The Centaur

by Brendan Carroll

  “Master,” he bowed his head immediately.

  “Sit.” Mark pushed him toward a low, flat boulder near a blazing fire.

  The dark angel, once more clad in the form of Ernst Schweikert, sat down on the rock.

  Mark walked around him and picked up a goatskin sack full of wine. He thrust the bag at the terrified creature and then stood watching as he drank down the wine in huge gulps. When the bag was empty, Mark began to pace back and forth, laying out his plans and instructions for his new assistant.

  The Lord of the Scorpions listened attentively to his new Master, wondering vaguely what had happened to him, who had imprisoned him in the crystal chamber and what had happened to the precious crystal skull he had been carrying before suddenly being snatched into the ether.

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  “She will know.” Omar shook his head adamantly. Luke’s plan was crazy. He couldn’t possibly just waltz into New Babylon, pretending to be Jozsef Daniel, who was pretending to be Omar Kadif. One look at his face would give him away when he had to confront Huber. “I can’t.”

  Omar threw the smudged towel in the corner of the tent and Luke Andrew went after it. He picked up the formerly white cloth and sat down on a small canvas stool where he began to clean his sword and scabbard of the accumulated grime of the day. The blowing grit had dogged them all day, obscuring the sky and making the ground visibility less than a quarter mile. They had stopped only a day’s march south of New Babylon and sent dispatches by horseback on into the city to deliver messages to the Emperor’s ‘mother’. The messages would pronounce the pursuit and battle a success, giving their approximate arrival date at the city gates. The envoy would wait for a return message and in this way, they hoped to learn whether she had any idea of the true story of the rout and disaster and the destruction of the Ancient Evil.

  Omar was convinced that she would somehow know that he had been dispatched to the beyond, and she would be waiting on them with some new terror. He wanted to go into the city with guns blazing and take the palace by storm. Luke assured him that it would not be necessary. He already had the Fox behind him. After two weeks, moving at a snail’s pace back toward New Babylon, he had completely won over the men left under his command. Jozsef Daniel’s forces had been decimated. They were returning with less than half of what they had started out with. Most of their transport vehicles had been destroyed and many of the survivors were injured. Along the way, Omar had used his considerable talent to heal as many of them as he could, but some were so badly injured they died along the road and were buried where they fell. Omar was demoralized and devastated by the loss of so many. In all his campaigns in his younger career as Prophet, he had lost very few troops and for the most part, his General and his chief advisor had kept the truth from him whenever casualties had occurred. Now he was unshielded by lies and deceit, and the full impact of what had come of his dreams settled upon him like a black depression, and he still had to face Huber. The Prophet felt sure that he was now paying for his sins once and for all.

  “Don’t be so sure.” Luke said after a moment, startling him from the depths of his gloom.

  “Of what?” Omar crumpled onto his cot and leaned his elbows on his thighs. He ran his fingers through his messy hair. His grandfather’s skills as a barber were somewhat lacking.

  “Of either. She probably don’t know and don’t care, and I’m sure that you can do what you have to do.” Luke smiled at him as he slid the imposing blade of twisted gold into the black scabbard. “You underestimate yourself. You always have. Even when I thought you were a wimp, you were a force to be reckoned with. I guess you could have kicked my ass any time you pleased back then. My question is why did you put up with me in the first place? I must have been a real ass-hole tried and true.”

  “You are my uncle, more like a brother. Blood means a great deal, Luke. During the time we spent together with your father, the King, I began to see things in a different light. We were intolerable. I have to assume that your father saw more in us than what we exhibited outwardly. He could have destroyed both of us then with the wave of his hand, and yet it was blood that held him back.” Omar looked away from him. “My father taught me that much. I should have listened to him more….” Omar’s voice trailed off and he frowned. “Where is he, by the way? I haven’t seen him since noon.”

  “He said something about wine or women or something.” Luke shrugged. “I think he’s tired of the provisions. He’ll probably show up with a picnic basket any minute.”

  “He still takes care of your father’s Templars. They serve him well.” Omar changed the subject of food and commented on the fifty or so Templars that Mark Andrew had rescued from purgatory. They kept to themselves, made their own camp and provided their own way. Luke had spent some time with them in Tibet and Arabia and he was still not quite sure if they were alive or dead. They rode great prancing horses and could be heard talking, laughing and even singing together, but they never got dirty. Their Templar uniforms were always pristinely clean, much like Lucifer’s little band of warriors. No matter how much blood was spilled on the battlefield, the Templars walked away as fresh as new pennies.

  “So I’ve noticed.” Luke nodded. “I wonder where Jasmine is. He said he took her somewhere safe.”

  “You still miss her?” Omar asked him.

  “Sometimes.” Luke admitted. He thought it strange that, in all these years, he had never found another love interest outside of Sophia, and that had been fleeting. Considering the outcome of that situation, he was very glad nothing had come of it and he was more reluctant than ever to even look at a woman. The brief encounter with Nicole in the meadow, and then the even briefer conversation with her after the battle had left him shaken. She wanted to ‘join’ with him.

  Just after their father had shown up, Nicole had looked him up and told him that their beloved father had found his way home and that there was cause for celebration. What she meant by that, he had no idea. He did know the Mark Andrew they had sent home to Scotland was not his father. The Mark Andrew that had traded places with him on this campaign was his father, and yet, even he had seemed somehow different.

  “I’m sure we can find suitable wives in New Babylon after we clear up this… problem.” Omar commented causing Luke to choke on the water he was drinking from a plastic bottle, spraying it all over Omar’s lap.

  “What on earth would you want with another wife, Omar?!” Luke stood up.

  “I want children, Luke.” Omar frowned up at him. “I want a son and maybe a daughter. What every ma… body wants.”

  “My god… pardon the pun,” Luke shook his head. “What about Bari? He’s your son or have you forgotten?”

  “I have not forgotten.” Omar stood as well.

  “Well, one thing my father taught me, Omar, was that the company of women is a dangerous thing and many a good man has lost his way to Paradise on account of them and I believe it. It takes either an extremely strong man or a complete idiot to appease one.” Luke smiled ruefully at his nephew. “I suppose that is the basic difference between you and I. My father never wanted children. He never planned any of his bastards other than Luke Matthew, and I’m sure that, if he could go back and change that, he would. I think I understand why he feels the way he does. Children are millstones around our necks, hostages to fortune and nothing but heartache and trouble. Tell me one good thing about them, Omar. Tell me.”

  “Well, look at Dunya.” Omar waved one hand and reached for a wine bottle sitting on a wooden crate. “My father couldn’t ask for a better daughter. She is a wonderful person. Kind, generous, loving, strong, beautiful and a great mother to her children. Not a bit of trouble. Even while we were in the underworld for all those years, she was the model of perfection. If I could have a daughter like Dunya, I’d forego a son altogether. And look at Aurora. Any father would be proud of such a daughter. A marvelous woman. A privilege to name her as my kinswoman. And her children, models of perfection. Gr
egory and Nicholas are brave, strong, intelligent and beautiful. Pure as the driven snow in heart, word and deed. They could have been Grail Knights had they been born a thousand years earlier.”

  “What about Michey?” Luke raised one eyebrow. Everyone felt sorry for Apolonio. The war had done him a favor, tearing him away from his lovely little wife and her annoying little habits.

  “But look at Anna!” Omar spun around and sat down on the cot again before turning up the bottle. His spirits were lifting as he named off the wonderful people in his family. He ignored the question about John Paul and Aurora’s youngest child, Meredith Michelle. “Did you not love her? Didn’t everyone love her? For that matter, look at Jozsef Daniel, your nephew before he was lost. God never saw fit to create a better soul and you have become acquainted with Lavon de Bleu, another of John Paul’s sons. Intelligent, handsome, strong, brave, kind. Now tell me, Luke, what is wrong with children?”

  “You’re right, but John Paul’s offspring don’t count. He’s not exactly Mark Andrew Ramsay’s son now is he? I’m Mark Andrew’s son. Luke Matthew is Mark Andrew’s son and your father is Mark Andrew’s son. Now that’s a pretty strange trio, any way you look at it. You have me, du Mortie junior, the reluctant King of England and your average purple-clad Djinni to chose from. Of course, you can count Michael Ian in your list of desirable members of the family, but even he hangs out with low-life characters.” Luke pulled the cork on another bottle of Il Dolce Mio’s contribution to the cause and laughed at his jibe at Lucifer. “And God forbid, don’t look at his one and only daughter. Who knows what goes on in that head? Do you know what she wants to do now?” Luke asked impulsively and then closed his eyes as he realized his faux pas. He had totally forgotten that Nicole had once been Omar’s wife and that Aurora was their child.

  Omar corked the bottle and sat it down beside the cot. “No. Tell me. What does Nicole want to do?” He said quietly. For as long as he had known Luke Andrew, he’d never been able to get him to say anything at all about his sister. It was as if she didn’t exist in Luke’s estimation.

  Luke turned up the wine and drank half of it. “It’s nothing. Look at the time! We really need to get some rest before tomorrow.” He stood up and Omar raised both eyebrows. “We need to decide in the morning what we’re going to do. I think I know a way to defeat Hubur. Oh! And don’t worry. You and I will trade outfits before we go into the city. There is no need for you to confront her personally.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you, Uncle.” Omar smiled and looked exactly like Luke Matthew except for the hair. “But before you go, I’d like to hear what Nicole is up to. I think you should share your burden with me. She is, after all, family.”

  Luke subsided onto the folding stool and tried to finish off the wine in one long swig without success. There was no way out.

  “All right then.” He cleared his throat and tried to think how best to explain what Nicole had only shown him by mental projection. The visions were as clear as if they had happened only the day before. He had been shocked to see her and then she had used the method that they had once used extensively to communicate. It had been years since he’d connected with her mentally, and the act had sent him into a downward spiral lasting for days. Now he was reliving the entire event and the effect was softened only slightly by time and wine. He opened his mouth to speak again and a loud thump startled them as something heavy fell on top of the tent, bounced off and another crash sounded as crates and supplies were scattered outside. The two occupants of the tent sat staring at each other, frozen momentarily, until a familiar voice called out to them from the tent flap.

  “Omar! Luke! Did you miss me?” The Mighty Jinn swayed into the enclosure, dragging a large canvass bag behind him. He upended the sack and a variety of wines, cheeses, breads and fruits tumbled out and rolled about the floor of the tent. “I brought supper.”

  ((((((((((((()))))))))))))

  “Andy?” The clurichaun poked the sleeping figure with the tip of his walking stick very gently.

  Mark stirred slightly and tried to reach behind his back to find the irritating bother.

  Paddy stepped back and waited before closing in again.

  “Andy!” He said a bit more loudly and poked him again with the stick.

  “Hmmmm?” Mark turned his face toward the sound of the voice. He had drunk the rest of the Port and half the Scotch before passing out in the library on the leather sofa. Someone had covered him with a woolen blanket. Probably Nicole. Sophia had gone upstairs mad because of his drinking. The alcohol was too much for him. The transition had left him as vulnerable as a child to the effects of strong drink. A peculiarity neither Sophia, nor anyone else could explain. Mark Andrew formerly had the ability to drink himself into a stupor without any noticeable differences until he fell unconscious. But this Mark was different.

  “Sit up, Andy. I brought ye something.” Paddy pulled up the hassock and sat down on it. He crossed his legs and pulled his tobacco pouch from one of his deep pockets. He wore brown plaid knee britches and a matching coat over a white shirt and a yellow vest. His lively red locks were tucked under a red Tam-o-Shanter and his face was already showing the first growth of his winter beard.

  “What?” Mark opened his eyes and froze at the odd fellow sitting in front of him.

  “Sit up! Ye canna smoke loike thot.” Paddy took out two long-stemmed pipes and began to fill them with an aromatic cut.

  “Smoke?” Mark frowned and pushed his hair out of his face with one hand. “Is something on fire? Are you a fireman? I saw a fireman in one of the books over there. They used to be everywhere, or at least that is what Miss Sophia tells me.” Mark pushed himself up and leaned back into the sofa. He pulled the blanket over his lap and yawned. “Ohhhh. My head hurts,” he added as an afterthought.

  “Aye and well it shud.” Paddy nodded and smiled at him. He picked up the half-empty Scotch bottle and looked at the contents. “Ye promised Miss Meredith ye’d give this brew up years ago.”

  “Miss Meredith?” Mark frowned.

  “Ohh. Thot’s roight. I furgot. Ye dunna know Miss Meredith, do ye?” It was Paddy’s turn to frown.

  “I saw her in the pictures.” Mark told him with satisfaction. “She looks like Nicole. Nicole is my daughter, you know, except that I really don’t have any children. That was the other Mark, but I’ll have a son in June.”

  “Ye don’t say now?” Paddy handed him the pipe.

  “And Miss Sophia says it is OK if we name him Michael Emmanuel like the angel told me.”

  “Ye’ve been cavortin’ with angels, ’ave ye?” The clurichaun raised one bushy eyebrow.

  Mark took the pipe and looked at it curiously.

  “Not cavortin’, just talking. They come and see me while I am asleep sometimes and sometimes when I am awake. Miss Sophia says that I have a grand imagination, but that is because they don’t talk to her, just me. What is cavortin’?”

  “Look.” Paddy turned the pipe around for him. “Loike this. Wotch me.”

  Paddy demonstrated the proper way to clench the stem between the teeth and then struck a large wooden match on the bottom of his boot. Mark watched with bright curiosity on his face. His headache was forgotten. Paddy lit Mark’s pipe for him. After much puffing and blowing and coughing and laughing, Mark was like a small boy sneaking his first taste of his papa’s tobacco.

  “Sophia won’t like this.” Mark shook his head and then took a healthy pull on the pipe. He coughed and then blew the smoke out through his nose. The smoke was light green and soon formed layers in the warm air above their heads. The fire was burning low in the big fireplace, but the room was still fairly warm.

  “I’m sure.” Paddy nodded and waited for the effects of the special blend that Galindwynne had prepared for him to take effect. “Sophia’s a foine lass. Foine, indeed.”

  “Sophia is wonderful.” Mark told him. “She knows everything. I don’t have to tell her anything. She knows when I’m hungry,
and when I’m sleepy ,and when I need to change clothes, and when I need to take a bath. All I have to do is wait for her to say what to do and do it and she’s happy with me. Or, at least, she was happy with me until we came home here to Scotland. I didn’t know this was home until we got here and then I membered it. Scotland. Lothian. My home. This is my house.” Mark smiled and touched his chest for emphasis. “Did you know that? Oh, I forgot! How rude of me. I didn’t ask your name.”

  “Paddy. They coll me Paddy.” The clurichaun had to forego his formal introduction and puffed his pipe and narrowed his eyes looking for signs of the drug’s effects.

  “They do?” Mark puffed on the pipe and giggled. “This is very funny stuff. Why are we doing this?”

  “Because it’s gud fur ye. I need t’ talk t’ ye.”

  “Oh, I love to talk, Mr. Paddy.” Mark adjusted himself into the corner of the sofa. “I talk to Nicole and Sophia all the time and sometimes I talk to Captain Socrates. That’s Nicole’s sweetheart. He comes to supper almost every night. He says he likes the food, but I say he likes the company because Sophia doesn’t cook very good. And then there is Bari. He used to be the Emperor, but now he’s just a handyman. He gripes about it all the time. We used to live in his house. It was really, really big.” Mark held up his hands and showed him how big the palace in New Babylon was. The pipe slipped from his teeth, he grabbed it and puffed on it again. The stuff was working now. Mark’s face turned deep red and his eyes sparkled more than ever. He blinked too much and swallowed hard every few seconds.