The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August

Chapter 69

I was not without my allies.

Charity Hazelmere was not dead.

It had taken me a while to find her, and not until the middle of my fourteenth life did I stumble on her, almost by chance, in the Library of Congress while trawling through a report on developments in modern science. I looked up from a particularly boring passage which had nothing to do with my perpetual investigation into Vincent and his activities, and there was Charity, old–inside, as well as out, leaning on a walking stick for the first time I’d ever known–staring at me from across the other side of the table, not sure if I was enemy or friend.

I looked from her to the rest of the library and, seeing no direct threat, closed my book, returned it carefully to its tray, pointed at the SILENCE PLEASE sign, smiled and walked towards the door. I didn’t know if she’d follow or not. I don’t think she knew either. But follow she did.

“Hello, Harry.”

“Hello, Charity.”

A little grimace. Her ancient body was in pain, and I recognised the signs of more than just old age about her. The hair on her head was thinning, but there was a slouch to the left side of her mouth and a weight to her left leg which spoke of more than simple generic decay. “So you remember,” she muttered. “Not many do, these days.”

“I remember,” I replied gently. “What are you doing here?”

“Same as you, I think. I don’t usually like to live this long, but even I can see that something’s gone wrong with time. All this… change…” The word dripped like acid from her lips. “All this… development. Can’t be having that at all.” Then, sharper, “I see you’ve become a journalist now. Read some of your articles. What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, drawing attention to yourself like that? Don’t you know there’s a war on, them against us?”

“Them” had to be Vincent, “us” the Cronus Club. I felt a momentary flicker of shame that I was still included in the “us”. After all, I had spent more than a decade working with Vincent, and my collaboration and subsequent defection were arguably the trigger for the attacks on the Cronus Club. Whether anyone knew this, I doubted, and nor was I in a hurry to tell.

“If the enemy knows your name, they can pursue you! A low profile, Harry, is vital–unless, that is, you’re deliberately inviting trouble?”

To her surprise, and perhaps mine, I smiled. “Yes,” I replied softly. “In point of fact, that’s exactly what I’m doing. It will make things easier in the long run.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What are you playing at, Harry August?”

I told her.

Everyone needs an ally.

Particularly one born before 1900.