Jacoby Sarto’s leonine features crinkled into something like a smirk as he saw her. He was placing the final chair behind the long conference table in the high-ceilinged minor reception hall. Damn him, he’d moved everything!—Where Venera had contrived a single long table with chairs along two sides, with her at the end, Sarto—or somebody, but it sure looked like him from his posture—had turned the table sideways, crammed all the seats on one side of it (behind it, now) and left one solitary chair in the center of the carpet. What had been a conference room was now a court, with her as the defendant.
The rest of the council was standing around behind Sarto as the servants finished the new placement.
She had an overwhelming urge to pick a seat behind the table and put her feet up, then point to the solitary position and ask, “who sits there?” Only memory of how badly her recent outbursts had gone stopped her.
Well, he had won this round, but she wasn’t going to let him revel in it. Venera stopped one of the servants and said, “Bring me a side table, and a bottle of wine and a glass. Some cheese might be good too.” She sat graciously in the exposed chair and draped her skirts as she’d seen the other ladies do. Then she locked eyes with Sarto, and smiled.
The others began to take their places. There were twelve of them. Jacoby Sarto of Sacrus, who was rumored to be merely an errand boy to the true heads of the family, sat on the far left. The arch-conservative duke Ennersin, who had conspicuously arrived with Sarto, sat next to him, frowning in disapproval at Venera. She could count on those two to oppose her confirmation. Of the others…
Pamela Anseratte was smiling at something, but wouldn’t meet Venera’s eye. Principe Guinevera was trying to meet her eye, and apparently attempting to wink; he took up two spaces at the table and his fleshy hands were planted on the tabletop as if he were, at any second, about to leap to his feet and proclaim something. Next to him sat August Virilio, who looked contented, half asleep even—and probably was, after the heroic drinking he’d gotten up to after she forgave his nation’s debt. These three were on her side—or so she hoped.
The other great families were represented by minor members and, in three cases, by ambassadors. Two of the ambassadors were cloaked and masked; the families in question, Garrat and Oxorn, were mysterious, isolate and paranoid as only the ancients of Greater Spyre could be. Nobody knew what their nations produced—only that it went for fabulous prices and threat of death on exposure in the outside world.
Three out of twelve for sure. Maybe three others if her reckless divestment of Buridan’s wealth had done what she hoped. But it was a big if. She was going to need every ounce of cunning and every resource to get through the evening free and intact.
The Council all sat and waited while Venera’s new servants placed decanters of wine and tall glasses on the table. Then Pamela Anseratte stood and smiled around the table. “Welcome, everyone. I trust the nations are well and that the hospitality of our host has been sampled and appreciated by all? Yes? Then let’s begin. We’re gathered here tonight to decide whether to reinstate Buridan as an active nation, in the person of the woman who here claims to be Amandera Thrace-Guiles, heir of said nation. I—”
“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 distresse
d. “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 council. “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. F
ive 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…?”
Queen of Candesce v-2 Page 14
