Tales of the Scarlet Knight Collection: The Call Read online

  “So what did you learn in school today?”

  “Not much.”

  “I wouldn’t think so. You’re too smart for that school. That’s what I keep telling your mother. You should be in one of those gifted schools.”

  “Mom and Dad can’t afford that,” Emma said. This had been the subject of a couple of very rare late night arguments between her parents. Mom had wanted Emma to go to a school for gifted children while Dad—a CPA—pointed out they couldn’t afford it. They might have been able to afford it if Mom had gone back to work, but she hadn’t. She had stayed home to care for Emma.

  “I’m sure we could work something out. Any school would kill to have a girl as smart as you.”

  “I’m not that smart,” Emma said. She wasn’t smart enough to find a cure for Alzheimer’s, to have saved her parents, or even to figure out what that thing in the office was.

  “Don’t be silly, sweetheart. You’re much smarter than I was at your age.”

  “Maybe.”

  “No maybe about it. You could probably be teaching the class.”

  “I couldn’t do that.”

  One of Aunt Gladys’s wrinkled hands reached out to touch Emma’s hair. “You shouldn’t be so modest,” she said. “You should be proud of who you are. I know I am.”

  “Thanks, Aunt Gladys.”

  “Now, you give me a kiss and then you go run along and play.”

  Emma leaned forward to kiss her aunt on the cheek, something she hadn’t done since she was fourteen. She noted how cold Aunt Gladys’s skin felt now, as if she were already dead. “I love you, Aunt Gladys.”

  “I love you too, sweetheart. Tell your mom to come see me sometime.”

  “I will.”

  By the time Emma stood up to leave, her aunt already looked out the window again; she had forgotten Emma was still there.

  ***

  Emma didn’t get far before she heard another voice from the past. A distinctly English voice said, “Why as I live and breathe, is that the famous Dr. Earl?”

  She turned to see an old man sitting in an easy chair, a newspaper on his lap and a cane beside him. Despite the thin gray hair and probably twenty extra pounds, she still recognized Percival Graves. “Mr. Graves! What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, that bastard son of mine finally got tired of me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “That boy’s never been any good. Just like his father,” Mr. Graves said with a wink. He motioned for her to sit down. “Come closer and let me get a good look at you. Last time I saw you, you were a wee thing. Now you’re all grown up.”

  “I guess so,” she said. She looked down at her feet while her cheeks burned from embarrassment. “How have you been?”

  “The leg still gives me trouble,” he said. He tapped his left leg. “But I always know when it’s going to rain. You might want to bring an umbrella with you tomorrow.”

  She chuckled at this. “I will.”

  “I hear you’re a big shot geologist now at the Plaine Museum. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I’m sure before long you’ll be running the place.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh, come now, love, you’re smarter than anyone there.”

  “I almost got fired. My supervisor hates me. He thinks I’m just a girl.”

  Mr. Graves shook his head. “If I weren’t locked up in here I’d go and knock his block off for you. Imagine him saying that. Man obviously don’t know his elbow from his ass.”

  Coming from someone else, Emma might have frowned at such language, but it was part of Mr. Graves’s charm. He had been the closest to a grandparent she had ever known, all of her real grandparents being dead before she was born. If not for him, she might never have become interested in science.

  She had first met Mr. Graves on her third birthday. As a treat, her parents took her into the city to the Plaine Museum. Daddy scooped her up to carry her on his back as they climbed up the marble stairs. “It’s so big,” she said.

  “It sure is, kiddo,” he said.

  He carried her through the gallery, over to the skeleton of Alex the mastodon. They waited there while Mom went off to use the bathroom. “Do you know what that is?” he asked her.

  “A mastodon,” Emma said. “It’s wike an ewephant.”

  “That’s right.”

  She stared at the mastodon’s polished tusks, to try and touch them, but her arms were too short. “Can I touch him, Daddy?” she asked.

  “Afraid not, kiddo. It’s against the rules.”

  “Oh.”

  It was then that Mr. Graves came onto the scene. He was thinner and had more of his hair, but he still moved around with a limp as he pushed his broom across the floor. “’Scuse me, sir. I’ll be needing to get over here for a moment,” he said.

  Mr. Graves unhooked the velvet rope that separated them from Alex. Mr. Graves turned his back to them and began to hum loudly. Daddy understood and stepped across where the rope had been. “Go on, honey,” he said. “Touch him.”

  “But you said—”

  Mr. Graves turned around and smiled at her. “It’s all right, lass. No harm in touching this old beast. He’s a bunch of old bones, isn’t he?”

  “Yes,” Emma said. She looked down at her father, to make sure it was all right. When he smiled at her as well, she took this as a sign that it was okay. She reached out with her right hand to touch Alex’s tusk. She pulled her hand back and giggled. “Daddy, he’s so cold!”

  That day at the Plaine Museum had cemented her love of science for the rest of her life. She had Percival Graves to thank for it, for bending the rules to let a little girl touch the mastodon. As her father carried her away from Alex, she turned around to wave to Mr. Graves. He waved back and gave her a wink. He put a finger to his lips to indicate this should be their secret.

  “It’s all right,” she said. Her mind returned to the present. “I can handle it.”

  “I’m sure you can,” Mr. Graves said. “You’re a bright girl—or woman, I should say.”

  “You can still call me a girl.”

  They talked a little about her moving in with Becky. Mr. Graves said, “You’d best be careful on those streets. That’s the kind of place not even the old Scarlet Knight would visit.”

  Besides serving as her tour guide around the museum, Mr. Graves had always regaled her with tales of the Scarlet Knight, a vigilante who had once fought crime on the city’s streets. That had been long before she was born, when her parents had been young. According to Mr. Graves, the Scarlet Knight wore armor that could deflect bullets and a magic cape that allowed him to turn invisible. With his golden Sword of Justice, he defended the city from evil.

  “You never told me what happened to him,” she said.

  “Well, honestly, no one knows. He disappeared. He might have died or he might have gotten tired of it and walked away.”

  “We could use him around, couldn’t we?” she said. She thought of her parents; if the Scarlet Knight had been around, he could have saved them.

  “I’m sure when we really need him the most, that’s when he’ll appear again.” Mr. Graves looked down at his watch. “It’s getting late. You best go on home. Just don’t get so caught up in life in the big city that you forget about a poor old man.”

  “I won’t.” She leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek the same as she had Aunt Gladys. Then she stood up to leave.

  Before she did, Mr. Graves tapped her leg with his cane. “You mind what I said about looking after yourself. Those streets aren’t a safe place for a beautiful girl like you.”

  “I’ll be careful,” she said.

  As she sat at the bus stop a few minutes later, she looked down the road, towards where her former house still waited for her. She should go back to face those old ghosts. Not tonight, she thought and then took out her book to read as she waited.

  Chapter 3

  While at Northwestern, Emma had tak
en up jogging to help keep her body in shape and her mind clear. A break from the books and the lab sometimes helped her to gain perspective on things.

  She hadn’t gone jogging since returning to Rampart City. Becky had cautioned her against running in the neighborhood—unless someone was chasing her—and to avoid Robinson Park, which had become a hangout for the various gangs in the city. But it would probably be safe enough to run around the block near the museum.

  She had prepared for this contingency, bringing her running clothes with her. She changed into the purple Northwestern T-shirt that had become faded and stained with sweat from repeated use and a pair of yellow shorts that helped her remain visible in the early morning or evening. From her purse she also took out a pair of prescription sports goggles so her glasses wouldn’t fall off and break.

  She used the staff elevator down to the first floor and then snuck out the back door. At a park bench, she began to stretch out her muscles so she wouldn’t pull anything. As she stretched her quads, she heard a familiar voice. “Getting a little exercise?” Dr. Dreyfus said.

  She turned around and saw him dressed in a T-shirt, shorts, and goggles as well. In his case the T-shirt was a gray Cornell one and his shorts bright red. The shorts gave her a good view of his muscular calves, especially when he began to stretch next to her. She felt her cheeks turn warm at this. “You too?” she asked.

  “Oh, sure. Don’t want to get soft.”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “Not that you have to worry about that. You could probably put on a few pounds.” Dr. Dreyfus looked down at his feet; his cheeks turned red as well. “I didn’t mean that you’re too thin, like anorexic or anything.”

  “No, it’s fine. I know what you meant.”

  “Would you mind if I run with you? Safety in numbers.”

  “Sure,” she said. As they set out she kept her eyes on her feet, so she wouldn’t trip over them and embarrass herself in front of him.

  “How do you like this place so far?” he asked.

  “I love it.”

  “The pay isn’t the greatest, but it’s a really respected organization,” he said. He easily kept pace with her. “That’s the kind of thing that looks good on your résumé later on.”

  “I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

  Dr. Dreyfus nearly tripped over his feet and blushed again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it quite like that. I meant if you ever want to work anywhere else, this will be good experience.”

  “How long have you worked here?”

  “About five years. Most of that was in the field.”

  “In Egypt?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You were the one who found Karlak II?”

  “Not just me personally. The whole team was involved, but yes.”

  “That must have been exciting.”

  “It was.” They rounded a corner and weaved through a group of people at a bus stop. “I was starting to think I wouldn’t find anything and the director would fire me. Then one day we brushed aside some dirt and found the entrance to the tomb. It was there the whole time, pretty much beneath our noses.”

  “That’s great,” Emma said. She had found some meteor fragments in Montana during her fieldwork for her doctorate, but that had been a relatively minor discovery.

  “Yeah, and what’s even better is now the whole world is going to find out about it. When people think about Egypt, all they think of is the pyramids and mummies. Now we can tell them the whole story from the beginning.”

  She admired how passionately Dr. Dreyfus cared about this, how evident his love for this ancient culture was. She felt that way about meteors, about how they broadened human understanding of the universe. This made her think of the strange black object Dr. Dreyfus had brought to her. That might really broaden human understanding of the universe—if she could figure out what the heck it was.

  “So you’re going through with the exhibit now?” she asked.

  “Now that we have Karlak’s sarcophagus, yes. It won’t be quite as good as I’d hoped, but it should still be pretty impressive.” She almost tripped over Dr. Dreyfus when he came to a stop.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “No, nothing like that. Before we open the exhibit to the public, there’s going to be a charity preview. On Saturday night. I thought if you didn’t have any plans, you might like to go with me.”

  Emma stared at him; her eyes widened behind the goggles. Was he asking her out on a date? Interoffice romances were against the museum’s policies; she could quote the page to him from memory. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said. “Dating a coworker is against the rules.”

  “Oh, right, that’s true. But it doesn’t have to be a date, does it? You could go as a colleague.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Come on, it would let me pay you back for the work you’ve done on that thing.”

  She considered this for a moment. It did sound like fun, especially with Dr. Dreyfus. And yet there would probably be a lot of her coworkers there; she and Dr. Dreyfus could both be fired. But if they weren’t going as a couple, just as colleagues—

  “I suppose that would be all right,” she said. “Just as colleagues.”

  “I understand.” He gave her one of those smiles that reduced her to a pool of jelly.

  With that settled, they resumed their run in silence. They reached the bench where they started at the same time. In most everything they seemed evenly matched, as if meant for each other.

  ***

  The office for Roy Lintner’s mayoral campaign was as two-faced as the man himself. The main office—the one for show—was in an abandoned store on the ground floor of the Archlinger Building across from City Hall. This office had a select few people on phones and lots of signs, patriotic bunting, and balloons.

  The real office was down in the basement. That was where the grunt work was done by lowly “volunteers” like Becky Beech. Here they worked at rusty metal desks dating from World War II to stuff envelopes and make phone calls. Becky didn’t have a pleasant enough voice for phone calls, so she stuck to filling envelopes. It was a monotonous task, especially with only the dim fluorescent lights overhead. The checks she received every two weeks and the promise of three credits towards her political science degree made the drudgery slightly more worthwhile.

  A few of the other “volunteers” had already defected from the campaign. They were the lucky ones, Becky thought as she stuffed another envelope that would probably wind up in the trash. This meant more work for her to try and keep up with Lintner’s impossible demands. Rampart City had a population of nearly nine million and apparently he wanted to send a brochure to every one of them.

  “You’re still here?” Becky asked Connie, with whom she shared the desk.

  “Until the bitter end,” she said. “It’s better than nothing.”

  “True.”

  “Lintner treats us like shit, but at least he doesn’t grab our asses like my last boss.”

  “He probably does that to the girls upstairs.”

  As they laughed at this, the front door burst open. Police clad in bulletproof vests and with handguns at the ready swarmed through the door. At the head of them was a woman with short, dark hair and blue eyes that seemed focused on Becky. “Everyone stay where you are and put your hands up. This is a raid,” the woman said. The uniformed officers behind her began to scatter around the room.

  “What’s going on here?” Becky asked.

  “Are you Roy Lintner or his chief of staff?”

  “No—”

  “Then shut up, Fatty.”

  “Fatty?” Becky leaped to her feet and glared back at the woman. “Why you—”

  She didn’t get a chance to finish as the woman came around the desk and pinned Becky’s arm behind her in the blink of an eye. The cop leaned Becky forward, so that her head was on a pile of envelopes to be sealed. “Listen up, Tubby,” the woman hissed. S
he produced a badge that identified her as Detective Charlotte Donovan of the Rampart City Police Department. “Unless you want to go to jail, keep your mouth shut.”

  “Let her go,” Connie said. “She didn’t do anything.”

  “Keep out of this, Short Stuff,” Detective Donovan hissed.

  “You hurt her and I’ll report you to your supervisors.”

  For a moment Becky thought Donovan would put a bullet in both of them. Instead, the detective let her up. “Get your asses onto the loading docks.” Detective Donovan raised her voice. “That goes for all of you. Get on the loading dock until we’re done.” She turned to one of the uniformed cops. “Sergeant, get a couple guys and watch them. They so much as sneeze, put a bullet in them.”

  Becky wanted to argue, but she knew the Rampart City Police Department by reputation. They made the LAPD look like Boy Scouts. There might have been more angst in the city, except the cops didn’t discriminate when it came to police brutality. Black, white, Asian, Hispanic, or anything else wouldn’t matter to them; be at the wrong place at the wrong time and you’d wind up eating a baton.

  That this same Rampart City Police Department hadn’t ever found who killed Emma’s parents didn’t endear them to Becky either. The cops had of course promised to do everything in their power, though in a city as large and ridden with crime as this one, it was almost impossible to find two killers without a positive ID.

  The cops herded them onto the loading dock, where they milled about like cattle as they waited for the raid to be over. Becky wasn’t a crime expert, but even she knew what they wanted: Lintner’s campaign finance records. They were probably looking for illegal donations on a tip from Lintner’s opponent, not that he needed to stoop to that to defeat Lintner at this point.

  She heard Lintner well before she saw him. “What the hell is going on here?” he roared. After a moment of silence, Lintner said, “That’s crazy! Everything I’ve done is perfectly legal.”

  There were a few more minutes of silence before Lintner appeared on the loading dock, his face even redder than usual. “All right, you assholes, get back to work! We’ve still got a campaign to win!”