The Adventures of Gravedigger (2 page)

Josef Goldstein wore a dark suit and an
open-necked white shirt. He was a thin old man with round glasses, thinning
hair and a trim white beard that framed a wide mouth. He leaned heavily on a
walking stick as he moved through his house, a large red ruby shining on his
ring finger. “Charity?” he called. “Are you up?”

“I’m in here,” she answered.

Goldstein ambled into the room that had become
Charity’s personal gymnasium. She was doing chin-ups with a bar attached to one
of the walls, her athletic form glistening with sweat. She wore loose-fitting
pants and an undershirt. Her shoulder-length brown hair was tied back into a
ponytail and her eyes, chocolate brown, regarded Goldstein coolly.

“Mitchell says that you were upset about the
mission last night.”

“Mitchell has a big mouth.”

Goldstein found a chair and sat down heavily.
Charity continued her exercise routine. “You’re doing quite well, you know.”

“Why? Because I’ve killed ten people in the past
three months?”

“Twelve, actually. You always forget Big Eddy and
his friend.”

Charity dropped to the floor and put her hands on
her hips. “What do you want?” she asked testily.

Goldstein smiled softly, revealing a set of teeth
that were a little too perfect. They were fake and, to Charity’s eyes, were
indicative of his entire persona. “If you ever want to talk about things, I’m
here for you. Like I told you on the night we met, I was once a Gravedigger
myself. I know the stresses that you’re under.”

Charity nodded, as if remembering something. “Oh,
yes, the night we met. I think that was when you shot me and buried me alive,
wasn’t it?”

Goldstein’s smile widened. “I killed you, Charity.
You know that.”

“I don’t know what happened,” Charity responded,
turning away from him. She picked up a couple of weights and began doing a set
of repetitions with them.

“You accepted The Voice’s offer. Just like I did.
Just like all the Gravediggers have done, one after another. But you’re the
first woman to ever receive the honor.”

Charity paused in her actions. “The honor?” she
repeated, quietly. “How many Gravediggers passed the test, Goldstein? How many
were pure after three years of murder and mayhem?”

“I was judged worthy.”

“And how many others?”

“I can’t say.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Charity sighed. “It doesn’t
matter. It is what is.” Resuming her workout, she asked, “Are you just here to
counsel me or do you have something else to talk about?”

“There’s someone else in Sovereign who needs your
attention.”

Charity set the weights down on the ground and
wandered over to where Goldstein was sitting. She preferred it when they talked
business. It was the same with Mitchell, though she knew he was a nice guy.
Goldstein, though, she wasn’t sure about.

She was discovering that she had a tendency to hold
grudges against men who tried to kill her.

Goldstein reached into his jacket and pulled out a
newspaper clipping. He unfolded it and handed it to Charity. It was from the
society section and showed a rather smug looking man shaking hands with the
mayor. “That,” Goldstein said, “is Arthur Meeks.”

“I’ve heard of him,” she answered. “He runs a
dairy plant, right?”

“That’s where his fortune comes from, yes. He’s
the chief supplier of milk not just for Sovereign but also for most of the
surrounding tri-state area. That’s not what concerns us, however. Our focus
should be on his unusual interest in rare books. He has spent a considerable
amount of money acquiring a series of grimoires that would be the envy of
anyone outside of The Illuminati.”

Charity sat on the floor, looking up at Goldstein.
“I’m still hearing the ‘evil’ part of things.”

“Are you familiar with The Necronomicon?”

Charity looked at him in annoyance. “I’m 23 years
old. I was a bright but not particularly great student in school. Do you really
think I’ve heard of something called The Necronomicon?”

“Fair enough,” he conceded. “According to the most
trustworthy sources, it was originally called
Al Azif
, which translates
as ‘the howling of demons.’ A mad Arab named Alhazred, who worshipped several
dark gods, wrote the book after travelling far and wide to learn foul secrets.
It was translated into Greek and then Latin, spreading like wildfire through
the occult community. In the year 1050, an attempt was made by the Catholic
Church to put the work to rest. Copies were rounded up and burned, however
several slipped through and were placed into hiding and survived. For many
years, it was believed that no copies of the original Arabic version remained…
but now Meeks has come into possession of one. This book is indescribably
dangerous! The mere study of it is bad enough but any attempt to master its
secrets could prove catastrophic, not just for the student… but for the entire
world.”

“So you want me to kill him… over a book?”

Goldstein narrowed his eyes. “It is not just any
book. Did you not listen to me?”

“Has he done anything with it? Has he performed
human sacrifices? Is he planning to blow up a church?” Charity stood up and
dropped the newspaper clipping into Goldstein’s lap. “I’m not going to kill him
based on some rumor you’ve heard about him owning a forbidden book.”

“It is not a rumor! I have sources that have—“

“Sources that you never seem to share with me.”

“I have told you… Since my time as Gravedigger, I
have cultivated connections with many people, in my walks of life. Because when
my time of penance was done, I still wanted to help! I still wanted to serve!
And that is why I am with you, now. So that I can offer you assistance! I don’t
want you wasting as much time as I did, trying to find leads. I can bring them
to you!”

Charity took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Josef. I
just get so… frustrated.”

Goldstein softened his expression. “I understand.
Like you, I had lived a lifetime of sin. Neither of us were murderers or beyond
redemption… but we had broken many laws, both moral and legal. To have a mirror
placed before your very soul, to see how far down you had fallen… and then be
told that you have a finite amount of time to correct it all….”

A smile touched Charity’s lips. It was so sweet
that Goldstein lost his train of thought. This young beauty had not had an easy
life and it had hardened her beyond her years. To look at her now, though, was
to get a glimpse into the kind of person she could have been, had things done
along a different path.

As quickly as that grin had appeared, it had
vanished. When Charity looked at him, her expression was cynical and hard, as
it usually was. “He’s keeping this book in his house, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s where I’ll be going tonight.”

“Don’t play with him. Just strike quickly and get
away. That’s what you should have done with those men last night. Instead, you
skulked about in the shadows until you heard their confession.”

“You have your sources, Josef, but I’m not ready
to trust them – or you – 100%. I do this my way.” Charity stood up. “I’m going
to break into his house and have a look around. Besides, if he’s as dirty as
you make him sound, I bet this isn’t the only pot he’s stuck his fingers into.
We might need more information if we want to shut down his entire operation.”

Goldstein merely nodded as she exited the room.
Taking a deep breath, he hoped that she could find a way to silence the anger
raging within her.

If not, the next three years would be for naught.

Charity Grace had grown up in one of the most
squalid sections of Sovereign City, an area known as Ferguson Point. Though her
mother had sought to shield her from the truth, she’d eventually learned the
facts about her birth. Her mother had been a woman of the night, a peddler of
her own flesh. Catching the eye of a wealthy philanthropist, she’d become his
mistress and eventually gave birth to a daughter. Fearing the effect this could
have on his marriage and family, Charity’s father had abandoned the relationship.

The only proof of her heritage lay in the name
given to her on her birth certificate: Grace.

Once she’d learned the truth, Charity had become
obsessed with her half-sister, a girl named Samantha. She’d seen the girl in
the Society pages from time to time, winning a tennis tournament or placing
high in some academic bowl.

All of that, Charity realized, could have been –
should have been – hers.

Eventually, she’d fallen in with a rough crowd,
losing her heart to a roughneck by the name Mack Winslow. When she’d spilled
the beans about her father, he’d taken it upon himself to launch a blackmail
scheme. In the end, a man named Lazarus Gray had intervened, saving the Grace
family from scandal.

Charity had been furious at the turn of events.
Not only had her secret been used to harm others but also, Samantha had ended
up as a member of Gray’s Assistance Unlimited.

After the death of her mother, Charity had been
forced to make a difficult decision: Should she confront her father and beg for
his assistance? Or should she find some way, any way, of fending for herself.

Given the fact that her father still hadn’t come
looking for her in the wake of the blackmail scheme, she chose the latter.

Refusing to become a prostitute, she instead
became a petty thief. She’d done well enough to find an apartment of her own
but beyond that, life was a meager existence.

All of that had changed the night she’d broken
into the home of Josef Goldstein. He had just moved into the Gibson Avenue area
and, according to the moving men that she’d befriended, wouldn’t be actually
occupying the place for several days yet.

If all had gone according to her plan, she would
have had plenty of time to ransack the many boxes she’d seen carried into the
home.

But life was never simple for Charity.

***

It had taken less than five minutes for her to get
inside his house. Armed with only a small flashlight, she had moved through the
darkened rooms. Now and then, she had stopped and opened a box, using a small
knife on her person. The contents of the packages were enough to set her heart
fluttering: expensive jewelry, lovely vases and silk sheets.

A sudden thought had occurred to her: why was
Goldstein moving into this neighborhood? With this kind of money, he could have
moved into one of the more upscale areas with ease. Maybe, she mused, the
stories she’d heard about Jewish people were true: that they were skinflints.

In general, she didn’t buy into racial
stereotypes. There were several blacks that lived in the apartments around hers
and they were nothing like the minstrels that they were portrayed as in
newspaper cartoons. On the other hand, the only Jewish person she knew was Mr.
Stiller, who owned the local grocery, and he certainly embodied all the
negatives she’d heard about his race.

Charity had stepped into the living room and
stopped, letting her light travel up the fireplace and over the painting that
hung above. It was a marvelous piece of work, though its subject matter sent a
chill down her spine: a cloaked figure on horseback, a scythe held in one hand.
It was Death, riding his black steed, with the souls of the damned writhing in
torment along the sides of the road.

“A moving image, is it not?”

Charity had jumped, spinning about so quickly that
she nearly dropped her flashlight. Her free hand had stealthily retrieved her
knife from its place on her hip and she brandished it with obvious experience.

Illuminated by her light was an old man, sitting
in a plush-backed chair. He wore a dark suit and a white shirt that was open at
the collar. His glasses had reflected the light back at her. He had thinning
hair and a white beard that framed a wide mouth. His right hand was balanced on
a walking stick and a large red ruby adorned his ring finger. “My name is Josef
Goldstein. But I think you might know that all ready, yes?”

Charity had sighed, lowering her weapon. She
wasn’t averse to violence when it was necessary but she wasn’t prepared to come
to blows with an old man. If it meant another stint in the lockup, she would
take her medicine. She had been in and out of the prison system over the last
couple of years and it didn’t scare her any longer.

“Cat got your tongue?” Goldstein prodded.

“What can I say?” Charity had answered. “You
caught me.”

“And that’s all you have to offer? No explanations?
No pleas for leniency?” Goldstein stood up, his bones creaking. “You look like
a child.”

“I’m older than I look.” Charity had moved the
light away from his face, letting it fall against his chest. “Why are you here
in the dark?”

“I like the dark. A man can sometimes see more in
the dark than he can in the light.”

Charity had put away her knife, her shoulders
sagging. “Should I wait here while you flag down a police car? They usually
patrol this street every twenty minutes or so.”

“No. I don’t think we’ll need to involve the
authorities.” Goldstein stepped past her, moving slowly towards one of the
boxes she had opened. It contained a number of old books but nothing that had
caught her eye as particularly valuable. “Do you believe in the afterlife, Charity?”

“I used to read the bible but I don’t… Wait. How
did you know my name?”

Goldstein bent over and rifled through the box,
pushing aside the books. “Once I was like you,” he continued, ignoring her
question. “I lived my life, obsessed with things of the physical world. I broke
the law repeatedly, under the misguided belief that I was simply doing what I
had to do to survive. And then one day I met an old woman, who showed me the
secret path.”

Charity glanced back towards the window. If she
fled now, she might be able to get away with this. No cops, no prison… Of
course, he did seem to know her name.

“My dear?”

Charity shone the light upon Mr. Goldstein. He
held a gun in his free hand. “Mr. Goldstein,” she began, suddenly realizing
that this old man was more dangerous than she’d first thought. “I’m sorry… I
just thought I could make a little bit of money off some of your things! I
wasn’t going to take much!”

Goldstein smiled toothily. “Well, now, that sounds
more like what I was expecting.” He tilted his head to the side. “I apologize
for this. It will seem very cruel but when next we meet, you’ll understand what
a great gift I’ve given you. It’s why I came here, out of all the places in
America. I came here because of
you
.”

Charity had screamed as Goldstein pulled the
trigger. His weapon spat out death and it struck home in her chest, knocking
her back.

She was dead before her body hit the floor.

***

The Voice awakened her. Lying scared in a pine box,
she had listened to its strange offer… and she had eagerly accepted it,
preferring any kind of life to a certain death.

She had fought her way free, calling upon strength
that she never knew she possessed. Up, through, the earth, fingers bleeding,
she had pushed onward, until finally her hand had broken through to the
surface. With a long, low grunt, she had pulled herself up and out, sprawling
onto her back, taking massive breaths of air.

How long she lay there under the stars, she didn’t
know. Eventually, she became aware that someone was with her and she pulled
herself up to a kneeling position. She wasn’t surprised that it was Goldstein,
leaning heavily on his cane. He was smiling, showing his mouthful of perfect
teeth.

“I knew you would accept the offer,” he said.
“You’re a fighter.”

“Water,” she gasped, rising unsteadily.

Goldstein reached into his expensive jacket and
pulled forth a silver flask, of the kind that men might carry liquor in. He
passed it to her and nodded as she unscrewed the cap and downed the water in
three massive gulps. “We should go back to my home. You’re welcome to live
there with me but if you prefer, it can be a temporary thing.”

Charity looked around at the rows of grave
markers. This was Sovereign City’s largest cemetery and it was rumored that the
pink-tinged mist that clung to visitors’’ ankles was actually caused by all the
evil of those buried here, seeping up through the ground. Charity had always
thought that was nonsense but now she wasn’t so sure. She did know that Doc
Daye buried the corpses of his worst enemies in this cemetery, which tended to
lend credence to the old wives’ tale.

“You said you came to Sovereign because of me,”
Charity said at last. “What does that mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like, my dear. Remember
when I told that you I’d been in your situation once? I, too, was a
Gravedigger. And now it is my responsibility to find others who could benefit
in the same way that I did.”

“Gravedigger?” Charity remembered what The Voice
had said:
You will put them into their graves and shovel upon them the dirt
that symbolizes their eviction from the mortal world.
“Is that what I am
now? A Gravedigger?”

“Yes. The first woman ever to hold such an honor.”

“I’ve been in fights before… but I’m not Lazarus
Gray or somebody like that. I can’t do those things.”

“Yes, you can. You fought your way out of the
ground, didn’t you? You’re stronger, faster and tougher than you were before.
And you should be fearless. You know that you’re not going to die, not for at
least another three years.”

Charity looked down at her ruined clothing. “I
can’t go through town like this.”

“You won’t have to. I have a car parked just
outside and there is a change of clothes for you inside. You don’t have to
worry about whether or not they’ll fit. They’re yours.”

“You went into my apartment?”

“My associate, Mitchell, did. That’s him over
there.”

Charity squinted through the gloom, where she saw
a broad shouldered black man standing in front of a large oak tree. He wore a
dark suit and his head was shaved bald but his expression was one of openness.
She turned back to Goldstein, studying him closely.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“You killed me. I’m just wondering why I’m not
angrier about that.”

“You’ve been through a lot. And there’s more to
come, I’m afraid. Mitchell and I will be in charge of training you. We have so
much to do… and only three short years to do it in.”

“Gravedigger,” Charity said, letting the word roll
around in her head.

Goldstein looked sad for a moment, as if the word
evoked memories that were painful to him. “Yes.”

“I’m going to kill a lot of people, aren’t I?”

The old man’s expression changed, becoming one
full of dark humor. “Oh, yes,” he chuckled. “But they’ll deserve it, each and
every one.”

“I just don’t know if I can do that. I’m not a
murderer.”

Goldstein shook his head. “My dear girl, you would
be shocked at the things a person can learn to do.” Changing the subject, the
old man said, “I know about your father. I know about your dreams. So much that
belongs to Samantha Grace could have been yours. And now you’ve been given a chance
to seize the brass ring! To change your entire world!”

“And I’ll do this by killing people?” Charity
asked, her heart hammering in her chest.

“It’s a start.”

***

“These will be your weapons. Each belonged to a
Gravedigger before you. You will add to the arsenal over time, as well, and
then those weapons will be passed down to those who follow you.” Goldstein was
leaning on his cane, standing behind a table whose surface was hidden beneath a
mound of blades. “Choose whatever calls to you.”

Dressed in a white turtleneck and dark green
slacks, Charity didn’t look like an angel of retribution this morning. She had
slept hard and then wolfed down a delicious breakfast that Mitchell had
prepared. Goldstein had watched her eat in silence but as soon as the last
morsel of food had passed her lips, he had sprung into action, asking her to
follow him into one of the many rooms of his home.

Charity reached out and lifted up a curved blade.
Its highly polished surface gleamed in the sunlight that drifted in through the
windows. She stepped back and spun it through the air with ease, the weapon
whistling. She paused, eyes wide. “I feel like I’ve used this before.”

“Trace memories,” Goldstein replied. “You received
them when you accepted The Voice’s offer. You’ll find that you can accomplish
many things just by trying them.”

Charity plucked up a small crossbow and studied
it. It was fitted with a band so that it could be tied about her wrist. She
affixed it and whirled, operating the firing mechanism by a delicate movement
of her arm. The bolt shot forth and buried itself in the exact spot where she’d
intended it to go.

“Don’t get cocky,” Goldstein warned. “A lot of
what you’re doing at the moment is based upon instinct. But when you have a
bullet whizzing past your head, you might find yourself freezing up. You have
to learn to be the same in battle that you are in practice.”

Charity removed the mini crossbow from her wrist
and set it back on the table. Lowering her voice, she said, “You called it The
Voice. That’s what I think of it as, too. Who is it? God?”

“Perhaps it is Adonai – that is what we Jews call
the Lord in our prayers – but I personally think that it is not the God of the
holy book. What relationship The Voice has with the most holy, I cannot fathom.
It is what it is.”