exploring the ground that lies between us-both the similarities and the differences. A ‘nice’ walk I would enjoy and forget. I will not forget this walk.”
Frank smiled. “You know, you’re a pretty okay guy, Vincente-for a domineering creep, that is.”
“‘Creep’?”
“Uh…a creep is a jerk.”
“‘Jerk’? I thought this word described a motion.”
“Oh. Yeah. Uh…oaf.”
“Ah! Heh. Heh heh. I am not so okay as you think. You should pay more heed to your clever wife.”
“Oh, I pay plenty of attention to her. But my dad taught me something long ago that I’ve found is usually true-true almost as often as anything is, when it comes to human nature.”
“So? And what is this paternal wisdom?”
“That people live down to, or up to, your expectations of them. If you believe people are fundamentally good, many, even most, of them strive to be so. And if you think everyone’s a, a-”
“-a creep?” supplied Vincente.
“Yeah-a creep-then they tend in that direction.”
“That sounds very idealistic.”
“Well, that’s my dad for you. And here’s the realism part, I guess. His caveat to this was that it’s always a lot harder-a lot harder-to believe the best of people. After all, we’re constantly hurting each other, being selfish, being-well, creeps. But if you persist in believing that people are better than that, a lot of them turn out to be. And they remember your faith in them, and repay it. Many times over.”
Vincente was very silent for a long time. “That,” he said slowly, “is either the most foolish philosophy I have ever heard, or the most dangerous.”
Frank stopped. “Dangerous?”
“Yes, of course it is dangerous. Is it not obvious? Kings, captains, and domineering creeps like myself rule through fear. We compel obedience through fear of our reprisals, fear of our discipline, fear of our disapproval. Your philosophy would undermine the instigation of such fear. Oh, there will always be plenty of brutes willing to resort to the lash and the oubliette, but one cannot run an empire with brutes. They lack the brains and the nuance for command. Higher faculties are required among the cadre, who must have a more evolved understanding of, and instinct for, the nature of the human heart. And that would be the hole in the dike of the dominators, no? For happily, persons gifted in human perception also tend to have souls that possess the same weaknesses they perceive and exploit in others. How would such domineering souls fare, faced with masses of the oppressed who still insist upon appealing to their best natures?”
“Dude, you are so channeling Gandhi, now.”
“I do not understand what those words mean, and your smile is worrisome of itself, Frank. But, I must ask: if this philosophy is so powerful in your world, then why was your time wracked by wars that make ours look like mere squabbles?”
“That,” Frank admitted, “is truly the bitch of the situation.”
“Eh…you are allowing that yours is a flawed philosophy?”
“Let’s say I’m admitting that we were still working on it.” They’d neared the end of their circuit of the gardens and were angling toward the door that led back to Frank’s room.
Castro y Papas was clearly trying to find a tactful way to carry forward the discussion. “I mean no offense, but if in your world you were still working on achieving a society based on this philosophy, after centuries of effort, might that not indicate that its goal is illusory, is impossible?”
Frank shrugged. “Maybe. So does that mean you are saying that Christ was a liar?”
Castro y Papas missed a step, stood straight, offended. “What?”
“You heard me. What about turn the other cheek, only throwing the first stone if you’re without sin, the last being first and vice versa, rich men having to wiggle through the eye of a needle to reach the pearly gates? Is that all just so much crap? Because that’s pretty much the same message as the one my dad drummed into us, when you get right down to it.”
The captain did not move. Then he opened the door out of the garden, and stared at Frank. “This was not a nice walk,” he mumbled, “not a nice walk at all. Shall we do it again, same time tomorrow?”
When Dolor entered, Borja greeted him familiarly, offering him a seat. Dolor simply shook his head, and stood, hands clasped behind his back. And Borja felt the anxiety that this apparently emotionless man always aroused in him. In a world where men were influenced by their wants or fears, how do you influence a man who has none of either?
“Our plans for the hostages are now complete, Your Eminence. All is in readiness.”
“Yes, yes, but my concern is not over the hostages. They are a minor detail. I must have a resolution in the matter of Urban; I need action, if action is required.”
“So. You are now satisfied that there is no body in the ruins?”
Borja looked away. “Not yet.”
“Really? My sources tell me you have finished your search. Indeed, they tell me that you ended the search just before the last rubble from the explosion was to be removed.
“And of course, there is another piece of interesting circumstantial evidence: The body of Quevedo.”
“And how does Quevedo’s miserable corpse bear upon the matter of whether Urban was rescued or remains within the rubble?”
“The manner of his death strongly suggests the former.”
“What do you mean, ‘the manner of his death’?”
“Your Eminence, I took the liberty of examining the body. Whoever killed him bested him in a sword fight.”
“So you are implying-”
“Who but the Ambassadora’s husband would have had the weapon and the skill and the proximity to inflict such a mortal wound?”
“But,” protested Borja, “but he is old.”
“If it is the Catalan we suspect, then I would not presume that age predicts infirmity. And there is corroborating evidence.”
Dolor reached out his hand and placed several spent shotgun shells on the table. “I had two of my men carefully continue the excavation of the general area where Quevedo’s body was discovered. These small objects had, of course, been ignored during the main excavations, lost in mounds of small stone and debris. But this leaves little doubt: Urban was rescued. Successfully. And Quevedo evidently died trying to prevent it. What I am less than certain about is why, just when the dig seemed on the verge of providing concrete evidence, you elected not to complete it.”
Borja said nothing. How much had Dolor guessed? “You have your own conjectures on the matter, naturally.”
“Only one, Your Eminence. Not that it would apply to you. And it is purely hypothetical, of course.”
“Of course. Pray share it.”
“It seems to me that if one were to consider the current mood among the remaining cardinals of the Church with a jaded eye, their desire to see Urban stripped of his pontifical robes is less ardent than one might have hoped.”
Borja said nothing. He also carefully controlled his impulse to fold his fingers into white-knuckled fists of rage. The cowards! Who would have thought that half the Consistory would fail to follow his lead in calling Urban to account for his malfeasance and his willing collaboration with the enemies of the church? Their indifference was tantamount to treason.
But Dolor had not even paused. “In such a political climate, where strong action against Urban is far less certain to be supported, it is perhaps increasingly desirable that the pope not be discovered. Not alive, that is. Better for the Church and its true servitors that he should remain missing, or be discovered after his demise. This would be most helpful in quelling any uncertainties about succession. And it would help the Church to rebuild its unity without any lingering-impediments.”
Borja swallowed. “An interesting theory. Complete fantasy, of course.”
“Of course. But at any rate, it also shows how the apparent rescue plans being crafted by agents of the USE
