Continue The Story: It Was a Dark and Stormy night.

Continue The Story: It Was a Dark and Stormy night. Attention Writers, Wouldabee’s, Wannabee’s, Amateurs, Hacks, etc. etc.

Now is your chance to perceive, pen and publish your punishing purple prose planetwide.
Just take the last line from this, or any post/comment and add your prose. No need for this turkey to come out linearly.

It was a dark and stormy night. The wind howled out of the north like a bereaved banshee, roaring over the moor, funnelling its fuming ferocity down the valley toward the opulent manor.

The gale twisted bits of flotsam, flora and fauna into the frigid air, creating a clammering cacaphony of wretched debris hurling headlong into the walls of the estate as if on some suicidal mission to find refuge.

Inside the manor Percilla pouted. Thurgood and Eason had undoubtedly cancelled their visit, since her butler had informed her earlier that the bridge had been washed out due to the storm.

The only other route was a narrow, twisted trail through the moors of which she was told no sane person would dare venture at night, much less in this weather.
And they could be such cowards at times, she thought, for she so looked forward to a rousing game of whisk.
Oh, bother. Nothing left to do but get tiddly.

She poured the sherry herself, as she had dismissed the servants early. Pressing her voluptuous lower lip to the edge of the glass, she took a long sip of the amber liquid while giving a blank stare toward the immense fireplace.

Percilla watched impassively as the flames flickered fluidly, like dozens of Dante’s dancing denizens, pirouetting upwards to a silent symphony.

She signed, placed the goblet on the table, which now was adorned with a baby's bottom of crimson on the lip of the leaded crystal.

Swiftly, Eason and Percilla located the ship listed on their tickets, headed out and bound for The Continent. The information on them showed that passage had only been arranged hours in advance, and it was obviously on the first ship available.

"Not POSH, by any near means, but then, it feels like were flying from danger behind", Eason said lightly.

"Or maybe, flying towards danger," Percilla said. Her eyes began scanning the arrayed ships, then alighting on one, "There it is, I believe - the S.S. Cypriot, bound to Cherbourg before evening."

Eason checked his watch. "The cabbie was right, we have some time before boarding but I think we'd best be aboard, though. The dock might be watched. And what if another contact awaits aboard? It might be prudent to find our next meeting."

Percilla considered this, and said, "You're thinking ahead, my friend, but not behind. Recall what the driver said, about the tea-shop? I think that we are to meet yet another contact there."

After a moment, Eason conceded, "Perhaps you're right. And he did mention a menu - 'the tea is hot, the ale’s strong, and they serve a good pork pie.' Perhaps that's the next sign? Let's go and find out."

Percilla followed Eason's lead down the street, and there, just around one bend and as the cabbie had said, stood a tea-shop, tucked away partly down an alley. The weather-worn sign above the entry declared the place to be -

"The Water Dragon! And, Eason, look there!" Percilla pointed to the top of the sign, where faded but plain, there it was: the Dragon-symbol!

"Well, if nothing else, I shall take it as a marker, that this is a safe place to await the off." And the two walked to the door, and entered.

Their eyes adjusted to the gloom, and took in the interior of the place. Tables and chairs were scattered over the common room, with a few chairs resting near a hearth and good fire. Twin doors led, apparently, to the kitchens, as youths in soiled aprons bustled in and out, laden with trays piled high with food and drink.

Eason conducted Percilla to a booth near the window, and within a moment of seating themselves, were met by an older lady, whom Eason took as the proprietress.

"Good arfternoon, Good Sair, an' Madam", she drawled in a thick accent, "an' what might ye be havin' thess day, eh?"

Eason spoke first, "Madam, this establishment was recommended to us, by a local cab driver. He made it a point to mention your shop, and told us that, oh let's see now - 'the tea is hot, the ale is strong, and they serve a good pork pie.' Is that a fair assessment?"

As Eason quoted the cabbie, the proprietress's face hardly changed, but her eyes reacted. Quickly, they began darting two and fro, quickly taking in Eason and Percilla, then the clientelle, then the doors to the kitchens, then the entryway.

"Roight y'arre, Sair, an' thos're fair wairds, sure, from thet cabbie o'yours. Now, might I not be clearin' up th'table, a bit?" And before she finished speaking, she had bent over the table, brushing aside some invisible mess, but showing an ample busom to Eason - including a coin-shaped medallion in her cleavage.

"Ar, silly me, me jewelry always gettin' in th' way!" she slurred, taking the medallion in one hand. "A pretty thing, ain'tit, Sair, see how it shines so!" And she extended the medallion for Eason's examination - back-side first.

Percilla followed Eason's lead, in producing the now-familiar counter-sign.

The proprietress's demeanor changed not a bit, but straighenting up, she produced two bills of fare from the folds of her apron, and said simply, "Thair y'are, Sair an' Madam, an' if I moight recommend t'the good Lady, read yer bill closely, like?" And with a whirl, she left the table.

Percilla, dutifully looking down the bill, and after a minute, looked over the paper at Eason, here eyes flashing.

"It seems, Eason dear," Percilla said, handing the bill of fare to him, "we've been contacted further..."

Percilla, dutifully looking down the bill, and after a minute, looked over the paper at Eason, here eyes flashing.
"It seems, Eason dear," Percilla said, handing the bill of fare to him, "we've been contacted further..."

And Eason, taking the bill of fare from Percilla, began reading not the menu, but the hand-scripted message inside, while Percilla feigned interest in the patterns of sunlight in the glass. The top of the paper had the familiar Order of the Dragon crest, centered on the top like letterhead, and the following narrative:

THE WATER DRAGON, London, 17 May 1935

Unto Miss Percilla St. Cyr, of Maison St. Cyr, Hempstead, do I, Istvan Horvath, send greeting.

It is with urgent haste, and great trust to chance, that I leave this written message to you, while you are in flight from this land to the next. I regret that I cannot join you personally at this waystation on your journey, but our meeting will come soon, I give my word.

DO NOT BOARD THE CYPRIOT! Nor let anyone convince you to do the same. Just prior to your boarding time, a motorcar will approach you. The driver will contact you, in a manner you by now understand, and I bid you accompany him. He will conduct you to meet me, from where we shall make safer and more secure passage from this land.

I can well imagine the depth of your curiosity, at your new circumstances. I give my word to you, Ms. St. Cyr, that I shall answer each question you have, as well as I can contrive, upon our meeting.

“Devlesa avilan,”

ISTVAN HORVATH

"Eason, we have less than twenty minutes!" Percilla hissed. "We must leave!" Reaching for his watch, Eason saw that indeed, the time had passed swiftly. And from the docks nearby, a low thrumming horn sounded. The Cypriot was about to sail.

Rising quickly from the table, Eason and Percilla moved with urgency out of the Water Dragon, and retraced their steps back to the wharf where the ship lay, ready to depart. As they approached the quay, a motorcar pulled up to them, slowing then stopping. The driver, in a chauffeur's uniform, got out, moved around the side of the car to meet the couple. His face was a mask, without emotion. In his outstretched hand, lay the familiar coin.

Face first.

Eason saw. And guessed.

The driver's other hand was drawing out of the coat.

Eason's hand drew in answer.

A shot rang out.

And another.

Percilla shrieked, once, quickly cut off.

The driver's eyes widened, then faded as his knees buckled, sinking to the pavement.

Eason realized that he had only fired once. He turned, and saw a man, in a trenchcoat, a wide-brim hat pulled down over one eye, holding a still-smoking pistol, aimed at the driver.

The man's other hand held forth the coin, back-side first. Eason and Percilla responded.

"Come," was all their savior said as he whirled and strode toward a second car. Eason and Percilla followed swiftly and in shock. More surprise to come, though, as the car they were ushered into was a black touring car. On its sides, was blazoned a crest. The crest of the Church. And their savior, removing his coat, wore the robe and collar of a priest!

"His Excellency sends his blessings for you both, my friends," the priest said, "and it appears I arrived timely. But their is no further time, I fear. When the messenger fails to report, They will know. We must move swiftly."

Eason stammered, "But - but what happened back there -"

"Please, sir, no further questions until we're somewhere safe," the priest replied. Turning to Percilla, he said, "Your choice of guardsman was admirable, My Lady, but our resources must be employed now.Quickly, get in, and we shall leave."

So they did. And they were off. Percilla took one glance back, the ship pulling its gangplank away, the final horn sounding, and the other car still where it stopped. The body of the driver was masked by the car. And then they rounded a corner, and they were gone.

Down the winding London streets wove the black car, carrying Percilla and Eason from danger into the unknown. The couple sat together, hands entwined unconsciously, in the back seat of the car. Alongside them, at the other door, sat the priest who had rescued them.

"Father", Eason began, "thank you for that back there. But, you -"

"Killed someone? It was a necessity, my son," said the priest, "and one for which I shall perform a proper penance for my soul. And for his," he added. "Besides, had I allowed that deed to transpire, your questions would not have been answered - because the lady would not be alive to ask them. You were not the assassin's target - she was."

Percilla was pale and white, but not from fear, but from anger, boiling up from her heart and near to bursting forth. "I did not 'choose a guardsman', Priest. I asked my friend to accompany me on a journey, which he accepted. And now, you're saying that I am to be swept up in some conspiratorial tale, with events out of my control? I assure you, that will not happen, while I have a say in my own affairs!"

"And so you still do, My Lady," the priest said. "The time for your decision is almost at hand, and once made, will certainly put events "out of your control". Are you not aware of what your terrible power to decide can do?"

"Whatever are you talking about?" Percilla asked.

The priest turned to her, and said patiently, "Think, my child, on the very word, 'decide.' Its roots are ancient in language, but it comes from the same root as, 'to kill.' Suicide, Homicide - DE-cide. Choices and options die when a course of action is chosen. When you commit homicide, you kill someone. But when you decide, you kill all other choices but the one you have selected. So, when you decide, be mindfull of what you kill..."

"Now, we are almost at our destination. I will take my leave shortly, but I daresay we shall meet once again." Eason saw that he was right: the car was just now pulling up to a gate of iron and stone, ornate columns flanking the medieval-looking portcullis. A guard was barely visible in the shadow of the gate, but as the car moved inside, Eason noticed the plaque upon the wall:

"Hungarian Embassy."

**************************

The motorcar came to a halt outside a grand entrance on the Embassy Grounds. The priest got out, and ushered Eason and Percilla inside, passing through an opulent Victorian foyer and along a corridor leading away from the door. The Hungarian Embassy was an old building, a series of London townhomes with the adjacent walls removed or holed through for access. The trio entered an anteroom to the right, a room of oak panelling and sparse furnishing.

"Here, friends, is where I must part," the priest said simply. "Devlesa avilan, My Lady," he said to Percilla, who nodded her head at the familiar salutation. To Eason, he said, "Stay by her side. Protect her. She needs you." And he turned and left.

That phrase again, Eason thought. What significance, beside the obvious, I wonder...

Percilla began observing her surroundings. Accustomed as she was to English opulance, she was curious as to the spareness of the room. No unecessary funriture, no displays of diplomatic largesse; it would be proper to put forth some show of wealth, as befitting the impressions of international custom. But here, there was little to be seen.

"Eason," she said, "have you noticed, there aren't any windows, and only one door?"

"Yes", he replied, "but to keep us safely in, or others out?" Eason moved to the door, and seeing it was not locked, opened it a crack to view down the corridor. A single man stood nearby, partway down the corridor, watching both ways. The man made eye contact with Eason, briefly, nodding his head and motioning him back into the room. The message was polite, but firm: please stay where you are.

"I assure you that you are quite safe here, my friends. Diplomatic immunity, and all that!" came a voice from within the room. Eason stared around, and saw Percilla staring at a man who had entered the room, seemingly out of thin air.

"Welcome, My Lady, and Good Sir. My name is Horvath - Istvan."

Percilla was in the middle of her perusal of the anteroom, when she heard the grind of a door beside her, and turned to see one corner of a bookshelf rotate out on a hidden hinge, to reveal a passage behind it, and a man walking out into the room.

"I assure you that you are quite safe here, my friends. Diplomatic immunity, and all that! Welcome, My Lady, and Good Sir. My name is Horvath - Istvan."

Eason had turned from the door, and moved toward Percilla, standing next to her, protectively. He's suspicious, and rightly so, Percilla thought, with death or worse pursuing us!

"I ask you, be at ease, here," Horvath was saying, "for inside these walls, you are under His Majesty's protection, as are we all. Here, also, we might speak as friends, and in confidence." At this, he produced the coin, in its proper aspect. Percilla and Eason did likewise.

"Would you care for refreshment, either of you?" Horvath said. "If you follow me, please?" And he turned to the passage in the wall, beckoning them to follow. Percilla, her eyes flashing once more, stood her ground and did not move. Her composure returning, her tone turned biting.

"Not one step shall I take, Sir," she said, "until I get my answers! I demand to know why I've been brought here, by a foreign power, so it seems, and why we were assaulted, and what manner of enterprise it is, that I have seemingly stumbled into!"

Eason rose to Percilla's defense. "Sir, even though you have demonstrated your connexion to Percilla and I, can you not tell us more? We have so little information to go on. This whole thing started when Percilla's uncle died on her very doorstep -"

"Ah, yes, and the unfortunate circumstance that was," Horvath admitted. "Yes. It is time for both of you to know what it is, we ask of you. And, what your desity holds for you, My Lady St. Cyr."

"I am the Assistant Attache' to his Excellency, the Ambassador from Budapest to The Court Of St. James. As such, my schedule permits greater freedom of action, and allows me to assist The Order in its activities. We were alerted to your discovery of the document, and anticipated your departure, based on what we knew of your temperment, My Lady. We were fairly certain that you would set out to find more on your own, and expected that our resources would be required."

"You knew of our finding the scroll?" Eason asked.

"Certainly, young man," Horvath said. "As you shoulld have surmised, we have been following the descendants of Baron Mircea since his death, fifty years past. And it was Edgar who, unwittingly, set our plans in motion, thogh they are premature and forcing us to react, rather than act at a time of our choosing."

"Uncle Edgar knew of you!" Percilla said. "Of course! He was a member of The Order of the Dragon, all this time -"

"Yes, and no, My Lady," Horvath said. "Edgar was never a member of the Order, though due to his unique family connexion, he divined our existence, and our mission.

"There are three ranks to the Order: The Outer Court, the Inner Court, and the Elders. I, as a member of the Inner Court, have been charged with two missions: to ensure your safe passage out of England and on the next stage of your journey; and to bring you advise and counsel on what is to come."

"So, does this mean," Percilla said, "that Eason and I are now members of the Order?"

"Not precisely, no," Horvath replied. "While you, as the heir presumptive to Baron Mircea, have a blood claim to membership, and your friend, Eason, is your protector and companion, out of necessity you have only been presented with the lesser passwords, and knowledge of the Order. But neither of you is even inducted into the Outer Court - yet. Once I receive communication from the Elders, that staus most certainly will change."

"But, sir," Eason asked, "what IS the Order of the Dragon all about? It must be more than simply the continuation of an obscure noble family in Europe! And to have international reach and resource, as you claim, there must be more than what we already know!"

"Eason speaks for me, Your Excellency," Percilla said. "I, too, wish to know more. My mother and grandmother, apparently, knew of their heritage, as I now do. And there are forces involved who are willing to use deadly force to stop them from some unimaginable goal of their. Will you now make this plain, even to me?"

After a minute's pause, when Horvath called through the portal for drinks for them, he continued his instruction of Percilla and Eason, who were enraptured by the unfolding story:

"The Order of the Dragon dates back to the Fifteenth Century, when the Holy Roman Emperor, King Sigismund of Hungaria, along with Queen Barbara Cilli, formed the Order from members of the crowned heads of Europe. The Order's purpose and mission, was to "defend the Cross and to do battle against its enemies", wherever they might be found. These were the times of the Crusades, and the greatest threats to Christendom were the Ottoman and Turkish Empires, especially after the fall of Istambul.

"As the centuries passed, the Crusades ended, and the expansion of empires continued apace, but the Order fell into obscurity. But their purpose never changed: to defend Christendom. And the Order changed with the nature of the threat. Rather than leading the fight for temporal power, the Order recognized that the metaphysical threat was no less great. And that the natural world, might become the target of the forces of the supernatural, as well.

"So, the Order exists today, in the Twentieth Century, with its ancient purpose intact, but fighting a two-front war. Forces of one world will attempt to use power of the other world, for its planned confrontation. And the Order stands in their way, even now.

"You, My Lady, were born Percilla St. Cyr, of an English noble family. Your true bloodline, however, brings you in direct line of descent from Mircea Szilagy, who was Baron of Sibiu, and a Knight-Commander of the Order of the Dragon - and one of the last ones to hold the rank who possesed temporal authority as well as supernatural. The time and opportunity have arrived, Madam, to make claim to the Barony - and to the knighthood, and possibly help to restore some of the power and influence of the Order, so that the imminent confrontation with the Enemy will be successful!"

____________________________________________________

Then all three, as if by command, paused to sip their drinks.

Eason, with a serious eye, turned to Percilla then to the Assistant Attache’.

“In all due respect,” he said, in an acute manner, “so far all you have done is elaborate on this Order of the Dragon as you call it.”

Eason created a slight interim of silence to ponder his upcoming words. “However I, for one, am still in the dark on all that has transpired , and I daresay more now then when we started.”

“For one thing,” he continued, “If Percilla is, as both you and the document we unearthed stated, to make claim to the Barony, one would expect a full entourage of not only bodyguards but others of equal or greater nobility as we make our way to our destination. Which,” he added, “has yet to be divulged.”

“Please,” Horvath answered, “ I beg you two to be patient. All of your questions will be answered in due time, of that I promise. It is only due to the untimely manner of your discovery of the document that we behave in such a manner.”

Eason stated, “That still does not excuse - “

“At this moment, Father Patrick in on the telephone attempting to garner additional information,” Horvath interrupted, “And as soon as he is finished you must go with him to the docks. There is a boat waiting to transport you to the continent. On your way he will - ah, there he is.”

The man who foiled the would be assassin entered the room swiftly, gave a quick nod to Horvath then set his eyes toward Percilla and Eason. “Time is of the essence,” he told the pair. “We must go now. Quickly!”

Eason’s eyes widened. In the light and without the wide brimmed hat he wore throughout the car trip, he revealed a shock of crimson hair, ruddy freckled complexion and bright blue eyes.

“Your bags are in the truck,” the Father said, “So shake a leg, both of you.”

Eason caught the priest’s accent, which he failed to do so before due to the tumultuous nature of their initial meeting .

An Irish Priest in a Hungarian Embassy assisting in this Romany journey.

___________________________________________________

Father Patrick hustled the pair to the rear of the Embassy and into the back of a rather ramshackle delivery truck. He extracted a small torch from his pocket, which gave a modicum of light to the dreary, well used enclosure which smelled heavy of petrol, raw boxwood and citrus.

The engine started and they were off, bouncing along the cobbled streets towards the docks.

“You’re Irish,” Eason commented, in an attempt to harvest a conversation.

“Very observant,” the priest replied, grinning at the obvious. “And I’m sure you see all this as a ruddy Chinese fire drill, but we’re doin’ the best we can with what little time we had.”

“We understand,” Percilla interjected, and gave Eason that now famuliar look.

“Now,” Father Patrick said, “questions, which I am sure you have. I shall tell you what I know, however it will be slight.”

“Let us start with the cabbie,” Eason said with vigor, “He showed the coin in the proper manner, yet directed us to that ship.”

“Yes he did,” the Father replied. “But I assure you that he is as dedicated to the cause as any, and followed instructions to the letter.”

“But if we hadn’t of gone to that cafe, we would of . . ..” He let the words trail off.

“But you did,” Patrick said, “And without specific instruction to do so. Which showed us that you were indeed true.” “You were guided, since you are true. But not by anyone on this earth.”

Father Patrick shot a glance upward. “The ship’s captain may have more information. We are gathering it as quick as we can.”

He reached into his pocket, then extended his hand. “You take this, he said. “It is a medal of Saint Christopher.”

Eason accepted the gift, nodded, then added, “So long as it isn’t one of Saint Jude.”

Father Patrick locked eyes with Eason for a moment, the burst out in a raucous laugh.

“You know your Saints well, Laddy!”

Percilla gave Eason a querulous look.

“Saint Jude,” Eason whispered, “is the patron Saint of lost causes.”

_______________________________________________

They made their way in the dark down an embankment to a waiting dory. After assisting them into the boat, Father Patrick pulled the cord to the small motor, which coughed to life, and guided the craft out into the inky waters to the outer harbor.

After many minutes of running, It looked as if they were heading into an abyss until Father Patrick shined his pocket torch into the blackness. It was met with a similar illumination around a hundred meters ahead, slightly to port.

The Father guided the dory to a waiting trawler, it’s engine running, awaiting its passengers.

The calloused hand of the Captain extended to first assist Percilla aboard, then the pair’s luggage. “They be true,” Father Patrick said.

Before Eason could join her on board he felt a hand on his shoulder.“Laddy,” Father Patrick whispered, “be aware there are forces that are bent on stopping you. Be careful, my son.”

He turned to the Father to inquire further, but was directed in a swift motion to get on board. “He may have more for you. Good luck, and may God be with you both.”

As Eason climbed the short ladder he heard these words emanating from the dory.

Devlesa avilan

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