1635_ Cannon Law - Eric Flint [182]
"It will be barricaded. They will suspect a trick if we insist on that being opened," Ruy said. "Besides, what cause have you to complain? You are young, and strong. I am the aged and infirm member of this party."
"Aged and infirm maybe," Tom muttered, "but with the mind of a teenager."
There was movement above, and a shout of "Who did you say you were?"
"Ruy Sanchez de Casador y Ortiz, and with me is Signor Thomas Simpson of the Embassy of the United States of Europe. We are here to rescue His Holiness." Ruy was now standing right in the shadows under the wall, practically invisible even from five feet away where Tom was standing. Method in his madness, Tom thought.
The madness part had been spotted by whoever was on top of the wall. Tom didn't quite catch all of the idiom, but he figured "madder than a hatful of assholes" was probably a fair translation.
"Precisely!" Ruy shouted back, "No one will be expecting it! May we come in and discuss the matter like gentlemen, or will you keep us out here all night like unwelcome peddlers?"
A shout came back that they should wait. A few nervous minutes later and a pair of thick ropes dropped over the wall.
"See?" Ruy said, grabbing a rope and bracing one boot against the wall to begin the climb. "Now for the difficult part."
"Getting out alive?" Tom said, giving the rope an experimental tug. It seemed to be securely attached. It better be, given what he weighed.
"No," Ruy said, between grunts of effort. "Persuading His Holiness to come with us."
It would pretty much figure that the pope would be as nuts as everyone else was acting tonight and want to stay in here. He's nuts? Tom Simpson, you're going in there with him. "Right," Tom said, and began to climb.
Chapter 41
Rome
"I cannot believe that just worked," Tom said, as he hauled himself over the parapet onto the lower battlement of the Bastion of St. John of the Castel Sant'Angelo. "Did someone forget to pay the reality bill?"
That got him a whole series of frowns. From Ruy, because he'd used an idiom that wouldn't mean squat for about three hun—well, maybe a hundred years, if electricity caught on here the way it had up-time. From about a dozen suspicious-looking Swiss Guards, a really suspicious-looking Swiss Guard officer and several incredibly suspicious-looking priests, because he'd said it in English, and they didn't appear to understand the language. All of the guards were armed; halberds, slung matchlock muskets and each with his own individual assortment of close-quarter mayhem. Plus grenades. He noticed that Ruy was very ostentatiously keeping his hands well clear of his weapons, and he did the same. "Hi!" he said, brightly and with a big smile. "Tom Simpson, pleased to meet you," he added, almost certain he'd mangled the Italian he'd switched to.
The Swiss Guard officer nodded. "Adolf Weisser, and it is an honor to meet you also, Signor Simpson. I understand you are one of the Americans who are said to be from the future? For the moment I take it on trust that you gentlemen are who you claim to be."
"I am, although these days I'm from the United States of Europe," he said. "Has Señor Sanchez already asked for an audience with the Holy Father?"
"I had not," Ruy said, "but this is indeed why we are here."
"I do not see that this is a good idea," Weisser said. "This man is a Spaniard, and while you claim to be one of the Americans, I have no way of knowing if what you say is true. An assassin, at this time, would spare those outside our walls a great deal of trouble."
"I understand your problem," Tom said. "Have you heard about the technical marvels we Americans are capable of?"
"I have," one of the priests said, not bothering to introduce himself.
Tom decided the man was probably an inquisitor, or