tapestries hung between them with far too much detail to absorb as the visitors were led past. The “messenger” preceded them up a winding staircase to an upper floor that opened into a broad, uninterrupted audience chamber. At the far end of the room, suffused in an orangish light, rested a dark-skinned, silver-haired man dressed entirely in red, except for the frilly gold shirt peeking from beneath his crimson robe. Beyond him on the red wall was a huge gilded cross with crude golden spikes jutting from the areas where Jesus had traditionally been nailed to his. The man stood to meet them as Matt and Courtney were presented to him-by name. Obviously, the ambassador had spies-and didn’t care if they knew. They’d have to be careful.
Thank God The Bosun isn’T here, Matt thought. Gray was Catholic, but he just couldn’t have stopped himself from making cracks about “popes and witch doctors.” It was his way. The man before them clearly took his position very seriously, and if Matt had burst out laughing this time, they probably would have wound up impaled or burnt at the stake-assuming everything he’d heard about the Dominion was true.
“My friends.” The man greeted them in a strangely silky-gentle, cordial voice, “I am Father Don Hernan DeDivino Dicha, Blood Cardinal to His Supreme Holiness, Messiah of Mexico, and by the Grace of God, Emperor of the World.”
“The entire world! How impressive,” Courtney blurted out. Matt could have kicked him. Apparently he didn’t need Gray to get him killed-and at least Gray could fight.
“Oh, how charming!” said Don Hernan, with evident pleasure. “You truly are from an unknown land! Your manner of speech is most refreshingly odd. Perhaps the rumors that you come to us from the Old World are true as well!”
“Rumors spread fast,” Matt commented. To his surprise, their host chuckled and touched a golden goblet. Wordlessly, a beautiful, unadorned, and entirely naked girl-who might have been fourteen, Matt realized in horror- raced in and filled three goblets, then virtually sprang from the room. Somehow, she hadn’t spilled a drop-Matt watched their host actually check to see if she had. He shuddered, wondering what the penalty would have been.
“Indeed,” the man continued in that disconcertingly soft voice. “Quite ‘fast’ indeed. Almost as quickly as your extraordinary ship!” He paused. “And never doubt that all of this world will one day beg for the benevolent rule of His Holiness! It was given unto him and his order by the very breath of God!” He shook his head, still smiling. “Of course, spreading the Word and Intent of God is a tedious process. The world is filled with unbelievers and heretics who must be forced to come to His understanding.” The ambassador performed a slight, modest bow. “I merely state the fact of the matter. Time and perseverance alone will make that fact clear to all.” He paused and smiled more broadly. “Call me Don Hernan. Wine?”
Courtney began to accept, but Matt held him back. “Thank you, no. Spirits aren’t allowed on United States ships, and while I may not be aboard right now, I am on duty. As is Ambassador Bradford. Perhaps another time.”
“Perhaps,” Don Hernan answered pleasantly. “Tell me, how stands the Faith on the Old World?”
Matt shrugged. “Pretty well, I guess. Lots of people believe in God. I do.”
Don Hernan’s lip twitched. “I mean the Roman Faith. Is it universal?”
Matt looked at Courtney. “Ah, no. It’s spread all over the place, but it’s not universal.”
Don Hernan’s smile faded slightly. “As I feared,” he said. “Too weak. Force is the key. They must have forgotten that. All will be heretics now, to one degree or another.” He looked at Matt. “Tell me of your faith.”
“Why don’t you tell me about yours first?” Matt replied, hedging. “We’re new here, and everything we’ve heard comes from the Brits-I mean Imperials.”
“Yes,” agreed Courtney enthusiastically. “We know almost nothing about your… crossover experience. We’ve heard tell of an Acapulco galleon, but that’s about the size of it.”
“Ah, so you know some small part, even if it has been… corrupted.” He sipped his wine. “ Nuestra Senora de La Quezon was indeed a Galeon de Manila y Acapulco.” Don Hernan warmed to his subject. “She was a noble ark, gentlemen, made of teak, mahogany, and lanang wood, almost as if her builders were divinely inspired to prepare her for the Holy Pilgrimage she would make. She departed Manila to serve God on this world in July of 1681. Her logs still exist, and are as revered as the Book of Exodus!”
“Oh, how marvelous!” Courtney gushed. “Such a tale they must tell!”
“Well,” Don Hernan said, his smile growing again, “I am always pleased to tell how God took messengers from one imperfect world and placed them here to make a better one. Perhaps a longer… interview might be arranged.” He focused on Courtney. “With you, at least.” He closed his eyes in sadness. “In sum, mistakes had already been made, you see, terrible mistakes. The conquerors of New Espana conquered too well, destroying the fiercer, purer words of God already known by the native peoples. Things may still have been salvaged, but the Church was weak and did not press its victory. Here, we rediscovered those crucial instructions God had left for us, and added them to the ones we knew. After that, we… resolutely advanced the true, complete Word and never looked back. This will be our world, in His name.”
“So your Founders encountered natives who’d crossed as well-earlier!” Bradford said eagerly. “What were they? Inca? Maya? Tol
…”
“What they were is unimportant,” Don Hernan interrupted, with a first trace of annoyance. “What we are now, all of my people, are children of God, and subjects of the Holy Dominion!”
“But… Well, what was gleaned from them? What ‘Word’ was rediscovered?”
Don Hernan smiled, pleased by Courtney’s interest. “Simply that as Jesus Christ suffered for us, we must suffer for Him. Pain alone is the purifier of sin, and the blood, the Precious Water, He sacrificed on our behalf must be returned manyfold. That is the Word that awaited those who came to this world! That to be truly holy in the eyes of God, one must emulate his Son in all things, but most particularly, one must ultimately die in pain at the hands of another!”
Bradford could only gape, stunned by such profound perversity.
“Dear God,” Matt murmured aside to him, “Jenks was right. These guys are crazier than bilge rats!”
Don Hernan was pleased as he watched the visitors leave. He thought the interview had gone quite well. Captain Reddy was doubtless an unrepentant heretic. The man had disrespectfully called directly upon God several times-such impudence!-but at least he did believe. Bradford displayed genuine fascination, perhaps even an attraction to the True Faith. At least he’d been eager to learn more about it. Don Hernan cared little exactly where the strangers were from, or what their situation was; he already knew much, and his spies would discover the rest. He’d wanted to learn about the men themselves and thought he had. Their animalistic “allies” never entered his thoughts. He’d determined, despite their advanced ship, that they couldn’t pose much of a threat. They were clearly somewhat tentative-understandable in this new setting. They would move slowly, feel their way, try to be “friends” with everyone. They shouldn’t be a factor, particularly after they were conveniently dead. A waste, it was true; he would have liked to explore further possibilities with the curious one, but that would only have edified him, and such deep curiosity was a mortal sin in any case. He sighed.
“Tea?” he asked aloud after a long moment.
Prime Proprietor Reed entered the room, huffy. “Your Holiness, you simply must not summon me here like a wayward child,” he insisted. His wispy voice was adamant but querulous. “It grows more difficult to move about unobserved, and at this late date I cannot be thought to be closely associated with you! Not just yet.”
Don Hernan understood Reed’s concern and realized, with a bit of surprise, that his admonishment had required a measure of real courage. Despite Reed’s nervous tone, Don Hernan knew the man wasn’t a complete coward; he couldn’t be to have facilitated such a lengthy and risky scheme, but his voice and demeanor were incapable of conveying forceful resolve. He was perceived as timid, which was possibly appealing to his ever-fearful constituents, but not very inspiring to others. It was just as well. That very demeanor allowed him to be profoundly underestimated by his opponents.
“I apologize, my son,” Don Hernan said smoothly, calmingly. “So tedious. Our ‘association’ will be apparent soon enough, and we no longer need pretend. In any event, I thought you should like to hear my interview with the heretics. The sea captain, particularly.”
“Well… yes, of course.”
“You spent some time with him today. What do you think?”
Reed sighed and sat, uninvited, then poured a cup of tea from the pot just brought by the naked girl.
