28 September, 1570
It was a sunny early afternoon in Stettin-Drei, and each house was heating to uncomfortable levels. It was worst in the uppermost floors of the four-to-five-story apartments that made up most of the housing stock. The poorer citizens who lived there had almost universally vacated their homes, preferring the slightly cooler temperatures of their workplaces or the city taverns. The abbot, Gerhard von Ingolschen, had one of these stuffy fifth floors, but he also had a fourth, third, second, and first floor in his city apartment. Currently, he was in the first floor with a glass of water, waiting for company. The time they had set for the meeting had already gone by ten minutes ago, so he was in an active wait. An active wait is different from a passive wait; when someone is passively waiting they are doing something besides waiting, such as working, eating, or even sleeping. Gerhard wasn't. Instead he was actively preparing all the things he would say to his superiors. He'd prepared ten jokes to sprinkle in at some points in the conversation; with luck he would get to give five. Making (tasteful) jokes in a serious conversation is a good way to communicate a nonplussed mien and a confident demeanor, and after the scare with Sachiel both were needed.
Knock, knock. And there they were. Gerhard opened the door, revealing a group of twelve people. Nine of them were guards, including the one who knocked on the door. The other three came in.
"Ugo, Nikita, Wilhelm! How are you this day?"
"Good day, Herr von Ingolschen," said Wilhelm. The three men took their seats.
"First," said Ugo, "who will be presiding over this meeting."
"I've got straws," offered Gerhard, taking three from his pocket. Wilhelm, Ugo, and Nikita each drew, and Nikita drew the long straw. He gathered his posture and cleared his throat.
Gerhard preempted him, yelling, "Reidun! The guests are here! Bring out the wine!" Nikita put off his opening speech as the blue-haired maiden came in with goblets and a bottle, pouring each man some of the fruits of the vines of Baden. The abbot had picked the Baden wine because it was of his native country, and if they appreciated the one Badener they might appreciate the other.
"Oh my, she's grown so much since I last saw her!" crooned Wilhelm. "May I?"
"Absolutely not!" Ugo and Gerhard shouted at the same time. Such was to be expected with the Duke; Gerhard was glad Ugo had backed him up. Otherwise it would have looked like he was taking a stand against his own superiors. Reidun pretended not to notice the whole exchange.
Nikita put his goblet down. "As I was going to say, we haven't all been in the same room for a good while. Let's start by discussing what we have done since then. I'll go first. Since three years ago, I have been appointed the governor of Tver. There were calls in Moscow for a war with Poland, but through some bribery, and some, ah, ordered deaths, I have prevented this conflict. The subsidies from Moscow will continue unabated."
"Very good!" said Ugo. "Have you made any progress with the testing facility?"
"Yes, I've secured and emptied a site, and construction is beginning." His voice soured. "I was going to get to that."
"I apologize, Mr. Nikita," said Ugo icily.
"Well, your turn, Cardinal," Nikita replied in the same manner.
"I might not be one for much longer," Ugo said. "I have been corresponding with a great deal of the College, and after this pope dies I will probably be the next."
"Anything else you would like to say?" Nikita pressed.
"No, not really. I've set up a correspondence with several professors in Italy who are recommending new personnel, but other than that nothing."
"Wilhelm," Nikita requested.
Wilhelm said, "Mainz, Trier, and Cologne have been infiltrated by my agents [1]. I feel like we can rely on their votes. Sadly, the Emperor has rejected outright my request to be bestowed an electorate." Such was expected. The Habsburgs despised the duke of Julich-Cleves-Berg, ever since he had used the chaos of the Impact and Karl V's death to snatch off the half-flooded, depopulated remains of Gelderland for himself.
"Huh, that's too bad," said Nikita. "Now, I'd like to ask something. Has anyone seen any of our people in the Ottoman Empire?" No one responded.
"Distressing," he said. "I don't have any proof that Constantinople's had any contact with any of our members for the last two years. We need to send a delegation."
Ugo interjected, "I tried that six months ago! They were ambushed and killed in Hungary."
"Was it the Habsburgs or the Ottomans or the Zapolyas?" asked Gerhard.
Ugo dismissively waved his hand. "They each blame the other. But I think it was probably Constantinople's orders. Unless the Emperor is trying to act up again."
"Ay me," said Wilhelm.
Nikita said, "Let's save that for later. I'd like to move on to the real reason we're all here. The EVA."
"Yes, let's!" said Gerhard. "The Evangelion Wien performed without a hitch. The abomination was destroyed, and has been dumped back into the sea. You can imagine the butchers' protest over that." Wilhelm, who was all too aware of how easily cat meat could be sold as pork, chuckled. One out of five.
"The Evangelion Wien," Wilhelm repeated. "What about the Evangelion Trent? Where was that?"
"The pilot's right here," offered Ugo.
Gerhard said, "Ah yes, exactly!" He called to his protégé/maid, "Reidun, can you come and explain how you totaled your EVA a few weeks ago?"
The girl entered the room and started explaining. "A few weeks ago, I was conducting weapons training with the Evangelion. As part of this training, I was stabbing a target with the butt-spike of the poleaxe. While I was doing that, I stepped forwards. The poleaxe stuck in the target, and I tripped on a log. So I fell forwards , onto the spear-end. It stabbed me in the heart," she said as she imitated being stabbed in the heart, "and the EVA nearly bled out. I am truly fortunate to have survived."
Gerhard sipped his wine as his superiors listened intently to Reidun's explanation. She spoke with barely any emotion, as usual. That's what made her such a good liar. It was his turn to speak now. "Of course, the EVA is fully healed now. When the next ang… the next thing attacks, she will participate. The other pilot is in training right now." That was true. And thus the abbot slipped an inquiry that could easily have gotten him executed, and all without telling a single lie.
Sweat dripped down Siegfried's doublet as he hefted the training poleaxe. He'd been out here for hours, and even though it was only moderately hot inside the cavern, the constant activity and three-quarters-plate armor [2] had worn him out.
"Go!" Marcellus yelled. Tomas, in a similar state of fatigue, stood in front of him. But he wouldn't let his burning shoulders stop him from showing up the von Ingolschen boy. He stabbed with the butt of the poleaxe, which Siegfried deflected away. Then he swung the blade end forward, smacking Siegfried in the neck with the shaft. It was a hard hit, but the armor, although cheaply made [3], absorbed most of the blow. Additionally the poleaxes they were training with were made entirely of wood, and the ends were covered in leather. But with a swift yank the blunt hook caught on Siegfried's shoulder blades and sent him tumbling to the ground. He lay there for a few seconds, not wanting to put forth the effort to stand up.
"Losers run a lap!" Marcellus shouted. Across the sparring field, one from each pair of reserve Children got up and started running to the armory. After Siegfried touched the building, he could see that the winners, Tomas included, had taken the advantage of the reprieve to put down their weapons, stretch, and catch their breaths. Not fair, he thought.
When he got back, he fought Tomas again, and lost again. The next time he won, sending his roommate cursing under his breath to the armory. Victory tasted like the coolest and purest water.
"Alright, sparring is over! We'll meet again at the library, after dinner. It's Hans's turn in the Wien and Jean's in the Trent. Dismissed!" The monk left, taking his stool with him.
After taking off and stowing their armors, Tomas and Siegfried went back to their room. As they stopped to open the dormitory door, Tomas's shoulder brushed against Siegfried's. Even as he apologized, the Croatian couldn't help to feel a brief but intense loathing for the other boy. As Marcellus's endless training bouts dragged on, all the other pairs of Children had mutually slowed down their pace. By the end it was quite noticeable that poleaxes were being hefted with deliberate lethargy, stances were being changed only occasionally if at all, and some pairs were winning and losing in alternation. He and Tomas were the exception. For two hours he never relented in his effort to score as many victories as possible. He almost certainly spent more effort in that fashion than he would have running a few more laps. The aches running through both of their bodies proved the only explanation was malice, but what had he done to him? Siegfried resolved to ask for a room change. But that could wait for later. To show a certain fellow boy who badly needed to be beaten at something that his plan to sap his energy hadn't worked (though it had) Siegfried doubled his pace. But as he was so close to his room, the only thing he could stand thinking about was a long naked nap on the bed, whence his sweat would flow into the mattress, making it smell more like him and home. If Tomas did not like seeing his genitals then he could go to hell; it was too damn hot to put on a blanket. Upon arriving at his room, he immediately took off his doublet and shirt, and toweled off the wet skin underneath. Tomas entered in after him, and took off his doublet. Grabbing a towel, he pulled his shirt out of his hose and scrubbed off some dirt and sweat. He then lay down in the middle of the bed.
Although Tomas was sore, by the time he was settled he really wasn't tired anymore. He'd always had a knack for regaining energy quickly, and it was no exception today. Staying in a bed didn't appeal to him. The problem was, there just was nothing to do. Since Kenneth had had his arm broken, the room felt like a prison. Worse, it was a hot prison. And even worse, Siegfried stood in the room, dithering like an idiot, having replaced Kenneth, having hurt the best friend he had in this godforsaken country, having slept in Kenneth's bed space without his permission. His eyes went to the bench in the corner, on top of which were a few of Kenneth's books. He contemplated reading one, but written words just didn't appeal to him. He would have to put up with more of those than he had ever wanted to in his life after dinner, as he did after nearly every dinner. Indeed, some priest he would be.
Siegfried gazed wistfully at the bed. Tomas, lying in the middle, didn't leave all that much space on either side. Once Kenneth got out of the infirmary he would have to deal with these cramped conditions all the time, but when he was daydreaming of napping he had imagined having the entire bed to himself, so he could stretch his arms and spread his legs. He didn't really want to ask him to move; it might have been futile. He might be able to find the space he wanted outside. A nap on a grassy hillock wouldn't be so bad. But then he would have to wear clothes; after all, he didn't want to show random monks his naked body. He threw on a clean shirt.
"I'm going to visit Kenneth," Tomas said. He spoke as if this made him better than Siegfried. He was supporting his fallen comrade, while the abbot's son was just sitting there being impotent. Him leaving the room was all good, but it felt like he was being obliged to follow him.
Nevertheless, Siegfried took the opportunity to crash on the bed. He sunk into the wool under the sheets, into which sweat and heat wicked from his cheeks. It felt refreshing, but in a few minutes he was up again. A part of him just didn't want to relax. Tomas was with Kenneth; maybe he should be there too? In a few weeks, he would have to share this bed with Kenneth; shouldn't he meet him? Actually, how many weeks would depend on the severity of his injury. And he didn't really have any idea how badly Kenneth was injured, because he'd never asked him. Maybe he should have asked Tomas, but now they were both at the infirmary. Well, then he'd go too!
Siegfried set off for the infirmary, which was half of a mile away. As he was walking, he supposed that it would be nice if he got there before Tomas left. Hadn't he held 'being the one keeping an eye on Kenneth' over him? Or at least it seemed like he had. There really was no need for him to announce it like he had. If he was in that rat-of-whatever-country-he-was-from's shoes, he would have pretended to be going someplace else, like maybe to get food. Everyone needed to get food, so it wouldn't be conspicuous for him to do so.
But Tomas probably wouldn't be in the infirmary for long. In order to get there on time to prove he cared too, he'd need to sprint. So he did. By the time he got to the infirmary, Siegfried was practically about to fall down. His balance was wobbly, vision was blurry, and he'd dirtied his clean shirt. Opening the door felt worse than lifting a giant boulder, but the Croat made it inside.
The building the infirmary was in had several hallways emanating from the entry, which were all doubled in his vision. The central hallway looked the most familiar, so he pushed through that one. A few doors down were the infirmaries – one for the sick and another for the injured. He opened the door to the injured room, of which Kenneth and Tomas were the only inhabitants.
"Hi Ken," he said. "How's your arm doing?" He shuffled towards him, ignoring Tomas. The bedridden boy seemed to be doing alright; his eyes were bright and he looked healthy aside from the cast on his arm. Come to think of it, he probably hadn't had to attend poleaxe practice since he'd had his arm broken. Actually, by the positioning of the cast it looked more like a wrist fracture than a broken arm. To think Tomas was so mad about him supposedly causing (he hadn't) this wound. Kenneth's image oscillated in front of him.
Kenneth, looking up from the book he was reading, responded, "Oh hello... Siegfried! It's getting bett-." And then Siegfried vomited on his lap.
Kenneth squirmed like a worm. He threw his book across the room, then started trying to shake his legs out of the sheets, screaming all the way. Once his knees were safely curled to his chest, he tossed the sheets to the foot of the bed, then dove out, landing in a forward roll and then in an ungainly sprawl on the ground. He stood up, breathing deeply and rapidly. Tomas's expression was pure revulsion.
Siegfried curled up on the floor, shuddering and occasionally retching. If only out of sheer bile fascination, neither Kenneth nor Tomas could look away. He was so transfixed that he almost didn't notice his moans.
In the next three hours, Siegfried was hauled onto an infirmary bed, an orderly finally cleaned up the vomit and brought Kenneth new sheets, and Gerhard's meeting ended. When Siegfried had woken up, he was hauled before Marcellus.
"What have you done, and more importantly, how were you too stupid to not do it? In my old occupation I would appreciate a soldier who took the initiative to run… twenty more laps than anyone else during practice. But not if they then vomited on me! You, Siegfried, have firmly cemented yourself as being the dunce of the order!"
"And don't try to make excuses, you son of a whore!" After looking around to make sure noone that would report to the abbot had heard him, he continued berating Siegfried.
That night, shortly after Tomas had went to sleep, Siegfried snuck out of his room. Making sure to act like he belonged, he walked right out of the Geofront. He even saluted the gate guard. In his pocket were half a dozen reichsthaler [4] coins, enough to get him far, far, away if he played his cards right. He was also wearing most of his clothes, as he didn't want to be seen leaving with a backpack. No matter how good an act he could put up, there was no good reason for leaving with a backpack in the dead of night. At least, there was no reason Gerhard would see as good. He had a perfectly good reason. He just wasn't cut out for the job. He'd injured his own colleagues, messed up so many times, and vomited on his future roommate. But now Kenneth would never be his roommate; he'd be going back home. "If they don't want me to mess up this 'important' business, then I'll just go home and be a nuisance to my real family," he said.
He turned around. He said that aloud. Shit. Had anyone heard him? Siegfried ducked into a bush and for a minute waited there, staring at where he had just left. Seeing no movement, he went back onto the road. The sky was beautiful tonight. It was a new moon, so all the stars in the sky, the same stars as he would see from in front of his home in Croatia, were visible, whilst hardly anything on the ground was. In addition, the eternal summer night was only somewhat cooler than the day, so in his several layers of clothes Siegfried felt amply warm. Warm and dark, like under the covers of a bed. He couldn't keep walking, so he stopped and stared at the stars.
The Milky Way shone brightly in the night sky without being overshadowed by the now-dark moon. On most nights it would not be so luminous. Of course, the downside was that the moon itself wasn't visible. As Siegfried came upon a clearing, he lay down in the center, propping his head against a rock. He'd had a bad few weeks, but how were Stjepan and Marija doing? He hadn't seen them since he'd left home. They were still getting their subsidy for keeping him alive the last decade or so, but they would be missing him. On the other hand, what would he say to them when he got back? "Hi, I'm back, I didn't like Stettin-Drei so I'm on the run from the One True Church, how've you been?" They wouldn't like him betraying (yes, that was what he was doing) his birth father and benefactor. It occurred to him that he hadn't really planned his course of action. Home was very near the first place Gerhard would check for him. He would want his son piloting the EVA, no matter how things turned out. Why was that? There might have been some technical reason why he had to stay there. In that line he could imagine a number of possibilities, as he still had basically no clue how EVA piloting worked. But more likely he just wanted the glory to accrue onto his own son, rather than any number of more competent substitutes. Or he might simply despise him. Aye, though that fit with his own suspicions, it wouldn't do as an explanation by itself. Whatever the reason, if Siegfried went home he would be pursued and captured.
What about somewhere else? The world was big, and the Order couldn't pursue him everywhere. With the end of its formidable winter fifteen years ago, Russia was a good place for an able-bodied youth fleeing Catholics. But Russia would also not be home. But couldn't it be home? Surely the Russians called their own villages home, why couldn't he? A vein twitched in his eye as he tried to hold that thought. But his mind continued. In fact, home was where Marija, Stjepan, and his friends were. And those people were in Croatia, not Russia. But wasn't there something more to home than just people?
Damnit, I'm arguing with myself in the wrong direction, Siegfried thought. The something else, whatever the hell it was, wouldn't be in Russia. But now he wanted to argue with himself yet again. He tried to imagine his village without anyone but him. The chickens pecking around the bushes, the wind rustling through the thatch, the highest hill, from whose summit one could see the Imperial tower, whose drunken, womanizing, and armed Imperial soldiers represented the splendor of Vienna for the locals. But every village had thatch and chickens, and every village in Croatia had to deal with soldiers. Maybe somewhere like the city of Stettin-Drei had some sort of "locality" beyond the actual people, but his home village was just like the two nearest it. So it must have had some special quality making it 'home'. Russia would never be home, and he had to deal with that.
Deal with it! Huh! What the hell did that mean? If he wanted to go home, and Russia wasn't home, why the hell would he need to go there?
In the warm dark night, with a comfortably angled rock under his head, Siegfried started to feel like sleeping. He sat himself up, and stopped looking at the stars. He needed to be an adult, to be resolute. There were no good options down the road out of Stettin-Drei, so he had no choice but to remain. He walked back into the GeoFront, saluting the guard as he went. Silently, he crept back into his room, into his bed, and fell asleep.
The next day proceeded much like how the first one started out. Tomas and Siegfried woke up at dawn, and both tried to ignore the other as visibly as possible until breakfast. Then Siegfried had to get in the EVA and make it eat its daily meal of ten barrels of oats and ten more of dry beans. While he was synced he could taste the gargantuan meal, which made him feel sorry for the poor creature. The food was oppressively bland, so dry that it soaked up all the saliva in the Eva's mouth (and made the pilot salivate uncontrollably due to the synchronization) and irritated his throat on the way down. Siegfried had had to smuggle in a slice of cheese just to avoid vomiting from the sheer tastelessness. Fortunately all things come to an end, and after finishing the barrels of fodder there was EVA training. Until lunch, he and Reidun would constantly drill exactly four different maneuvers: a step forwards, a step backwards, a step to the right, and a step to the left, and so on in various combinations. He got the idea that this was probably very easy and unnecessary for the blue-haired girl (after all, quite unlike himself she never messed up), but damned if she wasn't just going along with it anyway. It was sort of eerie how docile she was. At some point, Siegfried would have to go up to her and say something negative about his father; that ought to put some life into the girl. When he got out of the EVA, he was going to follow through with the plan, but then she looked at him. Those red eyes, piercing into his soul, crushed all of his plans, and he headed off silently to lunch.
Lunch was also completely silent; this custom was one of the few portions of the Rule of St. Benedict that the Order of St. Gerbert of Aurillac had chosen to follow. Also in accordance with the Rule, a passage of the Bible was read, although which one Siegfried did not know as it was read in Latin. Luther might have had the right idea, he thought.
After lunch came one of Marcellus's penchant grueling four-hour long poleaxe training sessions. This one was no different from the last few, except there were two more water breaks. Those breaks were almost certainly due to the infirmary incident, and he debated taking credit. In the end, he decided it wasn't worth the other children knowing about it, as somehow the story hadn't spread beyond those who witnessed it. Why hadn't Tomas told everybody by now? He'd had the opportunity. Or maybe they were just trying to pretend they didn't know. Siegfried couldn't find out without telling everybody about the incident, so he just shoved it into a corner of his mind. Nevertheless, the uncertainty haunted him through practice to dinner, then to Marcellus's evening lecture, and then to bed.
Just a few hours after Siegfried shut his eyes, he was shaken awake. "Handle it yourself, Tomas," he murmured before closing his eyes again. But it was Tomas's turn to man the Wien tonight; Siegfried had the bed to himself. He didn't think of that until he was physically lifted off the bed and dumped unceremoniously onto the floor, blankets and all.
He asked, irately but mostly drowsily, "What is it?" He blinked.
Marcellus was standing over him. He lay his head on the floor and closed his eyes in defiance.
"Get up now, Siegfried! It's an angel attack!" He pulled Siegfried to his feet and led him by the hand out of his room.
Now Siegfried heard the bells, ringing wildly, but no, when he listened closely they were in a pattern. The hallway was nearly pitch-black, with Marcellus's face just barely distinguishable from the walls, and then mostly because it was much closer. He kept tugging his hand, pulling him outside. Was there really an angel? Would he have to face such a beast yet again? His mind flashed back a few days. The angel's hand was ripping through his mouth, like a psychotic, razor-sharp plum pit. Would this one do the same? Well, he had had training now, right? Surely he'd be good enough to prevent such a thing. If he were in that same situation right now, with all the countless, exhausting hours of training he'd sweated through, he'd…. He stopped to think for a moment, but Marcellus's hand pulled him stumbling through the door.
Now he was outside, but it was still almost pitch-black. Of course, it was the middle of the night, and inside a cave, and a new moon to boot. What would he do again? Yes, of course, he'd swing the poleaxe. That was the weapon he was given, right? But where at? The neck, for a kill strike? Its accursed octagon field would intercept the axehead, uselessly deflecting the blow. Maybe the forearm? Even if the poleaxe wasn't stopped by octagons, the forearm was a pretty small target, and a hit with the shaft probably wouldn't do much. But he couldn't really concentrate on visualizing the hit, because his own forearm was still in Marcellus's grip.
"Marcellus," he asked, "What would you do if you couldn't wake me up?"
"A bucket of cold water," said Marcellus.
"If that didn't work?" Siegfried asked.
"I'd probably just slap you until you woke up," Marcellus said indifferently. He had experience with such matters.
"No, I mean, what if no matter what you did you couldn't wake me up. What if I was dead?"
Marcellus grimaced. "I honestly don't know; I haven't been here very long. You should ask Mrs. Acquisto." He also had experience trying to wake dead men for muster, but he didn't think it was applicable.
"Ehhhh…,"
"Ah yeah, what was I thinking?" Marcellus chuckled.
"In all seriousness, I wouldn't worry about it," he continued. "You're young; you're healthy; if you die you're going to die after the battle starts."[5]
Siegfried shuddered. He was silent for the rest of the walk, which took them up a long set of stairs built into the side of the cavern near the gate. These stairs took him up to an overlook on the hill, where Reidun, Rolanda Acquisto, and the other Siegfried were waiting. The overcast sky blocked out all the stars, leaving the view truly darkened.
"I got Siegfried. Where's the Angel?" asked Marcellus.
"It's over there," said Acquisto. She pointed beyond and to the left of Stettin-Drei, in the Baltic Sea.
"I can't see anything," Marcellus strained.
"Wait a, how many seconds left?" Acquisto turned to the taller Siegfried.
"Eight, Seven, Six…," he counted.
"How many seconds left until what?" Marcellus asked.
A few seconds later, "what" happened. The bay was lit up by two glowing pink lines, like boiled and hanging pasta, hovering over the waters. They stayed on for two seconds, revealing the Angel holding them. Its main body looked something like the underside of a woodlouse, with a broad head and two long arms, each holding a line, connecting at the top, and a long wide tail stretching to the water. It did not make a single move, but it seemed to be staring at them.
"Wow, that... doesn't look like the last one," said Marcellus. Siegfried von Ingolschen didn't know whether to be glad or terrified.
"This happens for approximately one and a half seconds every ninety seconds," Rolanda said. "We started observing this phenomenon thirty four and a half minutes ago. Before that it was observed several times by the gate guards. Assuming an elapsed time of half an hour between their first observations and our first observations, this phenomenon has just occurred for the 43rd time."
Marcellus asked, "So we have time to make a plan?"
"Probably," said Rolanda.
Marcellus sat on the ledge. "So, can it see us?"
Rolanda pointed at the sea. "You see those little lights on the beach? Those are torches, held by people from Stettin-Drei."
"What? Those idiots!" Marcellus interjected.
Rolanda continued. "Every time the Angel lights up, its head is pointing somewhere different. But it's always looking at one of the lights." The Angel lit up again.
The tall Siegfried observed, "I'm pretty sure I saw a group of people without a torch. The Angel hasn't looked at them yet."
Marcellus clapped. "I think you're onto something! Has it looked at us yet?"
"No, it hasn't," Rolanda's assistant replied.
"If it's looking at the people with torches, and it's not looking at the people who don't have torches, like us…"
Oberdorfer exclaimed, "Then that means it can't see in the dark!"
"But what about its own lights?" asked Rolanda. "Shouldn't it be able to see us?
"43 times one and a half seconds is 60 seconds, more or less," said Marcellus. "That's nowhere near enough time to effectively survey the entire landscape, especially in intervals."
Siegfried von Ingolschen asked, "If it can't see in the dark, how does that help us? We can't see either."
"Ah, but the EVAs can!" Marcellus remarked. He turned to Reidun. "Can they?"
"They can't," she said.
"Well, that's not the only way we can use the darkness to our advantage," the monk said. "When the last Angel attacked, it fired those bombs with the cross-shaped explosions at the EVA. This way, we can sneak up on it, and it won't know to shoot its bombs. It's in an open area, but I think we can still get an EVA up close to it before it notices…."
Two hours later, Siegfried took a look at his EVA. A dark blue poncho had been stitched together from rolls of fabric, and a hood the same color obscured the head. Even with the few torches surrounding the beast, it was sometimes legitimately hard to make out. Reidun's EVA was still naked as its mission didn't require as much stealth, so it was easier to see. He entered the Entry Wound.
The alcohol and blood scent was less offensive than at first, but it still reeked. Siegfried slipped into the Cord, giving Tomas a pat on the shoulder to signal his eviction. He nodded and left. Now Siegfried was seeing through the EVA's eyes. Around a hundred or two monks, no, people associated with the monastery, no, employees of his father's principality, milled through the vicinity of the two EVA pits. There were people untying the various ropes and chains supposedly restraining the EVAs, people tying extra reinforcing stitches into the seams of his camouflage, and people just standing and watching. And there was Marcellus, riding a horse to ease his laps relaying information between the pits and the overlook. As of course horses couldn't go up stairs, he was still exhausted, but not as much as he would have been if he hadn't been lent the horse.
"Go, go, go!" his teacher screamed.
Siegfried didn't need to be told twice. Checking to make sure no one was too close to the pit, he stood up the Wien. A few hundred feet away, the Trent did the same. The EVA-scale poleaxes had both been dragged out of storage, and now they both were picked up. Each pilot replayed their instructions in their heads one last time before heading out the gate.
Siegfried liked Marcellus's plan. The best part about it was that, if it went right, he wouldn't have to combat the Angel for very long. Reidun would go into the sea about a mile from where the Angel was. Then she would swim underwater (apparently these things could hold their breath for a long time) and reveal herself only when she was within poleaxe range. He would hide in the forest and wait for her to do that. When it's back was turned, he would charge in to wedge an axehead in its carapace, if Reidun hadn't already managed to kill it. Which, honestly, she probably would. But then that wouldn't be his fault. If she didn't, then he could deliver the killing blow, and bring some badly needed glory onto himself.
Reidun doubted the plan. She didn't deign to delve into the logic of the actual plan, but she'd been present for its drafting, and the process worried her. It was entirely the brainchild of three people who were most certainly not Gerhard von Ingolschen, the papally-picked abbot of the Military Order of St. Gerbert of Aurillac, who was in the city and whose judgement had not been deemed worth the risk of drawing the beast out of the bay prematurely. Rolanda Acquisto, a woman who'd managed to edge into the upper circles of the field of natural philosophy based mostly on her illustrious parentage and, to be fair, some natural talent. Either way, she was not really a woman of any practical experience. Siegfried Oberdorfer, her assistant. She really didn't know much about him, other than that he was a child of merchants who'd went to university. And Marcellus Herzener, the new guy. He'd apparently been some sort of soldier or low-ranking officer. This background might have given him some practical experience, but his low rank did not produce assurances about his strength of mind and character. All in all, the blind were leading the blind. Nevertheless, it was her duty to obey all their orders. She herself was hardly more qualified than them, after all.
The two EVAs crawled through the tunnel, the Wien after the Trent. They kept on their hands and knees even after they exited the tunnel, taking cover on the side of the road. The Angel flashed, and the two pilots started counting as they crept ever closer to their target.
As Siegfried reached '40', he was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. Looking behind his shoulder, he saw Tomas. "What the hell are you doing here?" he hissed.
"You idiot, you went up before I could get out!" Tomas stage-whispered. Siegfried was taken aback by the fury on his face, and turned back away from him.
What to do? Siegfried had two basic choices. He could drop off Tomas, or he could keep him in the Cord. He grit his teeth. The first option would involve stopping the EVA, possibly warning the Angel of his presence, and calling attention to his own failure. The second would have none of those disadvantages, but Marcellus or Gerhard might not like it. Unless he could somehow smuggle him out after the Angel was defeated. It might be possible. There weren't many people around, there was a convenient forest, it's pitch-black out here….
Siegfried reached a decision quickly. He continued on his path, stopping at count 70 to take cover early in case the distraction had messed up his count. After a few rounds of sneaking in the darkness and hiding, he'd reached the observation point. It was a wide, shallow, and scrubby depression next to the side of the road. The edge of the forest ran just beyond its rim, providing more cover. From this point the Angel was about a mile to two miles out. It was too far to run in 90 seconds, but close enough to make a run for it while it was distracted. From this location, Siegfried and Tomas waited ten minutes for Reidun to get in the water, and five more for her to emerge behind the Angel.
The two boys had their eyes trained on where they thought the Angel was with mounting anxiety. A silhouette was almost visible, although it could have been their eyes playing tricks on them. Siegfried was most anxious about facing the Angel; his breathing could be heard even in the fluid of the cord. Tomas was also nervous, but he was more nervous about being in the EVA when he wasn't supposed to. However, he was also quite excited about seeing the beast fight in person. Finally, Reidun leapt out of the water, skewering the Angel's neck with the tip of her poleaxe.
On a human, such an injury would mean certain death. But as the Angel did not possess a jugular vein or a trachea, it was completely undeterred by the stabbing. Its whips, lighting up and illuminating the bay, settled on the EVA's rising body and coiled around its shoulders.
A wave of impatience swept through Tomas's mind. Before he could voice his sentiment though, Siegfried stood and began sprinting towards the Angel. His steps shook the earth, and the traction tore the vegetation from the ground like a massive plough. He was also yelling, but the EVA wasn't, for some reason.
Just as the Angel tightened its grip around the Trent's armpits, an orange barrier projected from Reidun's EVA's shoulders. The Angel's whips continued to constrict, forcing the field back inches in several seconds. The EVA's barrier pulsed even more, and the body intermittently flashed orange. Then the spike of a poleaxe burst straight through the Angel's body.
"Did I get him?" Siegfried asked as he withdrew the poleaxe. He knew he'd gotten the monster good, but his elation at killing an Angel was such that he doubted he had. Tomas peered closer at the beast. It was now gushing blood from both ends of the body, true, but its whips were still digging into the girl's barrier….
"No! It's still up!" he shouted. Just as the Angel had no trachea for Reidun to breach, there had been nothing vital in the path of Siegfried's thrust.
"By His Kurac, this is just like the last one…," Siegfried mumbled. He stepped backward. They'd lost the element of surprise. Now it was just a stand-up fight between him and a sea monster with powers he didn't understand. And also Reidun. Who was losing. She was trying to cut one of the Angel's whips with the poleaxe hook, but it wasn't working. He readied his axe, but as he shifted the weapon in his hands the Angel interposed the Trent between itself and the Wien. It flattened its body against Reidun's back, gripping into her ribs with its legs and nuzzling the back of her neck. Siegfried pretended to swing, then pulled back. He swung again, but pulled back again.. He felt like a rabbit, staring at a wolf with the bloody corpse of another rabbit in its teeth. The muscles around his eyes started to twitch in his continuing horrified expression. "Tomas! Any advice?" he begged hysterically.
Tomas shouted, "I don't know!" He felt about the same as Siegfried did.
Then the Angel made its move. It further tightened its grip around the Trent's right armpit, squeezing the barrier more and more… Until it popped. As the orange hexagons collapsed, the whip moved right both it, slicing through the EVA's arm. The limb landed in the sea.
Marcellus quickly crossed himself. "Jesamaryanjoseph," he murmured.
Siegfried Oberdorfer was a little slower to react. "Damn, there goes my weekend," he said in a mixture of disbelief and fear.
"Her entire arm is off. Are you sure a weekend's not optimistic?" Marcellus asked.
"Unlike the frostbite incident the arm's intact, so we should be able to re-attach it in a weekend, but still! I had plans," Rolanda's assistant moaned.
With a sudden tone of exasperation, Marcellus pressed, "What plans could you possibly have that are that important?" Siegfried stared at him, slightly offended. He continued, "There's a young girl in there, if you didn't forget!"
The assistant brushed it off with a wave of the hand. "No, she'll be fine. She's... not exactly a normal girl."
Not pausing for Marcellus's bewildered expression, he continued, "I'm more worried about mini-me. If something like that happens to him, well, he could die from the shock. Also we wouldn't have anything strong enough to bring Reidun's arm back here. Two weeks minimum, that is if we somehow survive."
Rolanda interrupted the conversation. "If you think dying will get you out of this, Mr. Oberdorfer, let it be known that I expect you to complete all the work I give you whether or not you are alive to do so."
"Ay, she means it," the assistant moaned. Marcellus started ignoring them at this point. Siegfried was fighting for his life and neither Acquisto nor Oberdorfer could help him at this point. He couldn't either, but watching closely seemed like the right thing to do.
Siegfried screamed and charged at the Angel, poleaxe at his hip. He swatted the Trent to the side, piling into the Angel's torso. The Angel, its whips still on the Trent, tried to grab the Wien's head with its vestigial legs. Siegfried punched it in the face, brought the poleaxe shaft against its neck, and began pushing. The Angel tried to resist, but Siegfried swept it over his leg and slammed its flailing body in the water. With one hand holding the poleaxe to its neck and the other keeping its head under the surface, he mounted its torso and sat in for a wait.
The Angel lashed at the EVA's sides, cutting large gashes with its whips. Then it sunk into the water. Siegfried couldn't see it as it had turned its whips off, but it settled to the bottom of the bay. Then, with a few stirrings of the sand imperceptible from the surface, it brought its long tail underneath its torso, folded like a spring. And it released. The Angel shot upwards, taking the EVA with it. After almost 75 feet in the air, it stopped and arranged itself in a horizontal line, pointed at the shore. The EVA arced through the air, landing in the exact spot it was aiming for. It brought itself to its knees just in time to brace for the Angel careening into it at top speed.
Siegfried was almost bowled over, but by sticking his poleaxe in the dirt he just barely kept his body off the ground. While he was righting out the EVA the angel changed itself back to its vertical form, reactivating its whips. But no sooner had the brilliant whips begun glowing than did Siegfried swing the poleaxe at the Angel's neck. The beast frantically put up a barrier, but it was too weak to prevent the axe head from burying itself in the Angel's neck and, through the force of the shaft, lopping off the Angel's spade-shaped head. As the latter flew through the air, the red gem at the base flashed so brightly that it lit the entire bay crimson. As it hit the earth, the body instantaneously withered and a new one generated itself from the head. With the grace of a heron, it rose off the ground and re-activated its whips.
Siegfried could only stare. He replayed the battle in his head. First Reidun had stuck it in the neck, then he'd stuck it in its torso. They were both good, penetrating hits, but it wasn't too extraordinary that it had basically shrugged both wounds off. But then he'd chopped its head clean off, and it was still there! His head sagged, and his eyes shed a few tears. He felt frustrated that he was stuck in the EVA with only Tomas to hear his complaints. None of this was his fault. It was that jumped-up dipshit Marcellus and Rolanda and that other guy just wouldn't recognize. All that running was, well, probably great training for making some random villager point a pike or arquebus in the right direction for a few hours, but this Angel was nothing like a tercio. The whips probed his range, making quick fake jabs while slowly undulating closer like a snake going up a tree branch. Sobbing, he flailed the poleaxe at the Angel, knocking away the whips, but not with enough force to sever any of them. Then the Angel went on the offensive. Parrying the poleaxe to his right, it reared back a whip to strike his left.
"God save us!" Siegfried cried. He threw his hands in front of him, and Tomas folded his for a quick prayer.
The Angel's whip crashed against an orange barrier, bouncing off it to the ground. In seconds, the Wien wrested the poleaxe back to the center and stabbed with the butt-spike. The attack didn't penetrate the Angel's orange barrier, but it allowed it to wrap its whips around the Wien's barrier. As he stabbed more, the Angel tightened its hold. Belatedly Siegfried realized that it was repeating the same strategy that it used with Reidun.
As that went through Siegfried's mind, the Angel reared back and slammed its body into his. While he staggered backwards, the Angel pulled out the slack in its coil of cutting whips. He could feel its legs latching onto his chest, the pointed feet stinging like ant bites. And now it was going to tighten and tighten until the whips burst through and bisected the Eva through the waist. Siegfried realized with growing concern that there was no reason to believe the Wien could regenerate like the Angel.
"Tomas," he said, "I'm really sorry for getting you into this."
Tomas's face drew back in an uneasy smile. "Well, thanks for the apology." Despite his obvious terror, Siegfried could tell he believed he was going to live. He wished he could hold that assumption.
Then the Angel drew back from them, the coils of cutting whip stretching and finally loosening. Reidun had the poleaxe's hook buried in the Angel's torso, and through its one remaining arm it exerted its entire body to pull the hook. Now with more space, the Wien propped its own poleaxe in the ground and levered the spear end into the Angel.
Incredulously Tomas asked, "Is it because your father's an abbot that God looks after us?"
Siegfried didn't respond. Now that the Angel was immobilized, it would be easy to finish off. If only he knew how! It had survived getting its head chopped off, so obviously it could replace anything below that cut. That left the head. The jewel! The last Angel had one too. Whatever it was, it couldn't hurt to try!
Siegfried pulled his poleaxe back between his legs, and thrust the spear-end right into the jewel. A barrier popped up as soon as he started, and it held back the poleaxe. But he kept pushing, and the point inched its way closer, deforming the perfect orange octagons defending the Angel. One more push, and the point moved yet closer. He was definitely on to something; the Angel was expending far more effort defending this jab than it had bothered to put into preventing its own head from being cut off. Tomas was yelling, and Siegfried joined him. With a crash, the spear head burst through the barrier and lodged itself deep into the jewel.
As the Angel flopped onto the shaft of the poleaxe, Siegfried first felt shock: that he had figured out how to end the being's life. Then he was happy, for the same reason. With a smile on his face he took his eyes off the angel and shook the gigantic corpse off of his weapon. And with a burst of light compared to which the whips were dim, the great red orb exploded.
Fifteen hours had come and gone, and Siegfried and Tomas were still nested in the Eva. When the Angel exploded, the Wien had fallen backwards into the water. Its neck was a few feet off the beach, and the head was not entirely submerged. Nevertheless, the Entry Wound was sealed off by a floor of sand and two feet of water. The only thing to do was wait for rescue.
"So, Tomas," Siegfried asked, "where are you from?" Judging by his dark skin, his top guesses were Sicily, Andalusia, or possibly America. Now that was a thought! He'd heard of the great conquests and vast fortunes the Spanish had made in the new continent, but the stories had been so few and sparse that he had a lot of questions.
Tomas, not visible in the pitch blackness, answered. "I'm from Málaga. Well, actually I'm from Vélez, but nobody knows where that is..."
"I don't know where Málaga is either," Siegfried said. He scooched up to where he thought Tomas's voice was coming from. He was still hoping for America, but it was probably always unlikely.
"It's, you know, in the south of Spain. Andalusia."
"What's that like?"
"Well, it's sunny. It didn't snow in the region even before '55. Have you ever went out in the water here?" he asked.
"Why would I do that? It's cold and I can't swim."
"Back home, the sea's nice and warm. Vélez is only a few miles from the coast, so whenever I could I'd go swimming."
"Sounds nice." Siegfried really didn't care about swimming, but Tomas sounded like he enjoyed it.
"Yeah."
"Hey, Siegfried. Hit me," Tomas said.
"Why would I do that?" Siegfried bewilderedly asked.
"I've, you know, sort of been blaming you for what happened to Kenneth. But I don't think it was really your fault."
"I'm sorry," said Siegfried.
"Oh, don't be."
Siegfried said, "Honestly, you should really be hitting me..." He aimed at where he thought Tomas's voice was coming from, and missed. His fist dug into the wall of the chamber, where it took some effort to extricate. Tomas laughed until Siegfried got his hand out and hit him on the second try.
On land, a colossal endeavor was coming to completion. After the Angel exploded, emissaries were sent out for miles throughout the Duchy of Pomerania to find villages. Using the Abbey's special Imperial privilege of conscription throughout that duchy, a couple thousand peasant laborers were mobilized and gathered outside of Stettin-Drei. Long, thick ropes made for this purpose were dragged out of storage and given to the draftees. After some brief drill to make sure they understood what they were to do, they went over to the Wien, its face an island in the Baltic Sea. The ropes were tied around strategic points, and with several concerted pulls the Evangelion was tugged onto dry land. They were re-positioned, and the giant unconscious beast was flipped on its back.
Marcellus yelled out some final commands. "Okay, stop pulling! Now the closest twenty people on each rope, rotate the loop so the rope is pointed in the same direction as the head! I'm going in; when I come out be prepared to pull again!" He and two other Order brothers climbed the EVA's ribcage, bringing a rope and a torch with them. Once they were at the Entry Wound, the two others tied the rope around Marcellus's waist and crotch and lowered him into the EVA. He lit the torch, which shone brightly into the pit. The Cord was revealed, and the festerings of the Wound's walls were unfortunately brought to light, but the Child wasn't visible. Marcellus signaled to be let down further.
Soon enough, he caught a glimpse of hair, mostly blocked by the Cord, and then a waving hand. Marcellus descended to the bottom of the Wound, clinging to the sides of the chamber. As he saw both Siegfried and Tomas, he smiled joyfully.
"So this is where you ran off to!" the monk exclaimed.
"Sorry sir, it's all my fault sir!" Siegfried gasped.
"Who cares about that, my man? You won!" Marcellus could tell the boy didn't believe it, but there was no way he would be punished for whatever mishap brought Tomas in here. He himself was just happy that he, Marcellus Herzener, had been the one to find him. Although of course he wouldn't tell the boys, he had a bet with Oberdorfer that Tomas was outside of the geofront, rather than inside it. He now had ten more thalers to his name. But that could wait until he got them out of here. As there were two of them, they would need to be pulled up in two trips. Tomas, as the larger of the two Children, went up first, to the shock of the rope-pullers. Marcellus and Siegfried were brought up next, and they all descended the EVA.
[1] The Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire was elected by seven Electors, four of whom were lords of important domains and three of whom were bishops. The states with electorates were Mainz, Trier, and Cologne (the bishoprics), Bohemia, the Palatinate, Saxony, and Brandenburg. This setup, dating back to 1257 AD, caused much tension from the Reformation up to the 30 years war as the latter three electors converted to Protestantism, Bohemia was held by the ruling Habsburg family, and the bishops of Mainz, Trier, and Cologne were appointed by the Pope.
[2] ¾ Plate armor would generally consist of a helmet with a visor and bevor, a breastplate and backplate, and protection for the shoulders, arms, thighs, and knees.
[3] Plate armor was quite cheap during the 16th century. In addition to technological-based increases in productivity, many armormakers began to mass-produce "Munition" armors which were made to equip large numbers of infantrymen in a tercio. The impetus behind the mass-equipment of soldiers in plate was the rise of gunpowder on the battlefield. If an arquebusier could hit an enemy soldier, his weapon could hit with lethal force from 100 yards away. But if the enemy soldier was wearing any sort of plate armor, that killing distance would be reduced to 30 yards.
[4] A Reichsthaler would be approximately a week of pay for an unskilled laborer living in Konstantiniyye at the time.
[5] Soldiers in the Early Modern era were quite old compared to modern soldiers. In one company of the Spanish Army of Flanders between 1596 and 1599, about half of the soldiers were above the age of 31. 20 percent were above the age of 40, and one of the soldiers (in a company of 379 men) was an astounding 80 years old. These veterans were vital to the functioning of any proper unit.