Graveyard Shift Read online

  Do it, I thought. Do it for Mum. If you don’t, you’ll never see her again. If you never take another chance, take this one.

  I took off. A snarl of mob voices followed me. Flashlight beams swished through the dark in confusion, twisting in all directions.

  “Stop now, stop where you are!” someone called.

  But I couldn’t. The top of the steep sloping path was in range. Another few paces, then down to the water and —

  It felt like a punch from a soft-gloved hand. Something hit me between the shoulder blades, knocking me out of my stride. A numb coldness spread through me, turning my legs to jelly and skewing them out from under me. I toppled forward into a fog as my mind went blank, wiped clean.

  I passed out before I hit the ground.

  The next ten minutes are gone. I’ll never get them back. The first thing I was aware of, coming around, was the sound of dripping water and gritty footsteps trapped between dark, damp walls.

  We were inside the access space between Camden Passage and Eventide Street. Two Vigilants were dragging me through the dark, the toes of my shoes scraping the ground as we went.

  “You’ll be OK,” said the one on the left. A gentler, more patient voice than those back on the bridge. “It usually takes half an hour to recover. You’ll feel dreamy for a while, but that’s all.”

  We exited the gap and crossed the alley. I could feel Mum slipping away from me, impossibly out of reach. It was too late now. Above us, the moon shone out of a clear starry sky. The searchlight was still swooping around, giving me a shock as it crossed my eyes, but at least the siren had stopped.

  The main door was open at Pandemonium House, and an unsteady yellowish light burned inside. A handful of other security guards filed into the building. Two more were posted outside, standing on either side of the entrance, staring at me with deadpan eyes.

  My strength was returning. I could walk by myself now, or I could have if they’d let me. The Vigilants clamped my arms, hoisting me up the first steps.

  “Everyone knows what you’ve done,” said the one on my left. “And why you did it. But a crime is a crime, and now you’ll have to answer for it.”

  “I’m not sorry,” I said.

  “You will be,” said the one to my right.

  At the top of the steps, they paused to let me rest. Apart from the pins and needles in my fingers and my dull thudding head, I could’ve fared worse. I’d survived, except I didn’t know for how long. What was the Ministry’s punishment for people like me?

  A sudden commotion across the alley made everyone turn. A clatter of wheels and a slip-slap of running feet came from the crack between the walls. Seconds later Lu appeared, rickshaw in tow, passing through the walls and into the glare of the searchlight beam.

  “Get that thing out of my eyes,” she complained. She brought the vehicle to rest below the steps and dusted off her hands, giving a nervous half smile when she saw me.

  Three figures were seated in the shade beneath the rickshaw’s canopy, but from where I stood I couldn’t tell who they were. The first to move was Sukie, who acknowledged me with a nod as she jumped down. Then Becky sat forward into the light, reaching across the seat to help the third passenger out. When I saw who it was, I nearly cried out with relief, but then a feeling of cold dread took over. Why had they brought her here?

  “Mum . . .”

  I made a move for the steps. The Vigilants held me back.

  With Becky supporting her, Mum climbed gingerly down from the rickshaw and looked around, up at the stars, then at me with mystified eyes.

  “Ben . . . is that you? What is this place and what’s happening? Am I dreaming?”

  I wished she were. I wished we both were, but I was becoming more awake by the second.

  “Lu,” I said, but she didn’t let me finish.

  “Sorry, Ben. Orders. The numbers are wrong. They have to balance the books.”

  My insides lurched. It felt like a jolt from a cattle prod, hearing that.

  “Ben, would you mind explaining —” Mum began.

  The guard at my right put out a hand. “No more questions. Everyone’s here. Time to move this inside.”

  They dragged me toward the main entrance.

  “Let him be,” Lu called after them. “He won’t run. There’s nowhere to run to.”

  All they did was loosen their grip a little as we moved indoors through the entrance hall, which shuddered in the light of twenty or more candles strewn about its walls and alcoves. The wind whistled through the building, and the telegraph’s familiar rattle drifted downstairs as the guards walked me up.

  I guessed this was how a prisoner might feel on the way to the gallows, but I’d pay the price — any price — if they’d give Mum another chance.

  The others followed us, Becky steering Mum up by her good arm, Sukie and Lu just behind. Mum looked as if she were in shock, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. Becky mouthed something to me, but I couldn’t tell what she was trying to say.

  I gave a start when I saw the hallway up ahead. The conference room door was open — it had never been open before. Another pair of guards stood outside, staring blankly at the opposite wall.

  “That’s where we’re going?” I asked faintly.

  “It’s a serious matter,” the guard on my left said.

  After that, nobody spoke for a long time.

  The conference room felt like a cave, a huge, cool space with hewn stone walls, a long oak table at its center with twelve chairs surrounding it, and above the table a giant crystal chandelier glittering with all the colors of light.

  A black cast-iron fireplace stood against one wall, a log fire burning in its grate. At the far end of the room were three stained-glass arch windows, each depicting historic battle scenes — scenes from the eternal war.

  There was more. The room’s most remarkable features were the twelve portraits that hung on the walls, six on either side of the great table. The faces in the portraits were as old as time and white as death and constantly changing, dissolving from one set of features to another, as Mr. October’s often did.

  The twelve faces gave an impression of deep thought and disapproval, not a hint of a smile among them. They overlooked the room like jurors, twelve men good and true, anonymous as jurors because they were never the same when you looked at them again. They didn’t keep still for a second.

  “The paintings are alive,” Becky whispered. “And I think I know who they are. . . .”

  We stared in wonder at the faces of the nameless Overseers.

  I was so absorbed that at first I didn’t spot the movement higher up in the room. Just below the sculpted ceiling, which showed more scenes from the wars, a raven sailed from a darkened corner toward the chandelier. Spreading its wings, it glided gently down to perch on a chair at the head of the table. Its beady eyes surveyed the scene.

  With a sudden flutter of feathers, the bird became Mr. October. He wavered a moment between two personalities, the elderly soul in white and the sharp-suited businessman, before settling into the one I knew best. Light from the chandelier crowned his shiny skull, and his face was as grave and rumpled as his worn-out suit.

  He sat perfectly still, lost in thought. There were no jokes this time, I knew. No gotchas.

  “Please be seated,” he told the gathering. “This shouldn’t take long, but it has to be dealt with. Will those of you with no business here please go out?”

  All of the Vigilants but two left — the two who had brought me here. At last they let me go and moved to the door, closing it and standing before it to seal off the meeting.

  We took seats near the head of the table. The living portraits stared down, cold and colorless. Seated beside me, Mum opened her mouth to speak, but then said nothing.

  Mr. October rapped on the table.

  “We’re in a state of emergency tonight,” he said. “This, as you know, is the night the enemy are at their strongest, and to make matters worse, a name was ta
ken from here a short time ago. It couldn’t have come at a worse time.”

  He glanced at me and I looked away, feeling his disapproval.

  “It isn’t the first time this has happened,” he went on, “and we know from experience how damaging it can be. For one thing, we’ve had to divert valuable manpower to track what was taken. This at a time when we’re already stretched to our limits. When things of this nature occur, it creates a chink in our system. Our defenses are broken. It lets the enemy in.”

  I didn’t need to look up to know what the portraits thought. I could feel their frowns bearing down on me.

  “So we have to shore ourselves up,” Mr. October went on. “If they attack, we must be prepared. To this end we’ve called in all our part-time staff, and every Vigilant will remain on duty until further notice.”

  He paused, hoarse from speaking, and produced a glass of ice water from a pocket. He took a long sip before continuing.

  “The other thing we must do,” he said, “is balance the books. As we sit here, the numbers are out of alignment. One has been called but not accounted for. The sooner we deliver that missing soul, the sooner we can clean up this mess.”

  I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t look at Mum. I felt for her hand under the table and squeezed.

  “Take me instead,” I said weakly.

  Mum tugged at my hand in alarm.

  “What are you talking about?” she said.

  “Beg pardon?” said Mr. October.

  “It was my fault,” I said. “We all know I’m the one who took it. I didn’t think how it would change things and I didn’t think how much damage it would cause. But I did it for a good reason, and I’d do the same again.”

  “But, Ben,” he said, “that’s hardly the point. There’s no better reason for breaking the rules than to protect someone you love. But your name wasn’t called.”

  “There has to be a way,” Becky said. “A way to balance the books without taking this innocent woman.”

  Mr. October shrugged. “You should know by now, innocence has nothing to do with it. How many innocents have you shed a tear over since you started here? It isn’t only the guilty who’re called.”

  “All the same . . . ,” she said.

  He waved her to silence and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then his face cleared and he leaned toward me across the table.

  “Before we proceed, Ben, I think I should have the item in question. The item you stole.”

  I hesitated. Across the room, the Vigilants stood to attention, hands on rifles. Mum looked at me as if she were beginning to make sense of what was happening.

  “Go on,” she said. “It’s all right. I know what this man’s saying and I’m proud — proud of what you did. But you should give it up now.”

  Her words tore a hole in me. I wanted to weep. “But you’re going to get well, Mum. It’s not . . . it’s not your time.”

  Her hand held mine tightly.

  If I didn’t give it back, they would take it regardless. But I wouldn’t let her go without a fight.

  “Ben, please . . . ,” Mr. October said. “The longer we delay, the better the opportunity the enemy will have.”

  Mum nodded, tears in her eyes. With a cry, I dragged the paper ball from my pocket and slammed it on the table in front of Mr. October.

  “There! Are you happy now? Take it back! Just take it!”

  A silence settled over the room. No one stirred or made a sound. The critical eyes of the living portraits softened. If they were content now, if they were relieved, I was anything but.

  Mr. October took another sip of water and unfolded the crushed sheet, flattening it out on the table, then lifting it into focus nearer his face. Something flickered behind his eyes as he read.

  “Hmm. Interesting.”

  It was the last word I would’ve chosen. “What’s so interesting about it?”

  “Sukie —” Mr. October began.

  “Yes, he’s still there,” she answered before he could finish.

  “Is the 4837 we brought in still in the waiting room? Then it’s time he joined us so we can settle this matter once and for all.”

  Sukie was already on her feet. “On my way.”

  The Vigilants stood aside as she hurried out. The rest of us stared after her, bewildered.

  “Would someone mind explaining what the heck’s going on?” Becky said.

  “Patience,” Mr. October said. For the first time, the faces of the elders in their portraits were almost approving. Something had changed since he’d read the telegraph, and we were about to find out exactly what.

  Everyone looked up at the sound of the door, the wind whispering outside as it opened and closed. And there was Sukie, coming inside with the one from the waiting room, the 4837.

  Mum let out a startled cry. She might’ve screamed if she’d had more strength.

  The burned man came forward to stand at Mr. October’s side. His features were easier to distinguish now and seemed to be improving even as I watched, as if his appalling injuries were quickly healing.

  “It happens all the time,” Mr. October said. “The healing begins soon after the lost become found, and believe me, this man has been lost far too long. You were a difficult case right up to the end,” he said to the man, “the way you bounced us across town all afternoon.”

  The man lowered his head in apology.

  “I’m sorry.” Even his voice sounded clearer now that the wounds to his throat were repairing. “I was afraid. I didn’t know where to go.”

  And now the missing left side of his face was healing, and now the singed hair was growing back, and now I recognized him for who he was and cried out too, a cry from the deepest, darkest part of me.

  “Ben Harvester,” Mr. October said, leaning back in his seat. “Stand up and take this man’s hand. Say hello to your father.”

  The room held its breath. No one moved a muscle. Even the elders in the living portraits seemed stunned, their faces becoming ovals of billowing white clouds.

  I could have died of shock, like Andy Cale at Belsize Park. Standing up, I felt so far outside myself that I had to check my chair to be sure I wasn’t still sitting there. Mum got to her feet too, even more unsteady than me, and I looped an arm around her before her legs could give way.

  “I’m seeing things, Ben,” she whispered. “Have I lost my mind, or is that really your father standing there?”

  “You’re not losing your mind, Mum.”

  “I’m so sorry, son,” Dad said.

  It was hard to think of this man as Dad, to imagine what he’d been through since I last saw him, walking away up the path with his suitcase, disappearing into the night.

  But I knew him. I remembered him from the photo albums we kept, from discs with his fingerprints all over them and books with his scribbled notes in the margins. Four years lost, but where had he been and where did he go from here?

  “Donna,” he said, and Mum stiffened against me. “I wish I could turn back time.”

  I looked at Mr. October, demanding an answer. I’d always had so many questions for him, but this was the only one that counted now.

  Mr. October looked up at me, a sadness in his eyes. The empathizer.

  “I know how hard this is,” he said. “You always dreamed you’d find him again, alive and well and back on your doorstep. But it’s better to know the worst than to live in the dark, none the wiser.”

  “But I thought . . . I thought we were here for Mum.” I held her tightly against me. It would take every Vigilant in the house to tear her away from me.

  “That’s an intriguing point,” Mr. October said, pushing the telegraph printout across the table. “Take a look, tell me what you think. It’s quite enlightening.”

  As I turned the paper around, many-colored lights danced across it under the chandelier. I pulled the page into focus and prepared to read what I’d read before — but now the name, the only name on the list, was Jim Harvester.

 
Everything stopped. The only sound was muted wind in the hall outside the room and another, more distant howling sound I’d heard somewhere else but couldn’t place. I was too overloaded.

  “You should be in hot water for what you did,” Mr. October said. “Not only did you take Ministry property, but you took the wrong name, a blunder if ever I saw one. If you’d filed this right away, we could’ve dealt with your father much sooner. We would’ve been spared this pantomime.”

  “That can’t be right,” I almost shouted. “That’s not what it said. That’s not the name I saw.”

  Was that a hint of a smile on his lips, a mischievous twinkle in his eye?

  “See how easily mistakes can be made?” he said. “That’s why we always stress careful reading and meticulous typing. Imagine the chaos if the wrong name were filed.”

  He leaned back, fingers drumming the table.

  “Folks, the family needs private time,” he said. “Time to share a few last words. I’ll ask you to show respect and keep your voices low if you must speak at all. Sukie? There’s something here for the files.”

  Sukie ran to collect the page from him, glanced at it quickly, then at me.

  “Sorry for your loss, Ben, I really am. It’s awful you had to find out like this. But the —”

  “The telegraph never lies,” I said.

  She blinked, surprised, then started to the door.

  So now the three of us stood at the far end of the room under the stained-glass triptych, forming a close circle, not quite touching. My gaze flitted between Mum, pale with shock, and Dad’s still-healing face with its strong cheekbones and Roman nose.

  Behind us, the great table and those seated around it looked miles distant and very faint, as if a veil had fallen between us.

  “You’ve come a long way, son,” Dad said, then looked dotingly at Mum. “We all have. And you have to learn to let go now. You’ve held on long enough.”

  She wiped her streaming nose. “This can’t be happening. I don’t even believe in ghosts.”

  “But you believe in me,” he said.