The Traitor's Blade by Kevin Sands (fiction books to read .TXT) 📕

an animal, but smooth and graceful, his nails pointed like needles. And, sprouting from his back, were broad, feathered wings.

I barely had time to take this in when a second lantern flared to my right. Here stood another man, but this was no angel. He was a devil.

Not quite, my mind said, and of course he wasn’t, either. But in my heart he was a devil. He wore a long, waxed-leather robe above buckled shoes. He had on thick gloves that looked almost like talons. In his left hand he held a lantern; in his right was a long, silver rod. Atop his head was a wide-brimmed hat. And his mask, his mask. Goggle eyes and a curved bird’s beak.

A plague doctor. He was wearing a plague doctor’s costume.

I barely had time to feel the terror before a new light came. Once more to my right, down the third alley. I looked.

And I beheld a knight.

A warrior of old, with dark eyes and a black beard, his head covered by a mail coif. He wore chain mail all over, in fact, except for his boots, which were solid but simple leather. He held a sword in one hand and a lantern in the other. The light illuminated his tabard, which hung to his knees. It was white, with a big red cross in the center.

A Templar, I thought, amazed.

And then a fourth lantern burned, lighting up my last avenue of escape. I turned, and this time I saw a lady.

She was dressed all in white. White silk dress, white buckled shoes, white gloves, white hat, white parasol. Even her face was white, painted with thick makeup. The final figure to surround me, the memory of the ghost of Devonshire.

The White Lady.

They were all here. All my history, since Master Benedict had been killed.

The Cult of the Archangel.

The Plague Doctor.

The Templar.

And the Wraith.

I said nothing. My lips were frozen by confusion and fear. So it was the angel who spoke first, voice high and smooth.

“Do you have a coin?” he said.

I blinked. Were they going to rob me?

No, that didn’t make sense. I stood there, dumb, until the plague doctor spoke, his voice muffled by his mask.

“Do you have a coin?”

I didn’t understand. “I… I have some money with me—”

I whirled again, as a new voice spoke. Low and rumbling, like distant thunder. The knight.

“Do you have a coin?”

And it was as I stared at him, this knight of old

(not really, not really, he’s just a man)

wearing a tabard not seen in centuries, that flared Templar cross, that it came to me. And I finally understood what they were asking.

“Yes,” I said. “I have a coin.”

“Show us,” the White Lady said.

I tucked my pistols back in my belt. Then I reached, not into my coin purse, but to where I kept a secret, hidden deep in one of the pockets of my apothecary sash. My fingers found the metal, and I pulled it out.

It shone in the light of the four lanterns, bright, glittering gold. On one face was a flared cross, the twin of the symbol on the knight’s tabard. Baldvinus Rex de Ierusalem, the coin read. King Baldwin of Jerusalem, first patron of the Knights Templar. I held the Templar florin up so she could see. So they all could see.

The knight’s chain mail jingled as he held out his hand. In it was a letter, sealed with a simple circle of wax.

I took it from him. “Thank you,” I said.

“You must hurry,” he said. “Time is running out.”

He put his lantern on the ground. The others did the same. Then they turned and walked off into the darkness.

Only I remained, blazing in the light.

CHAPTER

42

I RAN AS FAST AS I could.

Dodging through carriages, I sprinted across Cheapside, all the way back to Saint Paul’s. I didn’t go into the church. Instead, I skirted the cathedral, running through the yard to the end of Ludgate Street.

Tom wasn’t there.

Where had he gone? I looked around but couldn’t see him.

Had someone made off with him?

No, I thought. He was a giant with a massive sword and an old warhorse. Who’d be so stupid as to attack Tom? He’d probably gone looking for me. I’d been away a lot longer than expected.

That meant he’d be in the church. I ran toward the entrance, and sure enough, there was Blossom, with Lightning, both held by a boy near a hitching post, charging a farthing a horse. I ran to him.

“Where’d the boy who gave you these horses go?” I said, but he didn’t need to answer.

“Christopher!” Tom bounded down the steps of the church, face red—relieved, and a little angry. “Where on earth have you been? I looked for you all over—”

“I met them,” I said.

“Met who? What are you…?”

His eyes widened. The Templars? he mouthed.

I nodded. “They gave me a new message.”

I held up the letter. The boy with the horses looked from Tom to me, confused, wondering what we were on about.

“What does it say?” Tom said.

“That we have to get back to the palace.”

We rode hard into the stables at Scotland Yard. Tom slid from his saddle and began to lead Lightning automatically toward his stall. Normally, I’d have done the same with Blossom, to brush our horses down and give them water. But we didn’t have time for that.

“Let the groom handle them,” I said. “We have to get to—”

“Christopher!”

“Ho! What are you doing there!”

The two voices came at me at once. The first was Sally. Waiting across the courtyard, she’d spotted our arrival and was now running to join us. The second was the groom.

He jogged up to me, angry. “I said, what are you doing?” He grabbed the reins from my hand and shoved me away.

I stumbled, nearly tripping in the mud before righting myself. Blossom snorted, ears twitching. I stared back at the man, confused. “What’s the matter?”

Tom looked just as startled as the groom grabbed Lightning’s reins, too. Though