Alliance

by Mark Frost

  “Where’s Mr. Haxley?” asked Will.

  “Away on business,” said the butler without turning around. “So mind your own.”

  Will watched the man’s stocky back bobbing ahead of him, the shaved ramrod neck and his severe haircut. He felt such a visceral dislike for the guy’s superior attitude it almost defied explanation.

  At the far end of the passage, they reached a circular wrought-iron staircase in a round rock chamber that led up and up, at least four stories by Will’s count. Will stayed a few paces behind the butler as he chugged up the stairs without varying his pace. From a landing at the top they passed through a rounded wooden door cut to the shape of its stone frame and entered a vast high-ceilinged room.

  They were in one of the castle’s twin towers. Tall thin triangular windows graced the circular walls that met at the apex of the ceiling overhead, under the spire. There were no furnishings in the room at all, not a single chair, not even lighting fixtures—the windows let in plenty of natural morning light—just a sprawling spread of dusty boxes scattered throughout. Will estimated there had to be well over a hundred of them.

  “We need all these organized,” said the butler.

  “What, Hercules wasn’t available?”

  The butler fixed him with a cold scowl. “Shall I tell Mr. Haxley you don’t want the job?”

  “No, because that wouldn’t be true. What’s your name?” asked Will.

  “Lemuel.”

  “Lemuel. You don’t mind my asking, what kind of a name is Lemuel?”

  Now the guy looked annoyed. “It’s a Biblical name. It means ‘devoted to God.’ ”

  “Really,” said Will. “I don’t mean to be rude. I’ve just never heard it before.”

  “It was more common in the nineteenth century,” said Lemuel condescendingly.

  Will couldn’t resist. “So was smallpox, but they have a vaccine for that now.”

  Lemuel looked steamed. Will could tell that he was used to playing king of the roost when Haxley wasn’t around.

  “It is a family name,” said Lemuel.

  “Understood. Do people call you Lem?”

  “You can call me Mr. Clegg. That’s a family name, too.”

  Will thought about it. “Clegg. Hmm.” He looked around at the boxes. “Organized how?” he asked.

  “Mr. Haxley wasn’t more specific.”

  “By date, size, contents? And just curious, what’s in the boxes?”

  “Archival information about the Crag. Start by date and proceed from there,” said Lemuel, and then headed for the door. “That should be enough to keep you busy for a few days.”

  This was an unexpected bonus: He could research the Crag while he worked, but he had to make sure Clegg left him alone.

  “Is there a bathroom up here?” asked Will.

  “At the bottom of the stairs.”

  “How about water? It’s kind of dusty. I’ll probably get pretty parched.”

  “You can walk to the kitchen and get a drink,” said Lemuel, then turned to go again.

  “And what about lunch?”

  “We serve the staff lunch precisely at noon,” said Lemuel, even more impatiently.

  “But I’m not on the staff.”

  “Nor will you be for long, at this rate,” said Lemuel, his face turning crimson; then he stalked out and slammed the door behind him.

  Will moved to the door and heard the man clanging down the metallic stairs. There was no lock on the door, so he waited until Lemuel reached the bottom, opened it a crack, and heard him stomp away down the stone corridor.

  Will took one of Ajay’s devices from his backpack and used it to scan the room for electronic signals. He detected no cameras or microphones. He moved to the window and took out one of Ajay’s compact walkie-talkies from the backpack. After putting an earpiece in his ear, he switched on the device, thumbed the button, and spoke softly into a mic on the wire.

  “Yo Yo Ma,” he said.

  He heard a crackle of interference, and then Ajay’s voice came through, thin and a little scratchy. “What’s your twenty, Will?”

  “I’m way up in one of the two towers. It’s perfect. I have a commanding view of the whole island.”

  “Is anyone going to walk in on you?”

  “No, I made sure the butler won’t be coming near me for a while, and this room’s clear of electronics.” Will took a small pair of binoculars out of the bag along with his notebook, then a sandwich and a big bottle of water. “Are you sure this is a secure frequency?”

  “It’s UHF,” said Ajay. “No one’s going to overhear us unless they’re a garage door opener.”

  “Are you in position?” asked Will.

  “Yes, we’re on the bluff to the north of the lake,” said Ajay. “At the base of Suicide Hill. I can just make out the castle towers from here through the trees.”

  “I’m in one of the windows, the tower on the left. Can you see me waving?”

  “Nick, hand me the binoculars,” said Ajay, then: “Here, talk to Nick.”

  “Will, my brother from another mother,” said Nick over the walkie. “What kind of serious bouillabaisse have you dropped us into this time?”

  “So far, one seriously cheesed off butler,” said Will.

  “That’s it? That’s some weak cheddar, bro,” said Nick.

  “It’s only nine-thirty. Give me time.”

  “What’s that, Ajay? … Ajay says he can see you waving like an idiot and that you should stop now before any unfriendlies see you.”

  “Tell Mother to stop worrying,” said Will, and stopped waving.

  Will heard Ajay take the walkie back from Nick. “Your position appears ideal, Will. Can you see the entrance to the tunnels from there? Over.”

  Will lifted the binoculars and scanned the roofs of some outer buildings, then tracked a path through a back gate. Twenty yards into the woods he saw a wooden frame. He lowered the glasses until he found the round lid of the hatch.

  “We got lucky,” said Will. “I can see it perfectly.”

  “Does it appear to be locked?”

  “Can’t tell from this distance. The wood looks like it’s been reinforced.”

  “Are there any guards in its vicinity?”

  Will scanned around. “Not one. Haxley flew out this morning, so the whole place seems emptier.”

  “That’s great,” said Ajay. “Can you determine if the hatch is visible from any of the ground-floor windows?”

  Will moved to the next window over to change his angle. “Looks like it might be obscured by a fence and some sheds.”

  “Good. Can you see the graveyard?” asked Ajay.

  Will moved to his right and looked down through another window. “I’m either too close or I don’t have the right angle. What about you?”

  Ajay paused. “Yes, I can see some headstones in a clearing to the west.”

  “I’ll get over there for a look when I can,” said Will. “Are the girls there yet?”

  Elise’s voice broke through the interference, whispering, “Don’t say anything about us you might regret. Instantly.”

  “I never regret anything I say about girls,” said Ajay. “Did you Roger that, Elise? What is your twenty? Over.”

  “Ajay, are you really going to insist on using that ridiculous military lingo?” asked Elise. “What are we, seven?”

  “For God’s sake, woman, I’m simply observing a time-honored tradition in covert radio communications.” Will heard Nick laughing in the background behind Ajay. “Precision and brevity. Unless, of course, you’d prefer to prattle on incessantly about your new shade of nail polish. Over.”

  “Nice ad hominem attack, Ajay,” said Elise. “Always appreciated.”

  “Homonym? Doesn’t that mean something that sounds like something else?”
Will heard Nick ask in the background.

  “Yes, homonym means something that sounds like something else,” said Ajay, off mic, annoyed. “And actually this is a perfect example of it because it isn’t what she meant. Argumentum ad hominem in the Latin means a personal attack used in an argument to undermine the other person’s point of view.”

  A beat. “You lost me at yes,” said Nick.

  “Let’s use plain English,” said Will. “Elise and Brooke, where are you now?”

  “In the canoe we checked out at the boathouse, paddling across the lake. Or, if you prefer,” said Elise, switching to a hoarse, clipped parody of Marines cadence, “our twenty is one-seven-niner degrees of Alphabet Bingo Bango Underwear. On track to reach designated Drop Zone Zamboni on schedule at ninety hundred and fifty-five thousand hours, CDT, BYOB, LOLZ. Over.”

  “I’ll have you know I don’t find that the slightest bit amusing,” said Ajay, sounding tweeked. “Over.”

  This time Will heard Brooke giggle in the background. He moved to a western window and spotted their canoe in the northern end of the lake, approaching the island.

  “I see you now,” he said. “Keep your eyes peeled for security as you pass along the northern shore.”

  “Maybe try tossing those jamokes a booty shot so they drop their weapons and drool,” said Nick.

  “Would you please give me that?” said Ajay.

  Will heard Ajay wrestle the walkie-talkie back from Nick.

  “Remember, this is our scouting run,” said Will. “Low profile. We just want to see if they pay any attention to you.”

  They waited. Will watched them through the glasses as the canoe drew closer. He could make out Brooke in front and Elise steering in back but then began to lose sight of them through the trees.

  “The north beach is empty,” said Elise, whispering into her mic. “No guards in sight.” Will heard Brooke point something out to her. “There’s a security camera on a post above the rear dock.”

  “Is it moving or fixed?” asked Will.

  “It’s moving. I see it, too,” said Ajay urgently. “It’s tracking with your canoe, Elise. Don’t use your walkie anymore. They can see you.”

  Will caught a glimpse of the canoe between the leaves, about twenty yards offshore near the dock.

  “Four other cameras,” said Ajay, lowering his voice. “Five in all, quite compact and attached discreetly to trees. And they’re all moving in sync with the canoe.”

  “Those weren’t there last year,” said Will.

  “They must have added them after our little excursion,” said Ajay. “They must be rigged to motion detectors.”

  “That’s why they don’t need people watching from ground level,” said Will.

  “They’re probably night vision capable as well,” said Ajay.

  “And now—for joy—we get to paddle ALL the way back to the boathouse,” said Elise.

  “No you don’t, chick-a-boom,” said Nick. “Paddle over here and bring us lunch. Didn’t you pack a pick-a-nick basket?”

  “You can bet they do have night vision,” said Will, ignoring him. “We’ll have to get down the hatch before dark.”

  “Will, they must have a control center somewhere inside,” whispered Ajay.

  “I’m going to look for it right now,” said Will, stowing his binoculars.

  “Can’t we just stash this canoe in the weeds and use it later?” asked Elise.

  “And what happens when you don’t bring it back to the boathouse at the end of the day?” asked Will.

  “We tell them a lake monster chomped our ride in half and we barely escaped with our lives,” said Elise.

  “Trust me, come back in just your bathing suits and it won’t matter what you say,” said Nick.

  “Stow it, horndog,” said Elise.

  “Don’t worry about getting to the island,” said Ajay. “I’ll get us across the lake.”

  “Without a canoe?” asked Brooke.

  “Just keep paddling, oh ye of little faith,” said Ajay.

  “I need to get to work here,” said Will. “Head back to the pod and get ready. We’re going in tonight.”

  MR. ELLIOT

  Will wolfed down his sandwich, drank half his water, and went to work examining the boxes. He discovered that all of them had dates scrawled on the side, so he cranked up to his highest speed, motored around the room rearranging them, and had them neatly arranged in chronological order in less than twenty minutes. Three equal rows, forty boxes in each, lined up in the center of the room. Some were sealed; most were open. Their weight varied greatly; some were packed solid and heavy with books and ledgers, while others contained nothing but rolled-up maps.

  He started going through them, not immediately finding any connection between Haxley and the Knights but he was thrilled by what he did discover. This was a treasure trove; the whole history of the Crag appeared to be in these boxes. In a box labeled cornish he found maps of the island dating to the nineteenth century, along with the original blueprints for the castle. Will snapped pictures of those. He also came across a wealth of information about the Center, with records for the school that were as recent as 2006.

  That surprised him: He’d been under the impression the Crag had always been a private residence, so it made sense that documents related to the history of the house would be present, but what were all these records about the Center doing here?

  There was such a wealth of material that his biggest challenge was deciding where to begin his search. He settled on looking for anything related to one year in particular, the first moment when they knew for a fact that the Knights of Charlemagne and the Black Caps intersected in time: 1937. The year when that photograph was taken, showing Hobbes and Nepsted together, at the dinner given for Henry Wallace.

  Will eventually located a couple of boxes with 1937 scrawled on the side. Most of the contents appeared to be mundane paperwork relating to maintenance of the castle grounds. Accounting and payroll ledgers. Books of receipts from vendors. Canceled checks in files, hundreds of them, all drawn from an account for the Greenwood Foundation—the parent organization that owned the Center and its assets, including the NSEA—and for the most part signed by the school’s treasurer and accountant.

  But not all of them. Paging through the 1937 check files, Will found one written in October in the amount of $315. This “Greenwood Foundation” check was made out to Henry Wallace—who, as they already knew, had been the United States’ secretary of agriculture.

  In the lower left hand corner was written, Reimbursement for travel expenses. That date lined up with the photograph Brooke had found of Wallace at the private school dinner.

  Then he discovered something even more curious about it: This check—and only this one of all the hundreds he’d gone through—was signed by Will’s great-grandfather, Thomas Greenwood, the school’s founder and first headmaster.

  So it seemed that the Center—and Thomas Greenwood personally—had invited Wallace to the school for that event, and perhaps other activities, even paying his way so he could attend.

  But why? This certainly seemed to confirm that the Center—and its founder and headmaster—still approved of the Knights at that point in time. It even suggested that, for some unknown reason, Thomas Greenwood wanted a prominent national figure to meet with them.

  Will couldn’t find any other documents relating to the dinner, but he wanted to check the 1938 boxes to see what he could find there. He checked the time: nearly 11:00 a.m.

  Lemuel Clegg would expect him for lunch in the kitchen in an hour. He needed to look for the security center and scout the hatch entrance, which didn’t leave enough time to search through any more boxes with the level of detail the job demanded. Based on the small sample he’d seen, there were many things about the Crag and the school in these boxes that they needed to know—maybe re
ally important things—but if he rushed through them, his eyes would cross eventually and he’d stop paying attention and would surely miss something.

  This was a perfect job for Ajay. He’d take one look and would retain it as reliably as scanning all this data into a computer.

  But how to get any of this to him? Will could sneak a small number of files out in his backpack, but it would take forever to process all this material that way and they didn’t have that much time. The other alternative was to somehow sneak Ajay up here, during daylight, so he could buzz through all of it himself, but that presented even more obvious risks.

  No solution immediately came to mind.

  So, first step: He’d have to stretch out this mundane job so Lemuel didn’t stick him onto some other mundane task. With no way of knowing where they’d assign him next, and with Haxley out of town, better that he live up to Mr. Clegg’s impression of him as an insubordinate slacker. He quickly disarranged the boxes to make it look like he’d only started sorting them, memorizing the arrangement so he could still track their chronology.

  Then he went downstairs to look for the Crag’s security control center.

  The long stone corridor heading away from the circular staircase led to a number of tributaries, an endless warren of halls, some ending in locked doors, others in dusty storage rooms filled with old furniture and framed paintings. He even found a large vaulted wine cellar with a probably priceless inventory of bottles.

  The air in these old halls felt as ancient as the stones in the walls and worn floors, probably the oldest part of the whole estate. He followed the passageways as they meandered around under the entire castle, hoping to find, at some point, that they might connect to the tunnel that led down under the lake, but no luck and, so far, no security center.

  Making his way back to the stairs to the main house, Will felt a weird tingling curl its way up his back from the base of his spine to his neck. He stopped and after making sure no one was watching him—which was close to what this felt like—he closed his eyes and tried to track the source of this uncanny feeling.