by Darren Swart
Fredrick made a sweeping gesture with his hand as an invitation to sit. “Have you eaten yet?”
“No, Sir.”
“Anna, dear, what do we have for breakfast this morning?”
She looked a little confused at first. The cooks always prepared the duke’s meals to order—no matter what they were. She thought it was some kind of test; one that she was about to fail horribly. The rest of the staff stood rigidly along the edge of the room. She approached the table with some uncertainty. Marty sensed her fear, but couldn’t understand it over such a simple question. He intervened. “This may seem silly. I know it’s not traditional German food, but I would love some pancakes.” He asked innocently, “Do you have those here?”
The duke smiled, broadly. “Of course. In fact, we have a wonderful German Apple Pancake, if you’re game?”
“Sounds grand.”
The duke gestured with his hand. “For us both, please, Anna.”
She curtsied and practically ran from the room. Another young lady stepped forward with a cup of prepared coffee, placing it on the table. Without looking, the duke picked up the cup and began to sip. The subtleness of it didn’t miss Marty’s quick eye—just as the blazer the duke was wearing.
At first, the crest, resembled a coat of arms. After a closer examination, he realized that it was very different than any he had ever seen. A ruby red gold crested shield armed with a golden battle axe and pike crossed. In the center, a black skull with piercing red eyes glowered, as a white snake emerged from its mouth and wrapped around the smooth surface. The phrase Novus Ordo Seclorum ringed the crest. Marty stared, locked in a moment of deja vu. The duke’s quick eyes noted the interest in his crest.
“It means A New Order of the Ages. It is my heritage and my curse.”
Marty’s eyebrows raised a notch. “Curse?”
The duke smiled sadly. He changed subjects. “So Martin, what do you think of my humble estate?”
Marty took a guess. “It’s the most eloquent example of sixteenth century I’ve ever seen.”
The duke laced his fingers and pushed his index fingers under his chin. “What makes you say that?”
“The bastions display an unusual amount of cornice work reminiscent of the Water Castle near Salzburg. The Arcade seems too ornate for work before 1500. It’s clear there have been several period changes. I would say the most recent being nineteenth century.”
The duke smiled, as he regarded Marty. “Most impressive, Martin. So are castles a hobby?”
Marty returned his smile. “I would say more of a curiosity. Being American, we don’t really get a sense of that sort of depth of history from our homes. This is really quite fascinating.”
Marty could almost hear Bess snort a continent away. She had informed him that two semesters of European Architecture were a waste of money. His doggedness on the issue had eventually paid off and she agreed to pay for the classes against her better judgment. He had always planned on making a sabbatical and castle hop one summer. This wasn’t exactly what he had in mind.
The duke sipped his coffee. “Martin, I won’t waste your time with some infantile charade. You have something I want. I cannot begin to explain to you how valuable it is to me.”
Brazenly, Marty responded, “What makes my Sappir so valuable to you?” He gestured around him. “My guess is it is no more than a bauble in comparison to all that you have.”
The duke smiled, tactfully. “I’m afraid that you misunderstand me. Your Sappir is not some trinket for display in some dusty museum. It is part of an intricate system that forms a key to an ancient lock.”
Marty sat back in a surprisingly comfortable chair. “So, the stone is part of an array of some sort?”
The duke studied Marty for a moment. He was used to people who feared and patronized him. This young man was very different. Wood intrigued the duke, more so than anyone he had met in a long time. “Quite right, Martin. It is part of an intricate system. The gem you possess has led you to yet another stone, which completes the array. The diamond Franz is so dutifully bringing here—as we speak—is one of twelve.”
Marty pressed him. “Once the twelve are together, what do they do?”
There was a long pause on the duke’s part. “You know of the Jewish relic known as the Ark of the Covenant? Yes?”
“Yes. I know of it.” It was an understatement, to say the least.
“The twelve stones form a harmony of sorts which will unlock the Ark.”
“So you plan to control the most incredible force in the history of mankind?”
The duke shifted in his tapestry seat. His knuckles whitened slightly. The fingers were still interlaced, but visibly rigid. Ice cold blue eyes regarded Marty. “You seem to be quite at ease with all of this. Perhaps you don’t believe me.”
Marty shook his head. “No. I believe you. We wouldn’t be having this conversation, if it weren’t true. It’s too fantastic. So, would it be possible for me to see it?”
The duke’s hands relaxed. He chuckled. The lad wasted no time. “Perhaps after we eat. You can’t make history on an empty stomach, can you?”
With remarkable precision, a small army of staff began arriving with more food than a garrison could eat. There were platters of seared Polish sausages, eggs Florentine, steaming pancakes, dark breads smelling deeply of cinnamon, butter, jams, honey.
Marty’s stomach growled at the prospect of food. He hadn’t eaten since noon the day before. He hoped it was polite to dig in since that was what he intended to do. Before he could make a move, the duke was instructing the staff to portion him out generous helpings of food from several of the platters. Anna stood by Martin’s side, patiently waiting for instructions. Marty watched the duke for a moment, shrugged and followed his example. His plate began to fill before him. Clearly pointing was acceptable, if directed at the hired help.
Marty pawed at the plate like a ravenous dog. Anna hovered over him and catered to his every whim. The duke watched Marty and Anna playfully banter back and forth. Beneath the Armani blazer, his neck began to redden. The same wench had pushed him away a year earlier. He had overlooked the incident at the time as youthful ignorance. Now, he watched with interest, as she poured over his young guest, taunting him and throwing the incident in his face. He smiled and joked throughout the meal. All-the-while, the memory festered within him like a boil; an abscess that would not be ignored. He finally felt the rich tug of emotion that he had long desired. Yet, the emotion was not what he would have expected. Anger and jealously rose like the mounting tide within him and they would not be contained.
****
Marty studied his host, curiously. For a man who clearly wielded supremacy with ease, he seemed surprisingly down to earth. As they ate, they discussed baseball. Strangely, they liked the same teams and vigorously shared a conversation about who had been traded and how that was going to affect the defensive strategy. Time flew, as they ate. While the purpose in Marty being here was clearly on both their minds, it was Marty who finally broached the subject. He took a sip of coffee and sat back. He didn’t mince any words as he opened with, “If I might ask, why is it so important for you to open the Ark? Surely, whatever secrets it held are long gone by now.”
The duke stopped eating and sat back. He delicately wiped the corners of his mouth and regarded Marty for a moment. “Open it? I have no intention of opening it. What if the Ark is not just a storage box? What if, instead, it is a reliquary?”
Marty acted ignorant. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. You mean something that holds some sort of secret?”
“Not just a secret, but energy; unbridled primitive energy from the dawn of time. It is something that has not been seen in a millennia.”
Marty pressed him. “So what will you do with that kind of power?”
The duke’s jaw tightened. He was not used to being questioned on his intent, or anything for that matter. He fought his rising temper. Marty watched the duke with interest. He could sens
e he had struck a nerve and assumed he had pushed him too far. He fully expected the duke to evade the question. He was surprised when the duke asked, “Marty, did you ever play games as a child?”
He was a bit confused by the question, but he played along. “Of course.”
“Do you play them now?”
“Well, no. It’s kind of boring. They’re too easy.”
Smiling, the duke nodded. “That is precisely my point. It takes a team of twenty-seven highly skilled lawyers just to keep track of my holdings around the world. My banks hold more operating capital than the entire GNP of China. I collect politicians like most people collect coins. I move them like chess pieces just to see what happens. Controlling this world is child’s play to me.”
“So, this is all because you’re bored?” Marty blurted before he could stop himself.
Oddly the duke didn’t seem offended. “I prefer to think of it as my destiny is not being fulfilled. When you win every time, it is time to change to another game.”
“You mean—start over?”
He smiled and nodded. “Precisely. Do you like history?”
It was another odd question. “It’s not one of my strong points.”
The duke smiled, comfortably. “No matter. History is always written by the historian who writes the most popular point of view. Hence, the accounts are subjective to the ruling class at best. There is an ancient sect of Judaism that studied a form of religious mysticism. They used an analogy to represent the different elements of mankind called The Tree of Life. The elements are represented as spheres known as Sephira. Each sphere represents a basic element of life: spirit, air, fire, water, and so on… But there was a secret sphere, an eleventh. It was known as Da’ath, the secret Sephiroth. It was the forbidden place; the place of the ultimate understanding.”
Marty nodded, politely. He had no clue as to what the man was talking about.
The duke went on. “I have studied physics and religion for decades. I have plotted a path to the forbidden place. All I need now is the vehicle to carry me there.”
Marty blinked. There was a fine line between madness and genius. He was pretty sure that the duke had just strode across it. He wished Digger were here.
Slowly, he asked, “So you believe you can open some kind of wormhole to this place called Da’ath with the Ark?”
The duke’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Precisely.”
Marty took a long breath and a sip of coffee.
The duke’s eyes were twinkling with excitement. “Here, let me show you something.”
He removed a small wooden box from his blazer pocket. It was not unlike the one Marty had. Carefully, he removed the lid and set it to the side. He lifted the stone gently, like it is was it were a tiny bird egg, and placed it in the palm of his hand. Almost immediately, it began to glow. Within a few moments, it burned brightly in the duke’s hand, like an ember from the fire. As it glowed, it grew. Finally, it was the size of a golf ball. Without warning, it began to levitate above the duke’s palm. The staff moved back, closer to the walls, some noticeably disturbed. Without taking his eyes off the stone, the duke called out, “Anna, dear, come here for a moment.”
Nervously, she responded to his side. “Y-yes, Sir.”
“Hold out your hand, my dear.”
Nervously, she extended her pristine palm forward. The stone floated from the duke’s hand to hers and floated there for a moment. She seemed entranced by the small glowing sphere. The duke extended his index finger and pointed at the stone. With a quick downward movement of his finger, the stone passed quickly through Anna’s hand, stopping just beneath it. The resulting hole in her hand was cauterized and free of blood. Marty heard her gasp, as she pulled the useless hand to her bosom. A smell of burned flesh filled the air. Her eyes were wide and her mouth agape, as she slowly backed away from the table. The room was dead-silent, while the staff stared on in horror. Like a cat watching a small bird, the duke quietly followed her movement from his chair. At two meters, he pointed to the stone again which still hovered silently above the table. His finger pointed to her heart. Before she could react, the stone pierced her bosom through her crossed hands and stopped.
Horrified, Marty watched as her eyes rolled back up into her head. She dropped to her knees and fell straight forward. The silence in the room was broken by the crumpling thud, as her body collapsed to the floor before them. She was dead before her blonde hair touched the floor. Marty’s eyes were riveted on her form on the floor. He sat in stunned disbelief, staring at the girl who had just moments before been serving him coffee. The duke turned back to Marty. His eyes were narrow slits and his mouth was twisted in an evil smile. His finger directed the glowing sphere back to the table and straight toward Marty’s heart. It flew at Marty at lightning speed. Before Marty could react, it stopped mere centimeters from his chest. The duke looked on, curiously. He moved his finger back and moved it again toward Marty. The stone stopped again, going no closer toward him. The duke sat back in his chair, nodding. He pointed the stone back into its box. The duke placed the small lid back on the box and placed it back into his pocket, as though nothing had happened. He looked at Marty and confided. “It’s as I suspected. The stone has no power over another Stone Bearer.”
“Excuse me?”
Marty stared again at Anna’s body in the floor.
“Our stones cannot be used against each other.”
Marty fought the urge to jump out of the chair and run.
The duke smiled at him. “Sorry for the unpleasantness, but it really was quite necessary.”
Marty managed a weak smile and a nod. Without speaking, he reached for the coffee cup. He tried to control the shaking of his hands, as he turned it to his lips. The cup clattered against his teeth to the point that he was afraid he might chip a tooth. He put it back down. Mad or recklessly brilliant, he had to stop this man. The closer he stayed, the better his chance to stop him. Opportunism was now his strategy. Resourcefulness and cunning would be his tools.
Marty looked up, as the duke snapped his fingers. Two men in black jumpsuits walked toward them. The blood drained from Marty’s face. He watched as they hefted her up and dragged her unceremoniously from the room. He steeled himself as he looked up at the duke. It was all he could do to muster a simple sentence. “I’m sorry. Where were we?”
The duke smiled at the response. Perhaps he had been right in following the boy’s progress all these years. Unlike the milksop son of his, he was satisfied that at long last, he had a worthy protégée.
Chapter 33
Gillian was perched in the back seat of the Range Rover. At the first inkling of trouble, the long blade would run through the upholstery of the passenger’s seat and pierce Franz just above the left kidney. Franz knew what she was capable of, just as he knew she was right behind him.
Digger could see the drained look in his face and the white knuckles as he clinched his fists in his lap. He silently wondered if the little man would make it to the castle without dying of a heart attack first.
In the ominous silence of the vehicle’s cab Gillian watched Franz like a cat. Franz was petrified of making any movements that would make her think he was up to something. His throat was dry, but he didn’t dare clear it. After what seemed like an eternity, Gillian’s voice was tight when she finally asked the question that hung over them like a dark cloud. “Would you like to explain why you double-crossed me?”
Franz started to turn his head, so he could see her.
“Eyes straight ahead.” Her voice snapped like a whip.
The venom in her voice even made Digger afraid to look back. Like a gorgon, he wasn’t sure if he would turn to stone. It was a side of Gillian that he had never seen.
She could hear the strain in Franz’s voice, as he began. “It began with the boy’s father. He was the original stone bearer. Nothing we said would convince him to turn it over. We tried paying him, threatening him—even including him in the discovery. He woul
dn’t change his mind. Quite unexpectedly, Malcolm, that’s Martin’s father, died.”
Her voice was low. “He died, or did you help him die?”
Quickly, he responded, “No, I swear to you, we had nothing to do with his death. He and Martin’s mother died in a plane crash, one in which Martin himself miraculously survived. That’s when we began watching Martin. We thought that if we watched him closely enough, he would lead us to the final stone. Over time, he didn’t seem to show any knowledge of the stones, so we approached Martin’s aunt and uncle to spy on him and his grandmother. That backfired when the uncle accidentally killed the one Grandmother on the farm, trying to drug her and get her to tell him where it was. We made it look like an accident to give them time to search the house. Since Martin didn’t seem to know anything, they left him with his other grandmother, Bess. They assumed that the old woman must have hidden the stones on the farm. They searched for years, trying to find a single stone. We didn’t know Wood held two stones.”
She asked, almost accusingly. “So why did you suddenly change the strategy? And why send that viper McPherson? You know what an animal he is.”
“It was an unfortunate means to an end, my dear. I had always planned on exercising the option of capturing Martin to force him to tell us what we needed to know. The longer we watched, the more evident it was he didn’t know anything of his inheritance. The duke has become increasingly more impatient. Since we have not made progress with locating the missing stones by waiting and watching, we had to do something more aggressive. Grabbing Wood was our last effort to locate the stones. Your team was in place to give him a comfort zone…to make him feel protected, while we tried to extract any information from him under duress. The assumption was that his grandmother left him some clue about his legacy.”
She could feel the heat on the back of her neck. Franz was lucky she still needed him. If he weren’t taking them to where they needed to go, she would have killed him on the spot. Her voice was tight, as she asked, “What legacy?”
