Despite the soft glow of candlelight in the Sistine Chapel, Cardinal Mortati was on edge. Conclave had officially begun. And it had begun in a most inauspicious fashion.
Half an hour ago, at the appointed hour, Camerlengo Carlo Ventresca had entered the chapel. He walked to the front altar and gave opening prayer. Then, he unfolded his hands and spoke to them in a tone as direct as anything Mortati had ever heard from the altar of the Sistine.
"You are well aware," the carmerlengo said, "that our four preferiti are not present in conclave at this moment. I ask, in the name of his late Holiness, that you proceed as you must ... with faith and purpose. May you have only God before your eyes." Then he turned to go.
"But," one cardinal blurted out, "where are they?"
The camerlengo paused. That I cannot honestly say."
"When will they return?"
That I cannot honestly say."
"Will they return?"
That I cannot honestly say."
There was a long pause.
"Have faith," the camerlengo said. Then he walk out the room.
The door to the Sistine Chapel has been sealed, as was the custom, with two heavy chains on the outside. Four Swiss guards stood watch in the halfway beyond. Mortati knew the only way the door could be opened now, prior to electing a Pope, was if someone inside fell deathly ill, or if the perferiti arrived. Mortati prayed it would be the latter, although from the knot in his stomach he was not so sure.