Every Count Votes

By J.S. Mawdsley

When the emperor dies, the nobility convene to pick his successor, and the most powerful sorcerer in the world has to decide which candidate deserves all his most devious support. It seems quite simple, but soon he finds himself confronting foreign interference, home-grown assassins, and worst of all, the memory of an old flame.

 

Who knew fixing an election could be so hard?

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.S. Mawdsley
• Release date: Oct 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393754022

J.S. Mawdsley

We’re a husband and wife novel writing team and have been since about a month after our marriage in 2007. He’s a teacher of education law. She’s a Librarian. Being able to write together so happily once made a friend remark that we are as mythical as unicorns. J.S. Mawdsley live in Ohio, where they share their house with half a dozen dying houseplants, and their yard with a neighborhood cat named Eugene, a mother deer and her fawn, affectionately known as the Countess and Cherubino, and a couple of blue jays, Henry and Eleanor. 

Book preview

Chapter 1

In the grand statuary hall, amid the allegorical mosaics and the golden statues, a pair of masons discreetly measured the space for a new pedestal. Faustinus watched them work, ignoring the young man at the desk, a vice-quaestor of the Imperial Household, who was trying to engage him in conversation. The fellow wanted to trade rumors about the emperor’s health, but Faustinus knew all the rumors already. And even if he hadn’t, in a few minutes he would know the truth, anyway. He would know if those two masons were going to be putting up a new statue soon, or if they were wasting their efforts.

The huge gilded doors to his right slid open noiselessly, and a tall centurion of the Imperial Guard stepped through and bowed deeply. Count Faustinus, he said, if you would come with me, please.

Normally Faustinus would say something like, Forget the title; I always do. But this wasn’t the time for that sort of levity, and even if it had been, this centurion didn’t seem like the jocular sort.

They went up a wide marble staircase, lined with mosaics of famous battles, and came to a broad landing and a gilded archway. Four more guardsmen were standing there, at rigid attention, because this was the entrance to the emperor’s private apartments. Faustinus was about to walk through, when a familiar voice hailed him from a little side parlor just off the landing.

You’re here! You’re here at last, boomed Drustan Morganus Seissylus, Faustinus’s old mentor and teacher. He was a large, red-faced man with a fading reddish beard and a twinkle in his eye that casual observers often mistook for merriment. As he came through the doorway, he was still adjusting his white and gold formal robes. A young woman with a dancer’s build in a gauzy sort of shift was at his side, trying to help him arrange the toga. He noticed her and shooed her away. Off with you now, my dear girl. Yes, I’ll do it myself, thank you.

The girl bowed to Faustinus and the centurion and then, with her face turning pink, she hurried past them and down the stairs, leaving a cloud of peach and jasmine perfume.

Drustan, said Faustinus with a bow.

My dear boy, said Drustan, smiling. Could I have a word before we go in?

Faustinus noted the first person plural. He wasn’t aware that Drustan had been summoned, as well. But Drustan was the official Court Sorcerer and Alchemist, which technically made him Faustinus’s superior. If anyone were entitled to invite himself to a meeting with the emperor, Drustan probably was.

Drustan dismissed the centurion with little more ceremony than he had the dancing girl and led Faustinus aside into the parlor. The room was comfortably furnished in red velvet and satin, with silver gilt chairs and a small window that overlooked the Guards’ Courtyard. At the far side, a tall bookcase stood ajar, revealing a dark passage, which, as Faustinus knew, led over to Drustan’s private chambers. Drustan could have used a transport spell to come see the emperor, but it seemed to amuse him to have a secret passageway in the palace, although he had shown it off to so many girls over the centuries that it wasn’t really a secret anymore.

Faustinus assumed they would be going to Drustan’s rooms, but his old teacher shut the bookcase and poured drinks at a little sideboard by the window. Then he cast a pair of spells to stop anyone from eavesdropping or spying on them.

How is his majesty? Faustinus asked, as Drustan handed him a cup of pale gold Argitis.

What have you heard?

That he collapsed at the grand parade this morning. Faustinus waved a hand in the general direction of the forum. It’s being taken as a bad omen.

Yes, it looks a bit ominous when the emperor collapses on Empire Day. Tends to focus people’s minds on the future. Speaking of which, you haven’t heard anything about possible candidates, have you?

Candidates? Ah. So it’s that bad, is it? He took a long drink before answering. I haven’t heard anybody mention any names.

Good, beamed Drustan. I’ve already got just the fellow. Jovianus Remaneus Livens. Do you know him?

Faustinus nodded. The emperor’s brother-in-law. Isn’t he a bit...? He tried to think of a polite way to say, dull.

Fortunately, Drustan didn’t care about politeness. Boring? Stupid? A complete nonentity? Why yes, he is. Which, of course, makes him perfect for the job. He’ll do what he’s told by wiser and more experienced people. Drustan tapped a thick gold ring against his glass. He won’t ‘rock the boat,’ as they say in Krigadam.

Livens, said Faustinus, shaking his head. Never has a man been so ironically named. He can’t enliven anything. He’s as bright and cheerful as a winter drizzle.

You’re hardly the first person to make that joke, said Drustan. Now drink up, and let’s go see our dear, soon-to-be-lamented friend, Emperor Titus.

Past the golden archway and the guardsmen, down hallways of multicolored marble and mosaics of precious stones, they found the emperor in his bedroom, attended by Empress Cecelia and two of their granddaughters. Drustan smiled and, as he ushered the women out of the room, he promised them the emperor would be up and about in no time.

Titus himself, gray-faced and wheezing, didn’t look quite so sure.

I’m dying, aren’t I? he said, when the door was safely closed behind his wife. I asked you here so I could get a straight answer.

We will do all we can, said Drustan.

As he spoke, Faustinus cast a few detection charms, feeling for the weakness in the emperor’s heart. He found it, and he knew the man couldn’t have more than a few weeks left. The disease seemed entirely natural, though. That was something of a relief. The fact that the emperor’s decline had been so rapid, and the fact that Drustan had a replacement ready so quickly, gave rise to uncomfortable thoughts in Faustinus’s mind. It was good to know his old friend and teacher wasn’t guilty of that, at least.

Titus turned his bloodshot eyes to regard Faustinus. Ah, there you are. The great protector of the Empire.

Drustan smiled and patted one of the imperial shoulders. Yes, yes, your majesty. The gods truly blessed our Empire the day Servius Faustinus was born.

It’s funny, sighed Titus. I spent a lot of time worrying about how history would remember me. Would they call me a great ruler or a tyrant? Would they remember me as a wise man or a fool? Then, he chuckled, this morning the answer came to me, right as the guardsmen were putting me in a wagon to carry me back up here from the forum. Nobody is going to remember me at all, except as the man who happened to be on the throne when you, Count Faustinus, destroyed Paradelphia and finally conquered Thessalia.

With the help of Megadux Cesseron, of course, said Drustan.

And the army and navy, added Faustinus.

Yes, you and Cesseron, Titus continued, shaking his head slowly. It is an odd thing to be eclipsed so completely by one’s subordinates, isn’t it? He tapped Drustan’s hand. Isn’t that so?

Drustan’s smile never faltered, but a tinge of brighter pink appeared on his naturally-red face. Indeed, your majesty.

The glory of the conquest will be yours, your majesty, said Faustinus. If there is any blame for what happened at Paradelphia, it belongs only to me. People will remember you for ushering in a time of peace and prosperity.

Will they, now? Titus glanced at a silver tray on his bedside table, which held a number of military dispatches. There are rebels and spies everywhere. We face threats on our borders. The Loshadnarodskis are restive again—it’s that time of year. I’ve heard people say, Dominus Faustinus, that we should send you east to deal with those bandits and their sorceress. The emperor sighed. I suppose I should be grateful this will be someone else’s problem soon.

Don’t worry, your majesty, said Faustinus. The Loshadnarodskis are no more of a threat than they ever were.

They burned Terminium twenty-three years ago, said Titus, eyes suddenly bright with anger. We’ve never paid them back properly for that.

Faustinus could have debated the truth of that statement. After all, reprisals and punitive raids had probably killed twice as many Loshadnarodskis by this point than the number of Immani who had died in the sacking of Terminium. But he knew that wasn’t really what Titus was talking about. The infamous Loshadnarodski sorceress was still alive, and some people would always see her as a threat.

Faustinus, for his part, saw her as something quite different. But this really wasn’t the time to be thinking about that.

Drustan cleared his throat. Faustinus and I will study the situation carefully, your majesty. Rest assured we will do whatever is necessary for the defense of the realm.

Titus muttered something under his breath. The part Faustinus caught sounded like, ...do what’s necessary to line your pockets..., but he couldn’t be sure.

At that moment, the big centurion came into the bedroom and announced the arrival of a delegation of leading senators.

Oh, look, said Titus, the vultures are circling already. Let them in, if you would. It’s rude to keep the hungry waiting.

The senators came tiptoeing in, wearing their formal togas and various orders and decorations. Not one of them was younger than 50, and several were even older than Titus. Their leader—or at least the man who stood at their head—was Senator Livens. He was a thin, balding man with prominent ears, nervous eyes, and a weak chin, and he carried some kind of official letter in front of him like a shield.

Um...er.... He cleared his throat. Greetings to the esteemed and blessed Titus, second of the name, Imperator of the Immani, Consul of the Senate, Pontifex Maximus, Tribune of the—

Thank you, but I know my own titles already, said Titus.

Yes, well, um..., Livens scanned down the page, er...greetings and best wishes for a quick recovery from the senate and people of Albus Magnus. We implore the gods that you be delivered from this affliction. We pray that our father, Fulmenius, grants you a portion of his mighty strength. We pray that our mother, Caela, gives you the grace to—

You might as well skip this, too, said one of the other senators, a short, fat man. I don’t even know why you put it in.

It is a bit silly, agreed a second senator. If we were going to the temples, it might make sense, but why are we offering these prayers up here, when we’re supposed to be—

Livens turned and glowered at them all. If you gentlemen had suggestions as to the text of this message, you should have volunteered for the committee that wrote it. Now may I please continue? He searched the page. Where was I?

You were coming to the end, said a third senator quietly. The last paragraph, I believe.

Oh, yes. Thank you. Livens continued reading. Most of all, we eagerly await the day when your imperial majesty can preside over our august body once again, guiding us in the path of wisdom. He scowled. Wait a minute....I think I skipped something. Maybe I’d better start from the beginning.

There were sighs and groans from the rest of the delegation, and Titus rolled his eyes.

I’d love to stay, truly I would, Drustan cut in, but I must go consult with the emperor’s physicians.

And I must help him consult, Faustinus added, seeing his opportunity to escape.

They slid out of the room past the senators, many of whom looked as if they would like to leave, as well. On the grand staircase down to the statuary hall, Drustan asked, So, what do you think?

Of what? Of Livens? He seems a bit hopeless to me.

Yes he is, isn’t he? Drustan laughed. He couldn’t be more perfect.

Chapter 2

The soft pattering sound and the scent of rain came in through the veranda and the open glass doors. Herminia imagined the sound was applause. She stood, took a bow, and then poured herself a little wine in celebration. Then a sudden gust of wind rustled through the cardstock and cloth figurines in her little model theater, scattering them offstage.

Herminia turned the theater so it was out of the wind and then settled down next to