The Revolution deserved a Mass. And though it was one called on desperate terms, it drew in all of the people important to the King's Opposition. There was the ailing Horatius, the sacrifice for the Free Church of Orim. There was John Bull, Tauros, the tattooed Northerner of impossible strength whose gangs ruled the streets of Orimmo. There was Henri, Duke of Braganza and ostensible King of Port-au-Prince, who had tied his star to the revolution to revive his forgotten kingdom. There was Arianna, widowed Baroness of Castleset, ever embittered at her husband's death by Alphonse, and her newest consort, the Pretender Charli, a Lochaber nephew of Alphonse. There was the Caudillo Tomas Jorge, who ruled the south with a lash. And there was a new man, shifty, by the Lugdimer name of Lloyd, come to represent Alphonse's only surviving son, Eduardo I.
But one important face was missing and everyone knew it. Don Juan Callisto, the popular face of the King's Opposition, young, brilliant, flamboyant..... the man who had whored himself to Alphonse. And this Mass had been called to choose his successor.
But before the discussion could begin, an overly fat Jew appeared in the room with a crack, floating on a stone slab. “May I introduce to you,” came Horatius's wheeze, “Kozeba, the Jew Who Can Divide by Zero.”
“Come here, Kozeba.”, came the next wheeze. Kozeba hovered his way over to Horatius's deathly altar. “Kozeba,” came the whisper, “found you a cure for my ague?”Kozeba fidgeted, his untrimmed beard falling from the peak of his oversized stomach. “No. Bagdemagus is too good a hexer for me to contest.”
“Alas, that is my fate then.” He gave out a sickening wet cough, full of phlegm and despair. “Found you Christ then, Kozeba?” Kozeba grinned, blackened teeth showing. “I think I heard him on another plane.... but its always hard to tell one God from another.”
Horatius pulled himself up and over the altar, jumping down to the floor with one hand steadying him against his lost leg. “Well men, which of you will replace the whore?” His desperate eyes scanned their Mass.
Henri stood up, throwing his cape behind him. Always a fop. “I could replace that whore. The Don Juan was a playboy and nothing more.”
Horatius shook his head. “No.” Henri's loyalty to Orim would always be suspect- he would not do. Horatius already knew who the discussion would come down to. Arianna was a woman, Charli a fool (and if rumors rang true, a frocio). No, the only candiates were Bull and Tomas. Neither held a formal title, but that could be changed.
Lloyd spoke in perfect Orimmo. “What of Eduardo? He holds no great loyalty to his father.” Horatius shook his head again. “No,” he whispered, his voice growing again after a quick cough. “We would respect his throne in Lugdim, but it would take an act of God for us to accept one of Alphonse's spawn on Orimmo's throne.” Horatius hoped leaving the chance for an act of God would sate the fool on the northern throne.
“What of Charli?” Arianna said, the boy hiding shyly behind her. Horatius gave a hollow, creaking laugh. “I care not for his bedroom antics, Baroness. He is a boy and though he will take the throne when we succeed, he cannot lead the effort.” The old widow blushed and Charli snickered behind her. Unsuitable. Horatius wondered if Arianna enjoyed the boy's unnatural leanings herself.
Tomas spoke up, his rough dialect and plain clothes betraying his untitled status. “I could do it.” Horatius looked at John Bull first. Bull wasn't as dumb as his namesake, even if he was as strong. He knew he could contest it, demand to replace the Don Juan. But he knew that he was a foreigner, an odd one at that, and that opposing Tomas would lead to Tomas leaving the revolutionary fold. He knew what was best.
John Bull nodded and grumbled. “I could get behind that.” The others finally nodded in agreement.
Tomas would do. He wasn't as youthful or brilliant as Don Juan Callisto had been, but he was brutal and efficient. He was the Iron Duke of the South, the bastard son of an old duke who had threatened power from the hands of the real nobles. Alphonse hated him. He would be a good opposition leader, even if it would take some work for him to get titled.
“Its decided then. Tomas shall become the Leader of the Opposition.” Horatius projected sternness in his crackling voice.
Horatius wondered if he should put out the Tithes for the members of the Free Church once again..... but that was work for the next day. Now, it was time for the Mass. Kozeba disappeared as the steaming cattle was brought into the room.
They shared the sticky gobs of half-cooked beef flesh, chewed on the fat and mulled over other issues. Then they drank the blood-water from the Blessed Horn and Horatius began to lead them in a rollicking phlegmatic prayer.
The Revolution had its Mass.
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Kozeba appeared in the darkness, as Horatius was sleeping. “Father of the Free Church, awake.” It was not a prodding whisper, but a command spoken with that aura of magic. Horatius opened his eyes and turned to the Jew.
“Kozeba, you keep odd hours even for a Jew. What is it that you need?” Kozeba wrinkled his nose at the smells of a primitive apothecary, Horatius was smothered in something like currant jelly.
“It is something you need, Father. I know why the Don Juan Callisto betrayed you- and his reasons are more dangerous to your revolution than he could ever be.” Horatius pulled himself up.
“Why?!” His voice was frantic.
“Alphonse has found another source of gold. Whole cities of it, cities upon not-quite-human flesh. And Callisto has been conscripted to march across the desert for it.”
“If...” Horatius started coughing, a hacking, whooping cough. “If Alphonse gains more gold, he will be unstoppable.” said the Jew, finishing the ailing priest's thoughts for him. “But do not worry, father. There is another man, a Northman named John,” Kozeba smiled at that little slip, “who I am watching for my own reasons. But he is also involved with this quest for gold, and I shall try and stop him. Permanently.”
“If your actions help us, Kozeba, we shall not forget it.” Horatius looked down at the fat Jew, who merely gave a cringing smile. “I don't care for that, Horatius. Just get your men to watch the Treasury and the ports and I will inform you when this Captain John is dead.”
“I'll.... I'll have to call out the Tithes and the Commission of Array for this.....” Horatius looked like he was going to get up and start working on it in the middle of the night.
“Sleep, Father.” Another command, with that aura of magic. And then Kozeba was gone, to who knows where.
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