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Ah, thanks. Can you provide a link to which blank map you used? The ones I've found are annoying as hell with borders.
 
wilcoxchar said:
Ah, thanks. Can you provide a link to which blank map you used? The ones I've found are annoying as hell with borders.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wikipedia:Blank_maps#PNG_maps

There you go ^^

Wikipedia is so omni-useful !

I'm glad you enjoyed the map ! I hope it'll give the readers of the present chapter a better perspective on what's going on with the world and the challenge the Far East is going to be !
 
Yeah, the Ming are huge. Beware the Mighty Ming, Ming the Merciless, Ming the Eaters of Christian(particularly spanish) Babies! :D

Well, that was fun. Nice map. Does put things in perspective.
 
Thank you! That was a great help.
 
I think in my game Ming was one of those countries that got the "lucky" dice roll (i.e. that they have hard wired bonuses at the beginning of the game so that the player mid-game gets a good opponent to try and beat long term. I think Persia may have gotten it too since they've been eating up Ottoman and Russian lands lately .) But I plan on taking down Ming before they get too large (they've already monopolized Korea Manchuria and Indo-China and they don't seem to be halting any time soon) . And I need to especially make sure to take them before a certain long lost emperor decides to rally arms against their RIGHTFUL Spanish Overlords - Cough - :p

And no problemo Wilcox , I love helping a fellow Spain player XD !
 
Just make sure you dont puppet manchuria and leave the Manchu in charge.
Then Pu Yi wont come back to haunt you. :D
 
One more question. :D Is that an approximation or has the world really coalesced into only 21 states?
 
wilcoxchar said:
One more question. :D Is that an approximation or has the world really coalesced into only 21 states?

Good question , actually I was looking over at my game screen as I was making the map to make the approximate borders .

There are some countries that are just too small to worry about . Sulu for example I grouped along with the other 'grays (aka natives" . No offense to the Sulus , but yeah this is actually a pretty accurate representation of the game .

Now that you mention it , I did notice a lot of inheritence events and what people have been complaining about as "Blob" ness of the game (i.e. that obscure or even regular countries tend to inherit or take over large swaths of land and they become "Blobs") . I suppose this would be case and point .

I guess I didn't particularly help that out either having annexed my fair share of countries . Mameluks and Aden as well as the Georgian states etc all got taken out by Persia . The Timurids took Songhai Chagatai etc etc . and the Indians consolidated medium well .

I think it also may have something to do with AI aggressiveness that I've set . I haven't checked the settings lately so I'd have to take another look .
 
Beautiful map!

Got a couple of questions though. Is Iceland part of Poland? Is the green in S America and West Central Africa part of Venice and the red in Africa part of England?

Can't wait to hear more about the attack on Ming.

Bizzare, for some reason Flash Gordon flashed through my mind... :rofl:
 
Petros said:
Beautiful map!

Got a couple of questions though. Is Iceland part of Poland? Is the green in S America and West Central Africa part of Venice and the red in Africa part of England?

Can't wait to hear more about the attack on Ming.

Bizzare, for some reason Flash Gordon flashed through my mind... :rofl:

That would be my "Ming the Merciless" reference. :D
 
EXTRA BONUS UPDATE:

That's right folks ! I couldn't stop tinkering with Paint and now I've got yet ANOTHER bonus before tomorrow's latest chapter rolls around !

Each chapter since the beginning now has an accompanying Chapter Placard ! Go check it out and enjoy the extra fun ! (All new chapters will have the placard also)

If you have any other suggestions feel free to mention so !

Rcduggan: Thank you for your patronage ! I hope you're enjoying it as much as I'm writing and tinkering with it ! It's truly been fun . I hope you stick around , there's still lots more to happen to our poor heroes !
 
Placards look great. Damn, I wish I had that kinda talent. :eek:o
 
grayghost said:
Placards look great. Damn, I wish I had that kinda talent. :eek:o

Talent Schmalent ! You just need to focus on being able to get screenshots and images in the first place ! Otherwise the rest is easy as pie !

In fact ... that gives me an idea ! It'll be a surprise !
 
I really like the new placards! Well done indeed! :cool:

What you need now is something to separate the main body of your post from the 'Interlude'. Maybe a couple more spaces or just a tiny centered pattern of sorts. ;)
 
Petros said:
I really like the new placards! Well done indeed! :cool:

What you need now is something to separate the main body of your post from the 'Interlude'. Maybe a couple more spaces or just a tiny centered pattern of sorts. ;)

That's going to be my next project but I'll probably get to that after the next chapter goes up tomorrow morning (pacific time)

P.S. My surprise has been delivered , you'll find it on your thread , Grayghost
 
Petros said:
Beautiful map!

Got a couple of questions though. Is Iceland part of Poland? Is the green in S America and West Central Africa part of Venice and the red in Africa part of England?

Can't wait to hear more about the attack on Ming.

Bizzare, for some reason Flash Gordon flashed through my mind... :rofl:

You would be correct . In the next update I'll be explaining a little bit about how the map turned out including how Poland ended up in Iceland and Venice being part of South America was part of a previous chapter as I recall so I wanted to show that here . And England's been a colonial power too though for some reason they decided to start with Africa first instead of going near America . Strange n'est pas ?
 
A great piece of work, canonized! So much so that you have been named WritAAR of the Week!

Congratulations! Head on over there and say a few words. :)
 
chapter8tilelv5.gif

Chapter VIII: Deceived and Captured!​
(This particular chapter is dedicated to all my readers especially Eber for giving me the honour of the WoW torch ! In celebration this chapter is EXTRA LONG !)

May 29 1581

The silent ones scurried the floor of the darkened chamber carrying with them patches of cloth with facsimiles of the various insignias of the myriad divisions under the command of the Spanish King. Two of these silent ones in particular worked together with a ladder to imprint a different flag onto the grand map. On top of Edinburgh rested an eagle with outstretched wings.

“A silver eagle?” whispered one of the silent ones as he held the ladder.

“It’s white… this one’s special,” his companion above him responded as he pinned the cloth onto the grand wall hugging image.

Normally white objects on these cloth flags were meant to portray silver, but they say when Lech founded that marvelous country in the east, he saw a white eagle nesting and his flag reflected that. It was an unlikely place to have the flag of Poland flying or why the proud Scots decided to give up their last remaining bastion to be subjects of the King of the Poles, but in the end it was a minor change. At least these hard working silent pages would not have to use any white bread to erase the charcoal borders again.

“A new report for you, Juan,” someone said from the corner of the room. Another page entered and passed through the scoping darkness of that chamber without much sound.

The two working at the Map were not surprised, the very nature of the Silent Room inured them to people arriving without being heard or seen. With the walls well nestled within the soft underbelly of the earth underneath the palace, your feet would not betray your approach.

The page handed the one atop the ladder a parchment. Juan read the report diligently against one of the hanging lamps.

“What does this mean?” he suddenly asked raising his eyes above the paper to look down upon the page.

“I’m not sure, I simply was told to convey it here from Toledo,” responded the young man. He seemed to adjust his weight casually to one side; this would be something the two stewards of the map would have to figure out on their own.

Juan passed it down to his curious companion minding the ladder while still keeping his eyes on the page.

“Are you sure there wasn’t a report you missed to bring to me? Something about a rebellion?” Juan asked attempting to clarify what the parchment had informed him to do.

“None,” sighed the page, “Maybe this new Cardinal doesn’t know how things work here but that’s all I can give you.”

At that, the page turned towards the table in the center of that room, not seeming to be at all interested at the confusion both of the workers now possessed. He thought them curious creatures anyway, working on the maps all day to adjust the holdings of the Spanish Empire. They were like ghostly spirits that planted the seeds of Empire on the fertile wall of the Silent Room waiting for the golden banners of the Empire to sprout in distant lands. Leave them to their silliness, the page thought.

Juan looked down at his companion who merely shrugged maintaining the confused look. There was some anxiety as he now turned back to the wall and facing the slightly square geography of his homeland.

He carefully moved some of the pins as his companion watched. He placed some previously idle cloth flags of the Peninsula of Iberia into a new formation. This time, twenty thousand home guardsmen were in attack posture on some of the major cities of Spain.

“What is Cardinal DeWitt doing…” Juan asked as if the Map in front of him would somehow whisper him the answer in return.

“I don’t know,” came his companion’s muffled response also facing the new alignment of Spanish troops in the home country, “but I wish Duke Jimenez were still here… either one of them…”

---​

Cardinal-Duke DeWitt was not from the home country. In fact, when he hailed from a small hamlet near Leibniz and was installed as Bishop there, he kept the Lion of the Counts of Meissen in his coat of arms. When Bohemia annexed the land from its Protestant neighbors, the integrity by which Archbishop DeWitt handled the encroachment of Protestantism earned him the title of Duke of Saxony from his new Bohemian King, a position enabled by his already noble lineage.

After the crushing defeats in the Grand Alliance against Spain, Archbishop-Duke DeWitt was offered a new position by a certain Duke whose Cardinal father had been the one to help bring DeWitt his appointment as Archbishop there.

Thus with great fanfare arrived a new friend to the King of Spain and Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, a stout yet quiet nobleman who was now also elevated to the Curia. Naturally, the fanfare was merely a quiet hello by seventeen other men in a damp and musky room beneath the Palacio Real in Madrid. It was a pity the Cardinal had put on his best garments. Nonetheless, Duke Jimenez before he went to retirement and his son before he traveled to the far East recognized him as Duke James DeWitt Lord High Chancellor of the Kingdom of Spain and Cardinal Protector of Germany. Privately he was aptly titled the “Substitute.”

“Your Eminence, we have breached the western wall and have taken possession of the Keep here in Alhambra,” a well decorated soldier explained while reading from the latest dispatch.

“Excellent work, General Cabrero. Let’s move to the next location.”

As the two tapped on their horses and surged forward, sixty thousand horsemen followed in their rear. At the lead was the standard of General Cabrero side by side with the roaring Lion of Meissen.

---​

Duke Hernandez had not heard the oncoming thunder of several thousand foot approaching while he was still asleep that morning. It was his chief of the guard that had alerted him that an Imperial detachment was at the gates wishing to enter.

“How many are they?” Hernandez, Duke of Cadiz questioned quickly as he donned his morning clothes.

“We counted six thousand horse and more foot,” his chief answered anxiously, “General Cabrero says that he wishes to enter with his force and speak with you on behalf of the Lord Chancellor.”

Even the most inept of title holders knew what the request from the Lord Chancellor meant this morning, but approaching in the cover of diplomacy was a clever way of reaching the gate without having to assault the sheer cliffs of the hill that Castillo de Arcos nestled upon.

“Cortes, try to send a messenger to the Duque de Medina Sidonia immediately telling him what’s going on here. I will meet the Cardinal at the barbican,” were the terse instructions of the Duke as he marched out of his chamber, espada at the hilt.

“And tell the men to be at the ready!” he added as he passed down the hall, four attendants heavily armed in escort.

In between the rushing of the Duke’s small personal army and the movement of the various servants and staff as well as family to different chambers of the castle, the Duke mounted a low window within the Barbican of his outer wall. He had a clear view of what lay before him: an Imperial regiment filling the streets and halls of the adjoining neighborhood.

“Good afternoon, General Cabrero, Lord Chancellor, how may I help you today,” he called out from atop that battlement.

“Duke Hernandez, I have an urgent matter to discuss with you,” replied Cardinal DeWitt from his seat upon his horse, “On behalf of the King, I ask that you let my entourage inside.”

“I’m afraid that your entourage is a bit too large for my little castle, Lord Chancellor. Perhaps if you and the General wish to come inside by yourself—”

“I’m afraid this will be a necessary precaution, my Duke. We are here today to oversee the disarmament of this region,” the Cardinal called out interrupting the nobleman. He adjusted the fedora like crimson hat he used to block the rays of the rising morning sun—it didn’t seem to work very well.

“Disarmament? What are you talking about?” replied the Duke, not at all perplexed. The struggles of the nobility and the King were almost always handled in this fashion; the adept Duke was not alien to it. The King would pressure the nobility but would always eventually release his grip if there was any resistance. Surely this Lord Chancellor would know that even if he was from Germany.

“By order of the King,” Cardinal DeWitt resumed, “all noble houses must relinquish their autonomous armed forces and be reintegrated into the national army. This includes yours, sir.”

Whenever Cardinal DeWitt spoke, he always lingered a little with his German accent to his otherwise flawless Spanish. Normally it was almost charming, but for some reason Duke Hernandez suddenly found it annoying.

“I’m afraid I will have to wait until I hear from the Cortes in Madrid about this matter, my Lords,” was the terse reply from the Duke.

There was a momentary pause as the Cardinal looked towards the General. From the Duke’s perspective it was as if the poor newcomer to the job of Lord Chancellor was truly perplexed by the strength of the nobility. With some confidence Duke Hernandez let out a brief laugh almost out of relief, but low enough to not be heard so evidently.

“Now Gentlemen,” the Duke added, “If you’ll excuse me I have—”

“We are the Monarchy,” came the almost cold interruption from the crimson clad prelate, “Lower your drawbridges and surrender your ships. We will add your military and naval distinctiveness to our own. Your role as noble will adapt to service us. Resistance is Futile!”

At first the Duke wrinkled his forehead in sudden amazement mixed with frustration. His image was seen quickly leaving the window and one could almost hear the words he yelled without: “Prepare for Battle!”

“I’ll leave this part to you, General,” the Cardinal nodded to Cabrera before trotting his steed back towards the rear of the front guard. It was in this almost dispassionate trot that on either side of him a thousand foot rushed forward and the whistle of cannon fire greeted the morning sun. The transition from a Feudal Monarchy to a Despotic one would shake the stability of the nation, but with years of wining and dining from the fruits of their victories in the New World and in Europe, the nobles would be caught unprepared. He was hoping that the brunt of the noble’s armies were now safely on their way to Japan to help Antonio once again.

---​

Isabella fanned herself lightly as she walked through the porticoes of the palace of Lord Hideyoshi. Already a week and she had been to several meetings with the Lord and Akechi about information she could provide of the Spanish return and many more meetings in private with Akechi about their plans for a unified Japan. All in all, it was a hectic ordeal for her.

It was whenever she walked these outer areas that Sweet’s image would gently tug at the corner of her eye until she found her way to meet him. Secret information passed between them before that young man jumped off again into the woods surrounding Lake Biwa.

The particular message today was a happy one: Cardinal DeWitt, their faithful Substitute was handling the government transition for them while they left. He had sent most of the Nobles’ armies on the Armada to fight in Japan so that he would have the upper hand when he launched Imperial troopers to take down the feudal monuments they called castles. Twenty five thousand troops would land under the command of General Miguel. The estimated date of arrival was also printed there.

“This is good news,” she had told Sweet before sending him off to prepare General Grubby and the others with the new plan. She and Sweet always failed to mention how Duke Jimenez was doing, but so long as the others in the chain of command were receiving instructions from her on his behalf, they were not worried.

It was time, then, for her to visit the young nobleman.

---​

If there was a first class to dungeons, Duke Jimenez was provided with it; although that was not saying much at all. His accommodations consisted of a slightly damp corner cell where he was provided with an elevated bed and sufficient food. Although there was barely any sunlit the young man seemed to compose himself well. Perhaps all those hours in the Silent Room had accustomed him to this kind of atmosphere.

His cuirass, helmet, and espada were all taken from him and all he had to wear was his uniform as well as second rate garb the servants of the castle offered to him. They were probably ordered to, he thought.

Despite his conditions he was at least allowed to take baths and relieve himself with dignity, utilizing the servants’ facilities with heavy guard. He took a bath twice a day in the morning and in the evening. They seemed to treat him with respect; he could only guess that with the Spanish army returning they were planning on using him as a bargaining chip.

He spent most of his time pulling against the ledge near the top of his cell where there was a niche in the wall. He would pull himself upward and touch his chin against it. Seven days of this confinement without seeing anyone was fine with him. There was still a piece of him that was stung. His mind seemed to rehearse the dainty wave Isabella had given him while he was being pulled away and it always seemed to happen whenever he was alone in the hot bath. One couldn’t exercise the memory away in the bath. At least it would have been strange to do so with the guards watching his back periodically.

He would have probably stayed mute for all those seven days if it hadn’t been for the prisoner next to him. The prisoner who carried a secret cross made of braided straw concealed under his garments.

“You’re a Spaniard,” the other prisoner had both stated and asked at the same time a few hours after the young nobleman was first put into his cell. It was in that dark of night that the guards were less attentive at the far end of the dungeon hall.

“You can speak Spanish?” the young nobleman had asked in return. He would have been more surprised if he was not already preoccupied by other thoughts. Thoughts that made his dreary world somehow a shade of light blue mixed with a taut physical feeling between his stomach and his throat like a lute’s string being laid out inside of him.

“The missionaries in Kyushu had taught it to me when I went there thirty years ago,” the prisoner explained. Thirty years ago definitely showed in that haggard man’s expression and the lines of wrinkles on his face and body. “It’s still how I say my prayers,” he had continued showing to the young nobleman that concealed cross.

“And how did you end up in here, old man?” Antonio asked to the shaded figure.

There was a careful rustling of straw against floor and body inching its way closer to the gap in the bars between Antonio and the man. There, the emaciated figure of the elderly Christian was sprawled out in a sleep-like position while revealing his face dimly in the lamplight to the young man.

“Oda Nobunaga may tolerate us Christians for now, but this daimyo doesn’t. I was caught trying to evangelize to some of the villagers on the other side of the lake,” answered the old man in between wheezes and breaths. It was as if he was trying to speak and breathe at the same time. “But I don’t understand why you are here?” he then asked, “Are you here to liberate us?”

The words from the old man seemed to sooth the ache inside Antonio’s throat. It was if that question of hope rubbed against the string in his chest until it vibrated in harmony with his heartbeat. Antonio leaned back against the wall and raised both of his legs onto the bed.

“Perhaps soon.” Antonio replied.

---​

When Isabella entered the dungeon hall seven days later and walked down the center aisle with her off pink kimono, Antonio thought he was dreaming of watching the rose kissed whiteness of the rose petals in the forest again. It took a moment before he realized that Isabella had come to bring him his dinner. For a while, he didn’t dare move from that bed.

He had just returned from the bath and he was letting his body evaporate the remaining hot steam and the meager makeshift shirt seemed to cling to his muscles soaking up the remainder of the undried water.

“Not going to say hello?” Isabella nearly giggled out at the edge of Antonio’s cell.

Antonio merely eyed her figure without moving his lips. His head was arched back slightly until his sleek black hair formed a makeshift cushion between him and the stone wall.

“Hello,” he said in Japanese although she was speaking in their native tongue.

Isabella frowned slightly at that and squatted to pass a tray under an overhang in the bars specifically designed to administer food.

“Well if you’re not going to—”

Before she could finish her sentence Antonio had moved his eyes away back to gazing in front of him. It was enough to give her some pause to lose sight of those deep browns.

“He’s a convert,” Antonio said in almost a whisper nodding forward slightly.

Isabella followed his gaze to the next cell where the old man was wheezing and breathing into a pile of straw—his version of snoring.

“I told him that the Armada would return for him as well as for me,” Antonio continued looking back towards Isabella this time with a kind of deep urgency in his eyes.

“Is that so…” she replied, her voice seemed slightly off balance as she rose from her squatting position.

“I suppose I can count on them, hm?” Antonio continued with an even tone, his gaze didn’t seem to leave her eyes now.

There was a short pause in their conversation as they both looked at each other. Antonio at first thought he saw the sky in that woman’s eyes. He wanted to feel freedom from that look. Was there hope there?

For Isabella, she grasped both of her hands together in front of her. One would say it was one of the dainty things she always does, but she held her hands tightly. What would she say to that? It’s too late for apologies now.

“The fleet will be arriving in a month with twenty five thousand,” she revealed to him, “before that Sweet and I will get you out of here and take you back to the basecamp. Be prepared for it to happen tomorrow evening.”

The reflection off Antonio’s eyes seemed to flutter for a second before he slowly moved his head back towards gazing at the sleeping man. He suddenly gave out a smile as if he had meant to hand that over to the poor old man. He relaxed one of his hands and within his palm he released another straw cross that the old man had made for him and tossed across the gap between the cells. It was so that they could pray together, he had said.

It was then that Antonio looked to the edge of the hallway and noticed the sleeping guard.

“Slipped sleeping powder into his drink?” he asked slowly. It was as if he was worried if he said anything deeper he might ruin the good feeling returning to his body at the words Isabella told him. He wanted to trust her.

“Just a little,” she replied a smile starting to reappear on her beautiful features as well, “It’s only to make him think he snoozed off. We have to wait until I finish something with Hideyoshi and Akechi before we can leave.”

It was then that Antonio got up slowly and fixed his gaze onto those sky blues again. He made his way to the edge of the cell and reached out. Isabella almost instinctively recoiled and counter-attacked by the time Antonio reached her hand. His hand was warm. Probably still from that hot bath he had just taken.

“Good luck, my spy master…”

If it weren’t for the white makeup, he might have seen her blushing, but she nodded quickly and slipped away from his grasp.

When her ephemeral image slipped past the hall he held two bars with both hands leaning against it and contemplating the deceptive move without questioning it. He then turned towards his sleeping companion.

“Soon…” he repeated with a smile.

---​

That next morning when Antonio was in his morning bath, he had entered the bathhouse with a strange grin on his face. Even his guards noticed it and responded with a grimace. He was getting too comfortable, they thought. While he was on his break from the jail cell another prisoner was also relieved from that rotting dungeon.

“One month? That doesn’t give us much time to prepare. Did they say where?” Hideyoshi asked anxiously.

The old man brushed aside some of the haggard hair getting in the way of his eyes before replying with, “No, but they did say that they still had a basecamp in the country.”

“We’ll have to strike at the basecamp first before their fleet arrives. Did the woman say where that was?” Akechi asked from the other side of that chamber.

“No, they were brief about it,” replied the old man.

There was a short pause and the old man quickly ate some of the red snapper in front of him as the two others in the room deliberated.

“Ikari, once the two escape, I want you to follow them. Akechi will follow your lead with a detachment of my samurai. I will advise Lord Nobunaga and will send reinforcements.” Hideyoshi ordered.

Ikari, the oldest of Hideyoshi’s shinobi gave a nod of understanding.

interlude2.gif

Interlude​

Father Francis Xavier was getting ready for morning Mass when he had received an urgent message from the parish office. He was only half shaven and his hair was not entirely combed over the balding parts of his head as much as he wanted when he responded to his secretary’s incessancy about the call.

“I’ll be right there, Judy!” he said with as much patience as he could muster while still trying to work on another part of his cream covered maw.

“Now, Father Francis, the diocesan office says you have to answer this now!” came the shrill voice.

Judy had been Father Francis’s secretary for nearly ten years now and she was an alumnus at that school. Her love for the Church nearly brought her into the consecrated life when she was younger, but she found herself getting married to a theologian instead. Determined, however, to serve the Church she instead enrolled herself as a volunteer at the school before eventually becoming a secretary there when her kids were in class.

Her drive quickly made her the l’eminence grise in the school office since all the nuns and priests were many times too nice to the kids. Her discipline extended to the other staff and she feared no priest or nun when it came to enforcing the Charter and the directives from the diocese.

“Father Francis, you can’t just keep this one waiting. The diocese won’t stand for it,” she continued to go on.

Father Francis nearly nicked his chin off. Sometimes he jokingly called her “The Inquisition.” When news of the nickname came out, some of the students made fun of how she would sometimes appear at their homes to talk with their parents.

“No one expects the Judy Inquisition!” some of the more juvenile kids taunted.

“Don’t like it? Tough,” others would playfully imitate while her donning a stern face, “I am the Inquisition and I know where you live.”

Eventually Father Francis got to his telephone within his office, some of the foam finding its way onto the speaker portion of the phone as he hurried to pick it up.

“Hello, this is Father Francis,” came the counselor’s greeting.

There was a short pause before he replied with, “Yes I know the Royce family they—” before getting interrupted.

There was a longer pause and after a few seconds Father Francis’s expression stiffened and his friendly rump found its way onto the seat of his chair nearly missing it.”

“Yes your eminence, I’ll comply with the police about it right away,” was the final response before a short acknowledgement was heard from the other side and the phone met the receiver almost in slow motion.

“Judy…” Father Francis called out faintly at first but nonetheless the diligent secretary arrived pad and pen in hand in case he had something important to dictate. “Have Father Carlos say mass for me today, I need to leave—there’s been an emergency.”

---​

Rodrigo gently rapped his knuckle against the Royce’s family door. He already tried the doorbell twice but no one answered.

“Come on, Tom you’ve got to be home…” he whispered to himself as he knocked again almost furiously this time.

After no answer he sighed to himself more so out of frustration before squatting down decisively and procuring a paper and pen from his backpack. He began to write something down quickly.

As he was doing so he suddenly halted and felt a prickle down the back of his neck and he turned his head quickly half expecting to see some masked bandit about to hit his head with a club. Instead he found nothing. This was so wrong, he thought before finishing his writing and shoving the piece of paper through the Royce mail slot.

That would have to do for now, he thought as he backed away his eyes for a moment trained on the door before turning around. He nearly hit his right half against a van parked in the road in front. He nearly cursed at it. If he hadn’t been in such a frustrated mood he might have noticed that he never saw that van around here before. Instead he walked off leaving his precious piece of paper inside. He had managed to write Tom a note. Something to the effect of “Tom, it’s Rod, I figured it out. I read your essay and I know why they killed McDonald. I need to talk to you ASAP. Call me.” Tom would never get that message.

---​

Tom Royce had stopped crying hours ago. Or was it only a few minutes ago? He couldn’t tell. He was halfway in between that sense of sleep and crazed hysteria ever since they isolated him from his parents and put him into that one bed, one bathroom room. There was no window, no clock, nothing to tell time.

They had told him to stay calm. They told him they didn’t want to hurt him or his parents. They told him that for his parents sake they needed to be elsewhere and spoken to. All of this after the underpass workers had stopped their car and pulled them out at gunpoint with the help of the two agents. They had been placed into different vans and a mantra of “remain calm and you won’t get hurt,” was being repeated to them.

The only thing in the room aside from the bed was a large mirror, like the kind you Tom saw in the movies. At first he yelled at it demanding to see his parents. A voice kept telling him that they needed to have a talk with them and that they would be fine.

Somehow Tom didn’t believe them.

That was 12 hours ago. Then again Tom wouldn’t know that. In his worried sleeplessness he was on the verge of collapse. That’s when the knock on the door came. His heart became steel and nearly forgot its next beat.

Tom held himself while sitting on the bed, his back against the wall as straight as a human can do it as he pressed himself backwards instinctively.

They’re going to kill me, his brain called out into the empty room as if he was dreaming and repeating that and trying to yell it out would end the nightmare. No, this was no dream yet Tom still couldn’t utter the words. His throat was choked in a perpetual gasp and, just like in all those nightmares as a child, he could not scream out.

When the door opened and the light erupted into the room, Tom thought he had been shot in the face when the light hit it, drawing his hands up for a moment to shield himself.

“Tom… it’s alright,” suddenly came the familiar voice.

Tom slowly put his shuddering arms back to his knees and his pupils dilated to the light.

“..f… father!” he called out almost jubilantly. “w…what are you doing here?”

Father Francis Xavier slowly closed the door behind him and the inside of the room was illuminated gently.

“I’ve come to help you, Tom. First of all your parents are fine they’ll be seeing us in a few minutes. But first I need to ask you a few questions.”

Tom looked at the half smiling half worried expression on that priest’s face and watched the gesticulation of those hands attempting to convey harmlessness. Somehow, perhaps in the blinding first seconds of the encounter a chair had been brought in by the priest for him to sit down.

“I need to know some very important things,” the Father said slowly.

“Am I in trouble?” Tom said almost childishly for his age.

“No… at least not in the way you think, Tom,” replied Father Francis.

“What do you mean?” Tom asked earnestly wanting some release from this sleepless torture.

“Yesterday did you receive a call from the Japanese provincial police?” the Father asked.

Tom nodded.

“That call wasn’t made by the provincial police, but it was made from Japan,” came the explanation.

“Who called us, then?” Tom almost yelled out.

“We don’t know yet…” replied Father Francis, “but we do know it was made in a hotel near where our friend Mr. McDonald was killed. The prefectural police traced the call since they had a lead that suspects in that area were up to something and created a fake road block to slow them while they came to question your family.”

“But why did they have to question us?”

“They didn’t know yet if your family was involved so they had to go in and ask a few questions.”

“But why take us in like this?”

Father Francis paused for a moment as if contemplating whether or not to reveal the answer. The pleading eyes of the young man seemed to relay his anxiety with their widening.

“Whether or not your family was involved this was planned, I’m told. The men who were coming picked up weapons when they arrived…”

There was a strange edge to that sentence that intimated something more. Tom picked up on it and pleaded with his eyes more.

“We’ve also learned that Linda, Mr. McDonald’s secretary was also killed as well as a few other individuals who he knew… We needed to take you and your family in to protect you all.”

Tom also collapsed against the bed. It felt like the room was circling around him.

“Don’t worry!” Father explained sensing the danger Tom was feeling, “You’re in police HQ here in Los Angeles you’ll be perfectly safe.”

Tom almost started crying again but instead he looked at his counselor with a strange expression.

“But I don’t understand why you’re here, Father.”

At first Father Francis just gave him his conciliatory smile but then he sighed and nodded.

“There are a few things I need to know, Tom, some very important things.”

Tom squinted his eyes a little. What could be more important than killers after his family? That was when Father Francis produced a copy of Tom’s essay and passed it forward. It was already turned to a certain page.

“Has your family in the past ever been to Japan, Tom?” Father began.

As Tom gingerly picked up his work to look at the page it was turned to, he gave a negative reply.

As he looked at the paper the priest could only merely look back at him.

“I need some clarification about something you wrote,” the priest said.

Tom looked up with a slight alacrity.

“What did you mean you wrote the word ‘timepiece?’”

Chapter IX: Japan’s Timepiece (coming soon)
 
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Eber said:
A great piece of work, canonized! So much so that you have been named WritAAR of the Week!

Congratulations! Head on over there and say a few words. :)

Wow I seriously can't believe it ! I'll be heading to the other thread in just a bit but I just have to say that I'm very stunned and I wanted to give a thanks to everyone who has given me positive encouragement and patronage on this quest . I have to say that this AAR is SO much fun to write and to share it with you all and to receive feedback makes it all worth it !

I dedicated this recent chapter 8 to all of you especially to Eber for passing this prestigious torch to me . I'm very honoured . I'll be making my official post of gratitude on the WoW thread in a few hours . I had not planned on staying online extra long because I was just getting on this morning to upload the latest chapter and placard when I suddenly noticed this amazing post . So once again thank you and I'll be heading over there asap after I get all the morning work I need to do done !