Arturo Serrano - To Climates Unknown - An Alternate History of a World Without America

Doctor Mutis took a while to realize, under her strong accent, that he was being addressed. He showed a blank face until he remembered not to stare too long, and started skimming his notes. “We’ve dispatched surgeons all over the city, but most of the people we’ve found were already dead. Most of them simply drowned, but some were killed by buildings falling on their heads—”

“Is there anything you need?”

Mutis couldn’t conceal his excitement. Rarely did the queen make such an open offer. He started making a list in his head. “We don’t have enough saws for all the amputations we have to perform. Most of the wood in the city was ruined in the flood, so it’s a challenge to make splints to set fractures. People are getting dysentery, we still don’t know why, and we’re struggling to purge as many as we can. But overall, disposing of the dead has given us more work than treating the injured.”

The queen nodded. “Their souls take priority. I’ll send you more priests.” Mutis noticed the indignation that had taken hold of Monsieur Godin’s eyes, but said nothing. She turned back to the Intendant of the Navy. “Other places?”

“Ceuta and Mazagan saw waves as tall as fifteen men,” Gerbaut replied. “The destruction there is comparable to what we’ve seen here, except they don’t have as many buildings as we do, so fewer people died.” He flipped to another page. “The docks at Azores and Madeira were broken to pieces. I’m still waiting for the report from the Canaries, but… Your Majesty knows how ships sailing from there tend to disappear at random.”

“Any news from Portugal?”

“Oh, Algarve was hit hard. The sea broke the fortresses in the coast and swept over the city.”

“How about Lisbon?”

“Let me see… Lisbon… I’m not sure they’re in shape to send messengers yet.”

Monsieur Godin took a step forward. “I just came from Lisbon. It’s been wiped off the map.”

Gerbaut was aghast, both at the unimaginable scale of the disaster if Godin’s words were true, and at his boldness at claiming the queen’s attention when he hadn’t been spoken to. Indeed, Maria Theresa shifted her eyes from Gerbaut to Godin and said, “Go on.”

Godin spoke without notes, with the confidence of one who has seen the facts himself. “As bad as Cádiz appears, Lisbon took it ten times worse. I surveyed the remains of the buildings and interviewed multiple eyewitnesses during the week following the earthquake. All agree that the morning began calmly, with an open sky and no indication that anything unusual should happen. Then the earth started to move, and because it was the Feast of All Saints, most of the locals were attending Mass, which caused most of the first wave of deaths when the temples crumbled down. The earthquake lasted long enough for processions to get organized. Priests all over the city took the Holy Sacrament out to the streets to ward off doom, and still they were crushed by falling buildings.”

“Careful,” said the queen. “You’re getting close to blasphemy.” Gerbaut smiled.

“It was the hand of God that pushed those waves,” said Godin without blinking. “I think He is free to kill as many of his own ministers as He wishes.”

Gerbaut felt the need to interject, “What were you doing in Lisbon in the first place?”

“Her Majesty ordered me to go there. I helped redesign and rebuild Lima when God punished it nine years ago.”

Gerbaut’s face turned red with shame. He silently vowed to not risk another embarrassment.

Godin went on, “After the tremor, many believed they would be safer if they ran to the shoreline, far from the buildings. There they noticed that the sea had retreated an impossible distance, and a mere hour later it returned with gigantic waves that forced them to run back toward the city, but the sea ran faster. Half the city was flattened by the water and the other half was burned because the earthquake toppled candles in all the churches. Those who managed to escape drowning choked in the smoke. Then came another wave, and another. There is no more Lisbon. Nothing remains there.”

“This is worse than Lima,” whispered the queen. “Viceroy Manso gave me an exceedingly high recommendation of your services. Do you think you’ll be able to do something for Lisbon?”

“The whole city will have to be rebuilt. Not that there will be many inhabitants left to make houses for.”

“How many died?” asked Doctor Mutis, hoping not to be too impudent.

“Twelve thousand,” said Godin calmly.

“Just in Lisbon?”

Godin nodded, and Mutis felt his head spinning. He tried to tell himself he shouldn’t be so shocked; he had seen plenty of cadavers at the faculty of medicine, and those in Lisbon were ones he wasn’t even seeing. But twelve thousand in a single city, and by divine decree, was almost too much for one man’s faith.

Mutis struggled to pay attention to the rest of the meeting. At one point it seemed that Gerbaut was arranging with Governor Azlor the repair works on the dock, which should be ready before the next merchant fleet was scheduled to depart for the Indies; but he didn’t hear when the topic of the conversation changed again, and now the queen was asking about the massive structure occupying almost the entire room, as if she had just noticed it.

“When the sea came over the city, it pushed this thing onto the shore,” Azlor was explaining. “Inside it we found several sailors from the north. We think they may be Dutch, but they haven’t spoken.”

“Why haven’t you tortured them?” asked the queen.

Governor Azlor pointed at Mutis. “Because they’re being treated at the Cádiz Hospital, which won’t let us do our job.”

Maria Theresa addressed the young doctor. “Have those men transferred into the Governor’s care. It’s unacceptable that we don’t even know which country they serve.”

Mutis made a show of writing down her order between submissive nods, but swore privately, with the naïve determination of the young, that he’d be tortured himself before yielding his patients.

Paying him no further attention, the queen pointed at the ship. “Can anyone explain what we have here?”

Gerbaut stepped forward. “It is clearly some sort of vessel, but for what purpose, we don’t know. It has one cannon on top, but the exterior of the weapon is disguised as a branchless tree. The rows on the sides of the vessel must be operated from within, but we’re not sure that we have the overall position right—”

The queen stood up. “You say this thing is Dutch?”

“Its crew appear of northern stock, so that’s what we’re assuming, Your Majesty.”

She ran her fingers over the bottom of the hull, shaking her head. “I know this wood. My father made me visit the provinces of our enemies. I’ve seen entire villages made of this.” She turned to the men and declared, “This is Norwegian spruce. You’re pointing your finger at the wrong country.”

Azlor’s mind drew the obvious conclusion. “If the ship is Norwegian…”

Gerbaut was thinking the same. “Then we’ve uncovered the reason for the success of the Canutic Empire.”

The queen turned to face Godin. “I remember your report about Lima.”

“Indeed,” said the Frenchman, “there was talk of strange-looking ships being seen at the coast, but at the time I dismissed them as the baseless rumors to be expected of terrified people.”

“We’ve been sent a message from Heaven,” said the queen, nodding several times as her thoughts ran. “The earthquake in Lima occurred on the feast of Saint Judas Thaddaeus. This one came on the Day of All Saints. We didn’t listen the first time, so God spoke again.”

Mutis wanted to point out that, as long as the Catholic Church insisted on filling the calendar with holy feasts, everything was bound to happen on some saint’s day, but he thought better of it.