“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,” said the man in black. “But I am not a liar. Maybe it’s not your fault. Maybe you, like so many of this city, believe that all the world should be your servant because you haven’t ever learned what it’s like to be powerless.”
Moretti broke out in a sweat. There was a curious pressure building in his mind, like a bubble at the fore of his brain. “I won’t sign your damned contract,” he gasped. “Get out. Get out before…before I have someone come in an—”
“I wonder—would you like to know what it’s like to be truly helpless, Armand? To have all choices ripped away from you?”
“I…I…”
“Listen to me,” said the man. His voice was soft, yet it seemed to echo in the depths of Moretti’s bones. “Listen to me now, and be still.”
A long silence.
Moretti sat frozen in his chair.
The time lantern ticked and ticked.
“Now—stand up, Armand,” said the man in black.
Moretti watched himself stand up. He wasn’t sure why he was standing—in fact, he was barely aware of himself actually moving at all. It was like the command was written on some underside of his very brain, and he couldn’t ignore it.
“Turn around,” suggested the man in black.
He did so.
“Look at that cabinet there, up against the wall.”
Moretti tried to resist. He furrowed his brow, trying to focus on the man, on this room, but his words were so rich, so smooth, so…What was the word? Mellifluous? As he pondered this, he realized he was now looking at the cabinet up against the wall, which was dark green with gold inlay.
“There is a knife in the top drawer of the cabinet,” said the man in black. “You’re going to go to the cabinet, open the drawer, and look at this knife.”
A black, churning dread boiled in Moretti’s belly. He jerked slightly, but did not move.
Tick, tick, went the time lantern.
“Do it,” said the man in black.
Moretti stiffly walked to the cabinet and opened up the top drawer. Inside was a long, curved knife, with a black handle.
“You see the knife,” said the man in black. “Yes? Answer me.”
“Yes,” whispered Moretti.
“Good. Pick it up, please.”
With trembling hands, Moretti picked up the knife and brought it over to the table. The man in black watched him return, his veiled body so still and motionless Moretti briefly wondered if there was anyone under there at all.
“Now, Armand,” said the man. “I want you to take the knife in your right hand and press your left palm flat against the table.”
“Please…” whimpered Moretti.
“Now.”
Moretti did so. The table felt cold and hard to his touch.