Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call

by P. T. Dilloway

  “I trust you remember what happened last time?”

  “It wasn’t your fault. It was her dark magic.”

  “All those lives lost, because of me. I still see them in my dreams. I hear their voices, crying out to me. I can’t risk it happening again.”

  “Lives are already being lost.”

  “I know.” Merlin turned back to the fire and removed the pot with his bare hand. He carried the pot over to a low table, where he sat on a bearskin rug. He dug a spoon into whatever stew he had made and nodded to himself as he sampled it. “Not as many lives as the carnage that would surely follow my return.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I am certain of it.” The master ate another spoonful of stew. “She is not at full strength yet. There is still time to stop her.”

  “There’s no way for a mortal to stop her.”

  The master held up a finger. “I’ve been watching this woman you’ve trained. She is the finest of the Order, of that I’m certain.”

  “That may be, but she’s still an ordinary woman. She can’t stand up to that kind of magic, even with the armor—and my help.”

  “She’s stronger than you think.”

  “With all due respect, Master, you can’t leave her to do this alone. It’s not fair.”

  “The universe isn’t fair, Marlin. Surely you’ve learned that by now.”

  If he still had jaws, Marlin would have gnashed his teeth together. “I think Beaux was wrong. I think you were the biggest coward in the village. You ran away and you’re still running away.”

  He expected the master to get angry, but Merlin showed no signs at all of discomfort. “The world doesn’t need me yet. When it does, I will return. Until then, tell the girl to listen to her heart. When the time comes, it will tell her what to do.”

  “Should I tell her no help is coming?”

  “Tell her what I said. That is all.” The master set aside his pot of stew. “Before you go, I should lift Greetha’s curse from you.”

  “I don’t fear her curses.”

  “Don’t underestimate her because of her appearance. Haven’t you learned anything under my tutelage?” The master traced a figure in the air with one finger. “There you are, my loyal apprentice.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Dispelling primitive magic doesn’t require much effort.”

  “Thank you, Master. I suppose I should be getting back.”

  “Don’t be bitter, Marlin. I haven’t abandoned you—or her.” The master cracked a rare smile. “Say hello to Beaux for me. And Mr. Graves.”

  This last remark stuck with Marlin even as he floated down from the mountain, back into the valley. He easily found the pasture where Beaux’s sheep grazed. She cooked one of her charges on a fire. Across from her sat Percival Graves.

  ***

  Whenever there was a formal meeting of the coven, everyone assembled in the main hall of the archives. It wasn’t really much of a hall, a circular chamber of rock carved beneath an ancient burial mound in Ireland. Mrs. Chiostro had first visited the place when she was an apprentice of sixteen, to take the tests to become a novice. She felt as nervous as she stood beside Glenda, the other forty-five witches of the coven in a circle around her. If not for Sylvia beside her, Mrs. Chiostro might have run from all those eyes on her.

  Glenda cleared her throat to speak. “Sisters, we have received an urgent request from two of our order. Agnes and Sylvia have called for this assembly to discuss an issue they consider of grave importance. I urge all of you to give them your full attention and wait until they have finished to ask any questions.”

  Sylvia had graciously—and with little protest—agreed to let her older sister lead the way. For the moment Sylvia would provide little more than moral support in the circle, though if things got too heated she might be needed to clear an escape for them.

  Mrs. Chiostro took a deep breath and wished she knew a spell to quell these butterflies. All she could do was think of Emma, the sweet young woman who needed their help. “Sisters, we face the gravest threat in the history of our order. Before I get too much farther, let me put this in historical context. Our lore says that over four thousand years ago, a goddess of terrible power threatened to take over the world. She nearly succeeded in this, but was checked in a great battle with Merlin the wizard.”

  She paused here to wait out the murmurs that ran through the crowd. “The battle destroyed a large portion of the African continent, what we think of today as the Sahara Desert. Many lives were lost, but this goddess was imprisoned, her evil kept from infecting the world.

  “We have word that recently this goddess, the dark one, has escaped her confinement. At the moment she has not shown herself and probably does not yet have her full power. That is why we must act now, before she becomes too powerful to stop. Therefore, my recommendation is for the coven to return in full to track her down and eliminate her.”

  “Is this a joke?” said a woman with the severe appearance of a school headmistress, which she was.

  “No, Regina it is not a joke.” Mrs. Chiostro cleared her throat to signal for order before anyone else spoke. “I wish I could bring you some kind of proof, but the only way to prove it for certain is to come with me. We have little to lose by going to Rampart City but we will lose everything if we take this threat too lightly. I hope, my sisters, that you will see the wisdom in this.”

  “There’s no evidence to back your claims?” another witch asked.

  “Only what Sylvia and I have felt. There is a dark presence becoming stronger.”

  “Then why haven’t you rooted it out and destroyed it?”

  “We didn’t want to act too rashly.”

  “She didn’t want to act too rashly,” Sylvia said.

  “I didn’t want to ruin the element of surprise. If we confronted her and failed, she would become aware of our presence and take precautions. Sylvia eventually recognized the wisdom of this strategy.”

  Sylvia took a step forward to glare at the other witches. “Look, if you old saps are happier sitting around playing shuffleboard and bridge then go back to your nursing homes. We can find a way to get by without the help of a bunch of old cows.”

  Mrs. Chiostro resisted the urge to slap her sister or groan in embarrassment. She should have known better than to let Sylvia speak. Then again, a challenge to their pride might spur the coven to action.

  Glenda needed only to lift her hand to silence the catcalls and insults. “I would ask Agnes and Sylvia to leave so the rest of the coven can debate their proposal and vote on it.”

  ***

  Sylvia insisted they go back to the tavern in Glasgow, where she upgraded from beer to whiskey. “What does she think this is, the House of Representatives? Did you see any CSPAN cameras in there?”

  “I doubt that little stunt of yours helped our cause any,” Mrs. Chiostro said. Against her better judgment she drank another glass of white wine.

  “Bunch of sissies. They’re too comfy to get off their asses and do anything useful.”

  “You can’t blame them. We should have gotten more proof.”

  “Not that it’d do any good.” Sylvia finished her drink and then ordered another. “I suppose our best chance is to hope Marlin has more luck with his master.”

  “I doubt he will. If Merlin thought this was a serious threat he’d have already come back by now.”

  “Maybe he’s as lazy as the rest of them.”

  “That’s no way to talk about our sisters.”

  “You’re my only sister.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  “The hell with the rest of them if they’d let Emma die while they sit on their hands.” Sylvia finished this drink as well and slammed the glass on the table. “I’ll fight the dark one myself if I have to.”

  “Sylvia—”

  “Don’t start lecturing me. I’ve had it with these do-nothing pansies. All they do is sit around letting their asses grow fatter. I’m surpri
sed we even got them to meet here.”

  “There’s no need to be so negative.”

  “Yeah? If you’re so positive, why are you drinking?”

  “I feel like drinking.”

  “Right. You know it’s hopeless. We might as well go back and see how Emma is getting along. If the poor kid hasn’t cracked completely yet.”

  “She’s not going to crack.”

  “She might not get the chance.”

  Tabitha, the youngest of the coven—only a hundred fifty years old, which made her a baby by the coven’s standards—came to fetch them back to the archives. “Any good news for us?” Sylvia asked.

  “I can’t say.”

  “So that’s a no.”

  “No, I just can’t say. Glenda made me promise.”

  “She wants to give the bad news herself.”

  Mrs. Chiostro said nothing. She hated to agree with Sylvia’s negativity, but she could see the defeat in Tabitha’s eyes. It’s up to us then. We’ll have to go it alone.

  Once they returned to the hall, Glenda signaled for attention. Mrs. Chiostro leaned against a wall with Sylvia, ready to make a quick getaway should the need arise. She didn’t want to think what Sylvia would say once they lost.

  “We have debated your proposal. At Regina’s recommendation, we have tabled a vote on the matter.”

  “Pansies,” Sylvia grumbled.

  “If future events warrant it, we will reconsider the motion.” Glenda turned to Mrs. Chiostro. “This meeting is adjourned.”

  They didn’t head straight back to Rampart City. Instead, they went back to Glasgow. Mrs. Chiostro was more than happy to visit the tavern yet again; she badly wanted another drink or four. She was on her second drink when Tabitha sat down at the table. “You got another message from Glenda for us?”

  “No. She doesn’t know I’m here.”

  “She always knows where we are,” Sylvia said. “Trust me.”

  “The point is that I want to go back with you. I want to help you fight the dark one.”

  Mrs. Chiostro reached out to pat the younger woman’s hand. “If it really is the dark one, it will be terribly dangerous.”

  “I know, but we can’t sit back and let her enslave the whole world.” Tabitha lowered her voice and then leaned closer to them. “Before I left, I went down to visit the archives. I asked Red to give me whatever he had on the dark one.”

  Tabitha pulled out a sheaf of papers. “There’s probably not much here, but it’s better than nothing, right?”

  “You know Glenda could expel you for that,” Sylvia said.

  “I don’t care. This is more important than Glenda’s rules.”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  They sat at the table to drink and go over the papers from the archives. As Tabitha had said, there wasn’t much in there about the dark one. About all the coven did know was that she was an ancient goddess and as such the coven’s magic could not harm her. Only Merlin’s magic could destroy her, as it nearly had once before.

  Mrs. Chiostro said, “I don’t suppose there is much we can do.”

  Sylvia finished her drink and nodded. “Yeah, but let’s give the kid a look at these. You know she’s good with that kind of stuff. Maybe she’ll see something we missed.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Mrs. Chiostro had to lean against Tabitha so she wouldn’t fall down as they left the tavern. She reminded herself that when they got back she’d have to take a potion for her hangover. Because of this she let Sylvia, with her stronger tolerance for drink, vanish them back home.

  Chapter 20

  With the armor over her chest and injured arm, Emma cut down the healing time for her wound. After two days it had progressed enough to where she could walk without every step accompanied by a stab of pain. In her mind, this meant she was healed enough to finally pay Becky a visit.

  “I go,” Jim said.

  “I should do this alone.” Emma fished the golden cape from the red case of armor. “No one will see me as long as I have this on.”

  Jim hissed, which Emma took to mean something negative in ratspeak. “No safe. I send someone.”

  Two of his rat friends appeared at his feet; this included the one with the silver stripe she had named Pepe after the famous cartoon skunk. From what Jim said, the rats had names in their own tongue, but they were not pronounceable by humans. She had made some headway with ratspeak, but still had trouble with the finer points.

  “I suppose that will be fine so long as they keep out of sight.”

  “Careful,” Jim said, though she wondered if he meant her or the rats.

  Clad in only the cape, boots, gloves, and helmet, Emma set out for Becky’s house. She kept to the sewers as much as possible, so she wouldn’t need the cape as much. Pepe and the other rat kept pace with her and came in handy as ambassadors when she came upon other tribes of rodents in the sewers. From what Jim described, the sewers were like the city itself with various tribes who claimed different zones. Most all of these accepted Jim as their leader, though there were a few rogue groups scattered around. She was fortunate not to run into any of these along her route.

  The hardest part of her journey came when she had to climb up the ladder to street level. With only one arm she had to make her way slowly; she grabbed hold of a rung above her with her good hand and then followed with the rest of her body. More difficult yet was to get off the manhole cover. This required her to lean into it with her undamaged shoulder and use the muscles of her back to pry the cover loose.

  The rats had far less difficulty to get up the ladder to follow her. She waited until they emerged from the sewer before she replaced the cover. As Jim had indicated, she had come out in a pocket park of the historical district. She was fortunate to have come out in the early evening, though the light still made her squint after so many days below ground.

  With the rats behind her, she set out for Becky’s house. She kept the golden cape wrapped tight around her body to prevent anyone from seeing her except possibly children or someone with extrasensory powers. No one from these groups appeared as she made her way along the sidewalk. The rats kept pace and she was again fortunate that no one was out to walk a dog. A stray cat did try to pounce on Pepe, but Emma kicked the tomcat in the side as gently as possible to send him away.

  In the twilight Becky’s house looked like the setting for an amateur horror movie with its overgrown lawn, peeled paint, and darkened windows. From what Emma could tell her friend was not at home. This boded well for Emma, who had planned to use the gloves so she could sneak inside unnoticed.

  She put the palm of one glove against the doorknob; the lock yielded instantly. Emma tried to open the door only to find a chain lock on it. This meant Becky was in the house, possibly asleep, unless she had used a back door for some reason.

  Emma didn’t need magic gloves to slip the chain lock off and open the door. The rats scurried over her feet as they entered the house. They spread out in a reconnaissance sweep without any instructions from her. She had made her way as far as the living room when they returned. Though she still had trouble with the rat tongue, she could understand it well enough to know Becky was in the bedroom.

  To get up these stairs took Emma a while so she wouldn’t make too much noise that might alert Becky to her presence. By the time she reached the top step, she heard a voice mumbling. It didn’t sound like Becky’s voice. Was someone else in there with her?

  She eased her way towards the door to the master bedroom and realized there was someone in there with Becky, the last person Emma wanted to see at the moment. “Get up, Becky,” Isis whispered.

  Emma peeked through the crack in the door and saw Isis hunched over the bed. Isis gently ran a hand through Becky’s hair. “It’s time again. You have work to do.”

  To Emma’s horror, Becky got up from the bed and then shambled around it like a zombie. Emma couldn’t see what Becky was up to, but she could see Isis in the corner with that smug grin on her face. �
��I want you to go down by the docks. There are plenty of vagabonds there for you to harvest. You will bring the sustenance to me.”

  Isis stepped out of Emma’s sight. “The time is almost at hand. My powers have nearly been restored. Soon this world will be mine.”

  Emma dashed across the hallway to the bathroom as she heard a metallic clank approach. She peered around the doorway and watched the bedroom door open and the Dragoon step out. Emma threw herself around the doorway, wrapped the cape around herself, and tried not to breathe. Though she couldn’t see them, she could feel the Dragoon’s eyes glare in her direction. If he did see her, she would have to make a very fast getaway. With her injured shoulder, she wasn’t sure that would be possible.

  She heard the Dragoon’s heavy footsteps, but they went in the opposite direction, down the steps. Emma let out a breath and counted to ten before she stepped out of the bathroom. She tiptoed down the hallway and paused at the bedroom to look inside. Isis was gone.

  ***

  The Dragoon made his way to the docks, where the master indicated there were a high number of vagabonds. These mainly hung about the abandoned piers and used piles of old pallets or spools of rope for cover. For a moment the Dragoon flinched; the master had given him such easy tasks so far. The most difficult part had been to destroy the Scarlet Knight’s lair and even that had been simple. The foolish girl was dead now, as was her mentor, who combined had killed the Dragoon’s previous three hosts. Since he’d done this, couldn’t the master have found something more worthy of his talents?

  It wasn’t his job to question the master. He had been created to serve the master, to acquire the sustenance she needed to regain her power. With that power, she would rule the world and he would be at her side. It would be a challenge to pacify the billions of foolish mortals. It would be a challenge worth killing a few more worthless vagabonds.

  Making no pretense of subtlety, the Dragoon stomped down the first pier he came to. He found a vagabond beneath a makeshift dwelling. The man stunk of cheap vodka and urine in equal parts. If he had a nose, the Dragoon would have crinkled it at this. Instead, his eyes glowed brightly. He flung aside the roof of the man’s feeble house. “Your time has come,” the Dragoon said. “But you will be far more useful in death than in life.”