The 2011 Elections

Torriani Family Estate
Novara, Grand Duchy of Potenza

A familiar sound crept through the halls of the royal estate. It was a certain, slow-moving click-plop that all the guards, all the servants, and all the attendants had learned to recognize immediately, and apply a name and face. It belonged to none other than the Count Guido della Torre, the heir to the Torriani household. The plop was the sound of his one foot, the click the sound of his cane following. When he was only five years old, he was at a parade when a motorized float went astray, running him over. The wounds were so bad that they had to amputate the harmed leg. It was major news at the time, but since then the duchy had forgotten it. Those who remembered were his mother and those who worked at the large estate. Every time the count moved, the echo of the large rooms and hallways announced him.

As he walked, wearing the traditional royal uniform of Potenza royalty - what most would identify as a military uniform, bearing the familiar Torriani crest on one of the medals. Under his arm was a newspaper he had just finished reading. As he passed a nearby bin he casually dropped the paper inside, not even turning to look. He approached the door, where a royal attendant was bowing smartly at the waist and pushing the door open with his left hand.

"Her royal highness is outside, your excellency," he said.

"Good," was all the count said as he stepped outside, seeing the Torriani family limo waiting at the bottom of the steps. For his sake, a ramp had been constructed right at the middle of the steps. He was thankful for that, as it meant he moved down the middle as true prince and not down the side (like most ramps were placed) as if he was a pauper. At the bottom of the ramp was a chauffeur, waiting patiently as he held the door. The black limo had two flags up from, bearing the Torriani crest, and was flanked on either side by police officers supplied by the Ministry of Law Enforcement.

"Good afternoon, your excellency," the chauffeur said kindly as he opened the door.

Guido said nothing as he stepped inside - with some difficulty. He refused to have help, and most of the newly hired servants were quickly advised by their veteran peers not to offer their hand even if it seemed that Guido was about to fall. When he had managed to get inside and sit down in his seat, he looked across and saw the outline of his sister, the Countess Francesca. When the door was shut, shutting out the light of the outside world, her form was more visible. She was a tall woman, only a year older than the 26-year old count, and had the same dark-brown hair that he did. She was wearing a modest dress with her hair done up in a bun, as was common with much of the Potenzan royalty. Her hands were folded one over the other on her lap, as if she had been waiting for her brother for some time.

"I appreciate the copy of Il Ducato," he said curtly.

Francesca nodded, "I imagine you knew what I wanted you to see."

Guido let his cane fall towards his lap, resting on his stomach as the lower half fell towards Francesca's feet, "Elections. Very clever of him. Do you know why he had to call elections?"

"Why?" Francesca had an inkling why, but did not want to steal a chance for her younger brother to explain himself.

Guido smiled, holding up his finger and pointing towards her, then lifting up his thumb as if to create a gun, "...because fingers were starting to be pointed at him." He put his hand back down and stared out the tinted windows. The limo was moving through the city, towards an event they were expected to attend - one of many that week. So many that Guido cared little what it was about.

"He gave the approval for the economic reforms," he finally continued, "privately, mind you, but enough people knew that it could become more public than he would have preferred."

"So he dissolves parliament," Francesca said, "to get the public's attention away."

"An election is a sloppy way of doing it," added Guido, "but...effective enough. In the olden times, whenever the locals feared supposed plagues of witchcraft, the judge would drag out a whore and have her hung. Finito - the witchcraft problem was 'solved', and the people were satisfied. What our gracious duke did was drag the whore of parliament out and have her hung."

The count looked down, seeing a small speck on his white pants. He flicked it with his finger before continuing:

"Somewhat auspicious. A socialist prime minister and a closet-socialist duke is a terrible pair for a kingdom to have. Right now they've managed to turn against each other."

"But, dear brother," said Francesca, smiling softly on her dark red lips, "who is to say that this socialist whore won't survive the hanging? The people might change their minds...whores have their use, after all."

"Yes, well, that is something we shall have to look into, won't it?" Guido replied. "I intend to make certain that the parliament the nation gets after this election is the parliament it needs."

"How will you do that?"

The count turned to his sister and gave a half-hearted smirk, "There are many parties, Francesca. I have one of them in my sights. A young politician in their midst, a new leader..."

"The greatest leader Potenza has ever had?"

"Come now, dear sister - I said the parliament the nation needs, not the parliament the nation wants."

Guido turned his gaze back out the window. There was a moment of silence between the two Torriani royals, the only sound being the soft hum of the limo's engine. Finally Francesca asked:

"I'm surprised you haven't asked-"

"You're right," interrupted Guido, "forgive me. How is the ailing idiot doing?"

Ailing idiot - that was how Guido referred to his own father, Duke Martino della Torre. The head of the Torriani household had been showing more and more signs of age, as every year his mental health seemed to be on the decline. There were rumors of Alzheimer's, but the doctors had firmly denied this. Guido had shown great impatience with this, and acted as if the Torriani duke was defying God and death just to mock his own son.

"Declining," was Francesca's short reply.

The limo came to a stop as they arrived outside the convention center. Guido sighed, "Perhaps the fool will live another 51 years..." The door opened to the two, and all discussions of government reform came to a halt.

San Salvo Convention Center
San Salvo, Grand Duchy of Potenza

The roar and applause was almost defining as the beaming Gaetano Merlino waved to the crowd, stepping behind the curtains and off the podium, heading towards the recreation room. It was official now - Gaetano Merlino was the head of the National Alliance party. His platform was one of bringing the nation out of the economic slump, building jobs, and destroying crime. Already he had widespread support within his own party, but many of the smaller right-wing parties were merging with the National Alliance. The other right-wing parties were looking to join him as well, although a coalition wasn't in sight yet.

Merlino was in his late 40's - fairly young compared to some in the Chamber of Ministers - but very experienced in the affairs of government. He had been a rising star in the party, and was seen as the key by many for a return to conservatism. He seemed almost perfect...dashing, charismatic, a good speaker, and with a wife and son. His popularity was growing in the polls, not only in the National Alliance but in much of the country.

When Merlino stepped into the recreation room - a kind of "break room" for those who ran whatever convention was going on - he noted a few policemen standing in the corners. At first he thought there might be some bad news, but then he saw, seated in a chair at the other side of the room, was the Count Guido della Torre. They had only met once before, but Guido was seen enough from news video of special events that he could be recognized.

"Oh, your royal highness," Merlino said, bowing slightly with a smile. He reached over and took a napkin from the counter, wiping the sweat from his brow, "What do I owe this sudden honor?"

Guido motioned to the policemen, "I'll be out momentarily, gentlemen."

They nodded and stepped out, shutting the door after them. There was a moment of silence between the two men as Merlino wiped the sweat that had poured out during his speech. Guido drummed his fingers along the head of his cane a while, finally speaking:

"It was a good speech. You have great promise, but there's a weakness."

Merlino laughed, a bit taken aback but hiding it with a veneer of calm, "Oh? What's that?"

"Without the cabinet, anything you hope for will be useless."

Guido stood up, leaning forward on his cane and limping forward with some difficulty. He stood near Merlino, the two men of similar height, and smiled at him softly, "Without the cabinet, all you'll be able to do is agree with the duke."

"I'll have my own cabinet," Merlino replied.

"A shadow cabinet," Guido said quickly, "to offer suggestions, nothing more. The real power is in the ministries, and the ministries are in the hand of the duke. Until you get control of the cabinet, you'll not be able to do anything. You could plan a perfect government, and it would mean nothing. You'll be a dog on a leash, capable of nothing but barking."

Merlino reached down into the small refrigerator under the counter, finding what he was looking for: a nice glass of wine. One grown in the vineyards of Potenza itself. He poured a glass...a rather full glass...and sipped it. Guido frowned at this - it had long been rumored that Merlino was an alcoholic, and the count was now getting a hint at the truth.

"You're right," Merlino said, a little breathy as he put the glass down, "but what do you propose? Overthrowing the duke? They tried that before in 1898, remember?"

"No, you can't take the duke from the cabinet," Guido replied, "but you can take the cabinet from the duke."

Merlino smiled at the young count. He poured a bit more wine, then pointed a finger at the count as if to say "Aha! There's an idea!" He stepped over to a nearby table, sitting down and nearly downing the entire glass.

"That's very true, but that would require an amendment...maybe even a near rewriting of the constitution. That won't be easy to do."

"Easy? No, but not impossible." Guido limped over to the table, positioning a hand on the table to steady his slow descent into the seat, "You're aggressive. The country needs that. When you win the election, you can motion to strengthen the power of the people. Too much power is in the duke. That will become clear when this economic problem persists and he seems hesitant to solve it. It will become more and more clear it was his fault. It will also become more and more clear that there needs to be a change in the system to prevent the fate of millions to be in the hands of one man."

Merlino nods, "And what will you gain from it?"

Guido smiled, "The power of the Visconti is weakened, is it not?"

"The position of the Grand Duke will be weakened, won't it?"

"Not necessarily. It will merely be tempered. What I am concerned about is this duke is bringing the nation down because of his poor leadership. As someone with stake in this duchy, I can't allow that to happen."

Merlino laughed, downing more of the wine, his face already starting to look a bit flushed. He rubbed his face and sighed, "So I take it you will sponsor my election?"

"I will help you as much as I can," Guido said, "you and I are both concerned about our nation. Let us use our mutual powers to make this happen."

At that, Guido held out his gloved hand. Merlino eyed it a while, then gave a laugh and took it, holding it tight.

Royal Palace
San Salvo, Grand Duchy of Potenza

Grand Duke Eldizio I walked through the dimly lit halls of his palace, flanked by Carlo Ciampi, the Minister of the Interior. In his hands were the initial polls of the upcoming election, and they showed the National Alliance making a surprising lead, with Gaetano Merlino at the lead.

The aging duke, gray hair his crown, sighed and handed it back to Ciampi, "This upstart begins to worry me."

"He's charismatic," Ciampi replied nervously, taking the papers under his arm, "I suppose I can't blame the people."

"Yes, well, I don't need him opposing me and threatening to undo what I've established these almost ten years. Who is the most likely candidate in the Democratic Party?"

"Oh! Um..." the minister shuffled through his papers nervously. "Filipo Serrati, sir."

"Yes, that's the one. Clever man, from what I recall. I'll put my full backing with him. I'll help fund his campaign and give him any insight I can. I didn't dissolve parliament to shoot myself in the foot."

Torriani Family Estate
Novara, Grand Duchy of Potenza

Count Guido della Torre sat in the large living room of the family estate. It was almost 9:00PM by then, and the sun had already disappeared past the nearby mountains. The room, decorated with the heads of animals killed by past Torriani royalty, as well as the paintings and sculptures collected over the years, either from the treasures of war or from the coffers on commission. Behind Guido's chair was the large statue of Athena, goddess of wisdom, looking up to the ceiling as if in thought, her spear and shield close. After the accident that robbed him of his leg, Guido used to sit under her and read whatever he could find from the Torriani library. Even in adulthood, he would often sit under her, as if silently requesting her to impart wisdom to him. Some of the Torriani servants muttered that the reason Guido was still unmarried was he sincerely believed he had married the goddess himself.

Across from him was Gaetano Merlino's campaign manager; a short, fat man rubbing the sweat off his cheeks with a sigh. In the fireplace, positioned between their chairs, a mighty flame was roaring, causing a fair amount of heat into the room. His wool suit, accompanied by his additional meat, led to an uncomfortable position. It didn't help that Guido had been staring at the latest poll results and had said nothing for the past few minutes.

"Interesting."

The silence was broken suddenly, causing the manager to jump. Guido lowered the piece of paper to his lap, staring across the space between the chairs.

"The Democratic Party may obtain 40% of the Chamber, given these figures."

"It's initial momentum," the manager said, wiping his brow again, "it will pass. Not good to have it early on."

"Merlino will only get 37%."

"There's a margin of error."

"Margin of error be damned," Guido said sharply, tossing the paper into the fire. He watched it crinkle up and turn dark, consumed by the flames. His eyes stared into it as if enjoying the sight...then turned back to the manager:

"What do you intend to do to change this?"

The manager let out a soft groan, disliking this intrusion upon his business. A few more wipes went across his brow before he answered, "We're going to be making sure his image gets seen across the country. He needs more coverage. I'll arrange deals with the press."

"Not enough." The quickness of Guido's reply made it seem as if he was ready to answer this way the minute the manager had replied.

"It'll get more dramatic as voting day draws near. I have a great rally planned out. Merlino's going to be flown in by helicopter at the Royal Stadium in San Salvo, accompanied by other party members, and he's going to give a speech there-"

With a stern look glaring from his eyes, Guido slammed his cane hard against the floor.

"What the hell do you think Merlino is? A pop star? He's a damned politician! The people want to see him as one and nothing more!"

The manager jumped at that, almost leaping from the chair. He stared back at Guido a while, saying nothing, his mouth fluttering as words almost came out but didn't. The fire lit half of Guido's face, but both eyes were glimmering from the light.

"Is that really how you intend to win the election?"

Finally the manager replied, "We need relevancy. What else can we offer?"

"The people want to see someone who can lift them out of an economic slump, bring them jobs, and decrease crime. You want to give them a middle aged man who cavorts about stage like a child at a school play."

"We can still give them that, but you have to add something-"

"Oh, I know about adding. You desire to stick a gold ring on a pig's snout."

Guido suddenly leaned forward on his cane forcing himself up. Staring at the manager still, he said curtly:

"You're fired."

Guido turned and headed out. The manager stared at him, flabbergasted, getting up and following, "Fired?! You have no right to fire me!"

"Consider it a royal order then," Guido replied, not stopping nor turning back, his cane hitting the ground harder than it usually did, "this election is too important for you to mess up with your ingenious ideas. My servants will show you out."

He left the manager there, alone, in the room, as he exited out the royal doors towards the personal chambers. As he shut the door behind him, a familiar voice came from the side:

"Rather harsh on him, weren't you?"

Guido turned to see his sister, the Countess Francesca. Her dark lips were smiling, and her dark eyes peering towards him, highlighted by the whiteness around them as she stood in the dark.

"I'm known for being blunt," Guido replied, "what can I say? Any way, I will run Merlino's election from now on."

"A little risky, don't you think? If word got out..."

"My dearest sister," Guido replied, smirking, "can you name me one campaign manager from any election?"

Francesca pursed her lips, as if considering that question. Finally her smirk returned, as if to silently say, "You win." Guido nodded a silent good night to her and continued on to his room.

Royal Palace
San Salvo, Grand Duchy of Potenza

It was a long, long walk from the doorway to the royal chamber to the throne itself. The interior minister could feel the same sense of awe and fear that he always felt when he entered these halls, which had first been built hundreds of years before. Carlo Ciampi saw Eldizio I himself seated upon the ducal throne, leaning against Alexandria, the famous sword of the Grand Dukes. It used to be that whoever possessed the sword was considered the highest duke among the royal families, but since the days of Francis I it had simply been considered a ceremonial sword held by the Grand Duke. The throne itself had been built for Francis I, and had elaborate patterns of gold flowing from the legs to the armrest to the top. Both items were very old, but both were well maintained by skilled laborers.

Eldizio sat on the throne, spinning the sword on occasion as he leaned on it, as if lost in thought. Next to him was his 26-year old son and heir, the Count Drago, seated on the top steps of the throne's podium. The young count was considered very handsome and was well loved by most of the Potenzan women, some of whom kept pictures of him in their purses and loved the fact that he was still single - and hence available. While the populace loved him (sometimes even more than the grand duke himself), many in the high ranks of government cared less. He often showed a certain apathy to the affairs of government, though he enjoyed the drama of the royal court, and he didn't show any keen fascination that he would soon be the head of state once his father passed away. Some dukes of the past had feared their sons above all people because of their heir status - not so with Eldizio and Drago.

"Your majesty," Carlo Ciampi said, bowing low towards the duke. He turned towards the count and bowed again, "Your royal highness."

Eldizio and Drago both looked up. Drago immediately glanced back down, while Eldizio gripped Alexandria's handle.

"Ciampi," Eldizio said, "what say you?"

Ciampi smiled, "Well, sire, Serrati is climbing in the polls. He's been gaining momentum, and though it's stabilizing, he's gained the lead on Merlino."

"Yes, I think he's been doing well. His interview with Il Ducato was not astounding, but he won himself with the moderates who may distrust Merlino." Eldizio spun the sword once, then gripped the handle again, "Tell me, what do our little birds say of Merlino?"

Little birds - that was the code word for those who provided information otherwise not publicly obtainable. It had first been used by Francis II during the political crisis of 1898, and was used by the Visconti dukes ever since. Although most might assume it always referred to spies, it also referred to contacts in various parts of government and the government who would provide information at the encouragement of money - or threats.

"There are some worries about his intents with the government, your majesty," Ciampi replied, "he might be looking to give more power to the Chamber."

"I was afraid of that," Eldizio replied. He turned towards his son, asking, "What say you, Drago?"

Drago looked up to his familial patriarch, "I don't know, father. What should I say?" His tone showed that they had been through these kinds of conversations before.

"If he gives more power to the chamber, he'll have to get it from somewhere. He'll have to get it from us. That means when you inherit the throne, my son, you'll be inheriting an impotent duchy."

Drago returned his gaze to the steps, "Yes, father."

Ciampi stuttered a moment, unsure if he should be interrupting his monarch, but finally said:

"There's another thing, your majesty - it seems his royal highness, the Count Guido Torriani, has begun supporting Merlino."

As Eldizio turned to his interior minister, he again spun the sword once and gripped the handle, "Is that so? What do you mean 'supporting'?"

"Not with any funds, your majesty. He's been seen visiting with him in private, and he's believed to be his campaign manager now..."

"I see." Eldizio leaned the sword forward a bit, glancing at his reflection in the metal. He could see the dark gray hair atop his head, and especially the growing wrinkles on his face, showing the signs of age and the almost nineteen years of rule. He spun the sword once, as if he might see something different on the other side of the blade, but all that looked back was the same.

"Tell me, Drago," said the grand duke, turning to his son once again, "what should we do about Guido?"

Drago shrugged, "Arrest him?"

"Boy - he's their heir, and you want me to arrest him? And bring about the wrath of the Torriani family? And anyone who sympathizes with them in the other families? I think not. But there has to be a reason for his actions. Chances are he's attempting to undermine my own authority. We'll have to keep an eye on him from now on - a very close eye."

Eldizio stood now, holding the sword up high to about eye-level. He smiled as he stared back at his reflection, now happy at what he saw.

"So, this is a duel then?" he said to himself. "Very well. Then this election shall be a duel - a duel between Guido della Torre and I."

30-miles West from Turin
Grand Duchy of Potenza

Some distance from the crowd was Gaetano Merlino's limo, the engine on and a few police officers stationed around it. It was night, and the limo windows were tinted, hiding anyone who sat inside. Not far from it was the podium upon which Merlino stood, facing a large conglomeration of farmers, agricultural workers and anyone who wanted to come out and hear him speak.

"I thank you all for coming out tonight," he began, "it is an honor to speak before you all. Now, I've never believed in talking down to anyone. My son has a grasp on numbers, so I would never spend a large amount of time explaining to him how to count to ten. So I'm not going to stand here and waste time telling all of you, who came some distance to hear me speak, that the economy is bad. It is. You all know that. You, of all within our nation, know it. It's getting more and more difficult to compete on a world market. It's getting more and more difficult to earn enough to pay for workers. It's getting more and more difficult to earn just enough to support your family. For too long those in power in the Chamber have been simply reminding us that the economy is bad and not doing enough about it. Mr. Serrati would have us believe we need to wade it out - I say we are facing a monster threatening to destroy our nation, and we need to strike at it headlong, and we need to strike at it now!"

At that, a cheer rose from the crowd. Merlino waited until it had settled before continuing:

"The common answer to an economic slump is often to throw money at the problem. Now anything the government does is going to cost money - I won't lie to you about that - but how will your money be spent? How will our budget flow from the top down? Will it come in bailouts? That would be the easy thing to do. It would be easy to throw money at you - but money is only temporary. We shouldn't be looking for temporary solutions, but solutions with hope and progress. Let's look around! Let's look around at the world around us! On our borders we have war! There is pain, destruction, and death...yet as with all things of sadness, there is also hope. There is a destruction of competitors, and a redistribution of market power. This is where you arise! This is where you take center stage. We need to utilize this to the best of our ability! We need to utilize this for the benefit of our citizens! There will be a new agricultural voice in this region, and it will be the voice heard from you!"

Again, a section of cheering. When it had quieted, Merlino continued:

"But it won't be easy. We need politicians who will bring the voice of the people from the ground up. This will require louder voices in the Chamber - louder than we've had before. Right now we have a government that doesn't speak for the people. We have a government that is a whisper while our duke barks. And when our duke barks, it remains silent. Our government is meant to represent the people, but it can barely function in that role. We saw this recently with the trade agreement - where was the voice of the people there? Where was the chance for a government elected by the people to decide how that which affects the people should be done? Where was the discerning voice? It was not present. Therefore, in Engellex, the people of Potenza were not respected, and as a result, the duchy properly snubbed her farmers."

A cheer, again.

"The Chamber must rise above political antipathy. It must be a true voice for the people. As it stands, it is merely a show that happens every election. For a few hours, maybe even a few days, the people of Potenza get to pretend that they matter in government. For a moment of time, they believe that they are in charge. Then, when government starts to function, what happens? Our ministers fail us, and the Chamber is proven to be a castrated eunuch. No more must this be. Let this be the election in which the people of Potenza finally say no more - we must be heard! We must be heard, now and forever! No more shall the Chamber be a useless entity, and when we vote, our votes will not be a whimper, but a shout!"

A mighty roar. Merlino waved and spoke to a few more people before returning to his limo. He got in and sighed, rubbing his face before asking a figure in the dark, "How'd I do?"

Guido leaned into the overhead light, smiling as his chin rested on his cane, "Very good, very good. They loved it. I told you they would. Capitalize on your enemy's faults, and it proves to be more fruitful than any work you could do yourself."

Merlino reached over to the limo's small wine bar. A loud CLANG! was heard as Guido struck his cane against it.

"Not tonight," Guido said, "I told you to practice moderation. No more drinking until after the election."

Merlino gave a clearly disgruntled sigh, but smiled, "All right...fine. Not until after the election. If you say so, count..."

National Alliance Campaign Headquarters
San Salvo, Grand Duchy of Potenza

As fast as a man with half a leg could move, Count Guido della Torre was in the private office of Merlino, his face red with rage. He found the National Alliance party leader seated in the corner of the room, and the word "mess" was the best way to describe him. His hair was disheveled, his tie undone, his jacket open, his pants wrinkled, the top buttons of his shirt undone, a red face, and tears streaming down his cheeks.

"What the hell have you done?" Guido asked curtly. "Did I not tell you to wait until after the election? After the damn election!"

Merlino shivered a bit, like a beaten puppy afraid of another smacking.

"I...I couldn't help it," he said, almost mournfully, "it was...I had to have just one more...just one more..."

"Just one more, I've heard that same drivel before, spare me," Guido paced across the room, his cane and good leg moving rapidly as positioned himself closer to the man desiring to be prime minister, "please, spare me. Here you are, wishing to run the nation, and you're sniveling like a school boy."

Merlino couldn't respond. He buried his face in his hands, starting to weep a bit.

"Do you realize what you've done?" Guido said. "You've cost us the election for sure. This is precisely what the Democratic Party wanted - all those rumors about you to be true. All those whispers in the dark. You've made everyone who defended you now unveiled to be playing the fool."

"I...it can't be too late..."

"It is too late. Now sit here and sob yourself sober. Leave everything else to me, you understand? You've ruined this enough."

Guido exited the room, making his way towards the back of the building, to a sectioned off section where he could enter the Torriani vehicle in relative privacy from the crowds and mobs of press outside. As he sat in the car, tinted windows blocking the view of those outside, he let out a sigh and rubbed his face.

"This seems to be the end," came a feminine voice. It was his sister, Francesca, sitting in the seat beside him.

"No, not entirely," sighed Guido, looking forward, "there is still one potential...a gamble, but it may work..."

100-miles West of the Capitol
San Salvo, Grand Duchy of Potenza

Guido sat grimly in the vehicle, his hands resting motionlessly on the head of his cane. He was in the front passenger seat of a different vehicle - not a marked Torriani automoble - with no one else with him but a guard beside him. It was half past midnight, and the car was parked on the side of a minor road leading into the rural areas of southwest Potenza. They were alone, and without the usual guard. If Guido's enemies had known of these circumstances, it would have been all too easy to kill both men inside. No one else was aware they were out there. Only a few had even seen Guido leave the Torriani estate, and they had been instructed to keep their mouths shut.

"Are you sure about this, your highness?" the household staff asked quietly.

"Absolutely," Guido replied, without another word.

There were perhaps ten minutes of silence. The ducal guard felt his stomach turning each possible way within his belly. He silently prayed that nothing would happen, that the dawn would come, and all this would pass away without incident. The calm demeanor of the count beside him was even more nerve wracking. Why was he so calm?

Just then two headlights appeared off in the distance. The guard swallowed loudly. Perhaps they were just rural Carabinieri on patrol? He hoped they were. Carabinieri tended to investigate cars pulled over to the side of the road, especially at night. Mostly it was to assist stranded drivers, but also it was to see if there was suspicious activity. Out in the open, in the hills and in the woods, there was darker activity at foot. It was often out here that the organized crime of Potenza operated.

The car approached them, and began to slow. No lights. They were not Carabinieri. They were something else...and they were beginning to park beside their vehicle.

"Don't move," Guido suddenly said, causing the guard to jump. "Don't even make eye contact. Wait here until I come back."

What if you don't? the guard wanted to ask. He knew better, however. Guido treasured obedience the same way a sadist treasured a slave. The count opened the door and stepped out, adjusting himself on his good leg as he shut the door and made his way around the car. He approached the mysterious vehicle and waited patiently for it to open. Once it had, he stepped inside and sat down. The door shut and the vehicle sped off.

Before the Torriani count was a tall, thin man with graying hair and a serious expression. Beside the count was a younger man who kept his eye on the count at all times, and likewise kept a hand in his jacket. Guido briefly looked towards him before looking at the older man seated opposite him. There was no need for introduction, of course. This was Mario Piazzi, of the Piazzi crime family. They were not the biggest criminal syndicate, but they were certainly one of the most influential. They traded in black market vehicles and weapons, sometimes in league with their parent companies. It was a genius scheme really - black market a car here, a car there, sell a group of weapons to some rebels here and there, then cut off trade for both. When the demand became greater, the customers would have to go to the official sources, and in greater numbers. Everyone was happy. There were additional activities, of course - prostitution, counterfeit, the usual suspects. If it were to be removed, a good chunk of the nation's GDP would be cut. The mafia was such an intense presence in the Potenzan underworld that few believed it could ever be toppled. It went back to the middle ages, and didn't show any signs of waning. It was almost as old as the monarchies - and now, two leaders from both worlds were staring one another in the face.

"You desired an audience," Piazzi said, rather matter-of-factly.

"Yes," Guido said, "I wanted to talk."

"You wanted to talk. Well, here I am. So talk."

"I'm glad we could meet," Guido said, smiling sardonically, "I'm sure you've been watching the election."

"Yes," Piazzi replied, his tone getting a little cold, "your fighting cock wants to start a war."

"A misunderstanding, but that's why I'm here. Merlino will fight the crime wave, but under the proper context. There are thugs, there are pickpockets, there are panhandlers, they're all nuisances. They shock the tourists and anger the locals. They will be dealt with. But those who profit the nation, those who contribute to society...they can easily be left alone. Even if Merlino does not realize this, I can convince him otherwise."

"If he wins," Piazzi said, "he hasn't done too well."

"That can change, but that's where your help will be required."

"You presume too much."

"On the contrary, I'm offering my assistance. Do you honestly think the current duke and pseudo-communist prime minister are going to want you to continue your operations? Do you think if they win the next election your business will thrive? They will destroy both our economies. If you don't help me, you'll lose more than just dignity."

Piazzi was silent. The man beside Guido glanced at the mob chief, as if expecting an order, but none came, so he returned his gaze to the count.

"You are right," Piazzi finally said, "things were better before. What do you need then?"

Guido glanced towards the man beside him, "Can these ears be trusted?"

"Implicitly. Now speak."

"Good. The crowds will have to be wooed back to cheering for the appropriate gladiator. This will have to happen through emotionalism. We have done issues to death, now we are dealing with character. This will require...drastic means."

"What do you mean?"

"Someone close to Merlino has to die."

The count was blunt in his wording. Almost emotionless. There wasn't a tinge of guilt in his voice, nor a show of pity in his eyes. It came out as easily as if he had just pulled the trigger. Piazzi was silent for a moment or two, and then...he smiled. It wasn't out of humor, nor out of appreciation for any sense of irony or jest, but rather...calm, relaxation. It was if the two men had clicked somehow. It was if, by those words, Guido had showed himself to be an equal, and Piazzi was now in the company of friends.

"That can be arranged. I think I know the perfect target. If my man is arrested, you will see that he is released?"

"I will arrange for his care in prison and an early released based on good behavior - after the brouhaha of the incident has died down. But yes, you have my word."

"Good."

The vehicle pulled up beside Guido's car, the guard still inside and staring forward nervously.

"A good day to you, sir," Guido said as the car door opened, "I do believe this is the start of a beautiful friendship..."

Royal Palace
San Salvo, Grand Duchy of Potenza

Eldizio I turned off the evening news after the story regarding Merlino's son was reported. Next to him, seated in another chair, was the Count Drago.

"He's won."

Drago turned to his father, confused by the sudden words, "Father?"

"He's won. Merlino, I mean. He's won the election. This will get the nation feeling sympathetic to him, and he'll be seen as strong even in the face of tragedy." The grand duke leaned against his hand, staring at the blank TV as if creating stories in his mind, "What's more, it's not just Merlino who's won...it's that damned Torriani heir. He's won the election. Ah well...I nearly had him."

Drago looked down at his hands, seemingly disinterested. He didn't see what his father found so dangerous about Guido - after all, he only had two thirds of a leg. How dangerous could he be?

"Interesting days are ahead for Potenza," Eldizio said, not waiting for a response from his son - indeed, not expecting one, "I fear they will be dark days, however."