Chapter 549 - 258: Crystal Gavel
He held the latest issue of Vogue magazine in his hands, hiding his face.
He was reading a feature story on the Paris fall fashion launches.
Below the dais, the senators were debating a bill on the interstate highway maintenance budget.
The Republican Party accused the budget of being inflated, while the Democratic Party stressed the necessity of the infrastructure project.
The two sides were at each other’s throats, spittle flying as they argued.
"Mr. Speaker! I request a ruling!"
A Republican senator stood up, pointing at his opponent and shouting.
"The gentleman’s time has expired! And he’s straying from the topic!"
William didn’t react.
He had just reached the most exciting page of the magazine. The design of the model’s trench coat was simply to die for.
"Mr. Speaker?"
The Republican senator raised his voice.
Bernard, standing just behind and to the side of the Speaker’s chair, had no choice but to bend down, give a soft cough, and then poke William in the back.
"Sir," Bernard said in a low voice, "they’re calling for you."
Only then did William, with extreme reluctance, put the magazine down.
He looked out somewhat blankly at the dozens of faces staring up at him from the floor.
"What’s wrong?" William asked. "Is it over? Can we go eat now?"
A wave of low snickers rippled through the chamber, and the faces on the Republican side grew even darker.
"No, sir." Bernard wished he could find a hole to crawl into. "They’re arguing a point of order. You need to make a ruling."
"A ruling?"
William furrowed his brow.
’What a pain.’
He turned his head to look at Bernard, his eyes full of innocence and pleading for help.
"So, what do I do now?"
"Am I supposed to bang it once, or twice?"
William’s hand reached for the object resting on a velvet cushion.
The Swarovski Crystal Gavel wasn’t ready yet, so this was a solid silver paperweight he’d brought from home, shaped like a running cheetah.
He thought it looked much better than some stupid wooden mallet.
"Is one bang to shut them up, two to pass something, and three to adjourn?"
William had no clue about any of these rules.
Bernard took a deep breath and glanced at the situation on the floor.
The one speaking was a Democratic senator, defending an amendment that favored the Industrial Revival Alliance.
"Bang it once, sir," Bernard whispered quickly in his ear. "Then say: ’Objection overruled, you may continue.’"
"Oh, got it."
William nodded.
He grabbed the silver cheetah and casually rapped it on the desk.
CLANG!
The sound of metal striking wood was sharp, but it had an incongruous, comical quality.
"Hey, you... the one in the gray suit."
William pointed at the Republican senator.
"Your objection is invalid."
"I think he’s doing a fine job. I didn’t understand a word, but his tie color is a good choice."
"Carry on."
The Republican senator’s jaw dropped. In his sixty years of life and twenty years in the legislature, he had never heard such a reason for a ruling.
’A good tie color?’
’What the hell kind of parliamentary procedure is that?’
"Mr. Speaker! This is a desecration of procedure!" the Republican senator roared in fury. "You can’t just... because of a tie color..."
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
William, growing impatient, banged the cheetah a few more times.
"Order! Order!"
William scowled.
"You’re too loud. You’re giving me a headache."
"Besides, your suit fits you poorly. It’s bunching at the shoulders. As a public figure, you should put more effort into managing your image instead of just standing here shouting."
"Sit down."
William waved his hand as if shooing away a fly.
"Next."
The Republican senator was trembling with rage, his face the color of liver. Finally, amidst a sea of suppressed laughter, he had no choice but to sit down.
He couldn’t debate this.
Against a madman who completely disregarded logic, any political attack was like punching cotton.
The session continued.
This absurd scene repeated itself over the next hour.
Whenever a vote was needed, William would peek out from behind his magazine and look blankly at Bernard.
"Now what?"
"Pass it, sir."
"Excellent."
CLANG!
"And now?"
"Reject it, sir."
"No problem."
CLANG!
William became a perfect voting machine.
He had no political stance, no conflicting interests, and no moral burden.
He only listened to Bernard.
And Bernard listened to Evelyn.
The entire Senate agenda, on this absurd afternoon, moved forward with unprecedented efficiency.
Bills that the Republicans would normally have delayed for weeks or even months using procedural rules were passed one after another, like a flowing stream, to the sound of William’s casual raps.
The Republicans tried to protest, tried to use parliamentary procedure to block him.
But they discovered that trying to reason with William using the rules was like playing a harp to a cow.
William simply didn’t understand, nor did he want to.
All he would say was: "You’re too noisy," "Your haircut is ugly," or "I’m going for afternoon tea."
He defeated professionalism with ignorance, and dissolved seriousness with absurdity.
Of course, this efficiency didn’t touch upon the core interests at stake.
William was only skipping over boring procedural obstructions, like whether supplementary hearing materials were needed or if the wording of a certain clause was precise enough.
But when it came to bills that could truly hurt the Republican Party’s donors—like imposing an environmental tax on shale gas extraction—the Republican senators would still vote "nay" without hesitation, killing the bill at the voting stage.
For these senators, William’s arrival merely transformed a single, lengthy debate into ten brief votes.
The process was comical, but the outcome remained unchanged.
But William didn’t know any of this.
All he knew was that when Bernard told him the last item on the agenda was finished, he could clock out.
He rolled up the magazine and stuffed it into his pocket.
"Finally done."
William stood up and stretched.
"Bernard, make a reservation for me. I want steak."
"And tell Evelyn this job is exhausting. I’m going to need more money."
With that, in full view of everyone, he pocketed the silver cheetah and sauntered off the dais.
The heavy doors closed behind him.
A long silence fell over the assembly hall.
Dozens of politicians, veterans of many political storms, sat in their seats, staring at the empty dais and digesting the absurd spectacle that had unfolded that afternoon.
A few minutes later, the first sound of a zipper being pulled was heard.
Immediately after, the rustling of papers being gathered rose from all corners.
The Republican senator who had just been scolded by William for his ugly haircut touched his hair, then expressionlessly stuffed the draft bill on his desk into his briefcase.
One by one, everyone stood up and headed for the exit.
No one protested anymore, and no one bothered to discuss Robert’s Rules of Order.
What was done was done.
No matter how foolish this William Saint Cloud was, he was now the highest officer of the Pennsylvania State Senate.
The old order had been torn to shreds. They had to start adapting to this brand-new way of playing the game.
But for them, this was hardly a difficult task.
In this quagmire called politics, the survival skill these people prided themselves on most was, and always had been, adaptation.
They had adapted to greedy tyrants, hypocrites full of lies, and capitalists who would devour a person whole, bones and all.
Now, all they had to do was adapt to a dandy who read fashion magazines and cared about color coordination.
The moment the shrewder senators walked out the door, their minds were already adjusting their strategies.
Dealing with a Speaker who couldn’t even read the title of a bill might just be far easier than dealing with an old fox like Kaufman.
The senators dispersed into the corridor, their expressions returning to their usual stern and respectable masks.
Politics was never anything that profound.
It wasn’t so sacred, nor was it so complex.
Peel back the layers of constitutional articles, parliamentary procedures, and Latin terminology, and its core was as simple as a street brawl.
It was nothing more than the distribution of interests, a contest of power, and, when necessary, knowing how to decorously plunge a knife into an opponent’s ribs.
As for who was sitting on the dais banging the gavel—a wise man or a fool—it didn’t really matter.
As long as the card table was still there, and as long as the chips were still in play.
The game would go on.