the deep voice again. The man’s empty eyes were fixed on Moretti. “I feel obliged now to repeat our petition.” He crossed the room and stood at the head of the table, looking down on him. “We would like to purchase the Mountain. And we would like to have this finalized today.”
“What?” said Moretti. “Really? I mean—really?”
The man in black stared down at Moretti. “Really!” he said. “Now, I must ask—are you hearing me, Armand?”
Normally, Moretti wouldn’t begin to take such a proposal seriously, but…
…as he listened to the sound of the man’s voice, it suddenly felt very hard to do anything else.
“Who…” stammered Moretti. “What is your name again, si—”
“I did not give it,” he said. “But I know you quite well.”
“How might you know me, sir?”
“Because you have made yourself known,” said the man in the black mask. He leaned closer, head cocked, and Moretti began to feel a little troubled—he could not see any eyes behind that mask. “Haven’t you?”
“Well. I suppose so, yes, as all gentlemen must.”
“Yes,” he said dryly. “As a gentleman must. Boy?”
Participazio jumped a little in his seat.
“Why don’t you leave us for a moment, please.”
The boy practically leapt out of his seat and sprinted out of the room.
Moretti watched him go, feeling increasingly alarmed about all this. “Sir, I must ask, are…are you a certified Dandolo campo ambassador?”
“Certainly!” said the man in black. “I just don’t have any certifications.”
“But…that doesn’t make sens—”
“You know, you were one of the first ones I considered, Armand,” said the man in black. He took a seat at the table across from him. “A long, long time ago.”
“You considered me? For…what?”
“I watched you start here at this house,” continued the man in black. “I watched you begin your rise. Working your connections. Being groomed for the top stations. You seemed a promising candidate. Ambitious. Hungry. I watched you when you applied your first sigil to your first rig. It was a disaster, wasn’t it? Some kind of paper that was intended to glow…”
“Do…Do I know you?” said Moretti. “How did you know tha—”
“And I watched you,” said the man, “when you were given your first commissioned post. How proud you were that day. You beamed like a barn mouse atop the chaff.” He cocked his head. “Do you remember what you did that night when you won it, and received your first pay?”
Moretti was silent. The time lantern ticked and ticked away in the corner.
“I do,” said the man in black. “You had a servant girl bring you a saffron striper pie. A delicacy here. I remember. And then you laid nude on the bed in your rooms…and you made her feed it to you. You made her feed it to you bit by bit, with a tiny golden fork.”
Moretti felt the blood leave his face. “Stop.”
“And you enjoyed it. You enjoyed making her feed you this treat she herself would never have the pleasure of tasting,” said the man, “and you enjoyed seeing how uncomfortable it made her.” He cocked his head. “And then you dashed the plate aside, and you held her down, and you forced yourself upon her—didn’t you?”
“I say, you really can’t—”
“It wasn’t the first time. And it certainly wasn’t the last. After all—the same impulse just passed through your head at the sight of young Participazio, didn’t it?” He cocked his head the other way, a disturbing, birdlike gesture. “An impulse that extends beyond your thirst for flesh, of course—an impulse to take, to degrade, to…own. It’s really not so uncommon here, is it?”
Moretti tried to get angry. He wanted to get angry. He wanted to stand and call for the guards and have them take this man and throw him out on his ear, but…
But the man’s words kept echoing in his mind, occupying his thoughts, suffocating any outrage he could muster.
“You…you’re a liar…” whispered Moretti.
“Oh, I’m many things, Armand,”