Pantalone

The great hall of Snezhnograd’s Veche was unusually tense.

Four long rows divided the chamber beneath the cold light of the towering windows. Each represented a different faction whose interests had brought them beneath the same roof, though cooperation was clearly the last thing on anyone’s mind.

Pantalone occupied his place among the representatives of financial politics, surrounded by several of his own people. He sat with the effortless composure of a man who had long since become accustomed to being obeyed. One gloved hand rested against the arm of his chair while the other idly turned a ring around his finger.

Across the hall sat Sandrone, Tartaglia, and the members of the Druzhina.

Pantalone's eyes passed over them one by one, lingering only briefly. He regarded the entire gathering with the faintest trace of amusement, as though the proceedings were little more than an elaborate performance staged for his entertainment.

A murmur spread through the hall as another delegate finished speaking.

Pantalone gave a quiet, almost disdainful sigh.

"How fascinating."

His voice carried easily through the chamber.

"Everyone seems terribly concerned with what Snezhnaya should do, yet remarkably few people here appear capable of explaining what it will cost."

A faint smile touched his lips.

"Fortunately, that is precisely why I'm here."

He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other.

"Do continue. I'm certain someone will eventually say something worth my attention."