The Outsiders (23 page)

“
And what now?”

“
I would suggest that the
boat be taken to sea and sunk.”

“
Sorry old man, the navy
were here yesterday. She has gone.”

“
To where? That was not for
me know. They had signed documents from Prince George to support
the removal.”

“
I need to speak to the
Prince, as soon as possible. They cannot let that species the
opportunity to spread.”

“
I fear that our task has
been completed, Holmes.”

Holmes lay back into his pillows, his
mind was full of questions and answers sounding like a continuous
popping of corks. He’d solved a mystery but helped to unleash a
hell.

Chatham - Six Weeks
Later

The
Celeste
was now being housed in the huge, purpose built dry
dock.

Her masts had now been removed and she
was being stripped of all adornments that served no use to the
group of men who watched the work from the safety of a glass
booth.

“
How has the progress been
this week?” asked one of the men, dressed in a long dark
coat.

“
Good. We’ve got the samples
you requested. But we did have a minor problem” came a reply from
another.

“
Define minor.”

“
One fatality and one
seriously injured.”

“
Make that two fatalities
and inform the families. Include the usual benefits.”

“
And you’ll take all
responsibility.”

“
Just make it
happen.”

The man in the long coat turned to the
man who was stood behind him and smoking his third cigarette in
just fifteen minutes.

“
The progress so far, good
enough for you, Your Royal Highness?”

“
It is. Give my condolences
to the families...and keep me posted on Holmes.”

BROTHERHOOD OF THE THORNS

William
Meikle

James
Menzies climbed.

His
fingers hurt from gripping the dry stone, and dust filled his mouth
and nostrils such that even his spit felt gritty. Small stones
pattered on his head from above. When he looked up he could see the
Earl, five yards ahead and accelerating up the face of the cliff,
his prize in sight.

I just hope it is worth it.

They had
been two months in the desert, dying slowly. Of the thirty men in
the band that had left Jerusalem, only eight remained, and two –
John the Swift, and David of Hawick – were unlikely to last another
day.

All in
the pursuit of something that may not exist, and may not be of any
help if it does.

But the Earl had
been adamant. Jerusalem was fallen to the Saracen, and only a great
relic could once more unite the fractured and disillusioned
brethren of Christendom.

During
the last days in the city, the Earl had become fervent in his
faith. Before the walls of the city he had smote Saladin’s men with
a cold rage that was frightening to behold. When the city fell he
refused to go with the others to the harbours.

Instead
he called for the quest. Menzies and the other men of Melrose had a
mind to rebel. Ships were leaving, for Acre then for home.
Following a madman through the desert after a mythical object paled
by comparison. But rebellion would only be met by death. As thralls
to their Lord, they had no choice but to follow him, to whatever
doom might be waiting.

And doom
there had been – a searing doom in the sand as first horses, then
men, buckled under the heat.

“
Tell me again sire,” Menzies had said as they left John the
Miller behind, face down in the sand. “What is it that you
seek?”

The
Earl’s smile hadn’t instilled any confidence.

“
A relic of our Lord,” the big man replied.

“
You could have had them a plenty in Jerusalem sire,” Menzies
said, laughing. “I was offered enough pieces of wood from the Cross
to build a boat, and enough of the Lord’s finger bones such that I
could give one to every man in the garrison.”

The Earl
frowned.

“
I am not talking about market baubles. I’m talking abot a
major relic. Something that will unite the faith under its
banner.”

“
Surely, if such a thing existed, it would have been found by
now?”

The big
man’s frown grew deeper, the sign of an impending storm. In the
three years since they left Melrose a peppering of grey had grown
in the Earl’s beard, but he was still as broad as a bear, and near
as quick to anger. Menzies knew better than to push for more
information.

He was not confident of the quest’s success, even from the
first day. Rumours of relics were a daily topic of conversation in
the old city, especially once Saladin’s siege began. Knights dug up
large areas around the old temples in a frantic search for
talismans. Indeed, it was rumoured that three French Lords had
found
something
in
the stables under Solomon’s temple, but they were spirited away
that very same night, and if they had found anything, it proved
worthless against the might of the Saracen army.

Surrender
had been inevitable. But the Earl refused to be bowed. Even as the
Saracen broke through the gates Menzies had found him in the
dungeon beneath the garrison with a hot iron in his hand, standing
over the body of a broken man. The Earl smiled broadly at
Menzies.

“
It lies to the East,” he said. “Across the desert to the
mountains. My destiny waits there.”

And now the Earl
was speeding towards that destiny, climbing towards the tower on a
high crag that had been their goal these sixty days.

Menzies
dragged himself up onto a ledge to find the Earl contemplating the
remainder of the climb. The tower was still high above them, and,
although they had started in the dawn hours, the sun was already
high in the sky, the heat from the rocks threatening to bake them
alive.

“
We must rest sire,” Menzies said. He looked down to where the
remainder of the men formed a spaced-out line of climbers, the
leader of which was still some twenty yards below. “It is folly to
climb in this heat.”

The Earl
looked up the cliff then back down at the rest of his men. He wiped
sweat from his brow.

“
Mayhap you are right for once,” he said. “Let us find some
shelter.”

For the
rest of the afternoon the eight men took turns in a small area of
shade in a crack in the rock. John the Swift expired from his
exertions as the sun began its descent far to the west, but the
Earl scarcely noticed.

“
Think on it Menzies,” he said, staring out over the sunset.
“We could return to Jerusalem with an army at our back and a relic
of the Lord before us. All of Christendom would follow. We will
drive the heathen from our holy places, and ensure we keep them
Christian for all time. Think of the glory of it.”

Menzies
was indeed thinking.

The Lord’s glory? Or yours?

The stars began
to show overhead.

“
Come lads,” the Earl said. “One last push, and we shall have
our reward.”

He faced the cliff and started to climb, not once looking
back. The broadsword slung across his shoulders
clanged
against the rock, but if the
Earl worried about giving away their position, he did not show it,
merely climbed faster.

The
remaining men shouldered whatever packs and weapons they carried
and, with heavy hearts, followed.

Menzies
decided to bring up the rear. David of Hawick seemed near his end,
and it would be a wonder if he could make this last stretch of the
climb. Menzies cajoled him every inch of the way, reminding him of
the rolling hills and forests of home, of damp foggy days and
welcome cold winds. Much to Menzies’ surprise, the man made it to
the top, hauling himself, panting, over a lip.

They
found the Earl and the other four men standing in a small clearing
before a tall tower. The tower was unremarkable, a three-level
block of sandstone heavily weathered by the elements, so old that
it almost looked like part of the cliff itself. In the gathering
gloom the darkened windows seemed like empty, unstaring eyes and
Menzies felt a chill run through him that had nothing to do with
the encroaching night.

The
Hawick man had to sit almost immediately, all strength gone from
his body. The others aside from the Earl looked in little better
shape, their faces drawn and haggard, shoulders slumped with
fatigue.

“
We must rest sire,” Menzies said. “If there’s fighting to be
done this night, we won’t last more than a minute. The men can
barely lift their arms, never mind a weapon.”

The Earl
didn’t answer at first. He stood staring at the tower, his eyes in
shadow, the black holes mirroring the windows in the
building.

“
It is there,” he whispered. “We are close. I can feel
it.”

It was
obvious to Menzies that his sire was like a horse champing at the
bit, eager to surge forward and find what waited for him in the
tower. But in the end he relented, allowing the men a few hours
respite.

They sat
in the clearing in front of the tower, in plain sight of anyone who
might be watching, eating what meagre rations remained to them. The
Hawick man produced a tinder-box and with that and the aid of some
dead wood they managed to get a small fire burning.

No one
spoke, each man lost in his own thoughts.

If anyone
in the tower paid them any attention they did not show it. The dark
shadows in the windows grew black as full night fell. A crescent
moon rose above them and the desert sky blazed in a milky sea of
stars. Still no one appeared from the tower, or showed themselves
at the windows. There was no sound save their own
breathing.

“
The place seems empty sire,” one of the men said.

The Earl
rose. Chain mail rustled. Menzies was amazed that the big man had
got up the cliff wearing it. The rest of them had ditched theirs in
the sand in favour of leather tunics and desert robes, swapping
their longswords for smaller, lighter blades that were more easily
carried in the searing heat. But the Earl refused to bow completely
to the elements. Although he had ditched most of his armour, he
retained the mail beneath a long heavy tunic and had carried the
heavy sword all the way from Jerusalem. Now he unsheathed it from
its scabbard. Moonlight glinted along the blade. Once more the mail
rustled.

He
must have been near to baking inside there.

But still he’d
been the one pushing them all the way, and the first, and fastest
man, up the sheer cliff face.

“
The Lord wills it,” was all he had ever said when pushed on
the matter.

Now the big man stood staring at the tower, and Menzies knew
exactly where the
Lord’s will
was going to lead them next.

The big man
turned to Menzies.

“
Are you with me James?”

“
Always sire, since the first.”

The Earl
nodded.

“
Then come. Let us see if the truth was told in yon dungeon in
Jerusalem.”

The Earl
went first. Behind him the others drew their swords and kept close
order. Menzies brought up the rear with David of Hawick. The man
leaned on his sword, using it as a walking stick.

“
Stay here man,” Menzies said. “No one will think the less of
you.”

The
Hawick man laughed, his voice little more than a
whisper.

“
And let you Melrose men get all the glory? I’d never be able
to show my face at home again. Come. Let us see what wonders our
liege has led us to.”

The two
of them were several yards behind the others as they approached the
main entrance to the tower. It had been in deep shadow earlier, but
as they approached they saw that a thick wooden door protected the
doorway. It was currently closed.

The Earl
banged hard on it with the hilt of his sword.

“
There are Christian men here seeking succour,” he shouted, his
voice echoing in the cliffs.

All fell
quiet for the space of five heartbeats, then the door swung open.
Around Menzies the men gripped harder at their swords.

The Earl
had the longsword raised high above his head, ready for any attack,
but lowered it when a hooded figure in long grey robes appeared in
the doorway. The hood fell forward over the man’s face, obscuring
his features in shadow. The only distinguishing mark on the robes
was a black circle, crudely painted on at the chest. The robe
trailed on the ground, so that not even his feet were visible, and
his hands were lost in swathes of material that fell in voluminous
folds over his arms.

The men
did not relax, but there seemed to be no attack forthcoming. The
grey robed figure just stood there, blocking the door.

“
We are Christian men needing shelter and succour,” the Earl
said again. “Will you let us enter?”