Perry-Kraye scrunched his cuffs with tense hands. “A second chance… And then I cheated you out of your office…” The new Prime Minister was too ashamed to meet the King’s eyes. “I rigged the election, I had Ziven Racer cheat so you’d have to drop out, all against my benefactor…”

“I know.” Spain nodded, as a much-tried father nods. “And I forgive you. The important thing is that Europe be ruled well, not that I rule it. I trusted you to value your second chance, and not to squander it on some petty revenge. Was I wrong?”

Kraye held his breath like a man about to dive, and I edged closer, ready to grapple if his dive turned violent. It was a strange way to meet him, really. I had not known this man, you must realize, not as Merion Kraye, nor really as Casimir Perry, the Prime Minister whom I had glimpsed here or there upon a balcony when I ran Jehovah’s errands at Parliament, no more. I had identified Carlyle’s mother by hacking the Gag-gene records, but had not known the deeper scandal.

“I wish you were right, Your Majesty,” Perry-Kraye replied, slowly as if trying to prove he meant every syllable. “I wish I could say I had climbed the steps of power with the people’s welfare first in my heart, as you have. But at least you were half right. I haven’t squandered my second chance. My revenge is nothing petty, but a true apocalypse which will destroy, not only my destroyers, but the world that made them!”

His eyes opened, sharp as stars, to lock upon Madame, but Caesar stepped in front of her, a wall of iron gray shielding the salmon petals of her gown. “Be careful whom you include, Kraye. A large part of the world is mine. And you, Madame, and Spain, you should not have hidden such a dangerous situation from the rest of us, not even,” he caught the King’s eyes coldly, “in the name of mercy.”

Kraye laughed—I had not imagined any man could laugh in Caesar’s face. “Count yourself lucky, MASON, you’re hardly going to suffer, a little global turmoil, that’s all. You were party to it too; it’s less than you deserve.”

Wise men do not intentionally make MASON frown. “I was not party,” Caesar answered, “I was witness. Your violence was intolerable.”

“I was innocent.”

“That you were not.”

“I never raped her!” Kraye’s hand tightened around his sherry glass, as heavy as a sling stone, but Martin planted himself as a silent wall before his Emperor, as Dominic did before Jehovah. He was still with us, our disappointed God, silent in His Gravity, like a tombstone in the corner of a playing field. The rest ignored Him, or tried to. A glance at Him reminded us that we were fools to care about old scandal when we had just discovered humanity was beyond redemption. But He would not stop us. Rather, like a cliff in storm, He suffered silently as yet more proof of His conclusion played out before Him. This world is not good, reader, not as good as He deserves.