imagined. He took a deep breath. “In this city, there is a young patriot who has been imprisoned unjustly. He is to be tried before a court martial, and I greatly fear he will be condemned to death. He—”
“Yes. Salm-Salm has spoken to me of this matter. Is this a formal petition?”
“He acted impetuously to right a grievous wrong—a personal injury—wishing only to ensure that justice be done in the case of a legendary villain, a murderer who thoroughly deserved such punishment. The incarcerated man is my friend, Baldemar Peralta. He is in the Martinica Prison facing trial on the charge of attempted assassination. He—”
“You wish to make a petition on his behalf, I take it. Is this a formal undertaking?”
“I don’t know, Your Imperial Highness—”
“Majesty.”
“Your Imperial Majesty. Sorry. I appeal to you as a man of generous spirit, as—”
“Because, if it is a formal petition, I am afraid this is not the time or the place. A schedule will be set out in due course for the hearing of such appeals. The hours will be published for all to see. I … yes …?”
A large man laid his hand upon the Austrian’s arm. “Your Majesty,” he said, “the hour is late.”
“Yes, yes, of course. You are right.” The Austrian turned back to Diego. “I am afraid we have business to attend to just now.” He tossed his cigarette away and smiled—a young man’s smile. He hesitated. For a moment, his expression darkened into a frown. “I wonder …” he began. He gestured toward the hulking edifice of stone that reared behind him, the National Palace. “You don’t happen to know of another palace in this city, do you? This place is bestial. Why, it’s infested with parasites.”
“Your Majesty …” The large man said again. “The hour …”
“Right you are, Charles. Coming.” The Austrian shook his head.“Anyway, it’s out of the question that we should live here. The place is an abomination.” He gave Diego a look that somehow combined charm, arrogance, and utter helplessness. “You must know of some more suitable address. You are Mexican, after all.”
And it was as if God himself had suddenly appeared, to clear the heavens or part the sea. This was the moment Ángela had anticipated, and she had equipped Diego with a response.
“It so happens,” he said, “that I know of an ideal location.”
The man raised his eyebrows. “You do?”
“Yes. As for this building, I agree with you. It is a monstrosity—too severe, and sorely in need of light. Why, look.” He waved the stump of his left arm in the direction of the Zócalo. “The entire plaza is far too big. Those who designed it lacked any sense of human scale.” He tried to recall Ángela’s exact words. “They wished only to intimidate, to sow fear among the common folk.”
“Dear God,” said the Austrian. “But this is my view exactly. Hold hard, Charles.” He fumbled for another cigarette. “And you say you know of another building, something preferable?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Diego knew he was not responsible for this proposal. Ángela was. “The place I speak of—it is not in the city proper.”
The Austrian dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. “
No importa.
”
“It serves another purpose at present.”
“Irrelevant. What is its name?”
“Chapultepec, Your Majesty—a word that means Grasshopper Hill. That is the name it goes by. Chapultepec Castle.” He sounded the word out, syllable by syllable.
“Cha-pul-te-pec …” The man repeated the word aloud, as if testing its shape and heft upon his tongue. “Chapultepec Castle.”
“Baldemar Peralta,” Diego said.
“I’m sorry …?”
“The name of my friend.”
“Oh … ? Oh yes. Make a note of that as well, would you, Charles?Chapultepec Castle. And Baldemar …?” He glanced once again at Diego, his eyebrows raised.
“Peralta. Baldemar Peralta.”
“Precisely. We shall speak again, I promise. Salm-Salm, why
“Yes. Salm-Salm has spoken to me of this matter. Is this a formal petition?”
“He acted impetuously to right a grievous wrong—a personal injury—wishing only to ensure that justice be done in the case of a legendary villain, a murderer who thoroughly deserved such punishment. The incarcerated man is my friend, Baldemar Peralta. He is in the Martinica Prison facing trial on the charge of attempted assassination. He—”
“You wish to make a petition on his behalf, I take it. Is this a formal undertaking?”
“I don’t know, Your Imperial Highness—”
“Majesty.”
“Your Imperial Majesty. Sorry. I appeal to you as a man of generous spirit, as—”
“Because, if it is a formal petition, I am afraid this is not the time or the place. A schedule will be set out in due course for the hearing of such appeals. The hours will be published for all to see. I … yes …?”
A large man laid his hand upon the Austrian’s arm. “Your Majesty,” he said, “the hour is late.”
“Yes, yes, of course. You are right.” The Austrian turned back to Diego. “I am afraid we have business to attend to just now.” He tossed his cigarette away and smiled—a young man’s smile. He hesitated. For a moment, his expression darkened into a frown. “I wonder …” he began. He gestured toward the hulking edifice of stone that reared behind him, the National Palace. “You don’t happen to know of another palace in this city, do you? This place is bestial. Why, it’s infested with parasites.”
“Your Majesty …” The large man said again. “The hour …”
“Right you are, Charles. Coming.” The Austrian shook his head.“Anyway, it’s out of the question that we should live here. The place is an abomination.” He gave Diego a look that somehow combined charm, arrogance, and utter helplessness. “You must know of some more suitable address. You are Mexican, after all.”
And it was as if God himself had suddenly appeared, to clear the heavens or part the sea. This was the moment Ángela had anticipated, and she had equipped Diego with a response.
“It so happens,” he said, “that I know of an ideal location.”
The man raised his eyebrows. “You do?”
“Yes. As for this building, I agree with you. It is a monstrosity—too severe, and sorely in need of light. Why, look.” He waved the stump of his left arm in the direction of the Zócalo. “The entire plaza is far too big. Those who designed it lacked any sense of human scale.” He tried to recall Ángela’s exact words. “They wished only to intimidate, to sow fear among the common folk.”
“Dear God,” said the Austrian. “But this is my view exactly. Hold hard, Charles.” He fumbled for another cigarette. “And you say you know of another building, something preferable?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Diego knew he was not responsible for this proposal. Ángela was. “The place I speak of—it is not in the city proper.”
The Austrian dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. “
No importa.
”
“It serves another purpose at present.”
“Irrelevant. What is its name?”
“Chapultepec, Your Majesty—a word that means Grasshopper Hill. That is the name it goes by. Chapultepec Castle.” He sounded the word out, syllable by syllable.
“Cha-pul-te-pec …” The man repeated the word aloud, as if testing its shape and heft upon his tongue. “Chapultepec Castle.”
“Baldemar Peralta,” Diego said.
“I’m sorry …?”
“The name of my friend.”
“Oh … ? Oh yes. Make a note of that as well, would you, Charles?Chapultepec Castle. And Baldemar …?” He glanced once again at Diego, his eyebrows raised.
“Peralta. Baldemar Peralta.”
“Precisely. We shall speak again, I promise. Salm-Salm, why
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