Chapter X: Panzerkardinal
June 1, 1581
The fireplace wafted large plumes of ash and smoke upward into the ventilation shaft above it. The militant ascent of the darkened ash was seen off with torches of leaping cinders that celebrated the liberation of those particles from the cinder inferno below.
The gregarious orange glow permeated the chamber and lending a tinge of its colour to the length of its influence. Most of the time, however, orange illumination met golden gilding or velvet upholstery, the colouring of which already possessed the deep richness of the colour of that light. Even the colour on Cardinal DeWitt’s garments rejoiced in being blessed by a visitation of their orange cousin as that old man sat in one of the gold-gilded velvet-upholstered chairs.
The Cardinal’s eyes watched the escape of the smoke with almost a blank curiosity. He listened intently to the crackling which subdued the otherwise quiet room with a sense of repetition you would only similarly find listening to the raindrops upon a window pane.
Despite the fiery element’s reign in that chamber of the palace, crowned at the poles by the fireplace and the lion’s heart of that platinum haired man, there was a bastion of cool watery blue located in a bowl of liquid near the Cardinal’s chair. Next to it were a few sharp looking objects as well as wet cloth. The cloth had some of that prelate’s noble blood streaked across it.
Opposite of the Cardinal on the table where the water lay sat a younger gentleman with the deep blue gaze of the ocean sea. It was these twin glimpses of the ocean that focused on the arm of the older man, guiding hands which applied stitching to an obvious sword wound across the top portion of the forearm.
“You’ve become quite the doctor,” the Cardinal smiled cogently despite the pain he must be feeling from the needle weaving through his arm’s flesh. His eyes turned away from that fire to look at the young gentleman.
The dedicated physician did not look up to his patient’s gaze.
“Thank you, uncle,” was the only reply; a grateful smile emanating from the young man.
Cardinal DeWitt continued to look upon his nephew with an inspecting gaze. Despite being called from Germany, the young man had promptly obeyed. Despite having to tend to his wounds, the young man did not ask any inquisitive questions.
“My brother taught you excellent discipline, Jakob,” Cardinal DeWitt added resisting the urge to wince as the wire around his wound tightened bringing the skin to close upon itself.
“Father taught by discipline, enduring many hardships during the Protestant rebellions. He says he learned it from his father,” Jakob replied cutting the end of the wire before placing the utensils into the water and looking up. “It seems grandpa taught you as much,” he added at the end a small proud grin greeting the Cardinal.
“Oh this?” the Cardinal motioned to his now patched wound and giving a guffaw that, with the crimson outfit, made him look almost… seasonal. “I’ve been through a lot more than a simple flesh wound, my boy.”
Jakob maintained that smile, a genuine sign of attentiveness. It seemed his father also taught him great respect.
“Father always did tell us stories about how you would protect us from the mobs during the rebellion,” Jakob began, his eyes downcast to once again guide his hands into cleaning the bloodied utensils and collecting all the dirtied cloth.
“Your father was a good man, Jakob,” the Cardinal responded looking down at the utensils also. It was a statement to umbrella them both with the memory of Jakob’s father. They both somberly gave a few seconds of silent contemplation disguising it as careful attention to the disposal of the utensils. They wanted to mourn the dead.
“How is your mother?” the Cardinal asked albeit quietly.
“She sends her regards,” Jakob answered raising his head to greet his patron’s face with a smile once again. “Though she does worry about you… Especially now that father’s gone…”
Jakob politely ended it there with a little nervous laugh before standing up to put his utensils into a receptacle near the rear of the room which he had brought with him. The Cardinal on the other hand looked back to the fire, bringing the now bandaged arm closer to his lap and holding his wrist with his other hand as if afraid his arm might fall away.
“Since I am your doctor now,” continued Jakob carefully locking up his luggage and approaching a fresh bowl on the dark side of the room to wash his blood stained hands. “How are you dealing with it?”
“It” was something the Cardinal did not want to talk about.
“I’d deal with it much better once I hear your response to my proposal,” replied the older man.
Whilst the Cardinal engaged his eyes onto the fray of the bustling fire, Jakob stood silently at the other end watching the water glide off of his iron scented fingers. When he had begun a few hours ago that morning working on his uncle’s wounds he thought that was the only reason he was called from his studies at the university in Frankfurt.
“It’s only been a few hours, uncle,” he replied a bit reluctantly turning around to gaze at the fatigued Cardinal. It’s amazing, he thought to himself, that his uncle had already fought in two engagements since three days ago. At first he doubted he could be just as strong.
“But you do understand what I’m asking of you?” the prelate responded turning to the young man. The older man’s eyes almost seemed to retain the fire of the fireplace and transmitted it across the room towards Jakob in an expression of sincere urgency.
Jakob blinked looking back through the darkened half of the room. His uncle was right, despite the complex message he had been briefed with, his astute brain seemed to fully understand all of it. The timepiece, the danger it would pose the importance of Spanish dominance. In fact, he thought to himself, it was as if the entire universe began making more sense since the explanation.
“Yes, uncle, I understand,” he affirmed.
Cardinal DeWitt seemed to sigh in relief as his frame relaxed into the seat, his gaze looking forward now onto the larger table in front of him. There had been a dark bottle of Pinot Noir and two glasses prepared. Jakob had said for him to drink it to ease the pain as he worked, but the Cardinal only drank the intoxicating liquor of the Sacred Blood nowadays. He wouldn’t go down the path of the wine bottle again.
“I still have a few years left,” the prelate began, “but I wish to use that time to train you to succeed me. I know it may be hard to accept right now, but Spain needs you, Jakob. Duke Jimenez and his sons will need you.”
His eyes went up again to meet the faint glow of the young man’s as stillness distilled the thoughts of the two in the room.
After a moment of thought, their proud eyes not once leaving each other’s contemplative gaze, Jakob walked over to his uncle’s chair and kneeled in front of him taking the uninjured arm and pressing his lips to the ring upon his finger.
“I will accept this honour,” the young man said albeit in a humbly faint manner his eyes still looking at the floor.
The Cardinal’s smile broadened his face and he immediately took both hands to his young successor’s shoulders despite the pain on the bandaged portion of his left arm.
“Excellent, excellent!” he exclaimed marvelously pulling the smiling and proud young lad up and leading him to another equally gold gilded chair.
“Sit sit,” the Cardinal continued, “and we’ll have a drink.” At that the Pinot Noir was opened and the Cardinal served them both—it was obviously time to have just a little drink.
After a congratulatory toast, the Cardinal sat deeply in his chair whilst the young man continued to have that proud smile; he had reason to have it. He would be sacrificing his life for the country of his uncle’s. No, he reasoned to himself, for the sake of the world. After all, it was explained to him by his uncle that the Duque de Medina Sidonia being the wily sea admiral that he was managed to run the blockade and escape with a Flyte to try and catch up to the Spanish Armada. It wasn’t the extra soldiers they would bring back to fight for their deposed lords that worried him either, it was the fact that the most important artifact in the globe had been smuggled out of the country.
While deep in thought he had not noticed the doting gaze of his patron.
“It’s astounding,” the Cardinal said; the words being propelled through the air with a swelling of pride tempered by a grimly serious tone, “time is… fleeting.”
Jakob could only look at his uncle with curiosity. It seemed as if the emotional barrier that separated the Lion of Meissen from the rest of the family was now being let down.
“Madness…” the Cardinal continued finally naming the “it” that Jakob and his mother were worried about and lowering his head, “takes its toll…”
“But listen closely,” the Cardinal emphasized to his new pupil raising his head to the young man; his eyes taking on a new trance-like opacity, “… not for very much longer…”
“I’ve got…” DeWitt continued with his eyes dilating back to normal and a sigh leaving his lips; his vision moved back to the glass of pinot noir… “to keep control…”
Jakob watched his fatigued uncle the years of putting time and effort into the projects coupled with the intense secrets he had kept about the keys… the timepiece… history… he understood with a deep foreboding the feeling of his surrogate father figure.
“I remember…” the Cardinal resumed quietly, “doing the time and work… drinking.”
Jakob followed the look of the older man’s to see that he was staring intently at the bottle in a rueful demeanor. When he looked back to his uncle he seemed like a smaller man in that big velvet chair: a man worn away by battle and time yet still willing to move forward despite his physical and mental limitations.
“Those… moments when the blackness would hit me…” the Cardinal continued almost on the verge of tears, “and the void would be calling!” he exclaimed bucking his chin upwards and closing his eyes as if to stop the welling of liquid and simultaneously remembering through that sudden blindness the darkness he experienced from his alcoholic stupors and convulsions of madness.
Jakob absorbed the older man’s deteriorating words but realizing now the vital importance he served. He was now a partner. He reached over to his uncle and surprising him out of his lidded reverie with a gentle press of his hand on the other’s.
“Let’s do the time and work again…” was the simple statement by the young nobleman. At that the old man’s expression lit up; everything was understood.
Despite the pain, the Cardinal brought up his other arm to place his hand over the outstretched offering of his nephew’s as he repeated quietly, “Let’s do the time and work… again.”
----------
“It’s just a jump to the left,” Antonio instructed, as he watched Isabella intently.
Isabella’s tapped her steed in a peculiar fashion before the noble animal hopped a slight distance to its forward left.
“And then a step to the right,” Antonio then said as his own steed began trotting to the right. His eyes were still on Isabella attempting to copy her instructor’s directions.
Antonio had grinned two hours ago when Isabella had requested of him to teach her how to be an expert cavalier. The audacity of the request seemed to both flatter Antonio and fuel some mischief in him. This would be revenge for being duped and locked up, he thought.
“With your hands on your hips!” Antonio barked out as mercilessly as he would to an ordinary soldier.
Isabella complied letting go of the reigns and sat akimbo with the horse trotting underneath her. She began wobbling to and fro.
Antonio snapped his fingers to her to get her attention as if she was some disobedient student dozing off in some daydream. When he saw her bewildered and almost scared face he nearly laughed before pointing down to his legs to demonstrate to her.
“You bring your knees in tight,” he pontificated as he squeezed the saddle with his knees to gain some stability.
Isabella nodded pretending to fully understand. Naturally, her horse feeling her nervous pressure began to trot faster as if bidden by its master to speed up. Antonio watched as the diagonal movement of the horse coupled with her strange sitting position made the horse nearly gallop forward and sideways. At this point he couldn’t help but laugh as he emulated the same kind of disorder on his horse, bucking forward and back with the horse’s movement, “but it’s the pelvic thrust,” he said half laughing and saying each word in between the forward and back motions of the steed’s body, “that really drives you insa—”
Intoxicated by his own amusement he failed to notice that Isabella’s accelerating horse was now barreling sideways towards him. By the time Isabella looked to her right to see him, the two horses hit each other lightly. Unfortunately with both of their hands off the reigns and in such a silly position both came tumbling to the ground, “—aa-aa-aane!” Antonio called out as he fell.
The two horses galloped forward from the sudden impact and left their previous passengers with sore bottoms on the grass.
Antonio shook his head quickly regaining his composure and looked around him to the fallen Isabella on the other side. He suddenly sprang forward from his laid back position over to the motionless figure.
“Isabella!” he called out as he crouched near her body.
He awaited a response but none came and a panic started to well up inside of him. He was about to stand up to call for help but a small laugh started to find its way to his ears. His concerned face turned back to the closed-eye figure who now donned a devious grin and peals of laughter leaking out from it.
Antonio could only sigh and back away resting his rump on the grass once again almost nearly laughing himself.
Isabella’s figure brought itself up and she turned with her golden locks messily blocking some of her face. “Shall we do it again?” she asked still half laughing.
Antonio found himself laughing, but was suddenly interrupted by an approaching horseman.
“My lord and lady!” the soldier called out, “you are requested back at the village immediately!”
Antonio and Isabella both stood, their smiles casually leaving their faces.
“What’s wrong?” Antonio called out brushing the dirt off of his samurai regalia.
“The enemy has found us!”
Interlude
Tom was glad to see his parents after his interview with Father Xavier. Apparently they had all been briefed of the situation individually to ensure they weren’t collaborators. For their own protection they would be living there at the special station. For Tom, it felt like an old hospital—that kind of sterile feeling. The officers that moved about rarely talked to them either but at least they had comfortable rooms.
A lawyer met with them the day after to make sure they understood that they would now be under police protection for a while and that he would process their work papers while they were gone. The lawyer was a happy reminder for the family that they still lived in the real world.
The idea of being possible targets still shook them. The three of them would often sleep in the same room with the parents on the bed and Tom sleeping on the pleather sofa just to make sure their small family would not get any smaller.
Despite all this, officers had gone to their home and picked up Tom’s myriad documents and research bringing it to the station to sift through and take notes. Tom was present with his parents for most of the meetings answering the detectives’ questions.
It would be the same deal this morning. Tom and his parents filed into the sterile steel lined chamber of the conference room where two officers awaited them; a pile of Tom’s essays, drawings, and notebooks were already on the table.
The officers were always dispassionate about the meetings and simply wrote down notes. Even when asking about insane topics like a world where 53 whole countries allowed abortion on demand the officers did not flinch. Talking about gay marriage did not seem to alter the demeanor of the officers either, although it made Tom uncomfortable and his parents a bit embarrassed.
“It’s not like I want the world to be this way,” Tom had explained to his parents about all of it the other night, “it’s just what I think would have happened if the world had remained fragmented…”
He would desperately try to explain it to his parents who were just simply too dazed from this entire ordeal to absorb the historical nerdiness of their son correctly. Tom felt like they were starting to blame him for all of this.
“And what about this?” one of the officers that morning now asked breaking Tom’s thoughts.
The officer pushed forward a topographical map of the Japanese Alps with boxed Xs and boxes with slashes and dots in them strewn throughout the countryside.
“That’s the Battle of the Akaishi Mountains,” Tom replied. He had gone through identifying a lot of his drawings; it became a bit tiresome after a while.
“According to history,” the other officer began, “the Spanish troops were defeated here but you put down that if they had been victorious, history would have been changed greatly.”
Tom liked the other officer better. He had gotten to know the other officer as “Carlos” although at this point he wasn’t sure it was his real name. He must have been one of those consultant officers who were experienced in a certain field. During the course of the examination of the documents he had been questioned by this historian-officer often. He would have found it almost enjoyable to talk about history if it weren’t for the second stoic officer named “Fernando” who kept the pace a scalding eighty documents a day.
“Well, if Spain failed to produce a stronghold in Asia, they would have had no chance against China. And I figured through my initial timeline,” he pointed towards the notebook that contained the first draft of his historical tinkering. The one that had the crazy 300+ nation drawn map and such silly weak ideas like a “European Union” instead of the iron fisted centralized rule form Madrid.
“But wouldn’t the battle being won by the Spanish at the mountain make it easier for them to take Japan?” the officer inquired logically.
“Actually not necessarily,” Tom replied his eyebrows rising in a scholarly “did you know” kind of look. “If the Spanish had won that battle, it would have merely continued the massive war machine that Nobunaga was assembling. But because they lost, the Japanese thought they had sufficiently prepared for the return of the Armada and would not have continued amassing troops.”
While Tom was explaining, Fernando had felt the soft vibrations of his cell phone in his pant pocket and had fiddled with it while the boy completed his explanation. Through his sunglasses, the others couldn’t see his slightly intrigued expression.
“Excuse us for a second, folks,” he said tapping his partner on the shoulder. Fernando and Carlos left the room through a separate door.
“What is it, Jorge?” Fernando asked the man behind the huge one way mirror who had been watching the interview. Carlos took the opportunity to get a cup of coffee from the back of that dimly lit room.
“We just received this from document analysis. It was in their mail casing on their door,” the other man said his face slightly illuminated by a drag on a cigarette.
Fernando took the piece of paper and read it with squinted eyes underneath a desk lamp near the back.
“We sent out a team to this “Rodrigo’s” address already. We narrowed it down using Tom’s cell phone. If he knows something we’ll bring him in,” Jorge informed the detective.
“Yeah, that’s good,” Fernando replied nodding his head and giving the piece of paper back. He motioned for Carlos to accompany him again back into the room.
When the detectives sat back down Carlos took a sip of his coffee and Fernando returned to his statue-like appearance.
“Anyway,” Carlos resumed, “about the preparations for the Armada, we both know Japan didn’t need to build more troops. All twenty five thousand Spanish troops were captured along with the Admiral Medina Sidonia when he was sent over there.”
“That’s the point!” Tom nearly yelled out his face assuming some silly nerdish grin. “The capture of the troops was the plan all al—”
Before Tom could finish his sentence the table almost seemed to leap up at them along with a simultaneous muffled thud. After the initial surprise, Tom realized that all of them had been moved. A brief Earthquake? He asked himself. A weird sound like five people beating a hanging rug rapidly over and over was heard down the hall. That’s when the light above them went out.
Chapter XI: Infiltration and Capture (coming soon)
Last edited: