Cecile leaped from the chair and charged around the desk. When Merry cringed away from her, Cecile leaned down and grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her out of the chair. Merry covered her face with her hands expecting more blows, but Valentino stopped short and hugged her tightly instead. She couldn’t afford to slap her around and leave bruises on her face. What would the members think?
“Don’t say things like that!” she whispered in her ear in near hysteria. “You don’t know how much you hurt me when you accuse me of things like that. This is such a mess, Merry. You’ve got to work with me on this. It’ll all be worth it, you’ll see.” She stroked her hair and her face affectionately.
Merry pushed her away and put one hand to her cheek where the print of Cecile’s hand was already turning red. It was the first time Valentino had ever struck her hard enough to leave a mark. She couldn’t afford to slap her around and leaves bruises on her face. What would the members think?
“Don’t say things like that!” she whispered in her ear near hysterical. “You don’t know how much you hurt me when you accuse me of things like that. This is such a mess, Merry. You’ve got to work with me on this. It’ll all be worth it, you’ll see.” She stroked her hair and face affectionately.
Merry pushed her away. Somehow, the words did not have the same meaning as they had once held for her. She recognized her new feelings for Valentino and the dominate theme was fear. Valentino truly was losing her mind and Merry thought perhaps it was the gunk that Anthony had made in the lab that was affecting her. Cecile had tested it on a couple of hamsters. Like that would show something definitive. Cecile was no fool, but she was no research scientist either.
“Are you still taking that stuff Anthony gave you?” she asked when Cecile let go of her. “I think you should run some more tests on it. It might be making you… nervous.”
“I’m fine really, sweetie, don’t worry. Now, look.” Valentino picked up Gavin Nash’s letter and a very special glass of lemonade that she had prepared for Merry. “Help me go over this again. I want to make sure I can answer any questions that idiot Schroeder might ask.”
Merry sighed and collapsed on the sofa as Cecile sat on the coffee table in front of her. It was going to be a long, long day.
“I saved you a glass of lemonade, sweetheart.” Cecile smiled at her and held out the glass.
Merry nodded, murmured thank you and sipped the liquid while Cecile read the letter to her… again.
(((((((((((((
“How do you learn all these things, Brother?” d’Ornan asked Beaujold as they bounced down the rough, rocky drive road in the van. The vast, open areas baffled the Healer who was used to the more crowded conditions of the old country.
“All it takes is money, Brother.” Beaujold shrugged. “Money and something called the Classified Ads.”
“Do you think they will be all right?” D’Ornan looked back at the small stone building, disappearing from sight behind the van. It stood in the middle of an open field, which lay in the middle of nowhere behind a stone and a metal fence with a large, blue and white ‘for sale’ sign attached to it.
“Of course. You worry too much, Brother. They are big, strong men. Surely a few spiders and snakes won’t scare them too much. Perhaps they can sing songs together to keep up their spirits.” The man actually laughed and Simon cringed at the unfamiliar sound of his laughter. “We will come back for them before we leave and set them free if they are too dull-witted to escape on their own.”
Simon looked back at Dambretti and Christopher where they sat in the back of the van with their backs against the wall. Christopher was asleep. Dambretti appeared to be lost in thought.
Simon wondered if Dambretti felt guilty about the trick he had played on the hapless Frenchmen. It had not really been very funny. The men would probably be scarred for life, but even he had been hard pressed to keep from laughing at the expressions on their faces when Lucio had pulled his coup de grace. Lucio was a sick man with a demented sense of humor and very little tolerance for the gayer elements of modern society. The Healer suspected something in the Italian’s far distant childhood as the root cause of his intolerance when it came to dealing the fairer members of their own sex. Beaujold did not like them either, but Beaujold simply ranted about them like a normal bigot. Dambretti was something altogether different when it came to dealing with them. It had always been so with the Italian.
The two men had been mesmerized by the Italian’s performance and even Simon had had a few moments of doubt. Dambretti had dragged him down to d’Antin and de Villier’s room. The two Frenchmen had been elated to see them and then Dambretti had looked out the window at the ‘view’, making several very provocative suggestions to them while they scurried about, getting drinks for them. Simon remembered it perfectly. The scene played over in his mind like a video loop. D’Antin had approached Lucio from behind and goosed him playfully on his derrière. Lucio had turned very slowly from the window and said ‘I have something very long and hard I want you to see, little brothers.’
Simon well remembered his own shocked reaction when Dambretti had very slowly unzipped his pants. He’d thought his Brother had lost his mind. He’d watched him, unable to move or speak or even breathe when the Knight reached inside his trousers ever so slowly, smiling impishly at the two Frenchmen as they stood paralyzed, anticipating something a bit more friendly. Simon wondered briefly where Lucio had learned such a trick. How could he have concealed the broadsword in such a delicate place without injuring himself dreadfully? However he had managed it, the effect had been well worth the trouble. The two men had been dumbstruck when Dambretti held out the sword toward them and invited them to 'examine' it.
Simon wanted to ask his Brother about it afterwards, but he’d probably not get an answer other than ‘It is the Will of God’. The Healer was very glad that Beaujold had not been present to witness the scene. The Knight of the Sword would never have recovered. In fact, he wasn’t sure that he would ever get over it himself.
The Knight of the Sword had taken Christopher and gone after the German, leaving himself and Dambretti to subdue the silly Frenchmen. Beaujold had no problem with taking the German alive, but the two French perverts, as he called them, caused his temper to rage. He had voiced his fear that he might not be able to restrain himself if they provoked him. Thomas and the apprentice had subdued the big man easily though they had quite a bit of trouble making him be quiet as they escorted them out of the boarding house to the van.
“Does everyone know their parts?” d’Ornan asked them after a few moments. “Brother Lucio, please remember that you are German. Don’t speak Italian or French.”
“Ja, ja, meiner freund,” Dambretti said without looking at him.
“Don’t speak German either,” Beaujold told him. “That is the worst accent I have ever heard.”
“You crusha my feelings, Brother. Languages are my area of expertise.” Dambretti frowned down at his fingernails.
“Just stick to reading them, if you please. And you, Christopher Stewart!” Beaujold called to the apprentice, waking him with a start. “Remember to hear, to see and to be silent.”
“Of course, Master,” Christopher mumbled sullenly. His back still hurt and the jostling wall of the van did not make things any better. He was just glad they had not left him at the abandoned stone building to guard the three prisoners. He had thought that the one called deVilliers was going to die outright of fright when they had taken them into the dark basement beneath the little stone house. He, himself, had slept in much worse places when he had been a kid on the streets in New York. Whatever Master Dambretti had done to them, had put both of the men in shock, even before they had taken them out to the abandoned building. He was almost ashamed for having scared them so badly. Ah well, better they than him. At least the two Frenchmen had given him a respite from Beaujold’s wrath.
“Did you hear what Schroeder said?” Beaujold addressed Dambretti. “He
gave you a wealth of useful information. It may come in quite handy for your part.”
“Yes, let’s see.” Dambretti looked up at the roof of the van and squinted. “I vill be cutting often your balls and feed zem to ze buzzards. I vill pop your head like und pimple. I vill rink your neck you dirty wop, dago, Italiano bastard. I vill…”
“Not that!” Beaujold stopped him.
“Oh.” Dambretti winked at Christopher. “You mean the other things. Let’s see. I’m a fourth generation pharmacist. My family is very distinguished. I am the High Priest and Hierophant of the Order of the Rose, Berlin Chapter. My family is very rich. My family will be outraged. My family will seek revenge. I am a powerful and mystical alchemist and I will be missed immediately. My brothers will not let you get away with this. I know people in Rome. My brother is a Cardinal in the service of the Pope. Et… cet… ter… a!”
“Yes, yes, but I do not remember a Cardinal Schroeder there. He must be new to the See.” Beaujold nodded his head vigorously. “The German is some sort of VIP in this Order of the Rose. You can mention your family ties with the Vatican. You may even be tonight’s guest of honor. Be on guard as to what may be expected of you. You have studied what we know of this order of pretenders?”
“Of course,” Lucio told him tiredly. “But I know nothing of being a High Priest at one of these things. It has been a very long time since I attended an initiation of any sort. We should give them one of ours, no? That would certainly upset the applecart for them. I didn’t see a single cross in the house to trample and spit on. I don’t think their order has anything to do with God.”
Beaujold laughed derisively at the idea.
“Do not blaspheme, Brother. Surely you will not get that far,” d’Ornan told him. “They will probably…”
“Remember,” Beaujold cut the Healer’s words off “that they kiss each other on both cheeks and they clasp right elbows while patting the right shoulder with the other hand as a sign of recognition. Much too long-winded if you ask me, such a thing could get you killed, but their motto is ‘Under the sign of the Rose: Life, Love and Happiness’. Much mush. What could be under the sign of the rose, but a bordello full of thorns? Such silliness. They are not even Rosicrucians. They left off the Croix and kept the flower. Life, love and happiness. Who has these things as one and together. The almost second surely precludes the possibility of the first and the third. Life if full of misery and love is one of the chief causes of this misery and then… what is happiness? Do any of you know what this happiness is? I ask you, is this not a lot of silliness? I, myself, cannot even remember ever having been happy unless I count the times when I have been blessed with the ecstasy during Holy Communion. Do you know how long it has been since I have been called upon to work? I sit around remembering the old days and I find myself wishing that someone would start a war so that I might be put to work. Instead, I go about giving fencing lessons and lectures on strategy. Only last week, I had the inestimable challenge of teaching one of the apprentices the proper way to string a bow. Brother Barry noticed that his technique was sloppy and recommended to the Master that he have private tutorials. Happiness, bah! Imagine if he had needed help with his knitting needles. Surely I could have helped him with his perls.”
By the time the Knight of the Sword had finished talking, he had received the full attention of Dambretti and Christopher as well as several puzzled glances from Simon. Dambretti had never witnessed the man in the act of waxing philosophical, much less in such a personal manner. Beaujold had always been rock solid and dependable if nothing else. Lucio’s happiness consisted of sunshine, good wine and an occasional good joke, like the one he had played on d’Antin and deVilliers. Anything above and beyond that was cream on the milk. He had actually wanted to cut their heads off, but Simon probably would not have gone along with it. Everything was, is and shall be the Will of God. Even his little tryst with Amelia held some higher purpose. He was sure of it.
“I hope that we will need to know nothing more about them and make our extraction smoothly, though I cannot hold out much hope for him,” Beaujold continued after a moment and glanced back at the apprentice. “I think we will find that his distemper is far greater than we may wish to expect. He is the only one we need to be concerned with and it will not be easy to take him, if I know him at all. We will be in and out as quickly as possible. I see no threat in these… people, if Schroeder and the two idiots were typical examples. I may have over-estimated their tactical strength. It is doubtful that they have tactical strength at all. More like taking candy from a baby. Though they do employ some security people, no doubt.”
“Permission to speak, Master?” Christopher spoke up, suddenly. The Knight of the Sword’s words bothered him immensely. He had known his Master for only a few short years and yet, he felt he knew him much better than Master Thomas. He had seen the sorry state he had been in when he and Master von Hetz had faced off in the laboratory. That the Knight of the Sword could make a judgment against him without even seeing him was totally unfair. The man acted as if Master Ramsay had willingly put himself in the position he was in. It had been very obvious to him that his Master needed their help, not pre-conceived notions. Beaujold looked at him in the rearview mirror and nodded.
“I believe that you would wish to know, honored Masters,” Christopher tried hard to use the more formal mode of speech which was quite as foreign as French to him. He did not wish to bring on another verbal thrashing. “I was fouled in my attempt to bring Sir Ramsay out by one well known to all of you.”
“What are you saying?” Dambretti leaned toward him.
“I was not foiled by these pretenders as you would hold to be true,” Christopher continued. “I came upon an action already in motion, wherein one of your beloved Brothers and one of my esteemed Masters was preparing to carry off Sir Ramsay to points unknown.”
“Spit it out, boy!” Beaujold told him irritably.
Christopher sighed. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
“I ran into the Ritter von Hetz,” he concluded quickly. “He already had Sir Ramsay and was taking him from the basement. And further I would like to respectfully point out that Master Ramsay was quite debilitated at the time. He needs our help, not our condemnation.”
“Who? What did you say?” D’Ornan turned to look at the young man in amazement.
“The Noble Knight of the Apocalypse,” Christopher looked at them. “He is here… somewhere.”
“That is ridiculous,” Beaujold said angrily. “You are only trying to conceal your incompetence. A lie is an abomination in the sight of God.” He had focused only on the part of the statement about von Hetz, ignoring the declaration that Sir Ramsay needed their help.
“Believe what you will, Master,” Christopher shrugged. “Perhaps the Ritter von Hetz has a mission of his own. Or perhaps he does not believe that Master Ramsay is guilty of the crime of treason and wants to make sure that his worshipful Master d’Brouchart’s instructions are carried out properly.”
“What are you implying, boy?” Beaujold swerved dangerously as he glanced back at the young man angrily. “Is that why you decided to come here yourself? Do you dare to presume that I and these two honorable Knights are incapable of carrying out our mission as instructed?”
“And he answered him and said, Thou sayest it,” Christopher used a quote from the New Testament that Sir Barry was fond of using when the boys wanted to argue with him. The comment almost caused Beaujold to wreck the van. Dambretti tapped his knee and held two fingers to his lips while shaking his head.
Dambretti leaned back against the wall of the van, closed his eyes and fell silent. He agreed fully with Christopher’s assumptions. The Apocalyptic Knight. Things had just taken a serious downturn.
Simon turned around slowly and stared out the windshield. The presence of the Apocalyptic Knight would definitely complicate matters. Why was he there? He knew that the apprentice was right about Brother Thomas. He glanced at Beaujold
. The Knight of the Sword would not give Brother Ramsay a fair hearing.
“Never the less,” Beaujold spoke slowly and deliberately. “Whether or not our Brother Hetz is here or no, we will proceed with our plan. We will find Sir Ramsay and take him out with us… one way or another. I am sure that Brother Hetz will do nothing more than help us should we run across him.”
“If I know anything about our esteemed Brother Hetz,” Dambretti said miserably. “He has already made off with our dear Brother Ramsay. He is a man of great power and fears no danger. But why else would he come here without instruction if not because he does not trust us?”
(((((((((((((
The Ritter von Hetz settled himself into the comfortable leather of the high-backed swivel chair behind Valentino’s desk in the laboratory office and propped his feet on her cherry wood desk. He tapped the tip of his sword against the toe of his boot. The Flaming Sword of the Cherubim lay on the desk in front of him within easy reach. Mark Andrew sat uneasily in the same chair that he had grown to hate in front of the desk, back where he started from.
“What can I expect if I go with you?” Ramsay asked him point blank.
“Salvation,” von Hetz told him. “I am your only hope, Brother Ramsay. You must open your mind to me and let me judge whether you should live or die.”
“Just like that?” Ramsay lowered his head and looked up from under his dark brows at the man. He could not believe what he was hearing. “You put new meaning on the phrase judge, jury and executioner, my friend.”
“If you are acting of your own free will, you are lost,” von Hetz continued. “If you are being coerced by these miscreants or seduced by the guile of these female pretenders, then you must confess and renew your vows. If there are other extenuating circumstances, I will know them without your testimony. If you have whispered too much in the ears of the fair-haired one, then you have signed her death warrant as well as your own. If you are innocent of these charges, then you will be exonerated, but I will know the truth, Brother Ramsay. I am the Knight of the Apocalypse Who Sees. We have no need for Inquisitors here. I will strip your secrets from your mind and slay you myself if I have to and I will bear the burden upon my shoulders as long as necessary to preserve the sanctity of the Order.”
The Red Cross of Gold I:. The Knight of Death Page 30