Looking out of his window Untercommandant Heinrich Darmstaedter of the Moravian Staat Polizei could see, in one direction, the open area of the Namesti Svobody, the largest open square in Brno, which had once been, long, long ago the market-place of an old village.

In this square stood the plague column from 1680, and the much more recent church of St. James, with the highest spire in all Brno. But the head of State Security saw none of these things, only the dignified carriage that was arriving at his door and the figure in clerical garb who was just this moment getting out of it.

While he waited for his guest to be shown in, he turned to his desk and rearranged the pile of files that an assistant had delivered just that morning. Each file was bound in hard cloth, and had a single name stenciled on the outside. Most of the files were bulging with multiple sheets of white paper on which were recorded all the facts Darmstaedter needed to know about the monks of St. Thomas.

He did not have to wait long for Monsignor Josef Schrattenbach to pass through the door to his inner office and begin removing his cloak and hat. The two men shook hands in a perfunctory way, and sat down on each side of the large mahogany desk which dominated the room.

Neither of the men wanted to start the conversation, and neither man had any time or patience for small talk, but of the two, Msgnr. Schrattenbach had the initiative. At least he knew why he was here.

"Perhaps a glass of your excellent schnapps?" he said at last, and watched as the Untercommandant was placed at a disadvantage for not being the perfect host and offering refreshment at once.

"I assume the reason you asked me to collect these files is also the reason for this visit," Darmstaedter said as he carefully poured equal measures of the liquor into the glasses and set one before his guest. "Hussite activities have started to increase since the end of the recent war, but as far as I know, the Monastery of St. Thomas has been quiet, except for that unusual incident concerning the Egyptian Mummy last year".

"What did you think of Abbot Napp?" Schrattenbach asked him, sipping his drink and placing his neatly folded gloves on the desk before him. The Vicar General was a careful plotter and needed to know where each person in his schemes stood before he revealed his intentions.

By way of an answer Darmstaedter pulled one of the thicker files out from the pile before him and opened the cover. "Long version or short version?" he asked.

"Just your impressions will do," Schrattenbach replied.

"Let me see," Darmstaedter said, turning a few pages, "He was 32 years old when he stopped being a Professor of Bible studies and Oriental languages and became the Abbot. He never sat his rigarosum for his doctorate, but was Abbot for ..." he quickly did the calculation in his head, "... 43 years.

"During that time he skillfully handled all kinds of crises and even the '48 revolution without getting his fingers burned." His own, unburned finger moved down a list of dates on the paper before him. "He was appointed to the land committee of the Diet in ... er ... 1829, and cleverly used that position to gather other titles and positions around him.

"Let me see, ah, yes. In both '32 and '48 he was Direktor of Gymnasia in Moravia and Silesia, and that ensured he became the most powerful member of the education committee in the provincial Diet.

"He's been a big influence in the Agricultural Society, and on its central committee since 1827. In '49 he was the officiating director and in '64 its Chairman - quite a record!"

"You forget that he was also elected president of the Pomological Association and was a member of the Sheep Breeders’ Association," Schrattenbach reminded him, well aware that Darmstaedter was much more interested in politics and the Abbot's political career than his scientific achievements.

"And his tireless work promoting scholarship and teaching," he added.

"But he only did that after the imperial directive for monasteries to prepare their monks as teachers," Darmstaedter insisted.

"But look at who he found," Schrattenbach could not help saying, "one of the most famous Augustinian botanical experts, Aurelius Thaler, was at the monastery until 1843 and it was Napp that gave him permission to set up an experimental garden for rare Moravian plants, and a herbarium people still talk about".

"If you knew all this, why did you ask?" Darmstaedter asked, slightly sharply. He did not like others manipulating him, he much preferred the position of puppet master, but somehow, in these situations, Monsignor Schrattenbach always seemed to have the edge. It never occurred to the Untercommandant that his narrow Prussian mind was no match for the subtle thinking of the Vicar General.

Scrattenbach placed his now empty glass on the desk, wiped the rim with his finger and looked up at the officer for state security. "With Napp gone, the Bishop thinks this would be a good time to bring the Abbey and the Monastery more into line with the current thinking at the Palace," he said, carefully. "It would be of benefit to us all if the next Abbot was less ... er ... independent, and more willing to co-operate with the church in serious matters of religion and finance".

Darmstaedter shrugged, "I agree, but what has any of this got to do with me, and my duties?"

"I would have thought that would have been obvious," Schrattenbach said, "the Monastery of St. Thomas has been a hotbed of Hussite thinking since before the revolution of '48, and Abbot Napp was always very effective in protecting his own disciples of Czech nationalism. With Napp enjoying his eternal reward, the opportunity now exists to put a different Abbot in his place, someone who would not only favor German philosophy in these matters, but also control the Czechs more ... rigorously".

"Yes," Darmstaedter agreed, "looked on that way I can see how a ... different ... type of Abbot would benefit us both, but it is not for us to select the new Abbot, the monks of the Monastery do that in an open election in a few months".

"Indeed they do," Schrattenbach concurred, "but true democracy is a rare and ephemeral thing, easily adjusted to meet more pragmatic needs, such as ours. With a bit of skill, some forethought and a little planning I don't doubt that the wise monks of St. Thomas will vote for the candidate we select for them".

Subtlety was not one of Darmstaedter's more obvious strengths, and once again he felt in an inferior position to his guest, at least as far as this matter was concerned. "I still don't see how you can persuade a monastery full of independent thinking monks to choose your candidate in an open and free election?" he confessed.

"Ahh," said Schrattenbach softly, "that is where you are wrong. No election is every 'free', or 'open' or even 'fair'. In every case where a group of people think they have a choice and a free vote for ... well, almost anything you can think of, ... behind the scenes others more wise are arranging matters to their own satisfaction, objectives and ends".

"In that case, if every vote is a fraud, why vote at all? What is the point of a democracy?"

"No country that I know of has ever practiced real democracy," Schrattenbach continued, "even in America you cannot vote for the person you want to be President of that blighted country, despite all their hoopla. Follow what happens and you will quickly see that a 'slate of candidates' is chosen by committees and societies, and all the 'voters' get to do is endorse one of these carefully screened and previously selected candidates. It does not really matter which one the ignorant voter chooses, he will get someone who servers his real masters - those that put him on the slate - not the foolish 'voter'.".

"But you still have not told me why we go through this charade, if it is meaningless!"

"If asked, almost every citizen of America would proudly say they live in a democracy where 'the people' rule because they get to choose their leaders. Blinded by such ignorance of reality, they then cheerfully allow these 'chosen ones' to rob them blind, tax them unmercifully and dole out rich favors to all their capitalist backers and friends. Why? Because the so called 'voters', not understanding reality, and can be easily swayed by billboards and slogans into thinking almost anything you want, including the highly ridiculous concept that politicians are honest, and honorable guardians of the state".

Darmstaedter was not sure whether he either understood this philosophy or agreed with it, but his question still had not been answered, and he said so. "How then will you select the next Abbot if you don't have a vote?"

"One thing at a time," Schrattenbach replied, cooling down slightly after his outburst. "We must first decide who would make the best Abbot, then we must arrange the 'slate of candidates' so that the only logical choice is the one we have picked. That is the way all the best democracies work".

"Very well, assuming I agree to this strategy, who should be the next Abbot?"

"I thought you might be interested, so I asked him to come along and join these discussions. Should I ask him to come in?" Schrattenbach said with a smile.

"Of course," Darmstaedter replied.

With that Schrattenbach got out of his chair, walked to the door and opened it. "Please come in," he said quietly to the person waiting outside, and the next Abbot of St. Thomas monastery entered the office of the Untercommandant.

Darmstaedter recognized him at once, "Come in Brother Timothy, you are most welcome," he said, and opened the schnapps bottle one more time.