The Brotherhood of the Dragon

Chapter One

Chapter OneAt the time I had thought it a dream, some spooky apparition of a sick mind. The distance of time has offered me some clarity on the subject, and I now understand the dream was indeed no dream at all, but rather a vision of things to come. Of course, with such things, once the meaning of the image was clear, it arrived too late.

To tell the tale with as little embellishment as possible—a long time failing of mine, I am afraid—it will be necessary to start at the beginning. Not the beginning of my own tale, mind you, as that is long and tedious and I fear it would have you in the land of Morpheus by the end of the telling. I’m speaking of the genesis of this tragic tale. I had been awake for some hours, though where I was, and in fact who I was, escaped me at the time. All I knew was that I lay in a large bed in an enormous room. Majestic windows full of light made up one wall, while the opposite was covered with fine paintings and tapestries. From the style I could tell that most were of some Eastern origin, though I recognised none of them. A single large mirror hung on the wall nearest the foot of the bed, and in it I glimpsed someone wearing a linen nightshirt, and their head was tightly bound with a bandage. With a start I realised it was my own image quizzically returning my gaze. The large red stain bleeding through the front of the bandage made it look more like some mystical turban you would find topping a street charlatan with all the magical prowess of a turnip.

On a side table lay a large earthenware jug that I hoped contained water, yet when I moved to pour myself a glass I discovered both my arms were tied to the posts of the bed, a fact that I had been oblivious to. Upon inspection I discovered my legs were afflicted by a similar fate. All this just added to the growing list of anxieties I started to suffer.

Since I was going nowhere, I busied myself inspecting the rest of the room. Having been blessed with astounding observational skills, it was now that I noticed the door at the far end of the room had opened at some point, and what I took to be the apparition of a well-dressed gentleman was now standing at the far corner of my bed.

‘I see you are finally awake.’ My new companion was a tall, powerfully built man with a bushy, handsome moustache. He looked to be long in years, yet he carried himself with the grace and energy of a much younger man. An ink-black top hat perched on a crown of silver hair added to the appearance of his age.

He pointed to my bound arms. ‘I’m afraid we had to place you in restraints for your own safety as we feared you might hurt yourself. You had several violent fits while you slept.’

‘I suppose a thank you is in order.’

‘Not at all, we were only too happy to help.’ The man smiled as he sat down on a small chair next to the bed.

‘With all the generosity you have already bestowed upon me, I feel guilty to ask a boon of you.’

‘Name it,’ he said, his grey eyes falling hard on mine.

‘I was wondering if I could trouble you for my name and current location. I seem to be having trouble remembering either at the moment.’

Several emotions ran across my benefactor’s face. First he seemed wary, then bemused. ‘Oh, my boy, what a predicament you find yourself in. Unfortunately, I can offer you no relief from your first question as I am afraid I have no idea who you are. As for the second, you find yourself in my care and in my house at Islington.’

‘London?’ I said, grasping onto the tiny piece of information like a life raft. ‘But how is it that I am here?’

‘I apologise, but that is a question you will have to find out for yourself. I made what inquires I could and have found out nothing. There has been no mention of anyone matching your description as missing. The only knowledge I have to offer is that my oldest daughter discovered your prone body before our gates. Fearing you dead, she had you brought inside. On inspection she found you to be very much alive and, except for the nasty blow to your head, in what appears to be exceptionally good health.’ He gave me a wink as he tapped his own head in the general area of my wound. ‘Bringing you inside, she also noticed the finery of your clothing and deduced that you must be a man of substance. On further inspection we could find no documentation nor any money, thus we came to the conclusion you had come afoul of one of the unruly characters that seem to populate the streets today. We put you to bed, where you have stayed for the last two days, and I must tell you we were growing concerned and had given you until this morning to show signs of improvement before we called for a doctor.’

A look of confusion and pain must have come across my face when the room began to tilt and spin. I felt myself falling back toward the bed as a wave of nausea washed over me.

‘Forgive me, my friend. I should have realised how weak you are. Lay back, sleep, and when you awake I shall tell you the rest of your tale while you take some nourishment. But for now, rest and worry about nothing.’

I later recalled that as my eyes closed the man gave me the most quizzical look.

* * *

When I woke again my room was bathed in warm, honey-hued sunlight. At the foot of my bed lay a pile of neatly folded clothes, and beyond that a small table with a single chair placed in a pool of light streaming through one large window held a tray covered with pastries and bread rolls. There was also a bowl of fruit and a large crystal jug containing what I once again hoped to be water. Seeing all this food brought me to the realisation that I was damnably hungry.

With care I extracted myself from the bed and was well pleased to find I was no longer bound to anything. I stumbled on weak legs toward the food-laden table, and once seated gorged myself on the banquet as though I had not eaten for days. If my generous host was to be believed, apparently this was an accurate statement.

As I ate my body seemed to respond. What had begun as hunger quickly grew to an animal type lust to feed. It was not until I had eaten every morsel on the table and drunk all the water that I felt close to sated.

‘That is what I like to see: a man with a healthy appetite. To me that above all else tells me that you, my friend, are on the mend!’

I slowly turned in my chair and gave my benefactor a nod as I wiped any remaining crumbs from my face.

‘I know, I know, you have many questions, but please dress and then I will give you a tour of my home. I think the exercise will do you some good and I will answer your queries as we go.’ At that he bowed and backed out of the room, closing the double doors as he went.

* * *

‘I must say it is a relief to be taking in some fresh air again.’ We both were taking a slow, steady stroll across an exquisitely manicured lawn. At the far end was a brick wall that encompassed not only the garden but also a series of buildings at the far edges. There was even a large glass greenhouse. ‘I do not mean to cast dispersions on your house, nor your hospitality, it’s more that I am relieved to be up and moving about.’

‘As are we to see you up and about, my lad,’ my host agreed, giving me a friendly pat on the back. ‘But now, if you feel reinvigorated, I would have you make acquaintances with the rest of my family.’

‘Indeed sir,’ I said with enthusiasm. ‘Lead the way so that I may have the pleasure and give my thanks to them.’

Walking about the house, my benefactor introduced himself as Dominique Stamford, and his magnificent home was called Stamford House. His family had once been one of the landed gentries that England once teemed with, but somewhere in the past some great uncle had invested most of the family fortune in the South Seas Company. When that particular financial bubble burst, it not only took down many of those in the government who had supported the shaky scheme, it also ruined a number of England’s older established families.

After all the debts were paid and more than a few family members had been sent to the New World to escape the clamouring hands of their vengeful family members, Stamford House, and only Stamford House, remained in the family’s coffers. To restore their fortune, the Stamford men entered the one business open to English gentlemen with little experience in anything other than being gentlemen: the military. Most never returned from serving queen and country in the distant corners of the empire, meaning the once numerous Stamford clan was whittled down to General Wilberforce Stamford, his only surviving son Colonel Dominique Stamford, and the colonel’s two daughters.

As the colonel guided me through a garden full of the most wondrous flowers and trees, he explained his father the general spent most of his time in the large greenhouse, and the old man had requested a meeting with me after I was done with the tour.

I have to admit, as lovely as the garden was, it seemed little more than a facade. It felt like the flower beds and sculpted hedges were trying hard to look like the grounds of an affluent household, and somehow were failing. There was something amiss here.

Between the trees and shrubs, I could see men whom I assumed were gardeners hard at work completing the upkeep such a field of beauty required.

‘Through here, my good fellow.’ My host gestured toward a pair of large glass doors facing the lawn. We passed through these and entered a room so large I estimated it ran the entire length of the house. The interior was well appointed with fine furniture, an abundance of art, and the curtains were drawn across the large windows, darkening most of the interior.

‘This is the Great Dining Hall,’ Stamford noted as we walked in. ‘And this is Beatrice, my wife.’

I stepped forward and clasped the hand of the young blonde woman before us, slowly bringing it up to my lips. ‘My lady, I wish to thank you for allowing my recuperation in your lovely home.’

In the flickering light of the numerous lit gas lamps Beatrice Stamford proved to be a most handsome woman; her linen and lace dress hugging a body full of curves and hidden promises.

‘My, how gallant.’ She smiled warmly. ‘A trait most uncommon these days.’

‘Sadly the times we live in, I am afraid.’ I released her hand and raised my head slowly to ensure no ungallant swoon. ‘The hustle and bustle of this modern metropolis seems to have weeded out most of the niceties we once had time for.’

‘Well put,’ agreed the colonel. ‘We are indeed living in a time that seems to be losing its grip with its past in order to run toward a supposed wondrous future.’ His sarcastic tone hung there for all to hear.

‘Change is not a bad thing, in moderation,’ I said, happy to be holding a conversation that did not require knowing my name or about the condition of my head.

‘I fear my husband mourns for a time gone by when life seemed simpler,’ Beatrice admitted, looking with sympathy at the man standing by her side.

Next the colonel presented a young woman who entered the room who must have been near the same age as Mrs Stamford. ‘This is my youngest daughter, Lucinda.’

‘Pleased to meet you.’ The girl smiled and took my offered hand. Her skin was the colour of fine porcelain and her dark, watery eyes were deep pools that any man with blood running though his veins would happily dive into. ‘I apologise that my sister Robyn is not here at the moment, but I am sure she would be pleased to see you up and about. She was the one who found you outside.’

‘Thank you. I hope to catch up with her at some stage and pass on my appreciation personally for recusing me from my stricken state.’

‘I am sure Robyn will show up eventually to accept your thanks, but for now we have no time for such idle chat.’ The colonel took a seat at a table, followed by the two ladies, that was large enough to operate as a raft if London should ever flood. ‘We have an injured guest with a most urgent problem.’

‘Is that so?’ asked Beatrice, turning her intense gaze toward me. ‘And what, pray tell, would that be?’

‘Our guest has no memory of who he is, much less how it was he arrived here.’

‘Really? How extraordinary.’ She giggled with delight.

‘Beatrice,’ Lucinda gasped, then bestowed a sympathetic look on me that could have melted granite. ‘That must be terribly … confusing.’

‘Well, it certainly has not been the most pleasant feeling, but I must say my present company is doing much to alleviate any anxiety I had been suffering.’

Barely had I got the words out when a loud crash pierced the pleasantness of the table. Through one of the side doors to the dining hall, about half a football field away, clattered the remnants of what must have been afternoon tea. Through the chaos of broken crockery and shattered finger sandwiches and cream cakes tip-toed the woman I assumed to be Robyn.

Wearing a blue dress that highlighted her sky-blue eyes, the colonel’s eldest daughter seemed to be at least the same age as her mother, though far less … graceful.

‘Father, you really have to do something about these servants.’

Behind the girl, a maid and butler darted about the doorway, snatching up food and porcelain shards before they could be trampled into the rug or scratch the room’s gleaming hardwood floor. I noticed the butler gave Colonel Stamford an odd look of exasperation, suggesting the entire affair had been Robyn’s fault. The look Stamford gave back was one of sympathy, as though he knew it was, but what could he do?

Lucinda was out of her chair in a flash and gave her big sister a warm hug. ‘Look who is finally up,’ she said through an embrace that was not enthusiastically returned.

Unprompted I stood, walked over to the sisters, and took the older girl’s hand. ‘I believe it is to you that I owe my rescue and subsequent good fortune.’

Robyn returned my warmth with a long, cold look before curtly pulling her hand back and walking past me. ‘It was nothing. Charles did most of the work.’

Dumbfounded at the lack of civility, I tried to mask my shock by asking the others, ‘Charles?’

‘Grandfather’s batman,’ Lucinda explained, taking up my recently discarded hand and leading me back to the table.

As we sat a new service of tea and cakes arrived and everyone helped themselves. I sat down to a steaming cup of black tea and a bun, whose twin I had seen roll through the door, across the floor and under a sofa just a few minutes earlier.

‘It would seem I owe this Charles a thank you as well.’

‘Thank the help?’ Robyn gasped, refusing a pastry and sipping from a cup of black tea. ‘You will next say we should thank the tree for the apple or the cow for the milk on the table.’

‘Civility is never a coin misspent, Robyn.’ Mrs Stamford smiled, though her eyes suggested she was far from pleased.

‘And when I need advice from you, Beatrice, I’ll be sure to ask for it.’ The hard way Robyn bit out her mother’s name made the growing tension between the two women practically palpable.

‘Not at the table, ladies, not today,’ ordered the colonel from under his twitching moustache. ‘We have a guest.’

Clearly unconcerned about what I saw or felt, much less what her family thought of her, Robyn picked up her cup and drained it. She then stood and stalked out of the room without another word. The servants who encountered her during this awkward retreat made sure to give the girl a wide birth.

‘I apologise for my daughter’s behaviour,’ Mrs Stamford said with a gracious smile. ‘She’s been going through a rather tough time.’

Lucinda leaned in and whispered in a voice everyone at the table could clearly hear, ‘Her fiancé ran off with her best friend.’

‘That’s enough of that,’ the colonel said to the girl, though with none of the anger he had just laid upon the two older Stamford women. Already it was obvious the angelic Lucinda was the apple of her father’s eye.

‘Well, it’s true.’ She smiled coyly, biting into a pastry as a large, balding, uniformed man entered the room and asked for my attendance. With a last sip of tea, I stood, thanked the Stamford family again for their kindness, and followed close behind to visit with General Stamford.