Rafe stood up abruptly, throwing his cup aside. He stood towering over Mr. Stab for a long moment, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Mr. Stab rose easily to his feet to face him. Rafe couldn’t get the words out at first, he was breathing so hard. His face was twisted with hatred and loathing.
“We were never close,” Rafe said hoarsely. “But we might have been. She never knew I cared about her. And now, thanks to you, she never will. Damn your soul to Hell.”
“Already done,” said Mr. Stab.
Rafe attacked him, throwing himself at the calm and unmoving immortal. He beat at Mr. Stab with his fists, while hot tears ran down his face, and Mr. Stab just stood there and took it. Rafe armoured up, and his golden fists hammered at Mr. Stab’s impassive face. The armoured strength behind the blows must have been hideous, but Mr. Stab took no obvious damage from them. And if he felt any pain, he didn’t show it. In the end, Rafe stood before Mr. Stab with his arms hanging heavily, armoured down, his face wet with sweat and tears. Mr. Stab looked at him.
“Cry, boy,” he said. “It’s all right. I would too, if I could.”
William Drood came along then, to see what all the noise was about, and took in the scene in a moment. He looked fiercely at Mr. Stab, who immediately stepped back, and William came forward and took Rafe away. Mr. Stab stood very still, not even looking around him, until William returned on his own. I watched Mr. Stab’s face all the time. It never changed once. I had no idea at all what he was thinking, or feeling. If he felt anything at all. There were times . . . when I wished I could be like that, and not have to feel all the things that hurt me so. William gestured for Mr. Stab to sit down, and he did so. William sat opposite him. He looked sadly at the discarded tea things.
“Don’t drink the tea,” Mr. Stab said calmly.
“So I gather,” William said dryly. “Sorry about that. He’s young. They take things so personally, at that age. Still, nothing you haven’t encountered and deserved before, I expect. What do you want here?”
“Molly Metcalf said I might find answers here,” said Mr. Stab. They might have been discussing the weather. “Old knowledge, unavailable anywhere else. Perhaps even the means to a cure for my condition. Or at least, to ameliorate certain aspects of it.”
William considered him thoughtfully. “You chose to make yourself what you are. Have you now come to regret it?”
“You know this library better than anyone,” said Mr. Stab. “Can you help me?”
“Why should I?” William said bluntly. “After all you’ve done, why shouldn’t I delight in the prospect of your inevitable descent into Hell?”
“To save future lives?” Mr. Stab said calmly. “So that there might be no more Pennys, and no more Rafes.”
William sniffed. “I suppose there might be something here. We have books on every subject under several suns; from the unusual to the improbable, the unlikely to the downright impossible. I’m pretty sure you’re in there somewhere. It depends . . . on exactly what it is you want me to find.”
“I made myself what I am,” said Mr. Stab. “Everything I am and everything I have ever done . . . is my responsibility. But for the first time . . . I wish to change things.”
“That would depend on who or what you made your original deal with,” William said carefully. “Some deals can be . . . renegotiated. Do you wish to become human again?”
“I’ve always been human,” said Mr. Stab. “That’s the problem. I want . . . something else. I want to find a way to bring back my victims. All of them. To raise from the dead all the woman I have slaughtered, down the many years, and give them life again. Right back to those five poor women who made it all possible, back in that unseasonably hot autumn of 1888.”
“I’m sorry,” said William. “But it can’t be done.”
Mr. Stab surged forward impossibly quickly, a long, gleaming blade suddenly in his hand. Before William could even react, the razor-sharp edge was pressed against his throat, just above his Adam’s apple. Mr. Stab stared coldly into William’s face, his cold breath beating on William’s wide-open eyes. The blade pressed against the skin of his throat, and a single slow trickle of blood ran down his neck as the skin parted just a little under the sharp edge. William sat very still.
“That is not the answer I wanted to hear,” said Mr. Stab.
“We all have things in our life that we would wish undone,” William said carefully. He clearly wanted very much to swallow, but didn’t dare. “But sins can never be undone. Only pardoned.”
“It’s not enough,” said Mr. Stab.
“I know,” said William. He kept looking right into Mr. Stab’s unwavering gaze, unnerving as that was, because it was better than looking down at the blade at his throat. “But there’s nothing here in this library, no book or knowledge, that will let you bring the dead back to life. Only one man could ever do that, and I think we can definitely agree that you’re not him. I could help you raise the spirits of those poor unfortunate women, so you could commune with them, or raise up their bodies as zombies; but that isn’t what you want. What you need.”
Mr. Stab thought about that for a long moment, while William scarcely breathed, and then he stepped back abruptly and made his long blade disappear again. William put a hesitant hand to his throat, and breathed a little more easily as he only saw a few drops of blood on his fingertips.
“What else is there?” said Mr. Stab. He wasn’t looking anywhere in particular, and William clearly wondered if Mr. Stab was still talking to him.
“Else?” said William.
“I can’t undo what I did, can’t stop being who I am. Can’t even stop or escape through death. What does that leave?”
“There’s always atonement,” said William. “Perform enough good deeds to balance out your sins.”
Mr. Stab considered that. “Would killing in a good cause count?”
“I would say so, yes.”
Mr. Stab smiled for the first time. “Good thing there’s a war on, then.”
He turned and walked away. William watched him go, and then looked again at the blood on his fingertips.
Some time later I stood in the rose-coloured glow of the Sanctity with the Matriarch at my side, waiting for the others I had summoned to arrive. I didn’t know whether it was me, or the times, but Strange’s ruddy glow no longer calmed or comforted as it once had. Strange himself was very quiet. Perhaps he didn’t approve of the things I was having the family do, with the armour and power he so selflessly provided. I couldn’t allow myself to care. I had a war to win. I’d care later, if I was still alive.
Or at least I hoped I would.
“It’s never easy,” Martha said suddenly, her harsh, cold voice echoing in the great empty chamber. “Never easy, sending agents out into the field, possibly or even quite probably to their deaths. We do it because it’s necessary, for the good of the family and the world. But it never gets any easier.”
“Thanks for the thought,” I said. “But knowing that doesn’t help.”
“It will,” said Martha. “In time. I’m glad you came home, Edwin. Who could have known we’d have so much in common?”
“Eddie,” Strange said abruptly. “Sorry to intrude, but your meeting will have to wait. I’ve just been informed by the security people at the holding cells that Sebastian has been murdered.”
“What?” said the Matriarch. “That’s impossible! Not under our security!”
“What happened?” I said, cutting across the Matriarch. “Did he try to escape?”
“No,” said Strange. “He was just found dead in his cell.”
“How could this have happened?” said the Matriarch. She sounded honestly outraged. “Our security is the best in the world. It has to be.”
“Details are still coming through,” said Strange. He sounded subdued, almost distant. Not at all his usual exuberant self. I suppose a constant supply of bad news will do that. And I couldn’t help thinking that our material world must have been such
a disappointment to him. I made myself concentrate on what Strange was saying. “At first the guards thought it might be suicide. Until they got inside the isolation tank, and discovered the extent of his wounds, which were . . . extensive. It seems he’d been cut open, from throat to crotch. But there’s no record of anyone entering the tank. No sign that anyone entered or left. The security cameras show nothing. Which I gather is supposed to be impossible.”
“Keep us updated on the investigation,” I said after a moment. “And double the number of guards at the doors of all the holding tanks.”
“That’s it?” said Martha. “Edwin, we need to go down there and see this for ourselves!”
“No we don’t,” I said. “We’d just be in the way. Let security get on with their job. They’re very good at it.”
“But . . .”
“They already know how impossible it is. They don’t need us looking over their shoulders. We have to concentrate on what’s really important, not let ourselves be distracted. That could be why Sebastian was killed now, to distract us on the eve of launching our attack. After all; why kill Sebastian? What could he possibly have told us?”
“The identity of the long-term traitor in the family,” said Martha. “Only one of us could have evaded our security. Someone who knew it, inside and out. But you’re right, Edwin. We can’t let ourselves be distracted from what really matters.”
One of us. Yes. I wanted it to be one of us, bad as that was. Because it could have been Molly. I didn’t want to think that, but I couldn’t stop myself. Molly could have got to Sebastian, using her magics. She wanted him dead, because of what he did to her. Or . . . could the thing inside her have influenced her thoughts, and had her kill him for the Loathly Ones’ own purposes?
“Strange,” I said. “Where’s Molly, right now?”
“I’m afraid I’ve no idea, Eddie,” said Strange after a pause. “I don’t seem able to locate her anywhere. Which is odd . . .”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “It’s not important. I’ll talk to her later.”
The meeting finally got under way, as the various necessary people arrived. Giles Deathstalker was first, of course, with a soldier’s sense of punctuality. He looked calm and relaxed and incredibly dangerous, as always. He bowed to me and to the Matriarch, and it would have been hard to say which was the more respectful nod. I was beginning to think that maybe I should have duelled with him after all. Soldiers only respect strength. But if I’d lost . . . I’d seen Giles fight, and he really was very good indeed.
Next to arrive were Harry and Roger, both smiling easily and innocently, as though they hadn’t just been trying to persuade my Molly to betray me. The Matriarch glared daggers at them both, but restricted her acid tongue for the good of the family. I could think of lots of things I wanted to say, but I restricted myself to a polite nod. I needed Harry and Roger. The family needed them.
Mr. Stab strolled in, accompanied by the Sarjeant-at-Arms, and it felt like the temperature in the Sanctity dropped several degrees. We all looked at him, but none of us had anything to say. Mr. Stab smiled coolly back at us, as though he was used to awkward situations like this. He had volunteered for the mission I was putting together as soon as I explained it to him, and I was glad to have him on board. As long as the Sarjeant-at-Arms was there to keep an eye on him.
The next to arrive was another volunteer, the Blue Fairy. Who might have agreed in order to make up for his plan to steal a torc, but still didn’t have the grace to look in any way guilty. He was dressed in his best, all flashing colours and elaborate cuts, and he had a smile for everyone. It was hard to dislike the man, but worth the effort.
The Armourer wandered in and stood off to one side, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his charred and stained lab coat, fidgeting and avoiding eye contact with anyone. He knew the mission I planned was dependant on the new weapon he’d devised, and clearly resented spending time here explaining it to the meeting when he could have been working to perfect it. Ever since he retired from field work, Uncle Jack had not so much lost his people skills as thrown them away.
And the last to arrive, as always, was Callan Drood. For him, showing up on time was something other people did. He wore a long leather duster and a floppy wide-brimmed hat, and looked like he’d come straight from a cattle roundup. Callan always liked to give the impression that you’d just dragged him away from something far more important, that he couldn’t wait to get back to.
“Right,” I said loudly, once they were all assembled. “This is it. The big attack, the big push, to stop the Loathly Ones in their tracks and prevent them from bringing the Invaders through into our reality. Intelligence has finally pinpointed the location of every nest throughout the world, with Molly’s help. We have to hit them all, and destroy them and their towers. And we have to get this right first time, people, because the odds are we won’t get a second chance. You will be leading carefully selected strike forces of our best fighters against the biggest and most important ghoulvilles; those whose towers intelligence believes are closest to completion. Once they’re wiped out, we will proceed from ghoulville to ghoulville, nest to nest, wiping them out in order of importance. Until they’re all gone. Not one nest, not one tower, not one drone can be allowed to survive. And we have to do this fast, people. Once we begin, the news will flash from nest to nest, transmitted through the Loathly Ones’ massmind, and after that they’ll be expecting us. Uncle Jack, tell the nice people about the nasty new thing you’ve developed for them to play with.”
The Armourer stepped forward, scowling. He’d done everything he could to try to persuade me to let him lead one of the strike forces, but for all his field agent experience he was just too valuable now to put at risk. He didn’t take at all kindly to me pointing this out, and had used language quite unbefitting a man of his age and position.
“I have developed a new kind of bomb,” he said flatly. “A whole new kind, that basically turns a tower’s other-dimensional energies against itself. The result is a massive explosion that destroys the tower completely, and every living thing within a hundred-mile radius. So make damn sure you’re all outside the ghoulville before it detonates. All you have to do is set the bomb at the base of the tower, set the timer, and run like hell. Be sure to guard every way in and out of the ghoulville; we can’t let any drones escape. I’m sorry, Eddie. I know you were still hoping I could come up with some way of curing the infected, but there’s nothing I can do. Nothing anyone could do. Once someone is infected, they’re lost to us. To humanity. We all know the drones are the innocent victims in all of this, but we have to concentrate our efforts on saving those we can; the rest of the world.”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to believe what he was saying. Didn’t want to believe my Molly was hopelessly lost. But for now I just nodded and went along. What else could I do?
“Your job is to cut a path through the drones to the tower, and activate the bomb,” I said to the others. “Don’t get distracted. Don’t waste time killing drones when you should be getting to the tower. This is about destroying whole nests, not individual drones.”
“No need to rub it in,” said Harry. “We’re not stupid. I notice you aren’t down to lead one of these strike forces, Eddie. Why is that?”
“Because he’s needed here,” the Matriarch said flatly. “As am I. Someone has to take the overview. Something, I am told, you were always remarkably bad at.”
“Of course,” murmured Harry. “I knew it would be something like that.”
And then we all looked round sharply as Subway Sue burst into the Sanctity. It had been so long since I’d last seen her I’d actually forgotten about her. She looked even more of a mess than usual, which took some doing. Her long flappy coat was torn and tattered and covered with assorted filth, and her long hair was a mess of greasy strings. But her mouth was firm and her eyes burned fiercely. She marched right up to me and planted herself in front of me.
“I�
��ve been searching for something useful to contribute,” she said in her rough, scratchy voice. “Something to justify Molly’s faith in me, and my presence here. And I think I’ve found it. I know more about hidden ways than anyone else. All the secret paths, dimensional shortcuts, and forbidden doors. In my various lives as luck vampire, subterranean, and down and out, I’ve had occasion to use most of them more than once. But I’ve found you something new, or at least, something so old and disused it’s new again.
“It’s taken me some time, travelling through the darker regions, talking with old friends and enemies and allies, but I’ve found a whole new secret way for you to use. An approach your enemy will never suspect, because no one’s used it in ages. Mostly because it’s too dangerous. But you’re Droods; you laugh at danger, right? You can use this way to get anywhere in the world, from anywhere in the world, arriving entirely undetected. It’s the underside of the Rainbow Run; the Damnation Way.”
She finally stopped for breath and looked at me expectantly.
“The name doesn’t exactly fill me full of confidence,” I said carefully. “Might there be a reason why no one’s used it for so long? Something . . . specific, that makes it so very dangerous?”
“No one knows for sure,” said Subway Sue, doing her best not to sound defensive. “People just stopped coming out the other end when they used it. The best bet seems to be that something lives there now, and eats travellers. Something . . . really bad.”
“Who’s that trot-trotting across my bridge, said the troll,” murmured Harry.
Sue glared at him. “I will slap you in a minute, and it will hurt.”
“Well, thank you for all your time and efforts on our behalf, Sue,” I said. “But we already have our own instantaneous, undetectable means of transporting ourselves into the ghoulvilles. But should any problems arise, I’m sure we’ll all feel better knowing we have your Damnation Way to fall back on.”
Daemons Are Forever Page 38