The Wayward Godking (20 page)

Lucio was utterly disgusted. He had volunteered to go with Mark, but nooooo, Mark had refused to allow it.
To allow it!
Who was
he
to disallow anything? He couldn’t wait until the Grand Master heard about this one. But that wasn’t true; he didn’t want to hear about it at all. The Grand Master would blame him as usual.

“
Santa Maria!
” Lucio grumbled and stood up. “We might as well get it over with, Brother.” He placed one hand on the Healer’s shoulder. “He’s apparently not going to come back anytime soon. We have to inform the Master.”

“What?” Simon looked at him incredulously. “Tell Father? I don’t think so!”

“Surely, he’ll want to hear about the results so he can harass me to hell and gone for losing Sir Ramsay.” Lucio started for the door and then stopped suddenly. He turned slowly and raised both eyebrows at the innocent face of the Mystic Healer. “What just a
momento
…” the Italian narrowed his eyes. “You mean to tell me that the Grand Master does not know we were experimenting with this thing?”

Simon nodded his head minutely and then made a terrible face.

“My apologies, Brother,” he said quietly and then motioned his sons over. They attended their poppi obediently, both smiling sheepishly at the Golden Eagle.

“Great day in the morning! You little son of a….” Lucio advanced on the Healer, but Reuben stepped in front of him. “It is no wonder your sons are always in trouble. They get it from you!”

“Again, I apologize, Brother.” Simon peeked between his sons at the angry Knight. “I did not want him involved. I had to practically beg to conduct the investigation. He would never have agreed to the trial run.”

“But he will blame me!” Lucio slammed his fist against his head. “You know it!”

“
Se’el vous
plait, Chevalier l’Aigle d’Or
,” Reuben admonished him, shook his head and clucked at the Italian’s temper. “You will hurt yourself.”

“Not near as badly as I will smash your poppi’s head in when I catch him alone!” Lucio told him and then jerked his head toward the door. “Come, Vanni! We must prepare ourselves for the onslaught.”

Vanni got up and shrugged apologetically to the others before following his father out of the infirmary. When they were walking along the path in the misty ground fog, he touched his father’s sleeve.

“Poppi,” he said softly. “I have it down. We can do it.”

“What?” Lucio asked absently. His mind was on other things.

“We can do what Sir Ramsay did,” Vanni continued. “It is simple.”

“Simple,” Lucio nodded. “Si`, I’ve heard this before.”

“We can go together. You and I. You always promised to take a trip with me.” Vanni smiled mischievously when Lucio stopped to look at him in the light of a gas lamp.

“Oh, really? How do you propose to find Sir Ramsay? What if we all go off in the ether and never come back? What then?”

“Could it be any worse than languishing here? How do we even know this is real? How do we know Catharine and Veronica are real? How do we know we did not dream them up entirely, and they might be in trouble somewhere?” Vanni asked him.

“How do we know we did not dream each other?” Lucio countered.

“We don’t.” Vanni smiled and Lucio’s heart melted. He was a sucker for his handsome son’s persuasive smile. Never once did he realize that it was a mirror image of his own and a close tie for Lucia’s.

“You will risk it?” Lucio frowned.

“I will, if you will. We should do something. I don’t think I can sit and watch you take another browbeating from that overbearing…”

“Shhhh.” Lucio raised one hand to stop him. “Respect your elders, Vanni.”

The Italian took hold of his son’s arm and directed him toward the darkened academy buildings. Barry’s old office would suffice. There was a small cot in the rear of the schoolmaster’s office in the barracks. They talked about where they might look in what Mark Andrew called the dream fields as they walked along. Vanni began to list the people Mark had spoken of before he’d disappeared as Lucio nodded. He didn’t want to use any of the people on Mark’s list, but if he wished to find the Knight of Death, he had to make some sort of organized search.

“Wasn’t Meredith on that list?” He asked when Vanni stopped enumerating the names.

“I don’t think so,” Vanni answered as they walked through the spooky interior of the empty barracks.

Lucio tried not to look around at the neat rows of bunks. Their boots echoed hollowly and he clearly remembered another time in the distant past when he’d been summoned here by Barry of Sussex. The bitterness of that ancient dispute had remained between himself and the Knight of the Baldric for many years, but Barry had been suckered into the feud just the same as poor Hugh de Champagne by James Argonne’s insane plan to steal Mark Andrew’s mystery from him. The Italian knew Barry had long since confessed his remorse at having beaten him to the point of death and further, under the guise of justice. Barry had confessed and asked forgiveness, but d’Brouchart had never asked his forgiveness. It had been the Grand Master’s decision to administer the punishment. It was just another stumbling block between himself and the Grand Master. He hesitated at the door to the office and then rushed through as if to startle anyone inside and turned on the desk lamp. The small room where Barry sometimes slept before things had gone to hell and back again, was pristine, immaculately clean and austere. A small wooden and silver crucifix hung on the wall above the bed. There was a coat rack, an old-fashioned wash stand with a porcelain bowl and matching pitcher. On impulse, Lucio picked up the pitcher and found it full of fresh, clean water. He poured it in the bowl and stood looking down at it silently.

“What is it, Poppi?” Vanni asked after a moment.

“We’re in the underworld, Vanni,” he said as he smiled slowly. “Of course. It’s all so very clear to me now. We are in the underworld. Someone brought us here to protect us.”

“Protect us from what?” Vanni shuddered as he looked about the office. He’d never seen this place before. When the Villa had been restored, Barry had completely remodeled the barracks with Rachel Leah’s help. This place was a relic from the past, from some ancient memory. “Wouldn’t that be a good thing?”

“Maybe, but I don’t have a good feeling about it,” Lucio said as he sat down behind Barry’s desk and pulled out the shallow drawer. Inside he found several fountain pens, a bottle of ink—still fresh—and a calendar, a small desk calendar with a sheet for each day. He pulled it out carefully and laid it on the blotter. The first page made his stomach leap into his throat. “Look,” he said and shoved it toward his son.

“Sir Barry’s calendar?” Vanni turned it around and studied the heavy scrawl on the page. “
Meeting with Dambretti
. You?” He raised his eyebrows at his father.

“Look at the date,” Lucio told him quietly.

“2007,” Vanni read the year.

“No.” Lucio shook his head. “Look again.”

Vanni tried to read the printed date under the handwriting. The letters of the month were clear enough, April and the date, 26
th
, but Barry’s scribbles had completely obliterated the first part of the year. He turned the leaf and his mouth fell open.
1807
.

“I didn’t know they had desk calendars that long ago.” Vanni frowned and flipped through the rest of the calendar.

“I guess they did.” Lucio shrugged. “I never had a desk back then. I always used someone else’s. But that is not the point. This ink is fresh. Whoever set this place up did so with old memories. Like Sir Ramsay’s house in the Seventh Gate. But Sir Ramsay didn’t do this. Someone else did. One of the Lords of the Abyss.”

“Or ladies,” his son added.

“Or ladies,” Lucio repeated. “Catharine told me none of the papers in Naples had dates. I haven’t seen a calendar at all until now.”

“Maybe they overlooked this one,” Vanni suggested.

Lucio toyed with the calendar’s pages. “I wonder what we talked about….”

“Who?”

“Sir Barry and I.” Lucio smiled and tapped the page. “I wonder what the meeting was about.” He closed his eyes briefly and then smiled. “Oh, yes. I remember. He was upset about Napoleon. The little French General was making quite a fuss and everyone was up in arms. We had just received word of more of his atrocities and Barry wanted to throw in with the British.” The encapsulated micro-history was lost on Vanni. “The Master was more interested in the developments going on in the Ottoman Empire. I remember the ensuing quarrel. It was quite nasty. It was the first time any of the Knights had remotely suggested in chambers there might be some favoritism for all things French. I remember how stupid I was. I threatened to turn him in for inciting mutiny… Stupid.” He’d not thought of this exchange between himself and Sir Barry in ages. He could almost see the English Knight’s face before him.

“I tell you, Brother,” Barry’s heavy voice boomed in his ears. “These Frenchies bear watching. They are not all they deign to be in public. In private ears, they conduct private counsels. The Master favors French dominion at any cost even though it be through the hands of a bloody tyrant the likes of Bonaparte! He would have us all speaking French even in our dreams.”

“You speak treason, Sir,” he heard the echoes of his own words in his head and he had to grimace painfully at the memory. “I should report you to the Seneschal for sedition.”

“You would do well to watch your step, Brother Lucio,” Barry’s voice had sunk to a hoarse whisper. “If you believe you should report me, then I beg you to tell Brother Hetz. Let us not throw our pearls before the French. They are treacherous, I tell you. And if you think the Master has any love for you or your friend, Sir Ramsay, you’d best think again.”

“Stupid,” he said the word aloud as the memory faded. It was no wonder Barry had repaid him by siding with Argonne. He’d deserved that one. Barry had been punishing him for his stupidity. He’d never apologized for accusing Barry of the highest crime a Knight could commit.

Karma. Suffering. Karma. All debts must be paid.

“I’m sure it was.” Vanni checked the bed, looking underneath and pulling back the simple gray woolen blanket to expose crisp white linen sheets and a rather flat pillow. “If this office is from 1807, then why is the infirmary modern? It doesn’t make sense. Here we have nothing that would be anomalous to the early nineteenth century except for the electric lighting. Yet the infirmary had a mobile X-ray imaging machine. I looked at it while I was waiting for Sir Barry’s drums.”

“I know,” Lucio agreed and leaned his forehead in his hands. He’d noticed quite a few oddities in their surroundings. Inexplicable. “Whoever built this cage for us seems to have taken a set of random pictures from different sources and pieced them together.”

“Are you ready to get on with this?” Vanni asked him.

“It’s your ballgame, Vanni,” Lucio sighed. “I’m afraid I slept through most of the innings.”

“All right then,” his son held out his hand. “Come and lie down. We’ll take a nice trip together. I will lead and you will follow. I think that Selwig would be a good target. Wherever he is there is bound to be trouble nearby.”

Lucio had to laugh at that. The little Tuathan healer seemed to have a nose for being in the thick of things, willing or no.

((((((((((((()))))))))))))

Abaddon stood at the base of the bell tower in the pouring rain, looking up at the bleak, rain-streaked sky beyond its darkened windows. The sky was streaked with lightning and the rain threatened to blind him. A scream pierced the air and he saw a body hurtling toward him. He shouted instinctively and then made the extreme effort necessary to catch whoever had been thrown from the tower. The body struck him hard, but he managed to keep upright.

“Meredith!” He looked down at her pale face when the storm lit up the darkness. “Wake up!”

She opened her eyes and they were back in the safety of the cavern. The dark angel was up on one elbow looking down at her.

“That was not a pleasant dream,” he told her roughly. “I thought we would share something a bit more… sunny.”

“I’m sorry,” she said and wiped at her eyes. “I didn’t realize you were depending on me for your entertainment.”

“Not entertainment,” he objected as he sat up and stretched his arms over his head. “Enlightenment.”

“Oh, well, whatever.” She sat up as well and stretched her own arms. “How long did we sleep?”

“I don’t know, but I feel much better.”

He scooted around and examined the moss on which they had bedded down. It was brown and dry as dust.

“Don’t tell me!” She looked at the stuff in horror as she realized that her skin, hair and clothes were covered with a fine layer of dust.

“We are well.” He examined his new feet with great satisfaction. “There is nothing time cannot heal.”

“I see,” she said shortly. When she stood up, she found her bones felt stiff, but otherwise intact.

Abaddon was up in an instant, walking about, trying out his newly regenerated appendages.