Summer of the Moon Flower (The de Vargas Family) (4 page)

Perhaps
there
may be a special guest tonight?

He knew the Council would be most unhappy
with the news from Vienna and his failure to deal with the stranger at the
station. After tethering his horse, he walked across to the inn and supped on
bread and ale as he considered the best way to broach the unfortunate news.

Even though it was commonly believed the
small chapter based in Kilmarnock was a division of the Freemasons, the Council
of the Great was actually the governing body of the descendants of the Knights
Templar who had taken refuge in Scotland in the fourteenth century. Dougal was
not privy to the inner workings of the Council as he would not be fully
inducted until ten years had passed. He was, however, aware of the deepest
secret of the Council, as his father had shared the information on his
deathbed, begging his son not to take up the hereditary position. Dougal kept
the information close to his chest and knew his mission in Vienna was closely
related to the ancient order’s whole reason for being.

Tonight will be very interesting.

The members of an order, who embraced life
and immortality, would not be pleased with the news he would impart tonight. He
had been under instruction to kill the female observer at the station and bring
the body to Kilmarnock for identification, so the suspicions of the Council
could be confirmed. The whole trip had been the culmination of an elaborate
set-up with false information spread through the Queen of England’s network
eventually filtering down to the Sheriff of Cornwall as intended.

Dougal reached into his pocket and fingered
the monogrammed leather glove. He would wait to see the reaction of the Council
before he confirmed, or indeed if he even revealed, the identity of the
observer. The role of steward was not one to be involved in the taking of life,
and he was concerned for the reasons this mission had been allocated to him. It
may be that he had been chosen simply for his youth and strength or it was a
test of his loyalty. For the time being, he would stay with the Council and
seek his own understanding of the ventures of the white-haired woman. Tonight
he would allay the fears of the Council.

* * * *

The sonorous beating of a drum heralded the
entrance of the Holy Five, the leaders of the Kilmarnock chapter of the Council
of the Great. A dozen or so white-cloaked men of varying ages sat on benches
arranged in the center of the Great Hall. Dougal and the one other young member
of the order had prepared the seating, lit the sconces and filled the jugs with
ale.

The red wine was on the front table and
covered by a white cloth. Dougal and his fellow usher stood flanking the
entrance and when the drum stopped beating, each lifted their side of the heavily
embossed red curtain as the Five walked slowly into the Hall.

After they had taken their seats at the
table, Dougal and his fellow usher acted as cup bearers and filled their
goblets with the ale, before lowering their heads and backing to join the other
men seated on the benches.

As they sat, the leader of the Five stood
and reached for a manuscript on the table. He unfurled it with great ceremony
and his deep voice echoed across the large Hall as he began to greet them in
French.

Dougal watched as the manuscript unfurled,
taking care to keep his face solemn. He observed their Leader as he greeted the
gathering. A tall man of indeterminate age gripped the manuscript with long,
bony fingers. His skin had a faint tinge of yellow as though he had recently
suffered an illness. Long white hair trailed past his shoulders and his
matching beard fell almost to his waist. A white surcoat fell to the floor, and
a large red cross on his chest was just visible behind his long white beard.
Dougal smothered a smile; the archaic dress would draw attention to the Leader
if he were to be observed outside the castle. His robes befitted a Knight from
the twelfth century rather than the progressive times they were now in.
However, it was the eyes of the man that caught his attention. His cold,
expressionless eyes seemed to look into your very soul.

Dougal shivered as the old man pinned him
with his gaze—it was almost as though he could read his thoughts—before turning
his attention to the parchment in front of him.

I certainly pray that he cannot.

“Good evening, my lords. I welcome you
unreservedly.” He held up the manuscript and briefly reverted to the language
of the Knights Templar

“
Je me félicite de cette charte
”

I welcome this Charter, Dougal translated in
his head, while some of the Scottish knights looked confused

“Tonight we are here for two purposes. I
have recently been summoned to the Council of the Great in Edinburgh and have
been advised our chapter has attained the forty first degree of perfection.”
Two of the old men on the front table gasped and the remainder of the Five
looked at each other in confusion.

“Yes, my fellow knights, the Unutterable
Degree.”

Dougal turned his head and glanced at the
men who were sitting in the front row with him. Expressions of confusion vied
with fear and he caught the eye of the other young man, who raised his eyebrows
at Dougal in question. Dougal shook his head imperceptibly and the young man
raised his fingers a fraction to acknowledge the unspoken message.

The two older men at the front table stood
and embraced their leader.

They sat and the Leader raised his hand.

“However, before the Unutterable Degree is
conferred upon our small chapter, we have been given a mission. We must have
unerring evidence the scientific quest for immortality in Vienna has been
destroyed. The Order of the Lunar Temple has chosen our encampment for this
mission.”

His voice rose in anger.

“Our knights have taken centuries to
achieve immortality, through spiritual growth and working upwards through the
degrees of perfection.”

He slammed his fist on to the table and the
goblets rattled.

“Our spiritual perfection will not by
threatened by the physical sciences.” He stood at the front of the gathering,
silently observing the men as he fingered his long beard. The small group of
men of all ages focused on him, each with rapt attention.

“Earl Rothmore, I give you permission to
rise and address the gathering of your findings in Vienna.”

Dougal stood and made his way to the centre
of the room where the Five looked solemnly across at him.

He was a big man and not easily
intimidated, and as he caught the gaze of the leader of the Five, the
determination in the eyes of the old man sent a shiver down his spine. A shiver
that settled into a pit of cold in his stomach as heads turned to see the
source of a metallic clicking across the paved floor near the side entry of the
Great Hall.

The two automatons he had left at the
border with the dirigible, moved awkwardly across the large open space toward
the table in the center of the Hall, their brass extremities ringing sharply on
the cobblestones and their brass joints clicking as their robotic movement
pushed them forward.

He kept his face expressionless as they
moved past him and stood on either side of the table. The gravity of the
situation was illustrated by the presence of the automatons. Their presence
flouted the edict of the Scottish parliament, that no mechanicals or
paraphernalia of the new order enter the country. The roads to the border were
always busy with carriages and cabs conveying Scottish passengers to the
dirigible stations in many of the English border towns.

“My Lord?” The Leader’s voice was impatient
and he rustled the paper in his hands

Dougal slowly made his way to the front of
the assembly and bowed reverently to the Five, before turning to the knights in
front of him. His mouth was dry and he cursed himself for not taking a sip of
ale before he rose.

“My Great Leader, I have difficult news to impart.
Our intelligence was correct; the shipment arrived in Vienna as expected.” He
closed his eyes briefly, as his mind worked furiously. He was going to have to
be very accurate in his representation of events at the Westbahnhof as the
automatons would have an analogue record of all that had occurred. He assumed
they were fitted with miniature analytical engines, as wealth was no hindrance
for this Council. He could only hope they were placed at such an angle so they
did not see the woman’s hair fall from her helmet, nor record him retrieving
the glove from the floor outside the last exit after she had escaped.

“The product was collected at the station
by a courier and we were unable to follow it to its destination as we were
otherwise occupied”— he turned and inclined his heads to the automatons—“attempting
to catch the observer at the station. Our mechanical friends were unable to
hold that person and even though I gave chase, he managed to elude us, making
good use of the darkness of the early dawn.”

Bowing, he deferred to the mechanical men
flanking the Leader. “Perhaps they observed more than I was able to see when I
gave chase?”

He swallowed nervously, to moisten his dry
throat and waited for the automaton to correct his version of the night’s
events.

The one on the left turned to the leader
and extended his mechanical arms. A low rumbling came from his chest and a
short clipped voice followed.

“Observe, if you please.”

There was a series of gasps from the
assembled man as the Leader reached over and turned the cog on the top of the
automaton’s chest and a small screen slid out slowly in front of the five men
sitting at the table. Dougal’s heart pounded as they watched the events at the
station play out. Clenching his jaw, he kept his face impassive as he stared
silently at the men in front of him. As light reflected from their faces,
Dougal was able to keep up with the events that were being reenacted on the
square glass.

As the light shone from the dirigible,
Dougal had looked down and seen the blonde tress fall from the observer’s
helmet at the same time the automatons had moved out of the shadows. He waited
for the Leader to speak, but the Five watched silently.

Dear God, please let it be too dark to let
them see me pick up the glove. His jaw ached from the effort of keeping his
face emotionless.

The cogs whirred and with a loud click, the
automaton closed his chest plate. The Leader of the Great Council stood and
stepped to the centre of the platform. Dougal held his breath, his heart
thudding slowly as he kept his gaze locked on their leader without breaking eye
contact. The cold eyes of the old man stared at him for a full minute before
the Leader turned away and addressed the men assembled.

“We need to select another to join the Earl
of Rothmore. Is there one among you, eager to co-operate in the venture to
achieve our goal?” He looked across the small gathering and his gaze rested on
Edward, the young usher who had assisted Dougal to set up the Hall.

“I will, your Lordship.” His voice was
eager.

“It will no doubt be dangerous,” replied
the old man. He stroked his long white beard and considered the young man for
several moments.

“Is there no one of greater years who
wishes to join?” He paused and looked solemnly at the men.

To Dougal’s surprise, none met his eye. No
one else stepped forward.

The Leader held both arms out, pointing to
the young usher and to Dougal.

“Come, my Lords.” Turning, he reached for
the jug of wine, poured earlier by Dougal from the vat he had collected from
the Inn, and waited as the two young men made their way to the table. The
Leader ushered them to the middle of the floor and stood between them, reaching
up and placing a gnarled, veined hand on each of their shoulders.

“The Order of the Lunar Temple has decreed
we have attained the forty first degree of perfection. Our chapter has been
entrusted with an extremely significant mission. The most important task
assigned to a Knight Templar for hundreds of years.’

He looked at Douglas and Edward, his eyes
like flint.

“Your presence in this castle tonight is
testament to your valor as a knight, either through deeds or through hereditary
bloods. You will be initiated into the next chapter. Are you prepared to take
on this task so that we can fulfill our quest and attain the Unutterable
Degree?”

He paused and looked from one to the other.
“Think long and hard…if you fail in this task, your mortal life will end.”

Dougal stood straight, keeping his
expression somber as he nodded at the old man.

“You old fool,” he thought. “My father left
me a near impossible task and you have handed hand me the means to achieve it
ten years before I ever imagined it would be possible. He looked across at
Edward. The blood had drained from the younger man’s face and perspiration
beaded his brow. As Dougal watched, Edward nodded to the Leader. The old man
filled two goblets and spoke to the assembled gathering.

“Lift your goblets while we complete the
libations.”

He handed a goblet to each of the young men
and then looked up to the high domed roof of the Great Hall as he chanted the
toast.