“King Orso!” Jappo Murcatto reclined on a velvet daybed in a mask sculpted like spread eagle’s wings and a Gurkish robe that left nothing to the imagination. “It is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance!” “The pleasure is mine,” said Orso, in Styrian, giving the kind of sweeping bow his mother had always told him was popular in Talins. “How often, after all, do two kings get to chat? It’s rather refreshing, being able to speak to someone on an equal footing.” And he took his mask off and tossed it on a side table, then dropped down in a chair and poured himself a glass of wine. Jappo
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