They had already broken his arms, and he was in pain. An odor filled the tent. Mr. Capulatio kicked him effortlessly. “Name?”
Argento did not reply. But nothing he did in that moment could be right, and for that she felt sorry.
Mr. Capulatio snatched him by the hair and hauled him upward a foot. “All right, then. Your name? We’ll do you.”
“Argento,” he gasped.
Mr. Capulatio dropped him and shrugged. Argento couldn’t catch himself on his arms and he fell facedown with a thud, and looked up with sick blood dripping from his nostrils. “O, a liar, beautiful,” Mr. Capulatio said. “Argento, my good man, you are delightful. Since you’re so shockingly delightful, I’ll let you in on a secret. I don’t want to kill her. Why would anyone kill her? So lovely. And do I want her for my bed?” He laughed; it reminded her of a dragonfly, something about that sound like hovering. “Well, maybe. But no, not really. Maybe a little. O, all right. You see, at this particular point in my life, I need something…” his voice wandered off—he wasn’t talking to anyone. He gazed at her long and without any happiness. “Something to keep my mind off things. I am an ambitious man, you see, some might even say a regal one. I deeply hate the northcountry. It’s unwholesome cold, terrible for my health. What a stupid Law it is that we should let the land rest for the winter. The stupid Law of a false king.”
Argento coughed.
“O yes,” said Mr. Capulatio. “A false king is King Michael! He is even now living in splendor meant for someone else. We have proof of this, in our texts. Exegesis, it’s called. You’re too stupid to know what I mean, of course.” He gestured around him. “I have people trained to study the texts. They have worked years upon years and this is at last what they have concluded. So this year I proposed to these people, my distinguished consortium of magicians and merchants, that we simply not go. North, I mean.” He blinked at Argento. “I know! An insane idea. What in the world are we thinking? That, my good man, is what you must be thinking, am I correct?” He waved a hand. “But I don’t care what you think because you are about to die. You can clearly see, I do what I like. Your darling sister—if she is indeed your sister, which I doubt—is necessary for my comfort but more importantly, she figures into my destiny. Do you understand that?” He peered at Argento seriously. “She will be my queen. A miniature queen. The gemrock in my crown. A lucky sigil in the form of a beautiful girl.”
Argento tried to snort, but he choked on blood. “You’re not a king.”
“Aren’t I?” He grinned. “Well, who can say? Who’s really anything?” He bent forward and brushed a smudge of blood from Argento’s nose, rubbed it between his fingers. “It’s not like it matters.” He stopped smiling. “You’re so charming. You charm me. You are the most charming man I’ve met in a long time. Charming enough to make into a Head, for certain.” He straightened and cracked his neck. Boredom like a lightning bolt. “Is the stage up yet?” he demanded of the servant, who nodded. She noticed the servant had drawn back just a step, afraid maybe, of what might happen. Mr. Capulatio said, “Excellent. Tomorrow, dawn, you’ll die, Argento or whatever your name is. It doesn’t matter anyway, because we won’t make you a Head, I changed my mind. But we will give your heart to little Aurora here—that’s what I’m calling her, since no one has been kind enough to divulge her name. I’ll cut your heart out myself and give it to her, an engagement present, and we’ll keep you in a box and you’ll be near us as we ascend the throne in Cape Canaveral! Yes? Beautiful. We are romantics, are we not?” He stepped over Argento and stood above the girl and her stomach heaved like when she fell from her horse, and she was floating, airborne, for the shortest moment as he pulled her to her feet and into his chest. He motioned to the book, her brooch, and the sack containing the Head of Cosmas. “Now show me these things that are dear to you. I want to know everything.”
To the servant he said, “Escort this gentleman to the cages.”
* * *
Mr. Capulatio talked to her all night but never once touched her. She did not sleep, but stared up at the striped fabric ceiling as he made outlandish claims she was sure did not make any sense, but in the night and in her fear they seemed true. He said that after the summer execution season, his carnival would head for Cape Canaveral, the holy city, the seat of government, and there they would unite with the other factions that supported his claim. They would mount an attack and take the throne. He knew he would succeed because he was divinely blessed, he said. Had been since the day he was born. Certain magical knowledge (like the exact date of the return of the five space shuttles) had been revealed to him secretly—the rockets would return, he assured her, even the incinerated ones. All five shuttles would be healed of their age and wounds, no longer patched trash cans, but miraculous elevators that would convey mankind beyond the sickened earth, the ionosphere, and into cosmic radiance. The names of the five rockets, he whispered, when said together, comprised the most magical word in existence. Columbiachallengerdiscoveryatlantisendeavour. It was what he said when he cut off heads. It was what he said in the ears of women to whom he made love. It was what he’d murmured when he’d first
