Daemons Are Forever

by Simon R. Green

  “He’s still talking to the War Room,” said Strange. “Though shouting is probably more accurate. Dear me, such language . . .”

  “First things first,” I said. “We have to find out who the traitors are in the family.”

  “We don’t have time for a witch hunt,” said Harry. “Not when we have so many more important decisions to make.”

  “Well, you would say that, Harry,” I said. “I think I’ll start by having a nice little chat with the Matriarch. I think she’ll talk to me, once I tell her about Sebastian.”

  “You can’t see her,” said Harry. “She’s ill. She’s not seeing anybody.”

  “She’ll see me,” I said. “Now, Strange, show me what the family’s been doing to fight the Invaders during my unintended absence. Just the highlights, for now. I’ll catch up on the details as we go along. Just show me what I need to know.”

  Visions appeared, emerging from Strange’s crimson glow. Shifting scenes of golden-armoured family in running fights with Loathly One drones, in the nightmarish streets of ghoulvilles. I saw dozens of armoured forms taking on hundreds of drones and killing everything that moved that wasn’t family. The drones were often horribly misshapen, monsters with only the barest touch of humanity left in them. The Droods beat them down with golden fists and tore the drones limb from limb. A quick death was the only mercy they had left to offer. They stormed through the narrow streets, their golden armour shining bright in the sharp, painful light of the ghoulville. They destroyed buildings, tearing them apart and pulling them down through brute strength, to be sure they hadn’t missed anyone hiding inside, and afterwards they set fire to the ruins.

  Whole towns went up in flames. They say fire purifies.

  Sometimes the drones were already dead and decaying, only kept moving by the unnatural energies within them. Sometimes they looked just like you or me. They came out into the streets, pleading and crying and protesting their innocence. But they were so far gone they’d forgotten how to sound and act as people do. Especially the children. The armoured Droods killed them all. They had to be Loathly Ones, or they wouldn’t be in a ghoulville.

  Sometimes family members dropped their armour, to vomit, or cry, or just sit on a pavement, holding themselves and rocking back and forth.

  We’ve never seen ourselves as killers. That’s not the Drood way. We’ve always preferred to operate behind the scenes, making small changes here and there . . . to prevent the family as a whole having to do things like this. Secret wars are one thing; mass slaughter quite another. But we’re Droods, and we’ve always been able to do the hard, necessary things. To protect humanity.

  I just hoped we didn’t get a taste for it.

  I saw my family destroy towers in the ghoulvilles; huge, unnatural alien structures, part technological and part organic. Sometimes the towers screamed as they fell. They fell and they fell, and yet somehow there were always more of them . . .

  The visions stopped. I stood silently, thinking. The Sarjeant cleared his throat in a meaningful way.

  “We are further handicapped by our need to keep all of this secret from the general populace. They can’t be allowed to know what’s happening. We’re keeping politicians and governments informed, to a point, and they’re all cooperating. To one extent or another. Worldwide panic and chaos is in no one’s best interests.”

  “Now you’ve seen how bad it is,” said Harry. “The odds we’ve been facing. Maybe Truman’s right. Maybe we should open the Armageddon Codex.”

  “No,” I said. “Not yet.”

  “Tell me you’ve got a really good plan,” said the Sarjeant.

  “Well,” I said. “I’ve got a plan.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Truth, and Other Things, Will Out

  I threw everyone out, as fast as I could without being too obvious about it. I sent Giles Deathstalker away with the Sarjeant-at-Arms, to discuss new training programs for the family. Between the two of them, I’d bet on our army against anyone else’s. Harry and Roger stalked off all on their own, no doubt to stir up new mischief somewhere else. Neither of them even looked back at me as they left. And after a discreet pause, Molly and I said good-bye to Freddie, and to Strange, and we went looking for some empty place where we could talk safely together, in private.

  People looked at us as we walked through the corridors. No one actually cheered or booed, they just watched us and kept their thoughts to themselves. Most just looked like they were waiting for someone to tell them what to do for the best. I knew exactly how they felt.

  Molly and I finally ended up in the main dining room at the back of the Hall. It was completely deserted, in between shifts, the rows of tables standing silent and waiting under their pristine white tablecloths. It was hard to believe that eighteen months has passed since we were last here. Molly and I sat down facing each other, and I suddenly realised I didn’t have a single clue what to say. What do you say when the woman you love is dying?

  “It’s not like we haven’t been here before,” Molly said kindly. “Remember when you were infected by the strange matter, and we both thought you only had a few days to live? We didn’t sit around crying our eyes out; we just got on with business. We survived that. We’ll survive this.”

  “How do you feel?” I said. “I mean, really; do you feel any . . . different?”

  “I can feel . . . something else inside me,” she said slowly. “Like after a large meal. A feeling of . . . heaviness. As though there’s more of me now. My standard magical protections are containing it, for the moment. ” She smiled briefly. “But then, I would say that, wouldn’t I? If I were already a Loathly One drone, in mind as well as body.”

  “No,” I said. “I’d know the difference. I could tell if you weren’t . . . you.”

  “Yes,” she said. “You probably could.”

  “Let’s talk about something else, just for a while,” I said. “Give us a chance to sneak up on the main subject, maybe catch it by surprise.”

  “All right. What did you have in mind, Eddie?”

  “Well . . . what was all that business with Heaven and Hell, and I’ve been around ?”

  “Ah,” said Molly. “Yes . . . I suppose that had to come out eventually. You’ve been very good, Eddie, really you have; not asking too many questions about what I did, and what I promised, to gain my magical powers. Possibly because you were afraid of what the answers might be. Well, relax, sweetie, I haven’t sold my soul to anyone. I made a series of pacts and deals down the years, with various Powers. Some Infernal, some Heavenly, a few alien . . . And I paid for my magic with years off my life. Don’t look like that, Eddie; I never wanted to grow old anyway. Now, of course, it would appear the whole question has become irrelevant. My various debtors were paid with years from my putative old age, and now it seems more than likely I won’t get that far. The thing growing inside me will take me long before my allotted time.”

  “Not while I’m here,” I said. “I’ll never give up on you, Molly. There must be something we can do. This is Drood Hall; we work miracles for the world every day. I have the right to expect one small miracle, just for you. You know . . . I could get you a torc. Strictly speaking, it’s forbidden for anyone not of Drood blood, but I’m sure Strange would help. I probably wouldn’t even have to explain why. He’s very understanding, for an inexplicable other-dimensional being.”

  “It’s a nice thought, Eddie, but I don’t think it would work. The torc didn’t help Sebastian, except to help him hide his condition.”

  “Okay, scratch that idea. How about the Armourer? He’s created enough wonders for the family; he can create one more for me. For you.”

  “But then we’d have to tell him everything. How much can we trust him? I don’t want to end up in a cage, like the others. Not while there’s still work to be done.”

  “Do you feel up to fighting in the field?” I said.

  “When I don’t, then you’ll know there’s something seriously wrong. Physically,
I feel fine. No different at all. My magic is insulating me from whatever changes are beginning. Mentally . . .” Molly cocked her head slightly on one side, as though listening. “It’s like there’s another voice in my head, me but not me, distant but distinct, faint but insistent.”

  “What’s it saying?” I said, as casually as I could.

  “Smoke crack and worship Satan. No, I can’t tell. It’s too far away. It doesn’t sound like anything . . . bad.”

  A sudden rush of helplessness ran through me. I wanted to get up and run around the room, overturning the tables and kicking the chairs out of the way. I needed to be doing something, anything . . . but I made myself sit there, quiet and calm. I couldn’t let Molly see how worried I was. So we just sat there, together, facing each other across the empty table.

  “What are we going to do?” I said finally. “We can’t tell anyone. We can’t trust anyone. Not with this.”

  “We stay calm and focused,” said Molly. “Actually, I think I’m coping with this rather well, don’t you? I thought I’d be having panic attacks by now, and hyperventilating into a paper bag. You’re the one who looks like you might break down into hysterics at any moment.”

  I smiled briefly. “Never could hide anything from you, could I?”

  Molly put out her hands to me, and I took them both in mine. She looked at me earnestly. “I need you to be strong for me, Eddie, so I can be strong. We can beat this. We can.”

  “You know,” I said, just a bit wistfully, “when I saved the family from the Heart, and put an end to all the old evils, I really thought things would improve. I should have known better. What are we going to do, Molly?”

  “We destroy the Loathly Ones, and all their works,” Molly said firmly, squeezing my hands hard. “And along the way, we keep our eyes open for something we can use as a cure. Failing that . . . you kill me, while I’m still me. Before I become something we’d both hate.”

  “I couldn’t do that,” I said.

  “You have to, Eddie. Just in case I’m not strong enough to do it myself.”

  We looked at each other for a long time, holding onto each other the way drowning men clutch at straws.

  “Why haven’t you turned me in?” Molly said finally. “Why haven’t you told everyone that I’m infected, and a danger to the family? You know you should. It’s your duty.”

  “I’ll decide what’s my duty and what isn’t,” I said. “The most important thing for me is to save you. I brought you here, made this possible, so it’s all my fault.”

  “Oh, Eddie. I never knew anyone so ready to blame themselves for everyone else’s problems.”

  “I will do whatever it takes to save you, Molly. If you believe nothing else, believe that. There has to be an answer.”

  “And if there isn’t?”

  “Then I’ll make one.”

  We talked some more, but didn’t really say anything. Just the normal, reassuring things you say when you’re afraid in the dark. And in the end we had to leave so I could go about my business. My whole family was depending on me, not just Molly. And I’ve always known my duty to my family. Damn them. I sent Molly down to the Armoury, to Uncle Jack. She could talk about the problem to him, in general terms, and see what he had to say.

  And I . . . went to see my grandmother.

  According to Harry, she was ill, too ill to see anybody, but that was an old trick where the Matriarch was concerned, and she just didn’t feel like talking to anybody. So I made my way up to her private suite on the top floor, and wasn’t all that surprised to discover two more of Harry’s overmuscled thugs standing guard outside the door. They took one look at me approaching and both of them armoured up immediately. It would seem word had already got around as to what I’d done to the other bullyboys. I strolled up to the two guards, armour down, doing my best to radiate casual unconcern. They both moved slightly but definitely to block my way.

  “Sorry,” said the one on the left. “The Matriarch is not to be disturbed. We have our orders.”

  “Not to be disturbed at all,” said the one on the right. “Under any circumstances.”

  “I just said that, Jeffrey,” said the first guard.

  “Well, I never get to say anything,” said the second. “You’re always leaving me out of things, Earnest.”

  “Look,” said Earnest, “can we please talk about this later?”

  “You never want to talk about anything, you.”

  Earnest sighed loudly behind his golden mask. “You’re not still mad about that party, are you?”

  “Party? What party?”

  “You are; you’re still mad about it.”

  “You went off and left me all on my own!” Jeffrey said hotly. “You knew I didn’t know anyone else there!”

  “I’ve said I’m sorry, haven’t I? What else can I say?”

  “You could let me do the threats. You never let me do the threats.”

  “That’s because you’re no good at them,” Earnest said patiently.

  “I could be! A bit of practice, and I could be very good at them!”

  “All right! All right, then. You go ahead and do the threats. I’ll just stand here and watch. Maybe I’ll pick up a few tricks.”

  “Excuse me,” I said.

  Jeffrey turned to confront his partner. “You’re going to make remarks, aren’t you? Loud and sarcastic remarks.”

  “No, I won’t!”

  “Yes you will! You’re always criticising, you. You never let me do anything fun!”

  “I’m letting you do the threats, aren’t I? Look; I’ll even let you hit him first. How about that?”

  “Really?” said Jeffrey. “I can hit him first?”

  “Course you can! Go ahead, enjoy yourself!”

  “Thanks, Earnest. That means a lot to me. You’re a good friend . . .”

  “Oh get on with it, you big softy. Kick his head in.”

  I decided I’d heard about as much of this as I could stand. I took out the Merlin Glass, shook it out to full size, activated the teleport function, and then clapped the mirror over both of the guards in turn, sending one to the Antarctic and the other to the Arctic. Then I shook the mirror down and put it away, and smiled at the empty corridor.

  “If you bump into the Vodyanoi Brothers,” I said, “say hi for me.”

  I knocked politely on the Matriarch’s door, and tried the handle, but it was locked. I waited for a while, but no one opened it. I knocked again, putting a bit more effort into it, and then the Matriarch’s voice came from the other side of the door.

  “Who is it? Who’s there?”

  “It’s Eddie, Grandmother. I’m back. Can I come in and talk with you?”

  “The door is locked. And I don’t have a key.”

  I raised an eyebrow at that. “All right, Grandmother. I’ll soon have the door open. Stand back.”

  “Don’t you dare break my door down, Edwin Drood! It’s a valuable antique!”

  I sighed quietly, just to myself. “All right, Grandmother. Give me a moment.”

  I knelt down and studied the lock. Old-fashioned, sturdy, no problem at all. I armoured up my right hand, concentrated, and a thin extension of the golden strange matter slipped forward into the lock, shaping itself to fit the interior exactly, moulding itself into a key. The tasks and skills of a Drood field agent are many and varied. I unlocked the door, armoured down, pushed the door open, and entered into the Matriarch’s waiting room.

  She was standing right in the centre of the antechamber, all alone. The room seemed very big and empty without the usual attendant crowd of family and friends and well-wishers. The Matriarch herself seemed somehow smaller, diminished. She was doing her best to stand tall and proud, as always, but for the first time I could see the effort. She was dressed formally, but her long mane of gray hair hung carelessly down, instead of being piled up on top of her head. She nodded stiffly to me, a stick-thin old lady with nothing much left but her dignity.

  “Edwin. It’s g
ood to see you again.”

  “And you, Grandmother. May I ask; how did you come to be locked up in your own rooms?”

  “I have been held prisoner!” she said angrily, almost spitting out the words. “Harry has kept me under guard for months, forbidden to communicate with the rest of the family.”

  “Why would he do that?” I said.

  “Because I found out what he is.” Martha looked at me suspiciously. “Did you know, Eddie? You always know things you’re not supposed to . . . No, of course not. You would have told me, something like that. Come into my private rooms, Edwin. I don’t feel safe talking out here; you never know who might be listening, these days.”

  She led me through into the bedroom. The curtains were still drawn, keeping the room comfortably gloomy. Alistair was still lying flat on his back in bed, still wrapped up in bandages like a mummy. A single blanket covered him, hardly rising at all as he breathed. He didn’t react at all as Martha and I came in and shut the door. Martha looked at him expressionlessly.

  “Don’t worry; he’s asleep. Doesn’t even know we’re here. He sleeps most of the time now. It’s getting harder and harder to wake him long enough to take his nourishment. He really should be down in the infirmary, but I hate to think of him lying there alone, with tubes in him. Everyone else is just waiting for him to die, but they don’t know my Alistair. He’s strong. A lot stronger than anyone ever gave him credit for. You’ll see; one day he’ll just wake up, and be himself again. Like a butterfly emerging from his cocoon. Sit down, Edwin.”

  We sat down on comfortable chairs by the empty fireplace, facing each other. The Matriarch studied me intently for a long moment.

  “You look . . . different, Edwin. Older. But then, you’ve been through so much, haven’t you? You’ve grown up. I knew it would happen eventually. It looks good on you . . . But so much has happened while you were away. A year and a half, Edwin! Where have you been all this time?”

  “Travelling in time, Grandmother. I went into the future, and found a mighty warrior to bring back to aid the family. I was supposed to return only a few seconds after I left, but . . .”