Chapter 1489 - Audience with the Governor

"This is plainly a weapon forged by pagans, yet stained with the blood of a Christian," the Chief of Police mocked. "Even if that Christian was merely a fraudster, he was at least a fraudster who prayed before the Cross."

Governor Juan Salamanca maintained his silence regarding the officials' gossip. After a servant carried away the Count's gift as instructed, the Governor suddenly addressed the Chief of Police: "Mr. Brambilla, I understand Count Vananois enjoys hunting from his villa—shooting monkeys in particular. Are you aware of this?"

The police chief was visibly startled, momentarily at a loss for words. Originally instigated by Sanabria and other ill-intentioned parties seeking to uncover the Count's background and secrets, Brambilla had exhausted every stratagem—bribery, threats—until he finally succeeded in recruiting a Tagalog servant within the Count's mansion. Unfortunately, that servant vanished after transmitting precisely one piece of valueless intelligence. Some time later, at a banquet for colonial officials, the Count made an offhand complaint that a greedy servant had stolen too much rum, gotten himself drunk, and thrown himself into the sea.

When the internal route of cultivating informants failed, native spies sent to monitor the villa fared no better. Weiss had bribed the fishermen and farmers of surrounding villages; any suspicious strangers appearing in daylight were immediately driven off. A few particularly desperate peeping toms would wait until sunset to approach under cover of darkness—without exception, the Special Reconnaissance Team snipers on duty in the watchtowers, equipped with night vision goggles and Mosin-Nagant rifles, rewarded their patience and enthusiasm with one or two bullets. On occasion, Weiss himself would bring his FAL rifle to participate in this "low visibility moving target shooting competition"—naturally claiming first place every time. What the colonial officials heard were merely the Count's mild complaints at banquets: monkeys were rampant in Manila's suburbs, and to protect the prized trees and fruits in his garden, he had to patrol all night, ready to shoot any monkeys scaling the courtyard walls.

Mr. Brambilla had naturally never seen the corpses of these "monkeys." Their fates were all alike: whether killed outright or merely wounded, they were invariably tied to a large stone and consigned to Manila Bay. Nevertheless, as his dispatched spies disappeared one after another without a trace, the Chief of Police finally grasped that his opponent was not to be trifled with. Moreover, as Count Vananois's reputation rose by the day, this shadowy surveillance and investigation had best end sooner rather than later. Yet now these shameful operations were being aired in public by his highest superior—the police chief felt his hands and feet turn to ice, utterly at a loss.

"The Count has the right to accuse you before the Colonial High Court of abusing the power bestowed by His Majesty, should he choose to do so. And I could equally accuse you of dereliction of duty. Your actions squander precious financial and human resources on irrelevancies while permitting Dutch spies to run wild within your jurisdiction. The numerous crimes they have committed already threaten the entire colony—threaten the safety of all His Majesty's subjects. I would like to hear what you have to say for yourself!"

The Governor's furious rebuke echoed through the silent hall. His explosion was not without cause. Nearly a month prior, a mysterious fire had reduced the Parian's largest cockpit to smoking ruins. At twilight—the busiest hour—over three hundred gamblers and spectators, including a significant number of Spaniards and European travelers, perished in the inferno. Before the flames were extinguished, dozens of Chinese shops had also burned. What troubled Governor Salamanca most was that revenue from cockfighting had become one of Manila's financial pillars. The cockpit's destruction cost the colonial government thousands of pesos in lost revenue daily. This drove the Governor—a man who spent money like water—into a fury. The Baguio gold was brilliant indeed, but mining and transportation involved too many uncertainties. Better by far was the cockfighting tax, which delivered fixed, reliable income every single day.

Before investigators could sort out clues from the cockpit fire, the wharf district along the Pasig River erupted in flames as well. Valuable Chinese goods freshly unloaded from ships and stored in waterfront warehouses—which also contained even more precious Australian merchandise—all went up in smoke. This time, witnesses reported seeing suspicious individuals near the site before the fire started. Police Chief Brambilla arrested a great many people indiscriminately. After extorting each in turn, he released most of the Chinese, throwing a handful of natives too poor to squeeze blood from into prison as arson suspects, then reported his duty complete. Shortly thereafter, a convoy transporting military supplies was attacked outside the city. Survivors reported that though the attackers were few, they were well-equipped and well-trained—clearly not the work of native bandits.

Just as one disaster after another threw the entire city into panic, relatively reliable bad news arrived from Formosa: Dutch ships were appearing with increasing frequency north of the island, ambushing supply vessels, even approaching the coast to bombard Spanish fortifications. The Dutch were plainly preparing to launch attacks on San Salvador and San Domingo. Though most Spaniards in the Philippines cared little for those two remote colonies that generated scant Chinese trade, the succession of bad news had begun to shift the attitudes of colonial military and political elites. Governor Salamanca's vigilance regarding Dutch invasion—and his warnings about enemy agents operating as saboteurs—no longer seemed unreasonable, but rather a threat that might materialize at any moment.

"My Lord," Zapatero reminded softly in a low voice. Interrupting His Excellency the Governor mid-tirade was a terrible thing indeed, yet— "The Count is waiting for an audience."

Municipal officials tactfully rose to leave, including the police chief who had been slumped in his chair. The Governor called back the Parian District Chief: "Mr. Aguilar, I entrust the task of manufacturing saltpeter using excrement to you. You may rely upon the Chinese in your district—I am told they have a tradition of collecting night soil as fertilizer, which should prove most helpful for completing your assignment and addressing our current difficulties."

"I shall fulfill your charge without fail!" Juan Aguilar shouted zealously. "I swear before Jesus Christ and before you, upon my honor—I will not squander so much as a single copper of His Majesty's colonial treasury. However, managing construction projects entails certain costs. Please permit me to levy an additional community fund from the Chinese."

"Granted. But remember not to oppress them excessively—the Chinese remain quite useful to us. Keep watch for suspicious persons as well; most are spies dispatched by the Dutch. Should you discover any Chinese carrying weapons or firearms, do not hesitate—arrest them at once."

The ashen-faced Chief of Police, the restless Mayor, the ecstatic Parian District Chief, and the rest all filed out. Weiss Lando was guided in through a side door by a servant. The Governor noticed that the saber was indeed absent from below the sash of the visitor's black satin cavalry uniform; only a short sword hung there, its hilt carved with several strangely shaped Chinese characters. Governor Salamanca marveled at this peculiar characteristic of the Oriental colony—it seemed to have been quietly conquered by the Chinese and their customs and symbols. Even Spanish colonists had grown accustomed to riding about in Chinese sedans, never without gold-flecked paper folding fans covered in Chinese calligraphy. The Governor disliked this fashion intensely, and was particularly displeased to discover the visitor sizing him up with eyes that held not a trace of humility.

"Mr. Vincenzo," the Governor began, pointedly omitting Weiss's noble title and rank. He gestured toward an armchair near the far end of the table. Weiss sat down unconcernedly—at least this position was close to the fan suspended beneath the ceiling. A Negrito dwarf squatted in the corner, feebly tugging a rope to drive the wood-framed, cloth-covered fan blades back and forth. This was the sole relief from the heat. Malacañang Palace, which Weiss had visited as a US soldier in his previous life, was still a vacant stretch of riverside wasteland in this era. Being received by the supreme ruler of the Philippines in a stuffy, dim room reeking of damp rot—without ceremony or proper etiquette—left Weiss equally displeased.

Stinking Spanish pig, he cursed inwardly, though a smile remained fixed on his face.

The Governor continued in the cold, clipped tone reserved for subordinate officials: "I am most pleased you could spare the time to answer my summons. However, I invited you here to remind you that the Philippine colony enforces the Laws of the Indies promulgated by His Majesty the King, as well as our country's written codes and portions of customary law. Under any of these, killing a man in a duel is prohibited. This you should know."

"Your Excellency, for an innocent man, your words would be perfectly correct. But for a man deserving death—what difference does it make whether execution comes sooner or later?" Weiss answered with composure, one hand resting on the knockoff Zhongzheng sword at his belt—acquired in exchange for a fine Toledo blade from a senator. "Esteban Sanabria was a fraudster. He forged government documents and fabricated contracts, stealing and swindling the property of law-abiding citizens while blackmailing them as well. He employed every scheme to evade taxes, harming the state. He engaged in smuggling—even selling weapons and gunpowder to enemies of the Empire. He committed murder, abusing and killing Filipinos, Chinese, and Mexicans who had converted to God in order to seize their possessions. And he himself was a suspicious New Christian who privately retained the base heretical beliefs of Jews. The Royal Prosecutor from Madrid informed me that petitions and accusation letters denouncing Esteban Sanabria now pile up in his room at the residence. Should such a man, so laden with crimes, not die? Is not God killing this villain—through whatever hand He selects—entirely an act of divine judgment?"

(End of Chapter)