Night Fall

by Simon R. Green

  Maxwell and Victoria took advantage of Eddie’s and Molly’s distraction to nip smartly past them on the other side. By the time Eddie turned to look, they were just two lab coats heading for the Armoury at speed. Presumably because they were looking forward to playing with Alpha Red Alpha and seeing if they could teach it some new tricks, but also because they really didn’t want to speak to Eddie and Molly.

  The Sarjeant-at-Arms was the last to leave the Sanctity, and the two guards moved quickly to close the doors behind him. The Sarjeant headed straight for Eddie and Molly and planted himself in front of them.

  “We need to talk,” he said bluntly.

  Eddie was immediately suspicious. Normally he was only able to prise information out of the Sarjeant through threats, intimidation, or blackmail. So he decided he wasn’t going to be rushed into anything and merely raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

  “The Matriarch dismissed her entire Council the moment Luther walked in,” said the Sarjeant.

  “You didn’t know she’d sent for him?” said Eddie.

  “No,” said the Sarjeant. “And I’m supposed to know things like that. She threw us all out the moment he appeared, even though we hadn’t finished explaining the realities of the situation to her. All because she was so keen to talk to Luther in private.”

  “Do you know him?” said Molly.

  “Only by reputation,” said the Sarjeant. “First-class field agent, still running Los Angeles long after he should have been retired and brought home.”

  “You don’t know why that is either,” said Eddie. “Even though you should.”

  “And now he has the Matriarch’s private ear,” said the Sarjeant. “Even though he shouldn’t.”

  “She’s planning something,” said Molly.

  “Of course she is,” said the Sarjeant. “She’s the Matriarch; she’s always planning something. But usually she has the good sense to discuss things with me first. An audience as private as this can only mean she wants Luther to do something she knows I won’t approve of. Something she is determined not to be talked out of.”

  “What could be so bad, that you wouldn’t approve of it?” said Eddie.

  “I don’t know,” said the Sarjeant. “But it can’t be anything good.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Luther looked at the Matriarch, sitting easily behind her desk, then deliberately looked away to take in the huge, empty chamber.

  “I’d forgotten how big the Sanctity is, but then, it’s been such a long time since I was last here . . . Just the two of us, is it?”

  “Yes,” said the Matriarch. “Ethel has assured me that she won’t be listening in.”

  “And you believe her?” said Luther.

  “I have to,” said the Matriarch.

  “Why all this solitude and secrecy for our little chat?” said Luther.

  “Sit down,” said the Matriarch. “And I’ll tell you.”

  Luther looked at all the empty chairs, picked one up, and set it down directly opposite the Matriarch. He sat down, took a moment to arrange himself comfortably, and only then gave the Matriarch his full attention.

  “The last time I was allowed to come home, Martha was still Matriarch. Eddie was merely the secondary field agent for London, and our armour came from the Heart, not Ethel. So much has changed, but not the job we do. Or the kind of things I’m asked to do.”

  “Some things never change,” said the Matriarch.

  “Why am I here?” said Luther. “Why bring me back, after so many years?”

  The Matriarch took a moment to shake her head slowly at his outfit. “Please tell me you haven’t gone native.”

  “It’s just protective colouration, to help me fit in,” said Luther. “So people will think I’m one of them and talk openly. I’m still a Drood. The only moral man in that cesspit of a city.”

  “And that is why you’re here now,” said the Matriarch. “I’ve given orders for all field agents to return to the Hall, but I wanted to talk to you first.”

  Luther frowned. “All of them? Won’t that leave us dangerously vulnerable, out in the world? While the cats are otherwise occupied, the mice will think they can get away with things.”

  “We can always put down some poison,” said the Matriarch. “I needed to see you first because I have a special assignment for you.”

  Luther sat back in his chair, careful to keep the smile off his face. He knew where he was now. The Matriarch wanted something from him, and since she wasn’t just giving him orders, that suggested she needed his co-operation. Luther wondered what he could get in return for that.

  “I need you to go into the Nightside,” the Matriarch said levelly. “And kill John Taylor.”

  She looked at him, waiting for a response. Luther sat quietly, his face impassive, thinking hard.

  “I’m not saying no,” he said finally. “But I have to ask why?”

  “Because as the current Walker, and a living legend in his own right, John Taylor is the nearest thing the Nightside has to a leader. Kill him, and we cut off the head of any resistance before it even starts.”

  Luther thought about it some more. “You want me to go in under my cover identity, Philip Harlowe?”

  “No,” said the Matriarch. “I need you to do this in your armour. I want it done hard and brutal and bloody. Make an example of him, Luther. I need to send a message to the whole Nightside: If we can kill John Taylor, none of you are safe. That should demoralise them, make them less inclined to fight our invasion when it happens.”

  Luther nodded slowly. “Getting in shouldn’t be too difficult, but getting out afterwards . . .”

  “I’ve made arrangements,” said the Matriarch.

  “Why me?” said Luther.

  “You mean, why not Eddie?”

  “He is the best field agent we’ve got,” said Luther. “Though I’d never admit that to his face. And John Taylor won’t die easily. Maybe you should send the best, to be sure of having a real chance.”

  “Eddie is an excellent agent,” said the Matriarch. “But he’s not an assassin. He’ll kill when he has to, to do his duty; but something this . . .”

  “Cold-blooded?” said Luther.

  “Yes,” said the Matriarch. “Something as cold-blooded as this might be beyond him. Whereas you have always done good work for the family, quietly disposing of people who might otherwise have caused us a lot of trouble.”

  “Martha was supposed to be the only one who knew that,” said Luther. “I did hope that after she died, my sins might be buried along with her. I should have known better.”

  “Yes, you should,” said the Matriarch. “All Matriarchs keep private records, to be passed down to our successors. And your file made for particularly interesting reading. I had a feeling you’d come in handy someday.”

  “If you and Martha valued my work so highly, why was I never allowed to come home?” said Luther. “No matter how many times I asked.”

  “You’re here now,” said the Matriarch. “Do this one job for me, for the family, and I will make you a permanent member of my advisory Council. You’ll never have to leave the Hall again. If that’s what you want.”

  “Yes,” said Luther. “That is what I want.”

  “Won’t you miss Los Angeles?”

  “Only in the way you miss the shit you scrape off the bottom of your shoe.”

  “And that, right there, is why I need you,” said the Matriarch. “My cold-blooded, incorruptible agent. So you’ll do it? Remove this obstacle from our path?”

  “Of course I’ll kill him,” said Luther. “Anything, for the family. But you must know . . . When Eddie finds out, and you can be sure he will, he’s not going to like this. It won’t fit his idealistic view of what he thinks the family is. What he believes we should be. We’re not supposed to kill good m
en.”

  “After this is done, Eddie will understand the necessity, or he won’t. But either way, it’ll be too late for him to do anything. He’ll have no choice but to go along.”

  Luther chose his words carefully. “The last time a Matriarch disappointed him, Eddie kicked her out of office and took control of the family himself.”

  “He only got away with that because no one believed it could be done,” said the Matriarch. “Now we know better, measures have been put in place.”

  “You’d have to kill him to stop him,” said Luther.

  “Yes,” said the Matriarch.

  “And then you’d have to kill Molly Metcalf, to keep her from avenging him.”

  “Yes,” said the Matriarch.

  Luther looked at her. “And you really think you can do that . . . What do you know that I don’t?”

  “More than you could possibly imagine,” said the Matriarch. “All that matters is that Eddie and Molly serve the family and not the other way around. I would hate to lose them. They’re two of the best weapons at my command. But needs must . . .”

  “When the Matriarch drives,” said Luther.

  “Precisely.”

  “I’ll kill John Taylor for you,” said Luther. “Because that’s what I do. When do you want it done?”

  “Now,” said the Matriarch.

  She opened a drawer in her desk and brought out a thick silver bracelet studded with brightly coloured crystals. She put it down on the desk before her and pushed it toward Luther. He reached out and picked it up carefully.

  “A teleport bracelet,” he said. “The last time I was here, the old Armourer was still trying to get the bugs out of it. I watched one of the prototypes being tested, down in the Armoury. It worked perfectly fine as it teleported the upper half of the wearer away and left the lower half still standing there. It took the lab assistants hours to clean up all the blood.”

  “Maxwell and Victoria have assured me that all of the problems have been worked out.”

  Luther sniffed loudly. “Yes, well, they would say that, wouldn’t they?”

  “You can be sure this one has been very thoroughly tested,” the Matriarch said patiently. “It’s the one the Sarjeant-at-Arms uses to take him to Strangefellows.”

  “Ah, well,” said Luther. “If Cedric trusts it . . .”

  He slipped the bracelet over his hand, and it immediately clamped down around his wrist. Luther studied the colour-coded crystals, while being very careful not to touch any of them.

  “I assume it’s still green for go and red for return?”

  “Of course.”

  “What do the other colours do?”

  “They complicate things,” said the Matriarch. “So leave them alone. The bracelet is preprogrammed to take you straight to Strangefellows at a time when we have reason to believe John Taylor will be there.”

  Luther raised an eyebrow at that, but the Matriarch said nothing. He nodded, acknowledging that he didn’t need to be told everything, and she continued, “I don’t want any challenges or speeches; just kill him. In your armour, so everyone knows who and why. Then hit red, and the bracelet will bring you home.”

  “John Taylor is supposed to have all kinds of special protections and defences,” Luther said carefully. “Does the family have any idea what they might be?”

  “No,” said the Matriarch. “No one does. That’s why they work.”

  “How am I supposed to get past them when I don’t even know what they are?”

  “Don’t give him time to use them,” said the Matriarch. She smiled briefly. “If this were easy, I wouldn’t need you.”

  Luther nodded. He got to his feet, touched the green crystal, and disappeared. The Matriarch looked at the space where he’d been for a long moment. There was no way in hell she could have a man like that on her advisory Council, but she’d think of something. Perhaps he’d die during the Nightside invasion. Stranger things had happened. She raised her voice.

  “Ethel!”

  The voice appeared out of the air right in front of her.

  “All right, I can hear you. No need to shout.”

  “Have you been listening?” said the Matriarch.

  “No,” said Ethel. “You told me not to, so I didn’t. One of these days I’ll get my head around this whole privacy thing. As if you humans weren’t alone enough, trapped inside your heads . . .”

  “Ethel!”

  “Yes! I’m here! What do you want?”

  “I need to know: Can I rely on your assistance once I lead the family into the Nightside?”

  “No,” said Ethel.

  The Matriarch waited, well past the point where it became obvious that the voice had nothing more to say. “That’s it? You’re not even prepared to discuss it?”

  “No,” said Ethel.

  “Get out,” said the Matriarch.

  “I’m gone,” said Ethel.

  The Matriarch sighed tiredly. Just because she’d expected the answer didn’t make it any easier to take. She looked around the huge, empty chamber of the Sanctity. The heart of the Hall, and the family. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised to find how hollow it was. She sat and thought for a long time, about all the awful things she was going to have to do to win this war. Perhaps, when it was all over, they’d allow her to retire, put someone else in charge, so she could go back to her gardens. And only have to make the kind of decisions where no one got hurt. Or maybe she’d die during the Nightside invasion. Stranger things had happened.

  She’d never wanted to be Matriarch; they’d had to bully her into taking the position. But as long as she had the job, she would do what needed doing. And try to live with it afterwards.

  Anything, for the family. For Humanity.

  * * *

  • • •

  Luther appeared in the shadows at the back of Strangefellows. He tensed, waiting to see if he’d triggered any kind of alarm, then relaxed when nothing happened. No one was paying him any attention, and there was no reason why they should. The torc was hiding that he was a Drood, and since he’d spent his entire career in Los Angeles, it wasn’t likely anyone here would recognise him. Luther strolled out of the shadows, doing his best to appear calm and confident, just someone who’d dropped in for a drink.

  Strangefellows was packed from wall-to-wall with all kinds of people, and some things that wouldn’t pass for people even if you put a gun to their heads.

  The weird stuff didn’t bother Luther. He’d seen enough of that in LA. He quickly spotted John Taylor standing at the bar, talking to the grim-faced bartender, looking entirely at his ease and not at all dangerous. But Luther knew better. Luther made his way unhurriedly through the packed crowd, moving with quiet confidence and casual arrogance, because anything else would have got him noticed. He got to the bar, waited for just the right moment, then eased in behind John Taylor and armoured up. The golden strange matter swept over him in a moment, and immediately the cry went up.

  “A Drood! There’s a Drood in the bar!”

  John spun around impossibly quickly. As though he just knew there was only one place a Drood could be, and only one person a Drood would have come for. The Matriarch had strongly implied she wanted John beaten to death with golden fists, but Luther had no intention of getting that close to the legendary John Taylor. A long golden sword shot out from his glove, and Luther raised it on high.

  The bartender produced a glowing baseball bat from behind the bar and threw it to John, who snatched it out of the air even as Luther brought the golden sword swinging down. John shielded himself with the bat, and to Luther’s astonishment, his strange-matter blade rebounded from the glowing wood. The impossibly sharp strange-matter edge hadn’t even made a dent. The bartender laughed triumphantly.

  “Merlin gave me that bat!”

  Everyone in the bar o
pened up on the Drood. Normally they wouldn’t get involved in a private fight, but this was a Drood. They shot at Luther with all kinds of guns, threw glowing knives, and hit him with any number of spells and curses, a fusillade of fear and hate that would have wiped out anyone else in a second. But the strange-matter armour just soaked it all up, while Luther didn’t even feel the impacts. He scowled behind his mask. He’d only just started his attack, and already it felt like everything was going wrong. He couldn’t help feeling that the smart option would be to give it up as a bad job and teleport out. But if he did, the Nightside would be able to say they frightened off a Drood . . . and John Taylor would know he’d been marked for death by the family. They’d never be able to sneak up on him again. Besides, Luther had given his word to the Matriarch that he would get the job done. He wanted so much to be able to go home again.

  He could still do this. He was a trained swordsman, while all John Taylor had was a baseball bat. If he pressed the attack hard, and didn’t give John a chance to use any of his tricks . . . Luther cut at him again, putting all his armoured strength into the blow, and though the glowing bat absorbed most of the impact, there was still enough there to drive John back a step. Luther hacked and cut viciously, trying to force the bat aside so he could get at John. But though he was forced to retreat step by step, John somehow continued to hold his attacker off. He stared calmly into the featureless golden mask, refusing even to look scared, or worried. Luther fought on, forcing John to stay on the defensive. He didn’t know what a baseball bat magicked by Merlin Satanspawn could do to his armour, and he didn’t want to find out.

  The attacks from the rest of the bar had stopped. Luther and John were too close now, and moving too quickly. Luther piled on the attack, and because he had golden armour, and John was only human, Luther finally beat the bat aside, leaving John momentarily defenceless. Luther drew back his blade for the killing thrust.

  There was a sound like thunder, and something hit him hard in the back. The impact threw Luther away from John, slamming him up against the bar. The pain was so bad it knocked all the breath out of him, and he had to lean against the bar while he waited for his legs to steady themselves. He’d never felt pain like it. The armour had always protected him before. He could feel blood streaming down his back, inside the armour. Lots of it.