The Adventures of Gravedigger (13 page)

Born Randall Nipper, he had once been a minor
success on the stage. Unfortunately, a tragic accident involving one of his
comely costars had ended up getting him blacklisted. For nearly two years, he’d
expended the last of his savings. Suddenly destitute, he’d ended up on Skid
Row, where he probably would have died if not for a chance meeting that would
change his life.

He had been sitting in an alleyway, a bottle of
cheap whiskey clutched between his knees. It was well past three in the morning
and a string of police cars had roared past, all headed towards the creepy old
Hendry Hall. What had happened up there would never be fully revealed in the
papers and it was no concern of Nipper’s, regardless.

With his head hanging down, he had heard the
familiar clip-clop of hooves on wet pavement. Looking up, he’d seen a horseman
and rider at the end of the alley. He’d thought himself hallucinating when his
eyes had traveled up the length of the man and seen nothing but empty air where
a head should have been.

The Horseman had dropped from the saddle and
approached him. Nipper had softly risen to his feet, wondering if he had fallen
asleep. Surely this was a nightmare, brought on by one too many fanciful
stories told to him as a child.

Nipper had stared at the figure before him and
before he knew what he was doing, the words had begun to spill from his lips:
“All these, however, were mere terrors of the night, phantoms of the mind that
walk in darkness; and though he had seen many spectres in his time, and been
more than once beset by Satan in diverse shapes, in his lonely pre-ambulations,
yet daylight put an end to all these evils; and he would have passed a pleasant
life of it, in despite of the devil and all his works, if his path had not been
crossed by a being that causes more perplexity to mortal man than ghosts,
goblins, and the whole race of witches put together, and that was - a woman.”

It was one of Nipper’s favorite passages from
Washington’s Irving’s works – and to his amazement, it seemed to give the
Horseman pause.

“Why did you say those words?” the Horseman asked,
though he had no mouth with which to speak.

“You look like the Headless Horseman… and those
are words from
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow
.”

The Horseman reached out a gloved hand and placed
it heavily upon Nipper’s shoulder. “You seem like a smart man. You know of this
world and its mysteries?”

“What… do you mean?”

“I am free for the first time in decades but I
have no knowledge of this place or its customs. And my appearance will make it
impossible for me to hide myself. I will need assistance. If you can give it, I
will let you live. If not… then I will take out my frustrations upon your
flesh.” To punctuate his words, the Horseman yanked free his sword and held it
to Nipper’s throat. The action was so quick that it took Nipper several seconds
to realize what had happened.

Nipper blinked in horror, knowing that what he
said next would determine whether he lived or died. But despite his sins,
Nipper was a consummate actor. He closed his eyes briefly and when they
reopened, he sounded confident as he spoke. “I can do all that and more. You
tell me what you’re after and I’ll make sure you get it. All it takes is
somebody who knows how to work the system.”

The Horseman stood back, removing the sword from
Nipper’s neck. A thin trickle of blood ran into the collar of the man’s shirt
but Nipper ignored it.

“So,” Nipper said, adjusting his stained and dirty
clothing, as if he were a king about to greet his subjects. He knew the
importance of acting confident – don’t give the audience a chance to believe
that you’re less than the role demanded. “What do you want, Mr. Headless
Horseman?”

“I want… a war. That’s the only time that I’ve
felt completely at peace. I want to kill. I want to hear my enemies scream. But
most of all… I want to remain free.”

Nipper nodded. “Then you need to tell me how and
why people are able to contain you. Then we kill everybody who might do so.” He
smiled. “And if I help you, you help me, right?”

“I would be agreeable to that,” the Horseman said.

***

Nipper was thinking about his first meeting with
the Horseman when the undead warrior entered the room. Nipper didn’t bother
turning around – the stench alone made it clear that his companion was
approaching.

“I grow restless,” the Horseman stated.

Nipper resisted the urge to sigh. He knew that the
Horseman had a short fuse when he was like this. Forcing a smile, the actor
slipped easily into his role. He turned to face the Hessian and patted him on
the arm. “You want me to have some girls sent up? I’ll make sure nobody misses
them.”

The Horseman backed away and Nipper grew cautious.
“You promised me blood and mayhem but all I have seen so far are groups of
cowardly blowhards preening before us! I am tired of killing helpless women and
whimpering fools. Where is this war? Why have we not struck at the men and
women in this city who might actually challenge us? This Doc Daye… or Fortune
McCall! Instead, you wear a costume and I hover nearby, like a sword waiting to
be unsheathed!”

“I’m working on that. You said you didn’t want to
go back to being anybody’s slave, remember? If we’re going to hit this town
hard, we have to be smart about it. Charon is a spooky figure and I can use
that to keep these goons in line. As for you being unsheathed… How about I set
something up for you? It’ll be what you want.”

“When?”

“Tonight.” Wagging a finger at the Horseman’s chest,
Nipper promised, “You have my word.”

Cedric knelt in front of the fireplace, stirring
the dying embers with a poker. Hendry Hall was a chilly place at the best of
times but on nights like this, when Sovereign was damp and temperatures fell,
the house was a veritable icebox.

Since inheriting the estate, he’d spent a good bit
of money making alterations but it was never going to be described as welcoming
and Cedric was okay with that.

“This wine is delicious.”

Cedric looked over at Li, who was curled up in one
of the oversized chairs in the room. She wore nothing but a robe, which gapped
open in the front to show the curves of her breasts. In her right hand was a
mostly empty glass of red wine.

“Would you like some more?”

“My head’s already buzzing.”

“Is that a no?”

Li smiled and downed the last of her drink. She
then held out the glass. “It’s definitely a yes.”

Cedric laughed and moved to get her a refill. “So
why haven’t you told Charity about us?”

“There’s no us,” she said pointedly. “We’re
friends.”

“We’re lovers,” he countered.

“That implies some sort of romantic feelings.”

“We make love.”

“We have sex.” Li looked at him with something
akin to pity. “I know that men have trouble differentiating between the two but
sex and making love are not the same.”

Cedric shook his head. “I think it’s usually women
with that issue.”

“Regardless, I don’t love you and you don’t love
me. But Charity has enough things to worry about – if she knew you and I were
doing… this… it would only distract her.”

Cedric knelt in front of her. He set her wine down
on the table next to Li’s chair and grasped her hands. He looked very earnest.
“I’ve never known a woman like you, Li! I’ve had my share of lovers and never
did I have feelings beyond the physical for them! But you excite me in ways
that they never did!”

“Don’t confuse me being really good in bed with
being a special kind of woman,” Li said. “I think you’re being really sweet but
I don’t believe you if you say you’re in love with me. I’m a challenge to you,
that’s all. If I ever gave you what you’re saying you wanted, you’d lose
interest.” Li leaned close, her expression becoming catlike. “Do you know how I
know that?”

“How?”

“Because I’m the same way.”

Cedric stood up, an expression of amusement on his
face. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“But what a way to go, eh?” Li teased.

***

Gravedigger stood at her own grave, ignoring the
pink-tinged fog that clung to her ankles. The name on the tombstone – Charity
Grace – seemed to hover in the air above the mist, as if taunting her.
Someday
you’ll be here for good
, it promised,
only your soul will be rotting in
Hell.

Charity reached out and traced the letters with
her fingertips and then turned away. She spotted Josef’s grave and quickly
looked away, still feeling guilty for the way she’d treated him.

She’d taken only a few steps when she noticed that
she wasn’t alone. Standing about twenty feet away from her was a figure that
she recognized all too well – Lazarus Gray, leader and founder of Assistance
Unlimited.

He was also the employer of Samantha Grace,
Charity’s half-sister.

His mismatched eyes – one a startling emerald, the
other a dull green – stared at her with authority. His athletic physique seemed
barely contained by the suit and tie that he wore. Despite her ambivalent
feelings for him, Charity had to admit that he cut a dashing figure.

Charity looked around for any sign of Mitchell but
he wasn’t in his usual spot at the edge of the cemetery – in fact, their car
seemed to be gone.

“You and I seem to have something in common,”
Lazarus said.

“What’s that?” she asked, wishing that she hadn’t
left her weapons in the vehicle.

“We both have a penchant for coming back from the
dead.”

“I’ve heard rumors,” Charity replied. “But I
thought they were a bunch of bunk. Did you really die?”

“Yes and no.” Lazarus took a few steps forward but
stopped when Charity looked like she might bolt and run. “How about you?”

“I did. A higher power offered me a shot at
redemption and I took it.”

Lazarus studied her closely. “And now you’re
killing people. Did you murder Josef Goldstein? You’re living in his house.”

“What did you do with Mitchell?” she asked,
refusing to answer him.

“He’s fine. My associates just took him away so
that we could talk in private.”

“I know Mitchell. He wouldn’t have gone quietly.”

“He didn’t,” Lazarus admitted.

“Why are you here?” Charity asked.

“I’ve heard rumors about The Gravedigger but it
took me awhile to figure out if they were true – and once I had done that, who
might behind the mask. I had to station informants all around the city before
one of them noticed that Goldstein’s house was still being used, despite the
fact that he died months ago. I wasn’t sure if it was connected to Gravedigger
or not – but a few days of watching the property led me to you, a dead girl.
Suddenly, things began to make a little bit of sense. You killed Goldstein,
possibly in cahoots with Mitchell, who turned on his employer. Now the two of
you live in his house and have set yourselves up as judge, jury and executioner.”

“You’re wrong about several things.”

“Such as?”

“I didn’t kill Josef. He was training me when a
nutcase named Arthur Meeks murdered him. The Peregrine and I teamed up to bring
him down.”

There was a subtle shift in Gray’s expression, so
minor that most would have missed it. Charity knew that it was in response to
her mention of The Peregrine – while he didn’t trust her, it was obvious that
Gray did trust Max Davies.

“So you’re a vigilante?”

“If you want to call it that.” Charity took a deep
breath. “I was serious about dying – and about being given a second chance.”

“You’re saying that God sent you back to murder
criminals?”

“I don’t know if it’s God. It doesn’t matter,
really. Josef was a Gravedigger and there have been others before him. I’m the
first woman to ever have the mantle and I plan to be one of the ones who
survive. I only have three years to do it in.”

“What happens after three years?”

“The Voice returns and it judges me. If I’ve
redeemed my soul, then I’m a free – and better – person. If I haven’t, then my
soul is condemned to Hell.”

“I don’t think killing people is the way to redeem
anyone.”

“That’s what The Voice told me to do. And I’m not
just killing random people – I’m killing people who’ve dug their own graves.
I’m taking scum off the streets.”

Lazarus reached into his jacket and Charity
tensed. She grew even more still when a pistol appeared in his hand. He pointed
it at her and said, “We’re going back to Robeson Avenue. I’m going to ascertain
whether or not you’re sane. If you are… and I’ve encountered enough strange
things in my time to admit that you may be… then I’ll offer you a position with
my group. We kill from time to time, but only when there’s no alternative.”

Charity felt an anger rising up within her. There
was no turning back after today – even if she managed to defeat Lazarus and
escape, he knew where she lived. He was aware of her allies and could reach out
to harm them. And he had the bargaining chip of Mitchell’s well being,
something she couldn’t ignore.

On the other hand, she wasn’t about to become a
prisoner of anyone, especially not her half-sister or her employer.

Charity moved quickly, reaching out with her left
hand to smack Gray’s gun hand. With the barrel no longer pointing in her
direction, she felt better about raising a foot and kicking him hard in the
midsection. It was like striking an oak tree and he showed no sign of having
been pained.

Lazarus brought his pistol around again and fired,
his shot narrowly missing her torso. As she spun away from the blast, she noticed
that it wasn’t a bullet at all – but rather some sort of specially made
tranquilizer dart.

Charity dropped down and spun about, her foot
knocking Gray’s legs out from under him. He went down but recovered quickly,
getting off a second shot from his prone position. This time, Charity performed
an acrobatic back flip that once again allowed her to avoid being shot.

Clutching a handful of dirt in her hand, Charity
hurled it into Gray’s face. The act momentarily blinded him and allowed her to
lunge towards him without fear of being caught. She had caught a flash of
something sheathed under his coat – a dagger. Realizing that she needed a
weapon to even the odds, Charity grabbed hold of the blade and yanked it free.
As she did so, the edge of the weapon caught Lazarus under the chin, leaving a
tiny cut in its wake. Blood oozed from the wound but Charity felt no regret
about its presence – she was the victim here, not the other way around.

Now armed, Charity struck quickly – she slashed
her blade across Gray’s chest, slicing his tie in two. Another line of blood
appeared.

Gray now used his gun as a bludgeoning weapon,
clubbing Charity in the shoulder. She winced but refused to fall – instead, she
drove the blade into Gray’s hip. Yanking it free, she started to strike again
but she was distracted by a sharp stinging sensation in her neck.

Staggering back, Charity realized what had
happened, even before she reached up to yank the tranquilizer dart from her
throat. She turned her head, seeing Gray’s “associate” at last. Samantha Grace
stood there, looking beautiful in an ankle-length coat, turtleneck sweater and
form-fitting skirt. She looked like she’d stepped right off the society page of
The Sovereign Gazette
, with the addition of a pistol, of course.

Charity swayed on her feet. She fell forward into
Gray’s arms, darkness claiming her.

***

The Headless Horseman sat atop his steed, hiding in
the stygian shadows that cloaked Sovereign. He was positioned outside the home
of Inspector Cord, a well-known member of the police department. Cord was on
the straight-and-narrow, which put him at odds with many of the more corrupt
officials in the city. But the whippet-thin man with the perpetually narrowed
eyes was no friend to men like Lazarus Gray, either. He despised vigilantes
almost as much as he hated crooks.

Cord stepped out from his house, a cigarette
dangling limply from between his tightly clenched lips. He headed towards his
car but stopped abruptly when he saw the bodies draped across the hood.

Even with the damage done to them, he recognized
them: O’Hara, Gibson and Drake. Three of the best cops on the force, good and
decent men who had families.

Cord’s shock lasted for only a moment before he
reached for his holstered gun. The killer or killers were likely to have fled
the scene but if they hadn’t….

A sharp blade touched the side of his neck, giving
him pause.

“Draw your weapon and die.”

Cord couldn’t see the figure behind him but he
sure as hell could smell him. “Who are you?” he demanded, using the same voice he
used on two-bit hoods when he was shaking them down.

“You should avoid Charon,” the Horseman replied.
“You and your men have been asking too many questions. Now they won’t be able
to ask anything, ever again.”

Charon. Cord’s jaw clenched tighter. He might have
known it would be one of the city’s freaks. “I’m going to see you fry for
this,” he promised. “You and your buddy Charon.”

The Horseman increased the pressure against Cord’s
throat. “You still taunt me? When death is so close?”

“You don’t scare me. Kill me if ya want,” Cord
said defiantly. “I’d rather die with my chin up then beg.”

The Horseman leaned close, remembering the way
that he had met Charon… Nipper had proven to be a disappointment. But here he
was, again with a man who refused to back down in the face of his own demise.
Would Cord have been the better person to ally himself with?

It was too late for that, the Horseman mused.

“I’d like to see you die,” he said, his ghostly
voice echoing in Cord’s ear. “But I have chosen my side in this conflict and
Charon has asked me to leave you alive. Do you know why he thinks you are more
useful to him in this way?”

“I’d love to hear it – because he doesn’t know me
very well if he thinks I’m not going to come after him with everything I have
after this.”

“These men were known for their honesty. The fact
that they were all killed while you alone were left alive… do you know what
people will think?”

Cord’s eyes widened. He knew exactly how this
would be perceived – people would think he was now on the take. “You bastards,”
he hissed. “My reputation is the one thing I’ve got.”

The Horseman stepped away. “Not anymore.”

Cord whipped around, planning to strike back – but
there was no one there. Not even a hint of the Horseman remained.