The Ancient Evil, page 2
part #25 of Red Cross of Gold Series
Konrad rode toward them on one of the horses, followed by Zebulon and Izzy on two more.
He drew up beside them and slid from the horse.
“We found tracks down to the caves from the postern gate. They went out through the old escape trench.” He told them.
“Santa Maria! He went to the underworld.” Lucio said, miserably. “Why?”
No one, answered him.
“Your son is a grown man.” Konrad told him. “I do not think it would be wise for any of us to pursue him along that route. It would be futile without some idea of where he was going. I would suggest, we simply wait for him to return.”
“And, Selwig is with him?” Mark Andrew frowned toward the postern gate.
“Yes. Their footprints are quite clear in the mud, there at the base of the wall.” Konrad nodded.
“Where is Luke Andrew?” Mark looked about for signs of his son.
“He, and Michael, and Galen went down by the main gate.”
“Find them, and bring him back here.” Mark told him. “Luke has a mission to the underworld. He might as well set out now. If he can get word of Vanni while he’s down there, all the better for us.”
“I will go with him!” Lucio told them and started off for the keep. Mark chased after him.
“You will not go.” Mark caught his arm. “I need you here.”
“Santa Maria! You don’t…” Lucio began, but stopped. Several of the Knights and residents had gathered round them and were looking at him intently.
He would not be going.
They all jumped and some shouted as a resounding boom echoed across the island, shaking the foundations of the rock.
“Wot th’ divvil?!” Mark Andrew spun about as two of the castle guards rushed along the wall, waving to them. The Knights hurried toward the wall as another tremendous boom crashed over them, causing small rocks and pebbles to slide down the side of the tower.
They stood looking up at the guards as more men dressed in battle fatigues poured from the gatehouse and hurried along the wall with binoculars, pointing and shouting toward the open sea.
One of them leaned over the wall and shouted down to them.
“His Majesty’s gunboats are firing their weapons, Sir!” The man’s voice drifted down to them.
A whining sound, and whizz, and pop made the men on the wall and the ground, fall flat on their faces as a shell flew over the wall and exploded in the center of the island, sending out flying chunks of debris and white smoke creating a crater in front of the mews. They, barely, had time to react before another whizzing sound made them fall back, again, but no explosion followed this ominous sound. When they looked up again, they could see a small white parachute drifting down, in the smoke that was rising up from the jagged crater of the first explosion.
“It has begun!” Barry was up first, dusting the dirt from his slacks. He turned and shouted up to the guards. “Get back inside the gatehouse!! Do not return fire!!” He ran toward the gatehouse with Konrad and Christopher Stewart close behind him. Omar stood staring at the smoking crater for a few moments before heading for the white parachute that fluttered on the fence surrounding the horse pasture. Several more of the Templars stationed on the island were emerging from the buildings, pulling on jackets and weapons, converging on the gatehouse as well. Mark Andrew, Simon, and Luke Andrew ran in the opposite direction, toward the keep, shouting for the monks, and Meredith, and the others who had come from the keep, to get back inside.
Lucio, Izzy, and Philip hurried to catch up with Omar, who had recovered the small capsule attached to the parachute.
Edgard d’Brouchart and Peter Rushkin waited for them on the steps. He and his Chaplain Brother pulled the doors closed, as the hall erupted into mass confusion, when everyone began speaking at once. Lucio headed directly for the stairs on his way to the roof. He would drag Catharine from the chapel, if necessary. Peter Rushkin stepped up onto one of the long, trestle tables and called for order. Edgard and the others crowded around Izzy, as he fumbled with the metal cylinder, that had the royal seal of His Majesty, King William Henry. The catch came loose and a rolled piece of parchment paper fell onto the table. At first, they, simply, stared at it in disbelief.
Edgard d’Brouchart cleared his throat and picked up the scroll. He unrolled the paper, and the room fell deathly quiet.
He looked about at the frightened faces of the women, and the monks, and the stern visages of his Knights.
“Hear ye. Hear ye. ” He read the parchment aloud. “All ye residents of yon Isle of St. Patrick and visitors therein. May the decree of His Royal Majesty, William Henry, by the Grace of God, King of England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland, Duke of York, Earl of Manchester, and Prince of Flanders, be heard and observed by all. Send out at once the criminals wanted by legal warrant of arrest, Mark Andrew Ramsay and his brother, Luke Matthew Ramsay, of Lothian, Scotland, subjects to the Crown of Britain, forthwith, without delay to the charge and keeping of Sir Andrew Arnold Hemsley, Commander, HMS Norsworthy now anchored off your eastern harbor. Failure to obey this Royal summons and warrant will result in a full declaration of war against the sovereign provinces of St. Patrick’s Island and the Isle of Ramsay, and will bring with it all hostility and force necessary to ensure the arrest of those men charged with the attempted regicide against our Gracious Lord and King, William Henry. All those found to be in league with or harboring said criminals will be charged with conspiracy and complicity and will be subject to the laws of the Crown. All those found to be exonerated by turning these wanted fugitives over to Commander Hemsley and found innocent of charges, will be free to go. From this hour, all residents and visitors found within the bounds of St. Patrick’s Island and the Isle of Ramsay are put on notice; these demands are to be met within twelve hours. Written under the hand of His Majesty’s Royal Chamberlain, Earl of Sussex, Boyd Barclay Barrington, etceteras, etceteras, blah, blah, blah…” Edgard threw the paper onto the table and snorted in disgust.
“What does it mean, Sir?!” Merry Ramsay’s voice drifted through the ensuing silence as Mark Andrew perused the discarded parchment. “Will they come and take my husband by force?”
“They will try!” Peter Rushkin answered her.
“We have twelve hours.” D’Brouchart looked about. “I suggest, we put our plan into action, du Morte, and may God have mercy on us!”
“God will have more than mercy on us!” Catharine’s clear voice drifted down from the balcony, and all eyes turned toward her. She held up the shining crystal skull of Santa Lucia. “Should we fail in our resolve or falter in our faith, then we should be thrown into the sea. This is what the King would have! This and all her sisters! I beg you to make haste away from this place to my brother’s castle in Germany, where we can make a stand against the Evil One!”
“Catharine!” D’Brouchart shouted to her from the floor of the great hall. “You will not incite these people to insurrection!”
“Insurrection?!” She retorted and shook off Lucio’s hand as he tried to take her arm. “Would you lead them into destruction?!”
“Golden Eagle!!” The Master shouted at the Italian. “Take your woman away from there!”
He turned his back on her and faced Mark Andrew.
“Where did she get the relic?” He asked in a low voice.
“From the mews, Sir.” Mark Andrew answered, apologetically. He should have known. Catharine de Goth would have been the only one on the island capable of finding and absconding with the skull; however, he was greatly relieved to see, it had not fallen into Jozsef Daniel’s hands.
D’Brouchart caught his arm and drew him away from the others as a general hubbub erupted again in the hall. “I thought, you had them all in the stables!”
“There was the one, sir. Actually, it belongs to Lucio.”
“What?!” D’Brouchart raised his voice, and then, drew a deep breath. “Never mind that. Just get it back where it belongs!” He turned back to the people gathered in the keep and held up his hand for silence. “I want everyone to prepare to remove to the main island, at once. We will move under cover of night across the straits as planned in such an event. Keep out of sight as much as you can and make haste!”
The crowd began to disperse, at once. Luke Matthew and Merry met Lucio and Catharine descending the spiral staircase. Lavon de Bleu, Louis and Oriel, Lydia and Simon followed them up the stairs. The monks were scattering, as were the other Templars, gathered in the hall. Simeon and his brothers headed for the postern gate with Constance, Joey, and Rachel. Rachel carried Barry’s son of only two months bundled close to her. Mark Andrew waited for Lucio at the bottom of the stairs. He caught Catharine, roughly, by the arm and dragged her toward the den. The Italian stumbled after her.
Mark slammed the door and spun on them.
“Whattar ye doin’?!” He asked her, at once.
“I’m trying to talk some sense into Edgard!” She hissed at him as he snatched the skull from her hands.
“I’m talkin’ aboot th’ skull! Ye canna go aboot carryin’ th’ thing withee! Th’ verra ear o’ th’ enemy rests in th’ thing! ’e’ll ’ear evra ward o’ wot goes ’ere!”
“You underestimate me, John Mark.” Catharine drew herself up, indignantly and used a name he’d not heard in centuries. “This is the skull of the blessed Santa Lucia. She served God as we do! She was not one of those pagans who show no loyalty to any but themselves”
“Ye’re crazy, wooman!” Mark Andrew stomped across the room. “Santa Lucia may ’ave been a saint and martyr, but thot thing is nae Saint Lucy!”
“You’re wrong, Mark Andrew!” Lucio stepped between them. “I can hear her voice. She spoke to me. It’s Lucia! I heard her.”
“Ye’re as crazy as she is!” Mark pointed at the woman and clutched the skull under his left arm.
“And so, you may be right.” Lucio smiled, ruefully, at him. “But, I know what I know, and we will take her with us to battle.”
“Fur pity’s sake!” Mark pressed his palm against his forehead and turned about in the center of the room.
“You will need all the help you can muster, Sir Ramsay!” Catharine told him. “If you intend to do this foolhardy thing.”
“Foodlhardy? Me brother will be king and thot’s a fact. Tis bettar t’ ’ave done with it now than skulk aboot waitin’ t’ be overrun by ’is Royal Majesty, William Henry. If we carry th’ thing with us, it will draw evil on us.”
“I don’t think so.” Lucio insisted. “Now, give her back to me. She belongs to me.”
Mark’s mouth fell open in surprise as the Italian held out one hand for the skull.
“You don’t need her, Brother.” Lucio told him in a low voice. “She is not one of the thirteen.”
“’ow d’ye know?”
“I told him.” Catharine raised her chin, slightly. “You do not have the patent on wisdom, John Mark.”
Mark’s eyes darted back and forth between them, momentarily, before he handed the skull to Lucio.
“Take it then and be damned. Th’ both o’ ye! Take it and take th’ witch as well and be damned t’ hell, Lucio Dambretti!” He told them. The Knight of Death turned on his heel and his Ramsay red tartan swirled about his legs as the silver ornaments jingled in his hair.
Catharine stood watching him, as he left them, in the den.
“All he needs is a bit of blue paint on his face, don’t you think?” She asked Lucio. “Or perhaps… green. I do believe he is jealous of you.”
“Don’t be silly!” Lucio shook his head. “He just doesn’t like to be challenged.”
“We’d best go up and get my things. It will only take a moment.”
Lucio followed her from the room. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the scrap of paper Lavon had given him before he had gone out to the mews with Mark Andrew. He read the words as he walked along behind her. Nicole Ramsay Dambretti’s name, followed by an address in New Orleans. Lavon and Luke Andrew had found Nicole for him. They had heard New Orleans was one of the few cities that had been spared in the war in the west. Omar’s former general, George Watkins, was, safely, ensconced in the old city as Governor of the New Louisiana which now extended all the way from the Mississippi Delta to the old Canadian border lands. The great country had taken a leap backwards into darkness. It would be difficult to get in, and even harder to get out, but as soon as this business with William Henry was settled, he was determined to go and find her… with or without permission. But now, he had two problems… nay, three. Catharine. Vanni. And… Mark Andrew.
They were halfway up the stairs when he heard his son, Galen, shouting after him. He leaned out over the railing and looked down at the young man who was running through the tables in the grand hall.
“Father! Father! Come quick! It’s Vanni!” Galen stood panting at the foot of the stairs.
Lucio frowned at Catharine, and she pushed him back down the stairs.
“Go on! See what it is!” She told him. “I’ll be fine.”
Lucio half fell back down the stairs, and then, ran after Galen as he retreated back toward the doors of the keep. When he exited the doors, he drew up short on the broad stone steps, and his heart leapt into his throat. The sky that had been deep blue only a few minutes before was, completely, dark, covered by heavy clouds as black as night. The air was, completely, still without the slightest breath of the sea breeze that normally blew, unceasingly, over the islands. The silence struck him like a physical blow. There were no seabirds in the sky. They had become so accustomed to hearing the cries of the gulls and terns that inhabited the cliffs along the beaches, the absence of their raucous calls felt like a weight on his head. Isolated shouts and voices could be heard in the heavy blanket of silence, but nothing else, other than the snorting and nervous whinnies of the horses in their pasture. Galen stopped and turned back, calling to him.
“Hurry, Father!” His voice sounded muffled and seemed to vibrate in the air.
Lucio’s attention was drawn to the east as flares went up beyond the wall. His Majesty’s fleet was, apparently, sending up lights against the lowering clouds. The red and green flares shot up into the sky, and then, disappeared as they entered the, silently, rolling banks of the unnatural cloud cover. Not even, a glow could be seen within the dense cover, and none of the missiles descended out of the clouds as they should have. Lucio shuddered at what this new development might mean and started off after his son.
A small knot of men hurried toward him across the bailey. Flashlights bobbed and long shadows were cast by the lights attached to the walls and the buildings that had come on, automatically, when the sun had disappeared. One figure broke from the group and ran toward him.
“Father!” Vanni shouted to him. His wayward son, as big as himself, caught him in his arms and spun him around. He carried a sword in one hand and was smeared and spattered with a dark substance. The smell of animal blood.
“Vanni!” Lucio pushed him away as the others caught up to them. He looked about to see the little healer, also wide-eyed and covered with blood and gore. “Santa Maria! What happened?!”
A chorus of voices answered him; and he heard the words boggans, boggarts, well, underworld, chapel, angel, Plotius, mother, Queen of the Abyss, all mingled together in the confusion; and then, another voice seemed to cut through all the rest. A woman’s voice calling his name.
“Lucius of Venetia!”
He jerked his head about, looking for the source of the voice that sounded less than friendly. The tall, slender form of a woman walked toward him; behind her were a number of lumbering shapes, obscured in the growing darkness. The monks, soldiers, and others gathered about him fell back at the approach of the dark Queen and her minions, unsure of whether to open fire or run. They looked to Lucio for instructions.
“Lucius!” She stopped in front of him, and put her hands on her hips. “Why have you allowed our son to put himself in such danger?!”
Lucio opened his mouth, but no words came out. Vanni stepped in front of him.
“Mother! Father did not allow me to go. He did not know.” Vanni told her. “I went without permission!”
“Then, you should be punished.” Ereshkigal scowled at the young man. “What is happening here, Lucius? Who are these men attacking the island? Where is Adar? Why did you not call on me for help? Why did you abandon your home in Scotland? What is the meaning of these ships of war? Who dares to attack my son? What do you intend to do about this?”
Lucio could not begin to answer the angry queen. He was saved by a whistle and a shout. Mark Andrew had come from the keep, followed closely, by Luke Andrew.
“Adar!” The queen turned her attention to the Knight of Death. “I will not have you placing my son in danger. What do you intend to do about this?! Just look at him!”
Mark Andrew made his way through the growing crowd and bowed his head, slightly, to the queen.
“My Queen!” He smiled at the angry woman. “Please, come inside. I was just thinking of you.”
“You were?” Her expression changed, slightly, before she resumed her frown. “Have you seen that worthless husband of mine? Has he returned from the west? Are we never going to get on with this business? I am tired of waiting on him! And, where is that sorry piece of slime, Marduk? Is he plotting something behind my back?”
Mark Andrew took her arm and jerked his head at Lucio.
“There is no need to be upset, Reshki.” Mark Andrew patted her hand as they walked toward the keep. “I was just about to call on you.”
“Oh?” She glanced around at the confused faces in the crowd. “One moment.” She turned back to her guards who cowered in the darkness behind them. “Plotius!”
Her captain scurried forward and crouched at her feet.
“Take your soldiers back to the well, and wait for me there!”
“Yes, my Queen.” The miserable creature answered and scampered away again.
“Lucio!” Mark Andrew addressed the Golden Eagle. “Take your son and the others, and get ready to move out. Time is wasting. You see, my Queen, we are in a bit of trouble here. There is a small matter of the King’s forces here off the coast, and we need to move across the channel to the main island. I have a plan, you see, that might just turn the tide, if you would be so gracious as to lend your aid. I am terribly sorry your son has caused this inconvenience for you. He is, simply, a rash child, full of energy, you see, and precocious like his father, as you well know. It is good to see you looking so lovely today, in spite of, your troubles. I am sure, we are eternally grateful for your help in finding him for us.” He continued to ply her with empty flattery as they walked along. He waved one hand at the sky. “It is just such a thing as this, we will need. I know, it is a small thing for you to produce such glorious effects. The very sight of your power will strike fear into the king’s men, and you will be pleased to know, you have aided the cause against the Ancient Evil.”
He drew up beside them and slid from the horse.
“We found tracks down to the caves from the postern gate. They went out through the old escape trench.” He told them.
“Santa Maria! He went to the underworld.” Lucio said, miserably. “Why?”
No one, answered him.
“Your son is a grown man.” Konrad told him. “I do not think it would be wise for any of us to pursue him along that route. It would be futile without some idea of where he was going. I would suggest, we simply wait for him to return.”
“And, Selwig is with him?” Mark Andrew frowned toward the postern gate.
“Yes. Their footprints are quite clear in the mud, there at the base of the wall.” Konrad nodded.
“Where is Luke Andrew?” Mark looked about for signs of his son.
“He, and Michael, and Galen went down by the main gate.”
“Find them, and bring him back here.” Mark told him. “Luke has a mission to the underworld. He might as well set out now. If he can get word of Vanni while he’s down there, all the better for us.”
“I will go with him!” Lucio told them and started off for the keep. Mark chased after him.
“You will not go.” Mark caught his arm. “I need you here.”
“Santa Maria! You don’t…” Lucio began, but stopped. Several of the Knights and residents had gathered round them and were looking at him intently.
He would not be going.
They all jumped and some shouted as a resounding boom echoed across the island, shaking the foundations of the rock.
“Wot th’ divvil?!” Mark Andrew spun about as two of the castle guards rushed along the wall, waving to them. The Knights hurried toward the wall as another tremendous boom crashed over them, causing small rocks and pebbles to slide down the side of the tower.
They stood looking up at the guards as more men dressed in battle fatigues poured from the gatehouse and hurried along the wall with binoculars, pointing and shouting toward the open sea.
One of them leaned over the wall and shouted down to them.
“His Majesty’s gunboats are firing their weapons, Sir!” The man’s voice drifted down to them.
A whining sound, and whizz, and pop made the men on the wall and the ground, fall flat on their faces as a shell flew over the wall and exploded in the center of the island, sending out flying chunks of debris and white smoke creating a crater in front of the mews. They, barely, had time to react before another whizzing sound made them fall back, again, but no explosion followed this ominous sound. When they looked up again, they could see a small white parachute drifting down, in the smoke that was rising up from the jagged crater of the first explosion.
“It has begun!” Barry was up first, dusting the dirt from his slacks. He turned and shouted up to the guards. “Get back inside the gatehouse!! Do not return fire!!” He ran toward the gatehouse with Konrad and Christopher Stewart close behind him. Omar stood staring at the smoking crater for a few moments before heading for the white parachute that fluttered on the fence surrounding the horse pasture. Several more of the Templars stationed on the island were emerging from the buildings, pulling on jackets and weapons, converging on the gatehouse as well. Mark Andrew, Simon, and Luke Andrew ran in the opposite direction, toward the keep, shouting for the monks, and Meredith, and the others who had come from the keep, to get back inside.
Lucio, Izzy, and Philip hurried to catch up with Omar, who had recovered the small capsule attached to the parachute.
Edgard d’Brouchart and Peter Rushkin waited for them on the steps. He and his Chaplain Brother pulled the doors closed, as the hall erupted into mass confusion, when everyone began speaking at once. Lucio headed directly for the stairs on his way to the roof. He would drag Catharine from the chapel, if necessary. Peter Rushkin stepped up onto one of the long, trestle tables and called for order. Edgard and the others crowded around Izzy, as he fumbled with the metal cylinder, that had the royal seal of His Majesty, King William Henry. The catch came loose and a rolled piece of parchment paper fell onto the table. At first, they, simply, stared at it in disbelief.
Edgard d’Brouchart cleared his throat and picked up the scroll. He unrolled the paper, and the room fell deathly quiet.
He looked about at the frightened faces of the women, and the monks, and the stern visages of his Knights.
“Hear ye. Hear ye. ” He read the parchment aloud. “All ye residents of yon Isle of St. Patrick and visitors therein. May the decree of His Royal Majesty, William Henry, by the Grace of God, King of England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland, Duke of York, Earl of Manchester, and Prince of Flanders, be heard and observed by all. Send out at once the criminals wanted by legal warrant of arrest, Mark Andrew Ramsay and his brother, Luke Matthew Ramsay, of Lothian, Scotland, subjects to the Crown of Britain, forthwith, without delay to the charge and keeping of Sir Andrew Arnold Hemsley, Commander, HMS Norsworthy now anchored off your eastern harbor. Failure to obey this Royal summons and warrant will result in a full declaration of war against the sovereign provinces of St. Patrick’s Island and the Isle of Ramsay, and will bring with it all hostility and force necessary to ensure the arrest of those men charged with the attempted regicide against our Gracious Lord and King, William Henry. All those found to be in league with or harboring said criminals will be charged with conspiracy and complicity and will be subject to the laws of the Crown. All those found to be exonerated by turning these wanted fugitives over to Commander Hemsley and found innocent of charges, will be free to go. From this hour, all residents and visitors found within the bounds of St. Patrick’s Island and the Isle of Ramsay are put on notice; these demands are to be met within twelve hours. Written under the hand of His Majesty’s Royal Chamberlain, Earl of Sussex, Boyd Barclay Barrington, etceteras, etceteras, blah, blah, blah…” Edgard threw the paper onto the table and snorted in disgust.
“What does it mean, Sir?!” Merry Ramsay’s voice drifted through the ensuing silence as Mark Andrew perused the discarded parchment. “Will they come and take my husband by force?”
“They will try!” Peter Rushkin answered her.
“We have twelve hours.” D’Brouchart looked about. “I suggest, we put our plan into action, du Morte, and may God have mercy on us!”
“God will have more than mercy on us!” Catharine’s clear voice drifted down from the balcony, and all eyes turned toward her. She held up the shining crystal skull of Santa Lucia. “Should we fail in our resolve or falter in our faith, then we should be thrown into the sea. This is what the King would have! This and all her sisters! I beg you to make haste away from this place to my brother’s castle in Germany, where we can make a stand against the Evil One!”
“Catharine!” D’Brouchart shouted to her from the floor of the great hall. “You will not incite these people to insurrection!”
“Insurrection?!” She retorted and shook off Lucio’s hand as he tried to take her arm. “Would you lead them into destruction?!”
“Golden Eagle!!” The Master shouted at the Italian. “Take your woman away from there!”
He turned his back on her and faced Mark Andrew.
“Where did she get the relic?” He asked in a low voice.
“From the mews, Sir.” Mark Andrew answered, apologetically. He should have known. Catharine de Goth would have been the only one on the island capable of finding and absconding with the skull; however, he was greatly relieved to see, it had not fallen into Jozsef Daniel’s hands.
D’Brouchart caught his arm and drew him away from the others as a general hubbub erupted again in the hall. “I thought, you had them all in the stables!”
“There was the one, sir. Actually, it belongs to Lucio.”
“What?!” D’Brouchart raised his voice, and then, drew a deep breath. “Never mind that. Just get it back where it belongs!” He turned back to the people gathered in the keep and held up his hand for silence. “I want everyone to prepare to remove to the main island, at once. We will move under cover of night across the straits as planned in such an event. Keep out of sight as much as you can and make haste!”
The crowd began to disperse, at once. Luke Matthew and Merry met Lucio and Catharine descending the spiral staircase. Lavon de Bleu, Louis and Oriel, Lydia and Simon followed them up the stairs. The monks were scattering, as were the other Templars, gathered in the hall. Simeon and his brothers headed for the postern gate with Constance, Joey, and Rachel. Rachel carried Barry’s son of only two months bundled close to her. Mark Andrew waited for Lucio at the bottom of the stairs. He caught Catharine, roughly, by the arm and dragged her toward the den. The Italian stumbled after her.
Mark slammed the door and spun on them.
“Whattar ye doin’?!” He asked her, at once.
“I’m trying to talk some sense into Edgard!” She hissed at him as he snatched the skull from her hands.
“I’m talkin’ aboot th’ skull! Ye canna go aboot carryin’ th’ thing withee! Th’ verra ear o’ th’ enemy rests in th’ thing! ’e’ll ’ear evra ward o’ wot goes ’ere!”
“You underestimate me, John Mark.” Catharine drew herself up, indignantly and used a name he’d not heard in centuries. “This is the skull of the blessed Santa Lucia. She served God as we do! She was not one of those pagans who show no loyalty to any but themselves”
“Ye’re crazy, wooman!” Mark Andrew stomped across the room. “Santa Lucia may ’ave been a saint and martyr, but thot thing is nae Saint Lucy!”
“You’re wrong, Mark Andrew!” Lucio stepped between them. “I can hear her voice. She spoke to me. It’s Lucia! I heard her.”
“Ye’re as crazy as she is!” Mark pointed at the woman and clutched the skull under his left arm.
“And so, you may be right.” Lucio smiled, ruefully, at him. “But, I know what I know, and we will take her with us to battle.”
“Fur pity’s sake!” Mark pressed his palm against his forehead and turned about in the center of the room.
“You will need all the help you can muster, Sir Ramsay!” Catharine told him. “If you intend to do this foolhardy thing.”
“Foodlhardy? Me brother will be king and thot’s a fact. Tis bettar t’ ’ave done with it now than skulk aboot waitin’ t’ be overrun by ’is Royal Majesty, William Henry. If we carry th’ thing with us, it will draw evil on us.”
“I don’t think so.” Lucio insisted. “Now, give her back to me. She belongs to me.”
Mark’s mouth fell open in surprise as the Italian held out one hand for the skull.
“You don’t need her, Brother.” Lucio told him in a low voice. “She is not one of the thirteen.”
“’ow d’ye know?”
“I told him.” Catharine raised her chin, slightly. “You do not have the patent on wisdom, John Mark.”
Mark’s eyes darted back and forth between them, momentarily, before he handed the skull to Lucio.
“Take it then and be damned. Th’ both o’ ye! Take it and take th’ witch as well and be damned t’ hell, Lucio Dambretti!” He told them. The Knight of Death turned on his heel and his Ramsay red tartan swirled about his legs as the silver ornaments jingled in his hair.
Catharine stood watching him, as he left them, in the den.
“All he needs is a bit of blue paint on his face, don’t you think?” She asked Lucio. “Or perhaps… green. I do believe he is jealous of you.”
“Don’t be silly!” Lucio shook his head. “He just doesn’t like to be challenged.”
“We’d best go up and get my things. It will only take a moment.”
Lucio followed her from the room. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the scrap of paper Lavon had given him before he had gone out to the mews with Mark Andrew. He read the words as he walked along behind her. Nicole Ramsay Dambretti’s name, followed by an address in New Orleans. Lavon and Luke Andrew had found Nicole for him. They had heard New Orleans was one of the few cities that had been spared in the war in the west. Omar’s former general, George Watkins, was, safely, ensconced in the old city as Governor of the New Louisiana which now extended all the way from the Mississippi Delta to the old Canadian border lands. The great country had taken a leap backwards into darkness. It would be difficult to get in, and even harder to get out, but as soon as this business with William Henry was settled, he was determined to go and find her… with or without permission. But now, he had two problems… nay, three. Catharine. Vanni. And… Mark Andrew.
They were halfway up the stairs when he heard his son, Galen, shouting after him. He leaned out over the railing and looked down at the young man who was running through the tables in the grand hall.
“Father! Father! Come quick! It’s Vanni!” Galen stood panting at the foot of the stairs.
Lucio frowned at Catharine, and she pushed him back down the stairs.
“Go on! See what it is!” She told him. “I’ll be fine.”
Lucio half fell back down the stairs, and then, ran after Galen as he retreated back toward the doors of the keep. When he exited the doors, he drew up short on the broad stone steps, and his heart leapt into his throat. The sky that had been deep blue only a few minutes before was, completely, dark, covered by heavy clouds as black as night. The air was, completely, still without the slightest breath of the sea breeze that normally blew, unceasingly, over the islands. The silence struck him like a physical blow. There were no seabirds in the sky. They had become so accustomed to hearing the cries of the gulls and terns that inhabited the cliffs along the beaches, the absence of their raucous calls felt like a weight on his head. Isolated shouts and voices could be heard in the heavy blanket of silence, but nothing else, other than the snorting and nervous whinnies of the horses in their pasture. Galen stopped and turned back, calling to him.
“Hurry, Father!” His voice sounded muffled and seemed to vibrate in the air.
Lucio’s attention was drawn to the east as flares went up beyond the wall. His Majesty’s fleet was, apparently, sending up lights against the lowering clouds. The red and green flares shot up into the sky, and then, disappeared as they entered the, silently, rolling banks of the unnatural cloud cover. Not even, a glow could be seen within the dense cover, and none of the missiles descended out of the clouds as they should have. Lucio shuddered at what this new development might mean and started off after his son.
A small knot of men hurried toward him across the bailey. Flashlights bobbed and long shadows were cast by the lights attached to the walls and the buildings that had come on, automatically, when the sun had disappeared. One figure broke from the group and ran toward him.
“Father!” Vanni shouted to him. His wayward son, as big as himself, caught him in his arms and spun him around. He carried a sword in one hand and was smeared and spattered with a dark substance. The smell of animal blood.
“Vanni!” Lucio pushed him away as the others caught up to them. He looked about to see the little healer, also wide-eyed and covered with blood and gore. “Santa Maria! What happened?!”
A chorus of voices answered him; and he heard the words boggans, boggarts, well, underworld, chapel, angel, Plotius, mother, Queen of the Abyss, all mingled together in the confusion; and then, another voice seemed to cut through all the rest. A woman’s voice calling his name.
“Lucius of Venetia!”
He jerked his head about, looking for the source of the voice that sounded less than friendly. The tall, slender form of a woman walked toward him; behind her were a number of lumbering shapes, obscured in the growing darkness. The monks, soldiers, and others gathered about him fell back at the approach of the dark Queen and her minions, unsure of whether to open fire or run. They looked to Lucio for instructions.
“Lucius!” She stopped in front of him, and put her hands on her hips. “Why have you allowed our son to put himself in such danger?!”
Lucio opened his mouth, but no words came out. Vanni stepped in front of him.
“Mother! Father did not allow me to go. He did not know.” Vanni told her. “I went without permission!”
“Then, you should be punished.” Ereshkigal scowled at the young man. “What is happening here, Lucius? Who are these men attacking the island? Where is Adar? Why did you not call on me for help? Why did you abandon your home in Scotland? What is the meaning of these ships of war? Who dares to attack my son? What do you intend to do about this?”
Lucio could not begin to answer the angry queen. He was saved by a whistle and a shout. Mark Andrew had come from the keep, followed closely, by Luke Andrew.
“Adar!” The queen turned her attention to the Knight of Death. “I will not have you placing my son in danger. What do you intend to do about this?! Just look at him!”
Mark Andrew made his way through the growing crowd and bowed his head, slightly, to the queen.
“My Queen!” He smiled at the angry woman. “Please, come inside. I was just thinking of you.”
“You were?” Her expression changed, slightly, before she resumed her frown. “Have you seen that worthless husband of mine? Has he returned from the west? Are we never going to get on with this business? I am tired of waiting on him! And, where is that sorry piece of slime, Marduk? Is he plotting something behind my back?”
Mark Andrew took her arm and jerked his head at Lucio.
“There is no need to be upset, Reshki.” Mark Andrew patted her hand as they walked toward the keep. “I was just about to call on you.”
“Oh?” She glanced around at the confused faces in the crowd. “One moment.” She turned back to her guards who cowered in the darkness behind them. “Plotius!”
Her captain scurried forward and crouched at her feet.
“Take your soldiers back to the well, and wait for me there!”
“Yes, my Queen.” The miserable creature answered and scampered away again.
“Lucio!” Mark Andrew addressed the Golden Eagle. “Take your son and the others, and get ready to move out. Time is wasting. You see, my Queen, we are in a bit of trouble here. There is a small matter of the King’s forces here off the coast, and we need to move across the channel to the main island. I have a plan, you see, that might just turn the tide, if you would be so gracious as to lend your aid. I am terribly sorry your son has caused this inconvenience for you. He is, simply, a rash child, full of energy, you see, and precocious like his father, as you well know. It is good to see you looking so lovely today, in spite of, your troubles. I am sure, we are eternally grateful for your help in finding him for us.” He continued to ply her with empty flattery as they walked along. He waved one hand at the sky. “It is just such a thing as this, we will need. I know, it is a small thing for you to produce such glorious effects. The very sight of your power will strike fear into the king’s men, and you will be pleased to know, you have aided the cause against the Ancient Evil.”
