CHAPTER 4
A VISION
“A mole?” I couldn’t believe a Templar would aid the Golden Circle.
Once again, everyone in the room turned to stare at me, but then a murmur ignited like a blaze and everyone around the table began talking at once. Apparently, like me, none of them believed a member of the Order would betray their sacred oaths. Perhaps it was a valet, or a maid, or someone else, but surely not one of their own.
Grand Master Sinclair raised his hands to settle the table. “Lord de Troyes don’t you think I’ve thought of every other possibility? We’ve confirmed reports from Acre. The minute we showed up, they vanished.”
“Last night’s attack only confirms it,” the baron said. “No one knew I was coming to Athens but the people in this room. Even the captain of the Sparrowhawk didn’t know until absolutely necessary. And yet, the Golden Circle was waiting. They tried to kill me, so I wouldn’t make this meeting.”
“But why?” Eustache asked as his finger traced along his chin.
Sinclair nodded. “I too wondered why it is so important to kill the baron.”
A man in shadows at the end of table said, “His very wife is an assassin, and we are surprised he is a target? Perhaps she sought his death as payment for causing her failure last year.”
The baron’s knuckles turned white as he clenched his fist, but he said nothing.
Lord Marbury leaned over the table. “We’ve been digging for information about the possible location of the other Horsemen Hearts.”
The baron’s stern tone, silenced the murmuring. “Have you found anything?”
“Not yet, but I might join you on the next leg of your journey.”
Sinclair pulled his fingers through his white beard. “I’d rather keep you here going through the records, Lord Marbury.”
“I must protest. I, more than any of the others at this table, beside maybe the baron, deserve to go after the Golden Circle.”
“But we need to search these records.”
“May I remind you that it was I who discovered the comet plot, and their search for the hearts on Malta. Kannard tortured me, and I escaped to warn the Order. I should be allowed to go after them now.”
Lord de Troyes nodded his head, “I agree with Marbury. I can go through the records to find out what Armitage did with the Crusader’s Hearts.”
I didn’t like the tone of his voice. I didn’t know what happened back then, and I didn’t know my ancestor, but I couldn’t believe my family betrayed the Order. Especially since the book Eustache had shown me at his estate in Paris had been written after the Crusades. If my ancestor was a traitor to the Order, I wouldn’t expect my family to remain within its membership. I crossed my arms and eyed the portly knight.
“I have a better idea.” The baron sat back and relaxed his fingers. “Let’s get Professor Armitage to come here. His knowledge of languages will be an asset.”
“Better yet,” Sinclair pressed his finger against the table, “let’s send the records to Eton. Take steps to prevent them from falling into the wrong hands here in Athens.”
My father would love to get his hands on all those records. I could see his giddy expression. Thoughts of all the missed dinners made my chest ache as my mind drifted to Eton College. The sun would be rising over the quad soon; my father would be preparing for the sections he taught—unless he hadn’t slept—then he’d be running home to get ready. The bustling halls of Eton filled my memory, winter still gripped Britain, sending a chilling wind through the buildings. I certainly didn’t miss the weather.
Moments later, with the latent memory of the itchy wool jacket I wore at Eton irritating my neck, the baron stood up and shook hands with Eustache and Grand Master Sinclair. The meeting had ended.
Eustache stepped over to me and grabbed my shoulder as he shook my hand. “It is good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you, too. I wish we’d had more time in Zululand.”
“You fought bravely, and I admire your choice to join the baron.”
“Thank you. Too bad it hasn’t gone the way I hoped.”
His smile grew. “Have faith. I am certain you will find Miss Genevieve.”
I nodded. His confidence was the shot in the arm I needed, and hope filled my heart.
Eustache stepped away to speak with the others, and the baron slid next to me and whispered, “We won’t be returning to the ship right away. I want to peak at those records before they are sent to your father.” He locked eyes with me. “Think you can translate some Greek?”
“Easily,” I nodded. “The books my father sent with me are in Greek. I’ve been getting a lot of practice.”
“Excellent. Don’t say a word. Just follow me.”
“I understand.” I, too, was worried about the mole.
The baron stepped toward the other Templar and a big smile grew on his face as he lit up with a friendly demeanor. I stepped back closer to the valets. I eyed each one. Could they be the mole? But each one looked like me—a young man dreaming of becoming a knight. More likely, it was one of the members of the Order. I studied every face, watching who spoke with whom, and how friendly they acted. Knowing the baron wore a façade, I realized no one here revealed their true selves.
Moments later, I followed the baron out of the hall, and we ascended a set of stairs to the building above. We entered a room with stacks of scrolls and old manuscripts. The smell of dusty parchment transported me back home. My father would love it here.
The baron turned to me, “The historical documents are over here. I don’t know exactly what we’re looking for, but I’m hoping we’ll know it when we see it.”
At the back of the room, we found a wall of shelves marked Istoria ton Stavroforion. “Here we go,” I said. “History of The Crusades.”
“We’re looking for records from the Second Crusade in the twelfth century.”
“Richard the Lionheart and Saladin.”
“That’s right. After Richard lost Jerusalem, a former Templar created the hearts or took the hearts from the first crusade and tried to use their power to gain victory over Saladin.”
“A former Templar? Fascinating.” I looked for scrolls and books dated in the 1100s. A set of books without dust stood out amongst the other tomes, a series of books and scrolls recently cleaned made them easy to spot. I pulled them out, and carried them over to a nearby table. The baron took half the books. I took the others and arranged a bookstand in front of me. I even found a thin rod with a small pointer finger on the end. My father would be proud of my set up.
The baron and I read for the next few hours. Most were boring updates, one thousand knights with twenty-four carts of grain; ten chests of gold moved from one city to another, or some other boring accounting of the war. The Templars were known as the first bankers in Europe, and from what I was reading, they had their record-keeping skills well honed. The third book I read was an account of battles fought, which was the most interesting thing I’d read all day.
A valet approached and passed a note to the baron. The nobleman stood and gathered his coat. “I must step off for a moment.”
“No problem.” I pointed to the manuscript in front of me. “I’ll be here reading about troops movements near Krak de Chevaliers.
After finishing that book, I closed it up and set in aside with those I’d already read. As I reached for a scroll case, I yawned and let out a loud sigh. I reached back to stretch and my vision narrowed as darkness closed in. Everything went black and I slipped away.
Light exploded, blinding me. At first, I could only see shapes, which cleared and focused into the undulating movements of the Milli-train. The armored train scurried on its mechanical legs through a barren valley. The demonic inner flames glowed within the iron, and my heart raced as fear clutched me. The Milli-train rushed over a ridge and I tried to follow, but my legs moved as though mired in molasses. I reached out and was flung forward into the Victorian parlor car that we’d stayed in as it d
ragged Genevieve and me across Africa. The lavish interior looked the same, and the hole I’d blasted in the ceiling had been repaired, but the outline remained.
Colonel Hendrix sat at the table with several soldiers playing cards, each man gripping his hand close to his chest. Everyone, except the colonel—who was half-covered in bronze plates—laughed as one man won the hand and scooped up his winnings. The colonel looked lost in thought, his face painted with his usual scowl.
Genevieve’s strength radiated behind me. I turned and saw her on one of the couches. She sat like a proper lady in a beautiful sky-blue dress, but her eyes held the defiance that I had come to know, and love, while on our adventures. I reached out, calling her name, but she didn’t react; her contempt for her surroundings etched on her face like carvings on stone.
Rushing to a window, I tried to figure out where they were, but all I saw was barren rock.
In a flash, the world twisted and melted away until only the darkness remained. Fire ignited around me, and from the flames, the world came back into focus. I saw a lavish room, decorated with silks and statues. Genevieve, resting amidst plush pillows, now wore a red and yellow silk dress, sat, regal as a queen. Gold rings adorned each finger, and bangles ran up her arms.
Beyond a few sculpted pillars, huge gears turned the cogs of a giant machine. Everything shook as if the Earth were being ripped apart. A golden circlet fell around me, and slammed down on the white marble where I stood. The golden walls closed in and I thought I would be crushed. I pushed my arms out to hold the golden walls at bay, as the ground beneath me cracked and pulsed like a heartbeat.
I awoke with the baron and Sinclair standing over me, both calling my name. I sat up, and found myself on the floor. Rubbing my head did little to push away the ache, or the haze.
“Lad, maybe you should lie back down.” Sinclair turned to a valet standing at the end of one of the bookshelves. “Get him some water.”
“I’ll be okay,” I said as the baron help me back onto my chair.
“A vision?” Concern etched across the baron’s face, but I couldn’t answer right away.
Sinclair pushed himself up with his cane to get back to his feet. “Give the lad some breathing room.” He took the goblet from the valet and set it before me on the table.
“Yes, I saw the Milli-train in mountains.”
The baron tensed, “Do you know which ones?”
“Don’t answer that here, Alexander.” Grand Master Sinclair smacked his cane against his hand. “Take Alexander back to the Sparrowhawk, and find your daughter. But dare not say a word here.”
CHAPTER 5
CRUSADER HEARTS
The baron, Lord Marbury, and I rushed back to the airdocks using a carriage provided by Grandmaster Sinclair. The two men spoke quietly, heads together, paying little attention to me. As we roared around a building, I feared an attack from Hendrix’s henchmen, but no one appeared, so I forced the air from my lungs hoping it would ease my pounding heart. I knew the assassin was probably still in the city and would be waiting for another chance to strike. Fearing the people gathered on every corner, I clutched at the strap of the leather rucksack secured over my shoulder.
When we reached our berth at the airdocks, I rushed onto the Sparrowhawk. Mr. Singh stood at the top of the gangplank, concern etched on his brow. “Everything all right?” he asked. “You look like you are running from someone.”
The baron glanced over his shoulder. “You’re not far off, Mr. Singh. We need to depart at once.”
Mr. Singh nodded and motioned toward the bridge. The baron and I ran that way, with the Sikh right behind us. Once inside, I saw the captain leaned over the map table with Ignatius and Hunter at his side. All three snapped up their heads as we burst through the hatch.
“Captain,” the baron said, “I’m afraid we need to depart immediately.”
Without missing a beat, Captain Baldarich looked at the two crewmen and nodded. Ignatius rushed over to the wall of dials and sat down. The captain grabbed Hunter’s shoulder, and said, “Keep an eye on the docks. I want to know if anyone’s watching us leave.” He then turned to Mr. Singh, “Crew to the wingsails, Mr. Singh! We cast at once into the winds.”
Both answered “Aye, aye, Captain,” and rushed off bridge.
The captain motioned us over to the map table. The Mediterranean lay stretched out, pinned at the corners by special brass clasps that looked like a bird of prey’s talons. “I had a feeling you’d come running, but the question is, where are we going?”
The baron pointed his thumb at me. “You’ll have to talk to this one. He’s seen it. A vision.”
The captain turned to me, his eyes full of questions. “I’m not sure,” I said. “The Milli-train was in the mountains.”
“Most of the mountains lie to the East, that’s good enough to start.”
Lord Marbury raised his gloves and shook them. “But what if the lad refers to the Alps?”
The baron shook his head. “Our latest reports say the Milli-train was last seen heading toward Persia.”
As Heinz ran onto the bridge and dropped into the pilot’s seat, Baldarich pointed to him. “Nephew, head south until we’re out of sight from land. And then,” he turned to me, “we head east.”
I nodded and the baron smiled at the captain, “Brilliant! Anyone watching won’t see which way we intend to go.”
“Exactly,” the captain said. “Alexander, follow our progress on this map and let me know where to go.” The captain walked over to his seat and flipped open one of the copper tubes. “Gears, get my bird into the sky.”
A raspy voice answered back, “She’s ready to fly, Captain.”
Baldarich looked over at Ignatius, who checked the dials and nodded. “Heinz, ease her out of here.”
With a clatter, the mooring clamps opened and the Sparrowhawk rose into the air as gently as a feather on a breeze. Then Heinz spun the wheel and pulled back causing the nose to pitch skyward. I listened as the wingsails were winched into place and braced myself with one hand on the map table as the wind scooped up the aero-dirigible with a slight lurch. We soared quickly, higher and higher, as Athens shrunk into the distance.
After Heinz leveled us out, Hunter returned to the bridge. He walked over to the captain’s chair and leaned on the railing. When Baldarich turned, Hunter said, “One of the dock workers watched us depart and ran off as soon as he saw what direction we headed.”
The captain turned to the baron. “They know we’re coming.”
“Good; let them wonder where we are for a while.”
Once the brass arms of the Arial Tracking Dial indicated we were well over the Aegean Sea, the captain called out, “Heinz, port turn ninety degrees and raise the bow by three degrees. Take us into the clouds.”
“Aye, aye Uncle—Captain, Sir.” Heinz stumbled over his words, but executed the order.
Stepping to the window, I once again marveled at the beauty of the Mediterranean. Homer had called it the “wine-dark sea,” and it certainly lived up to its name. A thick layer of clouds above painted the sea below a mysterious midnight blue. No matter how often I experienced the wonder of flight, I never tired of it. And now, waiting for the Sparrowhawk to ease into the clouds above us, I wanted to reach out and slip my fingers through the first wisps of white and grey. As the cloud bank thickened, everything went white. The ethereal vapor enveloped us. but I could see nothing beyond, not even the sea.
I adjusted the leather bag slung over my shoulder.
The baron pointed, “What’s in your satchel?”
“The manuscripts the Order was going to send to my father.”
Lord Marbury eyes bulged. “What have you done? Those are sacred documents!”
I met his gaze. “I can read them, and you won’t have to risk sending them to England, or wait for a translation from my father.”
The baron pinched the bridge of his nose as if warding off a headache. After a moment, he shook his head and a slow smile spr
ead across his face.
Lord Marbury looked to the baron, who turned to Captain Baldarich. “Do you mind if I pull him from his duties?”
Suppressing a laugh, Baldarich clapped his hands. “He needs to study more anyway. But...,” he said, pointing at me, “I’ll expect double duty when you’re done, Mr. Knight.”
I nodded, and the baron poked the polished handle of his cane at my chest, “Get to work and I’ll check on your progress later.”
“Aye, aye, I mean, yes sir!”
I rushed off the bridge and hurried down to my room on the gun deck. Once inside, I slid a barrel over to my hammock and set my bag on the floor beside me. Sitting in the middle of my hammock gave me a comfortable seat and I adjusted the barrel until it was right in front of me. Reaching down, I retrieved the first tome. The leather bound book held thick parchment inside and crackled as I opened it. The illuminated manuscript was decorated with exquisite artwork in the corners and along the edges of the page. A scribe had meticulously formed each letter, all of which were arranged in perfect lines.
This scroll, entitled, i istoria ton Naïtón stavrofries, or The History of the Templar Crusades, sounded way more interesting than the detailed accounting books I’d been reading in the library. I scanned the first paragraph, which was written in Medieval Greek, a language I’d read many times at my father’s command. The text started with an edict from Pope Gregory VIII calling for the liberation of the Holy Land, and continued with edicts from several kings.
I reached up and adjusted the knob on the lantern hanging above me, coaxing the flame to brighten the room. My father always said it was important not to strain the eyes when translating texts.
For the rest of the day I read about battles, about honorable deeds, and acts of betrayal. I learned about what I knew as the Second Crusade, but what would turn out to be one of many. The tome read like the end of the world had been thwarted by this war. But veiled between the lines was something besides the war: references to a much darker conflict—the war with four horsemen. They would show up on battlefields and lay waste to whole armies. Sometimes the Templar would ride out expecting to find Saladin’s army, only to find them completely destroyed. The answer why was never explained, but I knew.
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