"Now will you listen to me, or are you merely going to toss around sarcastic remarks?"
The Drazi fell silent, anger in his gaze.
Everyone in the room was quiet.
"Continue," Moreil said at last. "We listen."
Marrago swallowed, trying to stoke up the anger he always felt. He had hated the Great Game, the foolish waste of it. He thought of the loyal soldiers who had died because of political machinations. He thought of Lyndisty bleeding her life away in the throne room. He thought of Londo banishing him. He thought of Drusilla, cold and calculating. He thought of weak nobles and foolish courtiers and sybaritic hedonists. He thought of everything he had ever hated about his world and his people.
And he turned that anger into a cold, determined conviction. He had taken this step. He had always known this day would come.
He would do what he must.
"It will not be easy," he continued. "Our.... their fleet might not be what it once was, but it is still impressive. Technologically the Centauri fleet outdoes anything we can match. The planetary defence system in particular is outstanding. After the attack two-and-a-half years ago I laid down specifications for new improved mechanics. They were half-way to completion when I was.... banished. It's safe to assume the new grid is finished now.
"Plus, there is the possibility of Alliance ships there. Centauri Prime still has some Centauri ships, but there may be other Alliance forces. I've heard about the Inquisitors moving around on the surface. They will have ships of their own in orbit. Plus, after the attack on Gorash, Londo will have asked the Alliance for greater protection. Count on it. You caught him flat-footed once before. I doubt you'll do so again.
"On the other hand, the homeworld will still be sorely weakened from the War. There were very few nobles of any status left alive, and the Houses will now be led by young and inexperienced nobles. They won't have much military understanding, but they will all be willing to fight hard to prove themselves.
"We need to know more about the situation on Centauri Prime before we do anything. The first rule of war is never to go in blind."
"No waiting," the Tuchanq said in its usual hollow, staccato voice. "No time for patience. Only revenge. Only blood. We will not wait."
Mi'Ra rose, and Marrago looked at her. She was almost.... feline in her movements. Narns were generally too thickset and heavy-boned for subtlety or grace of motion, but Mi'Ra seemed to manage it.
"The timing is perfect," she said, her red eyes looking directly at him. "It could not be more so. Emperor Mollari is sick, possibly on his deathbed. Those.... young, idealistic nobles you spoke of will be too busy manoeuvring themselves into positions of power to work together to hold off an attack."
Marrago felt a sickening lurch in his stomach. Londo? Ill? Dying? Then he hardened his hearts. Londo had accepted his role. Marrago would have to continue with his.
"If you say so. I think it is too early."
"No," the Tuchanq said. "Now."
"There is one more thing," Marrago said, looking around. "Alliance ships. There will be some there, particularly if those Inquisitors are still present. Open fire on an Alliance ship, and you are inviting war with them."
"Let them come," Moreil said, suddenly. "Let them all come."
Mi'Ra nodded. So did the Tuchanq.
Marrago spread his arms wide. "Very well. Someone fetch the maps. I'll start outlining weak points and strategic areas."
The servants moved aside as she passed, whispering about her when they thought she was out of earshot. She could hear them, of course. One of the things she had learned in her childhood was the necessity of very good hearing. She didn't let them know she could hear them, though. That would spoil all the fun.
It was interesting to find out what people were saying about her. Some called her mad, others cold. There were rumours that she was sleeping with any number of people — one chambermaid even claimed to have seen her in the bed of that strange human Morden. Some said she had poisoned her husband, or that she had used witchcraft to make him ill, or that she had gone to the technomages to have him kept alive but not conscious.
She was aware that she was not universally liked, but she contented herself with the thought that few people of worth were ever popular.
Not even her guards liked her. They had made the absolute minimum of protest when she had told them that she did not need them for today.
Lady Timov, daughter of Alghul and Lady Consort to Emperor Londo Mollari II, pushed the door open and swept majestically inside.
Durla Antignano stood to attention sharply. "My lady," the new Captain of the Guards said crisply.
Timov nodded at him as she closed the door, looking around. He had come alone, as she had requested. He could hardly insult the Lady Consort by bringing his guards to a private meeting now, could he? It was of course scandalous that the two of them were alone together, but Timov was content to let the scandalmongers have their fun. After all, if the worst they suspected about this meeting was an illicit liaison, both of them would have escaped lightly.
From the folds of her voluminous gown Timov pulled out a small, stylus-shaped device, with which she proceeded to comb the room. The light on the end of the tracker maintained a steady glow until she reached an elaborately decorated urn in one corner of the chamber. Timov recognised it as a grossly expensive gift to Emperor Turhan from the then-incumbent Lord Vole. A quick moment's investigation turned up the bugging device and she quickly clipped a device of her own around it. A study of the rest of the room found another similar device, which was treated the same way.
Satisfied, Timov folded up her tracker and returned it to her pocket. Taking the seat opposite Durla, she gestured to him to sit down.
"A few little things I picked up from some contacts of mine in the black market," she said by way of explanation. "Anyone listening will hear what I wish them to hear, and nothing else."
"And what will they be hearing, my lady?" Durla asked in his usual clipped, precisely enunciated tone.
"Oh, that we are sleeping together. Don't look so shocked, Durla. You are a fine figure of a young man, and with my husband.... ill, I have certain needs." The expression on Durla's face was wonderful to behold, a strange combination of shock and revulsion, purest horror and desperation. Timov laughed. "A joke," she said. "I cannot speak for my husband, but my marriage vows mean something to me. Besides, you are a little young for me. I wanted to speak of something else and it would be better if anyone listening thought this more.... mundane."
"Are you not worried that those.... listeners might use this incorrect information against you, my lady?"
"Tish! When has adultery ever been a cause for concern in these circles? My fidelity has usually been something of a joke."
Durla smiled, and rested his elbows on the table. "Not for you, my lady, no. But my position is a little more precarious than yours. I could very easily find myself back in those cells. My guards bear me little love, and if you were to complain about any.... undue pressure I was putting on you, I would rapidly lose the limited freedom I have at present."
"Really?" Timov said, eyes widening. "I had not considered that possibility. How dreadfully remiss of me. You must accept my utmost apologies."
Durla reached into the pocket of his uniform coat and laid something on the table. Timov smiled, recognising it. A signal jammer. "Believe me, my lady. No one is hearing anything in this room."
"I had hoped to avoid making people paranoid, but yes, we are both very clever. We have played this Game too long. I did not come here to blackmail you, Durla, nor to sleep with you. I came to offer you an alliance."