He smiled easily at the soldiers of Mithras and slowly, so as not to panic anyone, he raised one arm. And then he opened his hand and a steady stream of assorted bullets fell from his open palm. The soldiers watched the falling shells, mesmerised, until the last round had bounced and tinkled on the ground; and then they hefted their guns and didn’t like how light they suddenly felt.
“I have just removed the bullets from all of your guns,” John explained pleasantly. “Now get the hell out of here before I decide to show you a similar trick involving some of your less important organs.”
The Major looked back at his troops, saw their morale disappearing in front of his eyes, and raised his voice again.
“It’s just one of his tricks! We have to make him give us our god back! Come on; he can’t take all of us!”
“You ready to bet your lower intestines on that?” said John.
The week-end warriors lowered their guns and turned away, ignoring the jeers of the onlookers, and headed off down the Street of the Gods, muttering dejectedly to each other. That was the problem with John Taylor; he might not look like much, but you could never be sure just what he could and couldn’t do. Until he did something really nasty right in front of you, then promised to do something even worse. The Major was left standing on his own. He called after his men, threatening, then pleading, but not one of them looked back. This was the Street of the Gods, and the soldiers knew a power when they saw one.
The Major turned back to face John and Razor Eddie. He raised his machine-pistol and pointed it at John’s face. John smiled at him politely. The Major pulled the trigger, and nothing happened. He tried again and again, refusing to believe his gun was empty until he had to. The Major put it away and produced a glowing dagger. The thick steel blade glowed with a fierce, foreboding light. John regarded the knife thoughtfully, as the Major brandished it at him.
“Come on then! Let’s see you make this disappear!”
Razor Eddie looked to John. “Would you like me to do something unpleasant to him? It wouldn’t be any trouble. I’ve got this marvellous new trick that combines circumcision and origami.”
“Thanks,” said John. “But Walker has to be seen to take care of business himself.” He fixed the Major with a steady gaze. “We are standing on the Street of the Gods, Major. Heaven and Hell are very close. Where do you think I’m considering sending you?”
The Major hesitated. He didn’t really believe John Taylor had the power to do that, but . . . The Major lowered his glowing dagger and put it away. He looked suddenly older, and very tired.
“He was our god,” said the Major. “He wouldn’t go off and leave us without saying anything. He just wouldn’t.”
“I will find out what happened here,” said John.
But the Major was already walking away, pushing his way blindly through the silent crowds.
“Were you bluffing?” Razor Eddie said quietly.
“I’ll never tell,” said John.
“Are you really intending to try to find out what is so powerful and so terrifying that the gods themselves have run away rather than face it?”
“Of course,” said John. “That’s the job.”
Razor Eddie smiled faintly. “Where angels fear to tread and devils hide under the bed, John Taylor goes rushing in with a song on his lips. Call me if you need backup. I have to go practice my origami.”
The last god on the Street of the Gods cut a hole in the world with his straight razor and disappeared through it. Leaving John Taylor to stand alone and wonder what to do next.
CHAPTER TWO
The Nightside Isn’t What It Was
Everyone who matters knows about the Drood family, who they are and what they do, but no one knows where to find them. The location of Drood Hall, home to that most ancient of families, is one of the best-kept secrets in the hidden world. Partly because a great many people, and some things that couldn’t pass for people even in the darkest of back alleys, would give everything they have for just one chance at revenge; but mostly because the Droods don’t like to be bothered. They protect Humanity, covering every country in the world, which means they’re always very busy. The Droods guard their privacy with extreme prejudice, and people who go looking for them tend not to come back.
Drood Hall is where all the decisions that matter are made, how to change the world and save it. It stands alone and unnoticed behind all kinds of protective shields, deep in the heart of South-West England. You get there by heading down roads that aren’t on any map, taking turnings that don’t exist, and finally by driving through a stone wall that is extremely solid to anyone who isn’t a Drood. The Hall itself is a great sprawling manor-house that dates back to Tudor times, with four great Wings in the Regency style, added over the years as the family expanded. Set in the middle of extensive and magnificently cultivated grounds, vast and imposing, Drood Hall stands firm, Humanity’s last best hope against all the forces that threaten it.
The roof rises and falls like a grey-tiled sea, complete with gables and gargoyles, observatories and eyries, and a whole bunch of landing pads for vertical-take-off planes and experimental helicars, steam-powered autogyros and winged unicorns. The roof also sprouts more ariels and antennae than you can shake something shakeable at because the Droods like to keep themselves informed. They watch the world closely, to protect it and to make sure it doesn’t do anything they wouldn’t approve of.
Drood Hall contains marvels and mysteries, secrets and horrors, and more history than any one family should have. Or have to cope with. The Droods have been around for a very long time and done a great many things, not all of which have the decency to stay in the past.
The Hall is surrounded by acres of open grounds, with wide lawns and impressive flower-beds, a fiendishly complicated hedge maze, and an artificial lake that comes complete with its own undine. A place of rest and peace, for soldiers home from the secret wars, and woe betide anyone who dares invade it. Drood Hall and its grounds are protected in endlessly inventive and often downright-unpleasant ways. Which is why a whole bunch of alarms went off when Eddie Drood and Molly Metcalf teleported in out of nowhere.
The grounds echoed to bells and sirens, alarms and excursions, and one very loud shriek from a young couple who happened to be picnicking on the lawns that evening. They took to their heels and bolted for the Hall, not even pausing to check who the intruders were because they really didn’t want to be around when the grounds’ hidden defences opened up. Eddie glared about him and raised his voice.
“Knock it off! We’re expected!” He glanced apologetically at Molly. “They ought to recognise the energy signature on your teleport by now.”
“They probably would,” Molly said cheerfully, “if I didn’t keep changing it, just to keep them on their toes. I like being greeted by panic, alarms, and open hysteria; it means they’re still taking me seriously. And that they’re still scared of me.”
“Of course they are,” said Eddie. “They’ve met you.”
Molly smiled at him dazzlingly. “You say the sweetest things. Sometimes without my even having to remind you.”
The alarms cut off abruptly, and a cautious hush fell across the grounds. The prodigal son and the proverbial free agent stood together facing Drood Hall, wondering why they’d agreed to come back to the one place they put so much time and effort into trying to stay away from.
At first glance Eddie Drood seemed like just an ordinary guy, with a forgettable face and an easy manner. But that was because he’d been trained as a field agent to look like no one in particular, to make no impression so that he could move back and forth in the world and not be noticed. To do what needed doing. And if he’d done his job properly, no one would ever know he’d been there. Eddie was dark-haired and dark-eyed, and wore a nicely anonymous three-piece suit. The only thing that stood out was the golden torc around his neck. The mark of the Droods. The
golden circlet hid its wearer from the world, and only a major-league psychic could catch even a glimpse of it. Or the seventh son of a seventh son, but there aren’t many of those around these days. Blame family planning.
Molly Metcalf was an entirely different matter. She was born to stand out and be noticed, and if she wasn’t, she kicked up one hell of a stink until she was. Molly Metcalf: the legendary wild witch of the woods. Supernatural terrorist or freedom fighter, depending on which side she happened to be supporting at any given moment. She wore a long gown of ruffled white silk, with ruby-red slippers, and looked like a delicate china doll with big bosoms. Though she was perfectly capable of punching out a stone golem if she felt like it. She picked fights, encouraged insurrections, and went through a phase of abducting aliens just to tell them knock-knock jokes. Molly had bobbed black hair, huge dark eyes, and a rosebud mouth red as sin. She was quite remarkably beautiful, in a threatening and disturbing way.
Eddie and Molly had spent many years on opposite sides and had made several determined efforts to kill each other. For what seemed like perfectly good reasons at the time. Until one day Eddie was declared rogue and apostate by his own family and had to go on the run in order to survive. With no one left to turn to but his old enemies, he discovered the world wasn’t nearly as clear-cut as he’d been told it was. Eddie and Molly took on the whole Drood family, terrorised them into submission, then unleashed the Droods on all the bad guys and organisations of the hidden world. Somewhere along the line, Eddie and Molly fell in love; and it would be hard to say which of them was the more surprised.
Sitting at their feet, taking a great interest in everything, was Scraps.2, the robot dog. Built by the late Armourer, after his original pet was exploded in a lab accident, Scraps.2 was built to survive explosives and all other extreme possibilities. An Artificial Intelligence housed in a lean steel body, with a sculptured canine head and glowing red eyes, Scraps.2 was packed full of powerful armaments and nasty surprises. But he still insisted on being a dog first. He scratched at his steel side with a steel paw, making a loud clattering sound. Eddie winced. He always found it a little unnerving when Scraps.2 did things he knew were completely unnecessary.
“Must you?” Eddie said loudly.
“Yes!” said Scraps.2, just as loudly. “It’s instinct.”
“You’re artificial,” said Molly. “You don’t have any instincts.”
“All right then,” said the steel dog. “Programming. What’s the difference?”
Eddie looked at Molly. “He’s got a point.”
“I also have this terrible urge to chase rabbits,” Scraps.2 said wistfully. “Even though I know shooting them would be far more efficient.”
“Not all dogs have built-in guns, like you,” said Eddie.
Scraps.2 sniggered loudly. “If they did, they’d get a lot more respect.”
He broke off and looked around sharply. “Brace yourselves, people. According to my sensors, all the grounds’ defences have just come on-line. And if I’m reading them correctly, they’ve been upgraded to respond to all sudden appearances with lethal force.”
“But we’re expected!” said Molly. “The Matriarch summoned us back from what should have been our Christmas break.”
“Yes,” said Eddie, “but you’re still you. That’s always been enough to make the defence systems nervous.”
“Oh well,” said Molly. “That’s all right then. I like to think they respect me.”
“Hello!” Scraps.2 said loudly. “Did everyone take in the bit where I said lethal force?”
“We heard you,” said Eddie. “But I’m a Drood, this is Molly Metcalf, and you’re made out of steel. Unless they’ve upgraded to nuclear bullets and cold-fusion grenades, I think we’ll be okay.” He stopped to think about it. “No . . . they couldn’t have. No way they could get a budget hike pushed through that quickly.”
“You’d better be right about this,” said Scraps.2.
A robot gun rose from its emplacement under the lawns, long barrels swinging around to target the new arrivals. Its computer systems hesitated as they recognised the torc around Eddie’s neck, then the gun opened fire anyway. Heavy shells pumped out of the long barrels, powerful enough to knock a tank on its arse, but the hesitation had given Eddie all the time he needed.
He subvocalised his activating Words, and golden strange matter shot out of his torc to cover him from head to toe in a moment. He stood on the lawns like a gleaming golden statue, placing himself between Molly and the robot gun. Heavy gun-fire slammed into his chest, and the armour soaked up and absorbed every single shell. Eddie didn’t even feel the impacts. The gun kept firing until it ran out of shells, then stopped. There was a moment of quiet embarrassment, and the robot gun sank sulkily back into its underground bunker.
“What the hell was that all about?” said Molly, emerging from behind Eddie. “Not that I needed you to protect me, of course.”
“Of course,” said Eddie. “Scraps.2, what is going on? Drood defences opening fire on one of the family? That’s unprecedented. I’ll have someone’s balls for this.”
“According to my sensors, all the defences have gone into full panic mode and are currently contacting the Hall for new instructions,” said Scraps.2.
Eddie armoured down, the golden strange matter disappearing back into his torc. “That gun couldn’t hurt me inside my armour, and my family would have more sense than to shoot at you, Molly; so I don’t think we were deliberately targeted. The family must be on really high alert.”
“It was still very rude,” said Molly.
“Oh yes,” said Eddie. “Absolutely.”
A pair of gryphons came lurching across the lawns to greet the new-comers and see if they had any food on them that they weren’t actually using. The ugly beasts were low-level precogs, able to see a short distance into the future, which made them perfect guard dogs. They knew Eddie of old, and in particular they knew a soft touch when they saw one. The gryphons were great lumpy things, with scaly grey bodies and long, morose faces. They were the only ones who looked forward to intruders because they got to eat them. They made low, coughing sounds of welcome as they approached Eddie, and nuzzled his hands with their soft mouths as he fed them a few biscuits. They were friendly enough creatures, but given that their favourite pastime was rolling around in dead things, they were never allowed inside the Hall.
“It’s your own fault for encouraging them,” Scraps.2 said severely to Eddie. “Get out of here, you free-loaders!”
Searing energy beams blasted from his crimson eyes, driving the gryphons off. They loped away across the lawns, easily dodging the eye beams because they always knew where they were going to hit. All the steel dog ended up doing was blasting charred holes in the lawns. Eddie cleared his throat meaningfully.
“I hate precogs!” Scraps.2 said loudly. “I’m going to have to upgrade my targeting systems again.”
Molly looked around the wide-open grounds and frowned. “You know, apart from us, it all seems very peaceful here. From the way the Matriarch sounded when she contacted us, I was half expecting open war to have broken out.”
Eddie nodded and raised his voice. “Ethel! Will you please explain why the Hall has gone into full panic mode?”
A voice answered him from out of nowhere. The disembodied entity that insisted on being called Ethel, for no reason she had ever made clear, sounded unmistakably feminine, whilst at the same time distinctly inhuman. A visitor from another reality, Ethel had downloaded her consciousness into this dimension sometime back and taken on the role of patron and protector to the Droods. She supplied the torcs and armour that made their work possible, and had never got around to explaining why. The whole family was waiting for the other shoe to drop. You can’t police the whole world for as long as the Droods have without becoming institutionally suspicious.
“Hello, Eddie! Hello, Molly!
” Ethel said cheerfully. “Good to have you back! Did you bring me a present?”
“You always ask that,” said Eddie. “And the answer is always going to be no. You are very difficult to buy for. What do you get the otherworldly entity who is everything?”
“But it’s Christmas!”
“What’s all this nonsense about the Nightside changing its boundaries?” said Molly, refusing to be side-tracked.
“I don’t know,” said Ethel. “And I’m not used to that. It’s all very peculiar, and I really don’t like it.”
“The Nightside doesn’t change,” said Eddie. “It is what it is, and what it’s always been. That’s the whole point of the Nightside.”
“It’s certainly worrying,” said Ethel. “People all around the world are going out of their minds trying to come to terms with what it all means, what it portends, and most important of all, who’s behind it.”
“We should have shut the Nightside down long ago,” said Eddie. “Dreadful place.”
“I like it!” said Molly.
“You would,” said Eddie.
“It’s fun!” said Molly. “It’s wild, and free from authority, and always open to new possibilities. All the things your family disapproves of on general principles.”
“Usually with good reason,” said Eddie.
Night Fall Page 5