The Grand Master smiles without a hint of warmth.
‘I’m afraid your travels are not over, Brother Thom,’ he says.
Thom shifts. He expected this to be a moment of triumph. He anticipated elevation within the order. Something is wrong. He momentarily hopes he won’t have to return to Scotland. His legs suddenly feel sore from the long ride. Perhaps, he thinks, he ought to have bathed.
The Grand Master takes the crown and examines it. He lets out a short and violent tut.
‘Master...’ Thom cuts in. The man surely does not understand what he has achieved. Thom wants to explain the lengths he had to go to, the lack of support from Angus McGhie, the amount of money he expended. The hardships he endured. The McKenzie women’s wickedness and how, finally, he triumphed.
The Grand Master wraps the crown back in its linen. ‘We’ll have to release it to the Tower of London,’ he says. ‘To save our embarrassment.’
‘Embarrassment, sir?’ Thom isn’t following. ‘Do you mean after everything I’ve done, we aren’t going to keep it?’
‘Everything you’ve done? You killed a man, injured another two and’ – the Grand Master lifts a letter from his desk, one which is graced with the seals of not one, not two but three bishops – ‘repeatedly attacked an elderly nun. You kidnapped amarried lady. You misled a magistrate. As far as I can see, you didn’t even think to hide your actions. Good God, you might as well have invaded with an army, Harry. Cromwell did less damage in Scotland. I told you to be an ill wind not a damn hurricane.’
‘But I got it!’ Thom objects. ‘I wouldn’t have got it otherwise.’
The Grand Master sighs. He doesn’t intend to argue with this brute, a personage he’s clearly over-advanced in the order’s business. Thom’s father was the same, he recalls. Poor decisions made under pressure. It’s perhaps in the breeding.
‘I’ve given an undertaking that you’ll leave the country,’ he announces.
Thom’s temper flares. He’ll not be set aside like this. ‘How dare you treat me like an errant schoolboy after all I’ve done,’ he snarls. ‘This is nothing but lily-livered nonsense—’
‘You idiot,’ the Grand Master snaps. ‘I’m saving you from a murder charge for which you would most assuredly swing. I want you to understand I’ve not done this for your benefit, but for ours. Let that be an end to it.’
Thom’s jaw hardens. ‘I shan’t leave. My home is here. You said there’d be a reward. You promised advancement.’ The Grand Master doesn’t grace this with a reply. Thom, furious, pulls a knife from his jacket. ‘A Hermit always keeps his promise,’ he growls.
The Grand Master has had enough of this debate. He considers it beneath him. He’ll not be threatened, here, in his own inner sanctum. He unholsters a pistol concealed under the altar with one hand and with the other raps Thom’s fingers sharply with his walking stick. Harry drops the knife.
‘The palace shall have the crown. That will be the forfeit. Don’t put yourself in a position where you must forfeit something greater. Go home,’ the Grand Master says. ‘Have them pack yourthings. You know where to get help while you’re away, should you need it.’
Thom nods. The order has outposts. His family has friends.
‘I’ve had funds made available, but if you’re not gone by sunset tomorrow, they’ll be withdrawn and I’ll do no more for you,’ the Grand Master adds.
Thom turns. For a moment he thinks he’ll walk out of the lodge. He imagines going to Rome and the dark-eyed women he might demean there. He’s heard of brothels on the Arno where girls are bought as slaves and must do whatever you want. He almost takes a step towards the door. But then fury overtakes him. He’s done everything the master asked. He captured the crown of the Stuart queens. He outfoxed the Jewel Keepers. He should be covered in glory, yet the master has just treated him like some kind of novice. A mere child. He picks up his knife and turns. If the Hermits don’t value his contribution, he’ll take the damn crown with him, by God. He moves fast as a phantom, brandishing the blade as he knocks the master’s gun to the ground. He kicks the ceremonial staff across the floor, reaching for the bauble and pushing the Grand Master away simultaneously. He’s a young buck at the height of his power. ‘I deserve respect,’ he barks. ‘You couldn’t have done it without me.’
The Grand Master doesn’t panic. He observes. ‘Put it down,’ he says, his tone tart as he draws himself up.
Thom laughs. ‘I’m not a dog, old man. I can’t be trained. I defeated the McKenzie women. That’s more than anyone else has ever managed!’
He never thought in a thousand years that he’d speak that way here, of all places. He’s always respected the order. It’s been bred into him.
‘Put it down,’ the Grand Master repeats coolly.
Thom moves forward. He presses his knife to the old man’s neck. His eyes shine, the tradition of respect melting away. Perhaps there are no boundaries left, he thinks. ‘I remind you, you’re unarmed,’ he sneers. He’s about to break the skin, when he feels cold steel against his jugular. Glancing over his left shoulder, he sees the servant has a blade too. Thom jabs backwards with his elbow, like a piston, and the servant falls to the floor. He turns once more to the Grand Master, but the wily old fox has reached his gun.
‘I’m going to have to execute you,’ he says, cocking the trigger.
Thom is smiling. ‘Execute me?’
‘We haven’t had to deal with a traitor for generations. The tradition is for seven men to pull your heart out, here on the altar.’
A chill blooms in Thom’s blood, then he steels himself. He’s nothing to lose then. He makes to thrust the knife. But the master hasn’t lost the edge of his younger days. He fires without restraint. The lodge is well insulated. The walls are a foot thick. No one can hear what happens inside. He empties the barrel three times though his first shot goes through Thom’s heart.
‘Even your father would be shamed by your actions, Harry. Even he,’ the Grand Master tells the corpse.
He helps the servant to his feet. ‘Throw the body in the river,’ he says.
