II

II

 

"What a cruel thing to do," said Abel. The plaza was full of a crowd gaping at the exposed burnt corpses. As soon as the silver-haired priest standing behind them pushed up his round glasses, which were thick as the bottom of a milk bottle, he made the sign of the cross. His eyes, the color of a winter lake, were brimming with sorrow.

They were in Brno city, standing in the plaza in front of the castle gate. The huge building that carved a demonic shadow across the evening sky was Spielberg Citadel, which had been the governor's palace until a few days ago. After the rebels had killed the governor, the biggest citadel in Bohemia was offered as the temporary shrine of Neue Vatican Pope Alfonso d'Este. Three days ago, Neue Vatican had burned to death dozens of church workers in the plaza in front of the main gate, having judged them as blasphemers. All those sentenced to death had been labeled apostates. It had been reported that, during communion, the Bishop of Brno and others who'd been turned to charcoal had scattered the host on the tips of the believers' noses and demanded money, and if the believers hadn't paid, the bishop and the others threw the hosts back onto the altar.

"It seems understandable that they should have been disqualified as church workers, but not burnt to death," Abel said.

"This public burning was the first act that Neue Vatican embarked on after the uprising," Tres said, rejecting the silver-haired priest's objection. Tres also was dressed like a typical traveling priest in a cassock and cloak, but in contrast to his companion, he regarded the people gathered in the plaza coldly. "I conjecture that the public burnings are propaganda to make Neue Vatican's legitimacy appeal to the citizens of Brno."

"I wonder if His Holiness is okay?" Abel asked. Keeping a cautious eye on their surroundings, he lowered the pitch of his voice, which had gotten high.

A few soldiers who were chatting gaily passed right by Abel and Tres. The symbol adorning their collars was that of the infantry regiment that had seceded from the Vatican's Eastern Army and had announced their participation in Neue Vatican. Since Neue Vatican's uprising, neighboring Vatican army units (and church workers like them who'd revolted against Rome) had entered Brno, along with common lords, one after the other in a triumphant procession. Because the city was filled with unfamiliar people, Abel and Tres had been able to infiltrate inconspicuously, but that didn't change the fact that they were in the middle of enemy territory.

The tall agent sank his voice an octave lower. "Today, it will be one full week that Brno has been besieged by the church army—the Neue Vatican contingent should be getting suitably nervous. Say, Tres, you don't think they've already killed His Holiness?" Abel asked.

"Negative—that's impossible," Agent Father Tres Iqus replied. "If the plan were to kill His Holiness, they should have done it in Prague. As long as he has value as a hostage, the possibility of His Holiness being killed is extremely low. At least, I believe that he'll remain unharmed until Alfonso d'Este s coronation scheduled for tomorrow evening."

"I hope so," Abel said, but his expression reflected his feelings of dejection.

Tres' presumption was correct: Neue Vatican likely would be taking very good care of Alessandro. But according to Professor in Rome, Cardinal Medici and the Bureau of Inquisition had been exhibiting signs of turbulence. Francesco wouldn't stand for his younger brother being taken hostage and a false Pope being crowned. If not by force, he would try to prevent the coronation in some way—and when he did, there was no guarantee that it wouldn't endanger Alessandro.

"Let's find a way to rescue His Holiness tonight!" Abel exclaimed. As he observed the group of soldiers guarding the sturdy castle gate, he began to feel tense. If the intelligence we've been gathering here for a week is correct, the boy who was abducted in Prague last month should be imprisoned beyond this gate! They also had one more ace up their sleeve—the missile stolen from Assisi. "By the way, it would be best if we could deactivate that missile. If they lose their ace in the hole, the Neue Vatican people might surrender quietly."

All of a sudden, a fake jovial voice called out to the two priests. "Hey, been waiting long, Bungler—Pistolero?" asked Leon.

When Abel and Tres turned around, they saw a giant who looked like a construction worker standing behind them, dressed in a gray work suit and grinning.

"Well, today was a mess. Those shitty priests kept pushing the construction deadline, so the scene is utter turmoil everywhere you go. Moreover, there aren't enough artisans, so I'm very busy," said Leon wearing a smile on his swarthy face that was somewhat reminiscent of the expression on a satisfied female carnivorous beasts face.

Agent Father Leon Garcia de Asturias boisterously sat down beside the priests. He winked at the street girls who'd been watching them, but they went pale and walked off as if they were frightened—perhaps thinking that they were about to be eaten. "Hey, I guess country girls are shy. I can't stand such naiveté. Maybe it's because of my charm? Am I a sinful man?"

"Affirmative. You still have seven-hundred-thirty-one years left on your sentence," said Tres.

"That's not what I meant!" Leon exclaimed.

"Now, now—calm down," urged Abel as he held back the giant who tried to attack Tres. Abel shot the giant a placating smile. "So, how are the preparations going, Leon?"

"Oh, they're perfect. Yeah, in two more hours, the big commotion will start, because I threw one the same as this into the water intake pipe," Leon replied. Having bluffed with sufficient confidence, he held out his thick hand to his comrades. On it rested a flat disk resembling a woman's compact. "I took advantage of the hustle and bustle of construction so the soldiers wouldn't notice. But it was an emergency job, so I don't know how much rime it'll buy us."

"There probably won't be much time to spare. We have to find His Holiness' location and rescue him while the castle is in a state of confusion. And we must deactivate that missile, too," Abel said, wearily gazing at the castle towering overhead in the dusk.

The Spielberg Castle and the Saint Peter and Paul Cathedral where the coronation would be held the following day were said to be the two most important bases of the Neue Vatican faction. If that were true, he must be in one of them. I hope it's the cathedral, thought Abel.

"You two take care of His Holiness, and I'll do something about the missile. Although, there's an issue more troublesome than time: I'm worried that Know Faith—Havel—is in there," muttered Leon, as if he'd read Abel's thoughts. Leon studied his companions as they turned around startled. "What'll we do if we cross his path? Despite the fact that he's corrupt, he's still a former agent. Will he be tough, or can we convince him to come back with us?"

"Urn, that's . . ." muttered Abel.

Abel's faltering answer was interrupted by a more straightforward reply: "Delete him," instructed Tres with a coldness that could have sent the world into a deep freeze. "I'll deal with Havel—you two concentrate on the mission objectives."

"Can you defeat him, Gunslinger? Aren't you the least bit worried about his invisible field?" asked Leon.

"No problem. I've prepared a strategy to deal with it," Tres replied straight-faced as he pointed to cylindrical objects barely peeking out from each of his sleeves. "They're Doppler radars that Professor developed. Because of the frequency variation of double-sided electromagnetic waves, I can sense particle motion and can capture movements, regardless of whether the target is invisible."

Abel sheepishly spoke to Gunslinger after the latter offered an explanation with such mechanical self-confidence. "Ah ... um ... Tres? About that—if possible . . . before we fight, um, peaceful persuasion—"

"I warn you, Father Nightroad. Do not get in my way this time," Tres insisted mercilessly. The mechanical soldier's unemotional, non-blinking eyes caught the silver-haired priest's distressed expression. "You obstructed my attack on Havel the other day in Prague. This time, if there is a similar violation of duty regulations, I'll delete you immediately."

Abel fell speechless despite wanting to argue for their former comrade.

Suddenly, a heavy hand squeezed his shoulder. "Cut it out, Abel. Don't think about Havel anymore," Leon said. "It's like Gunslinger says: He's already our enemy. You understand that, right?"

"B-but, there's still room to persuade him," Abel replied weakly.

"No, there isn't," Leon said warmly, as if he were trying to soothe a spoiled child. However, he didn't forfeit telling Abel the harsh truth. "Think about it—a person's life is a series of choices, starting from what to eat and where to sleep—about work, about women, how to use money and time . . . We go through every day being forced to choose and choosing all kinds of things." As his optimism faded and his black eyes sunk behind his eyelids, Leon fingered his necklace and continued muttering to nobody in particular. "We've been given countless choices in this world, and until we die, we have to keep winnowing down the absurd number, second by second. Its like that this time, right?"

The guard soldiers busily shifted to and fro among the bonfires that were being lit in the castle windows. Observing their actions, there wasn't an ounce of hesitance in Leon's voice as he said: "He chose Neue Vatican, but we chose AX. All we can do is prepare ourselves."

Abel was painfully aware of what that preparation entailed. There simply were too many things in the world that he couldn't accept, even though he understood them. "Leon, aren't you in doubt?" he asked, pacing. Considering that his world already had lost so much brightness, one only could only imagine what kinds of thoughts were being generated beneath his silver hair. "How can you not hesitate to point a gun at a person who was a comrade—a person who was by our side until yesterday?"

"Because he has no more choices. When Fana—that girl— ended up in such bad shape two years ago, I consumed a life's worth of choices. My choice will allow that person to live one second longer—that's all," said Leon. The expression faded from Dandelion's face, but perhaps because he was thinking of the girl who lived in the special hospital ward in Milan, a dark light shone in his black eyes. "I won't hesitate. Even if our opponent is Havel, I'll kill him before I hesitate."