The Centaur (14 page)

Nicole looked back at him disdainfully and tossed two ancient traps at him. One of them, she had set. It hit the floor in front him, snapped loudly, and he shrieked before knocking himself senseless on the doorjamb.

“Dammit, Nicole!” Bari moved out of the way as she scooped the traps from the floor and headed for the kitchen.

“Does it feel cold in here now?” She asked as he followed her reluctantly.

“No, but Sophia has the stove and the oven going. She’s been cooking all day. Of course it’s warm in here, but it’s damned chilly in my room in the back of the house. Speaking of which, I believe I should be better able to heat one of the upstairs rooms. That nice one in front with the Egyptian decor would suit me quite well.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Nicole sat in the floor and began to work on the rusted workings of the traps. “Hand me a bit of lard, will you? These things are in terrible shape.”

Bari went obediently to the cupboard and looked around for the ‘lard’. He saw nothing with that label.

“Why can I not stay upstairs with the rest of you? I am not a servant regardless of what you may think. I am a part of this family just as you are.” Bari closed the cupboard and looked in the cabinets above the counter. “Why can I not have the Egyptian room?”

“That room belongs to Lucio Dambretti. Those Egyptian things belong to the Golden Eagle, and the rest of the things in there belong to his wife, Catharine de Goth Dambretti. I doubt that he would care for the idea of you farting around in his personal stuff.”

“OK then, what about the room on the third floor, your brother’s old room?” Bari again closed the doors and stood frowning at the upper cabinets near the ceiling. He’d never be able to reach those without a step ladder. “What was it you wanted? Lard?”

“Just get some butter from the fridge.” Nicole jerked her head impatiently. “I swear! Your mother never taught you anything.”

Bari clenched his fists and closed his eyes. The remark about his mother was almost intolerable. Nicole knew very well that Bari had less contact with his mother than even she could claim with Meredith. Instead of responding, he brought the butter. She scooped out a bit and rubbed it over the spring and the catch that held the bait.

“Bring me the peanut butter.”

“Peanut butter? What are you trying to catch? Elephants?”

“Elephants don’t eat peanut butter, but I hear rats do. We have rats in the cellar, in the lab. And no, we will not be needing anthracite. I don’t trust that old furnace. We’ll use the fireplaces and the gas heaters. Captain Socrates has assured me he will be able to supply us with gasoline and diesel for the generators. We may run short on propane, but we can use King Louie’s pit. The captain says that he and several of his men know how to use charcoal and wood to cook. Besides, there will be very little to cook in a few weeks unless I can broker some deals with the elves for food. They make some very fine bread and butter and we should be able to talk them out of a few lamb shanks and some cherry wine to boot.”

“Faery food. Hmmm,” Bari mused, “I have heard that it is quite sustaining.” He twiddled with a lock of his long, dark hair. “Do you think I am handsome, Nicole?”

“What?” Nicole glanced up at the former emperor and frowned. “What did you say?”

“I said faery food. I’ve heard a lot about it.” Bari changed his mind and did not repeat the impetuous question. All his plans, all his dreams of glory, of making his mother love only him were gone. Lost forever along with her and the child that should have never been. He wondered that he was not as withered and ugly as a dried apple. If sins could be seen on the surface, the world would certainly be a much uglier place.

“It will see you through. Not much on variety, I’m afraid. There!” She held up the two traps. Peanut butter was gobbed on the trip latches. “That should get them. Grab a light bulb and help me with this.”

“I haven’t seen any faeries hereabouts.” Bari commented as he followed her into the basement holding one of her hand-blown light bulbs. He had to admit that she was quite skilled in the Arts, though a bit haughty and high-minded at times.

“Oh, they’re around.”

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

Mark Andrew’s report concerning the siege of New Babylon was half done when it was interrupted by a disturbance outside the command tent. At first, they heard the warbling cries of the women and then the shouts of the young boys, who had stationed themselves in front of the canopy. The Knights inside filed out through the flap and stood watching in wonder as a colorful, noisy caravan of camels, laden with packs made its way down the main corridor between the tents and temporary shelters of their encampment. Dust rode up in the relatively still air and the grunts of the camels lent a festive air to the warbles and shouts. It was as if the circus had come to town. The children ran alongside the camels and the drivers threw down trinkets and candy to them. On the lead beast sat a figure dressed in a long, white robe. On his feet were the curl-toed golden slippers of a bygone age. On his shoulders and back, a colorful cape or mantle. His hair was a mass of close, black curls and on his chin, a long curly beard. He looked like an ancient Assyrian king or a Persian magus.

Mark recognized his son at once.

“Ho, Adar!” The Djinni called to him and then touched the camel with his stick and the beast folded onto ground. The Djinni slid from the saddle and stood up. “I come bearing gifts.” He held out both arms and the cape opened up, giving him the appearance of having brilliantly feathered wings.

The shaman or holy man for the group of locals encamped a few thousand meters from the camp, made his way through the laughing, burgeoning crowd of women and children and bowed at Lemarik’s feet.

“My Lord!” The man held up both hands above his bowed head.

“My son,” the Djinni placed one hand on the man’s head. “My children.”

“Whattar ye doin’?” Mark Andrew asked him.

“These are my people, father.” The Djinni waved one hand toward the happy throng which was now following the lead of their shaman, bowing before Lemarik.

“Your
people
?” Edgard frowned at him. “What do you mean, sir? Your people?”

“O great Zarathustra!” The holy man bowed again to the dust. “We are your humble servants. God has been merciful and has honored us greatly amongst men.”

“Please, please.” Lemarik pulled the man to his feet and dusted him off. “You must not bow to me. I am only a servant of God just as you. Please.”

“Excuse me, please, Great Zarathustra,” Edgard said and bowed his head slightly to the Djinni. “Would his Excellency care to take a spot of tea with the humble Knights of the Temple?”

“Why of course, Edgard.” Lemarik accepted and his dark eyes sparkled mischievously.  “If you will allow me to see to the needs of my people, I will be honored to join you shortly.”

“By all means,” Edgard returned the smile.

The Mighty Djinn swayed away from the command tent with his ‘people’ following after him, each of them jostling and sparring for a place near their great prophet.

“What next, du Morte?” The Master turned on Mark Andrew as soon as they were clear. “Buddha?”

“I had no idea, Your Grace.” Mark Andrew was just as surprised as any of them.

“This is simply amazing.” Lavon remarked. He stood watching the camels lumber off toward the Zoroastrian camp. “Who would have thought it? Lemarik was the Great Zarathustra?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Mark shook his head in disbelief. “But whatever the case, he will take care of these Bedouin for us. Time is short and we should make our move before the sun sets.”

“What?” Simon jerked his head around. “Why today? What’s the rush?”

“Tomorrow is the sixteenth.” Mark walked around the table and picked a bottle of wine. He helped himself to someone’s metal cup. “Our visitor from Heaven will be here. If we do not act today, we may find ourselves swimming up the mountain.”

“Surely you don’t mean to say that the waters could reach us here?” Konrad was on his feet instantly. “Is that true?” He turned to Christopher Stewart. The younger Knight nodded. “Lavon?” Konrad turned to his other technical consultant, but Izzy answered him instead.

“It would seem very possible that Mount Sinai could be completely inundated by a flood of Biblical proportions. It is an obscure fact, not widely known, that one of the several catastrophic floods that have drowned the earth in ages past have washed completely over much of continental Europe, Asia and the American continents as well. Only the highest peaks escaped the floods. The Andes, the Rockies, the Alps and the Himalayas would be your only safe bet if a meteor of appropriate dimensions were to fall into the ocean. It would depend on the size of the rock and the impact zone. Atlantic, Pacific, Indian Ocean… there was much research put into virtual scenarios before the Twenty-Seven Year War, but much of what was done has been lost. There was an international effort started to place satellites in orbits that might be used to deflect such rogue asteroids and interlopers, but I don’t think it was ever completed.”

“That’s wonderful.” Simon nodded and sat down on his stool again. “Not only are we going to be scorched and blasted by the Breath of God, we will be drowned by His anger as well.”

“Ah, well, it is as I have always said, Brother: Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.” Luke Matthew spoke up and slammed his fist on the folding table, almost collapsing it. “I for one, vote that we get this thing over with. If we are to die, let’s be done with it. If God sets us ablaze, perhaps the comet or whatever it is will put us out again. Isn’t that the Law of Cause and Effect? Isn’t that called checks and balance? The Yin and Yang. Karma and… and… What are we waiting for?”

“It would have been useful if we could have captured the Urim and Thummin,” Andrew reminded them of what they had been debating before Mark Andrew’s arrival and the subsequent arrival of the caravan. “We were trying to decide whether to open the Ark or simply toss it lock, stock and barrel, unopened into the crevice at the summit.”

“The crevice? What crevice?” Mark frowned at the priest.

“My father believes that we have awakened the Ancient One,
Yaldabaoth, by preparing the sacred ground for the Wilderness Tabernacle atop the mountain,” Levi told him. “A pit or hole has opened in the ground very near the tabernacle and we have heard strange noises from the depths.”

“Ahhh. I see,” Mark nodded and downed his wine. “So dear old Raguel is still up to his tricks, is he?”

“You have seen Raguel?” It was Edgard’s turn to stand up in alarm.

“I have not seen him, but I have seen his handiwork. Errant boulders, lightening and
thunderings. Ravaging winds and blowing rain? I have seen his work before. He is nothing more than a gasbag. A blithering idiot who would attempt to intimidate us with his posturing and gesturing,” Mark smiled at them and then slid from his seat as the entire tent was rocked by a rather forceful tremor.

Mark pulled himself up as the others gathered their wits and plopped himself back on the stool. He grabbed the bottle from the floor and pulled the cork.

“So he heard me, did he?” he asked as his Brothers looked at him in disbelief.

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

Mark Andrew laid down the last rock, marking the western Cardinal point of his circle and stood surveying his handiwork. He consulted his compass and made a slight adjustment to the northern marker, a deep brown chunk of sedimentary rock representing the Powers and Elemental Spirits of the North and the Earth. On his left, at a ninety degree angle was a piece of amber containing numerous air bubbles trapped within it, representing the Powers and Spirits of the East and of Air. Directly behind him was a sizable chunk of black pumice representing the South and Fire. To his left, beautiful pink coral to mark the western point and the sea. He laid down another circle inside the first and got down on his hands and knees to write the secret names of God at each point. These would protect him while he worked to call up the spirits he wished to communicate with. After the names were engraved in the earth and filled with salt, he made another star within the inner circle. Five-pointed. In the center was his censor filled with cedar shavings, frankincense and myrrh, taken from the laboratory in the basement.

When the magician was satisfied with the configurations of his circle, he returned to the center and untied the bundle of parchment scrolls he had placed there at the beginning of his work. The cedar was then set smoldering and fanned into glowing coals. The heady fragrance filled his nose and the smoke hung in layers in the still, chilly air above his head. He raised his face to the stars visible through the wispy threads and crossed himself as a wolf howled in the thicket down by the river.

The full moon rode just over the ragged line of trees away to the west, casting its silvery sheen over the surrealistic scene in the meadow south of the Ramsay estate. The magician stood again and took off his shirt in spite of the chill wind sweeping the open field. He raised the silver sword above his head and turned complete around muttering the Black Mass that conveyed the message of his sacrifice to the Watcher, whom he was about to summon. When he was again facing north, he drew the sword across the palm of his left hand leaving a thin trail of blood along the length of the silver sword and then jammed it into the soil in the northeastern quadrant of the circle. This was his gift, a fine weapon, well-balanced and razor sharp.