Beckon (16 page)

Chapter 28

Later that afternoon, George found Thomas Vale in the great room standing at the windows, gazing out across the mist-covered landscape. Vale turned from the window, and George could see he was holding a drink.

“I trust Miriam is resting comfortably,” Vale said. “Amanda told me what happened this morning.”

“It gave me a pretty good scare. You didn't tell me perilium would have that kind of side effect.”

“A minor consequence,” Vale said and sipped his drink. “But they can be avoided easily enough. Fatigue is one of the early warning signs that she's ready for another dose. I suppose we should have given her one last night before going to bed. But I wouldn't worry about it. It won't happen again.”

George was taken aback at how casually Vale seemed to dismiss the incident. But he knew he needed to refrain from being overly confrontational at the moment. “How can you be sure?”

“Trust me, George, I don't like it any more than you do. But we must deal with it and move on. I've survived for more than a hundred and thirty years without serious incident. I'm living proof it can be done.”

George shook his head. It was odd to think he was talking to a man who had lived through the Civil War, not to mention the entire twentieth century and now well into the twenty-first. Vale had seen so much history and yet he'd seen it only from this small corner of the world. No wonder the man could be so callous. He'd been the center of his own universe for too long.

“I'm curious . . .” George went to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a drink. It had been a while since he'd had a formal business meeting, but now he found himself slipping easily into negotiation mode. It was just like riding a bike. “Everyone in Beckon seems to have a very specific function. You've given me some idea of what my role here would entail, but what exactly will you need me to do?”

They sat down on the leather couches, and Vale drummed his fingers on the wide armrest. “Our lives here are about balance. We have to maintain a very delicate balance in order to succeed—for
all
of us to succeed. And what I need is your help to maintain the status quo.”

“What status quo?”

“With the N'watu,” Vale said. “We have a very old treaty with them. We give them what they want, and in turn they give us what we need.”

George smiled inwardly. This was an interesting bit of information. Vale had obligations himself. Some sort of symbiotic relationship with the N'watu.

“So obviously you need a steady supply of perilium from them, but what exactly do they want in return?”

Vale took another sip of his drink. “Isolation.”

“I don't understand.”

“The N'watu are a very ancient culture and fiercely xenophobic,” Vale said. “I first arrived in Wyoming back in 1878 looking for gold. And when I stumbled across the cave entrance, they captured me. I had to think pretty quick in order to save my life.”

George's eyebrows went up. “They were going to kill you?”

Vale nodded. “If I hadn't had one of the local Indians as a guide, I'd be dead. But fortunately he spoke their language, and I was able to negotiate with them.”

“But what did you have to bargain with?”

“The most powerful commodity on the market.”

George furrowed his brow. This should be good. “What's that?”

Vale's icy yellow-green eyes narrowed. “Fear.”

“Fear? Of what?”

“Well, that's the real trick, isn't it?” Vale said. “The key to any negotiation—as I'm sure you well know—is finding out what the other party is most afraid of and exploiting that to your advantage. Fear of losing their business or losing market share. Or losing their life.”

“So what do the N'watu fear?”

“Losing their home,” Vale said. “They have a deep spiritual connection with this mountain. I think they see themselves as guardians in a way. Priests. I got the sense that they were protecting something. Something deep inside the cave. So I explained to them how the white man was moving ever westward and even if they killed me, it would only be a matter of time before others would come. And come with more guns. I convinced them that soon their way of life, their whole existence, would be threatened.”

“Very clever,” George said. He hadn't realized it before, but to one degree or another he'd been employing those tactics in the business world his whole life. A thought that, after meeting Thomas Vale, was a little unsettling. “What did you offer to alleviate those fears?”

“I assured them that I could keep them safe. I could conceal the entrance to their cave and keep their home hidden away from prying eyes, as it were. I staked claim to the surrounding land and built this lodge to conceal the entrance, and eventually the town to conceal the lodge.”

“Hidden in plain sight,” George said. “Brilliant.”

Vale chuckled and sipped his drink. “You know, I used to think I stumbled across that cave by accident. Pure dumb luck. But now I know it was fate. It was my destiny to discover the N'watu. We found each other, really. We each supplied what the other was looking for.”

“Kismet.” George nodded. “And now your whole life is focused on keeping this place a secret.”

Vale gestured out the window. “I'm still trying to keep the white man away and keep the N'watu hidden from the modern world. But as I said, it's a balancing act. And that's why I chose you. Politicians are tireless busybodies, and I need you to help keep them out of my business.”

“So this cave . . .” George rubbed his jaw. “Where exactly is it?”

Vale gestured to the floor. “Right beneath us. As I said, I built this lodge over the entrance. I've provided the N'watu with complete privacy for the last 130 years in exchange for their sacred elixir of youth. Not such a bad trade-off, I'd say.”

“They're still living inside the caves?” George could hardly believe an entire tribe of human beings could be living under such horrid conditions. Why would they want to? He couldn't conceive of any benefit or reason for it. “But how can they possibly survive? It's inhumane.”

“Ah yes, they'd be much better off with cell phones and mortgages.” Vale snorted.

“No, I mean, how do they live? What do they eat?”

“I've only been down there once in my life. But from what I saw, a part of that cave system has been isolated from the outside world since the dawn of time. There's a whole self-contained ecosystem thriving down there, and the N'watu are an integral part of it. They adapted to it long ago. It's all the world that most of them have ever known. For them, coming up to the surface, into the sun, would be as alien and unsettling as it would be for you to live underground. And they are keenly single-minded in their religion. They have no real material needs, and all they want is to be left alone.”

It all seemed so bizarre to George. The N'watu should have died out from a lack of vitamin D, for one thing. Sunlight was such a necessity for human life in numerous ways. Unless they were able to compensate for it in some way. And that was probably where the perilium came in. George wondered how old they were. And how many were left. He'd only ever seen the one woman. Nun'dahbi. And she had been so covered in black veils that he wasn't even sure what she looked like.

But George also recalled the power Nun'dahbi seemed to have over Vale when she came into the room that first night. Vale had acted like a frightened child in the presence of his domineering mother.

“I assume the N'watu need perilium to survive as well,” George said.

“Correct.”

“And by moving here—by joining your community—I can basically get my youth back?”

“And then some,” Vale said. “It's quite literally the chance of a lifetime.”

George shrugged. “Where do I sign?”

A smile curled onto Vale's lips. “You're on board, then?”

George spread his hands and smiled. “At this point, I already have a vested interest in your community.”

George knew he was most definitely
not
“on board” with Vale. Not the way he ran things in Beckon. The fact was, George was going to make it his sole mission to undermine Thomas Vale's little empire and usurp his position of authority altogether. If George was going to live here, he wasn't about to put himself in submission to Vale. If he and Miriam were going to have a second chance at life, then
he
was going to be the one in charge. Then he could get perilium into the hands of real scientists and find a way to replicate it or even improve it and eliminate the side effects.

He would drag this whole town into the twenty-first century. And hopefully live to see the twenty-second.

“Glad to hear it.” Vale slapped George on the shoulder. “
Very
glad to hear it.”

Satisfied that he'd waylaid any doubts Vale might've had about his commitment, George went back to the room to check on Miriam once more. It was getting late in the afternoon and she'd been in bed since her episode that morning.

But the bed was empty, and there was no sign of his wife in the suite. George recalled Miriam's voracious appetite after her last dose of perilium and returned downstairs to see if she was in the kitchen.

He found her there, wearing her robe, sitting at the table across from Amanda with her back toward him. Amanda looked up at George and winced. An odd expression, George thought.

“I figured you'd be down here,” he said to Miriam. “How are you feel—?”

He choked his words off as Miriam turned to face him. He blinked and took a step backward. “Miriam?”

Her complexion held no trace of line or wrinkle whatsoever. Her skin was like unblemished alabaster. Her hair fell in pure dark waves to her shoulders. A glossy black sheen, just like when they had first met.

She stood, her expression somewhere between joy and terror, traces of blood around her lips. On the plate in front of her was a half-eaten slab of raw meat. “George . . .”

George was stunned. His mouth hung open and he shook his head. “You . . . you look . . .”

Miriam ran to his arms and George held her close, wondering why he was shocked when he should have expected this. She looked as young and vibrant as a woman in her twenties.

Chapter 29

“George . . . I don't want to stay here anymore,” Miriam whispered.

“Look at you! You look like you're eighteen again.”

“But what this stuff is doing to me—it's not natural. None of this is. Please, can't we just go home?”

“No. You're going to need another dose in a day or two.”

“I don't care,” Miriam said. “I can't live here. I don't care what this drug does to me. I don't care how young it makes me. I just don't want to stay here anymore.”

“Listen to me.” George clutched her shoulders. “Just give me some time to figure a way out of this.”

“I don't trust him.” Miriam's eyes glistened. “I don't want to be a prisoner in this place, and I don't trust Vale.”

George held her close in a long embrace. Clearly the stress of regaining her sanity and her youth had become too intense a strain on her mind. She needed time to adjust, he told himself. She just needed to get used to the idea that she was young again.

“You need to get some rest,” he whispered. “Clear your mind. Why don't you go back to the room and lie down?”

“I don't want to lie down!” She pulled away and her tone grew sharp. “I've been doing nothing but
resting
all week. Stop treating me like I'm still an invalid.”

“Fine,” George said. His voice softened. “You're right; let's find something else to do.” He looked at Amanda. “What do you do for entertainment around this place?”

Amanda showed them the fitness room in the south wing and the entertainment center stocked with all manner of games, movies, and other crafts and activities to pass the time. Miriam found an old game she used to play as a child, and her spirits seemed to lift slightly. And with a little effort, George persuaded her to go back to the room and get dressed. The two of them would get in a light workout together and perhaps sit in the hot tub for a bit. Her mood brightened further at that suggestion.

Miriam left, and once George had Amanda alone, he cornered her in the game room. “Okay, tell me what's going on here. Who was the woman they brought in?”

“Woman?” Amanda stammered. “What . . . woman?”

“Stop with the act. I
saw
her. I saw Carson leading her away in handcuffs a couple hours ago. Who was she? And who did they bring up in the white van?”

“No.” Amanda shook her head. “I can't say anything. He'll find out. And it's not your concern.”

“Where are they?” George persisted. “Are they down in the caves? Does it have something to do with the N'watu?”

“Stop it.” Amanda's eyes darted away. “I have to go. I have work to do.”

George grabbed her arm. “Answer me! Whatever you people are doing up here, you won't get away with it.”

“You have no idea what we're doing.” She yanked her arm from his grasp. “And if I were you, I wouldn't even think about crossing him. Not if you want her to live.”

George glared at her but he could see only fear in her eyes. She wasn't his enemy. She was just a fellow prisoner living in fear. She had been shipped out here by her desperate parents, however well-intentioned they might have been. They were trying to save her life but had unwittingly relegated her to a living nightmare. An unending one. What would it be like, George wondered, to work for a man like Vale for ninety years? He could only imagine what other sorts of jobs Vale would have found for her, and he wondered if such longevity as perilium offered could become more of a curse than a blessing.

Miriam returned and they spent the rest of the afternoon together. Her strength and stamina were clearly heightened by the perilium's effect as she long outlasted George on the treadmill. Then they sat in the outdoor hot tub and played a game of cribbage before dinner.

Vale had invited the other residents again for dinner—raw meat and all. This time Amanda provided George with a cut of meat that was cooked. George did his best to appear amiable, though deep down he had just wanted to spend the evening alone with his wife. His young, vivacious wife.

It seemed the group all came together a few evenings each week. They gathered around the big dining table as though they were at a medieval feast. And Vale sat at the head, directing conversations and moderating debates, always having the final word.

George wondered what it would be like to live within such a small community. Seeing the same few faces year in and year out. Some for more than a century. From the conversations, George gathered more details on how each one had arrived in Beckon. In most cases, their stories were not so different from his own: wealthy souls, stricken with some disease and willing to pay a fortune for the chance to cheat death.

Vale had practically built the town himself after discovering the cave in 1878. At first George wondered why he would build a town in the first place. Why draw people to the very place you're trying to keep hidden from the public?

But then it struck him: it was obvious that Vale needed some type of human community just for his own survival and sanity. Or ego. Though still, it seemed an odd way to keep a secret.

George surmised that eventually Vale's fortune would have begun to wane and he would've needed additional funds to maintain his way of life. He was a businessman at heart. So he had found a way to use the perilium to his advantage and began his search for others whose circumstances he could exploit, then convinced them to join him. Or perhaps
lured them here
would be the better description.

George learned that Malcolm and Loraine Browne had arrived in 1893, followed shortly afterward by Frank Carson, who'd once been a colonel in the Union army. And then in 1897 came Dwight Henderson, who had been a physician at the time. Henderson was tight-lipped about the precise circumstances that had brought him to Beckon, but George got the feeling he might have been trying to save someone. Someone close to him.

He also discovered that Max and Fiona Dunham were low-level British royalty who had arrived from England in 1914 just as the First World War was breaking out in Europe. Fiona had suffered from some sort of aggressive cancer.

George already knew that Amanda had arrived in 1923 and the Huxleys in 1972, but there seemed to be a big stretch of time between them, and he wondered if there had been others that he didn't know about. Others who perhaps didn't wish to remain under the rule of Thomas Vale. Not for all the perilium in the world.

George noticed that Henry Mulch was not present. When he asked, Vale simply said that Mulch was busy with a job he'd asked him to do.

He made it a special point to look for any hint of dissatisfaction among the group, but the general mood was light and jovial.

The gathering began to disperse shortly after ten o'clock, so George and Miriam excused themselves and retired for the evening. George wanted to get to bed early. He had plans for a morning excursion to locate the cave under the lodge. It was a risky maneuver, but he needed to find some answers.

So he arose early the next morning and slipped downstairs to look around. The place was quiet. He followed the corridor past Vale's office and discovered a door hidden in a narrow side passage off the main corridor. It opened onto a stairway leading down into darkness. George caught his breath as a sudden wave of apprehension seized him.

“Where are you going?” Miriam's hushed but urgent voice came from behind him.

George nearly jumped out of his trousers and cursed. “What are you doing? I thought you were asleep.”

“I woke up when you left,” she said. “And I've been following you, snooping around.”

George shushed her. “I'm not snooping. I'm . . .”

“Nosing? Sneaking? Spying?”

“Exploring.”

“Ah,” Miriam said with a stern tone. “Then I'm coming along.”

George stuck out his hand and stopped her short. “No, you're not. You need some rest, so go back up to the room and—”

Miriam brushed his hand aside. “I am not going back to bed while you go exploring. I'm coming with you.”

George sighed. The last thing he needed was for Miriam to see more of this place than he wanted her to. But he also knew she wasn't going to listen to him. Besides, she was now probably stronger and nimbler than he was, so even if he wanted to stop her, he doubted he'd be able to.

“It might be dangerous,” he said, lowering his voice.

Miriam peeked past him down the darkened stairway. “It's a basement. I've seen basements before, George.”

“Yeah, well . . . somehow I don't think this is going to be a normal basement. And I don't want—”

“I appreciate your chivalry,” she said, placing her fingers against his lips. “But if you're going down there, I'm coming with you. It's as simple as that.”

George clenched his jaw and muttered to himself. “Fine,” he said at last. “But keep quiet.”

They proceeded down the stairs until they came to a narrow corridor with a door on either side and one at the end of the hall. Cold, flickering fluorescent lighting gave the area a pale glow. George tried both side doors only to find them locked. The door at the end was another supply closet containing mops and brooms and a couple of shelving units packed with cleaning supplies.

George closed the door with a frustrated sigh. Miriam frowned. “This basement looks like it should be a lot bigger.”

George tried the two locked doors again. “Yeah, I'm guessing there are more rooms behind these door—”

Suddenly they heard the door at the top of the stairs open and footfalls start down the steps.

Miriam's eyes went round and she stifled a gasp. George pushed her back into the space under the stairwell. They watched a pair of legs descending with a five-gallon pail. It was Dwight Henderson. He continued down the hall to the closet at the end and disappeared inside.

“Let's go back up,” George whispered.

Miriam pulled him back into the shadows. “No, he'll come out and see us. Let's just wait for him to leave.”They waited beneath the stairs. And waited.

And waited.

Three full minutes passed.

“What's he doing in there?” Miriam whispered.

Another minute passed and George whispered again, “Let's just go.”

Miriam hushed him and slipped out of their hiding place.

George grabbed her arm. “What are you doing?”

She pulled herself loose, slipped down the hall, and put her ear to the closet door. “I don't hear anything.”

George stood at the foot of the stairs and waved her back. “Good. Now let's
go
.”

But he could see Miriam was having nothing of it. She pointed to the bottom of the door. “There's no light on.” She tapped on the door.

Nothing.

Then she opened the door and stepped back. George held his breath and drew closer for a better view.

But aside from the mops and supplies, the room was empty.