Wow.

That was good.

And what the heck did they mean -- a "better" outfit -- what was wrong with Illyria's outfit?

A redball is a case that attracts a lot of media and management scrutiny and means a lot of overtime for the detectives. Like people drop everything to work on it. A Buffista death might be one cause we're all tourists. (Oh, I've got a couple more scenes to write then.) Jonbenet would have been a redball in Balmer. Cause, kid, sex angle, swarming media members. I wouldn't mind seeing those parents in the Box, either, but there are limits to this RPF thing.)

Plei, wow. Just - wow.

Connie, it's building nicely.

“John, I don’t care about my clearance rate, ok?”

“Who are you and what have you done with Kay Howard?”

I just nearly choked to death on my gum...

I'm glad, but you can't really die reading this...even I can't take that much sick irony.

More Italian fic

It was after Vespers when Alexander finally made it back to his dormitory. Thankfully the room was empty and he could take a moment to let his mind slow down. Such a bizarre day. It made one wonder what God was thinking as He ordered the paths of His creatures.

Alexander found himself musing on the different types of fear. When he'd been faced with the sword point of the notorious Il Sanguinante, the fear had been immediate and physical. Still, he'd rather have that feeling back again if forced to choose between the other fears he'd met today.

An Inquisitor knew his name, had shown interest in his life. The Holy Office protected the world against heresy and blasphemy, but their curious eyes were safest when they were far away. Monsignor Lewes had reminded him so much of the priest back home: kind, wise, patient, understanding. The kind of person who would encourage confidences. And who might then turn those confidences against you.

Why had Monsignor Lewes gone to such an effort for him? There were such better targets for an Inquisitor's attentions--

Alexander smacked himself in the mouth. A dozen Our Fathers for disrespect. He was no one to judge a Prince of the Church, a member of the Curia. Cardinal Fortezzi was just, well, odd. And old. Old men were entitled to their oddities.

He had been out of breath but right on time for Mass. The other altar boy was a very young recent arrival who had looked relieved to have an experienced partner. Helping serve Mass in a local village church was much different from assisting on the enormous stage that was St. Peter's Basilica. Alexander had been too busy shepherding the young boy to really pay attention to the celebrant. He'd let the words and the ritual carry him into a rapturous trance where the movements were a well-worn dance dedicated to God.

Until he saw Cardinal Fortezzi slip the consecrated wafer of the Host inside his sleeve instead of breaking it and adding a portion to the chalice. His Eminence continued the ritual as usual, drinking from the cup and continuing with the prayers. When he had purified the chalice with wine and water, he'd handed it to Alexander to be returned to its resting place. Alexander didn't know what expression he'd had on his face, but Cardinal Fortezzi had given him a very intent look.

There had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation for His Eminence's action. Except Alexander knew there was none. For a mad moment he'd even considered finding Monsignor Lewes, but he wanted no more contact with the Inquisition.

"There you are, Sandro!"

Alexander jumped in fear, but relaxed as Giuseppe, one of the last remnants of his old village's human tithe to the Church, dropped onto his own bed next to Alexander's. Giuseppe's hands were dark with ink stains from his work in the archives, but his easy smile said his day had been peaceful.

"You're very nervous," Giuseppe observed. "But with the day you've had, I'm not surprised."

"The day I've had?"

"Condottiere and the Papal Guard and the Inquisition? And you in the middle with a killer's hand around your throat?"

Alexander almost laughed at the eager curiosity on Giuseppe's face. "It wasn't my throat, it was my arm he was holding onto."

"Then he didn't threaten to kill you?"

"Please try not to sound so disappointed."

Giuseppe laughed. "I'm sorry. But it's the most interesting thing to happen around here in weeks. I would have loved to have been there, instead of sorting sheepskins with Master Paolo."

"I would have loved for you to be there, too. Instead of me." He returned Giuseppe's rude gesture with one of his own--after checking to make sure no authority figures were around. "How did you know about the Inquisition?"

"Monsignor Lewes? One of Bishop Rossini's servants saw you and the Monsignor walking along afterwards, and he told us all about it down in the Archives."

"What's he like?" Alexander asked casually.

"Bishop Rossini's servant?"

"Monsignor Lewes, you goat."

Giuseppe flopped back onto his pillow. "I like him. He comes down into the Archives a lot, looking for obscure references. He's always very polite and says 'Thank you', even to the lowly apprentices like me."

"But--he's still an Inquisitor."

"More of a researcher than an actual questioner. But they do say that, in Genoa a couple of years ago, he actually forced a demon to flee from the body of a young girl that was possessed." He sat up again. "Did he really make Angelo dell'Irlanda turn tail and run away?"

"He pointed out that there was surely important business elsewhere that needed dealt with, rather than hanging around the Vatican."

"And dell'Irlanda and Il Sanguinante just went."

"Yes."

Giuseppe leaned forward eagerly. "Tell me everything about them. What kind of swords did they have? Did you see any daggers?"

It was a better topic than strange behavior during High Mass.

and now to bed

Excellent!

Yes...very good, now that I found the part I skipped.

I've got all the parts so far here

Pressure mounts in the Buffista Redball...
Al Giardello came into work to a squad swarming with reporters and brass, Captain Barnfather looking dyspeptic as usual.Madonn’, he thought, spare me from the right to know.
Griselda Patel, although she was something of a friend, still thrust that mike in his face like a weapon. “Lieutenant, is it true that a foreign sex cult has invaded Baltimore.”

Gee fought to smile.”Griselda, I don’t know where you get this stuff. But no, it’s not. And that’s all I can say about an on-going investigation. You know that.”

“Some people are saying there are eerie similarities between this writer’s work and her death.”

”I don’t get much time to read anymore. Is there a question there?”

“What do you think about that?”

“The only person getting the life sucked out of him by this case is yours truly. If you’ll excuse me.”

And of course, Barnfather jumps on the bandwagon. “How close are you to putting this thing down? We’ve had two conventions cancel already.”

“Can’t have that,” Gee says dryly. “Look, we’re closer than we were yesterday, but not as close as we will be tomorrow...Howard’s primary.”

There, Gee thought, let’s see him argue with perfect.

“It’s all very well for you to be flip, Al. The economic future of this community is at stake. And Howard? So soon after being shot?”

“Murder doesn’t have a damn thing to do with economy. And, as for Kay, you should be lucky to be as much a man as Kay Howard.”

“There’s no need to get personal, Al.”

“I wouldn’t think of it. Captain.” Gee said, and smiled broadly.