“Glowing, practically. I don’t know what you said to them, or what went on, but you fully convinced them that you are, in fact, the Black Hole Messiah. So it’s real. It’s happening.”

“I see,” Misery says. She’s overcome with emotion: half excitement, half dread. It’s happening. That’s the best news. That’s the worst news. “What’s happening? What are the next steps?”

A great sigh escapes him. “They want you to make a public appeal.”

“A public appeal?” She knows what that is. Every month the Emperor holds an audience where any scrub from anywhere in the Empire can petition them for anything. That was in The Ninth Messiah too. “Is that a real thing?”

“Oh, it’s very real.” The Duke paces the length of the cell. “Unfortunately, the next audience is happening the day after tomorrow. Not a lot of time to prepare! At least we’ve found someone willing to offer their penitent’s slot in service of the Demiurge’s will.”

Surely there was no coercion or bribery involved in that exchange. Of course the penitent gave up their slot to the Archbishop of Remus out of the pure goodness of hir heart. “So we have one day to prepare.”

“Very astute of you. Not the most ideal, but least we have that much. The Archbishop will brief you tomorrow. We’ll have time for a bit of rehearsal.”

“What are we rehearsing?”

“You’ll see.”

Great. Misery pops bubbles in her knuckles. Why does she get the sense that there’s no real plan here?

What feels like nervous energy escapes the Duke in machine bursts of laughter. “You know, I had my doubts. I definitely had my doubts. You weren’t anything like I expected. I expected someone, you know, perhaps more beatific. Some kind of shining beacon of morality.” Another laugh. Misery’s skin itches; a hot prickle runs from her jaw to her shoulders. “But you know Scripture: the Forge walks unchartable paths. In my hubris, I thought I knew better.” He bows, suddenly and swiftly enough to be off-putting. “Forgive my transgression, dear Misery. I was judged and found wanting.”

Why are the religious always such weirdos? Good thing she has a lifetime’s experience dealing with them. “No judgment here,” she says, and nudges it into Scripture: “The eye of the Larex Forge alone shall bestow judgment, for who among us truly understands the workings of another’s heart?” If she’s going to do this Messiah thing, she might as well go full crazy.

“Of course.” The Duke straightens up. He looks delighted, like a child. “But it’s good, you know, to be reminded of one’s smallness, every now and then. Humility is a virtue so often in short supply.”

“So it is indeed,” Misery says, carefully keeping out the traces of irony.

INTERLUDE 2