II
II
It was only six o'clock in the evening. With the long hand pointing to heaven and the short hand pointing to hell, the death god that haunted the government office's astronomical clock began to chime the hour. At the same time, the twelve disciples of Christ began their busy march from the window that opened next to Michael smiling on the dial plate. It also was the end of the day in Prague, the capital of the Duchy of Bohemia, famous for being the "city of one hundred towers."
"Somebody inside the Department of Foreign Affairs is colluding with Neue Vatican," Caterina announced.
An old person missing a leg performed a puppet show on the stone square of the governmental office plaza, which had been dyed red by the evening sun. The show looked as though it were reenacting the battle between the church army and the heretics' army that had occurred in the same area two years ago. As she gazed through the teahouse's window at the sight of soldiers on both sides being brutally wounded and killed, Caterina crossed her legs, looking troubled. "Is that what you wanted to say, Professor Wordsworth?"
"Yes. All kinds of circumstantial proof suggests that," Doctor William Walter Wordsworth answered respectfully as the steam from his tea misted his chin. His long face, characteristic of Albion nobility, was expressionless. "His Holiness' current trip to Bohemia was planned a year ago. However, today's incognito inspection of Prague was decided on yesterday by Your Eminence's wishes. Very few people knew about it, except for us escort agents, so if there's a traitor in the core of the Department of Foreign Affairs—"
"That would explain why our three months' worth of activity investigating Neue Vatican have ended up in vain, right?" Caterina asked, completing Professor's thought.
"Exactly," Professor answered.
"I think your analysis is correct; however, it's an unpleasant reality," Caterina said bitterly as she furrowed her well-defined eyebrows.
Three months ago, they'd detected the existence of Neue Vatican, the heretical association led by her uncle, former Archbishop of Cologne Alfonso d'Este. Since that time, Alfonso and the other key members of Neue Vatican had continuously covered traces of their whereabouts. Although they'd succeeded in getting their hands on the list of Neue Vatican members two months earlier and had exposed their hideouts everywhere, they had made little progress beyond that. But that, too, was understandable if they considered that there was a person leaking investigation information to their friends.
The more pressing problem was the memorial service for the Bohemia War dead, scheduled for the following day in the public church. Would the Neue Vatican faction try to interfere with that, too? The event was too near to suspend the Pope's attendance. All they could do was maintain their plans while keeping the risk in mind.
Alessandro had been silent from the moment he'd entered the teahouse. Suddenly, he lifted his pimply face, surveying the inside of the shop like a frightened herbivore. "C-could the fact that w-we're here be f-found out by the h-heretics?" asked Alessandro in a scratchy, stammering voice. "H-hadn't we b-better return to the inn at once? I-if we're attacked again . . ."
Her thoughts interrupted, Caterina stared gravely at her younger brother. A rare hint of irritation illuminated her beautiful face, which rarely expressed emotion. "Please calm down, Alec. If you get edgy from this much, you're not fit to be Pope," she said. "People have tried to kill me once or twice, but we still ventured out into the city. Take the time to study how the common people live with your own eyes. If you don't, there's no point in being incognito, right?"
Alessandro s eyes were filled with dread. "B-but, I-I—"
"I'm not listening to 'but,'" Caterina said assertively.
Surprised to have been scolded in such a severe tone, the boy Pope's eyes were wet as though he were about to burst into tears. Caterina, having assumed her best elder sister stance, had gazed coldly at her younger brother with an intimidating furrowed brow. To adopt such a serious demeanor was unusual for her.
"Um, Caterina?" Abel said.
"What is it, Father Nightroad?" asked Caterina, staring blankly at her subordinate who spoke to her with a face that suggested he had one foot in the grave.
Abel shuddered as if he was frightened by Caterina s icy eyes, but he gathered what little courage he had. He broke into a thin smile to complement his conciliatory tone. "Heh heh. I-it's nice weather today, isn't it?"
"If you're going to make stupid comments, please do it someplace else, Abel," Caterina retorted.
"Sorry," Abel said regretfully. Crushed, he sipped the contents of his teacup as his eyes grew teary. Next to him, Professor held his forehead.
Suddenly, a calm, quiet voice spoke to them. "It is written in the Book of Matthew that when the first Pope, Saint Peter, met Christ, he was frightened by Christ's miracles and merely trembled," said Know Faith.
Havel fearlessly peered into Caterina's eyes, and having kept silent at one corner of the table until then, opened his mouth and said earnestly, "I'm sorry, but I think Your Eminence's opinion is wrong. It is right for His Holiness to feel afraid. Isn't the problem how he conquers his fear?"
"Vaclav, in spite of what you believe, this boy is always like this," Caterina replied, hardening her features as though her soul were made of ice. "He searches for excuses at the slightest sign of trouble and proceeds to try to run away. If he keeps this up, it's unlikely that he'll be fit for Pope hereafter. Thank you for your advice, but meddling doesn't help. I want him to become stronger."
"If so, isn't it Your Eminence's duty to teach His Holiness how he can confront his fears without running away?" asked Havel.
If he were Abel, he would have given up long ago and fled back to Rome, but Father Havel showed absolutely no sign of fear. He calmly shifted his eyes to the Pope—who still appeared as though he wanted to cry—before once more glancing back at his displeased superior's beautiful face.
"Even wild birds teach their fledgling chicks how to fly. Isn't it also Your Eminence's duty to teach your younger brother how to be Pope? To neglect to do that and simply announce that he's the Pope is like throwing a chick who's never been taught to fly down from the branch," Havel declared.
"I'm aware of that without having been told by you. My younger brother already is Pope, so there's no time for leisurely talking about such things. He's been enthroned and should be prepared for that much," Caterina replied firmly.
"I-I didn't b-b-become Pope because I wanted to," Alessandro chimed in. As he struggled to stammer, tears began to trickle down his cheeks. Wedged between the cardinal and priest talking to each other, the boy hung his head so low that it seemed as if his neck would snap. "S-sister, didn't you d-decide to make me Pope? Although I-I didn't want to be P-pope, my s-s-sister and b-b-brother forced me," Alessandro said in a low voice, his face beet red.
"Forced? You were chosen to be Pope by a legitimate papal election," insisted Caterina. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, peering at her younger brother far more dismayed than she had been previously. "That is, the consensus of the cardinals' opinions decided that you were a suitable person to be Pope. Nobody forced you. What are you misunderstanding?"
"E-e-everybody says so," said Alessandro, practically panting. His frail, spineless-looking body shook incessantly. "Everybody says that I'm my s-sister's and b-brother's puppet. Y-you r-really think so, too, don't you, sister? You think I-I'm a poorly made puppet— that you r-really don't need s-s-such a shameful little brother."
"Alec!" shouted Caterina, revealing a side uncharacteristic of her usually elegant nature. Her slender hand whipped toward her younger brother's cheek as Abel quickly stood up.
"You can't, Caterina!" Abel proclaimed, but the silver-haired priest didn't react in time.
Amid the congealed silence, Know Faith's gentle voice echoed: "You shouldn't do it, Your Eminence." Havel shielded the boy who'd shut his eyes tightly and caught the cardinal's hand in his fist. "You really can't make a person submit or change his mind through violence. Regardless of whether it's for the sake of cultural study, His Holiness is frightened by what's transpired, so it's pointless to have him stay longer than this. We should return to the inn today."
A spark that was neither anger nor relief brightened Caterina's stunning eyes. Still observing her subordinate's gaunt face, she opened and closed her thin lips several times as if she wanted to say something, and then she coughed before finally uttering, "We're going back." The slender young woman stood up and brushed off her sleeves. "Professor Wordsworth, contact the inn. Tell them to meet us on the way. Father Tres, please drive. Father Abel, you settle the bill here."
"Affirmative," replied Tres.
"Yes, yes—right away. Say, Professor, this goes on the expense account, right?" asked Abel.
"I don't know," Professor responded.
As the three priests took care of their respective duties, all feeling a sense of relief, the cardinal went outside. Watching her exit, Abel whispered to the only priest who hadn't been ordered to work. "Thank you, Vaclav."
"It was nothing," Havel replied with a smile on his sober but kind face. "I only said what I believed to be right—it was nothing." Having glanced down to where the shy, pimple-faced boy was tugging at this sleeve, Havel asked, "What's the matter, Your Holiness?"
"I-I wanted to th-thank you," said Alessandro. His feeble-looking face grew more and more red as he sheepishly faced the priests. "Th-thank you, Vaclav f-for protecting me."
"There's no need for thanks," the bearded priest replied, shaking his head. "I was merely carrying out my duty."
"B-but I was g-glad, because I never th-th-thought s-somebody would p-protect a useless person like m-m-me," said Alessandro, drawn in to the priest's eyes. "I-I-I really am useless. No matter what I do, my s-studies and e-exercises are no use. My sister is s-so smart and b-beautiful, but when it comes to m-m-me ..."
Alessandro wasn't that experienced in getting other people to listen to him. The boy's speech kept getting faster as if he were afraid that they'd stop paying attention to him. Havel continued to listen patiently, although Alessandro was extremely hard to understand.
"I'm h-h-her younger brother, s-so wh-why am I like this?" Alessandro muttered. "E-even now, I'm very afraid. Just hearing that my 1-life is in d-danger, I'm so a-afraid that my heart..."
"I will protect you," Havel assured him, making the sign of the cross. "I certainly will protect you. As long as I, Havel, am by your side, not a hair on Your Holiness' head will be harmed."
For the first time that day, the boy's face brightened in response to the reassuring words. "R-r-really?" gasped Alessandro.
"I swear to God. In exchange for my protection, though, I have one request for Your Holiness," Havel said.
"R-r-request?" Alessandro asked. This was the first time in his life he'd experienced somebody asking him for a favor. Leaning forward eagerly, he asked, "Wh-wh-what is it?"
"Please, from here on out, refrain from calling yourself such things as 'poorly made puppet' and 'disgraceful,'" said Havel, who nearly equaled Abel in height. Stooping over, the priest put his eyes level with the boy's. "When people ridicule themselves, they have given up on both growth and development. When that happens, they forfeit their future—they live only to ridicule this world. Your Holiness, please don't be that kind of coward. That is my request."
The evening sun was setting, and the surface of the Vltava River shone gold beyond the group of towers. As the light glared against one side of his face, turning it red, Havel grasped the boy's hand. "I swear that I'll protect Your Holiness. I won't let anybody harm you. Therefore, you also must promise, Your Holiness, that you won't talk like that again."
"Y-y-yes," Alessandro replied. Regardless of whether he really understood what Havel had asked of him, the boy nodded enthusiastically. "I p-promise."
"Please be a good Pope, Your Holiness," Havel said.
All of a sudden, Alessandro's sister's voice called him from outside: "Alec, what are you doing? The car is here. Please get in."
"I-I have to go," said Alessandro, gripping Havel's hand as if he still hadn't said enough. "P-please talk to me a-a-again, Vaclav."
"Yes, gladly," Havel replied.
Watching the Pope hurriedly leave the shop after he was beckoned again, Abel said, "You're as virtuous as always, Vaclav. The fact that His Holiness was so happy to talk—"
"It's not virtue, Abel," said Havel with a reserved smile. "I'm not virtuous. What His Holiness chooses to do is of his own accord. If I can have some influence on him, then ..."
"Then . . . ?" Abel asked curiously as a waiter came up to hand him the bill. "Let's see, how much? Wow, what is this? Aren't there two too many zeroes?"
Distracted and confused by the number written on the bill, Abel completely forgot what he'd been talking about with his comrade. He would absolutely come to regret that fact later on.