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New Reality: 26 April 2025, Munich
Reality had once more proven its command over theory, as Michelangelo found out. Dismayed, he looked at the narrow window in front of him. His armored manatech suit had flown him to the upper floor of the castle, but now there was a problem: how to get inside the room?
Without the suit, it was doable, but he risked falling on the stones below. Groaning, he took support on the ledge, dismissing the tech, then pushed gently on the window's pan with his left foot, trying not to let his grip slip. Luckily, the window opened. He pushed his foot inside, twisting, searching for some support. There was one, wobbling and imbalanced, probably a stool. Squeezing his body, he tried to let his weight backward, pushing his butt into the room.
The stool fell, and so did Michelangelo, but fortunately, inside the bedroom, not down to the courtyard. A noise made him flinch, there were steps outside, approaching. He needed to move fast. Cursing, he gathered himself from the floor and rushed to put the stool back and sit on an armchair, trying not to heave and appear cool.
A man entered, holding a candle in hand. Michelangelo cleared his throat and the other froze. "Come in and close the door behind you, William," he said. "You know who I am…"
His body trembling, the Duke of Bavaria obeyed. "You're the d'Angelo demon."
"I'm but a man, I'm afraid. Sit," Michelangelo gestured toward the stool. He wasn't going to offer the Duke the better place. "I bring good news."
"For whom?" The man spat on the floor.
Michelangelo opened his arms wide. "But for both of us, of course. Relax, I won't hurt you." It was important to make that clear to keep the man calm. He could kill him later if he wanted.
"You want money?" the Duke asked. "We're barely starting to—"
"Get your economy back together, I know. No, I don't want money… I have lots of money."
The Duke remained silent, and so did the artist. For the last weeks, he had acted as a debt collector for Francis, keeping half of the money he got back. The poor sot had thrown a lot of gold out of the window bribing the Imperial Electors, only to be outbid by Charles, the Spanish King and now Holy Roman Emperor. Not that much remained of the empire now, after Michelangelo had toyed with it for almost two months.
"You know what I do to my enemies, right?"
"I read the newspapers… I saw the drawings." A shiver passed over the Duke's body.
"How about the real thing?" Michelangelo rose and approached the German, showing him the screen of his phone. A man was screaming in pain, tied to a pole in a public place. He had been skinned alive, with only the bloodied muscles remaining. The artist stood in front of him, drawing the scene, with a keen eye for the finest anatomic details. "I forgot who this was… Maybe the bishop?"
"Another sorcery?" the Duke exclaimed.
He's more impressed with the phone than with the torture… This is truly a dark age, Michelangelo sighed, closing the clip. But it's the only language the nobles understand.
"If you've read Clement's magazines, you know this is a new age. The alignment of the stars brings magic powers to the chosen ones, no matter their social status."
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"The pope's worse than Luther," the Duke sneered. "All these new things… are… blasphemous!"
"They're pretty useful to us," Michelangelo shrugged. "We have weapons that none of you blokes have, we can move our troops ten times faster, kill any of you in your beds from miles away, print hundreds of thousands of leaflets and books every week, and distribute them within days.
"My strategy—I call it rip the band-aid—has bored fruit in no time. My friends disagree with my methods and preach patience, but guess what? All they do is send some email with a sad emoji. If I decide to blow up your city with an aerial bombardment, I can make it happen like this," Michelangelo snapped his fingers.
"What do you want?" the Duke said bluntly. A sign he wanted to get over the meeting as fast as possible.
"Consider this a job interview. What are you trying to do for your country?"
"Is this a joke?" the Duke laughed, but his tone became serious when Michelangelo started to drum his fingers on the nearby table. It was not wise to taunt a man who had killed three prince-electors and destroyed their fiefdoms in weeks. A boogie man dropping in for a visit. "To make Bavaria stronger, larger, prosperous… and secure it for my family…"
"What about the Reformation?" Michelangelo asked, pretending to look out the window but keeping his attention to his host. His fingers were still drumming.
"What about it? I don't know… The Augustinian monk made sense, at first, but then, his ideas led to unrest…"
"Do you approve of his ideas?" the Italian insisted.
"I don't care about his ideas," the Duke blurted. "What I care about is for the duchy to be stable. I have the Austrians at my neck, and Charles of Spain together with them. I'll go with whatever helps Bavaria."
Michelangelo ceased hitting the wood with his fingers and nodded. "A logical approach."
"To be honest, Clement seems crazier than Luther now… Human… rights?" the Duke took the artist's words as an encouragement to speak his mind. Michelangelo's frown made him relent.
"Let me ask you something else. What if those 'Human Rights'," Michelangelo air-quoted, "would make your citizens live over sixty years old as a rule of thumb, or more, work heartily to produce worthy stuff, and the more they'd produce, the more your tax revenue would increase?"
"Then long live human rights," the Bavarian shrugged.
"A man of my own heart. Do you think your way of doing business is OK? What are your limits?"
"Money. Soldiers. Weapons." The reply had been direct and deadpanned.
"So if those change for the better, the problem is gone, right? In time, universal education and military service will solve the first two problems. The third, I'll take care of myself… The old bastard, Leo, is not the only one who can replicate some basic future weapons… But I digress… Do you know how much it will cost, to make these things happen? The risks?"
"Not higher than making you angry, I suppose," the Duke said. "I mean… your work speaks for itself."
"You can't make an omelet without breaking the eggs," Michelangelo smiled, his expression more of a predatory grin. "Good, you passed the test. You're hired."
"You're… hiring me for what?" the Duke furrowed his brow. "You want me to help you against Austria?"
"Alas, if they don't move directly against us, Austria is off-limits…" Michelangelo let out a deep sigh before his facial expression changed in a blink and became lively. "So, where was I? Ah, yes. I told you I bring good news. Rejoice. We're brothers. Your father met my mother long ago, by happenstance, and voilà," Michelangelo pointed to himself. "Clement will produce some paperwork telling that it's true. I'll write it, I'm a great forger, he'll just rubber stamp the document. You'll recognize me, and appoint me as a co-duke. You, I, and your brother, we'll be a happy triumvirate.
"I count on you to keep in check your brother, he's an idiot… I'll send you a friend of mine and Clement who'll train you to be a proper statesman. You may know him by his reputation, he wrote a famous book: The Prince."
"May I ask one question?" the Duke asked, continuing after Michelangelo nodded. "Why Bavaria, and why did you bother to speak with me? You can take over at any moment of your choosing."
"A good question, with simple answers. I'll start with the latter. Why did I come to talk? I can't do everything on my own, I need allies, and a base, and don't want to antagonize the population. Armies are made of men, and those men have families. Killing their husbands and fathers is bad PR. Why Bavaria? For the beer, of course."
"It's nice to meet you after all these years, brother," the Duke sneered, crossing his arms.
"Me too, little bro, me too…"
The Duke stiffened when he approached, but Michelangelo hugged him and then patted the man's cheek. "Don't you worry, we'll do great things together, you'll see."
Summoning his armored suit, Michelangelo took off, breaking through the window. The need for discretion was now gone. He took care that the flare of his ascending thrusters to be seen clearly from the duke's bedroom. Strong impressions were the best.