Ring of fire II (assiti shards)

by Eric Flint

  The seminarian gathered himself together. "The provincial, Father. The provincial is in your rooms, waiting for you! He sent me to find you right away!"

  Friedrich was still, thinking of all the things that the provincial's unannounced arrival could mean, most of them bad.

  "Well, Pieter," Friedrich said, smiling, and holding in all his fears, "we must go to him then, and see what has brought him all this way in such a hurry. Did he bring an entourage?"

  "No, Father, he came himself alone."

  Friedrich stopped in mid step. "He what?"

  "He is by himself, so Brother Josef said, and he arrived on horseback."

  Friedrich turned and began to quickly stride up the street to his lodgings. As van Donck tried to keep up with him, Spee broke into a jog. The little fat youth tried valiantly to keep step, but fell steadily behind. Friedrich didn't seem to notice and quickly outdistanced his secretary.

  When he reached his door, Spee pushed it open.

  "Brother Josef," he said to the doorman, "please tell me where Father Provincial is."

  "He is in your sitting room, Father," the Jesuit brother replied, "I provided him with bread and some beer."

  "Fine," Spee said. "Now when Pieter comes, please send him along to us there."

  "Yes, Father." The brother said it to Spee's back, as the Jesuit swept quickly along the hallway to the sitting room, opened the door and passed inside.

  "Father Provincial," he began, going to one knee.

  "No need, Friedrich," Nickel said, rising to greet him. "Please, sit down. We have to talk, and there may not be much time."

  "Does this have to do with the people who just tried to kill me in the cathedral?"

  "Thank God! I was not in time to warn you, but it seems you were able to foil their aim anyway," the provincial said, sinking back into his chair.

  "I think that it was not I but the Lord who foiled their aim, or at least made their pistoleer a bad shot," Spee said, smiling and taking a chair. "This has happened before, as you know, and I was spared then as well."

  "For this we can thank God, then," Nickel said.

  "I came straightaway, Father," Spee said, "so I have no idea who they were. They are under guard at the cathedral prison now."

  "I know who they are. Or at least who sent them," Nickel said.

  "They shouted the name of del Rio," Spee said quietly, hands in his lap.

  "I rather thought they might," the Provincial said. "For three years now, you have been very publicly identified as the author of the Cautio Criminalis. Not only do you not deny it, most have seen the up-timer history books that say it as well."

  "You know that I wrote it."

  "Yes, and you have done the penance I and Father General Vitelleschi deemed appropriate for writing it contrary to the directions we gave you," Nickel said. "It is done, and it is, for the most part, well done. I agree with you that witchcraft may or may not be real, but these witch trials are hideous perversions of justice and God's law." The provincial's jaw worked.

  "Unfortunately," he said, "there are those, both within the Society and without, who do not agree with us."

  Spee was silent.

  "It has not helped that the general has given you to Cardinal Mazzare to be 'his' Jesuit, along with Heinzerling," Nickel continued. "For those opposed to your view on witchcraft, this only further compounds your sin. You are in league with the Grantville demons who are perverting our Society, so they are saying."

  "I see the fine hand of some of our Spanish brothers in this," Spee said, neutrally.

  "Of course," Nickel said. "Since the pontiff has allied himself with Grantville, the Spanish crown and those of the church under its control have begun a whispering campaign, not only among the laity but among the religious as well. It seems that the pope has perhaps made league with the devil, and among the most active of his Satan-inspired associates is always the Father General Vitelleschi. Even some of our brethren in the Society have taken this point of view."

  "Let me guess," Friedrich responded. "Our brother del Rio."

  "Of course. Not only del Rio, but also your old friend and my predecessor as provincial, Hermann Baving. Baving appears to be the center of the campaign. Hermann still hates you, believes in witch trials as a way to rout out Protestants and unbelievers, and has many friends in our order."

  "It is likely," Friedrich said, "that even with clear instructions from the father general, we might have a schism in the order over this."

  "Yes. And so Father General Vitelleschi has radioed me to come to Magdeburg both for safety, and to confer with Cardinal Mazzare, and with yourself."

  "Radioed?" Friedrich was rather surprised.

  "Of course, radioed. Did you think the Society of Jesus so backward that we could not figure out how to design and build a radio?"

  "Well, I…"

  "What? Did you think that Father Kircher would not be able to tell us that you don't need a huge antenna?"

  "I suppose not."

  "Now you know. The radio is at Paderborn, in my rooms at the college. If you should ever need to use it, you must take somebody who knows the Code of Morse."

  Nickel ran his hands through his thinning hair. "The news from Rome continues to be grim, since the Spanish attacked the Holy See. Father General Vitelleschi believes that Cardinal Borja will seek to become pope. He expects this to happen any day, and he does not believe that he, Vitelleschi, will be able to stop it. Especially since it is likely that if Borja's people catch him, or the pope, for that matter, that they'll be killed."

  "We shall have a schism, then, for certain."

  "Yes," Nickel said. "It is almost upon us. That is why I have come to see the cardinal. Vitelleschi is not sure what will happen, or whether he or the pope will be killed. I am to call a general assembly of the Society here in Magdeburg if he is killed, and we are to elect a successor."

  "You will, of course, wish to be housed in the episcopal palace with the cardinal," Spee started.

  "I will not."

  "What?"

  "I expect you may have an extra room here, Friedrich?"

  "Well, yes, of course, Father," Spee said, "but…"

  "I would rather not broadcast my presence quite yet," the provincial said. "I would rather see what happens, first."

  "Your wish, Father," Spee bowed his head and sighed. And it was not yet noon, he thought.

  "I need to see the cardinal," Nickel went on. "But I don't want it advertised that I am here. Can you send someone to ask for an audience?"

  Young van Donck had come in the room some time before, and had quietly stood inside the door.

  "Pieter will go," Spee said. Van Donck looked alert.

  "Pieter, go quickly but quietly to the episcopal palace, and see if you can find Father Heinzerling. I believe he is there. Find him, and ask him to come to us, quietly please."

  "Of course, Father." Van Donck gave a quick nod to Spee, and bowed his head to the provincial of the Order, and vanished out the door. He could be heard running down the hallway, and the outside door slammed with a great thud.

  Spee and the provincial smiled at each other. "Ah, youth!" Nickel said.

  "Shall we find something to eat while we wait?" Spee asked.

  "Why not? And we can talk about better times, Friedrich," Nickel said as they went out the door and turned toward the kitchens.

  "And so I have been studying the music of Grantville," Spee said. "Not just the holy music but the popular tunes. And I have written a work of Kirchenlieder, church songs, that I was rehearsing this morning in the cathedral."

  "Their music is sometimes too strange for me," Nickel said. "Rock and roll, for example. Baving says it is the devil's own music, and I am not sure he is wrong, Friedrich."

  The kitchen door burst open, revealing young van Donck puffing as if he were one of the new steam engines. With him were two of the cardinal's guard.

  "Cardinal Mazzare says you are to come to him now!" van Donck said. "There are n
ew messages from Rome!"

  Nickel and Spee hurried to the door. There was a carriage waiting in the alley. They climbed in, followed by the guards and van Donck. As they shut the door, they were jolted back into their seats when the carriage moved.

  Van Donck started to pull open the window curtain.

  "Don't." Spee put out his hand in warning. "It would not be wise for Father Nickel to be seen."

  Within minutes the carriage pulled up to the back entrance of the episcopal palace. The guards hustled the three Jesuits out of the carriage and up the steps into the building. Waiting for them inside the entrance was Father Heinzerling. The normally jovial Jesuit was solemn to the point of tears.

  "Come quickly," he said, turning and ushering them down a long corridor.

  "Come in, Father Provincial," the cardinal said.

  "Your Eminence," Nickel knelt and kissed Mazzare's ring. Spee and van Donck did likewise.

  "There, now that's over with," Mazzare said, brushing back his sleeves. "Please sit down."

  There was a long conference table littered with maps and papers in the room. At one end, a fireplace, cold and dark in the heat of summer in the Germanies. Above the mantel, a painting of the pope, Urban VIII. At the other end of the room, as if staring the pope down, was a painting of King Gustav, the emperor of the United States of Europe.

  They took chairs at one end of the table. Mazzare sat at the head.

  "Why are you here, Father Nickel?" the cardinal asked.

  "I have been in contact with Father General Vitelleschi, Eminence," Nickel said, "by radio."

  "Aha!" The cardinal slapped the table. "I knew it. Mike Stearns owes me money. I told him the Jebbies would be able to figure out how to build radios on the q.t., given enough time. He didn't believe me, but now he will have to." He looked across the table at Nickel. "And what does the father general say?"

  "Much the same as he told me when I left Rome in May. And of course, what he predicted," Nickel paused, "has sadly come to pass."

  Mazzare grimaced. "And what does the Black Pope think, now that he's been on the run for two months?"

  "That he believed that Borja's conclave would elect him pope very soon, and that he, Vitelleschi, and Pope Urban would have prices on their heads."

  "That much we know," Mazzare said. "I've just come from a meeting with Piazza, Stearns and Nasi… the Spaniards have consolidated their hold on Rome and the Campania. We think Borja will be declared pope shortly."

  "So the general believed two days ago when he radioed me," Nickel agreed. "He sent me to you with some advice for you, and instructions for me."

  "Go on," Mazzare said.

  "He believes that the pope may be assassinated, like many of the cardinals loyal to the house of Barberini have already been. Father General Vitelleschi told me to tell you that if the pope dies, you may want to think about holding a rival conclave here." Nickel stared at the Grantviller. "And if we find that he is also dead, I am to hold a general assembly of the order under your authority to elect a new superior general."

  "Did Vitelleschi say who he recommended as his successor?"

  "Me."

  "Well, then we must both pray to be spared these cups, don't you think?" Mazzare smiled, a wintry smile.

  "Indeed, Eminence, indeed." Nickel matched Mazzare's bitter smile.

  "Shall we have an anti-pope, then?" Spee asked quietly.

  "It looks like we already do, Friedrich," Mazzare said. "And his name is Borja."

  "While we wait for news," Nickel said, "I must be about the tasks that the father general set me. I have his commission as his deputy while he is out of touch, and I think I should begin to draw the reins of the society in before our brothers in Spain begin to do it instead."

  "Wise move," Mazzare said.

  "Friedrich," Nickel said, "would you be willing to be my secretary for a while this evening? And Meester van Donck as well?"

  "Of course, Father," Spee quickly agreed. Van Donck nodded his agreement as well.

  "Then, with Your Eminence's permission, might we use this room as our offices for the evening?"

  "Yes, of course," Mazzare said. "I will send somebody with refreshments while you work. And now, if you will forgive me, I must see the prime minister." Mazzare swept out of the room.

  Friedrich marveled at how different his friend from Grantville had become. Well, not different, exactly, he mused, but the cardinal's hat sat well on him.

  Nickel's cough brought him out of his reverie. "So Friedrich, we need to write to Baving, and to the other senior members of the order, and tell them that it is the father general's orders that the Society of Jesus will support the properly elected pope, and that is Pope Urban VIII. You know what to say. Van Donck, come with me, I have other writing for you to do." Nickel moved down the table a ways.

  Spee pulled out a piece of paper, and got one of the new metal pens from the inkstand. As always, he began his first letter the same way.

  "A. M. D. G," he wrote.

  Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam-to the greater glory of God…

  "Friedrich Spee von Langenfeld, priest of the Society of Jesus, this seventh day of August, in the year of our Lord 1635…" he wrote.

  Suddenly, he felt a chill. August the seventh, 1635. His mind raced back to his first morning in Grantville, over three years ago, now. He remembered standing in the kitchen of Larry Mazzare's rectory, with the Catholic Encyclopedia in his hands. Standing, trembling, almost unable to read the words on the pages open before him. After three years, he found he could recite them verbatim. "A poet, opponent of trials for witchcraft, born at Kaiserswerth on the Rhine, 25 February, 1591; died at Trier 7 August, 1635."

  He could not believe he had forgotten. His pen dropped to the table.

  "What is wrong, Friedrich?" Father Nickel asked, hurrying back up the table.

  "Ah… nothing, really, Father," Friedrich gave a huge sigh. "Just a personal realization."

  "And what was it?" Nickel pressed.

  "In the original time line, before Grantville came to us," Spee said heavily, and then paused. "In the original time line, today I would have died in Trier of some plague contracted from nursing soldiers in the hospital. I had forgotten the date."

  "Ah," the provincial said. "It must be a shock. To know what might have been."

  "I am sure you know about yourself, too, Father," Spee said, looking Nickel in the eyes.

  "Yes, and I sincerely hope that I do not become general of the society twenty years before I did, eh, before I would have… ach, there are not the right tenses to discuss this time travel!" Nickel grimaced.

  "Friedrich," he said, gently, "this is why I believe that we are not inspired by the devil, no matter what Borja and Baving and del Rio would like the world to believe. Because Grantville exists, Trier has not been overrun, and one of our great hymnists can still write to the greater glory of God. And you were spared yet again, in the cathedral this morning. Now write, for we have an important task, and you have been spared by God to do it."

  Friedrich Spee von Langenfeld walked back from the cathedral after the Sunday mass where he had conducted the premiere of his new music. He had noticed that there were many smiling faces, and he'd noticed that the cardinal's foot was tapping in time to the music during the performance.

  Spee started whistling as he walked down the heavily graveled street to his lodgings. American music certainly was strange. He'd had the cardinal explain the lyrics of many songs to him, but he still was puzzled, especially by one song in particular. It was beginning to drive him crazy, because the melody was so hard to get out of his head. Like right now, for instance.

  He found himself whistling the chorus over and over. "Singin' this'll be the day that I die."

  Command Performance

  David Carrico

  Magdeburg

  Friday, October 14, 1633

  Franz knocked on the door, and waited impatiently for someone to answer. Marla made a slight grunt, and her hold on his arm
became a fierce clutch. He leaned over to her bowed head, and said, "But a moment more, and you will be out of the rain and able to sit." She nodded her head slightly, and he straightened.

  At that moment, the door opened and a young woman looked out at them. "Yes?" she said in accented English.

  "Fraulein Marla Linder, come at Frau Simpson's invitation," Franz replied.

  The young woman opened the door wide. "Please, come in. Wilkommen."

  Franz led Marla into the house. The comparative warmth of the sitting room was a very welcome change from the liquid ice of the October rain, and he heard her sigh. Another woman swept into the room from a side door as the maid shut the front door behind them.

  "Miss Linder, I am so glad to finally meet you face to face," the newcomer exclaimed.

  Franz was in no doubt as to who this was, although he had never seen her before in his life. Even in Grantville they had begun to hear of Mary Simpson, the Dame of Magdeburg, whose grace and courtesy had charmed even the young myrmidons of the Committees of Correspondence.

  Marla's fingers clenched on his arm again. "Your pardon, Frau Simpson," Franz hastily interjected, "but it would be a kindness if Marla could sit down."

  Mrs. Simpson's beaming smile shifted to an expression of concern, and her eyes widened as she took Marla's hands. "Dear, your hands are like ice! You poor thing." Mary released Marla's hand and began unfastening buttons. "At the end of a long journey, and you're soaking wet and cold. Hilde, help take her coat." With the maid's help, the drenched coat was removed and hung up. "Come with us, and we'll get you warm and dry."

  The serving woman led Marla out of the sitting room as Mary turned to Franz. "Please, make yourself at home, while we take care of Miss Linder. Tell me, Mr…" she looked at him in inquiry.

  "Franz Sylwester, Frau Simpson," he responded with a slight bow.

  Mary smiled. "Oh, good, I was hoping to meet you. We'll talk later, but for right now, do you know if Marla gets like this often? How long has she been hurting?"