by Brad R. Cook
I didn’t doubt for one minute that he’d take great joy in wounding us. Genevieve glanced over at me as I lowered my knife. Slowly, she lowered her sword.
After a moment, she sheathed her sword. I put my knife away, too.
“Excellent. Besides Alexander, you are an honored guest.” He tipped his Stetson. “Only the best for a future horseman.”
The soldiers motioned with their weapons. We stepped out the cabin and off the train.
We were escorted out of the city by a camel caravan. In the distance, three immense pyramids rose out of the undulating sand. The only remaining monuments of the seven wonders. They led us down a causeway, past a giant half-buried head.
“I always wanted to see the pyramids and ask the sphinx my questions, but this isn’t exactly what I had in mind. Well … I am here with you.”
Her hardened exterior remained visible to our captors, but I saw her lips crack slightly. “They are spectacular, and the interiors are breath taking. Perhaps one day we can visit them together.”
“The last time you were here was with Richard,” I said.
Genevieve nodded. “Yes, but we didn’t visit the interior, we only stood at the base.” She added, “I saw the inner chambers on my first trip to Egypt. My mother insisted.” She paused giving herself a moment to exhale. She smiled and leaned toward me, “The Duke would not let Richard climb, despite his repeated pleas.”
Despite the soldiers watching us, I couldn’t help but laugh, thinking of tiny Richard throwing a temper-tantrum at the base of the pyramid.
The caravan stopped ahead of us. Long lines of tents and tarps broke up the sandy landscape. One of the soldier’s assigned to following Genevieve and I, shoved me forward and I stumbled in the uneven terrain and fell on my side. He then reached toward Genevieve, but she spun around to face him.
“I am not someone to be man-handled.” The fierceness in her eyes brought a harsh tone to her sweet accent.
“Sit.” He grabbed his rifle and raised the butt above her head.
Steel flashed in the sunlight as she drew her saber, and in one swift, powerful downstroke, she sliced the straps holding the weapon on his shoulder and sent the rifle into the sand. The man raised his fist to punch her, but Genevieve pressed her sword under his chin. He froze. All the soldiers surrounding us raised their weapons. Still, Genevieve held her sword firm against the man’s neck.
She glared at Hendrix, as he strolled over, “I have agreed to be your prisoner, but I will be treated in accordance with my station.”
Everyone, including me, stared at Hendrix, “There you go using that “P” word. Guest. You’re my guests.” With a wave of his hand, the soldiers lowered their weapons.
Hendrix’ gears ticked, chirred, and scraped as he bowed slightly to Genevieve. She kept the blade against the soldier’s chin for a moment before slowly pulling her saber away. The soldier quickly retreated.
Hendrix cackled. “Be thankful, soldier, the lady didn’t take your fingers off with that little display.”
Genevieve slid the blade back into its sheath. Lowering herself into the sand beside me, she tucked her legs beneath her, her stoic expression revealing nothing but contempt. Hendrix spun around, annoyed that everyone still stood immobile. “Get this train loaded, and be quick about it!”
Train? There was no train. Beyond the tents in front of us, only sand and rolling dunes stretched across the great Saharan Desert as far as the eye could see. And on the horizon, the setting sun ignited the rolling dunes causing the whole desert to shimmer with a bright orange glow as if on fire. Not only did I not see a train; there were no tracks.
Slaves in tattered rags and soldiers in desert uniforms once again moved in and out of the long row of tarps and tents. I wanted to know what could possibly be inside, but feared I’d find out all too soon.
So much history had crossed these sands. Alexander the Great had gone east into Persia to avoid this desert. I tried to take it in, but I didn’t know what would happen. Hendrix was evil, and Zerelda tortured the crew of the Sparrowhawk in the short time she had them. They threw my father in a dungeon. What lay ahead for Genevieve and me?
I wouldn’t let them hurt her. I owed it to the baron, and to me. However, at the moment, she didn’t need me. In fact, I think I needed her.
Hendrix waved at the soldiers guarding us. One pointed. “Get up,” he said in a southern accent.
I got up, but as Genevieve stood, the soldiers stepped back. We walked toward Hendrix. When we arrived at the tent, a slave pulled back the large flap and we followed the half-bronze colonel inside.
An undulating wall of riveted iron plates perched atop thousands of armored posts connected to the undercarriage by immense pistons, resembling the articulated leg of an insect. As we walked along the colossal monstrosity, I realized I was looking at train cars, if you could call them that. Each stretched fifty feet long with five legs attached to the undercarriage on each side. Every third train car boasted cannons mounted in turrets on the roof, and gun ports running along the side. This was an iron castle transformed into a monstrous millipede.
“This train has legs,” I whispered to Genevieve as we moved along. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Neither have I,” Genevieve said, but her attention was on the coming and going of people. She studied everyone who passed us, and counted the number of soldiers throughout.
Hendrix stopped at the stairs leading up to the second car. The engine loomed in front of us and bore a huge boiler twice the size of any I’d seen before.
CHAPTER 26
THE MILLI-TRAIN
Hendrix stretched out his hands, “Magnificent, wouldn’t you say?” We boarded the second car, a converted passenger car decorated like a Victorian parlor. Fine wooden furniture accented the long narrow room, and gas-lit sconces hung on the wall. A scarred soldier nudged me to the back of the car. Genevieve sat down and he pushed me into the chair next to her.
Hendrix stepped onboard, followed by the lady assassin and Kannard, whose eyes rolled around in an overly medicated haze. A soldier helped him into a chair at the front end of the car.
He looked old and frail, not the robust man I’d fought last year. Granted, right now he was barely coherent, but he’d been menacing enough at the French castle. I stared at his bandaged hand, which he clutched to his chest. A twinge of guilt washed over me, knowing I had injured him. Almost. However, not far from my mind was what this man stood for—the enslavement of the world. He’d kidnapped my father, poisoned the baron, and tried to kill us on several occasions. A little pain was karma as Mr. Singh would say.
Hendrix stopped, spun around in the middle of the car, and removed his hat in a grand gesture. “Welcome to the Milli-train, an invention of my own design. If I’d had this in the war, Sherman never would have made it to Atlanta, or the sea.”
I’d never thought of Colonel Hendrix as the inventor type. I assumed half his brain was gone, too, and that was the reason he’d become a diabolical, madman who couldn’t leave the war behind.
“The finest of American engineering,” he continued. “She’ll traverse any terrain, except deep water, she’ll ford a river with ease, but she ain’t for the sea.” Hendrix ran his hand along a brass pipe running along the wall. “Let your Templars come, boy. As you can see, we’re ready for ’em.”
I let my silence speak for me. Genevieve probably had some witty and perfect insult that would cut to his core, but all I wanted to do was yell at him for everything he’d done.
He turned to a soldier standing by a small telegraph machine bolted to the wall. “Tell the engineer to get underway.” The soldier quickly tapped out a message on a large, black button on its mechanical arm. Within a moment, a second small metal arm tapped out a response, which spit out a ticker-tape message. The soldier passed it on to Col. Hendrix. He looked it over and read the message aloud. “The last of drilling equipment is loaded. Stop. All property and personnel are aboard. Stop.”
Kannard coughed and moaned in agony, which snapped him back to reality. He focused on Hendrix. “Then let’s go; we must find the next horsemen’s heart.”
Hendrix shook his head. “We are underway. Just get some rest.”
“I’ll rest when the circle is complete,” Kannard snarled, but his eyes instantly rolled back in his head and he drifted off.
“Baroness, keep an eye on our guests.” He pointed at Kannard. “And make sure this one doesn’t wander off.”
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“The engine car, to make sure we’re heading in the right direction.”
The Milli-train chugged to life, belching smoke into the sky. The legs on one side cascaded forward, falling behind the one in front of it, and then the legs on the other side of the train followed, causing the train to undulate back and forth like a slithering millipede. Hendrix had named the train appropriately.
I had so many questions, but I sat at the window, staring at the mechanical legs slipping into place in rapid succession. In the glass, I saw the lady assassin’s reflection, and watched her out of the corner of my eye. I stood with Genevieve in not trusting this woman. The lady assassin stopped at a cart with crystal decanters, picked one up, and poured herself a drink. She swallowed the amber liquid in a single gulp, then glanced over at the two of us, paused, and turned back to the window. With a deep sigh, she adjusted her cloak over her shoulders and smoothed out her sleeves.
“Can I get you anything?” She tried to keep her tone harsh, but a sweet French accent slipped through. “Water? Something to eat?”
“I need nothing from you,” Genevieve spit through clenched teeth, her eyes never leaving the window.
Unlike her, I couldn’t stop staring at this woman. Maybe if I studied her long enough, I could find the clues to prove she wasn’t the baroness. As my father had taught me to do with ancient languages and documents, I searched for similarities between Genevieve and the woman—like mannerisms, speech, or maybe jewelry—but there was nothing. Until, that is, the lady assassin lifted her glass and I saw she had the same cute little thumb as Genevieve. Their whole hands were even alike. In fact, they were almost identical.
“I could use some water,” I said. Genevieve snapped her head toward me, but I shrugged. “I’m parched.”
“Water it is.” The lady assassin motioned, and a slave poured the crystal clear liquid from a large pitcher into an alabaster cup.
As the slave girl presented the cup to me and bowed, Genevieve groaned. “You’re not going to drink that are you? It’s poisoned.”
I peered into the clear water and the cup’s swirling pattern.
The lady assassin turned to me and groaned. “I’m not trying to kill you.”
Genevieve huffed, “You already tried to kill Alexander’s father.”
“His father is a Templar … a threat. Neither of you are.” She turned away from me, toward Genevieve. “I would never kill you.”
Genevieve locked eyes with the woman. “You can drop the act. You’re not my mother.”
The two stared at each other for a long moment, as if in a mental sword fight. The lady assassin turned and stormed off, slamming the door behind her as she headed into the next car. Genevieve twisted in her seat, and jammed her arms across one another.
I opened my mouth to say something, but caught her reflection in the window. Tears streamed down her cheeks. I paused. What could I say? I’m sorry your mom is an assassin.
The Milli-train continued over the sea of dunes. I rested my head against the chair and stared out toward the dark horizon. The moonlight shimmered over the desolate landscape. The sand sparkled in the night, mirroring the stars above.
CHAPTER 27
CROSSING AFRICA
We sat in silence, both lost in our own thoughts. The rhythmic rocking of the train became as monotonous as the thoughts in my mind. What could we do to stop the Golden Circle? Uncertain, I turned to Genevieve. She stared at the silver locket around her neck, rubbing the metal oval with her fingers. Slowly she opened the locket and stared at the picture inside. She didn’t have to tell me what ran through her mind. She might not think the lady assassin was her mother, but enough doubt had been forged. The baron was certain, but I wasn’t. Not yet.
I didn’t want to believe that the woman who killed the professors at Eton, who tried to kill my father, could be Genevieve’s mother.
Lifting her chin, she saw me, and snapped the locket shut and let it drop to her chest.
“Now what?” I asked, looking around the train car.
“Now nothing,” she said. “We’ve bought ourselves time to be rescued.”
“So, we sit here and wait,” I said, as she locked eyes with me and cocked her head to the side. “That doesn’t sound very knightly. They’re up to something, and we should find out what it is.”
She leaned closer. “Watch what you say. Kannard might be out of it, but the soldiers at the end of the car might hear us.”
They turned and stared at us until she sat back and pretended to look out the window. Then they returned to their conversation.
I knew Genevieve was right, and my father would agree: sit here and wait for the Sparrowhawk. Captain Baldarich would team up with the rest of the Templar Air Corp and come rescue us. It would take them a couple of days. But without a set of tracks to follow, would they be able to find us?
Kannard stirred and sat up, gripping his wrist. He kicked a table and sent it sliding across the floor, and into a chair. When he saw us staring at him, he snarled, “What are you looking at?”
“My friend, Owethu, says the Zulu have an elixir that can heal broken bones.”
“And you believe that savage’s tales?”
“I do.” I sat forward on my seat. “He knows about all kinds of things.”
“You are a fool to believe such savage fantasy.”
I bristled at that word and glared at him.
Annoyed, Kannard got up and walked over to the cart and tried to pour himself a glass of scotch. With his left hand, he struggled to remove the stopper from the decanter. Unable to open the carafe, Kannard kicked the table. “You,” he bellowed, pointing to a soldier, “come over here and pour me a double.”
“But I’m not a—” Kannard glowered at the soldier. A look so evil, I no longer cared how he suffered. “Yes, Lord Kannard. Right away, sir.” The soldier hurried over, filled the glass, bowed, and returned to his post.
Kannard stared at the glass, took a big slug, and exhaled sharply. Then he glanced down at his hand and then turned to me.
“You did this.” He snaked his way over to me. I pushed back against my seat. Genevieve tensed up beside me. “I suppose I should be proud. You’ve become quite the warrior.”
Normally, I would have been ecstatic about someone finally recognizing me as a warrior, but somehow, coming from Kannard, it left a bad taste—like bile—in my mouth. Why was it only men like Kannard who acknowledged my talent? The way the baron and my father talked, one would have thought I was nothing more than a child.
Kannard leaned down and shoved his bandaged hand in my face. “This will heal. The horsemen will ride again, and the world will tremble beneath our hooves.” There it was again, that wild look, with eyes so wide his pupils looked like pin pricks. Kannard reared back up and smoothed his coat. “Is Hendrix right, boy? Are you the true fourth horsemen?” He stared at me—almost through me—and I couldn’t tell what he saw, or if he liked it.
A chill ran up my spine as he spoke. Instantly, I was pulled back to Eustache’s garden. The night he’d fought Hendrix and lost, allowing Genevieve and I to escape with the Four Thieves Potion. Hendrix offered power, wealth, and dominion over the nobility who saw me as nothing more than a commoner, or colonist. That day, he’d offered me Genevieve. Promised to spare her, and make her mine forever. I shuddered at his words. I could never be a horseman. I had the honor of a knight and the code of a defender.
Hendrix walked in and ordered
Kannard, “Leave the kids be.”
Kannard sneered and stormed over to Hendrix, staring at the man with the same dreadful expression he’d focused on me. The colonel held his stare, and his eye encircled in bronze, sparked with electricity. “Lord Kannard, please sit down. Soon we will be in the hidden city of the sky pirates. Zerelda is there, and she has the third heart.”
Kannard roared as he whipped around and charged Genevieve, “It was you who destroyed one of my beautiful hearts.”
Hendrix was quicker. His bronze, segmented hand slid deep into his sleeve, the gears whirling and clinking as his three-clawed appendage locked into place. Hendrix snagged Kannard’s shoulder, preventing him from moving forward. Kannard winced and stopped.
“Private, please escort the lord to a room.” Hendrix pulled Kannard close. “Rest, Lord Kannard. We will be in the south soon enough. Victory will be ours.”
Kannard wrenched his shoulder free and stormed off. The soldier chased after him as Hendrix turned to his men. Another soldier stepped into the car and handed the colonel a note. With the casual stroll of a smug gunslinger, he stepped over to us. “The skies are clear. Word is the Sparrowhawk has docked in Cairo. Looks like we’ve given your Templars the slip.”
Genevieve eyed Hendrix with dead certainty, and said, “My father will come.”
CHAPTER 28
KNIGHT OF THE GOLDEN CIRCLE’S SECRETS
Hendrix and his men spoke in hushed tones near the other end of the car. At first it was business, the stats of the train, and the status of their journey. It was good to know we were only a hundred and thirty seven miles from Cairo, but none of that helped me decide what to do.
Genevieve pulsed with energy and shifted in her seat. Her eyes never left the sand. Was she counting every grain?
The desert, in its own way, was beautiful, but every dune looked just like the others, and I’d tired of looking at the never-ending landscape. Besides, Genevieve was more beautiful than the scenery, and I wanted to stare at her for hours, watching every movement to determine her inner thoughts. I wanted to reach out and comfort her. Tell her everything would be okay, but I couldn’t. No one could. From the expression on her face, I don’t know if she needed the comfort, but I did.
