II

II

 

Dark clothing hung from the ceiling lights. The New Vatican occupation had imposed strict blackout laws on Tallinn, and the only hotel in the town was no exception to the rule. Dark shadows moved in the attic.

"Well, this is a surprise."

One of the figures looked up at the dim yellow arc lights and groaned in admiration. Even in a large city, it was pretty rare to see electric lighting, but there it was—proof that the electric power stations were in good condition.

"I'm surprised that such a remote area like this has electricity. And the town is much nicer than I had imagined. There must be quite a lot of money here."

"All of it is under the power of the count."

The ten or so local residents who were listening to the comments of their guests from Rome twitched a little to hear their home referred to in this way. Among them, the one next to Eulis seemed to be acting as the representative to the group. With an air of self-importance, he started explaining: "Three years ago, the count inherited the family estate, and he really invested in developing the town. He built a power station, a school, and a hospital. If it weren't for the count, Tallinn would be nothing but a poor rural town, still."

"Sergei, stop it. What I did was very minor. Nothing special," Eulis said modestly. He took something small out of his pocket and smiled. "If we want to thank someone, we should be offering our thanks to this. I just recognized its potential."

"What is that?" Abel looked at the item Eulis offered to him. In that slim hand was a small black pebble. "Coal? So small?"

"It's called Oilshell. There are large mineral deposits of it in the mountains around here," Eulis spoke very seriously as he rolled the stone in the palm of his hand. He didn't much look like the leader of a country—more like a scientist with a serious passion for research. "The truth is, in between the grains of this mineral is oil. When I was a student, I studied in Albion. There, I refined a process for purification."

"You can get oil from this?" Abel's eyes were wide behind his glasses.

Since Armageddon, fuel had been a precious resource, and the oil-producing countries like Hispania and Albion were all major powers as a result. But if a small country like Estonia could harvest oil, then they would gain unfathomable wealth. No doubt they'd be able to build schools and hospitals.

"It was thanks to this that I managed to turn Tallinn's fortune around. The business is still on a small scale and our operations are only limited to one mountain and purification center, but we are hoping to expand," Eulis explained.

"Oh. That would explain the big pipe we saw on our way here," Abel said, remembering their trip to Tallinn.

"Yes. That pipe is connected to a mountain about twenty-five miles from the city and leads to a purification plant."

From the window, they could see the mountain range in the distance. It formed a natural rampart around Tallinn.

"Inside is a high-powered conveyer. It carries the mineral from the mountain to the purification center. But I was worried that New Vatican may have broken it. I was on my way back from checking on the center when I was discovered."

"I see. And you said that New Vatican has occupied this town for a week now?" Abel questioned the citizens who were shrouded in a thin darkness. "What happened to the country's soldiers? Did they not fight to protect the city?"

"Of course, everyone fought bravely... but we still lost," Eulis' expression fell. His lips pursed and his voice wavered a little. "We had the numbers and the equipment but the strength of the enemy far surpassed our own. I commanded the knights myself, but we were no match. If the knights had not so bravely kept to the posts as the castle fell, then I don't know what would have happened to me."

Count of Estonia fell silent. Perhaps he was embarrassed that the castle had been lost while under his command. Or perhaps he was lamenting the loss of life. His whole body shook a little. The citizens seemed to feel his pain and they all sighed.

New Vatican may have been defeated by the church's troops at Brno, but they still possessed tuned soldiers and war vehicles. They would have easily crushed a civilian force.

"I see. I think I understand. We won't be able to expect any help from you then?"

All the citizens fell silent at this. It was quite an inappropriate remark, following what was just said. But it wasn't Abel who made the tactless comment. This time, the youth had spoken up. Up until now, he had been examining his split ends, looking distinctly bored.

"Abel, it seems like we lose the bet. There is no way we can get our hands on Cherubim in this situation. If we're discovered by them, then it'll be the end of us too. But I guess if we go back to Rome now, we're dead men anyway." Antonio had painted a grim vision of the future with his usual upbeat voice.

"We continue the operation to take Cherubim," the robots voice said. The short priest looked out the window and shook his head. "Taking Cherubim is our top priority. If we give that up, then we will never be able to return to Rome."

"That may be true, Father Tres. So what do you think we should do? There are three hundred of us. But they have tuned soldiers as well as machine soldiers," Antonio contended. "We're only four people. Countess Anhalt, me... Look, why don't we give up and go back to Rome? We might be forgiven still?"

Tres just stared back at the foolish young man, who was now checking his nails.

"Umm... Could you not use your influence to go to Rome and bring backup?" Eulis asked timidly, all the while looking at the cold eyes of Tres.

No one would think that Eulis was the kind of man to lead an army of knights in a heroic battle. But he was clearly not entirely without strength, as he did not shy from an opportunity to save his fellow countrymen.

"They intend to stay here throughout winter. When spring comes, they'll flee their pursuers and head farther north. But by then, they'll have exhausted this town's resources and most of us will have died of starvation. Fathers, will you not go and call reinforcements from Rome?"

"I'm very sorry, Count. But we can't." Abel sounded genuinely sorry as he shook his head.

"As I explained before, we're now considered rebels in Rome. Even if we could call reinforcements, the church's army is already stretched due to the war with the heretics. And if they did come in pursuit of New Vatican, the town would probably already be devastated."

"No." Eulis covered his face with his hands. His townsmen looked at him with concern. A hushed silence, colder than the freezing air outside, shrouded the room.

"Umm, may I? I may have thought of a good plan..." Countess Christa Anhalt broke the cold silence of the room. This was the first time the aristocratic wife, whose husband had joined the forces of New Vatican, had spoken. "New Vatican follow the false leader, Alfonso d'Este, correct? Then why don't we take that old man as a hostage? If we can do that, then they'll have to do as we say."

"Ha ha, what an excellent suggestion, Senora. But it's not possible," Antonio said as he furiously shook his head. He spoke for the rest of the silent group. "He'll be stuck in the back of the castle with three hundred men between us and him. There's no way we could even get near him to take him hostage. We could try sneaking in, but the chances of us getting caught are considerable, and then we'd be killed."

"Oh, I wasn't saying we sneak in." Christa pouted and continued on: "We'll have the townspeople turn the count in. That way, the castle will be opened up and we'll be able to get in."

"WHAT?!"

Everyone in the room thought they must have misheard. They all looked at Christa now. She smiled back, her beauty and astonishing words keeping her audience captivated.

"When the count meets Alfonso, he can overpower that old man. Then, with the doors open, the citizens can enter the castle. We trick the heretics into thinking that we will return Alfonso to them, gather them in one of the gunpowder warehouses, and set fire to it. I often saw the servants burn pests like that."

"Um... well... yes... it's an i-i-idea," Antonio stuttered.

The citizens were fascinated by this dangerous suggestion. But before this dangerous plan was pursued any further, Abel rushed to speak. "I'm really sorry, but I don't think we can use that idea, Christa. There would be far too dangerous for the count. He would have to secure Archbishop d'Este alone. He could hide weapons on his person, but the risk is still far too great."

"Oh? But the count is a brave man. He led an army of knights and battled bravely." Christa tilted her head and smiled naively. "I would have thought taking a hostage would have been easy for him. It would be nothing. Unless he's been telling us tall tales?"

A wave of rage moved through the townspeople. Sergei, the owner of the hotel, stood up in indignation. "Such impertinence!"

"The Count of Estonia comes from a family of heroes! Eulis follows in their footsteps as a brave warrior. Some false religious leader is nothing to him. Isn't that right, Sir Eulis?"

"Oh? Well yes, Sergei." Eulis had been zoned out, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he'd just been called a liar, but he was now back in the conversation. The locals in the room were all furiously nodding their heads and looking at him. "Well, yes, I mean, I'm very interested in the countess' suggestion. Thank you for your concern, Father Nightroad, but I have a fair knowledge of fighting. You do not need to worry."

"Well then, it's decided!" Christa clapped her hands and exclaimed in delight. "Now everyone will get what they want. The count gets his castle back. The priests get Cherubim. And I get my husband... Oh, Rudolph. 'The countess trailed off, lost in thoughts of a reunion with her husband. She pushed her hands to her breast and sighed sadly. "I need to see him. My beloved Rudolph. I wonder what you're doing now?"

While Christa was talking to herself, the townspeople gathered around Eulis, talking excitedly together. Eulis was smiling at all the kind encouragement he was receiving. But there was something false about it.

Abel sighed as he looked at the youth's facade. "Well. Shall we do this?"

It was true that the struggling New Vatican was utterly reliant on Alfonso. If they took him as hostage, it would create disorder within the ranks. However, could Eulis apprehend Alfonso? Would it be too difficult to take the enemy leader while within enemy territory?

"What do you think, Father Tres?" Abel asked his colleague.

"The risk is too great." Father Tres shook his head but his expression was blank, as always. "But if there are no other options, then we have no choice but to follow this course of action... The Department of the Inquisition will be pushing for Duchess of Milan's execution as we speak. There is no time for hesitation."

"You're right." Abel said forlornly. He thought of her in Rome and sighed. Alone in a cold, dark cell. She wasn't a physically strong woman. Abel wondered if she was all right. He hoped that she was looking after herself.

There was no other choice. They had to try Countess Anhalt's plan.

 

***

 

"Objection!" Professor was calm but firm. He eyed the judges, daring them to challenge him. "I have grave doubts on the reliability of the prosecution. Your Honor, I would like you to rethink the relevance of the facts."

"The defense's objection is overruled."

The young judge, Cardinal Carione, shook his head. This cardinal was well known as a devout follower of Francesco. That he was residing as judge was not in Caterina's favor. "There is sufficient proof of the reliability of the prosecution's evidence. Would the defense please present counter-evidence."

"Then I would like to question the officer of the Department of the Inquisition. Exhibit A: a signature on a list of participants of New Vatican. There is no evidence that this list is genuine."

Professor didn't look to the judge or the prosecution. He looked at the jury. The jury was made up of twelve cardinals, all dressed in scarlet clerical garments. He held out his arms to ask for their sympathy. "I have seen the findings of the DNA and handwriting analysis, and the radio-immunological assessment.

However, there are problems with the conclusions! This cannot be considered proof that the accused has a connection with New Vatican. This is only proof of doubt. There is no other physical evidence that the accused collaborated with New Vatican. I would like the jury to bear that in mind."

But despite the eloquent scientific explanation, this was clearly not enough to garner the jury's sympathies.

"Your Honor," the calm woman of the prosecution was next to interrupt the proceedings. "The prosecution would like to add four further pieces of evidence to exhibit A. May I?"

"You may. Are they here now, Sister Paula?"

"Yes." Sister Paula took out several files from a folder and handed them out to the judge and jury. Finally, she walked toward the defense's bench. "Master Wordsworth." With insipid politeness, she offered the file.

Silently, Professor took it and glanced over it.

Paula returned to the prosecution bench and started talking: "This was sent to the Department of the Inquisition by an anonymous member of the Ministry of Holy Affairs. It is a confidential internal document, but it is from the pen of the accused, Cardinal Sforza. It has been labeled as Top Secret. They are orders sent from Cardinal Sforza to the heretic, Father Vaclav Havel, during the Brno uprising."

Ripples of shock were audible from the jury. Sealed in the files were several letters addressed to the traitor Havel. The contents were fragmentary, but the main subject pertained to orders for Havel to seize new weapons of the church for New Vatican. Most of the jury would know the handwriting by sight.

"Duchess of Milan, is this not your hand?" With perfect timing, Paula turned the jury's attention to the beautiful woman sat in the dock. "You used your subordinate, Havel, to aid the uprising of New Vatican. Do you deny supporting the abduction of His Holiness?"

"Of course this is not true."

It was not Caterina who defended herself. The beauty in the dock maintained her silence. Professor stood up from the lawyer's desk to defend his leader. "Sister Paula, what do you mean to achieve by bringing such a thing into the court? This is sabotaging the trial by bringing such ridiculous evidence and theatrics. I would like to raise a strong objection."

"Unfortunately for you, it is not you who gets to decide what evidence is admissible, Master Wordsworth."

Professor's objection was valid, but the "Lady of Death" didn't budge an inch. Her gaze was as cold as death itself.

The poker face of the Albion aristocracy in challenging situations was well-established—so, Professor's expression betrayed nothing. However, this silence and lack of emotion did not mean he, or his mistress, were not feeling defeated.

"I'm sorry, Your Eminence." Professor looked serious as he turned to the accused. His beloved pipe still in his mouth, he whispered to his mistress: "We seem to be trapped."

"We are not the only ones who are trapped." Caterina coughed. She looked ill, but her eyes hadn't lost their spark. Her gaze was sharp, and she was ready to face her opponents. "We are all trapped, the whole of the Vatican, including the Department of the Inquisition. Still, these backhanded tactics are a mistake. Their sly ways are not sufficient."

"Order! Order!"

The sound of the judge's gavel demanded silence. The courtroom had descended into chaos and flurry at the submission of this new piece of evidence.

"Does anyone have any counter-evidence to this new exhibit?"

"No." Professor may have been the brains of Rome, but he wasn't a miracle worker. There was nothing he could do. The timing of the evidence was perfect, the contents excellent... It was splendid. Sister Paula was an able adversary who had read the feeling of the room and even used the Department of the Inquisition to her own end.

"We were ready for a tough battle, but this is worse than I expected. I wonder when we can expect the others back from Tallinn?" Professor whispered.

Caterina didn't answer; she just continued to stare out the window.

The snowfall had gotten worse. It was always cold during Christmastime, but this year's winter had been unusually fierce. Caterina wondered if they were keeping themselves warm.

"That concludes the statement for the prosecution."

Once again, the judge's gavel hit the bench. Cardinal Carione's voice echoed in the court room: "The accused, Caterina Sforza, will be sentenced at this time next week. Court is adjourned for today!"

 

"This is unusual, you coming here." The convict smirked from behind the bullet-proof glass as he picked at his ear. He twisted his mouth into a strange smile. "How many years have you been working?"

"I don't know," a cold voice was the only thing to meet the convict's question. The speaker's cassock was done up tight around his neck. He seemed to possess enough latent energy that he could break a finger by just touching it. "This time, the request is not from Duchess of Milan. Professor sends this message. He does not have the power to reduce your sentence, but if you don't take this job or if you take it and fail, then you will never leave this place."

"Harsh. I don't really have a choice." The convict sighed heavily. He pulled his finger out of his ear and was now inspecting the orange wax stuck to the end of it. He smiled. "I have to get out of here. I have a woman waiting for me on the outside. A real good girl."

"I see."

For a second, a shadow passed over the visitor's face. It was only for a second though; immediately, his face returned to its typically stoic expression. The young man nodded, his blonde hair moving as his head did. He picked up his metal rod and stood up." Well, when you're ready."

"Sure... but more importantly..." The convict, Leon Garcia de Asturias, raised his eyebrows. While he rubbed the marks on his arms where the shackles had been, he looked up into his visitor's face. "How about your injuries? I heard that you had not gotten out of bed for half a year?"

"Ah, yes, about that..." The visitor started to move the metal rod gently. Immediately, the bullet-proof glass that had separated them lay in shambles on the floor.

"As you can see, there are no lingering problems." Dispatch Officer Father Hugue de Watteau smiled.