by Brad R. Cook
We each peaked over the edge of the abutment. On the other side of the wall, the grounds opened up to reveal what were once gardens, but the natural beauty had faded long ago, now transformed by steel and iron to create an air dock. One ship lay cradled in the moorings, and several men, slaves really, formed a line to load and unload the vessel.
The guards faced inward and kept a watchful eye on their every action. My blood roiled. They weren’t here to keep people out. They were here to keep them in. This had to be the Knights of the Golden Circle, the only ones trying to resurrect that hated legacy.
Owethu tapped my shoulder and pulled me down as the three of them pulled back behind the larger fortified walls. I nodded and slowly followed, but the crack of a whip made every muscle inside me seize up. I continued on, but each command by the guards enraged me. I wanted to charge in. A knight was supposed to defend the helpless. It took everything for me to continue following the others, but if I did run in, I knew I’d get caught, and that wouldn’t help anyone, including us.
Genevieve whispered, “We have to discover what they’re doing.”
Mr. Singh raked his fingers through his beard. “But the minute we step around the back wall, the guards will see us.”
Owethu pointed up, suggesting we climb the outer wall. We all leaned back to see. A few stones appeared to have a broken ledge, or were sticking out, but most were flush to the wall. I didn’t think I could make it, but I didn’t doubt for a minute that Owethu might.
I sat down on a smooth rock at the edge of the hill as we discussed how to sneak through the air docks. I put my hand down behind me and leaned back to help me better think. I felt rough ridges along the backside of the rock. I turned and saw the outline of a Templar cross etched in the stone. The left arm of the cross came to a point, instead of the usual flared end like the others. Slightly turned on an angle, the pointed end aimed down the hill.
That’s odd, I thought. Why would the Templar leave the cross outside the castle? And why was the cross different? Maybe an attacker mocked them, but no one would sit at the base of besieged wall to carve it. Something else was afoot. My mind flipped through a dozen possibilities, but all I knew for certain—the odd etching was a sign.
“What do you make of this?” They all came over and peered at the stone. I stood and followed the direction the arrow pointed. Down the hill, emerging from the grass lay a pile of rocks. A way in? Of course. The Templars thought of every possibility, even if everything went wrong and the castle were claimed by the enemy, they would have a way to get back in.
“Found it,” I said as I slid over the edge and down the steep slope.
I heard a whispered but forceful, “Alexander,” from Genevieve, but I had to focus on my feet or risk tumbling down. They did not follow me.
When I reached the stones, it was nothing but a pile of natural rock. Or so a Templar would want the enemy to think, I mused. I searched for another symbol on the mass of rocks and found one on a lone rock at the bottom of the pile, half buried by grass. This cross had the right shape, but had been turned slightly askew and looked like an ‘X’. It couldn’t be that easy.
I took a step back, and studied the cross, running my fingers through my hair, and pushing the two front locks back. The placement of the stones looked familiar. A large stone sat above two others like a naturally formed lintel. An oblong stone fit perfectly in the middle of the pile of stones and sat directly on top of the small rock with the cross. I would have sworn it was a toppled over Stonehenge, but one side was higher than the other, and the large stone blocked the center.
It was a door. It had to be. Kneeling down, I tried to push and pull the stone with the cross etched on it. At first it wouldn’t budge, but then I turned the stone and the cross slowly rotated. When the Templar cross design had been set properly, the large, oblong stone slid back into the hill.
I popped up and motioned for the others to come down the hill.
“I found our way in.”
“Very nice, Mr. Armitage.” Mr. Singh slapped me on the back.
“You’ve done well,” Owethu said, but Genevieve held a hard stare. As Owethu followed Mr. Singh inside, she leaned in close and whispered. “Please don’t run off like that. I thought you’d fallen.” As she descended into the opening, she turned back and said. “Most astounding; always trust an Armitage to find a way in.”
I melted into a puddle of goo. She was worried about me, and I’d impressed her. I followed her inside unable to get the giant grin off my face.
Mr. Singh coaxed a flame in the mini-lantern on his belt and unhooked it. Holding it up, he pushed back the inky darkness. The cut rock led deep into the hill. Dusty cobwebs filled the passage and the musty, stale smell stuffed my nostrils and made it hard to breathe, but we pushed on.
Once in the passage, we came upon a simple but beautifully constructed stone mechanism. By turning the stone above, I had unlatched the lock holding the main stone, allowing it to slide back into the hillside. It could easily be reset if needed. Genius.
We followed Mr. Singh down the passage and entered the dungeons. A metal sarcophagus, spiked chairs, and pear-shaped metal devices lay shattered or deteriorating in the corners. Torture devices, I assumed. This definitely looked like a place people were tortured. The air grew heavier and made it harder to breathe.
Genevieve stopped in front of me and asked, “What’s our plan?” Owethu and Mr. Singh stopped. She looked each one of us in the eye and didn’t look pleased with what she saw. “We don’t have one, do we?”
I looked around and whispered, “We need to find out what they’re doing.”
“Obviously.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “However, we are in an enemy stronghold with the leaders of the Golden Circle.”
“Exciting, isn’t it?” I smiled, but no one else seemed to share my enthusiasm.
Mr. Singh lowered his lantern. “If we’re careful, we can slip in and out of this place without alerting them.”
I nodded. “The Templars will help us.”
Genevieve shook her head. “They aren’t here, Alexander.”
“Maybe they are in spirit.” I had seen the Order’s mystical nature last year. I knew we’d be okay. It was like a happy feeling in my gut.
Owethu turned to me. “Then what is the plan?”
They were right. We needed a plan, maybe even two, just in case one was compromised. “Well, we have to find Hendrix and see what he is planning. Once we learn when they are leaving, we can try to signal the Sparrowhawk, or fix the Kite Skipper.”
No one protested or made another suggestion. They liked my plan. At least I think they did. But when Genevieve paused, I knew she pondered over another problem. “We don’t know where they are.”
I tried to think. “Well, the upper portions of this castle don’t look the best, so let’s hope they are closer to the ground.”
Mr. Singh looked all four of us. “We should split up”
Genevieve shook her head. “No. Our only advantages are surprise and numbers.”
Mr. Singh nodded. “Move silently, keep your head down, and if we get caught don’t tell them we are the only ones. Maybe we can bluff them into thinking we have more people.”
Owethu said, “Seek to be unseen.”
“Exactly,” I said, “but how do we do that?”
“Step slowly and carefully, breathe slowly, speak only with signs, and remain upwind.”
“Excellent advice.” Genevieve slinked over to the stairwell. “As I have the most experience lurking, I shall lead.”
Owethu popped an eyebrow. “I am in your land, so I will honor your lead. But I have hunted since I could walk.”
“Apologies if I offended you; that was not my intention.” Genevieve bowed. “However, I am better than these two.”
“Hey,” I said, which came out louder than I thought, and everyone spun around and stared at me. I covered my mouth with my hand.
Genevieve peered up the stairs and we silen
tly stood here for a minute listening to the sounds above. The muffled sounds of the air docks mixed with the heavy footsteps echoing above. Slowly, we inched our way up the stairs. Genevieve and I reached the top, two men walked nearby. We pressed ourselves against the wall and she held her finger to her lips, stopping us
We stood inside an alcove near the central room of the main keep. Soldiers and a few slaves milled about the chamber, packing equipment into crates. Whips cracked, and groans escaped from the men with each heave of the crates.
Raised voices drew us to the far side of the castle courtyard. A wooden door with thick iron hinges lay open and a flickering orange glow escaped. Twin copper pipes, bolted to the wall, ran into the room. One unmistakable voice rose above the others.
Hendrix.
“You yellow-belly!” he cried from inside the room.
My heart thumped. I wanted to turn back. Owethu stepped around me and squatted down in front of Genevieve. He pointed to a shattered doorway several feet along the same wall as the door we were watching. We all nodded and one by one, slipped from one crate to the next. I stopped behind a stack of oil barrels. Between them I could see the airdocks. Several workmen repaired the Black Freighter’s tail section, but I could tell they still had a lot of work to do. That ship wouldn’t be leaving for days.
Everyone slipped through the doorway, except for me. My stomach started to ache, the all too familiar feeling that danger was nearby. As I stepped out to follow the others, I heard boot steps on the stones. I ducked back behind the barrels as a guard passed by on the other side. My heart pounded so loud I thought he might hear. But I kept my wits and remained calm. Then he stopped. My first instinct was to run in another direction, to draw him away from my friends, but I’d be captured or shot for certain. From in between the barrels, I saw him shoulder his rifle. He rubbed the arms of his khaki jacket, and blew hot air into hands.
He looked annoyed, not curious. Then a slave dropped a crate creating a loud crash, and the soldier walked off in that direction. I dashed through the doorway undetected.
“We thought that was the end for you, my friend.” Mr. Singh whispered.
“Me too.” I motioned them closer. “They are dressed for the desert, and the airship will take at least a day to fix.”
Owethu and Mr. Singh nodded, but I could tell from Genevieve’s puzzled expression that she was wondering about that, too. Angry voices in the next room silenced me and drew us to an orange glow on the far side of the wall.
Several blocks had crumbled away from the wall, leaving a perfect window into the next room. Owethu and Mr. Singh were the first to reach the opening. They peered through and then pulled back. Mr. Singh raised his thumb, and I knew we’d found them.
They slid out of the way. Genevieve and I replaced them and stared through the opening. A warm blast of air washed over us. Lanterns provided the light, and a Persian Rug and fine wooden furniture made the room look like a home. Hendrix paced back and forth in front of a seated Lord Kannard, who had more gray hair than when I’d seen him last. He still held that aristocratic smugness, however. Two soldiers stood in the far corners of the room, and the lady assassin stood with her back to us. Her hood was down around her shoulders, revealing short auburn hair.
Hendrix and Kannard argued in civilized tones, although I couldn’t make out what they discussed. As the tension between them thickened, Hendrix threw up his arms. Then the lady assassin turned around and I froze. Genevieve’s mouth dropped open. I had seen the assassin once before. In the locket around Genevieve’s neck.
The faintest whisper escaped her. “Mother?”
CHAPTER 17
GORDIAN’S KNOT
Afraid Genevieve was going to walk right out and give us away, I pulled her back. We worked our way to the stairs, and slipped out through the dungeon. Keeping low, we ran across the fields, returning to the remains of the Kite Skipper.
Genevieve hadn’t said a word along the way. She stared beyond the horizon, as if looking directly into the past. I wanted to say something, to comfort her, but I didn’t know how.
Owethu and Mr. Singh stared at the wreckage. I tried to focus on what could be salvaged, but couldn’t turn away from Genevieve. I walked over and sat on a rock beside her. The fading sunlight caught her face and sent her shadow stretching out behind her. The burnished colors and mixed hues of the evening light radiating off her resembled an oil painting. Mesmerized, I could have sat there for eternity.
She turned and looked at me, her eyes sparkling in the golden rays reflecting off the silver locket around her neck. Her lips moved, but I did not hear her.
When I only smiled in return, her teary eyes switched to puzzlement, and suddenly, the part of my brain that had been screaming for control for the last several moments took over. She’d spoken and I had no idea. She’d caught me staring and I had only a moment to think of a reason. Play dumb—it wasn’t manly—or own up to it and get in trouble.
“Are you all right?” she asked in her sweet accent.
“Yes,” I blurted out. “Fine, good, okay … how about you?” I kicked myself as she bristled at my comment. “What I meant to say was, are you okay? I know that couldn’t have been easy.”
“I … I don’t know what to think.” She clutched the locket tightly in her hand. So hard I was afraid it would bend.
“Is it really her?”
“No,” she said quickly. “It can’t be. She barely looks like her—my mother. She’s an imposter who probably had surgery to look like her. I imagine she’s after my family’s fortune.”
Owethu rubbed his arms as Mr. Singh pulled his coat closed and said, “We will need a fire, but we’ll have to use the high-walled ruins of the cathedral to block the light from the castle.”
“Good idea.” I looked around. “Maybe there is some wood in the church we can use.”
Genevieve stared at the castle as I gathered some wood. I made a place to rest in the cathedral ruins, in a section on the far side from the castle. Owethu and Mr. Singh brought up what they could salvage of the Kite Skipper.
A chilling wind howled from the north, but Owethu coaxed a small fire to push winter away. I reached into my bag and pulled out some bread I’d swiped from my lunch at Eton. I never knew when my father would be done and we’d get dinner, so at Princeton I’d started carrying food in my bag. It had saved my stomach on many an occasion. I tore it into fourths and passed them around. “Sorry I don’t have more.” No one argued. They took the bread and began to eat. Except Genevieve. She picked at the dough, but barely ate any. By the time night fell, we had filled our stomachs with my meager rations and rested around the fire.
I sat with my back against the marble base of a statue looted long ago. The fire heated the stone, and sent soothing heat through me. I exhaled. This should be the life. No studies to worry about. No one to tell me what to do—just a fire, good friends, and a centuries old cathedral. But, Genevieve was in pain, we were cut off from our allies, and my greatest enemies had resurfaced.
I sat back and pointed over my shoulder. “I wonder what they’re up to over in the castle.”
Genevieve unbound her hair from its braid and ran her fingers through the long locks. “What do we know to be true?”
Owethu poked the fire. “The man of metal wanted to kill the professors who aided the wars with my people.”
“But then why my father? We weren’t even at Eton yet.” I thought about what he was doing right now, what he’d told me at dinner last week, but I hadn’t been paying attention. It all sounded so boring. What was it? Then it hit me. I clapped my hands making them all jump. “I remember. Father was translating an Egyptian text of a far older tale: a pharaonic tablet detailing the sub-Saharan tribes.”
They stared at me with puzzled faces. Genevieve asked, “How does that help us?”
I paused. My friends had the same look of confusion I did when I was listening to my father. I needed to explain the connections forming in my mind. “The soldie
rs, there in the castle, are wearing desert garb. My father is studying the ancient texts of southern Africa.”
Mr. Singh tossed more branches and part of a broken pew on the fire, “So the first castle was a was a trap, to kill the Templers pursuing them, and now they are fleeing the second.”
“Exactly.” I wondered why the Golden Circle would want Africa, and then my heart sank. “What if they are searching for an even older source of the horsemen’s power?”
Genevieve nodded. “Egypt is one of the oldest societies.”
A hushed whisper escaped my lips, “According to the latest theories, the first humans come from Africa.”
Owethu nodded.
Genevieve said, “If Kannard and Hendrix are here and heading south, then they are definitely up to something. We need to stop them or who knows what they’ll do this time.”
Mr. Singh tugged on his beard. “Is another comet coming?”
“Not that I know of.”
“That’s a relief.”
Genevieve leaned closer to the fire. “Don’t forget, they have had a year to plan.”
“This is so complicated,” I said. “It’s just like Gordian’s Knot.”
Mr. Singh asked, “Whose knot?”
“Gordian’s” I said. “But it’s a place, not a person. In the town of Gordium, King Midas tied an ox cart to the temple with a knot so complex no one could loosen it. It was said that whosoever could untie the knot would not only be king of Gordium, but all of Asia as well. In 333 B.C., Alexander the Great entered Gordium. He saw the knot. He looked for the end but couldn’t find it. So, he drew his sword and cut the knot in two. Thus he freed the ox cart and became king of one of the largest empires in history.”
Mr. Singh pointed. “I knew this was going to be an Alexander the Great story. I could tell by the light in your eyes.”
“I have heard of the great king.” Owethu’s brow scrunched up. “Are you related?”
