The Red Cross of Gold I:. The Knight of Death (7 page)

“Please be careful with that, sir,” Maxie
took a step backwards. “That’s a hair trigger, Mister. I filed it
myself.”

“Back!” Mark repeated the gesture and Maxie
complied until he bumped into the railing and stopped.

“Turn around,” Mark told him and moved
carefully toward the stairs, trying to keep his eyes on the man,
the doors along the balcony overlooking the foyer and the stairs
leading from the third floor at the same time.

Maxie turned around slowly and grasped the
railing for support as his knees turned to water.

“Now jump,” Mark told him and took two steps
forward toward him.

“You can’t be serious!” Maxie moaned and Mark
jabbed him in the back with the shotgun. “It’ll kill me!”

“Jump or your brains will precede you down,”
Mark repeated the order and Maxie heard the other trigger click
into place and felt the cold metal against the back of his
head.

Maxie was crying as he lifted one foot and
placed it atop the railing. His bladder let go and Mark rolled his
eyes in disgust.

"Get on with it!" he growled and the man
whimpered in fear.

The bedroom door behind him suddenly burst
open and the Pixie rushed blindly onto the balcony, shouting at
Maxie not to shoot Mark Andrew. She ran directly into Mark’s back
in her panic, causing him to stumble forward. The gun rammed into
Maxie's back, knocking it loose from Mark's grasp before he went
down on one knee to catch his balance. Maxie screeched as the
shotgun’s butt struck the floor and both barrels discharged into
the ceiling, barely missing his head. Mark Andrew cursed, Merry
screamed and the shotgun clattered away across the marble
floor.

The big man stopped screeching, turned around
and opened her eyes and saw his chance. He tackled Mark before he
could get up again; grabbing two handfuls of the long, black hair.
The bigger man put his weight into the desperate move and cracked
Mark Andrew’s head against the base of a marble pedestal. The
Knight grabbed his head with both hands and tried to get up, but
darkness overwhelmed him and he was out cold.

Maxie struggled to his feet, picked up the
shotgun and smirked down at Merry, who sat crying beside her fallen
Knight as flakes of plaster floated down from the ceiling like
falling snowflakes.

“Thanks for the help,” he told her and
laughed.

O God, thou knowest my foolishness; and my
sins are not hid from thee.

Mark Andrew Ramsay awoke thankfully enough knowing who he was, but
unappreciative of the one errant ray of sunshine, which had found a
home directly in his eyes. When he tried to move, pain radiated
from a spot on the top of his head.

Voices… subdued, angry voices had awakened
him from a nightmare wherein he was starving in a dark place made
of stone, dank, oppressive. He had been chasing rats with his
dagger. Fortunately, he hadn't caught any of them. A distinctive
relief since he knew that he was planning to eat one of them. The
dream’s disturbing horror faded gradually, but as his vision
cleared, he was dismayed to find that he was, once again tied in a
very bad position. He could see that his wrists were rather
sloppily bound with tasseled satin ropes. At least he could
remember where he was and why his head was hurting, though he could
not imagine when or how he might have allowed himself to be tied to
Merry’s bedposts. The pains of hunger had returned rivaling those
in his head. The persistent sunbeam precluded further forays in the
direction of the voices, threatening to blind him if he insisted.
He closed his eyes, lay still and concentrated on the word.

The Pixie’s voice he recognized. She was
apparently near the windows speaking to a second woman somewhere
else in the room, possibly near the door. His clothes were gone
again, though he didn’t remember taking them off a second time.
Only a feather light comforter of smooth satin covered him
partially. He moved his leg and the smooth fabric slipped several
inches to the right. Not a good idea. He relaxed again and
listened.

“I did not!” Merry was saying.

“That’s not what Maxie told me,” the other
said angrily.

“Maxie is a pervert!” Merry objected
indignantly.”

“He’s in your bed, Merry, just like Maxie
said he was.”

“He was hurt, Cecile,” Merry explained
unconvincingly. “Maxie caused him to bang his head. Maybe even gave
him a concussion or something. He’s a sadistic bastard. Maxie
wanted to kill him and he was going to shoot him. Right there in
the hall. Murder him. Did he tell you that?”

“You’re lying, Merry. You always lie. If I
didn’t love you so much, I would send you packing. Maxie is not a
murderer. He was just doing his job. I told him to watch him. He’s
dangerous. I told you that. And you let him loose in the house. How
could you be so irresponsible?”

“I am not lying. Maxie wanted to kill him and
leave him in the ditch even before we brought him home,” the Pixie
began to cry. “I slept on the couch. You can see that he takes up
the whole bed! For Pete’s sake, how could I have slept with him
like that? You’re being stupid.”

“Yeah, right. I’m always the stupid one, huh?
Then why did you bolt the door?”

“I was afraid of Maxie. You know I’m afraid
of him. I asked you not to leave me here at night with him! How
many times have I asked you not to leave me with him? I always lock
my door. Get rid of him, Cecile, puh-lease? I hate him. We can find
another guard. One with better manners and one… who looks better,
too.”

“Listen to you! A nice guard. A pretty guard.
Meredith Nichole, I swear, what would a nice, pretty guard do for
us?” There was a brief silence and the sound of someone walking
around the room. “You gave him a bath,” he could hear the one
called Cecile moving around the room. Her voice kept changing
directions as she poked about, looking for something. What?

“He was… he needed a bath. You know how hot
it was yesterday. Maxie tied him to a tree,” the Pixie’s tone
changed and she sniffed loudly. “I couldn’t let him sleep in my bed
like that. All sweaty and everything. I wanted him to be
presentable for you. I did it for you. And where were you all
night? Why didn’t you come home?”

“I had urgent business in town. Now, Merry,
don’t cry,” the second voice softened a bit. “You know I can’t
stand that. As long as you didn’t do anything you… or I… will
regret. I’m just looking out for your welfare, Merry, that’s all.
And we have the ceremony coming up. You know how important your
role is.”

Muffled sobs and more sniffles followed.

“Go downstairs. Check on breakfast and bring
me some chocolate. OK? I’ll watch over him for a while. You take a
break, sweetie.”

The door opened and closed again. His only
ally, if she could be called that, was gone.

Faint footsteps muffled by deep carpeting,
drew near the bed. The owner of the other voice, which he presumed
to be the infamous Valentino, picked up one corner the comforter
and he tried not to hold his breath as she looked him over. The
cover dropped back over him.

“Mr. Ramsay?” The voice was all business now.
He waited, pretending to be asleep a bit longer, just to be
convincing.

“Mr. Ramsay!” The voice was more insistent.
“Wake up.” She bumped the bed with her knee.

He opened one eye. The sunlight had moved out
of his eyes, but his mouth was so dry, he doubted he could make a
sound.

“You cannot stay in this bed, sir,” she told
him.

He raised his head slightly, opened his other
eye and looked at the knotted cords on his wrists before focusing
on her face. She was surprisingly enough, quite lovely in her own
right, though completely opposite the Pixie.

“I have another room for you,” she
continued.

Her black eyes glittered, calculating and
cold. She had an olive complexion and short, very dark hair. She
appeared to be dressed in some sort of ceremonial garb with a broad
red ribbon embroidered with two turtle doves in a heart-shaped
wreath draped over one shoulder and fastened at the waist. . A
garland of baby yellow roses adorned her hair.

“I have waited a long time for you,” she told
him with an appraising glance that made him feel very exposed. “You
look better than I expected, but where is your beard? I though you
guys prided yourselves on your beards?” She chuckled softly and the
sound of it made him shudder inwardly.

He made no response to her remarks and
questions. She seemed irreverent. But what did that make him? Some
kind of priest? It seemed that he thought of everything in terms of
sin and religion.

“I have been searching for your people for a
long, long time. Of course I’ve found plenty of pretenders… here
and there,” she sounded almost tired as she curled onto the far end
of the bed and leaned against the bedpost. “I don’t intend to have
my quest spoiled by misbehavior on your part or Merry's, for that
matter. You will have to forgive her ignorance. She doesn’t really
understand what you are and I want to thank you for not hurting
her. I'm sorry that Maxie treated you… less than hospitable. He
gets a bit over zealous at times.”

Mark Andrew still could not bring himself to
speak with her. There was something very dangerous about her and
silence seemed to be the best course of action.

She smiled when he raised his head to look at
her. “But Merry is a very desirable specimen, isn’t she? You would
do yourself a great favor to avoid any future contacts with her
without my permission. If things go well… who knows? But for now,
won’t you do us both a favor now and tell me where your Master is.
I just want to talk to him.”

He had no idea what she was talking about.
When he made no answer, she got up and leaned over him. He could
smell her faint perfume mingled the lingering aroma of wine on her
breath. She looked into his eyes as if trying to physically find
the answers to her questions there. When he turned his face away
from her, she pressed the fresh cut above his eye with two fingers
and new pain shot through his head.

“I do not like to be ignored, Mr. Ramsay. Do
you understand me?"

He nodded briefly, but did not look at
her.

“Good.”

She ran her fingers down his face before
straightening up again. He cast a wary glance at her and saw her
contemplating the blood on her fingertips. She had re-opened the
wound that Maxie had inflicted on him in the orchard. She held her
fingers under her nose and sniffed the blood before wiping her
fingers on his chest with a smile. “Maxie will take you up to your
room. I will see you again at breakfast.”

She took hold of his right hand, twisting it
around painfully to look at the ring on his finger. He watched her
carefully, trying to judge the depths of her particular brand of
insanity. She nodded and let go of his hand.

“Do not try to speak to the servants. I have
told them that you are here on a religious retreat,” she told him
and laughed. “I told them that you might try to cast the evil eye
on them. Illegal immigrants. You gotta love them. Maxie is in
charge of security. He runs things from that end. Do not provoke
him, Mr. Ramsay. These people belong to me. All of them, including
Merry. I trust you will behave yourself like a good monk.”

With that last warning, she left him alone to
wait on the inestimable security ‘expert’. He passed the time
trying to wriggle his hands free, but the cords only tightened
under his efforts. The man arrived promptly and with his usual
gentle grace, yanked the cords loose from his wrists and then
helped him from the bed onto the floor. It seemed to amuse him
greatly to see the fresh blood on his head and no clothes on his
body. He laughed and kicked Mark’s clothes across the floor to him
and then waited and watched him with an annoying smirk on his ugly
face while he dressed. Instead of the shotgun he waved a
nickel-plated 9 mm pistol.

“After you, dipshit," he said as he opened
the door for Mark and stepped back.

The servants’ quarters were on the third
floor, Maxie told him as they ascended the service staircase. His
'room' was one of the dormer rooms on the fourth floor. Maxie
occupied a room on the fourth floor as well. A comforting thought.
The rather cramped bedroom had darkly finished furnishings and
heavy bars on the window. It was not bad for a prison cell as cells
went. He had seen worse… somewhere. When had he been in prison?
Where?

A black leather bag lay on the bed. His? He
did not recognize it. Maxie seized the opportunity to give him one
last vicious shove that sent him sprawling across a chair in front
of a small writing desk. He righted himself and turned, ready to
attack the man in spite of the gun, but Maxie took no chances. The
man backed out of the door and caught the doorknob in his free
hand.

“I suggest you get cleaned up,” he said as he
closed the door. “Miss Valentino is expecting you for lunch.”

He figured the strange words were perfect.
She probably was expecting him for lunch… as the main course. He
was about to look in the bag when the door opened again. Maxie
stood looking at him. Now what?

“By the way, I just wanted you to know that
she knows what happened between you and Miss Priss. You didn’t make
a good first impression.”

“And is that supposed to mean something to
me? Should I care to impress a psychotic kidnapper?” Mark asked. “I
don’t really give a damn what you or anyone else here thinks of
me.”

“Well, you should. But I guess you don’t have
any sense,” Maxie shrugged. “You’re one lucky bastard and you’re
too stupid to know it. What fool in his right mind wouldn’t
fantasize about a piece of work like little Miss Merry?” The man
laughed.

Mark frowned in confusion.

Mark looked at him in consternation. “I don’t
think that luck had anything to do with it, but that should be
proof positive that I am not who you think I am, but you, sir, are
a criminal and it is you that a judge will find guilty of a variety
of crimes. I, on the other hand, would be willing to walk out the
door and leave here without filing charges for the sake of Miss
Merry. Does kidnapping mean anything to you? Assault? Armed
robbery? Grand theft auto?”