Pathspace

by Matthew Kennedy

Chapter 39

  Peter: “for those who chose and oppose”

  He knew that he should leave such things to those he had assigned to them, but he could not resist checking the preparations again. “You're sure all of the entrances are covered?”

  “Positive, sir,” said Lancer. “No one is going to get at His Holiness while he's here.”

  “That's what the last one thought, before they plugged poor Pope Rodrigo,” said Peter. But of course that wasn't here. His own residence was more secure. Wasn't it?

  “Someone's coming,” they heard.

  He glanced around the room another time. Katarina looked up as he did so, a question on her face. “I think he's here,” he told her, straightening his jacket.

  “You look fine,” she said. “Don't fidget. It makes you look weak.”

  Someone knocked on the door. He turned and opened it, but the man standing there was not the Pope, or even one of the papal guard. “What is it, Julio?”

  The man saluted and held out an envelope. “Message from Quintus, sir. He said you will find it both relieving and disturbing, sir.”

  “Did he, now?” Peter accepted the envelope and returned the salute, dismissing the courier.

  “Who is it?” Katerina asked.

  “Just a message,” he told the Honchessa.

  “He's not canceling, is he? The cook will be furious.”

  “No,” he said. He broke the wax seal and removed the papers enclosed within the envelope. “It's a report from the scouts.”

  “And about time! Is Jeffrey all right?”

  He read to the bottom, then started from the beginning again. “Yes, that's the odd thing. This report is from Jeffrey. Not from our usual banger.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Completely. It's signed 'Pelion' which is his personal call sign. He chose that because it's the name of a J-shaped mountain peninsula in Greece. I used to think it was his way of proving he remembers his Geopolitics lessons.”

  “Why didn't he have the usual man send it?”

  “He must have been in a hurry. Or he wanted to make sure no one else saw it.” And with good reason! He's accusing his Commander of war crimes...or what would have been war crimes, if a state of war existed. Which it obviously would, soon.

  “Why the hurry? And how is he doing?”

  “No so well, apparently. They were captured by Rado, but managed to escape. He doesn't mention any injuries,” he added, before she could ask. “But there are other problems he wanted me to know about before they sent the official report.”

  “What sort of problems?”

  “Nothing I can't handle,” he said. But as the old cliché went, the report raised more questions than it answered. How had he managed to send it without Brutus watching? Had the commander gotten himself wounded during the escape? It was going to be very awkward when they returned. Brutus was his most experienced officer. It would be bad for morale if he let this matter reach a formal court-martial...and bad for discipline if he didn't, if too many people knew.

  Just what we need: more complications.

  He slipped the papers into an inner pocket of his jacket and poured himself a shot of Balcones whiskey. Taking a sip pf the liquid fire, he reflected that Brutus and the Balcones were both products of Texas grain that took time to appreciate. Unfortunately, while his son had spent plenty of time getting to know firewater, he'd never taken a shine to Commander Glock.

  It had been Peter's hope that this scouting mission would rectify that a little. Brutus was like good booze. In times of stress, you soon learned you could rely on both. No, the man wasn't sweet like pancake syrup. Like a good shot of Jack, he could make you rethink your willingness to acquire familiarity. Just as good bourbon could make you cough and bring tears to the eyes of a newcomer, Brutus could alarm new recruits with his callousness and disconcert them with his apparent fearlessness under fire. Yes, he could be a bully. But not a coward.

  Well, so much for plans of bonding. The Runt sounded like he wanted to bring Brutus up on charges, and that was likely to hamper the process. And as Honcho, he'd be square in the middle between his heir and his best officer.

  There was another knock at the door. It returned him to the present. Let the future take care of itself. “Yes?”

  “We've sighted the Pope's coach, sir.”

  How do I handle it all? The same way I always have. Plan for the future when you can, and the rest of the time deal with the present. “We'll be in the study.”

  Katarina accepted his arm and he led her into the study, where she ensconced herself in a rattan chair by the fireplace and busied herself with appearing idle, lifting a slim volume that she pretended to have been reading. He seized the poker, prodded the dimly glowing coals, and decided to set another split log on top of them. It had been getting colder lately, as winter came on, and for all he knew the new Pope (what was his name again?) might be elderly and sensitive to the cold. The stirred coals shone a little more brightly as the fresh addition began to hiss, their ruddy glow reflecting off of the hundreds of hand-bound volumes and folios decorating the shelves of his study.

  He turned at the sound of the door. “Your Holiness,” he said, extending a hand, “so good of you to visit us on such a chilly evening. I trust you are well?”

  The man in white clasped his hand with a slight smile, evidently knowing he could not expect the traditional ring kiss from the Honcho. “Let's not be over-formal,” he suggested. “Here in private, please call me Enrique. How can we be of service to your Excellency?”

  “Peter, please, if we're cutting the bullshit. How are you settling in? “

  “As one of Pope Rodrigo's advisors, I've been in Dallas for a couple of years now, so I already know my way around, as it were,” said Enrique. “I was surprised at your invitation. I had expected our first encounter to take place at your headquarters in the 'scraper.”

  “Oh, my apologies, Ricky, I wasn't sure how old you were,” said Peter. “For all I knew the College of Cardinals had elected another geezer, and I didn't want to risk him climbing all those stairs and maybe forcing another election.”

  “Kind of you to be so concerned,” said Enrique, “but as you can see I'm younger than the usual successor. The College decided a bit more vigor is in order these days.”

  In other words, two years in Dallas was enough for you to establish an adequate power base. Despite himself, Peter was impressed. This new pontiff was just what the TCC needed to take full advantage of the expansion of the Lone Star Empire he was planning. “And rightly so,” he said. “Would you care for a shot of Jack to warm your bones?”

  Enrique smiled. “It would hardly be polite of me to refuse the offer,” he said, and accepted the glass from Peter as he seated himself in one of the padded chairs. “Forgive me for observing,” he said, after a judicious sip, “that you haven't answered my question. How can we be of service?”

  Peter lowered himself into another of the chairs and regarded him over his own glass. “As one of the lamented late Rodrigo's advisors, I'm sure you know why I went to see him on the occasion of his regrettable demise.”

  “Yes,” said Enrique. “You need fuel for your rediscovered military machines, and you want to use swizzles and everflames to extract and distill it.” He took another sip. “As Pope, I am of course officially shocked at such a plan. But as a man of the world, I see the necessity.”

  Peter showed some surprise. “You do? Excellent. I believe that poor Rodrigo was amenable to our intentions, but I had feared the change of leadership in the TCC might require the newcomer to establish his credibility with more conservative policies, at least at first.”

  “Yes, that doesn't surprise me. It is common to see the Church as a voice of restraint, telling people what they shouldn't do. But Jesus did not come to make more rules, you know. In fact, He showed how the commandments could be simplified. As He said, love God, and love thy neighbor, and all else follows from that. The rest is just details.”


  “More or less,” the Honcho agreed. “But it's not always that simple, Ricky. In order to bring peace to a warring land, we must first fight to unify it. We won't get Rado back into the arms of the Church by simply loving them. We both know there will be plenty of blood spilled before they pour out the sacramental wine.”

  “Indeed. And the sooner the fighting is over, the fewer lives will be lost. Therefore, your new mechanized army. I understand all too well the need for swizzles to extract the oil and everflames to distill out the necessary fuels, just as you understand the Church has long opposed any continued use of the demonic magic of the aliens. In this time of need, the Church can look the other way as long as you do not embarrass us with too flagrant or too public a use of the alien technology.”

  You'll not make a fuss, he thought, mainly because you know my victories will also be yours. I'll get more territory and resources – and you'll get more worshipers and tithes. But there was no need to state the obvious. “With regard to that,” he said, “I did have a favor to ask.”

  Enrique met his gaze. “And what might that be?”

  “People like to gossip,” said Peter, “yet often stories told have their foundation in fact. Word has reached me that the Church has a storehouse of confiscated Gifts. It's said you have many swizzles and everflames and such, seized in ecclesiastical raids here and in Mexico, that could be of enormous help to the fuel effort.”

  “Ah,” said Enrique. “Were my advisers here with me, they would undoubtedly recommend that I deny such rumors as baseless slanders.”

  “I'm sure,” said the Honcho. “But are they?”

  “Let us be honest with each other, Peter,” said the Pope. “I will not waste your time with such transparent evasions. The warehouse exists – but I'm afraid it won't help you to know that.”

  Peter frowned. “Why not?”

  “You must understand,” said the pontiff, “that while the Church can avoid any official recognition of your use of alien witchcraft as you do not flaunt it publicly, it is quite another thing to actively supply you with such abominations.” He sipped and continued. “Your discretion with the use of your own Gifts would give the Church plausible deniability, and we could look the other way. But if we authorized the transfer of confiscated material from the Church warehouse too many people would be involved. Word would get out, and cast us in an unfavorable light of hypocrisy, I'm afraid. It is out of the question.”

  Damn it! Peter forced himself to appear placid. “I am sorry to hear that, Ricky.”

  “As I am sorry to say it. But we might be able to help you another way.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. There are some of these devices which have escaped our raids. We could point you in the right direction, so to speak, and let you act on such information as you will. For example, the Balcones distillery at Waco, I believe, has at least three everflames in continuous operation. You could acquire them.”

  “Heaven forbid!” Peter said, with a wry grin. “After all, some things are sacred.” He topped off the Pope's glass with more of the amber fluid.

  “True,” conceded Enrique. “But other locations on the list might be helpful.”

  “To a long and mutually beneficial relationship,” said Peter, raising his glass.