One by one the Emperor, the Anonymous, the King, the Chair, the Headmaster, even the Director failed to meet Ganymede’s eyes. He did not even glance at me.
“I think I was considerably less in love with Apollo Mojave than most,” Madame volunteered, “and I don’t think this is something Utopians would do, not as politics, or as a prank. It isn’t…,” she groped, “future-oriented enough.”
“It’s true,” Kosala agreed. “They don’t care about the Seven-Ten lists, or the next election, they only care what happens two hundred years from now.”
Duke Ganymede rolled over onto his back, and all within the room, Jehovah excepted, leaned forward to savor the spectacle. “But have we actually heard them say they didn’t do it?” he asked.
“If I may speak, Your Grace?” I petitioned, though I knew the shadow my intrusion would cast over the company.
“What is it, Mycroft?”
I dug my fingers into my habit’s rope belt, since here I had no hat with which to fidget in my nervousness. “I talked to a Utopian today, one who would know, and asked that very question. If a Utopian is involved in this, then even the constellation trusted with their most sensitive project doesn’t know about it.”
Madame stroked MASON’s black hair, gently, as one does to calm a snarling hound. It was not I but Ganymede who had dared pronounce Apollo’s name, but the hate still burned in MASON, eyes which had endured the Testing of the Successor moved almost to anger-tears. I speculate sometimes how best I might die, when the time comes. There are many with the moral right to take my life, but Caesar has suffered more than anyone, not just Apollo’s loss, but the agony of suppressing his rightful rage when he could kill me any hour, any day. If I can gift my death to anyone, it will be Cornel MASON.
Headmaster Faust is an avatar of curiosity. “What project would that be, Mycroft? What constellation?”
“Cultural preparations for Mars,” I answered without actually lying.
That they accepted.
“The Outsider, then?” Chair Kosala suggested.
Andō was first to answer. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because the Outsider knows nothing about anything, and Europe gains nothing from doing this.”
She leaned against her Anonymous. “We’re running out of logical suspects. Either one of us has a subordinate who’s betrayed us”—Kosala’s eyes strayed to the King of Spain—“or it’s the Utopians, or the Outsider, or something else entirely.”
“I think,” Spain voiced, mildly, “I think it’s time we brought the Outsider in.”
I asked myself, reading this over, why I describe the King of Spain less vividly than all the others. In truth he is less vivid, always restrained and stately, trained from infancy to do nothing he could not be seen doing on a coin. I think misfortune too has made him quiet, he who alone among the circle joined more out of necessity than choice, for when Her Majesty the Queen was institutionalized, where could our unlucky monarch turn, whose strict office permitted neither divorce nor a common affair, except to this professional King’s Mistress, unrivaled in the arts of secrecy? He has a conscience, this King, a fierce one whose gnawing pains him like an illness. Since his Queen’s death I have personally witnessed five of his attempts to “set things right” and persuade Madame to become his lawful wife. But Madame always has Caesar holding her other hand, and so the widower must wait.
“Bring the Outsider in?” Danaë cried. “Over this? No, no, your Majesty, this is a petty thing, all this will pass. The Outsider will be nobody again at the next election, we don’t want to be saddled with them after that!”
“As you are saddled with me now?” he asked.
Her eyes filled at once with sparkling tears, enough to make both her husband and brother hot to comfort her. “Your Majesty, I didn’t mean…”
Spain saved her from finishing. “Perry will win the next election.”
Only the Anonymous was not stunned too much to ask, “Why do you think that?”
“Because Perry has seduced the Prince of Asturias.”
Duke Ganymede actually choked at the news. “You must be kidding, Spain. That upstart has sunk his fangs in Crown Prince Leonor Valentín?” He looked to Madame as if she and she alone had the right to approve such matches.
“I don’t know if there is sex involved or merely money and corruption,” the King replied, “but Perry’s … alliance … with my heir is quite complete. At the next election, if I do not run, the Prince will campaign in support of Perry. If I do run, Perry will expose the Prince’s involvement in certain inappropriate activities, and that, combined with my embarrassment from the last election, will likely end my family’s part in politics for the next two generations.”
“We shouldn’t invite him in, we should crush him!” Danaë seethed, forming fists, her porcelain fingers clutched in balls which seemed too fragile to strike a real blow. “This affront is outrageous! And against such a venerable line! Madame, you must agree, we should ally and crush this offender!”
Madame’s fan could not hide her painted brow, which wrinkled around eyes bright with calculations. “Certainly, dear child, we could do as you propose, but if that were what His Majesty wished, he would have asked it. Is that not so?”
The King nodded. “Perry has not done badly as Prime Minister. Europe is doing well. If Perry has chosen this somewhat underhanded method to remain in office, it may simply be because they know they face a rather unfair alliance on my side. I know that you, my friends, could and would crush Perry if I asked, but I have neither the moral right nor any desire to crush a perfectly competent politician, just because we are competing for the same office.”
“And if Perry isn’t as benign as you imagine?” You will be surprised, reader, to hear that it was Bryar Kosala who suggested the dark option first. The World’s Mom may be the most forgiving, but she is also most vicious when family is threatened. “What if Perry was behind fixing the last election too? Planted Ziven Racer on your staff to sabotage you?”
Cornel MASON nodded. “Sugiyama’s Seven-Ten list has drawn fresh attention to Ziven Racer, to your embarrassment, Spain. I wouldn’t rule Perry out as a suspect for Black Sakura just yet.”
The King accepted their counterarguments in gracious calm, as when he hears out all his ministers, though his decision is already made. “All the more reason, then, to test them.”
“It would be easy to arrange,” Madame took over. “Perry has been a midlevel member of this establishment for six years now. No one could advance so far in politics without some help from here.”
“Are they addicted?” the Anonymous asked first.
“Oh ho ho,” Headmaster Faust laughed like a merry giant. “As addicted to the ladies as you are, Déguisé. No offense.” He smirked, but the Anonymous has long since reconciled himself to the power petticoats and coquetry have over him. “Perry’s here twice a week at least,” the Headmaster continued, “fond of the Salon Cleopatra, and…” I omit here, reader, details—both lewd and Brillist—which are not pertinent to this history. Whatever his other accomplishments, Felix Faust is an unparalleled voyeur, and quick to forget Danaë’s presence at this opportunity to demonstrate his knowledge. “I’ve seen Perry in the sex-free sections of the middle level, too,” he continued, “the dueling ring, gambling rooms, the dance hall, wooing the ladies, that little blonde especially, Clara, is that their name, Madame? Wooing as if to wed, not that one can blame the wretch for wanting some way to be satisfied at home, eh, Andō?” The Director did not acknowledge the jibe. “Has Perry made you an offer yet, Madame,” Faust asked, “on the bride?”