Chapter 300: Audience with the Governor-General

“Look, this is clearly a weapon forged by heathens, yet it is stained with Christian blood,” the chief of police said sarcastically. “Even if he was a swindler, he was, after all, a swindler who prayed before Christ.”

Governor-General Juan de Salamanca remained silent throughout the officials’ gossip. After a servant, following his instructions, took away the Count’s gift, the Governor-General suddenly questioned the chief of police: “Mr. Brambilla, I hear that Count Vilanova enjoys hunting from his villa, especially shooting monkeys. Do you know anything about this?”

The police chief was stunned and speechless. Previously, at the instigation of Sanabria and some other malicious individuals, he had attempted to uncover the Count’s origins and the secrets of his residence.

The police chief had gone to great lengths, using both bribery and intimidation, and finally managed to control a Tagalog servant in the Count’s household. Unfortunately, that servant had only managed to pass on one piece of worthless information before disappearing without a trace. It wasn’t until one day, when the Count was hosting a banquet for the colony’s officials, that he casually complained about a drunken servant who had stolen too much rum, gone mad, and jumped into the sea to commit suicide.

The internal route of developing an informant had failed, and the native spies sent to watch the villa had also come up empty. Weiss had bribed the fishermen and farmers in the surrounding villages, and these suspicious strangers would be driven away as soon as they appeared during the day. A few particularly dedicated spies would lie in wait until after sunset to sneak closer under the cover of darkness. Without exception, the special reconnaissance team snipers on duty in the watchtower, equipped with night vision goggles and Mosin-Nagant rifles, would send one or two bullets their way as a reward for their enthusiasm and patience. Sometimes Weiss would also bring his FAL rifle to participate in this “low-visibility moving target shooting competition”—naturally, he always came in first. The colonial officials only heard the Count’s slight complaints at banquets: the monkeys near Manila were running rampant, and to protect the rare trees and fruits in his garden, he had to patrol the garden all night, shooting at any monkeys that climbed the walls.

Mr. Brambilla, of course, never saw the bodies of the “monkeys.” Their fate was all the same; whether shot dead or seriously wounded, they were all tied to a large stone and thrown into Manila Bay. However, after his spies disappeared one after another, the chief of police finally realized his opponent was not to be trifled with. Moreover, as Count Vilanova’s reputation grew, it was better to end this clandestine surveillance and investigation sooner rather than later. But now, to have these shameful dealings exposed in public by his highest superior, the police chief felt his hands and feet turn cold, at a complete loss.

“The Count has the right to sue you in the highest court of the colony for abusing the power granted to you by His Majesty the King, if he so wishes. And I can also charge you with dereliction of duty. Your actions have squandered precious financial and human resources on irrelevant matters, while allowing Netherlander spies to run amok in your jurisdiction. The numerous crimes they have committed have threatened the entire colony, threatening the safety of all His Majesty’s subjects. I would like to hear what you have to say about this!”

The Governor-General’s angry rebuke echoed in the silent hall. He was not lashing out for no reason. Nearly a month ago, a suspicious fire had reduced the largest cockfighting arena in the Parian to a smoking ruin. It happened at dusk, the busiest time of the day, and more than three hundred gamblers, spectators, including many Spaniards and European travelers, perished in the flames. Before the fire was extinguished, it had also burned down dozens of Chinese shops. What troubled Governor Salamanca the most was that the tax from cockfighting and gambling had become one of the mainstays of Manila’s finances. The destruction of the cockfighting arena meant the colonial government was losing thousands of pesos in revenue every day. This enraged the profligate Governor-General: the gold of Baguio was certainly brilliant, but its mining and transportation were fraught with too many uncertainties, not as reliable as the steady daily income from the cockfighting tax.

Before the cockfighting arena fire could be sorted out, the wharf area on the Pasig River caught fire again. Many valuable Chinese goods had just been unloaded from ships and moved into the dock warehouses, which also stored even more precious Australian goods, all of which were consumed by the flames. This time, someone reported seeing suspicious individuals before the fire started. The chief of police haphazardly arrested a large number of people, extorted them one by one, and then released most of the Chinese. A few natives, too poor to squeeze any money out of, were thrown into prison as arson suspects to close the case. Not long after, a terrible incident occurred where a convoy transporting military supplies was attacked outside the city. Survivors reported that although the attackers were few, they were well-equipped and well-trained, clearly not the work of native bandits.

Just as the whole city was in a state of panic due to the successive disasters, reliable bad news came from Formosa. Dutch ships were frequently appearing in the north of the island, attacking supply ships and even approaching the coast to fire on the Spanish fortifications. It was clear the Dutch were about to launch an attack on the cities of San Salvador and Santo Domingo. Although most Spaniards in the Philippines did not care about those two colonies, which did not bring in many Chinese goods, the continuous stream of bad news had somewhat changed the attitude of the colony’s military and political leaders. Governor Salamanca’s warnings about a Dutch invasion and the dispatch of spies as saboteurs no longer seemed so unreasonable, but a threat that could become a reality at any moment.

“Your Excellency,” Zapatero reminded him cautiously, as if interrupting His Excellency the Governor-General’s temper was also a terrible thing, “the Count is waiting outside.”

The municipal officials tactfully rose to leave, including the chief of police who had been slumped in his chair. But the Governor-General stopped the Parian district chief: “Mr. Aguilar, I entrust you with the task of producing saltpeter from manure. You can rely on the Chinese under your jurisdiction. I am told they have a tradition of collecting manure for fertilizer, which will be very helpful for completing your work and solving our current difficulties.”

“I will definitely fulfill your request!” Juan Aguilar shouted, as if in a frenzy. “I swear to Jesus Christ and to you, on my honor, that I will not squander a single copper coin from His Majesty’s colonial treasury. However, construction projects always cost money. Please allow me to collect another community public fund from the Chinese.”

“You may, but remember not to oppress them too much. The Chinese are still of great use to us. But you must keep an eye out for suspicious people; they are most likely spies sent by the Netherlanders. If you find any Chinese carrying weapons and firearms, do not hesitate, arrest them immediately.”

The ashen-faced chief of police, the uneasy mayor, the ecstatic Parian district chief, and all the others walked out. Weiss Rando was led in by a servant from a side door. The Governor-General noticed that the saber was indeed gone from his black satin cavalry uniform belt, replaced by a short sword with several strange-looking Chinese characters engraved on the hilt. Governor Salamanca was surprised by this peculiar feature of the eastern colony; it seemed to have been conquered by the Chinese and their way of life, their national symbols. Even the Spaniards in the colony were accustomed to traveling in Chinese sedan chairs, always with a folding fan of gilded paper covered in Chinese characters in hand. The Governor-General did not like this trend, and he was even more displeased to find the visitor looking at him with a less than deferential gaze.

“Mr. Vincenzo,” the Governor-General began, omitting Weiss’s noble title, and pointed to an armchair near the end of the table. Weiss sat down nonchalantly; at least this position was close to the punkah hanging from the ceiling. A Negrito pygmy squatted in the corner, listlessly pulling a rope, causing the cloth-covered wooden frame fan to swing back and forth. This was the only means of cooling.

The Malacañang Palace, which Weiss had visited as an American soldier, was at this time just a patch of wasteland by the Pasig River. And in this dimension, without any ceremony or ritual, being received by the supreme ruler of the Philippines in this stuffy, dark room that smelled of damp decay, Weiss felt equally displeased.

“Stinking Spanish pigs,” he cursed inwardly, though a smile remained on his face.

The Governor-General continued in the cold tone of one addressing a subordinate: “I am pleased that you have taken the time to come at my summons, but I have invited you to remind you that the Philippine colony is governed by the Laws of the Indies promulgated by His Majesty the King, as well as the written laws and some customary laws of our nation. Under any of these laws, killing a person in a duel is not permitted. You should know that.”

“Your Excellency, for an innocent man, your words are entirely correct. But for a man who deserves to die, what difference does it make if the execution is carried out sooner or later?” Weiss replied calmly, his hand resting on the imitation “Zhongzheng” sword hanging from his belt—which he had traded for a fine Toledo blade from a certain Senator. “Esteban Sanabria was a swindler. He forged government documents and bond contracts, not only stealing and defrauding law-abiding citizens of their property but also blackmailing them. He did everything he could to evade taxes, harming the state. He engaged in smuggling, even selling weapons and gunpowder to the enemies of the Empire. He also committed murder, torturing and killing Filipinos, Chinese, and Mexicans who had converted to God, all to seize their property. And he himself was a questionable New Christian, even secretly holding to the vile heretical faith of the Jews. The royal prosecutor from Madrid told me that the petitions and letters of accusation he has received against Esteban Sanabria now fill his entire room. A man so full of evil, does he not deserve to die? When God uses any hand He chooses to kill this villain, is it not all by His sacred judgment?”