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

by Brendan Carroll

  “Back!” The new danger ordered, enforcing the command with a thrust from the sword. Von Hetz tried to comply, but Ramsay was not going anywhere. He stood on his own feet swaying and looking at the stranger, blinking rapidly. “Let him go,” the figure in black ordered.

  Von Hetz let go of Ramsay’s waist. He stood briefly without support and then collapsed to the floor. The Apocalyptic Knight raised his sword.

  Upon finding himself on the floor, Ramsay curled on his side with the Flaming Sword clutched almost affectionately to his heart. He hooked his right foot behind his left knee forming a living scabbard for the sword and continued his nap, oblivious to what was happening above him.

  Valentino and Maxie emerged from the office and stood watching this scene in shocked silence. They had been arguing for five minutes. Tellman had refused to come back to the basement and had forgotten to tell Maxie to bring Merry with him. Maxie didn’t want to go back upstairs for Merry; he wanted to kill Mark Andrew while they still had the chance. He had actually called her a stupid bitch for allowing the man to get hold of the sword. The two men in black circled warily above the sleeping man on the floor, seemingly ignoring them, but fully aware of them.

  The situation was out of control. Stewart was not going to relent. If von Hetz wanted to get Ramsay out now, he would have to kill three people to do it. The only thing he could do was try to make good his escape and come back later to try again. He suddenly understood why Ramsay had been imprisoned here. The Hand of God was in it. If this order of vile pretenders could get by without raising a hand in such a situation, then it was nothing more than the will of God. He was amazed and surprised to have missed this one. He could not face down an armed contingency alone, while carrying the debilitated Knight. The young man moved with the stealth and skill of a seasoned soldier trained by a formidable master. Von Hetz raised the point of his sword toward the ceiling and touched the hilt to his chest in a form of salute, before bolting out the door and down the corridor. At the same instant, Valentino scrambled back into the office and yanked open the desk drawer where she kept her revolver. She grabbed the pistol and ran back into the lab.

  The dark-clad figure was on one knee, bending over Ramsay with the sword raised in one hand. She aimed the pistol with severely shaking hands and fired at him haphazardly. The bullet whizzed past his head and thudded into the door frame, splintering the wood. The young man turned his blue eyes on her briefly before scrambling off in the same direction as the first man. Valentino turned as if in slow motion to look for Maxie, just in time to see the man peeking at her over the desk from the other room. She ran to the door leaping over the sleeping Knight while the rush of adrenaline continued to pump through her veins. There was no sign of either intruder in the hall. A cool breeze from the opened door to the basement brushed her face and she began to shake with terror and rage. She stormed back to the office, kicking viciously at Maxie when he climbed to his feet.

  “Get in there and get that goddamned sword back before he wakes up and cuts your balls off!” she screamed at him in frustration.

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  D’Ornan and Dambretti sat impatiently waiting in the panel van just outside a wide metal cattle gate on the side of the highway a few hundred yards from the driveway of the mansion. Several dozen head of cattle had gathered at the gate, expectantly waiting for the feed they would normally receive from the van which they mistook for the white pickup truck owned by the rancher that owned them. Cattle being cattle, it was a perfectly natural mistake. The cows jockeyed for position next to the fence, bawling and lowing in the still night air, wondering in their bovine way, why the two ranch hands were not dishing out the grub.

  Lucio drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “I wonder what is taking him so long?” he asked for the hundredth time.

  He watched with bored curiosity as a mottled bull carrying a massive set of horns came to join the cows at the gate. The bull bellowed loudly and shoved his way to the front of the small herd, pushing aside the disgruntled females in an attempt to investigate the matter of the mysterious visitors more closely. If the vehicle was not there to feed his cows, then it might be there for more sinister reasons. It might be there to steal some of his bovine beauties away from him.

  The gate creaked and popped under the weight of the hungry cattle. The bull began to work his head through the metal cross bars of the gate. The rest of the herd gathered in behind him as if ready to push him through once he got his horns free to the other side.

  “These cattle appear to think we are interesting, perhaps?” D’Ornan eyed the big bull doubtfully. “I’ve never seen such an expanse of horn on any beast. That must be three meters!”

  “Here they would say ‘nine feet’, but I think it’s closer to seven. That must be why they call this particular Texas breed Longhorns, no?” Lucio smiled half-heartedly at the Healer. He tore his eyes from the cattle and went back to the irksome, but imperative task of tearing off an old sticker from the dash with his thumbnail. The wait was excruciating. Ramsay and Beaujold might be killing each other as they sat there doing nothing. There was no plan B. What if he never called them? What then?

  The gate cracked ominously as one of the metal rivets gave way with a metallic twang.

  “Brother Lucio?” d’Ornan broke their silence after a few minutes. “Do you think these kine can push down the gate?”

  “Brother Simon,” Dambretti mimicked his tone and sighed and picked up the radio, checking it again. “Would you stop worrying about the cows and worry about something more productive. I am not in the best of moods. I am afraid that Brother Thomas will do something rash without our gentle guidance.”

  “Such as?” Simon turned his sad blue eyes on the Italian.

  “Such as cutting our dear Brother Mark’s head off before he has the chance to exonerate himself and then carving his body into several unrecognizable pieces. Or vice versa. Either way would not be good.”

  “Sir Beaujold has promised to allow us to interview Brother Ramsay and I am to make a thorough spiritual examination of him before anything is done,” Simon spoke out of the side of his mouth while keeping his eyes on the angry bull that had backed off from the gate, but was now pawing the dry ground, kicking up a plume of dust over his head and back. The bull bellowed loudly and rammed his head against the gate. “Perhaps we should move a bit farther on. Our presence here is certainly inciting these kine to riot.”

  “If Brother Thomas gives the slightest provocation to Chevalier Ramsay, he will find himself facing a formidable foe.” Dambretti ignored Simon’s concern about the cattle and concentrated on the irritating remains of the sticker. “I know that Brother Ramsay is no lily-liver when it comes to a fight. We may have to take Brother Thomas home in the box he brought for our Assassin. You put too much faith in Brother Thomas’ word. His tongue is double-edged like his sword when it comes to his own purposes. It has always been so. You are French, you know what I am saying. Brother Ramsay, on the other hand, is a Scot. He has been known to give over to the bloodlust at times. It is in his nature.”

  “Please, spare me,” Simon moaned. “I do not want to hear of bloodlust, Brother. I have seen too much blood in one life time. He gave his word and I expect him to keep it, French or no.”

  “Surely he has made some discovery by now,” Dambretti had to raise his voice to be heard above the bawling of the cattle. He peeled the last of the bothersome smiley face from the dash and looked up just as the gate gave way with a resounding crash. Rivets popped from the metal and showered down on the van and the barbed wire attached to the top of the gate broke with loud zinging noises as it curled back against the fence posts on either side, causing both men in the van to duck and throw up their arms reflexively. The big bull trampled over the smashed gate and headed for the van, bawling all the way. Dambretti sat up quickly and started the van, but the bull crashed into the side of the vehicle causing d’Ornan to shriek in surprise. The van lurched and bounced
on its wheels. The engine clattered to life and the bull backed off, stamping and tossing his horns.

  “That is one strong brute!” Lucio shouted and put the van in gear just as the bull charged again. The cows had rushed out behind their leader and surrounded the van. The bumper smacked into a solid wall of beef and they heard a sickening, squooshy sound and hiss as the tire on the front passenger side deflated. The Healer scrambled from his seat as the bull stuck his nose in the open window and bellowed inside the van. The cows pressed against the vehicle causing it to sway and creak. They wanted their hay and they wanted it now!

  Simon crouched in the back of the van, covering his ears with his hands as the cows mooed and bawled all around them. His blue eyes were wide with terror and his mouth hung open in shock. Dambretti leaned across the passenger seat and slapped the bull’s nose with his open palm.

  “Recedere, bestia del diavolo!” he shouted at the bull, but it only served to infuriate the brute even more. The bull tossed his head and his horns grated on the metal. One of the cows stuck her head in the window behind him and pushed him into the floor between the seats. “Santa Maria, dio li salva!”

  He scrambled back to join D’Ornan in the back of the van. They sat in the dim moonlight that filtered in through the heavily tinted windows, staring at each other in shock. The cattle continued to brutalize the van while they sat helpless.

  “Do you know anything about cattle, Brother?!” d’Ornan shouted at him above the din.

  “Only that I like my steaks well done!” Dambretti shook his head and put his hands over his ears.

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  Ramsay stared down at the intricate scrolling patterns worked into the Oriental rug beneath his bed. His head hung over the side of the bed, and felt as if it weighed a ton. He could see tendrils of his hair along with one arm and wiggled his fingers just to see if he could. For a moment he had no idea where he was and the distinctively Arab design made his stomach knot. He raised his head slowly and pain shot through his eyes as he recognized the third floor room that he was rapidly growing accustomed to. He didn’t remember the rug being there before… before what? He’d had the strangest of all dreams yet. There had been a trip with John Tellman and a huge crowd of people at the airport and he had been carrying his sword. All had been well until two Ninja warriors had appeared from nowhere. Airport security? They had fought each other in front of him, no, above him. It was very confusing. He pushed himself up on the bed and rolled over to lean against the headboard rubbing his eyes. The clock read two AM. What had happened to John Tellman? His last memory of the man had been hearing him talking with Valentino.

  In answer to his question, the door opened to admit the scared-looking man into the room.

  He rushed to the bed and Mark instinctively cringed away from him. No more kisses.

  “Brother Ramsay!” The man looked positively ashen. “Tonight is not a good night. We will have to change our plans.”

  “I see,” Mark nodded and blinked at the man, expecting him to fall over dead any moment.

  “Too many people have been in and out tonight,” the man continued in a rush. “Everyone is still awake. I could not get your sword for you or your keys.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Mark sighed. “There’s still time perhaps.”

  “Tomorrow… tonight is the initiation. We don’t want to take a chance on getting caught tonight either,” the man told him, calming a bit in the belief that Ramsay was still buying into the deceit. “Four new apprentices and two Knights will be raised.”

  “Too risky,” Mark agreed. “A busy night. Pardon the pun, but tell me, Brother Tellman, are you a Knight or an apprentice?” The man grated on his nerves and he had the sudden urge to climb from the bed and smash his lying head. The very fact that he had mentioned the sword belied the dream to have been another of Valentino’s tricks.

  “I’m only an apprentice,” Tellman looked sheepish. He had no idea how to answer the question. “I hope to be raised to Knighthood soon.”

  Wrong answer. Mark rolled out of the bed and took him by the collar of his dress shirt. He pulled his feet up off the floor and looked into his terrified eyes smiling wickedly at him. “In that case, I would have you address me as Master, is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir! I mean, yes, Master Ramsay,” the man squeaked like a stuck piglet and Mark dropped him to the floor.

  “Now go downstairs and send up something for me to eat! And don’t come back without my sword,” Ramsay turned a dark eye on him. “And do not presume to kiss me again until we embrace as Brothers.”

  The man stood near the door, trying to make sense of what had happened. When he finally nodded and smiled, Mark had to frown and the pain in his head made his vision blur. What the hell was wrong with the little fool? The man backed into the door, dropped the key, scrambled on the floor for it and was gone in an instant. Mark almost fell on his face in a clumsy effort to grab the elusive key. By the time he’d made his move, Tellman had already closed the door. The lock clicked as he climbed to his feet. Mark felt guilty at having frightened the little man, but the pain in his head made him groggy and slow and it was quite obvious that he had been drugged again! If they kept doing that, he was going to get mad…

  He laughed at his own folly and then shook his head which caused more pain behind his eyes. It was also quite obvious that he was crazy. He sat down on the bed, holding his head in his hands. He had missed another chance at the key, but he now knew the lay of the land and had no doubt that Maxie was watching his every move. He would simply ask Merry for her key and they would leave together.

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  “You have disgraced yourself!” Beaujold prodded the apprentice in the small of his back with his fist as they jogged down the highway in the moonlight. “You have spoilt my plan!”

  Christopher dodged the next jab, only to catch a follow up in his kidney. Their booted feet crunched on the gravel beside the road. What luck to have been caught by this sour Knight! He had not expected to literally run into Beaujold under the trees in the garden. The encounter with the Knight of the Apocalypse had caused him to panic. His only thought had been to flee until he could find a better opportunity to return. His flight had taken him directly into the arms of the Knight of the Sword who had been lurking in the thick darkness under the trees. What terrible luck! Christopher clutched first one side and then the other. If they didn’t get to wherever they were going soon, he would be dead from the bludgeoning. When von Hetz learned that it had been he who had botched his Master’s rescue, he would be sent to Afghanistan or Bulgaria or some other obscure outpost. He was totally disgusted with himself.

  “Your allegiance to the Order comes first,” the Knight continued to lecture him. “The Order first! The Master second. Your Master has betrayed the order! Do you wish to follow him into disgrace? What you have done is inexcusable and you will be ex-communicated if not executed.”

  He accentuated his words with more blows from behind. Christopher stumbled and the Knight caught him, setting him on his feet again, sending him stumbling ahead with another brutal shove.

  “An apprentice follows orders. When the Master can no longer serve, the apprentice takes his place. How can we trust you to do that, if you do not follow the orders of the Grand Master, himself? Above all, the apprentice must learn to focus his loyalties in the proper direction. Serve God! Preserve the Order! Destroy the Infidels! You are disgusting to me. How could he have chosen such a piece of filth as his second? Merican! Bah! Nothing good ever came out of Merica! But then I suppose that it would make sense considering what he is. Nothing but a skirt-wearing worm from the bogs of Scotland.”

  Christopher turned back at the insult and was about to say something, but the Knight backhanded him across the jaw, sending him sprawling on the ground. Beaujold picked him up again and sent him flying down the road.

  “You would say something to me, boy? I think not. You serve the Order. The
Order serves God! You will learn or you will find yourself in the same position as your Master. Guilty of treason and beheaded or hung!”

  They jogged along in silence. Every step was painful for Christopher now. He had no doubt that he was about to die if Master Simon or Master Dambretti were not somewhere nearby. Beaujold had already found his Master guilty without a hearing. Not even the Grand Master had the right to do that.

  “The Will of God. Above all, the Will of God,” the Knight of the Sword picked up the lecture again. “One does not question the Will of God. The Grand Master speaks the Will of God. He did not send you here, boy. He is the instrument of God. His will is the Will of God.”

  The Chevalier d’Epee stopped suddenly and pulled a cell phone from his belt. He punched ruthlessly at the buttons on its face. Christopher seized the opportunity to rest and leaned his hands against his knees, spitting blood onto the dry grass.

  “Simon?” He spoke into the device even though no one had answered it. “Lucio?”

  He turned it off and then shook it, before repeating the call. Still nothing.

  “Probably not a good signal here,” Christopher panted, determined not to allow the man to see his condition.

  “You are disrespectful!” The Knight pushed him on again. “Do not speak to me again unless you are spoken too. An apprentice does not speak without recognition. An apprentice does not speak in Council without recognition by the Master. I am the Master here and I have not recognized you. Signal! Bah! Merica! What did they think to accomplish coming to this God-forsaken shore?”