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evening’s patrons left their chairs to dance and celebrate. They’d been told exactly what they wanted to hear, and that always seemed to put smiles on their faces far more easily than actual facts.
    Few of the people in the Hall had any idea how bad the violence had gotten on the streets here in western Arkadia, and even those who did certainly didn’t want to hear about how many workers had been maimed in the great factories on the northern side of the city. Perhaps the most shocking thing, however, was how all these people were somehow able to ignore the acrid industrial fumes in the air the moment they stepped outside into the streets of Cadotheia.
    It was as fascinating as it was sickening, really. The capacity of people to believe in something despite all evidence to the contrary—that was the most powerful weapon in Chaval’s arsenal, and he knew how to wield it better than anyone. People wanted to feel good about themselves and the choices they had made. They wanted to feel right. And who was he to argue with them?
    Eventually Chaval managed to drift over to the inventor’s table, a wide and utterly insincere smile stretched across his face. He was just over fifty now, and gray hairs were slowly but surely conquering his meticulously trimmed beard. The top of his head was bald, but what remained of his once black dome now encircled a shiny, pale scalp. His eyes were a vibrant brown, and his frame was quite trim and fit for a man of his age. All in all, he was passably handsome without being threatening, and it made him a popular man when he met his supporters in person.
    He quickly and firmly shook Varm’s outstretched hand. The newspapermen, following Chaval around like a drooling pack of hounds, frantically scribbled notes of every word and every twitch.
    “Miraculous,” Chaval said. “Once again, Harold, you’ve exceeded all my expectations. This is truly the work of a genius—an Arkadian genius.”
    “I think you may give me too much credit,” Varm replied, his chubby face flushed with embarrassment. “It’s just an extension of something we already use.”
    “Ah, but that is the artistry, my friend. Taking disparate things and putting them together into a new whole.”
    “Ever the politician,” Varm murmured.
    The newspapermen laughed heartily, but the inventors all seemed hesitant. Only when Chaval smiled himself did they finally let themselves chuckle.
    “True, but I speak from the heart, here,” Chaval said. “I guarantee this will be a rousing success.”
    Varm raised an eyebrow. “Rousing enough to fetch me production contracts once you’re elected?”
    Chaval clapped him on the back. “Absolutely.”
    Amaya watched impassively as the gathering of men and women fawned over Varm’s latest inventions. Some of the Hall’s staffers—which mostly consisted of overly made-up women in flowing dresses—rolled the display cart between tables, stopping leisurely whenever someone wished to take a closer look.
    Many of the gadgets were undeniably impressive, especially the centerpiece. It was a cylindrical attachment one could add to a rifle—Varm called it a “scope,” if she remembered correctly—to aim more accurately and see farther than the naked eye. It was an ingenious thing, if only an extension of the magnifying glass or telescope, and Chaval was certainly right to predict its success. Some of the other creations wouldn’t be so lucky in the long run.
    But that hardly mattered. Innovation was the word of the day here in Cadotheia, and to a lesser extent all of Arkadia. Men and women who could before only look forward to a drab life of herding livestock or living off the streets had their imaginations captivated by opportunity; all it took was one great invention to secure a future for themselves and their children. It was an infectious euphoria, and it had spread across the country like wildfire. Amaya just couldn’t help but wonder if it would burn itself out sooner rather