Potto filled one of the stove’s fireboxes and stroked a stick of kinding. It burst into flame, not merely at one end like a torch, but along its entire length. He tossed it into the firebox and shoved the firebox back in place with an angry grinding of iron.

“He, um, intrigues to separate us,” Remora whispered. “A — ah — hallowed? Elementary stratagem, General. I shall, um, cleave to you, eh? If you in, ah, analogous fashion—”

“Maytera. Call me Maytera, please, Your Eminence, when we’re alone.”

“Indeed. Indeed! O, ah, soror neque enim ignari sumus ante malorum. O passi graviora, dabit Pas his guoque finem.”

Potto was filling a teakettle. Without turning his head, he said, “I have sharp ears. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Maytera Mint looked up. “Then I’m spared the necessity of raising my voice. Are you really Councillor Potto? We came to negotiate with the Ayuntamiento, not with anyone we chanced to meet. If you are, whose body was that?”

“Yes.” Potto put the kettle on the stove. “Mine. Have you more questions?”

“Certainly. Are you willing to stop all this bloodshed?”

“It bothers you, doesn’t it?” He pulled out a stout stool and sat down so heavily the floor shook.

“Seeing good and brave troopers die? Watching someone who was eager to obey me a few seconds ago writhing and bleeding in the street? It does!”

“Well, it doesn’t me, and I don’t understand why it should you. I never have. Call it a gift. There are people who can listen to music all evening, then go home and write everything down, and others who can run faster and farther than a horse. Did you know that? Mine’s a less amazing gift, though it’s brought me success. I don’t feel pain I don’t feel. Is that what you call a tautology? It’s what life has taught me. I give it to you for nothing.”