Order of the Black Sun Box Set 11

by Preston William Child

  Weapons weren't allowed in these meetings, but Casca clearly didn't care. He wanted blood, and he’d break those rules to get it. Caesar would ensure that the two senators would be punished for this.

  “Casca, you villain, what are you doing?!”

  Casca struggled, trying to free his arm, sweat pouring down his face. His panicked gaze darted to his surroundings at the other senators. Caesar followed Casca’s gaze and looked at his colleagues. Caesar expected to hear screams. He anticipated seeing some of them coming to his aid to expel Casca and Climber. He inferred at least some expressions of surprise—but none of them looked at all startled by this assassination attempt.

  That was when Caesar noticed it—so many of them were holding daggers of their own.

  Casca discharged a desperate hiss. “Help!”

  This wasn't just a small trap after all. They were all in on it. All of them.

  The senators all swarmed around Caesar, their blades raised. He tried to pull away, but he felt the first stab. It sent a surge of pain through him. Then a second shot of pain came through, and then another. One after another, those little blades of theirs bit their way into him.

  Caesar had felt steel penetrate his flesh before in battle, but not like this. He’d never expected to have to defend himself in a scared place like this, where words were supposed to be the only weapons that were brought to the playing field. He tried to get away from them, but they were all over him. He shoved and attempted to back away but tripped to the floor. He saw his own blood mar the marble floor beneath him and struggled to crawl away.

  There were more strikes, and a number of stabs found their targets in his body as Caesar writhed in woe. He needed to escape this place. He needed to kill all of these men for their treachery. He needed to punish them all—people he’d once considered friends, allies, and colleagues. They were supposed to speak for Rome, but they didn’t. They spoke only for their own insecurities, that they were now dictating their decisions.

  Caesar could barely move now: all of his life was pouring out from over a dozen wounds. He dared to glance up and saw that even Brutus was holding a bloody knife in his hand. It made Caesar sick to see that even one of his closest friends could do this to him. Was this the price of power? To have others hate you for it?

  Caesar would kill them all for this.

  His surroundings were starting to fade away in the sea of red beneath him. He could barely even feel the strikes piercing him anymore, but he knew they were still coming. These dishonorable wretches didn't even have the decency to challenge him to a fair fight. This was the only way they could manage to kill him; catching him without a weapon of his own, overwhelmed and completely outnumbered, without any warning. If he had his weapon, he could strike them all down for this.

  Caesar wanted his sword, but he didn't have it.

  If he did, he might have been able to save himself from their treason. Instead, he lay in a gory heap before them. His blood continued to cascade from his corpse, pouring from twenty-three wounds that ended him.

  If only he had brought his sword.

  1

  ANOTHER UNEVENTFUL NIGHT IN THE MUSEUM

  Castel Sant'Angelo was once a towering fortress, but now the guards there weren't exactly warriors anymore. Lorenzo had never been in a fight in his life and never expected to be. He may have been one of the few guards roaming the old fortress during the night, but he wasn't watching for enemy armies or anything like that. He wasn't the same kind of sentinel as the men who had protected the castle hundreds of years before. Those days were long gone. His job was simple and that's what he loved about it; he just spent his time walking about the place, making sure everything inside was still in order.

  Castel Sant'Angelo was originally built as a mausoleum, but it then made for an excellent fortress. Now it was nothing more than a museum.

  It still had all of the dressings of a fortress, but there was no ammunition in its cannons that were mounted on the ramparts. There were no blades ready to be wielded to defend its gates. And there hadn't been any actual prisoners in its dungeons for centuries.

  The castle was far from the impenetrable structure it once was—but it didn't matter. It never did. There was nothing to worry about and there was no need of it. There was nothing to defend Castel Sant'Angelo against anymore.

  It was a boring job and Lorenzo sometimes wished it was still some great castle prepared for battle. At least then he could get some excitement once in a while, even if he had to manufacture it himself. It might not actually have been there, but he could imagine that thrills were on their way. Instead, every night was the same, and they were incredibly tedious.

  Still, despite all of that, it paid the bills and that was what mattered to him in the end. He could deal with boredom, and he could cope with uneventful nights.

  But this night would be far from uneventful, unlike all of the rest. Lorenzo knew that the moment he heard one of the murals in another wing fall from its hanging place on the wall.

  Lorenzo rushed down the corridors when he heard the painting plummet. He didn't go so far as to run—there was no need to expend that much energy at this job—but he did walk through the museum at a bit brisker of a pace than usual. He’d never heard a noise like that before, but those murals didn't usually drop from where they were hanging up during his shifts. It was sad that a picture dropping to the floor was the most excitement he’d ever experienced at Castel Sant'Angelo.

  When Lorenzo arrived at the source of the sound, he saw the painting fractured on the floor, just like he expected to see. He didn't expect to see the man standing over it though.

  At first, Lorenzo thought that he was looking at a statue. The man sure seemed like one at first glance but that was just his stoic face, which was made of stone and frozen with one passive expression. His eyes had no irises, just more gray. Yet his clothes gave him away: they were black and modern, completely different than the ancient looking head that was on top of his shoulders. The most telling feature that made it clear this wasn't a statue came next. Unlike any other statue in the world—this man moved.

  The stone-faced figure took a step back. Now that his initial surprise was passing, Lorenzo could see that the stone head was nothing more than a mask and that the man wearing it was lugging around a mural in his arms. This wasn't some statue that had come to life—this was just a thief!

  Lorenzo had been a guard at Castle Sant'Angelo for months, but this was the first time that he actually felt like there was something to guard against. It was the first time it seemed like he even needed to be there at all, and he was going to make sure he did his job well. This was what he was hired to fulfill.

  Lorenzo started rushing toward the masked man. “You! Get over here!”

  There was no fear on the thief's face, just a blank pale lifeless gaze. He must have been at least a little afraid though, because he bolted in a hurry down the corridor. Lorenzo chased after him. He sure wasn't expecting to dive headfirst into some action, but Lorenzo was so excited to finally get his hands dirty. This would be quite the story to tell once he apprehended the thief. The police would thank him. His family and friends would praise him. Maybe the museum would even give him a raise or a promotion for his efforts? It was the first chance he’d ever been given to be the hero.

  The masked man ran toward an open window and two other people stood on either side of it. Just like the thief, their faces looked like the faces of stone statues—those particular faces even seemed a little familiar. Lorenzo might have been able to handle the one thief on his own, but the two others standing there were a bit concerning. Lorenzo suddenly lamented that his bosses hadn’t given him more than just a little nightstick to use as a weapon. Three against one weren't exactly the best odds, so things might not be going in his favor.

  The thief screeched something, and one of the others suddenly lunged at Lorenzo, blocking his path and intercepting him before he could catch the burglar. This masked figure was big and burly
like a rugby player. Lorenzo swung his club, but the big man blocked it with a wave of his arm and then tackled Lorenzo to the floor.

  It all happened so quickly. Lorenzo barely could even comprehend how to defend himself. The masked man's fist cracked against his head a few times and Lorenzo quickly regretted ever wishing that he'd see more action on the job. He would have given anything for these three masked people to not be there anymore; he just wanted to go back to his usual routine and then get paid. No paycheck was worth getting beaten to death.

  The other two masked figures called for their big friend as they climbed out the window. The large thief threw a couple more punches for good measure before rising to his feet, towering over the bloody Lorenzo. The man's boot found its way into Lorenzo's gut and Lorenzo heaved a holler of pain. The two masked people by the window yelled out again and the hulk of a man left Lorenzo beaten down on the floor.

  Lorenzo could barely see and all sounds felt so muffled when they passed through his ears. He did his best to look over at the window and saw the three making their way out with the painting. The third silhouette, the masked figure who had remained by the window the whole time, unfolded a piece of paper and glided it down to the floor. The paper gently slid across the tiles closer to Lorenzo and the last of the three disappeared out the window.

  Lorenzo tried to reach out for the paper but his arm felt like it was barely there at all. He was probably concussed, but he wasn't sure. Once he got hold of the paper, he reeled his weak arm in and tried to read the words on it. It was difficult to decipher with his battered brain and the bloody haze that filled his vision to the brim. When he finally could make out the words, he couldn't believe what he saw.

  The painting was gone.

  The thieves were gone.

  But the message they left behind was deeply troubling.

  2

  THE CALL FROM ROME

  The phone wouldn't stop ringing, no matter how much Nina wanted it to cease. It just kept on buzzing beside her. The cell phone didn't care that she was trying to sleep and whoever was calling clearly didn't care either. She didn't know what time it was but she knew that, if she hadn't been interrupted, she could have slept another couple of hours at least. But Dr. Nina Gould didn't seem to be allowed to rest.

  She needed more recuperation time these days than ever before. It’d been a stressful time for her for a while. Being the prisoner of a diabolical secret society hadn't been fun. She was still readjusting to everyday life and had never found her bed to be comfortable, but now it felt so cozy and safe.

  Her phone continued its incessant ringing, trying its best to stir her awake. That tone screamed into her ears and tugged on her eyelids to pry them open. It was like having a siren blaring right beside her bed, straight into her eardrums.

  Finally, she groaned and reached for her phone. She didn't recognize the number but she swore under her breath that it better be important. Reluctantly—and with a large amount of irritation—Nina answered the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Nina! You actually answered. It's Santino, how are you?”

  Santino Rossi wasn't someone she heard from very often. He was usually busy in Rome, fulfilling his duty as head curator for one of the Capitoline Museums. He ran the Palazzo Nuovo building, taking care of the conservation of many ancient Roman artifacts. It was a highly respectable job, and he was always a respectable man—well, calling at such an early hour might have lost him some of that goodwill with Nina.

  Nina yawned, making sure to do it directly in the speaker so he could hear her. “How am I? Tired, Santino. Very tired.”

  “My deepest apologies for waking you. I would have called later, but I was just so anxious to get things started. I'm afraid that there just simply wasn't a moment to lose.”

  Nina was already sick of Santino beating around the bush. If he was going to call her at such a ridiculous hour, then he better have a good reason and shouldn't be taking so long to get to the point.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Something recently came to the museum that I thought might interest you. Especially if you're still running all over the world with that rich man, David Purdue. Are you?”

  “I am.”

  “Fantastic. I tried contacting you some time ago, but you weren't answering. From the sounds of it, you were away and no one could reach you at all, so I did not take it too personally.”

  He must have tried to contact her when she was the Order of the Black Sun's prisoner. She hadn't exactly had time or opportunity to respond while she was trapped in that dark cell. Thankfully, now she was free and the group that held her prisoner had been reorganized and given a new purpose. The Order of the Black Sun was meant to do good now. Now that things weren't so dire, she could actually be free to do as she wished again.

  “I was on something of an unintentional vacation, yes...a very long one. What was it that came to the museum?”

  “A letter. A very old letter. It’s been transcribed and what it has to say is rather fascinating, especially for people that share our particular taste. You do still enjoy the long history of Rome, yes?”

  “I do,” she said simply, hoping he'd hurry with his explanation.

  Nina had always been obsessed with the history of the world but the rise and fall of Ancient Rome had always had an especially strong place in her heart and thoughts. There was just so much to learn from it. It was still just as relevant as it had ever been, if not more so.

  “Have you ever heard of a man named Gaius Julius Caesar?” He asked facetiously, knowing full well that he was talking about one of the most famous people in the history of the world. Of course she’d heard of Julius Caesar. There probably were very few people in the world that didn't at least know that name.

  Julius Caesar was an incredibly influential person, whose ascension and eventual downfall led to the collapse of the Roman Republic and the birth of the infamous Roman Empire. He’d carved his name into the world and had since been forever immortalized in the history books.

  “Of course I’ve heard of him,” Nina said, feeling stupid for even having to say that.

  “Well, then perhaps you know everything that they say about his sword...”

  Nina had heard the stories. Many called the sword Crocea Mors, “Yellow Death” and it was supposedly the weapon that Caesar wielded through most of his life. He was said to have carried it from his time as a Roman soldier suppressing rebellions, all the way through his life as he commanded entire armies. It was the blade that carved its way through Rome's enemies and eventually cut the foundations for the Roman Empire to rise.

  One tale that had been passed down was that Caesar had lost the sword during his conquest of Britain. The legend was that when he’d fought the British prince, Nennius, in a duel during the fight, the sword was lodged into Nennius' shield. Nennius supposedly took it and killed many with it. That was the legend, but it was just that...and legends weren't the most reliable of sources.

  However, there was nothing concrete about Crocea Mors. It wasn't stored in any museum and there was nothing but fables to confirm its existence. Sure, Caesar probably had a gladius or two throughout his life, but it might not be any more significant or special than any other blade.

  “So you are trying to tell me that you found something that confirms the existence of Caesar's sword...?”

  “That is exactly what I’m saying, Nina. I’m surrounded by pieces of Ancient Rome all day at the museum but this...this would dwarf all of them. I know you’ve traipsed over the world finding things with Purdue...and I know you both have now expanded your operation...you have the means to help me find this. So what do you say?”

  Nina considered the offer. It was certainly tempting. She would love to find something so legendary. She'd spent her whole life particularly enjoying the history of Rome and now there was a possibility of finding something that was so important to that history.

  “At least come to the museum and have a loo
k for yourself.”

  Nina couldn't just drop everything and go to Italy. With everything going on with the Order of the Black Sun, she needed to make sure that it’d be alright to leave. She usually didn't care about asking permission, but she was thinking about what was best for the new order that she’d helped to create.

  Still, the prospect of finding the sword of Caesar himself was an incredible opportunity, one that she could even pursue with the Black Sun as one of their expeditions.

  “I'll see what I can do.”

  After David Purdue had defeated Julian Corvus and the old Order of the Black Sun, he’d probably presumed that life would get easier after that—but he looked more stressed than ever. Repurposing the secret society to be a force for good wasn't an easy task and it seemed to finally be taking its toll on him. He looked rundown and haggard, somehow even worse than the last time she’d seen him. Captaining the ship wasn't for the faint of heart.

  Still, she’d known him and worked with him for so long, it was hard to see him in such an authoritative position with all kinds of responsibilities weighing on his shoulders. He wasn't just a rich man trying to find thrills by chasing artifacts all over the world. He was really doing his best to protect history any way he could. Sometimes, he felt like a completely different person than the David Purdue she used to know, but then there were flickers that the smug and spoiled man was still in there, just hidden by a little bit of personal growth.

  Purdue looked up at her when she strolled in and smiled. Even after all this time she still loved the way he lit up when he saw her. Ever since Julian Corvus nearly killed him and took her prisoner, Purdue had been even happier to have her around. They’d both been through such difficult times and she knew that she’d changed just like he had.