Allesandra ignored the comment. “A’Teni, the Ambassador-and the Numetodo-have also given to the Faith. Your war-teni now use techniques developed by the Numetodo, in particular those created by the Ambassador and Councillor ca’Pallo both. Archigos Ana certainly saw the value of their work.”
Ca’Paim’s lips pressed together even tighter at the mention of Ana’s name, then she smiled, though with some effort. “One might think you’re deliberately trying to goad me, Kraljica.”
“One would be correct,” Allesandra said. “You have to admit it worked, Soleil. It always does.”
“And you always push the knife in as deeply as you can, Allesandra,” the woman answered, and the two of them laughed. Allesandra saw the woman visibly relax, sitting back against the cushions of her chair and taking another scone. “These are quite good,” she said to Allesandra. “Tell your pastry chef that he must send the recipe to my baker.” She took a bite. Swallowed. “Archigos Karrol would tell you the same as I’ve told you.”
“No doubt. But I haven’t asked him, have I?-not that there would be time to do so, in any event. I’m asking you.”
“I truly don’t like this, Allesandra, for several reasons. I wish you wouldn’t force the issue. It puts both me and the Faith in an awkward position.”
It’s your reputation you’re worried about. Not the Faith. Allesandra smiled again at the older woman. “The Old Temple is better suited for the crowds than the Grand Hall here in the palais. You have to admit that; you saw the hall at the Gschnas.”
“Yes, but the Old Temple is dedicated to Cenzi’s worship, and as a Numetodo, the Ambassador was outspoken in his disbelief in our tenets. He believed there were no gods at all.”
“Yet-again-he has helped your Faith, and he was also Archigos Ana’s great friend. Whatever you might think of Ana, you can’t say that she wasn’t bound to the Faith’s beliefs. I’m not asking you to give Karl the funeral rites of the Faith-and Varina would rightly howl in protest if I did. I’m asking to use the best venue in the city for the occasion. That’s all. Cover the murals if you wish. Take all the trappings of the Faith out from beneath the Great Dome. The Grand Hall here is large enough, yes, but it’s still under construction-that was fine for the Gschnas, but not for the dignity demanded by this funeral. The funds we could spare went first to the reconstruction of the Old Temple and Cu’Brunelli’s Dome, not to the Kraljica’s Palais.”
A grimace. “I can’t offer you my staff’s help. Not openly.”
Allesandra knew then that she had won. She wondered if ca’Paim could hear the satisfaction in her voice. “Talbot can reach out to your aide for procedural details and to decide how many of my own staff we need to assign to ensure everything goes smoothly. We’ll use palais staff and the Garde Kralji for crowd control. And you can tell Archigos Karrol that I bullied you into accepting this by threatening to withhold the final payment on the building funds.”
“Would you do that?”
Allesandra brought one shoulder toward her cheek. “Is it necessary?”
One of ca’Paim’s fingers stroked the golden summit of another scone. The woman sighed. “No. I suppose not, though I still don’t like it.”
“Good,” Allesandra said. “And you’ll be there, Soleil? Seated next to me?”
Another sigh. “You’ve become shameless as you’ve aged, Allesandra. Absolutely shameless. I will attend since you insist, but I won’t speak. I cannot.”
“That’s understood.” Allesandra leaned forward and patted the woman’s hand. “Thank you, Soleil. I’ll tell Varina what you’ve done; she’ll appreciate the gesture.”
“What about Nico Morel’s followers?” ca’Paim asked. “He’s the one you should be worrying about. You know how deeply that man hates the Numetodo. They are sure to protest, and demonstrations by the Morellis have turned violent before. Have you read the proclamation he and his people posted all over the city yesterday about the Ambassador’s death? They’ll be railing against any display of support for the Ambassador, and there might well be worse trouble with them.”
This time it was Allesandra who frowned. “Ambassador ca’Rudka showed me the proclamation, and it was vile and disgusting. You’re probably right. Perhaps Commandant cu’Ingres might give Vajiki Morel and his local troublemakers free lodging in the Bastida for a few days, assuming we can find them before the ceremony. In any case, I’ll make certain the Commandant’s posted sufficient gardai in case there is an issue. And if you would have your teni tailor their Admonitions today and tomorrow against the Morellis…”
“Fine,” ca’Paim told her. “That much I’m happy to do. But I have to tell you, Kraljica…” ca’Paim frowned sternly. “There are teni here, especially the younger ones but even those high in the Faith, who have an unhealthy amount of sympathy for Nico Morel and his philosophy. Far too many of them than I like.”
“I know,” Allesandra told her. “That infection is among the populace as well, I’m afraid. The man’s influence is is becoming increasingly dangerous. Soleil, I appreciate your cooperation in this. I know it’s not what you want, and I know that it will cause you grief with Brezno, and for that I’m genuinely sorry.”
Ca’Paim nodded to that and plucked another scone from the plate. “Archigos Karrol and Brezno I can deal with,” she said. “I only hope this turns out to be what you want, Allesandra.”
Nico Morel
Nico stared at the young man who had brought the news. “You’re certain of this?” he asked. “Certain?”
The man-an e’teni of the Concenzia Faith, still wearing his green robes-bowed. “Yes, Absolute Nico. A’Teni ca’Paim announced it to the staff this afternoon.” His gaze kept skittering away, as if he were afraid that Nico’s temper might erupt and leave him a charred husk. Nico took a long breath-the news did burn in his gut, furious and hot. It was an outrage, an insult to Cenzi to have Ambassador ca’Pallo’s funeral at the Old Temple. A Numetodo, resting in that sacred place, being praised there… But he managed a grim smile for the e’teni. “Thank you for coming to tell us,” he said. “And may Cenzi’s Blessing come to you for your efforts.” He gave the man the sign of Cenzi.
The e’teni smiled quickly at that and bowed his way from the room, closing the crooked wooden door behind him. Nico turned to the window: between the gaps of the warped shutter, he looked down on an Oldtown alley, the central gutter clogged with waste and trash. The house they were using was on a street with two neighboring butcher shops, and the offal and stench from the carcasses was sometimes overpowering.
It was nearly dusk; the light-teni would soon be setting alight the famous lamps of the Avi A’Parete, the wide boulevard that ringed the old confines of Nessantico. He saw the flash of green as the e-teni emerged from the house and scurried back to his duties at the Old Temple, dashing between two whores walking toward the taverns on the next street. Nico could smell the piss and shit on the streets below: the scent of corruption.
That odor defined Nessantico to him.
Strangely, these weren’t the smells he remembered from his time in Nessantico before the Tehuantin. In those childhood memories, Oldtown was warm and comfortable, tasting of spices and the perfume of his matarh and the sweet odor of her sweat when he hugged her on hot summer days. It was the scent of the herbs his Westlander vatarh had used in the brass bowl he’d always carried. That Nessantico was bright and colorful, alive with hope and promise.