Fraud at the Ballot Box

The Singing Fox stood in the heart of the Senatorial Ring.

Built atop the ancient cylindrical tower of a long-dead magus, the building had been converted into one of Gran-Devana’s most exclusive taverns. From the outside, the gray stone walls still bore the scars of old runic inscriptions, consumed by fire marks and chips on the basalt blocks.

The circular interior hall, however, had been covered with silk tapestries, colorful curtains hanging in arches that followed the tower’s shape, and an elevated gallery had been built to serve as box seats for nobles and wealthy merchants. Aether lamps, suspended in the air by thaumaturgic arts, cast a golden glow that both composed the refined atmosphere and gave off a cozy brightness.

The sound of lutes, harps, and shawms echoed from a side balcony where musicians in silver coats played soft melodies — far more elegant than the tunes that had stirred the Swords party at The Magus’ Chalice a few days earlier.

The tables occupying the center of the hall were laden with food and wine, the delicious smell of roasted meat mingling with the sweet, expensive perfumes of the aristocrats.

To those unfamiliar with the city’s rot — and Gupta had literally gone to the sewers days before — the Singing Fox seemed a paradise of splendor. But he knew it was only a convenient façade, perfect for hiding conspiracies.

At least in the sewers serving as the antechamber to the Warlock’s Crypt, or in the gutters of the Outer Ring, there was more honesty in the filth.

That night, he wore a dark blue silk coat, embroidered with silver thread in geometric patterns. The cut was snug, made to allow quick movements without appearing careless. His amber glasses gleamed, reflecting the golden glow of the light orbs in the hall.

On his hands, the articulated bronze gauntlets were his signature: each finger with tiny moving joints designed to hold hidden compartments containing lethal substances. He never removed them, even to hold a wine goblet.

At his side walked Lais Ambrosio, the bounty hunter and mercenary magus Fidenzio had recruited after rescuing her from being sold into slavery by the Zahal’arif. Unlike the other women in the hall, flaunting heavy, embroidered dresses, she opted for something far bolder.

A sleeveless, spring-green dress of light fabric fell to her feet in a fluid cut. A side slit revealed her right thigh with each step, contrasting with the golden high-heeled shoes. At her waist, a white sash with faint blue veins that glimmered discreetly under the magical light served as her belt.

The bracelet on her left arm was another essential piece. Etched with small runes, it served as her thaumaturgic focus.

Her red hair was tied into a firm bun, though deliberate loose strands framed her aristocratic features. That night, she had also chosen to complete the look with a gold-chained monocle over her left eye, lending her a seductive air of intellect.

Lais did not look out of place among nobles.

She walked with poise, her green eyes keenly observing every detail, weighing who entered and who left. In that sense, Gupta could not have asked for a better companion.

Thanatos would probably have done the job just as well, but their new ally had knowledge that could prove equally useful. And her presence drew more sympathy from powerful men than the jester’s ever would.

They shared the same chronic cynicism. Yet unlike the artist who mocked everything, Lais smiled little, and when she did, it was always calculated. A cold smile, never reaching her eyes.

They had infiltrated the tavern with one goal: to replace the vote counters. The Convergence had learned that many officials responsible for counting were loyal men of senator Prebito.

Bribing some had been impossible.

The riskier alternative remained: poison them discreetly and replace them with agents from the Coins Party. Gupta had the poison ready.

He leaned against a side table, calmly observing the faces. He knew exactly who to target: four men in gray tunics, too modest to be nobles yet too important to be there without reason.

They sat at their own table, feigning relaxation as they welcomed supporters from both the Coins and the Swords while drinking. But Fidenzio’s informants confirmed their loyalty lay with Prebito.

“They’re all here” Gupta murmured, adjusting his glasses.

“So it seems” Lais replied, narrowing her eyes. “But we’re not the only ones watching.”

She was right.

Looking more carefully, the poisoner noticed disguised figures crossing the hall at every moment. Nobles and merchants conspired, spies waited for opportunities to act. In the end, all eyes were on those gray-cloaked men.

No one was simply drinking; the music only masked the real conversations.

The Singing Fox had a peculiar layout. The bar stood at the center, a circle of carved wood depicting foxes running across a field. Above it, suspended by chains, hung a golden sculpture of a fox with ruby eyes.

The wall tapestries showed hunting and banquet scenes, but a closer look revealed the designs cleverly incorporated ancient containment runes.

The entire place still stank of magic, even if disguised.

Gupta discreetly removed a glass vial from his coat’s inner pocket. The greenish liquid shimmered under the thaumaturgic lights. Just a few drops into the counters’ wine would suffice.

Lais touched his arm.

“We’re being watched.”

Gupta followed her gaze. A woman stood near the bar. Her velvet-purple dress fit snugly, with long sleeves hiding her wrists. Her blond-gray, nearly silver hair was tied in elaborate braids, and a dark lace veil concealed part of her face. Yet the amber and silver bracelets and necklaces matched the description Fidenzio had given of the witch he and Sallustia had faced in the Devanic Coliseum.

Madame Umbra.

She sipped from her wineglass as if she were just another guest.

“We have a problem” Lais whispered. “Her gestures are subtle, but I’m sure she’s tracing aether lines in the air.”

The witch was there as security. Gupta pocketed the vial instantly, keeping a placid smile on his face.

“Improvise” he murmured.

Lais rolled her eyes and sighed softly.

“Do you trust me, alchemist?”

“It’s not about trust” he shrugged. “We’re both mercenaries; the word doesn’t belong in our vocabulary. But there’s a professional honor among our kind, especially given how we recruited you.”

“Professional honor?” Lais let out a dry laugh. “Really? What kind?”

“The personal kind. The Swords tried to cheat you; now you get your revenge. Besides, we both have much to lose if this fails — and much to gain if the Convergence checkmates senator Prebito.”

Umbra began walking toward the counters’ table. Too close, and she would sense the poison before it was used.

Lais inhaled deeply.

Her bracelet glimmered faintly. She traced runes in the air, invisible to most, but perceptible to anyone with magical sensitivity. Sparks erupted near the bar.

A noble’s wine suddenly foamed over. He cursed loudly, drawing everyone’s attention.

Madame Umbra turned toward the incident. Her eyes scanned the hall, clearly seeking whoever had caused it. She needed only seconds to realize someone was fighting her with Thaumaturgy.

Lais remained still, smiling at a portly merchant offering her a drink. She hid her fingers under the table edge, tracing more runes while keeping her expression bored.

Umbra cast a counterspell.

The light globes flickered briefly, showing interference, and the energy Lais had conjured was partially undone. But it was enough to distract the witch.

Gupta seized the moment. Laughing at the wine incident, he slipped two drops into one wineglass. Then another.

Umbra turned back toward him. Gupta’s heart pounded, but he kept his face calm. Two out of four were compromised.

“Don’t stare at her” Lais whispered, grabbing his arm as if supporting a drunken man.

Madame Umbra took another step. Lais reacted. A subtle hand movement, the bracelet flared. The lights in the hall went out, guests screaming in surprise.

The guards tensed, and for a moment, chaos reigned.

Umbra raised her arm, restoring the lights with a simple spell. But the interval was enough. When the globes brightened again, Gupta was gone, mingling with the crowd, smiling at a senator as though nothing had happened.

Lais smoothed her dress, pretending to sip the wine she had earlier refused. Her face was calm, but she felt the toll of the magical duel.

The witch stared at her for a moment, finally recognizing the source. Yet she did nothing, only laughing softly beneath her veil before walking away.

Lais waited nearly fifteen minutes before meeting Gupta at the tavern’s exit.

“Two are down” the alchemist murmured, adjusting his glasses. “Enough to balance the count.”

“She knows we were involved” Lais replied.

“Then Prebito will know soon. These little sabotages won’t go unnoticed.”

“And when that happens, master Gupta?” Lais asked, signaling a rickshaw waiting outside.

“We’re just the hired hands, my dear. Long-term plans aren’t for us to decide.”

“Let me rephrase. What if senator Prebito outplays master Fidenzio? I still have a score to settle and don’t plan on dying first.”

“In that case” Gupta said, glancing back in the hall before closing the door behind them, “we’ll do what mercenaries on the losing side always do.”

“And what’s that?” she asked.

“Try to survive.”