“This way!” Merry rushed ahead, leading them around the house down the walk toward the garage.
She held the door for him as he stumbled inside the darkened building. She slammed the door and bolted it while Mark dumped his Brother’s unconscious form across the hood of the nearest vehicle, a black El Dorado. His car.
He leaned on one hand, holding his side with the other, coughing up pink foam. Something had reopened inside him. Water dripped from his hair and ran into to his face. Merry joined him, looking down at Dambretti in shock. It was too much. Too horrible.
“Is he dead?” she asked when she had caught her breath.
“No,” he told her shortly and glanced about the dark garage as a bolt of lightning flashed outside. “Where are the keys?”
“In the house… my room,” she bit her bottom lip as if she expected him to hit her. When he merely slapped his palm against his forehead, she handed him the sword, dropped the boots and hurried across the garage to a work bench where she dragged a white box onto the counter.
Mark watched her in confusion. The box had a large red cross on it next to the entwined serpent symbol of Hermes Trismegistus. The Templars. Always the Templars! “Spes mea in Deo est,” he said softly and checked his Brother’s pulse. It seemed strong enough.
Dambretti moaned and rolled his head on the hard metal surface.
“Until we shall meet again in Paradise. I bid thee farewell,” the Italian whispered into the darkness.
“No!” Mark caught his chin in his hand. The words! The words of his secret. Lucio was repeating the Last Rites of the Key of Death. The memory of the meaning of the words returned simultaneously with a jolting peal of thunder. “No, Lucio! Wake up. You are not dead, Brother.” He leaned to kiss him on the mouth and saw his dark eyes open in the dim light.
“I should be,” Lucio blinked at him and then held up his hands to survey the damage. “Are you sure?”
“You’re not dead. I’m sure of it.” Mark smiled at him very briefly.
Merry came back with several small packages of gauze, a pair of surgical scissors and a roll of tape. Mark helped Lucio sit up on the hood of the car and she hastily bandaged his hands with gauze and tape. He grimaced and winced and made a lot of noise, but otherwise seemed none the worse for wear in spite of his wounds. It seemed his complaints were made more for her entertainment than from real suffering.
Mark watched him curiously. Lucio had always displayed a high tolerance for pain. The face of the smiling ragamuffin in the catacombs with the terrible wound on his face returned to haunt him. Now the scar was bloody again from the sadistic work of Valentino’s watchdog. But another darker memory hovered just beyond his reach and his feelings toward the Knight took a slight downturn. He thought that he was supposed to be angry with him for some reason. Merry finished her work and went back to the box, bringing back antiseptic ointment for his face while Lucio pulled on his boots with Mark’s help. Mark shook his head. Lucio did not need antibiotics. He only needed time.
“Where are the others?” Mark asked him finally.
“They were in the basement. All except Brother Beaujold,” Dambretti said and shrugged somewhat chagrined. “I was with them… for a while. The Will of God.”
Mark remembered that. To Lucio, everything was the Will of God, especially the good things that happened to him and the bad things that he might be blamed for.
“I have paid for my sins, Brother,” Lucio held up his hands. “I have done my penance. It is very much like crucifixion, no? And if you had cut off my head like the Infidels cut off Saint John’s head, I would be very close to martyrdom. I would be the first martyr of the Temple. San Lucio di Napoli.”
“You are very close to blasphemy, Brother. St. John did not die because he was careless. He died for his beliefs. That is one of the requirements of Sainthood.” Mark looked away from him. “I have done my penance as well.” He glanced at Merry who was rummaging in the first aid box again.
Dambretti followed his gaze. “But you are not repentant, il mio Fratello. I can see it in your eyes,” he said and reached up to take hold of the silver earrings entwined in the strands of Mark’s hair “and your hair.”
Mark frowned as Lucio peered closely at his hair in the dim light. The Italian recognized the earrings as the ones the blond fairy princess had worn at the reception the night before. So she was the one. Not the dark-haired Valentino. Lucio was very relieved. It had almost happened… again. Only one stolen kiss this time.
Mark Andrew looked down at the bangles, frowning, wondering how they had gotten there.
“You would do well not to look into my eyes until you can see out of them,” Mark’s frown deepened to an angry scowl when he looked up again. The tone of his voice carried the old familiar ring that Lucio remembered so well. ‘One misplaced word and the world will no longer know you.’
Merry returned with a bottle of peroxide and a bundle of cotton balls.
“Pull up your shirt,” she told Dambretti.
He held up his hands. He would not be pulling anything anywhere for a while.
“It’s not necessary,” Mark told her a bit too gruffly. He was shivering from the cold, wet clothes and his own recent injuries. “He will be fine.”
“Great!” she matched his tone and jerked her head around to stare at him in the dimness, surprised by his hostile tone. “Then this is it? You find one of your beloved Brothers and that’s it? That’s all? You don’t need me anymore?”
“That would depend on what you mean by ‘it’,” he said offhandedly and looked down at her bare feet, unwilling to meet her gaze. “You had best go back to the house, lassie, and see to your own needs. Brother Dambretti and I have work to do. We’ll have to go to the basement. It would not be a good place for you.”
“I see,” she said coldly. “And how will you get into the basement, Sir Ramsay?”
“You can get us in, la mia dolce,” Dambretti interjected quickly, trying to avoid the brewing confrontation between the woman and his Brother. They were not out of the woods yet and needed her help.
“I’m only a woman. How can I help you, brave Knights?” she asked sarcastically and went back to replace the peroxide in the medical kit.
Mark followed her and stopped behind her as she jerked the box around angrily. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her ear. “I love you, Merry,” he told her simply. “I don’t know how all this will end, but I want you to know that much. I don’t want anything to happen to you. You simply don’t understand what this is all about.”
She stiffened in his embrace, but said nothing. Of all things, it was not what she expected to hear from him at that moment. She had always thought it would have somehow been much more romantic to hear those words from the man she loved. But there was no romance here in the chilly, dark garage in the presence of another man. His Brother. One of his freaking Brothers that had come halfway round the world to kill him. It sounded more like a simple declaration of fact, more like ‘I’m hungry’ or ‘Something stinks’. His words had a much more profound effect on her than she had expected in a strangely inappropriate way. Instead of melting her heart, assuaging her fears, comforting her pain, they seemed to freeze her blood in her veins.
Mark went back to help Dambretti off the hood of the car where he sat looking down at his hands. The effort hurt both of them and Dambretti pulled his t-shirt out gingerly from the cuts on his chest. The jerk had been cutting off his tattoos! He would have to get them done all over again.
Merry snorted derisively. They were going with or without her help. Now was not a good time for pouting and silliness. He had done his best to protect her and she had, after all, thrown herself on him. He had never asked for her attentions. She had initiated every one of their romantic encounters. With the exception of this very brief encounter in the garage which should have been the most important of all.
“All right,” she came back to join them again. “I’ll get you into the basement and t
hen I’ll go upstairs, take a bath, curl up in my bed and read a good book.”
Lucio smiled at her and then winced. He had to stop doing that… if he could, but she was so beautiful…like an angel. Her hair hung in tiny, dripping ringlets about her face like a flower pixie and he felt himself falling in love with her. He was always falling in love. It was nothing serious. It would pass.
(((((((((((((
“Anything yet, Christopher?” d’Ornan’s voice echoed in the pitch black enclosure.
“Nothing, Master,” Christopher’s disembodied voice answered from somewhere in front of him.
“Nothing here either,” von Hetz’s voice was worst of all in the darkness. “There seems to be nothing in here with us. At least there are no rats.”
“A small blessing perhaps.” D’Ornan could be heard clumping about the smooth stone floor. “They will not chew on us as we sleep, but neither will we chew on them as we starve.”
Christopher shuddered and turned about slowly in the direction of Simon’s voice. His head ached miserably from where that insufferable man had whacked him with his pistol. Now these two were calmly discussing the possibility of spending some time locked in this place. He was the one that would starve. Not them. They might get hungry, but they wouldn’t starve. Sir Ramsay had expounded upon it often enough. Every time he had complained about the food at the Villa, his Master had offered to go hunting in the cellars for something more palatable for his apprentice to eat. Christopher had always been afraid that his Master would someday pull a horrible joke on him and serve him a rat burger as he’d so often promised to do.
They could hear nothing but the rustlings of their own clothing, the clump of their own boots and the occasional rumble of thunder from somewhere far overhead. Nothing… except for the constant sound of dripping water, disconcerting sound in the utter blackness of the cave. The walls curved down sharply to meet the floors, which felt polished to the touch, though a bit uneven, suggesting that they had been imprisoned in some sort of natural formation in the rock. An enclosure carved out by eons of running water. The only break in the continuity of the walls was the faint outline of the heavy slab that served as the door. The only way in or out. They had almost been deafened by the crash when the big rock had come down. It had sounded ominously permanent. The floor was marred by a depression in the center which was about three yards across, full of cold water and seemed like a bottomless well or spring. Von Hetz had reached his arm into it as far as he could feel and they had paced about it to determine its size. At least they had water.
“We may as well rest, Brother,” von Hetz said into the darkness and they heard him sit on the floor somewhere. “They will come for us. Already, the Grand Master has crossed the sea.”
The sound of a splash and a muttered “Uh, oh!” caused him to stand again.
“Christopher Stewart?” d’Ornan called in alarm as he thought the boy had fallen into the hole.
“They had better come in a hurry, Masters,” Christopher’s voice was full of alarm. “The pool is growing.”
They circumnavigated the water again, counting the steps. It was twice as large as before.
“We will not drown. It is impossible,” von Hetz told them reassuringly. “Be patient. Brother Dambretti and Brother Beaujold will find us eventually.”
“Speak for yourself, Master,” Christopher replied from the inky nothingness. “I'm not immortal. I cannot afford to be patient.”
The thunder crashed from above and the dripping noise increased in the ensuing silence after Christopher’s words. The drip was no longer a drip, but a steady stream, splashing into the pool from above. The air filled with a fine mist.
D’Ornan began to whisper a prayer in French.
“They will come for us,” von Hetz said again. “Perhaps you should confess your sins, my son.”
Christopher sighed and made his way through the darkness to where Simon sat on the damp stone. He sank to his knees, crossing himself in the darkness. Just before each clap of thunder, a dull, grayish-green light flickered in the upper reaches of the cavern, showing nothing except that there was a sizable crack up there somewhere through which the water was now pouring.
“Shrive me, Master,” he said and closed his eyes needlessly. The cold water inched its way inexorably up his kneecaps, chilling him to the bone in more ways than one. At least he wouldn’t starve to death or be forced to live on beetles and grubs.
(((((((((((((
The basement was empty. The Knights were gone. Ramsay searched the office and came up with five more swords and four daggers.
“Perhaps they escaped?” Dambretti offered hopefully. He located an old golf bag in a closet and used it to carry the weapons.
Mark dragged the heavy bag into the corridor.
“And left their weapons?” Ramsay stood shaking his head. “Not likely. Von Hetz could have easily found them.” He remembered the dark Knight’s strange method for finding the Flaming Sword just before he had made him drink the mercury.
“What now?” Dambretti glanced down the hall toward Merry, who stood near the stairs watching them dejectedly while keeping an eye out for anyone else who might come their way.
“We have to find them,” Mark said matter-of-factly and shrugged.
“What about the woman?” Lucio asked him in a low voice.
“She is nothing without her guard dog,” Mark hefted the bag to his shoulder. “I left him dead on the floor.”
“I meant her.” Lucio nodded toward Merry. The Italian narrowed his eyes to look closely at Mark Andrew. “Do you intend to return with us willingly, Brother?”
Mark ignored his question at first and then seemed to think better of it.
“I do.” Mark shuddered at the memories of the misfortunes he had suffered since landing in this sorry place. Surely the Order could do no worse to him. The pain in his side throbbed dully under the weight of the bag. Mark sighed and walked toward the Pixie.
“Merry,” he said as he set the bag on the floor. He took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Merry. Where would they have taken them?”
“I don’t know.” She refused to meet his eyes.
He pulled her close to him and held her tightly.
“Merry. You must think,” he said softly in her ear. “I can’t just leave them here.”
“You can’t be serious!” She pushed him away and looked up at him incredulously. Why could he not have whispered those three little words to her in the same manner? “After what they did to you?”
“They didn’t do anything to me,” he objected. “They came to do what they had to do. I would have done the same for any one of them.”
“What? For them? Would you leave them in the desert pierced through and through to die?” she raised her voice and glanced at Dambretti who was holding back in the hallway. He looked away from her quickly. “Is that what brothers do for each other? I’m glad I don’t have any!”
“Merry!” Mark took her by the shoulders again. “It’s not what it appears. He didn’t leave me to die. He would have come back for me.” He was not exactly telling her the full truth.
She looked at the floor.
“I won’t help you find them,” she said with finality. “They will only try to kill you again or whatever it is they were trying to do. I offered to take you away. I have money. I could…” he placed one finger against her lips, silencing her.
Mark looked back at Lucio and the Italian shrugged. Her words embarrassed him in front of Lucio and then his embarrassment embarrassed him in front of Merry. He was caught in a cross-fire.
“What she says may be true, Brother,” the Italian said somewhat reluctantly. “Beaujold is not with them. He is most likely looking for you even as we stand here. I am afraid he has let his old feelings override his better sense. He will not listen to me and I believe he is bent on killing you.”
“See?” She looked up at him.
“No. I don’t
see,” he told her flatly. “I will have to face him… and them, sooner or later. It’s just the way things are.”
“It is the Will of God,” Lucio added from where he stood. “It cannot be changed.” A vacation in Texas next year might be in order. There was nothing particularly sinful about being friendly. A vacation. Si`.
Merry let go a short sigh.
“If I take you where I think they are, will you help him?” She directed her question to the other Knight. “Will you stand with him… against them?”
“I cannot help him,” Lucio told her and held up his hands again. “He does not need my help. I can only say that I will not hinder him in what it is that he must do.”
Mark looked at her hopefully, as if this unsatisfactory answer was some sort of consolation.
“I just don’t understand this at all.” Merry shook her head.
“You don’t have to understand,” he told her. “Now please, we must hurry.”
“I have to change first.” She looked down at her bedraggled lavender gown and bare feet. “It’s up in the hills and I can’t go up there like this. There’s an old fallout shelter. I heard Maxie telling Cecile that it would make a good tomb. It’s the only place they could have taken them.”
“Can we find it without you?” Mark asked her before she started up the stairs.
“I doubt it,” she murmured as yet another peal of thunder crashed against the house. The rain began to pour in earnest through the open doors of the basement. Water ran in torrents down the stairs flooding the floor around her feet.
(((((((((((((
The Red Cross of Gold I:. The Knight of Death Page 44
