VII

VII

 

The early evening meal included fragments of black bread and a gruel of minor grains that had begun to rot a bit.

"This looks good," Abel said. He was the only prisoner in the jail and was trying to smile, but he couldn't crack the hard expressions of the boys who'd brought his meal.

The boy who carried a machine gun and appeared to be the leader nodded curtly. "Eat it quickly without saying anything uncalled for," said the boy, "because we'll be watching you from here while you eat."

"Yes, yes. I don't mind. Let's see . . . our Father who art in heaven, thanks for your blessings," Abel recited hurriedly before starting his only meal of the day. As soon as he'd downed the gruel in one gulp, he began munching on the bread faster than he could swallow it. As he opened his mouth wide, he turned around and said, "Let's see . . ." Coughing once, the priest scratched his head, noticing that the boys were staring at his food and drooling. With an embarrassed smile, he proffered the still-untouched bread. "You may eat some if you'd like."

"Taking food from a prisoner of all things!" a boy exclaimed in a high-pitched voice that hadn't yet been affected by puberty. The boy turned away his face in disgust, but his eyes betrayed him by stealing a peek at the bread.

Abel observed that the boys' hands were terribly thin and that their cheekbones were very prominent. "Please wait a moment," Abel said.

Their weapons raised, the boys suspiciously watched as the priest searched through his pockets with manacled hands. They couldn't figure out what Abel intended to do.

"Let's see, I'm certain it was . . . Here, found it!" Abel proclaimed.

The boys' eyes widened as Abel pulled out the small box with a rustling noise.

Holding up the caramels for the boys to see, Abel said, "I have chocolate, too. It's partially eaten, but have some if you'd like."

The boys stood in silence, wondering if the priest were planning something. They stealthily peered into the priest's smiling face—but unable to withstand the groans of their empty stomachs, all the boys except for the leader reached toward the small box, stuffing their cheeks with the sweet squares.

"Hey, you're not going to eat it?" Abel asked the boy with the machine gun who'd put the untouched candy into his pocket as his comrades shouted for joy. "It's not poisoned. Please don't worry."

"I'll take it back to my little sister," the boy answered, twisting his mouth. "She's never eaten anything like this."

"Really?" asked Abel. This time, it was Abel's turn to be silent. Judging from the boys' appearance, they didn't seem to be citizens of Brno originally. They probably were the sons of farmers who'd migrated from nearby villages. Is Neue Vatican so hard pressed that they had to make these young, boys carry weapons? When the church army's attack begins, these children will be the first to die, he thought. "It's terrible! What is Vaclav doing?" Abel spat out. "Making children carry weapons... Isn't it going too far?"

"Yes. I think so, too," replied Havel from behind the indignant priest. His thin face covered with short whiskers, Havel broke into a sad smile.

"F-father Havel!" cried the boys.

"Ahh, you shouldn't be upset," the one-armed priest kindly told the boys who'd covered their mouths in surprise. "It's a precious present that you received from Father Abel. Eat and enjoy it. Would you leave me alone with him while he eats? I need to speak to him."

"B-but_? Father, isn't being alone with this spy dangerous?" the boy with the machine gun asked, gazing up at Havel with pleading eyes. After the affectionate priest smiled and nodded, the boy gave up on giving advice. "Okay, let's go, everybody. Father, please be very careful."

The boys nodded obediently and streamed out of the room.

Checking to see that their backs had disappeared beyond the door, Havel stood next to Abel, peering into his eyes, and asked, "How are you, Abel? I'm very sorry. I told them not to be rough, but . . ."

"Besides that — who are those children, Vaclav?" asked Abel. Displaying a rare hint of rebuke on his face, Abel glared at his former comrade. "It's not like you to make children carry weapons like that!"

"It was His Holiness Alfonso's idea to use boy soldiers," Havel replied, grimly shaking his head as he removed Abel's handcuffs with his left hand. Havel's right arm didn't extend past his shoulder because he'd taken it off after his artificial arm had been irreparably broken in the previous night's battle. He would've had a spare were he in Rome, but this country couldn't repair his limb, let alone provide him with a spare. "We're severely short-handed. Between guarding the city and constructing the defense facilities, we don't have enough working hands, and therefore, don't have any regular troops to spare to facilitate this kind of rear defense."

Sighing faintly, Havel gazed through the open window in the wall with a gloomy expression. The tall mountain range that surrounded Brno beyond the city walls was visible from the tower. The mountains' surface should've been red with autumn leaves, appearing as if it were burning this time of season—but instead, it was covered with colors of iron and ash. Fluttering between countless tents and groups of military vehicles were military flags, each with a red cross painted onto a white background—the Roman cruciform flag of the church army.

"When the siege army's offensive begins, there won't be any resistance," Havel said.

"Knowing that, why don't you surrender?" asked Abel plainly. (To say "casually" would've suggested too much emotion.) As he followed his former comrade's gaze and faced the window, Abel sighed. "With this difference in troop strength and without God's assistance, you have no chance of winning. Shouldn't you surrender at once to ensure the safety of the citizens?"

"Abel, do you believe in God?" asked Havel.

"Huh?" Abel replied. Abel's eyes narrowed in response to the straightforward question. "Well, because I'm a priest . . . although everybody calls me 'Father Useless'... In general, as far as God ... Yes, somehow I do believe."

"I don't believe in God," Havel declared.

"Huh?" Abel narrowed his eyes again at the AX's most faithful man's admission.

I don't believe in God, Havel thought to himself. If God really existed, would he favor power over justice and strength more than what is right? Why do poor people who live righteously and who are pushed to the brink of death have to pick up swords and fight?

The sound of a bell from the Saint Peter and Paul Cathedral where the coronation ceremony was being held echoed in the distance as fireworks ignited sporadically. There were no people in the streets, because all the general citizens were afraid of the church army's attack and had shut themselves in their homes.

Havel quietly spoke to the city that seemed to have died. '"Blessed are the poor', 'Believe or you won't be saved'—they're all lies. God doesn't exist."

"Vaclav, if you don't believe in God, you should surrender now," Abel said without a trace of blame directed toward the apostate. With eyes like those of a child lost on a journey, he continued, "Last night, Cardinal Medici tried to kill Alfonso, completely ignoring His Holiness' safety. He wouldn't allow the enforcement of the coronation and will try to stop it regardless of whether it destroys this city."

"Rome can't lay a hand on us," Havel said, still gazing down at the quiet streets. "As long as we have our last trump card—the missile underground—the church army can't invade this city. For some reason, the existence of that bomb means death to all of them."

"What does that mean?" asked Abel.

"It means death to all of them," Havel replied firmly. Would they blow themselves up, taking the enemy army with them? No matter how large a missile it was, the most it could do would be to blow up the castle. Did a bomb exist that could annihilate three sides of a large army? Such questions didn't cause the confidence in Havel's voice to waver. "Seventeen-and-a-half pounds of calcium cyanide and its vaporizer have been loaded onto that warhead. By simple calculation, that's the right amount to instantly kill half a million people. It's more than enough to annihilate the soldiers who've invaded."

"Calcium cyan ... what?" Abel exclaimed as he attempted to mention the fearful death god.

Calcium cyanide was a poisonous crystal commonly called potassium cyanide. It was plenty dangerous on its own, but when mixed with the acid that filled the warhead, it chemically changed into volatile hydrogen cyanide and became a toxic gas that could kill anyone in the vicinity. If it were dispersed using a vaporizer, it would be possible to cover the entire city with a cloud of death within a few minutes.

"Th-that kind of poisonous gas was loaded into the missiles warhead? What on Earth...?" said Abel.

"Of course. It was installed for battle with the Empire," Havel replied. There wasn't any anger in Havel's voice, but his fingers trembled as they touched his rosary. "Did you know hydrogen cyanide gas is effective against vampires? Cardinal Medici intends to fire it into the Empire during the next crusade."

"P-poison gas ... into the Empire?" Abel asked, astonished.

The Vatican had tried the exhumation and restoration of ancient poisonous gas and biological weapons many times, but it hadn't achieved any results. On top of the gas and weapons being too difficult to handle, they hardly had any effect on vampires, whose bodies neutralized nerve agent gases like sarin and tabun. Hydrogen cyanide was a rare exception, however. The reason remained unexplained, but it seemed to be connected to what vampires called "bacillus," which makes the blood-borne symbiotic germ consume too much oxygen. Because cyanide compounds essentially were poisons, they damaged the oxygen supply to the bacillus. It had been confirmed that vampires who inhaled cyanide gas could be killed as easily as humans. Although, unlike silver or sunlight, cyanide gas was fatal to humans, as well as to vampires.

Abel couldn't fathom what would result if that missile were shot into the city. "It's not just Methuselahs—there are large numbers of Terrans living in the Empire, too! Besides, considering the wind's direction, it'd endanger this area, too!"

"If the intent is to kill a large bug, the life or death of a small bug makes no difference," said Havel, smiling icily. Looking away from Abel, the thin priest spat out at the floor. "That's how it is, Abel. If the order is to topple the vampires, it's unlikely that the Vatican cares about comrades in the border regions or the Empire."

"That's the reason you turned traitor, isn't it, Vaclav?" asked Abel in a scratchy drawl. His face grew dark as he glared at his former comrade. "Because you knew about this, you—

"Abel, I have one favor to ask of you," Havel said, correcting his posture and erasing his gloomy smile. "It's about His Holiness Alessandro. Please, take him with you and leave this city right away."

"What?" Abel asked as if he couldn't follow his companion's words. Leave the city with Alessandro? Isn't he an important hostage for Havel and the others?

"The Bureau of Inquisition ignored him and attacked. Anyway, Cardinal Medici probably has no intention of rescuing his little brother, which means His Holiness has no value as a hostage," Havel replied. The look in his eyes was the same as when he'd spoken with the boy the previous night in the isolation cell. They were the eyes of a teacher discussing a poor but beloved pupil. "He's being taken to the cathedral. His Eminence Alfonso intends to declare his own ascendancy by exposing his nephew at the coronation ceremony. If you're going to save His Holiness, now is the best chance."

Abel peered into the eyes of his former comrade, who was leaning slightly to the left. "Vaclav, there's still time," Abel argued with an awkward sincerity. "Won't you come back? I'll beg Caterina with all my heart. So —

"Thank you, Abel," Havel said with a smile that Abel wouldn't forget. "Did you deliberately stay behind last night in order to tell me that? Unfortunately, I can't go back. Going back now would mean abandoning the people who came here and believed in me. I intend to protect that disgusting weapon as long as I can."

"Can you protect it in that shape?" asked Abel, glancing at the space where Havel's right arm should've been. "As long as you have the missile, the church army can't invade the city. But that means the Bureau of Inquisition absolutely will attack the castle in order to deactivate it. Can you ward them off?"

"I won't repeat the same mistake I made yesterday. There are still more than four hundred soldiers posted in this castle. We'll be able to protect it for sure," Havel said. Did he actually believe what he was saying, or had he already resigned himself to an undesirable fate? He turned around, leaving the cell with his right sleeve swinging limply, and he didn't look back. "Therefore, Abel . . . please take the very best care of His Holiness."