QIZ

Prologue

13th August 2013 

His right hand reflexively smoothed out the undulating blend of silk and cotton fabric, red material resisting his best efforts to iron out any furrows and wrinkles under his coarse fingers; Cardinal Alatelli ensured his left hand was safely clamped onto the gold trimmed, leather document holder.

The faintest scent of premium leather jostled for position within his nostrils, competing with the fusion of incense and wax as his shoes scuffed the gleaming wooden floor. His eyes flickered intermittently, brain in freewheel, concern locked down deep beneath his blank expression, the Cardinal purposefully marched forwards, the cassock swished around his tall, thin form, figures resolved and then melted away along the seemingly endless maze of passageways that comprised the centuries old blend of oak, granite and gold transport infrastructure within the Vatican.

'Ah, Cardinal Alatelli.' A man dressed from head to toe in white looked up, arms held open wide, unwrapped to offer a warm welcome; the wide smile on his face matched the greeting evident in his body language.

'You have the briefing papers, the data that Bishop Nolan talked the media through last night as part of the presentation regarding the merry-go-round of our next set of state visits.'

'That I do, your Holiness.' The flicker of a smile dissolved off the thin lips, Alatelli offered a stifled nod to the mix of men assembled around the table, other than the one in white, the remainder matched his dress code of uniform red cassocks.

Long, narrow fingers ran over the supple leather of the document holder, the zip around the edge opened with a well oiled buzz, papers distributed amongst the eleven Cardinals present and Pope Clement waiting patiently.

Textured parchment a reassuring thickness pressed under his fingertips, familiar text spoke of facts and figures; Alatelli's eyebrows knitted together, the frown line intensified.

'Ah, there must be some mistake.' A deep, booming voice echoed from across the gleaming table, wood polished so many times that it was hard to tell if it had ever taken on a shade of brown or was simply matte black.

'I will take in these briefing papers, these are incorrect...' Heavy jowls reverberated, small pig like eyes shone forth with a laser like intensity.

'Wait.' The man in white commanded. 'This data, these figures, our attendance across Europe, North America, the International.'

Pope Clement held a single sheet of paper in one hand; his thumb and forefinger caressed the texture of the parchment in the other, seeming to physically weigh up the information contained within the black printed text, a slight bleed into the medium that had once seen pulped wood.

'Markedly different to that presented by Bishop Nolan yesterday in preparation for my visits to Berlin and London.' Spilt water droplets evaporated at a rate of knots off an electric hob coming up to temperature, the Pope sat up a little straighter, his face drained of colour, a hand presented to halt the German Cardinal from collecting in the remaining sheets of paper from around the table, Clooseman's teeth gritted, jaw set.

'Maybe these briefing documents are a mistake.' Clement's eyes narrowed, colour returned to his features in a hurry, making up for lost time, his voice initially wistful, now gathering momentum at a pace.

'The last year, I have increasingly wondered about the data on attendance presented, oh the requisite ups and downs but always that positive spin, and then last night, Bishop Nolan's presentation, subtly different information once again, a dissonance picked up by the political commentators on churches closing, merging within towns, within cities.'

A halt to the Pope's words, stopping to pick off a hair or two from his white robes, the time taken to slowly take in the range of Cardinals sat around the table, the Princes of his church, volume and emotion built within his voice, one proportional to the other.