"I'm so sorry, Father."
"Really, it's fine. Have you calmed down a little?" Abel smiled gently. He placed a cup of tea in front of the lady. She seemed to have relaxed finally. "You said that you wanted to save your husband? Why don't you explain?"
"The Count of Anhalt is a minor aristocrat who owns a small amount of territory near Brno."
Aromatic cups of tea steamed in front of the people sitting around the table. The Countess of Anhalt stopped for a moment to take a sip of hers before continuing on.
"In the Brno war, my husband fought with New Vatican. I came from Bohemia to beg Her Eminence to spare his life."
"I'm sure that they will be lenient toward those aristocrats who surrendered, Senora," Antonio spoke gravely. His voice sounded sweet, like coffee with too much sugar in it. At some point, he'd managed to sneak in next to Christa and was gently stroking the hand with which she clutched a handkerchief. "I'm sure his life is secure. So please don't look so sad. It's a loss to the whole world when such a beauty cries."
"M-my..." Christa stuttered.
Antonio may have coated it in nonsense, but the essentials of what he said were true. However, Christa continued to twist the handkerchief between her fingers. It wasn't enough to bring her out of her melancholy.
"My husband hasn't surrendered. He still follows the fake Vatican and is a fugitive."
"That's an issue." Antonio was now lost for words. He frowned.
After Brno had fallen, Alfonso wasn't the only member of New Vatican to go missing. They had received information that said close to three hundred clergy members and believers had followed him into hiding. Christa s husband was one of them. His disappearance must have been particularly hard for his wife, but it suggested that he was a firm believer in their cause.
"I understand, Madam," Professor said as he sat up in his chair. Up until now, he had been listening to Christa s story quietly, with his eyes closed. He was courteous but he stared grimly back at her, as if to force her into submission. "I feel very sorry for you, but Her Eminence won't be able to help you. She has had to postpone all present activities, as she is having personal issues."
"She is?!" Christa's face turned pale.
Caterina was well known for holding a moderate view within the Vatican. This woman must have heard that too, which was why she had come here in the hopes that Caterina could do something. She couldn't hide her heartbreak.
"I... I live in a rural area. I hadn't heard," Christa choked on the words.
"I'm very sorry, but I'm afraid we can't do anything for you today. If we can help you, then we will contact you later," Professor said. Though his reply seemed cruel, it was the only thing they could offer now. It would have been worse to allow her to get hopes up with Caterina's situation the way it was. That really wasn't going to help a rural aristocrat though.
Christa pushed the handkerchief to her eyes and let out a sob.
"Umm, Mrs. Christa..." Abel said as he put a hand on her shoulder. He at least wanted to try and give her some strength. "If there is anything we can do for your husband, we will. So please, don't lose hope."
"Oh, my poor Rudolph." Christa sobbed. Abel's kind words weren't going to comfort a woman who thought she had just lost her last hope. She sobbed even louder, stricken with grief. "I can't help my husband in that horrible, cold place. What am I going to do?"
"So... sorry, Madam. What did you just say?!" Professor now jumped up at this. He looked like he'd just had a volt of electricity run though his body. He'd thrown all etiquette aside and had run to Christa's side.
"Madam, please. What were you saying? 'A cold place,' was it? Do you mean to say that you know where your husband is located?"
"Urn? Yes..."
Something had gotten this usually reserved gentleman excited. The shock seemed to have jolted Christa out of her grief momentarily. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and then delved into her bag, pulling out a letter.
"A few days ago, this letter came from my husband." Christa then proceeded to read the contents of the single sheet aloud. "To my beloved Christa, I am now prospering with the leader of the true Vatican. You don't need to worry. You need to think of yourself. I look up at the Tallinn sky and pray for your happiness."
"Tallinn!" Professor exclaimed. It was the only word of the whole letter that attracted his interest. He didn't need to hear the rest of the letter, which no doubt spoke of things like looking after his favorite hunting dog.
"My husband said that he was in a hurry and that they were due to leave as soon as he had finished writing his letter... Was there something of interest?" Christa inquired.
"Most definitely, Madam. Estonia. . . Lady, this is information of great importance!" Professor turned to his colleagues. "This could help us locate Alfonso d'Este! They must have fled to Estonia!"
Estonia was between the Dark Lands and the Baltic Sea. It was a small country that spent half the year deep in snow. The country was poor and lacked suitable roads, so it went largely ignored by the surrounding countries.
The remote area would be the perfect place for the remnants of New Vatican to hide. At this time of year, the area would be under heavy snowfall. Any pursuers probably wouldn't get far under those conditions.
"Your husband was in Krakow. Humph, they went from Jagiellos and then lost their pursuers in a wasteland. From there, they headed north. When Tallinn's winter has passed, they probably intend to head into one of the northern territories. It would make sense."
"But if we manage to capture Alfonso, do you think he'll have this Cherubim with him?" Antonio asked Professor, who was now stabbing numerous new pins into the map like a machine gun. "Cherubim might be dead, but if he is alive, he may be persuaded to stray from New Vatican."
"That's the gamble we must take," Professor replied simply as he put in a final pin. "Breaking into the Lateran Palace, rescuing the duchess, and rebelling against the Vatican. Then running after Cherubim, who may be dead or alive. What do you think? Father Tres?"
"There are too many unknown factors." Tres shook his head, his face expressionless. "It is impossible to calculate the probability now."
"And that is why it is a gamble... Abel, you decide."
"Huh? Me?" Abel blinked at being suddenly called on. He pointed to himself and shook his head furiously. "Why me? Professor, you should decide."
"Sorry, but I have bad luck when it comes to gambling. Father Tres has no intuition... And you're the one who's known Duchess of Milan longest. You decide."
As Wordsworth said the word "longest," a shadow of sorrow crossed his face. But it was only for a moment. He quickly recovered; taking charge again, he looked at the blond-haired Abel. "I'm leaving the choice to you, Father Abel. What is your decision?"