This made Armand relieved: if the Dandolos had come here looking for blood, they’d have sent a much more formidable team.
But if they aren’t here for blood, he thought, then…what are they here for?
For a moment there was no sound but the time lantern in the corner—a cunning little scrived rig that allowed tiny, luminous beads to tumble out into a glass chamber like sand in an hourglass. They ticked and ticked as they fell into the glass.
Moretti cleared his throat again, walked in, shut the doors behind him, and approached the table. “Good afternoon,” he said, bowing. “I’m sorry it took me so long to respond to your summons, Master…”
“P-Participazio,” said the Dandolo ambassador with a slight stutter. The young man stood and bowed as well. Both of them went about the usual gestures of mutual recognitions of power, though the young man was not particularly well versed in them. Moretti noticed that this Participazio was sweating quite heavily…and trembling too.
“Now,” said Moretti as he sat, “I must admit I am…a bit befuddled. Usually houses do not begin business when it’s so close to carnival, but—how may I be of assistance to Founder Dandolo today?”
The young man tried to clear his throat, but succeeded only in making an awkward, squelching quack sound. “We…would like to open negotiations,” he said. “For acquisitions of properties.”
Moretti’s mouth fell open. “I’m sorry?”
“And…we would like to close negotiations today, and complete the purchase.”
He stared. The buying and selling of campo properties between the houses usually took years, and was overseen by committees of elder scrivers and solicitors. They were not ever pursued by a damp young man walking in out of the blue expecting it to get done in a handful of hours.
“For…which property, in particular?” said Moretti.
Participazio reached into a satchel at his side, pulled out a single parchment, placed it on the table, and slid it over.
Moretti read it with astonishment. “You…You wish to purchase the Candiano inner enclave? The Mountain?”
“Ah…yes,” said Participazio. He glanced into the corner of the room.
Moretti’s astonishment slowly twisted into indignation. “But…But this is simply ridiculous! What a waste of time! I cannot see exactly why Founder Dandolo could possibly want it, or could think she can get it for this paltry sum! I…I mean, damn it all, we outbid her several times over in acquiring it!”
“W-Well, sir, I—”
“And the Mountain is…well, it’s goddamn structurally unstable! Our own expert scrivers haven’t even found a decent way to get into the innards of the thing without it all falling down on their heads! I mean…This whole conversation is ludicrous. Ludicrous! Do you have any idea how much of my time you’ve just wasted? My time?”
Participazio sat there, his young face fixed in a look of panicked anxiety. Moretti watched him, feeling slightly satisfied. This was an unusual situation, certainly—but it wasn’t one he was unused to. He had spent his fair share of time with terrified young people in empty rooms.
So he knew the next steps quite well.
He narrowed his eyes at the young man. “Tell me, boy—is this a joke?”
“N-No, sir, I—”
“What’s your name, again?” he demanded.
“P-Participazio, sir, and I m-meant no disres—”
“P-P-Participazio?” said Moretti, mimicking his stutter. “Did someone trick you into this absurd task? Or are you really even an ambassador, boy? You look more like a child playing dress-up to me.”
“N-No, sir, I j-jus—”
Moretti lounged back in his chair and studied the young man like he was an unpleasant new breed of beetle. “It must have been a mistake,” he said. “I wonder what it feels like, to have made such an epic, dundering scrum-up so early in one’s young career. Is Donato still there? At the ambassadors’ division?”
The boy’s eyes widened slightly. “He…He is the division vice-chief, bu—”
“Mm,” said Moretti. “He’s an old friend of mine, you know. I think he would be quite interested to know one of his junior lot were in here making these kinds of mad requests…”
Moretti felt a flicker of pleasure as terror and confusion shot through the boy’s face. “Were I to guess, you’re one of the lower junior ambassadors,” he said. “Maybe one generation away from the Commons. You’re just happy to have a roof over your head and a pot to piss in, aren’t you? But I could make all that go away, you know, with one simple word to old Donato.”
Young Participazio now looked absolutely miserable. He glanced again into the corner.
“So,” said Moretti playfully. “Will it be information you give me? Leverage over someone on your campo?” Moretti’s eye lingered on the boy’s neck, on his fingers, on his ears. He was not especially pretty. But he was young. And that counted for something. “Or something…else?”
Then there was a voice.
It came from the corner of the room. It was deep, and rich, and it had the curious quality of sliding over the surface of Moretti’s mind like soft velvet.
“I think,” said the voice, “that that’s enough.”
Moretti turned, and saw there was a man standing in the corner of the room—and apparently he’d been standing there this entire time. Moretti wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed this man before, especially considering his manner of dress: he was, outrageously enough, wearing a Papa Monsoon carnival costume, complete with the black mask.
“W-What on earth?” said Moretti. He looked at Participazio, somehow feeling betrayed, but the young man had averted his gaze and was staring into the floor.
“I said that that is enough,” said 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.