February 5th, Golden Cup Bakery, NYC
Vincent Leonardo stared at the blank canvas in front of him. He tentatively dipped a brush into some acrylic paint, and raised it to the canvas. His mind blanked, and he let out a heavy sigh.
He put the brush down and wiped his brow. For over 200 years he kept pestering his fellow society members to let him paint their portraits, but the truth was that he hadn't ever actually gone through with it. Not once. And there were so many inspirational choices too. Tamora, Mycroft. It just wasn't' fair. The worst case of creative block he'd ever had; and he knew in his heart it was getting worse.
Creativity was a gift, to be nurtured and fed, but for some reason, Vincent's wouldn't eat. He refused to admit it out loud, but he knew it in his heart. He'd lost that spark.
"Did I come at a bad time?" A light French accented voice from behind him asked shyly.
Vincent turned around in surprise. Standing at the doorway to his office was what appeared to be a 19 year old girl with short strawberry blonde hair.
"Samantha!" he exclaimed. "Buonjiornio! Bellisimo! I have not seen you in decades!"
"Please Leonardo," Jeanne said smiling. "Pseudonyms are for those who don't know any better. To you, I am and should be Jeanne."
"Oh of course ma bella," Vincent said returning the smile. "I didn't mean to offend. We have so many names, it can be hard to keep track sometimes."
"I was rather fond of Odranoel, myself." Jeanne said. "That was the name you took in Paris in the 1800s, when you spent two decades as a street artist."
"Bellisimo," Vincent said. "Those were the days…wait a moment…What on earth are you doing here in New York?!"
"I was in the neighborhood," Jeanne said. "It is fashion week in NYC. Sangral has an image to maintain."
"Ah yes of course," Vincent shook his head.
"You should come with me to the show," Jeanne said. "I bet the fashions might get the inspiration going again."
Vincent stiffened. "What do you mean?"
Jeanne looked pointedly at the blank canvas. "Trust me, I know the feeling."
Vincent decided to ignore her. "Let me show you something that my team has been working on. I think you'll like it."
He lead her out of his office and down the stairs, taking her across the room where several of his engineers tinkered around with various pieces of tech.
"Here!" Vincent put on a glove on his right hand and picked up what looked like a small pocketwatch, or something like one.
"Put this next to your heart and tap on it twice," he said handing it to her. She gave him a dubious look, but took the device and did as he asked. No sooner had she done this than silver armor slid out of the small device and enveloped her body.
"Retractable armor?" she inquired, testing weight of the silvery armor that had enveloped her. "You're still a master genius at heart Leonardo."
"You flatter me, Jeanne," Vincent said. "But this was not my design. Rather a group effort by my team. Nurturing the talents of others seems to be lot in life these days. And I don't mind that, but I do miss the spark."
Jeanne nodded. "How do I…?"
"Tap the button next to your heart," He said. "The armor will retract back into a pocket watch form."
"What would prevent someone from just doing that in battle?" Jeanne wondered.
"Bio-Lock," Vincent replied, holding up his gloved hand. "It's currently set on your DNA. It will be wiped when I place it back on the stand, but at this moment, only you can use the armor."
"I see," Jeanne said, retracting the armor. "Leonardo, can we be frank with one another?"
"Of course my bella," Leonardo said replied, almost upset. "We have been friends a long time."
"You see the Society as your Patrons, oui?" she asked curiously.
"Yes, that seems about right," Vincent said. "No different than any duke or lord back in the renaissance."
"And what they do with your inventions…does it bother you?" Jeanne asked. Vincent swallowed.
"Si," he replied quietly. "A little bit. But an Artist is not granted the luxury of choosing his patrons. Wouldn't it be nice if it were that simple though?"
Jeanne nodded. "I have a confession, Leonardo."
The artist cocked an eyebrow at her.
"I'm afraid I wasn't completely honest with you," she said sadly. "I did come to New York for Fashion Week…And also to steal this armor from you."
She tossed the watch into the air and caught it, slipping it into her purse.
"What?" Vincent replied looking very confused.
"Duval's trying to keep it quiet," Jeanne said grinning like a maniac. "Which I'm going to take full advantage of as long as he's being stupid; but I've found a new Patron Vincent. I've quit the Illuminati Society. Au revoir!"
Jeanne spun around on her feet and turned and bolted out the side exit to the factory.
"Wait! Jeanne! What Patron! Jeanne! JEANNE!"
Gargoyles: Pendragon;
The Quest for the Holy Grail
February 5th, Castle Carbonek, Muncie, Indiana
"Let me get this straight," Duval said, his voice full of muted rage. "She just…Walked out. With our prototype nano-retractable armor? And no one stopped her?"
He glared angrily at the monitors in front of him.
Vincent looked abashed, but Mycroft cleared his throat before Vincent could respond.
"In fairness," Mycroft commented. "Vincent had no idea that Joan had defected. He could hardly be blamed for entertaining what he thought was an old friend."
Tenzin growled.
"Don't you start," Mycroft interrupted. "I know the armor was being developed for your little army, but it's my job to try and remain objective during these things."
Tenzin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "You are right Mycroft; as usual. Anger clouds my judgment. Vincent. Can more armor be crafted?"
"Not quickly," Vincent said. "The raw materials are not easily fabricated. That's why we only had the one prototype. We were looking into synthesizing more comment elements for mass production…but…That's so much harder without the original armor as a control."
"First Queen Blanchefleur," Tenzin murmured. "Now Joan of Arc. It seems that the Society is having something of a loyalty problem."
"The Queen can do whatever she wants," Duval snapped angrily. "That's HER prerogative. Jeanne…is another matter entirely. Hassan?"
Duval turned towards the screen where the chiseled features of the Master of Assassins had remained quiet during this entire exchange.
"This is a perfect opportunity to redeem your previous failure," Duval said.
"With all due respect, sir," Hassan replied. "No."
"Excuse me?"
"Setting aside for a moment that the last failure was set about due to Arthur's loyalty towards those he has Knighted, among which the Maid of Orleans now numbers," Hassan began. "I will not under any circumstances send my assassins to certain death and guaranteed failure. Or have you forgotten that Jeanne's saintly power is the ability to see the future? She is possibly the one person on earth who can never be assassinated, because she will always be able to anticipate each attempt."
"Jeanne has never killed," Tenzin commented. "Even in battle she has never shed the blood of a single enemy."
"She doesn't have to," Hassan argued. "She uses her gift to get others to kill her enemies for her. Or manipulate the circumstances of fate so that her enemies are killed by their own negligence or carelessness. Sending one of my students after her is as good as killing them by my own hand. I will not do it."
"I concede the point," Tenzin said quietly. "Still, she's too dangerous to let live."
Duval rubbed his temples. "I'll figure something out."
He snapped his mechanical fingers and the screens all went blank, as he angrily stormed out of the conference room.
Peredur fab Ragnal looked on at him but said nothing.
Duval stormed over to the drawbridge and gazed out over the mist covered cornfields in early morning Midwestern air.
"They don't understand," he said. "They don't realize what's at stake here. None of them do. If I could just…explain to Arthur…"
He sighed heavily.
February 5th, Wales, 642 AD
Sir Percival, the Fisher King, rode out from Castle Carbonek and into the welsh countryside. A fine mist hung over the barley fields as he pressed his horse on, enjoying the morning air.
He observed the peasant farmers, already hard at work in the fields, who in turn eyed him suspiciously. A wealthy nobleman riding through their farmland could be good or bad, especially if his intention was to exploit them. Of course Percival would never exploit or harm these noble peasants. But they had no way of knowing that. It broke his heart, because that air of wariness had never been a part of Arthur's kingdom.
Suddenly there was a burst of firery light overhead, and two gargoyles tumbled out of the flames, crashing into the wheat field on his right.
"Gargoyles? In daylight?" He marveled at the pair, but only for a moment. The male gargoyle, brick-red and dressing in an armored breastplate and two swords, was clearly injured, and bleeding profusely from his left eye socket.
"Brooklyn!" the female yelled. "It followed us!"
"WHAT? NO!" her companion yelped in surprise before Percival's horse suddenly erupted in panic, tossing its rider off it's back.
Percival scrambled to his feet to face this new threat that had followed the two gargoyles through the flames.
It was twice the size of a wyvern, and walked upon six legs. But it was not insect-like. Closer to a newt or salamander than anything else Percival had seen. It's skin was slimy and dark purple, with dozens of red speckles all over.
Each of its dog like legs ended in two-digited claws, which it tucked in by knuckle-walking. Its tail split apart halfway down, so that it had two whip like tail, each one ending in a curved half-moon shaped scythe-like blade.
It had no head. No face whatsoever. Instead, where it's head should have been, there was instead a mass of six writhing squid-like tentacles.
It let out a loud screech, and the farmers who had been working, as well as Percival's own steed, panicked and ran.
"I don't say this often enough, Brooklyn," the blue-skinned female gargoyle said taking her mate's hand in hers. She looked resigned to her fate. So did the bleeding male. "But I love you. With all of my heart."
"I know Katana," Brooklyn replied. "I love you too."
The two gargoyles then shuddered, and turned to stone in front of Percival. Their looks of love and resignation to their fate etched into their stone features.
The creature shrieked again, and began moving towards the two gargoyles.
"NO!" Percival yelled angrily. "Not while a Knight of the Round table lives! Back fowl beast! BACK!"
Percival unslung his bow from his shoulder and notched an arrow from his quiver.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
February 5th, Castle Carbonek In-Transit
Mist began rising up around Carbonek as the Grail castle began to shift locations. Duval scowled again. It had been doing that a lot lately. In the last 48 hours he'd found himself in New Mexico, Prague, Ireland, Egypt, Tokyo, Sydney and London.
"It's all slipping away," he murmured. "I can't let it."
February 5th, Taos New Mexico
"No, Mr. Lexington," Preston Vogel said. "I assure you that this delay will not impact the LexPhone's launch next month. Our first wave is already shipping out, and will be in retail stores across the country by the end of February. The launch will go off without a hitch, I promise you. Cyberbiotics has just as much riding on this as you do."
Vogel hung up his LexPhone and turned towards Beth Maza, who had her arms crossed and was looking at Vogel with an unreadable expression on her face.
"Apologies, Miss Maza," Vogel said. "Business waits for no one."
"Right," Beth said. "So, the chamber?"
Vogel nodded and pulled out a handkerchief, covering his mouth as they entered the mineshaft. Vogel led Beth about a hundred feet into the mine, before turning a corner and pushing aside a tarp.
"We found this chamber only a few weeks ago. After our setbacks in Guatemala, as well as the launch of the LexPhone through our Partnership with the Lexington Corporation, the last thing Cyberbiotics needs is a PR disaster."
"Mmhmm," Beth said, entering the chamber and looking around. A large number of clay pots with intricate designs featuring images of Kachinas on them; Coyote, Raven, Gila Monster, Hawk, etc sat on shelves, clearly untouched for centuries.
"This is going to take a while to catalogue," Beth said quietly.
"Can we mine around the chamber?" Vogel said. "The Tellurium in the mine is a requirement for the mass production of the LexPhones."
"I thought you said that there wasn't going to be a delay?" Beth smirked.
"Not of the launch," Vogel clarified. "But further shipments are another matter, if our mining operations are staggered."
"You should be fine," Beth said tentatively. "Assuming that you don't run into any more chambers. That will definitely cause a delay. I'll have to carve out some time in the next few weeks to catalogue all of this."
"The University can have it, of course," Vogel said.
Beth paused, looking at a small lizard scampering up a nearby wall. "You have run an environmental impact study on the mine, right? Because I've never seen that lizard before…"
Vogel scowled at Beth.
"I work for the University, not you," she said shrugging. "I'm only offering suggestions, you're the one trying to avoid a PR disaster. I'm just here for the pottery."
"I'll look into it," Vogel sighed. "To confirm, I can tell the miners to return to work as long as they're careful here?"
Beth nodded, as she bent down and examined a nearby pot with depiction of Coyote on it.
February 5th, Edinburgh Scotland, Dalriada Broadcasting Company Corporate Headquarters.
Kate Reed sat at her desk, chewing on her pen as she looked over her notes. She was certain that this exposé that she was writing on O'Malley Shipping was exactly the thing she need to get noticed by the higher ups.
So engrossed in her work and the flavors of her pen cap that she failed to notice that someone walked up right behind her and was watching her pour over her notes, notecards, and sticky notes spread haphazardly about her desk.
"Ahem," a thick voice cleared his throat behind her, causing her to jerk violently out of her 'zone'.
"Yaz I told that I didn't want..." her words died on her tongue as she realized that it wasn't her intern standing behind her, but rather Donal Ferguson, the owner of the station.
"Eep," Kate squeaked.
"Oh don't stop on my account, Miss Reed," Donal said quietly. "I enjoy observing the creative process."
"You know who I am?" Kate squeaked again.
"You've made quite an impression on your directors and managers," Donal said. "'A real-go-getter that one', everyone says. 'Donal, you must keep an eye on Kate Reed; she's a real spitfire'."
"Uh-heh," Kate said, looking for all the world like a deer caught in the headlights of a truck. "They say that, huh?"
"Oh indeed they do," Donal said. "So I've been keeping an eye on you myself. I like what I've seen so far."
He nodded at her exposé notes. "How would you like to be the one to actually break the story?"
Kate let out a sharp gasp.
"I'm planning something for the website," Donal said. "A 24 hour news service online only. I need several fresh young go-getters to be the faces of the service."
Kate nodded, not fully comprehending.
"Here is a contract for you to look over this weekend and decide if you're interested," Donal said handing it to her. "You'll notice a significant pay raise on top of everything else. Let me know what you thing first thing Monday morning."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Donal Ferguson chuckled to himself as his limousine drove him from his studio to his estate house. He enjoyed the reactions of his employees when he gave them raises or promotions. It was his favorite part of his job. After all, what was the point of being the 16th wealthiest man in the United Kingdom if he didn't get to use the money for fun?
His limo pulled up in front of his manor house, less than a five minute drive from the DBC studios. His chauffeur exited the limo and Donal climbed out.
"Thank you Bennett," Donal said to his chauffeur as he made his way up the steps. "I probably shan't go out again tonight."
"Very good sir," his chauffeur replied.
Donal made his way inside to the main hallway, where a bright red-haired woman in her early 30s pushed a wheelchair with an older man in his 60s.
"Hello James!" he said brightly, bending down and looking at the older man. "And how are we doing today?"
"Not great," James muttered. "I'd like my real nursemaid back."
Donal glanced up at Miranda, the nursemaid. She let out a sigh.
"He's been like this all afternoon," she said in a crisp Yorkshire accent. "Absolutely convinced that I'm not me."
"Of course you're you," James protested. "You're just not her. Honestly."
"And he was doing so well too," Donal said shaking his head. "I had a completely lucid conversation with him just last week."
"You know how it is," Miranda said, sadly shaking her head. "Fits and starts. Hopefully this relapse doesn't last too long."
"See that he gets his meds," Donal said shaking his head again. "I'm going for a walk in the gardens. I'll be back in for supper in a few minutes."
Miranda nodded.
"I don't need my meds," James protested. "I need my nursemaid."
Donal shook his head and headed out through the parlor onto the veranda looking over his garden. He began walking down the stairs and into the garden at a leisurely pace, taking in the crisp cool night air.
He paused by the koi pond, noticing a thick mist had begun rising from the small pool. He cocked his head slightly to the side and looked confused as a thick solid shape began to form in the mist.
A moment later the mist vanished as quickly as it came, revealing a large skiff with three confused looking men on it.
"What on earth?" Donal asked. "Who are you, and...how did you get in my koi pond?"
"I'm afraid that's a bit of a long story," the oldest of the three said, a bearded man in his 50s or so wearing a blue trench coat.
"Wait..." Donal said, frowning. "I know you?"
He frowned. "I'm certain that we have not met, sir."
"No. No, we haven't met. At least not directly. But I do know you. Wyndon's Auction House, last year? No...Maybe two years ago? You were selling that incredible collection of sixteen near perfectly preserved 6th century welsh coins."
He blinked in surprise. "I...Yes, that is correct. I'm surprised that you know that."
"Well," Donal said smiling. "It helps that I was the one who bought the collection. Bit of an 'Antique Geek' if you will."
"Oh!" The stranger replied earnestly. "You would be Donal Ferguson then. I certainly owe you my gratitude. You paid more than we expected for the coins."
"I am Arthur Pendragon," Arthur said, turning. "These are my associates, Griff and Rory."
Donal took in the other two men climbing out of the skiff. Both appeared to be in their 20s, Griff had a green mohawk, but otherwise was dressed like a 1940s aviator, complete with bomber jacket and jeans. A green pendant dangled from his neck, which appeared to have a slight glow to it.
Rory was a red-haired irishman dressed in blue and green. A massive black Irish wolfhound with a topaz pendant similar to Griff's around it's neck climbed out of the boat and nuzzled against the young man.
Donal was dying of curiosity to know how they had just appeared in his koi pond, but he'd been dying to ask Pendragon a question ever since the auction, and his curiosity over that outweighed his current curiosity.
"Be honest with me Arthur," Donal said. "If I may call you Arthur. That wasn't the whole collection was it? There were more, weren't there? But you didn't want to flood the market and devalue the coins?"
Arthur looked surprised again. "There were, in fact, 40 coins total," he admitted. "The sixteen I sold to you; sixteen I donated to the Museum of Celtic Heritage at the behest of some friends of mine, and the remaining eight I keep for sentimental purposes."
"And in case of a rainy day, too, I'd imagine," Donal replied.
Arthur chuckled. "Perhaps. Though what you paid for the coins I sold had more than sufficed for my needs."
"The Museum of Celtic Heritage," Donal repeated. "A man after my own heart. Someone who appreciates a good antique."
Donal paused. "I say...would you like to see something special?"
Arthur looked at Griff and Rory for a moment, asking a silent question. Both shrugged.
"Why not?" Griff said. "It's your koi pond."
"Stay by the skiff, girl," Rory said to Barghest.
X X X
"Yeah no, that's all right," Jill said into the phone. "I promise he won't mind. All right, thank you."
"Jill!" Vanessa squealed as she practically bounced into the shop. "I had the BEST day at work. I love. My. New. Job."
Tyger and Dell looked up from their board-game. Dell was of Liam, Coco, and Amp's generation, one with a talent in magic, so she occasionally helped out in the shop. She looked like a Camelopard-A heraldic giraffe-and had large curving goat-like horns and dusky yellow fur. Both had cloaks on, but as there were no actual customers, they had settled in to play a board game in the corner. The board looked like a small section of Manhattan with three dimensional cardboard buildings spread throughout the board, multi-colored pieces, and a series of cards directing the gameplay.
"Glad to hear it," Una said, descending the stairs. "Ambassador Gates is treating you well then?"
Vanessa nodded vehemently.
"Who was on the phone? A customer?" Una asked Jill, who frowned in response.
"Er...um...no..." Jill admitted. "It was...Sakura. You know; the Japanese bird who keeps calling for Griff?"
"Oh..." Una paled. "Well...I...that is..."
"I gave her the number to Griff's LexPhone," Jill said. "So she won't be calling us anymore, I don't think."
"Right, good..." Una stuttered after a minute. Then she cleared her throat. "Tyger, Constance is going to be organizing patrols in areas where Wrecker users have been known to frequent. Check with her for your assignment. I...I'm going to go...look over that shipment of squid inkwells."
Vanessa looked at the three gargoyles conspiratorially. "What was that all about?"
"Well you remember what I told you about Griff's whole...deal?" Jill said.
"The time travel thing? Or the King Arthur thing?" Vanessa asked. "Because honestly...they're both pretty hard to take in. If not for the whole 'reincarnated fairy princess' thing, I'd have pegged you for nutters."
"The first one," Dell said.
"Right so," Jill said. "Back in 1940...Griff and Una were..."
"Shagging?" Vanessa asked.
"Gargoyles are monogamous," Jill said. "So no...or we wouldn't be in this weird place...But...they were close. Probs would have become mates after the war...But then Griff disappears..."
"That's the time travel part," Vanessa replied.
"Right," Jill confirmed. "Only we didn't know it yet. Leo is Griff's best mate. Una is his girl, but they never made it official, so to speak. They morn. They hook up. Leo and Una become mates, and then..."
"And then...Griff shows up again out of the blue, un-aged and...Oh..." Vanessa stumbled.
"And gargoyles mate for life," Jill repeated.
"Blimey." Vanessa murmured.
"I know Una loves Leo," Jill said. "But I don't think she ever got over being in love with Griff."
"And now this Japanese bird has come 'round," Dell commented.
"Sakura," Jill said. "From what I understand she's time displaced too. Different method, but same concept. She's late 1930s, Griff's 1940...they get on. Really well, as I hear it. Always chit chatting."
"And good for him!" Tyger interjected, crossing his arms and looking irritated. "Griff deserves to be happy too!"
"I don't think it's about happiness mate," Jill said shaking her head. "It's about the road not traveled you know? Feelings are messy. Even for gargoyles. There's always going to be a 'What if' hanging over the whole thing, you know?"
X X X
Donal handed Arthur a small wax seal stamp. The Once and Future King inspected it closely. Emblazoned upon the seal was an image of two knights riding atop a horse.
"It is an authentic Seal of the Knight's Templar," Donal said proudly. "Twelfth Century. Possibly owned by King Richard himself."
"The Knights Templar were a bunch of Crusaders who protected pilgrims traveling to the Holy Land, right?" Griff commented.
"I fear that my area of expertise is fourth and fifth century," Arthur commented. "My knowledge of the Crusades is fairly generic."
"That they were, and so much more," Donal replied as Arthur handed him back the seal stamp. "There's even an old manuscript...well here, let me show you."
Donal led them over to what appeared to be a book, housed within a glass casing. The book had a different crest on the cover; a Star above a Crescent Moon. Donal lifted the glass cover.
"This tome was written by the first grandmaster of the Templars; Hugues de Payens. It contains an accounting of The Templar's time in the Holy Land. There's only twelve copies of this book. I've been looking at some of the passages again recently. Some of them don't quite make sense. Payens makes references to an 'Enemy of Enlightenment' but its clear from context that he's not referring to any Muslim opponents. Ever since I got this book I've been a bit obsessed, I'm afraid. I just love a good historical mystery, don't you?"
Arthur, Rory, and Griff exchanged a glance.
"Might I read some of the relevant passages myself?" Arthur asked.
"It's in Latin," Donal said.
"I can read Latin," Arthur said.
"Well I should hope so," Donal said, gesturing with one hand towards the book.
"I'd REALLY like my real nursemaid back!"
Donal sighed, and then cleared his throat.
"Arthur, Griff, Rory," Donal said. "This is James. He's my cousin, of a sort. Distant cousin anyway. My great-uncle's nephew on the other side if the family."
"Hullo!" James said, wheeling his wheelchair into the sitting room.
"He suffered a head injury many years ago," Donal said. "I watch over him because he's family. James, where is Miranda?"
"That's what I want to know!" James said.
"Miranda is his nursemaid," Donal explained. "She should be about, somewhere. Probably had to nip off to the loo or something."
"That man has wings," James said, pointing at Griff, who looked absolutely gobsmacked.
"Yes, that's an RAF pin on his jacket," Donal acknowledged.
"No, I mean he's got real wings. You just can't see them. But you can tell if you're paying attention," James clarified.
"There you are, James," Miranda came rushing into the room. "I turned around and he was gone-Oh! Sorry Mr. Ferguson...I didn't realize that you were entertaining."
Miranda's eyes suddenly locked onto Arthur, and then slowly looked at Rory and Griff. Her eyes narrowed when they fell on Griff, focusing intently upon the pendant around his neck.
"Please!" James said, rolling his wheelchair away from Miranda. "That's not my Nursemaid! It's a mask!"
"By the Stone of Destiny," Griff muttered. "If I'm wrong about this..."
Griff walked up to the nursemaid, and punched her hard in the face.
X X X
February 5th, Zen Garden, Ishimura
Hayashi quietly snipped away at a bonsai plant sitting on a small stand in the corner of the zen gardens. His ears twitched slightly. He smiled to himself.
"Hello young Cherry Blossom," Hayashi said. "Are you in need of meditation then? I can leave you in peace."
Sakura smile a politely cloaked her wings and bowed to her rookery father. "Of course not, honored father. Old Forest. I am merely…"
"Seeking to calm yourself after your phone call?" Hayashi suggested. "You must be quite smitten indeed, with this British Tengu."
Sakura blushed. "Am I that obvious?"
"I never saw you with this way with Kaze or Ike," Hayashi said. "All the better for them. They are quite happy with each other."
Sakura smirked.
"Tell me about your British friend" Hayashi said.
"He is a Samurai!" Sakura brightened. "Well…the British version, anyway. Knight I believe that they are called. He serves the Daimyo Pendragon. A legendary warrior from ancient Britain."
Hayashi chuckled. "You have always had quite the romantic view of the samurai, even as a hatchling."
Sakura suddenly frowned. "You don't think that this is the only reason for my interest in him, do you?"
"I can no longer see the stars, tell me young Cherry Blossom," Hayashi replied. "Are they bright tonight?"
"It is…actually overcast, Rookery Father," Sakura said abashedly.
"You didn't feel the need the need to lie to me just now?" Hayashi asked. "You've always valued being straightforward. I feel this is no different. This British Samurai you are taken with has chosen the Way of the Warrior. He swore his oath to Daimyo Pendragon-Sama. Does that not show you the value of his Character? You like him because is Samurai. He is Samurai because that is who he is. His chosen path."
"Thank you Old Forest," Sakura said smiling. "It does my heart good to know you still give wisdom to young foolish Tengu."
"We were all young and foolish once," Hayashi replied, returning to his bonsai plant.
"Father?" Sakura asked tentatively.
"Yes my rookery daughter?" Hayashi replied.
"Griff tells me of one of his own clan elders. A Tengu named Pog-Sama. I believe that you and Pog hatched in the same year."
Hayashi's one talon nearly lost his grip on his clippers.
"I should very much like to meet Pog-San some day," Hayashi replied. "It warms my own heart to know that there is another with as much wisdom and experience to share with the younger generation."
Sakura bowed and exited the zen garden, hoping to make her way to the village for some dinner. Her mind was already fantasizing about sushi from Jiro's restaurant when a loud WHAM sound from behind her startled her and caused her to leap about four feet into the air, instinctively drawing her sword, only to sheath it again upon gazing upon a short yellow beaked gargoyle. She had three-fingered talons, but five wing fingers on her pterosaur-like wings. She had very ornate multi-pronged horns, with a complex flower-crown woven all throughout it. And she was laughing hysterically at Sakura.
"Hana," Sakura sighed. The yellow gargoyle smiled brightly and began moving her hands in Japanese Sign Language.
"Hana, you know that I cannot understand you," Sakura said.
"'Most of the clan has gotten used to my pranks. Your reactions are hilarious'," Kawa said gliding down and landing next to Hana and Sakura. "Most of the clan understands both Japanese Sign Language as well as American Sign Language. Hana is fluent in both, and a few other variants. I can help teach you if you would like."
Sakura regarded the green gargoyle for a moment. She looked so much like Umi, Kai's mate, and her own closest rookery sister. Once anyway…Umi seemed so strange in her maternal role. Most of her siblings weren't the same. Kawa reminded Sakura of a younger Umi, though. With a few differences.
"You're not going to try and kiss me again, are you?" Sakura asked suspiciously.
Hana let out a squeak.
Kawa let out a groan of embarrassment. "No…Not in front of Hana…Now the whole rookery will know within two hours, and the clan will know by sunrise."
"She's deaf?" Sakura said.
Hana snorted and started giggling.
"She can read lips, Sakura," Kawa replied. "And now everyone will know my shame."
"There is no shame," Sakura said frowning. "I am not angry with you. If anything I am flattered."
Hana nodded and signed something to Kawa, who appeared to soften slightly.
"I am still ashamed that I forced my affections upon one who does not, and can not, return them," Kawa said. "I was dishonorable."
"I could use some tea," Sakura said smiling at Hana and Kawa, gesturing in the direction of a teahouse. "If my sister Raiko's tea making skills are anything like they were 60 years ago…"
Hana let out a squeak and rapidly signed something, and then held up two fingers.
"Only two?" Kawa replied. "Seems a little low. I say five."
"Are you two betting on how many teacups she'll break?" Sakura demanded.
Both Kawa and Hana nodded.
"I say seven."
X X X
"Why would you…" Donal Ferguson started to ask but then stopped. He stared askance at Miranda. And no wonder why, her face appeared to have rotated 90 degrees. She flailed about for a moment and then reached up and yanked the mask off, revealing her true, featureless face.
"Very good, mon chevalier Griff," a male's deep raspy french accent said. "But I suppose I really shouldn't be too surprised."
"Fantomás!" Arthur tossed aside his trench coat and drawing his sword. Donal Ferguson looked horrified and took several steps back.
"So you recognize me, then," Griff smirked.
"But of course," Fantomås said. "How could I not? After all, you are as they say celui qui est parti. The glamour charm is quite good. Merlin's handiwork no doubt."
"Okay what the bloody hell is that?" Rory demanded.
"Fantomás," Arthur said. "Assassin for the Illuminati Society. Mr. Ferguson, I'm afraid that I must insist upon getting you and your ward to safety."
"He's the reason you're really here, isn't he?" Donal said.
"Yes," Arthur said tersely. As he stood between Fantomås and Donal. Donal, for his part grabbed James's wheelchair and began pushing him out the side door to the den.
Rory let out a sharp whistle, and there was the sound of glass shattering. Barghest bounded into the room, barking, and growling at Fantomås who was looking around in a panic as Griff, Rory and the beast surrounded him. He closed his eyes and let out a sharp sigh.
"I surrender," he said, holding out his arms.
"You what?" Griff said.
"I am not so foolish as to try and fight my way past two gargoyles and a…" He glanced at Rory with an inscrutable expression, as if trying to place him. "Ancient Celtic Warlord, I am guessing, from your stance."
Rory looked absolutely baffled.
"So," Fantomås repeated "I surrender."
Arthur reentered the room, his drawn sword in one hand, his LexPhone in the other.
"Excellent to hear. The Squad of Redemption shall be here to collect you within the hour."
"That soon?" Griff wondered, keeping his Lightning Gun leveled at Fantomås.
"She was already relatively close," Arthur said. "They were on the Isle of Man investigating another Illuminati lead, something to do with an Irish Shipping company."
"Fantastique," Fantomås muttered to himself.
X X X
Donal Ferguson watched mist rise up around his strange visitors skiff, and then promptly vanish. He closed his eyes and scowled.
"I was wondering when you would show up," he said. "Do you want to explain what the hell an Illuminati Assassin was doing in my home? MY HOME? We have rules about this."
"I must apologize Donal," Mycroft Holmes said, stepping out of the shadows. "Fantomås was on a mission from me, with the intention of collecting information on the Knight's Templar. The possibility that there is a modern incarnation dedicated to…Interfering with the actions of the Society."
"So because I collect Templar artifacts, it led him here?" Donal surmised.
"That is my guess," Mycroft said. "I didn't exactly have much time to debrief him before Miss Canmore carted him off."
"He surrendered awfully fast for a trained assassin," Donal said.
"He's never been a man eager to get his hands dirty," Mycroft replied cooly.
"Or he wanted to go to whatever prison he was about to be carted off to," Donal replied. "Don't take me for a fool Mycroft. You're the one who taught me to read people, after all."
"It is interesting the Avalon brought King Arthur to your doorstep," Mycroft said. "Fantomås would not have been a threat to you unless he actually had some solid proof that you were a Templar. Despite what you may think, Hassan's assassins and the Society do not kill indiscriminately. It's supposed to be a last resort."
"If they come to my house again, for any reason," Donal said turning. "I will tell them who my ward is. Don't think that I don't possess the resources to reach out to them. I most certainly do."
"I heard his mental acuity was…improving." Mycroft said.
"Who do you think outed Fantomås to my visitors?" Donal asked.
Mycroft nodded and made his way into Donal's home, where James appeared to be playing a game of chess with himself, rotating the board and moving the pieces on both sides.
"Hello…James. Do you remember me?" Mycroft asked. James shook his head.
"Are you sure?" Mycroft asked. "We've met before. I…I brought you some newspaper clippings. True crime stuff. I'm told it's your favorite."
James nodded. "Check and mate! I lose!"
James then flipped the board over scattering pieces across the room. Mycroft sighed heavily.
"Sesame Street today is brought to you by the number '3', and the letter 'M'," James replied.
"I think he's relapsed again," Mycroft said sighing. "Nearly 100 years since his accident, and the Grail still refuses to clear his mind."
"Maybe," Donal replied. "But I suspect that he knows more than he's letting on. He caught on to 'Miranda' so fast, I can't help but wonder…"
"You think that he might be faking it?" Mycroft looked back at James, who was now attempting to gnaw on the white bishop.
"Stranger things have happened," Donal said. His watch chimed. "If you'll excuse me, I have a conference call scheduled. The work never ends, you know."
"I would like to spend a few more minutes with my brother, if you please, Donal."
Donal made his way out of the den and into his private office, where his phone had a green light blinking on one button. He reached over and pressed it.
"Monsieur Le Maire," Donal said. "I assume that you received my message?"
"Oui," Le Maire replied. "I am most interested to know more of your mysterious visitors."
"I think this is important, Le Maire," Donal replied. "I think we should pass this information on to the Grandmasters."
"Agreed my friend," Le Marie responded. "Whatever it takes to loosen our enemy's grip upon the world. And end the age of their Enlightenment."
Donal fidgeted with the Seal of the Knights Templar, and smiled.