October 15, 1582
Although it was a secular institution, the effects of the budding Baroque movement spurred on by the government and the Church were not excluded from the architecture of the University of Toledo. Upon entering the buildings a few days earlier, the Cardinal was not only greeted by the usual fanfare of those obedient to the crown, but also by painters and artists all underneath their unfinished frescoes that would extol the supremacy of Church and State over anarchy and division.
Despite the gravity of the charges and the emotions that wove through the halls of those new buildings, it was defiantly countered by the reconstruction of old facades that included hints of artists from the Peninsula to the East of Spain. As the Cardinal found his way through all the greeting dignitaries, he had made his way to the chapel maintained on campus which by now already resembled the appearance of one of Giacomo della Porta’s sculpting and design.
After having offered his obedience and prayers to the Blessed Sacrament secured like a buried treasure within, he had been followed by his entourage and the liaisons of that center of education into the main office of the President of the University.
“Your Eminence!” the President had greeted making sure to quickly kneel on one knee and kiss the ring of this prestigious officer of the Kingdom.
These formalities had been a few days ago and were done with—much to the satisfaction of His Eminence the Lord Chancellor. Having assimilated a good portion of the administrative building’s chambers for his own personal use, the Cardinal did not waste time upon arriving to immediately exercise his position as Inquisitor for these schools.
Rarely sitting, his Eminence paced his work chamber with a swiftness that tossed his flowing crimson cape into a glorious flurry behind him. For five days now, he thought, they have already caught and apprehended five dozen individuals among these ‘secret societies’ that he had heard of. Although Cardinal DeWitt would have been pleased by the results, the large number of offenders bothered him. Something was wrong here at the University of Toledo and the fact that he did not know what it is was made clearly known to the floor he now patrolled.
“Your Eminence, ten more deviants have been apprehended in the School of Medicine,” was the report from his main page.
Already, the chamber was abuzz with informal and formal reports from the various Lions agents the Cardinal had dispersed around that miniature town. With so many involved on the first few nights, he had ordered the local cavalry garrison to send a detachment of horse to patrol the grounds lest any of these deviants should get away or attempt to perform their acts elsewhere on the vast grounds by which he could not discern their actions.
“I don’t understand this, Raul,” the Cardinal said to his assistant as he kept reading off more reports streaming in from parchment carrying pages.
His assistant merely looked up attentively for a second at his master before continuing to announce the other reports handed to him. It was, however, the figure next to this standing page that stirred from the side of the chamber into the light at the center of the room.
Part of that flowering new movement that came from the Council of Trent’s decree to have art emphasize the glory of Religion was the revolutionary use of lighting. Already, the tall window reliefs of that corner of the chamber allowed the afternoon light to enter the vastness of the room and touch the lush green coloured stone on the floor like how gaps between the clouds would allow the Sun’s majesty to enliven fields of grass. It was into this artificial field that the President now pressed forward approaching the blot of red pacing at the center of the room.
“Your Eminence…” he began meekly although his voice attained a sternness which he regretted even as he spoke it, “I must say that these measures are quite extraordinary! The checks upon the students and especially upon the faculty are severely hindering the education we are provid—”
The Cardinal’s tall frame had stopped shifting and the President only managed to withstand the prelate’s gaze for a few seconds before immediately stepping back and putting his hands together low on his body in humility. Slinking behind the shorter figure of Raul, the President squeezed his fingers against his scholar’s cap ruefully. His hidden expression expressed his embarrassment at the situation as emotionally as the page next to him exposed the details of each report professionally.
In between these two figures, the Cardinal watched and his footsteps afterwards were softer than they were when he was infuriated by the terrible results being reported. His left hand caught the reports of his page and halted his reading. His right hand caught the President’s shoulder. The administrator must not have noticed the approach of the prelate for he nodded upward with almost great alarm.
“It is the duty of every good shepherd to fight for his flock, even if some of them are wicked for the sake of those who are not,” the Cardinal said calmly, “I will not stop you from voicing your concerns Professor Gutierrez.”
Before a word of reply could be spoken, the Cardinal spoke to his assistant while his expression was still sharing a pastoral solidarity with the administrator. “Make sure these reports are kept private until further review, Raul, and allow the President’s assistants to be present during the interrogation of the accused.”
“Thank you,” President Gutierrez said graciously allowing himself the small luxury of returning the Cardinal’s generous smile.
“Let’s have some coffee, Professor, I think we have a lot to speak about,” the Cardinal invited impressing the idea onto the President with a squeeze of his palm against that other man’s shoulder. With a simple nod, that administrator followed his Inquisitor into the next room.
“So tell me more about this Zio person,” the Panzerkardinal queried carefully as they both took their seats near the open window. Raul quickly filled their cups before left them to their confidence.
The president took the cup eagerly and began to blow on it lest he should scald himself. It would be his first time tasting the product which had so recently become a prized commodity from the Americas and from North Africa. Although the Spanish enjoyed inheriting the Muslim custom of drinking coffee, this particular Spaniard had not been previously affluent enough to taste some.
“They say he’s a magician,” was the simple response before the first sip. Perhaps the caffeine started to make the president more open than usual. “That he can turn people to stone or kill people through incantations.”
Cardinal DeWitt listened carefully as he too sipped his beverage. The prelate, being an experienced inquisitor, was not so surprised by accusations of sorcery. Many believers of such cults attributed such powers to their masters.
“And what do you think?” the Cardinal asked taking another sip.
“I think it’s just foolishness,” the President responded with some alacrity, “and gives a bad name to this fine school. We all know—”
“You all know nothing!” came the intruding voice from the other side of the room.
As the Cardinal stood up to turn to the sound, the doors quickly shut with a terrific crash and the windows were suddenly eclipsed with black cloth slung over from above. Insufficient light filtered through and all the Cardinal could see in that darkness was the face of a pale man comfortably strolling toward the center of the chamber dressed in a heavy plate of black that matched his equally black hair.
“Professor Peripherates!” the President called out as he stood. “What is go—chkkkk”
The intruding man held out his hand to the direction of President Gutierrez as that administrator grabbed his own throat and shivered his head attempting to force air into his lungs but failing.
“Silence!” the dark man called out as the administrator continued to writhe in breathlessness.
The Cardinal watched the spectacle with horror before turning back towards this dark suited apparition.
“Release him!” The Cardinal commanded as he took a few step forward.
This black terror turned his face from the President to His Excellency. Relaxing his right gauntleted hand, Gutierrez fell backward in a panting heave. As the Cardinal took another step towards this shadowed adversary, he saw the man’s left arm shoot out in his direction. For a second, stunned, Cardinal DeWitt gasped and shot his huge hands towards his neck. He could feel the air struggle to pass through his windpipe and his neck compressing inwardly.
Struggling with his hands, he felt himself slowly rise up off of the floor and his toes hung as he sliced his feet through the air attempting to touch ground again. As his face blushed in the opposite colour, his aggressor was raising his left hand as the Cardinal rose.
“I am Zio Peripherates,” the man introduced himself maliciously. “And you must be the famed Cardinal DeWitt. Defender of the Faith and staunch Inquisitor.” Zio squeezed his hand into a fist and a shocked gasp came from the Cardinal as he scratched at the invisible hand that clenched his wind pipe shut. “The time of your corrupt government is over. There will be a new era of enlightened despotism! Welcome to the dawn of this revolution! Welcome to the Black Parade!”
---
Throughout his cold body, Antonio had encountered strange sensations tingling up and down all of his nerves the past few days. Although the poison that was coursing through him dulled most of his muscles into passive movement, he was at least thankful for the bouts of unconsciousness it would grant him. Now that his body had begun metabolizing the toxin, his waking moments were a curse.
Twitching and gasping breaths, he found himself bound to the bed underneath him. His left arm had been splinted and bandaged but he could feel every painful step his body endured to reach stability once more. In these battles between waking and unconsciousness, he found himself retreating into his mind. His mind engaged in a desperate struggle to preserve his soul from the mistreatment and whenever Antonio fell back into the realm of sleep, his dreams conjured memories:
“Now… keep your eye on the prize,” his father had told him.
It had been a summer’s day in Paris almost three years before the invasions of England as far as Antonio could remember. The winter breeze carried the laughter of children on break there throughout the plaza in front of the cathedral. Antonio’s mind fed him the gentle face of his father the Duke Jimenez and the warm embrace each tintinnabulation of the church bells brought to Antonio’s young heart.
Antonio was already over the halfway point to being ten years old—or so he would say to encourage himself—but that still did not rob him of that beautiful existence of childhood. In the summer when his tutors would let him spend more time with his father—international politics permitting of course—he would come to this favourite haunt of theirs.
“Keep your eye on the prize,” Duke Jimenez repeated to his son as he held a glimmering golden sovereign a few inches above the boy’s fingers.
It was a little game they played: Antonio would hold out his index finger and his thumb and form a gap between both. Through that gap, Duke Jimenez would drop a golden coin and if little Antonio could grasp the coin in time with his two fingers, he would keep it. Naturally—the difficulty was that his father never told him when he would drop the coin that hovered only two centimeters above that small hand.
“Now!” his father teased as the young boy tensed up and nearly closed his digits. Despite the amused chuckle, the stark concentration dominated the young boy’s face.
His father had explained to him that one’s nerves and reflexes would be important in the future and so not only was this a chance to make himself one gold sovereign richer, it was also a test to prove to his father his usefulness. That he too would someday grow up to be Janus.
Young Antonio watched closely keeping his ‘eye on the prize.’ The clever boy, however, watched instead the very movements of his father’s hands. The tenseness of those muscles and then the telltale sign he had become accustomed to—the release. Snap, Antonio was now richer than ever before.
“Well done, son!” Duke Jimenez jubilantly exclaimed and took his young boy from under his arms and nearly tossed him into the air. Antonio remembered himself laughing then.
“Father, I know what I’m going to spend this coin on!” Young Antonio jubilantly exclaimed as he was let down.
“Oh?” Duke Jimenez asked with a bemused expression.
At that, the young boy rushed with a glimmer in his eye down the side of the paved walkway of the plaza. At that point, the Duke also knew what it was his son would be returning with.
Antonio pumped his arms and huffed onto the funny little frill his father makes him wear around his neck. At the very corner of the plaza was a wooden stand that greeted him with the brilliance of a rainbow and the fragrance of every meadow he had visited on their way to Paris.
“May I have a rose?” that child asked in his best French as he offered his golden coin in reward for the service.
The old woman who managed the little stand cackled gloriously at her young customer before rounding up one of those flowers. Careful to hand the young one a sample with their thorns removed as well as handing the necessary silver in exchange for the gold, the young boy rushed back to the center of the plaza where his father awaited him. He also noticed someone else there.
“Uncle Lorenzo!” yelped young Antonio as his eyes caught onto his father’s best friend conversing with him.
“Little Antonio!” that nobleman called back with jovial affection, “my goodness you’ve grown!” exchanging a courteous bow with the child.
“It’s the French food!” Antonio quickly quipped quite ahead of his age which elicited a little chuckle from his honourary uncle. “Will you excuse me father that I might play a little?” Antonio asked quickly at which he received a nod.
“So where is Little Bella?” Francisco asked Lorenzo as Antonio sped away.
Antonio might have heard Lorenzo say that Isabella was enjoying the plaza like the rest of the children if he had not already dashed towards one of the trees on the other side of the small park.
The young lad scanned the area anxiously and kept his newest purchase hidden behind his back. His dark eyes searched while his mouth panted in a happy smile.
“Antonio?” was the girl’s voice. A head leaned into view from behind the tree.
“There you are!” Antonio triumphed happily stepping closer to the wood.
The girl stepped fully now into view but greeted Antonio’s broad grin with a downcast gaze. Undeterred and perhaps inadequately prepared to read emotions just yet, Antonio eagerly thrust his hidden present to her.
“This is for you!” Antonio proclaimed.
The rose was tucked kindly at its peak being at the very first hours of its bloom. The morning dew was still present on the petals. Its scarlet presence caught the girl’s attention. With ginger hands, the girl grasped the flower gently at the neck and accepted ownership of the gift.
“Antonio,” she started, “My father and I are going away…” she confessed as she brought the gift close to her chest.
At that statement, Antonio finally noticed the shadow the girl cast upon his gift to her.
“B..But…” the boy stammered attempting to find the girl’s eyes in the glaring sun.
“I’m sure we’ll meet again!” the young girl immaturely consoled, “we’re friends now and we’ll be friends tomorrow!”
Antonio’s face soured on the brink of that usual childish response. Perhaps if he had not always moved around with his father, this latest departure would have broken him down on the spot. But no, this was another goodbye he would have to face. Especially the girls, he thought, ever since mom went away to be with Mother Mary he had always been saying goodbye to girls. Antonio didn’t realize that the sun was making miniature rainbows along the sheen of moisture forming along his eyes.
“I’m sure of it,” the girl responded in the silence, “Just like we knew we were destined to meet together… this rose… this rose is our destiny just as our names are…”
Receiving no response from the stunned boy, that girl turned and began to run. Antonio couldn’t help but watch. He was helpless once again.
The memory stirred in Antonio’s sleep like a pleasant lure revealed to be a suffocating trap. He writhed in his bed and against the straps allowing the pools of bitterness held in reservoirs beneath his lids to spill across the sides of his face. His mind, unable to break the momentum of the memory, pressed forward.
That girl who shared his namesake was running away from him. The one whom he had befriended all these days in Paris was now leaving. He saw her bump into another young girl playing along the grass before slinking away past the bend. The startled young girl looked at Antonio wondering what had just happened but the gaze of her sky blue eyes or even her frayed blonde locks did not distract Antonio’s heartbroken stare.
“Antonia,” Antonio cried out, “Antonia!”
When Antonio finally opened his dreaming eyes, the hollowness of his heart was accompanied by a striking jab along his left arm. Reality had once again penetrated onto him. His blurring and pained vision finally met his captor’s face above. However, instead of the decrepit salamander like visage of his tormentor Sio-Pan, he witnessed his recent courier’s eyes looking down at him and a smile brewing on her face.
“You called?” she asked half jokingly.
“Called?” Antonio questioned faltering halfway through the word in pain.
“You were calling out for me in your dream,” Nia said coyly as she brought her head closer to Antonio’s face.
For a moment Antonio cringed both in pain and in confusion.
“You don’t have to worry,” Nia consoled guessing the reason for Antonio’s pleas, “Sio-Pan is done with you and I’ve taken the liberty of splinting your arm. You’re in my headquarters now.”
Antonio looked around quickly and realized that he no longer saw the gold and rainbow accoutrements of the Imperial Palace. Instead, he found himself strapped onto a bed in the middle of a chamber where the only source of light came through a screened parchment near the window. Emblazoned upon the scroll was the symbol which he quickly recognized from the reports Sweet had given him. He was now in the House of the Rose.
Duke Jimenes cheerfully smiled at their host as they descended the elevator towards the site. The pleasant lady even filled the chamber with a pleasant fragrance probably aided by the vibrant red rose on her breast pocket. Father Francis was similarly pleased. The air conditioned atmosphere was unfortunately interrupted by the cell phone beeping into life in Duke Jimenes’s jacket.
“Excuse me,” he said politely as he handled his phone.
In the effervescent confines of that descending lift, Father Francis almost missed the terrible expression that had just come upon his companion’s face. With an abrupt thrust of his hand, the Duke signaled an emergency stop on the elevator. The other two passengers stumbled slightly while the Duke kept himself steady with a firm arm against the door panels.
“I want the 101st and 102nd armoured divisions to ring the city and secure all check points in and out of the metropolitan area. Fly in the 33rd and 42nd Airborne on the buildings and bring the Prefectural Guard into action to begin evacuations. I want every building and person searched and a complete radiological scan of everything from the sewers to the top of Imperial Trade Center Tower III, do you understand me?”
There was a short pause. Father Francis, in a slight fright helped the Lady Obidos to her feet.
“Has Emperor Otto made any declarations yet?”
There was another pause as the name of their world leader was mentioned. Both the Father and Ms. Obidos stood at the far corner as if afraid that the Duke might strike out at them.
“Tell the news agencies we’ll make a declaration as soon as possible,” the Duke said quickly shutting off the phone before immediately beginning to dial a new number. “I’m afraid we’ll have to cut our trip to the dig short,” he added, “I need to be heading to Beijing.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be necessary,” Ms. Obidos declared.
Turning halfway, the Duke found a pistol aimed at Father Francis’s head held in one hand and another Glock trained to the side of his own face.
“Press the elevator to return us on our route,” the lady commanded.
The Duke could see Father Francis petrified against the steel backdrop of that elevator and he himself lowered his cell phone from his ear.
“Where are you taking us?” the Duke asked.
Ms. Obidos grinned as she replied: “To my House.”
Chapter XXXV: The House of the Rose (coming soon)
), it seems like every time I read another page, two more have been posted. Is there any hope that you'll pdf* and host these someplace (e.g.) like coz1 did? Then, I could just read it as a book away from the computer.
