We do not speak of Christmas 2007.
“In the name of Butter… of Flour… and Whole Milk…
may the béchamel be free of lumps,
may the cannelloni never split open,
and may no ignorant fool come anywhere near my kitchen.
Amen.”
In the background, Amadeus sets down his cup.
—Here we go again…
—“Amadeus, show some respect.”
—I do respect. But the last time you blessed the cannelloni, the Bishop of Vic showed up, and there’s still a stain on the ceiling.
Silence.
Allegro turns pale.
Cassanovus crosses himself.
Aura stops recording.
And Allegro, his eyes lost somewhere in the distance, murmurs:
—“We do not speak of Christmas 2007…”
And for a few seconds, at Prymere Castle, nobody says a word.
Because there are things…
That only Allegro, Amadeus, and Cassanovus remember.
And upon those things rests a solemn oath.
