The Graveyard Game (Company)

by Kage Baker

  “Because it’s a safe zone, like Switzerland and Canada, where nothing ever happens,” Joseph said.

  Lewis shook his head. “It’s a safe zone because the Company has made it so, Joseph. The Gentlemen desperately wanted something that was thought to be located on that island!”

  “What?”

  “I haven’t found that out yet,” said Lewis. “The records keep referring to something called Document D. It was discovered in the Royal Archives by a highly placed member of the Gentlemen’s Speculative Society who had security clearance—and who was nudged in the direction of his ‘discovery’ by one of our operatives. And promptly thereafter they sent their covert invasion force.”

  “But the Brits never invaded Catalina,” Joseph objected. “Hell, they never even tried.”

  “As a matter of fact, they did try.” Lewis took up his fork again and began to finish off his chips and beans. “It’s quite a story, once you track down all the details. They set up a base camp on the island in 1862. Though the expedition found what they’d been searching for, apparently the Yanks twigged to something and prevented them from taking it away.

  “But the Gentlemen persisted. After the war they came back, they bought mining rights, and they kept trying to purchase the island itself. They were never able to buy it; but they do seem to have finally made off with the mysterious object.”

  “This is Indiana Jones stuff, Lewis,” said Joseph wearily.

  “And just how much do you know about the Ark of the Covenant, may I ask?” Lewis retorted.

  “I forget. Barmaid?” Joseph waved. “Could we get a couple of hot chocolates over here, please? Thanks, sweetheart.”

  “What got the Yanks suspicious by 1863 was a breach of security, some inexperienced political who was caught, and talked. He’d left a valise containing incriminating evidence in a stagecoach inn in Los Angeles,” Lewis continued.

  Joseph groaned. “The one where Mendoza was stuck between postings.”

  “And Edward was sent to retrieve the valise, and this is where he disappears from history,” Lewis said. “I could probably find out more if I were able to get into the Yanks’ classified archives, and perhaps after the war I shall. The British Foreign Office never knew what happened to Edward, although the Yanks evidently never got hold of the valise. There’s a confused report of a mystery ship that moored off the island near the British base there, where some sort of massacre evidently took place. Then the ship disappeared before they could investigate further.

  “They kept Edward’s file open for years before they declared him missing, presumed deceased. He had a reputation for surviving sticky situations. Of course, they didn’t know what we know.”

  “That he dragged Mendoza into whatever trouble he was in,” said Joseph hoarsely. “That the Pinkerton agents blew him away right in front of her eyes, and she went nuts and killed them. And the Company stepped in and mopped up so the mortals would never find out about her.”

  “Or about him!” Lewis said. “Hasn’t the import of all this sunk in on you? The Company wanted Edward mopped up after too. He was on Company business when he died. Mendoza was helping him. In fact—” He halted before he could blurt out what had just occurred to him.

  The barmaid, coming to their table, looked in concern at the American gentleman who’d ordered the hot chocolate. “Here, is he all right? Shall I call a medic?” she asked his friend.

  The American lifted his head and gave his friend a look that quite unnerved the barmaid, who (as should be evident by now) did not unnerve easily. Without waiting for a reply, she set down the chocolate, murmured something polite, and scuttled away to the safety of the kitchen.

  “They set her up,” said Joseph through his teeth.

  “I—I suppose.”

  “They left her there deliberately so she’d meet him. They knew it would happen! She helped him get rid of the evidence. If she hadn’t, the Yanks would have found out about what the British were looking for and grabbed it for themselves, and maybe then there would never have been any Dr. Zeus Incorporated.”

  “And then the Company arrested her and put her away,” said Lewis in a ghost of a voice, “but not because she’d gone AWOL. Not even because she killed those mortals. A Crome generator who has the ability to go forward through time could find out what happens when the Silence falls in 2355 and—”

  “Lewis, don’t go there. Okay? Not another word about that, if you value my life, let alone your own,” said Joseph quickly. He noticed the chocolate and grabbed for it. “But that wraps up a whole bunch of problems for them, like what do they do with an operative who’s a Crome generator when the Company says there aren’t any. Thanks, Mendoza, for helping us get started, and here’s your one-way ticket to two million years ago.”

  Lewis sat silent, horrified. He looked down at the last piece of his sandwich and set it carefully on his plate, as though it might explode.

  “Great Caesar’s Ghost. And Edward—”

  “Edward was their goddam bait to snare her!”

  “But, don’t you see? He was set up too,” Lewis said. “I’ve traced his whole life—the Company groomed him for the work they wanted him to do. From the time he was at school. Our people were there monitoring him, Joseph, I’ve seen the proof. The Company wanted a man who’d be willing to die for a cause, a man with no family, a man who could disappear. He was a member of the Gentlemen, he knew their secrets and must have believed in their work. He was their operative!”

  “You don’t have to tell me any more about the guy.” Joseph drank down his hot chocolate and made a face. “What is this made with, soy milk?”

  “How can you just sit there?” Lewis demanded, his voice shaking. “Knowing what the Company did to Mendoza!”

  “Yeah, soy milk, all right,” said Joseph woodenly. “Who am I going to jump up and kill, Lewis? I never got a shot at Edward Alton Bell-Fairfax.”

  Regent’s Park

  THE TREES WERE still there, and so was Queen Mary’s Garden; but its lawns hadn’t been mown in years, so most of the park was hip-high weedy wilderness and young woodland. There were stories that tigers had been released into it when the London Zoo was closed down, and lurked in the tall grass even now, leaping out to eat the occasional homeless person. It wasn’t true, of course. The tigers had been dutifully flown to Asia and released into a preserve there, where they were promptly shot by poachers.

  There had been a movement to box up the swans and ship them off to wherever it was swans hailed from originally, but no one was really sure that swans didn’t belong in that part of the world, and anyway they were free to go if they wanted to. It was pointed out, moreover, that the act of catching them even for the purpose of repatriation would be a violation of their civil rights. There the matter rested.

  So one could still stand in the middle of the footbridge and watch the swans gliding to and fro where there was open water, and this is what Joseph and Lewis were doing as they waited for Victor. That, and arguing.

  No, I’ve known Victor for years, Lewis insisted. He was at New World One for nearly a century when I was there, don’t you remember? He did the most wickedly funny imitation of Director General Houbert. Before that I think he was based in Europe, at least I recall seeing him once at Eurobase One—

  He broke off with an odd expression on his face.

  I did see him there, he went on. But that was right after I—

  Lewis, this is not a social visit, said Joseph. You may be old pals, but he won’t be expecting to see both of us. He may not feel like talking to me at all, if he sees you here. Not to be rude or anything, but—

  All right, I’ll go poke around in the ruins of the mosque. I know when I’m not wanted. Lewis pulled his coat about himself and stalked away into the jungle that grew along the Outer Circle.

  Joseph watched him go and sighed. Almost at once he was aware of another immortal approaching from the opposite direction, and turned on his heel to see Victor staring after Lewis wit
h an expression of dismay.

  “It’s Victor, isn’t it?” Joseph bustled up to him and extended a hand.

  After a moment’s hesitation Victor shook his hand, without removing the gloves he wore. “Wasn’t that Lewis? The literature fellow?” he asked.

  “Uh—yeah.” Joseph cursed silently. “That’s right, you would have seen each other at New World One, wouldn’t you? Small world. He’ll be sorry he missed you.”

  Victor shrugged. “We were slightly acquainted.” I agreed to talk to you alone.

  We’re alone now. Joseph surveyed Victor. He looked thin and pale, as everyone did in London; but he was considerably better dressed than most, in smartly tailored clothes that had come from somewhere expensive on the Continent. “Some coincidence, huh?” Joseph said.

  “Quite,” replied Victor coldly. I understand you have questions about something that happened in San Francisco. Why do you need to know?

  I’m looking for somebody who disappeared. You recruited a Musicologist named Donal there, yes? From the 1906 earthquake?

  Victor’s eyes narrowed and became, if such a thing were possible, colder. He glanced elaborately at his chronometer. “Heavens, look at the time. I’d love to stay and chat, but—”

  Wait. I need to know—because your kid barely remembers it. Who did you rescue him from? Was it Budu? “Can I ask you a favor, first? Do you know of any snack stands around here? I’d kill for a Mars Bar right about now.”

  Victor stood for a moment, apparently lost in thought. “You know, I believe there is one here. Or was. I think it’s over this way. I wouldn’t mind a Mars Bar myself, now that you mention it.”

  He turned and started off along the trail, and Joseph hurried after him, thinking that Victor had changed. He’d noticed a similar alteration in some operatives and had assumed it had something to do with being out in the field too long. Certain lines of strain around the eyes, a certain indefinable sense of shadow.

  You were one of Budu’s recruits, weren’t you? Victor asked warily.

  Yeah. Though I understand he went crazy or something. Look, let me set your mind at rest. All I want to know is if the old guy is all right. Did they finally bring him in? Did the Company repair him? This is kind of a filial duty thing for me. It just breaks my heart to think of him roaming around damaged on his own somewhere, lost—

  Spare me, please.

  Where is he?

  I was his recruit, too, as it happens.

  Joseph halted at that, and pretended to have trouble with a shoelace. “Hang on a second, something’s caught my shoe. Say, there aren’t any tigers roaming around here, are there? That’s just one of those urban legends, right?” Really?

  “Of course. There are no tigers.” Yes. And, since we both know the sort of creature he was, why don’t you drop the pretense of filial love?

  But I did love him, protested Joseph. He was a hero. I’ll admit I’ve heard stories, and maybe they’re true—but he must have gone nuts. Was that him in San Francisco, in 1906? He straightened up. “Okay, lead on.”

  Victor turned and walked. He was there, the night before the earthquake.

  You saw him? He talked to you? Donal seemed to think there was a fight of some kind. That’s absurd, though, because nobody fights with Budu and wins. He was damaged, right?

  He was damaged.

  And so obviously you got Donal away from him, and Dr. Zeus was able to get Budu back, and he’s okay now.

  No, Joseph.

  No, Dr. Zeus didn’t get him back, or no, he’s not okay?

  Both. “Oh, dear,” said Victor. “This doesn’t look promising.” The refreshment pavilion loomed ahead of them; boarded up and in an advanced state of disuse.

  “Damn! Can we go up close and see? Maybe they’re just closed for lunch,” said Joseph. Please tell me. Was he arrested?

  No, Joseph, he wasn’t.

  He got away?

  No, he didn’t.

  For Christ’s sake, what then?

  They made a slow circle around the refreshment pavilion, trying all the doors, before Victor replied. I can tell you where to look for him. You understand this is classified?

  Please.

  “No, I’m afraid we’re out of luck, old boy,” said Victor. He’s in Chinatown. On Sacramento Street, about a block up from Waverly Place. “You might try the newsagent’s in Marylebone Road.” And if you should find him at home—pray tell him that Victor sends his sincerest regrets.

  Regrets? Is that sarcasm?

  No. I never loved him, and he knows it, but I’m ashamed of what I did there. Tell him that. I had no idea what would happen. I’ve since taken steps to make sure that it won’t happen again. Victor wrung his gloved hands briefly. “And now, if you’ll excuse me? I really must run.”

  He strode off in the direction of Chester Road.

  Joseph stood staring after him, openmouthed. Finally he shivered and looked around him at the abandoned pavilion and the high weeds, uncertain whether he heard a low staccato growl, caught a glimpse of striped flank. He set off for the Outer Circle, making his way along the overgrown path in some haste.

  So, what did he have to say? transmitted Latif, emerging from the trees behind him and pacing after in silence. Joseph started violently but managed to avoid looking around.

  Give a guy some warning! How long have you been there?

  Before either of you.

  What do you have, some kind of masking field?

  Right, like you need to know. Want to tell me what Victor said so I can get the hell out of here and back to a civilized country? One that’s not so cold, anyway.

  Joseph turned along a loop of trail and wandered aimlessly, kicking at fragments of bombed wreckage. It was pretty cryptic. He doesn’t think much of Budu either. But it sounded like Budu’s out of the picture, some way or other.

  Did Victor know where he is? Did he tell you?

  Sort of.

  Joseph heard the exhalation of impatience. Are you going to tell me?

  I’d kind of like to see for myself first. Can you cut me that much slack? I’ll let you know everything once I’ve got the truth. If it’s something really bad—I’d rather it was me found him. He recruited me. How would you feel if it was Suleyman?

  Suleyman wouldn’t go that way.

  I never thought Budu would, kid.

  Okay. As soon as you know anything, though, you send us word. Suleyman says he told you how to get in touch with him.

  He did, and I will. Trust me.

  He also said you were right about something.

  What?

  We reviewed all the information we’ve collected on Budu. There isn’t anything after 1906. No sightings, no intercepted messages, no evidence he was running the Plague Club after that time. All the evidence indicates Facilitator General Labienus stepped into his place immediately after Budu dropped out of sight.

  That guy. Joseph shivered.

  You know him?

  Cold-hearted SOB. I’ve had to work with Labienus a couple of times. Never liked him.

  He taught me. I can’t say I’m surprised he’d be part of this cabal. The man’s ruthless.

  He is. So, why don’t you set your machine on him?

  We already have.

  Well, that’s nice to know. Joseph picked his way to the Outer Circle and stood looking across at the ruins of the London Mosque. Lewis, wandering in the rubble, had picked up a piece of old inscribed tile and was studying it, head cocked to one side.

  That’s Lewis, isn’t it? The guy who used to run Guest Services at New World One? transmitted Latif.

  That’s him. Do you remember that New Year’s ball, when you were tiny? You came and sat at the table with us, and he was there too.

  Of course I remember. You and Lewis and that lady, the Botanist, Mendoza.

  The Botanist Mendoza. Yeah.

  Do you remember what she said that night? Something about how the four of us would probably never find ourselves together in the same place
again? But here we are, you and Lewis and I. Almost all of us.

  Almost.

  Joseph in the Darkness

  IT WAS LIKE—like I set out to find just the pieces of the puzzle with blue sky, but somehow I kept reaching into the box and coming up with bits with fishing boats, rooftops, and elephants. Details I didn’t want or need, and the growing feeling that the picture I was going to see when they were all assembled wouldn’t be the nice simple scene I’d expected.

  What had I learned so far?

  A lot, actually. I knew that my old heroes the Enforcers had been double-crossed, were stashed away indefinitely, along with some of the Preservers.

  I knew that Mendoza’s fall from grace had been engineered, that the Company had used her for its purposes and thrown her away.

  I knew that the goddam tall Englishman was connected with the Company somehow, that he’d been used and thrown away too, and I didn’t really want to think about the implications of that. I should have, though.

  I knew that the Company was a lot older than it said it was, and it didn’t want that fact known. I knew it had lied about other stuff, like our being unable to travel forward through time—though maybe that wasn’t exactly a lie. Maybe only Mendoza had ever managed that.

  I knew that the Company had found something it wanted really badly on Catalina Island, something for which it was willing to sacrifice people.

  I found out that there are at least three groups competing for power within the Company: the people officially in charge, who are probably Old Ones, like Nennius, who pull the strings of our mortal masters; the Plague Club, who favor biological warfare against humanity, and who may have been started by you, father; and Suleyman’s people, who are working against the Plague Club. Hell, you could probably count a fourth faction if you throw in the mortal masters themselves. If they have any brains at all, they must have some plot in the works to take their immortals out.