THE MAN WHO DIDN'T KNOW THAT MUCH CHAPTER 2
They went on for hours, or at least it was what it felt like for Valmont. It had been years since he had ridden a horse, and he wasn't quite fit for any horseback riding activity. He was tired and sore and knew from experience that it would only get worse by the following morning.
Oh, how he hated horses!
At one point during the trip, he had complained about the pain, but his two companions had not even glanced at him. Valmont had frowned; he hated being ignored!
"How much farther now?" he finally asked, tired of keeping quiet.
"Not much, Brother. Just after that hill," said the airport guy.
"Already?" asked Valmont, raising an eyebrow. They had barely left London!
"Of course, that is not our true lair," pointed out the other man. "Thou hast just been accepted as one of us, and telling thee our secrets is not an option!"
Valmont rolled his eyes.
"Welcome to the optionless' club," he muttered sarcastically. Then, he addressed them again, out loud, "And what if I am not accepted?" he asked. Perhaps he could find a way to convince them that he didn't "deserve" to join the Magisters, so they would leave him alone once and for all.
"If thou art not accepted, we shall have to make sure thou cannot reveal our secret, of course. Thou already knowest too much," replied the airport man.
Do I? Valmont wondered, raising an eyebrow. Then, he turned his attention back to what the man had said previously.
"What do you mean?" he asked, frowning. How would they make sure he wouldn't tell anything?
"I mean we shall have to eliminate thee," clarified the receptionist. Valmont paled and his eyes widened a little. If he had understood correctly, his only options were either join the Magisters or die?
"But surely it won't come to that, right?" he asked the others. "I mean, we're all modern men and killing anyone for such a minor detail is a little... old-fashioned, don't you think?"
At that, his two companions stopped their horses and turned to glare at him.
"Never, ever say that word among our brotherhood!" said the receptionist threateningly.
What word? Valmont wondered, but didn't have time to ask. He didn't really want to, at any rate. You couldn't argue with madmen.
He realised he had no idea what his annoying companions were called. He almost asked, but that was when the others had announced they had come to the end of the trip.
The horses stopped and three men dismounted. Valmont looked around; there was not special there. The place looked a little abandoned and dark, but that was it. Not that he had expected anything else from a secret group, anyway.
"This way," whispered the receptionist, gesturing at him to follow them. The trio then entered an ancient-looking house. When the airport man closed the door behind them, all was very dark, and Valmont could barely see his surroundings.
On the other hand, he could clearly hear the other two men's steps and was able to follow them. He had to wonder how they could find their way through such deep darkness without bumping into anything. Well, perhaps they had already got accustomed to it...
He stopped for a brief instant when he saw that the receptionist was opening a heavy wooden door. They entered and went down some stone stairs. Luckily, this hallway had torches on the wall that reasonably lit their way.
This is insane! Valmont thought as he looked around the hallway. He felt as if he had been taken into a historical B-movie. He stopped for a moment to take a look at the heavy armour that decorated a corner – it was rusty, old, and looked like it would need at least three men to move it.
He wondered if it was real, but didn't have time to pursue the subject. His two companions had not stopped to wait for him and he had to hurry after them.
When he caught up with them, they were already about to open another door. They turned to look at Valmont at the last minute.
"We assume thou hast read the instructions and memorised the secret oath?" said the receptionist.
What oath?
Both men turned around again and opened the door very slowly, as if to make a dramatic effect, but it only made a loud, irritating creak. When the door was wide open, they took some steps forwards to go into the huge room lit only by candlesticks. In the centre, the Magisters' symbol was marked on the floor, and, around it, at least twenty Magisters were gathered, all of them wearing hoods that hid their faces.
It was worse than he had thought. He had to get away from here and fast. He would have turned around right then and run off with all his might, if only all eyes of those present had not focused on him.
The receptionist and the airport man bowed briefly and one of the Magisters, who was standing across from them at the circle, took two steps forwards.
"Here is our new brother," stated the receptionist, stepping away from Valmont. The other man did the same, leaving Valmont visible to all those in the room.
"Very well," said the Magister who had moved in the circle, supposedly their leader.
The new Magister, who was obviously their leader, made a simple hand gesture and the two men who had guided Valmont took their places in the circle.
All was silent, and he decided that he had to do something to escape safe and sound.
"I say, there was a mistake," he began, with confidence, and took off his hood. He waited for the Magister to do the same, since he felt awkward speaking to him when he couldn't see his face.
There was an audible series of gasps.
"He hath disgraced our secret tradition!" came a shout from the circle.
That was not a good sign. Thinking he should have kept his mouth shut, Valmont took a step back, his eyes widening as the Magisters started to whisper to each other vehemently.
He looked back, where the door was. The idea of running off as fast as his legs could permit was beginning to sound more and more tempting. Well, he certainly wouldn't meet a happy ending here, weaponless, with a bunch of crazy, furious magicians.
Valmont turned on his heels and ran to the door, but was forced to stop when he saw two Magisters coming in and blocking his way. Now he was surrounded. Looking around, he saw there was another door, but it was on the other side of the room and he would have to get past all the Magisters in the circle.
What would he do now? Suddenly, he wished he had never come back to his native country. He always got into trouble when he did.
"Shall we dispose of him?" one of the Magister asked them Grand Master, who stood still like a statue. Everyone's eyes were fixed on his face.
"No," he answered at last. Valmont sighed in relief. "He is new and knoweth not our ways."
One of the Magisters took a step forwards.
"Shall I teach him, Master?" he asked.
"Yes."
While he was glad the Magisters apparently did not intend to kill him – at least not yet –, somehow, he did not like the Magisters' tone of voice. Watching the Magister coming towards him, he could not help but wonder if this "teaching" would be in any way painful.
Not that he wasn't already suffering mentally, that is.
Without noticing, he took a step back when the Magister was just a few metres away. Well, if it were necessary, he could still resort to his skills in martial arts, but perhaps it wasn't very wise to face all of these Magisters.
Besides, doing aerial kicks on a robe wasn't that good an idea. He had been able to pull it off when he had been possessed by Shendu, but now he didn't even want to try. What a beautiful scene it would make; him tripping and falling on his face in front of all these maniacs.
"Brother Harewood shall teach thee our ways," said the Grand Master in his loud, powerful voice.
Valmont eyed his teacher. The man was perhaps a little older than him, had dark brown hair and dark eyes. There was absolutely nothing special about his face. In fact, he looked so ordinary that it was as though he had made it into an art form.
"Come," said Harewood, gesturing at him. "Let us explore the castle, and I shall teach thee our history."
Just explore the castle and listen to the Magisters' history? Valmont mentally sighed in relief. Well, that wasn't so bad. That would give him a chance to get to know this place and, with some luck, find out where the exits were. Thus, his escape would be more successful.
He followed Harewood out of the room, taking a quick, inconspicuous glance behind. So far, it seemed the other Magisters would not be following them. Excellent. That made things much easier.
Harewood stopped abruptly and indicated an old wooden door to his right.
"Here is a very important place," he said seriously, and Valmont nodded, paying much attention. "It is our private watercloset."
Valmont arched an eyebrow and stared at the man, but he looked very sober. Deciding against making any comments, he just nodded again and the two continued on their way.
Within a minute, they entered another room. The walls were smooth and there was nothing in there.
"This room symboliseth a very important part of our history," explained Harewood while waving his hands.
"It's completely empty," commented Valmont.
"That is right. We used to keep the portraits of our Grand Masters here, but after the great flood caused by the watercloset next door in 1845, we learnt that having a museum so close to waterclosets is not a good idea."
Before Valmont had time to ask any question, Harewood went on, speaking nonstop. In the next room, there was a pile of round stones. At first, it looked like they had just been scattered around, but, upon taking a closer look, Valmont realised the stones had actually been placed there so as to form a picture. A very rude picture.
"And here thou shalt stop for a moment to marvel at the great work of our Grand Master."
Valmont raised an eyebrow and pointed at the rocks.
"What is this? It makes no sense!" Perhaps it was some kind of modern art?
Harewood didn't seem to have heard Valmont's question.
"Unfortunately, he was declared a wizard and burnt in 1354, and could never finish his project. Some say he was insane and was betrayed by his apprentice, but we listen not to such rumours."
"And those rocks are there, like that, since 1354?!"
"Yes," said Harewood, nodding. "We take great pride in preserving our historical heritage."
"I see. Historical heritage. Right," said Valmont. Then, realising how cynical he had sounded, he added, "Well... Great job!"
That seemed to please the man, who raised his chin proudly and gave the smallest of smiles. It was the first time the Magister had showed a positive emotion, however remote and dubious it was.
"Thou shalt be expected to perform weekly maintenance once thou joinest our brotherhood."
"Don't you have any employees to do that kind of service?" asked Valmont, wrinkling his nose at the prospect of working as a caretaker.
Harewood said nothing, just gave him a Look.
"Weekly maintenance, then," said Valmont quickly, with forced enthusiasm. "I just can't wait to contribute to the preservation of the brotherhood's historical heritage!"
Harewood stared at him expressionlessly, his gaze more intense than ever, as though searching for any trace of dishonesty in Valmont's very mind and soul. Valmont had to wonder if these people could read minds, as well. Suppressing a shudder, Valmont forced himself to smile friendly and look back at the man with as much calm and innocence as possible. After a while that had probably been a lot shorter than it had felt, Harewood nodded in approval.
"That is the spirit, Brother!" he said before moving on.
"What have I got myself into?" Valmont muttered to himself as he followed Harewood into another room.