The Dove (6 page)

He went over again, in his mind, the discussion he’d had with Selwig in the barn.  Someone needed to do something.  Mark Andrew was in New Babylon.  That meant that Jozsef Daniel was strong enough to hold him.  That could also mean that Mark Andrew was in serious need of assistance.  He could not grasp his father’s warnings not to be overly concerned about Mark Andrew.  It was impossible to imagine that Mark would leave his own body… unprotected and Sophia?  Simon had seen Sophia looking at the Scotsman on many occasions and though it had been something far more than curiosity or even lust that he had seen there, he knew that Mark Andrew had returned the same strange acknowledgments in her direction as if they shared some secret.  He simply knew that Mark Andrew and Sophia Cardinelli were in serious trouble in spite of his father’s analysis.  Even if Sophia and Mark had abandoned their physical bodies and disappeared into the Abyss to save the Order from the Ancient Evil, there was still something that had to be done for them or what was left of them.  Edgard’s summation had left too many questions for Simon to simply accept it on face value.  Questions such as were the bodies animate?  Did they live and think and move?  Or did they lie in comatose states as Lemarik and Jasmine and Luke Andrew had done on a similar occasion?  Simon had pointed out to his father that Luke’s vision through the eyes of his sister had shown Sophia and Mark in a very animate setting, talking and feeling, very much aware of their surroundings.  If the living essences of Mark and Sophia had left these bodies, who then was it that Nicole was dealing with in New Babylon if not some vestige of Mark Ramsay and Sophia Cardinelli?

Simon could not let it go.  He’d heard already what the creature had done to Lucio and Omar and Jozsef Daniel.  They all knew, or thought they knew, what had happened to Anna.  Lucio, once again, had been pulled from the jaws of destruction by his friend and Brother, Mark Andrew, and now no one was there for the Knight of Death.  It was unbearable.  He had rarely ever gone against the Rules in a major sense and he had gone against the Grand Master even less rarely with the exception of the disagreements they had encountered when he had first learned that Edgard d’Brouchart was his father.  His major conflict had come when he had stood against the Grand Master when d’Brouchart had decided to kill Mark Ramsay outright.  Of course, that had been an exceptional time and totally excusable considering that his own father had thought to offer his own son as a burnt offering.  Not a good memory.  Surely, after all they had been through, he might be excused if he did something that he felt was right and proper and in the best interests of the Order and perhaps, even, the whole world.  But he would need help if he decided to take Selwig to New Babylon, himself.  Things had changed.  He could no longer call upon old friends and acquaintances with access to jet planes and steamboats.  It was a long, long way to New Babylon on horseback and if they tried to take one of the few public conveyances left to the world, they could be easily intercepted and turned back.  He would have to get past King Ramsay in London and then past King Louis in France and then through the lands being overseen by his uncle, Lord de Goth and then…  Simon’s mind drifted as the complexities of the difficult task ahead of him made his head spin.  King Louis.  His son-in-law.  De Goth, his uncle.  King Ramsay, Mark’s brother who practically worshipped the man.  His mother… Catharine, Lord de Goth’s beloved sister.  The Queen of France, his own daughter.  These connections should have worked in his favor.  Why would they not work in his favor?  Perhaps his connections were better than he had first imagined.

Simon relaxed as a new perspective on the situation resolved itself within his conscious mind and he drifted into an uneasy sleep filled with dreams wherein he witnessed the Annunciation twisted into a bizarre parody of the original.  In his agitated state, he saw not the Virgin Mary as the recipient of the news, but Mark Andrew.  The angel Gabriel, who looked much like Lucifer, pointed one long finger at the Chevalier du Morte and said “
Hail, thou that art highly favored, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among watchers. Fear not, Mark: for thou hast found favor with God. And, behold, thou shalt know thy wife, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name Emmanuel. He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the Highest: and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father David. And he shall reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of his kingdom there shall be no end. Then said Mark unto the angel, How shall this be, seeing I am not a man? And the angel, Gabriel answered and said unto him, The Holy Ghost has come upon thee, and the power of the Highest has overshadowed thee, and that which was in thee has abandoned thee: therefore also that holy thing which shall be begotten of thee shall be called the Son of God and thou shalt no longer be called a virgin
.”

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Edgard d’Brouchart sat at his desk with his forehead flat on the surface. His hands hung limply at his sides.  He was not asleep.  He was missing in action.  Lucio bent slowly and poked at the man’s shoulder with one finger.  Nothing happened.

“Sir?”  Dambretti whispered the name and then frowned at his son who stood cautiously by the open door.

“What is wrong with him?”  Vanni whispered.  “Is he dead?”

“No.  I don’t…”  Lucio placed two fingers on the artery in the Master’s neck.  “Think so.”  He finished and rose up.  “This is very strange.”  He backed away from the Master.  He had come here to turn himself in for being AWOL and to report on what he had seen in the underworld.  There was no need to send after Mark Andrew in New Babylon.  At least not the urgent need that they had feared.  Lucio didn’t want anything to happen to Mark’s body.  He remembered quite well what had happened to Omar’s body at the hands of General Schweikert, but Mark would ultimately be unharmed by such an act.  He just wouldn’t look the same when and if he returned to them in the flesh.  Of course there was the problem of Sophia.  But if Sophia was simply the earthly manifestation of Andrea Larmenius, Mark Andrew’s ‘better half’, then Sophia was not truly a concern either.  If the condition of Luke Andrew, Omar Kadif and Jasmine had been any indication of what happened to the flesh when the spirit went traveling in the underworld, then Mark and Sophia were, at best, lying comatose in New Persia.  On the other hand, it appeared that the Grand Master was lying comatose in Scotland.  A bad sign, certainly.

“Let’s find Barry.”  Lucio pushed Vanni into the hall and closed the door quietly.

They started down the hall toward Barry’s room which he shared with his wife, Rachel.

“Father,” Vanni caught his arm in the dark hallway.  “I would hazard a guess that the Master is at the meeting with Sir Ramsay.”

“Santa Maria!”  Lucio slapped his forehead with his palm.  “Of course!”

“Perhaps we should just go to bed and wait until morning.”  Vanni suggested.  “If he is still… gone, then we can tell Sir Barry whatever you like.  It might be unwise to disturb everyone just now.”

Lucio considered his son’s words.  Vanni had been right about disturbing Mark Andrew and he’d not listened.  Perhaps it was time he gave a bit of credit to his son’s wisdom.

The Italian nodded and turned back toward his own room.

“Come and tell me about Greta, Vanni.”  He took his son by the arm.  “I would like to hear the entire story from the beginning.”

“Of course!”  Vanni’s face lit up in a grand smile.  “I would be glad to tell you about it, Poppi.  It was most amazing.”

“Santa Maria.”  Lucio muttered under his breath.

They walked back down the quiet hallway together.

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Simon swung his sword at the two men who continued to attack him in his dream.  They were relentlessly charging and retreating, shouting insults and taunts at him.  Their faces were obscured by the face shields of their helmets and all the blows he managed to land were either parried easily or deflected harmlessly from their chainmail armor. 

“Master!”  He heard someone shouting near his ear and turned quickly, bringing up the silver sword with the twin serpents on the hilt.  A lovely young girl with golden red hair and big blue eyes stared up at him.  “Master Simon!  What are you doing?!”  She asked him.

One of his attackers swung at him and he threw himself on the girl, trying to protect her from the blade.  They tumbled to the floor in a tangle of bed linens.

“Master!”  Came the muffled shout again from beneath him. 

Simon scrambled to his feet amidst the clutter and pulled the struggling form of the Tuathan healer from the floor.  He stood with the sheet draped around his shoulders like a Grecian statue.

“Selwig!”  He blinked at the healer in shock.  “I’m sorry!  I thought… I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

Selwig brushed off the sheet, tugged on his shirt and picked up his yellow bag from the tangle. 

Simon grabbed him again to make sure he was all right and then let go of him when his attackers shouted at him again.

“Die, Infidel Dog!”  The voice was very familiar.  “I spit upon your standard.  Throw that rag to the ground and stand aside.”

“Back, fool!  Or taste the bitter steel of death!”  The other shouted in answer.

The sound of blades clashing against each other drifted through the open window.  Simon hurried across the room and pulled back the drapes.  He stuck his head out the window and stared at the two swordsmen engaged in what appeared to be a deadly duel in the grass outside his bedroom.

The two fighters lunged and attacked each other, fell back, clashed again and fell back.  The shorter of the two raised his sword over his right shoulder, stepped forward, dipped slightly and brought the sword completely around in what would have been a deathblow, if the other had not ducked and come around behind the first, slapping him on the back of his helmet with the flat of his blade, sending him sprawling in the grass.  To Simon’s shock, they were practicing with naked blades instead of wooden replicas like Barry used in his classes.

“A fatal mistake!”  The taller one placed his foot in the small of his downed opponent’s back.  “You think to take me with that?!  That is one of the first things our mother taught us!”  He kicked the downed man’s side and turned away, pulling his tight helmet from his head.  His long, wavy hair fell around his face.  The defeated man pulled his helmet from his head before he got up.  The silky, black hair fell into the grass.

“You didn’t have to hit me so hard, Nicholas!”  Gregory pushed himself up slowly and rubbed the back of his head.  He shook himself out and stood up.  “Oh!  Master Simon!”  He smiled and his blue eyes twinkled in the bright morning sun.  “I hope my brother didn’t disturb you!”

“Oh, no not all!”  Simon shook his head and withdrew into his room.  Nicholas and Gregory.  Always fighting and playing at war!  Always ready for adventure and danger.  Always…

Selwig was checking the contents of his battered bag.

“Selwig!”  Simon sat down at his desk and ran his fingers through his hair.  “I’m sorry, my friend.  I was having a nightmare.”

“I see.”  Selwig glanced up at him.  “The King sent me to fetch you.”  He tied the strings on his bag.  “Something is amiss at the barn.”

“Oh?  Really?”  Simon frowned.  “One moment, please.”  He looked about in confusion.  There were signs that Lydia had returned during the night and then got up and left again with the morning.  The tea cup was gone and her nightgown lay draped over the back of the chair in which he sat.  “What a night!”  He rubbed his eyes.  “Let me get dressed and we’ll go down together.”

Selwig nodded and stepped out into the hall.

Nicholas and Gregory!  He’d forgotten about the two great-grandsons of Mark Andrew.  They were formidable, fearless and free.  They had both taken the Templar oath as apprentices, but they were not indispensable to the Order.  They were immortal in their own right and had held their own when de Goth’s men had attacked the Villa in Italy.  Mark Andrew had even taken them on a dangerous mission to New Babylon when he had gone to bring back Lucio Dambretti.  They would perfect for the mission!  The mission!  He was appalled that he was already calling this latest folly a mission!  His mind raced as he changed his clothes.

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“Who cut you down when you were hanging from the pinnacle at Giza in the belt of Orion?!”  Diana rushed at Shammash angrily, pointing one long, slender arm toward the unseen roof of the cavern.  “How long would you have suffered there in your guilt and shame if Adar had not taken you down and comforted you?!”

Shammash’ eyes blazed with rage at the mention of that time long past when he had hung himself over a bottomless pit because of his unrequited love for Semiramis.  Semiramis, who had betrayed him and stolen a mighty secret from him much as Delilah had betrayed the great Samson.  He raised one hand as if to strike her down, but Semiramis stepped forward quickly to shield her dark-haired sister.  She raised her chin slightly as if daring the mighty Lord of the Fourth Gate to carry through with the threat.  They stared at each other for several seconds and then she turned, taking Diana’s hand, escorting her to the edge of the circle.

“Do not provoke him, my sister.”  Semiramis whispered in Diana’s ear.  “I would not wish to see you turn cruel.”