Looking at the display, ci’Bella moaned. Sergei saw a wetness darken the front of his pants and spread down his leg, followed by the astringent scent of urine. Sergei shook his head, tsking softly. The garda chuckled. “Ambassador,” ci’Bella wailed. “Please. I have a family. A wife and three children. I’ve done nothing to you. Nothing.”

“No?” Sergei cocked his head. He removed the over-cloak from his shoulders, brushed at the soft fabric, and placed it carefully on the peg with the keys. He grimaced again as he knelt down, his knees cracking audibly and his leg muscles protesting. Once, this would have taken no effort at all… His fingers-knobbed and bent with age, the skin loose and wrinkled over the bones and ligaments-stroked the displayed instruments. He could feel the silken coolness of the metal through his fingertips, and it caused him to inhale deeply, sensually. “Tell me, Aaros. What would you do if a man harmed your wife, if he raped her or disfigured her? Wouldn’t you want to hurt that man in return? Wouldn’t you feel justified in taking revenge on that man?”

Ci’Bella seemed confused. “Ambassador, you’re not married, and I did nothing to your wife or to anyone’s…”

Sergei raised a white, heavy eyebrow. “No?” he said again. He allowed himself a gap-toothed smile. “But you see, I am married, Aaros. I’m married to Nessantico. She is my wife, my mistress, my very reason for living. And you, Aaros, you have assaulted and betrayed her. Talbot told me what he’d discovered. You spoke to an agent of the Firenzcian Coalition. Certainly you remember him? Garos ci’Merin? I had the… pleasure of talking to him yesterday, here in the Bastida.” Sergei smiled at ci’Bella; the garda snorted with amusement. “He told me how kind you were to him. How helpful.”