The Red Cross of Gold I:. The Knight of Death (15 page)

The boy came back, taking his arm again.

“You can’t rest here, Sir."

After a few deep breaths, Mark stumbled
forward again. Soon they came to another ledge and below, in the
blackness, he could hear the sound of water. He leaned against the
wall again, supporting himself with one hand. There was absolutely
no hope of making it down another set of stairs alive.

“I can’t,” he said simply in Latin. "Give me
the sword."

The boy bobbed about him like a small monkey
squinting in the dimness at the dagger’s hilt protruding from his
side. Presently, the glow of a torch illuminated their
surroundings. He squinted at the clever boy who was now examining
the hilt of the dagger in the light of the torch. The child
apparently lived in this horrid place. There were pots and
blankets, leather bags and sacks strewn about the floor behind him.
He jerked away from the child when he touched the knife.

“Stay still, Sir. You must be strong,
Master,” the boy told him and took hold of the hilt of the
knife.

Mark Andrew knew what was coming next and he
knew that it was necessary if he had any hope of surviving. There
would be ransoms to be had. Negotiations to be made. He steeled
himself, took as deep a breath as he could, wrapped his free hand
over the boy’s smaller hands and nodded to the boy. The pain was
more than he could bear when the dagger came free. He instinctively
took a swing at the street urchin and they went over the side of
the ledge, both screaming all the way down to the cold, black water
below. The icy liquid enveloped him, freezing him instantly as he
breathed the water into his lungs. The world went black and then
brilliantly white.

Mark snapped his eyes open. It took several
moments for him to realize that he was looking into his own lap.
The blood from the wound inflicted by the Saracen’s dagger stained
his clothes and made him wince at the sight of so much of it. He
couldn’t have much left. The smell of the gory mess was
sickening.

“Bravo, Sir Ramsay,” a woman’s voice cut
through his mind like a Saracen’s dagger. “Twelve minutes. Twelve
Knights. Twelve Disciples. Twelve months. Twelve signs in the
Zodiac. What a coincidence. What else do you do in twelves, Mr.
Ramsay? Truly remarkable.”

Valentino was overjoyed. Her tone clearly
indicated it.

Someone pressed a cool cloth to his forehead.
He leaned his head all the way back and closed his eyes, breathing
through his mouth, as the memory of what had occurred came back to
him in a terrible rush. He felt much better than before, but he was
hungry again incredibly enough, his stomach growled. He opened his
eyes and saw the Pixie’s worried face above him. Crystal clear. It
was Merry who was washing his face.

“Could I…” he said with difficulty, his mouth
full of money. “Could I have a drink of water?”

“Oh, sure, why not?” Valentino answered him.
“Whatever you like, Mr. Ramsay.”

The Pixie disappeared for several seconds.
She came back and held a small glass of water to his lips. It
tasted wonderful. He found Valentino with his eyes over the edge of
the glass. He felt strangely empty, hollow and clean in spite of
the mess in his lap. She was still leaning on the desk in front of
him. It seemed that hours had passed since he had gone to sleep,
but from the looks of things, it could not have been more than a
few minutes at most, unless they were perpetrating an elaborate
hoax on him. But why? Did they really expect him to believe that he
had died and come back from the dead? He knew he hadn’t died. He
remembered dreaming.

“Now we can talk,” she told him. She twirled
a pencil on the tip of her index finger. “I really did have my
doubts about you. But now I know that the immortals really
exist.”

“What?!” Merry spun on her. “You mean that
you didn’t know for sure? You took a chance on killing him just to
prove a point?”

“So?” Valentino shrugged and then stood up
slowly. “And if he had died, would it have mattered so much?
Exactly what is it about him that you find so damned interesting,
Merry? Are you in love with him?”

Her comments only confirmed Mark’s suspicions
that the woman intended to kill him for real sooner or later. He
distinctly remembered the dream about the well. He determined not
to miss his next chance to leave, if one ever arrived.

Merry's angelic face was a mask of horrified
disbelief as tears streamed down her cheeks. Mark focused his
attention on the exchange between them. She still believed that
this Anthony character was alive and he was quite convinced now
that ‘poor Anthony’ was dead. Stone cold dead.

Merry realized for the first time that Cecile
was not playing with a full deck. They argued and shouted at each
other while Maxie stood by silently smirking. It was also quite
evident that Valentino was running the show. She suddenly snapped
and slapped the blond across the face. Merry shrieked in surprise
and pressed her hand over the spot.

“I’m sorry! You know how I feel about you,
Merry. I can’t stand the thought of…”

“I’m not in love with him!” she shouted, and
then added more calmly. “It’s just… well… I didn’t know you had
doubts about the immortality thing. That’s all. We’re talking about
a human life, Cecile.”

“I’m sorry I slapped you, Merry. I was
ninety-nine point nine per cent sure, you know? I mean it’s just
human nature not to believe, like it’s human nature to be jealous,”
Valentino tried to sound truly sorry, but narrowed her eyes
sharply, studying the blonde's face closely. “We don't need any
more of these outbursts. They are counter-productive. Is that
clear, sweetheart?”

She took Merry’s hands in hers and looked
into her eyes. Mark could also see that Merry was totally under the
influence of the older woman, perhaps even to the point of being
mortally afraid of her or even brain-washed. Merry glanced at him
briefly and then smiled sickly at Valentino.

“I know,” she muttered. “I’m sorry I made you
mad.”

“Take her back upstairs, Maxie.” Valentino
turned to the ugly man, who quickly changed his expression to one
of concern. “I can handle this. He’s not going anywhere now.”

“But I want to stay,” Merry protested.

“You don’t have the stomach for it, little
girl. I don’t want you upset for no reason. You will have
nightmares if I let you stay. Go on up and take a bath and… hey,
make us some hot chocolate and popcorn. I’ll be up in a little
while. We’ll watch a movie… or something.”

Merry sighed and turned away with Maxie
following closely behind her. The ugly man looked back at him and
smiled.

“Now, as I was saying, you’ve made me very
happy,” Cecile told Mark as soon as they were gone. She took a seat
in the high-backed leather chair and propped her feet on the desk.
“No doubt, you have made Merry very happy as well or tried to. I
have faith in her, Mr. Ramsay. She knows the importance of the
rituals as I’m sure you do as well. Timing. The great sacrifice.
The Great Work. The Great Rite. All that. But the original question
still remains.”

“I don’t know anyone named d’Brouchart,” he
said, but there was no confidence in his statement. He did remember
the man, but that was all. He did not know exactly what d’Brouchart
was other than the words ‘Grand Master’ which held no distinct
meaning for him. He certainly did not know where he might be found.
“Just because I did not die from your poison doesn’t mean I’m
immortal. It only proves that I'm not a rat.”

“Is that a double entendre? You know, I’m
beginning to like you.” She smiled at him. “I’m surprised to see
you still have your sense of humor. You died all right. No pulse.
No respiration. Nothing for twelve minutes. And now you sit here as
if nothing happened. People don’t die for twelve minutes and then
just take a breath and wake up all by themselves. Next time, I’ll
hook you up to an EEG. Do a bit of scientific research on your
brain. You know, make sure you’re not just comatose or something. I
still have that wee little bit of doubt. I have a machine in the
lab, but I’m still reading the instruction book.” She laughed.
“Those things are awfully complicated. Merry could probably do it
better, but she’s so squeamish sometimes. She makes me mad at her.
She shouldn’t do that…” her voice trailed off before she continued
“at any rate, I’ll need to know for sure, but, trust me, I believe
you were dead. I don’t think anyone could survive the poison I gave
you.”

“I only know what you tell me.”

“I am not an inquisitor, Sir Ramsay, and I
hardly consider myself a sadistic maniac. So I really don’t want to
start doing anything along those lines. This was really more than I
had bargained for to be perfectly honest. I am not particularly
fond of blood and guts.” She shrugged and wrinkled her nose. “It
seems that no matter what I do to you, you are still going to sit
there and deny everything, which is, by the way, highly
commendable, but I don’t have time to waste on you. Every minute is
precious to me. I have another, more civilized method I want to
use. Now that I know you are immortal, I want to try the same thing
with you that I used with Anthony. It worked very well on him, but
he was not immortal. Not one of the great mysterious knights.”

“Really?” Mark said tiredly. He did not want
to hear it. “Did your poison work on him?”

“I didn’t poison him. I used hypnosis,” she
answered and then leaned back in the chair and put her hands behind
her head. “Usually hypnosis does not work unless the subject is
willing, but I use a method that does not require such cooperation
on the part of the subject.”

“And if you do this, you will get your
answers?” Mark perked up a bit. Perhaps she could convince herself
of the truth. He certainly couldn’t convince her of anything.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Then I suggest we get on with it,” he told
her.

Maxie returned to the office and took up his
stance by the door.

“Maxie,” Cecile stood up. She kept her eyes
on Mark, but spoke to the guard. “Get some towels from the lab.
Clean him up a bit.”

Maxie mumbled something about not being a
nursemaid, but disappeared into the lab. Valentino followed him.
This was not going to be pleasant. Presently, she returned with a
gauze pad and a bottle. Maxie laid the shotgun on the desk and used
a towel to wipe at his lap haphazardly, making a bigger mess than
before.

Valentino sighed heavily and grabbed the
towel from him. “Just wait over there. We’ll take care of it
later.”

She poured some of the liquid from the bottle
onto the pad and looked down at him. “This won’t hurt at all.”

“Famous last words,” he said as he looked
down at the bloody mess in his lap. It certainly looked like blood
and a great deal of it. He looked up at her again and closed his
eyes. He was going to have to kill both of them if they didn’t kill
him first. Valentino walked around behind him and took his hair in
her hand, pulling his head back.

“You’d best make this work," he said. “I’m
not in a good mood.”

“You’re very funny, Mr. Ramsay.”

She gave him one last smile and pressed the
gauze pad over his nose and mouth. He resisted instinctively, but
she was right, it didn’t hurt at all. Dreamless sleep came as a
welcomed respite.

((((((((((((()))))))))))))

“You did what?!” Valentino’s voice was shrill
with rage and cut through his groggy mind like a knife. His neck
hurt. Stars danced in front of his eyes when he opened them. His
vision cleared and he saw the ceiling above him. Dropping his head
painfully, he saw that his lap was a bit cleaner, though damp.

“You idiot! You fool!” she shrieked behind
him somewhere.

He felt worse than ever and only wanted to
lie down, but he was still right where he had left himself and he
had no idea how much time had passed since he’d gone to sleep.

“Why? Why did you do that? I told you it was
for you to use on yourself. I only gave it to you because I was
afraid you would be hurt. I was afraid Merry might be hurt!
Remember? I said if you get hurt, drink this.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Maxie’s voice was sullen. “I
remember that, but I also remember that the stuff makes you pass
out cold.”

“That’s not the point,” she sputtered. “Why
did you use it on him?”

“The point is that he is a lot stronger than
he looked,” Maxie told her defiantly. “He had three knives on him,
for God’s sake. He thought she was a prostitute trying to pick him
up. He talked real bad to your little sweetheart. Real bad. You
should have come up with a better plan. I couldn’t hold him. I hit
him with the damned club. And he just kept coming at me. It’s like
he was plum crazy. And then he got hold of her… I couldn’t just
stand there and do nothing. He would have killed her and me, too.
If I’d let him kill me, how could I have drunk something?”

“There was no plan, you stupid shit!”
Valentino was beyond angry. “I sent you out to scout for him… you
know? Scout? Just have a look. See if you could spot him so we’d
know he was coming for sure. I didn’t tell you to capture him. He
was coming here anyway. All we had to do was wait.”

“Well, that’s not what Miss Merry told me.
You two should get your shit straight. I can’t work for two screwy
women at once!” Maxie’s voice lowered a bit and Mark heard
something break in the lab. The crash was followed by several
seconds of silence as the woman paced the floor.

“How did you do it? What exactly did you do?”
Valentino seemed to have calmed down a bit. Her words were short
and clipped.

“I threw it in his eyes,” Maxie explained to
her. “It was the only way. I couldn’t exactly ask him to sit down
for a beer and a bowl of salsa.”

“This is just great,” Valentino said
resignedly.

Mark heard something grating on the tile
floor. A chair? A guillotine? A casket?