been plunged into something halfway between horror and fascination.
The auditorium was almost unnaturally quiet. "Senator, if you're ready ... " Amy said. Her eyes were red and puffy; she'd been crying off and on since she'd arrived at the hospital.
Puppetman had made certain of it. She looked at Gregg and tears brimmed again. He hugged her silently as Puppetman lapped at the sorrow.
It was easy. It was all so easy with Puppetman.
Amy held the curtains open for him and he walked out into the familiar glare of lights. The floor was a solid mass of people: reporters in front; behind them, Hartmann supporters from the convention intermingled with jokers and hospital staff. Amy and John had argued for restricting admission strictly to the press, but Gregg had overruled them. A large contingent of jokers had besieged the hospital, and Gregg insisted that they be allowed to attend as well. Security blocked the doors after capacity was reached; behind the windows, Gregg could see that the corridors were also wallto-wall.
Let them in, Gregg had told Ray. The jokers are our people. We all know why they're concerned. If they're clean, give 'em passes until were out of room. I trust you, Billy. I know nothing will happen.
Ray had been almost pitifully grateful at that. That had tasted good, too.
Gregg walked slowly to the podium and bowed his head, gripping either side of the lectern. He took a deep breath and heard it echo against the hard tile walls. Puppetman could feel the sympathy beating against him. He reveled in it. Gregg could see the puppets interspersed with them: Peanut, File, Mothmouth, Glowbug, a dozen others just in the first few ranks. Gregg knew from long experience that a crowd was an easily swayed beast. Control enough of them and the rest would follow along.
This would be easy. This would be cake. He hated it.
Gregg raised his head, solemn. "I ... I really don't know what-" He stopped deliberately and closed his eyes. Hartmann Composing Himself. Out in the audience, he heard a subdued sob. He tugged gently at the dozens of mental strings and felt the puppets move. He let his voice tremble just slightly when he resumed.
"...don't know what to say to you all. The doctors have given you their report. Umm, I'd like to say Ellen is doing fine, but that's not really the truth. Let's just say that she is doing as well as can be expected at the moment. Her physical injuries will heal; the rest, well-" Again a pause; he ducked his head for a moment. "The rest is going to take a lot of time. I've heard that there's already a roomful of flowers and cards that some of you have sent, and she asked me to thank you. She'll need all the support and prayers and love you can give her."
He gestured at Amy. "I was going to let Ms.: Sorensonmy aide-read you my statement. I'd already drafted it, telling all of you that I was withdrawing my name from nomination due to ... to the unfortunate accident today. I even read it to Ellen. Afterward, she asked me to give the paper to her, and I did. This is what she gave me back."
They waited, obedient. Puppetman tightened his fingers around the strings.
Gregg reached into his pocket. His hand came out fisted; he turned his hand over and opened his fingers. Scraps of paper fluttered to the wooden floor.
"She told me that she'd already lost a son," he said quietly. "She said she wasn't about to lose the rest."
Puppetman pulled the strings tight, opening the minds of the puppets among them. The murmurs of the audience rose, peaked, broke. From the back of the gymnasium where the jokers watched, the applause began, swelling and moving through the audience until most of them were on their feet, clapping hands together, laughing and crying at the same time. The room was suddenly noisy and wild like a camp revival meeting, everyone swaying and shouting and weeping, grieving and celebrating at once. He could see Peanut, his lone arm waving back and forth, his mouth a black wound in the scaly, hard face as he jumped up and down. The excitement triggered Glowbug's joker: his pulsing radiance rivaled the electronic flashes.
The cameras swiveled about, panning the odd celebration. Reporters whispered urgently into microphones. Gregg stood there, posed, his empty hand out over the torn-up paper. He let his hand drop to his side and lifted his