Timelines: What if Spain Failed to Control the World?

General_BT said:

Russian lit? Who are your reading? Let me guess... Bulgakov?

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Who ? XD naa , just the usual: Dosty , Tolly , Checky , Shally , and Solzhy

Grubnessul said:

In Soviet Russia, literature reads you

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Haha I bet XD

VILenin: That is a good question ! I've actually wanted to deal with that , but there's so much more of Timelines to write that I'll save it for another day perhaps XD

5 May 1642

Sir Covington was squeezing the end of his cap again. His fingers always seemed to tighten whenever the good Cardinal was giving him... “history” lessons. Giles wasn't normally a nervous fellow. He had served his share of spy operations as handler in the far north, so he certainly had a keen mind. His body was just as robust despite his middle age and despite its outward appearance: this was something advantageous to a spy to be strong while only seeming to be weak.

But Giles could not hold back his true expressions in this particular situation. In front of him, in the darkness of one of the chambers underneath the Palace, His Eminence the Cardinal-Duke was explaining on a massive candle-lit wall scroll the intricacies of the world. The scarlet clad figure moved violently across the wall putting up new pieces of paper and other visual aides as if there was some urgent desperation in his explanation. “And that,” the Italian accented Cardinal explained, “is why we call it the Silent Room.”

Giles was still gripping the edge of his cap until it formed an uncomfortable knot inside his palms. His face was still stark white. He had always thought that the Silent Room was given its name because it denoted a sense of secrecy... of high matters of state. He always thought that the furniture and atmosphere of the room was just part of some twisted test of enduring hardship. But no... it apparently was named for something more practical. “And that's why all of the Silent Rooms are underground...” he stuttered out his best Spanish.

The Cardinal snapped the picture off the wall and rolled it up in one swift motion while nodding in acknowledgment at the question. “And that concludes the final lesson of your briefing,” his Eminence said obliquely as he placed the paperwork into a nearby bin. Giles was still planted in his chair. If it weren't for the energetic bursts of movement from the Cardinal that forced his eyes to follow, he might have just continued to stare at the now blank wall. There was a question still nagging at him; it was still present despite all of the explanations. Perhaps because it was not a matter of the past that the lectures about the nature of the Timepiece, among other things, were talking about, but because it was a question unanswered by the centuries of Tradition set up by the Room:

“When will They come, Your Eminence?” was Giles' question.

The Cardinal froze at the query and hovered over the bin as the last of the visual aides was dropped into the receptacle. “I don't know, my son,” the clergymen replied. “Perhaps... They are already here.”


10 May 1492

It had already been nearly two weeks since they had assaulted Íñigo and the young man still had very few answers to his questions. Even after El Sid, Lope, and Diego (he eventually found out the man's name) had brought him back to the safety of the tavern on the afternoon of the attack, they had not given him any definitive answers.

“Diego told us that someone told him that you were going to be targeted,” Íñigo remembered Lope telling him just as perplexed as he was about the hearsay.

“Targeted by who?” Íñigo had asked.

Lope had only given him a shrug. El Sid was too busy talking to the other commanders and officers of the mercenary army as well as the Spanish overseer about the event and couldn't address the matter. The mysterious Diego had declined to speak after the rescue and when pressed to name his source, the quiet mercenary had merely looked away. Even Lope's imposing presence did not procure any answers-- Lope himself was too thankful at Diego's information that he would not “press” the issue too hard.

Almost two weeks later, the situation had deteriorated. It almost seemed as if at every chance that Íñigo would exit the perimeter of the tavern (which by now had become the unofficial headquarters of the mercenary division of the army while the Spanish regulars were housed in the citadel) eyes continued to follow. In fact, three more attempts at Íñigo had been made. They were beaten back by Íñigo's fellows that Lope had arranged for the young man to follow whenever he needed to go anywhere in town. Many times Lope would lead the little brigade himself.

Each engagement, however, proved more and more deadly. The first time another attempt was made, there were some injuries. The second time, two of Íñigo's fellow mercenaries were killed. The third time, Lope and Íñigo barely escaped. Needless to say, it turned Lope and Íñigo into pariahs amongst the mercenary corps. “Bad luck to have the target of professional assassins in our army,” was the common murmur. Already, there were no volunteers who wanted Íñigo to be anywhere near them. The tavern itself was beginning to feel unwelcoming. “They'll come in here next in our sleep,” some of the mercenaries were grunting, “just to get to that boy.”

Despite El Sid's friendship with Lope, he could do nothing with such a heedless mass of men looking out only for themselves. Protecting children was not their vocation. It was why El Sid now brought a small meeting of the officers together with Íñigo.

“I already know what you're going to say, Siddig,” Lope growled sourly as he sat on the corner of the chair facing away from the gathering and looking down at the floor near where Íñigo's boot was planted. He waved off the air around him as the murmurs of discontent filled the small chamber like he was pushing away some foul smell.

El Sid himself sat at the other end of the table with his arms folded in front of his chest. His battle scarred face was calm despite the angry gestures of the men all along the table like a gauntlet of knights between him and Lope. He had not said a word after calling the meeting to begin, but he knew that's all he needed to do; the rest would be provided by the angry mob mentality.

“He and that boy are cursed!” one of the men around the table shouted out. The idea that it was a curse was not a new explanation for the attacks. In fact, it was only reinforced by stories that at all three attempts to get at Íñigo, many of the men were able to hurt or damage the cloaked figures only to have the enemy escape with no apparent hindrance to their motions-- there wasn't even any blood. Wraiths, some began to call them.

Lope growled. He already knew this was coming. He quickly looked up at Íñigo who was standing still; he was plainly disturbed by the whole affair. The young man, Lope thought, is still probably trying to get used to people specifically after his life. Nonetheless, Lope knew what to do, and El Sid would be right. In fact, it was not the verdict that was scaring him, but the prospect of what would happen in the process of executing the verdict.

“Then it's decided,” El Sid said over the tumult of the men around the table. “Lope and Íñigo will leave on the next ship back to Amsterdam.” There was a general nod and noise of acceptance. Perhaps there would have been more to object-- perhaps more that would have stood on the side of Lope, but most of his “friends”-- if even soldiers of fortune can have such a thing-- had already died protecting his adopted son alongside him. He could not ask any more of these already halfway heartless men.

Lope shot to his feet. He would have to make preparations. He knew that if Íñigo stepped out, they would be after him again. This time, they would need to make it to the ship without the assassins following. He sighed and took Íñigo by the shoulders leading him to the exit of the chamber. Standing at the doorway, however, a figure halted them.

“I'll accompany you,” the man at the frame said gruffly.

Lope stared at the profile of the man speaking while donning a curious look. “Getting tired of this war already, Diego?” Lope tried asking with a skewed grin, “want to run home already?” Diego did not give him an answer, but pushed himself off the door frame and headed down the hall.

“Íñigo, go to your room.” Lope said without looking at his ward as he stepped into the hall as well. He walked loudly behind Diego but kept himself a sword length's distance. When Lope knew that Íñigo was out of earshot, he called out to the other mercenary. “You know something, don't you?” Lope asked sharply. There was no reply and Diego was starting to descend the staircase, but the shouts of Lope from the top of the stairs halted him. “You know who they are don't you?”

“I don't.” was the terse reply.

“Why are you helping us, then?” Lope tried this route. “I don't think I've even met you until you came to us. If you're expecting us to pay you--”

“I don't want your money,” was the reply while Diego maintained his back to the stairs.

“A man does not risk his life for nothing. What is it that you want?”

Diego gave no chance for the question to even sink in before saying: “do you want me to come with you back to Amsterdam or not?”

Lope waited a few seconds after hearing the calm question posed to him. “We can use all the help we can get,” was his only reply. Diego then stepped away from the stairs. “What if I had said no?” Lope called out louder.

Diego paused again only to say evenly, “I would have gone anyway,” before disappearing through a doorway into the night air. Lope, disgusted, turned and stormed back through the upper hallway before nearly running into El Sid.

“Here,” the Arabian said tossing a heavy pouch in Lope's direction. “I know you have to feed him-- that's why you came on this expedition, wasn't it?” El Sid didn't wait to hear the answer. “I convinced the others that it wasn't your fault and that we'd give you the agreed pay anyway.”

“Generosity amongst greedy men...” Lope melted into a smile and a sigh, “only you could do that, Sid.”

“It's the least I can do,” the Arabian replied, “after how you helped me with her.” Lope was about to say something but he was stopped. “I wish I could help you more, but I can't leave my post here.”

“I understand,” Lope concluded with a hand on El Sid's shoulder. “When does the next ship arrive?”

“Officially,” El Sid began, “in a week, but I know that a supply galleon for the regulars in the citadel is coming tomorrow morning. I haven't told the others because they might start a mutiny if they knew the regulars were getting supplies earlier. I figure if it's not in the schedule...”

“It'd be easier for us to get away without them knowing,” Lope finished with a grin, but it quickly faded. “Have you found out anything more about them? Who they could be working for?”

El Sid gave him a strange look and tightened his lips against his teeth. When El Sid was asked a question, he would narrow his eyes in thought. The man, however, being so trained in the life of a soldier of fortune had the habit of keeping his gaze on his interlocutor even when his expression could be perceived as hostility. Lope knew better. The Arabian was choosing his words carefully, like he always did.

“Not yet,” was the calibrated reply.

“You will tell me as soon as you find out anything new, won't you?” Lope asked with disappointed eyes.

“I'll have it dispatched by boat as soon as I find anything new,” he said in return. Lope nodded and exhaled through his nose roughly at the same time. He patted the Arabian on the shoulder again before moving past him down the hall to where the officer's quarters were awaiting his tired body. El Sid watched him carefully until he treaded out of sight. “Though,” the Arabian whispered to himself in Turkish, “for your sake they will just lose your scent, old friend.”


11 May 1642

They had left right before the dawn. The darkness outside was only faintly beginning the small transition into a dream-like hue of blue when they slipped out with the morning working hands for the market. Weapons and usual attire were exchanged for the rough and dirty exteriors of the peasant workers. Only their faces were obscured by a camouflage of dirt and the low position of their hoods. Drawing their baggage (and weapons) was a simple mule whose back was burdened by a bedding of empty bushels hiding their swords and other effects.

Lope took the lead of the three as they weaved seamlessly into the mass of workers making their morning walk towards the local Catholic church. It was Sunday, and the three followed the congregation to the gates of the modest chapel which served the needs of that portion of the city. It had been Lope's idea: the assassins would be looking for Godless mercenaries; if they went to their Sunday obligation, their illusion as peasants would be solidified.

After the liturgy, they had all found it surprisingly easy to make their way to the designated docking point. Pretending as if they were transacting some kind of trade, Lope had shown the proper paperwork to the captain of the vessel and was granted access. Loading their wares and then safe within the garrisoned vessel, they had found quarters for themselves somewhere below deck.

It was then that Lope pulled his sword on Diego who quickly replied by unsheathing as well. Lope was holding his ground at the doorway boxing Diego inside the room while Íñigo hastily drew his weapon more out of instinct than out of any understanding of the situation.

“Now you're going to tell us what you know, Diego,” Lope growled while holding his sword aggressively.

Diego shifted his eyes quickly between Lope and Íñigo. The apprehension in his eyes was palpable despite his cool exterior: he couldn't take on two of them at once in such a cramped space and Lope knew this. Lope also knew that any mercenary would know that he was the best swordsman in Cadiz. Diego sighed heavily and withdrew his weapon. “I had received word late last month that a friend of mine had died in an accident.”

Lope scanned the other mercenary's face curiously while lowering his weapon. Íñigo was still bewildered and hesitantly lowered his espada as well. “A friend of yours?” Lope could glean something else was hidden there.

Diego shifted his dry lips which made the large mustache on his face agitate underneath his nose. “A young man I had once been in charge of protecting,” Diego admitted. “I had received word that he had been killed in some accident in Antwerp, but there were other reports that said that it was an assassination. I had followed the descriptions in the report and identified the assassins only to find them trailing after Íñigo. That's when I told you and El Sid.”

“How did you get your hands on these 'reports.'?” Lope asked while scrunching his nose like he smelt something intolerable.

“I stole them,” Diego answered reluctantly. “From El Sid,” he said anticipating the next question.

“Sid?” Lope was now very confused. “But he said he didn't know--- What were you doing stealing reports in the first place?”

Diego passed a glance to Íñigo and then back to Lope. “They assigned me to make sure that the mercenary army was 'happy,'” Diego replied as he tossed a piece of paper on the floor. It bore a broken seal. “My credentials.”

Lope motioned for Íñigo to look at the paper and show it to Lope while the older one kept his eye trained at the man. “Inquisition,” Lope nearly spat.

“Only because they pay more,” Diego replied quickly, “otherwise I'm just another soldier of fortune like yourself.”

Lope grunted before finally sheathing his weapon. Íñigo followed suit while Lope tossed the paper back at Diego. “Any other secrets I need to know?” Lope sighed not expecting anything else from the other.

“Only that El Sid knows a woman who's fought against these assassins before,” Diego let out. It immediately caught Lope's attention.

“What?” Lope's head almost spun. Why was Sid lying to him this whole time?

“She's had success, I've heard... she's been trained against these particular assassins. I'm hoping she can give me some answers. I don't know the whole story, but the reports said that her last known location was Amsterdam.”


Cardinal Rimini walked close to the water and watched his vermilion reflection in the dimness of the canal. He had been walking a few paces ahead of his aides, apparently tired of the day's work especially after he had just finished celebrating Mass at the Oude Kerk at the behest of the local bishop who was all too happy to have a Prince of the Church visit his diocese. Why the Cardinal chose Oude Kerk was because he had decided to tour the scenic neighborhood of De Wallen afterwards... a welcomed distraction.

Already, the red-clad clergyman had passed the statue of St. Mary Magdalen and then a bronze bust of St. Nicholas saving the prostitutes embedded in the stone of the path (apparently an anonymous artist was kind enough to accentuate the landscape). De Wallen was always a calming sight for the Cardinal. The quaint fashion shops and cafés along the canal where tourists from around the world would come to enjoy the sights-- it was a calming atmosphere that almost made him forget that he was there to check on some trouble occurring in the local charter school of the Scarlet Academy.

“Your Eminence?” someone behind him interrupted his thoughts.

“What is it?” Cardinal Rimini sighed.

“I'm afraid I have some news from our contact in Boston. There's been another 'accident.' Another student has been abducted...”

Chapter CXVIII: Abduction (coming soon)

General_BT said:

Rimini... Rimini... where have I heard of that name before?




And the plot thickens! Excellent as always, canonized!


As for the Russian authors, they're having you read the usual suspects... Bulgakov's Master and Margarita is a fun book. Sometime when you aren't swamped with schoolwork, I'd suggest you take a look! It attempts to answer "What would happen if the Devil visits the Soviet Union?"

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Haha , yes , the good Cardinal makes a visit XD
As for Bulgy , I'll have to look into it when I have the chance XD . So much to do so little time .

English Patriot said:

Oy, I have a lot to catch up on , I shall try and return once these damnable stack of essays are done!

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Yes you do , young man XD Hope you get done with those essays soon !

Just a quick announcement that we'll be expecting the new chapter relatively soon now that I'm on fall break from school . I would also like to remind everyone , however , to please vote in the AARland Choice AwAARds ! It's only a few more days till voting ends (it ends on the 4th) so please go do that ! If you're interested in voting for Timelines we're running for Favourite EU3 AAR (overall) and Favourite EU3 Narrative AAR . Go out and vote for your favs !

Grubnessul said:

You guys get a fall break?

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correct . It's only 2 days off of school + the weekend though unfortunately .

ForzaA: Yep XD Another thing different yet homologous

Grubnessul: I knew you'd get a laugh out of that XD

Avernite: Yep , and surprises galore when we get back to the Netherlands !

Grubnessul: Perhaps XD A-A hmm ..

Judas Maccabeus: Don't ruin any surprises with your keen intellect , JM XD har har har

comagoosie: another question to be answered in the next chapter