robert Charrette - Arthur 02 - A King Beneath the Mountain

by Robert N. Charrette

  His high-energy babble bemused her. It was a pleasant change from the clipped comments she had been getting from her neighbors. She decided that she'd let him divert her for a while. "What good fortune is that?"

  "Why, yourself, of course. What better dining companion than a charming lady who has gifted me with the secret of the locals?"

  "Hardly that."

  "I must disagree. I find you most charming."

  "I meant that I've hardly given you their secrets."

  "Shh. Here comes one now."

  He meant the waiter. He gave his order in his abysmal French, punctuating each request with a wink to Spae. "It should be entertaining to see what I get," he told her as soon as the waiter was out of earshot.

  They talked about ordinary things like the weather and the pleasure of walking through the countryside. He seemed to take a delight in the outdoors that matched his deep tan. Despite her usual lack of interest in such matters, she found herself listening to him. He even got her talking about her college days, of all things; he laughed almost all the way through her story about Professor Wyngarde and the temporary librarian. He listened when she talked and he really seemed interested in her. Not what she could do, not what she knew—her. So interested that shortly after the waiter brought him Ms meal, he inadvertently poured half his bottle of mineral water into the flower vase. They both laughed over that. In the sparkle of his presence she forgot her problems, until her watch beeped and reminded her of other things.

  Pushing away her cold coffee cup, she gathered up her things. He watched with an air of disappointment. She felt guilty leaving him so abruptly, but she really didn't have much choice. Then again, guilt was a little out of place; she didn't even know his name.

  "It's been a pleasure, Mister ... ?"

  "David," he said, holding out his hand.

  She took it, meeting a firm but not overpowering grip. She Siked the way he demonstrated his strength without making a point of it. She hadn't felt so comfortable with anyone since ... well, for a long time.

  "It's been a pleasure, David, but I'm afraid I have to be going."

  "Another date?"

  For a second she thought he was asking for one, then she realized he was inquiring after her business again. With a personal interest this time? She didn't want to give him the wrong idea. "No, I have to see a doctor at St. Catherine's."

  "Nothing wrong, I hope."

  "It's not about me. It's just that it's taken me several days to get Kun's doctor to meet with me, and I don't want to miss n chance to convince him to let me in."

  "To see Kun?" He seemed a little crestfallen. "Your husband?"

  "Holger Kun? Hardly. He's a friend." David raised an eyebrow, prompting her to try another explanation. "A business acquaintance, actually. He's been ill."

  "I'm sorry to hear that," he said, though he actually looked a little relieved. "I hope you won't be too disappointed."

  That was an odd thing to say. "What do you mean?"

  "Oh nothing. Just a hunch. This doesn't seem like a day for hospital visits."

  "Well, it certainly won't be if I don't get there."

  "Perhaps we can meet again."

  "Perhaps."

  Actually, when she thought about it, seeing David again sounded like a good idea. She wasn't ready to leave Chardonneville yet and she could use the diversion. He was a hiker, he wouldn't be around long. She could think of far less pleasant diversions. Assuming he was really interested; she hadn't had a lot of attention from men over the years. Then again, she hadn't really sought such attention, having been too busy with her work. Well, she didn't have any work at the moment; maybe it was time to give some thought to other matters. David had seemed really interested in her.

  Was that so strange? She knew that she wasn't a Fashion Forward™ feature girl, but she wasn't a wrinkled old prune either. She'd heard that some men preferred their women more mature. David could be one of those men. She found herself hoping that he was.

  But right now, she had business to attend to.

  St. Catherine's Hospital was little more than a hospice, barely more than a small clinic—on the surface. Most of St.

  Catherine's facilities were underground. Like everything else in Chardonneville, there was more going on beneath the facade.

  The staff at St. Catherine's were no less surly than the general run of folks in the village, but it didn't bother her as much. Maybe it was just that surliness didn't seem so out of place in the hospital. The doctor was late, naturally. An emergency, naturally. She sat in the tiny waiting room and waited.

  Eventually the doctor came through a door marked "office" that Spae guessed opened on the elevator to the lower levels. He was shorter than David but shared the dark, tanned look. He also didn't look old enough to be practicing medicine. God, what was she thinking? She was too busy noticing what men's ages were today. Spae was the only one in the waiting room, and the doctor came directly to her.

  "Dr. Spae?"

  She stood and took his offered hand.

  "I'm Dr. Montague. Sorry I'm late. It was unavoidable. What was it you wanted to see me about?"

  "How is he?"

  Montague didn't bother to look confused. "Ah, Mr. Kun."

  "That's right."

  "Well." Montague sighed a practiced, professional sigh. "The news isn't all bad, Dr. Spae. Mr. Kun is stable. I'd say that he's doing as well as can be expected."

  "Can I see him?"

  "I don't think that would be advisable at this time. He is under heavy sedation. I'm afraid he wouldn't even know you were there."

  "Meaning you're not going to let me in."

  "As I said, I don't think that would be advisable."

  "I see."

  Abandoning the stern demeanor, Montague shifted to the helpful physician persona. "However, if you would care to record a message, I can assure you that he will see it as soon as he is able."

  As soon as they were ready, he meant. Recordings could be frozen and duped, jiggered, and completely rearranged; they could even be manufactured. Hell, for all she knew they had already made their own "recording" of her to play for Kim. She wondered what they'd had her say. Would Kun have been thinking clearly enough to know he'd been duped? Or was she finding monsters and duplicity where there were none?

  She might not know exactly what was going on, but she was sure that the truth wasn't what they said it was.

  She was clearly not going to see Kun this way. She decided lo stay polite and forced a smile. "Thank you, Doctor. I don't think so."

  "Well, if there's any way I can be of help—"

  "I'll be sure to ask." So you can practice your Oh-so-very-sorries and your brick wall impression? I don't think so.

  She left St. Catherine's, another afternoon wasted. On her way home, she came across David leaning against a stone wall at the corner of Chardonneville's main street and the lane that led down to her cottage. A chance meeting? He had his head down, studying a map. His walking staff and sack leaned against the wall. To all appearances he was calculating his next ramble.

  She thought about changing her path to avoid him, going across the fields to the back garden, but then she remembered that he'd said this wasn't a day for hospital visits. He'd been right, and she couldn't believe that it was just coincidence. What did he know that she didn't? If she didn't confront him now, he might be gone and she'd never know.

  "Hello, David."

  He looked up at the sound of her voice, already smiling. He was the only one who had shown any pleasure at seeing her recently, and the warmth that stirred in her almost made her forget her suspicions. His question, as honest sounding as it was, brought them back.

  "How'd it go at St. Catherine's?"

  "You knew I wouldn't get to see Kun. How?"

  He flinched away from her earnest abruptness. "Because he's not there."

  "If you knew he wasn't there, why didn't you just tell me?"

  "Would you have believed me?"

  "N
o!" Why did he have to seem so honest? "Yes." If he was honest, why hadn't he told her right out? "Well, maybe." Would she have believed him? "Hell, I don't know!"

  "So they didn't tell you."

  "Tell me what?"

  "Look. I can see that there's some kind of trouble here, maybe it's best I don't get involved." He reached for his walking staff; she used her own stick to bat it out of his reach.

  "You're not getting off that easily. I want to know why you lied to me. Why did you say you had a hunch that I wouldn't see Kun when you knew all along that he wasn't there?"

  He looked her straight in the eye. "I didn't lie to you. I said I had a hunch, and 1 did. But I'm afraid I didn't express myself clearly either. My hunch was that you were Elizabeth Spae. When you mentioned Mr. Kun, I knew I was right and why you looked familiar."

  He had known who she was all along. She wasn't ready to consider the implications of that and what it meant about all their innocent chat. How innocent had it been? She didn't want it all to have been a lie. To keep her head straight, she focused on what had started their conversation. "Well, since you knew Kun wasn't there, you must have some idea of where he is."

  "The last information I had placed him at the Phillips Sanatorium, outside Southampton in England."

  "England!"

  "That's right."

  How could he know and she not? "You seem to know an awful lot for a hiker who just happens to be passing through Chardonneville."

  "I have some connections."

  Connections, indeed. They'd have to be some kind of serious connections to get him information about an ECSS agent. "Just who are you?"

  "David Beryle."

  "And who is David Beryle?"

  "A workingman."

  "Working for whom?"

  "Whoever pays the most," he said as if it were embarrassing. "Lord, did I just say that? I know what you must be thinking, but it's not— Well, you see, I'm something of a student of fringe—uh—unusual phenomena. I've written a few pieces for some magazines. I don't suppose you've read any of them."

  "You suppose correctly." His discomfort made her feel uncomfortable herself. "So you're a reporter?"

  "Not exactly. I write. The nonfiction pays the bills, but it's not my real work."

  His explanation could cover how he might know about her. Barely. But Kun? "How do you know Kun?"

  "I don't really. He's just a name to me. But I thought that you might know him because I came across his name in connection with the incident last year in New England." He interrupted himself to admit excitedly, "That's an affair that I'd like to ask you about sometime." Her frown damped his enthusiasm. "Anyway, I logged his name on a watch list with my clipping service—I've got a good one—and a week or so ago they posted me a note from a local net about an incident at the Phillips Sanitorium. There weren't any details, but there was a Holger Kun mentioned as a patient who had been injured. I wondered about it at the time; couldn't even be sure that it was the same guy. I had a feeling he was, though, so I poked around a little, but I didn't get very far; that sanatorium has got a pretty good data security system, the kind that places with V.I.P. patients have. Now, I'm wondering about other things. Is Mr. Kun part of Department M also?"

  The alarm bells she'd been suppressing broke free. "What do you know about the Department?"

  "I'll take your reaction as a yes."

  He grinned as if he'd won a point, which he had, but he'd lost a few with her as well. "What's your interest in me?"

  "Before today, I'd have said purely professional."

  Before today? How long had he been secretly stalking her? It couldn't be like that! He wasn't like that! He couldn't be! Could he? How much did she really know about him? "What do you mean 'professional'?"

  "I mean professional. I'm a writer, remember? I was doing some research for an article a couple of years ago and I came across your master's thesis. Interesting stuff. I wondered where your work had taken you, so I dug a little deeper, figuring that you'd have gone on and finished your doctorate. I wanted to see that thesis, see what conclusions you'd reached. When I found out that you had disappeared without ever turning your paper in, you became a mystery to sleuth down."

  She wasn't sure how his explanation made her feel. "Should I be flattered?"

  "I'm not sure. I hope you don't think I'm some sort of stalker freak. It's not like I made your career an obsession or something. I had your name and some associated keyword items on another watch list. I didn't get a lot and that surprised me. Remember, I said they're good; they've got connects with more than the usual databases. There was so much potential in what you were doing, that tantalizing hints only kept my interest up. I never really thought that I'd meet you."

  It sounded plausible, and she had to admit that she was flattered that someone would be so dogged in following her work, but she couldn't let herself be blinded by the warm feeling his interest gave her. He sounded sincere and she wanted to believe him. "Why should I believe this cock-and-bull story?"

  "Because it's true."

  She wanted to believe that it was, but the Department had told her that they'd hidden her past. How could a mere magazine writer find what they had hidden? "You're awfully well informed. Who do you really work for, Mr. Beryle?"

  "David, please."

  "I think I'll keep it formal, Mister Beryle." For her own peace of mind; there were too many things that didn't add up.

  David hung his head and sighed. "I was afraid this would happen."

  "Apparently your fears are as reliable as your hunches."

  "Please, Dr. Spae, let me explain."

  "You've got a minute."

  "That may not be enough."

  "Try."

  "This is not a good place."

  She didn't really care. "You're wasting your time."

  "We are being watched here."

  "Really? By whom?"

  "Agents of Department M, I presume. This is their town. If we speak here, they will know everything we say."

  "Of course they will. You're part of the conversation."

  He smiled and almost laughed. "You don't seriously think that I'm part of the Department, do you?"

  "Aren't you?"

  "If I were, would I be telling you how the Department's stonewalling you about Kun?"

  "You might."

  He almost answered immediately, but paused, presumably to think. "That's some very convoluted reasoning. Do you really think that's the case?"

  She saw his point. "Jesus, I'm getting as paranoid as they are."

  "If you're worried about that, there's still hope for you."

  Hope, maybe. But that didn't mean she shouldn't wonder about him and where he came from. "How is it that you know so much about the Department? About me?"

  "I told you. I'm a researcher. And I'm very good at what I do."

  "My association with the Department is not on public record."

  "Also, as I told you, I have connections."

  It wasn't a very comfortable answer. "What brought you

  here?"

  "Nothing brought me here. I'm on vacation. I was just passing through. Our meeting was pure coincidence. Not that I'm going to let that stop me from trying to help."

  "I thought you didn't want to get involved."

  "So did I, but now I don't see how 1 can't. You obviously need help."

  Since her "resignation" she'd spent her nights in rituals designed to align forces in her favor. Was David the response? A magician couldn't always be sure how such positive forces would present themselves in her life. When the alignment was

  good, events often took on the appearance of useful coincidence, a coincidence like his appearance in Chardonneville. "What kind of help are you talking about?"

  "Whatever I can provide. I know some people. Maybe I can get some strings pulled. What kind of help are you looking for?"

  What kind, indeed? "Suppose I'm willing to listen to you."

  "We could go to your cottage a
nd see what we can figure out."

  "Let's try somewhere a little more neutral."

  "Still don't trust me, eh? How about down by the woods? Little chancc we'll be overheard there."

  She decided she was willing to trust him that far. She walked with him and let him talk, expounding on a plan that he was clearly making up as he went along. He had a way of speaking that made her just want to listen; so she did. He had her believing that the two of them could leave Chardonneville together. They parted when the sun touched the trees to the west and she promised to meet him again the next day.

  But that evening, alone in her cottage, she began to have second thoughts. David's plan had sounded almost reasonable while he had been explaining it. Now it seemed a little farfetched, even full of holes. Chardonneville was the headquarters for a nest of spies backed up by the best magicians of the modern era. How were the two of them supposed to get away from that? David was just a writer. Sure, he'd had some experiences, but how did surviving a few brashes with the barely competent militaries of third-rate countries qualify him to deal with Magnus's agents? He was confident, and when she had looked into his eyes, she'd felt confident too.

  Now that she'd had some time to think about it, she didn't feel so confident. How could they possibly manage it?

  With her magic, of course.

  It was their—her—greatest asset. Just the fact that Magnus hadn't made any overt moves against her demonstrated that they were afraid of her now. And why shouldn't they be? Hadn't she demonstrated a new facility with magic, beyond anything they'd yet cataloged?

  And that idiot Dagastino didn't want to believe she'd been to the otherworld.

  But their fear was based on ignorance. How fearful would they be if they knew how ignorant she was of her new abilities? There had been so little time for testing her new strengths, exploring the new sensations that she perceived, or analyzing her new insights. One thing she was sure of was that little in her improved repertoire of spells could match Magnus's hi-tech cloak-and-dagger toys. Worse, most of the magic she felt confident of required preparation, supplies, and equipment, and almost all of her supplies and equipment were still hostage in the underground labs.