I moved around behind the cabins as well and was surprised to find a small copse of trees tightly packed together. There was a variety of plants and various little paths that led to stone benches and little coy ponds. It was a meditation garden, I realized. Small enough to not take up too much space, but big enough that people could have their privacy without disturbing others.
If Tooter was headed into the meditation garden, there was a good chance he didn’t want to be disturbed. On the other hand, it was good place to have a quiet conversation with him. I hoped I might find out what happened to Uriah after he fled the house. At the very least, I thought I might be able to find out more about the stick up Victor’s ass.
I eased my way down the main path and avoided the smaller trails that I guessed led to more private areas. I couldn’t see Tooter, but I figured if I got to the end without finding him, I’d just try the other paths on my way back. Even if I didn’t find him, there were worse ways to spend my time than walking through the garden.
As I made it to where the path seemed to end, I thought I heard a mumbled conversation ahead. Only... There wasn’t a path in that direction.
Studying the area around me, I thought I saw where Tooter had cut through the thick brush and out of the jungle maze.
I followed his path and as I passed a few more trees I caught sight of him ahead. He was standing at the perimeter of the compound and facing a small hole in the old metal.
He wasn’t alone.
A man stood on the other side of the wall.
I couldn’t make out many details through the small gap but he appeared to be a white dude with a thick brown beard.
For a moment, I felt really bad for having invaded Tooter’s private conversation. On the other hand, who the hell was this guy? And why did Tooter sneak out to the back of the compound to speak to him? I edged closer and tucked down behind a tree, still not quite able to make out the words they were saying.
I peeked around the edge of my hiding spot and watched for a few more moments, contemplating whether I should try to move closer. I only had a profile view of Tooter’s face but my impression was that he was rather irate.
I had just about decided to try and get a little closer when Tooter said, “You aren’t listening. You can’t be here. What if someone sees you? If Victor finds out...”
He trailed off. That was all of the conversation I heard, but it was enough to make my Spider-sense tingle.
The other guy responded and Tooter only seemed to get angrier, but this time he kept his voice low so I couldn’t hear what he said. Then he turned and moved away from the wall.
I kept myself tucked up in my hiding spot and hoped he wouldn’t notice me as he went by. There was a part of me that wanted to jump out and call him out right then. Who was he sneaking away to talk to? Why didn’t he want Victor to find out?
I guess I had a second person to add to the suspect list. It made sense, I suppose. I didn’t have a motive, but Tooter was certainly someone Uriah would never suspect. And if Tooter was Uriah’s best friend, then he’d likely had a good enough relationship with Abner to lure him to the house.
Then again, maybe I was jumping to conclusions.
The real question was what was I supposed to do with this information? I doubted Uriah would see this my way, and even if he did, how did we address it? Confront Tooter? Have someone spy on him?
I considered the options while Tooter passed by on his way back toward the cabins. When I finally was convinced he hadn’t seen me and was far enough ahead not to notice, I slipped out of my hiding spot and began working my way back through the meditation garden.
I didn’t see Tooter again and when I re-emerged from the garden, I started back the way I’d originally come.
As I passed back in front of the garage, I noticed Barajas was still standing out front, only now he was alone. Upon seeing me he glared once again. Only this time he raised an eyebrow as well, mostly on account of me marching toward him.
If there’s one thing in life I enjoy, it’s making a point of being around people who I know don’t like me.
As I approached, I gave him a little nod and said, “Nice compound you have here.”
He stared at me but didn’t reply.
“It’s a beautiful chapel.”
He grunted. We were getting somewhere.
I studied his hard features and noticed something for the first time. Unlike the rest of the Knights, both times I’d seen him, Barajas wasn’t carrying his sword. Instead, he had a long bowie knife scabbarded to one hip and a Rambo style combat knife on the other.
“Can I ask you something?” I said. “And silence means yes.”
I didn’t think it was possible, but his glare hardened.
“You don’t seem to carry a sword like the others,” I said, watching him carefully. “Why is that?”
He stared at me for a few seconds then finally patted the knives on his hips. “Don’t need the sword. People know who the fuck I am.” He paused and added. “Never was much good with a long blade. Prefer knives.”
“But isn’t your sword, like, magical?”
He shrugged.
“Are your knives magical?”
He raised an eyebrow, which I took to mean he felt the question was moronic.
I pressed on. “What if you run into a demon? Isn’t your sword meant to kill demons?”
He shrugged again. “You see any fucking demons?”
“Just asking a question,” I replied. “And besides. You were silent which meant I was welcome to ask.”
He didn’t dignify me with a reply.
“All right then,” I said, starting away. “Good chat.”
“Don’t mind Brother Barajas,” a familiar voice said. I turned and saw Chaplain Brother Webb had approached. “He isn’t the talkative type. At least not with strangers.”
“Especially mages,” Barajas said, still glaring.
“You know,” I said, “if you keep that scowl on too long it might not ever go away.”
For a moment, I thought he might hit me. Instead he said, “I’ll take that chance.”
With that, he turned and moved back inside the garage and away from me.
Webb chuckled and repeated, “Don’t mind him, Wyatt. That’s just his personality.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve noticed that not everyone is real happy I’m here.”
“That is a fair assessment,” he said, nodding. “Would you care to walk back to the chapel with me? I’d be happy to give you the nickel tour.”
“Sure,” I replied and turned to walk alongside the Chaplain Brother.
“At my age,” he said, forcing a wry smile. “It’s good to keep mobile. I try to walk the path around the compound at least a few times a day.”
“You were a Knight once yourself?”
“Indeed,” he replied. “For a great many years.”
“Must’ve been hard to put the sword down.”
His eyes drifted to where the new recruits were working through the obstacle course. Again, he forced a smile, but this one at least seemed somewhat sincere. “Indeed it was. Perhaps the most challenging decision of my life. Yet, it was time and I knew the Lord had other work for me to accomplish.”
“To be a Chaplain Brother.”
“Aye. The path of the Knight isn’t an easy one. I’m sure you can relate. Along with the physical, there’s an emotional and spiritual strain with this calling. When I laid down my sword, I began a new chapter in a more important role. Instead of fighting beside my brothers, I would council them. I would pray with them and help keep them on the path. There’s no greater reward.”
I nodded, unsure what to say. I was never much the spiritual type.
Chapter 17
We carried on in silence, moving toward the chapel. I was very aware that Chaplain Brother Webb had stepped into save me from trouble with Barajas. His invitation back to the chapel was likely much the same.
“Are the Knights usually this tense around
mages?” I asked. “Or is it just because of recent events?”
Webb mulled it over for a few moments before finally answering. “A bit of both, actually. As you know, we’ve worked fairly close with the Kingsnakes on occasion. Most of the Brothers are comfortable enough around them, but not as much around other mages. We don’t interact with many and I suppose there’s a question around the source of your magic and what you do with it.”
“Meaning that some think it’s evil?”
“No,” he said, pausing. He bit his lower lip as he thought it over. “More that... When new squires sign on, they don’t have any magic at their disposal. All they have is the experience of their lives and their own will. Even if they pass their tests to become a Knight, they can only wield the sword and receive the blessings of the order if their heart is true and their faith is strong enough. Even after that, their abilities are limited. Wizards, on the other hand, are capable of immense power with, or without, a true heart. Without faith. I think that scares many of the Knights.”
I nodded. It made sense. Sure, if you were a magic user within the Cabal’s territory, you had to play by the Cabal’s rules. Even Nomads who didn’t work directly for the Cabal were held to the laws of the Solemn Covenant. But there were no checks in place to make sure we were good people at our core. In fact, many mages had landed themselves in trouble for abusing their power or using it to hurt others.
“Of course, with Abner’s murder...” Webb paused to look over at me. “Suspicion of magic users is higher than ever.”
“Is that why you’ve taken it on yourself to babysit me?”
He chuckled. “I’m sure you’re more than capable of handling yourself and I strongly doubt any among my brethren would seek to harm you, but...”
“Better safe than sorry?”
“Indeed.”
He moved up to the double doors that led into the chapel and pulled one open. With his free hand, he bade me enter.
It was much as I’d expected. The interior was all stone and dimly lit with candles. The pews were old wood and there was seating for good sized crowd. It had a very small catholic church type of vibe. I was never big on churches, but if I had to attend, I would’ve preferred something quaint like this.
“Is there a preacher?” I asked.
Webb shook his head. “We Chaplain Brothers lead the services. The senior brothers take turns.”
“That’s cool,” I said and meant it.
He led me through to the back and down a series of stairs. The chapel actually had multiple floors built beneath the earth that made it feel a bit like a castle dungeon. We passed numerous old wooden doors. Occasionally Webb would tell me what was behind them, but many he didn’t bother. One floor was just a grand library.
He finally led me into a small room with a desk and a number of bookshelves.
“This is my office,” he said, then pointed toward another door. “My private quarters are through there. I’m going fetch a couple of glasses if you don’t mind waiting here for a moment. Feel free to take a seat.”
He left the room without waiting for my reply and I sat down in large chair before his desk and let my eyes drift around the room. One of his bookshelves was lined with old tombs, perhaps his reading list from the library. Or perhaps they were his very own. The bookshelf beside it had a number of bibles and books on faith covering the top rows. Below them were books on psychology and philosophy. I was extra surprised to see he had an old copy of Alan Watts’s The Way of Zen.
A couple of antique chairs sat in the corner by the bookshelves with a lamp between them. At least it was meant to appear as an innocent reading area, but I suspected that was where he often counseled the Knights who came to him.
His desk was a mahogany giant that probably needed five Knights to move. Despite the space he kept the surface sparse and clean.
Above his desk and mounted on the wall was a medieval style longsword in its sheath. The same longsword I saw strapped on the hips or backs of most the Knights. The same sword I’d seen Uriah use to strike down the demons earlier.
They weren’t fancy weapons. The only thing that stuck out, which I had not noticed on the others, was that the pommel was the shape of a skull withe red Templar’s emblem in its forehead. Otherwise the grip was plain black leather and the straight cross-guard was naked steel. Even the hilts were of a simple black leather design with sparse bits of steel.
As I studied the weapon, Brother Webb’s voice said, “I like to keep it up there for the Knights to see.”
“So they remember you’re one of them,” I said, turning toward him as he approached. He offered me a glass of red wine, which I thanked him for, despite my aversion to the stuff. I preferred whiskey and usually left wine for those with a more refined palette.
“That’s it exactly,” he said, sitting down on the other side of his desk. “Pride is a curse to us all, wizard. Most of our Knights are battle hardened warriors. Sometimes it’s hard for them to sit down and discuss the weight on their soul. Were I an outsider, I doubt any would come at all. But when they see my blade up there, they remember that I’m one of them... Or at least that I once was. That I’ve lived the same horrors they face.”
“Probably worse even,” I said, forcing a sip from the wine glass. It was bearable. I’d still have preferred a Jameson. “When you served there were still demons to hunt, am I right?”
He nodded. “Yes, the newer generation hasn’t had to face the same challenges as some of the former. Still, they keep our vigil. Were the demons to return in numbers, they would be ready. Have little doubt.”
“I believe it, but from what I’ve heard, you guys pretty much cleaned house.”
“Yeah,” he said with a dry chuckle. “Your own father chipped in on occasion. There was a time when Memphis had a strong occult presence. Among them were occasionally summoners. Your cabal partnered with us to handle the dark mages while we dealt with the demons. I’m glad the Brotherhood has been able to maintain that relationship over the years.”
“I believe the Cabal leadership would agree with that sentiment. It’s much the same for us. There aren’t many dark mages about, anymore. Most have been rooted out. Though I hear supernatural crime has been on the rise for a while.”
“Indeed,” Webb said, taking a drink from his own cup. “Mostly gang activity. It’s been a challenge for our order to stay on top of. We’re still thankful for the Cabal’s help in that.”
“Why do you think it is? I mean... Why do you think the activity has increased these past few years?”
“I can’t say as I know,” he said thoughtfully. “I suppose as more gangs form, fear grows with it. That fear leads to more people thinking they need protection, thus, more join more gangs, and the cycle goes on.”
“Makes sense,” I said, then pointed up at the sword. “All of the Knights have one?”
“Yes, of course. It’s a part of us. A symbol of our order and so much more.”
“Most carry them?”
“Most, yes.”
“I noticed Barajas doesn’t. Is that normal?”
Webb paused. “That’s sort of a personal question.”
“Is it? My apologies,” I said with no intention of giving up. “I just thought it was odd. He’s a leader, isn’t he? The Sergeant at Arms? I thought it was strange he wouldn’t carry one.”
Webb paused again, seeming to mull over what he wanted to say as he took another drink from his wine glass. “Brother Barajas is our Turcopolier and Sergeant at Arms, yes. He is a quiet man with an assorted past, but he earned his rank and is respected by everyone in the order. He’s a hard man, though Wyatt. With a hard past.”
“I see. I meant no offense.”
“Of course not,” he said, smiling. “It’s just that outsiders don’t know how to take Brother Barajas.”
“That’s very true.”
“He grew up on the streets of Mexico City. He survived by learning to steal and fight. Later, he learned to kill and usu
ally with knives. He spent some time in prison as well. It wasn’t until much later in life that he came to find his true calling and joined our order. But those skills of his past life still serve him today. He would tell you that he simply prefers his knives, but I often wonder if he feels he still doesn’t deserve the right to carry the sword.”
“I see,” I repeated, realizing it was indeed personal. In fact, I felt a bit awkward that he was sharing so much with me.
Webb gave me a shy smile. “I’ve said more than perhaps I should. It is unkind to speak of him when he isn’t present. But, I want you to understand that he is a good man. All of the Knights are.”
“Even the younger ones? The ones who like to drink and cuss.”
Webb chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Yes, Blade Mage, even those.
“Where do you stand on that? I understand some of the older generation want the newer generation reigned in. Seems there’s a bit of a dispute.”
“It’s complicated, I suppose. In my day, we passed a bottle around from time to time. We had our wilder moments, particularly when I first came on. But then we had a new leader with more rigid guidelines. In Abner’s time, he was a little more lax with the rules. He didn’t concern himself with what he felt were trivial matters such as drinking and pre-marital sex. He gave the guys plenty room to be themselves. It changes depending on who’s in charge, you see?”
“I guess some of those who were around when the more rigid President was in power think the old way is better.”
“That’s it exactly. During that era, we weren’t allowed to drink, save a bit of wine or a couple of beers on occasion. Sexual relations out of wedlock were strongly frowned upon. Swearing in the compound, or while wearing your colors, was forbidden. It was a much more Christian fundamentalist approach.”
“I have to admit, it sounds a bit boring.”
“Perhaps. But you spoke of how we hunted down and rooted out the demons. It was this generation who accomplished that. We were fully dedicated to our task, Wyatt. We didn’t have time to indulge ourselves. We couldn’t risk sin. So, for all the moaning about the old guys wanting to do it the old way, keep in mind that we did what this generation has not. When I looked around at my brothers, I had no question of their faith and dedication. Today...”
The Memphis Knights Page 12