Once Upon a Time in the North Read Free Page B

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