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Gallagher's Last Dance

Thaumantica

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Oxwhyte Castle (Almsfortress of Caitekurke)

" . . He then writes that your government is a lie and . . " Cardinal Gallagher offered with a squinting reticence.

Almskeeper Pherson was incredulous, "Where did he write this? Is it a proclamation from Tibur?"

"A proclamation on the world web network that your Almshouse saw fit to ban some years ago: Twatter." Gallager replied with some confidence setting in. He was expecting a call with support from Tibur any minute now to back what he was trying to put across here to this impossible tyrant.

"Ma'am, as your spiritual advisor in-state and beyond, a brother in in Christ, I . . " Gallagher pontificated.

"Ugh, no, Gallagher please." Pherson dismissed as if he had started making a stink in the room, "What are they actually willing to do to?".

Isolation was nothing new to Nieveland, but to fully leave the folds of Tiburan Catholicism was the impossible option Pherson's predecessors avoided. Her Uncle the Almskeeper MacPherson had compared it to a dance, State Socialism and Tiburan Catholicism, and advised in his diaries never to let the music stop.

"They will make you, me, all of us pariah and celebrate when you give in; and that is an option mind you and things can proceed along as if none of this happened." Gallagher advised.

Pherson sighed and nodded along, "In your phone call say the clergy students are cleared from conscription, we will not reverse on the athletic decree, and that the Almshouse will send a delegation to Quinnlevan to speak with the health students."

As Gallagher scurried out Pherson fumed and began thumbing through past Almskeeper's notes back to the midway point of MacKinnon's reign as the first Almskeeper, a section she honed in on was '1939: the Holy Church's response to unease in Ballyclaire'.
 

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Quinnlevan Square Park,
Day 4 of Concentration


"If the shoe was on the other foot surely you brothers and sisters would stand in solidarity with us?" a seminarian named Graham MacDubhshith asked of the health student leadership council. The young aspiring doctors were silent, stone faced or making uncomfortable winces, and all was clear for Graham and his side as aspiring clergy.

"They would abandon us," Sister Seonaid barked "and we must show them the way of solidarity! Show the whole socialist state that we Nievish Catholics have maintained the Spiritual Vision!"

Dympna McCleary, an aspiring dentist from the medical side, shrugged and shook her head in disapproval, "It's not about all that for us: we had scholarships in Chagny, I was supposed to study in Fehrbellin . . " McCleary lamented with a sigh, "we are sick of waiting in stew queues to eat, sleeping in Alms Clinics where we work 12 hour shifts, and then spending every moment left cramming to pass the impossible and outdated exams."

"So yes, we would abandon you, and at this point I do not care what you do idiot zealots do!" McCleary volleyed at Sister Seonaid who had at this point turned as red as the Nievish flag.

"Regardless, we will stay until Pherson's regime grants safe passage to all of us who started this journey together. If you wish to act as an individual now Miss McCleary I do not begrudge you, but this is a matter of NSV for our generation and the next." MacDubhshith from the seminary replied. Sister Seonaid was looking to stand but he put a hand on her shoulder to keep her down and whispered, "actions speak louder in a Nievish heart, look at what the Almskeeper actually does rather than what she says."

Some hours earlier Almskeeper Pherson's voice was heard over the loudspeakers of Caitekurke condemning the protests and promising not to give a budge against the pressures being put on her by the "vacant seat". Yet still, as Graham or any observer of a MacPherson was bound to see, her administration in writing offered freedom and clemency to the youth clergy in training as the loudspeaker droned on about equal duty among all classes.

Pherson was hoping to split the camps: ideological Nieves with spiritual backgrounds versus the young aspiring healthcare workers who, by and large, wanted to escape Nieveland and get paid and lead a better life elsewhere. Seminarians and sisters of the Nievish Catholic orders were fleeing the park already, at least half if Graham's estimates were correct, and short of raising his own park militia nothing could be done. Enough of the world was watching now that wiping the protest out was impossible, but Graham and others suspected that the regime's tactics would only continue to fracture and divide the youth collective.
 

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Quinnlevan Square Park,
Day 6 of Concentration


"ATTENTION TO THE SQUARE!" a voice from the paramilitary guardians announced into the protestor's park, "THE FOLLOWING CHILDREN HAVE BEEN GRANTED CONSCRIPTION CLEMENCY BY PARENTAGE PAYMENT OR THE ALMSNEEDS:"

Some groaned in the square but some perked their ears up, a chance to not only leave this rapidly devolving park where rapes and beatings were starting to happen, and maybe even Nieveland altogether.

"Gowaine C. from Ballyclaire
Cuiomh F. from Genwythe
Eibhail D. from Granting Village
Naona X. from Caitekurke
Donviu B. from Joshgyll . . .

Your conscriptions have been commuted and you can now return to studies."

At the exterior the park the army, or guard, had already set barbed wire along most of the boundary but now they were being ordered to start smoky fires at corners based on the wind patterns. At night alarm horns were sounded at random intervals and a helicopter dropped promised rations at different times every night in the dark.
 

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Quinnlevan Square Park,
Day 7 of Concentration

With the rise of dawn the paramilitary police, or Garda, began by sending individual troops through small paths and through the scrub to cover the main push and their feet. Snipers were posted on buildings around the square but the overgrown and lush nature of Quinnlevan denied any true scope, and as the helicopter drop missions had found over the last few days there was no way to look into Quinnlevan from aside or above.

"Ten minutes before sunrise, the first wave on foot will wash over the protestor camp," Brigadier Byrnsidh told his subordinates, "batons swinging, I want them pushing and never stopping . . . tell them to ignore someone who stands or fights and to just keep pushing the main group . . . At sunlight, we have clearance to drive wagons for the arrest of the remaining stragglers. Our third wave will sweep every section for evidence, God save them."

A mixture of nods groans, and confused squints greeted Byrnsidh then and he wondered if he was about to walk into his honor suicide. Such was the luck of the first wave when they failed to sweep the park within minutes or an hour. Up-armored vehicles were stacking at the park's exterior and some had only just enough fuel to drive in and shut off before becoming useless. The troops were afraid to engage and whip young men and women out of their tents in the park.
 

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. . . from the East End of Catekurke a wave of new demonstrators were joining the youths and sitting in against the club swinging Garda.

Some were riding the high of Nieveland's reversal of a millennia of anti-gay policies while some, quite proactively, wondered if they could finally get a chance to hit back against the Garda today or the Neighbors who had been making their lives a hell for decades and a century.

"THE GUARD IS ORDERED TO WITHDRAW!" the loudspeaker over blood and angst filled Quinnlevan Square Park declared, "BY ORDER OF BRIGADIER BYRNSIDH THE DAY IS A WASH!"

North of the park Byrnsidh was pacing and bleeding at his lips from biting and gnashing at what was soon to come.

Byrnsidh began drafting his resignation letter at 0800 when at 0813 he heard a dog barking outside of his tent on Gillespie St.

"Hope I'm not interrupting nothing in there, oh hey . . " a voiced offered from the bright flap of the tent when in came a white helmed officer with a dumb smile and a mustache that belong to the Franks.

"Sir, I am so sorry, but are you lost? The front is in Csengia?" Byrnsidh offered. As the intruder came closer, removed his helmet, and gathered a chair for himself Byrnsidh finally recognized him as the odd hero of 2022 that charmed Nieveland into a distrusting smirk. "Captain Hely, who are you here then?" Byrnsidh defended, snapping back as if he had not just been oiling his pistol for the death shot.

"Pherson's Folly," Hely replied as he leaned back into his chair and wiped the dumb grin off his face, "ain't no one in that world outside cared when we were beating down protestors, kilometer by kilometer, village by village, we disrupted whole languages and cultures . . . "

Byrnsidh nodded and replied intone "I should have ordered bayonets ready, safeties off, and led from the front, please, I am drafting my letter now!"

"Hand that over to me so I can tear it up," Captain Hely replied, "ain't no one dying today that wasn't supposed to because of a bad diet."

Brigadier Byrnsidhe was plucking and pulling at his hair now, "So what, you're here to replace me?" he asked.

Hely sighed and shook his head with a definitive no, "terriers are home on holiday and I thought I'd catch up with the home park!"

"Arse!" Byrnshide replied.

"You need to go in there yourself and explain what you'll do to them," Hely said, "they might believe you and if you believe yourself your men will too."
 
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Thaumantica

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Quinnlevan Square Park,
Day 8 of Concentration

The men and women of Caitekurke's Guard force marched in formation into Quinnlevan Square Park with Brigadier Byrnsidh at the head. This time bayonets were fastened and the rifles were loaded and in hand rather than slung over back as had been seen yesterday. Behind the guardians' column followed several motor trucks hauling wagons that resembled boxcars from a train.

As planned the column halted in the open field of park and spread out into two wings with the trucks driving up to the center. Byrnsidh walked alone to meet the heads of the protest who themselves also carried small arm pistols and rifles now, though their radical corps was 13 as compared to the several hundred unarmed protestors who had or were dispersing at the sight of this standoff.

"Comrades," Brigadier Byrnsidh said with a genuine salute to the revolutionaries, "this conflict ends today. Regardless if I return to the formation at my back they will begin a shooting advance if you do not drop your weapons in five . . well less now . . minutes time."

Byrnsidh produced his smart block phone showing a millisecond descending timer aiming for zero. "They will shoot me in the back gladly so long as some bullets hit you, this is our way, and I think you know it because for the last week you young ones are the only ones left with enough dignity to hold wood and metal against the Guard."

"THREE MINUTES!" a sentry shouted from back in the Guard formation.

"I offer you a Fianna trial," Byrnsidh continued, "if one of you takes responsibility and leadership for all of this, this week of shite, everyone involved walks free."

This offer resonated with the Nievish sense of justice and especially defeat, that once a cause was lost one person would receive punishment while his or her supporters could return home to fight another day. Byrnsidh lacked the authority to grant such a trial, and the only one in this century prior had been granted by the Almskeeper who herself lacked authority to grant one.

Graham MacDubshith raised his rifle to his cheekbone and walked close to the Brigadier who raised his hands defensively. "We are collective, and we will die . . "

"ENOUGH GRAHAM!" Dympna McLeary shouted, throwing down her pistol and charging up to swat Graham's rifle down, "It's not even feckin' loaded! So enough, I claim the feckin' Fian . . This is my Fianna, so all of you drop the weapons!"

"ONE MINUTE!" the guard sentry announced.

Byrnsidh waited for all of the weapons to hit the ground before spinning around to raise a white card in his pocket. This was a symbol for the sentry to restart the count at five minutes so negotiations could continue.

"Comrade McCleary you have comported yourself with valor," Byrnsidh declared earnestly, "to face justice for this Fianna you must order your band to disperse and walk with me enchained for judgement."

"Fuck off then all of you, and do not write me in prison, I want to be left the fuck alone . . ." Dympna lamented. Sister Seonaid dropped her rifle and came to hug Dympna who tried and failed to shake it off. Graham nodded and began walking to the northern exit, and the other 10 dropped arms and followed his lead. Graham was the leader after all, but Dympna had just saved all of them from death today.

"Get gone Sister Seonaid," Dympna whispered, fighting back tears some as the Brigadier cuffed her wrists with plastic ties imported from the Engell Isles, "and don't follow that fool Graham, he'll get you killed sooner than . . "

Byrnsidh grabbed and pulled at Dympna's arm roughly before she could finish, race walking back to the line where he would face a new set of problems from higher command.
 
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Thaumantica

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Day 9
Aftermath for the Others

Graham, Seonaid, and the other deserting protestors were tackled in a narrow pathway and pressed into cuffs and weights. The arresting Guardians were angry for the last week of embarrassment and were swearing, kicking, and spitting at their captives in the bush.

The 3rd & 8th Revolutionary maintained a Rheinbund Rottweiler who was, to their disappointment, moseying about and drooling on and licking the student union kids.

"KLARA!" Corporal Jordan shouted, "Feckin' bite someone you fool, who raised you?"

Klara shook her face and ears and sprayed everyone in a zone of fire with drool before climbing on and laying on Sister Seonaid. "Save me?" Seonaid asked, shivering in fear as Klara tested her neck and skull with her jaws.

Jordan began hitting Klara and swearing at her in old Nievish but the hound wouldn't budge. The rest of the students therein were getting hit harder and being sworn down upon with the hate of young men and women bitter about a week of blood and jealousy. Klara could clearly bite back so Corporal Jordan found someone else to beat on.

For all of the progress being made in Nieveland there was still a bitter resentment among many that erupted when they got a chance to hit someone, to make them suffer, after being beaten upon themselves. Most guardsmen were regular working class youths, never a hope to study at all, and that these students of clergy and the medicals thought themselves higher truly frustrated them.

After ten minutes Graham was knocked and from Seonaid's view had stopped breathing, another sister had been laid out and raped in the bushes by two men while a female guardian sneered at her for being "special".

"Move out then!" the Platoon Sergeant captor declared once the ruckus was reaching a crescendo. Graham said not stand up, he never would again, and the sister in the bushes had to be picked up and thrown on to wagon to move along. Seonaid stood after Klara jumped off and tried to appear helpful by picking up others who were unsure what to do. Brigadier Byrsidh's deal for the media was a farce where only that strange and selfish girl from the medical union got away, for the rest of them prison was on the agenda despite promises made.
 

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". . and through these backchannels, with much assurance from the Vatican from dear Niamh sources close to the core, I do believe that with with few doubts they are on the precipice of announcing a papal visit to Nieveland . . Thereby, therefor, and forever more . . " Cardinal Gallagher was droning on when Almskeeper Pherson let out a deep sigh and slammed her own head into the desk.

"With few doubts they are on the precipice of an announcement?" she repeated aghast, head still confined to the old wood furniture, "after a century of singular focus to get this done, once and forever, this pope is playing with his smart block in web world while . . "

"The global spiritual space has grown rather tense, Lady Alms, there are civil wars and uprising much deeper and darker . ." Gallagher interrupted, but Pherson was up now and pointing at him directly behind an icy eyed stare.

"This is your last chance, Gallagher! Make it happen or so help me I will rip that interruptive tongue out and serve it to a Garda hound." Pherson threatened in a full throated shout. "I suppose you would lecture me next on the safety concerns or the peculiarities of policy at play? The diaries of the Almskeepers' show a century of us giving and them taking, and if you cannot get this done for us - your own flesh and blood people, Gallagher, then we are done with you and that wretched city and its vacant seat!"

"Aelis, these are terribly strong words, I might clear my ears of what I have just heard as I might for your predecessor who expressed some similar sentiments." Gallagher replied, visibly concerned that his advisee had been consumed with the madness again. "Nieveland is turning pages in a direction, for the most part, that the mainstream Catholic body wants to see . . Will they ever understand the NSV, of course not, but as I have advised you and your forebear in the past we cannot reject worldliness so wholly that we become the hermit pariah."

Pherson's lips were pursed and arms crossed, a petulant child Gallagher thought, but such were most Nieves in power. "That they never recognized the White Helms was the final straw," Pherson replied dismissively, "I shall not seek your council again until after there has been a papal visit, Gallagher . . do not fail the NSV . . and do not dare attempt fleeing."

In years past the Neighbors, Nieveland's former intel service, would leave Gallagher with a wide berth and follow at a moderate distance in plain cloths. These days the Garda and their comparative spy org felt bold enough to follow the cardinal with uniformed soldiers, post them at his doors, and had forced him to give over his visa for the state to old after a tense negotiation between the Garda and a religious protester earlier this year. "Peace is ensured by a loss of liberty," the Garda commander had said when he secured the Cardinal's documents, making him a captive to the island at least legally.
 

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Oxwhyte Castle (Almsfortress of Caitekurke)

The Almskeeper was alone at last when a knock came at the old doors of King Padraig's Hall. "And what?" Pherson demanded. In strolled a major from the Revolutionary Guard with a wide smile, uncharacteristic of anyone in this hall for a year at least, bearing a fruit basket.

"Are you quite lost and should I be afraid of you sir?" Pherson inquired reasonably. No one should have that many fresh goods in the Catholic Revolutionary State without ill intent in mind. Major Hely shrugged and put his fruit basket down on an open table and raised his hands in surrender.

"I think they flew this bundle in from Auskighinee and expected me to act like I gathered it for you?" Hely said with a stupid laugh. He was the Almskeeper's new Spiritual Advisor appointed by the Revolutionary Guard who had seen fit to start assuming every role left absent in the ongoing collapse of the nation.

"If a student-brigade saw me with that basket they would eat me alive before turning on each other to feast on the fruits!" Pherson declared incredulously as this was a nation of pottage and fruits that could be picked from neighborhood trees at best. To be seen with this exotic wealth would be an outrage and knives would be pulled by adults and even jealous children.

"You ever think that's why everyone's trying to leave here?" Hely wondered aloud.

"What?" the Almskeeper snapped.

"You can kick a dog over and over and it'll stay," Hely said, sitting down without being invited to, "but if you don't feed it from time time to time that dog will run away."

Pherson was biting her lip and scribbling a note concerning a different affair concerning the Warric Islands and their bursting pipes that had crossed her mind while this man was prattling on. "Okay yes?" Pherson asked after making another note to check in on the Hanseatic problem, "and what you are the beaten dog, or who is, what does the Guard want that they are pulling this shit with whoever you are?"

"I'm Major Hely, you appointed me . ." he said before realizing no, someone else probably did, "to captain the White Helms and then the White Seals, and now General Leary, who probably did that appointing to begin with, wants me to be your Spiritual Advisor in lieu of Cardinal Gallagher."

Pherson dropped her pen and looked at the fruit basket again in continued shock, why was the Guard this way? At least the Neighbors would not pretend to be kind when they were spying on or controlling you. "Okay then, so what's your advice? And be quick with it I need to get back to work!"

"How often do you get out of this place and just go for a walk?" Hely asked.

"A stroll around Caitekurke?" Pherson laughed defensively, "Too much to do, please I . ."

"Afraid you'll be shot?" Hely asked. Pherson's eyes narrowed then, and he was smiling at the rise he was getting. "Because I don't think you would, in fact I think regular folk would be happy to see you being normal, and you might benefit from getting out of this old place from time to time to see regular folk being normal."

"Now I'm going to take that walk by myself and leave you to stare at the fruit basket all afternoon to wonder, damn, what if I just took a walk outside and . . " Hely was saying before the Almskeeper stood and began marching for the door ahead of him, "well alright then, you lead the way ma'am."
 

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Pherson squinted and guarded her eyes from the full oppression of spring's sun, it had been a month since the Almskeeper had left the castle and both her eyes and skin were feeling sick from mere seconds in the natural light. Hely was ahead of her then saluting her personal guards, the beagle brigade, who's beagle looked more confused or senile than ever before with white hair covering most of her face.

"The Almskeeper is going to take Erin for a walk, that's alright isn't it?" Hely ordered in the form of a question. The guards were as shocked as Pherson was and looked to her to answer, "It's fine, let's get this over with Hely" the Almskeeper said, grabbing at Erin's short leash and starting to go west before the old beagle pulled east."

"We'd best let old girl guide the route" Hely again ordered impetuously, knowing that this old dog would be stubborn and stupid if they did not take her on her regular rounds she was accustomed to. Pherson shrugged and turned towards Erin's intended way and followed.

In a nation with a six day school and work week things were busy on a Saturday, bicycles were queuing at lights and the buses were overtaking each other without tact as usual to get folks to work early so they might leave early on the last day of the week. Something was off though, and while Erin was smelling a stop light Pherson wondered aloud her question, "no wagons, where are the cars?"

"Mayor Casey ordered 'No Wagon Weekends' last week with the petrol shortage, or did no one tell you?" Hely replied with knowledge no one had, "the people's buses were running dry on the streets and the Guards, well, we are hardly using wagons at all anymore it's too expensive."

As the light shifted and a tone indicated movement Erin was off again, this time insisting a right to cross another street that toned again rather quickly. "Where does she think she's going?" Pherson asked.

"Garda dogs? Usually breadlines or schools, probably both with those old showing rib bones she has." Hely replied, accompanying the Almskeeper and the old beagle's lead to, what else, the end of a breadline where she sat happily at the end panting and wagging her tail. Pherson peered around to see how long this line was and it stretched around the block.

"Excuse me miss, how long is this line and what do they usually have?" Hely asked of the young lady ahead of them, two pre-school aged children in tow and one no doubt kicking in her belly. She turned and thought nothing of seeing a military officer in line and began replying, "Hard biscuits from Ballyclaire and potted sea stew from . . " she dead stopped the moment her eyes met the Almskeeper's ". . Save me, I am so sorry, children what do we say to our comrades?"

"God bless you . . " the older child began, sort of unsure, "aaand good day" the other agreed before the two finished together: "so very glad to meet you!"

"Blessings and goodness be yours!" Pherson responded reflexively, for that was what she too had learned to say before other memories had really formed fully in her head. The children were more enamored by Erin the beagle then and were reaching out to pet her while the mother gripped in fear at her pregnant belly.

Pherson was not bothered that the children did not recognize her for when her own were that age the Almskeeper of that time was as strange and random to the kids as other saints and idols pictured above the dinner table.

"Are you quite well, ma'am?" Hely intervened, reaching out to hold the mother up because she was starting to faint, "can I fetch you a stool?" The mother's eyes did not leave Pherson's who reached out to grab the other arm because the woman was indeed fainting and falling into the person ahead of them.

"I thank you kindly please," Pherson recited to the woman who's wide eyes could not leave hers, "no child in Nieveland goes unloved with mothers such as thee."

Hely gazed sideways, honestly surprised that Aelis Pherson was performing as a regular Almskeeper would somewhere in the village bogs of population 50.

"Please fetch that stool Major Hely, we will be reciting orders with the children!" Pherson ordered. Hely scuttled off while Pherson posed the mother up against the wall and guided her down to the concrete, "if he's not back in a minute I'll have his ear," she joked, "and if he needs to be asked to fetch you some water I'll have the other!"

Hely returned with the a stool, and a bottle of water within the minute. The woman accepted the stool but still seemed off when offered the bottle, because this could very well be a trick by some superstitions. A sealed bottle or can offered and received without contract, in the time before the revolution, could entail servitude for the taker to the person offering for years if not a lifetime.

Hely remembered himself then and uncapped the bottle for her, took a swig, offered it to Pherson who also understood to drink before giving it to the woman and saying: "this belongs to all of us."

The line moved, step by step, and after an hour they were all at the front where indeed hard biscuits from Ballyclaire were thrown over a stew consisting of weeds from the sea and collective oats from the land. The children and Erin were given small bowls, while the mother and the other two were given slightly larger ones. Together they ate in standing silence until Pherson broke the tension, "Major Hely? Please return the bowls for us, it was a pleasure to meet all of you, please pray for me tomorrow because I for you."

"I for you!" the mother chirped back, hitting her oldest over the head to repeat who did and then hit his younger to say it too.

Erin was leading on again Hely noted, taking a jog to catch up with them when Pherson turned to ask "is this bitch going to take us to beg somewhere else?"

"Oh certainly ma'am," Major Hely replied, "but just give her a light kick and she'll move along now that she's fed."
 

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Caitekurke International Airport, Nieveland

The Pope's plane landed with the typical skid as it slowed to a stop.

"Pietro* was disappointed he had to stay in Tibur because of all this calamity. As traveld as he is, he has never been to @Nieveland. But I wager, it was a respite from his far greater worry about a war that might spiral out of control. Hehe, it's lucky we are flying to @San Jose next, should the world explode we will be safe. Drinking Mojitos and puffing the finest cigars. Hehe... I wish it would be... but it will be nothing but anxiety watching the world fall, so many of God's children sacrificed on the pyre of the global exploitation conspericy..." the Pope trailed off.

"Your Holiness should not worry about you cannot control. You have devised ways to help, focus on those. As for the dead, they will not need our help--for they will be with God, nothing can hurt them..." the Holy Inquisitor started before Il Papa interuped him.

"We cannot lose our temporal focus. ZuanGiacomo, you worry too much about the next world, this is the world we serve."

"Worrying about the next world is my job, Your Holiness." To which the Pope nodded. "But how we go to the next world is determined by this one." The two old men cracked a knowing smile.

The Holy Inquisitor's assistant suppressed a chuckle as she took a sip of her morning ale.


Embassy of the Socialist Republic of Nieveland, Tibur, Holy See
A few days before

A woman in her late twenties strolled into the embassy, wearing rather benign cloths, she had curly, fire red hair and a pale, freckled complexion. When asked for her ID, she showed her diplomatic passport, without bothering to check it, they let her in.

As she walked in, she approached the two young women at the counter.

"Buongiorno uomo, ma'am, what can we assist you with?" Asked the young native Tiburan intern asked as she stood up.

"Aye, I've gotta'few tings't'discuss," she then winked to the Nievish intern sitting next to the Tiburan.

"Better let me handle this one," the Nieve said in Italiote, "can you fetch the special passport stamp, she's an intern with the Foreign Ministery going on a trip."

The Italiote girl walked away to fetch the relevant stamp.

"All'righ, whatcha need--b'quick."

"Take m'name off'th'regestry."

"That'll cost'ye."

"Aye," Mhàiri said as she slid the lass 10 Ducati notes. The girls eyes went wide. That was 1000 EuroMarks... a fortune to her family back home. By the intern's expression, the young redhead knew she got through.

"Nom," the young intern whispered, pocketing the cash.

"Mhàiri Cambell," she said, as the girl opposite quickly pulled out a binder and crossed several lines out. She then quickly logged on to an old computer and started clacking away. She was able to finish rather quickly. For a few moments the women stared, smirking at each other.

The other, Tiburan, intern returned. "I got the stamp!" She proclaimed, sitting down.

The Nievish intern quickly stamped the passport and and updated the relevant electronic records.

"Aye, lass... enjoy'ur Missionary term," she said as she handed the passport back.

"Oh you're going on a Mission, you must be excited," the Tiburan intern said, obliviously.

"Aye, you know'll th'chaos go'in'on..."

"Well then, stay safe, and God bless you," the Tiburan girl said.

"Best'a'luck t'ya," the Nievish intern winked.

"Pray for me," she left, smiling.


Caitekurke International Airport, Nieveland

As the plane came to a stop, a red carpet lined boarding ramp was extended up to the plane's door. Out stepped four Rheinian Guards in full ceremonial attire. They quickly decended the stairs and stood saluting the assembled Nievish delegation. Almskeeper Pherson and Cardinal Archbishop Gallagher stood side by side, though the man of the cloth felt much more nervous about this meeting. She should have as well, but there was no way to communicate that to her.

After a pause, out stepped Il Papa, a revolutionary minded socialist, who should have blended in... but... anyway... he made his way down the stairs with the aide of a cane and an arm supported by a plain-clothed member of the Rheinian guard.

He reached the ground and did a quick the Sign of the Cross. Dios Mio. With some labor he walked over to the the assembled Nievish delegation. Cardinal Gallagher quickly knelt down and kissed the Pope's eclesastic ring. Almskeeper Pherson, following, did the same.

"Bless you my child," he said to her in a whisper.

"Your Holiness," was all she managed to utter.

After a few moments the rest of the delegation walked down the ramp. More plain-clothed guards, reporters, and some other secular staff. But the last two to walk out were Cardinal Prefect ZuanGiacomo Marcato and his assistant. The Holy Inquisitor was the last person on earth that Gallagher wanted to see at that moment. He tried to conceal his concern, but he failed; the Inquisitor had noticed and sent him back a wicked grin. About then the Archbishop noticed the young woman the Holy Inquisitor had in his company. She wore a luxurious red, white, and gold habit, and she wore a large gold eclesastic ring. He recognized her--and she recognized him, and she gave him a mischievous smile.


*Cardinal Pietro Parolin, the Holy See's Secretary of State.

@Nieveland
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Thaumantica

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Caitekurke International Airport

Few cheeks were dry among the throngs of state and church selected onlookers who had been chosen to receive the Holy Father. Almshouses across the nation had been asked to send or sponsor one needy or deserving to be present for such a once in a lifetime, or in reality, second in a national culture's event. There were children afflicted with incurable cancers, elderly or infirm, and heroes and heroins who had done great christian acts or led lives aligned with the Nievish Spiritual Vision. Some others, quite naturally, had simply bribed their Almshouse for this event and would be noticeable by holding out their smart blocks to record a video rather than holding out babies or hands to be closer beyond the Revolutionary Guard who had formed a human chain to hold them back.

Pherson wore an olive drab Almshouse uniform, similar to the Guard, yet different by lacking insignia or name ribbons. As the stairs were dropping she wiped her own tears away and dried that hand on Cardinal Gallagher's robes. "Gallagher you old fool, y'dunnit!" she said with a smile, unable to hold back incredulous laughter. Gallagher, meanwhile, was terribly somber and concerned when he saw the Holy Inquisitor and who else but Sister Mhàiri in tow. "Mind yourself with the lass with red locks, ma'am" Cardinal Gallagher advised in a tense whisper, "mind yourself with all of them, but if those Nàbaidhean still stalked us she would be tackled and cuffed at no matter the cost . ." he sighed and his shoulders shrunk, "save me, but they wanted me to draw her in a hundred times so she could be arrested, and I almost gave in last autumn . . ."

Pherson's interest was piqued. With the Neighbors, Nieveland's once haunting specter of secret policing destroyed, most of their extensive paper files on foreign ones who had defected were burned or fragmented into impossible shreds during their collapse. Although the Revolutionary Guard was aggressive and imposing - their sheer stupidity had thus far disallowed them from developing any coherent way of investigating or tracking defectors which Nieves still called "the dead ones". Pherson figured that this young woman must be dead, in an Nievish sense, and immediately resented that they were flaunting a dead one. "Perhaps we might have been better served by our Neighbors on this day." Pherson lamented, still conflicted about the sickle slice she had sent on that psychopathic agency which could both corrupt or cure any situation in a perfectly Nievish way.

Despite all of this angst Alsmkeeper Pherson still swooned and melted in the presence of the Holy Father and could not help but repeating phrases ingrained upon all Nievish brains. *Save Me* obviously. The visitors were likely noticing an eery silence to the land they had just arrived in. All other air traffic had been delayed, the aforementioned throngs had stopped pressing forward and were caught in shock that this moment had actually occurred, and the city beyond was apprehensively frozen in long lines to catch glimpse at this event. Within a generation or two there would be an Almskeeper John or Josephine, a million children with variations of this name, and millions more dogs, cats, turtles, and pets named for the Pope who visited Nieveland.

"May wounds nor consternation separate us from this communion," Pherson offered earnestly towards the Pope. Gallagher meanwhile approached the Inquisitor and his assistant, "Welcome back Sister Mhàiri," he offered carefully, "though some leave the woolen shroud rarely does it leave them,I have always prayed for ye and am turned so very proud to see ye so well comported."
 

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Caitekurke International Airport

"I have always appreciated you, Cardinal Archbishop, I have indeed also prayed for you as Father Gallagher, many times. And I am glad to have the opportunity to return for such vital a mission. I am here so that the Holy Father will be able to communicate in proper vernacular, as is important to the new council he is proposing." She leaned in and embraced him and whispered, so only he could hear her, "I do not hold you to account for the sins of others. Know that. But I am here to taunt, to show the power of the Church over those who would seek to abuse its grace, though you are not among those. When you ask the Cardinal Prefect he will glibly deny this, yet to further express that power. We have holy work to do during our stay." Standing farther apart from him, but still grasping his hands, she smiled and continued, "I thank you for what you did for me. I hope to see you soon, in Tibur, for the new council."


Forest, about 20 kilometers outside of Ballyclare
Anno domini 2007

Two girls were setting up a makeshift tent in the woods. They'd initially camped in communal gardens, but people around this area were suspicious. It was a hot bed for Protestant agitators, and two native girls lingering around without jobs or without being in school for more than a day or so roused suspicion. So they would stay away, deep in the woods, for as long as they could.

Mhàiri's father had caught her and Ailbhe sneaking kisses while they cooled their feet in a nearby stream. Fearing catching beatings or worse, being sent away, the two ran for it. They outran her father and managed to pilfer some supplies from nearby farms. They traveled around for a few months but the suspicious glances they'd received grew more intense. By then they knew the Neighbors were onto them. A week prior, they stole as much of the local produce and hard biscusts as they could and ran into the woods under the cover of night. Even in the woods, though, they knew they'd have to keep moving.

"Is-at a'ight?" Ailbhe, asked tugging at the rope.

"Aye, it's'a good as'i'gon'ge," Mhàiri responded.

It was early in the morning--they traveld at night to avoid being spotted by hunters or foragers during the day. It was a small mercy that it was in the middle of summer and a fire, while comfortable, was not necessary. Plus the lush green vegetation made it much easier to blend in.

"T'is only'a'ma-ta'a'time," Mhàiri said, a bit dejected as she settled into the tent.

"Then'll spen'it a'bes we can," Ailbhe said, also worried, but she embraced Mhàiri.

They lasted three more months before they were caught poaching apples from a nearby orchard.

After being interrogated for three, very long days, the neighbors came to understand that these were just a pair of anti-social deviants, not political agitators. Since it was agreed to that Mhàiri was the initiator, Ailbhe was sent home for her family to do as they wished with her. Her family felt her ordeal was punishment eneough, and when she was proposed to by a respected young man, they were more than willing to look past her dalliance. The two of them married and had two kids. They absconded for the Federation a year after Mhàiri left for Tibur.

Mhàiri, on the other hand, was sent to be "reformed." The process of which was brutal and arduous. But, surprisingly for some of the nuns who administered this process, Mhàiri adapted quickly. She became extremely and genuinely pious and passionate about learning Theology. She was diligent and meticulous about her daily manual labor and never complained. Even about her rations or sleeping conditions, she was silent and seemingly content. Even when flogged, she was never dispirited. She even informed Sister Kathleen O'Hanlon, the reformatory's headmistress, that she also wished to study to be a nun once she had fully completed her penance. Sister Kathleen had her suspicions, but, when offered any privilege or comfort, no matter how minor, Mhàiri turned always turned it down--this ameliorated any such suspicions.


Ballyclare Cathedral
Anno domini 2009

Sitting in a balcony looking down at the high alter, two figures in choir dress spoke Tiburan in whispered tones to each other.

"Best I can say, Bishop, the girl is genuine. She refuses any privilege or relief no matter how small. And her transformation has been remarkable."

The two looked down at the kneeling young red haired girl praying on a simple knot-and-cord Rosary. She wore a ragged grey dress and her body looked haggered and tired... but not her face, nor her eyes, when they were open. Her face was cheerful and her eyes were bright.

"You said she was smart?" Bishop Gallagher asked again.

"Aye, she reads faster than I can. And her Tiburan is getting very strong. I rarely have to switch her during lessons."

"What kind of nun would she want to be? She's already going into seconday, she'll need a tract."

"She wants to be a scholar."

"With her recored, the Neighbors will be reluctant."

"If after four years and you recommending it, I wager they'd let her study in Tibur under supervision."

"Aye," he said, "especially if my meeting with Pope Gregory is about what I think it is."

Sister Kathleen was taken aback, he nodded. They both made the Sign of the Cross.


Bar Flannery, Piccola Nievlanda, Nouvo Porto
12:46 AM, some months ago

Lieutenant Fleming, burst awkwardly into the pub. "Lieutenant Cole O'Scanlan!" He said in a loud outburst.

"Former Lieutenant Cole O'Scanla, retired," an older man with grey hair and a beard replied, with a heavy dose of exasperated sarcasm. The rest of the patrons, except for the tourists, burst out laughing. The older man stood up and approached the visibly irritated Lieutenant. "If'n you want'ta continue w'is conversation we best do so in private."

Still frustrated, Fleming nodded. The older man picked up his pint from the bar and made his way towards the back of the pub, going through an arched doorway to a room with a battery of semi-private booths and alcoves. O'Scanla sat down in one of the booths and Fleming sat across from him.

"Still chasing ghosts on the mainland?" O'Scanla asked in a gravelly voice. Fleming nodded again. "That include me?" O'Scanla asked, smirking. Fleming ignored him.

"What happened with Mhàiri Cambell?"

"Your mind's still on that girl you collared sixteen years ago in the woods outside Ballyclare?"

"It took me weeks of tracking her and that other little traitor through the woods. They wouldn't let me keep at'em after three days; they took their confessions for being degenerates... an'look what happened, they both absconded. I could have worn them down with another few days--their fingers were still intact."

"Ya think this might be why they didn't let ye become a priest?"

"And you lost Mhàiri in Nouvo Porto without a fight."

"Allow me to clarify things for ye, Lieutenant Fleming. Lieutenant Filip MacBreen and myself were tasked to escort Mhàiri Cambell, a promising girl with a compromised history to Tibur and register with the embassy there, where local agents could track her movements. Because the Neighbors are little good for anything but oppressing people, they opted for the cheapest route to Tibur, the one with a layover in Nouvo Porto, that you are presently enjoying. Now, while we were not planning to leave the airport, we would be at the mercy of local authorities.

The girl seemed cheerful and friendly the whole time, she even wanted to chat with us about this Saint or that Saint, especially after she learned our confirmation names. So I was not stressing this drop-off and looked forward to a few days in the Holy See.

I started to get a bit uncomfortable when we walked in and saw all of the anti-human trafficking signs: "if your being trafficked ask for help from any employee." But I wasn't all that worried. As we were walking through the terminal we stopped and even ate some pretty decent pasta, and she seemed happy and content as ever. We were on our way to a lounge to catch a football match, before our fight was to board. When we passed by a woman wearing an airport uniform, "HELP," Mhàiri screamed loud eneough for everyone in the terminal to hear as she grabbed the woman, "these men are taking me against my will!"

That woman moved faster than I thought possible to put herself between us and Mhàiri. She screamed something into a walkie-talkie. I tried to say something to Mhàiri, but the woman screamed something in Italiote to me. The emergency lights in the terminal stated flashing and MacBreen and I made the very stupid decision to run. We didn't make it far, about four security guards tackled us.

Once it was clear who we were, they put black bags on our head and took us to thr Secret Service's headquarters. We, it seems, had two options. The first was to defect, and the other was to take a "plea bargain," where we admit to human smuggling and be deported back as a punishment. You're not really allowed in many countries with that conviction to your name. So it was live in Nouvo Porto and, eventually, bring the family over, or it was a bullet back home. Which one would you have chosen, Lieutenant?"

Fleming grunted in frustration. "That's no excuse."

"With all due respect, Lieutenant, it seems to me you are the one making up excuses. It took you weeks to track down a pair of harmless children. You then tortured them so savagely because you hoped they'd confess to what you accused them of, so you didn't look like a fool for wasting so much time and resources hunting a pair of gay kids. And this was so obvious to your commander that they intervened to stop your madness. And of course they bloody fucking absconded--if my country tortured me for for pecking a man on the cheek, I'd defect too!"

Fleming grunted again and started to walk away. O'Scanla started shouting at him as he made his way out: "MacBreen works doing vineyard tours up in Vorena. Happy as can be!"


Archbishop's Residence, near the former Staint Brigg's Cathedral in Caitekurke
10:23 PM

"Ard-eh-spah" the Holy Father said awkwardly.

"Close, your holiness, ard-ea-spag, more emphasis on the middle and last syllable," Mhàiri said patiently.

Since the Pope could not speak Nievish, and was reluctant to give the adress in Engellex, he was working with Sister Mhàiri to read the words out phonetically. Given this history of religion on the island, the vernacular of the Catholic majority would need to be respected and celebrated.

"Why don't we take a break, your Holiness. You still have a whole day, tomarrow, besides you have had a busy day greeting the most needy people in the country. I know you are tired; you don't want to admit it, but you've slowed down a lot."

"I know. It irritates me. I could not go into the crowds. I had to sit there and wait for them to be brought to me.... the pastor needs to reach out to his flock, not the other way around..."

"You're being here is reaching out, and there is no sin in the shepherd using his sheep dogs to bring his flock to him," Mhàiri said, still smiling.

"So tomarrow I am to go forgive the men who blew up the Cathedral?"

"Aye."

"Then the next day is my big speech."

"Aye, the Cardinal Prefect has it already translated into every major language to provide instant subtitles to the various language broadcasters... assuming you do not go off script."

The Pope chucked, "I can't really go off script in a language I do not speak. Hehe... so when it comes to the Sacraments of Reconciliation... they're..."

"All going to be the same, your Holiness, and you already have that script memorized perfectly."

"Excellent," he smiled, "Sister Mhàiri, thank you so much for your help. I could not do it without you."

"It is a privilege, your Holiness."


@Nieveland
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Thaumantica

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Lexkirk, Engwhalian Commonwealth

Since last year Lieutenant Fleming had comported himself with benign tasks within the Revolutionary Guard until his term of duty had expired for the original White Helm Company sent to the mainland of Europe's Gallo-Germania. After the capitulation of the Neighbors in Caitekurke there was no one to report back to and no expectation of financial bonus. He instead took on the role of a ghost like priest who remained in his tent or apart from the unit most of the time, performing basic services required and nothing more. When the tour of duty was complete he ended the commission and found work with other former Neighbors in Engwahl who were running black market schemes as they always had.

Intercepting the treasonous ones had been his specialty after an early career spent hunting fornicators. On the the morning after the arrival of the Tibetan Pope he was astonished to see Mhàiri Cambell, the one who got away in both spheres, bright eyed and bushy tailed on the front page of the Breakfast Companion and on TheBrekTV. He was frozen for a time remembering this near miss outside Ballyclare, the double-cross she had performed of the Nievish Spiritual Vision, and how he had walked into the same trap as other Neighbors in accursed Radilo.

"It's improper to leave such a full saucer," Fleming's Engwahlian work partner was whinging, "those are fresh Engell apricots over . . "

"Aye, over Engell oats in an Engell diner in sodden feckin' Engwahl: save me already, lord!" Fleming burst in an angry rage, color filling in his pale sour milk seeming skin.

"Your pope is in bogfeck Caitekurke, Flems, why aren't you dancing on the table right now?" the partner, who's name was as real to their arrangement as Fleming's, or not at all. Together they delivered contraband to hotels in Lexkirk, sometimes performed security for politicians who did not trust the Revolutionary Guard, and most recently spent afternoons and evenings beating deadbeat gamblers who seemed to love to lose wagers regarding the World Cup in the Occident.

"If it is an unfinished job, Flems, you best go finish it" the Engwhalian said, "or finish your breakfast and put it out of your ugly Nievish sheep skull once and for all."

Footage from Caitekurke on the television displayed hordes of onlookers who had no idea who Mhàiri Cambell was, what she had done, or who she had been - no one there knew she was spiritually dead and they were cheering and happy. What records of the defection that had existed were surely ashes or impossible shreds that idiot Revolutionary Guards or their dogs would never piece together. Fleming reflected on what O'Scanlan had said, whether he still a willingness to die over this cause. Fleming and this Engwahlian one were two aging Neighbors without true homes or families, though his comrade claimed to have a "lady and lass in every commune just to have a spice of life".

Fleming pulled his saucer of luxury oats closer and continued to eat after retiring both mentally and spiritually: "she's gone and there is no catching her."

"She's what?" the Engell asked, scratching his beard and wondering what any of this meant.

"It's over, who's first for collections?" Fleming replied.
 

Thaumantica

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Caitekurke, On Morn of the Pope's Address at St. Brigid's Cathedral

Cardinal Gallagher was beside himself with stress and had awoken earlier than usual to heave and vomit in his afforded housing at the reconstructing cathedral. Since Sister Mhairi's defection and the loss of others close the vest he kept no assistants and let none into his chamber despite a ruined health. Too often he had seen daggers in their eyes and wished to preside in peace even if in suffering.

In the St. Brigg's fire the priestly garden was ruined, along with the livestock of egg producing chickens and swine he relied on for decades for meal. Often now, like a beggar, he waited in Almslines outside the cathedral controlled by the government and waited for pottage and bread each day, but this morning he needed to be available for the visiting clergy. He dressed in his appointed linens, worried at their molds, folds, and holes, but knew that his Nieves were also beside themselves today and would not pass a second eye on him.

Major Hely, the Almskeeper's temporary spiritual advisor, was once again gone and deployed to the continent and the shoe was once again open for Gallagher to fill with reticence. At Oxwhyte Castle he greeted a skeleton guard of soldiers who seemed to be only old and broken men.

"Where are the regulars, the young pups?" Gallagher inquired to the footman outside Pherson's chambers.

"They are ordered east to support those who are Catholics in Csengia, save them!" a grey haired guardsmen replied.

Gallagher's heart wrenched again, further and harder, and he was incredulous. Impatiently he knocked at the Almskeeper's door to be let in until Pherson arrived and welcomed him into her study.

"Be blessed Gallagher, why are ye so comported to bust in so impetuously?" Aelis asked.

"Blessings be . . " Gallagher gasped, pulling at his robes for relief from tension and heat, "I can, no, we can say that this is the day so prayed for, so well desired and deserved, and we must be so very rejoicing that . ."

"I do not see you rejoicing, Cardinal" Aelis interrupted. She was still about breakfast herself and returned to a table of yogurt and blended meal. "I cannot eat this early regularly, and certainly not today, but we must if we can put a strong face on."

Cardinal Gallagher sat and accepted a lukewarm tea, sipping at first and then sucking down once the flavor set. He was ravenous then and pulled her blended gruel in while she stood with arms crossed wincing. "Blessed brek Cards-Gallagher" she offered with uncertainty.

"I think ye should know," Gallagher offered before wiping his lips, "that the Engwahlian Fianna shall be forgiven on this day."

"I knew it," Aelis replied calmly, sitting down at the table with him, "what else vexes these busy patrons?"

Gallagher was in pain now, his shoulder hurt and he was grabbing at it and the upper arm uncontrollably. He stood then, eyes bulging and covered with sweat, and then collapsed under his own weight.

This was a heart attack, the Almskeeper knew after witnessing so many in the houses, so rather than rushing to him she rushed to a phone and demanded medics into the chambers. She rushed then to her own medicine cabinet where aspirin lay and crushed it into a glass, but by the time she was back the medics were hoisting Gallagher away.
 

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St. Cosimo General Hospital, Caitekurke

With the Cardinal somewhat stabilized Almskeeper Pherson was permitted to enter his room and join at bedside where she offered him prayer and lay her own cross into his motionless palm.

"I would be here with ye Gallagher, then there with he" Aelis informed while on the television the Pope of Tibur approached the terrorists who did arson at Saint Brigid Cathedral, taking their hands tightly and offering forgiveness. Soon after this Papal outlander would ask the Nievish people to forgive them too, to put aside grudges against the Engwahlians, the anarchists, and the protestants. Reconciling all of this was enough to give Gallagher a heart attack and Pherson figured she was courting ulcers at present.

Pherson stood and turned the television tuner through static and grey snow or the five channels rebroadcasting the Papal visit until finding the cartoon channel where at least nothing about the Pope was playing. That new state cinema animation about Engwahlian and Nievish birds was playing and the two lovebirds were chirping a love song to one another while flying over the DMZ, "that's better isn't it, blessed be" Pherson sighed.

Now sedated and asleep, Almskeeper Pherson finally trusted the Cardinal enough to offer a true confession. And as the children's animation played on she took his hand and closed it over her cross and began confessing her reservations and concerns about a life of rage, sin, and uncertainty:

"Graham MacPherson did not have children did he?" Aelis began, "his wife, my Aunt, would always tell me he was actually married to Nieveland . . . I did not understand this until I took the Alms, and now I haven't the time for my children . . . I gave my children to Nieveland, didn't I? Chloe is to be married off to an oligarch and Padraig is finishing under a Laird for Guard service, neither write me anymore, and why would they?"

Gallagher was dreaming somewhere and clenched his eyelids and hands hard over those of Aelis. "An Almskeeper, like a King or Queen, carries this burden unto death: to keep order among the guard, to keep the charities and homes open and fair, but I am already so very tired dear Gallagher."

"Few days go by without an interloper or Engwahlian attempting at my life and in sin I sometimes wish for it to happen," Pherson confessed knowing that the Cardinal was gone to this realm of consciousness, "before you joined me I watched over a raid in Lexkirk where the Guard barged in and shot down the whole family of someone we learned quickly was the neighbor of a dissident . . . last night I learned that our detention of the Csengian Council, our Catholic brothers, involved cutting down their leader in cold blood under my marked orders."

Aelis's eyes were wet when a knock on the door beckoned entry from nurses who thankfully ignored her rank and disposition, entering to quickly check the Cardinal's vitals before scribbling and walking away with his charts.

"We all have our duties, our vocations or calling, but I sometimes wonder why God called the MacPherson's and why I was called instead of a proper son of their own . . . I was raised here in Caitekurke as a MacChrystal, I was to be a minor Alderwoman in the 9th district with my late husband and children when Graham MacPherson took the ghost." Aelis continued in earnest confession.

"I no longer believe in destiny or spiritual vision and I am so very glad you are asleep to hear this," she admitted in a whisper, "Christ was not in my heart in the dark hours of morn when that family and the Csengian died, there was nothing and there was no one but the needs of the Communal Order; I do not recall a moment or action in these Almskeeping years where I felt his touch, saw in his vision as I did in the district or while serving common alms with my bairns."

Once again Aelis took her tears and wiped them on Cardinal Gallaghers tattered robes, a mark of her truest confession. "I bless ye Gallagher, I pray on ye well, and I selfishly ask that when ye rise you hear this all again in waking."
 
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Radilo

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St. Cosimo General Hospital, Caitekurke

Cardinal Gallagher had been unconscious for the entirety of Almskeeper Pherson's confession. But, in and odd way, he felt it. His subconscious understood it. After a day or so in a medically induced coma he was stable eneough to come to. As he opened his eyes he saw Sister Mhàiri smiling at him. His concerns melted away seeing a familiar, if inconvenient face.

"He's awake," he heared her cry out as his eyes fluttered. She looked back at him and wiped a tear from her eye. "I feared we might 'ave lost ye" she said gripping his hand. About that time a short but determined looking man in a white lab coat burst into the room.

"His charts," he blurted out in poor Engellex. A nurse handed him some papers. He looked through them quickly and approached the aging cleric. "I need to touch you now," he mumbled as he took out a stethoscope and listened to the Cardinal's heartbeat. It was then that Gallagher noticed the yamaka on top of the man's head--he cast a glance at Mhàiri.

"The Pope's personal physician, for security reasons is always Jewish or Muslim. The Holy Father insisted he treat you."

"Needs a new valve," the doctor mumbled to no one in particular, "take him back to Tibur."

"What do you mean?" Gallagher asked weakly.

"Top left valve needs replaced. You be good when done. Live normal life expectancy," he said, in broken Engellex, as he scribbled furiously on a notepad. "Best we do go soon. We take you to Tibur for operation."

He finished speaking, suddenly, as there were gasps audible from the hallway. Out of the corner of his eye, Gallagher saw nurses in the hall making the Sign of the Cross. An all white figure then entered his field of sight. Part of his mind suspected it to be some angel, but he knew better. Moving slowly and leaning on a cane, Il Papa made his way into the hospital room.

After a few moments he plopped down in a chair by the bed that the hospital staff had ready for him. He smiled at Gallagher and grabbed his hand.

"My child, I am glad you are alive. There is much work left to do." He said, smiling as his physician whispered something in his ear. He smiled wider. "Dr. Dreyfus is from @Neustria , he is my personal physician. He said that you will live long in decent health, but that a surgery would greatly improve you. I want you at my Third Vatican Council, specifically because of how fondly Sister Mhàiri speaks of you. So I am sending you to Tibur as my honored guest, where you undergo this procedure." The Pope leaned into the local prelate and whispered "go and get well, we have much chaos to tend to later."

@Thaumantica @Oltremare
 

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Revolutionary Guard Station #372

The stamps were out and the ink was fresh, movements were occurring at a rapid pace between Engwahl and Nieveland and the Guard knew not what to do about all of this inter-republic activity. A line of stamps on a request to roam license had to be processed from individual or family to Almshouse or Commons to Guard or Militia, and finally back to the applicant. Some among the wealthy and youthful knew how to apply on Smartblocks, Clover apparatuses, and could garner digital stamps from the government.

In this case a nun of 70 years age, Sister Doris Dumthweth, was filing on behalf of Cardinal Gallagher. She was ordered then to surrender his and her domestic wealth for freezing and to write out an expected expenditure abroad: no problem for her, but she worried that a cardinal might have more to freeze before being beckoned by the Almsmen to "mark or take leave".

That request was stamped, the Almsmen did not glance or notice the name, he just noted the signatures for asset forfeiture as he and been trained. Next the claim went incorrectly to the DMZ bin where it was lost for two days before one Sister Mhairi followed up on the request while the Cardinal laid in hospital.

"Do we not send our brightest ones to train under Rheinbund and Radilan healers?" the guardsmen who had plucked the file explained to the impromptu Departing Small Council (a marked party of three Nieves).

"A Nievishman can be treated by Nievish doctors," his partner said and wrote in the file as he spoke, "if this master of health knows how to heal this Nieve he can do it here - does not this healer at least speak Engwahlian?"

"Aye, I cannot tell ye how it problems me . . how it gnaws at me that we let he go, but he christened me grand-bairns not so long ago," the third member of the council informed, "with the Father of the Faith should walk a great healer."

"It's a no from me, fuck these bloody Radlians and fuck this physician - look at this form, where is his mark? Where are the stamps?" the second member cried.

The caller of this small council, a young man from the Outer City Bogs, marked his signature under approved and stamped over it without voicing an opinion. Next this was joined by the grandfather who fixed his own decision.

"This will blow up in your faces, mark me, and I stamp a hard no on this . ." the third said, his voice raised now. ". . this physician is not even a Catholic, we cannot see what by this idiot sister's filing . . Not a Nieve, not a Catholic . . Unaffiliated or other?"

Regardless the vote was cast and Gallagher's shriveled body was granted egress out from Nieveland.
 
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