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“Very well. He was traveling by rail to Barcelona, the rendezvous point for our assault upon Mogart in Játiva, when he was set upon by seven of the Dragon’s thralls. He might have escaped, but he chose to fight.
“He was the youngest of our Order, impetuous, idealistic—and vain. He never believed that our cause might fail. His pride undid him, Alfred. For though he fought well and bravely, besting five before he was overcome, in the end the two that remained mutilated him while he still drew breath.”
His voice had dropped to a whisper. He wasn’t looking at me anymore, but at some point over my head.
“He was found with no eyes, Alfred. They killed him, and then they cut out his eyes.”
His gray eyes turned to me then, and they were hard. “The enemy has been gathering such men to himself for two years now, Alfred, since Samson expelled him from our Order. You have not lived very long, but surely you have heard of such men. Alas, the world is full of them. Men without conscience, their hearts corrupted by greed and the lust for power, their minds twisted past all human recognition. They have forgotten love, pity, remorse, honor, dignity, grace. They have fallen, mere shadows of men, their humanity a distant memory. Mogart has promised them riches beyond human imagining, and in their lust they have descended to barbarity beyond divine imagining. Remember that before you judge me for what I did in Edinburg. Remember Játiva. Remember Windimar’s eyes, and then you may judge me.”
21
At sunrise the next morning I stumbled into the kitchen, where Miriam had laid out blueberry muffins and these little buttery rolls that melted in my mouth like cotton candy. I wouldn’t have stayed to eat—Bennacio was nowhere to be seen and Miriam acted as if I were this large empty space, like a bubble, floating around her kitchen—but those rolls were delicious and the muffins were about the size of my fist. Finally I couldn’t stand it any longer and I said, “Where’s Bennacio?” because he had made such a big deal about getting an early start. Loudly too because I was nervous around her and she wasn’t too good with English and, like a lot of people, I spoke louder to people who did not share my native tongue. She jerked her head toward the little window over the sink, so I figured he had gone outside and in another instant I leaped to the conclusion he wasn’t out on his morning constitutional but had actually taken off without me. I ran out the front door and was relieved to see the Ferrari still parked outside.
A heavy fog had rolled in during the night, and the early-morning sunlight was red and ghostly in the wispy moisture around the dark tree trunks of the woods around Miriam’s house. I heard a thudding sound in the trees off to my right, and I turned toward it as it became louder. I think I knew what was coming before it came bursting through the trees, and I fought the impulse to dash back inside.
Bennacio exploded from the woods astride a huge white horse, bending low over its massive neck, both hands gripping its halter because there were no reins or bit.
They drew up beside me. The horse’s dark nostrils flared and its tail slapped its flanks as Bennacio smiled down at me.
“We’re riding horses to Canada?” I asked.
“Wouldn’t that be grand?” he laughed. “The hour darkens, and we must make haste now, but I could not resist one last ride.” He held out his hand.
“I’m scared of horses,” I told him.
“Fortunately, I am not,” he said, and he grabbed me by the forearm and swung my big self onto that horse’s broad back as easily as if he were throwing a coat over his shoulder. Then he leaned over and whispered something into the horse’s ear and we were off.
Just a few hours before, I had been racing down the interstate at a hundred miles an hour, but that seemed like crawling next to that horse ride through the Pennsylvania countryside. The trees whistled by my ears as I wrapped my arms around Bennacio’s chest, my face pressed against his back, my eyes clenched shut. I slipped right and left on the horse’s back, and I pressed my teeth together because I was terrified I might bite my tongue in two.
I don’t know how long we rode before I felt this lessening of pressure in my chest and a light-headedness that made me crack my eyes open and sit back a little, my death grip loosening around Bennacio’s middle—maybe fifteen minutes, but it seemed like an hour or two. I leaned farther back and opened my eyes wide, and the spring air was sweet and swift against my face, the trees blurs of brown and bright green, and the sound of this steed’s hooves was like muffled thunder in my ears. I actually started to laugh out loud, whooping it up like a kid on a carnival ride, while Bennacio spurred on our mount. Bennacio, the Last Knight of the Round Table, astride a white stallion, riding to the rescue of the whole darn world, with Alfred Kropp hanging on for dear life behind him, shouting and crying at the same time, glad just to be along for the ride.
22
After we returned to the house, I waited by the Ferrari while Miriam said good-bye to Bennacio on the front steps. Her hair was down and she looked even younger that way. She took Bennacio’s hands in hers and was talking urgently, and whatever she was saying was getting to h
im. He kept shaking his head, No, no, and I could tell, despite not spending a lot of time around the two of them, that they had a complicated relationship. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed both his cheeks, then took his head in both hands and looked at him without saying anything for a long time.
Bennacio came down the steps, holding out his hand. “The keys, Kropp. I shall drive now. We must reach the border at Saint Stephen before dark.”
I handed the keys to him and slid into the passenger seat. Bennacio tossed the black case Miriam had given him into the backseat and slid behind the wheel. About the only thing I was looking forward to was driving that Ferrari, but I didn’t argue with him about it.
“Don’t you think this car’s been reported stolen and we’ll be arrested?” I asked after we reached the interstate.
“I had not considered it.”
“Maybe you should.”
“We shall see.”
I had lost track of the days, but I think it was Saturday. The interstate was practically deserted, except for a few big semis that Bennacio sailed past as if they were standing still.
We were somewhere between Hazelton and Scranton in Pennsylvania.
“Was that Windimar’s horse?” I asked. He didn’t answer, I guess because it was a stupid question. If you acknowledge a stupid question, you’re just encouraging more of them. I made a resolution to evaluate the quality of my questions before I asked.
“Do you travel a lot in the knight business, Bennacio?” I asked.
“At times.”
