• Published 11th Nov 2016
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Il Duce e la Principessa - GIULIO



Days prior to the planned march on Rome, an anxious Benito Mussolini decides to take a walk in Naples to clear his mind. However what happens next will change history forever.

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The Magic of Music and Speech

Fascists March On Rome—Benito Mussolini To Be Prime Minister


Romans woke up today to the banners of the Italian tricolour interspersed with the black flags of the PNF flying along the Imperial Forums, and a celebratory mass of fascist supporters filling La Piazza del Colosseo. Between the night of the 26th and the afternoon of the 27th, armed militias took over various government institutes and buildings in major Italian cities. There has been no reports of resistance from either the army or the police, and in the afternoon an official statement from the King, Vittorio Emanuele III, has confirmed that a new government is to be formed.

“In an effort to avoid civil war I have dismissed Luigi Facta’s cabinet, and extended an invitation to the honourable Mussolini,” his majesty explained, speaking from his residence in Rome. “With general strikes and a political schism paralyzing the country, I have decided against declaring a state of siege, and allow the fascists to enter the capital unmolested.”

In the early hours on Saturday triumphant columns of blackshirts flowed into the outskirts of Rome for a chance to see both their leader and their newest mascot, the alicorno Cadenza, on their way to personally meet the King.


Mussolini along with other fascist leaders and the alicorno prior to entering Rome.


According to an anonymous source from the Royal Family, Benito Mussolini is to present his majesty a list of ministers to form a new cabinet. Political experts speculate a fascist majority, though some believe that unionists Ludovico D’Aragona and Gino Baldesi are on that list.

While the overall mood is celebratory there have been voices of dissent at this development, namely from the likes of Giacomo Matteotti of the PSU.

“This is an illegitimate seizure of power,” Matteotti insists. “We may be a monarchy, but we have a constitution to uphold for the Italian people. This march [...] is nothing more than a medieval conquest by a barbarian [...] a Lombard raid of old in the guise of revolution.”

For now, the Squadristi remain outside the suburbs of Rome —as by law these armed militia are not allowed to enter the city— while Mussolini goes to the Palazzo Quirinale to swear the oath of office to the King.

Il Corriere della Sera will follow closely for new developments to this historic event.


Mussolini rapped his fingers on the table, deep in thought, as he eyed the handwritten list of names before him. He had written in over thirty names for different ministry positions, but he still needed candidates for the Ministry of War. Benito considered Cadorna, but that marshal had been the architect of so many military disasters during the Great War, and he couldn’t in good conscience add that name.

After racking his mind for names, three came to him. Benito scribbled the names of Armando Diaz, Paolo Emilio Thaon di Revel and Pietro Badoglio. Looking over the names he knew that it was one name too many, but he’d have to come back to it later.

Setting down the pen, Mussolini looked over his desk to see Italo sitting by an attentive Cadenza.

“Train,” Balbo articulated, pointing to the model train engine in his hand, “train. Can you say train?”

Cadenza stared back at Italo, blinking once.

Balbo leaned closer. “Train,” he said slowly, “train.”

“You’re wasting your time, Balbo,” Cesare groaned from behind his desk. “She’s a damn horse. She doesn’t have the voice box for speech.”

Italo turned his head, shooting an annoyed look at De Vecchi. “If Cadenza can almost sing, chances are that she can speak.” He turned back to the alicorno. “Can’t you, girl?”

Cadenza merely yawned.

That got Cesare laughing aloud; even Mussolini chuckled to himself. “No luck?” Benito asked.

“Pay him no mind, Duce,” Cesare said, going over his own paperwork. “Balbo’s got it in his head to try to teach Cadenza to speak.”

Benito glanced at the aviator and the filly sitting besides him. However, unlike Cesare, he did not sneer at the idea. “Do you think you could do it, Italo?”

Balbo gave a lopsided smile before turning to Cadenza and started to softly sing not in Italian, but a Romagnolo dialect.

“Come to the port, o sailor, that we welcome you.
“I am beautiful Lisa, that youthful blonde and grey.”

Cesare snorted, but Balbo continued.

“Lest there’s some demon, the marriage shall be soon.
“Soon soon, beautiful Enrico, I’ll give you my ring.”

The slow song paused momentarily as Italo observed the filly. While she had been bobbing her head in rhythm with the song, Cadenza hadn’t tried to vocalize it. She stopped, tilting her head at Italo, looking almost questioning.

“Don’t always go to sea, as you could drown.
“Listen to me, o dearest, never again be a sailor.”

Mussolini studied the alicorno’s movements. She stopped the resumed head bobbing, her ears perking up as she seemed to recognize Italo repeating the first verse. Just as he finished the verse the second verse was picked up by Cadenza, much to Cesare’s visible surprise.

Just like what happened back at the King’s residence, Cadenza wasn’t singing the verse with the words but with the notes. Ahs flowed unabated, imperfect but faithful to the original song. As she finished the verse, Cadenza was joined by Balbo’s voice following the lyrics of the final verse, forming a nearly harmonious duet as the two closed the song together.

The vestige of the song ebbed away, while aviator and alicorno gazed upon one another. Then Italo clapped, laughing triumphantly all the while. Cadenza joined in the mirth, jumping about on all fours, her wings fluttering uselessly. Even Benito couldn’t hide his smile.

“Cadenza you beauty!” Balbo exclaimed, grabbing and bringing the filly close for a hug. He looked behind his shoulder to flash a grin at a slack-jawed Cesare. “O ye of little faith,” he laughed.

The door opened and in came Adalberto, filled baby bottle in hand. He curiously looked about, setting his sight on the cheery aviator and playful foal. “Seems like the two of you are having fun,” he said with a smile, closing the door behind him.

“Didn’t you hear Cadenza sing?” Benito asked.

“Ah,” Adalberto exclaimed as he walked over to the alicorno. “So that’s what it was. Here,” he said as he offered the bottle to Balbo. “Which song was it?”

“Something from back home, Bella Lisa,” Italo replied as he gave Cadenza the milk.

The foal eyed the bottle and then Balbo before finally drinking.

Adalberto grimaced. “I think she will need to start eating solid food soon,” he muttered. “That’s the third bottle in an hour, and she looks like she’s getting sick of goat’s milk.”

“We’ll have to be careful,” Mussolini interjected, rising from his seat. “Remember what Professor Huxley said: Cadenza may appear like a horse but it doesn’t necessarily mean that she can eat the same as one.”

A renowned British biologist who flew in from London, Julian Huxley was one of the few scholars from a large number of applicants responding to the PNF’s open request to study and examine Cadenza. Benito had originally held high hopes from the Londoner’s observations, but Huxley’s expertise in evolutionary biology did not add much insight. Besides confirming the assumption of an ornithologist that the alicorno’s wings were unlikely to grow to the size needed for her to fly, Huxley suggested that Cadenza was a possible offshoot from the main Equus genus. While most similar to horses, Cadenza simply had too many inconsistencies when compared to them, even when ignoring the horn structure and the wings.

It was the winged appendages that threw off the scholars the most, more so than the horn. A Scottish ornithologist (Kinnear or some such, Mussolini couldn’t recall) insisted that there was no discernable reason for them to be there: Cadence’s mass was far too large and the suspected density of her skeletal system was too great for the comparatively small wings. Short of finding something unexpected inside her in a biopsy, he concluded that the wings were perhaps a vestigial remnant from an unknown ancestor.

The suggestion to cut up Cadenza was profusely rejected by the fascists for obvious reasons.

“So should I put in an order for a bale of hay?” Cesare said, crossing his arms.

Balbo gave the man a funny look. “I’d say a basketful of apples,” he retorted, sighing. “Maybe some carrots?”

Mussolini shook his head. “Those would only be good as special treats.” He quietly observed the filly feeding on the bottle. “We’ll have to experiment with cereals, since wheat isn’t good for horses.”

“Duce,” Adalberto began, “what if she knows what she can and can’t eat? Can’t we—” Adalberto gesticulated as he searched for the word. “Couldn’t we, say, let her out in a pasture and see if she’ll eat the grass? What do you think, Duce?”

Benito mulled over his suggestion. An ordinary foal did eat grass once it was no longer reliant on its mother’s milk, but did it know to eat the grass because of instinct, or was it because it saw its mother eat it? While feeding from a milk bottle was instinctual, did Cadenza rely on observation to determine what she could eat?

A single drawn out word interrupted Mussolini’s response:

Duuuucee.

All eyes were on Cadenza, who had drawled out that word. There was no mistaking it, it was the filly who had said the word, and it wasn’t a mere approximation of the sound either but a fully formed word.

De Vecchi was the first to break the stillness. “Impossible,” he muttered wide-eyed.

Balbo approached the filly. “Duce,” he tentatively repeated, pointing to Mussolini as a visual aid. “Can you say Duce?”

“Duuce!” Cadenza echoed confidently. “Duce!”

Italo broke into hysterical laughter and was joined by the alicorno while the other three fascists stared, stunned. “I knew it!” he exclaimed, jabbing a finger in Cesare’s direction. “And you said that I couldn’t get her to speak!”

The cackling continued as Adalberto congratulated both Cadenza and Italo. Cesare gaping expression, however, didn’t morph into one of defeat or joy but one of thought. A few mirthful moments passed when he finally responded.

“Did she now?” he said, crossing his arms and shifting unto one leg.

Balbo turned to face De Vecchi. “Of course she did,” he said, laughing. “Or have you gone deaf?”

“All I heard was Cadenza repeating a sound,” Cesare affirmed, flashing a sly grin.

The laughter stopped. “What are you on about, De Vecchi?” Balbo demanded, sitting up. “She said ‘Duce,’ clear as day.”

“Do you think that she was referring to the Duce when she said it,” De Vecchi retorted, “or that she said the word because she heard it often?”

Balbo stared. “Are you implying that she’s just imitating sounds?” He scoffed. “Are you really saying that despite hearing her sing?”

“I used to have a greyhound a while ago,” Cesare said, ignoring the daggers stared at him. “She’d howl to some songs and wheeze something akin to laughter when she was happy.”

He shrugged. “Does that make her intelligent? For a dog yes, but she imitated what she saw; I couldn’t have a conversation with her.” De Vecchi jabbed his index finger towards the distracted alicorno. “I say that this is the same only that Cadenza is far more capable to mimic our sounds and behaviours, watch.

“Cadenza!” Cesare called from his desk. As expected she turned and perked up her ears. The fascist thrust his arm out in a salute and said, “Viva il duce.

Smiling, Cadenza repeated the gesture and chimed, “Duce!”

“Cesare, that doesn’t prove your point,” Mussolini pointed out, leaning on his desk.

De Vecchi raised a finger, never taking his eyes off of the foal, and said, “Just a moment, sir.” Lowering his arm, he spoke again. “Cadenza, what do you think of our Duce?”

“Duce!” came the reply.

“Isn’t that her way of showing praise since she doesn’t seem to know other words?” Adalberto offered.

“Alright, let’s try this.” Cesare rose up from his desk. “Cadenza, do you like me?” Italo burst out laughing, but Cesare didn’t break his sober expression as he observed the filly.

After a pause Cadenza answered with yet another ‘Duce!’

The fascist allowed himself a derisive snort. “Unless she’s equating me to you Duce, Cadenza doesn’t know what the word means,” Cesare explained. “All she knows is that the word is associated to good things.”

While Balbo ran his hand through his beard, eyes narrowed as if trying to think of a counterargument, Benito digested De Vecchi’s point. There was nothing that decidedly disproved him, and Mussolini was inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt.

And yet...

“But what about the smiles, sir?” Adalberto interjected. “Dogs don’t smile.”

Mussolini beat Cesare on the reply. “Apes smile, Adalberto.”

“Exactly, sir,” Cesare affirmed, nodding. “I can’t tell you how Cadenza is capable of such human-like mimicry, but she is, and we need to recognize it as such.”

Italo kept his contemplative frown, glancing once more at Cadenza who was playing with the model train. “I’m not convinced,” he finally said. “Maybe it’s too early for her to fully understand words.” He turned to face the other two fascist leaders. “We assumed that she was far younger than what that Englishman estimated. What if the assumption that Cadenza can learn speech at around the same age of a child is wrong as well?” Balbo shook his head. “I say that we keep trying to teach her to speak, like a person.”

Benito took this in, ignoring the growing spat between Cesare and Italo. Both arguments had merit, but neither had any solid evidence. The Duce seemed to recall reading something about a Russian scientist who worked on this field but with dogs. He’d have to remember to inquire about the Russian, maybe he would provide some insight in this. Regardless, Benito knew that they’d learn more in time.

That, and that Cadenza was still unique.

However, Mussolini had more important matters to attend to: he still needed to finish compiling his long list of potential cabinet members to present to the King. Tuning out De Vecchi’s stubborn refusal of Balbo’s hypothesis, Benito returned to his desk to resume the list. Some dark thoughts returned as he saw a scratched out Matteotti on it. That bastard would get a visit from blackshirts soon enough.

A part of him considered moving to his own office to work, but as he picked up a pen he caught Cadenza smiling at Adalberto, still repeating her new catchphrase.

Mussolini’s own lips tugged upwards. There is intelligence there, he conceded. Just a question of how much.


Mussolini’s New Coalition Government


As of yesterday a new coalition government has begun its life with the first speech by the Prime Minister.

However, unlike the former government formed by now-deputy Luigi Facta, this government came along by less-than pacifist means with the fascist march on Rome last month. While the seizure had gone by with few reports of violence —none of which have been officially recognized by either the government nor the carabinieri— a number of deputies have openly criticized the King’s appointment of Benito Mussolini as Prime Minister.

To this Mussolini said, “I could have made a camp of maniples out of this grey and deaf chamber. I could have shut down the parliament and set up a government populated solely by fascists.

“I could have,” Mussolini emphasized, “but I have not [...] wanted to.”

Despite some walkouts —with deputies Nitti and Salvadori among the deserters— the Chamber rang with applause from the members present, as well as the repeated cries of ‘Duce’ from the alicorno Cadenza.

Many naysayers to Il Popolo d’Italia’s recent article detailing the cognitive functions of Cadenza were notably silent after Cadenza’s appearance in parliament. Asides from silencing critics, the alicorno’s presence is believed to have won support from the opposition, although no deputy has confirmed this.

It is expected that the vote of confidence that is to take tomorrow on the 17th will obtain favourable results for the installment of the new government, with the republican, socialist and communist bloc voting against.


Mussolini along with Cadenza the alicorno greeting his majesty Vittorio Emanuele III before entering parliament.


The King, upon being asked for comments from La Stampa, is confident in the viability of the new coalition government.

“Italy has been through difficult times in these past years [...] specifically this year,” his majesty explained. “Although [Mussolini] is unorthodox, he is possibly the only man who can unify the nation and bring about stability.

“I have faith in this government,” he emphasized.

We will know come tomorrow if the government will have survived its first true test.


Mussolini was relieved and satisfied.

Over three hundred votes, he reminded himself, thinking back at the result of the confidence vote just an hour back. Barely a hundred votes from the opposition were tallied against his government, and after speaking privately with some of the deputies, Benito was surprised to learn that a good number of republicans had voted yes. Even Facta, the man who tried to stop the march, seemed to trust the fascist enough to vote favourably. This was the last check that the parliamentary system had that could stop the dream of a fascist-led government being set up semi-peacefully, and Mussolini beat it legally.

To celebrate he intended to pass more time with Cadenza, the key to his victory today.

Oh, the deputies denied it, but the Duce knew full well that the presence of the alicorno in the Chamber ensured the result. He smiled at the memory of gaping mouths when she proudly exclaimed ‘Duce’ in the chamber the day prior. Granted, she hadn’t been enough to win over the entirety of the opposition, never mind those few who walked out: Nitti and the others who left would get what’s coming to them.

But that was then; now Benito stepped triumphantly into the lobby of the Montecitorio Palace to greet an awaiting Adalberto and Cadenza, as she had interrupted the proceeding with cries of protest. At least now he could reassure her that all was well, and that he could spend all day with the alicorno.

Well, that had been the intention anyhow. Instead of finding a patient blackshirt with foal in tow Mussolini heard panicked shouts and yells from the corridor. Armed gendarmes rushed towards the disturbance, led by a cuirassier in full ceremonial armor.

This did not bode well.

Hurrying himself to the source of the hollers, the Duce’s mind became awash with dread. Turning the final corner before the main entrance he saw what was a standoff between the honour guard and squadristi. Unholstered handguns were trained upon the two main groups, and a mixture of orders, threats and insults were exchanged between the dark-blue carabinieri and the black fascists.

The blackshirts surrounded Adalberto who held Cadenza close to his chest, whereas the palace guards encircled a wild-eyed deputy—Angelo, Mussolini recalled.

One of the fascists spotted him and called, “Duce! Order these idiots to stand down!”

At the mention of Mussolini confusion grew in the lobby. Weapons lowered as men from both sides turned to see the approaching Duce.

The socialist deputy, frazzled as he appeared, was quick to recover. “P-prime Minister!” he sputtered, pointing a shaking finger towards Adalberto. “That, that– thing tossed me up in the air! I-it’s threat to the public at large!”

Following his indication Benito’s eyes fell upon a crying Cadenza, fidgeting against her caretaker’s grasp. A healthy amount of skepticism cropped up in Mussolini’s mind at Angelo’s accusation. Even so he decided to help him up.

“What’s this about the alicorno tossing you about?” he demanded the socialist.

Wild-eyed, Angelo hurriedly got onto his feet. “I-I was making to leave wh-when I heard crying,” he explained. “I came over to see, only to feel a tingling sensation all over and being suspended in mid-air!”

As additional people congregated in the evermore crowded lobby there was no shortage of doubt in people’s faces, among them Benito’s.

“She lifted you?” he deadpanned.

“I know how that sounds!” the deputy cried, moustache bristling. “But I was surrounded in this blue light, and that horn” —he pointed to Cadenza’s budding horn— “was alight with that same colour!”

Mussolini eyed the alicorno once more, although this time with a certain sense of curiosity. Angelo was a socialist and the Duce held respect for him, but he couldn’t see how the man's story could possibly be true.

His eyes shifted to Adalberto’s, seeing apprehension behind them. “Do you have anything to add?”

Some of the blackshirts parted to allow the man to approach Mussolini, holding Cadenza tight. At this approach Angelo almost jumped back, shuffling behind a gendarme. This got a number of fascists to cackle derisively.

Adalberto, however, looked the part of the child who had been caught with his hands in the jar of sweets. “Duce,” he began shakily, “the ah, deputy here did indeed come by when Cadenza was crying, but he told me to ‘shut it up’ as it was.”

“I did no such thing!” Angelo blubbered from behind the carabiniere.

“Shut your mouth, you socialist bastard!” a blackshirt called, prompting cries of approval from the group of fascists.

The cuirassier at the head of the gendarmes stood tall. “You shall not insult a member of parliament!”

The shouting slowly started up again and Benito, for all his attempts to play the diplomat, was losing his patience. Not today! Not after winning!

Just as tensions began to boil over, he closed his eyes, inhaled sharply, and shouted a single word at the top of his lungs:

Zitti!

The lobby fell to a stilled hush. Mussolini, feeling his face going red and his body tingling with frustration, at first thought that he might have been too loud. However, as he opened his eyes, Benito realized that yes, everyone had stopped because of him, but not for the reason that he had anticipated. Suddenly that tingling sensation became utterly alien; suddenly his surroundings were all wrong.

Benito, now seeing the world through a light-blue filter, was floating a meter from the marble floor.

Eyes wide, they frantically searched about, finally settling on a snivelling Cadenza, her horn now encapsulated in a glow.

“Prime Minister!” a gendarme called. The honour guard trained their firearms at the alicorno. Whereas cries of panic from the fascists as they scrambled to make their ways between the guns and Adalberto.

Mussolini did not let the worst happen. “Stop!” he ordered in a shaky voice, once more becoming the focus of attention for all, with only the soft sniffling from Cadenza being audible. In spite of every fibre of his being telling him to wrestle against whatever was happening, he did his best to keep still. Benito looked to Adalberto.

“Adalberto,” he began, struggling to sound both calm and authoritative. “Please calm Cadenza down.”

The blackshirt stared back, eyes shifting back and forth between the Duce and Cadenza. “Please,” Mussolini urged, voice nearly breaking.

“I...” Adalberto shook his head and began to rock the alicorno in his arms, passing a hand over her mane and whispering something that Benito couldn’t quite hear.

All this time her eyes, shining with tears, never looked away from the floating Duce. That too-human pout had become a familiar sight in these last few weeks, but now he saw something else in them that he hadn’t before:

She was pleading.

Mussolini was simply unsure what to make of that. It had been weeks since she had first spoken back in the party’s offices, and while she did expand her vocabulary it did not seem that she was capable to converse. No biologist or psychologist had managed to prove Balbo’s theory on Cadenza’s cognitive capacity, but they hadn’t ruled it out entirely.

Benito was regretting not inviting that Pavlov scientist.

But right then, even as his body listed awkwardly in midair, Mussolini believed he finally knew the answer to the question as he stared into those eyes, and he had an idea. It was a shot in the dark, but confidence, timid though it was, came to him.

“Cadenza,” he piped up, addressing the filly directly.

The alicorno’s eyes widened with attentiveness. A good sign.

Reining in the waver in his voice Mussolini asked, “Are you doing this?”

“What the devil are you doing, Prime Minister?” Angelo cried.

Ignoring both the socialist and a fascist who shouted down Abisso, Benito was mildly surprised to see a nod from the alicorno. She had been observed to do this before, but it had been deemed to be a mere mimic by Cesare, just like her fascist salute. Was it just that or had Cadenza understood his words?

He offered a nod of himself and shakily brought up two placating hands. “I know you’re scared,” he said, carefully enunciating his words, “but you need to let me down.” Belatedly he added a sincere ‘please.’

The alicorno blinked slowly, eyes shining with the light that her horn seemed to produce.

This isn’t working, Mussolini told himself. Was he putting too much faith on Cadenza’s intelligence? Perhaps Cesare was right all along, perhaps she was a skilled imitator and nothing more.

Cadenza then scrunched up her face, as if focusing hard on something. Then, she worked her jaw making sounds not unlike what she had managed to do before.

But then, there were two words:

Fffffa mm-benne.

Had his jaw not been attached, Benito was certain that it would have clattered on the marble flooring.

Va bene; alright.

That wasn’t a mumbled attempt to parrot a person’s words. It was a deliberate response to a request. Muffled perhaps, but intelligible nevertheless.

He was so utterly astounded that he nearly panicked when the world’s colours returned to normal and his feet reached the ground, dropping mere centimeters. The ethereal glow that encapsulated his vision was gone and so too was the aura around the horn. Mussolini stood uncertainly, throwing his arms out for balance, though he did not fall. Asides from his heels striking a marble tile, there was not a sound.

Angelo couldn’t hold it in. “Di– did that thing just speak?”

Spontaneous cheers and laughs erupted from the blackshirts. A number of ‘bella’ and ‘bravissima’ rang out from their side. Only Adalberto seemed paralyzed at the thought that he was caressing an intelligent foal who could lift a grown man. His drained and long face was almost comical, possibly as much as Benito’s own high-pitched titter. Thankfully nobody seemed to have heard his cackle of relief among the racket.

Corazziere,” he called to the cuirassier, who stood to attention. “Would you have a child killed in the house of our parliament?”

The man’s eyes widened. “Chi—!” He imitated a fish as his mouth worked but said nothing comprehensible. “I… no, Prime Minister,” he finally said, recovering with straightening his pose.

“Then stand down,” Mussolini ordered.

Slowly, hesitantly, the gendarmes holstered their weapons at the behest of the cuirassier who relayed the order.

Angelo didn’t stand for this. “What are you doing?” he demanded to the nearest carabiniere. “That thing tossed me like a doll! It should be in chains!”

Socialista di merda!” came the overwhelming blackshirt counter when the man was heard, followed by other insults of similar calibre. Benito found the response perhaps too crass for the halls of Montecitorio but he couldn’t deny its efficacy; Angelo seemed rather small without a gendarme to hide behind.

The fascists were unrelenting: “Slink back to the hole they dug you up from,” one of the blackshirts jeered, “and make sure to tell your red friends that Cadenza is under the protection of the Black Flames!”

As the black-clad crowd clamoured at the fascist’s claim, the socialist made himself scarce, disappearing in the dispersing group of carabinieri. As the lobby grew empty of honour guards the tension melted away, and the fascists rejoiced, gathering around Adalberto and Cadenza. While the filly smiled seeing so many cheery people, her caretaker still looked pale despite the revelry and the congratulations sent his way for standing fast for the party’s mascot.

Adalberto’s long stare met Mussolini’s. In those few moments, among the celebrative atmosphere, Mussolini suspected that they would have a long conversation once they got back to the party’s headquarters.

He didn't look forward to it.