Getting busy over there,” Ben said. “Anyone following you?”
“I don’t think so,” Raesinia said. Actually, Sothe was following her, which meant that any tail Orlanko had assigned would be having a bad time. “You?”
“Not that I could see.” He checked his watch. “Fifteen minutes to showtime, assuming Danton stays on schedule.”
“That’s up to Faro.”
“Maurisk and Sarton are camped out at the Exchange. I think Maurisk is still sulking because you took out that piece explaining the essential inequity of fractional-reserve lending.”
“He means well.” Raesinia sighed. A flash of movement caught her eye. “Here comes Cora.”
The teenager was visibly excited, bouncing across the flagstones as though she might be ready to take flight with any step, though bags under her eyes told of a night without sleep. Raesinia didn’t know whether the rest of the cabal ever wondered how she herself was able to stay up nights, sometimes for days at a time, with no ill effects. Maybe they think I’m a vampire.
“I think it’s going to work!” Cora said, too loudly. Raesinia winced, but the noise of the crowd would probably cover any casual conversation. “Look at all these people. It’s got to work!”
“No way to tell, until Danton does his thing,” Raesinia said. “Are you all right?”
“Just a little tired,” Cora said, flopping into a chair. “After this is over I think I’m going to sleep for a week.”
“After this is over,” Ben said, “I intend to get very, very drunk.”
“If we get away with it,” Raesinia said. “I don’t think they allow liquor in the Vendre.”
“We should get closer,” Cora said, bouncing back up from her chair and peering at the fountain. “Don’t you think we should get closer? We won’t be able to hear anything.”
Raesinia glanced at Ben. “I think it would be appropriate to join the crowd at this point, don’t you?”
He nodded. The inner circle of onlookers, those who’d known what was going to happen this morning, was now surrounded by a much larger crowd that had seen the gathering and wandered over out of simple curiosity. All around the square, people were leaving the cafés and heading inward, so as to be close enough to catch a glimpse of whatever had attracted the attention of so many people. The conspirators did the same, Raesinia and Ben strolling casually while Cora raced ahead.
They found a spot near the outer edge of the throng with a decent view of the central column, and Raesinia took a moment to assess the character of the crowd. The air was abuzz with the expectation of something, but there was less anger than she’d expected. Nearer the center, the mass of people were mostly poor workers, students, women, and vagabonds, but on the outskirts there were a fair number of middle- or upper-class types who wanted to see what the spectacle was about.
That was good, in Raesinia’s book. Anything that decreased the risk of outright violence. The specter of a riot, with the inevitable casualties and arrests, still haunted her. Not to mention that if the Armsmen have to shut down the Exchange, this will all have been for nothing.
A flurry of shouting and scattered cheers at the front of the crowd told them something was happening. Eventually a solitary figure emerged onto Farus V’s rostrum, dressed in a dark, sober coat and a respectable hat. Faro had done wonders with Danton-he’d trimmed the wild beard and slicked back his hair, then taken him on a round of the Island’s best tailors and haberdashers until he looked every inch the reputable man of business. He was almost handsome, in a rough sort of way, as long as you didn’t spend a minute talking to him to discover he had the mind of a five-year-old.
“My friends,” he said, spreading his arms wide to encompass the crowd.
Even though she knew what was coming, Raesinia couldn’t help shivering as that voice rolled over her. It echoed across the square with effortless power, slicing through the buzz of a thousand conversations and silencing them midsentence. It rang with stentorian authority off the cobbles and made the shopwindows rattle in their frames. It wasn’t the voice of a rabble-rouser or the shrill screech of a fanatic, or even the rolling, practiced tone of a veteran preacher. It was the calm, knowledgeable voice of a man of the world, sharing a few facts of life with a beloved but impetuous companion. Raesinia half expected to feel an avuncular hand patting her firmly on the shoulder.