Then again, perhaps it was time for another Holy Trial, another rooting out of heretics and a range of sweeping reforms to remove any suspected non-human sympathisers from the Church. Cardinal Kolt could be the first guest of the Papal Torturer. Surely then, the information – vital to the new Crusade, or whatever the fuck excuse he decided to use to justify the search – could be wrung from him before disposing conveniently of the troublesome priest? His heart warmed at the thought, and yet, he wondered if the man would break under torture, or if he even told the truth about the other two statues. And, now that he thought more on it, assuming he did know, and did give up that information – hopefully not until he had suffered the greatest deal possible – would he, Humex, as pope, having denounced the two statues as pagan idols, not have to have them destroyed? And what of his own two prized Brothers? They could not be kept in his apartments, or indeed the Papal Palace, where he would be resident from tomorrow. If they were discovered awkward questions would be asked. He would have to destroy or hide them. The idea of never again setting eyes on his beloved Giralonas almost broke his heart.

He should hear Kolt out, he decided. If he proposed what Humex thought he did, then perhaps there was a way he could get the statues' locations and have Cardinal Kolt denounced and arrested as a heretic. Yes, yes! He liked the thought of that. Perhaps he could beat Kolt at his own game.

“And you do?” He asked the question in as offhand and casual a manner as he could, but he was unable to keep the anticipation and greed out of his voice, and he knew Kolt heard it too. When you're approaching the conclusion of your life's wish, something you hoped but never expected would happen, it's hard to be blase about it, and Cardinal Humex's voice dripped with longing, cunning and avarice. Pretending to have been distracted by his contemplation of the two statues on display, Kolt started.

“Sorry? I was miles away, Your Eminence. I didn't quite catch that.”

Humex sighed. So, he would make him beg, would he? Well, so be it then; if that was what he needed to do to rid himself of this little worm forever, it was a small price to pay. “You mentioned the possibility that you might possess information?” he prompted, and when Kolt still – deliberately, he knew, seething inside – looked blank, he went on. “The statues? The Two remaining Brothers?”

But oddly, and completely throwing Humex off balance, Kolt appeared to have decided not to pursue that line of thought, as he shrugged. “I've heard some rumours, Your Eminence, who has not? But you can't trust rumour, now, can you?” He spread his hands.

“Ah, no, of course not,” agreed Humex, inwardly screaming What the Hell is he doing? If that isn't his play, why mention the statues? What is he up to? Keeping his face carefully neutral, with some effort, he said “But I thought you might be dealing in ... more than rumour?”

The sentence was cleverly constructed, and he knew Kolt, a master linguist, writer and wordsmith would recognise this. The usage of the word dealing in should tell the other cardinal that Humex understood there might be a bargain to be struck, and that he was considering it. If Kolt was unsure or uncertain of his rival's interest in the deal, or that the import of Kolt's remarks had not impacted upon him as he had expected them to, this sentence should clear any ambiguity up. In essence, Humex was using coded signals to say I'm ready to hear your offer.

Yet again, Kolt did not rise to the bait, moving away from the statues and on to a beautiful, intricately-carved glass dish, again in the elfin style. This time it was a very old example, as Kolt recognised, restricting his observation this time to visual only, probably aware of how delicate the receptacle was.

“Stunning!” he breathed, and for a moment Humex could believe he was actually in the presence of another art lover, not a man who was trying to wrest the papacy from him. Kolt's eyes shone, his voice a low murmur as he examined the bowl, hands carefully folded behind his back, bending down and peering at the filigree designs carved on the glass, far more exquisite than anything human hands had ever created, or probably ever would. “Just stunning!” he repeated. Looking up at Humex, he cocked an eyebrow. “You'll have to help me out here, Cardinal Humex,” he admitted. “I know it's Pasha the First, but I'm not very well up on her early work. I would say, Sixth Lion? But that could be an embarrassingly wild guess.”

Embarrasingly wild! Humex avoided rolling his eyes with an effort. The man knew his art, and despite what he said, he was spot on. “You're exactly correct, Your Eminence,” he grated, loath to compliment the man but realising that, purely in the context of art, Kolt really knew his stuff. It was a rare man indeed who could date that bowl so accurately, and he had to allow grudging respect for the man's expertise. “Sixth year of the Lion, one of her earliest works. Is it not enchanting?” For the moment, he was not battling, sparring or trying to outdance Kolt: he was simply discussing art with another man who appreciated it, and understood it, as well as he. Seldom did he have such a chance, and even if it was his bitterest enemy, it was nice to be able to share it with someone.

“Breathtaking,” agreed Kolt, and for a moment time stood still as he continued to look at the bowl. Then, abruptly, time moved on and the moment passed, as he straightened. There was a hard look in his eye now. The art lover was gone, if he had ever existed, was anything more than a calculated tool to hook and lure the pope-elect in, and in his place stood his enemy, the man who was trying to push him off the Wood Throne. “Elfin art is stupendous,” he said, then with a sniff of polite disdain, “You don't care too much for human works though, I notice?”

Though he had alluded to this before, Humex had assumed Kolt was merely making an observation. Now that he referred to it again, a darkness began to close in on Humex and the air had suddenly become much colder. Forcing his voice to remain casual, again as if discussing the finer points of art, he admitted “I find elfin art so much more ... interesting. Human art is of course wonderful, but everyone collects it, and I like to strive to be a little different.”

Kolt looked at him, a direct look, a look that seemed to bore into the soul of the man soon to be pope. Lifting his hand to his mouth, and touching his nose reflectively, Kolt said two words, words that should have had no weight, no special meaning, no sense of doom, and yet, somehow, they did.
“Different. Yes.”

Suddenly very uncomfortable, though he could not say why, Humex said “Well, the count should be finished by now. I should really prepare myself for the confirmation and coming coronation. If you will excuse me.” Again, Kolt spoke only two words.

“Finished. Yes.”

He made no move to leave, despite Cardinal Humex's very obvious signal that he should go. He was looking at another painting, unsurprisingly, given the depth already revealed of Humex's love of elfin art, another one by Breschure. It depicted a rather stark storm at sea, with a large ship seeming very small and being tossed by the waves, while fingers of lightning reached down from the sky. One of the ship's sails was aflame and its crew looked like they were about to abandon it. Like the lightning in the painting, energy crackled in the room, and it was not a good energy. It felt as if something awful was about to happen, some tragedy, some killer blow about to fall. Humex could not say why he felt that, but he did.

“Such a master, Breschure, wouldn't you agree?” With the air of a man who was in no hurry to leave, despite having been invited to, or perhaps a man who had not yet concluded business, Kolt stood back from the painting and placed a finger appreciatively to his lips. “Able to capture the fear, the terror, the danger in the imminent sinking of Boldur's Bow. Marvellous.”

Impressed despite himself at the cardinal's knowledge of the famous elfin painter, Humex could not help but note “You seem well versed in the master's works, Cardinal Kolt.”

“What?” As if distracted from his contemplation of the painting, Kolt turned and afforded his rival a sheepish grin. Or was it a wolfish smile? “Oh no,” he insisted, as if embarrassed. “I am merely interested in art, of all kinds. I'm sure I know very little about the man, compared to your study of him, Your Eminence. Perhaps,” he suggested with disarming friendliness, “you and I might discuss his, and other elfin works some time. I'm sure it would be a fascinating debate.”

“Ah. Indeed.” The idea of speaking to another human who appreciated Breschure as much as he did have a certain appeal, and he found himself wondering if perhaps he had after all misjudged the man all these years? He seemed to be quite approachable; he had not made one demand or threat, both of which he had half-expected when the defeated cardinal had walked in to his chambers, and quite to the contrary, had been nothing but civil and polite during his short visit. Could it be that Kolt did not deserve his reputation? Checking the clock on the wall he again noted “The count, Your Eminence. I'm rather afraid our discussion will have to wait. Pressing matters, you know. I'm sure you understand. We should go.”

“Yes, you have quite the appreciation of elfin art,” remarked Kolt, as if Humex had not spoken. “Music, too, if I recognise these melodies. And elfin authors too. Oh,” he said, smiling and picking up a slim volume. “I see you are a dsiciple of Ro'ak-Thaa? Fascinating man.”

“Ah, I wouldn't quite say a disciple, Cardinal Kolt.” There was something about that word, and the way Kolt has used it, that worried Humex. He seemed to feel an explanation, even an excuse, was due. “I'm interested in his works, yes, but I obviously don't subscribe to his teachings.”

“Well, quite,” agreed Kolt with a sly smile the other did not at all care for as he leafed through the small book that was something of a sacred text in the elfin religion. “I mean, reading the work of a – well, what we would be constrained to call, would we not, a false prophet? - is one thing, but I don't think our Church would stand for one of her cardinals actually following the great man's precepts. Not that I am suggesting such a thing, of course!” He grinned, letting the book snap shut.

“Of course,” echoed Humex, some of the colour beginning to drain from his face. Kolt placed his hands behind his back, looking up at the ceiling.
“You know,” he observed, “I don't think I've ever come across such a fine collection of elfin art in one place. You really have a treasure trove here.”

“Um. Thank you.” Humex could think of nothing else to say, as he tried, again unsuccessfully, to edge towards the door. Kolt smoothly moved to block it, without seeming to.

“One might even say,” he winked, “a shrine.”

That cold hand gripped Humex's heart once again, and he swallowed deeply. “Oh, I wouldn't say that, now, surely, Cardinal Kolt?” It was almost a plea. Kolt knew he had him, but he was not ready to reel in this fish just yet. Let him dance on the line a little longer, the hook biting deep into his flesh, before Kolt dashed his brains out on the riverbank.

“A poor choice of words, I expect,” he apologised. “But you certainly do have a very deep interest in elfin art, do you not, Cardinal Humex?”

“I enjoy it, certainly,” agreed Humex, unable to deny it, unsure why he should. “It brings me a lot of joy.”

Kolt nodded. “I'm sure it does,” he agreed. “I'm sure it does. You do have to admire the attention to detail,” he remarked, apparently going off on another tangent as he took note of a small statue of an elfin woman, carved out of some dark green material that looked like jade but was far harder and yet also softer. It almost felt, when you picked it up, that you could mould it in your hands, change its shape, and yet he knew that gavranite was one of the most rigid metals to be found in Valeron – and only there – and that nothing short of the grip of a troll could change a single angle of this fine piece of statuary, and maybe not even that.

He turned to face Humex, his eyes suddenly sharp and cold, almost stabbing the pope-elect with their burning gaze. “Their women are very beautiful, are they not?”

The question screamed a warning in the mind of Humex, and he sought desperately for a way to avoid it, but could see no way out. “It's a lovely statue, yes,” he faltered, but there was no pity in the eyes of his adversary.

“I wasn't talking about the statue, Cardinal,” he said flatly. Unsure how to respond, Humex stared at him. Suddenly, Kolt looked away and Humex almost felt like he could suddenly breathe, as if he had been prevented from doing so while under the cardinal's intense gaze. “They say elfin ladies are a sight to behold,” he observed. “What do you think, Cardinal Humex?”

The question again caught him by surprise, and he automatically responded “I'm afraid I have never seen one myself, Cardinal Kolt.” He knew Kolt had caught the lie, and it began to tighten around his neck like a noose. His robes suddenly felt very hot and restrictive.

“Really?” Kolt's eyes were wide with surprise. “Now that does amaze me, Cardinal. I had heard that you were perhaps the foremost authority on elfin women in this kingdom.”

“I – I -” Humex found his tongue refused to work. Oh H'Med Krystus! He thought. He can't! He simply can't know ... we were so very careful ... nobody knows! Nobody! And yet, those eyes ...

“From an art lover's point of view, of course,” clarified Kolt, and Humex suddenly felt the noose loosen, his breathing begin to regulate itself again. He doesn't know. He was just fishing for information, hoping I would trip up and hang myself. But if he thinks that, then he doesn't know Valtor Humex! I've kept that secret for fifteen years now, and I'll take it to my grave.

“Ah, of course,” he agreed sagely, playing the game now that he knew his secret was safe. For a moment there... “I have rather more figurines of men than women, but the women are, as you say, quite exquis -”

“And a personal one, too.”

The words cut him off, both in mid-sentence and figuratively at the knees. He felt like collapsing, but rallied. Keep your fool mouth shut, Humex! He knows nothing! Don't fall into his trap!

“A personal one?” he repeated, forcing his voice to remain mild. “I'm not quite sure what you -” Again he was cut off, this time a little more sharply by the other man, who snorted, the first unfriendly sound he had made since coming here, and perhaps the first real indication of his true purpose, and his actual personality. Had Kolt entered wearing a mask, and was he now about to drop it?

“Yes, so I hear,” replied Kolt, turning the figurine over in his hands, examining it critically before finally replacing it carefully on the table. “It's a fake, you know,” he told him. Humex started.

“What?”

“The Hillarba'and. A fake,” Kolt repeated. “Just like you.”

“It can't be!” exploded the pope-elect angrily. “I paid a fortune for that! Had it authenticated by Hoons and Bradwin themselves! It's -” A delayed reaction suddenly kicked in as he remembered the other part of the last sentence Kolt had spoken. Frowning, he demanded “What do you mean, Cardinal Kolt: just like me? What are you implying?”

“Oh I imply nothing,” Kolt told him. “I deal only in facts.” A moment later he reached out and knocked the statue that was supposedly a genuine Hillarba'and and had cost Cardinal Humex half a month's salary to the ground. It disintegrated on impact, spraying a thin pink mist over the floor. “You see?” He said, as he hunkered down and poked around in the dust with his finger distastefully. “A true blackiron would never shatter so easily, and this dust – pinkiron, I believe they call it in the trade? Quite popular with forgers, especially those who make counterfeit blackiron. It would appear, Cardinal Humex”, he observed, “that you are not quite the expert on elfin art that you purport to be. On other matters elfin though,” he went on, “I'm assured you are something of a scholar. One might even say,” he grinned, a cold grin, “a virtuoso.”

Humex's temper finally failed him. All this innuendo, these veiled threats and half-accusations, and now the annoying revelation about his supposedly valuable Hillarban'and – where was it all leading? What was the man up to? What was his game? Like a man with a sword suspended over his head, forever waiting for it to fall, Humex suddenly just wanted it over. “You speak in riddles, Cardinal Humex,” he told the other, “and I'm afraid I am much too busy to decipher your codex. I will soon be pope and -”

“You will never be pope.” The words carried the absolute conviction of a man who was certain he spoke the truth. Humex's blood ran cold again. He tried to brazen it out.

“Well, the College of Cardinals has spoken, Kolt,” he sneered, deliberately for the first time failing to use the honorific, “and their will cannot be gainsaid. I'm afraid you've lost, Cardinal Kolt,” he told him, allowing a little more formality to enter his tone. “By this time tomorrow you will kneel before Pope Honarius III, and there is nothing you can do about it.”

“You will never be pope.” Again, that same dark certainty, the unsettling lack of any sense of threat, or thwarted desire, but the clear and unequivocal utterance of a man who spoke only, as he had said a short time ago, plain fact. Well, well! Thought Humex. Looks like the old cunt's finally gone off the deep end. May as well humour him, I suppose.

“And why do you think that, Cardinal Kolt?” he asked, almost pleasantly, but the reply was anything but pleasant, delivered as it was in a deadpan, flat voice but with eyes that burned.

“The Church will not allow a heretic to sit on the Wood Throne,” he told him.

Now it was the turn of Humex's eyes to blaze, and with righteous anger.
“How dare you call me so!” he spat. “I am – I will be your pope, and you will kneel before me!”

“You will not,” Kolt said simply, “and I will not.”