“Why are you alone?” Duke Ennersin was speaking directly to Venera. “Why are we to take this one person’s word for who she is? Where is the rest of her nation? Why has she appeared here, now, after an absence of centuries?”
“Yes, yes, we’re going to get to those questions,” soothed Lady Anseratte. “First, however, we have some formalities to clear away. Amandera Thrace-Guiles’s claim is pointless and instantly void if she cannot produce documents indicating her paternity and ancestry, as well as the notarized deeds and titles of her nation, plus the key.” She beamed at Venera. “You have all those things?”
Silently, Venera rose and walked to the table. She placed the thick sheaf of papers she’d brought in front of Anseratte. Then she unscrewed the heavy signet ring from her finger and placed it atop the stack.
This was her opening move, but she couldn’t count on its effect.
“I see,” said Lady Anseratte. “May I examine the ring?” Venera nodded, returning to her seat. Lady Anseratte took a flat box with some lights on it and hovered it over the ring. The box glowed and made a musical bonging sound.
“Duly authenticated,” said the lady. She carefully placed the ring to one side and opened the sheaf. Much of its contents were genuine. Venera had found the deeds and titles in the tower. It had been the work of several careful days to extend the family tree by several centuries and insert herself at its end. She had intended to use her own not-inconsiderable talents at forgery but had been indisposed, but Garth had come through, displaying surprising skills. He was not just a gigolo in his previous life, evidently. As the papers were passed up and down the table Venera kept a bland expression on her face. She tried the wine, and adjusted the fall of her skirt again.
“Convincing,” said Jacoby Sarto after flipping through the papers. “But just because something is convincing that doesn’t mean it’s true. It’s merely convincing. What can you do to establish the truth of your claim?”
Venera tilted her head to one side. “It would be impossible to do so to everyone’s satisfaction, sir, just as it would be impossible for you to prove that you are, without doubt, Jacoby Sarto of Nation Sacrus. I rather think the onus is on this council to disprove my claim, if they can.”
August Virilio opened one eye slightly. “Why don’t we start with your story? I always like a good story after supper.”
“Excellent idea,” said Pamela Anseratte. “Duke Ennersin asked why it is that you are here before us now, of all times. Can you explain why your nation has hidden away so thoroughly for so long?”
Venera actually knew the answer to that one—it had been written in the contorted bodies of the soldiers inside the tower, and in the scrawled final confessions of the dead woman in the bedchamber.
Steepling her hands, Venera smiled directly at Jacoby Sarto and said, “The answer is simple. We knew that if we left Buridan Tower, we would be killed.”
This was gambit number two.
The council members expressed various shades of surprise, shock, and satisfaction at her revelation. Jacoby Sarto crossed his arms and sat back. “Who would do this?” asked Anseratte. She was still standing and now leaned forward over the table.
“The isolation of Buridan Tower wasn’t an accident,” said Venera. “Or, at least, not entirely. It was the result of an attack—and the attackers were two of the great nations present at this table tonight.”
August Virilio smiled sleepily, but Principe Guinevera leapt to his feet, knocking his chair over. “Who?” he raged. “Name them, fair lady, and we will see justice done!”
“I did not come here to open old wounds,” said Venera. “Although I recognize that my position here is perilous, I had no choice but to leave the tower. Everyone else there is dead—save myself and my manservant. Some bird-borne illness took the last five of our people a month ago. I consigned their bodies to the winds of Virga, as we have been doing for centuries now. Before that we were dwindling, despite careful and sometimes repugnant breeding restrictions and constant austerity… We lived on birds and airfish we caught with nets, and supplemented our diets with vegetables we grew in the abandoned bedrooms of our ancestors. Had I died in that place, then our enemies would truly have won. I chose a last throw of the die and came here.”
“But the war of which you speak… it was centuries ago,” said Lady Anseratte. “Why did you suppose that you would still be targeted after so long?”
Venera shrugged. “We had telescopes. We could see that our enemies’ nations were thriving. And we could also clearly see that sentries armed with machine-guns ringed the tower. I was raised to believe that if we entered the elevator and tried to reach Lesser Spyre, those machine gunners would destroy us before we rose more than a hundred meters.”
“Oh, no!” Guinevera looked acutely distressed. “The sentries were there for your protection, madam! They were to keep interlopers out, not to box you in!”
“Well.” Venera looked down. “Father thought so, but he also said that we were so reduced that we could not risk a single soul to find out. And isolation… becomes a habit.” She looked pointedly at the ambassadors of Oxorn and Garrat.
Sarto guffawed loudly. “Oh, come on! What about the dozens of attempts that have been made to contact the tower? Semaphore, loudspeakers, smoke signals, for God’s sake. They’ve all been tried and nobody ever responded.”
“I am not aware that anyone has tried to contact us during my lifetime,” said Venera. This was true, as she’d learned in the past days. Sarto would have to concede the point. “And I can’t speak to my ancestors’ motives for staying silent.”
“That’s as may be,” Sarto continued. “Look, I’ll play it straight. Sacrus was involved in the original atrocity.” He held up a hand when Guinevera protested loudly. “But gentlemen and ladies, that was centuries ago. We are prepared to admit our crime and make reparations to the council when this woman is exposed for the fraud that she is.”
“And if she’s not?” asked Guinevera angrily.
“Then to the Nation of Buridan directly,” said Sarto. “I just wanted to clear the air. We can’t name our co-conspirators because, after all this time, the records have been lost. But having admitted our part in the affair, and having proposed that we pay reparations, I can now continue to oppose this woman’s claim without any appearance of conflict.”
Venera frowned. Her second gambit had failed.
If Sacrus had wanted to keep their involvement a secret, she might have had leverage over Sarto. Maybe even enough to swing his vote. As it was he’d adroitly sidestepped the trap.
Lady Anseratte looked up and down the table. “Is the other conspirator’s nation similarly honorable? Will they admit their part?” There was a long and uncomfortable silence.
“Well, then,” said Pamela Anseratte. “Let us examine the details of your inheritances.”
From here the interview deteriorated into minutiae as the council members pulled out individual documents and points of law and debated them endlessly. Venera was tired, and every time she blinked to clear her vision, she worried that a new migraine might be reaching to crush her. Pamela Anseratte conducted the meeting as if she had boundless energy, but Venera—and everyone else—wilted under the onslaught of detail.
Sarto used sarcasm, wit, guile, and bureaucracy to try to torpedo her claim, but after several hours it became clear that he wasn’t making headway. Venera perked up a bit. I could win this, she realized—simultaneously realizing just how certain she’d been that she wouldn’t.
Finally Lady Anseratte said, “Any further points?” and nobody answered. “Well,” she said brightly, “we might as well proceed to a vote.”