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."
"Hang on,” said Sarto. He stood heavily. “I've got something to say.” Everyone waited.
"This woman is a fraud. We all know it. It's inconceivable that this family could have sustained themselves and their retainers for centuries within a single tower, cut off from the outside world—"
"Not inconceivable,” said the ambassador of Oxorn from behind her griffin mask. “Quite possible."
Sarto glared at her. “What did they do for clothes? For even the tiniest item of utility, such as forks or pens? Do you really believe they have an entire industrial base squirreled away in that tower?” He shook his head.
"It's equally inconceivable that someone raised in such total isolation should, upon being dropped into society and all its machinations, conduct herself like a veteran! Did she rehearse social banter with her dolls? Did she learn to dance with her rocking horse? It's preposterous on the face of it.
"And we all know why her claim has any chance of success. It's because she's bought off everyone who might oppose it. Buridan has tremendous assets—estates, ships, buildings, and industries here and on Greater Spyre that have been administered by other nations in absentia, for generations. She's promised to give those nations the assets they've tended! For the rest, she's proposing to beggar Buridan by paying all its debts here and now. When she's done Buridan will have nothing to its name but a herd of gangly equines."
"And this house,” said Venera primly. “I don't propose to give that up.” There was some stifled laughter around the table.
"It's a transparent fraud!” Sarto turned to glare at the other council members. “Forget about the formal details of her claim—in fact, let it be read that there's nothing to criticize about it. That doesn't matter. We all know the truth. She is insulting the name of a great nation of Spyre! Do you actually propose to let her get away with it?"
He was winning them over. Venera had one last hand to play, and it was her weakest. She stood up.
"Then who am I?” She strode up to the table and leaned across it to look Sarto in the eye. “If I'm a fraud I must have come from somewhere. Was I manufactured by one of the other nations, then? If so, which one? Spyre is secretive, but not so much so that we don't all keep tabs on one another's genealogies. Nobody's missing from the rosters, are they?
"And yet!” She turned to address the rest of the cou
ncil. “Gaze upon me and tell me to my face that you don't believe I am noble born.” She sneered at Sarto. “It's evident in my every gesture, in how I speak, how I address the servants. Jacoby Sarto says that he knows I am a fraud. Yet you know I am a peer!
"So then where did I come from?” She turned to Sarto again. “If Jacoby Sarto believes I did not come from Buridan Tower, then he must have some idea of where I did. What do you know, Sir Sarto, that you're not telling the rest of us? Do you have some proof that you're not sharing? A name, perhaps?"
He opened his mouth—and hesitated.
They locked eyes and she saw him realize what she was willing to do. The Key to Candesce was almost visible in the air between them; it was the real subject of tonight's deliberations.
"Sacrus has many secrets, as we've seen tonight,” she said quietly. “Is there some further secret you have, Sir Sarto, that you wish to share with the Council? A name, perhaps? One that might be recognized by the others present? A name that could be tied to recent events, to rumors and legends that have percolated through the principalities in recent weeks?” She saw puzzled frowns on several faces—and Sarto's eyes widened as he heard her tread the edge of the one revelation Sacrus did not want made public.
He looked down. “Perhaps I went too far in my accusations,” he said almost inaudibly. “I retract my statements."
Duke Ennersin leaned back in his chair, openmouthed. And Jacoby Sarto meekly sat down.
Venera returned to her seat. If I lose, everyone learns that you have the key, she thought as she settled herself on the velvet cushion. She took a sip of wine and kept her expression neutral as Pamela Anseratte stood again.
"Well,” said the lady in a cautious tone, “if there are no more outbursts ... let us put it to a vote."
Venera couldn't help but lean forward a bit.
"All those who favor this young lady's claim, and who wish to recognize the return of Buridan to Spyre and to this Council, raise your right hand."
Guinevera's hand shot up. Beside him, August Virilio languidly pushed his into the air. Pamela Anseratte raised her own hand.
Oxorn's hand went up. Then Garrat's ambassador raised his.
That made five. Venera let out the breath she'd been keeping. It was over. She had failed—
Jacoby Sarto raised his hand.
His expression was exquisite—a mixture of distaste and resignation that you might see in a man who's just volunteered to dig up a grave. Duke Ennersin was staring at him in total disbelief, and slowly turning purple.
Lady Anseratte's only show of surprise was a minute frown. “All those opposed?” she said.
Ennersin threw his hand in the air. Five others went up.
"And no abstentions,” said Anseratte. “We appear to have a tie."
Jacoby Sarto slumped back in his chair. “Well, then,” he said quietly. “I move we take the matter to the Council investigative team. Let them visit the tower and conduct a thorough—"
"Don't I get a vote?"
They all turned to stare at Venera. She sat up straighter, clearing her throat. “Well, it seems to me...” She shrugged. “It's just that this meeting was called to confirm my identity and claim to being head of Buridan. Confirmation implies a presumption that I am who I say I am. I am Buridan unless proven otherwise. And Buridan is a member of the Council. So I should have a vote."
"This is outrageous!” Duke Ennersin had had enough. He threw back his chair and stalked around the table. “You have the temerity to suggest that you—"
"She's right."
The voice was quiet and languid, almost indifferent—but it stopped Ennersin in his tracks. His head ratcheted around slowly, as if pulled by unwilling forces to look at the man who had spoken.
August Virilio was lounging back in his chair, his hands steepled in front of him. “Article five, section twelve, paragraph two of the Charter,” he said in a reasonable tone. “Identity is presumptive if there is no other proven heir. And Buridan is a member of the Council. Its title was never suspended."
"A mere formality! A courtesy!” But Ennersin's voice had lost its certainty. He appealed to Pamela Anseratte, but she simply spread her hands and smiled.
Then, looking around him at Venera, she said, “It appears you are right, dear. You do get a vote. Would you care to...?"
Venera smiled and raised her right hand. “I vote in favor,” she said.
* * * *
She was sure you could hear Ennersin outside and down the street. Venera smiled as she shepherded her guests to the door. She was delirious with relief, and was sure it showed in her ridiculous grin. Her soiree was winding down, though naturally the doors and lounges would be open all night for any stragglers. But the council members were tired; no one would criticize them for leaving early.
Ennersin was yelling at Jacoby Sarto. It was music to Venera's ears.
She looked for Garth but couldn't see him at first. Then—there he was, sidling in the entrance. He'd changed to inconspicuous street clothes. Had he been preparing to sneak away? Venera pictured him leaving through the wine cellar exit to avoid the council's troops. Then he could have circled around to stand with the street rabble who were waiting to hear the results of the vote. She smiled; it was what she might have done.
There went Ennersin, sweeping by Garth without noticing him. Diamandis watched him go in distaste, then turned and saw Venera watching him. He spread his hands and shrugged. She made a dismissive gesture and smiled back.
Time to mingle; the party wasn't over yet and her head felt fine. It felt good to reinforce her win with a gracious turn about the room. For a while everything was a blur of smiling faces and congratulations. Then she found herself shaking someone's hand (the hundredth, it must have been) and looked up to find it was Jacoby Sarto's.
"Well played, Ms. Fanning,” he said. There was no irony in his voice.
She glanced around. They were miraculously alone for the moment. Probably a single glance from under Sarto's wiry brows had been enough to clear a circle.
All she could think of to say was, “Thank you.” It struck her as hopelessly inadequate for the situation, but all her strategies had been played out. To her surprise, Sarto smiled.
"I've lost Ennersin's confidence,” he said. “It's going to take me years to regain some allies I abandoned today."
"Oh?” The mystery of his reversal during the vote deepened. Not one to prevaricate, Venera asked, “Why?"
He appeared puzzled. “Why did I vote for you?"
"No—I know why.” The key was again unspoken of between them. “I mean,” she said, “why did you come out so publicly against me in the first place, if you knew I had that to hang over you?"
"Ah.” It was his turn to look around them. Satisfied that no one was within earshot, he said, “I was entrusted with the safety of Sacrus's assets. You're considered one of them. If I could acquire you, I was to do that. If not, and you threatened to reveal ... certain details ... well, I was to contrive a murderous rage.” He opened his jacket slightly and she saw the large pistol he had holstered there. “You would not have had a chance to say what you know,” he said with a slight smile.
"So why didn't you..."
"It is useful to have an acknowledged heir of Buridan controlling that estate. This way we avoid a nasty succession conflict, which Sacrus would view as an unnecessary ... distraction, right now. Besides,” Sarto shrugged. “There are few moments in a man's life when he has the opportunity to make a choice on his own. I simply did not want to shoot you."
"And why tell me this now?"
His mouth didn't change from its accustomed frown, but the lines around Sarto's eyes might have crinkled a little bit—an almost smile.
"It will be easy for me to tell my masters that the pistol was taken from me at your door,” he said. “Without an opportunity to acquire or silence you, letting you win was the expedient option. My masters know that.” He turned away, then looked back with a scowl. “I hope you won't
give me reason to regret my decision."
"Surely not. And my apologies for inconveniencing you."
He laughed at the edge in her voice.
"You may think you're free,” he said as the crowd parted to let him through, “but Sacrus still owns you. Never forget that."
Venera kept her smile bright, but his parting words worried at her for the rest of the evening.
* * * *
11
Muscles aching, Venera swung down from the saddle of her horse. It was two weeks since the confirmation and she had lost no time in establishing her rule over Buridan—which, she had decided, had to include becoming a master rider.
She'd knocked down two walls and walled up the ends of one of the high-ceilinged cellar corridors, forming one long narrow room where her steed could trot. There were stalls at one end of this, and two workmen were industriously scattering straw and sand over the plating. “Deeper,” Venera told them. “We need several inches of it everywhere."
"Yes, ma'am.” The men seemed unusually enthusiastic and focused on their task. Maybe they had heard that the new foals were to arrive later today. Probably it was just being in proximity with the one horse now residing here. Venera hadn't yet met anyone who didn't share that strange, apparently ancient love for horses that seemed inbuilt to humans.
Venera herself wasn't immune to it. She patted Domenico and walked down the length of the long room, trailing one hand along the low fence that bisected it lengthwise. Her horsemaster stood at the far end, a clipboard clutched in his hand; he was arguing quietly with someone. “Is everything all right, gentlemen?” Venera asked.
The other man turned, lamplight slanting across his gnomish features, and Venera said, “Oh!” before she could stop herself.
Samson Odess screwed his fishlike face up into a smile and practically lunged over to shake her hand.
"I'm honored to meet you, Lady Thrace-Guiles!” His eyes betrayed no recognition, and Venera realized that she was standing in heavy shadow. “Liris is honored to offer you some land to stable your horses. You see, we're diversifying and—"
Analog SFF, April 2007 Page 21
