I shook him hard, to get his attention.
“I don’t care who or what you think you are, Hadleigh,” I said. “You never met a Drood like me.”
I threw him backwards, and he fell on his arse. He sat there on the floor, looking at me with something very like shock.
“What . . . ?” he said. “I don’t . . .”
“Shut up and listen,” I said. “I am a Drood in my armour, and we exist to stop people like you from throwing their weight around. Let me remind you, Hadleigh: to threaten one Drood is to threaten the whole family. And you really don’t want to go there.”
“You’re rogue,” said Hadleigh. He scrambled back onto his feet again, and I let him. He stared into my faceless mask. “Your family has disowned you.”
“I was declared rogue before,” I said calmly. “And I came back to rule my whole damned family. It doesn’t matter what they think I’ve done; they’ll learn better. It doesn’t matter how angry they are; they’ll get over it when they learn the truth. My family and I may disagree from time to time, but in the face of a mutual enemy it’s always going to be one Drood for all, and all for one. Are you really ready to go to war with all the Droods, Detective Inspectre?”
He glared at me, and considered the question for a long moment. He actually thought about it, before slowly shaking his head.
“You’re right, Eddie Drood. You’re not worth fighting a war over. I’ll wait till you’ve done all the hard work and claimed the Lazarus Stone, and then I’ll take it away from you.”
He bowed stiffly, to me and Molly and the Doormouse, and then he turned and walked away, disappearing between the long lines of Doors.
“Damn,” said Molly. “Damn! Eddie, you just faced down the Detective Inspectre! I am seriously impressed!”
I armoured down so I could smile at her. “When in doubt, go for brute strength and ignorance, and baffle them with bullshit. And a little applied psychology.”
“Did you know your armour could protect you from the Detective Inspectre?” said the Doormouse.
“Of course,” I lied.
He shook his furry head slowly.
“Will your family really go up against him for you?”
I shrugged. “Probably. Once I’ve got them back on my side. But for that I need the Winter Palace, the Lady Faire, and the Lazarus Stone. In that order.”
“Then the sooner you’re out of my establishment, the better,” said the Doormouse. “You are bad for business, Eddie Drood. My nerves may never recover. Now, off you go. The Trans-Siberian Express is waiting for you. No charge for the service, best of luck, why aren’t you two moving?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Murders on the
Trans-Siberian Express
The Doormouse’s Door dropped us off in a long wooden carriage, full of crates and boxes, suitcases and other luggage, and lots of shadows and shifting light. Molly and I had to cling to each other as the speeding carriage lurched back and forth, throwing us this way and that. The air was thick with dust and the smell of unvarnished wood, and freezing cold. I looked back at the Door, but it was already gone, as though to make sure we couldn’t change our minds.
“Well,” I said, as lightly as I could manage, “welcome to what appears to be the baggage compartment of the renowned Trans-Siberian Express.”
Molly laughed and clung to my jacket lapels with both hands so she could grin right into my face. “You just faced down the Detective Inspectre, Eddie! I am so proud of you! But if you ever scare me like that again, I will slap your head right off. What do you mean, baggage compartment?”
“I have never known anyone who could change direction so often, and so fast, in the same conversation,” I said. “So, in order, thank you, understood, and take a look around.”
We finally got our balance and let go of each other, so we could properly investigate our new surroundings. We’d arrived in a narrow railway carriage, constructed almost entirely from wooden slats, an unpolished wooden floor thickly covered in sawdust, and a rough, curving wooden ceiling. Two bare bulbs swung in the gloom overhead, unlit, but bright light punched through slits and holes in the carriage walls, filling the long open space with great blasts of flaring light, more than enough to push back the constantly shifting shadows. Crates and boxes and expensive leather luggage were piled up everywhere, and crammed tightly into shelves that ran the whole length of the carriage. Much of it had the look of expensive designer brands, while the carriage itself was deliberately old-fashioned. A blast from the past, in the service of tradition and nostalgia.
Molly staggered up and down the rattling carriage, looking closely at anything that seemed expensive or interesting and getting into everything. She didn’t seem particularly impressed by our new surroundings. I said as much.
“You don’t seem too impressed by our new surroundings, Molly.”
“Oh, come on!” she said, not even glancing back at me. “It’s a dump! Whoever put this place together had never even heard of style or comfort, except as something other people did. Look at all this unfinished wood, I’ll get splinters, I know I will.”
“It’s traditional,” I said. “It’s supposed to be . . . basic. The whole journey is a throwback to the grand old days of steam travel. This kind of in-depth historical re-creation is very popular these days. And extremely expensive. It costs a lot of money to look as authentically crap as this. I’m sure the passenger carriages are much more stylish, and comfortable. In a determinedly old-fashioned way, of course. Steam trains are considered very romantic, mostly by people who’ve never actually travelled on one. You have at least heard of the Trans-Siberian Express, Molly, haven’t you?”
“No,” Molly said shortly, idly testing the locks on a suitcase. “Sounds very much a boy thing, steam trains.”
“The journey starts off in Eastern Europe,” I said patiently. “Runs from one side of Russia to the other, including Siberia, and then down through China, to its farthest coast. The height of old-time luxury, I’m told, for those who can afford it.”
“Then what are we doing in the baggage car?” said Molly.
“Hiding out,” I said. “We don’t want to be noticed, remember?”
Molly sniffed loudly, giving all her attention to a pile of designer luggage with entirely insufficient defences. Given that this was the luggage of very rich and important people, I have to say most of it was painfully badly protected. The bigger crates and boxes were just held together with elastic cables, leather straps, and the odd length of baling wire. And the locks weren’t anything I couldn’t have opened in a moment, if I’d been so inclined. I looked thoughtfully at one long rectangular box, pushed up against the far wall . . . which gave every appearance of being a coffin. Wrapped in heavy iron chains. I drew Molly’s attention to the coffin, and we stood together, to consider it.
“Are those chains there to keep thieves out, or whatever’s inside in?” wondered Molly.
“Let sleeping mysteries lie,” I said. “And since there aren’t any seats or chairs in here . . .”
We sat down on the coffin lid, side by side. The baggage car continued to throw itself violently back and forth, as the train hammered along the tracks. The air was close, and the cold was starting to bite, but for the first time it felt like I could relax and feel safe. Or at least not immediately threatened by anything. It felt good, to be somewhere no one was looking for us. Molly stared unblinkingly at the expensive suitcases piled up opposite us, and I sighed inwardly as I recognised a familiar mercenary gleam in her eye. Molly was considering going shopping, and not in a good way.
“I will bet you there are all kinds of serious valuables in those cases,” said Molly.
“Could we think about that later?” I said, even though I knew a lost cause when I saw one right in front of me.
“No time like the present,” Molly said cheerfully. “You’re the one who didn’t inherit any money from his grandmother. One of us has to be the provider.”
“I’m r
eally not going to like this month’s bills, am I?”
“Oh, hush, you big baby. It’s only money.” Molly looked around her speculatively. “There’s got to be a safe in here somewhere, where they lock up the really tasty stuff.”
“We don’t want to set off any alarms,” I said sternly. “Or alert people on the train that we’re here. We need to be quiet.”
“What’s all this we shit, kemo sabe?” said Molly. “A girl has to look out for her best interests . . .”
“We are on our way to a place that doesn’t officially exist, to steal something that almost certainly doesn’t do what it says on the tin, from a person who isn’t even a person, to buy my parents back from someone we don’t even have a name for!” I said. “While every secret organisation in the world, very definitely including my own family, wants us dead! We don’t need any more complications, Molly!”
“Oh, all right!” said Molly. She sat back on the coffin lid, stuck out her lower lip, and glowered at me. “I can remember when you were fun . . .” She looked around the baggage car some more, and a deep frown slowly etched itself between her eyebrows. “You know, Eddie, there is some seriously strange stuff in here. I’m picking up all kinds of magical emanations, leaking past a whole bunch of quite unusual wards and protections.”
“All the more reason not to go messing around with them,” I said.
“I’m just curious . . .”
“Oh, that is always a bad sign.”
Molly was already up off the coffin lid and on her feet again, staggering across the lurching floor to peer closely at this piece of luggage and that. She knelt down opposite a large hatbox and considered it thoughtfully. The hatbox had been sealed with all kinds of pretty ribbons, tied in really intricate bows, along with several lengths of delicate silver chain and one really heavy steel padlock.
“Molly . . . ,” I said warningly.
“I want it.”
“You don’t even wear hats!”
“It’s the principle of the thing,” said Molly, still staring intently at the hatbox. “How dare the world hide things from me . . .”
She snapped her fingers smartly, and the padlock flew open. I braced myself, ready to dive for cover, but nothing happened. Molly smiled sweetly, and pulled the silver chains away, dropping them casually on the floor beside her. She undid the pretty ribbons with nimble fingers, and then opened the lid. Only to immediately fall backwards onto her haunches, as a very large hat covered with all kinds of brightly coloured feathers flew up out of the box and fluttered vigorously around the baggage car. It bobbed this way and that and then flapped upwards, where it bounced back and forth along the curving wooden ceiling. The hat rose and fell and turned itself around, as the fluttering feathers tried to drive it in a dozen different directions at once. It seemed cheerful enough, for a flying hat.
Molly glared at it. “Get back in the box!”
The hat ignored her, flitting up and down the length of the baggage car at considerable speed, clearly having the time of its hatty life. And probably setting off all kinds of security alarms. I got up off the coffin, grabbed several small useful items and lobbed them at the hat, trying to bring it down. The hat avoided my efforts with almost insulting ease. Molly scrambled up off the floor and we pursued the thing up and down the carriage, while it fluttered back and forth, always just out of reach. The jolting floor didn’t help, throwing Molly and me all over the place. I crashed into some piled-up bags and sent them flying. A few broke open, spilling their contents across the sawdust floor. Clothes and books and assorted valuables, and one brass cage containing one very large black bat. The cage broke open on impact, and the bat saw its chance for freedom and took it. It flew swiftly back and forth, its leathery wings making a sound very like gloved hands clapping. And then the bat saw the hat, and went for it. The bat and the hat threw themselves at each other with clear mutual loathing, and not a little viciousness. They crashed together, spun round and round the carriage several times, and then separated, to regard each other ominously from a distance.
Molly lost her balance, and grabbed at the nearest shelf to steady herself. Her hand missed the shelf and fastened onto a bottle bearing a handwritten sign that said simply Gin. The bottle slipped out of her hand and smashed on the floor. A great cloud of purple smoke billowed up, taking on a vaguely human form, with a grinning bearded face at the top. Not Gin. Djinn. Nothing causes more damage than a bottle of cheap djinn. The gaseous figure quickly spread out to fill the whole carriage. It had enough physical presence to knock me off my feet and send me staggering backwards, until I crashed up against the far wall. I could just about see through the purple fumes to where Molly was pinned up against the opposite wall. Her arms flailed through the gassy body without doing any damage. The bat and the hat fluttered helplessly together, pressed against the ceiling. The giant bearded face grinned nastily, and piled on the pressure as it continued to expand.
“Get this thing off me!” yelled Molly. “I can’t move! It’s crushing me!”
I forced myself down the carriage wall, until I could crouch with my arse on the floor. I could hear the djinn laughing. I pushed myself forward until I was lying on the floor, and then I crawled forward on my belly, setting all my strength against the pressure of the djinn’s gaseous body, until I reached the sliding door set into the carriage wall opposite me. I tried to force it open, but it was locked shut. I armoured up my hand, smashed the lock with my golden glove, and gave the sliding door a good shove. The door flew open, and the djinn’s gassy body was sucked right out through the opening. I just caught a glimpse of a shocked and surprised bearded face, and then the djinn disappeared, sucked away and dispersed in the rushing wind.
The bat and the hat flew out after it. I waited till I was sure they were safely gone, and then sat down in the opening with my legs dangling over the side and watched the scenery rushing past. Molly came lurching forward, and sat down heavily beside me. She leaned against me companionably, as we both got our breath back, and then we just sat there together and enjoyed the world speeding past. It was very . . . scenic. An endless sea of snow, stretching away in all directions as far as the eye could see. Rising and falling but frozen in place, just a great expanse of gleaming white, without even a single tree or shrub to break the monotony.
“Where are we, exactly?” said Molly, after a while.
“Siberia,” I said. “Somewhere. It’s a big place. Covers a lot of ground.”
Molly shuddered. “Damn, it’s cold! I mean . . . really cold!”
“And this is just Siberia,” I said. “It’s going to be a whole lot colder once we pass through the Gateway into Ultima Thule.”
Molly looked down at her long white dress. “I’m really not dressed for the occasion, am I? Hold on while I break open the suitcases and have a good rummage round for something more suitable. Preferably with furry bits of dead animal attached.”
“I think we’ve let loose enough annoyances for one day, don’t you?” I said. “God alone knows what else they’ve got packed away in here.”
“Good point,” said Molly. “I’ll just find a passenger on the train who’s wearing something seriously furry, lure her to a quiet place, and then mug her. My need is greater.”
“How very practical,” I said.
Molly shuddered again from the cold, so I helped her to her feet and slammed the heavy sliding door back into place. I squeezed the lock shut with my golden glove, and then sent the armour back into my torc. I was shivering now too from the cold that had got into the baggage car, and my breath steamed on the air, along with Molly’s. We went back to the coffin and sat down, hugging ourselves tightly. Molly banged on the coffin lid.
“Are you awake, Count Magnus?”
“Can’t take you anywhere,” I said.
She glared at me. “Explain to me again why we’re having to do this the hard way?”
“Once more, then,” I said, “For the hard of learning at the back of the class. This train
will carry us to a naturally occurring Gateway, somewhere in the snowy depths of sunny Siberia, and this Gate will in turn deliver us to Ultima Thule, the Winter Palace, and eventually, the Lady Faire.”
Molly sniffed loudly. “And how long is it going to take to reach this Gateway?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Hours, I should think.”
“What?” said Molly, sitting up straight. “Hours?” She stood up abruptly and planted herself before me with her fists planted on her hips, the better to glare down at me. “I am not sitting here, in this dump, freezing my tits off, for hours on end! And . . . I am hungry! Very seriously hungry. Eddie Drood, we are going to the restaurant car. Right now!”
I stood up, and smiled at her. “Your relentless logic has defeated me. I will admit, I am feeling just a bit peckish myself.”
“Then let’s go!” said Molly.
“Can we at least try to keep a low profile?”
“Who’s going to know us here? Let them look.”
“You’ve never been one for hiding your light under a bushel, have you?”
“Listen,” said Molly, “I am so hungry right now, I could eat a bushel.”
• • •
The door between the baggage car and the next compartment was of course very firmly locked, but a little firm pressure from a golden glove was all it took to persuade the door to open. Having Drood armour is like possessing a free pass to everywhere. Molly slipped her arm through mine, and we strode proudly on into the passenger carriage, which turned out to be a much warmer place, and far more civilised. A perfect re-creation of an early-twentieth-century railway carriage, with every conceivable comfort and luxury, and every relevant detail carefully preserved. Or at the very least, cunningly duplicated. The old original gas lamps in fact contained carefully concealed electric light bulbs, while hidden central heating soon took the chill out of our bones. The richly gleaming beechwood panels were stamped at regular intervals with the golden crest of the Trans-Siberian Express Company. The carriage was made up of spacious separate compartments, with padded leather seats and specially reinforced wide windows through which the rich and important passengers could enjoy glorious views of snow-covered scenery. Very nice views. If you liked snow. And not much else.
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