I’m Eddie Drood, secret agent for the very secret Drood family. Unless I’m working undercover, and then I go by my use-name, Shaman Bond. That feckless, easy-going face about town, always on the lookout for a little profitable trouble to get into. Shaman has his uses; doors will open to him, and people will talk to him, whereas they’d run like hell from a Drood. Under one name or another I’ve fought bad guys and evil forces, vicious conspiracies and demons from the outer dark. I’ve saved the world on more than one occasion, though the world never knew. I have punished the guilty and protected the innocent, solved mysteries and known something of the night, and walked right through the valley of death with a big nasty grin on my face. I have known good luck and bad, triumphs and tragedies, and the love of a woman worth loving. I’ve lived.
But I should have remembered the one certain lesson that life teaches. Nothing lasts. Every story comes to an end, and the curtain falls on every one of us. Because there’s nothing you can build that the world can’t tear down.
My name is Eddie Drood, and I am a dead man walking.
It started just like any other day, with a case that seemed no different from any other. I was walking through a winter wonderland, a pleasant snow-covered scene in the middle of a forest miles from anywhere. On a cold, brisk morning, under an iron grey sky, with snow falling silently in fat white puffs. Snow had been falling for quite some time, and the thick cover crunched noisily under my heavy boots as I strode along. The narrow path, such as it was, wandered between dark leafless trees and took its own sweet time about getting anywhere. No birds sang, and nothing moved anywhere, even in the depths of the forest. I could look in any direction I liked, for as far as I liked, and not be bothered by any trace of human civilization. When I want to get away, I like to really get away. My only companion in this calm and peaceful, whited-out world was the small shaggy dog padding cheerfully along beside me. He’d taken it upon himself to keep me company. He thought I needed looking after.
I trudged along the path, occasionally slipping and sliding as I kicked my way through treacherous drifts. My heavy greatcoat kept out the cold, and the long knitted scarf wrapped round and round my neck prevented the bitter wind from harassing me. I was also wearing thick rainbow-striped mittens, a gift from my Molly. A woman of marvellous abilities and intrepid character, but no taste at all when it comes to knitwear. I was wearing the damned things only because she’d knitted them herself. She’d suggested the dog might like a cosy coat and little booties, but I put my foot down firmly on his behalf.
My bare face smarted from the cold, and my breath steamed heavily on the air. My nose was running, and my ears ached. But I remained resolutely happy, even content. Nothing like being wrapped up warm against the cold, defying everything the winter world could throw at you.
I finally left the trees behind and emerged into a wide clearing, where a paved path led straight to the front door of my isolated country cottage. Just a simple stone structure, with shuttered windows, heavy gables, and a roof buried under a thick layer of snow. Icicles hung from the guttering like gleaming exclamation marks over how cold it was. The cottage was small enough to be cosy, but with room enough to breathe. Catswinging was not encouraged. Occasional puffs of smoke rose from the squat brick chimney, reminding me that I needed to build up the fire again. I gathered up a bucket of coal and an armful of wood from the bunkers at the side of the house, while my dog watched solemnly and made no effort to help. I went back to my front door, kicked it open, and carried my burden inside. My door is never locked, because this far from civilization there’s no one to lock it against.
The main room boasted comfortable furnishings, thick rugs on the floor, and the biggest grandfather clock I could find. It stood proudly in one corner, and had glass panels so I could observe the mechanisms working. I stoked the fire quickly and loaded up the battered old coal scuttle before pulling off the detested mittens so I could warm my fingers over the dancing flames. I straightened with a minimum of pained noises, stretched slowly, unwound the long scarf from my neck, and then shrugged off my greatcoat before hanging them both on the ornately carved coat-rack. The dog turned around several times in front of the fire and collapsed onto the thick rug with a solid thump. His way of telling me that as far as he was concerned, all travelling was now at an end. He wasn’t going anywhere. I knew how he felt.
I turned on the clockwork radio, and Radio Four hit me with a cathedral choir singing a Christmas carol. Angelic voices celebrating the festive season and offering comfort and joy. I made myself a big mug of hot sweet tea and settled comfortably into the padded armchair by the fire. The mug had World’s Best Secret Agent on one side and Please Don’t Tell Anyone on the other. My uncle James gave it to me years ago. I looked around, taking my time and enjoying an old-fashioned setting illuminated by a warm golden light. My Christmas tree stood sturdily in its corner, festooned with the traditional battered tinsel, cracked baubles, and flickering lights brought out of storage one more time; it was one of my few happy childhood memories. Christmas cards lined the mantelpiece, because you can’t escape the damned things. Reply to one, and you’re on their list till one of you dies. I kicked off my boots and stretched out my toes toward the crackling fire. The dog made a low noise deep in his throat, as though to say, Don’t wave those things in my direction. He was lying on his back now with his paws in the air, showing everything he had. Dogs have no dignity. They glory in the absence of it.
I sipped at my steaming tea. All was well with the world. I like Christmas. I like everything about Christmas, except having to spend it with my family. Most of my relatives could start a fight in an empty room and then lie about who won. I much prefer to spend Christmas on my own, in my own way. Not to be bothered by anyone—a selfish wish at an unselfish time of the year.
“Apart from me,” said the dog, reading my thoughts as usual.
“You’re different,” I said.
“And your sweetie, Molly Metcalf.”
“Well, of course Molly has to be here,” I said. “Everything’s better when Molly’s around. For two such noted loners, we do seem to spend a lot of time in each other’s company.”
“That’s love,” the dog said wisely.
“What do you know about love?” I said.
“I’m a dog. We love everyone. That’s what we’re for. Humans aren’t worthy of us, but we love them anyway. Because someone has to.”
I glanced at the grandfather clock. “She should be here soon. I’d better take a look at how dinner’s doing. The chicken’s been in the oven for ages; it should have stopped clucking by now.”
“Only you would cook chicken tikka masala for Christmas,” said the dog.
“I like what I like,” I said calmly. “Fortunately, so does Molly.”
The dog sniggered. “Except when it comes to knitwear.”
“You keep quiet about that,” I said sternly. “One wrong word, and I’ll send you off to be seen to. It’s the little white lies and discreet diplomacy that make a relationship possible.”
“Humans,” said the dog. “If you all just sniffed one another’s arses, you’d be a lot happier.”
The phone rang—a harsh, urgent sound. The dog turned over heavily, and his head rose. We both looked at the old-fashioned black Bakelite phone. I stayed in my chair, hoping the thing would stop ringing if I just toughed it out long enough. But it didn’t.
“Are you going to answer that?” said the dog. “Or do you expect me to?”
“That phone is supposed to be only for emergencies,” I said, not budging from my chair. “And even then, my family should know better than to bother me at Christmas.”
“The trouble with everyone in your family,” said the dog, “is that they always think they know better.”
“True,” I said. I struggled up out of my nice comfortable chair, strode over to the phone, snatched it up, and growled into it. “Either you’re in real trouble, or you’re about to be.”
“Ah, Eddie, gracious as ever,” said a cold, familiar voice. The Drood Sarjeant-at-Arms. “Come home. You’re needed.”
“Get someone else.”
“It has to be you,” said the Sarjeant, entirely untroubled by the open menace in my voice. “All our other field agents are spoken for, and this mission can’t wait. Don’t make me come and get you.”
“I’m expecting Molly for Christmas dinner! You want to argue with her?”
“Bring her too. You’re going to need backup on this one.”
I sighed heavily. “If this doesn’t turn out to be horribly important and extremely urgent, I will decorate my Christmas tree with your insides.”
He hung up on me. The modern equivalent of having the last word. I slammed the phone down and said a few choice words of my own.
“Am I to take it Christmas is cancelled?” said the dog. “No figgy pudding and plum duff for the good and the virtuous this year?”
“Let us be optimistic and say . . . postponed.” I pulled my boots back on and strode over to the front door. My good mood had evaporated, effortlessly banished by my family and the hold it still had over me. Despite everything. I opened the door carefully inwards and looked out on the wintry scene. Everything was still and quiet for as far as I could see. I raised my voice, addressing the dark trees generally. “Molly! We’re needed!”
She appeared abruptly out of nowhere, striding up the path to my door. Grinning cheerfully and wearing a long fur coat over knitted leggings. The love of my life, my reason for being, the only thing that keeps me sane in a crazy world. Her pale face, surrounded by long bobbed black hair, seemed paler than ever in the cold, her rosebud mouth the only touch of colour. She bounded up the path, kicking snow out of her way with simple joie de vivre. She called out to me while she was still some distance away, because she never could resist a chance to prove she was right about something and I was wrong. Relationships . . .
“I told you to rip that phone out, Eddie! Every year you try for a quiet Christmas, hiding yourself away from your relatives, and every year something comes up so they have to call you back. It’s just tempting fate . . .”
“I thought I’d be safe here,” I said. “Tucked away in a wintry corner of your Wood Between the Worlds.”
“Just because the Droods can’t get in doesn’t mean they can’t reach out and twist your arm,” said Molly. “Any idea what the mission is?”
“No, but they want you as well,” I said. “Which is . . . unusual. Probably means a mission that’s more than usually dangerous.”
“Now, that’s what I call a Christmas present!” said Molly.
We met in the doorway, and she did her best to hug all the breath out of me, following with a kiss that made sure I’d stay kissed. Behind us, the dog started singing, “Love is all around . . .” Molly and I finally let go of each other, and I ushered her inside. She shrugged off her long fur coat and threw it at the coat-rack before sniffing at the air in a ladylike way as I closed the door.
“Tikka masala?”
“It’ll wait,” I said. “Till next year, if need be. My uncle Jack knew how to design an oven.”
I opened the front door, carefully pushing it outwards this time. And Molly and I stepped out of my isolated country cottage and into my private room in Drood Hall. Comfortable enough, but with only the basic requirements because I made a point of spending as little time in it as possible. The dog trotted out after us and dropped his hologram disguise as I closed the door. Scraps.2 was a robot dog, one of Uncle Jack’s last creations before his recent death. He scratched at his metal sides with a gleaming back paw, resulting in a harsh clattering sound. He seemed to find it comforting. His eyes glowed red as he looked at me.
“Only you would have a cottage in the woods inside a room within Drood Hall, Eddie.”
“Self-protection,” I said. “The more layers I can put between me and my family, the better.”
“I could stick around if you want.”
“Better not,” I said. “I can’t take a dog on a mission in the field.”
“Why not?” Scraps.2 said loudly. “I’m tougher than you, better armed than you, and my logic circuits can think rings round you!”
“Because dogs that come with built-in weaponry and can fire grenades out of somewhere unfortunate tend to get noticed,” I said.
“Ah,” said the dog. “There is that, yes. I do tend to make an impression . . . Think I’ll nip down to the Armoury, see what Maxwell and Victoria are up to. I can’t have them thinking they can run the place without me. Look after him, Molly. See you two when you get back.”
He trotted out the door, his steel paws thudding heavily on the thick carpeting. Molly looked at me.
“That is one protective dog.”
“I think the Armourer programmed it into him,” I said, “because he knew he wouldn’t be around to do it himself.”
“I still can’t get used to him sounding like your uncle Jack,” said Molly.
I shrugged. “His Master’s Voice . . .”
* * *
We left my room and started down the landing, walking side by side and just daring anyone to get in our way. Start as you mean to go on . . . As a leading member of the family, I was entitled to a room on the top floor of Drood Hall. Only the one room, of course. After living in the old manor house for so many centuries, I find the Hall is getting just a bit crowded. The youngsters live in dormitories, which has led to more than one comment about battery farming. We keep the dormitories strictly separated, with locked doors and barbed wire fences in between, but we still have to give the birth-control talk a little earlier every year. But then, if they didn’t see the world’s rules and regulations as just challenges to be overcome, they wouldn’t be Droods.
Molly and I descended several stairways, nodding and smiling briefly to all the people we passed. All of whom smiled and nodded briefly in return, while giving us plenty of space. Nothing like having a scary reputation to get you elbow room. When we finally reached the ground floor, somewhat out of breath after so many stairs, the Sarjeantat-Arms was waiting at the bottom to meet us. Possibly out of courtesy; more likely so we wouldn’t go anywhere he didn’t want us going.
The Drood Sarjeant-at-Arms looks like a thug and a bully, because he is. He enforces discipline inside the family, and he does love his work. We’ve never got on. He was dressed as always in the stark black-and-white formal outfit of a Victorian butler, because tradition is a harsh mistress.
“I can’t believe you’re back working for your relatives again, Eddie,” said Molly as we descended the stairs towards him. “After everything they’ve done to you . . .”
“It’s just for now,” I said. “It’s not like I’ve anywhere else to go . . . or anything else to do. I need to keep busy.”
“You need to feel needed,” said Molly.
“If you despise my family so much, why are you here?”
“I’m just sticking around until you come to your senses.”
We slammed to an abrupt halt at the foot of the stairs, because it was either that or walk right over the Sarjeant-at-Arms. And don’t think that thought hadn’t occurred to both of us. The Sarjeant nodded to me, ignoring Molly. She bristled dangerously, and I dropped a hand on her arm and squeezed it hard. She smiled at the Sarjeant in a way that clearly said, Later . . . Anyone else would have started running right there.
“The Matriarch is waiting to see you,” said the Sarjeant. “In her new private office.”
I had to raise an eyebrow at that. “Not in the Sanctity? But that’s the most secure and most private place in the Hall. And anyway, it’s traditional! Cut a Drood, and we bleed tradition.”
“Normally, yes,” the Sarjeant said stiffly. “But we have always understood the necessity of adapting to changing conditions.”
I looked at him for a long moment. “What conditions are we talking about? What’s changed?”
“Every new Matriarch must make her own way,” the Sarjeant said steadily. “Margaret has decided not to use the Sanctity.”
“How many of the family Council will be attending this meeting?” I said.
“Their advice will not be needed,” said the Sarjeant. “This is just a private chat, in the Matriarch’s private office.”
I finally got the implication. “You mean, away from Ethel? Doesn’t the Matriarch trust our gracious other-dimensional benefactor any more?”
“I don’t think the Matriarch trusts anyone,” said the Sarjeant. “Which is, after all, as it should be.”
Molly was shaking her head. “You people have raised paranoia to an art form.”
“Thank you,” said the Sarjeant-at-Arms.
“I thought Ethel could hear everything that goes on inside the Hall,” I said.
“Not necessarily,” said the Sarjeant. Which was . . . interesting.
He led the way through the ground floor, and everyone hurried to give us plenty of room. I might have a bad reputation, but he was the one they had to live with every day. And Molly was scowling, in a thoughtful sort of way, which is never a good sign. The Matriarch’s new private office turned out to be in a remote corner of the ground floor, well away from the general traffic. The Sarjeant knocked politely, and the door swung open before him. He gestured for me to go in. I smiled, and waved for him to go first. Never trust a Drood Sarjeant-at-Arms at your back. He nodded, as though he quite understood what I was thinking and approved, and led the way. I strolled in after him with my nose in the air, doing my best to give the impression I was doing everyone a favour just by turning up. Molly stuck close to my side. More like a bodyguard than a lover.
The Matriarch had filled her new office with more flowers, blooms, and unusual vegetation than any normal person should have felt comfortable with. Thick grass carpeted the floor, and the walls were covered with heavy mats of creeping vines. Bright colours rioted to every side, and rich scents steeped the air. It felt more like a jungle than a garden. I kept wanting to look around for predators. The Matriarch was sitting behind a very ordinary desk, her face calm and implacable. Molly and I sat down on the chairs facing her, without waiting to be asked, while the Sarjeant-at-Arms stood to one side. Because he didn’t do normal things like sitting. People might think he was getting soft.
I glared around the office, in a way I hoped suggested that everything should keep its distance and know its place. I don’t approve of familiarity from the plant world. It was all very impressive, but I would have hated to be the Drood in charge of keeping everything watered. I finally nodded familiarly to the Matriarch.
“Missing your old job as head gardener, Maggie?”
“You have no idea,” the Matriarch said in her usual no-nonsense voice. “I never wanted to be Matriarch, but if I have to run this family, I’ll do it in a way I can live with. If I can’t be in the gardens, I’ll bring the garden inside. Now, we need to talk. Something has happened that needs stamping on right now.”
I looked the Matriarch over carefully. She’d gone in for a serious makeover since I last saw her. A dark blue power suit of almost brutal style and impact, and blonde hair shorn back to her skull in a buzz cut. She was still short and stocky, but she looked . . . bigger. All business. Being Matriarch changes a person; you have to grow up, to grow into it. Power and duty, an unchallengeable word and never-ending responsibilities, either make or break you very quickly. Of course, Margaret had always been a tough nut even when she was just Capability Maggie, in charge of the Hall grounds. I couldn’t resist teasing her, just a bit, for the good of her soul.
“Are those shoulders . . . padded?” I said innocently.
“It’s a good look,” Molly said solemnly. “Very Eighties, very Iron Lady. Really rocking that power-crazed authority-figure bit.”
“She is the Matriarch,” said the Sarjeant. “People must show the proper respect.”
“Us?” said Molly. “That’ll be the day.”
“Why have I been called back so urgently?” I said just a bit plaintively. “When I told you I needed some downtime and was on call only for serious emergencies?”
I broke off as all the flowers and blooms turned their heads to look at me, and not in a good way. The creeping vines on the walls stirred, and hissed threateningly. The Matriarch has always been very protective of her garden, and vice versa.
“Control your pets,” said Molly. “Or I’ll hit them with a blast of magical weed killer.”
“They’re just looking out for me,” said the Matriarch. “You really shouldn’t raise your voice to me, Eddie.”
“If they even look like bothering me, I will make mulch out of them,” I said coldly.
The flowers looked at me, and then at Molly, in a thoughtful sort of way, and backed off a little. The Sarjeant-at-Arms cleared his throat.
“If we could please stick to the matter at hand . . . Time is of the essence.”
“It’s come to something,” I said, “if you’re having to act as peacemaker.”
“The irony of the situation has not escaped me,” said the Sarjeant.
“All right!” I said. “Peace all round and goodwill to everyone. Let’s get the hell on with it. What’s the mission, and why is it so damned urgent?”
“You brief them,” the Matriarch said to the Sarjeant. “You have the latest information.”
The Sarjeant bowed to her and fixed me with a hard look. “We need you to break into the Secret Headquarters of a new organisation, Cassandra Inc. It claims to be able to see the future. And has been selling information on what’s going to happen, to all kinds of interested parties.”
“Okay, hold it right there,” said Molly. “That’s not actually possible. There is no one fixed future, as such. Just a whole bunch of possible outcomes and differing timelines. Which one you end up in is the result of all the different choices made by all the people in the world. Even the most powerful computers would have a hard time crunching numbers that big.”
“Nevertheless,” the Sarjeant said in his best You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know voice, “Cassandra Inc has demonstrated an excellent track record of getting it right.”
“How is it doing it?” I said.
“We don’t know,” said the Matriarch. “And that’s just one of the things worrying us.”
“As long as Cassandra Inc stuck to predicting business futures, or personal recommendations, we were ready to leave it be,” said the Sarjeant. “But now Cassandra has started peddling future information to the secret organisations of the hidden world. The good, the bad, and all those highly dubious groups lurking in between.”
“Not Government agencies?” I said. “I mean, they’d be the most obvious markets. Politicians always have a vested interest in knowing what’s coming their way so they can blame it on someone else.”
“Cassandra has refused to deal with any Government department or individual,” said the Matriarch. “Either for political reasons or because no Government would approve of how Cassandra’s getting its information.”
“Would we be right in thinking our current Government is not too happy about being excluded?” said Molly.
“And would we, by any chance, be doing our Government a favour by intervening?” I said. “Do we perhaps need something from it?”
“So cynical,” said the Matriarch.
“Please,” I said. “I’m a Drood.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to have the current administration owe us one,” the Matriarch conceded. “Never know when we might need to call it in . . . But that’s not why we’re sending you. We have our own reasons for wanting Cassandra Inc brought down. It’s started selling information on where Drood field agents are going to be and what they’re going to be doing. And that is unacceptable. No one gets to interfere with Drood business.”
Molly had a sudden moment of insight, and bounced up and down in her chair. “That’s why they need you, Eddie! All your fellow field agents are compromised, and running round in circles trying to avoid the futures predicted for them! You’re the only one without a current mission!” She broke off, then sat still and frowned. “No, wait, hold on a minute . . . If Cassandra Inc really can predict the future, it should know about this meeting and know that we’re coming.”
“According to the family psychics, Eddie has been through so much, in so many weird and unusual places, that he has become . . . unpredictable,” said the Matriarch.
“I’ve always thought so,” said Molly.
“Cassandra must be stopped,” the Sarjeant said flatly. “The organisation is sabotaging our missions, interfering with the family’s ability to operate in the shadows. Making it impossible for us to defend Humanity from all the things that threaten it.”
“Again, Cassandra should know that,” I said. “Isn’t the organisation putting itself at risk, along with everyone else?”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” said the Matriarch. “We get a free pass, a lot of the time, because good and bad alike can see it’s in their best interests to leave us alone. We couldn’t operate if we were constantly at war with everyone who disagreed with us.”
“Well, we could,” said the Sarjeant. “But it would be . . . messy.”
“Damned right,” I said. “We’re supposed to be shepherds, not storm troopers.”
“We protect Humanity,” said the Sarjeant. “Whatever it takes.”
“We have reached out to Cassandra, directly and indirectly, as a reminder of this,” said the Matriarch. “But the organisation refuses to talk to us. We think it’s just in it for the money. Make as much as possible, as quickly as possible, and then disappear and leave everyone else to clean up the mess it’s made.”
“Or it could be,” said Molly, “that whatever Cassandra’s using to predict the future has a limited shelf life. The organisation has to squeeze what it can out of it, while it can. That’s why it’s prepared to take on people like you . . .”
“Could be,” said the Sarjeant.
“Your mission is to infiltrate Cassandra’s Secret Headquarters, and find out how it’s doing this,” said the Matriarch, fixing her attention on me. “And then decide whether we should co-opt it and take it in-house, or shut down the whole operation with extreme prejudice.”
“That’s why you want Molly to accompany me,” I said, “because she’s the really destructive one.”
Molly smiled at me dazzlingly. “You say the nicest things.”
“A plan of action has been prepared for you,” said the Matriarch.
“How can we be sure Cassandra won’t know we’re coming?” I said.
“Our esper section is getting ready to flood the aether with psychic chaff, just in case,” said the Matriarch. “Overload the scene with so much information that Cassandra will be temporarily blinded. And no, I don’t fully understand that either, so there’s no point in asking. Basically, they’ll be generating a psychic blind spot for you to move in. But apparently that takes a lot out of them, so they won’t be able to maintain it for long. Once you leave the Hall, you’ll be working against the clock. Take too long, and your protection could just vanish.”
“I thought you said Eddie was unpredictable?” said Molly. “And what about me? Will they be able to see me?”
“Since we don’t know how Cassandra gets its information, we can’t be sure of its limitations,” said the Sarjeant. “Stick close to Eddie and you should be fine. Of course, if you’re worried . . .”
“I’m going!” said Molly. “I just don’t like being taken for granted . . .”
“Trust me,” I said. “Nobody does. They wouldn’t dare.”
She beamed at me. “Somebody’s getting something special in their Christmas stocking . . .”
“If we could please stick to the subject,” said the Sarjeant. “We need to get the two of you moving as soon as possible.”
“Given our psychic department’s past record,” I said, “I can’t say I have much faith in psychic chaff. I wouldn’t trust that bunch to guess my weight.”
“I’m sure they know that,” said the Matriarch. “Now, since you’ll be operating inside a blind spot, you won’t be able to communicate with the family until the job is over.”
“You mean I won’t be bothered constantly by my family-mandated handler?” I said. “Gosh, what a pity; never mind. Now, what is the mission? Exactly? Information gathering, property damage, or blow up everything and sow the ground with salt afterwards?”
“Whatever you decide to be necessary,” the Matriarch said carefully. “It’s up to you to discover what’s really going on, and do whatever it takes to resolve the situation. Permanently.”
I looked steadily at her. “Do I need to remind you, I have sworn I won’t kill again. Even in the line of duty. I’m an agent, not an assassin.”
The Matriarch met my gaze unflinchingly. “I’m not asking you to kill, Eddie. Just asking you to spy.”
The Sarjeant moved over to the left-hand wall, and the creeping vines drew back to reveal a viewscreen. An image of a massive aircraft carrier appeared. In flight. It seemed to be sailing through the clouds quite serenely, without any obvious means of support. So high in the sky, there was no sign of ground anywhere.
“Cassandra Inc’s Secret Headquarters,” said the Sarjeant. “It remains constantly in flight, never landing. Held aloft by alien tech acquired on the black market.”
“While you’re there,” said the Matriarch, “find out what this tech is, and where Cassandra got it, so we can shut down the suppliers as well. There’s far too much alien contraband out in the world these days. Drawing attention to itself. We’re supposed to be the only ones with that kind of advantage.”
“The unknown technology also seems to hide the Headquarters from the rest of the world,” said the Sarjeant. “No one knows where the ship is. Apart from us.”
“How do we know?” I said.
“Because we’re Droods,” said the Matriarch. “We know everything.”
“If that was true, this mission wouldn’t be necessary,” I said. “What you mean is, somebody talked.”
“Exactly,” said the Sarjeant. “Someone, and it really doesn’t matter who, bought future information from Cassandra. Whatever it was, it upset them so much, they ratted Cassandra out. And once we knew what to look for, nothing could hide Cassandra from us.”
“Our new Armourer is settling in nicely,” said the Matriarch. “Doing really good work.”
“How are we supposed to sneak onto an aircraft carrier zooming around in the stratosphere?” I said. “In fact, if it never lands . . . how does Cassandra get its own people on board?”
“Shuttles,” said the Sarjeant. “Our first thought was to have you join the next replacement crew, but that would take too long. We want this operation shut down now.”
“I suppose I could try the Merlin Glass,” I said. “Have it open a Door somewhere inside the carrier . . .”
“No,” the Matriarch said flatly. “We can’t trust that unnatural thing any more. Not after it’s let you down so many times. And besides, using that much power would almost certainly blast right through the psychic chaff. You’d be spotted immediately.”
“We never did find out why Merlin gave the Glass to the family in the first place,” said the Sarjeant. “As I am Head of Security for the family, that has bothered me for some time. The Trojan Horse insists on coming to mind.”
“Merlin Satanspawn didn’t exactly have a reputation for kindly deeds, outside of King Arthur’s court,” said Molly. “I mean, come on. The clue is in the name.”
“He was born to be the Antichrist,” I said, “but declined the position because of his friendship with Arthur. And because he believed in Arthur’s dream of Camelot. As far as I’m concerned, that buys him a lot of slack.”
“Only because you’ve never met him,” said Molly.
“And you have?” I said.
“Oh sure. In Strangefellows bar, in the Nightside. Of course, that was after he’d been dead for centuries.”
“What was he like?” said the Matriarch.
“Grumpy,” said Molly. She looked at me thoughtfully. “He did say a few things . . . Did he work with the Droods, back in the day?”
“Hard to know,” I said. “A lot of the family’s earliest records are missing. Some say deliberately destroyed. The family is supposed to have done some things, when it was starting out, that we’re better off not knowing. Supposedly, Merlin presented us with the Glass as a gift, for helping him take down Arthur’s greatest enemy. The evil sorceress, Morgana La Fae.”
“Really?” said Molly.
“Who knows?” I said. “Go back that far, and it’s as much legend as history.”
“If we could please return to the matter at hand?” said the Matriarch.
“Go ahead,” I said. “Don’t let me stop you.”
“You can’t use any transfer mechanism or teleport spell,” the Matriarch said firmly. “They’re all too susceptible to prediction. You’re going to have to do this the hard way, sneaking on board inside the blind spot. Don’t worry, Eddie. We have a plan worked out for you.”
And then she smiled. So did the Sarjeant-at-Arms.
“I’m really not going to like this, am I?” I said.
* * *
After the plan had been explained to me, and I’d stopped shouting and calmed down a bit, I escorted Molly out of Drood Hall and round the back. It didn’t help that she’d laughed so hard, she’d given herself hiccups. Though whether this was because the more extreme aspects of the plan appealed to her, or just because she loved seeing me lose my temper with my family, was open to question. The Hall grounds stretched away into the distance, with hardly anyone about. No snow or ice here, just perfectly manicured lawns under a darkening sky. The only sounds on the quiet afternoon were the cries of peacocks and the occasional howl from the gryphons. It was too cold for anyone to be out and about if they didn’t have to be.
“Where are we going?” said Molly. “I thought we had a plane to catch.”
“You’ve never seen where my family keeps its fleet of Blackhawke jets,” I said, cheering up a little. “You’re in for a treat.”
We’d only just rounded the corner of the Hall when the lawn before us split open and pulled apart, the two grassy sides rising up and up to reveal a vast hidden bunker deep underground. The straining of hidden mechanisms sounded loudly on the still winter air until the two huge green sides were practically vertical. And rising steadily into the air between them, on a gleaming hydraulic lift, was a sleek black futuristic jet. The Drood Blackhawke. Guaranteed to get you there in one hell of a hurry and not lose your luggage along the way. It slammed into position and stopped, and a bridge appeared so Molly and I could walk out over the long drop to board the plane. Molly squealed loudly and clapped her hands together delightedly.
“That is so Tracy Island!”
“Some ideas are just classic,” I said. “You’d be amazed what we keep under Stonehenge.”
The Blackhawke’s massive jet engines thundered to life as it readied itself for take-off, and I flinched away from the sheer volume. Molly didn’t. The side door opened as I led Molly across the bridge, and a stairway descended. Molly all but danced up the steps. I’ve travelled on the family jets so often, a lot of the thrill has worn off, but I enjoyed Molly’s reaction. She stopped just before the open door and looked back at me.
“What about the runway?”
“Doesn’t need one,” I said. “Vertical take-off.”
“This just gets better and better. Your family has all the best toys!”
Inside the plane it was all very comfortable, even luxurious. The urgency of the situation meant we got the whole cabin to ourselves, and we could take our pick of the rows of empty seats. Molly took her time selecting a seat, before finally settling on one roughly in the centre. Safer, she said vaguely. She sat down by the window, and I sat down beside her. I prefer an aisle seat—gives me room to stretch my legs.
“Doesn’t this beat having to hang around an airport for three hours for security checks?” I said. “There’s only so much duty free you can shoplift before you get bored.”
“I wouldn’t know,” said Molly. “It takes a lot of effort and some major-league disguise spells to get me through airport security these days. I may have given up being a supernatural terrorist, but some people just can’t let it go . . . I stick to teleport spells and transfer Gates these days. Less harm to the environment, and a lot harder to intercept.”
The pilot’s voice came over the intercom. That calm, relaxed, Never mind an engine’s just fallen off the wing everything’s fine voice that all pilots have to have. I think it’s a law.
“This is Elliot, your pilot for this flight. Welcome aboard, Eddie and Molly. Make yourselves comfortable. It’s going to take us at least two hours to get to the other side of the world. No cabin crew, no complimentary drinks, no point complaining. We’re in a hurry. Not expecting any real turbulence, but if things should get a little shaky, try to get some of it into the bags provided. I’ll let you know when we’ve arrived, so don’t bother me.”
“And people wonder why there are no Drood diplomats,” I said.
“No they don’t,” Molly assured me. “Are there any magazines?”
“Just the family in-house organ,” I said, pulling the latest issue out of the seat holder in front of me. “The Drood Times. Packed full of family chat, helpful articles, and inspirational thoughts. Ghastly beyond measure.”
Molly took it from me anyway, just to be contrary. The front cover had a carefully posed photo portrait of the Matriarch with her new look, and the tag, A NEW MATRIARCH MEANS A NEW DAWN FOR THE FAMILY! Molly leafed quickly through the glossy pages, curled a lip in disbelief, and tossed the thing to one side.
“Lots of people do that,” I said.
“Are you ever in it?” said Molly.
“Only as a dire warning,” I said solemnly. “Apparently, I am a bad influence.”
“I am so proud of you,” said Molly.
There is also an entirely unofficial house organ, called the Drood Inquirer. Produced infrequently, very much in secret, and circulated from hand to hand when no one’s looking. Full of scandalous gossip, tales told out of school, and all kinds of things the higher levels of the family would rather the rest didn’t know about. It keeps being shut down, and resurfacing almost immediately.
I have been known to contribute the odd piece, now and again.
“Well,” I said. “So much for my family. Any news from your sisters? Has Isabella blown up anything big, or Louisa killed anyone particularly important?”
“They’re around,” Molly said vaguely. “Almost certainly doing something your family would not approve of.”
I smiled. She wasn’t usually that circumspect. “What’s the matter? Afraid someone in my family might be listening?”
“Can you be sure they aren’t?” said Molly. She looked at me, considering. “Are you really happy to be back working with your family again? Given what you’ve had to do for your relatives, and what they’ve done to you? You keep leaving, but you keep going back.”
“That’s family for you,” I said. “This will do, for now. For want of anything better. It helps that there’s nothing morally uncertain about this mission.”
“As far as you know,” Molly said darkly. “Why was the Matriarch so keen to keep it secret from Ethel?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m going to have to look into that when we get back. Ethel’s motivations have always been a mystery, but the fact is the family couldn’t operate without her. I can’t see any way in which picking a fight with Ethel could be in the family’s best interests.”
“Do you trust Ethel?” said Molly.
“She’s never given me any reason not to,” I said carefully. “But she’s never explained just why a major entity such as herself would want to babysit the Droods. Some people outside the family have hinted to me that she has her own reasons, and that when we finally find out what they are, we’re really not going to like them.”
“Is that why you’re back?” said Molly. “To keep an eye on things?”
“I need to be doing something,” I said. “I need a good reason to get out of bed in the morning.”
“What about me?” said Molly.
“You’re a reason to get into bed. I need . . . to be someone worthy of you. To be doing something that matters. The Droods make that possible.”
“You’re talking about duty and responsibility, and all those other things I can’t be bothered with,” said Molly.
“You used to be one of the world’s feared supernatural terrorists,” I said. “Brown-trousering authority figures on a regular basis. Are you really saying there wasn’t a moral component to that?”
“Hell no,” said Molly. “I just get bored easily.”
* * *
A few hours’ hard flying later, I was dozing while Molly slept the deep, untroubled sleep of the entirely conscience free. Elliot came back on the intercom to inform us he was currently manoeuvring the Blackhawke into position high above Cassandra Inc’s flying Secret Headquarters. Molly stopped snoring with a very unladylike grunt, lifted her head off my shoulder, and stretched languorously. I got up out of my seat and did a few deep knee bends and stretches. I felt the need to be in really good form for the crazy and quite possibly suicidal plan ahead of me. All I got for my troubles were some loud cracking noises from my joints and a few paranoid thoughts about deep vein thrombosis. I started down the aisle to the rear door, and Molly came hurrying after me. Somehow she’d magically changed her entire outfit when I wasn’t looking, and now she was wearing a snazzy black leather cat-suit, complete with a great many belts and buckles. Molly always believed in dressing for the occasion.
I dressed anonymously, because I was a spy. And because I don’t give a damn.
“We are now flying directly over the airship,” said Elliot. “Matching its speed exactly. All the Blackhawke’s security measures are functioning perfectly, but even so, I don’t feel like hanging around here one moment longer than I absolutely have to. So please take up your position by the rear door, and wait for the green light. Then feel free to get the hell off my plane as soon as humanly possible.”
I couldn’t help noticing that the easy-going element to his voice had disappeared. I stood before the rear door, with Molly tucked in close at my side. I ran through the Matriarch’s plan in my mind again, and still thought I should have insisted on something better. Or even something else. A red light glared fiercely above the door, and a whole bunch of alarms sounded as Elliot rapidly reduced the air pressure in the cabin. There was a prolonged shrieking sound, and everything not strapped down flapped around like dying fish. I subvocalised my activating Words, and golden armour shot out from the torc round my neck, covering me from head to toe. Immediately I felt stronger and faster, more awake and more alive. Like I’d just been jolted out of the ordinary doze of living. My armour is the great family secret; it makes us untouchable and unstoppable. Mostly. I wasn’t sure just how well it could protect me in the unfortunate event of my falling out of a plane and slamming into the deck of a flying airship at high velocity.
I glanced at Molly. She’d surrounded herself with a mystical shield, its crackling and coruscating energies protecting her from earthly and unearthly dangers while also supplying her with air to breathe. Again, I had no idea how much help the shield would be when it came to jumping out of an airplane with no parachute. She seemed cheerful enough, even smiling in anticipation. But then, that was Molly.
We waited before the rear door as the pressure dropped, equalizing itself with the rarefied atmosphere outside. My golden hands clenched into fists. Molly stared unblinkingly at the red light over the door, willing it to change. Red became green, all the alarms shut down, and the rear door blasted open. The great roar of air rushing past came clearly to me as I stepped up to the opening to look down. And there it was, Cassandra Inc’s Secret Headquarters, cruising through the skies some two hundred feet below us.
“I’ve brought the Blackhawke down as much as I dare!” said Elliot. “Any lower and someone would be bound to notice.”
“This will do,” I said.
“Can’t really miss at this range,” said Molly.
“Can I have that in writing?” I said.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Eddie?” said Elliot. For the first time, he sounded honestly concerned. “I mean, just jump and hope for the best?”
“Of course,” I said. “I’m a Drood field agent. We can do anything. It says so in our job description.”
“But what if you should miss? You wouldn’t believe how strong the winds are out there . . . You could even be shot out of the sky! My sensors are showing me some appallingly big guns . . .”
“Really not helping my peace of mind, Elliot.”
“Sorry. Go when you’re ready.”
“Are you sure about this?” said Molly.
“Of course not,” I said. “Where would be the fun in that?”
Molly laughed. “A man after my own heart. Let’s do it.”
I concentrated, and grew a pair of sturdy golden handles out of the back of my armour, right between my shoulder blades. So Molly would have something to hang on to. I stepped into the open doorway, and looked down at the long drop. The airship seemed very small and very far away. Just a small grey object in the wide-open sky. Molly clapped me on one golden shoulder to let me know she was ready, and took a firm grip on the two handles. I threw myself out the door and plummeted down. The Blackhawke roared away, leaving Molly and me behind.
* * *
The freezing air rushed past me. I could hear it even if I couldn’t feel it. I kept my arms close to my sides and my head pointed down, aiming myself at the flying airship like a golden arrow. Molly clapped her legs around my hips and hung on tight as the turbulence buffeted both of us. She was whooping with glee so loudly, I could hear her above the rushing wind. I fixed my gaze on the ship below, which was growing steadily larger.
We dropped like a golden stone, building up speed, and the Secret Headquarters came rushing up to meet us. Really big gun positions took up a lot of the deck, along with any amount of sophisticated sensor tech. We’d better be hidden inside my family’s psychic null, or those guns would have no trouble at all shooting me out of the sky. I didn’t think they could actually hurt me inside my armour, but they could certainly blow me off target. And then it would be a really long way down to the ground. But the gun stations didn’t react at all as I drew closer, and I breathed a little more easily.
I waited as long as I dared, until I was heading for the ship like a golden bullet, looking for the one point on the deck I had been assured was a blind spot for the ship’s sensors; just in case. I concentrated, and broad golden glider wings shot out from my armour’s sides. They immediately caught and cupped the air, slowing me down. I was still falling, but now I had at least some limited control over my speed and direction. I glanced back over my shoulder to check whether Molly was okay. She’d tightened her legs around my hips and let go of one of the handles on my back, so she could wave one arm in the air like a cowgirl riding a bronco. I had to smile.
I was close enough now to see that the airship really was a ship. A mothballed aircraft carrier, tons of steel, blatant and uncompromising, sailing through the skies as though it had every right to be there. The deck rushed up, filling my sight till I could no longer see both ends of the ship at once. Coming at me like a windscreen on the freeway. I stretched my glider wings as wide as possible, braced my legs, and finally touched down so gently, I barely had to bend my knees. Ethel’s armour never ceases to amaze me. I quickly pulled my glider wings back into my armour; it’s a strain to maintain any big change in the armour for long. Molly dismounted lightly from my back, dropped her mystical shield, and then danced triumphantly around me. I sucked the golden handholds back into my shoulder blades.
“That was fantastic!” Molly said loudly. “I want to do that again!”
“Later,” I said. “You unrepentant little thrill-seeker, you.”
I flashed up a map on the inside of my mask so I could see where we needed to go. The interior of the ship was a warren of narrow steel corridors, but the marked route seemed clear enough. How my family acquired this information, about what was after all supposed to be a rival organisation’s Secret Headquarters, hadn’t been made clear to me. But my family has a way of always knowing what it needs to know and then being smugly mysterious about it afterwards. As soon as I had the directions memorized, I dismissed the map and armoured down, sending the golden strange matter back into its torc. I didn’t want to risk drawing attention to myself, just in case the psychic chaff turned out to be not entirely effective. Or even real. The buffeting wind hit me hard, and the cold was so vicious, I shuddered violently. I turned to Molly and pointed down the deck, shouting to be heard over the wind.
“That way!”
“Let’s do it!” she yelled back, stepping behind me so she could use my armoured form as a windbreak.
We crept forward along the steel deck, stepping around and over all kinds of technological protuberances and fighting our way into the teeth of the howling wind. I peered briefly over the nearest side. It really was a hell of a long way down. There were actually dark cloud banks between the ship and the ground. I glanced at Molly to see how she was coping with the thin air. She was shivering, but grinning broadly. For her, it was always going to be about the adventure. I looked up and down the great length of the ship, and wondered how Cassandra Inc had been able to launch such a huge flying fortress into the sky without anyone noticing. I said as much to Molly, shouting into her ear.
“Probably bribed all the right people to look the other way,” she shouted back. “Paying them off with future information. That’s what I would have done. And you have to admit, Eddie, this is the perfect place to hide a Secret Headquarters. Beats the hell out of a cavern inside a volcano.”
And then the wind dropped suddenly, and her last few words sounded loudly in the quiet. Her head came up sharply, and she looked quickly around her.
“We’re not alone here, Eddie. Someone just joined us.”
“Cassandra can’t have found us already!”
“I don’t think it’s Cassandra . . .” Molly pointed off to one side with a steady hand.
Standing alone on the far side of the deck, a tall, still figure in a grey monk’s robe was staring at us. His cowl was pulled well forward to hide his face. His feet were bare, and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. The wind had dropped to almost nothing, and the cold was gone; I had no doubt that was all down to him. He had . . . an air about him, of cold intent and implacable purpose. I’d met his kind before. Such men are dangerous.
“Who the hell is that?” I said. “And what’s he doing here? Now?”
“I know him,” said Molly. “And not in a good way. That is the Manichean Monk. A spiritual enforcer, specializing in righteous retribution. Jumped-up thug with a halo.”
“You mean, like the Walking Man?” I said. “The wrath of God in the world of men?”
“Oh please; he wishes,” said Molly. “The Monk’s just a general troubleshooter. He mostly operates out of the Adventurers Club these days, in the Nightside. I worked with him on a few cases, some years back.”
“I won’t ask,” I said.
“Best not,” Molly agreed. “Except to say, in my own defence, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“So many unfortunate things do,” I said. “But the Adventurers Club? He’s one of the good guys? Can’t say I’ve ever heard of him.”
“He does try to be a good guy, in a frightening sort of way,” said Molly. “Manicheans are heavily into duality. Good and Evil, Light and Dark, Law and Chaos, and nothing at all in between. He hunts down heavy-duty sinners, on behalf of the Church of Last Resort. Humanity’s saviours, self-appointed. When you’ve tried everything and everyone else, they’re what’s left. If you’re sure your cause is just and your conscience is clear. Manicheans have a really unpleasant way of dealing with time-wasters.”
I shot her an amused glance. “Okay, how did an odd couple like you two end up working together?”
“I may have lied to him, just a little,” Molly said airily. “About who and what I was.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I understand. We’ve all got a dodgy ex or two somewhere in our past.”
“He is not an ex! He was never an ex! Oh hell, he’s coming over. Look penitent.”
The Monk came striding forward, stern and determined, like a force of nature on the move. For a man in a monk’s robe, with no obvious weapons, he still managed to look pretty damned threatening.
“Does he believe we’re here to stop him?” I said. “Or is he here to look you up, in a not-at-all friendly way?”
“We worked perfectly well together, thank you,” Molly said coldly. “And parted on good terms. I thought.”
“Could he be here for the same reason we are?” I said.
“I suppose it’s always possible, if Cassandra really pissed off his church with the wrong kind of prediction . . . but I wouldn’t have thought so. The Monk deals with individual sinners, not organisations.”
“Then I refer you to my previous question,” I said. “Why is he looking at us like that?”
“I’ll ask him,” said Molly. “He’ll listen to me. Unless he’s found out who I really am . . . Hey, Monk! Been a while. What’s going on?”
The Manichean Monk crashed to a halt, a cautious distance away. He ignored Molly, all his attention fixed on me. I still couldn’t make out his features inside the shadows of his pulled-forward cowl. When he finally spoke, his voice was harsh and grating.
“It’s time to pay for your sins, Drood.”
“Oh hell,” I said. “It’s family business. Look, Monk, I’m a bit busy right now. I’m sorry, but I just don’t have the time for this.”
“Don’t be flippant, Eddie,” Molly murmured in my ear. “The Monk has no sense of humour about what he does. I found that out the hard way.”
“Another story for another time,” I said. “Is he dangerous, do you think? To us, or our mission?”
“Could be,” said Molly.
I nodded politely to the Monk. “Okay, what sins are we talking about here?”
“The murder of innocents,” said the Monk.
“I never killed anyone who didn’t need killing,” I said coldly.
“Your family has.”
“I can’t answer for everything my family’s done.”
“Someone has to,” said the Monk.
“Something’s wrong here, Eddie,” Molly said quietly. “This doesn’t feel like the man I knew. There’s something . . . off about him.”
“Well!” I said loudly to the Monk. “We can’t stand around here chatting all day, or Cassandra’s security is bound to notice us. Hello? Monk? Why is he just staring at me, Molly? Why isn’t he saying anything? Can’t you just teleport him out of here? Answer that last question first.”
“He’s shielded!” said Molly. “And . . .”
“Why did I just know you were going to say that? And what?”
“Bad news, part two,” said Molly. “The Monk has a special gift, from God.”
“Really?”
“Apparently. He can shut down people’s powers and abilities. Doesn’t last long, just enough to give him an advantage. He’s already shut down my magics. Try your torc.”
I called for my armour, and it didn’t come. A chill ran through me. I’m not used to feeling unprotected.
“I knew this mission would turn out to be a pain in the arse,” I said. “I just didn’t think it would happen so quickly . . . Look; what do you want, Monk?”
“Your death,” said the Monk. “In payment for your sins. Your bloody-handed guilt.”
“Can’t we talk about this?” I said. “I’m working here! And just for the record, I have sworn never to kill again.”
“Too little, too late,” said the Monk. “You’re guilty. You’re a Drood.”
I looked at Molly. “What powers does he have? What weapons?”
“He doesn’t need any,” said Molly. “He can’t lose because he’s always in the right. Comes with the job.”
“Terrific . . .”
The Monk lunged forward. His hands came up and he went for my throat, and just like that, we were going head to head and hand to hand. Throwing punches and wrestling each other back and forth across the uneven steel deck. Molly held back, not wanting to get in my way. The Monk was almost inhumanly strong and fast, and driven by a terrible fury, but he didn’t have my fighting skills or experience. Drilled into me by the old Sarjeant-at-Arms when I was a lot younger, over many painful lessons, just so I’d be able to defend myself if I didn’t have my armour. I avoided the Monk’s grasping hands, ducked and dodged his punches, and hit him whenever I felt like it. He didn’t even try to defend himself; he just kept coming at me.
I hit him in the head and ribs so often and so hard, I hurt my hands, but he never made a sound. So I darted back out of his reach, waited for him to come after me, and then stepped inside his defences and caught him with a perfectly timed left uppercut to the jaw. His head snapped right back, but he still didn’t fall. His cowl fell away, revealing his face at last. His eyes were wild and unblinking, and he snarled at me like an animal frustrated in its rage. I backed away. There’s no point in fighting a man who doesn’t care how hard you hit him. He came after me, because only getting his hands on me could calm the rage burning inside him. I ducked to one side and kicked his legs out from under him, so that he fell forward onto his face. And then I dropped onto his back with both knees, driving all the breath out of him in one explosive grunt. And still the Monk struggled to throw me off. I couldn’t believe it. I twisted one arm up behind his back and put all my weight into holding it there. I put my head down beside his so I could yell into his ear.
“You thought you couldn’t lose, because you’re always in the right! So the fact that you’re losing now should tell you something! I’m not the bad guy here. Really, I’m not. So call this off, stand down, and we’ll talk. There must be some way we can sort this out. We don’t have to do this! Stop fighting me and listen, dammit. We’re both on the side of the angels!”
“You have to die!” said the Monk, throwing all his strength against me. “Drood! Murderer!”
I weighed down on his twisted arm, ready to break the bone if I had to, but he reared up so strongly, I couldn’t hold him. He threw me off, and I rolled away across the deck. What was it going to take to stop this man? By the time I’d got my feet under me again, he was off and running, straight at Molly. She gestured quickly, but her magics didn’t work. Her small hands closed into fists, but he was already upon her. She punched him hard in the mouth, and he didn’t even feel it. He buried his fist in her gut, bending her right over. I cried out in fury at seeing her hurt, and ran to them.
The Monk grabbed hold of Molly as she struggled to get her breath back, and hauled her over to the edge of the deck. She fought him fiercely, but couldn’t break his grip. His hand closed tightly around her throat till she was gasping for air. He looked down at the long drop and then looked meaningfully at me. I slowed to a halt, some distance away. I didn’t want to panic the Monk into doing something stupid. Or even deliberate. I held my hands up placatingly.
“Take it easy, Monk.”
“I could jump,” said the Monk, breathing hard. “Just step over the edge and take your woman with me. Or you could save her.”
“All right!” I said. “I’m listening. Tell me what to do. Just don’t hurt her.”
“I want you to jump,” said the Manichean Monk. “Jump off this ship and fall to your death, Drood. Your armour will return, once you’re out of my range of influence, but not even Drood armour can save you after a fall from this height. You’ll have a long time to think about dying, all the way down. To suffer, as your family made me suffer. It’s up to you, Drood! Either you agree to jump over the side, or I jump and take her with me!”
“Why?” I said. “Why are you doing this? I haven’t done anything to you. I don’t even know you! And Molly was your friend!”
“Jump, Drood. Or watch her die for your family’s sins.”
I called desperately for my armour, but it didn’t come. I was on my own. I couldn’t rush the Monk; he was too far away. And already far too close to the edge for my liking. I had a gun, tucked away in my pocket dimension, but I didn’t dare draw it. Just the sight of it might provoke him into jumping. I stood very still, trying to work out what my options were. I’d got too used to relying on the advantages my armour gave me. Now it was down to me . . .
I moved slowly forward and stood on the edge of the deck, carefully maintaining my safe distance from the Monk. He studied me closely, his hand still closed around Molly’s throat. She’d stopped trying to fight him, watching me with worried eyes. I looked down, over the edge. I couldn’t even see the ground; the clouds were in the way. I wondered what it would feel like to fall through them, knowing my death was waiting on the other side. And just that thought showed me I’d already made my decision. The only one I could make. I looked back at Molly, who was helpless in the Monk’s grip, and did my best to smile reassuringly at her.
“Take it easy, Molly,” I said. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
Molly saw the look on my face, and her eyes widened with horror. “No! No, Eddie, you can’t! You mustn’t! Don’t you give this bastard what he wants! Don’t you do it, Eddie!”
“I have to,” I said. “Because if it’s down to you or me, that’s no choice at all.”
She struggled fiercely to break free. The Monk almost broke her arm, holding her in place. She cried out, her face twisted in agony, and fought him anyway. There was nothing I could do. The Monk could take them both over the side in a moment. Molly finally subsided, breathing harshly and staring miserably at me with tear-filled eyes.
“Hush,” the Monk said to her. “It will all be over soon.”
“Why are you doing this?” said Molly. “You know this isn’t right. It can’t be what God wants!”
“It’s what I want,” said the Monk. “Do it, Drood. Jump. Or I go, and she goes with me.”
I believed him. I nodded to the Monk, and stepped right up to the edge. I felt strangely calm, now all other choices had been taken away from me. There was just what I had to do, to save Molly. I took a deep breath. I didn’t look down. There was nothing there I wanted to see. I looked at Molly so I could take the memory of her face with me. I wanted her to be the last thing I ever saw.
“Please, Eddie,” she said. “Please; I’m begging you! Don’t do this . . .”
“I have to,” I said. “It’s all right, Molly. I’ve always known you were worth ten of me.”
She screamed then, in rage and horror, and slammed her heel down hard on the Monk’s bare foot. The sudden pain distracted him, catching him off balance, and Molly bent sharply forward, putting all her strength into the judo throw that sent the Monk flying forward over her shoulder. The pain to her arm must have been unbearable, but she never hesitated. The Monk shot right over her, unable to stop himself. He lost hold of her arm and crashed to the steel deck at her feet. Molly kicked him savagely in the ribs. The Monk shot out a hand and grabbed hold of her ankle.
I was already off and running, the moment Molly freed herself from the Monk. I knew I had only one chance to get this right. The Monk saw me coming, let go of Molly’s ankle, and scrambled up onto his feet again. Molly beat at his head and shoulders with both fists, but he didn’t seem to feel the blows. He grabbed one of her flailing arms and dragged her back to the edge of the ship. She fought him every step of the way, slowing him down and buying me time to get to them.
The Monk realised I was going to reach them before he could jump. He threw Molly to the deck and turned to face me. He struck out at me with vicious strength. I ducked under the blow and hit him hard with a lowered shoulder. I hit him square on, and the impact sent him staggering back. Towards the edge. He tried to grab hold of me, to take me with him, and then he was over the edge and gone.
Molly ran to me and hugged me tightly, and I held her as close to me as I could. After a while, we walked over to the edge and looked down. There was no sign of the Monk. I hadn’t even heard him scream. Molly spat after him.
“Bastard.”
“Yes,” I said. “But that’s not a good enough reason to kill someone.”
“Eddie?”
“I’ve killed again, Molly. After I swore I never would.”
“You had no choice! He was out of his mind . . . Everyone will understand. You have no reason to feel guilty!”
“But I do,” I said. “I should have known; God does love to make a man break his word.”
“You would have jumped to save me, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Then I wish the Monk were back here so I could kill him for you.”
“You knew him,” I said. “Was he a good man then?”
“The man we just met wasn’t the man I knew,” said Molly. She frowned. “There was something wrong with him. I could feel it. Maybe something happened to him, in the Nightside . . . If he’d been in his right mind, following his duty, he couldn’t have lost. Hey, my magics are coming back! Is your torc . . . ?”
“Yes,” I said. “Come on; we still have a mission here. And it had better turn out to be worth it.”
* * *
By the time we reached the entrance point marked on my map, the cold was back and the wind was rising again. It turned out to be a single square hatch, securely bolted on the inside. I knelt down beside it, and Molly craned over my shoulder.
“What is it, Eddie? A fire exit, or maybe an inspection hatch?”
“It’s our way in.”
“If Cassandra really can predict the future, there’s probably a whole army of security guards down there waiting for us.”
“Good,” I said. “I feel like hitting a whole bunch of people.”
I armoured up one arm and ripped the steel plate away. The closed bolts sheared clean through, the hinges flew away like shrapnel, and the steel plate crumpled in my grip like tinfoil. I tossed it to one side, and it clattered loudly away across the desk. I barely heard it over the rising wind. I peered down through the opening, couldn’t see anything, and dropped down into the corridor below. I landed easily and looked quickly around, but there was no one waiting. I wasn’t sure whether I felt relieved or disappointed. Molly dropped down, landing as lightly as a cat beside me. I armoured down my arm, not wanting to draw unwanted attention, and considered my new surroundings.
Steel bulkheads everywhere, with all kinds of pipes and conduits, but no frills or fancies. Just a loud background hum of straining machinery, as though only a constant effort from the hidden alien technology held the Secret Headquarters this high in the air. I set off along the corridor, following the map in my head and moving deeper into the flying ship. Molly strode along beside me, looking happily around like a tourist on a day out. I was glad she could still enjoy the game; the mission had gone sour for me. I just wanted it over and done with.
“Do you need to call up your armour again to check the map?” said Molly after a while. “Only we do seem to have taken rather a lot of turns without actually getting anywhere.”
“I know where I’m going,” I said. “I memorized the route.”
“You always say that, and I always end up having to ask people for directions.”
“Only because you don’t have my sense of direction.”
“Oh come on! You can get lost trying to find the bathroom in the middle of the night!”
She was trying to cheer me up. I played along as best I could.
“So, how far is it now?” said Molly. “To wherever it is we’re going?”
“You didn’t read the briefing notes on the plane, did you?”
Molly sniffed. “I have you for that. I had some important beauty sleep to be getting on with.”
“According to the map, there should be a communications centre up ahead. That’s why we came in through that particular hatch. We can use their computers to find the source of Cassandra’s predictions.”
I stopped abruptly, and Molly stopped with me. A large group of uniformed people were bustling down the corridor, straight at us, chatting loudly together. Molly looked at me.
“Do you want me to whip up some kind of invisibility spell? My magics are only just returning, but I should be able to manage something basic.”
“No need,” I said. “Just look confident. If we act like we belong here, they’ll assume we do. On a ship this big, they can’t know everyone.”
“What if somebody does challenge us?”
“Then I get to hit a whole bunch of people after all.”
“Suits me,” said Molly.
Sure enough, when the uniformed technical people finally reached us, they were too wrapped up in their own conversations to pay us any attention at all. I walked straight at them, Molly stuck close to my side, and the crowd just parted automatically to let us through. I nodded briefly to anyone who glanced in our direction, and they nodded back and kept going. Sometimes confidence is the best weapon a spy has.
The communications centre turned out to be just a few minutes away. There was even a helpful sign on the door. No one standing guard, no obvious security. Some people don’t deserve to have secrets. I kicked the door open and barged in, Molly right behind me. Half a dozen technical staff looked up, startled. I was about to armour up, when Molly barked out the single word “Sleep!” and they all fell fast asleep at their posts. A few of them even snored gently. Molly looked at me suddenly.
“Oh I’m sorry, Eddie! Did you still need to hit someone? I could always wake them up again.”
“Thanks for the thought,” I said, “but the moment’s passed. Stand by the door and keep an ear out while I check this place over.”
That she didn’t give me any grief for giving her orders was a sign of how concerned she still was about me. She just nodded and looked out into the corridor while I examined the communications equipment. It all seemed standard enough. I chose a likely looking terminal, armoured up my hand, and sent tendrils of golden strange matter sneaking into the system to override its restrictions and corrupt its programming. My armour can do many amazing things, and I don’t understand half of them. Mind you, I feel the same way about most of the cars I drive. The ship’s main computer couldn’t have been more helpful, answering questions almost before I could ask them. It still took a while to dig out the information I needed. Long enough for Molly to get bored at her post and wander back to join me.
“I’m still not clear on what we’re looking for here.”
“The secret of Cassandra’s success,” I said patiently. “Whether it’s a what, or a who. Hmm . . . according to this, Cassandra’s been selling future information for only about eight months. So whatever it is, they haven’t had it long. What do you think, alien tech, or some gifted psychic? Remember the little old lady I told you about, the one at Lark Hill who could listen to the whole country at once?”
“If there was anyone like that here, I’d feel it,” said Molly. “I suppose it could be some kind of divination, powered by blood sacrifice.”
“Trust you to think of something like that,” I said.
“I’ve been around,” she said airily. “I’ve seen things.”
“I’m sure you have.”
The computer made a series of agreeable sounds, indicating that my armour had tickled it in all the right places, and it was now ready to spill the beans. Except, the computer didn’t actually know the source of Cassandra’s predictions. Apparently, such knowledge was limited to upper-management personnel only. But the computer did know where the source was. It even printed out a map for me, without having to be asked. I withdrew my golden tendrils and shut the terminal down. Molly pored over the map.
“Not far, just a few corridors down. Nothing here about security measures, though . . .”
“Bound to be some, but there was nothing listed in the computer,” I said. “And trust me, I looked. Doesn’t matter. I’ll set my armour against anything Cassandra can put up. I mean, look around; it’s not exactly state of the art here, is it?”
“Maybe most of their budget went on some really nasty hidden security,” Molly said darkly.
I took the map and headed for the door, and then stopped so suddenly, Molly almost ran into me. I looked back at the sleeping members of the tech staff, still slumped in their seats.
“They will all wake up again, on their own, won’t they?”
“Oh sure,” said Molly. “Eventually.”
“What if they don’t?”
“Then someone had better put a wall of thorns around them and hope for a handsome prince.”
* * *
We headed briskly through the narrow steel corridors, looking so in charge that everyone we met en route just naturally hurried to get out of our way. It’s all down to the walk. When we finally arrived at the right location, the empty corridor stretching away before us seemed entirely unremarkable. No one around, no signs or numbers on any of the doors. I counted them off until we were standing before the door marked on the map. Nothing about it to suggest it held anything special. Presumably, that was the point. Still, no guards on duty, no obvious surveillance . . . I didn’t like it. It’s always the defences you don’t spot that end up ruining your day.
“You’d think they’d at least have a few warm bodies standing around,” said Molly. “Someone to shout, Who goes there? and wave a gun around in a menacing manner.”
“Oh, I’m sure someone’s on guard,” I said. “We’re just not seeing them. Don’t touch the door!”
“I wasn’t going to! This isn’t my first burglary. And don’t you shout at me, Eddie Drood! I was just getting a feel for the surroundings.”
It felt good to have things back to normal between us.
“You go right ahead,” I said. “Don’t let me stop you. Feel things.”
She carefully considered the door with her witchy Sight, and then its immediate surroundings. She scowled, and shrugged unhappily.
“There’s something here, but it’s really well hidden. I’ll try a spell to force hidden things to reveal themselves.”
“Have you got enough magic for something like that?” I said carefully.
“Just about. I’ve been running on fumes ever since the Monk shut me down, but it’s coming back.”
She did the business, with a minimum of chanting and arm waving, and just like that, the security measure was hovering right there in front of us. A single massive eyeball, floating on the air, it was so big that it blocked the corridor all on its own. Complete with a pair of eyelids that were currently closed. The skin was a pale blue, with dark straggling veins. I edged around the giant eyeball in a complete circle, being very careful not to touch or disturb it, but somehow no matter where I was, it was always facing me.
“What the hell is it?” I said after I’d run out of anything else to do. I did think about prodding the eyeball with a golden finger, but I couldn’t convince myself that was a good idea.
“If that is what I think it is—and I’m pretty sure it is—we are in deep doo-doo,” said Molly.
“It’s never good when you use language like that,” I said. “Okay, hit me with the bad news.”
“It’s a basilisk’s eyeball,” said Molly. “Removed from its host, almost certainly without permission; greatly enlarged and then weaponized for sentry duty. If the eyelids open, it will quite definitely kill everything it looks at.”
“Let’s try to avoid that, then,” I said. “Any idea what might set it off?”
“Well, making it visible probably didn’t help,” said Molly. “I mean, we walked right through it when we didn’t know it was there, and it didn’t care. Now . . . probably any unauthorized contact with the door will wake it up in a hurry. But, Eddie, there is no way Cassandra could have done this on its own. This is specialist work.”
“It still settled for just the one eyeball.”
“That’s like saying just the one nuke! My point is, Cassandra must have contracted out for security, and weaponized supernatural body parts don’t come cheap. If Cassandra could afford to set something this nasty on guard duty, it must be making serious money . . .”
“If we should happen to wake it up,” I said carefully, “could your magics protect you?”
“In my current condition, probably not,” Molly said reluctantly.
“So . . . let sleeping giant eyeballs lie?”
“Sounds like a plan to me.”
I did think about armouring up, but just my armour’s presence might be enough to trigger a response. So I edged past the eyeball to stand before the door. Molly edged round from the other side, hugging the wall. I looked the door over. No obvious booby traps, and just a standard lock. I couldn’t believe it would be that simple, that easy, so, when in doubt, go sneaky. I knelt down and sent just a trickle of golden armour running down my shoulder and arm, and into the lock. I tensed, but there was no reaction from the eyeball. I concentrated, and my armour unlocked the door in a moment. I withdrew the tendrils, straightened up, and flashed Molly an encouraging smile.
“Piece of cake.”
I opened the door, and every alarm in the world went off at once. The eyelids snapped open, and the eyeball swivelled round to focus on its closest target, which was Molly. I didn’t have time to do anything but jump between her and the eyeball, subvocalising my activating Words as I moved. The armour leapt out of my torc as the basilisk looked at me, and a terrible light blazed up, filling the corridor and dazzling me even through my mask. A great force erupted from the eye, fierce and wild and deadly. It hit my armour, rebounded, and slammed into the eyeball. The lids slumped shut again, the eyeball shook all over, and then it fell to the floor. Landing hard, and somewhat squishily. The alarms all went quiet, as though embarrassed. I blinked several times until my eyes cleared, and then glanced over my shoulder. Molly was still behind me, unharmed. I armoured down, and she punched me hard in the shoulder.
“Ow!” I said. “What was that for?”
“For protecting me!” she said. “I can look after myself!” And then she grabbed me and kissed me hard. “Thanks for the thought, though.”
“You’re welcome,” I said. “But next time, can we go straight to the kissing?”
Molly looked at me thoughtfully. “Did you know your armour could protect you from the basilisk’s stare?”
“Of course,” I lied.
* * *
I led the way through the open door. Molly immediately pushed past me, just to make a point. And then we both stopped dead in our tracks. A large cage, made entirely of silver bars, took up most of the room. A pentacle, old-school and intricate, had been painted on the floor, surrounding the cage. I could feel a presence on the air, a terrible power, barely restrained. It was like staring at the door to a massive furnace and wondering if it might leap open at any moment.
I looked at Molly. “Any ideas?”
“This is bad,” she said quietly. “I don’t know what they’ve done here, but . . . bad, Eddie. Seriously not good.”
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go take a closer look.”
“A man after my own heart,” said Molly.
The cage looked to be some twenty feet on a side, each silver bar so thick, I would have had trouble closing my hand around it. Inside the cage, a man sat slumped in one corner, paying no attention to us. Just an ordinary man in shabby clothes, his head lowered so I couldn’t see his face. He had to know we were there, but he didn’t even raise his head to acknowledge our presence. I looked around the cage, but there was no sign of a door anywhere. It was as though the cage had been constructed around him, with no plan of ever letting him out again. Was this the goose that laid golden futures? I reached for the bars, and Molly suddenly grabbed my arm to stop me. When I looked at her, Molly’s face was pale with something very much like shock.
“What is it?” I said, keeping my voice down. Even though the man looked completely out of it, something about him suggested it wouldn’t be a good idea to disturb him. “Molly? What are you Seeing? And may I please have my arm back before you cut off the circulation? Thank you.”
“Sorry,” said Molly. She wasn’t looking at me. Her gaze was fixed on the shabby man in the far corner of his cage. “Armour up, Eddie. You need to See what I’m Seeing.”
I armoured up. It wasn’t just a man in a cage—I already knew that at gut level—but I still wasn’t prepared for what I saw when my mask’s Sight kicked in. Instead of a man, a gigantic humanoid form filled most of the cage. Ten, maybe twelve feet high, curled up in a ball and wrapped in heavy feathered wings. It had a perfect form and face, like a colossal marble statue brought to life. Inhuman in its perfection. The skin was a shining, shimmering white; the kind that contains every colour at once. And just like that, the cage turned my stomach. It felt wrong that something so mean could have been done to something so marvellous. Like someone had walked into a gallery and thrown acid across a masterpiece. I looked to Molly.
“Is that . . . what I think it is?”
“Oh yes,” said Molly. “It’s an angel.”
“Are you sure? I mean, I’ve never seen one before. I don’t suppose many have, but . . .”
“Hush, Eddie. You know what it is.”
And I did. You only had to look at it to know.
“All right,” I said. “From Above, or Below?”
“The Devil has power to assume a pleasing form,” said Molly. “So I suppose it could be either.”
“I’m imprisoned, not deaf,” said the angel. “I can hear you.”
It sat up in a great spreading of wings and looked at us. Its voice had been rich and thrilling, but when it fixed us with its glowing golden eyes, I winced and stumbled backwards. It was like staring into a spotlight. Even imprisoned, there was still something inhumanly judgemental in the angel’s gaze. I made myself stand my ground and glare back. I’m a Drood. We don’t bow or bend the knee to anyone. That’s the point.
“Hello, Eddie Drood,” said the angel. “Hello, Molly Metcalf. I’ve been expecting you.”
“Oh shit,” said Molly. “It knows us.”
“I am Heaven’s warrior,” the angel said quite calmly. “I am the will of God made flesh, to enforce his wishes in the mortal world. I know everyone.”
“Then how did you end up here?” I said.
The angelic form disappeared, replaced by the shabby man. He stood facing us, his hands in his pockets. His face was calm, empty, anonymous. “My presence is too much for human sensibilities. So I take this form, of my involuntary host, to shield and protect you. You’re welcome.”
“Thank you,” I said. In its presence, it was hard to think of anything but the angel. As though it was more real than us.
“Well,” said the angel, “I am one of the good guys. Are you here to set me free?”
“Depends,” Molly said quickly. “I’ve known men possessed by things from the Pit, but . . . you’re claiming to be a man possessed by an angel? Has that ever happened before?”
“There is another,” said the angel. “In Shadows Fall.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” I said. “They’ll let anyone in. What’s going on here?”
“I am an angel imprisoned inside a man, as he is held within these bars. He is my cage.”
“What does Cassandra want with you?” said Molly.
“I make its business possible. All angels exist Outside of Time and Space, so we can see more clearly, to be about our business. Past, Present, and Future, all at once. I was part of the angel war, fought in the Nightside over the Unholy Grail.”
Molly put a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. The shabby man smiled at her.
“Yes, you were there, weren’t you, Molly Metcalf?”
“You were?” I said, staring at Molly. “You were there when angels came to the Nightside from Above and Below, to fight openly over the cup that Judas drank from at the Last Supper? And you never said?”
“I don’t tell you everything,” said Molly.
“Just as well,” said the angel. “Considering why you were there. What matters is, I was attacked and weakened, and fell to Earth. Hauled down from my high station, I was captured and imprisoned within a powerful human psychic. The only cage that could hold me. But just the effort of such a possession drove the man insane, and I refused to do anything my captors wanted. They had no way of compelling me. They dared not injure the host for fear of weakening his hold on me. And for fear of what I would do once I was free again. So I was traded back and forth, among various powerful organisations and individuals. Some because they hoped to find a way to force information out of me; some because they wanted me to intercede with Heaven for them. And a few just wanted to have sex with a man who had an angel in him. I refused to cooperate with any of them, and the psychic remained crazy. There’s not much of him left now—just this shell. Finally, the people who became Cassandra bought me at auction.
“They wanted to know the future. And they got answers out of me by threatening to freeze my host in cryogenics so I would never be free. They also promised to release me, once I’d answered a specific number of questions. That number is almost up, but I don’t believe they will keep their word. I can’t See for sure; I am not allowed to See my own future. But I believe Cassandra Inc’s Management are too scared of what I might do to them, once I was no longer constrained. For daring to compel an angel . . . And they’re quite right, of course. They’re currently searching for a way to destroy my host that would also send me straight back to Heaven.” He laughed softly—a ghastly, merciless sound. “Like that would protect them from the wrath of God.”
“Why has Heaven allowed you to remain caged for so long?” I said.
“What are a few moments in Time, compared to Eternity?”
“If you suspected Cassandra Inc’s Management were lying to you, why tell them what they wanted to know?” said Molly.
“Because of the possibility of freedom,” said the angel. “From being caught in the matter trap. I had a feeling my actions would result in someone coming here . . . who could free me.”
“Yes,” I said. “I can do that.”
Molly grabbed me by the arm and moved me urgently back to the door so we could speak quietly together. I wasn’t sure what difference that would make where an angel was concerned, but I went along. Molly glared at me.
“Really?” she said. “Let it out? Just like that? I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, Eddie. Angels are beyond our understanding; they move in mysterious and often very scary ways. Particularly when someone’s really pissed them off. I do not want to end up as a pillar of salt!”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “It’s the right thing to do. Look at it, Molly. See what they’ve done. It’s not right to keep Heaven in a cage.”
I walked back to the silver bars, with Molly straggling reluctantly along behind me. The angel looked back at me with its human face. Not begging or pleading, not ordering or demanding. Just waiting to see what I would do.
“Time to go,” I said. “Time for you to go home.”
“What do you want in return?” said the angel.
“No conditions,” I said. “No bargains. That would be wrong.”
“There are things I could tell you, Eddie Drood. Things I could do for you.”
“It wouldn’t be right,” I said, “to compel an angel.”
“Don’t look at me,” said Molly. “He gets like this sometimes.”
“What a refreshing change,” said the angel.
“I would . . . ask,” I said. “Leave the people on this ship to human justice. Please.”
“Since you asked so nicely,” said the angel. “But still, nothing for yourself? Then allow me to express my gratitude. I see death hanging over you, Eddie Drood. Nothing can stop it. Plan accordingly. And beware the Merlin Glass. When you look into that mirror, you’re not the only one who looks back.”
I waited, but that was all he had to say.
“I don’t get anything?” said Molly.
“Don’t push your luck, supernatural terrorist,” said the angel.
“Fair enough,” said Molly.
I took the silver bars in my golden hands and forced them apart. Strange magics and unnatural energies flared around me, so bright and fierce, Molly had to turn her head away, but none of them could touch me in my armour. The silver bars broke and shattered, and I threw the pieces aside until one whole side of the cage was gone. I stepped quickly back from the opening I’d made, and the man with an angel inside came out. He looked at the pentacle painted on the floor, sniffed dismissively, and stepped easily across the lines.
“Amateur night,” he said.
“Okay . . . ,” said Molly. “That’s freed the host, but how are we supposed to get the angel out of him? I’m guessing an exorcism wouldn’t work . . .”
“I was hoping you’d have something,” I said.
“Way outside my experience,” said Molly. “I suppose we could always kill the host . . .”
“Kill an innocent man, to release an angel?” I said. “I’m guessing seriously bad karma.”
Molly looked at the angel. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any ideas?”
“Not really my area of expertise,” said the angel.
“I need to talk to my family,” I said to Molly. “Can you . . . boost the signal, or something?”
“Maybe,” said Molly. “Let’s try.”
She moved in close and touched my torc with the fingertips of her left hand. They trembled slightly on the strange matter, like the most intimate of touches. Like she was touching my soul. I could see the strain in her face as she fought to marshal what magics she had left. I called out to the members of my family through the torc, and they heard me. My handler’s voice rang loudly in my ears.
“Eddie! This is Kate! I’ve been waiting here all evening just in case you needed me! What’s happening?”
“All kinds of weird and wonderful things,” I said. “Listen, I’m on board Cassandra’s ship, but I need you to do something for me.”
“Of course, Eddie. That’s what I’m here for. What do you need?”
“Tell the family psychics to stop generating their chaff and to put all their power into helping someone here with me. They’ll be able to locate him easily enough; he’s possessed. By an angel. I’ll explain later, I promise, but right now I need them to concentrate on breaking the binding so the angel can go free. Can you sort that out?”
There was a pause. “Only you would get involved with something like this, Eddie,” said Kate. “I’ll see what I can do. Hang on.”
“She likes you,” said Molly.
“I know.”
“No, I mean she really likes you.”
“I know! You don’t mind, do you?”
“I think it’s very sweet,” Molly said firmly.
She went over to the door and looked out into the corridor. “I was sure breaking the cage would set off some kind of silent alarm, but I don’t see anyone.”
“Doesn’t mean they’re not on their way.”
“True. Do you still feel like hitting a whole bunch of people?”
And then the psychics must have come through, because the human host’s head suddenly came up, as though reacting to something only he could hear. He smiled, for the first time.
“Thank you, Eddie Drood, Molly Metcalf. I’ll put in a good word for you.”
The angel burst out of the man in a blast of unbearable light. What we’d seen before had just been an impression of an angel; what it allowed us to see. Scaled down, so it wouldn’t damage us. Wild and glorious, magnificent and free at last, the angel departed, in a direction I could sense but not name. The whole room rocked as the forces unleashed in its passing shook the flying airship from end to end. Molly and I clung to each other as the floor dropped out from under us. There was the sound of a whole string of explosions and all kinds of systems breaking down, along with any number of alarms and sirens, and a great many people panicking. One end of the room dropped dramatically as the airship began to fall out of the sky. Molly and I staggered back and forth, and had to hang on to what was left of the silver cage to steady ourselves.
“I asked the angel not to hurt anyone,” I said. “I should have specified—that included not dropping the bloody ship out of the sky with us still on board!”
“I told you it would come out in a bad mood,” said Molly. “I’m just relieved I didn’t end up as a salt lick.”
At the back of the cage, the human host was lying curled up in a corner, not moving. He’d clearly been dead for some time, probably killed by the original shock of containing the angel. Only its presence had kept his body going. Decay was setting in now and making up for lost time.
The airship lurched again, and Molly and I clung desperately to the silver bars. I armoured down to keep Molly company.
“I think we need to get to the control room,” I said. “See how bad this is, and what we can do to help.”
“Really?” said Molly. “After everything they’ve done, let them crash!”
“Not everyone on board is necessarily guilty,” I said. “I doubt most of them even knew about the angel. Probably just ordinary working stiffs.”
“You and your conscience,” said Molly.
The room steadied for a moment, and I quickly headed for the door. Molly stuck close behind, holding on to the back of my belt with one hand, in case things got a bit unsteady again. I could hear running feet approaching before I even got to the door, and when I looked out into the corridor, it was full of armed guards. Who took one look at me and immediately opened fire. I ducked back inside the room and armoured up. Molly yelped briefly as the hand she had holding on to my belt was pushed aside by the enveloping armour.
The door sprang open and the first guards charged in, opening fire again the moment they saw me. I stood between them and Molly, not moving. Bullets slammed into my armour, and it absorbed them all, effortlessly soaking up the massed firepower. With my old armour, the bullets used to ricochet, but that could lead to unfortunate incidents with innocent bystanders. I don’t know what my current armour does with the bullets it absorbs; I’ve never quite dared ask. More and more guards burst into the room, targeting me with their various weapons. The sound of so much gunfire in the confined space was deafening. And I just stood there and took it all. Staring calmly at the guards through the featureless golden mask that covered my whole face. That always freaks people out.
One by one the guards stopped firing, and lowered their weapons. In the sudden echoing quiet, the security men looked at one another, and then reluctantly looked back at me. I raised one golden fist, and grew heavy spikes out of the knuckles.
“Run,” I said.
And they did.
They’d been gone only a few moments before two men and a woman came charging into the room. Young business types, in smart power suits. They didn’t even look at me, all their attention fixed on the broken silver cage. One of the men actually moaned. The woman finally looked at me and Molly. Behind the understated makeup, her face was pale, but her mouth was still a flat, stern line.
“Who the hell are you?”
“I’m a Drood,” I said. “Who are you?”
“We’re Cassandra Inc’s Management,” said the woman. “What have you done?”
“Let the angel go free,” I said. “You had no right to hold it here.”
“We bought that angel!” said one of the men. “We paid good money for it. It’s ours!”
“You let it go?” said the other man. “We were going to be rich!”
“We didn’t imprison the angel,” the woman said carefully. “We just bought the man, with the angel already inside. We made a deal with it.”
“But did you intend to keep your side of the bargain?” I said. “The angel didn’t think so.”
“It was just business,” said the woman.
“Didn’t you think of all the damage you were doing with your predictions?” I said. “When you interfered with the Droods, you put the safety of the world at risk.”
“It was just business!” said the woman. “What gives you the right to interfere?”
“You messed with my family,” I said. “No one gets to do that.”
The woman looked at the two men. “Do something!”
They looked at each other, and ran back out the door. The woman went after them, bitterly calling them cowards.
“We didn’t even get their names,” said Molly.
“Do you care?”
“You let them go. I would have turned them into frogs.”
“My family will see that word gets out that they’re responsible for all the trouble Cassandra caused,” I said. “Those three will be on the run for the rest of their lives.”
“Nasty,” said Molly. “I like it.”
“Let’s go find the control room,” I said.
“Let’s,” said Molly.
* * *
I armoured down, and we fought our way through the narrow steel corridors, through crowds of desperate, panicking people looking for escape pods, parachutes, or any other way off the sinking ship. Having met the Management, I was willing to bet there weren’t any. The crowds paid no attention to me or Molly, except to curse us when we got in their way. I tried to ask directions to the control room, but no one had the time to talk to me. In the end, I just grabbed a man at random, slammed him up against the wall, thrust my face into his, and demanded directions. And he was only too happy to supply them.
But by the time I crashed onto the bridge, with Molly right behind me, the whole place was deserted. It was a room full of computerized control systems, with dozens of workstations and even an old-fashioned wooden steering wheel facing a massive windscreen, and not one crew member at his post, trying to keep the ship in the air.
“They ran,” I said. “Deserted their posts. Useless shit-bastard cowards.”
“Rats deserting a sinking ship,” said Molly. “Still think these people are worth saving?”
“Let them run,” I said. “My family will see they’re rounded up and made to pay for what they’ve done. Once I’ve saved them. I can’t just leave them to die, Molly.”
“You think the law can touch people like these?” said Molly.
“Who said anything about the law? I’m talking about my family.” I wandered round the various workstations, trying to make sense of the controls. “There must be something we can do . . .”
Molly pointed speechlessly at the massive windscreen before us. The ship’s prow was sinking even lower. It had already passed through the cloud banks, and was plummeting towards the earth at increasing speed.
“Eddie, we need to get the hell off this ship,” Molly said in a calm and extremely controlled voice. “And I mean right now.”
“Do you have the magics for a teleport?”
“Well, no, but . . .”
“I suppose I could wait till the last minute and jump,” I said. “Hold you in my arms and trust the glider wings . . .”
Molly glared at me. “Any other ideas?”
I grinned at her. “Save the ship.”
“Let it crash! Everyone on board deserves it!”
“I’m thinking more about where the ship might crash,” I said. “The people it landed on might not deserve it. And besides, in the ordinary, everyday world, oversized flying aircraft carriers aren’t supposed to suddenly drop out of the sky and make a really large crater in the local surroundings. Droods are supposed to protect people from ever having to know things like that can happen.”
“All right!” said Molly. “I get the point! Save the bloody ship!”
I found the main control station and sat down, armoured up one hand, and sent tendrils of golden strange matter surging through the systems. Computer screens burst into life all around me, packed with information. I grasped what I could, thought for a moment, and did the only useful thing left to me. I slaved all the systems to the steering wheel. I retrieved the golden tendrils and moved over to stand at the wheel. It was solid oak, very sturdy. I armoured up, took a firm hold, and tilted the wheel back to raise the prow. The ship didn’t want to know. I set the power of my armour against the wheel, and slowly, inch by inch, the prow came up.
“That really is very impressive, Eddie,” Molly said quietly beside me. “But we are still falling out of the sky.”
“The main engines looked to be undamaged,” I said. “According to the computers, it’s just the guidance systems that are screwed. That’s why I put everything through the wheel. Think of me as the manual override. If I can just hold her steady, the engines should slow the ship down.”
“Should?”
“Hey, I’m dancing as fast as I can . . .”
“Anything I can do?” said Molly.
“Wish me luck,” I said. “This isn’t going to be easy.”
I fought to guide the ship down, using all my strength. The armour could do only what I told it to do, multiplying my strength and intent. And the ship’s weight, speed, and sheer inertia fought me every foot of the way. Systems broke down all around me, workstations exploding one after another and bursting into flames. Black smoke drifted across the bridge. Molly found a fire extinguisher and ran from station to station, fighting the fires. The ship groaned loudly as its whole superstructure began to buckle under the strain. I held the wheel and kept the prow up. My back was screaming at me, my arm muscles howling with pain. Sweat was running down my face underneath my mask.
“Molly?”
“Yes, Eddie? I’m here.”
“If you can scrape together enough magic to teleport yourself off this ship, do it.”
“I won’t leave you, Eddie.”
“My armour will protect me.”
“After a crash from this height?”
“Yes. Theoretically . . . Molly, you have to go. I’m serious. I think the ship is breaking up. The best I can hope to do is crash-land it somewhere it’ll do the least harm.”
Molly moved in beside me. “I won’t leave you, Eddie. I’ll never leave you.”
We stood together awhile as I fought the falling ship.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Look out there, up ahead . . . Is that an open body of water?”
“It can’t be the sea, can it?”
“No, we’re not that lucky . . . I think it’s a reservoir! Yes! Any port in a storm . . .”
I guided the ship as best I could, working with the few systems still cooperating, but in the end, all I could do was aim the ship at the water and then just let it drop. I held on to the wheel for as long as I could, and then turned away and grabbed hold of Molly. I concentrated, and my golden armour swept out to envelop her as well. The strange matter sealed us in together, and we held each other tightly inside our golden cocoon as the aircraft carrier smashed down into the reservoir.
Somehow, the ship held together. When the noise and reverberations from the impact had finally died away, I armoured down, and Molly and I rolled away from each other and scrambled to our feet. I hurt all over, but I was alive. I grinned tiredly at Molly, and she whooped loudly.
“You did it, Eddie! You brought her down! Damn . . . You know, I would have bet good money against that. But you did it! You saved the ship!”
And she grabbed hold of me and danced me round the bridge. I went along, forgetting my aches and pains in the triumph of the moment. It’s good to celebrate the little victories in life. Finally we stood together, looking out the windscreen at the calm and placid surface of the reservoir.
“We can’t just leave the ship here,” I said. “People would notice.”
“Of course,” said Molly. “It’s illegally parked. I hear they can get very tough when things like that happen on reservoirs.”
“Most of the ship’s protections should still be working,” I said. “Enough to keep it hidden until my family can get people here.”
“What will they do?” said Molly. “Break the ship up for scrap metal?”
I grinned. “Why waste it? Haven’t you ever wanted your very own flying aircraft carrier?”
“Your family is weird, Eddie.”
I looked around me. “All its future predictions, and Cassandra Inc never saw this coming.”
“Cassandra Inc never saw us coming,” said Molly.
“Damned right.”