The Spy Who Haunted Me

by Simon R. Green

  I raised my Sight and looked at the river again. To my surprise, I couldn’t make out a thing. So much psychic energy had been released in the vicinity that the aether was jammed solid with an overlapping mess of signals. As though so many strange and wonderful things had happened here that the atmosphere had become supersaturated with information. It was all just a fog of events, magical and scientific, piled on top of each other like a thousand voices all shouting at once, desperate to be heard. I subvocalised my activating Words and clad myself in golden armour. Honey moved in close beside me.

  “Is that really wise?” she hissed. “We’re supposed to be undercover agents, remember? Aren’t you in the least concerned that the tourists will see you in your armour and run screaming for their lives? Or an exorcist? All it needs is one quick-thinking onlooker to catch you on his phone camera, and we will be the local news, on every channel!”

  “Try not to panic,” I said, still looking out over the river through my golden mask. “It’s very unbecoming in an agent. My torc broadcasts a signal that prevents anyone from seeing the armour. Unless I decide otherwise.”

  “We can see it,” said Peter.

  “Only because I let you,” I said.

  “Hold everything,” said Walker. “Are you saying your torc has influence, even control, over our thoughts?”

  “Pretty much,” I said. “Don’t worry about it. I am a Drood and therefore by definition far too nice and good and noble to even think of abusing such a privilege.”

  “Typical Drood arrogance!” said Honey. “You never thought to mention this before, because . . . ?”

  “I thought you knew,” I said. “You’re CIA. You know everything.”

  “Don’t hit him,” Walker said to Honey. “You’d only hurt your hand. Wait till he’s armoured down; then hit him.”

  “My turn to say, Hold everything,” I said. “I See something.”

  Focused through my golden mask, my Sight forced its way through the mass of information to show me ghost images of the final voyage of the USS Eldridge. The long ship came out of the docks on a gray afternoon in 1943, not knowing it was sailing out of history and into legend. The Eldridge was travelling severely low in the water, as though carrying far more weight than it was designed for. Every square inch of the open decks was covered with bulky equipment trailing wires and cables all fussed over by uniformed sailors dashing frantically back and forth. Tall spiky antennae thrust up at regular intervals the whole length of the ship, and long traceries of vivid electricity crawled up and down them, spitting and crackling. Strange energies pulsed and seethed, building an increasingly powerful aura around the ship.

  Up till then, it was just a weirder than usual scientific experiment, but that all changed abruptly with the arrival of the green fog. It appeared out of nowhere: no warning, no clue, just thick green mists boiling up around the ship and enveloping it from stem to stern. A green fog thick with otherworldly magic, merging with and then suffusing the Eldridge’s energy field. Magic and science combining, producing an effect neither could achieve on their own.

  I could hear the sailors screaming faintly, all the way back in 1943. The green fog rose up, swallowing the ship, and then both fog and ship were gone in a moment, and nothing at all remained. No invisible ship, no depression in the water. Just . . . gone. Snatched away. The other ships sent out to observe the effects of the experiment sailed back and forth across the empty waters, to no avail. Back on shore, scientists and navy brass shouted hysterically at each other.

  And then the fog returned, thick and pulsating, glowing with its own sick bottle green light. The colour and the texture of the fog was subtly different now; it looked . . . rotten, corrupt, poisonous. The Eldridge burst out of the green mists, as though forcing its way out, and headed jerkily for the shore. The green mists faded away almost reluctantly, revealing a ship that had been to war. All the antennae were gone, nothing left but jagged trunks and snapped cables, as though the antennae had been torn away by some gigantic hand. The ship’s hull had been breached in several places, fore and aft. It was a wonder she was still afloat. There were great blackened burn marks and fire damage throughout the superstructure, smashed glass everywhere, stove-in bulkheads and blast damage all over. And dead crewmen scattered the length of the ship, many torn to pieces.

  Blood everywhere.

  I concentrated, focusing my Sight still further, closing in on the ghost image of the ship to get a better look at what had happened. Because I had a horrid feeling I knew where the Eldridge had been, and who and what had done this to her and her crew. And it had nothing at all to do with invisibility or teleportation.

  The green fog had been the first clue, and the unearthly lights that burned within it. I had Seen the colours of magic, interfering and then combining with the ship’s science, heard the great sound of a door opening between dimensions. The Eldridge’s brand-new machines had inadvertently opened a portal to outside, and something had reached into our world and taken the ship and its crew as casually as a hand removes a goldfish from its bowl.

  Up close, it was clear the Eldridge had fought a major battle. Hours or even days had passed for the ship in those few moments it had been away. Solid steel bulkheads had split like paper, compartments were crushed, and the crew . . . Torn and broken, crushed, ripped apart, the pieces scattered over the blood-soaked deck. And yes, some caught up in the misfiring energies of teleportation: merged horribly with steel walls and doors, trapped in bulkheads, rematerialised inside metal, flesh fading seamlessly into steel. Screaming for help that would never come. This crew had fought one hell of a battle, and only some of them had come home to tell of it.

  I shut down my Sight, put away my armour, and looked at the others. “Bad news, people. I’m pretty sure I know what happened to the Eldridge back in 1943, and it has nothing at all to do with Project Rainbow or any other of the myths and stories of the Philadelphia Experiment. I don’t know what all that technology they put on board was supposed to do, but something about it interfered with a soft spot, a weak place in reality, and opened up a long-dormant portal to another place. Somewhere . . . outside our reality. And something in that other place reached out and dragged the Eldridge through the gateway.

  “Something bad happened in that other place, and the Eldridge had to fight her way out. She got home again, but her crew paid a terrible price. Hundreds dead, and worse than dead. No wonder the navy hushed all this up. No wonder they never experimented with that equipment again. They couldn’t risk opening the portal again. Something might come through, from the other side.”

  The others looked at me for a long moment. They all wanted to ask questions, but something in my face and in my voice stopped them. In the end, it was the old soldier Walker who nerved himself to ask the obvious question.

  “Do you know where the Eldridge went?” he said. “Do you know who took them?”

  “Yes,” I said. “They went to the Land Beneath the Hill. To the Sundered Lands. The Faerie Kingdoms. To the place the elves went, when they walked sideways from the sun and left this world behind them. The elves did this.”

  Honey pursed her mouth as though she wanted to spit. “I’m supposed to tell my superiors at Langley that the Eldridge was abducted by fairies?”

  “I’ve never known what the big deal was with elves,” said Peter. “Elves aren’t scary. Pointy-eared losers in period costumes, playing stupid jokes on mere mortals . . . Elves aren’t hard. Wouldn’t be even if they wore black leather and drank cider. I mean, look at the Blue Fairy.”

  “Blue was only half-elf,” I said. “And he could still have taken you with one hand on the best day you ever had.”

  “Oh, come on . . .”

  I glared at him till he stopped talking. “The only ones you ever see in this world are the broken-spirited ones. The ones who stayed behind or got left behind because they weren’t good enough. The beachcombers of Faerie, wasting their remaining energies in screwing over humans, because that’s
all they’ve got. The real thing . . . is so much more. Monsters . . . Inhuman, soulless, immortal, or at least so long-lived it makes no difference. They breathe magic and sweat sorcery. They can bend the rules of reality just by thinking about it.

  “We stole this world from them. Not by defeating them or bettering them but by outbreeding them. Do you wonder they still hate us, after all this time? In the Faerie Kingdoms, they are powerful and potent. They can do things we can’t even dream of, with magics and technologies beyond our comprehension. They were here first, and they still dream of returning and delivering a terrible revenge upon us. And we’re going to have to go there, to the Elven Lands, to the Unseeli Court, to get the truth about what happened to the Eldridge and her crew.”

  “I don’t think I want to know that badly,” said Walker. “I’ve had . . . experience with elves, in the Nightside. The real thing. They’re always bad news.”

  “Is it true they don’t have souls?” said Honey. “And that’s why they’re immortal?”

  “Not . . . as such,” I said. “Not souls, as we understand the term. The elves are an ancient breed, far older than humanity, born of a time when the very nature of this world was different. Our rules and restraints don’t apply to them, but then they don’t have our certainties, either. Like Life and Death, Good and Evil, Heaven and Hell.”

  “Still don’t see why we have to go there,” Peter said with a glower. “You say you Saw them take the Eldridge; what more do we need?”

  “You really think your grandfather will settle for my word?” I said. “I wouldn’t. He’ll want facts, details, evidence. No one will win the prize unless they can tell the whole story. Besides . . . the Eldridge’s technology opened a door between Philadelphia and the Land Beneath the Hill, and I think it’s still there. A soft spot in the world, a potential door just waiting to be pushed open by one side or the other. A vulnerable back door through which the Fae might one day invade. We have to check it out.”

  “What do you mean we, paleface?” Peter said immediately.

  “Are you sure it was the Fae, Eddie?” said Honey, ignoring Peter. “You have to be sure about this before we risk disturbing them.”

  “The Eldridge disappeared into a green fog,” I said steadily. “Nothing at all to do with electromagnetic radiation or radar invisibility. The green mists are one of the traditional ways the Fae use to disguise an opening between their world and ours. That fog was thick with magic, and I know elven magic when I See it.”

  “The Land Beneath the Hill,” muttered Peter. “The Elven Lands. The Faerie Kingdoms. How many names does this place have, anyway?”

  “As many as it needs,” said Walker. “In old magic, to know the true naming of a thing was to have power over it, so the Fae like to confuse things. It appeals to their . . . mercurial nature. They’re not fixed and certain, like us. They’re many things all at once. More than us, and less. Greater than us, but still childlike in many ways. The only human qualities they have are the ones they’ve copied from us, because it amuses them.”

  He turned and looked at me. “Even if we can close this door, there are others. Other ways of accessing the Faerie Kingdoms. The Street of Gods in the Nightside. A doorway in Shadows Fall. A deep tunnel beneath a small town in the southwest of England. There are openings and soft places all over the world, fortunately forgotten or overlooked by most people.”

  “But if this is an unknown, unsuspected entrance, we have to shut it down,” I said steadily. “Or persuade the Fae to close it from their side, at least long enough for us to set up the usual defences and observers.”

  “I still don’t see what the Fae would want with a U.S. Navy ship anyway,” said Honey.

  “We’ll just have to ask them,” I said. “When we get there. This is a mystery that needs solving; not just for us, but for the sake of all humanity. We can’t have the elves thinking they can just reach out and grab us whenever they feel like it. I think I shall have to speak quite sternly to them about that. Are you with me?”

  “Not if you’re going to be rude to elves,” Honey said immediately. “They don’t like it. And I like my organs on the inside, where they belong.”

  “I shall be polite and diplomatic at all times,” I said. “Right up to the point where I decide not to be and administer a good slapping. Don’t worry; I’ll give you plenty of warning, so you can duck. Walker?”

  “We have to go,” said Walker. “Duty is a harsh mistress, but she never asks more of us than is necessary.”

  “Always knew you were kinky, Walker,” said Honey. “Langley’s gone very quiet. I’ve brought them up to date and asked for instructions, and they’re passing the buck back and forth so fast they’re wearing it out. So let’s get going before someone tells me not to. No one takes a U.S. ship and its crew and gets away with it on my watch.”

  We all looked at Peter, who shrugged. “You’re right. Grandfather isn’t going to cough up his precious prize for an incomplete story. I’m in.”

  “Just how much do you know about elves, Eddie?” said Honey. “I know enough to be seriously worried about this.”

  “Right,” said Peter. “The best way to win a fight with an elf is to run like fun before it even knows you’re there.”

  We all looked at him.

  “Thought you weren’t afraid of elves,” I said. “And just when did you come in contact with the Fae, in your time in industrial espionage?”

  He shrugged angrily. “I get around. I hear things. Even in my business, Grandfather’s reputation follows me. Anything with even a trace of weird attached to it ends up on my plate. One of the reasons I’ve worked so hard to maintain a good distance between my world and his. All I ever wanted was a sane, sensible, normal life. It’s safer.

  “I’ve heard about elves. But I don’t believe half of it.”

  “Well, you’re about to get a crash course, the hard way,” said Honey. “Try not to cry.”

  Peter sniffed loudly. “I think I liked it better when you were hitting me . . .”

  “The Blue Fairy was a guest at the Fae Court just before he joined up with us,” I said. “According to him, there’d been some major upheavals there. He said Queen Mab is back, after centuries of exile, and sitting on the Ivory Throne. Which begs the question, what’s happened to Oberon and Titania? Has there been civil war in the Elven Lands? Who’s in, who’s out, who’s been horribly maimed and disfigured? Could make a big difference to how much we can reasonably hope to achieve. I mean, Oberon and Titania might have been flitty psychopaths with a really unpleasant sense of humour, but at least they were a known quantity. My family have been able to make deals with them in the past. Mab . . . is an unknown quantity.”

  “Why was she exiled?” said Honey.

  “No one knows,” said Walker. “The elves have never talked about it. I had heard Mab was back; we had an elf turn up in the Nightside, begging for sanctuary. Not that we could do much for him. Someone had turned the poor bastard inside out, all down one side . . . We killed him, eventually. As a kindness.”

  “You really think we can get answers, maybe even concessions, out of the elves?” said Honey. “They never miss a chance to do us down! Pride’s all they’ve got left.”

  “No,” Walker said immediately. “It’s . . . more complicated than that. Elves are always passing through the Nightside on some errand or other, and I’ve had my share of dealings with them. Can’t say I’ve ever got to know one; they’re just too different. They are honourable, in their way. It’s just not an even remotely human way. They admire courage, and boldness, and outright insanity. You really think you can make the elves do anything they don’t want to, Eddie?”

  “Of course,” I said. “I’m a Drood.”

  “This is all going to end in tears,” said Peter.

  “Shut up, Peter,” said Honey.

  “Queen Mab was still . . . away, in 1943,” I said. “So whatever happened to the Eldridge was due to Oberon and Titania. Maybe we can use that . . . T
he real question is, if the elves did take the ship, why did they let her go? The Eldridge looked like she’d been through a real fight, but even so, their weapons wouldn’t have been enough to hold off elves . . .”

  “No,” said Honey, looking out over the water. “The real question is, is the soft spot still out there? Is the doorway still there? And if it is, can you open it, Eddie?”

  “That’s three questions,” said Peter. “Ow! Damn it, Walker; that hurt!”

  “Good,” said Walker. “It was meant to.”

  “It’s like working with bloody kids,” I said, glaring about me. “Can we all please stick to the subject? All we need is a boat to get us out there, and I can do the rest. But I’m not taking any of you anywhere until I’m sure you’re taking this seriously. There is a really good chance the elves will kill us all on sight. They’ve been given good reason to respect the Droods, but they have very recent reasons to hate my guts.”

  “Oh, wonderful,” said Peter. “This gets better all the time. What did you do, pee in their wishing well?”

  “I killed a whole bunch of elven lords and ladies,” I said.

  Honey and Walker looked at me sharply with what I liked to think was respect. Even Peter looked at me in a new way.

  “I think I’ll get Langley to express-order us some Really Big Guns,” said Honey.

  “Nice thought,” I said. “But they wouldn’t help.”

  “Just how are you intending to force your way into the Sundered Lands?” said Walker. “I wasn’t sure such a thing was possible, even for the legendary Droods. Even if there is a soft spot . . .”

  “Blue had a torc stolen from the Droods,” I said. “Though he never did learn how to operate it, or he’d still be alive. Anyway, after he died, I used a spell built into his elven breastplate to send him home. My armour remembers the spell, and I can use it to force open the soft spot.”