Copper Ravens(32)

In time, the Mirlander party evolved from one populated by Elementals to Mundanes with a slightly less conservative agenda, such as those who thought that funding schools and road work were just as important as funding the military. And, while everyone agreed that roads without potholes are nice, and wouldn’t it just be grand if that school could be un-condemned, no one running on the Mirlander ticket had won anything since long before the Magic Wars. No matter how good their platform was, or how charismatic the speaker, they were forever tainted by magic.

We Elementals had gotten out of politics altogether. We had been content to sit back and watch the Peacekeepers and Mirlanders argue away, keeping our own counsel, assuming nothing those puny Mundanes could cook up would ever have any kind of lasting impact. We were so arrogant, so complacent in our own strength, that we effectively hobbled ourselves. While we were busy ignoring those we thought were weak, they gathered strength and took us out. Hindsight does tend to be the clearest sort of vision.

And now, Dr. Armstrong seemed to be the political forerunner, and he didn’t have the backing of either party. Everyone, responsible citizen and loony conspiracy theorist alike, was buying what he was selling.

Things were so much worse than Max had let on.

I turned back to the glossy covers, at once entranced and repulsed by the repetitive images, and noticed that Dr. Armstrong was frequently pictured alongside a rail-thin, oily-looking, little man.

“Who’s the creepy sidekick?” I asked, grabbing a copy of Politics and Poetry. Max glanced at the cover, his jaw tensing.

“Langston Phillips,” Max ground out. “He’s Armstrong’s right-hand man.” I was amazed at the animosity in Max’s voice, the hatred in his eyes. When Max had talked about Dr. Armstrong, he had just relayed the facts and let me make my own conclusions. But, by the way he was staring at the magazine in my hands, it looked like he wanted to rip Langston’s throat out.

“I take it you two have met?” I ventured.

“Yeah. A time or two.”

Max turned back to the display, and I flipped through the magazine. It was filled with the requisite political commentary, as well as essays and poems—poems—written by popular politicians. I guess that explained the title.

I scanned the table of contents, then replaced the magazine on the rack. I was certain that I would not ever want to read poetry written by any animal control officer, current or retired. Instead, I picked out one of the home and garden magazines, a fashion magazine to help explain my wardrobe requirements to the silverkin, and a literary review for Sadie. Max nodded, adding the daily paper and a few comics to our haul, then he slipped the seller a few bills. Once our reading material was bagged, we were on our way.

I specifically did not ask how Max had come by Mundane money.

As we walked down the Promenade’s main aisle, I was struck by how the market was just the same as it had ever been. I know, I’d only been gone from the Mundane realm for a couple months, but I had expected to see more of a change, more signs of humanity slipping into the chaos wrought by our uncaring government. It was kind of irritating to find out that life had just gone on without me.

Then I spied a familiar face up ahead, and my mood lifted. It was the jeweler from whom I’d purchased spools of copper wire and shiny beads, along with some of the tiniest pliers in existence. Ultimately, those ingredients had become a copper cuff studded with malachite and amber, the token that proclaimed that Micah was mine. It felt like I’d last stopped at the jeweler’s booth centuries ago, not just a few short weeks.

The shopkeeper, a woman who only looked middle-aged because of her silvered temples, smiled when she saw me. And well she should recognize me; the last time I was here, I’d spent a small fortune on the supplies for that cuff. “How did your last project turn out?” she asked brightly.

“Perfectly,” I replied, smiling as I remembered the first time I’d seen Micah wearing the cuff. To think I’d worried that it wouldn’t be good enough for him. “He wears it every day.”

“Of course he does,” she said, as if that had never been in question. “Looking for a new project?”

“Umm, yeah.” I really wasn’t, but I needed something to do at the manor. I bet Max would buy me a few things, if for no other reason than to keep Micah from throwing him out. “Do you have any more copper?”

The shopkeeper gave me her most dazzling “I’m about to make a sale” smile, then she turned around to gather up the more expensive items—lengths of chain, polished stones, and even a tray of pearls. While I waited, I looked over a few of her finished pieces, trying to decide if I’d like to try my hand at a necklace or maybe some earrings.