‘No, it’s all new.’ The lace merchant’s wife tucks in to some local cuisine of her own. ‘I think someone must have found some old rules from when they were starting out or something.’ She leans in and lowers her voice. ‘They’re having to do a whole load of stuff that they clearly don’t want to bother with, like these “debates”.’
‘There’s only one person speaking,’ Daisy notes.
The lace maker’s wife smirks. ‘Yep. It was going to be all five of them together, but they decided against it. When one of them is going to eventually emerge as the head huntsman, the other four don’t want to risk doing anything to upset the new boss. The question-and-answer sessions from the floor scheduled for the ends of these speeches were cancelled for similar reasons.’
‘So,’ reasons Daisy, ‘that just leaves you with…’
‘With one person talking for an hour at a time, unchallenged and unquestioned, with the occasional, scheduled, rebuff speech afterwards.’ The lace maker’s wife shrugs. ‘It’s better than nothing, I suppose. Helps people know what they’re voting for.’
Daisy raises her eyebrows. ‘So, all of you get to vote?’
‘Yes… well, no… well, yes… sort of. The system they’ve worked out is really complicated, and apparently if ordinary civilians’ votes were worth as much as a huntsman’s, we’d swamp them, and that would be unfair.’ The lace merchant’s wife treats them to an expression of sarcastic faux-excitement. ‘I’m just enjoying it while I can. Chances are if they ever do have another election, I won’t be invited.’
She nods over to the stage, where the huntsman with the orange rosette is speaking. He seems to be the full-on fire and brimstone shouty kind of huntsman, and is getting particularly bellicose on the subject of letting women do things.
‘…would change the loophole in our current rules that requires civilians of the fairer sex to put themselves through the unnatural indignity of trying to think of somebody to vote for,’ he shouts. ‘The current rules unfairly discriminate against the female mind by demanding all candidates identify themselves with a different colour; this leaves many females confused, wanting simply to vote for the colour they think is the prettiest.’
There is a round of applause from some of the audience near the front of the stage.
‘What?’ breathes Daisy.
‘I even have husbands coming up to me,’ continues the candidate, ‘telling me that they want to vote for me, but that their wife will vote for a different candidate because my orange ribbons clash with their hair, which means that there’s no point in him voting at all. A good, hard-working man’s vote completely cancelled out, completely oppressed, by his own wife’s foolishness! I am not making this up!’
Daisy stares, wide-eyed, at the lace merchant’s wife.
‘Of course he’s making it up,’ murmurs the lace merchant’s wife, ‘but who here’s going to take him to task over it?’
‘People are clapping it,’ Daisy says. ‘People are actually clapping…’
‘It’s out there now,’ mutters Hansel. ‘It’s said. It’s… marauding, unchecked…’
‘This one’s the worst of the bunch,’ the lace merchant’s wife tells them quietly. ‘Don’t worry, the other four are pretty normal, and I’m certainly not giving my vote to him.’ She taps a green button on her dress. ‘I’m with Green, she talks common sense.’
‘Wait. “She”?’
The lace merchant’s wife nods, with a smile. ‘There was a lot of fuss about that, but they couldn’t find anything in the rules forbidding it.’ She indicates to the candidate on the stage. ‘He’s furious about it.’
‘…because how are the huntsmen supposed to lead by example,’ shouts the man on the platform, ‘if the leadership goes to Green? You let one female lead, they’re all going to want to. Green would oversee females getting overeducated again, taking men’s jobs again, spurning men’s romantic proposals again, the sort of horrible division that destroys livelihoods and families. We can’t let that happen!’
There is a cheer from the front of the crowd.
‘And,’ adds the man on the platform darkly, ‘let’s not forget the last time females ran Myrsina.’
‘Witches,’ comes a cry from the audience.
‘The witch queen,’ growls the huntsman on the stage. ‘The terrible witch queen who turned her own husband, the king, into a mirror and snatched power for herself.’
The audience starts booing.
‘Who brought another little witch-queen-in-waiting into the world,’ continues the candidate on the stage. ‘She must have thought the witches’ reign was going to last for a thousand years, and that threat is still not over. The huntsmen are finding new witches all the time, many of which were seduced into that terrible world through overeducation and aspirations above their station. The Darkwood is still deep witch territory, even within Myrsina’s own borders. And I’m sure you’ve all heard of the terrible witch uprising and their seizure of Nearby Village only the other week.’
The crowd roars with rage at this.
‘No,’ says Hansel, a little too loud.
‘Kid.’ The lace merchant’s wife squeezes his shoulder. ‘Not here. Not now. The other candidates will get their say…’
‘But he’s lying,’ Hansel cries.
‘Sshhh,’ replies the lace merchant’s wife. ‘I know, but this isn’t the way to go about it…’
‘Then what is?’
For all of the woman’s shushing, Hansel’s voice is getting drowned out anyway, by a chant that has broken out amongst the audience.
‘End the witches,’ they chant. ‘End the witches!’
‘The threat is not over!’ The candidate is practically screaming now. ‘The threat is right here, right now, on our doorstep! Their invasion has already begun!’
‘No!’ Hansel’s getting upset, he knows he is. He can feel the dark tendrils of magic thrashing and squirming through his veins. He’s not even really sure what it is that’s driving him to shout out – his own sense of injustice or the dark magical fury within him, demanding to be heard. Nobody even turns around at his cries; they’re all too wrapped up in the roar and the rage of the chant.
‘End the witches!’ The candidate has joined in now. ‘End the witches!’
‘Stop it!’
‘Hansel.’ Daisy grabs his shoulders. ‘Don’t. I don’t think this is safe. We should just go back to our room.’
‘You go back.’ Hansel notices that the lace merchant’s wife is already making a hasty retreat through the crowds, away from them both. ‘I can’t just let him lie like this and get away with it. I’ll be OK, Daisy.’
‘No you won’t!’
‘But—’
‘You should listen to the girl.’ The new voice behind them is female, but not one that Hansel recognises. It’s also slightly muffled. His arm is grasped hard and pulled behind his back.