Inside a square metal stand in the foyer of the Novrith City Hall sat a placard, printed on glossed cardboard. In a serifed font read the following:
NOVRITH CONFERENCE, OCTOBER 12, 2015
The government of the All-House Union and the City of Novrith welcomes the attendees of the Novrith Conference:
Monarqía of Añola
Commonwealth of the Eluvataran Isles
Empire of Funkadelia
Seven Baan of Hemland
Imperium Augustum
Kingdom of McMasterdonia
Technological Republic of Norvalkin
Empire of Syrixia
Kingdom of Vazos
The City Council had been told weeks ago to vacate Novrith City Hall for the duration of the Conference. They grumbled and cursed, but were meeting this morning in the conference hall of a hotel downtown. Outside, from the City Hall all the way down to the bay, preparations were being made for the Day of the Dead celebrations. At dawn, as the sun cast a red-orange glow on the cement and glass of the city, people began to gather. By nine o'clock, the streets were packed.
The parade would not start until noontime but the Novrithi city-dwellers were already talking and dancing. Many held long streamers attached to the end of sticks the size of broom handles; others carried the banners of their Houses - familial artifacts blessed by generations of ancestral spirits and removed from sacred cases for only a handful of days a year.
Many who had lost loved ones this year wore masks - some cheap, some expensive. They all looked like crying faces, but Myrorian folk art traditions had enlarged the eyes, added wide rivulets of painted tears streaming from them. The simplest were made of plastic, held to the heads of celebrants with elastic. The most expensive had feathers, beads, glass jewels hanging from them.
Traffic was snarled for the day, but few people went into work. The Day of the Dead was one of the most sacred days of the year, simultaneously a celebration of those who had left, a memento mori, a time for gifts, and an autumn festival.
From her requisitioned office on the third floor of City Hall the Sedera observed the bustle below. To the southwest, across the harbor, the forested hills outside the city limits were a brilliant display of orange, red, and yellow. In the plaza in front of the building, the flags of the attendees flew from poles set up for the occasion. Policing was no easy matter - in addition to keeping the celebration secure, officers had to ensure the safety of the diplomats and heads-of-state attending the conference. Officers were brought in from as far away as Oramirith to the southeast to keep the peace.
The main meeting house on the first floor, where the diplomatic parties of the attendees would meet, was rewired for myriad translators, security personnel, and electronic devices. The desks normally reserved for members of the City Council were now relabeled with placards identifying name, country, and position. Clerks and attendants had already arrived and were finishing their own preparations, but the diplomats still had some time before the conference started.
"Fannie," someone behind the queen said. Fendrina turned away from the window slowly. Such familiar language meant that he had to have come alone. "You should get to the green room and prepare to open the conference;" Marsilamat continued. "Llothren and the Foreign Minister are already there, and you know how they would react if there was a delay."
"We have time," Fendrina replied. She reached for her cigarette holder and pack of First Strikes. "I haven't seen a limousine yet."
Marsilamat looked at her eyes, the whites streaked with red. "Did you sleep at all last night?"
The Sedera pulled a lighter out of the inside pocket of her tweed blazer.
"I will be there in my own time," she said. "Leave me." She turned back to the window to see the first cars arriving.