The Adventures of Gravedigger (3 page)

“But you’re still religious? You still pray to…
Adonai?”

“Of course. The Voice has never complained so why
shouldn’t I keep all sides happy?” Goldstein laughed at his own joke. “Tell me,
Charity, are you a religious person? Is that why you’re asking these
questions?”

“My mother used to read to me out of the bible but
that’s the extent of it. I never believed in God. After The Voice, though,
maybe I should.”

Goldstein took a deep breath. “We should begin.
You have a finite amount of time, after all.”

Charity opened her mouth to say something when a
powerful set of arms locked around her throat, nearly crushing her windpipe.
Stars formed quickly in front of her eyes and Goldstein stood by, doing
nothing.

Mitchell’s voice, doom and firm, echoed in her
ear. “I don’t want to do it but I’ll kill you if you don’t fight back.”

The pounding in her head was almost overwhelming
now but Charity felt no fear. There was a mountain of resolve within her that
she was just beginning to recognize. She had died once – and, according to The
Voice, she would not die again… at least not for another three years. Somehow,
someway, she would find a way out of this.

With confidence blooming, Charity threw her body
back, raising both feet off the ground. She set them against the edge of the
table and then shoved with all her might, sending bladed weapons skittering
across the floor and driving Mitchell off-balance. He held on tight but the two
of them ended up against the wall.

Charity reached behind her with her right hand, grabbing
hold of Mitchell’s crotch. She squeezed hard enough to elicit a scream of pain
and a loosening of the man’s grip. Then she was free of him, dropping into a
crouch. A sword was beside her hand and she snatched it up, brandishing it with
relish. She rushed Mitchell, who dodged her first swipe and caught her in the
back with a hard punch. Her kidneys ached and she felt a scream die in her
throat.

Mitchell grabbed her by her hair and yanked her
head back. She saw him poised to deliver a punch directly to her face but she
struck first, grabbing hold of her sword’s hilt with both hands and jamming it
back. It slid between two of his ribs and she yanked it free, intending to
strike again if need be.

“Enough!” Goldstein shouted and Mitchell released
his hold on Charity. He was bent over, one hand pressed tightly against his
side. Blood was oozing from between his fingers, dripping onto the floor.

Charity relaxed. She felt no guilt over the man’s
injury – he had attacked her and deserved no less. She felt a strange sense of
calm throughout her being, as if being in combat were her natural state.

Mitchell regarded her with no malice. He grinned,
displaying a gold tooth in the upper front. “You move like quicksilver,” he
said. To Charity’s surprise, he had a British accent.

Seeing her expression, Mitchell laughed, wincing
as he did so. “Born and raised in Leeds,” he explained. “Goldstein, old chap, a
little assistance, if you would?”

Goldstein helped Mitchell find a seat and he then
directed Charity to fetch his black bag from the other room. After she
returned, Goldstein helped open Mitchell’s shirt and began to examine the
wound.

“Does he need a doctor?” Charity asked.

“I’ve suffered worse paper cuts than this,”
Mitchell teased. “Don’t beat yourself up over this, luv. It’s just training.”

“I wasn’t,” Charity responded. She and Mitchell
stared at each other for a moment and then both grinned. “So,” she said to
Goldstein as he reached for a needle and thread. “Since I broke this one, who’s
going to be my new sparring partner?”

Mitchell spoke up. “Girl, I’m nowhere near
broken.”

Charity’s smile widened. “Yet.”

Goldstein shook his head. “What have I done by
bringing the two of you together?”

“When I’m stitched up,” Mitchell said, “We’ll go
again, luv.”

“Are you going to be brave enough to face me head
on, this time?” Charity strode over to the table and set it back upright. She
then picked through the weapons, choosing ones that suited her.

She was just about finished when she caught sight
of a box lying open on the floor. It had been hidden from sight behind the
table before she’d cause such a mess.

Without asking Goldstein about it, she hurriedly
moved over and reached inside. A black and red bodysuit, slightly military in
appearance lay within. Underneath were a full-face mask, boots, a shawl and a
small clasp that featured the image of a scythe.

“This is mine, isn’t it?” she asked, turning her
head to look at Goldstein. The old man nodded and she lifted the uniform out of
the box. “It’s… lovely.”

“When I wore it,” Goldstein said, “It looked a bit
different. They always do, based on what sort of Gravedigger you are.”

“You make it sound like you didn’t have it made
for me,” she murmured.

“I didn’t. It arrived on my doorstep at dawn this
morning. When I became Gravedigger, I found my suit hanging in my closet when I
went back home.”

Charity eyed the fabric with something akin to
hunger. “I have to try it on.” She stuffed the uniform back into the box and
marched out of the room with it.

After she was gone, Mitchell asked, “You think
she’s suited for this? I mean, a girl—“

“That girl is going to be incredibly dangerous,”
Goldstein countered. “The female of the species is always more deadly than the
male.”

Arthur Meeks sat back, like a king on his throne.
He wore only an elaborate Oriental robe that was open in the front, his
well-toned body glistening with sweat. He held a glass of vodka in one hand and
an opium pipe in the other. The thick smoke that filled the room seemed to
shift and move of its own accord, as if it were a living creature.

The room in which Meeks sat was shrouded in
darkness, illuminated only by several thick candles that were positioned in
each corner. Drapes over the windows kept out all exterior light and emphasized
the shadowy surroundings that Meeks preferred.

“Nice place.”

Meeks smiled, lifting the pipe to his mouth. He
inhaled deeply and held the smoke in his lungs before releasing it.

With heavy-lidded eyes, he glanced towards a spot
near the door. The darkness seemed particularly thick there and as he watched,
it coalesced into the form of a swarthy man, dressed all in black. The man
looked to be of Middle Eastern descent, with a neatly trimmed beard and dark
eyes. As he approached, Arthur couldn’t help but think that the man looked like
an ancient Egyptian Pharaoh, so regal was his bearing.

“I’m so glad to see you,” Meeks said with
sincerity.

“I appreciate your kindness, Mr. Meeks.”

“Call me Arthur,” he insisted.

“Very well… Arthur.”

Meeks drained the last of his alcohol and tossed
the glass to the floor, giggling as it shattered. He looked up at his guest,
spittle flying from his lips. “I’m going to treat the world just like that!
Boom!”

The dark man lowered his chin, studying Meeks with
a malevolent glare. “You would, wouldn’t you? You’d sell out your entire race
to my masters.”

“Gladly,” Meeks answered with more than a trace of
bitterness. “What has the world ever done for me? Nothing!”

“We need to gather a few more objects of power and
then all will be in readiness,” the stranger stated. “I am bound in this
matter. I cannot touch them. Only the hands of man can gather them.”

“I’m working on getting them,” Meeks answered. “I
found the book, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. But the next two items won’t be as
easy. You bought the book but these things aren’t for sale.”

Meeks puffed away again on the pipe. “Do you have
a name?” he asked. “I need something to call you.”

“I’ve gone by many names. I think Mr. Black will
do for now.”

“Mr. Black,” Meeks savored the name. “Will the Old
Ones reward me for my service?”

“You will get what has been promised to you:
power, wealth and all the slaves you could want.”

Meeks stood up, setting his pipe down. He closed
his robe and exhaled, a placid smile on his face. “What are these objects that
I need to retrieve?”

“One of them is in the Sovereign Museum of Natural
History. It’s an urn that dates back to Roman times.”

“Why would we need an urn?”

“It was used in various dark rituals and retains a
substantial amount of power.” Mr. Black continued, the expression on his face
warning Meeks not to interrupt again. “The other object belongs to a man named
Josef Goldstein. He, too, is here in this city. It’s a stone, set in a ring.”
Black’s smile returned. “Strange how things come together, isn’t it?”

Meeks strode towards the door. “Does it matter
which one I go after first?”

A strange look passed over Mr. Black’s face but
Meeks didn’t see it. “I’d start with Goldstein. I have a feeling the old man
might be alone this evening.”

***

When night fell upon Sovereign City, a harsh rain
that battered against the windows of Goldstein’s home accompanied it. He stood
in his den, staring out at the street. His face bore a pensive expression and
he clutched the head of his cane with ferocious strength.

Mitchell and Charity were gone, leaving him alone
in the house. A part of him missed the thrill of the chase, the bloodcurdling
thrill of battle… but this was not his time. A new Gravedigger had been named
and all he could do was help prepare her for what was to come.

A strange sound reached his ears, making him
tense. It was the familiar noise of water dripping onto the floor. Immediately,
he knew that he was not alone anymore. There was someone in this room with him
and they were watching him, waiting for him to notice their presence.

“I didn’t hear you knock,” he said.

“That’s because I didn’t bother.”

Goldstein turned slowly, coming face to face with
Alan Meeks. The unwelcome visitor wore a long trench coat that was soaked,
making it a perfect match for the mop of hair on top of his head. Meeks held a
knife in his right hand and his left was glowing slightly, a sign that
Goldstein recognized: he had charged his fist with some sort of demonic power.

“What do you want, Mr. Meeks?”

Shock registered briefly on Alan’s face. “How do
you know my name?”

“I know a lot about you, including the fact that
you own the Necronomicon. And from the looks of you, you’ve already used it to
summon at least one of the creatures associated with it.” Goldstein took one
step forward but stopped when Meeks raised his weapon. “It’s not too late to
turn back. Put down your knife and I’ll do all that I can to help you. I give
you my word, Mr. Meeks.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What would you prefer?”

Meeks grinned madly. “Call me Thanatos.”

“The Greek personification of death,” Goldstein
said. “Very dramatic.”

Thanatos laughed hoarsely. “Time to die, old man.”
He lunged forward, his knife swiping through the air.

Goldstein raised his cane, blocking the blow
expertly. Before Thanatos could respond to the sudden speed that the old man
was displaying, the cane’s tip had been shoved into his belly, knocking him
back a pace.

Goldstein grimaced as his body threatened to
betray him. He had a lifetime of experience in battle, however, and he intended
to use it. He brandished his cane like a club, slamming it down hard against
Thanatos’ shoulders. Once he caught the younger man on the jaw, drawing blood.

Thanatos cursed under his breath, furious at the
turn of events. He reached up with his glowing hand and caught the cane,
crushing it to splinters with a flex of his fingers.

“No more weapons for you,” he purred. “Lay down
and die.”

The former Gravedigger did the exact opposite – he
drew back the jagged end of his cane and stabbed at Thanatos, driving the
weapon forward with both hands.

The wood dug into the villain’s side, painfully
cutting through skin and muscle. He howled like a stuck dog but the agony
seemed to drive him to new levels of violence. He struck out at Goldstein’s
face with his glowing hand, the demonically powered blow shredding the older
man’s lower jaw.

Thanatos pounded again and again, growling with
each punch. Goldstein fell back against the window, his features increasingly
reduced to a bloodied mess.

The old man slid to the floor when the attack
ceased, the air whistling through his shattered nose. Thanatos stood over him,
panting heavily. Then he reached down and grabbed Goldstein by the ears. He
gave a quick twist, ending the former hero’s life.

With a cackle, Thanatos knelt and found the ruby
that he’d been sent to retrieve. It shined so brightly that he couldn’t help
but stare at it for a moment.

Sliding it from the dead man’s finger, he dropped
it into the pocket of his coat. The glow had faded from his hand, the demonic
energy having been expended.

Without even a backwards glance at the man he’d just
killed, Thanatos turned and strode from the room.

***

Gravedigger didn’t mind the rain. Growing up in
Sovereign, she was used to it. In fact, some nights, she found it easier to sleep
when there was a tempest brewing. It mirrored the stormy nature of her
emotions.

Mitchell was out in the car, parked
surreptitiously down the street. He was listening in via short-wave radio,
ready to offer assistance if needed.

Gravedigger stood outside her target’s house,
noting that every room appeared to be dark. It would certainly make her work
easier if no one was home so she quickly began her task. She moved around the
brownstone, examining all possible entrances. When she found a window that rattled
enticingly, she set to work and quickly forced it open.

Crawling inside, she crept for a moment in
darkness, letting her eyes adjust to the gloom. She was in a study of some kind
and the faintly cloying odor of the air was at once familiar and repulsive. It
was a mix of human sweat and opium, both of which she’d become sensitive to
during her youth. Though she’d never gone for drugs of any kind – aside from
occasional bits of alcohol – the crowd she’d run with had tried to persuade her
to visit various opium dens with them.

Goldstein had described the book to her and she
half-hoped that Meeks had left it lying around for her to find. Remove the
threat he posed with the tome, she reasoned, and then she could take her time
dealing with its owner.

Moving slowly through the home, Charity couldn’t
help but be impressed by its opulence. The throw rugs alone were worth more
than her entire wardrobe!

She was surprised to find a woman in the bedroom.
The girl was lying nude on her side, her breathing slow and deep. Gravedigger
approached her, nudging the woman’s foot. The girl grunted but made no move to
wake up.

Assuming that the woman was drugged, Gravedigger
turned away from her and resumed her search. She found weapons, perverse items
designed for sexual use and a treasure trove of jewels, urns and small statues…
but she found no sign of The Necronomicon.

As she glanced at a grandfather clock and took
note of the fact that she’d been in the house for over an hour, Charity gave a
little sigh of annoyance. This was going to be a wasted evening and she was
certain that Goldstein would use this opportunity to show that she’d be better
off taking his advice in the future.

It was at that exact moment that she noticed
something that had escaped her: a small door set into the wall, hidden by the
grandfather clock.

Beneath her mask, Charity’s lips broke into a
grin. She rushed forward, using all of her muscle to shove the massive
timekeeping device out of the way. It was definitely a doorway, with a small
depression where a hand would go. She inserted her fingers carefully and found
a clasp. After squeezing it, the door swung open with a creak, revealing a set
of stairs that led to a hidden basement.

The smells that drifted out of the gloom were a
mixture of wet earth, burning incense and human sweat. Gravedigger drew one of
her swords and crept down the stairs. For the first time, she wished she had a
partner in this – if Meeks returned home, he’d easily see that the hidden door
had been found. He could lock Charity inside, without hope of escape.

Downstairs, Gravedigger felt along the wall until
she found a switch. With a flip, electric bulbs came on, bathing the room in
yellow-tinged light.

The floor was bare earth and was damp. There were
three pieces of furniture in the room: two folding chairs and a cot covered by
a bloodstained sheet. Gravedigger’s attention, however, was focused on the
room’s sole occupant.

A human figure lay huddled on the floor, their
face turned towards the wall and covered by their arms. They were nude and from
the shape of the slender form, it was obviously female. Charity wondered
suddenly if the drugged woman upstairs was intended to eventually join this
poor woman down here in the basement.

The woman’s back was crisscrossed with scars, some
of them relatively fresh. It was obvious that someone had whipped her terribly
and as she shivered fearfully in the light, Gravedigger’s heart went out to
her.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said, trying to sound as
soothing as possible. She sheathed her sword, knowing that its appearance would
clash with her intent. “I’m here to help you.”

The woman spun about, showing her face for the
first time. Charity felt bile rise to the top of her throat and she jerked back
in revulsion. Where there should have been eyes was nothing but smooth skin.
The nose was nothing more two small slits in the vast landscape of her face and
the mouth was wide and filled with sharpened teeth.

Gravedigger reacted on instinct, raising her right
hand. She fired a crossbow bolt that struck home in the woman’s throat. Blood
spurted from the wound but the female merely reached up and snapped off the end
of the bolt. She then threw herself at Gravedigger.

Charity felt the woman’s bulk slam into her and
she barely had time to throw up an arm in defense. She managed to keep the
snapping jaws from her face but the woman was surprisingly strong.

A momentary burst of fear rushed through Charity
but she quickly silenced it. She had until October 31, 1939. Until then, she
was invulnerable.

A terrible pain ripped through her shoulder as the
monster stabbed at her with its claw-like nails.

Thoughts of invulnerability vanished in the haze
of combat and Gravedigger renewed her actions, pushing back on the creature’s
throat. She grabbed hold of the broken crossbow bolt and began to twist it,
eliciting a howl of outraged agony from her opponent.

Suddenly freed by the monster’s desire to retreat,
Gravedigger was able to finally draw her weapons. She unsheathed her sword once
more, mentally telling herself to never again put it away unless she was 100%
sure it was safe. A curved dagger also appeared in her other hand and she
brandished both weapons with obvious skill.

The blind creature hissed like a cat, sniffing the
air. Her nasal slits opened and closed as she sucked in air. She seemed to
sense that her intended prey was now armed and as such, she crept around
Gravedigger, keeping her distance.