The Black Opera by Mary Gentle Read Free Book Online Page A

body. Conrad thought he managed it without looking a complete fool, although his face heated. “Your Majesty.”
    â€œYou’ll forgive this not being a formal audience.” The King visibly came to some decision. “Walk with me, Signore Scalese.”
    King Ferdinand Bourbon-Sicily stepped through the outer door. Conrad followed, emerging onto a stone terrace above the sea.
    He blinked at the muted sunlight—and realised that a canvas awning was stretched above, shielding the walkway from the light. It was made of ship’s canvas, Conrad noted, after the ancient Roman style, with slits cut throughout so as not to become a sail in reality. Sun and shadow cast hieroglyphic patterns on the pale flagstones at their feet.
    â€œYour family is from the Two Kingdoms, signore.”
    â€œMy father was court musician severally in Bavaria and the Prussian territories, Your Majesty. But I have some claim through my mother’s family, who own property in Catania.”
    Ferdinand dragged his gaze back from clouds racing inland towards the mountains, as if the sight of the Bay were magnetic. He gave Conrad a frankly speculative look.
    â€œI’m told you may settle in Naples, given your professional success here.”
    â€œI had intended to stay, Your Majesty.” Conrad let his tone make it a reference to the burning of the Teatro Nuovo, if the King should care to interpret it that way. “My mother lived a lot in Naples in her youth, though her family’s from the other Sicily. I spent some of my childhood here, Your Majesty.”
    â€œCall me ‘sir’ when we’re private.”
    â€œâ€˜Conrad,’ then, sir, if you wish.”
    I’m not yet certain that Tullio and JohnJack are safe; I need to know what’s going on!
    Conrad spoke bluntly but politely, ignoring the etiquette that says one does not question a king. “Sir, may I ask: what do you want from me?”
    Ferdinand’s inoffensive smile sharpened. He spoke mildly. “Do I want something?”
    â€œThis morning I appear to have been saved from the Church, sir, only to fall into the hands of the State. I wonder what the State wants of me.”
    The King inclined his head, evidently not offended. “The State wants a private conversation. As to the nature of it… Come with me, Conrad.”
    Conrad, bare-faced about the necessity, scooped up his chains more securely, and walked beside King Ferdinand down the awning-shaded terrace. He could see past the old royal Angevin palace, Castel Nuovo, square and granite andgrim; to the curve of the Bay and Naples harbour. Spring clouds scudded up the sky, casting shadows on early, crowded streets.
    They passed another set of French doors. Ferdinand glanced inside the palace.
    Ah— This is why we’re walking out here!
    The air might be only just warm, but the sound of the breeze, as well as the noise of the waves, meant no servant indoors stood a chance of overhearing them.
    Conrad’s hands sweated, carrying the steel of his chains.
    â€œYou’re an atheist,” Ferdinand said.
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œWhy?”
    Conrad deliberately abandoned the ideas of prevarication, or tact.
    I’m deep enough in, in any case! Let a monarch have the undecorated truth told to him.
    â€œBecause I never believed, sir. I don’t know why.”
    Seeing Ferdinand’s expression, he made the effort to give a wider picture.
    â€œI remember when I was six, believing in die Großmutter who brings coal on St Stephen’s Day for bad little boys. And the next year, I didn’t believe, being too old for fairy tales. I don’t know if I ever had any such belief in the Holy Virgin and Mother Church…”
    Conrad frowned, struggling for memories too far back, and too well-handled, to be certain.
    â€œIf I’m remembering correctly, I never had to disbelieve in God. By the time I was nine, I had been in heretic