The Crash of Hennington. Patrick Ness
most certainly will not.
—What does that have to do with religion?
—He’s Rumour, so probably a hairy chest.
—And you’ll be telling everyone you know at the office tomorrow.
—Maybe Hennington’s a little more enlightened than we thought.
—You’re paranoid.
—Not necessarily. I went out with a Rumour guy in college, and he was smooth.
—Are you really this clueless, Harold?
—You sure he wasn’t waxed?
—There aren’t any wines from the North.
—It’s all stepping stones, is what I’m trying to say.
—Nobody was doing it back then.
—What? What did I say?
—Doesn’t mean he couldn’t have tweezed.
—It’s made from pears.
—A whole chestful of hair? I doubt it.
—Stepping stones.
—Precisely. I mean, he’s leading in the polls and the city’s what? A quarter Rumour?
—Have you even seen him here yet?
—Little baby steps until all of a sudden we’re overrun.
—To think otherwise is naïve.
—I heard someone say something about his daughter being sick.
—I have no response to that, except of course that the answer is no.
—That’d be just like him to stay home with her.
—Max is a Rumour.
—I’m not even sure Max Latham is a member of the Bondulay Church.
—Have you ever even met him?
—Forget it, then.
—If even that.
—No shit, but he should at least be able to take a joke.
—I prefer to think of it as sanity.
—No, but it just seems like the kind of thing he’d do.
—Of course he is. He’s Rumour. They all are.
—I think it’s something to be proud of.
—Champagne?
Albert declined another glass with a wave of his hand.
—There are some well-nigh terrifying people here, Archie.
—But terrifying people with money. That’s the important thing.
—I’d wager half of them aren’t even registered on our side of the hustings.
—Max is going to win. You always put money on the winner, no matter who you might vote for.
—Tragic but true. Makes for a nicely tense party though, don’t you think?
—I always feel like I’ve barely escaped with my life.
—That’s because you have.
—Where’s Cora?
—Over there. Hijacked by Harold Baxter. A rescue might be in order.
—Let her stay. Punishment for allowing me to be here and Max to not.
—She is my wife. A rescue is chivalrous. Come with me.
—No, I … Harold, how are you, you old son-of-a-bitch?
—Doing well, Archie. You know, I was just telling Cora here that—
—Cora, my dear, I’m leaving.
—But you just got here.
—Ninety-three minutes ago. Everyone is as cocktailed-up as they’re going to be. Besides you’ve already gotten my money and the milkings of most of the rest of this crowd.
—He even got money out of Miriam Caldwell.
—Good Lord, Archie. Did you have to join her church?
—No, no, she’s terrified of me. It was easy. But as I’ve said, I’m leaving. Walk me to my car.
—Of course. Nice talking to you, Harold. Albert, be a dear and get me another soda water.
—Certainly.
Cora and Archie walked towards the car park.
—Cora, I have concerns.
—I suppose I’m not surprised.
—I’m wondering if we’ve got a bit of a paper tiger on our hands here.
—Don’t worry, Archie. The campaign is months away, and though you admittedly haven’t had an opportunity to hear it, Max can be a very persuasive campaigner in his own way.
—He’d better be, is all I’m saying.
—What’s on your mind, Archie?
—There were some rumblings in the crowd in there.
—Rumblings about what?
—About Max being Rumour.
—Oh, Archie, you can’t be serious.
—I’m quite serious. He’d be the first. I’m not sure they, them, in there, are sure they’re ready for it.
—But everyone knew that going in. His poll numbers are high, he’s viewed with integrity—
—He’s still a Rumour. It could be the old story that people are afraid to say they wouldn’t vote for him because they don’t want to look prejudiced.
—I suppose I can see your point, Archie, but don’t you think we’re past that? We’ve had Rumour Councilmembers, Rumour Department Heads—
—I’m not saying he’s not going to win. I’m just saying it might be tougher than you, we expect it to be.
—I don’t have any illusions that there might be an element out there that might not vote for a Rumour.
—The trouble is that it’s a volatile element that could be open to persuasion as well as growth in size.
—Persuasion by whom? He’s unopposed.
—Just because there’s not a credible opponent now doesn’t mean there won’t be at some point.
—Who?
—I don’t know, Cora. Good grief. I’m speaking hypothetically. Just keep your eyes open is all I’m saying. This could be a bigger challenge than it appears on the surface.
—I wasn’t born yesterday. My last race was against Jake Caldwell, remember? All those churchkin of Miriam’s with their picket signs, pretty much calling me a wayward wife who should go back to the kitchen. Whoever thought those loonies would get thirty per cent? But at the end of the day, the voters did the right thing, and they’re going to do the right thing this time.
—Fair enough, but stay on your guard.
—That’s very sweet, Archie. I appreciate your help tonight.
—I hardly did it to be sweet.
—But you did it anyway.
—And thank God it’s over. Ah, there’s the limo.
—Have a good night, Archie.
—Remember what I said, Cora. I’m an old man. Our bodies make up in clairvoyance what they lose in malleability. There are rumblings afoot. Whether they’ll bring anything noteworthy to pass is anyone’s guess.
Albert