Chapter 11
The J-Team
Grantville
Father Augustus Heinzerling, SJ, opened the front door to the clergy house associated with St. Mary’s Church in Grantville. He smiled at the seemingly young man waiting on the porch, although he noted that the increasing wrinkles around his eyes definitely belied his apparent youth. Of course, Augustus thought, his own appearance gave no longer gave any hint of youth: broad-shouldered, craggy face, and an increasing amount of silver in his own beard and long hair. He held open the screen door.
“Come in, Nick, come in.” Nicholas Smithson, SJ—for at least a little while longer—stepped into the house and waited for Augustus to close the door. “This way,” the older man said, leading the way to the residence’s parlor, where they joined their third companion in the comfortable chairs, each with a mug of beer at hand.
“Nick,” Father Athanasius Kircher, SJ, said with a nod. “Good to see you. It’s been a little while.”
Nick pulled his mug away from his lips long enough to nod back and say, “Sorry, the Society of St. Philip of the Screwdriver business has gotten a little busier a little faster than I expected.”
Athanasius nodded back. He was midway between the other two, with a close-cut beard just beginning to be touched by gray, but for all that there was a light in his eyes that spoke of youthful energy. “Have you received a response yet to your request?”
“No. Actually, I would expect that response to come to one of you. A petition to leave the Society and to transfer to secular clergy has to be just a bit out of the ordinary, I would think.”
“Just remember,” Athanasius said, “a priest ordained is a priest forever.”
“Yes, Father.” Nick ducked his head in mock humility.
Augustus snorted and set his mug down. “I suspect that letter is chasing Father-General Vitelleschi in his travels. As I once heard Father Larry—the Cardinal, that is—once tell Reverend Simon, don’t hold your breath until that happens.” Father Lawrence Mazzare, the up-timer priest who was now the Cardinal Protector of the USE, was noted for a quirky sense of humor. “I suspect the Father-General will be loath to lose your skills.”
“Sooner or later it will happen,” Nick said with a beatific smile. “Meanwhile, the Society of St. Philip the Screwdriver will carry on with whatever time I can give it.” The existence and purpose of the new quasi-religious order founded in Grantville and chartered to counter the perversity of the universe was causing eyebrows to be raised in ripples as the news of it spread across Europe.
“Heh,” Augustus said. “I can’t wait to hear how many shades of puce Borja’s complexion turns when he hears of it.”
“Speaking of the Cardinal who should not be named, are you certain of the veracity of that message, Gus?” Athanasius asked. His face had sobered, and the others did likewise as they got down to the reason for their conclave.
The eldest pursed his lips and nodded. “Yes. It’s on the right paper, written with the right ink and the right hand, in the right code, and was delivered by one I know to be a regular courier on the Jesuit message chain. If it’s false, then we can rely on nothing but ourselves.”
“I don’t like it, Gus,” Nick said. “They’ve lost a holy treasure, and they expect us to help them find it? After what they’ve done?” The news about the recent assault by Spanish troops on the Vatican being authorized and countenanced by Cardinal Gaspar de Borja y Velasco still rankled in all their minds.
Gus nodded again. Before he could speak, Athanasius spoke again. “Nick, I think there’s more to be considered than that. Yes, what they did was horrific, but this tells us there’s something else involved. Borja and his clique would never admit to something like this. They must have been very shocked to discover this. They must have been counting on the book for something, and to have it disappear like that has blown something up for them. This is a panic reaction. It has to be.”
After a moment, Athanasius added, “I’ve met Borja. I believe you have, too.” He looked at Gus for a confirming nod. “The man has no self-doubt. He believes he is right on everything on which he has an opinion, and he has an opinion on everything. And he is arrogant enough to believe that anyone with as much sense as God gave a mignon duck will agree with and support him. I’m sure he honestly thinks that most of the clergy will follow him because of the fineness of his character.” There was a pause as Gus choked on an inhale and coughed strenuously for several moments.
At length Athanasius continued, “So of course they sent their notes far and wide. The Poles may well follow him. They are such odd people. But the rest of the Hapsburg realms? The core empire? Not a chance. Bavaria? Who knows? Maximilian was a devout man early in the war and was one of the strongest Catholic princes around for several years, but who knows what he will do now that he’s faced with two popes. The Low Countries? Borja may pick up a few renegade Walloons, but no one of any usefulness will dare cross the Cardinal-Infante or Cardinal Bedmar. France? Neither Richelieu nor Mazarini will respond. And the Protestants?” He shook his head with pursed lips. “No, Borja will get no guaranteed support from anyone north of the Alps except the Poles.”
“So why are we having this conversation?” Nick asked. “Grantville certainly isn’t going to help him, and if no one else is, why do we care?”
“There is a difference between not helping a fool,” Gus said, “and stopping his foolishness.”
Nick’s eyes widened. His mouth formed an O shape for a moment, then shaped into a wicked smile as his eyes narrowed in turn. “Tell me more,” he said. They all leaned closer together, looking for all the world like a group of conspirators.
“If the codex comes north,” Gus began, “which it certainly will…”
“Why?” interrupted Athanasius.
“Because every other direction leads to the sea, soon or late,” Gus responded.
“Which is a Spanish lake right now,” Nick contributed. “So, yes, north it must come, but through which pass to get through the Alps?”
“Not to the west,” Gus said. “Not to France. The Huguenots are thick on the ground in the south of France.”
“And therefore not to northwest to the Swiss either,” Nick replied, “for they are even stronger Protestants than the Huguenots.”
“Agreed.” Athanasius nodded. “So that leaves more or less due north through Reschen Pass, or northeast through Brenner Pass and almost immediately into Innsbruck. Bavaria or the Tyrol.”
“Maximilian or Claudia and Ferdinand,” Gus said. “Not quite Scylla and Charybdis, but a challenging choice to our unknown thief or rescuer.”
“Must it be one or the other?” Athanasius said with a slight smile. “Must it be so black or white?”
“What?” Gus’ eyebrows lowered. “A rescuing thief? A thieving rescuer? What do you think of, Athos?”
Athanasius’ mouth twisted. He knew his given name was long and cumbersome, but he was getting a bit tired of Gus using that particular diminutive of his name—although he had to admit that it was a better choice than “Thanos.” Being named after one of the Greek avatars of death was less than desirable. He still wished Gus had not read a certain uptime novel. “Why could not Dumas have been left up-time?” he muttered. Gus’ answering grin didn’t help matters any.
“Thief, rescuer, or unlikely opportunist,” Nick interjected, “it doesn’t matter. Assuming he is not a Protestant, those are the likely paths. So do we do anything? If so, what?”
“”Duchess Claudia will have Innsbruck and the Tyrol under watch,” Gus said.
“And if she doesn’t, Emperor Ferdinand most certainly will.” Athanasius gave a firm nod. After a moment, he added, “Of course, if either one of them claims the codex, the Church will never see it again.”
“But isn’t that a risk no matter where it eventually lands?” Nick asked.
Both of the older men nodded. “It in fact is,” Athanasius replied. “I shouldn’t say it, but there are a few Protestants I would trust with it more than many of the princes of the church or the princes of Germany.”
“Indeed,” Gus said. “For that matter, I’m not too sure that I wouldn’t prefer Ferdinand to Maximilian of Bavaria. Maximilian seems to have become something of a ‘loose cannon,’ to use the up-time phrase.”
“Maximilian may or may not have his eyes looking for the codex,” Athanasius said, “assuming someone has told him about it. But his focus appears to be more on statecraft in this season than on the faith.”
“Unfortunately true,” Gus muttered. “Alas, either way it makes it chancy to tread his ground.”
“Coming out of Reschen Pass the carrier could turn right into Austria,” Athanasius gestured with his hands, “could turn left and go to ground in central Bavaria, or head north to first Füssen and then to Augsburg, Ulm, Munich, or even Ingolstadt.”
“Ah, Füssen,” Gus drawled. “Just over the border into Bavaria. Fastness of musicians and luthiers, but also home to the Benedictine monastery of St. Mang’s. They are no friends of the Society. And if they were to lay hands on the codex, it would take an army to liberate it from that monastery.”
“But in the same regard, by their very independence they might not be friends of Maximilian,” Athanasius replied.
“So we send to Ingolstadt and Munich, and if it hasn’t been seen, move on to Füssen,” Nick said. “If we find it, maybe we can influence the carrier to bring it to us. Cardinal Mazzare would be the most suitable protector of the codex, would he not?”
“Indeed he would,” Athanasius said brightly. Gus snorted, but nodded in agreement.
“So, you up for a brisk ride, old man?” Nick grinned at Gus. “Can Hannelore and the boys spare you for a season?”
“I’ll ride you into the ground, you English wastrel,” Gus growled. “And yes, they can. Karl is eleven now, and big enough to keep his two brothers in line.” His marriage to Hannelore, while somewhat against tradition, had been ordered by Father Mazzare not long after the Heinzerlings had arrived in Grantville, and sanctioned by Father-General Vitelleschi himself.
“You and what troop of cavalry?” Nick was still grinning.
“Me and my good right arm.” Gus brandished his fist at Nick, but a hint of a grin kept lifting the corners of his mouth and ruining the stern effect.
“That sounds like the nucleus of a plan,” Athanasius said leaning forward a bit. “How deep are your funds? I still have somewhat of the purse Cardinal Barberini gave me when he pointed me this direction.”
“I have much of the funds Father General Vitelleschi sent me,” Gus said.
Nick shrugged. “I, as well.”
“Good. We won’t need to tap into the funds of St. Mary’s. So, when can you leave?”
Gus and Nick looked at each other. “Tomorrow?” Nick asked.
Gus shook his head. “Day after,” he said. “It will take a little time to gather things together.”
“Good,” Athanasius said. “I’ll get our brothers Southwell and Bissel to assist at St. Mary’s while you’re gone. It will do them good.”
“So, day after tomorrow,” Nick said. Gus nodded. “Good,” the younger man said. “I’ll let the Society of the Screwdriver know about this. Let’s be about it. Soonest done, soonest I can get back.”