The Red Cross of Gold I:. The Knight of Death (32 page)

The situation was out of control. Stewart was
not going to relent. If von Hetz wanted to get Ramsay out now, he
would have to kill three people to do it. The only thing he could
do was try to make good his escape and come back later to try
again. He suddenly understood why Ramsay had been imprisoned here.
The Hand of God was in it. If this order of vile pretenders could
get by without raising a hand in such a situation, then it was
nothing more than the will of God. He was amazed and surprised to
have missed this one. He could not face down an armed contingency
alone, while carrying the debilitated Knight. The young man moved
with the stealth and skill of a seasoned soldier trained by a
formidable master. Von Hetz raised the point of his sword toward
the ceiling and touched the hilt to his chest in a form of salute,
before bolting out the door and down the corridor. At the same
instant, Valentino scrambled back into the office and yanked open
the desk drawer where she kept her revolver. She grabbed the pistol
and ran back into the lab.

The dark-clad figure was on one knee, bending
over Ramsay with the sword raised in one hand. She aimed the pistol
with severely shaking hands and fired at him haphazardly. The
bullet whizzed past his head and thudded into the door frame,
splintering the wood. The young man turned his blue eyes on her
briefly before scrambling off in the same direction as the first
man. Valentino turned as if in slow motion to look for Maxie, just
in time to see the man peeking at her over the desk from the other
room. She ran to the door leaping over the sleeping Knight while
the rush of adrenaline continued to pump through her veins. There
was no sign of either intruder in the hall. A cool breeze from the
opened door to the basement brushed her face and she began to shake
with terror and rage. She stormed back to the office, kicking
viciously at Maxie when he climbed to his feet.

“Get in there and get that goddamned sword
back before he wakes up and cuts your balls off!” she screamed at
him in frustration.

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

D’Ornan and Dambretti sat impatiently waiting
in the panel van just outside a wide metal cattle gate on the side
of the highway a few hundred yards from the driveway of the
mansion. Several dozen head of cattle had gathered at the gate,
expectantly waiting for the feed they would normally receive from
the van which they mistook for the white pickup truck owned by the
rancher that owned them. Cattle being cattle, it was a perfectly
natural mistake. The cows jockeyed for position next to the fence,
bawling and lowing in the still night air, wondering in their
bovine way, why the two ranch hands were not dishing out the
grub.

Lucio drummed his fingers on the steering
wheel. “I wonder what is taking him so long?” he asked for the
hundredth time.

He watched with bored curiosity as a mottled
bull carrying a massive set of horns came to join the cows at the
gate. The bull bellowed loudly and shoved his way to the front of
the small herd, pushing aside the disgruntled females in an attempt
to investigate the matter of the mysterious visitors more closely.
If the vehicle was not there to feed his cows, then it might be
there for more sinister reasons. It might be there to steal some of
his bovine beauties away from him.

The gate creaked and popped under the weight
of the hungry cattle. The bull began to work his head through the
metal cross bars of the gate. The rest of the herd gathered in
behind him as if ready to push him through once he got his horns
free to the other side.

“These cattle appear to think we are
interesting, perhaps?” D’Ornan eyed the big bull doubtfully. “I’ve
never seen such an expanse of horn on any beast. That must be three
meters!”

“Here they would say ‘nine feet’, but I think
it’s closer to seven. That must be why they call this particular
Texas breed Longhorns, no?” Lucio smiled half-heartedly at the
Healer. He tore his eyes from the cattle and went back to the
irksome, but imperative task of tearing off an old sticker from the
dash with his thumbnail. The wait was excruciating. Ramsay and
Beaujold might be killing each other as they sat there doing
nothing. There was no plan B. What if he never called them? What
then?

The gate cracked ominously as one of the
metal rivets gave way with a metallic twang.

“Brother Lucio?” d’Ornan broke their silence
after a few minutes. “Do you think these kine can push down the
gate?”

“Brother Simon,” Dambretti mimicked his tone
and sighed and picked up the radio, checking it again. “Would you
stop worrying about the cows and worry about something more
productive. I am not in the best of moods. I am afraid that Brother
Thomas will do something rash without our gentle guidance.”

“Such as?” Simon turned his sad blue eyes on
the Italian.

“Such as cutting our dear Brother Mark’s head
off before he has the chance to exonerate himself and then carving
his body into several unrecognizable pieces. Or vice versa. Either
way would not be good.”

“Sir Beaujold has promised to allow us to
interview Brother Ramsay and I am to make a thorough spiritual
examination of him before anything is done,” Simon spoke out of the
side of his mouth while keeping his eyes on the angry bull that had
backed off from the gate, but was now pawing the dry ground,
kicking up a plume of dust over his head and back. The bull
bellowed loudly and rammed his head against the gate. “Perhaps we
should move a bit farther on. Our presence here is certainly
inciting these kine to riot.”

“If Brother Thomas gives the slightest
provocation to Chevalier Ramsay, he will find himself facing a
formidable foe.” Dambretti ignored Simon’s concern about the cattle
and concentrated on the irritating remains of the sticker. “I know
that Brother Ramsay is no lily-liver when it comes to a fight. We
may have to take Brother Thomas home in the box he brought for our
Assassin. You put too much faith in Brother Thomas’ word. His
tongue is double-edged like his sword when it comes to his own
purposes. It has always been so. You are French, you know what I am
saying. Brother Ramsay, on the other hand, is a Scot. He has been
known to give over to the bloodlust at times. It is in his
nature.”

“Please, spare me,” Simon moaned. “I do not
want to hear of bloodlust, Brother. I have seen too much blood in
one life time. He gave his word and I expect him to keep it, French
or no.”

“Surely he has made some discovery by now,”
Dambretti had to raise his voice to be heard above the bawling of
the cattle. He peeled the last of the bothersome smiley face from
the dash and looked up just as the gate gave way with a resounding
crash. Rivets popped from the metal and showered down on the van
and the barbed wire attached to the top of the gate broke with loud
zinging noises as it curled back against the fence posts on either
side, causing both men in the van to duck and throw up their arms
reflexively. The big bull trampled over the smashed gate and headed
for the van, bawling all the way. Dambretti sat up quickly and
started the van, but the bull crashed into the side of the vehicle
causing d’Ornan to shriek in surprise. The van lurched and bounced
on its wheels. The engine clattered to life and the bull backed
off, stamping and tossing his horns.

“That is one strong brute!” Lucio shouted and
put the van in gear just as the bull charged again. The cows had
rushed out behind their leader and surrounded the van. The bumper
smacked into a solid wall of beef and they heard a sickening,
squooshy sound and hiss as the tire on the front passenger side
deflated. The Healer scrambled from his seat as the bull stuck his
nose in the open window and bellowed inside the van. The cows
pressed against the vehicle causing it to sway and creak. They
wanted their hay and they wanted it now!

Simon crouched in the back of the van,
covering his ears with his hands as the cows mooed and bawled all
around them. His blue eyes were wide with terror and his mouth hung
open in shock. Dambretti leaned across the passenger seat and
slapped the bull’s nose with his open palm.

“Recedere, bestia del diavolo!” he shouted at
the bull, but it only served to infuriate the brute even more. The
bull tossed his head and his horns grated on the metal. One of the
cows stuck her head in the window behind him and pushed him into
the floor between the seats. “Santa Maria, dio li salva!”

He scrambled back to join D’Ornan in the back
of the van. They sat in the dim moonlight that filtered in through
the heavily tinted windows, staring at each other in shock. The
cattle continued to brutalize the van while they sat helpless.

“Do you know anything about cattle,
Brother?!” d’Ornan shouted at him above the din.

“Only that I like my steaks well done!”
Dambretti shook his head and put his hands over his ears.

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

Ramsay stared down at the intricate scrolling
patterns worked into the Oriental rug beneath his bed. His head
hung over the side of the bed, and felt as if it weighed a ton. He
could see tendrils of his hair along with one arm and wiggled his
fingers just to see if he could. For a moment he had no idea where
he was and the distinctively Arab design made his stomach knot. He
raised his head slowly and pain shot through his eyes as he
recognized the third floor room that he was rapidly growing
accustomed to. He didn’t remember the rug being there before…
before what? He’d had the strangest of all dreams yet. There had
been a trip with John Tellman and a huge crowd of people at the
airport and he had been carrying his sword. All had been well until
two Ninja warriors had appeared from nowhere. Airport security?
They had fought each other in front of him, no, above him. It was
very confusing. He pushed himself up on the bed and rolled over to
lean against the headboard rubbing his eyes. The clock read two AM.
What had happened to John Tellman? His last memory of the man had
been hearing him talking with Valentino.

In answer to his question, the door opened to
admit the scared-looking man into the room.

He rushed to the bed and Mark instinctively
cringed away from him. No more kisses.

“Brother Ramsay!” The man looked positively
ashen. “Tonight is not a good night. We will have to change our
plans.”

“I see,” Mark nodded and blinked at the man,
expecting him to fall over dead any moment.

“Too many people have been in and out
tonight,” the man continued in a rush. “Everyone is still awake. I
could not get your sword for you or your keys.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mark sighed. “There’s
still time perhaps.”

“Tomorrow… tonight is the initiation. We
don’t want to take a chance on getting caught tonight either,” the
man told him, calming a bit in the belief that Ramsay was still
buying into the deceit. “Four new apprentices and two Knights will
be raised.”

“Too risky,” Mark agreed. “A busy night.
Pardon the pun, but tell me, Brother Tellman, are you a Knight or
an apprentice?” The man grated on his nerves and he had the sudden
urge to climb from the bed and smash his lying head. The very fact
that he had mentioned the sword belied the dream to have been
another of Valentino’s tricks.

“I’m only an apprentice,” Tellman looked
sheepish. He had no idea how to answer the question. “I hope to be
raised to Knighthood soon.”

Wrong answer. Mark rolled out of the bed and
took him by the collar of his dress shirt. He pulled his feet up
off the floor and looked into his terrified eyes smiling wickedly
at him. “In that case, I would have you address me as Master, is
that clear?”

“Yes, sir! I mean, yes, Master Ramsay,” the
man squeaked like a stuck piglet and Mark dropped him to the
floor.

“Now go downstairs and send up something for
me to eat! And don’t come back without my sword,” Ramsay turned a
dark eye on him. “And do not presume to kiss me again until we
embrace as Brothers.”

The man stood near the door, trying to make
sense of what had happened. When he finally nodded and smiled, Mark
had to frown and the pain in his head made his vision blur. What
the hell was wrong with the little fool? The man backed into the
door, dropped the key, scrambled on the floor for it and was gone
in an instant. Mark almost fell on his face in a clumsy effort to
grab the elusive key. By the time he’d made his move, Tellman had
already closed the door. The lock clicked as he climbed to his
feet. Mark felt guilty at having frightened the little man, but the
pain in his head made him groggy and slow and it was quite obvious
that he had been drugged again! If they kept doing that, he was
going to get mad…

He laughed at his own folly and then shook
his head which caused more pain behind his eyes. It was also quite
obvious that he was crazy. He sat down on the bed, holding his head
in his hands. He had missed another chance at the key, but he now
knew the lay of the land and had no doubt that Maxie was watching
his every move. He would simply ask Merry for her key and they
would leave together.

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

“You have disgraced yourself!” Beaujold
prodded the apprentice in the small of his back with his fist as
they jogged down the highway in the moonlight. “You have spoilt my
plan!”

Christopher dodged the next jab, only to
catch a follow up in his kidney. Their booted feet crunched on the
gravel beside the road. What luck to have been caught by this sour
Knight! He had not expected to literally run into Beaujold under
the trees in the garden. The encounter with the Knight of the
Apocalypse had caused him to panic. His only thought had been to
flee until he could find a better opportunity to return. His flight
had taken him directly into the arms of the Knight of the Sword who
had been lurking in the thick darkness under the trees. What
terrible luck! Christopher clutched first one side and then the
other. If they didn’t get to wherever they were going soon, he
would be dead from the bludgeoning. When von Hetz learned that it
had been he who had botched his Master’s rescue, he would be sent
to Afghanistan or Bulgaria or some other obscure outpost. He was
totally disgusted with himself.