He slowed and turned up the long drive, which would take them to the front door of the mansion set among the oaks and cedars. As they approached the private residence that also served as the local lodge of the Order of the Rose, his own thoughts darkened again at what lay ahead of them. He could not believe that Mark Andrew had fallen into whatever this was. No matter the cause, it seemed impossible. If Beaujold had his way, the Knight of Death would soon find out what his own sword felt like. If he, Lucio Dambretti, had anything to do with it, they would be taking Ramsay back to Italy in one piece and the Knight of the Sword's authority be damned. One thing for certain, they would have to use extreme measures to ensure that none of them came within striking distance of the Flaming Sword if Mark Ramsay had truly turned. This would be a good time to make up for his past failures and Mark Andrew would have no excuse to hold a grudge if he was instrumental in his salvation… again.
His mind wandered back in time to when he had first met Mark Ramsay. Jerusalem. September 30, 1187. He had been only a small boy of perhaps twelve or thirteen years in the service of the Knights of the Temple of Solomon when the infidel army had poured into the streets killing anyone who resisted them. He had been near the well he used to travel in and out of the catacombs beneath the city, about to make his escape from the risky business of conquest. He knew that if he survived the initial surge, he would most likely be spared when the thrill of victory and the blood lust had faded somewhat. Just as he was about to jump into the well, the Templar Knight appeared, running for his life with three screaming Saracens chasing him. There had been no choice, but to jump and let the Knight fend for himself. When he had ventured back to the well a short time later, he had found Ramsay with a Saracen’s dagger in his side, clinging to the rocky ledge to keep from drowning in his armor. That had been a terrible day. He had barely managed to pull the Knight from the water and into the tunnel and then down into the maze of caves carved beneath the city. It had been the most difficult task he had ever undertaken. He reached up subconsciously to feel the scar on his cheek. He rarely thought of that time so long ago, but things had changed and changed again and now he was in another strange land and the same Knight was alone and in trouble.
At first, he thought that they would die together there in the filth and ruin of the Old City, but on the third day the news went out that the survivors were to be ransomed. He had dragged the Knight through the streets and found relief of his burden in the hands of the lay brothers and few Knights who had survived Saladin’s siege of the city, but he had never been far from Ramsay’s side after that fateful day in the well. Now, after eight hundred years, did they really expect him to help them destroy Chevalier Ramsay? It was not possible. He would not do it. He pulled the van up in front of the tall white columns on the front portico and stopped. Their lives were too closely intertwined. He closed his eyes briefly and forced his thoughts to clear before turning off the ignition.
“Spes mea in Deo est,” he whispered as he climbed from the van and went round to join d’Ornan at the foot of the steps. “Are you ready, Brother?”
D’Ornan nodded and they went to ring the bell.
A sleepy-eyed maid opened the door and peered out at them suspiciously. They were forced to repeat their story three times before she would open the door wide enough to look at the white van parked outside. They were lost and tired, but not to fear. They had delivered the rug Ms. Valentino had ordered on the day promised, even though only a scant ten minutes remained before the next day would begin. They gave her a thousand apologies, but, in the end it had been Dambretti’s smiles which provided the key to the house much to Beaujold’s chagrin and d’Ornan’s delight. The maid, finally convinced that they were telling the truth, allowed them to bring the rug inside.
Once they were in the hallway, she stopped to frown at them.
“Where does this rug go?” She asked.
“Wherever we take it, signorina,” Dambretti smiled at her and hefted the weight of the rug to a better position on his shoulder, causing Simon to stagger dangerously behind him. “It was my understanding that Signorina Valentino wanted the rug upstairs in one of the guest bedrooms. That she had a special guest I believe or some such. I don’t know which room exactly, of course, you understand…”
“Of course,” the maid’s frown deepened. They could leave it in the hall, she told them. She knew that the only guest in the house was the strange fellow on the third floor and she had been instructed not to bother him under any circumstances, but tomorrow was the big day and there would be other strangers coming to the house. All the bedrooms on the second floor were carpeted. It had to be the stranger’s dormer room. She glanced up the stairs at the double doors of Miss Merry’s bedroom. She did not want to wake Miss Valentino. The woman scared her. If she did not need a job, she would have been elsewhere and especially lately.
“All right,” she nodded. “Follow me and be quiet.”
“Yes, ma’am,” D’Ornan answered and they started up the stairs.
When they reached the third floor, the maid stopped abruptly and they almost ran her down. The door to the man’s room stood open. She peeked cautiously into the room and then waved them inside. He was not there. Bien. Good. They could deliver the rug and be gone and she could make brownie points with the woman when she found that her rug had been delivered and installed in time for the fiesta. She certainly hoped she was doing the right thing. She showed them the way and they carried the rug inside the room and laid it on the floor.
Dambretti looked around the room. No one was there and there was no sign that indicated the identity of the occupant, other than a pair of black boots thrown carelessly on the bed. Not like the meticulous Knight of Death to put his boots on the bed.
“We will require a broom and a… hammer,” d’Ornan told the woman when Dambretti said nothing.
“I don’t know, senor. I don’t think it would be wise,” she looked about. She did not want to leave them alone. The broom and hammer would require a trip down to the kitchen storeroom and then they would make noise if they used a hammer. She wondered where the mysterious stranger was.
“Please, signorina,” Lucio took her hand. “We are already in the most grave trouble. If our boss finds out we have bummed another job, he’ll fire us and our children will starve.”
The maid almost laughed at his exaggeration, but he was so very charming.
“That’s correct, mademoiselle,” d’Ornan made his plea. “I am so very sorry for this inconvenience, but it is just as my friend has said. Our boss will have our heads if we fail to deliver this rug today. And it would not be right to just leave it here on the floor all lumpy and ugly. Please?”
“Oh, all right,” she relented. “Don’t touch anything and don’t go anywhere. Stay right here. And don’t expect a tip!”
They both nodded to her and waited for her to leave. D’Ornan followed her to the door and watched until her head disappeared below the stairs. He closed the door and ran back to help Dambretti pull on the rug desperately, dislodging its disgruntled occupant on the hard floor with a loud thud.
“A hammer?” Lucio frowned up at Simon.
“It was all I could think of,” Simon shrugged.
Beaujold got up quickly and glared at them.
“Your children will starve?” He cast a disgusted look at Lucio, glanced quickly around the room and disappeared into the bathroom to hide before the maid returned.
"I do not like this plan, Brother," Dambretti whispered when they were alone. "Beaujold will show no mercy and we will not be here to mediate."
"Thomas has promised me that he would not kill Brother Ramsay unless Brother Ramsay tried to kill him first," d'Ornan assured him and smiled.
"You put too much trust in Thomas," Dambretti muttered.
"Surely he would not lie to me. I am his confessor."
Dambretti sighed and then straightened his collar as the maid reappeared with the hammer and the broom. They set about moving the furn
iture, making a show of sweeping and cleaning around the bed in preparation of laying the rug out while actually looking for clues connected to Ramsay. When Lucio tried to stick the broom under the bed he found his progress stopped by two black leather bags. He got down on his knees and pulled them out. His stomach lurched when he saw the initials on the attached brass plates. MAR. This was the first real sign that his Brother was actually here. Had he been hoping that Mark Andrew wasn’t really there? No doubt they had the right room, but where was Brother Ramsay? What would they do if he suddenly returned and found them there? He stood up and threw the bags on the bed beside the boots. They struggled with the heavy bed and finally got the rug in place to the maid’s satisfaction. He replaced the bags under the bed with a growing feeling of dread.
A few moments more and they had no choice but to follow the maid out of the room and back downstairs. They left the door standing open as they had found it.
The Will of God.
(((((((((((((
“He’s dreaming now.” Valentino leaned over and looked closely at Mark’s eyelids. His eyes were moving rapidly back and forth beneath them. “Proceed Brother Tellman.”
John Tellman sat on a high stool next to the narrow surgical bed where Mark Andrew lay sleeping, strapped in place by a single nylon belt. The very place that he had most feared since being brought to the house.
“Sir Ramsay?” he said almost timidly. “We need our tickets. I need to buy them now, sir. Where to?”
“Rome,” Mark answered shortly, rolling the R very distinctly in the word.
“Italy?” John looked up at Valentino.
“Dunna be absurd, mon!” Mark snapped at him. “Never ye mind. I’ll nae b’goin wi’ thee.”
Valentino noticed at once that the Scottish brogue returned each time she put him under the hypnotic effect of the drug. He also displayed the same Gaelic accent when he was severely upset. It was a most interesting detail she would have to discuss with Gavin Nash when he returned from Egypt. Hypnosis and hypnotic drugs were a special hobby that they both shared.
“But we must go, my Brother.” Tellman frowned at the sleeping man. “We are already at the airport.”
“Noooo!” Mark rolled his head back and forth. “Ye furgot t’bring th’ swoard.”
“I have it right here.” Tellman shrugged and looked at Valentino, who shook her head.
“Give it to me,” Mark demanded and held out one hand.
This animated participation was not normal for deep hypnosis. He moved about too much. He should have been practically paralyzed. She instantly regretted not having strapped his arms down.
Valentino stepped back and motioned to the little man to follow her. Mark remained perfectly still with his hand held out, waiting. She handed the man a dust mop from the mop room.
Tellman brought it back to the table and handed it over.
Mark took the handle and ran his other hand up the stick gingerly as if expecting to be cut, before dropping it unceremoniously to the floor.
“Th’ swoard, thou imbecilic fool,” he said irritably and held out his hand again. His eyes were open, but he was not seeing what they were seeing.
Valentino snorted in frustration. She went to a tall stack of glassed barrister cabinets in the corner of the room and opened the top door. The sword was wrapped in a soft cloth, lying flat on top of the medical books in the case. She took it out and carefully removed the cloth.
John Tellman’s eyes popped at the sight of the magnificent hilt on the weapon. He took her arm nervously and whispered quickly “Do you think this is wise, Miss Valentino?”
She pulled the sword from its black sheath and the man stepped back as the wickedly twisted blade of gold cleared the sheath with a deadly zinging sound. Her arm was too short to draw it completely from the case. She shook the scabbard to the floor in frustration and jerked her arm away from Tellman.
“O’ carse it’s wieese! Give ’er over,” Mark answered the man’s barely audible question. John jumped at the sound of his voice and Valentino jerked her head toward the table, thrusting the hilt of the sword into his hands.
“He called it a her,” she whispered as Tellman hesitated in front of her. “That’s surprising. I thought guys equated swords with peckers.”
Tellman glanced over his shoulder at her in surprise and she jabbed him viciously in the back.
Tellman went back and pressed the hilt of the sword in Mark’s hand before stepping back quickly. Mark gripped the sword tightly and ran his other hand very lightly down the flat side of the blade that was made of three braided strands resembling flames. To their astonishment, he twirled the blade around the head of the gurney twice and then wrapped both arms around the hilt, clutching it to his chest like a favorite teddy bear. The tip of the blade reached well past his knees.
“See what I mean?” She grinned wickedly at the little weasel. “Proceed.”
“Now, Brother, where to?” Tellman tried again at the urging of Valentino. He was beginning to shake all over. If the man woke up, he would surely kill them all. Only one small strap around his waist held him in place.
“Nowhere.” Mark rolled his head again. “I’m not ready t’leave wi’thee just yet.”
“But sir! We must return to the… Temple. The Grand Master is waiting for us. Our mission is accomplished here.”
“And ’ow would ye be knowin’ thot bit o’ news, John Tellman?” Mark raised both eyebrows, but did not open his eyes. “Me wark’s not done ’ere. Antony must retarn with us or meet God before we go. Now go and get some rest. I’ll see ye in th’ marnin’. And look aftar th' 'orses before ye tarn in.” Tellman shook his head and looked at Valentino for direction.
Valentino’s mouth fell open at the mention of Anthony. Even though she had known that the Knight of Death would be coming for the young man, she was shocked to hear it put so bluntly. And, of course! What had she been thinking? He would not leave until he had seen Anthony. He did not know that Anthony was already dead and buried. She motioned quickly for Tellman to be quiet. They had made a terrible mistake.
How would she get the sword back now? Why had she sent Maxie up to watch Merry? What would they do when he woke up? She had come to another dead end. Heavy on the dead if she wasn’t extremely careful now. Another idea struck her. She motioned for Tellman to follow her into her office. They would try to use Merry again. She glanced nervously at the clock on the desk and then sent the cowardly little man in search of Maxie and Merry. They had to be quick.
(((((((((((((
Christopher had chosen the wrong passage of course. Twice, in fact. He’d checked every room on both sides of two long hallways and found nothing, but a dry storeroom, a mechanical room, a generator room, a laundry room, two walk-in coolers, a walk-in freezer and a wine cellar. Both hallways ended abruptly at blank walls. He made his way back toward the intersection, cursing his luck softly under his breath.
Christopher froze and then quickly flattened himself against the wall as he glimpsed someone dressed in dark clothes pass under the brighter lights at the foot of the stairs.
(((((((((((((
Konrad von Hetz peered through the wire reinforced window into the laboratory. He could see Ramsay lying on his back on a narrow bed with the Flaming Sword clutched to his chest. This was an unexpected development. The sight was unnerving. The Knight looked dead. Even his bare feet were crossed in the manner of the Templars prepared for burial. Was he dead? No. Impossible. He could still see his jumbled thoughts. Why had the fools allowed him to have the sword? If he had to face Ramsay armed with the golden sword, he might have to rethink his plans. But Ramsay was still unconscious. He could sense the presence of three others in the basement. Two of them were engaged in a rapid fire conversation somewhere beyond the sleeping Knight. The other one, more faint, was somewhere else in the basement. Another prisoner perhaps? But not a Knight of the Temple. Not one of his Brothers. He opened the door carefull
y and slipped inside. He held his sword in front of him and approached the bed softly.
He leaned very close to Ramsay’s ear with the point of his sword pointed directly under the Knight’s jaw line ready to do the unthinkable if necessary.
“My Brother, Chevalier Ramsay?” he whispered softly. “Wake up, Brother. You are in grave danger.”
“Rittar?” Mark asked, matching the whisper perfectly, but he did not open his eyes. “Whattar ye doin’ ’ere, m’ Brother?”
“I’ve come to take you home, Brother.” Von Hetz touched his arm and frowned. The Knight was still dreaming. He reached for the hilt of the Flaming Sword, but Ramsay tightened his grip on it. “Come on, get up.”
Von Hetz cut the band holding him on the table and slipped his free arm under the Knight’s neck, pulling him up to a sitting position. Ramsay held onto his sword offering no help to his efforts. The conversation continued in hot debate in the other room. A woman and a man.
“I canna go wi’thee, Brother.” Mark shook his head. “I’ve nae finished me wark ’ere.”
“They are coming for you, Brother,” von Hetz whispered as he slid him off the bed to the floor and caught him awkwardly under the arms. Their swords clanged together. “Open your eyes. You must help me.”
Mark complied with the instructions, but there was no comprehension in his deep blue eyes. He was still seeing the dream. Countless strangers milled around in front of him. He was at the airport. This was not right at all. How had he gotten here? And who was this man with him now? He could not see his face.
“And hide not thy face from thy servant; for I am in trouble: hear me speedily,” he quoted a scripture aloud. “Whoor oll these people, Brother?” he asked the man he could not see, but seemed to know.
“What people? Hush now. Come with me.”
Von Hetz draped Ramsay’s left arm over his thin shoulders and then wrapped his sword arm around the Knight’s waist. Ramsay still held the golden sword in his hands. The two blades zinged together again. The sound made von Hetz’ heart lurch. The heated conversation in the next room mercifully covered the sounds they were making. Ramsay was not cooperating at all. When they reached the door to the hallway, von Hetz was astounded to see the way out barred by a slim figure dressed in black from head to toe. His face was covered with black grease paint and his dancing blue eyes were wide with excitement mixed with fear. He held a dagger in one hand and a broadsword in the other. Christopher Stewart? The only apprentice in the Academy who practiced the use of both hands for fighting with weapons. Sir Barry had been totally exasperated by the young man's insistence upon learning what he called 'ninja techniques'.
The Red Cross of Gold I:. The Knight of Death Page 23