“We say Déguisé here,” Faust corrected, “the Comte Déguisé. Déguisé, may I present Prime Minister Perry.”

Silence is harshest when the speaker has no real face.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Monsieur le Compte.” Prime Minister Perry gave ample pause, but the voice behind the puppet did not stir. “I realize,” he almost stammered, “it will take you longer than the others to trust me, but I can’t tell you how thrilling it is to actually be able to talk to you, negotiate with you, get input. I’ve admired you my whole life. You’re the voice of sense in all this.” Again the Prime Minister paused, tense hands fidgeting with the buttons on his pocket flaps, but, again, silence. “And you control the CFB?” he continued. “That’s strange news. It’s not a problem if you’re a Cousin, but you’re not a Cousin, are you?”

“That matter is not for you to worry about,” the Anonymous warned. “It is between Chair Kosala and myself. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, My Lord Count,” Faust corrected. “The forms don’t all drop just because you’re inside, Mister Prime Minister.”

“Of course, Headmaster. My apolog—”

“His Grace,” the crier interrupted, “Ganymede Jean-Louis de la Trémoïlle, Duc de Thouars, Prince de Talmond, President of the Humanists, with His Excellency Chief Executive Director Hotaka Andō Mitsubishi, and Her Highness Danaë Marie-Anne de la Trémoïlle Mitsubishi, Princesse de la Trémoïlle et de Talmond.”

If divine Aurora, called Eos by we from whom the Romans stole her, limped to Olympus freshly wounded by a dart from vengeful Aphrodite, and crossed Zeus’s threshold leaning one arm on Helios her golden brother, and the other on her dark companion Night, so her rosy dawn veil was framed by soft darkness on one side and sun-fire on the other, I doubt if even virgin Artemis could resist a blush. Perry staggered at the sight, and his gaping face glowed in the light reflected by Danaë’s kimono, which shimmered with the subtle, mingling colors of the dawn, each thread awakened to brightness by reflections from Ganymede’s gold as he pressed against her, careful as a guide dog. Andō, on her other side, had one arm locked around her waist, the loose black of his formal hakama and kimono darkening his limbs like storm clouds. Even I staggered.

“You’re sure you want do this?” Ganymede settled his sister onto a sofa with meticulous care, like a gardener transplanting roses. “You don’t have to stay tonight if you don’t want to.”

“I should be here.” She pulled the pair of them down around her like shells around a tender scallop. “I must greet our guest.”

No starving man has ever stalked a loaf of bread so fixedly as Perry’s eyes locked on Danaë. “I hope I’m more than just a one-night guest, Pr-incesse,” he corrected, tripping over the syllables. “But are you all right? You seem unwell.”

“My wife is tired.” Her husband sat forward, blocking as much of Danaë as possible from the Outsider’s view. “That is all. Mycroft, brandy.”