The Ferryman Institute (14 page)

Case in point.

Javrouche was walking over deliberately, his hands squeezed tightly together behind his back. “It's amazing what things you can do when you're actually here to do them. To ‘save' another Ferryman and successfully complete a—” He stopped walking and looked in Jen Smalling's direction. “Which was it again, Mme. Smalling—a completely impossible assignment or a definitely, completely impossible assignment?” Jen initially opened her mouth to respond, but instead averted her eyes to the ground. “My goodness, she's speechless. So it was that difficult? And here I thought we didn't deal in impossible cases. To think I've been wrong all these years.”

Melissa took a few hasty steps forward and began walking next to Javrouche as he continued to march toward Charlie. “All right, Inspector, we're just making sure he's fine. I really think—”

But Charlie found himself in no mood for their obligatory verbal cut and thrust. “Let's skip the bullshit, Inspector. What do you want?”

The senior officer of Ferryman Institute initially appeared surprised by Charlie's attitude before his lips curled ever so slightly in anticipation. “Well now . . . someone seems a bit touchy tonight.” He stopped abruptly about five feet in front Charlie. “Feeling a pinch of guilt, perhaps, Mssr. Dawson?”

A curt laugh popped out of Charlie's mouth. “For what? Pulling off the impossible tonight? Again?”

The Inspector surveyed the room as he considered Charlie's reply. There was a glint in his eyes that Charlie instinctively didn't
like. “Yes . . . pulling off the impossible. You are the great Houdini of Ferrymen, aren't you? After all, I've never met a man who could vanish when he's needed quite as easily as you. And I'm sure you intended to make this evening's trick even more astonishing by sending the other Ferryman away from the scene of the assignment. Make your only help
disappear
. Bravo, monsieur. Clearly you missed your true calling in life as an awful magician.”

Charlie knew where this was heading and opted to remain silent. He'd hoped for a chance to organize his thoughts before the inevitable meeting with Javrouche, but apparently his luck was passed out in a gutter somewhere, nowhere to be found.

Taking Charlie's silence as a response, the Inspector continued. “Are you aware, Mssr. Dawson, what Code III, Section 4, of the Ferryman Laws states?”

For a brief moment, Charlie considered not taking the bait, but ultimately decided against it. “
No Ferryman in an emergency situation shall refuse the assistance of another Ferryman, prior to or during the course of such action as is deemed necessary.
”

Javrouche applauded with mock approval. “Amazing—there is more than god-awful puns stored in that brain of yours. So if ignorance isn't the issue, why did you choose to blatantly disregard the rules?”

Charlie's right fist tightened to a degree only a man incapable of pain could manage. “I believed the assignment had a better chance of success with only one Ferryman. I was right. It's shocking how often that happens, isn't it?”

“Come now, monsieur. Just because you completed the assignment doesn't make you right. For all her speech difficulties, Mme. Smalling seems a more than capable Ferryman—who's to say your combined efforts wouldn't have made the assignment as simple as hello?”

“Whether you agree with my decision or not seems irrelevant now, particularly in light of the successful outcome,” Charlie said. “With all due respect to Ms. Smalling, I made a judgment call at the scene, determining that she was mentally unfit for duty at that moment, and that her continued presence would be a hindrance. Incidents like that are hardly without precedent.”

Javrouche took a step closer. “And what gave you the authority to make that decision, Mssr. Dawson?”

“Intuition. Experience. My record.” He let that last one linger for a bit, knowing it was a particularly sore spot. “What gives you the authority to question decisions I make out in the field, Inspector?”

An electric tension buzzed through the air. “My position does, Mssr. Dawson, and you'd do well to remember that. I'd suggest you tread lightly when you walk on thin ice.”

“And I'd suggest you remove the massive iron rod shoved up your ass and stop being so uptight. Though while we're on the topic: Does it tickle your brain when you sit? I've been dying to know that one for years.”

Javrouche actually chuckled. “You are adorably predictable. My job is to enforce the laws that guide this Institute, not grovel at the feet of its false savior.”

Almost everyone nearby was watching now—some with half an eye, others with their full attention. Charlie couldn't see them all, but he knew it to be true, their curiosity powered by the same primitive human instinct that fueled rubbernecking and viral videos. And yet to Charlie there was no crowd, no murmuring voices, only himself and Javrouche. He suspected his counterpart felt the same way.

As if sensing the building pressure, Melissa physically stepped
in between the two men. “How about we all just take a deep breath and discuss this in a more private setting?”

Charlie, however, had other ideas. “I know you didn't come down here to say
thank you
, so why don't you tell me what you really came here to say, Inspector. Go ahead. I know that's what you want to do.”

Javrouche's eyebrows narrowed into dangerous points. “You removed your Ferryman Key, didn't you? You sent Smalling away so you could remove it without anyone knowing, give yourself an edge, all at the risk of exposing our entire operation to the mortal world.
That's
what I'm accusing you of, Mssr. Dawson.”

Charlie was already marching toward Javrouche as the Inspector let his accusation fly. The Ferryman almost walked past the Inspector, but stopped when they were a mere foot apart.

“I acted in the best interests of this Institute, of the general human populace, and of the friends and family of that woman. I succeeded in the assignment. If you want to bring me up on charges, fine, go right the fuck ahead. Just know that this place needs me a hell of a lot more than I need it right now.”

Javrouche buried his gaze into Charlie's own. “Does it? I think my son would disagree with you there, monsieur.”

Charlie clenched his right hand even tighter. “No matter how many times I've apologized, it always comes back to that with you.”

“For good reason,” Javrouche replied. “It's a poignant reminder that you can't be trusted.”

“I made a mistake. Nothing more.”

“You're a danger to the Ferryman Institute, which makes you a danger to all mankind.”

Charlie glanced over his shoulder as Campbell discreetly put
his arm around Smalling's waist. Both were looking in his direction. “Have you told the two of them that?” Charlie asked. “They'd probably beg to differ.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Let me ask you this: Why did you take their emergency assignment, Mssr. Dawson, when you've disappeared for so many others? Did you do it after you heard the subject was female? I hear it gets lonely being a Ferryman . . . How's a dying woman supposed to say no, after all?”

The sound of Charlie's index and middle finger popping out of their respective sockets from tightening his fist punctuated Javrouche's words. Charlie leaned in closer.

“For the record, Inspector—if you ever suggest anything like that again, I'll kill you.”

Javrouche seemed intrigued by the proposition. “Such a shame, Mssr. Dawson, that you can't.”

“Oh, I can,” Charlie said, “just not permanently. Which is good, because I don't think once would be enough. Inspector.”

Charlie didn't wait to see Javrouche's reaction. He strode out of the control room and down the long hallway back to his office. After throwing a pair of shorts and a T-shirt over his shoulder, he opened the door to the desert and was gone.

“THE INSPECTOR
has a point, I'm afraid. Those are rather serious accusations, indeed,” Cartwright said. “However, it is my understanding that they are based on nothing more than hearsay and conjecture, in which case you have nothing to be concerned with.”

Charlie dolefully shook his head. “But that's the problem, Cartwright. I did exactly what Javrouche thinks I did, though not as deliberately as he seems to think. I
did
break the cardinal rule.”

It was a revelation of fairly magnificent proportions, but if it
seemed that way to Cartwright, he certainly didn't show it. Instead, he scratched his chin thoughtfully and said, “I see.”

“I don't think you do.
I removed my key
,” Charlie continued, as if Cartwright's reply wasn't enough. “I put it down so I could talk to her before she died, to try and calm her down, reduce the shock of things when she eventually did. I figured if I could just make her understand what was happening and that it was all going to work out for her in the end, I'd have a better shot of making sure she crossed over. I don't know. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I mean, it worked, so I guess it was. But yeah, I've never done that before. I've never gone that far.”

“Charles . . . I understand. You needn't say any more. You did what you thought was right and, in doing so, accomplished the assignment. An avant-garde methodology to be sure, but a successful one, nonetheless.”

Charlie absorbed Cartwright's meaning, but it didn't quite help with his current dilemma. “So, what do I do now?” Charlie asked.

Cartwright gave a few puffs on his pipe. “With regards to?”

“Everything.”

“Ah,
everything
. Quite a noble question, indeed. Have you ever considered meditation? Or perhaps a good cup of tea?” Cartwright took a sip from his white teacup as if to emphasize the point.

Charlie ignored the comment and continued on with his own line of thinking. “I mean, I signed a contract, so I can't just leave the Institute. I'm immortal until deemed otherwise by the president. A guy, might I add, that apparently no one I know of has ever seen or spoken to. I could deliberately start sucking at my job, but then who knows how many innocent people would have to suffer. How many failed assignments would it take for them to give up on me? Ten? Twenty? A hundred? And even
then, what's to say they'd let me go and not bring me up on charges of treason?”

“Mmmm.” Cartwright set his cup down on a small table next to his chair. “That is quite the . . . Dear me, what was that phrase again? The Catch-22? Apologies, I have trouble remembering all these new phrases that are entering the lexicon. I still have trouble remembering that
knickerbockers
has gone rather profoundly out of fashion. A shame, I must admit—'twas a personal favorite of mine.”

A lone vulture circled overhead. Charlie didn't think the bird was waiting on him—his Ferryman Key was sitting in his shorts pocket, after all—but he found the symbolism appropriate. “You do know that
Catch-22
was published almost sixty years ago, right? I'm not sure that qualifies as
new
.”

“Was it now? I must say, my memory is going to pieces these days. Well, more credence to my theory that time is, in fact, relative.” He took another long sip of tea.

“I can't be the only Ferryman who's had thoughts like this.”

“Far from it, my dear fellow. The difference, however, is that those Ferrymen were allowed to transfer out of the Institute when their feelings came to light. I'm afraid your situation is rather unique in that regard. There appears to be a reluctance on the Institute's part to let their golden goose fly away, if you'll pardon the analogy.”

“Maybe I could just leave,” Charlie mused.

“Certainly a possibility,” Cartwright said, “though I imagine that might not end with the most satisfactory conclusion, what with pesky contractual obligations and such. I have a notion that the Institute would frown upon such a course of action. The life of a fugitive is no glamorous thing, I assure you.”

“Well, what else can I do? I feel like this is my . . . fate, I
guess? Does that make sense? Like I'm going to be doing this until either I lose my touch or the world ends, and there's not a goddamn thing I can do about it.” With a slow and haggard effort, Charlie sat up. “How do you do it?”

Cartwright turned to Charlie. Though it was a look devoid of expression, Charlie knew he was being studied. “Do what, pray tell?” the man asked.

“
Exist. Live.
Not be miserable. Not have the sudden urge to jump off a cliff. Okay, I take that one back—cliff diving is actually pretty enjoyable.” A light wind kicked up, whistling gently as it worked its way through the canyon below. “But seriously, you've been around longer than I have. What keeps you going? Why does William Henry Taylor Cartwright the Fourth get out of bed every morning?”

Cartwright paused, his teacup poised halfway between his lips and its accompanying saucer in his other hand. “Hmmmm. Well . . . I do quite enjoy tea. And an engrossing story.”

“That's it? Books and tea?” While Charlie didn't find that answer terribly surprising, it wasn't exactly the profound response he was hoping for.

Cartwright thought for a moment. “Sunsets. I feel I have a special affinity for a spectacularly setting sun. One can almost understand why the Greeks considered it a glorious chariot drawn across the sky by magnificent steeds. I must admit, it's why I find this particular locale so enchanting. Absolutely marvelous sunsets, quite so.” He took another sip of tea.

As the sun steadily slid farther from the evening sky, Charlie stood up. His shadow stretched behind him in a long, funhouse silhouette, almost as if it were trying to reach the opposite horizon by itself. “Don't you get tired of it, though? Don't you get tired of the death? Doesn't it all get old? The loneliness? Forgetting faces,
forgetting people who were important to you, forgetting what things felt like? I can't remember what being hot feels like, Cartwright. I laid out in the sun for an entire week and not once was I uncomfortable. Cold, hunger, pain—I don't remember what they feel like at all anymore. My God, what I wouldn't give to feel sore after a hard day's work. What human in their right mind would ever wish to feel pain? But that's just it, isn't it? I don't
feel
human anymore. Maybe I'm not. Maybe I haven't been for a while.”