A bureaucrat’s misadventure in a foreign city.
Sir,
In light of the incident and its severity, I have opted to make full written account of the events leading to it, in the hopes that this might resolve any ongoing questions as to my integrity, and make good any misapprehensions thereof based on what I assure you were mere misunderstanding and coincidence, rather than any incompetence or perfidy on my part as a representative of the Morgantine Crown. I trust that this plea will be read with good faith, and that my blamelessness is made apparent to the board of enquiry, allowing for the retention of the diplomatic privilege of immunity from prosecution.
I arrived in Antagazze only slightly behind schedule, though at a fraction of the coin allotted for travel expenses, due to my successful negotiation of a reduced carriage rental fee. The delay, for which I am blameless, did however necessitate a somewhat rushed search for lodgings. With dusk driving in, I unthinkingly called the coachman to take me to a reputable establishment, which he took to mean the Palazzo Monciardi. Unfortunately, in the dark, I did not recognise it as the infamously decadent and consequently expensive hostelry until I was received at the front desk. There being no time to find an alternative so late in the day, I fully intended to take on a low-rate room for only one night and make alternate arrangements as soon as possible.
However, the staff on duty informed me that no such room was available, I was obliged to take on a suite. Regrettably, the policy of the Palazzo Monciardi is not to rent a suite for less than one week, so as to avoid embarrassing The Crown by giving the impression that Morgantis cannot afford to house its emissaries on diplomatic missions, I unhappily did as the situation demanded. This expense being a substantial burden upon my allotted budget, I judged it imprudent to risk offending any of the notables I was set to meet by being unable to pay for luncheons, etc.
As such, I made the decision to open a line of credit at the Antagazzi State Bank using my diplomatic credentials, in line with approved protocol. Due to a clerical error I was ignorant of until the contract was signed, I had borrowed the equivalent of twenty thousand Denarii, rather than two thousand, as I had intended. There was a recent re-minting in Antagazze, and I confess that the new coinage was foreign to me. I naturally assumed that there had been a debasement of the Antagazzi Solidus relative to the Denarius, and was consequently less able to act with full judiciousness in the assessment of appropriate expenditures.
With the financial security of my mission now assured, as I believed at the time, I sent word by courier to my first contact that I had arrived in the city. Dottore Matteo Magula, the surgeon responsible for the successful removal of a bullet from the neck of Queen Angelina of Stylesia, had indicated a willingness to take his trade to the University of Morgantis, a prospect that would be of great benefit to the Kingdom’s medical practice.
Understanding the importance of this first meeting, I was eager to make a good impression upon the Dottore, and wore my robe of office for our meeting at the piazza. On my way there, a seabird took upon itself to befoul my clothing. To my great relief, it just so happened that standing nearby was a washerwoman, who assured me that she would be able to wash my robe and have it sent to my lodgings for what I thought was a reasonable fee. I was likewise pleased to purchase from her a tunic that a client had apparently left with her after being unsatisfied with her labours.
I cannot blame the man, but the conspicuous dark stain (I took it to be wine) over the breast was easily covered by way of a large and fragrant bouquet de corsage from a nearby flower stall. The Morgantine notion of unmanliness conveyed in wearing flowers has long struck me a foolish one, though in Antagazze I had seen several young men wearing such ornament. There are few things in life of more sincere pleasure than having one’s notions and tastes that are sneered at by one’s peers being picked up and emulated by the young and fashionable, which is what I took to be the situation at the time.
So attired, and despite the delay caused by the debacle with the washerwoman, I arrived at the piazza ahead of time for my meeting with the Dottore, though having missed the opportunity to tour the spice market, and follow the Antagazzi custom of filling a silk bag with spice of my own selection, to be used as an infusion in coffee or wine. I sat quite alone at the table for a full half-hour, according to the passage of the shadow of Il Tulipano across the buildings surrounding the piazza, which are ingeniously arranged and marked with the hours to make the entire square into a sundial.
The gentleman on the nearest table seemed also to be expecting a tardy companion, and I felt a quiet kinship with another whose time had been disrespected so. I nodded respectfully to him, so as to convey my commiseration, whereupon he looked away from me with apparent affront. I knew not if I had run afoul of some custom, or merely embarrassed him further by drawing attention that his humiliation was not private. When the waiter came to refill my cup, and I reflexively thanked him in Morgantine dialect before correcting myself to Antagazzi, the gentleman suddenly looked up and made his way to my table, introducing himself as Dottore Magula.
In my haste to make good my appointment, I had neglected to consider that my new tunic was of Antagazzi style, considerably more flamboyant than my robes of office, and without it there was no way for the Dottore to recognise me as the Morgantine emissary. Embarrassed by my oversight, I confess that I stammered slightly through my explanation of the events leading to my unusual attire. Gladly, however, the good Dottore (who insisted I call him Matteo) was eminently diplomatic, and we rapidly established a rapport. At that time I had no reason to think that he disbelieved my explanation and considered me an eccentric.
As is local business custom, little of substance was discussed between us at our first conference. That is not to say that the meeting was entirely overtaken by niceties, but I would have preferred for more to have been achieved. The late start made for a late finish, as what had been intended as a meeting over coffee developed into a long lunch, where my confusion over the currency exchange reared its ugly head and took an unpleasant portion of the emergency finances I had procured.
It was at the end of this luncheon that he made known to me a light entertainment venue he intended to patronise in the evening and extend an invitation to join him. I felt it entirely appropriate to take him up on this offer, given that he was both a valuable diplomatic contact, and an apparently upstanding member of Antagazzi society. What I took to be an evening at a revue, or perhaps an operetta would, I thought, be an excellent venue for finalising Dottore Magula’s visa paperwork.
This appointment made, I spent the rest of the afternoon attending to various small matters, including the purchase of what I took to be pre-made infusion bags from an extremely affable gentleman who approached me in the street, assuring me that they were of the highest quality. This was a purchase I made in good faith. I am not an expert in the culinary arts, and whilst I had a dim knowledge of khatareca’s existence, I was not aware of its nature as a recreational intoxicant.
At the allotted hour, I met with the Dottore outside the Palazzo Monciardi. He was now no longer in his work attire, instead wearing a tunic similar to my own, complete with bouquet du corsage. Our walk by the canalside to Il Gioventù Dipinta, which was not at all bawdy this early in the evening, was calm and pleasant. Whilst there were several older gentlemen in the company of younger men, and I took these to be mere family outings. Several of the older men had, I suspected, began to overindulge on wine, but there was no apparent debauched conduct, and I had no reason to suspect any.
I had thought to begin with coffee, but the Dottore (who at his request I referred to as Matteo for the evening) wished to begin the evening with a cup of wine. There being no reason that I could see to refuse this request, and thereby risk alienating the gentleman, I accepted. Whilst we were waiting for our drinks the stage below was lit, and a performance began. We were seated in the gallery, and my poor vision at long distance obviated my ability to precisely make out what the cabaret entailed. Besides, it was not my focus of attention, which was still conducting the business of The Crown.
The wine that arrived at our table had been recommended to me by Matteo, and it was a particularly dark and heady one. I thought immediately to lessen its potency by steeping my newly purchased infusion in it, which drew my companion’s attention. I explained my purchase to him and offered him another of the infusion bags. He eagerly accepted, and we proceeded to drink. I wish to stress that from this point onward, I was unwittingly intoxicated, and as such my judgement was deeply compromised. I was not in possession of my faculties, and it would be deeply unkind to use any action or actions I made in such a state as indicative of any flaw in my character.
At some point after our second cups of (unbeknownst to me) adulterated wine, our table was approached by two young men, who offered to accompany us for the evening. We accepted, and some coin was exchanged for the trouble of escorting us through the Antagazzi nightlife. At this point it was not apparent that they were prostitutes.
Several drinks later, through the group’s conversation the nature of their profession did become evident, but by that point my faculties were diminished by the wine and khatareca. Their company was agreeable, and they were quite charming in a personal capacity, physical attributes quite beside the point of our companionship, which according to my recollection was never anything more than platonic, despite unfortunate appearances to the contrary.
One such incident was a misunderstanding developed between our party and one of the security personnel of Il Gioventù Dipinta, who had come to the erroneous conclusion that I was performing a sexual act upon one of our companions, when in fact I had come under the table to retrieve a dropped infusion bag. The guard would not be swayed.
The result of the following minor scuffle was our forceful ejection from the premises, which quite incensed Matteo. Fortunately, our companions were able to assure him that this need not be the end of our revelry, and offered to take us on a tour of Antagazze’s taverns. I agreed to finance the endeavour, as a method of smoothing over this wrinkle in an otherwise soundly developed relationship.
This agreed, we followed our companions from place to place, having one cup of ale, mead, wine, or spirits in each establishment before moving to the next. I have extremely limited recollection of this portion of our misadventure, only that there was some unpleasantness involving a game of darts that one of our companions had participated in, which led to us leaving the venue before our drinks were finished.
At some point in the early hours of the morning, the group had drifted apart. I do not remember how, but at some point I had become quite distressed that I had done wrong, and pressed the remainder of my purse into the hands of a stranger, and gone to a tree to pass water.
When I awoke in the cells of the City Watch, I was most distressed and disorientated, and in great pain. What follows is the account of what took place beyond the field of my recollection, as told to me by the officer responsible for my arrest and duplicated in his report to the magistrate. I wish to stress that these are the words of a man used to dealing with ruffians, and thus quick to see rough behaviour in those he encounters, whether it is there or not. Further, that I was under the influence of potent intoxicants for most of the events detailed.
*
Honourable Officer of The Morgantine Crown,
I was first told that an older man was making trouble at Il Gioventù Dipinta a bit after tenth bell. Earlier than usual but nobody makes bets the guard won’t be called in past dark at weeksend. By the time we arrived, they’d been kicked out, but bar staff told us two old sots had been getting drunk and taking khatareca at their table since eighth bell, making loud and crude shouts at the nudie girls on stage, then been joined by two of the house boys, who were hired on the spot for a princely sum.
Management told us they held off on booting them out because of the coin they were spending, which came to nearly one and a half thousand Solidus on drink and sundries, another five hundred on the boys. Il Gioventù Dipinta skirts the law on brothelry very tight, everyone knows what the place is, but so long as the only sex to happen there happens on stage, with salaried actors, they’re a theatre by law, and so long as they toe that line, they’re untouchable.
For that reason, they come down hard on patrons getting grabby, usually hoofing them out the door. Heard it said that seeing how far they can push it before getting the boot has become a bit of a game for their regulars. Dottore Matteo Magula is one of that sort, drunken rake that he is. Was no surprise to hear him involved in more trouble. Most times when someone’s kicked out we keep an eye to make sure nobody ends up in a canal with an open gizzard and an empty purse, and hear nothing of them until next time.
Not that night. A string of bars and taverns complaining about this quartet, especially as even the infamous Matteo Magula seemed to have a rival for hellraising. Broken barstools, smashed windows, even a dart to the scalp of a barmaid. The charges are extensive, or would be hadn’t this beast choked up the mouths of every aggrieved party with gold, which he had in suspicious abundance for a stranger with a foreign accent, dressed up as one of the local louts, with the frilly tunic and bunch of flowers.
Following this trail of destruction, me and two of my men found the honourable Dottore painting the side of a building with his last couple of drinks. We chucked a bit of water on him, partly to sober him up but mostly for the smell, and tried to get some sense out of him. He was paralytic, far too out of it to answer any questions beyond grunting and retching.
Despite all his fault, the man is a patrician, so we as sworn men have ‘an unalienable duty to offer whate’er protection and assistance may be demanded or required to be rendered upon the esteemed personage of a citizen of noble birth’. Following that, we got him warm and off to his house and servants. Our feudal duties done, we went back to the work of tracking down the foreigner.
It was not us who found him, which was not to his benefit. He had managed to lose his other companions at some point, and stumbled to Il Tulipano, where he hammered on the door for ten minutes, and when it was finally opened by the Archmage herself, he exposed himself and urinated on Her Eminence’s person.
It speaks of her great restraint that the man still lives. According to Her Eminence, who wishes to have no further part in the matter, he did not know where he was, or what he was doing. Even so, he was severely injured by the impact with the piazza, breaking both legs and three ribs.
He was insensible when taken into custody, and it is likely that only the effects of what he had consumed stopped him from going into shock and losing his life. As it stands, he will need to convalesce for some time ahead of his appearance before the magistrate, should the prosecution be approved by your good self. This convalescence includes a bone-setting performed by Dottore Magula, who in light of the circumstances has agreed to waive his fee.
On a related matter, which may inform your decision, we have as yet been unable to find the washerwoman the accused cites as the possessor of his robe of office, who we guess from his description to be Daggie Marrow, a sea witch known to use gulls as familiars. Her purpose in having a diplomat’s robe is a mystery to me, but the inclusion of this detail in my report seemed wise.
Yours in faith,
Capitano Allesandro Fantini, Antagazze City Watch
Rainbow Samphire 