Fragmentary Record · Rebuilt from Recovered Documents
The Cardenal's birthday ball, reconstructed at last from the invitation itself, the text of his speech, and the testimony of those who survived the evening socially.
The company had been in San Cristóbal some weeks, quartered at El Alcázar, watched from the first day. Diego kept seeing a dead man's face in the crowds. Beggars surrounded Grigori chanting "prophetam!" And then the invitation came, to a ball nobody had any sensible reason to attend, and everybody did.
All five Inquisitor Cardenales under one roof: Mejía deep in his cups with the likable Itzamatul and the doomed-to-be-interesting Crespo, who was telling anyone who'd listen that God's church is for all. Moreno in his wheelchair, studying Axel and Kharkov with a steely glare. Campos working the room with a notebook instead of a drink. Losa at the buffet with her fat grandchildren. Loyola at the Cardenal's right hand, refusing wine: "I reserve my wine for Mass." Three Vodacce princes circling; Lord Brousseau asking Yvette, sweetly, where is King Sandoval?, stirring the pot. A Vizconde boasting to arms merchants about a dracheneisen zweihänder he'd once handled, with a familiar name etched on the blade. And Knight Inquisitor Friedrich, off to the side, carefully watching Countess von Wirsche. The room went silent once: when Grande Almunda Oquendo entered. "The crown must represent."
The Countess pulled Axel aside for a private conversation.
[ … of what passed between them that night, there is still no account … ]
The Cardenal's birthday address survives in full. The courteous parts were very courteous. The rest repays reading slowly:
"While you are our guests, remember you are also observed — not out of rudeness, but out of necessity… Those who would seek to subvert the harmony of Castille will find themselves opposed not in anger but in method. I prefer the quiet administration of justice to the clatter of spectacle… Hospitality and vigilance are sisters: both keep the peace, and both deserve our steadfast care."
Six waiters exchanged nods. Two had pistols under their serving towels. They screamed "Death to the Inquisition! Long live King Sandoval!", and the ball that missed the Cardenal found Inquisitor Emilio Crespo, who was carried out with his condition unknown. Verdugo's verdict over the wounded room: "To raise arms against a man of the cloth is to raise arms against God himself. There is only one penalty — one CURE — for blasphemy. Take them away."
Then he invited the company to his own table, as thanks. At dinner, Friedrich made conversation the way a surgeon makes an incision: asking the Countess and Axel their ages. Asking after Dr. Gerhardt: "Hexen? Prolonged life?" Asking after Konrad von Dämmerung, and when exactly he had passed. Nobody enjoyed the soup.
Father Armand Algassi was found in the courtyard, half-eaten, and the guard's first suspicion fell on the bear. The company's descent after the body (the ghouls, the parley, the mask) is chronicled first-hand in The Meat Below the Cross Tower. And when they returned to their rooms, a sealed letter waited: "Schattenbruch. El Duende Saltarín. Mediodía."
Past the blunderbusses, into a bare room: an empty chair, a dark-haired woman beside it with a dueler's sword, and a small figure in the yellow robes of a Crescent woman, speaking perfect Crescent:
"I am the Yellow Lady. I know who you all are. I know what you all seek. It is not here. But I know where it is — and I can assure you, it is safe… There is something I need stolen. Something very dear to me. Return it to me, and I will tell you where your blade is. First — a test."
The test was Emilio Crespo. The rest, the company knows.
The Chronicle Resumes