The Perfect Sun

by Brendan Carroll

  “Please don’t go far, Lucio,” Catharine called as he closed the door and then took the girl’s hands in her. “Ronni, how did you get here? Did you come from the Island? Do you know what day it is?”

  “I don’t know anything, Miss Catharine,” the girl’s eyes filled with tears. “I can’t remember what happened. I don’t know where I was. I think I was at home, writing in my journal, perhaps. How did we get here? Do you know? Is that really Vanni out there?” She looked fearfully toward the kitchen.

  “It is,” Catharine assured her and then started trying to comfort her and explain what she knew of their situation. The information as scarce as it was served only to confuse her more. They were still trying to sort it out when Lucio returned with the flowers, wine and a box of chocolates.

  “Look who I found in the market!” He rushed into the room and started looking for another vase in the cabinets. “This is wonderful. Just wonderful. Vanni come out here.”

  Catharine and Ronni stood up as Galen Zachary stepped cautiously into the room. He was dressed in a motley array of mismatched military uniforms. His eyes darted around the room nervously as his father continued to babble almost incoherently. Galen crossed the room and took Catharine’s hands after hugging Vanni and giving him his hat and jacket.

  “Catharine…” He hugged her close and whispered in her ear. “What is going on? I was in the desert. There was a storm or something. We had to find the General.”

  “Who? Who had to find the general? What general?” Catharine pushed him back and looked at him closely. She’d not seen him in ages and he had changed a great deal. He now looked twice her age.

  “Schweikert…” he frowned. “No. Abaddon,” he amended. “There was a great bubble…no it was an eye. A huge eye.”

  “Come sit down before you fall down.” Lucio took him from her and guided him to the sofa. “You know Veronica? No, of course, you don’t. Veronica this is my son, Galen Zachary. Galen, Veronica Long, Vanni’s fiancé. When did you get to Naples? How is Michael Ian? Have you seen your Uncle Mark?”

  Galen nodded blankly and then Vanni shoved a cup of coffee in his hands.

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  “And when I opened my eyes,” Lemarik opened his dark eyes much wider “I was still within my laboratory and only part of us had gone. The strangest part of course was seeing Leonardo and Bari standing there with us where they had not been before. Of course, Bari was quite pleased to see us and we were to see him. Leonardo was surprised beyond measure and it took some time to calm him. He said something about falling and falling. I have wondered why my Templars would have been taken. It was most likely just a residual effect of the transmigrator.”

  “I thought it was called a transporter.” Mark walked around the raised purple dais in the Djinni’s lab. His son had brought Mark, Ashmodel and Michael down to see it while Selwig visited with Michey, Anna and Nicole. The Tuathan was elated to be back in the underworld. It was not exactly his home, but it was close. “You say you lost some of your Templars? The ones I left in your charge? How many?”

  “That is what Nicole calls it: transmigrator.” The Djinni scratched his chin through his beard. He failed to grasp Mark’s attempted humor. “Yes, yes, yes. I lost five of my good men. Gilbert, Herbert, Delbert, Dagobert, Robert.” He ticked off the names of the lost Templars on his fingers, while Mark frowned at him. His son had apparently renamed the Knights. “Perhaps, I need to rework the tubing under the tiles. I didn’t want it to look like a contraption, you see and so I constructed this platform to cover the inner workings. It is based on the same thought principle as my robe. You merely have to think of your destination and you are there. It may have worked in reverse or some such. Probably has something to do with the stars. I should like to check my charts and calculations again.”

  “You say Bari told you that he saw Sophia?” Mark asked him and picked up one of the tiles. Below the dais was a miraculous assembly of glass tubes of every color possible, resembling a bowl of spaghetti.

  “Ahhh. Yes, he saved her in fact. A gallant effort. A heroic deed. Bari is showing a great deal of promise. She was in the process of being stolen by a ragamuffin. I should like to have him here,” Lemarik narrowed his eyes. “He was after ransom no doubt.”

  “Did he see my son?” Mark lowered the tile and stood up. The more he heard, the worse it sounded and time was wasting.

  “He saw several people and someone who looked a great deal like you, but everyone called him John,” Lemarik began to flip through a large, brightly illustrated book wherein the pages were covered with fascinating symbols. “He said that this John fellow did not recognize him at first, but called his name later on though they never had the chance to really converse in private. Bari said that the man spoke in riddles, calling him nephew. That does not sound like our Mark, does it?” Lemarik raised both eyebrows. “Is it possible that my grandson has been in the Abyss?”

  “Quite possible,” Mark frowned and ran his finger over the page, studying the symbols of the stars, moon and planets. “I need to travel there and find out for myself. Did he say anything else of value?”

  “He said there was a replica of your house in Scotland or perhaps it was your house in another time,” the Djinni glanced at Michael as he picked up a slender bottle full of yellow liquid. “Be careful with that, my nephew,” he warned. “Would you care to try your hand at the transmigrator?”

  “I would like to borrow your robe instead… if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course, my father.” Lemarik touched two fingers to his lips and then to his forehead. “All that I have is yours.”

  “But we won’t be able to come with you,” Michael protested and Ashmodel climbed out of the large oven he had been inspecting.

  “You cannot go alone, Uriel.” Ashmodel crossed his arms over his chest and seemed to grow in stature. “I will not permit it.”

  “You will be fine here,” Mark assured him. “These people are my kinsmen. They will treat you well.”

  Ashmodel scowled. He knew there was no defying Uriel.

  “I would prefer to wait with Leviathan then,” Ashmodel told him. “He might become nervous.”

  “Whatever you like,” Mark agreed. “Just try not to frighten the locals.”

  Lemarik disappeared behind a curtain made of strings of tiny, pearlescent seashells, only to return a moment later with the silky purple robe his father had requested.

  “Should I go with you, Father?” Lemarik held out the robe to him.

  “I think I can handle this one on my own,” Mark said as he took the robed and slipped on. He put his hands in the deep pockets and pulled out a violin and a bow.

  Lemarik took the instrument from him and laid it on the lab table.

  “Yasmin adores violin music. The classics, of course,” he stated matter-of-factly. “It causes her to become… homesick and melancholy.”

  Mark frowned at him and raised one eyebrow. His eldest son never failed to amaze him.

  “When she is homesick and melancholy, I must comfort her,” the Djinni smiled and shrugged.

  The other pocket yielded a bottle of wine and two glasses which he also placed on the table. The inside pocket held three red roses and a box of chocolate truffles.

  “I had planned a bit of music when I returned from my journey,” the Djinni looked a bit put out as he laid the objects on the table. “I don’t suppose you will need them where you are going?”

  “I think not…” Mark felt in the pockets again and then stopped. “As a matter of fact, let me have the roses… and the chocolate.”

  Lemarik handed over the flowers and the box of truffles.

  “These are very fine,” he lamented the loss of the candy slightly. “And the roses will remain fresh for several days after being placed in water.”

  “You might as well give me that violin and the wine as well,” Mark held out his hand. The items disappeared into the deep pockets without the slightest bulge or added w
eight and neither did the bottle and glasses clink when he moved.

  Mark took leave of Michael, bidding him to stay and wait for him to return, to keep an eye out for Galen and to look after Selwig and Ashmodel. Michael agreed reluctantly to all the instructions and kissed his uncle goodbye. Mark stepped onto the dais and took a deep breath before spinning in a circle. One moment he was in Lemarik’s lab and the next he was tumbling across the carpet in one of the upstairs bedrooms of his house in Lothian… or the Seventh Gate. He quickly checked the windows and the contents of the drawers… Seventh Gate.

  He let himself out of the room into the hall. The gas lamps flickered in the long, familiar hall and his heart caught in his throat. How he longed to return to this time. This simpler time when he was lord of his own household. When he came and went as he pleased and no one asked questions of him other than Edgard d’Brouchart. No one bothered him and he bothered no one. The smells of the furniture wax, the slightly musty rugs, the oil lamps, the savory smell of mutton stew wafting up the stairway. At least everything looked to be in order. He started for the stairs, but stopped at the sound of a baby crying. The sound was muffled. The child was in one of the bedrooms. He tiptoed down the hall, stopping in front of each door, laying his ear against the wood to listen. The child was in the room he had claimed as his own in Lothian. The room directly over the library. He tried the knob and found it unlocked.

  He eased the door open a crack and scanned the room before pushing it wider. Sophia sat in the midst of a fluffy canopy bed, dressed in a white ruffled bed gown, holding the baby to her breast. She looked up at him in consternation.

  “Mark,” she said at once. “We need to take the baby away from here. If those brutes come back with reinforcements, they will burn us all and what will happen to Michael?”

  “Michael?” Mark walked forward softly and stared at the tiny face only partially visible against its mother’s breast. “Michael Emmanuel?”

  “Of course,” she adjusted a cloth over the baby’s head. “Surely you’ve seen a nursing… no, I suppose not. Look, sit with me a moment and let’s try to figure this out. I think I’m strong enough to travel. There are some good looking horses in the barn. I am well acquainted with them now.”

  “Sophia,” he said her name and sat down in a heavy armchair beside the bed. The table next to the antique four-poster was covered with baby things. Bottles, spoons, changing cloths, sponges, gauze. There was also half a cup of tea, two cookies and a glass of milk.

  “At least she’s treating me better now,” Sophia continued. “Where did you get that awful robe? Purple is not your color. Have you spoken to Luke Matthew? Does he know how we got here? Did he come to rescue us or what? Surely he knows something. Luke Andrew was not much help. Sometimes I think Luke A. is daft, as Luke M. likes to say. Did you hear all that stuff he was saying about Semiramis and the Hesperides and Omar, the Prophet? He needs help, Mark.”

  “We all need help,” Mark agreed. He did not want to startle or frighten her by revealing his identity to her just yet.

  “Lily is still determined to send me off to Edinborough,” she adjusted the baby’s body and smiled down at him. “Can you imagine it? It must have been awful in the old days, Mark. How could someone simply walk off and leave their baby? She thinks I’m going to let her have the baby and leave. If we don’t get out of here, she might just force the issue. You haven’t been encouraging her, have you?”

  “Encouraging her?” He raised both eyebrows. “In what way?”

  “To take the baby or anything,” Sophia frowned. “I’m so confused and scared! Mark what are we going to do? She thinks you are… she calls you John. She thinks you are Mark’s father. She’s waiting for Mark to come from Edinborough. What are we going to do?”

  “She… John? Yes,” he nodded as a knot formed in his stomach. Lily had mistaken Mark for John. This was not good. “No, I haven’t encouraged her. Not at all.”

  “Thank God Luke Matthew is here,” she said after removing the cloth and checking the baby again. “He seems more able to handle things than his nephew. I hope our son doesn’t grow up to be like Luke Andrew.”

  “Sophia,” Mark said her name again and then picked up the cold tea. He drank it down and stood up. “I have to talk to Luke Matthew and Luke Andrew. We’ll try to come up with a plan.”

  “Please don’t try to fight with those ruffians or whatever they are, if they come back,” she warned him and blew him a kiss. “Remember, Sophia loves you, sweetheart.”

  “Yes, of course. I love you, too,” he nodded and then let himself out the door.

  Mark Andrew followed the sounds of voices once downstairs to the parlor. When he threw open the doors, a woman screamed and then he caught glimpses of Luke Matthew, his son and his… his what? His son? His doppelganger? What? He had never come to terms with Mark other than to assume that this, too, was also his son though he did not know him at all. They stood staring at one another over Luke Matthew’s shoulder and then Luke Andrew’s shoulder and then the softer shoulder of Lily Ramsay.

  “Mark, Mark,” his ‘mother’ cried when she hugged him. “I thought you would never come. It’s terrible, just awful. They’ve killed old Clyde. Burned him at the stake! They would have burned all of us, except for the intervention of your brother, Luke. They almost killed John Paul last night.”

  “John Paul?” Mark’s eyes darted about the room and Luke Andrew winked at him in an exaggerated manner.

  “That’s right, Father,” Luke Andrew threw in quickly. “They had me tied to a cross, ready to send me up in smoke when Uncle Luke saved me. You should have seen it.”

  “Who tried to burn you? Who murdered Clyde?” Mark frowned at them.

  “The Clanahans!” Mary shouted at him. She sat on a low stool in the corner of the room, afraid to go anywhere in the house by herself.

  “I see,” Mark nodded. This was a new development. He had set this place in motion and given it a twist of self regeneration. Perhaps the illusion had been too real, but he’d wanted his mother… Lily to be comfortable and he’d wanted the place to at least have a semblance of authenticity. He had underestimated his creative abilities. It was a shame that it was all limited to the Seventh Gate.

  “Son,” ‘John’ took him by the shoulders and crushed him purposefully.

  “Papa,” Mark managed the word with some measure of conviction.

  “It’s gud t’ see ye’ve come ’ome, Mark,” ‘John’ lowered his head and looked at him from under his brows and Mark’s heart skipped a beat. King Ramsay? But how? He’d killed him. He’d cut his head off. “I’ve been expectin’ ye…. sooner or later.”

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  Simon collapsed in the rocky drive of the villa and wept onto his shirt sleeve. Lavon came at once to pick him up and helped him back inside to the atrium. The cooling mist of the fountain revived him and the sweet smell of the tropical flowers growing there calmed his jangled nerves. Lavon offered him a steaming mug of hot tea.

  “Here, drink this,” the Knight of the Wisdom of Solomon told him. “You are going to have a breakdown. You know that we are not impervious to diseases of the mind.”

  “I know, I know,” Simon took the tea and sipped it gratefully. “You are a good man, Lavon. I would have done well to have you as a son-in-law.”

  “Shhhh, mon ami,” Lavon patted the healer’s hand. “Do not let Oriel hear you say such a thing. It is well that she has married Louis. She is a good Queen. A good match for him. It was never meant to be for us.”

  “I love you as my own son, Lavon,” Simon said as more tears flowed from his eyes. “I do not understand why we have been put here? What happened to us?”

  “I still cannot answer that, but Izzy came round today and brought Dan and Philip with him. They are awake now.”

  “Good,” Simon pulled on his shirt sleeves and straightened his collar. The nightmare was almost over or at least, it was taking a new turn. They were now alert to the fac
t that all was not well. He had just made another foolhardy attempt to leave the Villa. He could only get as far as the highway leading into the village before he was returning the same way he’d left. It was always the same. Walking. Running. Driving one of the cars in the parking lot. Even taking an old man’s rickety wagon and donkey had proven futile. He would be driving or walking toward town and then, without warning, he would be pulling into or walking back into the parking lot in front of the administration building. He had demonstrated the anomaly to his father and each one of his sons and daughters and the various other members of his family or the Order as they seemed to snap out of their euphoric trance-states. Some of them had been harder to convince than others. One of the hardest had been Meredith. She had refused to believe that it was not some sort of joke or a dream. She had insisted that John Paul would come any moment to end it… whatever it was. John Paul would not allow it. John Paul would never allow someone to simply snatch her from the First Gate. When Simon had demonstrated the extent of their dilemma, she had taken one of the Mercedes and tried to drive away ten or twelve times before they had taken her out of the car forcibly and dragged her into the council chamber screaming. Meredith was not a happy camper. She had put her entire life with the Order behind her, she told them. She had made her peace with the world and taken leave of it. She had no desire or intention to be dragged back into it now or ever.

  Simon had spoken with her long into the night, reminding her of their history together, of the times that she had sat with him and pulled him through difficult times. He had finally gotten through to her by threatening to open a can of ‘Texas Whoop-Ass’ on her just as she had once threatened to do to him. At first, she had laughed and then they had cried on each other’s shoulders. Afterwards, she had made him promise not to try anything screwy with her, like marrying her without her permission and he had agreed, reminding her that his wife would probably not allow him to do such a thing. Lydia had arrived on the second day and it had been Lydia and Lavon that had kept him sane.