Timelines: What if Spain Failed to Control the World?

coz1: I wish I had the luxury to do it . Unfortunately ; lots of things to do so little time .

Lurken: Hi there !! It seems this is the first time you've commented on the thread ! Welcome and thank you for your patronage !

Avernite: haha , true enough . Dr. Ueda , though . We'll have to see what happens .

TheExecutor: Very glad for the support ! Update is almost done ! Had a little bump along the way but 2 updates this week seems very feasible now that I won't have class till Tuesday !

ColossusCrusher: I'll try ! I have a new friend who has like all the colour DVDs in the world .

Lurken: do tell us what you've thought ! It's always great to see new perspectives on past chapters !

Lurken: Haha , well thank you for the compliment and criticism ! Very encouraged by it !

ColossusCrusher: Awww then he doesn't have it then =(

UPDATE IS NOW !

P.S. unfortunately I won't have a picture tile for the chapter since I don't have my desktop yet . I'll add the picture when i get my desktop to arrive (it's being sent via ups or something) and i can finally get my template again for chapter tiles !

December 15, 1606

It was not every day that Raul was allowed into the inner sanctums of the Silent Room. Indeed, it had been an experience he only felt twice before; once when he replaced his predecessor as heading internal security in Western Europe five years prior, and the other was for the planning stages for the discovery of the Gunpowder Plot. Today, although he would only be debriefed on the end of the successful wrap up of the operation, he was also treated to a meeting of the greatest import.

“Already, fifteen thousand Protestant rebels have begun laying siege to our garrisons in Belfast and Dublin,” one of the men on the far end of dim chamber announced. His finger was raised to the far end of the room as he spoke. Glancing towards that terminal, Raul took heed of the object which dominated the very atmosphere of the chamber; the massive cartographical masterpiece that consumed the entirety of that earthy partition.

Placed upon the tips of that Protestant isle of Ireland were pinned cloth of black and red-- natural choices since those were the cloths left in abundance after allocating all the vibrant pieces for the flags of established nations. “As expected, the attempted attack on Parliament,” continued the gentleman at the far end of the table, “has become a flashpoint for the heretics left dormant ever since the settlements nearly sixty years ago.”

Raul had not been particularly fascinated by the political outcomes of his operations, and indeed this particular use for him-- the exposition of the Gunpowder Plot-- would have eluded his attention if it weren’t for the information that the man who was to set off the entire explosive charge was someone who also had information he had wanted in the investigation he had been working on.

“Shakeshaft…” he muttered under his breath as he slid all of his hastily written notes together into one pile in front of him. The name elicited an image of hotly guarded secrets shifting from Ireland to England about something which even the combined efforts of the previous master of internal security and himself have not been able to unravel even with the most ardent of investigations. It was not surprising, he thought to himself. Being relatively young and new it was hard for him to slice through the thickened cloak of secrecy that permeated the darkness of the Silent Room and its staff. Finding out the truth was something that needed patience-- something he did not have.

“The time is ripe,” another shaded voice began to explain from another end of the table, “This concern of internal security will give us the excuse we’ve sought after to fully bring Venice, Austria, Bohemia, and England into the Empire.”

Already, a murmur grew in the room and erupted into a thunderous discussion. “The Empire has not changed its borders in Europe for nearly half a century!” one already complained above the rest before becoming immediately drowned in further escalations of support and disapproval.

“The spread of Protestantism in Austria has already been checked, we must leave it to the Austrian and Bohemian authorities to deal with it!”

“They will do nothing!” was a counter-objection from across the floor. The din began to reach a crescendo. Raul, however, continued to ruminate in his small slate of wood upon the large table. The growth of the Empire was definitely of great significance especially if his office was to absorb the regional offices in London, Praha, Wien, and Venezia. He nearly chuckled to himself at the idea that Mr. Fawkes might be working directly under him.

“It is true that we have kept the Western monarchs titularly independent,” a voice said from one of the far edges of the table. It was at that voice that all quieted albeit reluctantly. “However, we must invest a large sum into the process as well as prepare our divisions for warfare. Lithuania, Poland, and the Ottoman Turks will not stand for our monopolization of Europe. They will strike before these buffer states are incorporated.”

There was a short aftershock of voices after the statement and the shifting shadows underneath the dim lamplight edified each other in this latest analysis. “We simply do not have the resources,” a brave soul called out from the side. Even Raul looked up at the audacity of this Silent One among the masters and seniors of the chamber. For a moment, all were wrapped in a hush.

“And what do you suggest, Senor Santiago?” the table’s end asked.

Raul investigated the figure that now approached the illumination of the central lamp. Perhaps almost as young as himself, he recognized the brash and bold jaw line while the rest of the face remained in the shade of unruly strands. Diego de Santiago was not a particularly tall young man, but he rested his gauntlet on his espada like an aged cavalier.

“To attempt a large grab such as what my colleagues suggest is wise under the present circumstances, but as you stated, Your Eminence, it would be costly. I propose to defer the cost through a project which your predecessors have attempted to complete.”

Already the eyes in the room were curved in both suspicion and curiosity. No speculation was attempted and even Raul resisted the urge to look at his notes in order to watch the young man explain himself. “And what would that be?” came the question from the far end of the table.

“I propose we take Novgorod.”

It took a second before the proposition made itself tangible in the minds of the old men sitting in council before an uproar let itself out all at once like a held back breath. “Impossible! Novgorod is miles and miles inland, we cannot hope to reinforce it sufficiently,” one immediately exclaimed from the crowd.

Another old man miraculously yelled out above the noise, “The Eastern numbers rival even our own!” Raul took that moment when many around him began to rise to their feet to slide a keen look towards the instigator of such an idea which was almost as audacious as the plan to bring four of the oldest kingdoms in Christendom into the Empire. Raul noticed that Diego de Santiago had not taken his eyes off of that brooding and large figure at the far end of the table. The strength of the other young man seemed to tug at his emotions with just enough sympathy that he took a moment to gaze upon the gigantic map on the other wall.

The Duchy of Muscowy was only the Western designation of that empire which stretched from Norway to Astrakhan and into the Siberian steppes. Indeed, the Easterners proclaimed themselves Emperor in the style of the Caesars but those in the West and especially in the Silent Room cared not to recognize such an affront to the Imperial Status of the King of Spain especially in the official maps. For Raul, however, he had a large respect for the “successor” to the Byzantine mantle. Taming the hardy folks of Norway, Sweden, and Finland, the Emperors of Russia had also reclaimed most of their land from the Hordes which had ravaged their Eastern front. Although she was faced with a mighty Persia in the south and an impressive Timurid expanse in the east, she was still mistress of the gulfs north of the Baltic.

“You will take responsibility for this expedition against the schismatics,” was the even tone from the one at the table’s terminus. With that sound the rest of the room fell quiet again. Raul shot his head back towards the president and marveled at the liberality of the approval.

“Thank you for this opportunity, Your Eminence,” Diego de Santiago responded with a bow before taking his seat in between the astonished older gentlemen.

“Since our Eastern Europe captain is currently busy elsewhere,” the commanding voice continued, “I will be assigning young Raul here to be your spy master during this operation.”

At the call of his name with such familiarity, Raul instinctively stood as if to introduce himself. Both in surprise and alacrity, he uttered, “Thank you, Your Eminence, for this opportunity.”

Raul saw a wrinkled hand with its signature ornate ring come into the light from the far end of the table long enough to wave a sign of the cross in the air. “May God be with the both of you,” concluded the voice.


January 7, 1607

It had taken Raul several weeks by horse to finally reach the moored Armada in Amsterdam. Although he had the opportunity to go aboard the various ships of the line that had been gathered at Diego de Santiago’s native city, he had much business to take care of in Madrid before leaving to join his military counterpart.

After finally braving the temperamental winter of the French countryside, he finally arrived to the Armada which was waiting for the Spring season to brave the currently freezing waters of the Livonian and Estonian coasts. Amsterdam never ceased to impress the young Raul. Usually the port of call for most of the northern routes of commerce, it was the grandest of the Austrian cities. He felt a strange patriotic urge as he imagined its riches reverting to its rightful inheritors in Madrid.

However much he wished to tour the city and relay the grandeur of the place to his brain, his first destination took him to the deck of the Santa Ana; flagship of the great fleet assembled.

“I thought you wouldn’t make it,” a Galician accent greeted the boarding spy master. Raul turned his head to the bridge deck and found his general waiting with a boyish smile.

It was not the first time Raul had met the ambitious Colonel Diego de Santiago. Indeed, he had actually worked with him once during an operation against Protestant insurgents in Cornwall. “I had to put my house in order before leaving,” Raul replied as he approached the stairway. He avoided the busy deckhands refitting the entire ship to weather the winter better.

“I could imagine,” Santiago answered in a low voice as he descended the steps and extended his hand to Raul. “You’re the one they say is looking into the Disappearance.” Both shook hands at those words and Raul could immediately feel the pressure on his fingers denoting a sense of mutual intrigue.

“I’m just one of the crew looking for answers when I have no other pressing matters,” Raul said attempting to defend his past time. Their hands parted but Raul’s professional demeanor was continuously bombarded by Santiago’s brash grin. It was not as if the young man had a smile of charm, Raul thought, but like a reserved strength that peeked through the tenacity of his teeth.

“I’m sorry if I took you away from your investigation, then, Senor--”

“Please,” Raul immediately interrupted, “call me Raul.” The tone of the correction was more exactly that: a correction, and not a particularly friendly suggestion. “And you don’t need to apologize. The bureaucrats in Madrid are the ones who should be apologizing to me. It is as if losing the old Duke, the Panzerkardinal, and others was nothing worthy of looking into.” The lamentation was kept quiet lest others might hear this candid expression.

Diego couldn’t help but grin wide enough to almost grind his teeth. “A man of ambition like myself,” he said softly. “In that case, I believe that our friendship starts here.” Although it seemed like the conclusion of an introduction, Diego’s body language betrayed a following statement as he placed his hand on Raul’s shoulder. “Since Novgorod holds a key to your search for our missing masters.”


Taguchi gripped the phone to his ear as he attempted to hear through the crackling noise coming from the other side-- Professor Poltok must be talking from somewhere with bad reception or through some terrible phone. “Yes, sensei,” Taguchi replied raising his voice so that the other could hear him clearly, “I have the book you requested it’s right here with me.”

As he spoke, Taguchi could not help but notice the strange entranced attention that his room mate was now attending towards the leather binding. “You want me to hold onto it here?” Taguchi asked into the microphone, “Yes, I suppose I can do that but--”

“Hey, Junno,” Pablo spoke out loud, “It’s like there’s something underneath the cover here…” He was immediately waved off and Taguchi quit the room without heeding his room mate’s statement.

“Sorry about that, sensei, could you repeat that? You want me to hold onto it until you can pick it up from here?…” Taguchi paused for a second attempting as hard as he could to hear the next few words. “You’re taking the book to a conference?… Alright, sensei I’ll look out for you soon. Yes… Yes… good night!”

Switching the device quietly, Taguchi ended the call and heaved a sigh into the cool air surrounding the hallway near the living room. As he rolled himself back into the main space, his eyes widened in shock and nearly dropped his phone.

“What are you doing?!” he called out. It was already too late, however, the leather binding on the old historical tome was nearly shredded on the floor and Pablo’s shrouded face could only meet Taguchi’s with some kind of innocent amazement. In his fingers was the shape of a golden key glimmering in the lamplight.

“This was… this was inside of it,” Pablo said almost dumbly.

For a moment, Taguchi’s shock was replaced with a mysterious wonderment as his eyes dropped towards the object held in his room mate’s fingers. Immediately screwing his eyes into a confused squint, he approached the sitting Pablo. As if shaking the siren’s call from his eyes, Taguchi blinked his vision to Pablo’s similarly enraptured face. “You’re going to get me into a lot of trouble, Pablo,” Taguchi quickly said vacillating between anger and worry. He quickly took the object out of Pablo’s grasp and picked up the torn tome from the floor.

Pablo suddenly looked up to his companion with shame overflowing on him. There was nothing but a “Oh… Sorry…” to make up for the carnage that he inflicted on the book. “I don’t know what got over me… I just got curious about--”

Even before that statement was finished, another ring erupted on Taguchi’s mobile and cut into the already marred confines of the room. Raising his cellular phone nearer to his eyes he discerned the name asking for his attention. “Again?” Taguchi almost whined.

With that usually cherubic face souring into a cringe, Taguchi quickly stuffed the mauled book and the strange object back into his backpack before shooting a warning glance towards Pablo. Immediately understanding the gravity of the act, Pablo acquiesced an obedient nod before Taguchi ran down the steps to be in the open air once more. Flipping his mobile into its receiving position, he placed the small microphone to his ear. “Moshi moshi?”

“Junno,” was the familiar voice of his cousin calling out his given name.

“Hayato, I’ve told you sever--”

“We’re heading over there now. I tried to call you earlier but you wouldn’t pick up. We’ll arrive in a few minutes.”

Taguchi could barely speak an objection or even a questioning sound before the phone clicked out of connection. The only thought that now ran through Taguchi’s entropied mind was “he said ‘we’?”


Chiam Poltok tried his best to stow the cellular phone away into his bag. An older gentleman such as himself had a bit of trouble with modern devices and even the model he used was prone to disconnections and weak signals. Nonetheless, he continued to pack the rest of his travel items. Although his bed was a relatively small twin sized affair in his modest residence, it was still not small enough to be fully covered by the Spartan set of suitcases that Dr. Poltok now spread about it. One particular suitcase stood out and depressed the mattress with some authority.

As if on some instinct, Dr. Poltok clicked that suitcase open and investigated the inside. Gleaming like finely polished silverware, a key dominated a cushioned depression on the left side of the case while an empty depression occupied the right side. “Soon,” the Professor seemed to say to it, “soon you’ll be reunited with your twin and all of us will return to your safe place of rest; we’ll finally return to Novgorod.”

Chapter LXI: Novgorod (coming soon)

Just an extra note that I'll be adding the chapter tile for this chapter later on . I don't have my desktop yet and that has the template I use to make those tiles . I'll get those done soon since the box with my stuff should be arriving soon (still using the laptop !)

Murmurandus: hopefully timely XD

Grubnessul: yes , I'm indeed dying to know as well XD always a pleasure to have you with us !

English Patriot: yes ! that's coming up next update !