"The real question is: how far does the Inquisition Committee want to take this," Professor said as he puffed on a pipe. Laid out in front of him was a map of the city of Rome. In it had been placed two red pins. One marked "Palazzo Spada," where they were, and the other marked "Lateran Palace," where Caterina had been taken. The middle-aged gentleman frowned and crossed his arms as he surveyed the map.
Professor calmly continued: "The Duchess of Milan is a cardinal and His Holiness' sister. They can't really mean to give her the death penalty?"
"I think eventually they'll have to pull down the fist they've raised. I think they will do whatever it takes," Abel replied as he adjusted the collar of his cassock.
"The situation really can't get any worse. It's hard to see how we're going to get a good outcome," Tres' voice came from the back of the warehouse. He was busy with something.
"Things can't get any worse for me. Caterina's name wasn't on the last list. They probably suspect me now too," Antonio Borgia wailed with an expression like he had to shoulder the worst of the world's woes alone. The young aristocrat was sitting in front of the fireplace, toying with his long hair. "If we protect her, we may as well turn ourselves in. I'm right, aren't I? I'm good at women making sacrifices for me, not the other way round."
"Anyway, Antonio, the list that you burnt in Cologne, didn't include Caterina's name, correct?" Abel interrupted Antonio's complaints. If he was allowed to continue, then the sun would set before they got anywhere. "Are you very sure?"
"I swear. Do you think I'd have been in the company of such a dangerous woman if I'd known her name was on that list?" Antonio finished with a firm nod of his head. It was certainly a persuasive explanation. "The list that the Department of Inquisition says they've found must be a fabrication, without a doubt. A master copy? There never was one in the first place."
Outside, the snow was still tailing. From the special office at the top of Palazzo Spada, one could see the deserted main street. Abel had been watching the falling snow outside the window, but now, he turned around to Antonio and asked, "What do you mean? How can there be no master copy?"
"It's just as I said. As far as I know. New Vatican never created a master copy. There were duplicates but never a master copy. So the Inquisition Committee must have a fake," Antonio explained, but he wasn't making things any clearer.
"There were duplicates but never a master copy. A strange assertion to make," Professor said as smoke escaped his mouth. His voice was listless but there was a sharp light burning in his eyes as he fixed his gaze on the cardinal. "If there was never a master copy, how are there duplicates?"
"Cherubim."
"Cherubim?"
Cherubim were angels who defended wisdom. The two priests frowned at this. Antonio went on to describe what he really meant: "He is a close advisor to Alfonso. He has an amazing memory. It is rumored that he remembers the names of every single participant in New Vatican."
"But that means, you..." Abel was cut off though.
"I memorized only the names of the clergy involved. There were roughly five hundred involved in total. 'Cherubim' knows those names and even the names of their followers. He must have memorized close to thirty thousand full names. I've heard that it's not just names he knows... but he also knows all their secrets... everything from accounts to the hiding places of weapons."
"That is amazing. But Archbishop d'Este must be in an insecure position too then. If this person betrays him, everything would be leaked," Professor said.
"Oh, that wouldn't be possible," Professor shrugged and then lightly tapped the table. "A Cherubim isn't capable of ordinary conversation. He can only memorize information and when asked, reply."
"Huh? He's like a computer. But wait a second. If we can secure this man, then we can settle all of this! Accounts and weapon records won't be on this fake list, will they? And this Cherubim is going to be more believable than some list. It's evidence of resistance!"
Abel was so excited, he started to spit. However, Antonio's face hardened. He shielded his face from the flying phlegm and shrugged.
"If we can find him. We don't know if Cherubim is dead or alive. He was in Spilberk Castle at Brno, but he may have died when Brno fell. Even if he escaped with Alfonso..."
"We don't know where Archbishop d'Este is. How are we going to find a man who has evaded capture even with the whole of the Vatican searching for him? Any ideas, Father Nightroad?" Professor turned to Abel after listening to Bishop of Valencia. He seemed unexcited.
"I think it's probably better if we give up on this line of inquiry. And anyway... Oh? What's the matter, Father Tres?" Abel was distracted.
The back of the special office was Professor's laboratory, and it was packed full of various pieces of equipment. From out of there appeared a small priest, swamped under a small mountain of luggage.
"Hey, where are you going with that, Tres?!" Abel called out.
Abel jumped to his feet. Hanging from Tres' shoulder was a Vulcan cannon. On his back was a rocket launcher, and several plastic bombs were attached to his waist belt.
"First, we need to storm the Lateran Palace and rescue Duchess of Milan," the mechanical soldier said with the solemnity of an accountant. "Obstacles will be eliminated. Over."
"Storm?! Tres, what are you talking about?!" Abel had been standing there, aghast, mouth wide open, but finally, he managed to pull himself together. He quickly ran to stop Tres, who was about to leave the room. "What is that going to achieve?! You'll just get yourself killed."
"Killed? Death means nothing to a robot. I can only be broken." The machine's answer was without hesitation, but Abel thought he could spot a small ounce of impatience and irritation in those glass eyes. "I am the personal belonging of Duchess of Milan. If she dies, there will be no point to my existence. So Father Nightroad, please get out of my way."
Tres had only meant to nudge Abel lightly, but his strength was enough to throw Abel backward through the open door and into the corridor.
"Aaah!"
The scream wasn't from Father Abel though.
"OW! Oh! I'm so sorry!"
When Abel finally came back to his senses, he realized that the soft surface his head had hit against was in fact the body of a beautiful lady. Panicking, Abel lifted himself up from out of her plump breasts and jumped up to his feet.
"I am so sorry! Are you hurt?!" Abel asked, blushing.
"I'm fine. More importantly, are you hurt, Father?" the girl asked in a husky voice. Abel could see that she was fairly young. Her complexion was as white as snow and gave her a frigid air, but despite that, she was definitely beautiful. Abel wondered if she was a member of the aristocracy. Her hair was tied up in an elaborate fashion and she was wearing a fur coat decorated with gold that attractively accentuated her curves.
"I'm sorry. Actually, I was practicing my act for the Christmas festivities." As Abel helped the woman up from the floor, he desperately racked his brains for an explanation of why Tres was wielding lethal weapons. "We're putting on an educational play. It's called 'The Thirteen Days of Christmas.' Reindeer wearing hockey masks and holding guns, chasing bad children. This is the reindeer," Abel said and pointed to his colleague, who sported a miniature armory on his body.
Abel patted the dust off her coat. He was worried about what he would do if she asked him to pay the cleaning bill.
However, she must have realized his panic, as she then smiled up at him bewitchingly. "This is convenient, really... I was just about to look for someone to ask directions. I don't suppose I could bother you? Do you know which one is Lady Sforza's office?" the aristocratic lady inquired.
"Huh? Umm... Who are you?" Abel eyed the woman suspiciously. Perhaps she was an ambassador of some country. If that was the case, then Abel would want to treat her well.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. My name is Christa, Countess of Anhalt. I own a small territory, east of Bohemia..."
Unfortunately for Abel, he had no recollection of hearing her name before.
"The truth is, I have a request to make of Lady Sforza. That's why I'm here. Do you know where I might meet Her Eminence?"
"I'm sorry, but she isn't here today," Professor said. Behind the flustered priest, Professor emerged from the room and addressed the aristocrat correctly. He was courteous but professional. "Also, she has a rule of not accepting petitions without a prior appointment. Madam, may I ask your business?"
"I came with a request of Her Eminence."
The woman's face belied her depression. With a handkerchief clasped in her hand, she grabbed hold of Abel s cassock. She clung to him as large tears rolled down her face.
"Please... please... save my husband!