Chapter XXXI: The Scarlet Academy
September 21, 1582
Cardinal DeWitt made himself as comfortable as possible on the guest chair provided for him by the University of Salamanca. Being an old and treasured institution throughout the kingdom, the University was indeed the second center of learning for the majority of the Iberian Peninsula until more money had been spent on other institutions throughout the land.
In fact, ever since the end of the last wars in Europe, the monarchy had significant funds by which to improve the machinations of the local population. Through careful savings and reduction of technological investment, every January the monarchy splurged what funds it had into improvements. The fresh infusion of capital earned from taxes ensured that inflation remained low—although this was a phenomenon not entirely understood by most at court. Already, the capital at Madrid was furnished with a beautiful symposium of Fine Arts and purported itself to be the intellectual capital of the Renaissance and the budding Baroque movement.
For Cardinal DeWitt, however, having been bred as a warrior and boasting that his only artistic inclination was the thrust of his spear; the finer points of the rising Spanish civilization escaped him at times. Even though he had spent the last week giving guest lectures on the solvency of the current economic model, the undeniable truths of Mother Church, and of his own humble history, he more often relied on the strength of his conviction than on the elegance of his argumentation.
Nonetheless, it was this man whom Antonio and his father entrusted for the civil administration as Substitute while the Far East campaign continued. Perhaps it was that sense of duty to his friends that made Cardinal DeWitt exceed his own zones of comfort. Luckily, he also had another task to focus his thoughts while he was there at the University of Salamanca. In this place, he had been assigned to detect and root out heresy.
“Good afternoon, Your Eminence,” the rector said lowly as he approached the sitting Cardinal and gave that tall man a kiss on the ring.
“Good afternoon, Brother Ricardo,” was the jovial response given in return.
Within the hosting chamber of the University, the Cardinal was surrounded by the latest of the High Renaissance art. Although the walls themselves were reminiscent of the castles of an older generation, they were decorated by the hanging portraits and tapestries that displayed the glorious achievements of alumni.
Cardinal DeWitt chose the largest seat within that fireplace warmed chamber not for some reason of pretense but simply because it was the only fixture that would accommodate his imposing frame. The rector, on the other hand, found a nice seat opposite his superior. The rector was slightly older than the visiting Cardinal and sported the habit of a Dominican although it was expected that at the end of his tenure as rector there, someone from the surging Society of Jesus would be filling his role as head of the University. It was in the twilight of his career that the rector now faced the inquisitor from Madrid.
“I wanted to thank you for lecturing to our students here, Your Eminence,” the rector began as he took his seat. He seemed to fold his hands onto his lap and round his old head with a generous smile. His old age seemed to make that circular frame droop forward as if it was a loose bob merely hanging onto the rest of the body with thread.
“You have been very kind to have me. It’s certainly been a pleasure to see the future of our great nation beginning to attain form in these halls.” The Cardinal’s voice seemed to echo like a tenor choir in the vast chamber. “But I also hope that you know the other reason why I’ve visited you here this week.”
It hardly seemed possible, but the old rector stretched his face further into that smile so that his eyelids began to eclipse his view.
“I’ve been rector here for so many years now,” the old man nearly laughed out, “I have been through my share of Inquisitions.”
The Cardinal nodded approvingly. “Well, the final reports from my assistants have reported that this university’s teachings are in accordance with canon law and current established theology.”
The rector nodded expectedly at that.
“There was, however, the incident at the water fountain a few years back.”
As Cardinal DeWitt faced his host, the rector’s eyes suddenly presented themselves while his entire face still curved in a smile. He almost had a fiendish look to his sudden expression.
“I’m sure your assistants would have told you that the incident was taken care of in accordance with canon law as well, Your Eminence,” the rector spoke almost through his teeth.
Cardinal DeWitt gave Brother Ricardo an interrogative glance before nodding it away. “It would be unfair to all establishments everywhere to assume that nothing can go wrong. We believe you handled that incident with the proper tact.”
The rector’s old eyes receded once more into the smile. It was then that the door’s iron knocker signaled a visitor. Before both men could turn to face the portal, a page’s head was already inserted through a small opening.
“Your Eminence, I’m afraid I have some disturbing news. There’s a messenger approaching from the University of Toledo,” the page let out as if racing his very breath.
With a look of concerned contemplation, the Cardinal nodded before saying, “let him in here when he arrives.” He then turned to his host and asked “I hope you don’t mind?”
With the rector’s almost shuddering shake of his head, the Cardinal once more gave a nod to his page who swiftly sped away allowing the door to slam a coffin-like sealed to the old and spacious room.
“Tell me, Brother Ricardo, do you know much about the University of Toledo?” the Cardinal asked now that most of the official business was done with.
“I’m afraid not much, Your Eminence, surely less than you probably know,” the rector began, “It was founded about two decades ago as an experiment in secular education, as I recall.”
The Cardinal nodded in acknowledgement to his host. It was true; the University built at Toledo was an experiment in State-run schooling instead of Church-run schooling. Partly, it was because with the rapid growth of the state coffers, there was a huge shortage of priests, brothers, and other religious to house all the new school projects planned and paid for. Ironically, it was the explosive growth of the nation that began to thin out their supply of religious educators forcing this new university to be run by alumni and graduates from previous universities.
It was with that in mind that Cardinal DeWitt pondered what kind of trouble brewed from there. It was not that he necessarily objected to this idea short term, it was that the only message of trouble had come from that location. Already, he had toured nearly all the Universities of the Peninsula starting in Valladolid but none had any major problems systemically. If there was a problem at the secular university, it could mean the loss of state-run education.
“The messenger, Your Eminence,” the page said pushing the Cardinal out of his thoughts. Both the Cardinal and the rector stood up as a man hastily made his way into the chamber. The Cardinal could see that the man almost ran across the space of the room before he came to a halt in front of him, bowed to one knee, and kissed his ring.
“Have a seat, son, and tell us what’s the matter there at the University to the South,” the rector invited while the Cardinal took his seat again. He was a bit surprised at the strangeness of the urgency brought on by the man.
“Thank you,” the man replied as he took a seat hastily and all the while perching at the very edge of it as he looked at the other two. He sat directly opposite from the fireplace with the Cardinal to his left and the rector to his right. As the other two looked towards him, his eyes seemed to flare with the reflection of the flame of the hearth which punctuated the anxiety of his visit.
“When I heard that the Cardinal was inspecting the Universities, I knew that I had to come here right away,” the messenger began. “A year ago, Your Eminence, you had sent me to the University of Toledo as an observer to make sure that the project was progressing at a good pace and that the level of education received was that of the standards of the Kingdom.”
The Cardinal nodded as he looked into the burning eyes of that man.
“The report I have to give now is that I have discovered something that has gone without supervision or oversight.”
“What is it?” the Cardinal almost demanded.
“There are societies that are beginning to form at the university; societies that meet in secret.”
Cardinal DeWitt’s eyes narrowed as he began to hear the news. The messenger’s face suddenly dropped and his elbows met his knees in a kind of halfway agony as he composed his memories before looking back up to the prelate.
“I was able to investigate into these societies and what I found was disturbing. It was not just heresy, but depravity of the highest degree…”
As the Cardinal looked on, he noticed that the messenger’s face began to look paler and colder. “Go on, my son,” the Cardinal encouraged.
“They would… speak…” the messenger’s voice began to break as he spoke, “of carnal pleasure… incest… rape… and they would…find these stories and actions humorous and—and—they would take turns…”
For a moment, the young man relaying this bowed his head again and squeezed his knees with his palms before looking back up to his patron who was now watching with a disturbed and shocked expression.
What came next, as the young messenger repeated for them, was a string of obscenities. Of families performing acts which would rob innocence by the very mention of such actions. For almost five minutes the two clergymen were fixed into their chair by the horrendous recollection relayed to them. The acidic words being relayed by their shaky messenger was like a gorgon’s spell that trapped them in their chairs.
“And when… when this abomination would come to an end, all of them would take a bow…” the messenger finished.
“Who…? Who were doing and telling these terrible things?” demanded the rector obviously shaken.
For a moment, the messenger squeezed against his knees once more as if to pump courage into his heart. His eyes, which had found the floor, now looked up to his patron before he exclaimed, “The Aristocrats!”
The silence in the room would have been comical if it were not for the drained expressions on all three individuals. The pallid texture of their faces seemed to match the very grayness of the walls hidden behind each hanging exposition of talent.
“Thank you, my son,” the Cardinal said with a pastoral tone, “I will accompany you down there immediately and I will address this matter personally.”
With an encouraged nod, the young messenger began to smile in thanks as if attempting to dispel the bile he just spewed. All of them rose from their seats and the Cardinal thanked the rector for his visit before filing outwards to an awaiting carriage.
As Cardinal DeWitt loaded his coach, he looked to the brave messenger saddle his horse. The horse itself must have come from the stable of the University of Toledo for it still bore the colours of that school: a stark scarlet.
---
Antonio watched the ensuing battle from the window with a kind of detached worry. It had already been a week since the assault began and in a few days the approaching armies of the Ming would catch up with them if they had not taken the city by then. The screen of smoke that engulfed an entire side of the fortified battlement seemed to seethe with relentless and defiant fire. Men, on this day of another offensive, stormed with ladders upward until the entire side visible to Antonio seemed like a criss-cross of wood decorated by climbing bodies of men.
He knew that somewhere down there the colours of Jakob flew in the engulfing wind caused by the conflagrations throughout the city. He also knew that the banner of his good general Grubby was being borne by the grunts up the battlements. Perhaps in a day or two the city would be flowing with Spanish troops and the flag of the Habsburg domains raised above the Keep.
It was in this mode of thought behind the window that Antonio realized that when that day comes, he would have to confront his friends with the truth. When they returned to their headquarters from the battle he would then have to explain to them what had transpired. Looking up to the sky which rumbled with the darkness of charred particles, he prayed that if this could be avoided, hopefully it would be so, but that he gave himself up to the Truth. He would have to explain everything. Including how he had killed Sebastian Royce.
---
Sweet’s journey had been a long one, but he had ridden relentlessly. That young man barely needed sleep as his expression always betrayed tiredness tempered by endless kinetic potential, anyway. Changing horses three times along his journey, he finally made it to the outskirts of the capital of the Ming.
Looming before him with battlements as high as the walls of Constantinople and bristling with swords and spears, the sight was an impressive display of the safety by which the empire of the Ming desired for its chief city. He dismounted a mile away from the main gate with a look of tired consternation. It had been several days since he had been asleep, but his mission was an important one. Turning to his left to the home along the road, he noticed the town house fixed with a beautiful courtyard among other amenities provided by an otherwise wealthy estate.
Leaving his horse to wander, he entered the building and walked about the corridors to the various rooms with a quiet familiarity until he reached the quiet inner sanctum of the second courtyard within.
“You’ve returned, my little Chun,” was the slippery voice from the other side of the inner courtyard.
Sweet turned to that direction and could only see the faint glow of candlelight within the walls. The darkened twigs and branches that fell off during the autumn season littered the sanctity of the inner sanctuary. Sweet had almost forgotten his real name when he heard it but nonetheless he froze against the inner wall with caution.
“I heard the woman could be found here,” Sweet responded in the same Han tongue as the woman speaking to him.
“Yes,” was the strained response, “as you asked, she is here.”
Suddenly, a door opened on the left side of the quad where a confused lady stood in fright. She held onto her beautiful dress as the wind fluttered it about. Sweet immediately recognized her as the wife of Akanishi. As soon as this recognition filtered into his mind, the door snapped close again.
“It’s been a while since you were here,” the voice called out again, “since you trained with your other brothers and sisters in this courtyard.”
“I’ve come back, Nia,” was the blunt declaration from Sweet, “in exchange for this woman. She is my final promise.”
A quiet stir came upon the whole house and it seemed as if the candles behind each wall ached with sudden conversation.
“You will trade yourself for the woman?” Nia asked.
“My master has informed me that after she is delivered to him, I will no longer receive any pay.”
On opposite sides of the courtyard the two speaking voices were like two beacons across a gulf as wide as an ocean. Years of disconnection had brought them apart, but male and female energies seemed to whirl the twigs and leaves in the middle of them once more. In that dim moonlight, Sweet knelt down on one knee with his katana placed to his side.
“I’m home,” Sweet whispered.
The voice which returned flowed towards him like a fragrance from a flower: “welcome home.”
Father Francis took a moment to look through the glaring glass of the museum’s artifacts while his noble colleague prepared the meeting with the curator there to inspect the site where they found the last of the three artifacts that Professor Cole was now investigating.
Within its capsule of glass there was a manuscript that caught the priest’s eye; it was a description of one of the chief enemies of the Ming who fought there at Guangzhou, the infamous Dutch general Schenkhuizen. The way he had landed on the beach from the Armada earned him the Chinese nickname which in Spanish would be translated to “Orca.” Looking further, Father Francis noticed that the European nickname “Grubby” that general was given for having served four kings and his voraciousness for loot also spread to the Chinese defenders. To commemorate this, the Chinese made his portrait look like a barbaric half man half pig like monster.
Father Francis couldn’t help but laugh at this portion of the exhibit, but his patron called him forward.
“They’re ready to let us into the study room now, Father,” Duke Jimenes said.
The spacious museum dedicated to the battle of Guangzhou had been a recent addition to the landscape of that Cantonese area. It was a halfway point in meeting with growing cultural sentiment while reinforcing the hegemony of the global state based in Madrid. Especially in China where a huge population lived so far away from the central administration, more conciliatory means were necessary to keep the population somewhat satisfied.
The modern facilities within the study room had the air of a microchip research plant that Father Francis had the luxury of visiting when he visited a parish in Northern California the other year. The artifacts within were kept with specific atmosphere conditions in mind and the robotic arms that supported the scientists even moved with a clean sound like one would hear if they scrubbed at a glass surface with cleanser too long.
For Father Francis, the surrounding environment nearly blinded him. The whiteness of the walls and floor refracted with the glass surfaces along the sides of the room where the white coat workers were studying various items.
At the far end of the hall, they were met with a lady in a similar dress but without the white cowl, goggles, that would have otherwise hidden her beautiful features.
“Good afternoon gentlemen, I’ll be your liaison to the site below,” the woman said.
“The dig is underneath the building?” Father Francis asked sincerely.
The Duke gave him a smiling nod before they followed the woman into an elevator.
“Have you been working at the site long Miss…?” Duke Jimenes inquired.
The young lady looked towards the both of them and gave them a vibrant smile, “Miss Obidos; and yes I’ve been plundering the secrets here for a long while now.”
---
Andrew rubbed Marcus’s shoulder gently running those emaciated fingers against that orb of flesh and bone.
“How was your party, darling?” the crazed inquiry came from behind her.
“Unfortunately, we didn’t get what we wanted. That silly Janus betrayed us,” Marcus replied with an exaggerated huff. “Tseng, how much longer?”
“Five more hours until we reach Beijing, sir,” the mercenary responded after looking back into the cabin of that private jet.
Marcus sighed with as much flare as a bored teenager. Quickly shuffling back her jacket onto her shoulders with no care for the spidery fingers that were now denied the touch of her sickly pale flesh, she hopped over to the other side of the cabin and reached forward to her laptop.
With a quick tap of activation, she saw the familiar flow of images and icons presented to her. Pressing one of these icons with strange runic symbols upon it, she spoke calmly into the microphone.
“You’ll need to reroute where the Timepiece is heading back into the continent,” she said.
“Is there a problem?” was the voice from the speakers.
“Little China was a little trap, I’m afraid the Timepiece will probably meet the same preparation.”
“Understood,” was the final word before a small electric click signaled that the line had closed.
With an elbow on the table and fingers across her crazed lips, Marcus Councilman used her mouse to signal the activation of another icon. Flashing on the screen was the symbol of a double headed eagle set against a crimson background.
“Let’s see what secrets we can take advantage of today,” she whispered impishly.
On the screen flashed the logo once more and a chat prompt emerged. “Welcome back to the Academy, hotstuff,” one of the users had typed upon her entry.
Chapter XXXII: Secrets (coming soon)
