by Sam Clarke
I wished he had put that much effort into his paternal duties, but this wasn’t the time to bring it up. ‘Is there any chance Miguel will figure out the ring’s location before you do?’
He chewed his lip and didn’t answer. I cleared my throat and raised my right hand. ‘I solemnly promise that anything you say to me, right now, will stay strictly between us.’
He stifled an amused smile.
I clenched my fists around the balcony rail. ‘Why can’t you ever take me seriously? I want to help, I’m not a total idiot, you know?’
He killed the smile. ‘Do you mean it?’
‘The promise or that I’m not an idiot?’
‘The promise, the idiot part is too subjective.’
‘I do. I really do.’
He nodded slowly. ‘Miguel’s got good instincts. There’s a very good chance he’ll figure things out before me, but he won’t reveal his findings.’
‘What if his abductors force him to?’ Images of the London Dungeon’s Torture Chamber sprang to mind.
‘He’s a strong man, physically and psychologically,’ said my father.
‘That’s not an answer.’
‘That’s the best I’ve got.’
‘Is he in serious danger?’
‘To a degree. I may know who Yuri’s boss is, let’s nickname this person The Collector, are you with me?’ I nodded. ‘The Collector is dead-set on recovering the ring because it would grant him access to… an inner circle. He wants to be part of it very badly and harming Miguel could be counterproductive. I think he’ll keep it as a last resort.’
I filled in the blanks by applying the “my father is a Templar” theory. It worked like a charm. The Collector wanted to join the Templars and harming one of them wouldn’t have been a good start. ‘What can you tell me about the inner circle?’ I asked.
‘Nothing,’ he replied flatly. ‘And it’s not because I don’t trust you: Knut has sworn me to secrecy.’
‘Do you often work for Knut?’
‘I recover artefacts for him on a regular basis.’
‘Does he pay you?’
‘It’s not about money, Noah.’ His eyes lit up with unbridled excitement. ‘It’s about the thrill of the search. Nothing makes me feel more alive than recovering something from a distant past. The harder to find, the better. I’m a seeker, and a good one at that. When you first asked to be included in the treasure hunt, I saw the glint in your eyes and I knew we were cut from the same cloth.’
Viggo stuck his head through the door and interrupted the deepest conversation I had ever had with my father. I threw him a silent curse. ‘Computers and passports are here,’ he announced.
My father stepped back into the room. ‘Good. I’ll make a start on Godefroi’s letter.’
I made to leave.
‘Noah?’ he called.
‘Yes?’
‘We should chat more often.’
CHAPTER 32
The doctor, a wiry man with an aquiline nose, bent over Viggo like a witch over a cauldron. ‘You will need stitches,’ he said in a whiny voice. ‘Six, seven at the most. Don’t worry, I charge by complete suture, not by single stitch.’ He inserted a thread in a semi-circular surgical needle. ‘May I?
Viggo flinched. ‘Aren’t you going to numb the area first?’
‘It will cost another two hundred.’
‘I thought your price was all-inclusive,’ gasped Viggo, who didn’t relish the idea of being embroidered on while fully sensitive.
‘Anaesthesia is extra,’ replied the doctor, curved needle ready to strike. ‘Shall I proceed?’
‘Go ahead, he’ll be fine,’ droned Ariel, without lifting his eyes from his crossword puzzle.
Viggo clenched his jaw. ‘He won’t be fine, he’ll be sore. Get him his money, Ariel.’
My tutor folded his newspaper in half and temporarily abandoned his quest for twenty-five across: first wife of Ramesses II. ‘We can’t use the credit card tonight, it could be traced. Sesame will get us some emergency funding tomorrow. In the meantime, you’ll have to grin and bear it.’
‘I’ll bear it,’ grumbled Viggo. ‘But I won’t grin.’
He didn’t bear it either. His selection of moans and grunts snared my father out his self-inflicted bedroom exile. ‘Is someone dying?’ he asked, sarcastically.
‘Hopefully not,’ replied the doctor, placing two boxes of amoxicillin on the table. ‘And taking one of these pills three times a day will further reduce the risk.’
He let himself out. Viggo popped the first antibiotic pill and massaged his arm. ‘It’s late,’ said my father. ‘We should call it a night. Ariel, will stand guard first, Viggo will take over in four hours. I need somewhere quiet to work on Godefroi’s letter, I’ll take the double-room. You can use the triple.’
Given the underlying issues of our group, a triple wasn’t the most ideal arrangement. I felt totally out of place because, regrettably, I had never shared a room with a girl before and Isabelle felt utterly embarrassed by Viggo’s shirtless presence. Arm aside, he seemed absolutely fine. He plonked himself on one of the beds, bid us goodnight, rolled onto his side and fell asleep instantly. How on earth did he do that?
#
When I opened my eyes, Viggo had been replaced by Ariel. I was surprised he slept with both eyes closed. In the lounge, a room-service waitress was transferring our breakfast from her cart to the table. She used coasters. Coasters must have been invented by girls. I bit into a pastry that resembled a donut minus the hole. It produced an ominous squishy sound – dollops of custard rained down on my only shirt. ‘Happened to me too,’ said Viggo sympathetically, pointing at his own crusty shirt. ‘We’ll need some clean clothes. Magnus pulled an all-nighter, do you want to bring him some coffee?’
I poured a fresh cup and knocked on my father’s door. There was no reply, so I let myself in. My father, his head at a funny angle, was sound asleep in his chair. I glanced at his laptop screen. I honestly didn’t mean to pry, but I read the first sentence and I was hooked.
Annus Domini 1318
My condition has worsened; I can tell by the face of the infirmary brother. If he had access to the superior medical knowledge of the Arab physicians, he could probably save my life, but anything coming from the Infidels is treated with contempt and suspicion. I have known the Infidels, I have battled them and I have befriended them. They fought with honour, as we did, they fought in the name of God, as we did, and they fought to protect what was dear to them, as we did. I have come to the heretical conclusion that we are not that different. And it is in their language, which I have spoken for so many years, that I choose to entrust my final words. I hope that the enigmatic Arabic writing will shield my secrets from prying eyes and guide them to those of an enlightened reader, of pure heart and open mind.
My name is Godefroi de Carignan, I am a Knight Templar. I can finally say this freely because by the time my words will be found, I will be long gone on my final journey towards the Kingdom of Heaven. The safety of my brotherhood is paramount and I pray that what I am about to disclose will not fall into the wrong hands. My order has entrusted me with a precious item. My duty was to protect it but, in the light of my injury, I will not be able to do so for much longer.
On the first day of September, I left the port of Valencia, in the Kingdom of Aragon, en route to Cyprus. A few weeks into my journey, the black clouds appeared on the horizon, the breeze turned to wind and the waves became rougher and angrier, as if they wanted to chase us out of the sea. The storm, therefore, was not completely unexpected. Yet, I was not prepared for its strength and fury. As the sea tossed us around like leaves in the wind, the mast collapsed and a shard of wood sliced through my side. I was thrown into the sea. In the distance, I saw the fire of a lighthouse. I clung to a piece of driftwood and began kicking towards it with all my strength. I prayed to the Lord to deliver me safely to dry land and He gracefully listened. I dragged myself out of the water and collapsed upon the wet sa
nd.
When I awoke, a monk was wiping sweat from my forehead. A fisherman had found me on a beach close to the port of Limpiadum, in the Kingdom of Sicily, and brought me to the Monastery of the Holy Spirit in Agrigentum. My wound is not deep, but it is festering. I only have a few days before the infection spreads and claims my life. I must act fast; my time is short.
I asked the fisherman to help me to secure a fast horse and decent weapon. On a parchment, I marked the city of Agrigentum, the beach where I have been found and the location where I intend to conceal my precious item. I also indicated the approximate position of the Nuestra Señora, some parts of which were visible a few days after the sinking. I will be leaving tomorrow. In preparation for my journey, I have asked the monks for a book of prayers to the Virgin Mary. I pray that she will let me live long enough to fulfil my last mission and give me the strength to complete what I have been chosen for, and I pray that she will keep me safe during my last mortal journey in a perilous and unknown land.
As I come to the end of my story, the day is coming to an end too. The veil of night has descended upon the monastery. An owl is hooting outside my window, sheltered by centuries old olive trees, and the candle burning beside me is getting shorter. I will use its wax to attach the letter and the map to the back of the book of prayers. As I entrust my words to the Mother of God, I pray that my brothers will eventually find them and that the item be returned to its rightful owners. Tomorrow I will set off at dawn with Pegasus, my new mount. I trust that the light of Mary, Mother of God and custodian of my knowledge, will guide me, shield me and deliver me safely to my destination.
I lived my life with courage, dignity and integrity. I am proud of being a Knight Templar and I look forward to re-joining my brothers in the afterlife.
Godefroi de Carignan, Knight Templar.
As I struggled to come to terms with the implications of what I had just read, I was overcome by an uncomfortable sensation. Yoda would identify it as a disturbance in the Force. I gingerly turned my head. My father’s gaze was tearing through me: I was going through his things without permission. ‘If you weren’t my son, I’d knock your head off in a single blow!’
‘I didn’t mean to—’
‘Snoop? Pry? Betray my trust?’
I found the barrage of accusations disproportionate in relation to the crime. He definitely wasn’t a morning person. ‘I came to bring you some coffee and your computer was on.’
He snorted. ‘I expected better from you.’
For someone who had abandoned his son in favour of a sea serpent, he could be incredibly judgemental. ‘Don’t be a hypocrite. It’s not as if you’ve never made a mistake,’ I blurted.
He didn’t deny it. But he didn’t admit it either. ‘That coffee had better be good,’ he said instead.
I pushed the cup forward. I couldn’t believe how exhausted he looked. ‘The Templars were active after 1307,’ I said.
I nervously waited for his reply. He yawned in my face, stretched his arms to the sides and gulped the coffee in one go.
‘Is that all you have to say?’ I asked.
He inspected the bottom of his empty mug. ‘I haven’t said a word.’
‘Exactly, I was expecting a bit more from a… seeker.’
He slurped the last drop of coffee. ‘Such as?’
‘An opinion?’
He waved his hand. ‘There are countless theories about what happened to the Templars, but nothing’s been proven. It’s just centuries-old gossip.’
‘Cryptozoology relies on gossip.’
‘Ouch! You sound just like your mother.’
He was trying to change the subject, but I wasn’t going to let him. ‘You cannot dismiss Godefroi’s letter as mere gossip when you flew all the way to Sicily to look for his ring.’
He bit his lip.
‘Dad,’ I continued, ‘there are many Templar organisations scattered all over the world. Godefroi’s letter proves that one of them is the real thing. If you google them—’
‘Google them? Do you think that after staying undercover for seven hundred years, the Templars would suddenly launch a website and tweet the whereabouts of their missing fleet? C’mon Noah, you’re a smart kid.’
‘Am I?’
‘Right now, I have some strong reservations.’ Mincing his words had never been his style. ‘If the Templars were still around, there isn’t a chance in hell we could find them, unless they wanted to be found. An order that survived that long, undetected, would know how to cover its tracks. Plus, there isn’t much for them to do right now, is there?’
‘Meaning?’
‘Nowadays pilgrims get proper insurance and travel in air-conditioned coaches.’
He had a point, what would the order’s mission be in this day and age? Had they evolved and adapted or had they remained fossilised in their beliefs, whatever they may be? If they existed, they must have a purpose of some kind. He probably knew, but I couldn’t ask him. He went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. ‘Get out of here,’ he said as neutrally as he could. ‘You’ve done enough snooping for one day.’
CHAPTER 33
Ariel, Glock securely lodged in his shoulder holster, was busy loading bullets into the spare magazine. We desperately needed clean clothes and Viggo had just returned from the briefest shopping trip in history. He dumped some unbranded bags on the sofa and pointed his thumb at my father’s room. ‘Is he still in there?’ he asked in disbelief.
Right on cue, my father emerged with an empty coffee pot in his hand. He was unrecognisable: the bloodshot eyes, the dishevelled hair, the half-braided beard, the eye bags that would have attracted a charge from RyanAir… He was a zombie-version of himself. If he had gone trick or treating in his current state, he would have been inundated with sweets. ‘I need more coffee,’ he rasped.
‘You need some sleep,’ said Viggo firmly.
‘The location of the ring is somewhere in that letter,’ replied my father. ‘I have to figure it out.’
Viggo took the empty coffee pot from his hands. ‘And you will, but you must take a break.’
‘Not yet.’
‘Why don’t you let us help?’ I asked.
My father yawned in my face. Twice. He still had his tonsils.
‘He’s right, Magnus,’ said Viggo, while my father leaned against the doorframe. ‘You don’t have to do it all on your own. If we put our heads together, we may come up with something.’
My father’s eyes slowly began to close. ‘Sleep deprivation is used as a form of torture,’ said Ariel, waking him up. ‘Putting yourself through it won’t bring you any closer to finding the ring. Or Miguel.’
Isabelle opened her mouth to say something, but Viggo had taken off his shirt to try on his latest purchase and she missed her chance.
‘You’re right, I’m a wreck,’ conceded my father, sinking further into the doorframe.
‘I’m not usually one for sympathy, but I could knock you out for a couple of hours,’ said Ariel.
‘Thanks for the offer, but I’ll stick with the traditional methods. Wake me in an hour. We’ll work on the letter together.’
He swapped the door frame for the bed and was asleep before he hit the pillow.
#
Isabelle could hardly contain her excitement or, more precisely, her arrogance. She hadn’t seen the letter yet, but was already talking as if she would break the enigma and figure out the ring’s hiding place. My self-confidence had never been my strongpoint, but hers was way above her abilities. I went for a shower just to get out of earshot. I towel dried my hair (my need of a barber was more evident with each passing day) and inspected the contents of the shopping bag that Viggo had given me: a multi-pack of underpants, three plain t-shirts, ankle socks and a pair of military-green cargo shorts with matching belt. I checked my reflection in the mirror – I was dressed exactly like him.
I was vegetating in front of the TV when Isabelle stormed out of the bedroom. I fought really hard not to
laugh, Viggo had bought the exact same clothes for everyone. The oversized t-shirt hung on her tiny frame like a sheet on a thin ghost and the cargo shorts reached right below her knee, where the ankle socks began. She could have been awarded an honorary membership in a Latino street gang. She marched up to Viggo. ‘These clothes are too big.’
‘It’s the smallest size they had,’ he replied defensively.
‘They’re men’s clothes,’ she said, pulling at the empty fabric.
‘I went shopping for necessities, not fashion items, the shop only sold men’s clothes.’
‘And it didn’t occur to you to walk into a different shop?’ she screeched.
He tried to keep a straight face, but the result of his blunder was too hilarious for words, we burst into fits of laughter. Between gasps, I realised that we had developed the sort of camaraderie that I had never enjoyed with any of my school friends. Not even with Tom. It felt good. Really good.
Two reality-shows later, a human-looking version of my father joined us in the lounge, laptop under his arm. ‘Are you really getting the feeble minds to help?’ asked Ariel, pointing at me and Isabelle.
My father twitched his face. ‘It’s worth a shot. I’ve read the letter over and over and I cannot find a way in. Hopefully you’ll pick up on something I’ve missed.’
‘So, where is this letter?’ asked Isabelle with an air of superiority and more dignity than her attire allowed.
My father looked her up and down but kept his comments to himself. ‘Not so fast,’ he replied. ‘You must understand that the letter contains some speculations. I expect you to concentrate solely on clues that could lead us to the ring and disregard everything else, are we clear?’
We all agreed. With the legal bits out of the way, my father distributed copies of Godefroi’s memoirs around the table and set the timer on his watch. ‘I want you to study the letter carefully for the next hour,’ he said. ‘When the time is up, we’ll discuss our impressions.’