[center][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jve0KwYE98Y][h2]Turchina, the Lagoon District.[/h2][/url]
[img]http://allart.biz/up/photos/album/B-C/Alexey_Bogolyubov/bogolyubov_alexey_54_venice_at_night.jpg[/img][/center]


The Maestro di Orecchi was once more sitting at his desk in the small study up on the old Campanile di St. Fiorentino, late at night. Oh knowing everything was hard work, it really was. The hardest part of it was to actually make it seem easy. A little of the writing work could be delegated, but there was information so delicate that a man could only trust himself with it, and even then would need to be careful. To his key agents around the continent Boccanegra held contact via an own post pidgeon network. He could not trust other ways of communication, and the birds where dreadfully fast, maybe the fastest way to get informed save having mages scry for you. And who wanted to pay for that? Or even worse: Who wanted to have as pompous individuals as high magi know ones secrets? Thus the Maestro had pidgeon coops close at hand, under the Campaniles roof, where once the great bells had hung, before they had been moved to the new cathedral. Any bird coming in was sure to alert him even in his sleep as the Master of Ears even had his sleeping chambers up here in the tower.

Right as his candle had dwindled down to a small stump, and he was massaging the bridge of his nose just that happened. The black clad man sighed and climbed the wooden ladders. Soon he had found the animal. “There my little one, show me what news my little mice have found.” He said stroking the bird as he removed the tiny tube bearing the letter. A red silken ribbon? “Aldmeria? This will be important.” He said as he gave the bird an extra amount of feed. “You have done well, rest.” Then he quickly climbed down, igniting a new candle, the low blue flame of the old one was too small to read the miniscule writing. “It is not official yet, but the High Pontiff…” He gasped muttering loudly. What luck that he was not in his small clothes but still dressed from the last day. He raced down one stair and kicked at a door. Here his most trustworthy mice slept. A kid of maybe nine opened after a moment, blinking at the light of the candle. “Quick get the pontiff to the palazzo, the Dogaressa will want him. Hurry, Pippino. It cannot wait!” He himself raced onward, ever down the steep spiral steps. Then through the secret passage under the piazza.

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The Palazzo Ducale is a huge building, taking up the entire opposite site of the Piazza St. Fiorentino. It houses offices, a prison, the council chambers and much more. In short it is the beating heart of the republic. At its own heart, can be found the Doge’s chambers. It is here, where these days the mindless ruin of a man is cared for in a huge bed. The ruler of the Republicca. The suite of salons and rooms beyond is entirely the domain of the true ruler though, the dark Dogaressa. 
The eminence grise was sleeping sound in a quite normal sized bed, seeming out of place in the opulent and heavily decorated room. The moons pale light was filtering in through the windows. The chamber was quiet, apart from the womans own calm breathing and from time to time the sounds of two guards, stationed outside her door, trying to not make sounds. A creaking broke the silence, and Caterina sighed turning around. Then a shadowed figure bearing a single candle detached from the source of the sound starting to ignite the other candles in the room. Boccanegra softly spoke. “My Lady, I am sorry to interrupt your sleep, but I have received news you will want to hear right now.” As he was done lighting the room, and addressing her he knelt down facing her bed lowering his head. It had been some time since news important enough to rush to her through the secret passages had come and the situation felt awkward somehow.

Caterina Marcellai was upright in her bed once she had heard him speak. Stark awake in an instant. She jumped up without a word, walking over to her wardrobe. She hid her, until then, naked form in a long white nightgown. Then she sat down at her desk. In a cold voice she said. “Rise Maestro Niccolo, I dislike it when you grovel around, you can do that when others are present.” She poured herself a glass of wine, drank a sip, then sighed and massaged the bridge of her nose with two fingers. “Okay so what is important enough to rush here in the middle of the night? Important enough to rush here and wake me?” She gazed at him angrily. The man rose and dusted himself off but kept his gaze lowered to the ground. “I am very sorry your highness, I know I am not to do this, unless it is important news. Well please hear me out, I am sure you will find that this is one of the times where this really is the case.” He looked up at her waiting for an answer. She drank another sip then impatiently waved her hand upward, signaling him to speak up “I just received word from the north. The Pontifical State to be precise.” He spore slowly with deliberation and as he took a breath to go on talking the door opened a fraction. 
A puzzled guard looked in to check on why voices where coming from a room with no other door. His gaze fell on the nearly nude lady who threw her glass at him “OUT.” She explaimed breathing heavily. Then she looked at Boccanegra again, visibly angry.
 “So what happened up there?” she muttered rubbing her eyes. But just as he opened his mouth to talk again she held up her hand to stop him. Listening. Outside a galloping horse could be heard, comming to a halt close by. A rare sound in the lagunal, offshore part of the city. She went on to listen for a moment then nodded, some of her anger apparently dissipated. Niccolo cleared his throat then finally spoke. “His Eminence the High Pontiff has just passed away.” He said quietly. Caterina opened her mouth then closed it, surprise all across her face. “The high pontiff is dead?” She shook her head. “This…why didn’t you say so earlier?” The maestro shrugged at that. Caterina paced up and down the room deep in thought then said. “This is bad. Very bad in fact. I had hoped to push a more suitable person into the office of Pontiff of Turchina, before this happens. Someone making it easy to incite the other Pontiffs to elect.” She stood up pouring herself a new glass of wine. Her spymaster waited, listening. “Now if we are unlucky they will elect some hardliner. Someone who would love to stoke the pyres even more. Someone who would maybe even fuel and support de Gelders’ madness, even incite him to aim for cleansing our fine mother city itself. No we cannot allow this.” She threw her hands up, in frustration. “Why do we just have this Prospero fool?” Boccanegra just looked at her waiting for her to end, he knew that an answer by him would not be welcome.
 “It cannot be helped, summon Prospero anyway.” She spat, as pounding footsteps could be heard outside, then a knock. “Your Highness, the Maestro di Legge is here, insisting he was summoned.” Caterinas expression derailed a second time to greater surprise. Then she grinned, walking past Boccanegra pinching his cheek and whispering to him as she passed “You sly fox. Get out.” She took position in the middle of the room gesturing for Nicollo to leave the room through the secret passage again. As the wooden panel closed behind him she loudly said: “Let him come in.”  

The double doors where opened by the two guards standing left and right, one of them still splattered with wine and a bit red. They saluted as a disheveled looking Pontiff entered, bowing as he did so. Stuttering a bit in the beginning “You…your highness you summoned me?” He panted. 
The woman sat down again, taking note of the effect her translucent gown had on the clergy man. “Your Eminence will receive letter from the Pontifical State in a day or two, maybe later, notifying you of the death of his eminence the High Pontiff.” Pontiff Notaro finally looked directly at her, surprised, saying nothing. “A week later, maybe two, another letter will follow, calling you to travel there for the election of a new High Pontiff.” He muttered finally “My Lady, how…do you…?” “That is none of your business.” She snapped. “It will happen.” She then went on with a calmer voice. A voice with an edge nonetheless, cutting each word carefully. 
“Now there are two possible outcomes to this. My personal favourite, that you will like best too, is the first. It would entail for you to insure a benign and modern man secures the office. The Pontiff of Qualun comes to mind. There are two problems with this. Firstly, this man has no interest in the office I am told, so you will have to make him throw his hat in the ring. The second problem is that you need to fabricate his election in a way that he owes you, and knows he owes you. Even better in a way that he trusts you. You know so he can be influenced a bit.” She made a short pause and stood up. By now the Pontiff was staring at her, mouth agape, sweat trickling down his neck. “Trusts you like we trust eachother, maybe?” she said in a now softer tone, drawing uncomfortably near  ”All this needs to be done subtly, without too many catching on that you had to great a hand in it.” She ran a hand along his jaw. “Once the office is secured a man like him will of course not want to busy himself with too much of the day to day business. He might want to use his influence and new funds to further his philosophical endeavors; to have better instruments made; to Do science, and suchlike.” She said walking away from him , her voice cold and businesslike again. “The pontifical work he would want to leave to a subordinate. Maybe a camerarius? Someone trusted that helped him? Maybe that would be … you?”
Pontiff Notaro gulped audibly “My Lady, but how am I to…?” she turned, taking his arm and leading him to the door. “Some you will outright buy, I am going to equip you with the means to do so. Some will be listening to promises. Some you could make afraid of what the more … conservative candidates would be like. We still have a few days, maybe weeks before you need to go. Let the Maestro di Orecchio instruct you. Things like this are his area of expertise after all.” She opened the door leading him out. “Now do not worry too much. Have a good night.” She said and closed the door behind him. 

As she turned Boccanegra was waiting. “This will not work your ladyship, you are aware of this, right?” she chuckled bitterly and grabbed her glass again. “I am no fool, Nicollo, but this fool is who we have for a Pontiff now. It would be best for you to look for other … options. And to look for them quickly.”


[hider=Summary]
In which Nicollo Boccanegra, the Maestro de Orecchio (Turchinas Spymaster) is notified very early after the fact, that the High Pontiff is dead. He notifies the shadow Ruler of the Republic Caterina Marcellaii and the Pontiff of Turchina, Prospero Notaro is summoned. Some plotting to swing the election in a good direction for the cities interests ensues, but Boccanegra and the Dogaressa are sure it will be all for naught.
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