Summer of the Moon Flower (The de Vargas Family)

by Seaton, Annie

  The gelding was unused to a road wide enough for several horsemen to ride abreast, being used to the deer trails and the rugged terrain of the island. Dougal held the reins tightly as a carriage passed them on the outskirts of the small town that was Kilmarnock, reaching down to pat and reassure the skittish young horse.

  “Just a few more minutes and I will water you at the brook while I collect some ale from the inn for this evening.”

  The more ale, the better, he mused. He was also a little curious as he had been instructed to collect a small vat of wine for the gathering tonight. It was the first time since he had inherited on the stewardship of the order that such preparations had been put in place for a meeting, and at such short notice.

  Perhaps there may be a special guest tonight?

  He knew the Council would be most unhappy with the news from Vienna and his failure to deal with the stranger at the station. After tethering his horse, he walked across to the inn and supped on bread and ale as he considered the best way to broach the unfortunate news.

  Even though it was commonly believed the small chapter based in Kilmarnock was a division of the Freemasons, the Council of the Great was actually the governing body of the descendants of the Knights Templar who had taken refuge in Scotland in the fourteenth century. Dougal was not privy to the inner workings of the Council as he would not be fully inducted until ten years had passed. He was, however, aware of the deepest secret of the Council, as his father had shared the information on his deathbed, begging his son not to take up the hereditary position. Dougal kept the information close to his chest and knew his mission in Vienna was closely related to the ancient order’s whole reason for being.

  Tonight will be very interesting.

  The members of an order, who embraced life and immortality, would not be pleased with the news he would impart tonight. He had been under instruction to kill the female observer at the station and bring the body to Kilmarnock for identification, so the suspicions of the Council could be confirmed. The whole trip had been the culmination of an elaborate set-up with false information spread through the Queen of England’s network eventually filtering down to the Sheriff of Cornwall as intended.

  Dougal reached into his pocket and fingered the monogrammed leather glove. He would wait to see the reaction of the Council before he confirmed, or indeed if he even revealed, the identity of the observer. The role of steward was not one to be involved in the taking of life, and he was concerned for the reasons this mission had been allocated to him. It may be that he had been chosen simply for his youth and strength or it was a test of his loyalty. For the time being, he would stay with the Council and seek his own understanding of the ventures of the white-haired woman. Tonight he would allay the fears of the Council.

  * * * *

  The sonorous beating of a drum heralded the entrance of the Holy Five, the leaders of the Kilmarnock chapter of the Council of the Great. A dozen or so white-cloaked men of varying ages sat on benches arranged in the center of the Great Hall. Dougal and the one other young member of the order had prepared the seating, lit the sconces and filled the jugs with ale.

  The red wine was on the front table and covered by a white cloth. Dougal and his fellow usher stood flanking the entrance and when the drum stopped beating, each lifted their side of the heavily embossed red curtain as the Five walked slowly into the Hall.

  After they had taken their seats at the table, Dougal and his fellow usher acted as cup bearers and filled their goblets with the ale, before lowering their heads and backing to join the other men seated on the benches.

  As they sat, the leader of the Five stood and reached for a manuscript on the table. He unfurled it with great ceremony and his deep voice echoed across the large Hall as he began to greet them in French.

  Dougal watched as the manuscript unfurled, taking care to keep his face solemn. He observed their Leader as he greeted the gathering. A tall man of indeterminate age gripped the manuscript with long, bony fingers. His skin had a faint tinge of yellow as though he had recently suffered an illness. Long white hair trailed past his shoulders and his matching beard fell almost to his waist. A white surcoat fell to the floor, and a large red cross on his chest was just visible behind his long white beard. Dougal smothered a smile; the archaic dress would draw attention to the Leader if he were to be observed outside the castle. His robes befitted a Knight from the twelfth century rather than the progressive times they were now in. However, it was the eyes of the man that caught his attention. His cold, expressionless eyes seemed to look into your very soul.

  Dougal shivered as the old man pinned him with his gaze—it was almost as though he could read his thoughts—before turning his attention to the parchment in front of him.

  I certainly pray that he cannot.

  “Good evening, my lords. I welcome you unreservedly.” He held up the manuscript and briefly reverted to the language of the Knights Templar

  “Je me félicite de cette charte”

  I welcome this Charter, Dougal translated in his head, while some of the Scottish knights looked confused

  “Tonight we are here for two purposes. I have recently been summoned to the Council of the Great in Edinburgh and have been advised our chapter has attained the forty first degree of perfection.” Two of the old men on the front table gasped and the remainder of the Five looked at each other in confusion.

  “Yes, my fellow knights, the Unutterable Degree.”

  Dougal turned his head and glanced at the men who were sitting in the front row with him. Expressions of confusion vied with fear and he caught the eye of the other young man, who raised his eyebrows at Dougal in question. Dougal shook his head imperceptibly and the young man raised his fingers a fraction to acknowledge the unspoken message.

  The two older men at the front table stood and embraced their leader.

  They sat and the Leader raised his hand.

  “However, before the Unutterable Degree is conferred upon our small chapter, we have been given a mission. We must have unerring evidence the scientific quest for immortality in Vienna has been destroyed. The Order of the Lunar Temple has chosen our encampment for this mission.”

  His voice rose in anger.

  “Our knights have taken centuries to achieve immortality, through spiritual growth and working upwards through the degrees of perfection.”

  He slammed his fist on to the table and the goblets rattled.

  “Our spiritual perfection will not by threatened by the physical sciences.” He stood at the front of the gathering, silently observing the men as he fingered his long beard. The small group of men of all ages focused on him, each with rapt attention.

  “Earl Rothmore, I give you permission to rise and address the gathering of your findings in Vienna.”

  Dougal stood and made his way to the centre of the room where the Five looked solemnly across at him.

  He was a big man and not easily intimidated, and as he caught the gaze of the leader of the Five, the determination in the eyes of the old man sent a shiver down his spine. A shiver that settled into a pit of cold in his stomach as heads turned to see the source of a metallic clicking across the paved floor near the side entry of the Great Hall.

  The two automatons he had left at the border with the dirigible, moved awkwardly across the large open space toward the table in the center of the Hall, their brass extremities ringing sharply on the cobblestones and their brass joints clicking as their robotic movement pushed them forward.

  He kept his face expressionless as they moved past him and stood on either side of the table. The gravity of the situation was illustrated by the presence of the automatons. Their presence flouted the edict of the Scottish parliament, that no mechanicals or paraphernalia of the new order enter the country. The roads to the border were always busy with carriages and cabs conveying Scottish passengers to the dirigible stations in many of the English border towns.

  “My Lord?” The Leader’s voice was impatient and he
rustled the paper in his hands

  Dougal slowly made his way to the front of the assembly and bowed reverently to the Five, before turning to the knights in front of him. His mouth was dry and he cursed himself for not taking a sip of ale before he rose.

  “My Great Leader, I have difficult news to impart. Our intelligence was correct; the shipment arrived in Vienna as expected.” He closed his eyes briefly, as his mind worked furiously. He was going to have to be very accurate in his representation of events at the Westbahnhof as the automatons would have an analogue record of all that had occurred. He assumed they were fitted with miniature analytical engines, as wealth was no hindrance for this Council. He could only hope they were placed at such an angle so they did not see the woman’s hair fall from her helmet, nor record him retrieving the glove from the floor outside the last exit after she had escaped.

  “The product was collected at the station by a courier and we were unable to follow it to its destination as we were otherwise occupied”— he turned and inclined his heads to the automatons—“attempting to catch the observer at the station. Our mechanical friends were unable to hold that person and even though I gave chase, he managed to elude us, making good use of the darkness of the early dawn.”

  Bowing, he deferred to the mechanical men flanking the Leader. “Perhaps they observed more than I was able to see when I gave chase?”

  He swallowed nervously, to moisten his dry throat and waited for the automaton to correct his version of the night’s events.

  The one on the left turned to the leader and extended his mechanical arms. A low rumbling came from his chest and a short clipped voice followed.

  “Observe, if you please.”

  There was a series of gasps from the assembled man as the Leader reached over and turned the cog on the top of the automaton’s chest and a small screen slid out slowly in front of the five men sitting at the table. Dougal’s heart pounded as they watched the events at the station play out. Clenching his jaw, he kept his face impassive as he stared silently at the men in front of him. As light reflected from their faces, Dougal was able to keep up with the events that were being reenacted on the square glass.

  As the light shone from the dirigible, Dougal had looked down and seen the blonde tress fall from the observer’s helmet at the same time the automatons had moved out of the shadows. He waited for the Leader to speak, but the Five watched silently.

  Dear God, please let it be too dark to let them see me pick up the glove. His jaw ached from the effort of keeping his face emotionless.

  The cogs whirred and with a loud click, the automaton closed his chest plate. The Leader of the Great Council stood and stepped to the centre of the platform. Dougal held his breath, his heart thudding slowly as he kept his gaze locked on their leader without breaking eye contact. The cold eyes of the old man stared at him for a full minute before the Leader turned away and addressed the men assembled.

  “We need to select another to join the Earl of Rothmore. Is there one among you, eager to co-operate in the venture to achieve our goal?” He looked across the small gathering and his gaze rested on Edward, the young usher who had assisted Dougal to set up the Hall.

  “I will, your Lordship.” His voice was eager.

  “It will no doubt be dangerous,” replied the old man. He stroked his long white beard and considered the young man for several moments.

  “Is there no one of greater years who wishes to join?” He paused and looked solemnly at the men.

  To Dougal’s surprise, none met his eye. No one else stepped forward.

  The Leader held both arms out, pointing to the young usher and to Dougal.

  “Come, my Lords.” Turning, he reached for the jug of wine, poured earlier by Dougal from the vat he had collected from the Inn, and waited as the two young men made their way to the table. The Leader ushered them to the middle of the floor and stood between them, reaching up and placing a gnarled, veined hand on each of their shoulders.

  “The Order of the Lunar Temple has decreed we have attained the forty first degree of perfection. Our chapter has been entrusted with an extremely significant mission. The most important task assigned to a Knight Templar for hundreds of years.’

  He looked at Douglas and Edward, his eyes like flint.

  “Your presence in this castle tonight is testament to your valor as a knight, either through deeds or through hereditary bloods. You will be initiated into the next chapter. Are you prepared to take on this task so that we can fulfill our quest and attain the Unutterable Degree?”

  He paused and looked from one to the other. “Think long and hard…if you fail in this task, your mortal life will end.”

  Dougal stood straight, keeping his expression somber as he nodded at the old man.

  “You old fool,” he thought. “My father left me a near impossible task and you have handed hand me the means to achieve it ten years before I ever imagined it would be possible. He looked across at Edward. The blood had drained from the younger man’s face and perspiration beaded his brow. As Dougal watched, Edward nodded to the Leader. The old man filled two goblets and spoke to the assembled gathering.

  “Lift your goblets while we complete the libations.”

  He handed a goblet to each of the young men and then looked up to the high domed roof of the Great Hall as he chanted the toast.

  “To King Solomon, our Ancient Grand Master.”

  “King Solomon,” the men held their goblets high and repeated the words after him, before sipping the wine.

  Again, Dougal wondered if this was all part of an elaborate trap as the acrid liquid hit his throat and his breath caught.

  Or was it simply, poor quality wine from the Inn?

  By the time they finished the fourth libation his eyes were streaming. The old man continued to look to the heavens as he started the final toast.

  “Young Lords, the fifth libation is taken in a very solemn manner. It is emblematic of the bitter cup of death, of which some of us may sooner or later taste. “He paused and looked down at each of them. “However, if you succeed in this quest, each knight in this room tonight will gain immortal life. Repeat the Templar vow after me.”

  He reached out and took each of their right hands in his and linked them together as he led them through the vow. They repeated his words solemnly in front of the assembled men.

  “If ever I willfully violate this, my solemn vow, as a brother of the Knights Templar, may my skull be sawn asunder with a rough sword, my brains be consumed by the scorching sun. If ever I willfully deviate from this my solemn obligation, may my light be put out from among men, as that of Judas Iscariot was for betraying our Lord and Master.”

  As the Leader moved onto the vows of poverty, chastity, obedience, and piety, Dougal fought a smile. He was acquainted with each knight in this room, either through business or society. He could confirm with little trouble not one of them was pious, chaste, poor or obedient. The most decent man in the room was young Edward standing beside him, taking this ridiculous vow. Dougal closed his eyes.

  I am following the good. I will not have to keep these vows.

  Warmth stole over him as he thought of his father and the final words he’d spoken on his deathbed. He had promised his father he would end the reign of these men and their political and spiritual power, even if it took him his lifetime.

  Now that he had been inducted into the inner circle he would have no trouble embarking upon his own personal quest. He looked up and smiled as he stared deep into the eyes of the Leader

  The old man smiled down at the two young men, although his expression remained cold. “So be it. After our ceremony has concluded, I will meet with you both in the Solar.”

  The Leader raised his hands and looked over the men sitting in the room. “Go in peace, my Lords.”

  * * * *

  An hour later, the candles dimmed and the knights left to make their way back to their respective homes. They shuffled out of the Great Hall of Castle
Dean, their quiet footsteps muffled by the clicking of the mechanical men on the stairs above them. The Five resided in the castle as per their rank in the Council. Dougal and Edward stood quietly in the shadows, not speaking as they waited for permission to enter the Solar.

  “Come,” said the Leader. “Follow me.”

  They climbed a twisting staircase and stepped out into a large open room. The full moon was rising and a shaft of silver moonlight illuminated the small room. A manservant scurried around and lit the brass sconces on the wall with a taper from the fireplace. The cheery fire crackled in the hearth and the atmosphere was much warmer and welcoming than the cavernous Great Hall below.

  The candle light reflected on the large Gothic rose windows at the end of the Solar. Dougal glanced across and noted the two automatons flanking the window. Even though they had been under his control on the expedition to Vienna, he was still unnerved by their grotesque appearance, now enhanced by the flickering candlelight on their brass extremities. Edward’s eyes were wide, his gaze fixed on the mechanical men.

  Dougal smiled grimly to himself. Obviously Edward was unfamiliar with the technology outside Scotland…it seemed he had not seen anything of this nature before. It was essential Dougal turn Edward to his way of thinking before he accompanied him on his quest. They had spoken briefly on a number of occasions about their allegiance to the Knights and Dougal had sensed Edward was a doubter as well. Hence his surprise when he had volunteered to join the quest earlier in the night.

  They sat around a less formal table in the Solar and the leader called his manservant to bring refreshments. While they waited, the silence became uncomfortable but Dougal was reluctant to break the quiet. Young Edward seemed nervous and drummed his boots on the wooden floor until the Leader looked across the table and stared him down.