Grim Lions (The Templar Wars Book 1) Read online

  “Let me go,” Nico demanded, his voice muffled in the crowded elevator.

  The brawny guards all laughed. “We’ll let you go, all right, once we’ve taught you a lesson you won’t forget,” one of them answered, and then he addressed his companions. “How old is this rapscallion? Looks like a boy.”

  “Don’t know how he got in.” The elevator stopped at floors on the way down, and each time the guards apologized and waved away anyone who thought to get in. “How’d you get in, then?”

  “I’m a member. Now can I go?” Nico replied.

  “You? I haven’t seen you before. No, you’re a lad that can’t handle his liquor.”

  They reached the basement and shoved him out the door. It was gloomy. Only the odd exposed lightbulb, mostly pipes and brick walls. They took him to a room farther down the steps. “This is where we take the recalcitrant lads for some education, and then it’s only a short boot to the street.” They sniggered. There was a wooden chair in the room. One of the guards pulled a cord, and a light blazed on. The other two forced him onto the chair, one clasping his arms behind. Nico could feel them being tied and then grimaced as the guard pulled tight on the knot.

  “Can’t you let me go?”

  They all laughed again. “Don’t you ever come in here again,” one of the guards spat out before arching his arm back and smacking his fist into Nico’s rib cage. The chair swung back and was only saved from toppling by the hold of one of the other guards. Nico coughed and wailed as he felt all the air inside of him being expunged.

  “Do his face now, Tony, so he won’t be so pretty when he leaves.”

  “Wait, let me put my gloves on.”

  Nico started retching. “I won’t do it again.”

  “That’s for sure,” replied one of the guards, and then he smacked his fist into Nico’s face, under his chin, forcing his head to jerk back. Nico felt an instant headache, worse than his ugliest morning. Another of the guards smacked a punch into his gut, and the chair produced a cracking sound. The third slapped his hand across Nico’s face. Nico, looked down, saw drops of blood standing out like fire on his clean shirt. They were well trained, waiting half a minute before another landed a blow. They weren’t frenetic. Instead they were measured, careful, taking pride in their craft, wanting to hurt Nico and leave him bruised, but hitting nicely so as to not risk killing him or inflicting any other permanent injury. They weren’t enjoying themselves. They were professional, as if typing a memo.

  “Please, guys, I’ve had enough,” Nico spat out.

  The guard with the glove slashed it across his mouth, leaving Nico with the taste of leather. “We’re not listening.”

  One of the other guards laughed. “I don’t like this guy at all. Give him your best shot, Freddy. See if you can knock him out, and then we’ll dump him in the vagabonds’ park and see how he wakes in the morning.”

  They all laughed. Nico held his eyes tightly closed and braced every part of his body for the next blow. He heard the door to the room open, and someone came in, panting.

  “Stop, stop,” ordered the new entrant. Nico opened his eyes and saw that another guard had entered. He had hair and was younger than the others, with a more stylish and decorated uniform. “Stop. Don’t hit him anymore.”

  “Why? What is it?”

  “Do you know who this is?” said the senior guard. “This is a Romanov.”

  “What the hell?” One of the guards gulped, and they all lowered their fists. “Damn, no one told us.”

  “Not your fault. One of the patrons recognized him and notified us.” The guard inspected Nico. “Crap, you’ve done a job on his face. His father has been called and is on his way.”

  “I don’t want to see my father,” Nico said. “Let me go.”

  “Which Romanov is his father?”

  “Alex,” answered the senior guard.

  “Oh damn.” One of the guards gasped again. “The top of the tree. And he’s coming here?”

  “Yes. Quick, clean him up.”

  Nico interjected again. “I said, I want to go. Let me go. I don’t want to see him.”

  The guards weren’t listening. They scurried around him, taking out handkerchiefs, wetting them and dabbing at his face. Nico struggled. He had to free himself from the bindings at his wrists.

  “Do we untie him?”

  “Go out and warn us when the old man arrives. He was in a nearby restaurant, so he will be here any minute. The chief will be bringing him down.”

  As the guard moved to exit, a new batch of bodies filled the doorway.

  “He’s here now.” The people in the room all froze, as if soldiers called to attention.

  An imposing, imperious figure was at the front of the new arrivals, wearing a dark suit and burgundy tie and with his gray-flecked dark hair swept back. His eyes glared at Nico. “Everybody out. Leave him tied. Bring me a chair.”

  The guards and others all scampered out. One returned in a few seconds and placed a wooden chair in front of Nico. His father sat on it, his dark eyes and arched eyebrows not deviating from his son.

  Nico moved his lips as if to say something but then stopped, instead turning his head to look down at the floor. He could hear the distinct and steady breathing of his father, and the seconds felt like minutes.

  “Do you remember what I said to you last time you did something stupid like this?” His father’s voice sounded like it was coming from every corner of the room, even coming from inside his head.

  “No.”

  “I told you that if you did anything crazy again that humiliated me, that humiliated your family and your family name, that I would be your worst enemy. Do you remember?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, here I am.”

  “I want to go home.”

  “Who do you think we are? I mean our family. Think of our family name.”

  “Why haven’t you untied me?”

  “Did you listen to the story about Peter the Great and his son, Alexei? Don’t answer, as I assume you weren’t paying attention at the time, like all else. You should know that Peter showed Alexei no mercy, even as he was being tortured to death. I know that you think as my only son, you are invaluable to me. That I will let you get away with anything you like. That I will be blind to your debauchery. That I will pay no attention to your corruption. That your degradation of the family name will amount to naught. You think that I think that somehow you will redeem yourself, so I will be forgiving, prepared to laugh at your predicament and plan for a more pleasant time. I have the sorrow of advising you that your thoughts are wrong. Every one of your pictures that decorates our home will be taken down. I have disowned you in my mind, which will permeate every aspect of your life.”

  “Why can’t you let me go home?”

  “You are not going home.” Alex Romanov, his father, leaned forward and reached his hand into the inside pocket of his thick, dark jacket. He took out a folded leaflet. “Have you seen this? They have been all across the Metropolis, creating a stir.” He focused on Nico and narrowed his eyes at the blank stare being returned. “Perhaps not. Then let me tell you what it is. This leaflet is looking for recruits. There is a force being assembled, a military force. They are calling it the Expeditionary Force. This is for a fight against the Mohammedans. I have decided that our family, with its mind turned to its historic dispossession from the fatherland, must be in this fight and support this force.”

  “I’m sorry. I want to go home now.”

  “Home is not where you are going. I have committed people to this Expeditionary Force. I will raise in the hundreds. You are to be part of it.”

  “I said I’m sorry. I’m ready to go home.”

  “You will be leaving with this force tonight. You will be leaving for overseas.”

  “Mother won’t allow this, nor the sisters.”

  His father leaned closer. Nico breathed in the strong scent of his aftershave. “They all despise you and will be as joyous as I am when they don’t have to endure you anymore.”

  “What? This is not serious.”

  “It is. You leave tonight. My men will be taking you to the departing fleet.”

  “I won’t go, and you can’t force me. What about Isabella?”

  “Isabella.” Alex Romanov laughed. “You won’t be seeing her again.”

  “No, let me go. I won’t drink liquor anymore, I swear.”

  His father stood up, swift, in one movement. He brushed his hands down his dark suit and tightened his tie. He swiveled around and opened the door. In walked three men with whom Nico was familiar. They all looked at his father, saw the seriousness on his father’s face, and then glared down at Nico. Nico first made eye contact with his father’s brother, his uncle, shorter than his father and bulging out of his tight suit. His glare was one of unbridled hostility, so Nico quickly diverted to the second man. This was his father’s henchman, Igor, equally never far from his father. He was a drunkard himself, so Nico searched his look for sympathy. Igor’s pockmarked face, half covered with a gray beard, gave him nothing. The third man was a surprise, the old bearded monk Grigory. He was wearing his black monk’s tunic with the hood hanging over his shoulders, revealing his bald head and sad face. He momentarily looked at Nico and then lowered his eyes to the floor.

  “This is goodbye, Nico,” his father said. “So it is. If you think I have failed you, perhaps you are right. I believe that there is no alternative but to send you away.” He turned to the others in the room. “Let it be formally known, with you men as witnesses, that I disown my son, Nicolas Romanov. My will and testament are to
reflect that on my passing, none of my assets, wealth, or titles are to pass to Nicolas.” The men solemnly nodded their heads. “Take him away.” Alex Romanov left the room without looking at Nico again.

  Nico’s uncle was the first to move. He went to untie Nico’s hands.

  “Uncle, this is madness. I want to go home.”

  “I’m sorry, Nico,” he replied, fumbling with the ropes. “You are a fool. You have tested your father’s patience for the last time.”

  “Do not refer to Alex as this piece of dirt’s father,” said the harsh voice of Igor. “You heard what Master Alex said. This garbage is disowned.” He slapped Nico across the face, forcing his face to twist violently. Uncle Michael finished untying Nico and, with the help of Igor, pulled him by the arms so that he was standing. Nico was looking across at Grigory, who watched impassively, slightly shaking his head.

  “Let me go. I’m going home now.” Nico struggled, but both his uncle and Igor tightened their grips. Both were burly men, and Nico, exhausted, couldn’t break their unsentimental hold. Another two men squeezed into the room. Nico recognized them as more of his father’s goons. They had all known him since he was a boy. Usually they would greet him with a smile, wink, or laugh. This time they wore grim, ugly looks. One of them was holding a black cloth. Nico understood what it was as the goon lifted it over his head and started pulling it roughly across his face. It was a hood, and Nico became engulfed by blackness.

  Chapter Five

  The tavern stood well back from the road, gravel out front, with a worn, uneven path leading to the entrance. Its wooden sign hung motionless over the doorway in the windless night. Trees on both sides. Clavdia’s eyes narrowed as she looked over the surroundings with only the moonlight, the yellow light from the windows, and the flickering lamppost out front, to aid her. She had been outside for over an hour, observing from a thicket on an empty hill, becoming conscious of the cold as her watch ticked closer to midnight. She was wearing warm, dark clothes, a thick jacket with a high collar covering her neck, loose trousers, and laced running boots. No one had entered or exited other than local drunks wearing farmers’ hats. She was confident enough to enter.

  She looked up to see thick black smoke from the chimneys joining the darkness. She pushed the heavy door open. A large fire consumed thick logs in a distant fireplace, and her nostrils were filled with the scents of burning wood and freshly poured beer. The room was crowded with sturdy wooden tables and chairs. A few patrons were slumped at tables, beer steins in front of them. Others were standing close to the fire. She had entered quietly, and no one looked across as she moved inside. Only the barkeep, cloth in hand, had seen her. He took a long look at her and then motioned with his head to a wooden staircase across the room. Clavdia followed his direction.

  It was ill lit at the top of the stairs. She followed the only light she could see coming from a half-open door farther down the passage. A meeting room with enough chairs for a dozen. A chalkboard indicated that it was used for the local orphans’ and widows’ charity group and the road safety committee. Inside there was one man sitting with his back turned to the door. A large cloak covered all of him except the top of his head. The floor creaked as she edged inside.

  “Welcome to Jervis Bay,” he said without turning.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d be here.”

  The man turned, a smile on his thin young face. “I’m not here. Hello, Clavdia.” His dark hair was the most mussed Clavdia had seen. It was usually impeccably swept back at meetings. But tonight, thick clumps pointed in uncoordinated directions. “How was your journey?”

  “Hours to leave the Metropolis. Three trains. Uncomfortable, crammed, and with the stench of people and animals. Last change, I sat next to a man holding a chicken. I crossed the border using false papers. How did you get here?”

  “Ferry.”

  “A ferry that comes to Jervis Bay?”

  “There isn’t one. I had to pay the captain for one of his crew to drop me here using a rowboat. A nice adventure.”

  Clavdia crossed the room to one of the windows and looked out to the courtyard. “Will anyone come?” She could only see the reflection of the room.

  “I don’t know. I am hoping the ruse has worked.”

  “It has. I discreetly passed the town library on the way. There were hundreds of protestors. Angry looks on their faces. Determined to disrupt. Make sure that this meeting doesn’t happen.”

  “The agent at the academy knows we are meeting here?”

  “Yes, he knows, and he has told more to the cadets. They know if they join, they will have to leave the academy. This is a fork on their path that they can never take back. Only the most committed will come. Do you have the paperwork?”

  “Yes.” He lowered his arm to feel the pouch strapped to his side. “Only a little wet.”

  “I’m grateful you came. You didn’t have to.”

  He slowly exhaled. “I am as committed to the cause as anyone. Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto thy Name give glory.”

  She moved across to him and clasped his hand, which was resting on the table. “Let’s wait.” She sat across from him on a creaky wooden chair facing the door. “And let’s pray.”

  They both squeezed their eyes closed, clasped their hands, and were still. There were rumblings from downstairs, the merriment of the tavern patrons, and from outside, the sounds of branches whipping at the behest of night winds. They heard footfalls on the stairs. Both sets of eyes snapped open, and fingers firmly pushed against the table. A head and wide shoulders appeared in the doorway, blackened, as there was no light from behind. Clavdia felt herself relax. It was the ruddy face of the barkeep. He carried cups and a tray in his large hands. “Thought you might like something to eat, drink.” He placed two mugs, a bottle of ale, and a plate of bread on the table. They thanked him, and he scurried out. Neither of them looked at the bread or ale. Clavdia returned to the window. “Paul, I am fearful this will be a momentous disaster, sending us all back to the shadows.”

  “It will turn out as it will turn out, but I think it’s an opportunity that could not be resisted. This will be the first Holy Crusade in over a century, since nineteen fourteen, and I don’t say that date to remind us of the sad debacle, for we are praying the outcome will be different this time.”

  “Do you think it will be considered a Crusade or only a folly?”

  There was no sound from outside, but the dark outline of a person appeared at the door. Then more behind. Clavdia ascertained that there were three of them, hesitating before entering the room and showing themselves in the dim light.

  “Identify yourselves,” Paul called over to them.

  They moved into the light, keeping close to one another. They looked younger than Clavdia had imagined. Teenagers. Two boys and a girl. They were wearing gray clothes and thick coats with no insignias.

  “We are from the academy,” one of them replied. “Are you Montgisard Corporation?”

  His voice was too loud. Clavdia moved closer. “Yes, we are. Are there more of you?”

  “No, this is all that would come.”

  Clavdia glanced at Paul. He glanced back, helpless. They had expected a lot more. A roomful, to make the travel worth the effort. She tensed her face and glared at the youngsters. They all had lean faces. The routine and hard drilling of the military academy showed. “What are your names?”

  “We need to see the paperwork first,” replied one of the males. He was the only one who had spoken so far. He was wearing a cloud-gray cap, the same color as his eyes, and he was taller and more muscular than the other two.

  “My name is Frank Paulus,” the other boy said as he stepped out in front of his taller colleague. He took off his cap to show short pitch-black hair and a snow-white pale face.

  “How old are you?” Paul asked.

  “I’m nineteen.”

  Paul laughed. “Do you know what you are getting into?”

  “I know what I read on your pamphlet,” he replied, speaking slowly and surely. “A chance to fight the Turks. To be an officer for the Expeditionary Force.”