Hamish X and the Hollow Mountain (12 page)

King Liam smiled. “I am due to move on soon. I have yet to pick my successor, but there are many who are truly worthy. Aidan or Cara, for example.”

Aidan held up a hand. “Sire, I told you before, all that responsibility doesn't interest me.”

Cara shook her head. “Me neither. All that worry would give me wrinkles.” She tossed her head coquettishly.

“Oh brother,” Mimi muttered, earning a sneer from Cara.

“Over four hundred years have passed since Heinrich stumbled upon this refuge. Each King or Queen adds some new refinement. I've made a few improvements during my time, but perhaps my greatest contribution is yet to come …” Liam gazed off into the distance.

“Surely an operation like the Hollow Mountain must be very expensive to maintain,” Parveen said. “How do you manage?”

“We're mostly self-sufficient. We grow our own food; we fish from the lake. We manufacture whatever we need here. The children and George manage very well. But besides that, we have a monopoly on a very important commodity, haven't we, George?”

The two raccoons came into the room bearing a silver
tray. On it was a wedge of yellow Swiss cheese, pocked with its famous holes. The nutty aroma of the cheese filled the room. Mimi groaned. “Don't tell me ya make cheese here, too! I thought I'd slunk free o' that when we left Windcity.”

King Liam laughed. “No, not cheese. But the holes in the cheese.”

“Whut?”

“The holes.” Liam pointed a long thin finger at one of the hollow bubbles in the expanse of cheese. “The characteristic holes in Swiss cheese are caused by an enzyme introduced during the cheese-making process. King Ludovig discovered the process and registered the patent. Swiss cheese just isn't Swiss cheese without the holes. We collect a royalty every time the enzyme is used. The royalties add up very quickly. We have more than enough money to handle any expenses, with a sizable amount left over for investments. Through a number of false fronts and shell corporations,
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we have invested heavily worldwide. If, heaven forbid, the Hollow Mountain is ever compromised and we are forced to flee, the money will help us relocate.”

Parveen piped up. “Who would want to hurt you? All you do is take in orphans.”

“Ah, Parveen, the sad reality is that there are lots of people in the world who prey upon children because they
are helpless. Children have no voice in the adult world, and so they fall victim to those who would abuse or mistreat them. By taking these poor young ones in, we deprive the predators of their livelihood.

“When the Hollow Mountain was first established, the goal of the Kings and Queens of Switzerland was to fight these terrible people and protect the children. It was bad enough when all we fought were ruthless businessmen and cruel, indifferent governments. In the last century, these more mundane threats have been eclipsed by the arrival of the ODA.

“The ODA hates us the most. If they found their way in here … well, I hate to imagine the ruin they would wreak upon our happy little enclave.”

“But why do they hate you so much?” Parveen asked.

“One can only guess at the ultimate goals of the Orphan Disposal Agency. The name suggests they have little respect for orphans, and their actions prove it. Naturally, since we try to help children in need, the ODA views us as a threat. Up to now they haven't managed to find us. We hide our tracks pretty well. I hope they never do—the consequences would be disastrous. We do our best to be secretive. All our business dealings are handled through the Super Secret Swiss Bank. The SSSB
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is so secretive that it makes the other Swiss banks seem positively forthright.”

“But how kin ya be shore that no one's gonna squeal on ya?”

“In over four centuries, no one has done it yet. The gift we give our children is precious: a new start, a place to grow up in safety, a family. You wouldn't squeal on a brother or a sister, would you, Mimi?”

“Nope, I wouldn't but I cain't speak for nobody else.”

“You can barely speak,” Cara muttered just loud enough for Mimi to hear. Mimi gritted her teeth and her eyes smouldered, but she held her tongue.

The King went on. “We have another way of ensuring our secrecy, which we will show you later if you decide to stay.” He winked at Mimi. “The years passed. The Kings and Queens of Switzerland prospered. The Hollow Mountain became more refined and safer. Now we take in a few hundred orphans every year. Our agents, children trained as Guards and sent out into the world, find the vulnerable, exploited children and bring them here. At any given time we have up to three thousand children living in the Mountain, ranging from newborns to sixteen years of age. We put them through school, train them, and then send them out with enough money to get started and with connections to the field they would most like to pursue.”

“Three thousand?” Mimi shook her head. “I don't mean to spit inta the wind here but that don't seem like much in the grand scheme o' things. I mean ther's thousands o' poor orphans out there in the world … millions!”

Before Parveen could scold Mimi for rudeness, the King raised a weary hand. “I agree, Mimi. I wish we could bring them all here, but there just isn't enough room. I like to think, however, that each one of these children we save and send out into the world makes the world a little better.
They make the people around them care a little more and so, slowly, the world changes.”

Mimi thought about this for a moment. “That sounds like it'd take a heck of a long time.”

The King laughed. “Good! Where was I? Ah yes. So these children we save are sent out into the world at the age of sixteen. The time is fast approaching when I myself must choose my successor and head out into the world.” Liam raised a crutch and shook his head ruefully. He looked out into the darkness of the cavern, the lamps glinting blue under a simulated moon. “I can't say I'm looking forward to it. I've enjoyed my time here and the world can be … difficult for someone like me. More than that, I have yet to complete my legacy.” He turned and looked at Mimi and Parveen. His eyes were shining. “Your coming has made it possible, now. You have brought Hamish X and that makes all the difference.”

Parveen and Mimi looked at each other. Mimi nodded at Parveen and he spoke for them both. “We are here because we had no other place to go. The knife was our only clue. We don't know what you want from us and we don't know what you want from our friend Hamish X.”

“I understand. You have questions.” The King hobbled back to his chair and sank down gratefully. Hanging his crutch on the hook, he took a sip of water and then settled back in his chair. “Ask what you will and I'll answer as honestly as I can. I want you to trust me.”

“First off, who the heck are the ODA? I seen the Grey Agents who brought Hamish X and I seen 'em after Parveen nailed 'em with his PME.”

“EMP,” Parveen interjected.

“Whatever. They ain't quite human.”

“No. They are not. We don't know exactly what they are but we believe they are not wholly of this earth.”

“What?” Even Parveen couldn't keep the surprise from his voice.

“It'll be easier if I just show you. George? The screen, please.” The King pointed at one of the George raccoons and the tiny creature waved a paw. The light dimmed. With the wave of another paw, a painting—a portrait of a chubby girl in pigtails—slid up to reveal a large white projection screen.

Chapter 10

A beam of light emanated from a small window set high in the wall. Through the window a raccoon could be seen operating a projector. The beam shone down, illuminating the screen. King Liam narrated the images.

“The Orphan Disposal Agency.” A stylized logo of the ODA hung in the middle of the screen, three letters interwoven like snakes. The letters were a sickly yellow colour that was somehow unsettling, as if the vile hue had been chosen from an alien pallet.

“That logo is horrible. The colours …” Parveen stopped to rub his eyes.

“Indeed,” Liam nodded. “Where most companies want a logo that attracts attention, the ODA wishes to drive the observer away. They love to work in secret, away from prying eyes.

“For almost a century, the ODA has taken unwanted, unloved children—of which there are far too many, I'm sorry to say—and distributed them among clients worldwide.” A series of photos flashed by showing children working in mines, workhouses, factories—miserable children all over the globe, dirty and fearful. Mimi and Parveen recognized only too well the look in their eyes. They'd seen it in the mirror every morning when they lived under Viggo in Windcity.

King Liam continued. “As I said, until the ODA arrived on the scene, the King of Switzerland had only to worry about saving children orphaned in war or forced to slave for heartless industrialists and the like.
The ODA are something altogether more sinister.
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“No one knows exactly when the ODA came to be, but our researchers believe that their appearance coincided with the Eastern Russian meteor strike called the Tunguska Event.”
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The screen flickered, then filled with a grainy photograph of a blasted forest landscape. In the foreground, men in old-fashioned army uniforms pointed at flattened trees and a giant gouge in the earth. They wore extremely odd, old-fashioned hats.
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The picture changed to show a man with pale, staring eyes wearing a monk's robe. His hair was lank and his
beard tangled and wild. He stood beside a man in an elaborate white uniform encrusted with gold braid and medals on ribbons. Behind them a line of men in various uniforms stood looking on.

“Who's the creep in the dress?” Mimi said.

“Rasputin.
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And that man beside him is Tsar Nicholas the Second of Russia.”

“Rasputin? That sounds like a dessert,” Mimi snorted.

“Believe me,” Liam shook his head, “he was not sweet at all.
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He was cruel and mad, eventually driving the people of Russia to rise up and overthrow the Tsar.” Liam raised a crutch and used it as a pointer. “I am certain that Rasputin was really just a puppet for …
them
.” The tip of the pointer rested on a pair of figures tucked away in the back of the group. The two men were swathed in grey monks' robes, but the strange black goggles and pale faces were unmistakable.

“Grey Agents,” Parveen gasped.

“Exactly. The Grey Agents first enter history in the early twentieth century in the court of the Tsar Nicholas the Second. They are referred to in court records in Saint Petersburg in 1911. The official records called them Grey Monks and suggest they had some connection with Rasputin. George?”

The King waved his crutch. The raccoon in the projection booth changed the picture. In the new photo, a man with a thick moustache and long heavy coat stood on a stone balcony looking down over a military parade. Tanks rolled by. Soldiers marched in formation down the street. Missiles on trailers were pulled along by trucks. Behind the moustached man, in a group of other officers, the ODA agents huddled again. This time they wore military uniforms and peaked caps.

“When the Tsar was killed by the new regime, the ODA didn't miss a beat. They became close advisers to the new government in the Soviet Union. They traded technical expertise for the right to conduct their business without interference. Soon they were insinuating themselves into the lives of the wealthy and gaining influence with many other governments.”

A series of photos showed Grey Agents dressed in many different national costumes, always in the background, almost hidden in the crowd of anonymous advisers to famous people. They stood in the shadows behind prime ministers, kings, presidents, and potentates, always close enough to have the ear of important people but far enough away so as not to attract attention. Black goggles masked their eyes. Their faces were as grey as their clothing. The agents blended into the background.

“Through the years, they slowly went about their business. They gathered unwanted children for reasonable fees. Their contacts in government protected them. They distributed children and took back the orphans as they turned fourteen …”

The pictures became more and more recent, until they were in the modern era. The ODA were shown dropping off loads of miserable children at clothing factories and
fish canning operations. There was even a picture of Mr. Candy and Mr. Sweet looking on with a vilely grinning Viggo as the first lot of orphans was delivered to the cheese factory in Windcity. In the background of the photo, Mrs. Francis looked very nervous and sad, her apron much newer and less wrinkly than it currently was. Another series showed the Grey Agents herding adolescent
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boys and girls onto trucks, boats, and cargo planes.

“No one is sure what happens to these returnees, but we do know where they are taken …”

The picture changed. Now there was a pretty little house on a lovely, tree-lined street.

“The ODA headquarters in Providence, Rhode Island. The children go in but they don't come out. We've never been able to get an operative into the HQ. Anyone who tries isn't heard from again.”

“I know the ODA is bad news,” Mimi's voice interrupted the King. “That ain't nuthin' new. But what's the connection with Hamish X? And how did Hamish X end up with yer knife in his boot?”

“Excellent questions. I'll do my best to answer you, dear Mimi.” The picture changed. An image of Hamish X filled the screen.

“Hamish X. Hero to orphans everywhere. His exploits are the stuff of legend.”

The picture was poorly centred and out of focus, as though the photographer had been hurried or was just
plain bad. It was clearly of Hamish X, however. He stood on top of a building, balancing on one boot at the peak of a steep roof. He was smiling and waving to a crowd of people in a public square below.