Black peered into the shadow. The man before him had deliberately seated himself in this grand room, in this grand white mansion in London’s Regent’s Park district, so that the darkness gathered in his corner of choice enveloped him. The man sat in a white lounge chair with brass-topped nails ornamenting its curvatures. His legs were crossed. His breeches were of the finest pale gray silk, his stockings perfectly white, his ankle-length boots rich ebony and ashine with the lamplight that was directed into the cardinal’s face.

“Four mornings hence,” Black said, “a ship called the Essex Triton will depart for the port of Venice. I have employed men to gather information from the offices of passage. Some payments were made. They were worthwhile. On this Essex Triton, according to the ledger of the Raleigh Globe company, will be an old man who calls himself John Lamprey, a younger man by the name of Matthew Spottle, four others I care nothing about, and another man who has given his real name of Hudson Greathouse. I in particular know that name because Mother Deare informed me he gave her some trouble in her tavern before he was taken away.”

“Mother Deare,” said the man who sat in shadow with the afflicted voice. “How does she abide?”

“Four fathoms deep, I imagine.”

“Dead?”

“Most certainly.”

“Hm,” said the man who sat in shadow. “I thought that old bitch would never die.”

“Sadly it is so.”

“John Lamprey. Isn’t that a fish of some sort?”

“As I understand, it is a type of eel that sucks the life from whatever it attaches upon. Which is pertinent, since John Lamprey is the alias being used by Danton Idris Fell. The young man Spottle is in actuality named Matthew Corbett. I have business with him that I wish to bring to a conclusion in my favor.”

“Professor Fell,” spoke the man. “Why is he sailing to Venice?”

Cardinal Black changed his position in his chair just a few inches. The movement caused his weirdly elongated face to express a wince, and his left hand went up to grasp at his right shoulder.

“An injury?”

“A near case of lead poisoning. I am still in some distress, but be assured I am strong enough to travel.”

“Explain,” said the man.

Cardinal Black looked about himself at the walls of the parlor, which seemed to have been constructed with sheets of gold. The ceiling was as white as a new pearl, and hanging from above was a white chandelier bearing a dozen tapers. In contrast to the golden walls were landscape paintings of dark and moody quality, depicting such things as vast lonely valleys and forests stark with ghostly moonlight, all empty of human habitation.