The Red Cross of Gold I:. The Knight of Death (31 page)

“Please, signorina,” Lucio took her hand. “We
are already in the most grave trouble. If our boss finds out we
have bummed another job, he’ll fire us and our children will
starve.”

The maid almost laughed at his exaggeration,
but he was so very charming.

“That’s correct, mademoiselle,” d’Ornan made
his plea. “I am so very sorry for this inconvenience, but it is
just as my friend has said. Our boss will have our heads if we fail
to deliver this rug today. And it would not be right to just leave
it here on the floor all lumpy and ugly. Please?”

“Oh, all right,” she relented. “Don’t touch
anything and don’t go anywhere. Stay right here. And don’t expect a
tip!”

They both nodded to her and waited for her to
leave. D’Ornan followed her to the door and watched until her head
disappeared below the stairs. He closed the door and ran back to
help Dambretti pull on the rug desperately, dislodging its
disgruntled occupant on the hard floor with a loud thud.

“A hammer?” Lucio frowned up at Simon.

“It was all I could think of,” Simon
shrugged.

Beaujold got up quickly and glared at
them.

“Your children will starve?” He cast a
disgusted look at Lucio, glanced quickly around the room and
disappeared into the bathroom to hide before the maid returned.

"I do not like this plan, Brother," Dambretti
whispered when they were alone. "Beaujold will show no mercy and we
will not be here to mediate."

"Thomas has promised me that he would not
kill Brother Ramsay unless Brother Ramsay tried to kill him first,"
d'Ornan assured him and smiled.

"You put too much trust in Thomas," Dambretti
muttered.

"Surely he would not lie to me. I am his
confessor."

Dambretti sighed and then straightened his
collar as the maid reappeared with the hammer and the broom. They
set about moving the furniture, making a show of sweeping and
cleaning around the bed in preparation of laying the rug out while
actually looking for clues connected to Ramsay. When Lucio tried to
stick the broom under the bed he found his progress stopped by two
black leather bags. He got down on his knees and pulled them out.
His stomach lurched when he saw the initials on the attached brass
plates. MAR. This was the first real sign that his Brother was
actually here. Had he been hoping that Mark Andrew wasn’t really
there? No doubt they had the right room, but where was Brother
Ramsay? What would they do if he suddenly returned and found them
there? He stood up and threw the bags on the bed beside the boots.
They struggled with the heavy bed and finally got the rug in place
to the maid’s satisfaction. He replaced the bags under the bed with
a growing feeling of dread.

A few moments more and they had no choice but
to follow the maid out of the room and back downstairs. They left
the door standing open as they had found it.

The Will of God.

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

“He’s dreaming now.” Valentino leaned over
and looked closely at Mark’s eyelids. His eyes were moving rapidly
back and forth beneath them. “Proceed Brother Tellman.”

John Tellman sat on a high stool next to the
narrow surgical bed where Mark Andrew lay sleeping, strapped in
place by a single nylon belt. The very place that he had most
feared since being brought to the house.

“Sir Ramsay?” he said almost timidly. “We
need our tickets. I need to buy them now, sir. Where to?”

“Rome,” Mark answered shortly, rolling the R
very distinctly in the word.

“Italy?” John looked up at Valentino.

“Dunna be absurd, mon!” Mark snapped at him.
“Never ye mind. I’ll nae b’goin wi’ thee.”

Valentino noticed at once that the Scottish
brogue returned each time she put him under the hypnotic effect of
the drug. He also displayed the same Gaelic accent when he was
severely upset. It was a most interesting detail she would have to
discuss with Gavin Nash when he returned from Egypt. Hypnosis and
hypnotic drugs were a special hobby that they both shared.

“But we must go, my Brother.” Tellman frowned
at the sleeping man. “We are already at the airport.”

“Noooo!” Mark rolled his head back and forth.
“Ye furgot t’bring th’ swoard.”

“I have it right here.” Tellman shrugged and
looked at Valentino, who shook her head.

“Give it to me,” Mark demanded and held out
one hand.

This animated participation was not normal
for deep hypnosis. He moved about too much. He should have been
practically paralyzed. She instantly regretted not having strapped
his arms down.

Valentino stepped back and motioned to the
little man to follow her. Mark remained perfectly still with his
hand held out, waiting. She handed the man a dust mop from the mop
room.

Tellman brought it back to the table and
handed it over.

Mark took the handle and ran his other hand
up the stick gingerly as if expecting to be cut, before dropping it
unceremoniously to the floor.

“Th’ swoard, thou imbecilic fool,” he said
irritably and held out his hand again. His eyes were open, but he
was not seeing what they were seeing.

Valentino snorted in frustration. She went to
a tall stack of glassed barrister cabinets in the corner of the
room and opened the top door. The sword was wrapped in a soft
cloth, lying flat on top of the medical books in the case. She took
it out and carefully removed the cloth.

John Tellman’s eyes popped at the sight of
the magnificent hilt on the weapon. He took her arm nervously and
whispered quickly “Do you think this is wise, Miss Valentino?”

She pulled the sword from its black sheath
and the man stepped back as the wickedly twisted blade of gold
cleared the sheath with a deadly zinging sound. Her arm was too
short to draw it completely from the case. She shook the scabbard
to the floor in frustration and jerked her arm away from
Tellman.

“O’ carse it’s wieese! Give ’er over,” Mark
answered the man’s barely audible question. John jumped at the
sound of his voice and Valentino jerked her head toward the table,
thrusting the hilt of the sword into his hands.

“He called it a her,” she whispered as
Tellman hesitated in front of her. “That’s surprising. I thought
guys equated swords with peckers.”

Tellman glanced over his shoulder at her in
surprise and she jabbed him viciously in the back.

Tellman went back and pressed the hilt of the
sword in Mark’s hand before stepping back quickly. Mark gripped the
sword tightly and ran his other hand very lightly down the flat
side of the blade that was made of three braided strands resembling
flames. To their astonishment, he twirled the blade around the head
of the gurney twice and then wrapped both arms around the hilt,
clutching it to his chest like a favorite teddy bear. The tip of
the blade reached well past his knees.

“See what I mean?” She grinned wickedly at
the little weasel. “Proceed.”

“Now, Brother, where to?” Tellman tried again
at the urging of Valentino. He was beginning to shake all over. If
the man woke up, he would surely kill them all. Only one small
strap around his waist held him in place.

“Nowhere.” Mark rolled his head again. “I’m
not ready t’leave wi’thee just yet.”

“But sir! We must return to the… Temple. The
Grand Master is waiting for us. Our mission is accomplished
here.”

“And ’ow would ye be knowin’ thot bit o’
news, John Tellman?” Mark raised both eyebrows, but did not open
his eyes. “Me wark’s not done ’ere. Antony must retarn with us or
meet God before we go. Now go and get some rest. I’ll see ye in th’
marnin’. And look aftar th' 'orses before ye tarn in.” Tellman
shook his head and looked at Valentino for direction.

Valentino’s mouth fell open at the mention of
Anthony. Even though she had known that the Knight of Death would
be coming for the young man, she was shocked to hear it put so
bluntly. And, of course! What had she been thinking? He would not
leave until he had seen Anthony. He did not know that Anthony was
already dead and buried. She motioned quickly for Tellman to be
quiet. They had made a terrible mistake.

How would she get the sword back now? Why had
she sent Maxie up to watch Merry? What would they do when he woke
up? She had come to another dead end. Heavy on the dead if she
wasn’t extremely careful now. Another idea struck her. She motioned
for Tellman to follow her into her office. They would try to use
Merry again. She glanced nervously at the clock on the desk and
then sent the cowardly little man in search of Maxie and Merry.
They had to be quick.

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

Christopher had chosen the wrong passage of
course. Twice, in fact. He’d checked every room on both sides of
two long hallways and found nothing, but a dry storeroom, a
mechanical room, a generator room, a laundry room, two walk-in
coolers, a walk-in freezer and a wine cellar. Both hallways ended
abruptly at blank walls. He made his way back toward the
intersection, cursing his luck softly under his breath.

Christopher froze and then quickly flattened
himself against the wall as he glimpsed someone dressed in dark
clothes pass under the brighter lights at the foot of the
stairs.

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

Konrad von Hetz peered through the wire
reinforced window into the laboratory. He could see Ramsay lying on
his back on a narrow bed with the Flaming Sword clutched to his
chest. This was an unexpected development. The sight was unnerving.
The Knight looked dead. Even his bare feet were crossed in the
manner of the Templars prepared for burial. Was he dead? No.
Impossible. He could still see his jumbled thoughts. Why had the
fools allowed him to have the sword? If he had to face Ramsay armed
with the golden sword, he might have to rethink his plans. But
Ramsay was still unconscious. He could sense the presence of three
others in the basement. Two of them were engaged in a rapid fire
conversation somewhere beyond the sleeping Knight. The other one,
more faint, was somewhere else in the basement. Another prisoner
perhaps? But not a Knight of the Temple. Not one of his Brothers.
He opened the door carefully and slipped inside. He held his sword
in front of him and approached the bed softly.

He leaned very close to Ramsay’s ear with the
point of his sword pointed directly under the Knight’s jaw line
ready to do the unthinkable if necessary.

“My Brother, Chevalier Ramsay?” he whispered
softly. “Wake up, Brother. You are in grave danger.”

“Rittar?” Mark asked, matching the whisper
perfectly, but he did not open his eyes. “Whattar ye doin’ ’ere, m’
Brother?”

“I’ve come to take you home, Brother.” Von
Hetz touched his arm and frowned. The Knight was still dreaming. He
reached for the hilt of the Flaming Sword, but Ramsay tightened his
grip on it. “Come on, get up.”

Von Hetz cut the band holding him on the
table and slipped his free arm under the Knight’s neck, pulling him
up to a sitting position. Ramsay held onto his sword offering no
help to his efforts. The conversation continued in hot debate in
the other room. A woman and a man.

“I canna go wi’thee, Brother.” Mark shook his
head. “I’ve nae finished me wark ’ere.”

“They are coming for you, Brother,” von Hetz
whispered as he slid him off the bed to the floor and caught him
awkwardly under the arms. Their swords clanged together. “Open your
eyes. You must help me.”

Mark complied with the instructions, but
there was no comprehension in his deep blue eyes. He was still
seeing the dream. Countless strangers milled around in front of
him. He was at the airport. This was not right at all. How had he
gotten here? And who was this man with him now? He could not see
his face.

“And hide not thy face from thy servant; for
I am in trouble: hear me speedily,” he quoted a scripture aloud.
“Whoor oll these people, Brother?” he asked the man he could not
see, but seemed to know.

“What people? Hush now. Come with me.”

Von Hetz draped Ramsay’s left arm over his
thin shoulders and then wrapped his sword arm around the Knight’s
waist. Ramsay still held the golden sword in his hands. The two
blades zinged together again. The sound made von Hetz’ heart lurch.
The heated conversation in the next room mercifully covered the
sounds they were making. Ramsay was not cooperating at all. When
they reached the door to the hallway, von Hetz was astounded to see
the way out barred by a slim figure dressed in black from head to
toe. His face was covered with black grease paint and his dancing
blue eyes were wide with excitement mixed with fear. He held a
dagger in one hand and a broadsword in the other. Christopher
Stewart? The only apprentice in the Academy who practiced the use
of both hands for fighting with weapons. Sir Barry had been totally
exasperated by the young man's insistence upon learning what he
called 'ninja techniques'.

“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.