Treasures of the Lost Knight

By T. J. Garrison

When fate shipwrecks your life, hunt for the treasure. When a young teen is uprooted with his family from his home after a mysterious tragedy, he discovers a dark secret and its ties to an ancient treasure that holds the power to potentially conquer nations and transform the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781620955833

Book preview

understanding.

CHAPTER 1

ONCE UPON A NIGHTMARE

Ekaterinburg, near Siberia, Russia. July 16th, 1918

Which of your daughters will you choose to die? asked Dr. Bortkin, the emperor’s personal physician and friend.

Deep worry furrowed Nicholas' brow forming troughs of sweat on his forehead. His bushy black mustache partially covered the heavy frown he wore.

You wanted to see us, Papa? asked Anastasia.

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes as if all the worries she had ever known in her entire sixteen years came to weigh upon her this night.

Her brother, Alexi, stood next to her in the second floor hallway of the large nineteenth century inn. Three times more alert and three years younger, he stepped to the window as he heard a soft thud outside. Nicholas paused to listen like a deer alert to the breaking of a twig.

Alexi peered out through the inn's frost etched glass. He saw soldiers jumping from the back of their truck into the moonlit snow below him. It's okay, only more guards for us, Papa, all's safe.

Nicolas came to momentarily look sullenly out the window with Alexi. But he fixed his gaze on a thicket a short distance away and the shadows within it.

So nearly in time. Yet, too late, Nicholas said quietly before returning to where his daughter stood.

Nicholas brushed the soft, coiled locks from his daughter's sleepy eyes with a greater sense of urgency. You have always been the adventurous one my dear, he said. That is why I must send you and your brother ahead before us.

"But we're going to England together," she corrected, staring at the patriarch.

Your Excellency, interrupted Boris the assistant, coming from up the hallway, there's no need for any sacrifice. I could -- Her father glanced nervously at Boris, a loyalist who still had allegiance to the recently deposed Emperor.

You may be wise my friend, but your heart isn't as noble as Alexi or even my daughter. Nicholas took her chin into his hands and again spoke to his daughter. There is very little time. You must go with Mr. Boris. You're such a smart young lady now. I'm trusting you.

We must go now, interrupted Boris as the report of military boots announced their approach from the lobby downstairs.

I'm sending the items we discussed along with you, said Nicholas, talking all the faster.

They’ve arrived? Father, that’s wonderful you could –

If I go now, we risk their discovery and capture by those who guard us.

But father, his daughter still protested.

I remain and they suspect nothing.

No, they…frighten me father.

You must protect them and keep them safe until you… we, until we arrive in England. Can you do that? For your father?

But I don't understand, replied Anastasia.

Mr. Boris will explain all on the way, but before Nicholas could finish, the approach of boots echoed up the stairs all the louder drawing closer. Nicholas hugged his daughter and tousled Alexi's hair for all too brief a moment. Boris opened a loose panel in the inn wall that revealed a solid cement slab, I could've sworn there was a secret passage here.

Obviously you've never had children breaking things in the house, and with that, the czar pulled the mace from the suit of armor's hand. Its large steel ball with spikes was attached to a wooden handle. The suit of armor, now off balance, tipped forward. Its feet were still attached to the large pedestal that toppled over and revealed a hidden hinge beneath and a spiral staircase below. Boris herded the bewildered youth down into the blackness, prodding his new reluctant charges with his big burly arms.

Dr. Bortkin rested his hand on the czar's shoulder as the czar righted the armor to cover the escapees trail. He replaced the mace in the grip of the armor suit's chain mail glove and they looked on after them with the soldiers' boots now upon the floor behind them.

My kingdom is lost and perhaps now my children too, he said.

The doctor only smiled at his friend, But now the world has a slim chance, no?

The Russian soldiers gripped their bayonet-equipped rifles anxiously and surrounded them in the hall. Their Sergeant stepped forward, Your Majesty, please, you must gather your family to the basement immediately.

Outside, Boris emerged alone with his fist clenched at his side and slightly ahead of him. It was as if he was taking an imaginary dog for an evening stroll toward the bushes beyond. Once there, he pulled his fist back violently. There materialized Anastasia and her brother. Quickly, Boris folded up the cape within his tight grip and was careful to keep it inside out lest it disappear completely from sight.

The little Grand Duchess was rushed to one of two ready carriages that waited behind the dense thicket. Boris handed Alexi off to a loutish coachman who growled, I thought the girl rides with me?

Change of plans. Take the young prince and be careful, snapped Boris in a low voice without pausing for a moment, Keep the key from the lock. Boris reached up and tapped the carriage roof's luggage rail for emphasis.

I will not be separated from my brother.

Your Highness, please, came a soft male voice.

She knew that soft voice from atop the carriage roof and turned to delight at the face of Yuri!

You must be quiet Your Majesty, whispered the young sailor as he pulled tight the leathers that bound the shrouded crates and adjusted a small strong box embossed with the royal seal.

You are to call me Anastasia, she said flatly as she stepped up onto the carriage door runner to get a closer look at the handsome young man she knew was a sea cadet in her father's navy. But before she could engage him further, he dropped into the driver's seat and picked up the reins.

A crack of the whip and the carriage with Alexi pulled away, his hands slapping against the carriage door window in bewilderment.

Wait, cried Anastasia. Boris shoved her from behind and she fell into the carriage striking the floor with a very un-royal-like thump.

Watch your step, Your Highness, Boris said coldly, as he slammed the door shut behind her. Then he tossed up the folded cape to Yuri who concealed it within the other luggage items.

Two guards left to keep watch outside of the inn stood by their truck, watching the carriage with Alexi speed away. They yelled for the driver to halt but the carriage was already almost off the grounds. They looked at one another and knew their fate should they fail, for Bolsheviks were least merciful to their own when dissatisfied. In their dilapidated Ford Model T truck they gave chase on the bumpy road as one hung out the passenger door window and tried to squeeze off a shot at the fleeing coach. However, for all the bouncing of the vehicle, he might well have saved time by not aiming at all.

Anastasia pushed herself up from the floor of the coach and raised her head to press her face against the frosted glass of the carriage door in a vain attempt to make contact with Yuri up on the driver's seat. She tried to open the door latch. Locked. She watched the scene beyond unfold in shock and horror, as the guards pursued her brother. Then the truck lights disappeared around a small hill after Alexi's coach.

Boris swung himself up onto the coach to sit next to Yuri, grumbling, "The luggage had better be as secured as the princess." With a snap of the reins, the horses bolted away from their station.

Anastasia slid a window open on the side of the carriage. She leaned her head out and called up to the two men, What are you doing? Where are we going?! But the only reply was a simultaneous volley of shots that thundered as an explosion rang out from the inn’s basement window as her carriage passed it in a direction opposite the one taken by Alexi's. Anastasia ducked back in the carriage to look behind, peering through the very tiny rectangular window in the rear wall. There at the place her family had stayed, they were the only guests. In her wide tearful eyes, the fierce glow of the reflected lights from the inn faded as the horses continued their mad run into the darkness of the cold Siberian night.

Present Day

All were executed, said Ms. Lipsconner, teacher and thespian wannabe, who looked out the small glass window in the classroom door and paused long for dramatic effect. Not one of the family members or their personal staff escaped, she continued, all the while marching before her class with the air of an Eastern European soldier. Her subpar, overblown acting skills were the reason she was quickly rejected at every casting call she ever tried out for, but as a teacher, she had a captive audience before her. Like a duck with an attitude, alternately strutting a straight leg out and planting her foot as a Bolshevik guard, she reached up and tore the Romanov crest off the hanging wall map. Thus ended the reign of the Romanov dynasty and cemented the installment of the rule of the Bolsheviks and the beginning of Communist Russia.

She loudly stomped and ground the crest beneath her heel for her captive audience and to startle Felix, who was caught obviously elsewhere in thought. He hastily raised his hand not knowing what to ask but rather to throw Ms. Lips off the trail. Any question would do. It just had to be something that was said to give the appearance of being there in concentration.

Yes, Mr. Gannon? Ms. Lipsconner inquired.

I thought that you said that they were being taken to London, England. Felix remembered hearing something said, out of the ether of his thoughts, about England.

If you were paying attention instead of daydreaming, Mr. Gannon, she continued, you'd know that in fact, I said the navy ship that was to collect the family, never got them.

Felix was a young tween who hadn't been daydreaming in class but rather daymaring. He played out this day repeatedly in his head. His last day in Ms. Lipsconner's eighth grade class - not too bad - he was leaving. His last day on this continent - worse. His last day of life as he would know it - frightening. He thought those who didn't know ahead, of the upheavals in life, were lucky. When life hits them, those people, he reasoned, could just react without having to chew on it for days on end making it twice as worse. Then, he remembered his mother.

Except for Anastasia like in the movies, said Noreen, a 'kiss-up' who always spoke while raising her hand without waiting to be called on, she escaped.

No, though they were missing for years, they've recently found her and her brother's remains, too, said Ms. Lipsconner, mildly annoyed at the fact her star pupil had missed that fact and had taken the heat off of Felix for the moment, DNA evidence confirmed it.

Torpedoed, thought Felix as he watched the little miss know-it-all sink in her realization she was wrong. The day would not be a total loss.

But it was now another day over, as the bell rang and the kids grabbed their books to head out.

Ms. Lipsconner? asked Felix, You hoped to be an actress didn't you?

Lipsconner smiled for the first time in a long time as the natural lines of her face didn't quite seem to know which way to break. I'm glad you became a teacher, said Felix as he walked through the door leaving her not quite certain if he had given a compliment or curse. Felix was one student she could never be certain about. It was the one thing she had in common with his fellow students.

But of all the people who were not quite certain of Felix, most of all, it was Felix. Not quite certain where he or rather his life, fit. It didn't seem to fit his classmates. It didn't fit the jocks - they never included him unless they needed an extra team body. It didn't fit his teachers - they'd gloss over his take on things - and it didn't fit with the thugs or the cools. In short, Felix was a deviant's deviant, by virtue of his not fitting anywhere.

That's why for the first time, he joined the school baseball team, though more for his parents who tried to get him involved socially. He didn't feel like he quite belonged. But he felt good when he got something, even when that something was only an unintentional walk. It was something real he could see - his achievement recorded on the scoreboard. Something tangible when important things in his life had become intangible.

Wake up, Gannon, yelled the coach, you're up.

Home run and we're still in it, Gannon, called Lance, a muscle headed jock.

Felix swung his bat more as he thought about what it would mean to get a homer for the tying run. The pitcher let the first throw fly while Felix walked across the right-handed batting box. Striiike! called the umpire. Felix glared at the pitcher for the cheap move and his teammates cringed at his not paying attention.

"Walk around to the lefty's box!" yelled the coach.

Felix dug his cleats into the dirt at the plate. The pitcher set about to deliver a fastball and again threw heat. Felix kicked in its afterburner as the ball rocketed off his bat into the deep outfield. He dropped his bat and ran quickly, rounding the first two bases while his opponents scrambled for the ball.

Go home! Go home! screamed Lance from behind the third base line.

Going home again made Felix think about his impending move with his family as he rounded third and set his sight on home, on scoring. He was finally going to get this one. Felix slid but the throw was a little faster.

Out! called the umpire.

The coach came running out of the fenced dugout area, C'mon Ump, he was safe!

The umpire just stood his ground. Hands on his hips like all challenged umpires do and shook his head in the negative and said, You could even ask the kid on that one.

Tell him, shouted the coach, "safe, wasn't it?"

Felix looked at the waiting eyes of his teammates.

He's going to blow it, whispered the outfielder.

Felix was fighting to get out the words I was safe. But he knew the truth. Truth was the thing that Felix stuck to since his mom left. All the theories, all the whispered accusations and all Felix wanted was to learn the truth.

He got me, Felix said softly as his teammates reacted with disbelief at what they saw as high treason.

Wha'd you do? Lance screamed crumpling the bill of his cap, though more because of the honesty of Felix than the tag out.

You said to go 'home,' said Felix.

"Why don't you just stay home?!" Lance shot back as he raised up his hands in disgust and his teammates gathered their gear.

Two of the teammates chuckled between themselves as they quickly stashed a spray paint can in their gear bag and left Felix standing alone at the plate while the other team carried off their catcher in rousing victory. Alone except for Milton, an odd young lad with button down shirt and leather shoes that snap buckled on the side. His glasses were too big for his face and seemed to hide beneath his rather large and jutting forehead. He cautiously approached Felix after the others had moved a safe distance away.

I just wanted to say I'll miss you, Felix, Milton said.

Felix looked over his shoulder to make certain none of the others heard the whiny good-bye, as that would be instant death, and to which he replied, Milton, don't make me hurt you.

I mean it. Without you around, I'll be the sole loser. Who else will people make fun of? Talk about, when they're not around? My life just got ten times worse.

Felix sighed and took off Milton's geekish glasses then dropped them on the ground and stepped on them. The shatterproof lenses scratched and had popped from the frames - cracked and bent.

Hey! cried Milton.

"Tell your mom I broke them. …Won't matter anyhow. Go pick out a cooler pair. Something that fits for Pete’s sake. Do something for once. To help yourself."

Milton stared at the optical remains in his hands while Felix left the field for the fenced area that was the dugout. He picked up his glove and his bat, its rich wood grain pattern ruined by the freshly sprayed pink letters that crudely spelled, LOSER on the finish that he tried in vain to wipe off.

As Lance was almost out of the park with the others he left Felix with this, No wonder his mom ran out on them, making the others laugh, Yeah, said another, too embarrassed.

Felix wished, that was all it was, just a mom getting a little distance - running foolish errands to blow off steam as parents sometimes do. But this was an eighteen month errand now. Felix had questions, but the police had more.

They questioned his dad. They questioned him. They questioned the neighbors. If his little sister was old enough to reason, they would have interviewed her. What's more, it made him even question other things more. Was it because of some argument between his parents? Was it something he did? Or maybe something he didn't do? Or was she injured and suffering from amnesia somewhere?

Before the last and most unthinkable thing that may have happened to his mother could fill his mind, the reality that was unfolding came into view as he rounded the street corner. He saw their van stuffed with their suitcases, boxes and belongings.

Continuing, he trudged up the walkway and into the open garage. The neighbors across the street pointed and shook their heads. They made certain to avert their gaze and go back to their meticulous lawn care when Felix caught them, like dogs checking scraps at the curbside.

Inside the kitchen, Felix was confronted with more boxes. Felix, make sure you pack your baseball stuff in the right box, called his father Daniel, from the next room.

Bypassing the box with the words, sports gear, in magic marker clearly on it, Felix deposited the bat and glove into the trash can. He took a few steps then doubled back to it as if he had another thought. He reached down and pulled out an old slingshot. Parents always get rid of the cool stuff, he thought. He stuffed it into his back pocket and hurried up the stairs to run into his room where he flopped onto his bare mattress.

The sheets and bedding had already been stripped off to be packed away. Empty mounting hooks on the walls remained protruding in anticipation of the posters and pictures that they once hung. Felix pushed a photo frame, the last item that remained, on the empty plastic milk crates next to his bed.

The sun beamed upon it. His mother liked the sunshine. He stared intently at the glossy eight-by-ten picture of the pretty lady holding Adora, his then baby sister and Felix standing next to her. A sparkle reflected in her eye and matched the glimmer from the three silver flat square cameos alternating with small dark stones, strung on the choker around her neck with their names etched on each of them. He clutched the picture tightly, turning his knuckles white.

Please, God, he said, "I need a miracle. Please." He had no sooner spoke this than there was a loud pounding on the front door. Felix moved the photo on the crate again closer to the window and ran downstairs as his father was opening the door.

3-year-old Adora peered shyly from around her father's leg. Clutching his trousers at the thigh, she stared up at the burly sheriff's deputy on the porch.

Mr. Gannon? asked the deputy.

Yes, Officer?

Please step out onto the front porch with your family, sir.

Daniel picked up Adora as Felix followed. He