something; Liv’s attention wandered. She saw Warren again, but across the field, in a haze of lanterns and torches, laughing with the other men of the town, and she had to concede that he was not altogether unappealing. But then a group of boys, arm in arm, red faced and laughing, wheeled sidestepping across the field, and when she could see again, he was gone.
Perhaps he’d joined the dance. Liv had tried to step in, at Morton’s gentle urging, but was unable to find her footing. The dance was unfamiliar and strenuously athletic, and she’d nearly fallen. Instead, Liv sat with Morton’s young wife, Sally, who was herself unable to dance because the baby within her was acting up, and she was suddenly prone to sickness. Liv had no particular advice to give, but the young woman was in some distress, and she did her best to be kind. While holding Sally’s sweating hand and murmuring, There, there, Liv looked for Warren, but she never saw him again.
On the fifth day, they held a referendum.
New Design’s men and women lined up on the long hard benches of the meeting hall. The hall’s roof was a high-peaked lace of timbers, open to the sky. Around noon, a cold sleeting rain blew across the town. None of them flinched. They sat straight-backed, listening to Alderman Merrill’s long ponderous speech as the rain slicked their hair black over their scalps.
Merrill’s subject was property, and taxation, and points of high principle concerning both—though as far as Liv was aware, there was no property in New Design, and no taxes. Indeed, she’d seen no money at all, and had imagined New Design to be communistic, after the manner of the prophets in the ancient texts. She decided that Merrill’s economics was more aspirational than empirical. He had the look of a dreamer, in a small quiet way.
When Merrill was done—to measured applause—he trudged back across the muddy floor to his place on the benches. Alderman Polk took the podium, and the townsfolk listened just as gravely to him in his turn. He wore spectacles, one glass of which was cracked, the other empty, long vanished. Nevertheless, he bore himself with dignity. Liv couldn’t comprehend his subject at all.
The Aldermen of the town were also members of the Assembly of the Republic. They spoke for both offices. The serious young man on Liv’s left and the serious old man on her right both explained this to her.
Young Mr. Waite, of the Smilers, spoke briefly, extempore, on the theme of What it says about us that we’re able to have this meeting in the face of what we’re all agreed would be worrying news—yes, it would—if we were the kind to give in to worry; but instead we should be very proud. The rain darkened his fine blond hair and slicked it down over his scalp. His smile only widened as he spoke, till he put Liv in mind of a ventriloquist’s dummy. He sat down amid applause, and the Secretary of Measures and Motions brought business to a start.
Issues tabled for the day: the hunting of the beast—should they continue? Or change tactics? The need for new irrigation on the south fields. Sally Morton stood and haltingly delivered a speech on the importance of infant education, which appeared to end without a point. A Mr. Dilworth’s proposed adjustment to the rules of parliamentary cloture was soundly defeated, as if he had proposed a dirty thing, and Dilworth himself slunk off to angry stares.
Lastly, they discussed what was to be done with the General, what was to be done with these rumors of approaching enemies. The crowd shifted eagerly, tensely. President Hobart took the podium. The young man on Liv’s left stood and clapped furiously. The old man on her right sat in wary silence.
Captain Morton sat two rows in front of Liv, sticking out in his red cavalry jacket among the gray brown of his neighbors like a peacock among hens. He did not clap. He sat very stiffly. Sally held his arm and leaned close to him.
Liv stood. There was a hush around her.
“President Hobart. The Line will find us here soon. Creedmoor will find us. You must evacuate the women and children. You have forgotten what the Line is like, what their weapons are like. You must make an alliance with Creedmoor, against the Line, for the sake of—”
The crowd roared with disgust, drowning her out.
Liv examined the President’s face as he scanned the