"I, Duncan Angus McLintock, do swear that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth the Second, Queen of Canada, Her Heirs, and Successors. So help me G.o.d."

"Congratulations, Professor McLintock, you are now officially a Member of the House of Commons of the Parliament of Canada," the Clerk intoned.

"Saints preserve us," Angus remarked in a doleful sigh.

I turned to the photographer for the first time. "When can we have access to the shots?" I asked. "We're going to need them soon for our first householder."

"They're digital, so I'll e-mail them to you when we're finished with the other MPs," he responded. "You'll have them by the end of the day."

"Perfect," I said and provided him with my e-mail address.

We were almost to the door when Angus piped up again. "Just before we take our leave, I reckon I should learn what I can about the procedures of the House before I'm in the thick of it. What would you recommend?" he asked the Clerk.

She was ready for the question and handed Angus a slim volume published by the Queen's Printers right in Centre Block.

"These are the Standing Orders that govern all that happens in the House. They define everything you ought to know about procedure from how question period works, to how many days we debate the Throne Speech. It is a clear and invaluable resource drafted to be accessible to the layperson or, in this case, a neophyte Member of Parliament. You may, of course, always call me or my staff with any queries you may have," she replied.

"I thank you."

Angus bowed slightly, and we stepped back out into the corridor.

"Let's make one more stop before heading back to the office," I proposed.

Angus seemed distracted but followed me, nevertheless. When he surfaced from his reverie, we were standing in front of the open main doors of the House of Commons. The guards on duty noted Angus's lapel pin and stood aside.

"After you," I said. "I can only go to the arch."

Angus walked in and stood on the green carpet, surveying the heart of Parliament. As I'd hoped, his standing there had the desired impact. The room is extraordinary in its design, power, and history. Even a visitor from another planet would know matters of great import unfolded in that chamber.

I watched as Angus took it all in. Although the seats had not yet been a.s.signed, Angus seemed thrilled just to stand there. Eventually, he retreated and rejoined me.

"I still cannae believe I've a seat in that place. It's all a wee bit overwhelmin'. Humblin', in fact," he whispered.

"Indeed," was all I said.

We returned to our office where Angus broke out a new bottle of Lagavulin. He poured himself a generous measure and leaned back in his chair with his feet on the bare desktop. I sat in one of the 40-year-old guest chairs in front of him. The sun shone through the window behind, crowning his head in a beatific halo. His cranial corona made the wayward strands of his frizzled hair look as if they were on fire.

"All right, you'd better tell me what's goin' on now that they've let me in here," he sighed as he downed half of his single malt in one gulp.

I leaned forward towards him, resting my elbows on my knees. "Okay, here's the deal. Like every other MP, the House of Commons provides you with a budget to run this office as well as your const.i.tuency office in c.u.mberland. The allocation is rather paltry and really only permits the hiring of two Parliament Hill staff and two const.i.t staff." I stopped to make sure he was with me. He seemed to be. "I've already taken the liberty of hiring Camille Boudreau to help manage this office. The Leader's staff sent her over. She used to work over there but left when they no longer had room for her. I think you'll like her. I'm not certain she's an intellectual powerhouse, but on our budget, we should be happy with anyone who can read, write, and tie their own shoelaces. She starts next week."

He nodded.

"As for your const.i.tuency office, I've secured a small but adequate storefront s.p.a.ce just off Riverfront Road. The price was right. After the landlord heard it was for your const.i.tuency office, he gave us a real deal seems your honest and heartfelt little monologue on election night struck a chord with him. Anyway, Muriel is going to help us get it set up and will work afternoons when she's feeling up to it. She's also going to hire a full-time office manager to keep the trains running on time. The two Petes, who canva.s.sed for you almost every day of the campaign, which should actually earn them the Order of Canada, are going to work part-time, their engineering studies permitting."

"Ah yes, the two Petes. I'd like to examine the structural engineerin' of their hair. The way they make it stand straight out from their heads seems to play fast and loose with Newton's truths," Angus observed.

I resisted the temptation to remind Angus that his own hair broke a few laws of its own. "Well, I'm sure they'd share their technique with you," I said. "We're actually very lucky to have them still on board. We can't pay them very much, but they agreed, anyway."

"Aye, I'll be sure to thank them. Without their tireless campaignin', I might well be havin' a nap right now or tinkerin' in my workshop, and that would be horrible," he spat in a tone I can only describe by using a new word I created for my own private use: sarcaustic.

I must confess I was shocked by how small our budget was. I'd grown accustomed to the more generous allocations made to the office of the Leader of the Opposition. Now, I'd have to scrimp and save and actually pay attention to how much money we spent. Not a bad thing, I suppose, since it was public money.

"In addition to your salary of about $150,000, you'll also receive a housing allowance that will go straight into your pocket, a.s.suming you're going to live in c.u.mberland and commute to Ottawa every day," I explained.

"Send the housin' allowance back," Angus commanded.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Can ye not hear me? Send the housin' allowance back from whence it came. I don't need it. I won't be usin' it. And so it doesna' belong to me. Send it back."

I should not have been surprised. I decided it would be a waste of time to pursue this further and made a mental note to call the House of Commons operations staff to see about reversing the housing allowance. While I wouldn't want Angus to know, I decided I'd quietly pa.s.s along this little public-minded gesture to a reporter or two in the gallery. It was good fodder for the McLintock myth-making machine.

"Thy will be done," I replied. "I trust you're happy to let me manage the staffing of both offices and that you don't feel the need to meet them first."

"Well, the horse is already out of that barn now, isn't it? That bein' said, I've neither the knowledge nor the inclination to be of much use on that front. That's why I've you," he declared. "How did you talk Muriel into puttin' in time in the c.u.mberland office?"

"I didn't have to ask her. She offered. In fact, it took me quite some time to convince her that she should be paid for her time. We'll get far more out of having her on staff than we could ever hope to give her in return," I observed. "If there were a Liberal volunteer hall of fame, she'd be a charter inductee."

"Aye, she's quite a la.s.s. She called earlier on, and we had another nice chat. She was giving me pointers on the appropriate conduct of an MP."

"Was she looking for me?" I asked.

"I don't think so. Yer name never came up," he said. "By the way, what in blazes is a householder?"

"Four times each year, the House of Commons pays for a mailing to all of your const.i.tuents to keep them informed of your tireless and constructive efforts on their behalf. We call that news letter a householder. I'm big on photos because that's what const.i.tuents remember. Plus, the more photos, the less writing for us to do," I informed him. "Lindsay has already started to map out your first householder. I figure we'll send it out in about a month when your honeymoon with the voters may start to wane. When your profile is as high and as positive as it is right now, you can only go in one direction from there."

"Sounds like a brag sheet intended to serve to MPs' egos. I don't want ours to look like all the others. Let's really make ours useful, not a photo alb.u.m," Angus directed.

"We'll sit down with Lindsay next week and kick around some ideas," I suggested. "It's late. I'll drive us home, we'll have some dinner, and then, I'll do my best to redeem my shoddy chess playing of late."

Angus downed what little remained of his Lagavulin and rose. "As grand a plan as ever I've heard," he answered.

I'd snagged a parking spot just to the west of Centre Block another perk of past service. Though he tried to conceal it, I could tell Angus was pleased when several House of Commons' staff said "good night, sir" as we walked to the car. My cell phone rang as we reached the parking lot. It was Bradley Stanton, who'd resumed his role as chief of staff to the Leader of the Opposition following the election.

"Addison, are you still on the Hill?" he asked.

"Angus and I are just in the parking lot, why?"

"The Leader would like to meet your guy if you can come back in for a few minutes," Stanton said.

"Hang on a sec, Bradley." I turned to Angus, covering my cell's mouthpiece microphone with my thumb. "Our fearless Leader wants to shake your hand and bask in your glory. It'll only take a couple of minutes," I said.

His shoulders drooped. "Do we have to? I'm beat, and the chessboard beckons," he scowled.

"Angus, he's the Leader of the Liberal Party and perhaps our next Prime Minister. When he asks for an audience, protocol not to mention, courtesy suggests we give him one. We'll be in the car in 15 minutes tops."

The Leader's office was also in Centre Block on the second floor. His office overlooked Parliament Hill and was a beautiful s.p.a.ce with lots of carved wood and leaded windows. We were shown in. He was on the phone with his back to us, looking out the window. He finished his conversation and turned to find Angus and me before him.

"Duncan, my friend, how good to finally meet you," the Leader boomed.

I prayed Angus would not correct his split infinitive. The Leader did not take kindly to criticism. It made advising him a perilous task.

"It's nice finally to meet you, too," Angus replied, deftly rejoining the infinitive without burdening the Leader with any grammatical elucidation. "I go by Angus."

The Leader came around the exquisite wooden desk that once belonged to Laurier and gripped Angus with his habitual political handshake. It was much like any other handshake except with the addition of the strong, left-hand shoulder squeeze, connoting great friendship, respect, and affection for the person he's just met for the first time. The Leader had a tendency to invade your personal s.p.a.ce when talking to you. From my vantage point, it looked as if his forehead actually came into contact with some of Angus's unruly locks. Even though Angus's hair was standing up as if straining to defect, the Leader was still right in his face. Angus tilted back to create separation.

"Angus you've done a great thing, knocking Cameron off his pedestal," the Leader declared.

"Well, the way I see it, sir, Mr. Cameron jumped off of his own accord. I just happened to be the least unpalatable alternative."

"Nonsense, man! Don't be so modest. You ran a great campaign. I followed it very closely. You deserve the accolades being heaped on you now. You've worked your way into the hearts of Canadians, and that usually takes years. Your victory was quite a coup and sets us up well for the next time around."

Angus just shook his head, the expression on his face eloquently asking "are you daft man?" My heart rate increased in antic.i.p.ation of what might next fly from his lips.

"Since we're on the subject of nonsense, my campaign and my candidacy were not worth a tinker's curse no offence to my colleague here," Angus patted my back in rea.s.surance. "I didnae win the d.a.m.nable election. Cameron lost it, and no blatherskite's foolish ramblin's will ever change that."

The Leader was taken aback, unaccustomed to being contradicted. He turned to me with a "what gives?" look on his face.

"Ah, sir, blatherskite is a Scottish term of endearment. As you can well imagine, Angus is still coming to grips with our rather surprising victory," I skated, with very weak ankles.

"Understandable, completely understandable. It's been a shock to us all. But I have to say your little speech at the airport was a masterstroke. Daniel must have polished that prose for hours. It was brilliant," the Leader gushed.

I jumped in before Angus could tear the fabric off this meeting any farther. "Ah, actually, Angus is a wonderful writer and orator in his own right. I heard his speech for the first time that night when everyone else did. Angus was just speaking from his heart. There was none of my wordsmithing at all. It was completely extemporaneous," I clarified.

"Amazing. And I really do like the disheveled maverick look you've cultivated. The hair and beard are great very strong and tough. Very 'bring it on' and 'go ahead, make my day.' Canadians really seemed to have bought it, you old rascal," he nodded, and smiled conspiratorially. Fortunately, he didn't actually elbow Angus in the ribs.

We drove in silence for quite some time, and then, just as c.u.mberland hove into view, Angus weighed in.

"So he's the Leader of the Liberal Party."

"He wasn't exactly on his game today, Angus. I got to know him pretty well when I worked there, and he really is a good guy," I replied, feeling the need to defend my former employer.

"We don't need 'good guys' runnin' the country, Professor Addison. We need smart people who know what's what and aren't afraid to make the right decisions," Angus countered. "I dinnae get a good feelin' from him."

"Don't lock in your judgment, yet. He's done a good job. He just needs to surround himself with different people. He's got too many Bradley Stantons on his staff and not enough PLUs."

"PLUs?" he asked, looking quizzical.

"People Like Us."

I got whipped in our first two games but managed to draw the third. I retired to the boathouse, tired and uneasy. Angus had been sworn in. The Throne Speech was scheduled for the following week. I was back wearing my old life, but it somehow no longer fit.

DIARY.

Tuesday, November 5

My Love,

I still cannot quite wrap my mind around it, but I was sworn in today as the Member of Parliament for c.u.mberland-Prescott. How did this happen? What am I to do? What would you do? Don't answer that. I actually know what you'd do. You'd jump in with both feet and crusade until you fell. Aye, that's what you'd do. I don't think I can muster the gumption to do it like you would, but I'll head down that road as far as my flesh and faculties will take me.

Young Daniel is coddling me like a new puppy even though I keep chewing the furniture and p.i.s.sing on the floor. His shoulders weren't built for the guilt they're bearing. I'm still mad, but I know it's not his fault. If anyone's to blame, 'tis I. So quick was I to escape E for E that my judgment was clouded and my decision ill made. And now I sit in the d.a.m.n House of Commons for my sins.

It's a wonderful chamber. Glorious. I'm not keen on the green they've used for the carpet, but other than that, 'tis a fitting and worthy House. And the library we have there I've never seen its likes before. It will make each day of my stay in Ottawa a little more bearable.

The Clerk gave me the Standing Orders that govern the goings on in the House. My methodical engineer's brain tells me that advantage in the parliamentary battle is conferred on those who know the rules of engagement. I'm told this is particularly so for a minority Parliament like this one. If I'm to spend time skirmishing there, and it seems I am, I intend to seize that advantage.

I confess that when I delve underneath the great shock and dislocation of the last three weeks, I'm forced to admit that a part of me, perhaps even a growing part of me, is excited at what the future holds, while another healthy portion laments the loss of my old and comfortable life. And there's still plenty of room for dreams and memories of you. I've no choice in that matter. As I venture through the labyrinth of my new world, I'm guided by one simple question: What would you have me do?

AM.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

"You are the lab rat in what could be a cla.s.sic experiment in Canadian democracy," I noted from the pa.s.senger seat as Angus drove us to Ottawa in his Toyota Camry. "I say that with great respect and regard."

"Aye, but I heard it with distaste and disdain," countered Angus. He gave me a withering look and held it as long as the road was straight.

"Seriously now, think about it. Perhaps for the first time in Canadian history, the voters have elected a Member of Parliament whose singular commitment is to the public interest, not his own, and the political consequences be d.a.m.ned," I continued. "You cannot be bought, you have no desire for re-election, you have no interest in higher office, and you don't care what people think of you. You actually do what you say. You are the mirror opposite of what Canadians have come to expect from their politicians. You are the antipolitician. In fact, my rudimentary understanding of physics suggests that if you were to collide head-on with a traditional politician, you might cancel one another out and both disappear in a puff of smoke," I concluded, quite pleased with my little theory.

What was the thoughtful and enlightened response of the newly elected MP from c.u.mberland-Prescott? He paused, looked pensive with brow furrowed like a freshly plowed field, and narrowed his eyes to slits. He then reached over and pushed in the ca.s.sette that protruded from the stereo in the dash. Out blasted the greatest hits of the 48th Highlanders. I've always liked "Amazing Grace." It's a very nice little tune. But played by 62 bagpipers at ear-bleeding volume in a compact car with a stereo of questionable fidelity, the tune lost some of its l.u.s.tre. I turned down "Amazing Grace" until it was drowned out by the ringing in my ears. I let another 15 kilometres pa.s.s in silence before dipping my toe in the frigid waters again.

"I just think if more politicians adopted your approach, we'd be rewarded with better government and a healthier democracy."

"My approach? What is my approach? I've only just arrived. Why not let me find out where the parliamentary c.r.a.pper is before you declare me the cure for all that ails democracy," Angus commented with finality.