III
III
“Oh, God—with this mountain of dangerous crises, my life is like a flame before the wind," Abel moaned.
At five hundred fifteen feet high, the dome was the largest building in Cologne. The two black steeples that were said to have required six hundred years to complete cast shadows on the black line of the river's surface. Gazing up at the two moons that shone between them, Abel begged for mercy, drawing letters in his tears on the counter.
"I've had enough already—so now, please save me immediately," begged Abel.
"You really aren't cool, are you, Abel?" replied Antonio.
In the Rhine steamship's Cologne arrival and departure waiting room, at the counter of a deserted cheap cafeteria that was doing late-night business, a long-haired youth was tipping a glass of local brew. Because he was either very daring or simply stupid, he checked the arrangement of his hair with an elegance that contrasted with his companion's lack thereof.
"I nominated you because I heard you were 'the highest talent in the Vatican,' but I'd imagined someone more stylish—a dandy. I was sure you'd ruthlessly beat the bad guys, toss back your hair, and declare 'mission accomplished' in a cool way. However,"—the young man—Antonio Borgia, the son of the Prince of Valencia—emptied his third glass as he glanced sideways at the priest drawing letters next to him—"you really aren't cool, are you?"
"Sorry for not being cool," Abel responded timidly as he tugged at his overly long shirt cuff. Abel's new summer cassock was full of holes, and because he'd fallen in the gutter while running away, he'd discarded it amid a fit of sobbing. He was now wearing clothes borrowed from Antonio. A bodyguard who borrowed clothes from the object of his protection . . . maybe he really wasn't cool.
If he could make any excuse, it was Abel's deliberate intent and his security plan to have met the object of his protection in a populous city. He'd assessed that the Neue Vatican clan wouldn't be so stupid as to attack them on a public street. However, they had attacked before he'd moved ten steps after contacting Antonio, and they'd brandished machine guns in a city. They were that desperate to recover the list, and they probably didn't care about appearances anymore.
"By the way, prince, about that list . . ." Abel said, sighing before refocusing his gaze on the ground. As he picked at the mound of potatoes, sauerkraut, and sausage, he continued, "Where is it being safeguarded now? Shouldn't we leave here immediately and get it?"
"Sorry, but I still can't tell you that," replied Antonio.
Seemingly out of nowhere, a beautiful, leggy woman came into the waiting room, swinging her hips provocatively. Antonio shrugged as his eyes shamelessly followed the path of her huge, jiggling chest.
"If I told you, you might not put as much effort into protecting me, right?" asked Antonio.
"Don't worry—I'll protect you well, because that's my job. Although, who knows what may happen thereafter," Abel replied, mumbling the last half of his speech.
There were four hours left until the arrival of reinforcements. In this condition, Abel probably couldn't hold out the next time he was attacked. The Neue Vatican sympathizers in Cologne seemed to have a much greater influence than he'd predicted. In this situation, when he couldn't even rely on the church, staying within the city was pointless and dangerous.
"I'm taking you out of the city with me, prince." As soon as he'd confirmed the time of the last boat on the timetable, Abel made up his mind. "When the recovery team arrives in the morning, we'll send them to the list's hiding place—but for tonight, I want to get you out of the city."
A Rhine River passenger boat was leaving from the boat station for Düsseldorf. If they made it as far as Düsseldorf, they likely would be able to continue from there to Rome via the night train.
Antonio shook his head. "Sorry, but that's impossible."
"Why?" asked Abel.
"I tend to get seasick. Neither boats nor trains are good—my semicircular canals are weak."
Abel stood there, silent. Right now, no doubt, I'm smiling the way my boss does when she's angry—like a mass murderer looking for my next victim. As he brutally stabbed a sausage with his fork, Abel smiled. "So?"
"If we're going to move, can't we go by airplane or airship? When I traveled to visit my family before, I chartered a limited sleeper express; curiously, that time I didn't get sick," Antonio stated.
Holding his cheeks next to Antonio, who continued to indulge in pleasant memories, the priest groaned. "Ohhh, God, I feel terribly sick. I can't meet that kind of expense by squeezing out my lifeblood! I will absolutely have you get on a boat here, regardless of whether you puke up your internal organs!" he insisted.
"But..." Antonio said hesitantly.
"This is no time for a 'but'! I'll go buy the tickets. You wait here, please. All right? No matter what happens, don't move!"
Abel stood up, glaring at the young nobleman who appeared as though he still wanted to say something. Holding his throbbing cheek, Abel approached the ticket counter. "Excuse me ... two second-class tickets to Düsseldorf, please."
Abel peered up at the clock on the wall as he asked the unfriendly old man at the counter for tickets. It was one o'clock in the morning; there were still four hours until dawn. "Oh, and can I have a receipt, too?" he asked. "Please address it to the Vatican Department of Foreign Affairs."
"The Vatican? You?" asked the old man.
"Yes. I'm a priest, actually. I'm dressed like this because I have some business," Abel hurriedly explained to the old man, who raised his eyebrows suspiciously when he noticed that Abel's suit was too short. At times like these, it was inconvenient not to be wearing a cassock.
"I work for the Vatican Department of Foreign Affairs. Let's see, here are my ID papers," Abel said.
"Excuse me a moment," replied the old man.
Suddenly, a dour man standing next to Abel stopped the priest s hand as it was about to dig into his pocket and said, "You're a priest?"
Abel turned toward the voice. "Yes, I am."
A conscientious-looking man in his prime put his hand into a bag. He was wearing a simple suit, but his unassailable posturing wasn't that of a civilian.
Abel cocked his head affably while slowly reaching for the holster hung on his shoulder. "Urn, who are you?"
"I'm Inspector Gunter Lentz of the Cologne City Police," answered the man as he removed a badge from a pocket inside his suit. His Germanics bluntness was intimidating, but the police emblem that shone under the light of the gas lamp was equally threatening. "I'm investigating a shooting incident that occurred a few hours ago at a streetcar on Hoffstrasse. I'll cut right to the chase: Father, weren't you present there at that time? There is a witness who saw a tall, silver-haired priest flee from the scene right after the incident."
Lentz stared at Abel's hair with hawklike eyes. Did he suspect Abel of being a criminal? Even if he weren't a suspect, being taken in by the police as a witness definitely would make it difficult to board a boat.
"Isn't this some mistake?" asked Abel. Oh God, please forgive me for telling a lie, he thought as he drew the sign of the cross across his heart with his fingertip. "Look, there are tall, silver-haired priests with glasses everywhere."
"You know a lot, don't you, Father?" asked the detective. "That priest was wearing glasses." "Oops."
Lentz glared menacingly at the priest who'd quickly dug his own grave and jumped in. Changing clothes and trying to leave the city during the night probably hadn't helped if he were suspected of planning an escape.
"By all means, I want to talk to you about this in detail. For now, though, will you accompany me to the station?" asked the detective.
"N-no. That is, I'm really in a hurry now—yeah! Prince! Prince Antonio! Please vouch for me that I don't have anything to do with that incident!" pleaded Abel.
Antonio exited the waiting room, shaking his head sadly. "I can't do that, Abel. I'm a Divinity student—I can't lie. Besides..." The young nobleman shrugged as he visually compared the detective, who was glaring with increasingly cold eyes at Abel, to the cornered priest. "It's fine. This time, I can get the police to protect me. I'll even tell them all about the list."
"List? What list?" inquired the detective.
Abel hastily stepped between Antonio and Lentz, whose curiosity had been aroused by the intriguing word.
"P-prince, no!" shouted Abel.
It would be dreadful if Germanics authorities found out about Neue Vatican's list. Besides that, it was a controversial military nation. They might use that as proof to blackmail Rome, or they might try to seize the list. More important, Caterina's anger would be unbearable.
"Please stop talking about the list here. If Germanics finds out—"Abel said.
"It's none of my business. I can go with either Germanics or the Vatican depending upon who takes good care of me, right?" asked Antonio.
"A-and you're a Divinity student?"
The lights unexpectedly went out as Abel tried to block the young man's mouth with his hand.
"Wh-what is it?" cried a voice.
"The gaslights went out! Strange . . . it's only in this building—they're fine next door," replied the detective.
A wave of consternation surged among the darkness.
"Calm down! You'll get hurt if you panic!" shouted Lentz. The detective proceeded to authoritatively deliver instructions to the confused men. "Somebody look at the gas valve, because there might be a gas leak. And don't use fire—there's a danger of flash fire."
"Prince, now," whispered Abel amid the darkness. "Let's take this opportunity to escape."
"But Abel, they told us to cooperate with the investigation," Antonio replied.
"If we end up getting sealed into the police station, we'll have nowhere to run in an attack. The opportunity to escape into the darkness is a gift from God. It would be dishonorable to waste it!" Abel exclaimed.
Unfortunately, it didn't take too long to notice that the supposed opportunity was not the favor of a generous God, but instead the trap of a malicious devil.
As Abel inched toward the exit during the confusion, a door suddenly flew open in his face. A huge shadow, like a death god dressed in a black coat, materialized, clutching something in its hands.
"Uh-oh. Is th-this the guy from before?" asked Abel.
The moment the beady eyes hidden beneath the soft black hat caught sight of the priest, the muzzle of the machine gun inclined like a poisonous snake rearing its head. Abel reflexively jumped sideways. Half a second after he pushed Antonio down next to him, tongues of calamitous flames began to dance in the darkness along to a pulsating noise that echoed in his stomach.
The darkness and reverberating gunfire caused panicked screams to pour from the narrow waiting room.
"Th-this is awful. This way, prince!" directed Abel. There was no time to draw his gun, so he thrust his shoulders through the window, jumping onto the gently sloping riverbank through a hail of glass fragments. "Come on, prince! You have to hurry, too!"
"Out of my way, Abel!" shouted Antonio before landing on Abel's back. "You buy us some time, and I'll escape while you do."
"Buy time? How am I supposed to fend off those dangerous people?" Abel asked.
"Don't be weak—you're my bullet shield!"
"That's unreasonable! I'm your wha—?"Abel gaped.
The large, lurking shadow leaned out of the window overhead as the two men quarreled. The muzzle of the machine gun in its hands was aimed downward toward Abel, trailing gun smoke.
"Oh shit!" yelled Abel. He hefted the percussion revolver that he'd finally succeeded in drawing from its holster, aiming it at the big man who was about to fire at Antonio's back as Antonio ran down the embankment.
Although the two guns emitted fire at exactly the same time, only one stifled cry could be heard. Abel's percussion revolver bullet shot the window blinds over the head of the large man. The catch broke, causing the blinds to fall and obstruct the machine gun's target. As a result, the machine gun released a band of fire far from its mark.
"Good! But what'll we do now?" asked Abel.
Antonio was tumbling down the bank as Abel ran into a dark alley, nervously clicking his tongue. Their plan to escape by the waterway was null and void. By now, the station had to be surrounded by police. They'd have to catch a street coach and lay low in an inn somewhere instead.
"Abel, look! It's help from heaven!" Antonio exclaimed as he led the way, whistling.
One street coach was entering the alley from the direction of the main street. Other than the driver, nobody was on board.
"God, thank you. Please stop that carriage!" Abel ordered. He quickly hid his handgun and waved his hands wildly. It wasn't a large carriage, but the alley was narrow, so the carriage completely blocked the way.
"Stop! Please let us on!" Abel pleaded.
"Let you on? Yes, of course," the driver atop the carriage's driver's seat responded courteously, a cigar stuck carelessly to the edge of his lips. "I'll let you on ... as corpses."
Peering at the two stunned men, the driver pulled out a glistening machine gun from beneath his black coat.