Property of a Lady Faire: A Secret Histories Novel

by Simon R. Green

  “Martha Drood has been dead for some time,” I said.

  “I know that now! But I didn’t know it then! I don’t keep up with that sort of gossip. Don’t read those magazines . . . I only found out the Nightside had a new set of Authorities when John Taylor popped in to tell me he was the new Walker. I think it’s fair to say none of us saw that one coming . . . He’s off on his honeymoon at the moment, so if you want to get away with anything here, now’s probably a good time . . .”

  “Didn’t you wonder why my family would want people to have Doors that gave them access to the Drood grounds?” I insisted, refusing to be sidetracked.

  “I didn’t think it was any of my business,” said the Doormouse, holding on to what was left of his dignity. “You Droods have always gone your own way, and your ways have always been a complete mystery to outsiders. If you want to bury a dragon’s head in your backyard . . . I just made the Doors and started shipping them out to the addresses provided. And sent my invoice in to the Hall, as usual. Which is, of course, when the sawdust hit the fan. I had to shut my phone off. I don’t like being shouted at.”

  “How many of these Doors did you sell?” I said.

  “Only forty-seven,” the Doormouse said quickly. “I made a hundred, as requested, but not everyone has picked them up yet. Once it became clear these Doors weren’t . . . officially sanctioned, I locked them away. I can provide you with a list of everyone who’s already received their Door . . .”

  “That’s something,” I said. “Don’t give me the list; send it to the Hall, marked Attention: Armourer. And: Really, really urgent. He’s almost certainly worked out a way to block the Doors by now, but it’ll probably help him to know who might try to use them.”

  “The Armourer, of course!” said the Doormouse. “I know Jack Drood. He does good work. He often pops in here for a chat. Hell of a poker player too.”

  I gave him my very best hard look. “Uncle Jack visits the Nightside regularly, doesn’t he? Even though he isn’t supposed to.”

  The Doormouse shrugged, elaborately casually. “I couldn’t possibly comment. I haven’t heard anything at all about him being given special dispensation. I have nothing to say on the subject. On the grounds that Jack Drood can be a seriously scary individual when he chooses.”

  “What, that sweet old man?” said Molly.

  “My uncle Jack was one of the family’s top field agents, during the coldest part of the Cold War,” I said. “A respected and feared troubleshooter in all the worst parts of the world, just like his brother, the Grey Fox.”

  “James Drood,” said the Doormouse, nodding energetically. “I may or may not have met him, as well. Somewhere or other.”

  “Just how many members of my family come to the Nightside?” I said.

  “I couldn’t possibly comment,” said the Doormouse. “On the grounds that I don’t want to end up as a rug in Drood Hall.”

  “Look, this could be your chance to get back into the Droods’ good books,” said Molly. “We need a Door. A very special kind of Door.”

  “Oh well,” said the Doormouse. “If it’s for the Droods . . .”

  I smiled. “Send them the invoice.”

  I looked around at the long rows of hovering Doors, heading off into the distance in every direction. It was like standing in a forest of very flat trees. And it had to be said: they weren’t just Doors. I could feel their presence, like they were watching me. I turned back to the Doormouse with a certain sense of relief.

  “How did you learn to make Doors?”

  “I studied with old Carnacki, years and years ago,” said the Doormouse. “When I was just a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed young hippy. When I was still human.”

  I started to say something, but the Doormouse had already turned away to address Molly.

  “I had your sister Louisa in here, just the other day. Or was it last year? Anyway, she wanted me to make her a very special kind of Door.”

  “Of course!” said Molly. “That’s how she got to the Martian Tombs!”

  “Please don’t tell anyone!” said the Doormouse, glancing furtively around him. “Mars is supposed to be off-limits, especially the Tombs. I went there, once, just to test the Door, you understand. I couldn’t get my fur to lie flat again for weeks afterwards.”

  “Do you know what’s there?” I said. “Inside the Tombs?”

  “No,” said the Doormouse, very firmly. “And given all the connotations attached to the word Tombs, I don’t want to. Ever. I didn’t really want to make the Door, but your sister can be very persuasive, Molly. And very hard to say no to when she’s got you by the throat.”

  “We need a Door to take us to Ultima Thule,” I said loudly, to get us back on track again.

  “Why on earth would you want to go there?” said the Doormouse. “Awful place! Cold enough to freeze the nuts off a squirrel . . .”

  “It is necessary that Molly and I attend the Lady Faire’s annual Ball, this year, at the Winter Palace,” I said carefully. “And no, we don’t have an invitation. We’re going to crash. Which means we need to sneak in. Unnoticed.”

  “I’d say you weren’t her type,” said the Doormouse. “Except the whole point of the Lady Faire is that everyone and everything is. She’s a ladything, you know! The only one of her kind, which is probably why she’s so very . . . lonely. I did meet her once, in person. If that’s the right term . . . At one of the late Immortal’s parties, at Griffin Hall, here in the Nightside. Of course, that was before the Griffin and his wife and his Hall were all dragged down to Hell by the Devil himself . . . But then, that’s the Nightside for you. Their cook used to make the most marvellous canapés. Stuffed baby Morlock.”

  “Stuffed with what?” said Molly, before I could stop her.

  “Baby Eloi, probably,” said the Doormouse. “An amazing creature, the Lady Faire, quite delightful. In her own singular way. Sweet and charming and most . . . overwhelming at close quarters. Like being hit over the head with the Kama Sutra. She was very kind to an old mouse . . .”

  “You didn’t!” said Molly.

  “No, I didn’t,” said the Doormouse, drawing himself up to his full height so he could look down his muzzle at her. “I made an excuse, and ran. She isn’t my type. Or, to put it another way, she scared the living crap out of me. Far too intense. But I do understand the attraction. She was made to turn people’s heads. And I did used to be a person, long ago.”

  “I never knew you were human originally,” said Molly. “You never said . . . Would you like me to turn you back?”

  “No, I would not,” said the Doormouse very firmly. “I am the way I am by choice. There were several of us, once. Very happy being hippies, in that long lost Summer of Love. But the world changed and moved on, and we didn’t like the way it was going. So we made the decision to give up being human, and become something closer to how we actually saw ourselves. We are the Mice! Fear our playfulness! The others went off to form a commune in some small country town, but I was always much fonder of the bright lights. City mouse . . . I found a trade and a craft, working with Doors. Look at them! Aren’t they marvellous?

  “Every Door is a possibility, a chance to be Somewhere Else, to travel through all the places there are . . . all the worlds of if and maybe. A never-ending exploration into the works of God . . . No, my dear Molly, I am content as I am. Except for when Droods come into my life and mess it up, big time. You can’t go directly to Ultima Thule, Eddie Drood! Even I couldn’t make you a Door that would sneak you through that many layers of protection.” He stopped abruptly, and thought about it. “Well, actually I could, but you’d probably have to blow up a sun to generate enough energy to power it. And you said you didn’t want to be noticed.”

  “I thought you could make a Door to take anyone anywhere,” Molly said innocently.

  “I can!” the Doormouse said immediately, bristling. “I have made Doors to Heaven and Hell and Everywhere in Between! But there are always going to be . . . probl
ems. Side effects. Look, you’d better come with me.”

  And he scurried off into the long ranks, darting in and out of the hanging Doors. Molly and I hurried after him. We had to struggle to keep up. He could move pretty damned quickly for an oversized mouse. Moving between the rows of Doors proved to be a creepy and even disturbing experience. I couldn’t shake off the feeling that they were looking at me, and considering—and not in a good way. Some of them felt . . . attractive, as though tempting me to open them and see what they had to offer. Others felt alien, invidious, as though there was something lying in wait behind them, just waiting for someone foolish enough to open the Door. And some . . . I didn’t even want to get close to. As though they were Doors to places that shouldn’t exist, or at the very least shouldn’t have access to our world. I passed one Door that made all my hair stand on end. It felt like something was beating and hammering on the other side of the Door, trying to break it down so it could get into our world . . . to do terrible, unspeakable things. I gave that Door plenty of room, and hurried on.

  Molly didn’t seem too bothered by any of it, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on the Doormouse’s back as he scurried ahead of us. So I just stared straight ahead too, and made myself concentrate on keeping up. Until finally the Doormouse came to a sudden halt, standing before one particular Door.

  “There!” he said, gesturing grandly with one furry paw. “You see what I mean?”

  I had to admit that I did. The Door before us was covered from top to bottom with a thick layer of ice, shining blue-white under the Storeroom’s bright lights. The encased Door was only just visible, deep inside the ice. It radiated a bitter cold, so fierce I had to brace myself to take a step closer. I didn’t try to touch the ice; I just knew I’d draw back a handful of frostbite. I walked around the Door, taking my time, looking it over, and there wasn’t a crack or a flaw to be seen anywhere in the thick ice. Just a solid block, formed around a Door that had tried to go somewhere it was never meant to.

  “I created this Door just like any other,” said the Doormouse, his voice respectfully low. “It should have worked. The mathematics were sound, the science unchallenged. I had no reason to believe there would be . . . problems. But within moments after I finished this Door, and set the coordinates for Ultima Thule, the whole thing just froze over. Solid ice, from the coldest place in the world. Some places just don’t want to be visited.”

  Molly sniffed loudly, conjured up a handful of hellfire, and threw it at the frozen Door. The blazing flames splashed harmlessly against the ice, fell away, and disappeared. Not a single drop of melted water ran down the ice covering the Door. Instead, the Storeroom’s sprinklers opened up, directly over the Door. I jumped back to avoid being soaked, dragging Molly with me. The Doormouse had backed away the moment Molly conjured up her fires. He barked a command at the sprinklers, and they turned themselves off. The Doormouse looked pityingly at Molly.

  “Like I hadn’t already tried that . . .”

  “Bet you didn’t try this,” I said.

  I subvocalised my activating Words, and armoured up. The Doormouse made a high chittering noise and backed away several steps. Drood armour always makes a strong first impression. I stepped up to the Door, and was surprised to find I could still feel primordial cold radiating from the block of ice, even through my armour. It was protecting me, but I could still feel it. I hit the block of ice with my armoured fist, and it just glanced away, without doing the slightest damage. I could punch a hole through a mountain with my armour on, but I hadn’t even cracked this ice. I hit the block again and again, all my armour’s strength behind every blow, and my golden fist just jarred harmlessly against the thick ice.

  I threw my arms around the frozen block and wrestled with it, and for the first time, the ice cracked. Thick shards fell away, to shatter on the floor. The Doormouse made a loud, shocked sound. Molly cheered me on. I threw everything I had against the ice, and it cracked again, a long, jagged line from top to bottom. But still it wouldn’t break.

  A thick layer of hoarfrost formed on the front of my armour, and I could feel the terrible cold creeping in. Forcing its way past my armour’s defences. I struggled with the ice block, throwing all my armour’s power against it, and the ice defied me. The awful cold sank deep into my flesh, into my bones. I was shaking and shuddering inside my armour, gritting my teeth to keep them from chattering, and to keep myself from crying out in pain and shock. Until finally I had no choice but to let go, and stagger backwards, before the cold penetrated my heart, and perhaps my soul.

  I stood there, glaring at the great block of ice, breathing hard. The ice covering the Door had already repaired and restored itself, looking thicker and even more impenetrable than before. I had been defeated by the cold, by the winter of the world, Ultima Thule. I looked at the Doormouse, and he nodded slowly.

  “So,” he said. “Drood armour does have its limitations. Interesting to know . . .”

  I armoured down, shaking and shuddering convulsively. Molly threw her arms around me and held me tightly to her, using the warmth of her body to drive the cold out of mine. I held her close, and the cold quickly fell away. The Doormouse stood off to one side, tactfully staring into the distance. I finally patted Molly on the back, to let her know I was all right again, and we let go and stepped back from each other. We shared a smile. The Doormouse cleared his throat loudly.

  “Only a Drood would try to wrestle winter itself. Still, you actually cracked the ice of Ultima Thule! I am impressed, young Drood! Really!”

  “That . . . was serious cold,” I said, looking at the ice-covered Door with respect.

  “Well, yes,” said the Doormouse. “I mean, the clue is in the name. Ultima Thule, the ultimate cold. The unending winter of the world. And you’re telling me you want to go there?”

  “I don’t want to brag,” said Molly, “though I’m going to . . . I have been to the Antarctic, without any special clothes or equipment. I can handle cold.”

  “That’s natural cold,” the Doormouse said severely. “There is nothing natural about Ultima Thule. It’s a pocket dimension, a created reality, a world within a world, with its own rules. I’ve always believed it was made to store something . . . I don’t know what, and I don’t want to. But I’d hate to think what might happen if it ever thaws . . . and gets out.”

  Molly looked at me. “We are going to need more than long thermal underwear . . .”

  “I’ve got my armour,” I said, “and you’ve got your magics. We can survive long enough to reach the Winter Palace.” I looked at the Doormouse. “All right, we can’t go direct. Is there an . . . indirect way of getting there?”

  “Of course!” said the Doormouse. “If logic and reason aren’t enough to scare you off, then I feel I have done all that can reasonably be required of me. I may ask you to sign something to that effect before you go. I can provide you with a Door that will drop you off on the Trans-Siberian Express! One of the last surviving steam trains still running in the world today, from Eastern Europe to Siberia, all the way across Russia, and beyond. Somewhere along the way, you will pass by a naturally occurring dimensional Door that opens onto Ultima Thule. I think it’s a crack in the world, or perhaps even a mistake in the original calculations. Or maybe a back door into Ultima Thule left by the dimension’s original designer. Very few people know it even exists. It isn’t always there and it won’t stay open for long, but it should be there for the next thirty-six hours.”

  “Should?” I said.

  “Best I can do,” said the Doormouse.

  “We’ll take it,” said Molly.

  • • •

  The Doormouse bustled back through the long lines of Doors, and Molly and I went with him. I took the opportunity to ask him what he knew about the Merlin Glass, on the grounds that anyone as interested as in Doors as he is should have at least heard of it. The Doormouse was immediately so excited that nothing would do but that I get the hand mirror out and show it to him. He preferr
ed not to hold the Glass himself, so I had to hold the mirror as he leaned forward, bent so far over that the tip of his muzzle almost touched the Glass. He kept his arms behind his back, so he could be sure he wouldn’t accidentally touch the mirror. His eyes gleamed brightly, and his long whiskers went into full twitch mode. After a while, he backed carefully away and looked at me thoughtfully.

  “Now that is interesting . . . Come with me, dear boy, and we’ll take a closer look, in my laboratory.”

  “What about our Door?” said Molly.

  “Patience, dear girl, patience! Now come along, come along!”

  He scurried off, ducking and diving between the standing Doors, and we had no choice but to go after him. He took a sudden sharp turn to the left, and opened a fairly ordinary-looking door that I would have sworn wasn’t there a moment before. I glanced at Molly, we both shrugged more or less simultaneously, and we went through the door after him.

  We found ourselves in a large open workplace, a scientific laboratory with dozens of work-benches, all kinds of equipment, and enough different projects on the go to keep even my uncle Jack happy. The workstations were covered with all kinds of partially assembled high tech, some of it so advanced, alien, or just plain other, that I couldn’t even recognise what it was, never mind guess what it might be for. Some were clearly functioning, flashing lights or making odd sounds, while others seemed to be moving on their own, to some unknown purpose. One had almost reached the edge of its bench, and the Doormouse absently pushed it back to the middle again. He smiled at me encouragingly, and gestured for me to set the hand mirror down on a work-bench already crowded with half-finished things. I looked for some open space, and the Doormouse swept it all away with one quick brush of his arm. Many things crashed to the floor, but the Doormouse only had eyes for the Merlin Glass. I set it down on the bench, and stepped back. He immediately leaned right over the mirror again, making soft humming sounds to himself.