I will admit to feeling a little bad at this juncture but truthfully terror was the dominant emotion. It wasn’t so much the immediate situation, though that was bad enough, but there were simply so many plots and counterplots going on that my brain was struggling to keep track and that struggle brought with it a fear of being strangled by any given thread. The smart thing to do was to accept Imelda’s gratitude and help  her part of the coup succeed. That would be easy, she already had the ambassador and Marco’s men were on their way to attack the Imperial position. She could take them from behind and then, with the aid of Luccini, easily depose Romeo.  At a stroke she could take command of Remas and all the blame could be easily laid at the feet of her fellow Triumvirs.


I bowed my head in acquiescence accepting her praise, stepping away from Kian and the Lucinni ambassador, whom posterity requires me to name as Maximo Panio, taking my place to the side of Imelda’s guards. I had no doubt the Convent would be pleased that I had managed to install myself in the court of the Mistress of Remas. I was sure Imelda viewed my assistance as trifling, despite her glowing words, although if she knew Kian as well as I did she might have found greater wells of thanks. Still, I didn’t doubt that I would quickly prove useful to her, rising in her service and increasing my own power and influence. 


But why stop there? I could send Imelda to finish Marco and take the Imperial gold myself. With the Luccini ambassador to back me and an alliance with the surviving Imperial troops and a few condottieri, I could probably win a Triumvir’s seat for myself. If things really broke my way, perhaps the sole seat until ‘fair’ elections at an unspecified by distant time. With the help of the Convent I could end the war with Trantio and consolidate my position. Within a year I would be the undisputed Mistress of Remas. A wan smile came across my lips as the thought.


“Wait, we are Imperial…” Kian objected, taking a step back, eyes darting around seeking escape.  There was no where for him to go, even if he were willing to abandon his Ambassador to certain death. He cast me a look that was part imploring part reproachful. I shrugged my shoulder with studied unconcern as the soldiers stalked towards him. All eyes were on Kian as I slipped a knife from my sleeve and slashed the rope holding a candelabra aloft. There was a squeal of rope through ungreased pulley as the three hundred pound ring of wrought brass crashed downwards. I snatched the rope and leaped into the air, allowing just the final moment of its descent to yank me another few feet upwards. Two of Imelda’s condottieri were two slow. I heard bones crack as they both went down under the weight of brass and wax. Everyone was shouting in confusion, a crossbow fired and I heard timber split wherever it struck. I reached the apex of my arc and straightened, coming down with the full weight of my body aimed through my heels like a spear. I struck one of the surviving condottieri between the shoulderblades and he flew across the room, smashing himself senseless against a stone wall. The two survivors dodged backwards, carrying Imelda to safety through the doorway. One of them lifted a crossbow but Maximo hurled a marble bust into the man's face, spoiling his shot and breaking the fellows jaw to boot. The uninjured one grabbed for the Imperial Ambassador but Kian brought his staff down with both hands, smashing the man’s wrist. He reeled backwards cursing a blue streak as I kicked the foot of the door. It whipped around despite its weight crashing closed. It rebounded off the frame but Maximo, either sensing my intent, or having the same idea himself, lurched forward, hitting it with his considerable bulk and driving it closed, shooting the metal bolt with a trembling hand.


“Well,” I mumbled, picking up a rapier from where it had fallen.


“Is there a collective noun for a group of ambassadors? If I go back and get du Pounce do I have a Windbag?”