July 5, 1583
The water which touched the Chinese coast was not as calm or luxurious as those that played against the white sands of the Philippines. Nor were these coasts as romantic and noble as the beachheads in Osaka. Indeed, as the great rivers of the mainland flowed into the sea, Antonio could only gaze at the massive Pacific which mirrored the greatness of the land which it touched.
The moon navigated the dark clouds half heartedly and only provided as much illumination to the dark water as the beach torches that lined the sand could. Nonetheless, the area which was to be the next landing zone of the Spanish reinforcements into the Ming Empire was suitably calm and flat—perfect for smaller ships to arrive. Antonio addressed the area with a surveying eye and nodded a satisfied agreement to the healthiness of the operations in the Far East.
It had already been two months since the attack at Infinite Castle and, as a testament to the seriousness of the situation, there were several agents lurking in the shadows of the beach’s many buildings and foliage to both protect Antonio and to secure the landing site from enemy operatives. Already, Nia had taken up counter-intelligence operations for the entire Far East branch and she had been surprisingly effective. It was also a lucky thing that Renault had been kind enough to stay for the course of the operation as it meant that Antonio had a reliable lieutenant to keep tabs on Nia as well as handle the logistics in conjunction with General Schenkhuizen.
Speaking of whom, the General now approached with an unusually light step to his gate. “I thought you could use some tea,” Grubby politely announced as he rounded Antonio’s side. The teacups were upheld by a silver tray and the young general had cleverly brought a candle on the platform to provide some light.
“Thank you,” Antonio said with a sudden smile; he took hold of one of the cups while Grubby straightened his stance to look out towards the moon-glistening waves. “More of your Raider corps is being transferred from Murcia,” Antonio added, “They’ll be arriving with the reinforcements here along with the regular grunts you’ve asked for.”
“Thank you for your consideration, sir,” Grubby said with no small sign of respect. But his expressions were not sterile demonstrations of obedience; having Antonio back meant that he could ply his dangerous trade without the worries of politics hanging on his shoulders. His friend would take up the mantle of responsibility while he could aim his thoughts on conquest.
“It’s the least I can do,” Antonio replied after taking a sip, “Beijing is ours and you haven’t let the enemy sink an inch into our gains. It’s almost a miracle.”
“The miracle is our soldiers, Antonio. They’ve been fighting for generations now—the Mameluks, the Portuguese, the French, the English, the Indians, Persians…”
“And you’ve fought your fair share as well working for Four Kings now,” the master commented with a comforting smile. “It’s good to know I can count on you, my dear Grubby,” he added coining the nickname again.
“I also brought you the latest report from Nia,” the other said avoiding the praise. He held up the silver tray again and looked down to indicate the rolled paper behind the candle.
“She couldn’t deliver the message herself?”
“She still has a few meetings to finish with Renault so she asked me to deliver this to you,” Grubby answered as Antonio took up the piece of paper. Antonio tapped the rolled parchment on his hand for a second or two slightly oblivious to Grubby’s curious gaze. Usually, his master would read the reports immediately. But his hesitant nature was not surprising, Grubby thought to himself; with Isabella having ‘returned’ Antonio seemed to have lost himself in thought lately.
“I take it… that she hasn’t remembered anything yet?” Grubby asked with a meek look towards his friend. Antonio had immediately brought his eyes up in surprise at the words but without any threat to his stare. After meeting concerned globes, Antonio once again lowered his view to the dimly lit paper and shook his head.
“Have you considered, sir,” Grubby asked with caution, “that perhaps she may never recover her memory?”
There was a short pause in Antonio’s tapping. “The thought did occur to me,” the contemplating one admitted. “I’ve been thinking about her a lot these past two months and she’s been gracious about allowing me to try and bring her memories back… but…”
“Sometimes these things cannot be forced,” Grubby attempted to provide.
Antonio nodded to the resolution of his companion. “No, you’re right. I suppose it’s just compounded by the idea that she’s somehow gotten herself involved with all of this again,” Antonio said as he waved his hand towards the sea as if to signify the chaos currently embroiling that side of the world. “There’s a part of me that wishes that after she lost her memories she would have woken up in a safer place.”
Grubby watched his friend’s eyes wander across the sand listlessly. “Are you really that surprised?” Grubby asked. The question forced Antonio to look back at him.
“What do you mean?”
“Well… You’ve known Isabella for so long now, Antonio. Even without her memories she’s still the same person.”
Those words compelled Antonio to relax his gaze and catch a sideways glimpse to the washing shore once again. The image of Isabella as Jesca arrived into his brain but this time Isabella’s giggle and playfulness seemed so natural even with that eye patch… even with those English clothes.
“No matter where Isabella goes,” Grubby continued, “the nobility inside of her—that nobility which allowed her to be our spy master—will always guide her choices. Whatever she chooses now, it will be Isabella doing her best in the circumstance she is given. It should not be a surprise for us; her wish for a better future is what drives her to be part of Infinite Castle. And her nature is someone who can see the bigger picture… the bigger threat. That nature is what made her so compatible with understanding the secrets of our real mission—that’s why she’s choosing to have Infinite Castle aid us now against the Chinese underground.”
Even in the dim moonlight, Antonio couldn’t help but smile at Grubby’s perceptive words and was greeted by a comforting grin. It was true, Antonio thought, it is not as if they had lost Isabella at all. Her soul continues to dictate the course of righteousness. With that in mind, he finally opened the parchment and, with Grubby’s light, read through the usual reports.
“Nothing special…” Antonio sighed, but his eyes narrowed slightly, “Huh… it seems as if we have a message from Jakob!”
Both men now leaned close to each other to read the parchment simultaneously. The language was in Jakob’s native German and had been attached to the roll by Nia with a footnote saying how she was not allowed to read the original document. A quick glance over Jakob’s message pushed away Antonio’s smile.
“Grubby, get Nia and Renault together. Have Isabella meet us in the main room at once and prepare the fastest ship…”
“What’s going on?” Grubby suddenly asked looking up to his friend, “Jakob says he has the cult situation under control—”
Antonio did not wait for Grubby to understand as he dropped the note and began running up the beach towards the encampment. Grubby similarly placed the silver platter down on the sand tea, candle, and all before chasing after his master in bewildered anxiety. As the beach breeze blew out the light, one could have read the last few words on Jakob’s communication: “Someone appears to be impersonating Duke Hernandez and rallying troops loyal to the civil war of which my uncle fought against. We went to investigate and also found that the grave we placed him in after his execution as a traitor is empty…”
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“We need to abandon the plan. Keeping it shuffled around is not going to be good enough. We don’t have enough time before the trip to Moscow.”
Metropolitan Andronikos’s words were terse and anxious. Although it had been two months since their retrieval of the Key of St. Andrew, Andronikos’s demeanor was as concerned as it was when the news came that the cult was looking around for the Key.
“What’s going on, Andronikos? We’ve got the Key going between the safe houses, it should be fine, right?”
“Something’s gone wrong. The Patriarch has authorized me to attempt to smuggle the Key out.”
At this point, Father Julio stood up from his seat to mirror the already standing archbishop. The dust of the room did not halt even as both figures now stood stationary on either side of the table. It was that same table where they had their reunion two months ago after Julio’s return from Madrid. It was in this same room deep within one of the metropolitan sees of Constantinople that this emergency meeting had been convened between them.
“Smuggle it out?!” Julio protested, “But that was exactly what we were trying to avoid. Trying to get past the nets especially here in Constantinople in the middle of the Ottoman realm is suicidal!”
“Things have changed, Julio… They know we have the Key.”
“The Turks?”
“No… someone else.”
Julio soured his face at the cryptic response and walked halfway past the side of the table to get closer to his comrade. “Tell me what’s going on, Andronikos. I’m here to help and I can’t help if I don’t know anything.”
At this closeness, Julio could see that his older companion was trembling. “Three of our agents protecting the Key were decapitated yesterday…” Andronikos said with an unsteady voice. He turned away from his friend’s eyes and placed both palms against the table. “The others were able to transfer the Key to another house, but there was a note with the bodies that said that he knew where the Key was. He gave us a choice… either to hand the Key over or that he’ll hunt us down until he gets it.”
“Who is ‘he’?!” Julio demanded taking a step closer to his shrinking friend.
“I don’t know… but he calls himself the Lord of Acid…”
Carlos watched through the glass window with an oppressive and drooping stare. Tom was strapped down on the seat in the middle of the pristine, sterile room and rightly so as Tom’s body convulsed and rocked against the cushioned metallic binding. Although Tom’s eyes were shut and hidden behind a blindfold which streamed to the floor with wires, one could see the rapidly shifting bulges shift the fabric in different places.
“He’s still struggling,” Carlos whispered a bit to himself. The cool air of the control area where he now stood took his warm breath and whisked it away into the ventilation shafts. The white suits the others in the room donned were also a constant reminder of that snowy atmosphere which he now inhabited.
“Shall we increase the serum level?” someone asked to Carlos’s right. The question, however, was not directed at him.
“Not yet,” someone said with a shrill trembling voice. “His tolerance, however, is very good… He has not succumbed to mental contamination…”
Carlos pressed his arms against himself tighter. Mental contamination, he repeated in his mind. Somehow the scientists at the lab did not strike him before as so distanced especially with the writhing body of Tom struggling against the restraints inside that empty room which he saw into. Then again these were different people from those he had met when he was just a boy.
“Is this really what you wanted?” that elderly voice asked from behind him.
At first there was no response from the young Carlos. Instead, he merely tightened his grip around himself as the coldness of the room sank into his veins. “Over four hundred years ago my predecessors failed to protect the Key entrusted to them,” Carlos responded while once again allowing precious moisture to frost up into the air. “I won’t make the same mistake in judgement.”
The man behind him offered no further question but Carlos thought the initial inquiry over in his head. He could only imagine what kind of torturous demons were sprouting in Tom’s mind. Will he continue to fight it? The question Carlos asked himself seemed to make his own hands tremble not at the cold but at the memory of his own experiences in that Room across the glass.
“Well,” the voice behind him finally intimated, “we’re glad that we were contracted to be of service to the Patriarchate in this matter. It was a pleasure to meet you, Don Carlos.”
As Carlos nodded away his thanks he did not keep his eyes off of the test chamber. “Increase the dosage to the Contamination limit, please” he asked. The dreams Tom would have now would put him to the edge. The question would become if Tom could handle such duress—if he was truly worthy to be Antonio’s choice to choose for the World.
After complying with the request, the elderly gentleman in charge of the room decided to relax in his mobile wheelchair before turning back and out of the well lit chamber. Leaving one of his assistants in command to watch over Don Carlos’s requests, the old scientist made his way back to his lab through the white and simple halls of the Patriarchate’s special office complex. When he arrived at his personal lab, his assistants were still moving all of the equipment into place—it had only been a few weeks since they were commissioned by the Patriarchate to succeed the old organization in maintaining the Laboratory and the unpacking was still continuing.
“Be careful with that,” the old one said in Chinese to the assistants. Part of the agreement was to have more ‘ethnic diversity’ in the official government pay rolls. Especially after Vatican II, the Church had been insisting on full integration of different races. The irony, the man thought in his seat.
The assistants acknowledged the order and were careful to bring all the phials and flasks into position around the tables as the old one sat watching. As the men received and followed orders, the room began to take shape and the gentleman took his post at the front of the chamber reiterating to all around that amongst all these chemicals, materials, and acids, he was Lord.
Chapter LV: Lord of Acid (coming soon)
