The Templar's Curse

by Sarwat Chadda

  “I won’t serve under your father. Don’t ask me to.”

  Why did he say things like that about her dad? It was impossible, with Arthur on one side and Ivan on the other. “So when are you going to Moscow? You’ve only just got back.”

  “That’s not decided. I probably won’t need to anyway. Even if I did, why don’t you come with me for once? You never got the chance to appreciate Moscow the last time.”

  “I can’t just abandon my duties, Ivan.”

  “And I can’t abandon mine.”

  She’d never been in a relationship before. At first, they were always happy to do whatever the other wanted, it had got silly but maybe that’s what it was like with relationships, at the beginning. But now it was a constant tug-of-war, them both pulling in opposite directions and not giving an inch.

  Billi swung her leg over the bike seat. “I promised my mates I’ll see them at the Sergeant and I’m late already.”

  “I could meet you back at my apartment. You’ve got the keys, haven’t you?”

  “Oh, right. Keeping your bed warm for whenever you stroll in? No thanks.”

  Billi stared down at her hands, locking tightly around her handlebars. Finger by finger she forced herself to unwrap them. Ivan wasn’t the bad guy, sometimes there was no one to blame. Why shouldn’t he have his own life? What did she want, a boyfriend or a puppy? And he’d been brought up in a culture, a society, with him at the very top. Descended from the tsars of Russia, carrying the blood of Peter the Great in his veins, life as an outcast in London hadn’t been easy for him. Billi gazed at him, standing in the glow of the golden streetlight. “Look, I’ll give you a lift. I’ll say hello to the doorman and then head off to my meet. We’ll catch up properly.”

  “Thanks, but that’ll be out of your way.”

  “Come on. You’ll be ages waiting for an Uber.”

  He turned his head and then Billi understood. Ivan’s gun-metal grey Maserati MC20, one of the first to roll out of the factory, was parked at the end of the street.

  She was a total idiot. “You knew all along you weren’t coming. Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

  “Why spoil it, Billi? I thought I’d save us an argument, at least postpone it. I know what you’re like. Too headstrong. It’s your way or nothing.”

  “That’s not true.”

  He held out his hand. “Then come to the Firebird. Meet my friends. You’ll like them. Just give them a chance, Billi.”

  Billi pushed on her helmet. That way she couldn’t hear him and that way he couldn’t see the tears forming in her eyes. “Enjoy yourself, tsarevich.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The celebrations were well advanced by the time Billi entered the Sergeant. The rest of them were at the back, tucked in their usual corner, shouting, arguing and laughing with, and at, each other. Idres was shaking his long dreadlocks at something Mo had accused him of, while the gigantic Carados was pointing at them both, rocking back on his stool. He saw Billi first and raised his glass. “Hey, hey! She did come! Make room, Idres. That bench is meant for two!”

  Billi circled her finger. “Who wants a round? I’ll—”

  Carados burped loudly as he gestured at the row of empty glasses on the table. “Way ahead of you. Just sit down and grab your pint… of Coke.”

  All three burst into hysterics.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Billi clambered over to wedge herself between Mo and the wall. She held out the backpack. “I got a present for you, Carados.”

  He peered inside. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “If you think it’s a four-thousand-year-old bronze jar containing an imprisoned djinn, then yeah. I want you to get it Lionel, tonight.”

  “Any message attached?”

  “He’ll know what to do with it. If he doesn’t he can always call Elaine.”

  Carados nodded slowly. “Was there any trouble?”

  “None worth mentioning.” Billi sipped her Coke and wished she had something a little stronger. Anything to put Ivan out of her mind, just for tonight.

  “Cheers,” said Idres, raising his glass. “It’s not often we get an actual knight drinking with us squires.”

  Mo looked up from his glass. “Excuse me? I haven’t been a squire for a year, remember. I sit at the table now, not like you lightweights.”

  Carados slapped Idres on his shoulder. “You’ll be a knight soon enough. But how many times have you failed the Ordeal now? Five? Or is it six?”

  “Twice and you know it. And that last time was bloody close. How was I to know there would be three vampires? It’s not my fault I didn’t bring enough stakes.”

  Carados smirked. “It kinda is. Sharpening stakes is what we squires do. Always have one handy, just in case.” He pulled up his trouser leg, revealing a wooden stake strapped to his chunky calf. “See? Always prepared.”

  “You’re a psycho. You know that?”

  Carados grinned. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

  Billi leaned back with her pint and let them carry on their arguing. The order only ever had nine knights, but there was no limit on squires. These were the latest recruits. Mo had been with the order a few years now but Carados and Idres were fresh, still learning the rules, and the dangers. Both had come off the streets, no family, no connections and that’s how the Knights Templar liked it. Some knights recruited from their own families, of course. She was the daughter of the Templar Master and Bors was nephew to Gwaine, the order’s Seneschal and second-in-command. Everyone knew Gwaine wanted to be Master, but time was running out, especially now he’d turned sixty. So, all his hopes lay with Bors.

  Mo nudged her. “Where’s Ivan tonight?”

  “He had some business of his own,” said Billi.

  “Again?”

  “Yeah. The Firebird’s taking up more and more of his time. It’s practically his court in exile. You wouldn’t believe the people who come to visit. He might as well move in there; it would be simpler.”

  “You could have gone with him. You can see we’re managing.”

  Billi glanced across the table as Carados insisted Idres feel his biceps. “Yeah, I can see that. But here is where I belong. Whether I like it or not.”

  “If you say so.”

  Now that was irritating. “You got something you want to say, Mo? Out with it.”

  “You’re eighteen, Billi. You’ve done your ‘A’ levels and most your age would be heading off to university. They’d be getting away from home to start their own lives, making new friends, putting the old way of doing things behind them.”

  “I can’t leave the order. It’s against the rules.”

  “Come on. Who cares about the rules? You’re a girl. Rule already broken. Me and Bors are gay and a couple, that’s another two broken. No one cares, not anymore. You just get up, say your prayers and grab a sword. Those are the only rules that really matter. You spoken to your dad about this?”

  “What’s the point? I know what he’d say. Templar for life. He’s the Master, Mo.”

  “He’s your dad. Staying’s not good for you. And it’s not good for Ivan either.”

  Billi shook her head. “Oh, God, Mo. Is this the Gay Best Friend conversation? When you force me to open up and pour out all my repressed feelings, all my relationship fears and anxieties? Should we go clothes shopping together?”

  “You are an idiot, Billi SanGreal. You’re going to die sad and lonely.”

  “I’m gonna die surrounded by the corpses of my enemies after a glorious and bloody last stand.”

  “So, you know how to fight,” said Mo, puckering his lips and batting his lashes. “But do you know how to luurve?”

  Billi gently pushed him away with her forefinger. “Does this sort of thing work on Bors? Somehow, I still find it hard, the two of you being together. I mean, Bors?”

  “Love is blind, Billi. What can I say?” said Mo. “The eye’s looking better. Should fade
away in a couple more days.”

  Billi checked her eye. It was less puffy than earlier. “Tell your boyfriend not to be so rough next time.”

  “Rough is the only way Bors knows how to be.”

  “And that is way too much information,” said Billi, raising her hand. “This would be a lot easier if I had some girlfriends. Y’know, like a normal person.”

  “What’s normal, Billi? I’ve given up trying. You know what the other knights are like. There’s one girl in the order and that’s already one too many. Gwaine’s the worst but the others feel the same way, just for different reasons. Old fashioned chivalry, I suppose. You’re the innocent damsel that should be protected from danger, not out there every night chewing its arm off. And what have you got left to prove, anyway? You’ve done your bit. Why not do something new? You got an ‘A’ for Latin, didn’t you? Go study that for a few years, have house parties. Go to the ball, arm-in-arm with your prince.”

  “Me? In a ballgown? Can you imagine? Where would I hide the sword?”

  But he had a point. Billi didn’t fit. She hadn’t at the start and now, almost three years later, was still that awkward space in the room. The other knights didn’t know how to relate to her. She wasn’t a brother-in-arms, she wasn’t ‘one of the lads’. She was an intruder into their male world, and it had nothing to do with how good she was as a knight, how well she fought, the blood she spilt and the lives she saved. She simply wasn't one of ‘them’.

  Could she leave? Did she want to? She didn’t know. She really didn’t.

  And what about Ivan?

  Why was life so complicated? She’d have thought she’d sorted out all the big stuff by now. Instead, it was just piling higher and higher. Adulting was no fun at all.

  She should call Ivan. Don’t go to bed angry, that was Rule No.1 in relationships. But the phone she drew out wasn’t hers, it was the iPhone she’d stolen off Lawrence. “Mo, you still know how to unlock these?”

  Mo loosened his collar. “I don’t pinch mobiles anymore, Billi. All that thieving’s far behind me. I swear.”

  Mo had been an illegal refugee when they’d first found him. Living on the streets after having smuggled himself over, all the way from Ethiopia when he’d been fourteen. He’d got by in all sorts of ways, most unpleasant and mostly not talked about. People dreamed of London, they had the same dreams as Dick Whittington, that the city’s streets were paved with gold. They just didn’t realise the gutters were lined with razors. If you were weak, without means of protection, London would slice you to shreds, nice and slow.

  Billi handed him the phone. “Unlock this for me.”

  “Fingerprint?”

  “That a problem?”

  He shook his head as he tucked it away. “You’ll have it by tomorrow.”

  ***

  “Dad? You in?” Billi stood in the hallway and kicked off her boots.

  “The kitchen.”

  She found him, shirt off, bloody towels scattered on the floor and first-aid kit unrolled on the table as he tried to sew up his own arm under the light of a desk lamp. The kitchen, despite the window being wide open, stank of antiseptic.

  “You’re making a mess of that.” Billi rolled up her sleeves and started washing her hands. “What happened?”

  “The usual. It gets tougher every year. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”

  “That makes me feel so much better. All the brand-new scars I’ve got to look forward to.”

  Arthur gestured to the medieval mail shirt slung over the chair. “Bloody ghul bit straight through it. It was almost funny, his fangs sunk into my forearm, me trying to shake him off.”

  “So what did you do?”

  Arthur pushed the sewing kit across the table as she sat down. “Grabbed him by the hair and bashed his head against the wall until it broke. What is it about vampires and their long hair?”

  “It’s a goth thing.” Billi mopped up the blood and wiped the wound with antiseptic, making sure there were no bits of fang left in the flesh. “You, Dad, are a psychopath.”

  He grinned, and winced as she pulled out the thread he’d half-sewn along the wound down his forearm. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Did you make that up yourself or hear it from Carados?”

  “Guess it applies to most of us Templars.”

  She started at the bottom and began working her way up. Blood oozed from the wound as she sealed it. “Not me.”

  “Especially you. I think—Ow! Not so deep!” He snapped. “You did that on purpose.”

  Billi pulled the needle out. “Oops. My bad.”

  It didn’t take long; she’d had plenty of practice over the years. Billi bandaged him up and grabbed a jug of orange juice from the fridge.

  “You sort out the djinn jar with Lawrence?” he asked.

  “Yeah, but don’t be expecting a Christmas card from him. He tried to double-cross us.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me at all.” Arthur pulled his shirt back on. “You weren’t tempted to peel off the seal and make a wish?”

  “The real world doesn’t work on wishes and dreams.”

  “You’re rather young to be that cynical. Indulge me. If you could make a wish, no strings attached.”

  What else was there? It was just the two of them now, had been for years, but once there had been three. It was hard to remember her mum clearly now, Billi had only been six when her mum had died, died protecting her from a host of ghuls and a fallen angel. Jamila was a feeling, an impression made of warm hugs and laughter. Such things had been missing from their home since then. “The same as yours, Dad.”

  Arthur cleared his throat and started the washing up. He wasn’t good at expressing himself but Billi knew he missed his wife as much now as ever. Arthur had not moved on, he’d refused to. At first it had been raw anger; it had almost destroyed him until he took on the mantle of the Master of the Templars. That responsibility, perhaps more than having Billi, had tempered him, or at least channelled his rage. “There’s some business come up in Dublin. Me and a few of the lads are heading over there tomorrow to sort it out.”

  Dublin? What was in… “You mean with the Red Branch?” Billi joined him at the sink. “What business? Can I come?”

  “The Red Branch boys and I go back some years, and Gareth is from that neck of the woods,” said Arthur. “They’re a prickly lot, Billi. You know how it is.”

  “Gareth? But that means… no, Dad. You’re not leaving Gwaine in charge?”

  “And why shouldn’t I? He is Seneschal.”

  “Come on, Dad! He hates me! Always has and always will. Look, why not take me? Leave Gareth here. I’ll behave.”

  “And how would your boyfriend feel about you rushing off like that?”

  “Bloody Ivan Romanov is a bloody pain in the arse.”

  “Ah. Is this going to be one of those ‘father to daughter’ talks I’ve been dreading?” He scratched his beard. “I really wish I’d taken time to read that ‘Parenting for Dummies’ book.”

  “Don’t worry. You wouldn’t understand anyway.”

  “Probably not, but want to try?”

  Things had changed. Not in ways she’d ever imagined. Dad listened to her now. When she sat with the other Templars, she got a chance to speak, and be heard. The others, even Gwaine, didn’t scoff or talk over her anymore. The older Templars looked to her to represent the younger ones, and the younger ones looked to her to speak for them. It wasn’t a responsibility she’d wanted, but she’d got it now and there was no one else to hand it to.

  Arthur twisted his wedding ring. “So… do you want me to go over and beat him up or something? I could, but it’ll have to be on Tuesday. Busy until then.”

  Was he joking? You could never be sure. “We are meant to be talking about my boyfriend troubles. You’re meant to say I’m too good for him, and that I’ll find someone else, but the bar’s been set pretty high given he’s a
n actual blueblood with actual palaces and Faberge eggs decorating his apartment.”

  “Wealth’s not everything, Billi.”

  “Said like a true Templar.”

  “Does he make you happy? Sometimes?”

  “Sometimes?” she asked. “Am I meant to settle with merely ‘sometimes’?”

  “You don’t remember your mum. But Jamila was a tough, tough woman. More stubborn than anyone I’ve ever met and harder than my old drill sergeant in the Royal Marines. We had very different lives, different upbringings. And she worked all those shifts at the hospital. Living with a doctor’s not easy.” He looked out the window but Billi guessed he was looking backwards in time. “She made me happy, sometimes. But those times were a fair bit more precious than any Faberge egg. I suppose that’s what you get left with. Those ‘sometimes’ moments. But your heart soars. You’re carried up to the mountain top and to places no one else has ever been.”

  Billi sat there, silently looking at her dad. She’d not heard him talk like that about her mum, not ever. At first, he’d never mentioned her, the memory of her had been too painful. By the time he’d been willing to share stories her mum had become a stranger to her. What made him talk about her like that now? Had he been waiting till Billi was old enough to understand his true, deepest feelings towards Jamila? Things you couldn’t explain to a child?

  She loved Ivan. Didn’t she? What was there not to love? He was a fairy-tale prince after all. Every little girl’s dream of romance. More than that, they were the golden couple. At first it had been painful, how the crowd responded to him, the unbridled awe. Then the strange, bewildered looks at her and she knew what they’d been thinking.

  What’s he doing with her? Is it a charity thing?

  They’d thought it wouldn’t, couldn’t, last. That he’d settle back to supermodels like before. There were still plenty of eligible European princesses on the party scene. The invites to Monaco, to summers sailing around Santorini and winters skiing at St. Moritz.

  But Ivan had picked cold nights in graveyards fighting undead. Of hunting werewolves in the highlands and battling demons in the sewers beneath the city. He’d shed his blood for her.