Clocksworth Academy

by Penny BroJacquie

  “Dozens of dead bodies have been discovered in Macedonia, Alabama, in what Homeland Security has described as a possible terrorist attack.”

  Everyone in the room turned to the TV screen, pausing what they were doing. They still had their forks in their hands, their glasses up for a toast, frozen smiles on their faces, as if someone had taken their photo without prior notice.

  “Macedonia, Alabama, is a small village in Pickens County, Alabama, and one of the US communities with the highest African-American majority populations. As of the last Census, 93% of the population was African American. According to FBI sources, all 260 residents are dead,” a female newscaster announced.

  “Whoever those guys are, they move fast.” Eric broke the silence.

  “It makes you feel weak, doesn’t it?” Declan said, chewing a toothpick.

  Floriana studied his face. There was something in his look that was creeping her out. Maybe it was his icy grey eyes, or maybe it was the smirking smile he had from the moment he entered the master’s office.

  “It’s not a matter of weakness,” Eric replied, and Floriana was startled by the huffy tone in his voice.

  “Calm down, everyone,” the Master intervened. “We’ve been through worse. Declan, you’ll have to fly back to the States immediately. Your presence is needed there. You’ll inspect Alabama’s water resources—let’s hope Macedonia is the only area affected. The Masters’ summit will be held as scheduled the day after tomorrow. Declan, you may be asked to Skype with us and keep us posted on your findings.”

  Declan nodded positively when the music of another breaking news intro sounded. The newscaster announced that the newly sworn President of the USA, Gabriela Maria Alvarez, was on her way to the town of Macedonia with a group of distinguished scientists to inspect the situation. A pre-recorded video with President Alvarez making a statement on the White House South Lawn surrounded by the Secretary of Health and Human Services, along with a group of scientists.

  “This is an act of terrorism. And every act of terrorism will be punished. The evildoers who orchestrated and performed this abominable attack will be found and brought to justice,” President Alvarez said before she boarded Marine One.

  “Impossible. I don’t ... I can’t believe that,” the Master yelled, making Floriana jump from her seat.

  “What is it, Grandpa? Is it something President Alvarez said?”

  “No, no. I’m sorry, I’m sorry ... I was thinking out loud. I thought I saw someone I could never possibly see again,” the Master said, his face pale as if he had seen a ghost.

  “Valerie, did you see that?” he said, pointing to the TV, where a commercial break was now playing.

  “See what?” Valerie asked, confused.

  “Nothing, never mind. I’d better retire to my room. The old man needs some rest before he starts hallucinating,” he joked.

  Putting all his weight on his cane, he stood up with difficulty and walked across the room under everyone’s puzzled looks.

  “And Valerie,” he said as he held the door handle, “call Vittor on the phone. I need to know he’s okay. And tell him to come back immediately.”

  “I’m going with you,” Floriana said as she stood up and followed her grandfather out.

  Once the door of the dining room closed behind them, the Master leaned on the wall to keep his balance.

  “Are you okay?” Floriana asked, worried.

  “I saw a ghost,” the Master said as if he was having a vision. “On that screen, I saw a ghost. Someone I wouldn’t expect to see again. Someone who’s dead.”

  “It may be your imagination. Come, let me help you go to your room. It’s been a hard day, and you need some rest,” Floriana said softly as she embraced his arm.

  “I know what you’re thinking. The old man is losing it,” the Master said as he let himself follow Floriana’s lead through the half-lit hallway. “I assure you, my body might be old, but my mind is still sharp. I know who I saw on that screen. Those eyes, that mouth, those silver curls, once blond, flying in the wind. It was her. And she was alive, standing behind the president of the United States.” There was no tone of surprise in his voice anymore. Having gotten himself composed, he was now making a statement.

  “Who are you talking about?” Floriana enquired, but the only answer she got was silence. She helped her grandfather climb the stairs, and once she was assured the old man was safe in his bedroom, she left. Trying to figure out why she had this strange feeling, she descended the stairs and took the long way back to the dining room. It was not the threat of a massive worldwide biological attack that had her worried; it was not the first time they had been called to save the world. It isn’t even a feeling; it’s more like a memory, she thought.

  “Aren’t you going to tell me goodnight?” Eric’s voice came from behind her.

  Absorbed as she was in her thoughts, Floriana stopped walking and turned around. Suddenly, a blurry image flashed through her mind.

  She was in a forest when a vehicle passed by. The rear window behind the driver had rolled down and then up, as if the person who handled it vacillated about whether they should reveal themselves. The movement was brief, and the window opening was small, but she managed to see locks of silver hair whipping around as the light breeze snuck into the car cabin.

  “Are you okay?” Eric’s pat on the shoulder brought her back to reality.

  “Um ... I just had a flashback or something, I don’t know.” She touched her forehead as if she was trying to recall a memory.

  “Really? What was it?”

  “I’m not sure... Some hair dancing in the air,” she said.

  “I don’t follow.”

  “I think something my grandpa told me triggered a memory buried in my mind.”

  “Is he okay? He acted weird during dinner. It must be something he saw on TV. I asked Valerie what he was talking about, but she was confused, too. I was heading to his bedroom when I saw you coming this way. Well, what did he say?”

  “He said he saw a ghost; someone he wouldn’t expect to see again. He said that it was her, alive, standing behind the president of the United States.”

  “Who was he was talking about?”

  “He didn’t say. But it was something else he said that flashed an image into my mind. He talked about some silver curls flying in the wind.”

  “Maybe it was a projection from another universe, or another time point. Let me know if it happens again.” Eric hurried to change the subject of their conversation.

  “I think it’s useless talking about it. Let’s talk about you. You are an agent now. How does that feel?” He stepped closer to her.

  “It feels like ... I don’t know. Let me tell you in a couple of months.” She laughed. “Seriously, I wanted to thank you for referring me as your partner.”

  Eric put gently his hand on her arm. “Something tells me I’m going to regret it. But that’s me. I love to live dangerously.”

  Floriana chuckled and kicked his leg playfully.

  “Hey, I’m your mentor now, show some respect.” He moved his head closer to hers.

  Her heart fluttered as she felt his body against hers. He leaned towards her until his mouth was near her ear. He brushed his lips against her skin and whispered. “Let’s call it a night. We have an early morning tomorrow. We’re going to the shooting range, where you’ll have your first shooting lesson, and before the lunch break, I’m going to teach you some self-defense techniques.”

  “Shooting. Great,” Floriana whispered, her face flushed red.

  Eric put an unruly curl behind her ear. “We’re having breakfast at half past six in the dining room. Goodnight.”

  She watched him walk through the hallway until he started climbing the stairs to the second floor, where all the bedrooms were.

  “What was that?” she said out loud.

  Suddenly the whole Order thing got an interesting twist. “Anyway, I’ll think about it some other time,” she mumbled. She had othe
r priorities to think about now. Her apprenticeship was starting tomorrow. With a shooting lesson and self-defense training. A shiver went down her spine.

  “What did I get myself into?” she giggled as she headed toward the stairs. Her anxiety over the next day gave its place to a desire to get out of her clothes and crawl into her comfortable bed. She was passing by the master’s office when she noticed that the door was ajar. After she checked no one was around, she pushed the door slightly and looked inside the dark room. The Master would never leave his office room door unlocked; it must be Mirko’s mistake.

  Mirko was the Master’s secretary, quite young for this position but exceptionally discreet. He was a member of the Order himself, offspring from an old Weengarts family, and he was mentored by Valerie. The latter was the one who suggested that he was not as much into weapons as into books. When Floriana had met him for the first time, the Master had called him into his office to assign him to make the arrangements for an upcoming Masters’ summit. The poor guy, he totally lacked social skills. He looks like me a few years ago, except the reading glasses. She smiled as she entered the dark room and closed the door behind her.

  She knew that sneaking into the Master’s study was forbidden. So what if she was the Master’s granddaughter? The same rules applied to her as to all the members of the Order and the Clocksworth Academy students. She couldn’t risk being seen in here, so switching the lights on was not an option. She got her phone out of her pocket and turned on the flashlight. The light was enough for her to look around the place without being noticed. She knew it was not a good idea, but her curiosity about what secrets the room held was stronger than her morals. She was wondering what other secrets her grandfather was keeping, how his life had been, and what amazing and dangerous situations he had been through. She wondered what the secret in Eric’s family history was. Most of all, she died to know more about her parents, how they met, why her mother made the tough decision to take Floriana away and start a new life for them in London, leaving behind her only son, who was only months old and never even mentioned his existence since then. Her family history was still a mystery to her, and she hoped that moving here would help her figure it out. Maybe she could find something that could shed some light on her family’s dark side: maybe a document, a book, or even a family picture. She looked over the books aligned in the old wooden bookcase. There were so many books—science books, history books, art books—but nothing about mystic sects and presumptive killers, not even a How to Save the World for Dummies.

  It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. The sound of heavy steps pounding down the hallway made her jump and lose her balance. As she stumbled, she stretched her hand out in a vain attempt to prevent herself from falling. She was halfway down when she grasped the corner of the heavy wooden desk. A cracking sound echoed as a solid piece of wood broke away from the old furniture and went down with her. Supine as she was, she still saw a beam of light emerging from behind her as the wall split apart with a creepy sound. Astounded, she got back on her feet and moved to the half-opened sliding door that just had appeared. She gasped as she looked through the opening and the dark space revealed in front of her. Curiosity overtook her; she was desperate to find out what was behind that wall. She took a step back and listened. There was no sound. Whoever had walked down the hall had already passed the Master’s study. Floriana placed the detached corner of the desk on the surface of the wood. Replacing it might result in the door closing and blocking her way to the secret place she just had discovered.

  “This must be some kind of key to the sliding door that just opened. I’d better leave it here until I come back,” she thought.

  An old stone staircase appeared behind the half-opened door. A weak light from an electric source lit the descending stairway. Stepping carefully on the sloping stairs, Floriana eventually reached the bottom. With the flashlight still on, she shed light around the space. Wooden boxes covered with dust and spider webs peeped through the darkness. A cloud of fine, dry particles rose as she made her way further into the chamber and made her cough. A standing stone sarcophagus beamed in the light of her flashlight; the discovery creeped her out. What was this place? Another step forward and she found herself tangled up in a spider web. Panic-stricken, Floriana uttered a cry of disgust as she frantically shook her head. As she tried to calm her breath, she noticed a huge dark shadow on a wall at the other side of the cold chamber. Carefully not to get caught in another spider trap, she moved toward the large object and shed light on it. She let out a scream as the huge figure of a man appeared.

  “Who are you?” she yelled, but there was no answer.

  Once again, she shed light over the silent silhouette, and yet he didn’t move. She took a closer look through the darkness and then she saw him. He wore a rusty, long-sleeved chainmail shirt with hand coverings. His shoes and leggings were also chain mail. His head was covered by an iron bucket helmet. Over the haubergeon, he wore a sleeveless white mantle, torn and bloodstained, with a red cross over the left breast.

  “A Knight Templar. Or rather, a Knight Hospitaller,” she whispered, ecstatic.

  “Can you hear me?” she shouted as she moved closer to him. He was still standing there, still and silent. She jabbed at him but got no response. She got even closer and scrutinized his bucket helmet. Slowly, she moved her hand toward his head, and when she was sure there was no response, she lifted up the face-protecting plate. The helmet was empty; the whole armor was empty. There was no human body in there. Relieved, she stepped back, laughing at herself until she realized that a forest of shadows surrounded her. Breathless she flashed the light on them; she had now a better look at this place. Several figures in knight’s armor were scattered across the vast chamber. Some wore black tunics with the red cross; others had great helms or bascinets attached to aventails or frog-mouth helms. There was a great display of medieval knight armor placed among ancient artifacts and contemporary high technology devices.

  “I had a museum under my bedroom this whole time,” she muttered as she examined the armor of a black-clad sergeant knight.

  Suddenly an emerald flare glowed behind her. She turned around, but there was only darkness in the chamber. Until the emerald light beamed again for a second. Stumbling on dusty boxes, rusty machines, and old-fashioned computers, Floriana stepped along the chamber and waited for the light to flash again. When she spotted it again, she found out that the light was coming from behind an engraved table with an antique typewriter placed on it. She held the precious typewriter with both her hands, lifted it up carefully, and placed it on the floor before she sneezed from the dust. A shiny crystal showcase was revealed behind the table; a golden rod with a cross pattée on the hilt was placed on red fabric and secured in the showcase. Four emerald green stones decorated each of the four corners of the cross pattée, the distinguished Christian cross of the Knight Templars, arms narrow at the center and broader at the perimeter.

  “This must be a baculus. The pastoral staff, the Grand Master of the Templars, bore as a mark of his jurisdictional power,” she said out loud in admiration.

  As the four emerald stones of the baculus hilt flashed again, a loud noise behind her startled her.

  A strong hand grabbed her from behind and gripped her waist firmly as another hand closed over her mouth with a moist piece of cloth.

  Oh no, not again, it was her last thought before she passed out.

  CHAPTER 16

  *

  IT WAS 7 a.m., and Eric was sitting at his preferred chair in his favorite spot in the House of the Rose dining room.

  He had finished his breakfast and was sipping his coffee, looking at the empty seat on the other side of the table. They were supposed to go to the shooting range, Floriana and he, where Floriana would have her first shooting lesson. They had arranged to meet at 6:30 for breakfast, but half an hour had passed, and she hadn't shown up yet. Eric decided to wait for ten more minutes.

  Girls always spend extra t
ime preening themselves, he thought.

  Not that Floriana needed to put in much effort. She was a beautiful girl, a breath of fresh air, and smelled like a bouquet of roses.

  He remembered the first time he had met her. She looked so clumsy and naïve; she would be an easy target for him. He was trained to manipulate people, after all; his good looks, his trained body, his courteous manners, they had all been products of the training members of the Order had to go through. The first thing they were taught by their mentors was that the more well-looking and well-mannered an agent was, the more effectively they could manipulate their targets. However, Floriana proved to be anything but naïve. During their adventure in WWII Germany, he was impressed by the strength and the courage she demonstrated, and it was then he realized his admiration for her. She a passionate girl, thirsty for life and adventures, yet matured and cultivated. A hidden gem.

  He intuited that a talented traveler was hidden under her unruly curls and her baggy clothes. They had a good connection; they seemed to be on the same wavelength. Confident they would make a great team; Eric asked the Grand Master that they be partnered. Although not excited, Ganni Rose eventually approved Floriana’s training to become a member of the Order, but only if Eric was her mentor. The Master trusted Eric. He knew that he would give his life to keep Floriana safe. He had only given him one warning. “Don’t you ever hurt her feelings,” the Master had warned him, pointing his finger.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps behind him. It was Liam, a second-year student, who had dragged a chair away from a table and was seated, ready to enjoy a cup of steamy coffee. After nodding a good morning, Eric checked his watch. It was half-past seven—Floriana was one hour late.

  “That’s a bad start,” Eric muttered as he stood up. He strode out of the dining room and after hurriedly climbing the stairs; he stood outside Floriana’s bedroom.

  “Hey, Ninja, wake up,” he uttered playfully. “Floriana, wake up, we’ll be late to the shooting lesson,” he said in a strict tone, but he received no answer. Uncomprehending the lack of response, he put his hand on the door handle, and after he turned it slowly, he opened the door slightly. Darkness and silence welcomed him. Floriana’s bed was made, her backpack was placed neatly on an armchair, and everything was tidily arranged.