“They were fine, upstanding people,” the Sarjeant said firmly. “Now, if I may continue my report on the transgressions of the ghost, Jacob?”
“Oh by all means,” I said. “Don’t let me stop you, Cyril.”
“There have been numerous reports of Jacob haunting the ladies’ showers and changing rooms.”
“I keep getting lost.”
“You’re not fooling anyone, Jacob,” I said.
“And,” said the Sarjeant, “there have even been reports of him chasing the ghost of the headless nun through the catacombs.”
Jacob grinned. “Hey, she’s the only other ghost in the Hall. Can you blame me if I just want to swap a little ectoplasm? Nice arse, for a nun. Damn, she’s fast on her feet, especially considering she can’t see where she’s going.”
“You’re a member of the Inner Circle!” snapped the Sarjeant. “You’re supposed to set an example!”
“Oh, I am, I am . . .”
“Stop that,” I said quickly. “Your ectoplasm’s going all quivery. Let us move on. Are we any closer to establishing who was behind the recent attacks on the Hall, just before I was summoned home? Do we have any new information?”
“Nothing. Not a word,” said the Armourer.
“Perhaps we should ask the strange matter,” said the Sarjeant pointedly. “Since it did turn out to be responsible for the destruction of the Heart, in the end.”
“Wasn’t me,” said a calm and reasonable voice from inside the warm crimson glow. “I was still searching for the Heart at that stage, and didn’t even know it was in this dimension. You must remember; the Heart had made many enemies, from all the worlds and races it enslaved before it came here. Some of those enemies have been looking for the Heart almost as long as me.”
That sounded reasonable enough, but though I had much to thank the strange matter for, and it always said the right things . . . the fact remained that the strange matter was still very much an unknown factor. All we knew about it was what it had chosen to tell us. If it had been behind the other attacks, would it admit that? We had no way to compel the truth from it. I rubbed at my forehead as a slow, grinding headache began. Being paranoid is very tiring, but when you’re a Drood it’s the only way to stay one step ahead.
“Strange matter . . .” I said.
“Oh, please, call me Ethel.”
“We are not going to call you Ethel,” I said, very firmly.
“Why not? What’s wrong with Ethel? It’s a perfectly good name. I like it. It’s honest, it’s charming, it’s . . . me.”
“We are not calling you Ethel!”
“Nothing wrong with Ethel,” said the strange matter. “Winston Churchill had a pet frog called Ethel.”
“No he didn’t!”
“He might have. You don’t know.”
“I’m calling you Strange,” I said. “It’s the only name that fits.”
“You have no sense of fun,” said Strange.
“Actually . . .” said Molly.
“Hush,” I said quickly.
The Armourer produced another of his impressive throat clearings. “How did you get on with the Matriarch, Eddie?”
“Not good,” I admitted. “She told me to go to Hell. She’d rather see the whole family collapse than prosper with me in charge.”
The Armourer nodded reluctantly. “Mother always could be very stubborn . . . But you have to keep trying with her, Eddie. You need her on your side if you’re to get the whole family moving in the same direction. She represents the past, and tradition, and all those things that make the family feel safe and secure.”
“It isn’t going to be easy,” I said.
“Of course it isn’t going to be easy, Eddie! You killed her favourite son, my brother James! I know you had to do it, and I still have trouble forgiving you. The old Gray Fox . . . was the best of us, for so many years. And don’t forget; he had a lot of admirers, outside the family. Old friends and old enemies, who won’t be at all happy to hear he died at your hands. They could turn up here at any time, ready and willing to express their extreme displeasure . . . and then you’re going to need the whole family backing you up.”
“We could say James had gone rogue.” Penny suggested tentatively.
“Who’d believe that?” I said. “The Gray Fox always was the best of us. You’d better beef up the Hall’s defences, Uncle Jack; just in case.”
I finally got to the meat of the meeting, and told them about MI5’s ambush outside my old flat. The Armourer and the Sarjeant insisted I tell it all, in as much detail as I could remember. Molly chimed in here and there, sometimes helping and sometimes not. The Armourer and the Sarjeant both reacted very strongly when I told them who was behind the attack.
“The prime minister?” said the Sarjeant incredulously. “Who does he think he is, to take on the Droods? Man’s getting thoughts above his station. We can’t allow this to go unpunished, Edwin. People might think we were getting soft.”
“I’ve already sent him a very definite message,” I said.
“Killing a few MI5 agents won’t bother him,” said the Armourer. “As far as he’s concerned, they’re all expendable. We need to hit him where he lives.”
“Right,” said the Sarjeant. “Can’t have the prime minister getting cheeky. We need to slap him down hard, Edwin. Make an example of him.”
I shook my head slowly. “We can’t afford to show our hand yet, and risk revealing how weak we really are. And no one else in power seems to be feeling their oats. Penny took me down to the War Room; it was all very quiet.”
“Quiet before the storm,” said Penny. “Our researchers are all over the world’s media, official and unofficial, getting a feel for each government’s mood. And all our telepaths, scryers, and clairvoyants are working full time.”
I had to smile. Politicians only think they can keep secrets from the Droods.
“So far, everyone’s being very cautious, not wanting to rock the boat until they know whether or not there’s sharks in the water,” said the Armourer. “I don’t think they can believe their own reports about how weak and disorganised we are, at present. But that can’t last. They know all our field agents have gone to ground, and most of them know or suspect about the golden torcs’ disappearance. So sooner or later, somebody’s going to do something . . . just to see what happens. To see how much they can get away with. There might even be a direct strike against the Hall itself. Remember when the Chinese tried to nuke us, back in the sixties?”
“We have to do something about the prime minister,” the Sarjeant said firmly. “Something sufficiently unpleasant, to send a clear message to all the world leaders.”
“All right,” I said reluctantly. “Come up with some options, and I’ll look at them.”
“I thought one of the reasons you took over running the Droods was to free the world from Drood control,” said Molly. “I distinctly remember you saying something about letting politicians make their own decisions.”
“I did,” I said. “Turns out things are more complicated than that.”
“Isn’t that always the first response of every dictator?”
“Look; survival first, politics second, okay?” I said.
“Just wanted you to be sure of what you’re getting into,” Molly said sweetly.
“Speaking of survival,” said Penny. “We need to get as many of the family as possible into the new silver torcs, as quickly as possible. We’re just too vulnerable to sudden attack, as things stand.”
I nodded reluctantly. “All right, you guys get together and draw up a list for me to consider. Those who should get their torcs right away, those who should but only after they’ve proved themselves worthy, and those who won’t ever be trusted with a torc again.”
“Such as?” said Penny, her cool eyes openly challenging me.
“Anyone who knew about the secret of the golden torcs and just went along with it,” I said sternly. “Any unrepentant Zero Tolerance, and anyone who�
�d more than likely use a torc to start a civil war within the family. Use your own best judgement. We’re only talking about a small percentage of scumbags, I hope. Strange, any problem with producing so much strange matter, for the torcs and armour, so quickly?”
“Please, call me Ethel.”
“Not if there was a gun to my head.”
“You can have as many silver torcs as you want, Eddie,” Strange said easily. “It’s just a matter of bringing more of me through from my home dimension. I am great and limitless, wise and wonderful . . . But you don’t really need torcs, you know. I could teach you all to be superhuman. You have such potential within you, you humans. To be far greater than any torc could ever make you. You could all shine like stars.”
I looked at the Inner Circle, and they looked at me.
“How long would this take?” I said.
“Years,” said Strange. “Generations, maybe. This whole consecutive time thing is a new concept to me.”
“I think we’ll stick with what we know, for now,” I said. “The family needs to be strong as quickly as possible. But by all means, consider the alternative, Strange, and let me know when you’ve got something more specific to tell me.”
“Oh goody!” said Strange. “This is going to be such fun!”
“Any other matters?” I said quickly.
“Just one,” said the Armourer. He produced a small object wrapped in white samite from under his lab coat and passed it to me. I accepted and then unwrapped it with great care and caution. Gifts from the Armourer have a tendency to be downright dangerous, if not actually explosive. The object turned out to be a simple hand mirror, with a silver frame and handle. I hefted it a few times cautiously, just in case, but nothing happened. And the face in the mirror was quite definitely mine, so . . . I looked inquiringly at the Armourer.
“Jacob and I have been studying in the old library,” said the Armourer. “When I can tear him away from his . . . other pursuits. And we’ve turned up some quite remarkable items. A number of books thought to be long lost, or destroyed, a number of ancient maps of dubious provenance but exciting possibilities . . . and a handful of lost and quite legendary treasures. That . . . is Merlin’s Glass. It disappeared from the Armageddon Codex in the late eighteenth century, under somewhat murky circumstances. Jacob discovered it inside a hollowed-out book about voles.”
“Don’t even know what made me look there,” Jacob said cheerfully. “I was just looking for something with dirty pictures.”
“Hold everything,” said Molly. “Though not literally in your case, Jacob. Merlin’s Glass. Are we talking about the Merlin?”
“Oh yes,” said Jacob.
“He was a Drood?” said Molly.
“Hardly,” said the Armourer. “We do have our standards. No, he was Merlin Satanspawn, the Devil’s only begotten son. Born to be the Antichrist, but he refused the honour. He always had to go his own way . . . But according to some quite fascinating records in the old library, he did work with the family, on occasion. When it suited him. And apparently he owed us a favour, and repaid it by gifting us that mirror.”
Molly reached out for it, and I handed it over. She muttered some Words over the mirror, made a few quick gestures, and even held it upside down and shook it in the hope something might fall out, but nothing happened. Molly sniffed and handed the mirror back to me.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll bite. What’s it supposed to do?”
“It can be used to make contact with other members of the Drood family, in the past or the future, to ask them for advice or information.”
There was a pause, and then Molly said, “No offence guys, but I think you got stiffed on the deal. I mean, it’s not the most useless magic object I’ve ever seen . . . but it comes pretty damned close.”
“You’re a witch,” the Armourer said kindly, “and therefore used to thinking mainly in terms of the here and now. The Glass has many uses. Vital information lost in this time can be found in the past, before it was lost. Or in the future, after it has been rediscovered. The greatest family tacticians, of the past or the future, are now ours to consult. We can even take specific advice from the future, on which matters to pursue and which are best left strictly alone . . .”
“If this Glass is so useful,” I said, “how did it happen to go missing for so long?”
“Ah,” said the Armourer reluctantly. “There are many stories about that. The one I tend to believe the most, because I dislike it the most, is that someone asked the Glass a very specific question, and got a very specific answer that disturbed the shit out of him. So he took the Glass and hid it, to prevent anyone else from asking the question, or learning the answer.”
“I can’t see this family giving up anything that useful so easily,” said Molly.
“I can,” I said. “The Droods have always been very cautious about anything involving time travel. Ever since the Great Time Disaster of 1217, when the family almost wiped itself out after inadvertently setting up a Möbius-strip time paradox. There’s still some rooms in the Hall we can’t find, because of what we had to do to break free. And we don’t even think about what might still be happening to the poor bastards we had to abandon in those rooms. The human mind just isn’t equipped to deal with all the possible complications and downright nasty ramifications of mucking about with time.”
And then I stopped short as an idea came to me, hitting me hard enough to stop my breath, while a cold hand curled around my heart. I looked into Merlin’s Glass, and my face stared back at me, so cold and harsh and determined I barely recognised it.
“Can I contact anyone in the past?” I said, and even I could tell that the voice didn’t sound like mine. It sounded reckless, and even dangerous. Everyone looked at me sharply. I think Molly got it first, perhaps because her mind had already begun moving along similar lines. I looked at the Armourer, and I think anyone else would have flinched at what he saw in my eyes. “I know it’s dangerous, and I don’t care,” I said. “Tell me, Uncle Jack, can I use this Glass to talk to my parents in the past, before they were murdered?”
“I’m sorry,” the Armourer said gruffly, kindly. “I thought of that. There’s always someone we’d like to speak to in the past. Friends and relatives and loved ones, gone too soon, before we could say all the things we meant to say to them. The things we put off saying, because we always thought there’d be time . . . until suddenly there wasn’t. But the Glass doesn’t allow anyone to ask questions for personal gain. Only for the good of the family. And the Glass can always tell the difference. A built-in safety factor, perhaps, to prevent . . . abuse of time.”
“Or perhaps the sorcerer Merlin Satanspawn just had a built-in nasty streak,” said Molly.
“There is that,” said the Armourer.
“I need to know what really happened to my father and my mother,” I said. “I will find out the truth, whatever it takes.”
“I spent years trying to find out,” said the Armourer. “So did James. She was our sister, poor dear Emily, and we loved her dearly. We even approved of your father, or we’d never have let him marry her. But the truth is . . . no one seems to know. The odds are it was just a stupid mistake. Poor intelligence, insufficient briefing, too many things going wrong at once . . . It happens. Even on the best planned missions.”
“There’s always the Time Train,” said Penny unexpectedly.
“No there isn’t,” the Armourer said quickly.
“What the hell is a Time Train?” said Molly. “And why do I get the feeling I’m really not going to like the answer?”
“Must be your witchy senses working overtime,” I said. “Damn, I haven’t thought about the Time Train in years . . . It’s a means of travelling through time, though perhaps a little stranger than most. No one’s used it for ages. I suppose it is still functional . . . Armourer?”
“Well, yes, technically,” said the Armourer. “But some things are just too dangerous to mess with.”
I
had to raise an eyebrow. “This, from the man who wanted our best telepaths to try setting off all the atomic warheads in China, just by having the telepaths think really nasty thoughts at them?”
“That would have worked, if the Matriarch hadn’t stopped me,” said the Armourer sulkily. “All my best ideas are ahead of their time.”
“I am changing the subject right now,” I said firmly. “One thing has to be clear to all of us: The family has to Do Something, something big and important and dramatic, to prove to the whole world that the Droods are still strong and nasty and a force to be reckoned with. We need to pick a target, some seriously important and unpleasant enemy, and then hit it with a really powerful preemptive strike force. Wipe them out, once and for all.”
“Now you’re talking, boy!” said the Sarjeant-at-Arms.
“Sounds good to me,” said the Armourer. “The family’s been terribly reactive for years, under the Matriarch.”
“Who did you have in mind?” said Molly. “Manifest Destiny?”
“No,” I said. “They’re still weak. Stamping on them wouldn’t impress anyone. We need something . . . bigger.”
“There are two main threats to humanity,” the Armourer said ponderously, slipping into his lecture mode. “Doesn’t matter whether they’re scientific or magical in origin, mythical or political or biblical; all of humanity’s enemies can be separated into two distinct kinds. Those who do us harm because they hope to gain something from it; these we call demons. And those who are too big to care about us, but who might do us harm just because we’re in the way; those we call gods, for want of a better word. The family is trained and equipped to deal with demons. The gods are best handled delicately, from a safe distance, and through as many intermediaries as possible.”
“I’ve already killed one god,” I said. “And the Heart screamed just like a human as it died.”
“I helped,” said Strange. “You couldn’t have done it without me.”
“Perhaps,” I said. “But then you would say that, wouldn’t you?”
“Can we please put the delusions of grandeur to one side, just for the moment?” said Penny. “And concentrate on planning a strategy.”
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