Timelines: What if Spain Failed to Control the World?

k-59 said:

very nice update

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Thanks ! I hope to have the next chapter before the 2 day window expires tomorrow as usual . I also wanted to maybe write up some bonus scenes later on this evening as a side story just for kicks . we'll see !

April 10, 1580

The white jets of ocean water crashing against tar and wood filled that portion of the Strait of Malacca with a sparkling mist. The sun refracted into millions of miniature rainbows as sparklets of salty liquid formed a cloud of disturbance in the wake of eighty nine ships of the line and twenty five transport ships in tow.

With sails unfurled it was like the coming of hundreds of clouds along the horizon, the natives of that peninsular region could only look on with foreboding of seeing the image of the Cross of the Christians emblazoned on each fluttering square of sail like thunderbolts pulsating from cloud to cloud as they flapped in the South East Pacific wind.

The monstrous congregation rounded Singapore with a great flutter of formation; the great galleons raked a massive sweep of the ocean in that turn northward and then pushing onward in an enormous V.

The Entire Spanish Armada was sailing for Japan.

Around ten thousand troopers slept uneasily as they traveled. Each new day meant a new piece of land heretofore unseen, but it had not been an easy trip. They had started with twenty five thousand filling all the transports to the brim.

These soldiers were not lost to starvation, however. Zanzibar, Fars, Hormuz, and the two trading provinces near Kutch as well as a detachment to trek into the central territories of the Delhi to take Bihar had been launched and left behind. They were tasked with establishing a string of trade from Andalucia, around Africa, into the Persian Gulf, and then India.

Each small detachment left behind had a simple yet almost impossible mission. To take their respective trading cities and simply hold their ground until the monarchs of those regions finally recognized the supremacy of Spanish rule over all international trade centers.

This simultaneous operation was the most ambitious yet and victory would mean control of 95% of the world’s trade centers.

The men in the Silent Room seemed to escalate their ambitions with every passing decade. And now to crown their achievement was the plan to capture the nerve center of Eastern Trade: the fabled city of Osaka.

On the Santa Maria, the lead Galleon, Antonio grasped the sides of the ocean vessel with both hands, brimming with months of successful campaigns against the Swahili, Persians, and Indians that echoed the rising jubilance of the pacific waves.

“Don Jimenez,” Isabella suddenly interrupted his relaxation.

Antonio turned his head at the call and saw the radiant elegance of Doña Isabella with some of her maids in tow.

“Isabella!” he said with a pleasant smile. “It’s good to see you in some decent clothes. I was starting to get tired of seeing you in that awful cloak you always have around.”

The maids in the rear began to chuckle a little but Isabella merely shook her head and almost rolled her eyes. She assuaged it with a courteous smile, however.

“Luckily it’s a bit of a ways from Bihar to Osaka so I decided to take a break,” she explained, “but I hope there was something more than just confirming to you that I’m still a woman under the hood.”

She was a woman indeed, both were almost 25 and their careers as successors to their families’ ventures did not seem to age them more so than it should.

Antonio straightened up, albeit his back still leaning against the wooden side of the lead Galleon, a spray of water reaching the back of his head at times. “Of course, my good spy master, I wanted to introduce one of our local agents that I’ve assigned to your division,” he said nodding in the direction behind Isabella.

Isabella’s eyes turned as did her head to the nearest portal to the rear quarters.

From the shadowy interior exited a rather meek looking figure. Despite his obvious Asian descent, he was almost as tall as Antonio and his hair was a careful set of dark against a gentle tan. He wore a cross on a necklace. His face was almost emotionless as was with most spies, but he kept a set of tucked almost pouty lips which gave him an almost pitiful appearance.

“Allow me to introduce,” Antonio began casually walking past Isabella to the youth standing in attention. “Chun Jeong-Hee, expert on regional politics of the island of Japan. He’s from neighboring Korea but with Ming meddling these days, there are a lot of spies out of work.”

At this, Chun gently bowed in an almost European style. “A pleasure to meet such an elegant and beautiful woman such as yourself, Madame Isabella,” he let out, a little smile from between that pout accentuating his cheeks.

“The pleasure is mine,” Isabella returned graciously, “you’re so sweet. In fact, I think that will be my codename for you from now on. Sweet.”

The newly christened “Sweet” gave another little smile.

“With Sweet’s help and our victorious army, this should be an easy mission to fulfill,” nearly exclaimed Antonio.

“As cocky as usual,” Isabella replied.

“Not cocky,” Antonio explained, “I simply have faith in the invincibility of the Imperial Troopers. We haven’t failed yet and we won’t fail now.


May 21, 1581

Isabella sat quietly on a new imported piece of furniture. It was a chair of cedar harvested by Lebanese foresters, ferried across the Mediterranean by Venetian merchants, built by Italian craftsmen, shipped over the oceans by Portuguese sailors, unloaded by Japanese dock workers, and finally checked by the Spanish viceroy’s customs officer at the port Osaka.

Despite its elaborate work, the lady’s dress seemed to mask the wooden frame in its many folds giving the elegant meeting of cloth and furniture a strange lugubrious aspect. Like the dragging sagginess of a weighted soul.

“I will ask you again, Madame, what is the size of your reinforcements?” suddenly demanded a voice from behind a veil.

When Isabella looked forward from her sitting position, she could recognize the strange outlines of the armoured costume of a high samurai.

“You will answer,” repeated the voice.

When Isabella gave no response she merely gazed upward to her left and right at the menacing yet stoic guard of her capturers; two tall samurai in full battle attire. The voice, on the other hand, receded towards the light as if to leave that chamber but Isabella halted him.

“When we landed on these shores, only ten thousand of our men managed to defeat fifty thousand of yours,” she said almost matter-of-factly.

The other figure was silent; perhaps he wasn’t used to such impertinence by a woman.

“When you came to retake the city the next year, you lost another forty thousand men before you scattered us.”

“Quiet, woman!” his voice erupted through the curtain. “When you decide to talk about the return of your armies, I will be more patient to your insolence.”

The figure’s silhouette now grew larger as he reached the end of the room, under the frame of the portal.

“Bring the prisoner back to her ce—”

“Do you still miss your mother, Akechi-kun?”

The departing figure stopped at the door. There was a short pause…

“Are you still bitter at Oda-san for being so dishonourable? Tsk tsk… surely he was aware that betraying Hatano-san would have some consequences… it’s a pity his rival’s retainers had to blame you and take your mother’s life…”

The two samurai wards looked at each other for a moment, confused at listening to this tale between their friend Akechi Mitsuhide and their master Oda Nobunaga. What was this all about?

“I suppose it makes sense,” she continued feigning that lugubrious sadness she had created in the beginning, pushing her body inwardly and in doing so hiding a sly grin across her face. “After all, you were the one who cunningly tricked Hatano Hideharu to give up Yakami Castle for peace…”

The figure behind the curtain suddenly marched forward, pushing aside the barrier and flooding the room with the candlelight. The face of Akechi Mitsuhide was terrible to behold.

“Both of you, get out,” he motioned to the guards. They could do nothing but obediently exit, albeit at first reluctantly.

Isabella continued to hide her face near the frills of her collar, lest she might laugh.

Akechi waited legs slightly agape in anger, and, when the two others had quit the chamber, approached Isabella menacingly and held up his hand as if to strike her.

“Baaaka,” Isabella suddenly taunted from under her breath loud enough for the middle aged samurai to hear her as she shook her head. “Why are you going to hurt me when we both know deep in your heart it is Oda Nobunaga you wish to harm.”

That was enough to stop the gloved hand from swinging downward.

“Don’t speak such foolish things, woman—”

“Foolish yes,” she suddenly looked up, her light blues almost freezing the other man in some strange trance; the candlelight was flickering against her sky globes like the afternoon sun flying across the sky hypnotizing anyone foolish enough to lazily look at it. “But not when it is to save your nation.”

Between the both of them, a strange aura permeated the ether, like Isabella’s gaze and exposed grin danced with her words inside the belly of that proud warrior, the legs of the invisible dancers tightening his stomach and shuddering near-excitement up his throat.

“I did not allow myself to be captured by you because I could not flee, I am here as a delegate of my Emperor’s Secretary of State.”

“Sekuruterioh desu tadoh?” the samurai said tilting his head. Perhaps Isabella didn’t know her Japanese as well as she should.

“How do you say it here… Kampaku… prime minister!”

Akechi-san looked at Isabella with a skeptical look, as the twenty five year old woman gently sat back properly on that important seat of hers that she had acquired five months before the retaking of Osaka by the Japanese.

“Think of it, Akechi-kun,” she continued; enjoying taunting him with the playful honorific. “Oda is not of fit character to rule Japan, but you can’t take control without help. And where will you get it?”

Her eyes began to pierce into him again and he saw that ghost of his mother’s assassination replay itself continually to urge his attention to her propositions.

“You know that Hashiba Hideyoshi-kun is too loyal, and you know that Ieyasu Tokugawa-kun would take what he can if your master was eliminated,” she pontificated.

Akechi-kun was astounded at the knowledge of this young girl. Who was she? More importantly, how was this Emperor from across the sea powerful enough to have agents such as this and an army of ten thousand that can defeat five times their size?

“We can help you,” she finally let out.

The proposition came like a hammer against the smoldering metal of his vengeful bowel. His mother’s blood cried for revenge and, if Osaka had not been suddenly attacked by foreigners, he may have already been thinking of a plan of action. But this girl offered something more; a chance at a unified Japan without a treacherous coward like Oda at its head.

“At what price does this assistance come?”

Isabella gave him a merciless grin.


Tom was on another wave of enemies when his phone cell phone gave off the familiar orchestra of communication. Pausing his game, he went to pick it up.

“Hey, good game tonight,” was the immediate message received. Rodrigo was apparently excited.

“Yeah, it’s going to take a lot more than just one victory to beat the Spanish back, though. After all, they had to get back from losses in real history.”

“Still,” Rodrigo encouraged, “You only lost half your troops in the initial attack, much better than the history books any day. Well, we’ll continue it another time.”

“Sure,” Tom agreed tersely.

“You up to anything?” Rodrigo suddenly asked.

“Not really,” Tom said looking up at the television. He paused right as Akechi was about to face off with Oda. “Was just playing a little Samurai Warriors X. Why do you ask?”

“I was reading a news article about the essay you put into that journal.”

Tom had almost forgotten about that. In fact, it’s been a few days since he heard word from Mr. McDonald.

“Oh it’s out already? Did it have anything good about me in it? Mr. McDonald said he’d put my interview in it.”

“You haven’t heard?” Rodrigo’s voice was peculiar, even if it was through the digital device.

“Heard what?”

“Mr. McDonald, your publisher, got murdered yesterday.”

“What?!” Tom’s hand suddenly felt cold gripping that phone against his head.

“Yeah, they found him dead in a hotel room and all of his stuff was gone except for a few papers and a copy of your essay with writing on it.”

Tom didn’t want to say anything. He almost instinctively looked around him as the ambient buzz of the paused game seemed to send chills down his spine.

“The freaky part, though,” added Rodrigo; as if it wasn’t creepy enough, “He was at a hotel in near Izumi in Japan. Next to the memorials of Akechi Mitsuhide and Hashiba Hideyoshi…”

Chapter VII: Hashiba Hideyoshi (coming soon)

To Wilcox: Thanks ! I'm trying to space out my updates once every two days because I know a lot of people like to read other AARs as well and I wanted to make sure people could keep up since I tend to go on for a bit for each chapter and interlude ! Thanks again for your support can't wait to read your next chapter as well !

To Stratego: Thanks for your encouragement and patronage ! I'm working hard to find a place to get pictures and to generate some ! Wish me luck !

Grayghost: Haha , well technically it won't be a WC . But I'll leave that apparent contradiction to be answered another day ! Thanks again for your patronage ! And P.S. The Far East is hard . Having to ferry so few troops to the heavy-manpower likes like China is a death trap .

What was that thing about blunders ? "The First is fighting a Land War in Asia" or something to that effect ? XD

May 22 1581

Antonio grappled with the rocks ahead of him, the heavy weight of his cuirass chafing against the uniform he wore underneath. The swift moving falls to his left made the rocks he reached out for particularly slippery but the fifty foot drop behind him kept him eagerly attached to that rock face.

Fifteen minutes of negotiating the cliff and he finally managed to take hold of the gregarious tufts of grass at the edge. Sweet grabbed his wrist and heaved the young Antonio the final length of that climb.

For a moment both companions panted heavily, albeit their sound was masked and droned away by the rushing of water. Their bodies soaked in the afternoon light and their clothes clung to their skin.

They sat with backs against a tree or rock, whatever they could find as they surveyed the long climb they had achieved below. For at least three kilometers they had followed a river they did not know the name of until they had reached this mountain. It would be their safe haven for the evening.

In the distance one could see the deepness of the Pacific slightly shrouded by the meddling of clouds. For the two of them, the open air may as well be a wall. Swarms of Japanese samurai roamed the lands below attempting to find them and their comrades.

“Sir, we should head for higher ground,” advised Sweet. His Spanish lacked certain intonation, but the suggestion was readily understood by the modest nod of the young spy to his master. Antonio gave his agreement by pushing against his rock to get up.

“I believe what we are looking for is through this forest,” Sweet nearly whispered.

Fortunately for Sweet, life as an agent for the Emperor of the West meant that he was not burdened by the soldier’s armour that his master usually donned, but then again life as a spy also did not give him the stamina or fortitude that Antonio had. In the end, both traveled at an even pace.

“How far is it to this Imahama?” Antonio questioned his companion. He spoke evenly, as if they were still on board one of the galleons having a serious briefing about enemy movements.

Sweet gave a calm look with those always half veiled eyes to his master before turning back to the trail. “It will be a long while. We will be stopping at various areas before we reach Lake Biwa. As per your instructions, we’ve scattered the remaining forces into the different areas.”

“With the decentralized way these daimyos rule this land,” Antonio began between breaths. He sighed the words out as if they were a litany of unfortunate things, “it is no wonder we won’t be caught so easily.”

“And our attack on Osaka severely weakened Nobunaga’s position amongst the other daimyos,” Sweet added.

Sweet then stopped and looked about.

“What is it?” Antonio asked, his hand reaching for his espada instinctively.

“We’re close to our first stop,” Sweet said before walking towards a rock face.

From a distance the dark grey wall of rock rose about ten feet high topped by a mossy green toupee of mountain grass. Sweet approached it with a strange familiarity. Antonio could only look on and kept his distance wondering what his companion was doing.

Antonio tilted his head and watched as Sweet put his hands along the face of the wall as if to somehow push it open like a door. What is he doing? It was then that Sweet put his leg upward and stepped on what, Antonio thought, was an invisible ledge and, pushing upwards, elevated himself onto the wall.

Antonio’s forehead contracted and he almost squinted in confusion before Sweet, with a smile to match his nickname motioned for his master to come forward.

The “secret” entrance was simple. Halfway up the rock wall the rock itself receded about a foot allowing a small ledge to form. This ledge was kept hidden through an illusion of imagery; the cracks and imperfections of the stone was continued artificially above the ledge making it seem to an observer from afar to be a continuous wall. With Sweet’s help Antonio awkwardly climbed the ledge and over the wall where a similar ledge awaited their feet.

Sweet had jumped down first and then Antonio. Adjusting his cuirass and sliding some of the grass off the young nobleman turned to find Sweet standing solemnly facing away from him. His eyes caught a glimmer of white and pink before his gaze would find the straight view forward.

His voice left him and he took a nearly sharp breath of air. What he saw was like a snow covered forest flittering with capricious snowflakes. But no, these were not snowflakes and in that cool spring air he inhaled the fragrance of the cherry blossoms as they flavoured the air.

These willow-like trees hung easily and warmly downward almost as if they were welcoming them in a timeless humble bow and the cream of soft petals flowed from them with the motion of the invisible wind before carpeting the forest floor.

Antonio took a step forward standing side by side with his forest companion. Their slightly haggard condition as well as Antonio’s marred armour made them stand out amongst the whispy confines of that inner sanctum. They were like two spoons at the edge of a pink and white frosted confection waiting to plunge into its creamy deliciousness.

“When the Christians of this country were being persecuted,” Sweet softly told his master, “some of the monks of the Society of Jesus came to this mountain and built this secret place. There is a small village beyond this garden and there those survivors remain.”

It was true that in the early 1500s the first Christians had come to Japan thanks to Cardinal Ximenes passing the papal bull allowing the formation of the Jesuits, but it was not long till daimyo jealousies over religion gave instances of violence.

Antonio did not respond instead taking in those words as if they were a part of the moving scented atmosphere around him, fixating him in a pleasant state of carefree euphoria. It was beautiful to see such radiance in such a grim situation.

They eventually moved forward together but this time much slower, allowing the movement of the garden to guide their path towards the village. It was there that a cabinet was awaiting the coming of their master.

The village itself was desperately small, but it did not seem to deter the smiles and welcomes of the citizens. The square where Antonio and Sweet received their welcome contained the village well and acted like a Spanish plaza with the church immediately facing the water source. Several farms stretched out along the mountain paths in either direction from the central square but were all readily hidden by large bluffs of rock on all sides; it was a closed village.

In this village and in its garden the sakura bloomed late. It was a strange effect of the mountain altitude mixed with the tinkering of the Jesuit fathers in their botany. Either way, both enjoyed the respite.

“Don Jimenez, I’m glad you made it here safely!” an army officer suddenly exclaimed from across the village square as if he had been waiting at that spot the whole time.

“Machiel, good to see you,” Antonio responded though sluggishly at first, he was still buzzed from his walk through the garden as well as from fatigue. Antonio and Sweet followed the officer into one of the town’s buildings.

Machiel Schenkhuizen was a Dutch strategist for the army that Antonio had loaned from his cousins in Austria. He was a tall lanky young man with a pervasive smile. One would wonder how such a malnutritioned looking officer such as him ever made it into the armed forces, but Schenkhuizen’s notoriety preceded him.

Having served four Kings in his career, his military prowess and micromanagement skills made him one of Antonio’s top generals. His friendly nature also made him relatively close to the young master as well as even to the other members of his staff including Sweet. To his enemies, his particularly informal nature matched with their jealousy for his skills have lead to them calling him by various nefarious nicknames such as “The Grub.”

Sometimes his friends would make fun of this calling him the Spanish nickname of “Sucio” (Grubby).

“We’ve deployed the squadrons in various key positions throughout the kingdom but all hidden for now as you’ve relayed through Sweet,” Schenkhuizen explained.

“Excellent, have you also prepared the horses?” Antonio replied patting Grubby on the shoulder.

“Of course, master,” as the almost arrogant response. Antonio should have known better than to ask! They both gave a mutual grin.

“For now, however, the staff here and I have arranged for couriers and for a place for you and Sweet to rest for tonight before heading out tomorrow.”

Antonio nodded and stood straight smiling at his hard working staff assembled in that make shift cabinet room. In the back of the room there was even a candlelit rendition of the main island of Honshu drawn with ink. For today, this would be his Silent Room— his Invisible Throne.

The next morning, Antonio and Sweet made their way over the secret wall again, with Antonio having taken one last glance at the falling sakura before meeting with Grubby on the other side who had prepared two horses for them.

“The mountain path curves sharply on the right side so be careful. Sweet should know the way from here. I’ll send your dispatches to the other camps as soon as possible, my Duke,” Machiel said holding the reins for his master until Antonio mounted the brown stallion.

“Thank you, Sucio; I’ll leave the rest to you.”

The commander gave a bow to his master and a brief nod to Sweet before speeding off himself with a horse down the other direction. The two now made their way around the mountain paths away from the secret village.

For several days, the two rode. At times making stops at shacks or town houses of secret Christians who were sent forward to make their path easier. Sometimes they had to ford rivers in order to avoid certain towns or the watchful eye of patrolling sentries or daimyo castles. Eventually, the broad horizon of Lake Biwa finally drew them to their final destination. Their horses halted along the calm shores of that great lake.

“Up ahead is Hideyoshi’s castle,” Sweet explained his near perpetual frowned expression gave a matter-of-factly pout to accentuate the grim foreboding he received from being so near.

“And I’m afraid this is where we part ways, my dear Sweet,” Antonio said with a familiarity and casualness that contrasted the sedated expression of his comrade’s half sealed eyes.

“Like I told you before, it would be easier if I accompanied you. Your Japanese is not exactly the best and it would be—”

“I know, Sweet, and you’ve been a wonderful companion, but you must do this for me,” interrupted the master.

Sweet looked at Antonio for a moment with the same expression as the young Duke gazed into the distance of the Lake to where the castle lay.

“Is she really that important to you, sir?” Sweet calmly asked.

Antonio maintained that smile as he turned to face his stoic companion. “You could say that,” he began, “in the very least she would be a valuable asset lost if we did not recover her safely, right? She’s one of our best tacticians…”

Sweet did not give a reply but kept that concentrated frown.

“I would go myself if I did not have to try and talk my way into Hideyoshi’s favour. We need to buy time for the Armada to arrive with fresh battalions but I can’t have Isabella lost now,” he further explained continuing that almost nostalgic smile to his friend.

“So be it. But please remember that Hideyoshi is paranoid of Christians,” Sweet said before tapping his horse to speed away. He would leave his master to his sole task. Antonio once again gazed at the castle in the distance with its curved tetrahedral rooftops. He rode forward; it would be a talk between gentlemen, he thought.

Duke Antonio Jimenez arrived at the castle of daimyo Hideyoshi Hashiba a day later with as much dignity as a visiting dignitary, albeit with armed guard flanking his person every step of the way. He was lead into broad chamber where the nearly fifty year old son of a farmer-warrior turned feudal lord awaited him.

He was allowed to wear his espada and armour as he squatted and sat on a matted pillow on that broad wooden floor making it uncomfortable just to look at his awkward and clunky attire.

“Honourable lord,” Antonio began, “I come as representative of Majesty Emperor beyond Sea. I am Don Antonio Jimenez”

There was a slight commotion amongst the retainers within the hall. Obviously no interpreter for Spanish on such short notice so they would have to deal with the poor young man’s broken Japanese.

“It is regrettable before when Osaka attack occurred, and I have come to give better options,” was the mangled message the young nobleman effectively said. Sweet had not been exaggerating when he said Antonio may need some help.

“How many more of you will be coming?” the daimyo bluntly directed the conversation.

Antonio looked up towards the lord and his retainers giving a pause to accentuate the position for a moment. At first Hideyoshi thought he did not understand.

“How many more soldiers will be arriving?” he asked again.

Antonio understood the first time but he smiled. “Twenty five thousands,” he replied.

There was another general commotion but the daimyo stood still as if nothing the young warrior would say would tip him in any direction.

“And when arrival occurs, yours will have choice,” Antonio continued on, “work with I or all your base are belong to us.”

“What did you say?” came the response from the lord, a slight sense of astonishment flickered in his eye.

“You are on the path to destruction. You have no chance to survive, make your time.”

“You are not making any sense!” the daimyo exclaimed, the sound coming as a guttural eruption from that elder.

Antonio lowered his head for a moment, which gave the daimyo pause; the body movements of the westerners were slightly strange to him and he did not know if he had humbled the young man or if he was readying for some strike. The tension ringed against the wooden floor slowly.

“One knows that you wish to bring Japan as together. Your master Nobunaga is very close, but is Nobunaga enough strong? Fight my people will destroy you all. Japan needs leadership stronger than he provides.”

There was a short pause as the elderly lord leaned his elbow upon his right thigh his fan in his fist and knuckles supporting his cheek.

“I will think about what you may have to say. First I will talk with my advisors,” postulated the lord as guards suddenly came and came to either side of Antonio, the entire entourage of that nobleman ascending with the man as he exited to a rear chamber.

Antonio was left waiting in that hall with samurai at every entrance and two to guard his movement. Strangely, that nobleman did not have to wait long before the elderly daimyo returned to the room with entourage in tow.

“Don Jimenez,” the older man addressed him as they all took their familiar seats. The two guards stayed beside Antonio, however. “I have thought over your words and have decided that it may very well be beneficial to open dialogue.”

At this point Antonio gave a generous smile.

“But I also have faith in my Lord Nobunaga…”

Antonio’s eyes narrowed slightly in rapt confusion.

“Therefore, I am taking you under guard as a prisoner of war. Guards take him away.”

“W—wait a minute!” Antonio called out, but the daimyo was already looking away and the rest of the chamber chattering as the young man was accosted by either guard, a third coming to take his espada from his belt.

As he gave a slight struggle from the handling of the samurai, a tall figure exited the back room where the feudal lord had taken his recess. Wrapped in the slightly pink and white kimono mounted a head with sapphire eyes.

“Isabella…” Antonio gasped.

Behind her stood another samurai exiting the back room, with an intense look on his face and an outfit that designated as probably one of the samurai generals of Oda Nobunaga.

“Don Jimenez,” came Lord Hideyoshi’s voice altering Antonio’s dumbfounded expression over to him, “thanks to this young lady’s testimony, we find you guilty of attempting to foment revolution and dissention within the shogunate.”

Once again, Antonio in his slight struggle looked at Isabella with his face contracting in surprise. Isabella did nothing but grin at the young nobleman before waving him goodbye as the guards dragged him out of the room.

“Thank you,” began Isabella looking now at the sitting daimyo, “for your cooper—”

“I still don’t trust you,” came the response, “I only did this because Akechi-san believes your story about his intentions.

Hideyoshi continued to lean against his thigh not even bothering to look at the two by the door. He was obviously uneasy about all of this.

Nonetheless, Isabella gave a courteous bow and quit the room with Akechi following.

“I told you that Hideyoshi is loyal to Nobunaga,” she arrogantly said over her shoulder to the samurai in tow.

“But why would you betray your own kinsman to him?” asked Akechi almost as surprised as Antonio was.

“You still don’t understand?” Isabella asked almost out of frustration. “My first duty is to his Majesty the King and Emperor. As for Antonio…” she looked forward for a moment down the hallway they were walking.

“You are a dangerous woman, Isabel of Castille” commented her samurai escort.

“Yes, but since we’ve help to convince Hideyoshi not to accept support from Antonio, I am the only one left to direct Spanish troops in this region. And that means you have an invincible army by which to secure this kingdom for your mother’s sake.”

“For my countrymen’s sake!” Akechi corrected harshly. He kept trying to justify all of this to himself, but Isabella kept them moving so fast it was hard to sit still and think it all through; all he knew was that this was right; he was going to get his revenge on Oda.

Isabella did nothing but grin; a grin Akechi did not see.

“I will see you again in four hours,” she said authoritatively as she came upon her temporary lodging, turning to him for a brief nod. The samurai gave her a polite yet terse bow before grunting approval and taking his leave.

Isabella slid her chamber door open entered and shut it close. When she turned, the humble smile of that humble young man greeted her.

“Thank you so much for doing this for me,” she said.

“Anything for a beautiful and elegant lady such as yourself, Madame Isabella,” came the flowery response from Sweet.

“You truly are worth the name I gave you,” she replied happily. “Check back with me when the preparations are complete.”

Sweet was already perched at the window ready to jump downward; his eyes were surveying the ground below.

“Of course,” he replied. “And,” he added turning back to see her, “working with Madame Isabella is so much more efficient than with Don Antonio, he is too emotional.”

And with that, the young man jumped away.

Isabella giggled to herself.



The presence of police parked along the street made Tom feel uneasy. Talking to them felt even worse; it was like he was in trouble despite not having done anything wrong. Nonetheless his family and he had tidied up everything, just in case a sink full of dishes or an unmopped floor was some kind of crime.

When the police arrived they had been rather nice, giving the usual greetings and assurances that this would be routine. They all sat in the living room sharing tea and cookies. The officers partook happily, the family touched nothing.

Aside from Tom, his parents Anna and Joseph were there. Tom was an only child and his parents were fine with it that way. They always secretly made fun of Catholics for having many children. Maybe that’s why Protestant and secular parts of the Americas were shrinking in population size. Suddenly, that thought might anger the police, so they tightened up in their seats collectively even more.

“These are excellent cookies ma’am,” one of the officers said. He then turned to Tom and flashed a smile in the same fashion he may have flashed his hand gun at him; quick and direct. “Good afternoon Tom, I’m agent Gallagher and this is officer Vicente. We’d like to ask you a few questions about Mr. McDonald.”

Tom could only nod as he leaned back against the couch, almost imprinting his body against it. His parents could only look on.

The news of Mr. McDonald’s death shook the family up a little. Tom had explained all that had happened during last night’s dinner. It was at that same time that they received a call that two officers of the Japanese province police department wanted to pay them a visit. They were flying over to Los Angeles and arriving in the afternoon.

Tom noticed the golden emblem of a cherry blossom on one of the officer’s lapels. It was the insignia of the Japanese provincial police departments.

For a few minutes they asked basic questions: how he met Mr. McDonald, about his essay etc. Talking about the essay made Tom the most uneasy. He didn’t know how these officers would take the idea of a scholarly young mind meddling with history—national history—Catholic history. All these things could have sparked contempt in the eyes of his inquisitors. Despite this, the two officers just kept asking more and more questions.

“Well alright looks like we’ve got everything we wanted to know. There was one more thing. We hate to bother you folks, but would it be alright if Tom came down to the local station and pick up his essay? We can’t release or adjudicate the evidence until someone claims the essay.”

Tom looked to his parents for a moment who looked back at him with a bit of a puzzled look. His father finally looked back at the officers.

“I’m afraid that’s—”

“Oh, of course you should come along,” agent Gallagher explained laughing a little. "You can just follow us on the way."

Joseph and Anne looked at each other for a moment and nodded solemnly. “I’ll get the keys,” Anne said.

As Tom’s parents’ SUV followed the dark sedan of the two officers, they went down Newport Ave towards the police station at a reasonable pace. There were no words exchanged along the ride, they were all in quiet contemplation of what had just happened almost 24 hours ago.

As their cars drove into the underpass under maintenance the unmarked police car stopped for a moment for crossing workers.

“How annoying,” Tom said as they waited. The workers seemed to be swarming about.

“It’s funny, I thought they just finished working on this road yesterday,” remarked Tom’s mother with a sigh and shake of her head.

Back at their house, their answering machine picked up a message from a nice sounding lady named Laura. She said something to the effect of “good afternoon Mr and Mrs. Royce this is officer Laura from the Japanese prefectural police. Some unexpected road work along the freeway’s got us stuck in gridlock from the airport so we won’t be arriving for a while. I’ll give you a call when we get out of this jam and hopefully we can interview Tom afterwards.”

Chapter VIII: Deceived and Captured! (coming soon)

She's a slippery one ! Then again all female spy masters seem to have that .. charm ? The male ones just seem to be so very straight forward . Haha , it's good to add a feminine element .

Thanks for your encouragement !

As for the title of the next chapter , you'll just have to wait till the morning after tomorrow to find out !

Flooper X thanks for your patronage and encouragement ! I'm glad you're enjoying it ! If there's anything more I can do for you (i know someone earlier suggested pictures and it's been such a tortuous pain trying to get that going lol) just let me know !

Grubnessul said:

Im really liking the story so far, keep up the good work!

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Thanks for your patronage and encouragement ! It's really fun writing thus far and I hope to continue on more for many more chapters ! (Not to mention the sequel shhhhh don't say anything yet !)

Update: New Banner Image uploaded and posted ! Tell me if it works (it's on the first post page 1)

To Petros and Wilcox:

Thank you both for your continued patronage ! Isabella is one of my favourite characters and I'm very impressed with the fact that she's garnered so many differing opinions . Some suspect she's pragmatic whilst others never expected this of her . This is one of my favourite parts to write so I'm glad everyone is enjoying it . The next update , as you all may know , will come tomorrow morning (pacific time) . In the meantime I'll be trying to update more photos onto the AAR . As you can see I've already updated a new Banner on the first page .

Please feel free to leave any suggestions and if any of the images don't work let me know ! Once again , yoroshiku onegaishimasu !

BONUS TIME !

That's right , once in a while I like to give out bonuses for those who are nice enough to read ! Today it will be , a Map !



As you can see , Portugal France , All the North American natives , and the North African natives have already been annexed (leading to the BB wars mentioned earlier when the grand alliance of England , Austria , Venice , and Bohemia attacked) which lead to the vassalization of each .

As you can see Ming is HUGE and that's why our wily heroes are attempting to establish a foothold first along the CoTs heading to Asia (Fars , Zanzibar , Hormuz , the Indian CoTs) and try to establish a foothold on Japan to launch attacks on Ming .

Jerusalem and Antioch are also now part of the Spanish Empire since 2 or so chapters ago (they were previously held by the Ottomans) and as you can see ever since the Ottoman Defeat the Persians have been gaining lots of ground !

Enjoy the Bonus and thanks for reading !

wilcoxchar said:

Nice map! I really like it.

How did you make that map? I'd like to make maps like that for my own AAR.

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I just saved a blank world map from google images then tinkered around with it with paint ! Nothing too exciting , though it did take maybe forty minutes to delete all the old boundary lines :wacko: