18
Et Tu, Sausages?
Stopping a Hydra was never going to be easy, or clean. Even though the monster his magical senses warned him about has turned out to be a metaphorical one, still Hansel understands that to put an end to its damage, he will have to be prepared to do things he wouldn’t usually dream of. In the grand scheme of things, walking around the Citadel on polling day, spreading rumours that he isn’t sure, thinking back, are completely true, isn’t remotely in the same league as skewering a monster’s heart, or burying it under the earth, or whatever it is one has to do to slay an actual Hydra. However, his day spent walking around with Morning and Daisy still leaves him feeling uneasy. It’s one thing telling yourself you’d definitely push the boat out for the greater good, but it’s an altogether different thing actually having to do it, especially when you’re a rather quiet and anxious farm boy whose boat has, for thirteen years, been very securely tethered to the shore.
Perhaps it’s the way they go about it that makes Hansel feel so uncomfortable. There’s no running to the town criers or madrigal men, who are still under strict orders not to deliver any news any more politically contentious than that of an unusual polling station that also sells chips. Instead, Hansel and Daisy trail Morning as she strides about, mask off, beaming her big, crooked, toothy grin at everybody she sees, her flyaway dandelion hair and noisily excited dog creating a beacon of attention everywhere she goes. Then, while people turn to note the dog, the hair, the uncovered face, Hansel and Daisy just… talk, amongst themselves, in a tone calculated to sound as if it’s not meant for the ears of others, while remaining loud enough to hear. If they’ve learned one thing from growing up in a small rural village, it’s that people don’t always listen, but they love to ‘overhear’. He’s not spreading misinformation; he’s just talking with his friend, about things that are mostly true anyway, about the way John Rosier broke his own laws during the occupation of Nearby, and his closest henchmen aided and abetted this. There’s no blood, no guts, no shrieking of a terrible monster through the streets. This is so much easier than facing down what he saw in the visions.
It’s too easy, in fact. Maybe that’s why Hansel feels so wrong all day.
By the evening, Hansel’s sense of unease has turned into an anxious, sick feeling. The high walls of the Citadel loom down on him more than ever, and the thrashing magical panic within him is getting difficult to contain again. Both Daisy and Morning notice his increasingly troubled air.
‘It’s not enough,’ he explains, as Sausages tries to jump up on him and lick him at the same time. ‘All of this, it won’t be enough, we should have done more, and now it’s too late. What good can a load of last-minute rumours do?’
‘Hansel, the whole of Myrsina runs on rumours,’ Daisy reminds him. ‘Rumours can be life-or-death stuff, especially under the huntsmen.’
‘There’s an hour still to go,’ Morning adds, ‘and look.’ She points to the nearest polling station. ‘Look at that queue.’
‘But people have been queuing at those things all day,’ replies Hansel.
‘Exactly,’ Morning tells them. ‘The turnout must be really high.’
‘But we don’t know who they’re voting for.’
‘Lots of citizens,’ Daisy points out. ‘Lots of women, did you notice? That’s good, isn’t it?’
‘Honestly?’ Morning lays a hand on each teen’s shoulder. ‘I can’t tell for sure. Hansel could be right; it could be too little, too late. The system might mean that getting lots of ordinary civilians to show up may still not make up for the huntsmen’s say. Maybe they’re all turning out in these numbers to vote for a different candidate after all. What matters is that you two little wonders showed up, and helped. You did your best, and that’s what matters.’
‘No, it’s not what matters! What matters is stopping all of this; lives are at stake!’
‘Hansel,’ Morning soothes him, ‘I know it feels like life or death at the moment, but it’s all just politics. If one of the other candidates gets in, life won’t be as nice as it could be, but we’ll all muddle through. I’ll probably get kicked out of the huntsmen for taking off my mask, but I’ll be OK, I’ll get by. I tried, and so did you.’
The magical panic begins to thrum; he can feel the tendrils of shadow trying to escape.
‘So, if you lose tonight, that’s it? It’s over, we’ve lost? You won’t help us fight any more?’
‘I said I’d get by, not that I wouldn’t do what I could. We’ll think of other ways, Hansel.’ She smiles again, that bright, sunny grin. ‘But for now, everything’s still there for the taking.’ She pats his shoulder in a manner that cheerfully suggests that the conversation is over and it’s time to move on. ‘One more hour. Do you want to go and have a rest? It’ll be a long night while they do the count.’
Hansel shakes his head. ‘What if it comes to one or two votes? No, let’s squeeze every second out of this that we can.’
Daisy grasps his hand in silent agreement.
Morning nods approvingly. ‘Good lad.’ She stoops and ruffles her dog’s ears. ‘Come along, Sausages. More walkies.’
Sausages pricks up her ears at the magical W word and runs in an excited circle, despite the fact that she’s been walking all day long, on tiny little legs. The happy warmth of the dog is enough to temporarily subdue the rising terror in Hansel, even though the sick feeling persists. Not for the first time in his life, he really wishes that he were a dog.
After another hour, the bells toll out, marking the end of the voting day. The clanging vibrates through Hansel’s whole body, renewing the mournful sense of imminent doom. With every baritone chime, every part of his magic that’s been warning him of the Hydra for weeks tells him, It wasn’t enough. You failed. The monster is still here. It’s still going to tear this whole land down.
The evening turns into a strange, hushed, pregnant night. He and Daisy don’t go back to the inn; instead they return to Morning’s HQ to await the results with the others. They feel like a part of the team now, and waiting out the count amongst them seems more comforting than doing it in that tiny room above the rooftops. Neither of them were going to get any sleep this night, anyway.
‘I feel like we’re about to go into battle again,’ Daisy tells him softly at one point in that interminable, endless, restless night. Hansel doesn’t reply. It feels worse than that, to him.
The sky is still dark when Morning’s aide, Richard, walks over to them. ‘Fennel’s back,’ he tells them. Hansel and Daisy get to their feet quickly. Fennel has spent the past few hours at a major counting station. Everybody crowds Fennel the moment she steps through the door. All Hansel is able to see of her is a scrap of hair from behind Richard’s head.
‘What news, Sister?’
‘It’s… close,’ Fennel tells them. ‘Too close to call, between Morning, and our brother in orange.’
‘Well, I’m in with a good shot, at least,’ Morning tells them cheerfully.
‘Except…’ Fennel shifts to one side slightly, and Hansel is finally able to see how worried her expression is. ‘The counting stations are by district. I was at Upper West, it’s almost all civilian votes there.’