The Templar's Curse

by Sarwat Chadda

  Lawrence took another shaky breath. He probably didn’t speak much anymore, it took too much effort, but this was business and he wanted to make sure she knew what she was buying. Plus, Billi reckoned, he never got the chance to share what he knew with someone who might understand — appreciate — what he did. Immortality must be lonely.

  “The caliph had the jar hidden away very deep. But then such treasures have a way of working their way back up to the surface. We move to the modern day and the era of Saddam Hussein. There were rumours regarding supernatural weapons of mass destruction.”

  Billi nodded. “He planned to unleash monsters like the djinn when he had nothing left to lose, right?”

  Lawrence glanced over at the golem. “Not just djinn. There are worse horrors in the desert, believe me. It is fortunate for us all he never got a chance to do it.”

  “His supernatural weapons of mass destruction, eh?” Billi stood the jar on the table. “Someone found it in a rummage sale at Saddam’s palace? How very lucky.”

  Lawrence chuckled. It sounded like a frog being strangled. “Don’t be coy, Ms. SanGreal. I wasn’t the only… collector making deals during the chaos of the 2003 Iraq war. Especially during the early days.”

  “When priceless treasures from the cradle of civilization were looted from the museums and lost forever?”

  Lawrence smiled. “Business was good. And when was the last time you visited the British Museum? It’s built on loot.”

  Billi looked across the room at the golem. “That where you found him? Collecting dust in the corner of the Baghdad museum of antiquities? With all the chaos, you just loaded him on the back of an army truck and drove him across the border?”

  “So you know?” asked Lawrence.

  “That you have connections in the British military going back generations? That you have generals in your pocket and have troops set aside to help you smuggle artefacts out of war zones? Yeah, I do.”

  He wasn’t embarrassed, or ashamed. Or even surprised she knew all about his smuggling ring and how he used British troops to do his dirty work. There were plenty of soldiers past and present who owed their fortunes to Lawrence. “It’s outrageous how little soldiers get paid. Our noble boys and girls protecting our freedoms and oil wells for such a pittance. It was my patriotic duty to support them as best I can.”

  “Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel,” quoted Billi. “And my dad was a soldier.”

  “Dishonourably discharged, wasn’t he?” countered Lawrence. “Striking a superior officer, wasn’t it?”

  “Putting him in hospital more like.” Billi pointed at the shopping bag. “As pleasant as these chats are, I really do need to go. So, there’s the money and I’ll take the jar. Keep in touch.” Billi reached for the jar —

  Lawrence coughed and the golem lurched forward.

  Uh oh.

  Billi got to her feet. “Do we have a problem?”

  “If only you’d come an hour earlier, but we’ve had another offer.” He gestured to his mobile phone on the table. “There’s a presidential election coming up and one of the candidates is in need of a wish coming true.”

  So that was why he kept that mobile so close. Who else did he have saved in Contacts? “You’ve warned him all such wishes carry an equally powerful curse?”

  Lawrence grinned hideously. “Why discourage him unnecessarily?”

  “How much?”

  “Would you believe nothing at all? But I will have access to all levels of power within government. In all my years it struck me I have never owned a country. This is the next best thing.”

  “Then why did you —”

  “Expenses, my dear. Expenses must be covered.”

  The golem picked up the Tesco bag and put it firmly by the side door. She wasn’t getting that back.

  That was all they had. Accounts had been cleared, favours asked, a lot of favours, markers called in. Once the Templars had been Christendom’s bankers but those days were a long, long time ago and now it was charity shopping at Christmas and second-hand clothes all year round. “What happened to honour amongst thieves?” said Billi.

  “I’m a businessman, Ms. SanGreal. What need do I have of honour?”

  She’d have thought after all these years he wouldn’t want to be taking these types of risks. “Dad’ll be upset. You really want that?”

  “How quaint. How loyal. Still hanging onto the fantasy that the Knights Templar mean something. You’re not players in the game, Ms. SanGreal, not anymore. You’re just a comedy sideshow, grown men running around waving their swords about, fighting against their sense of insignificance. When will you grow up and see the world as it really is?”

  “You’re going to steal my money and not give me the djinn? Have I got that absolutely straight?”

  “Don’t act dim, little girl. I have little patience nowadays.” He gestured to the golem. “Will you show Ms. SanGreal out?”

  Any straight fight between her and a golem would last about two seconds, ending with her being turned into a bloody smear on the marble floor. She knew it, Lawrence knew it, and the golem knew it. It was that classic riddle: how do you beat someone bigger, stronger, faster and better trained than you?

  Simple.

  Cheat.

  Billi kicked the table hard. It slid across the smooth marble floor and smacked into the golem’s shins. The creature stumbled onto the fragile wood, shattering it instantly.

  Billi snatched up the jar — and Lawrence’s phone since it was right there — from amongst the debris, then backed away. “Another step and I’ll rip the seal right off. I might even make a wish. What do you think? That you should all fall down dead?”

  The golem opened and clenched those fingers of his with an eagerness Billi didn’t want to dwell upon. But Lawrence raised his hand to stop him. “You wouldn’t be so foolish.”

  “You really don’t know any young people, do you? We all think we’re going to live forever. Taking foolish risks is our thing.”

  “Give me the jar and I’ll let you leave, limbs intact.”

  Billi picked at the lead, levering her nails into the seal. The metal had gone brittle with age. She began pealing —

  “Don’t!” screamed Lawrence. “You’ll doom us all! The wish must be minutely specified!”

  She took another step backward toward the balcony. “Like when you wished to never die?”

  He flinched. She guessed it must still hurt, making that wish and getting played like that. He got what he wanted, to live forever, but the twist had been he’d kept aging. She didn’t know how powerful the djinn in this particular bottle was, but it was better things go bad for everyone, rather than just for her. She stepped through the window onto the balcony. The far door opened and the other bodyguard, Tommy, entered. He had both her dusters on. Now that was just plain rude. Lawrence stood up slowly. His guards stood either side of him, blocking any escape through the room. “That was foolish. You’ve nowhere to go.”

  Holding the vase by the top, Billi slowly stretched her arm out over the edge of the balcony. “Go on. Dare me.”

  “You wouldn’t… just wait. Maybe we can come to some arrangement after all.”

  “That’s nice. But I’m sorry. I can’t trust you one little bit.”

  Lawrence thrust his claw-like forefinger towards her. “Get that bitch!”

  “And we were getting along so well until now.” Billi tucked the jar into her jacket and swung herself off the balcony.

  CHAPTER TWO

  There’s that freefall moment. It’s too quick to be terrifying, gravity’s quicker than the brain at times like these, unexpected times. Up? Down? Going to land soon, later, not at all? You’ve just got to hope the landing’s not too bumpy. It’s kind of like falling in love.

  Billi twisted, not enough to land on her feet, but flat on the wooden table laid out on the balcony for a late-night meal overlooking the swaying trees of Green Park. The
table crumbled and knocked all the air from her lungs.

  Up above, the golem was gingerly trying to make his way down the slope after her.

  Now Billi needed to rely on the power of love. She leaned over the edge as she heard a motorbike revving.

  A guy waiting below waved at her. He stood a few paces away from the café canopy. She just hoped it was strong enough…

  Checking that the jar remained sealed and unbroken, Billi, for the second time in the same minute, went over the edge.

  The drop was longer, but it passed faster. Eyes squeezed shut she hit the canopy and it sank around her, not quite ripping from its fixings but a few of the hooks popped out of the stone and the frame buckled, almost bending in half. She opened her eyes.

  She was not a bloody smear on the pavement.

  Today was turning out way better than she’d expected.

  “That was the stupidest thing I ever saw! Why didn’t you climb?” said the biker as he clambered over the scattered café furniture. He pulled the canopy aside and hauled her up and out. “Stupid, stupid, stupid…” he muttered. “Anything broken?”

  While he checked her, she checked the jar. “Nope. We’re all good.”

  “I doubt that. Come on.” And he turned toward the waiting motorbike.

  A Norton Commando 74. A classic. The biker held out a spare helmet. Billi put it on while the biker pushed the jar into his backpack.

  “You sure about this?” the guy asked. “You have just fallen off a building, Billi.”

  “And this is the welcome I get? I’m pretty disappointed.”

  He laughed. He took off his helmet and shook his head. “You’re crazy, Billi SanGreal.”

  Billi hooked her arm around his neck and kissed him. She’d done it before, too many times to count over the last two years, but Ivan Alexeivich Romanov always tasted like the first time.

  Look at him. My prince.

  His grey eyes were like mirrors, they took on whatever colour was around and right now they were gold from the streetlights. Those Slavic cheekbones were as proud as his heritage and his jaw smooth and hard but for the dark stubble on his chin. His lips were as red as any fairy-tale princess.

  Was that what she liked about him? He was a unique blend of masculine edges and feminine softness.

  Who knew for sure? And did it matter?

  First came a sprinkle of dust and chipped stones. It was all the warning they got. Then there was the rush of wind as something big and very heavy tore straight through the canopy and exploded upon impact with the pavement. The windows shattered as stone shards flew off in all directions, Billi just turning her back at the moment of impact. People screamed, inside the hotel, and out.

  It was the golem, or what was left of it. A few bigger pieces still gave a hint of its original shape but most were now reduced to pieces small enough to fit in her hand. Of the head only part of the eye socket remained, the blue light of sorcerous life extinguished. It lay amongst the wreckage of the side-street café, the tables and chairs of wrought iron flattened as if made of wire and covered in the torn flaps of the canopy. One hand remained whole, and the fingers still twitched. It was still trying to follow Lawrence’s order.

  Now look at it. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men were not going to put that back together again.

  She kissed Ivan again. She then got on her bike and gave the throttle a twist. The twin four-stroke engine roared and she felt its power rise through her. She’d only had it a few months and the thrill of the machine hadn’t faded. Much like Ivan’s kisses. She looked back. “You wanna ride?”

  ***

  Temple district was a few miles East and yet a world away from the bright lights and crowded streets of the West End. They made their way down the all but empty Fleet Street up to the gate at the top of Middle Temple Lane. Ivan opened it up and Billi rolled the Norton through to the narrow-cobbled path. The area had once been theirs, the London headquarters of the Knights Templar until their apparent destruction in the early years of the 14th century. For the world at large the order had ceased to exist when their last grandmaster, Jacques de Molay, had been burnt at the stake in a square in Paris at the behest of the Inquisition.

  But from that moment the rumours started. That the English king, unlucky Edward II, had offered refuge to those that had escaped the fire. Rumours easily dismissed.

  Now the Temple district was all law courts and barristers’ offices. There were reminders of its warrior past, Temple Church still dominated and, in the courtyard, stood Templar Column with its two knights riding upon a single horse.

  Like me and Ivan on the Norton. The modern day Templars on their steel steed.

  This time of night the barristers’ chambers were all empty and their windows all dark. It was like stepping back in time; cobbled streets, the Victorian streetlamps and the chambers were some of the oldest buildings in the oldest part of London, they were the heart of the City of London, that enclave guarded by silver dragons and marking the boundary of Roman Londinium.

  Billi lifted the motorbike onto its kickstand opposite her home, the top floor apartment in the Lamb Building. “You want to come up?”

  Ivan shook his head as he got out his mobile. “I could do with avoiding your father for a while. You’d think he’d be used to me by now. We’ve been going out… two years?”

  “Don’t take it personally. Dad’s a miserable git.” She punched in the door code and went in, carrying the backpack.

  Billi took the stairs to the top floor. The short corridor to her apartment was lined with old paintings of past grandmasters and famous battles. Her dad had filled the vase beside the apartment door with fresh flowers from the Temple garden. Next to the vase was a four-foot-long medieval sword. His subtle reminder she was in charge of training the squires tomorrow, right after matins.

  Billi entered the dark apartment, bringing the sword in and putting it in the umbrella stand. “Dad? I’m back. There was a little disagreement with Lawrence. Don’t expect an Christmas card from him this year.”

  No reply. The curtains were still open, letting the silver moonlight fall upon the second-hand furnishings and shelves stuffed with ancient leather-bound books.

  “Dad?” She went into the kitchen.

  Wood shavings covered the small round dining table and there were garlic cloves scattered on the Formica worktop. A note had been stuck to the fridge.

  Out with Bors. Another stake and bake. Don’t forget the training. Idres needs a lot more practice.

  So, he wouldn’t be back till dawn, at the earliest. The vampires were getting overconfident. Didn’t they understand the Templars ruled London? There’d been an attack south of the river only a week ago. Seems her dad had tracked down its lair.

  What was she going to do with the jar? She’d hoped Dad would take over from here. Lawrence might send his boys around to try and get it back. But would Lawrence risk coming onto the Templars’ own turf? She knew how afraid he was of her dad, and rightly so. Even the Devil feared her dad. Lucifer had told her himself, when she’d meant him, how long ago? Two years? It felt a lot longer.

  She needed to deal with the jar herself. But that didn’t mean spoiling the rest of her night.

  Then she went into her small bedroom and took off her biker’s jacket. The thing was covered in golem dust. Then she noticed something inside the pocket.

  Lawrence’s mobile.

  She turned it over, noticing a series of missed calls from a private number. It was locked, needing a thumb print to open. Not that security would be a problem...

  She slipped it into her back pocket and grabbed the first earrings she could find. A minute later she was back out on the street with Ivan. “The guys will be waiting, and still more or less sober,” she said as she put in her earrings. “The Sergeant’s Arms ain’t busy this time of night and the landlord usually gives us one of the rooms at the back.”

  Ivan winced. She didn’t lik
e it when he winced. “Something’s come up.”

  “Seriously? In the last ten minutes?”

  “It’s been brewing for a while. I was just waiting for news. There are some people I need to meet. Tonight.”

  “What people?”

  He looked uneasy. “My people.”

  “Oh. Like Russian Mafia people. Just great. What’s it this time? Someone cross the line in Moscow and they need your blessing before they make a hit? The hand of tsarevich Ivan upon their shoulders? Or are we back into smuggling?”

  His eyes darkened. “You know my Bogatyrs are as righteous as any of your Templars. Things have changed since the days of Koshchey so don’t act as if I’m doing anything different from what you would be doing if our positions were reversed. I have obligations, Billi.”

  They’d met in Moscow, two years ago and under very different circumstances. The Bogatyrs were Russia’s fabled warrior heroes, protectors of the innocent and dread foes against the ancient monsters of Eastern Europe. But they’d fallen far from their lofty ideals when Billi and the other Templars had taken a trip out there. Headed by Koshchey the Undying they had become little more than gangsters, out for themselves and happy to destroy anyone who got in their way. Things had been tricky right up to the moment when, in the shadow of the old nuclear reactor at Chernobyl, Ivan had been forced to kill his old mentor.

  Ivan took her hand. “Why don’t you come with me?”

  “To the Firebird, I suppose?” Soho’s newest, and most elite, nightclub. Annual membership ran into a hefty five figures and the queue outside was insane. But Ivan was a Romanov and that gave him automatic access past any velvet rope. But there was a club within a club, beyond the DJs and neon dance floor. A kingdom, ruled by Ivan. The place where everyone still called him tsarevich — prince. “I thought you weren’t getting involved.”

  “You thought I wasn’t.” There as an edge to his voice, cold and hard as flint. “I’m not your errand boy, Billi. The Bogatyrs are my family’s legacy to Russia. I won’t just abandon it and… do what? Exactly?”

  “Dad would make you a Templar in a second. You know that.”