“What did you want?” Mark asked as he eyed the people hurrying and scurrying around them.
“Food, arrows, beer, you know,” the man said offhandedly. “The usual things.”
“Ah,” Mark nodded. Of course, the usual things!
“These people do not know each other and the right hand does not know what the left is doing.”
They stopped in front of the slanted doors leading into the basement. One of the doors stood open and a heavy-duty power cable snaked up the steps and around the corner of the house toward the verandah. The taller man paused only briefly before starting down the steps, pushing Mark ahead of him. The place seemed even more vast and uninviting than before, but his companion seemed to know his way around quite well. The bright lights made it sterile and impersonal. Not like his own cellar back home.
They went directly to the laboratory. His survival instinct kicked up a notch as he watched the man use another small instrument from the chain on his neck to open the lab’s steel and glass door. He knew this man or, at least, he thought he did, but his returning memories were too fresh and too jumbled to trust. His faith in his own mind faded abruptly and he found himself back at square one, unsure of everything. This fellow could very well be another of Valentino’s ploys to trick him in some way. Had she not just told him that she was not giving up? And had he and this man who looked like something from a bad vampire movie, gotten out of the house far too easily. He looked about the hall as the man bent in front of the door.
When the man looked up, he took a step back and turned to run, but the stranger was upon him with the sword immediately, dragging him backwards with the sword’s sharp edge pressing lightly against his throat.
“You must regain your wits, Brother Ramsay,” he told him harshly. “We must have the sword. It is not an option. I must take you and the sword to the Grand Master. It is your only hope for redemption, Brother.”
These words fell right in line with Cecile’s own agenda. The Master. Always the Master. They had to go to the Master. They had to find the Master. His mistrust grew enormously as the man pulled him through the door into Cecile’s office. A small green lamp burned on the desk, casting shadows throughout the rest of the lab. The hair on his neck stood on end as he looked at the chair where Valentino had poisoned him. Everything looked perfectly prim and proper and there were no bloodstains on the carpeted floor. No handcuffs on the chair though he could see the deep scratches and gouges in the wood where the metal had cut into the finish. It was no wonder that his wrists had been bruised, but nothing else seemed out of order. It was just a well organized office with gleaming rows of glass fronted bookshelves.
As expected, Mark found himself pressed into the same chair near the desk and admonished to remain seated or else. The man then leaned his own sword against one of the bookshelves and raised both arms toward the ceiling. With his eyes closed, he turned around slowly in the center of the small room. Mark watched him curiously, trying to decide whether to make a break for the door or not. After a moment, his eccentric captor stopped and went directly to one of the bookcases. He opened the top shelf and reached inside, feeling above the books. He pulled a cloth-wrapped bundle from inside with a satisfied smile on his face. The cloth fell to the floor and Mark recognized the black scabbard with the golden hilt protruding from one end. The Golden Sword of the Cherubim. He did not need to see the blade unsheathed to know what it looked like.
He felt as if he were in a Cathedral, in the presence of a Holy Relic.
The hilt gleamed in the soft light of the lamp. The white medallion with the red cross patee in the center mesmerized him. He reached unconsciously for the sword, but the man drew back quickly, surveying his face closely before hesitantly presenting the blade to him, hilt-first. He was a trusting fellow.
Mark took the sword and held it gingerly. It was the same one from his dreams and his bleary memories. The long, twisted blade made a familiar, comforting sound as he drew it from the leather. Mark clutched the hilt in his right hand and a great sense of relief washed over him. He looked up at his companion, but the craggy face was unreadable. Mark also realized why the fellow had insisted on coming after it. It was far more than just a sword.
“Put the blade away and we can go, Brother,” he said as he put his own sword back in the long scabbard under his cloak and turned his back.
The gesture seemed rude somehow, an insult. Either the man considered him inept and non-threatening or else he trusted him completely. Mark could have used the sword on him easily, but something held him back. He hefted the sword in one hand and the scabbard in the other as he wore no belt to which he could attach it. The tall man’s scabbard slapped his boots as he walked. Another comforting sound from some long lost memory.
They were in for a disappointing surprise when they reached the cellar doors. Someone had removed the power cable, closed the door and activated the electronic lock… from the outside. They could not open them without setting off the alarm. There was an intercom box on the wall beside the controls, but they could not call for help.
“I don’t suppose you have something on your necklace for this contingency?” Mark asked him as they peered at the green lights blinking on the security panel.
“I do not think we have been locked in by design, but rather by accident,” the man nodded absently. “There is no one else in the basement with us. If they had suspected us here, they would be searching for us.”
“That makes me feel so much better. I would have hated to be locked in here on purpose… with someone unfriendly,” Mark commented sarcastically.
“It is comforting to know that they are unaware of our presence,” the man ignored the sarcasm.
Mark didn’t believe him at all. This was all a set up.
“But how will we get out of here?” Mark asked him when he turned back down the hall.
“The Creator will provide the means. He provided a way in. He will provide a way out.”
“I somehow knew you would say something like that,” Mark muttered under his breath as they went back to the laboratory.
Back inside the office, the tall Knight took a seat on the edge of the desk. Mark stood holding his sword and scabbard, waiting for the man to do something. Strangely enough, the man had not offered to kiss him.
“We might as well get started while we wait,” he announced after a moment.
“Get started?” Mark definitely did not like the sound of that, but he had expected as much.
“Yes, Brother,” the man eyed him coldly and drew his own sword swiftly, without warning. “Now we must decide whether you are truly the traitor you appear to be, or if there is some hope for your salvation. From what I have seen and heard, especially this morning, my heart is heavy with grief for you already.”
A chill coursed up Ramsay’s spine at the heavy pronouncement and he knew that this man did not belong to Valentino’s crew of miscreants. This was indeed the Apocalyptic Knight of his dream. Konrad von Hetz. A very formidable foe and he already had the tip of his silver broadsword lying on his chest, just above his rapidly beating heart. A distinct disadvantage. He would be dead before he could raise his own blade. Had he always been so stupid and slow? If so, how could he have lived as long as the Pixie said he had?
(((((((((((((
“Everything is up from the cellar,” Maxie reported to Valentino in the library as she stood looking out the window into the garden.
The men setting up the lights on the verandah had smashed three azalea bushes and trampled one of the roses. Idiots. Idiots, everywhere.
“I’ve secured the doors and set the alarm so nobody can go nosing around down there.”
“Thank you,” she said absently. “Will there be enough wine?”
“Oh, sure. Plenty. But this will just about wipe out the stock of liquor in the butler’s pantry,” he said.
“Have you checked the food that the caterer’s brought? Is it still hot? Is the cold stuff cold? You k
now we can’t afford a lawsuit if someone gets sick,” she asked the questions as if she had a list she was reading from. Maxie knew he was in for another long interview covering the same questions she had asked at least a dozen times since they had started to work on the preparations.
“Yes, ma’am, everything is just like you ordered and stored in the kitchen,” he said and sighed.
“And the flowers?” she turned to look at him.
“And the flowers are being put up right now.”
“Are they the right color?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“They’re not wilted are they?”
“No, ma’am.”
“What about the sound system?”
“Done. Checked it myself.”
“And the chairs? Did they deliver the chairs?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you think everyone will come?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you think they’ll miss Brother Tellman?”
“Would you miss him?”
“Do you think they will ask a lot of questions about Gavin?”
“No more than usual.”
“Will they expect me to explain his letter?”
“Yes, ma’am, probably so.”
How many times would she ask these same stupid questions?
“Bring me the letter, Maxie. I need to go over it again,” she frowned and bit her bottom lip nervously. “And go find Merry. I need to see her. I have something for her.” Cecile tapped a small paper envelope against the rim of a tumbler filled with ice sitting on a serving tray near the desk. She poured lemonade over the ice and stirred it with her finger. She licked her finger and nodded absently. The drug would calm Merry’s nerves and make her more receptive to suggestion. The last thing she needed was a hysterical woman on her hands.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said and took a worn, heavily creased paper from a stack on her desk and handed it to her. He was glad to get away. He wished he could get away entirely and get a real job or at least go get drunk somewhere with girls dancing on his table, but his license as a private investigator had been revoked long ago. He owed Valentino.
Nash had practically saved his life when he had picked up his ad from the Dallas newspaper. But of course, the man had ulterior motives just like Valentino. He had been exactly what they were looking for. Someone without attachments, practically on skid road. Someone from whom they could easily buy loyalty for a few thousand dollars a year. Someone expendable like John Tellman, but he wasn’t John Tellman and he had no intention of letting Valentino get the best of him. Let the dingy blond deal with the woman.
The last time he had gone to look for her, he’d found her curled up in the dipshit’s bed again. God, he wanted to kill the guy and bury him next to John Tellman. Maybe save himself some trouble and bury him on top of Anthony Scalia where the ground was still soft. His job had been so easy before all this crap had come up. Well, he’d get his chance sooner or later with the dipshit. That would be some consolation for having to put up with Valentino and after that, he would pack his bag, draw his wages… electronically… and get the hell out of dodge. He glanced back at the indomitable little woman as he made his exit.
Valentino held the letter in her hands going over it in her mind rather than reading it. She had every word memorized. She just needed a prop. She dreaded the meeting with Herr Schroeder, that arrogant ass from Germany. She knew he didn’t like her and the feeling was mutual, but he was the only Hierophant available to preside over her initiation ceremonies. She had to have a High Priest present. And why had Nash written this dumb letter to everyone, telling them about the Templars? It had been their secret. Their discovery. Gavin was such an idiot sometimes. She couldn’t wait to get her hands on his stupid neck. Now everyone would be asking about it. She would have to show them the elixir Anthony had given her and convince them that it was all a fraud. Nothing more than an exotic mix of vitamins and some rare herbs with very special rejuvenating affects, though certainly not the elusive ‘fountain of youth’. At least that was the story she had concocted to give them. Gavin would be pissed, but this was too important to share with the whole damned county and maybe half the world.
Merry came into the room quietly and sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk. She looked much better than she had earlier, but she was still pouting. Valentino laid down the letter and went to kneel in front of the blond. She held one of her hands in hers and looked up at her.
“Merry.”
The woman looked away from her sullenly.
“Merry. You have to get a grip on yourself. You know I would do anything for you, but it is strictly forbidden for outsiders to attend our functions. Especially an initiation. He is a stranger, Merry, regardless of what you might think.”
“He is not a stranger. He is a Knight of the Temple. He’s one of your Templars, Cecile! He should be an honored guest,” Merry said stubbornly. “Our whole order is based on what his people did in the old days, isn’t it? He is the most distinguished guest we’ve ever had here. A real alchemist, Cecile. He knows things. Wonderful things. And you’re treating him like a criminal!”
“He knows things, does he? I’m an alchemist, for God’s sake, Merry. That doesn’t make me a mystical hero. He is a Knight of a different Order.” Valentino shook her head and frowned. She hated to hear Merry speak of the man in such affectionate terms. “He will never be one of us.”
“I think he might or I thought he might have… until you spoiled it. He asked me to leave with him and I asked him to stay. I think he would have stayed… for a while.”
Valentino felt her cheeks flush with real anger.
“Why does he want you to leave with him, Merry?”
“He said he loves me,” Merry told her bluntly.
“What? Really?” Valentino could not suppress the anger in her voice. “He doesn’t love you. He simply wants what you have tried to give him often enough. That’s all. He knows you are a virgin. That’s what he wants, Merry and the only reason he hasn’t obliged you by taking it from you is because he’s scared of what might happen to him if he does. He’ll be gone in a few days.”
“And what would you do if I left with him?” Merry asked, matching her angry glare.
“Don’t do this, Merry.” Cecile’s entire posture changed immediately and she looked truly panicked. “Don’t be preposterous. He won’t take you with him. I told him that you only wanted a baby and that he meant nothing to you other than that. You know what he did? He laughed at me. He thought that was the silliest thing he’d ever heard. He said he would be glad to provide you with one if that’s all you wanted as long as you didn’t try to track him down for child support or follow him around begging him to marry you. He asked if there would be any monetary compensation for him if he decided to take the job, as he called it. Furthermore, he told me that it would not be the first time that he had been propositioned for such a thing. Can you imagine it? How I hate him!”
“He didn’t say that. You’re lying,” Merry objected and then ducked when she thought Cecile would slap her.
Valentino got up and took a seat behind the desk. She eyed the blond woman coldly. Merry’s words cut her to the bone and she was oblivious to it.
“I’ve given you everything. Taken care of you when you were sick and put up with all sorts of things. You’re a hypochondriac for one thing. Always allergic to this and can’t eat that or can’t drink the other. Always checking the bathroom after the maid has gone. Never quite satisfied, are you?"
"I have protected you from everything. Everything and I am trying to protect you from him. I am offering you a chance for immortality. As soon as we get the rest of the formula from d’Brouchart, we’ll leave this place and travel the world together. We’ll never get old and we’ll stay healthy forever, too. We’ll see the world a million times. And, in the future, when man conquers the stars, we’ll go there together. You and I. Together. Forever. And, furthermore, if it’s a man
’s company you crave from time to time, you can have all the lovers you want and we can buy all the babies you want. You can raise hundreds of children. You could pick the one you like and make the kid immortal. Just like Anne Rice’s vampire guy did. What was his name? What was his name? Hughy? Dewey? Keep him or her forever. You would throw all of it away for this barbarian? This murderer? This rapist?”
“Rapist?” Merry looked at her in surprise. “Why do you call him a rapist, Cecile?”
“Because he is,” Valentino told her. “Trust me. I know.”
“How do you know?” Merry narrowed her eyes. “I suppose you are going to tell me that he raped you, right?”
Cecile’s face drained of color and she swallowed hard. Merry had stepped over the line.
“I’ve read all about them,” Cecile answered quietly and it was Merry’s turn to back down. She had seen Cecile like this only once or twice and then it had been Gavin who had made her mad. She did not want to completely alienate the woman while she still held Mark’s fate in her hands. “It was part of their job. Kill the men? Rape the women. Pillage, burn? Demoralize the enemy?”
“I think you have him confused with a Viking.” Merry tried to laugh, tried to diffuse the situation. “But how do you expect me to trust you? First you told me was the right man. Then you told me he was the wrong man. And now you’ve changed your mind again. What do you intend to do with him? Am I going to get what I want or not?”
“Never mind that.” Valentino actually smiled at her. “I’ll figure it out when the time comes. There are lots of men out there, little girl. We’ll get rid of him and find another one that’s not so damned bossy. Now let's quit this bickering and focus on the reception. This is so important, Merry. Everything has to be perfect.”
“But you can’t let him go, can you?” Merry asked her, unable to stop herself in spite of her terror. “You’re planning on killing him, aren’t you? Maxie killed Anthony, didn’t he? Or did you do it?” Merry let the words slip and then clamped her hands over her mouth.
The Red Cross of Gold I:. The Knight of Death Page 29