Gwen gave the old librarian a reluctant nod, hoping he could keep the Archive from burning. The books had changed her life, had given it meaning, and her heart ached knowing they would perish if he failed. She thought of the little book of letters and how it had opened up another world to her. She could feel its crisp pages in her fingers, smell its colored paper, hear its letters speak. Apple. Ball. Cat. How could anyone destroy something so precious, so innocent?
“Do you have them?” asked Merl, turning to Arti as she joined them in the clearing.
Arti patted her pocket and nodded. “The pen and the well. I’m ready.”
“Good,” said Merl, glancing down nervously at the vidlink. “Then I suppose you should get going.” He sighed. “All I can wish you is good luck…and my thanks on behalf of the Order. Farewell, young Book Knights. Be safe.”
“Here goes nothing,” said Gwen, shouldering the electroshock baton. The iron key to Fay’s door dangled from her belt as she turned and started toward the trees.
Cradling the bolt cutters, Lance smiled and bowed at Merl. “Au revia,” he said in his native tongue, before following Gwen.
“You better get moving,” said Merl, seeing Arti’s hesitation.
She looked past him at the motorhome’s window, hoping Gal would be alright, that she’d be able to keep the promise she’d made to her.
Merl’s words brought her back. “The History unfolds in mysterious ways,” he said, smiling at Arti. “I look forward to reading the final page.”
Gripped by fear, Arti’s only reply was a nervous nod. She lifted her hood, then stuffed her hands into her pocket, holding tight to Excalibri and its well as she jogged after Lance and Gwen.
Returning to the motorhome, Merl sat down at the round table and brushed his gloved hand across the Grail Tome’s charred cover. “I am going to consult The Meditations and announce myself to Fay,” he said, looking back at Gal sprawled on the rear bench. “It will not be easy.” He flipped a swath of pages until he found what he was looking for.
“Ah, here it is,” he said. “Yes, this should work.” He glanced up at Gal again and cleared his throat. “But before I begin, I must first enter a trance. It should last a minute or two.” His icy blue eyes exaggerated the point. “No matter what, don’t disturb me.”
“’Kay,” pledged Gal, understanding the seriousness of the situation.
Gal pulled the gold chain of her sapphire pendant from under her shirt and began to roll the sparkling blue stone between her fingers, watching intently as Merl bowed over the book with eyes closed, humming. The old librarian’s strange behavior continued for a while before his eyes suddenly opened, and he stared, unblinking, at the page. He didn’t move a muscle and made no sound. If Gal hadn’t known better, she would have thought he was dead.
Merl remained frozen until he heard the gentle click of the door closing next to him. The long bandage spotted with dried blood lay in a twisted pile at the foot of Gal’s bed, and both she and her lucky cap were gone. The old librarian smiled when he looked down at the title of the verse he had randomly selected. The Hidden Hand. It was an amazing coincidence, in light of his theory.
“Siegea Perilisi,” he whispered, before turning back to The Meditations and getting down to work.
As dusk settled, Fisherman’s Wharf should have been bustling with activity. But the boats were moored, the market closed, the captains, mates, and crews nowhere to be found. They’d been paid for their obedience, and no questions were asked, no objections made; the order had come down from the top.
Only the largest of the harbor’s covered boathouses showed signs of life. Light peeked out through gaps in its painted shiplap walls, and there was movement and the sound of muffled voices beneath its high metal roof.
The big scow in the slip sat low in the water, loaded down by the mass of men and material. The cargo of passengers, dressed in dark clothing, sat shoulder to shoulder in lines spanning the ship’s wide flat deck. Each man was armed with an electroshock baton, some at the stern also shouldering ropes and grappling hooks. The last of them had found a place to sit, just as Big Billy Johnson started to speak.
“This is a night to remember, my boys,” he said. “One you’ll be sharing with your grandkids.” The little man paced alongside the boat as it lifted and fell gently on its watery bed.
“You all know what we’re facin’. In little more than an hour, Captain York’ll be droppin’ us at Castle Point. We got a date with the Witch on the Hill.”
Big Billy looked from one man to the next, making each feel as if the message was for him alone.
“It’ll be a tough climb, but the old stone stairs are still passable, and Tulley Smith and his boys from The Lookout have pegged the rock face to give us holds. When you make it topside, find your captains, form up and fight like hellions.” He sneered, “Until every Flame be out.”
The men roared and waved their lighters above their heads. “But the Witch,” yelled Big Billy above the din, “the Witch is mine!”
He crossed his stubby arms, waiting for the men to quiet. “I won’t mince words with you. We do this to avenge Little Donny and the boys we lost. We do this so Fay can take no more from us. We do this for friends, for family, and future!” He was screaming now, “We do this for Isle!”
CHAPTER 23
Winding their way through the thick web of bare saplings and branches, they arrived at the edge of the forest. The fall evening air was cool, and Arti shivered under her hood as she looked out from the trees, inhaling the damp, musty odor of wet leaves. The sun had dipped below the horizon leaving an aurora of pinks and golds in its wake, the smooth shimmer of Lake Ogden in the distance mirroring the effect. Soon the steep slope ahead of them would be shrouded in darkness, and they could begin their climb.
The beams of the huge flood lights placed high atop the castle walls were aimed at the sky and spun topsy-turvy, spiraling up, widening until they disappeared into the nothingness of space. The elaborate clifftop set was a stone’s throw from the castle’s tall curving tower and was surrounded by camera platforms overlooking an elevated stage supporting a table upon which there was a small mountain of books—the Archive. Heat lamps were aimed down at the sloping stands wrapped around the sacrificial pyre, warming a boisterous assembly of the rich and famous dressed in their designer suits and gowns with high end vidlinks sewn into the material, flaunting their wealth and privilege in a broadcast spectacle the likes of which had never been seen.
“To the fence,” whispered Gwen. “Stay with me.”
She crouched with the lighter in her hand and started up the slope, Lance and Arti in tow. They pressed themselves against the wire mesh, and immediately, Lance went to work with the bolt cutters. Mouthing a verse under his breath, in no time he had snipped an opening in the barrier large enough for them to slip through. But Gwen didn’t move.
“Fay hasn’t made her appearance yet,” she explained, looking up the hill at the glowing theater. “We’ll wait until we’re sure she’s left the castle.”
As if on cue, there was a surge of music and an eruption of applause. A spotlight from an overhead boom targeted the stage, and a voice rang out from the public-address system, “Ladies and gentlemen, honored guests, citizens of the Corporation, please welcome the CEO of Fay Industries, Morgan Fay!”
Through the fence’s chain links, Arti followed the spotlight as it moved across the raised platform, illuminating a single figure with long black hair, wearing an ebony gown. The applause grew louder as Morgan Fay arrived at center stage. The Witch on the Hill, thought Arti. It’s her!
“Now,” said Gwen. “To the top.”
Lance pushed back the section of fence for Gwen and Arti, then crept up the slope after them. To their left, under the lights of the second checkpoint closest the castle, a squad of Incendi stood guard at the gate. Facing down the road, they were oblivious to the trespassers. Arti moved as quietly as she could, knowing a noisy stumble would spell doom for the mission.
Gwen stopped again at the crest of the hill and lied flat on the ground, making a shushing sound. Lance and Arti followed her example, hugging the earth, heads down. The car park at the center of the castle’s main building was just above them, across a paved driveway. Illuminated by lights on the gable’s ceiling, two Incendi officers stood at attention next the castle’s main doors, electroshock batons clipped to their belts. Turning her head ever so slowly, Arti’s eyes registered many more guards at the far end of the castle next the base of the tower and at intervals along the pathway leading from it to the stage. Backlit by the bleeding glow of the set, they appeared as faceless shadows.
Gwen reached down the slope and tugged at Lance. He slid along the ground and moved up next to her. Arti couldn’t make out the words she whispered in his ear but could see him nod and mouth a reply before edging slowly back down to her.
“Stay here,” he whispered.
Arti wanted an explanation, but Gwen and Lance were already on their feet, heading across the driveway. The troopers guarding the doors perked up, seeing bodies emerge from the darkness.
“Halt!” demanded one of the men, drawing his lighter. “I need to see your invitations and ID’s.”
“I’m sorry I’m late,” said Gwen haughtily, combing a hand through her hair as she stepped into the light. “The limo had a flat. Needless to say, I’ve fired my driver. It’s so hard to get good help these days.”
When the guard saw Gwen’s face, the recognition was immediate. “You…you’re…but…I thought—”
“Yes, I know,” answered Gwen. “There’s been a misunderstanding. I have my invitation right here.” She reached back and withdrew the lighter from her belt, jabbing its point into the trooper’s chest. A white bolt flashed, and he collapsed. Before his partner could react, Lance murmured something and chopped him in the neck, catching him as he fell.
Arti was amazed at how fast it all happened. She looked down to where the other guards were stationed, to make sure none of them had noticed the assault. There were no sudden movements, no shouts of alarm.
Answering Gwen’s signal, Arti scurried across the driveway while Lance dragged away the unconscious troopers. Returning quickly, Lance tested the door to see if it was unlocked. It was. He opened the heavy oak slab a sliver and listened for anyone who might be on the other side, prepared to silence them before they could vidlink for backup. Hearing nothing, he led Gwen and Arti inside, closing the door behind them.
They entered a foyer of shining granite, beyond which a massive ramp of stone steps bordered by ornately carved balustrades curved its way up to a second-floor landing. Hung high on a wall above the stairs was a life-sized portrait of Morgan Fay. Long black hair cascaded past a bare shoulder the same porcelain white as that of her perfect young face with its penetrating blue eyes. She looked so regal and beautiful that Arti understood why Merl had fallen for her.
“Let’s go,” said Gwen, heading for the stairs. “I expected more of a greeting. We’ve been lucky.”
Arriving at the second-floor landing, Gwen hugged the wall and peeked around the corner. To her relief, the hall was also empty. She raised a finger to her lips for quiet, holding the lighter firmly in her other hand. If they were going to get to the tower, they would have to travel the length of the corridor undetected. Suddenly, a place that had been so familiar to her for so long seemed foreign and threatening.
Arti knew what was behind each door, having memorized Gwen’s model. The studio where Gwen worked. The now empty Archive stamped with the Incendi symbol. The elevator across from it. And at the far end of the hall, looming ever nearer, Incendi Headquarters.
Arti’s heart leapt into her throat. At any moment, she feared Mordred might step out from behind the jet-black door with its shining yellow flame. The image of the tall man’s chiseled face was burned into her memory, always lurking, ready to strike. But the door remained closed, and the Incendi captain did not appear. No one did. It all seemed too easy.
Then she heard the loud clomping sound of many boots on the stairs behind them.
They had almost made it to the end of the hall when the troopers rounded the corner. The squad approached with caution, forming into lines three men wide and four deep. They weren’t sure what they were facing yet, but two of their officers were down, and they weren’t taking any chances. Behind a wall of shields, lighters were set to kill.
“Get behind me,” said Lance.
Arti obeyed, but Gwen remained at his side, lighter raised, unwilling to have him face the troopers alone.
Voices cracked over a vidlink carried by the squad commander in the back row, a big bearded man with a slash for a mouth. The flood of messages streaming over the device clipped to his chest pocket were muffled and disjointed. In the flashing jumble of alarm calls, Arti heard the words “under attack!”, “fall back!”, and “lighters!” The sudden change in the troopers’ faces told her that they were rattled by the reports. It sounded like a riot was happening outside.
Lance kept his eyes on the approaching Incendi. “Go,” he told Gwen, calmly. “Open the door for Arti. Get the book.”
“There’s too many,” objected Gwen.
“I count only twelve,” said Lance.
“Only twelve!”
“Gwen, we have to go,” begged Arti. “Trust him, he can do this. If I don’t get the tome, nothing else matters. Remember?”
Arriving at the halfway point of the hall, in unison the troopers began banging their shields with the butts of their electroshock batons. The hard clacking echoed down the stone corridor like peals of thunder.
“You must go,” repeated Lance.
Gwen finally relented. As Lance stared down the troopers, she placed her hand against his cheek, kissing him softly on the lips. Lance smiled, then began mouthing the verse Gwen recognized as The Knight’s Shield. She said the words along with him as she hurriedly led Arti into the narrow opening past the buttress of stone.
The passage led to a column of spiraling stairs boring its way up one side of the tower. Light sconces covered in rusty wire mesh protruded from the stones overhead, throwing just enough light to illuminate the tight, winding path. Arti knew Fay’s suite containing the Grail Tome was to be found on the floor above them, but she couldn’t help but cast her eyes downward, remembering what Gwen had said about the ancient stairs: “…they lead down to an old dungeon, the place where the Incendi keep their prisoners; decaps, readers, and in the deepest cells, scribes.”
Arti wondered if her parents were somewhere down there at this very moment begging to be rescued, and she hoped they’d understand why her feet were carrying her away from them. As if to remind herself, her hand went to the small box and ink well bundled in her pocket.
The stairs emerged through a floor near the top of the tower, at one end of a crescent-shaped platform surrounding a curving inner wall, the far end of which arched away into darkness. The tall iron door was only a few feet from the stairs, just as Merl described: a thick, heavy pitted mass with hinges set deep in the stone and a rough hammered handle fastened with wide rusty rivets above a narrow key hole. Light escaped through a gap at the foot of the door, warming the rippled granite at Arti and Gwen’s feet.
Gwen reached down and untied the key from her belt. “Cross your fingers,” she said, aiming its tip at the opening in the door.
Before Gwen could insert the key, Arti heard a hiss of words behind her. A dark phantom leapt from the shadows, ripping the key from Gwen’s hand, knocking both her and Arti to the cold stone floor.
Arti struggled to get to her feet, stars dancing in her eyes. Gwen was already up but stood frozen in fear. Standing before them was the Incendi captain, Mordred.
“I didn’t want to believe it,” he said, grinding his teeth at Gwen in disgust. “A decap. A traitor. The Corporation gave you everything you ever wanted, and this is how you show your appreciation?”
Mordred turned his glare to Arti. “And you, reader. There’
s no escaping this time.”
The Incendi captain dropped the key on the stone floor and kicked it through the gap under the iron door. A verse rumbled from his lips, and he crossed the space between them. Gwen stepped in front of Arti, raising her arms defiantly.
Scoffing at the gesture, Mordred struck out at Gwen with blinding speed, but her arms miraculously answered the attack, driving his fist away. The strike is the sword, but I am the shield.
Mordred stepped back, astonished. “Who taught you that?”
“I did.” Lance was standing on the platform at the edge of the stairs. Without taking his eyes off Mordred, he waved Gwen and Arti away.
“Ah, the young man with the fancy white car.” Mordred brought his finger to his pursed lips, then pointed it at him as the name came, “Lance.” He casually crossed his arms, as if he was making small talk. “Your aunt told me all about you. But she wouldn’t tell me where you were hiding.” Cold blue eyes looked up at Lance from under the fedora. “Too bad, I might have let her live.”
The words hit Lance like a hammer blow. He tried to quell his rage, remembering his master’s words: Anger does not serve the Just. “I will avenge her,” he said, eyes locked on the Incendi captain as he shrugged off his leather jacket.
Mordred tossed his fedora to the floor. “We shall see,” he growled.
CHAPTER 24
“Ladies and gentlemen, honored guests, citizens of the Corporation, please welcome the CEO of Fay Industries, Morgan Fay!”
The grand spectacle’s Master of Ceremony, vidlink star Barry Briton, stepped away from the podium’s microphone, burying his dimpled chin into the ruffled shirt of a ridiculous red tuxedo, bowing his way into the wings as the spotlight found Morgan Fay and followed her across the stage.
An audible gasp arose from the audience at the sight of their enigmatic leader. Save for a few of Fay’s top executives seated in the front row, it was the first time most of them had laid eyes on her. She looked so young, so impossibly young. Vidlinks popped up like periscopes from a sea of silk and satin, adding a deluge of streaming images to the event’s flood of coverage. It didn’t matter how or from where she was being watched, the spell she cast was the same, one of adoration and awe.
The Book Knights Page 18