"You don't know them," Anzety insisted, evidently committed to this tantrum for the time being and sure there were better reasons to find fault with Pietro's confidence. Then again, the looming problem wasn't so much with the messenger's logic, because clearly, "I don't even like anybody." He married everyone worth knowing and everyone else was horrible and dull and he shouldn't have come out of his workshop today or this week or ever. Petulantly, Anzety held up his cup for refilling, sinking lower into his seat and staring intently at the papyrus. "What do you think, if we brought in ice and a fan that could run on its own power, if we made small passages throughout the structure, could we keep this heat out? Close the outside and open the inside, block this sun..." How he had gone this long without considering such a simple solution was a great personal failure. More wine, faster.