The Red Cross of Gold I:. The Knight of Death

by Brendan Carroll

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  “You did what?!” Valentino’s voice was shrill with rage and cut through his groggy mind like a knife. His neck hurt. Stars danced in front of his eyes when he opened them. His vision cleared and he saw the ceiling above him. Dropping his head painfully, he saw that his lap was a bit cleaner, though damp.

  “You idiot! You fool!” she shrieked behind him somewhere.

  He felt worse than ever and only wanted to lie down, but he was still right where he had left himself and he had no idea how much time had passed since he’d gone to sleep.

  “Why? Why did you do that? I told you it was for you to use on yourself. I only gave it to you because I was afraid you would be hurt. I was afraid Merry might be hurt! Remember? I said if you get hurt, drink this.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Maxie’s voice was sullen. “I remember that, but I also remember that the stuff makes you pass out cold.”

  “That’s not the point,” she sputtered. “Why did you use it on him?”

  “The point is that he is a lot stronger than he looked,” Maxie told her defiantly. “He had three knives on him, for God’s sake. He thought she was a prostitute trying to pick him up. He talked real bad to your little sweetheart. Real bad. You should have come up with a better plan. I couldn’t hold him. I hit him with the damned club. And he just kept coming at me. It’s like he was plum crazy. And then he got hold of her… I couldn’t just stand there and do nothing. He would have killed her and me, too. If I’d let him kill me, how could I have drunk something?”

  “There was no plan, you stupid shit!” Valentino was beyond angry. “I sent you out to scout for him… you know? Scout? Just have a look. See if you could spot him so we’d know he was coming for sure. I didn’t tell you to capture him. He was coming here anyway. All we had to do was wait.”

  “Well, that’s not what Miss Merry told me. You two should get your shit straight. I can’t work for two screwy women at once!” Maxie’s voice lowered a bit and Mark heard something break in the lab. The crash was followed by several seconds of silence as the woman paced the floor.

  “How did you do it? What exactly did you do?” Valentino seemed to have calmed down a bit. Her words were short and clipped.

  “I threw it in his eyes,” Maxie explained to her. “It was the only way. I couldn’t exactly ask him to sit down for a beer and a bowl of salsa.”

  “This is just great,” Valentino said resignedly.

  Mark heard something grating on the tile floor. A chair? A guillotine? A casket?

  “What’s done is done, Miss,” Maxie’s voice was less clear. He had moved further away. “It’ll wear off eventually.”

  “You don’t know that! I don’t even know that. I don’t know what the effects are on immortals. He really doesn’t remember anything coherently. Just like he told us. I thought he was bluffing. I thought he was playing with me. I can’t believe I was wrong.”

  Mark found himself nodding his head in affirmation. She was not accustomed to being wrong.

  “That stuff was just half the key,” she continued. “You could have killed him for all you knew. For all we know, he might be dying right now. I mean it might take a while to work or something.”

  “I’m sorry! What can I say? Besides, if he’s immortal, he’s immortal, right? How can you kill somebody’s who’s immortal?”

  “Just get out of here. I have to think.”

  Mark waited without moving. He did not want to wake completely. He wanted to sleep, to heal, but the pains in his neck and his back were too insistent and he was terribly angry, not to mention hungry. They had used some witch’s brew on him and Valentino might be right. He might already be dying of some insidious poison. He remembered absolutely nothing of how he had come to be with Merry and Maxie. His entire coherent world had started at the base of that damnable pecan tree.

  Footsteps drew near and he heard her go around the desk. The chair squeaked as she sat down. He heard a sniffling sound and then she blew her nose. Was she crying? It hardly seemed possible. He was partially pleased to have caused the tears even at such a great expense.

  “Ramsay?”

  He raised his head slowly and opened his eyes. Without thinking, he tried to raise his hand to his neck and the cuff yanked it back painfully.

  “Ow!”

  “I’m really sorry about this,” she said and he frowned at her. “If you promise to be good, I’ll take those off.”

  He nodded slowly and licked his parched lips.

  A few seconds later, he sat unrestrained in the chair, alternately rubbing his neck and his wrists. He could not decide which hurt worse. There were new bruises on his wrists beneath the healing rope burns. Whatever had happened while he was asleep must have been unpleasant.

  “There, that’s better, huh?” She was behind the desk again. “You really don’t know anything about anything, and I feel like such a fool.”

  “What about my immortality?” he asked her. “Was that just a joke or something?”

  “I was just trying to scare you,” she quipped lightly.

  A lie, he was sure of it.

  “It was just castor oil and ipecac syrup. I’m so sorry. I thought you were Mark Ramsay. What did you say your name was?”

  “John. Then this isn’t real blood?” he asked and looked into this lap at the drying blood.

  “Oh, it’s real blood, but it came from the kitchen,” she told him. “Beef liver, actually.”

  “Good,” he nodded, wishing it were the truth. Liver was exactly what it had looked like and he could not imagine that he had coughed up his own liver in his lap. He didn’t think that it was anatomically possible.

  “I told you I’m not sadistic. We’ll get you all cleaned up. You have to understand that a young man’s life is at stake here,” she waved one hand as she talked. “I don’t know what to do now, to be honest. I thought you had come here to kill us. Anthony is convinced that someone is after him. Someone who will stop at nothing including killing anyone trying to protect him. I mean you were driving a black car and you did have a rather wicked looking blade in the trunk. But I guess it’s just a hobby of yours, right? Collecting swords or something? You can’t blame me for protecting myself and my… family. I would tell you more, but I don’t think you want to hear it. I'll make it up to you. What will it take? How much?”

  He nodded thoughtfully, buying time. She’d not mentioned his rings and the rest of the bizarre things that he had experienced and half-remembered. Her half-baked story wasn’t half-bad as stories went. There was no way this woman would ever let him go. Her conversation with the security agent had explained more than enough. At least he knew now why he couldn’t remember anything and whatever it was she wanted, she remained convinced that she had the right man.

  He would have to go along with her. At least his hands were free, but he knew that if he tried to get out of the chair, he would fall on his face and he’d not heard Maxie actually leave. There was nothing else he could do at the moment. The old desire to throttle her returned with a vengeance. His breathing became more rapid and the red haze began to edge into his vision. He fought it off and tried to remain calm. If he was poisoned, agitation would only hasten the process. He knew that much.

  “How about breakfast? I’m starving,” he asked hopefully, trying to sound more like a lost shoe salesman than a… what?

  “Sure. Fine. Of course.” She smiled tightly at him and then looked away quickly. “Let’s get you back to your room. Get you all cleaned up. I’ll get you something to eat and then we can decide on a settlement. There’s no need to make matters worse.”

  He nodded again and she helped him from the chair. Her nearness made him cringe, but he needed her help and he needed to get out of the damned chair and the damned laboratory and the damned basement. When his strength returned and his next chance came, he would not hesitate to do what should have already been done.

  On the way back to his room, she told him about Anthon
y as he leaned on her arm. She said that he was her nephew. A college student on a trip to Europe during the Spring Break.

  Mark’s legs were like rubber and his vision swam. He would have to get better to kill her. Kill her. He was amazed how easily the thought of committing murder came to mind, time and again.

  She continued with her story about how the boy had become involved with a suicide cult in Europe. About how she and Merry had tried to bring him home and help him. About how the boy had told them that someone would be coming for him to either take him back or kill him.

  For all he knew, some of it could have been true though he didn’t really give a damn. With tears in her eyes, she finally told him that Anthony had left them, run away. Merry had been very fond of Anthony. But what about the rest of the story? The real story. She told him that they had learned only a few things about the people in the cult, ‘international, you see’ and when Mark had come along with his ‘accent and all’, well, they had been sure that he was one of them. An awful mistake. Terrible, just terrible. And did he know of any such cults in Ireland? Ireland! He was from Scotland… wasn’t he?

  “So you think this d’Brouchart fellow is the cult leader? From France, of course,” he asked her.

  “Yes, of course he’s French. He’s the one I’m looking for.” Valentino nodded. “I will have my revenge. I want to find him and bring him to trial. I want justice. I want him extricated.”

  “I see, but I think you mean extradited,” Mark said gravely. “That is certainly understandable.”

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  Locked back inside his third floor room, he stripped off the filthy clothes, threw them in the corner and then stood in front of the mirror looking for wounds. Teeth marks. Scratches. Festering ulcers. Welts. Rashes. Discoloration. Anything that might indicate more serious conditions. Strangely enough he knew exactly what he was looking for. Other than the bruises on his wrists, there were no outward signs of injury. He felt terrible in general. He was a bit pale, though the cut above his eye was all but gone, leaving barely a trace. Should not have healed so quickly. Should have needed stitches. The only thing he could find was the old scar from the dagger in the dream. But dreams could not leave scars, could they? Was he really immortal? Had he really fought in the Holy Wars? If she was going to let him go, why had she locked his door? Why was he staring himself in the eye asking stupid questions?

  When he emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, the Pixie was waiting for him. She had brought his breakfast, that wasn’t really breakfast. Too late for supper, too early for breakfast. And he hadn’t said his prayers. He stopped short and tucked the towel more securely about his waist. He could not imagine why he would feel embarrassed to see her there in his room, but he was. A glance at the window showed that it was still dark outside and the clock on the dresser showed half past two.

  He examined the tray on the small writing desk. Another steak with oven-browned potatoes and a huge slice of chocolate cake. A bottle of red wine and a pitcher of iced tea completed the meal. Simple enough fare. No drinking during meals. No talking during meals. The company of women… The smell of the steak made his empty stomach lurch.

  “How did you manage to draw the privilege?”

  His brow furrowed in confusion at his own disjointed thoughts. Weird strings of words spoken by different voices, different accents. English. French. German. Italian. “Or does your Mistress know you are here?”

  The vehemence in his tone made her flinch. He wanted her to go away, but he still needed information. She was dangerous.

  “Don’t be angry with me, Mark.” She stood wringing her hands in agitation and her expression collapsed in disappointment. “I didn’t want them to hurt you. I tried to make them stop. Don’t you remember?”

  He said nothing but pulled his bags from under the bed and took out a simple black tee shirt and a pair of black, cotton cargo pants with zippers and snaps all over them. They looked like something a burglar would wear… or an assassin? He took the clothes back to the bathroom to dress. He came back and sat in the chair beside the desk facing her, fighting off the urge to pick up the steak in both hands.

  “I paid off the maid,” Merry said after a few moments, attempting a bit of humor. “Cecile is locked in the library with Mr. Petrie and Chevalier Ramos… under the rose.”

  “What about your other friend, Maxie?” he asked sarcastically. He couldn’t manage to get the bitter tones out of his voice in spite of the need to make use of her insanity. He sincerely felt betrayed by the woman even though he barely knew her. But wasn’t that the way it was supposed to be? ‘The company of women is a dangerous thing.’ He picked up the wine and pushed the cork from the unlabeled bottle with his thumbs before holding it under his nose, wondering if it had more poison in it. Surely Valentino would still need to be rid of him. He could not decide whether he should drink the wine before or after eating.

  “He’s asleep, I think,” she said and pulled a low footstool up near his feet. She sat down and watched while he turned up the bottle.

  It didn’t taste like poison, but then it never had.

  “I am sorry for what happened,” she told him. “I didn’t know she could do something like that. I mean she always talked about stuff, but I never saw her do anything like that before. It was awful.”

  “Yes, it was,” he had to agree.

  “She’s usually very lovable,” the Pixie’s eyes lit up.

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” He almost choked on the wine. “She’s about as lovable as small pox.”

  “No, really. You just don’t know her like I do. She’s really very special. If you knew her, you would like her. She’s really smart.”

  “Oh, is that so?”

  His anger was slowly fading, but the situation was intolerable, incredible. Now she was telling him things he really did not want to hear.

  “I was glad to hear that she hadn’t really poisoned you,” she sighed. “She told me about what happened.”

  “Did she tell you she had made a mistake? That I’m not who she thought I was?”

  The steak was getting cold and he really needed to eat.

  Merry got up and moved to his lap, laying her head on his shoulder. It was maddening to listen to her go on about Cecile. His feelings for the Pixie were an abomination. His feelings for Valentino were a sin. He could smell the chocolate cake over the scent of her cologne. Sex or chocolate? Which was worse? Which was better? Chocolate was less dangerous.

  “She did.” Merry nodded her head against his chest and rubbed his stomach on the exact spot where he was slowly starving to death. “I know you’ll be leaving and I hate to see you go. I’m afraid that she’ll be very upset if she finds out what we’ve done.”

  “She tells you everything, does she?” He stroked her curly hair and wrapped his left arm around her shoulders.

  “Eventually,” Merry answered.

  So Valentino was perpetrating the same fraud on the Pixie? That would lend a bit of credence to his idea that Merry was just a semi-innocent pawn in all this. He wanted to kiss her and at the same time, he wanted to choke some sense into her. He closed his eyes against the conflicting urges, he loved the sound of her voice, the smell of her hair, the smooth coolness of her skin and he could feel the tight muscles of her legs through the thin dress she wore and the firmly rounded bottom that was so.... He wanted to keep her, put her away somewhere safe where only he knew where she was, where only he could find her and be with her and…

  The need for food was fading. He tightened his grip on her as she babbled on about how good Cecile had treated her over the years. Cecile infuriated him. Cecile stood between him and what he wanted, and what he wanted was wrong. An abomination. “Does she whisper these things in your ear while she’s making love to you?”

  The woman stiffened and tried to get up. He held her easily in place. “Be still!”

  She relaxed a bit and he pressed her head back down on his chest, stroking
her curls, relaxing his grip a bit. After a few seconds, he took her chin in his hand, tilting her face up. She closed her eyes apparently expecting a kiss. So confused, she was. So dangerous.

  “Who gets on top?” he dropped her chin abruptly and asked the question in a disinterested tone instead. He had to get away from her and since he could not, he had to make her get away from him, but he didn’t really want her to get away from him. Not really.

  She kicked her foot at the desk and toppled them both to the floor. He pushed the chair off him and grabbed for her foot as she crawled away from him. He pulled her back across the polished wood floor, flipped her onto her back, and pinned her beneath him. It was just so easy. Too easy. Too wrong.

  He looked down at her and she glared at up at him and tried to push him off. Not like before. She was truly angry this time. It was not a game this time.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he told her.

  “You really are a bastard,” she said through clenched teeth. “Get off of me.”

  “You really don’t know what you want, do you?” he countered and then raised up on one knee. He released her arms and she kicked away from him.

  He got up slowly, righted the chair and sat down again while she stood by the door, wringing her hands again, looking tearful and hurt. His stomach took the opportunity to attack him again.

  “Didn’t she tell you that I’m dangerous?” he asked her and picked up the wine bottle again. The wine was revolting in the emptiness. Already the alcohol was warming his neck and his face.

  “You’re not dangerous.” Her face changed expressions yet again, to something entirely different, as if she had just made some remarkable discovery. “You’re just uncivilized.”

  “Uncivilized. Aye, that’s the word.” He nodded in agreement and smiled as anger replaced the self-recriminations. “Uncivilized.” He turned his attention on the steak and tore it apart without the advantage of a fork or a knife or a napkin. It took less than five minutes to put away the whole thing in the old style. The old style? She stood by the door unmoving and silent. He really wished she would go away. He was beginning to like her in spite of everything. She was persistent if nothing else. When he had finished the cake, he turned toward her with a quizzical look. What was she waiting for?