Richieste Vaticano
By: James Austin Valiant
"We're here."
The trio of Brother Ian Desmond, Father Abel Nightroad and Sister Esther Blanchett had left their carriage once they had reached the outskirts of the Vatican. Traveling by foot was the preferable way to gain access to the city.
Compared to other journeys that the AX members had made on foot, the simple trip into Vatican City was a leisurely stroll. Somehow bringing this strange brother and his Order back into alliance with the Vatican seemed of more importance than many of their usual missions of arrests and battles. Abel and Esther both sighed a relieved breath.
Abel glanced over at Esther, trying not to draw attention to himself so he could see her longer. The expression on her face was momentarily cleansed of worry and she looked up at the sky more often than the cobblestones beneath her feet.
He still wondered just why she had been playing with his hair. Playing with it, or simply moving it? Whichever it was, he was happy that she payed any attention to his crazy performance at all. Although he knew it was better to act a fool to the AX then to show his true a brooding self day by day, he always felt that pull of regret in his heart for not telling her the truth at every moment of opportunity he had. Still, he couldn't, not yet.
Brother Desmond was captivated by the scene around him. The sight of the Vatican was a shimmering jewel unlike any other Desmond had ever seen. The massive statues established grandeur and poise; their poses and expressions came from ages past and spoke of a simpler time of faith. Centuries old buildings made a stately impression. Their structure told of a powerful institution, one that ruled with physical might and a psychological edge. This was the Roman Catholic Church that Desmond had signed on to be a part of.
None could compare to the magnificence that he beheld in front of him - St. Peter's Basilica. Its magnificent arches, its countless windows and its dome that seemed to reach to Heaven. How he had so longed to see it with his own eyes, and now that it stood before him...he was without words.
The majesty of it all! Why, I can barely believe I am actually here! Desmond's eyes darted from building to building, his visual center experiencing an overload. This architecture is exactly what I envision for the Order - when I lay my demands on the table, I'll have it all...all the cathedrals, churches, basilicas, learning centers, convents, rectories...whatever I want, I will have!
Absorbed in his own thoughts, Desmond was completely unaware that his traveling company was following as far behind him as they could. Esther's uneasiness had only grown during the tenure of the trip. She had gone from considering the monk kindly and hospitable to creepy and suspicious. What's more, he had completely ignored her to talk about war and gore with Father Nightroad.
"Something's not right about him," she whispered to her priestly companion.
"I know what you mean," Abel agreed. He'd never before met someone who had so eagerly wanted particular descriptions of such unpleasant realities of waging battle. Some of the things the monk wanted to know were things the slender priest wanted to forget. Still, Desmond was almost to Caterina, and then, their mission would be done.
"Brother! Her Eminence's office is right this way!" Sister Esther called out to the monk, who was still astonished by his surroundings.
"Please lead the way. I'm right behind you." Brother Desmond turned his attention back to his companions, who led him through a entranceway to the left of the grand building. Desmond scratched his beard, a nervous habit. It was time to draw battle lines.
A series of long and winding halls, broken up periodically by open areas featuring art and sculpture, carried them closer and closer to their destination. Desmond longed to stop and gaze upon the art, but the lead of his companions prevented him from doing so.
The priest and nun stopped at a pair of massive, wooden doors. Upon knocking, Desmond heard a strong voice asking them to enter, and the door shifted open. Father Nightroad and Sister Esther entered first, with Brother Desmond in tow.
"Your Eminence, allow me to introduce to you Brother Ian Desmond, of the Order of Saint Sebastian." explained the silver haired priest.
"Greetings, Your Eminence," followed Desmond, bowing his head slightly.
"And to you, good Brother," began Caterina, "I am Cardinal Caterina Sforza, Duchess of Milan and head of the Ministry of Holy Affairs. I would like to extend our sincere gratitude for you and your Order agreeing to this meeting."
Desmond smiled. "But of course, Your Eminence, the Order extends gratitude towards you and His Holiness for being the first Church leaders in a very long time to take the time to make company with us. It has been a long road to get here."
"Indeed, it has." Caterina turned to her agents. "You two are relieved. Thank you for your help, and for escorting Brother Desmond here."
"You are welcome, Lady Caterina," Abel responded.
"It was our pleasure. Come on, Father, I'll make us some tea." Esther smiled at Caterina and left the office.
"Tea? And perhaps...sandwiches!" The priest quickly followed the redhead nun, shutting the door behind him.
"Your clergy are remarkable, if you don't mind me saying," commented Desmond.
"Of course not, Brother. I am proud of each and every one of them," Caterina nodded in agreement, "but let's commence dialogue relating to reconciling the Order of Saint Sebastian with the Church proper."
"Indeed, but shouldn't His Holiness be present as well?"
"I'd like to fully understand what exactly the Order wishes to gain from coming back into communion with us first."
Desmond grinned. This was exactly what he'd been waiting for.
"We'd like funding mainly, to continue our healing work, and to be able to build better facilities for ourselves. Not only that, but we'd like recognition as the forefront Order of the Vatican, with a headquarters cathedral here. We would also like certain members of our Order elevated to the rank of Bishop so that we may consecrate our own priests, and we would like governing power extended to include a say in the College of Cardinals."
Caterina met Desmond's stare. "You want...you want me to convince the Pope that all these requests are necessary? You and I know they are not."
"How are they not?" His grin turned cold.
"Consecration of bishops? Building of a new cathedral? And if you're implying what I believe you to be implying, you are asking for one of your members to be elevated straight from the monastic life to the cardinalate. That's too much."
"Too much, is it?" Desmond's gaze turned to ice, his smile disappearing. "What is too much, Your Eminence, is ignoring a true asset to the Church's continued existence. This one organization that could insure its prevalence and even its dominance. Yet, even though the Order of Saint Sebastian offers you all these things, you refuse to support her. But you continue to maintain a conflicted leadership in the College of Cardinals and support a weak Papacy. That...child is barely qualified to lead Holy Mother Church!"
"Enough!" Caterina stopped the monk's rant.
"What's the matter, Caterina? Are you feeling weak, perhaps?" Desmond's grin returned, and he left his seat, leaning over the Cardinal's desk and gripping the edge. "Are your joints not up to par today?"
"ENOUGH!" Caterina stopped the monk again. "Please do not address me so informally, Brother Desmond. You may leave now. We will reconvene tomorrow afternoon, after I have time to address your requests with the Pope. Father Tres is waiting outside to show you to your room."
The monk backed away, and bowed slightly. "Thank you, Your Eminence. I look forward to our meeting tomorrow." He turned on his heel and left the room.
Caterina sighed, rubbing her forehead. This was not going to be easy in the least, but she never should have expected it to be. Perhaps a cup of Sister Kate's herbal teas was in order. She rose from her chair and started for the door.
Had Caterina glanced where Brother Desmond had been gripping her desk, she would have seen the deep grooves his fingers has left on her solid oak desk. Each ridge retained the exact pattern of Desmond's fingerprints. His grip on the Vatican was beginning, and he wasn't soon to let up.
