From a Drood to A Kill: A Secret Histories Novel

by Simon R. Green

  Differing details accumulated in the worlds I passed through, until I barely recognised my surroundings. A series of strange cities swept by, everything from tall metal structures with flashing lights and flying machines buzzing around the tallest towers like pollinating insects, to huge tomblike castles with human-sized insects scuttling up and over the pitted stone walls, to shapes so abstract I couldn’t make any sense of them. Fortunately, the Bentley never stuck around in any of these unnatural places long enough for us to interact with anyone who might try to impede our progress. Anyone or anything.

  We left the cities behind, and passed through a series of forests. Bitter green foliage, then blood-red, then a sickly organic mess of purple and pink . . . The skies were still flickering from day to night and back again, flaring through a series of painfully bright colours. Sometimes I was driving up the side of a mountain, pressed right back in my seat, and sometimes I was dodging in and out of a labyrinth of sleazy back alleyways. Once, briefly, I was underwater. Dark green waters, with glowing fish everywhere. Not that I was concerned; the Bentley maintained its own special presence, its own scientific laws of reality, no matter where it happened to be. Nothing could touch or affect me, inside the Bentley. I couldn’t even feel the deep ocean I was passing through. A pack of huge blue-grey sharks, each of them twice the size of the Bentley, swam alongside the car, sweeping in close to study me through dark, dead eyes. I let my hand drift nearer to the gun controls, just in case. But the Bentley passed on to another dimension long before the sharks could make up their minds about us.

  We were driving across a wide-open stony expanse, miles from anywhere and entirely untroubled by any evidence of life, when the Bentley’s alarms went off. Which came as something of a surprise to me, as I didn’t even know the Bentley had alarms. A great blast of warning sound filled the car, and I would have jumped out of my skin if I hadn’t been held so firmly in place by the seat belts. The alarm sounded like one of those emergency klaxons I used to hear in old submarine movies; they went off when the depth charges were getting a bit close. I looked quickly around me, trying to spot the problem, but the stony waste had been replaced by a blur of stretched colours, as we shot through worlds too quickly for them to register. The Bentley’s long bonnet jerked back and forth before me, as though the car was no longer certain of where we were going. I looked at the dashboard instruments, but none of the wildly flashing lights meant anything to me. And then a voice came suddenly to me, speaking calmly and reassuringly through my torc. My handler, Kate, from back at Drood Hall.

  “You’ve been hauled off course, Eddie,” she said briskly. “The family has been tracking you from the Operations Room, and a whole bunch of emergency protocols just kicked in. People are running around in here like you wouldn’t believe. Are you all right, Eddie?”

  “Depends,” I said. “Talk to me! What’s happening?”

  “You’ve changed direction completely, inasmuch as that means anything where dimension-hopping is concerned, but it does seem clear that you’re not going where you were going. And that the Bentley isn’t in control of your journey any more. Which is . . . disturbing. Nothing we know of should be able to seize control of the Armourer’s Bentley from outside. That car has the same kind of shields and protections we use to defend Drood Hall. Sit tight, Eddie; a lot of very smart people are working really hard on what to do next. It should be possible for us to block out the exterior influence and return control to the Bentley.”

  “Good to know,” I said. “Any chance you could shut off the alarm klaxon? Because the bloody thing’s deafening me.”

  “Oh yes! Of course! Sorry!”

  The blaring racket shut off, and I could hear myself think again.

  “Have you told the Armourer what’s going on?” I said. “Has he got any ideas?”

  “Apparently he’s having a little nap,” said Kate. “And it’s proving rather difficult to wake him . . .”

  “Terrific,” I said.

  The scenery outside the Bentley was just a smear of chaos and a blur of motion, constantly changing. I had no idea where we were, or where we might be going. I wrestled with the steering wheel, but it wouldn’t budge an inch. Same with the pedals under my feet. I even tried to access the onboard computers by shouting loudly at them; but they weren’t listening to me. I was just a passenger, along for the ride. Of course, strictly speaking I always had been, but I hadn’t minded so long as I thought the Bentley knew what she was doing. I even leaned on the handbrake, which was supposed to be the emergency stop for the Overdrive, but I couldn’t move it. (I could have armoured up and used the extra strength, but I didn’t want to risk breaking the thing off.) The Bentley wasn’t responding to me at all any more. Someone else was in charge. And I really didn’t like that idea at all.

  “We’re still tracking you, Eddie,” said Kate. “You appear to be travelling farther and farther from the fields we know. Or at least recognise. Out beyond the spatial dimensions, and into . . . other realms.”

  “That does not sound good,” I said. “Hold it—if I’ve travelled that far, how is it I’m still able to hear you?”

  “We’re connected through Ethel,” said Kate. “Apparently, spatial dimensions don’t mean anything to her. And no, I don’t understand that either.”

  “Any idea what it is that’s taken over the Bentley?” I said, trying hard not to sound in any way worried. “Or how that’s even possible?”

  “Has to be an Outside Force,” said Kate. “Some Power, or Domination . . .”

  “You’re guessing now, aren’t you?”

  “Pretty much,” said Kate. “Head of Operations just wanted me to keep you calm and reassured and in the loop . . . How am I doing?”

  “Don’t you have any good news for me?”

  “We’re working on it . . . Ah!”

  “What?” I said suspiciously. “What do you mean, ah? That did not sound like a good ah to me!”

  “Eddie, according to what Ethel is telling us, you’ve left the spatial dimensions completely,” Kate said slowly. “Frankly, we’re all amazed she can still See you. We haven’t been able to track you for some time. She says you have now entered the subtle realms. You have heard of them . . . ?”

  “Of course!” I said, scowling hard as I racked my brains for half-remembered lessons from my youth. “Yes! The subtle realms are the in-between places. Unfinished realms, where nothing is necessarily certain and physical properties aren’t properly nailed down at the edges. Where the very laws of reality are strange, changeable, unreliable. And I think I felt a lot happier before I remembered all that. We’re talking . . . broken universes, improved universes. Insane universes! I am getting really very quite worried now.”

  “Regions of Magic and Chaos,” said Kate. “Where everything is always changing, just because it can. Eddie, can you still hear me? You’re moving farther and farther away from anywhere we understand.”

  “I can still hear you,” I said, as calmly as I could. “We’re still connected, thanks to Ethel. Can she do anything to bring me back?”

  “Ah . . . she says not.”

  “Why isn’t she talking to me herself?”

  “She says . . . because she can’t interact with you directly without directly affecting you, which would be a really bad idea in your current surroundings. Whatever they are.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Something has just rolled down the inside of my leg, and I’m really hoping it’s sweat.”

  “You’re not alone, Eddie. We’re all here with you. Working really hard to bring you back from the subtle realms.”

  “Does Ethel know anything about what kind of people might be living in these places?”

  “She says no people. As such. But apparently, there are sometimes . . . visitors. Those who delight in such conditions. I get the distinct impression we’re not talking about anyone you’d want to meet.”

>   “Story of my life,” I said. “Any advice?”

  “Everyone here in Operations has your back,” said Kate. “We’re pulling up all the information we have on the subtle realms . . . In the meantime, see if you can do anything to regain control of the car, Eddie. You have to break free from whatever it is that’s drawing you on. Trust me—you’re not going anywhere you’d want to go.”

  “I already tried that! The Bentley isn’t responding to any of her controls! I’ve been taken, Kate. Kidnapped. And I have to wonder . . . why me? And why now?”

  “You have to try something, Eddie! We’re losing you!”

  I hit every switch and button on the dashboard, including the cigarette lighter that actually worked the flame-throwers, but nothing happened. And then all the lights on the beech-wood panel went out and didn’t come back on again. Even the ones I hadn’t touched. All the Bentley’s systems had been overridden by the Outside Force. I told Kate, and then she was quiet for a worryingly long moment.

  “We’ve had the Bentley’s operating manual brought up from the Library to Operations,” she said finally. “We’re working our way through it as quickly as we can, but it is, after all, a very large book. With no index. Apparently . . . whatever it is that’s happening was never meant to happen. Was never supposed to be possible . . . You wouldn’t believe some of the protections the Armourer put in place . . .”

  “I was worried Something Big and Nasty might take an interest in me, and try to follow me home,” I said. “But it looks more like Something Really Powerful has taken a liking to me and is transporting me to its home. Either to adopt me or to put me in a petting zoo.”

  “You have an appalling imagination, Eddie,” said Kate.

  “Comes from working in the field so long,” I said. “Where the worst possible scenario comes as standard.”

  “As long as you stay inside the Bentley, you should be safe enough,” said Kate. “The operating manual is very firm on that. The car creates and maintains its own reality to protect and preserve the driver.”

  “I know that!”

  “No, Eddie, please listen! This means something! The Bentley imposes its own scientific laws of reality on its immediate surroundings. A bubble of normal Space and Time, wherever you are. The car contains traditional cause and effect, and linear Time, no matter what’s going on around it. So whatever happens, Eddie, don’t leave the car.”

  “Got it,” I said.

  And then I was rocked savagely back and forth in my seat, the belts cutting into me, as the Bentley’s speed suddenly dropped away. As though we were crashing through a series of invisible barriers. I clung on grimly to the steering wheel with both hands, sudden lurches slamming the breath out of my body, until quite suddenly the world returned. Through the windshield, I could see perfectly normal Earth-style conditions ahead of me. The steering wheel was suddenly responsive under my hands again, and I hit the brake, slowing us down some more.

  I was driving under a dark sky full of unfamiliar constellations and a really big full moon. I turned on the Bentley’s headlights, and a blast of pure white light illuminated the scenery ahead. I was driving across endless open moorland, in the middle of nowhere. It all seemed very normal, ordinary, sane. Just another place. Had I really come so far just for this? The ground was bumpy and uneven, rocking the Bentley from side to side, but it seemed firm enough. I slowed down even more, so I could get a good look at my new surroundings. But there was only the moor, and the night, for as far as I could see in any direction.

  “Hello? Kate?” I said. “Can you still hear me?”

  “Yes, Eddie, I’m right here. But Operations can’t track you any longer, and Ethel says she can only See you very dimly, from a distance.”

  “Am I out of the subtle realms now? I mean, back in the spatial dimensions at least? Because it all looks . . . solid enough.”

  “I’m afraid not, Eddie. Which means you can’t trust anything you see.”

  “Can you find me a way home?”

  “Ethel says . . . not. You’re going to have to track down whoever brought you to wherever you are and persuade them to send you home again.”

  “So I’m on my own, then,” I said. “No chance of backup, no one to turn to. Situation entirely normal, for a field agent.”

  I drove on, across the moor. There was a lot of light in the night, from the stars and the full moon, while a strange glow suffused the drifting mists, but even so I couldn’t see a horizon anywhere. The moor just seemed to go on forever. It did all seem very real, and comfortingly solid, after everything I’d passed through on the way here. And it certainly didn’t look anything like the chaotic realms I’d been warned about. My computers were back, so I tried the Bentley’s short-range sensors, but they just basically threw up their electronic hands and indicated that the whole situation confused the hell out of them.

  The fog curled increasingly thickly all around me, giving me only glimpses of my surroundings. Mud and mire, and thick tufts of dark vegetation, along with open stretches of standing water. I just kept going, hoping to reach someplace that made sense. Off in the distance, something was howling. My first thought was wolf, and then, not quite. There was something distinctly off about the sound. Werewolves, perhaps? The car’s machine guns had special backup ammunition for special creatures: silver, wood, cursed and blessed bullets . . . but not a lot.

  It occurred to me that given how much noise the Bentley’s engine was making in the quiet night, there was no way of hiding where I was. So I might as well announce my arrival and let my kidnapper know I was here. I leaned heavily on the car’s horn, and the loud blaring sound carried defiantly on the still air. It was immediately answered by more wolfish howling. It sounded a lot closer.

  The Bentley lurched dangerously, as she ploughed through bog and mire, and unseen deep muddy furrows. I put my foot down and hung on grimly. The car kept going. Dark waters splashed up against the sides of the car, and even over the bonnet. And then I realised from the smell that it wasn’t water. It was blood. I was driving across moorland soaked in blood. I turned on the windscreen wipers and hunched down in my seat. The car was supposed to protect me against all unnatural threats, but I wasn’t sure whether the blood qualified. Maybe blood in the mud was natural here. And then I pulled a face, as I realised I was going to have to clean the car when all this was over. And caked dried blood can be a real pain to remove.

  A massive circle of ancient standing stones loomed up out of the mists on my right, and despite myself, I slowed down to get a better look. There were more circles, inside the main circle—dozens of them, grey pitted stone menhirs, standing tall in the night. And every single one of the many stones was spattered with old dried blood. As though uncountable human sacrifices had been made in this place, under these stones, long ago. Like some terrible primeval machine, designed for slaughter. And I couldn’t escape a very definite feeling that there was something moving, silently observing, from inside the circles. Hidden in the shadows, watching me with bad intent. I couldn’t make out any specific shapes, but then, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I put my foot down again, and the car lunged forward. As I moved away, leaving the standing stones behind, the giant menhirs in the outer circle started spinning like a roundabout, round and round, faster and faster. And then all the inner circles began spinning round in opposing directions, until all the standing stones were sailing round and round like some out-of-control machine.

  I drove on, keeping a careful eye on the stones in my rearview mirror, until I was sure I’d left them behind.

  Not long after that, a cemetery loomed up on my left-hand side, and once again, against all my better judgement, I slowed down to look the place over. It appeared to be an old-fashioned burying ground, surrounded by low stone walls and a single pair of tall iron-barred gates. Which were, of course, standing wide open. I brought the Bentley to a halt outside the gates. The mists had t
hinned right out, as though to make sure I had a good view. I could see some distance into the cemetery. It was all broken crosses and shattered headstones, and a great many dark, gaping holes in the ground. Graves that had been opened and dug up, or perhaps burst out from within. Just looking at the place was enough to raise all the hairs on the back of my neck. Another bad place. And once again, I had the strongest feeling that someone or something hiding inside the cemetery was watching me from the shadows. I also had a strong feeling that I should get out of the car and go into the cemetery and investigate. So I didn’t. Some impulses you just know aren’t going to lead you anywhere good. I turned the wheel and hit the gas, and accelerated away from the cemetery.

  Never leave the car.

  The fog thickened again as I moved on, curling and roiling in the Bentley’s headlights, glowing all around me with a sullen pearlescent light. The electric light couldn’t seem to penetrate far into the mists, but I was still damned if I’d slow down. That didn’t feel at all safe. It was hard to judge distances on the moor with no landmarks. No way to tell how much of it I’d crossed, or how much more there was to go. The whole setting had a dreamlike quality. The howling of the wolves was getting closer, now on this side, now on that. And above the wolves I could hear the wind howling, gathering its strength, building a storm. But although I could hear the wind, I couldn’t feel the smallest breath of it inside the car. The Bentley was still protecting me from everything in this world.

  A massive old-fashioned house appeared abruptly in the car’s headlights, not far ahead of me. I swung the car around, and once again slowed down for a good look. If only because there was so little else to look at in the desolate open moorland. The house stood alone, in the dark. There was no road or drive leading to it. The house was huge, towering above me, with dozens of windows on several floors. It looked to be even bigger than Drood Hall. And the look of the place, the feel of it, was just . . . wrong. It didn’t feel like a house, or a home; it felt like a tomb. A place of the dead.