From a Drood to A Kill: A Secret Histories Novel

by Simon R. Green

  “You let me in,” I said. “Just like that. I’m grateful, of course, but . . . how can you trust me? You don’t know me.”

  “I knew Jack,” Sir Perryvale said simply. “He often talked about you. He believed in you. I don’t suppose he ever told you that . . . No. He wouldn’t. For all his many admirable qualities, he was still a Drood. Emotionally constipated, just like the rest of you.”

  “But . . .”

  “It’s not like I’m going to be allowing you access to any of our forbidden areas,” he said, riding right over me. “All right, yes, technically speaking, access to our oracle is forbidden to outsiders, but only technically. If the oracle doesn’t trust you, you won’t be getting any answers, so . . . Don’t worry, though. I’m sure you’ll find out everything you need to know.”

  “But . . .”

  “Look, you don’t mean any harm to Castle Inconnu, do you?”

  “No!”

  “Well, then! I am the Seneschal. I have every right to decide who is and who is not a threat to the London Knights. So there. If I want to bring in a guest, that’s my business. Pardon me a moment.”

  He reached down and grabbed a heavy brown bottle from the floor beside his bed. He uncorked it, with something of an effort, and knocked back several swallows. He then grimaced, made a truly awful noise, and shook his head unhappily.

  “Just a little pick-me-up; it’s hard to go straight from the drunk into the hangover without any sleep in between. Damn, I feel rough.” He took another long swallow, and then glared at me. “You were matching me drink for drink at the Wulfshead, Eddie. Why aren’t you suffering as well?”

  “It’s the torc,” I said. “It can flush all the poisons out of my system in a hurry, in an emergency. For when I need my mind to be clear.”

  “Lucky bastard,” said the Seneschal. “Why can’t our armour do something that useful?”

  He took one last drink, slammed the cork back into the bottle, and put it down on the floor again.

  “What is that stuff?” I said.

  “Disgusting,” Sir Perryvale said flatly. “I think it works on the principle that anything that tastes so utterly vile has to be doing me some good. I do feel a little better. I think. Why do the worst emergencies always have to happen when you’re never in a suitable state to deal with them?”

  He forced himself up onto his feet, swayed a little, and then strode over to a side door and kicked it open, revealing an adjoining self-contained bathroom. He turned on the light, which turned out to be stark, unforgiving electric, glaring back from a lot of white tiling. Sir Perryvale winced and went inside.

  “You stay put,” he said over his shoulder. “While I get changed into something less comfortable. So one of us can stop being so damned embarrassed. Keep talking! I’ll still be able to hear you.”

  The Seneschal left the bathroom door open while he got changed. He threw his nightcap on the floor and then whipped off his long nightgown, revealing himself to be entirely naked underneath. He pottered around the bathroom, picking things up and putting them down again, entirely unconcerned about his nudity. I took one look at his large Falstaffian figure, broad and heavy and entirely unconfined, and then looked determinedly in another direction. It does seem to be some sort of general rule that the people most keen on casual nudity are nearly always the kind of people the rest of us least want to see doing it.

  “I know,” said a voice behind me. “I’ve been trying to get him to diet for ages.”

  “I heard that!” said Sir Perryvale.

  “You were meant to!”

  I looked around, but there was no one else in the bedroom with me. Apart from a large, puffed-out owl, sitting proudly on a wooden perch in the corner and watching me intently with dark, thoughtful eyes. I blinked at him a few times, trying to figure out how I’d overlooked him before. His feathers were grey, with long tawny streaks, and he clutched his perch with heavy, powerful claws. I moved over to him and put out a hand to stroke his head.

  “Don’t get familiar, bub,” said the owl.

  I withdrew my hand. “Why didn’t I notice you before?”

  “Because I’m a stealth owl. Finest kind.”

  “Don’t mind him,” Sir Perryvale said cheerfully from the bathroom. “Archie is always a bit tetchy, with people he doesn’t know.”

  “I am not tetchy!” said the owl. “I’m just . . . careful. You have to be careful around strangers, because they’re always trouble. I keep telling you that!”

  “Eddie is my guest,” said Sir Perryvale.

  “He’s a Drood!” the owl said loudly. “I can see his torc! Unnatural thing . . . just looking at it puts my teeth on edge. And I don’t even have any teeth!”

  “Do I mention your shortcomings?” said Sir Perryvale.

  “Frequently,” said the owl.

  Sir Perryvale came back in from the bathroom to join us. He was wearing the same colourful outfit he’d worn to the Wulfshead—a loud Hawaiian T-shirt over very short shorts. They stank of old booze, cigarette smoke, dried sweat, and other party residues. Away from the club, they smelled flat and sad, like the ghosts of parties past.

  “Sorry,” said Sir Perryvale. He didn’t sound it. “If you wanted to see me in my ceremonial robes, you should have given me more warning.”

  “He’s only got the one set,” said the owl. “And they’re in the wash. Ugly things . . .”

  “I knew I should have chosen the talking raven when they offered it to me,” said Sir Perryvale.

  “What? Edgar?” said the owl. “But he’s got no personality! And no conversation!”

  “Precisely,” said Sir Perryvale.

  “Well, really . . . ,” said the owl.

  Sir Perryvale smiled at me. “How do you like my owl?”

  “Fascinating,” I said solemnly. “Where did you get him?”

  “Mail order,” said Sir Perryvale.

  I suddenly noticed a handwritten sign underneath the perch, saying Beware of the Wol. I looked at Sir Perryvale. He took me by the arm and moved me a discreet distance away.

  “Don’t say anything,” the Seneschal murmured. “He wrote it himself. He’s very proud.”

  My attention was caught by two small photographs in standard silver frames, sitting on top of the dresser. The only photos on display in the room. One showed a handsome young man decked out in a full set of brightly shining London Knights armour. Medieval in style, but obviously new; not a dent or scratch on it. He smiled easily at the camera, with his helmet tucked under his arm. It reminded me of a graduation photo. He looked brave, confident, ready for anything. Sir Perryvale moved in beside me.

  “That’s my son, Ricard,” he said. “He died not long after that was taken. On a campaign against the Elder Monstrosities, out in the Shoals. We won the campaign, but . . . His mother died too, not long after. Just faded away, despite everything I could do. That’s her, in the other photo. My Elise.”

  Elise was a pleasantly pretty young woman, dressed in sweet casual wear, smiling diffidently. She looked very young. She seemed happy enough, with no idea at all of what life had in store for her. I couldn’t help noticing that there were no photos of Sir Perryvale with his wife, or his son.

  “Now there’s just me,” said Sir Perryvale. “And Archie, of course.”

  “Someone’s got to look after you,” said the owl.

  “And the London Knights are family, in their own way,” said Sir Perryvale. “We all swore our lives, and our sacred honour, to a greater cause. You can’t fight battles without casualties. You’re a Drood, Eddie. You understand about duty, and loss, and sacrifice.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “I saw my share of fighting the good fight,” said Sir Perryvale. “Riding a great war charger, singing the old battle songs. Fighting side by side with my fellow Knights, on the muddy plains and stinking jung
les of other worlds. Striking down monsters, and worse. Good times and bad. Triumphs and victories . . . and all the friends and family who never came home. I’m too old to campaign now, but I still serve. As Seneschal. I like to keep busy.”

  “Why did you let me in so easily?” I said. “I mean . . . Droods aren’t usually welcome at Castle Inconnu. Actually, I’d be hard-pressed to think of anywhere we are welcome . . . But normally I’d have to submit a petition to the Matriarch, spelling out all my reasons, to be passed on to the Castle administration, and then sit back and hope for the best.”

  “You don’t have time for that,” said Sir Perryvale. “And I owe your uncle Jack more than I could ever hope to repay.” He stopped suddenly and looked at me. “Oh my dear boy, I’m so sorry. I’ve been wittering on, and all this time you must be out of your mind with worry about your Molly being missing. Do forgive me. What happened to her exactly?”

  I filled him in on the details as best I could. He nodded slowly.

  “You’re right. You do need to consult the oracle. I’ll take you there. But Eddie . . . I am taking a chance on you. Don’t let me down. You may . . . see things that you mustn’t talk about. To anyone, not even your family. Perhaps especially not to your family.”

  “I’m used to keeping secrets,” I said. “Especially from my family. Don’t worry, Seneschal. All I care about right now is finding Molly and getting her home safely. And I don’t care who I have to walk over, or through, to do that.”

  “All right,” said the owl. “Him, I like.”

  “You’ve come to the right place,” said Sir Perryvale. “Our oracle is second to none.”

  “What kind of oracle have you got here?” I said.

  “The Metcalf Sisters didn’t tell you?” The Seneschal raised an eyebrow and seemed briefly amused. “Ah . . . very well. I think I’ll let you find out for yourself. Because you wouldn’t believe me otherwise.”

  “But your oracle can answer questions?” I said. “Accurately?”

  “Oh hell, yes,” said Sir Perryvale. “Try to stop her . . . She really does know everything.”

  “She?”

  “Yes.”

  I waited, but he didn’t have anything else to say. Just stood there, smiling his quietly irritating smile.

  “Okay . . . ,” I said.

  “She sees all, hears all, knows everything,” said Sir Perryvale. “Of course, how much she chooses to tell is up to her.”

  “She’ll talk to me,” I said. “I don’t plan on giving her any choice in the matter.”

  “Oh, I am going to enjoy this,” said Sir Perryvale.

  I gave him a hard look. “There’s something important you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”

  “There’s a lot I’m not telling you, old chap. It’s for your own good.”

  The owl sniggered loudly from his perch. Sir Perryvale addressed him sternly.

  “We need to make a start. The clock’s ticking. Archie, guard this room while I’m gone. No one is to enter, and no one is to know where I’m gone or who I’m gone with.”

  “Got it!” the owl said importantly. “Anyone tries to mess with me, I’ll have them!” He glared at me. “I will!”

  “I believe you,” I said.

  “Come with me, young Drood,” said Sir Perryvale. “Wonders and marvels await.”

  * * *

  The Seneschal led me through a labyrinth of empty stone corridors. The first thing I noticed was that the splendid hanging chandeliers of crystal and diamond were all made up of standard electric light bulbs, providing a bright and almost shadow-free illumination. The Seneschal noticed me noticing.

  “We are part of the Twenty-First Century here, Eddie. We may live in a castle, but we still have indoor plumbing and central heating, cable and broadband. We’re traditionalists, not barbarians.”

  We moved on. It was good to be moving at last, after so much talking. It felt like I was accomplishing something. I didn’t know where Molly was, or what had happened to her, and I needed to know. Good news or bad, I needed to know. Because the strain of not knowing was like a knife in my gut. And yet for all my worries, and all my sense of urgency, I was still fascinated by the interior of Castle Inconnu. I’d read the family’s files on the London Knights, compiled down the years from a fact here and a rumour there, but as far as I knew, I was the only Drood ever to be invited inside. Officially. I peered about me as we hurried along, trying not to seem too much like a tourist. I knew my family would expect me to make a report on all this, afterwards. I didn’t see that as betraying the Seneschal’s trust; I’d already decided I would mention only those things on open display and keep the Seneschal’s secrets as my own.

  I looked surreptitiously around for surveillance cameras, or any other forms of security system, but I couldn’t see anything. Probably still there; just concealed. I didn’t say anything to Sir Perryvale; presumably he’d already dealt with everything that needed taking care of.

  The great towering walls we passed were all constructed from the same creamy white stone; glowing brightly, spotlessly clean. Each separate stone had been expertly laid into place, set so tightly and perfectly together there was no need for mortar. But no windows anywhere, to provide an outside view, not even an arrow slit. I had no idea where Castle Inconnu actually was. For all I knew, there was nothing at all outside.

  The broad stone corridors were decorated with hanging tapestries and colourful pennants, in sharp, vivid hues. Stained-glass windows blazed in the connecting walls, depicting scenes from the lives of the Saints, ancient and modern. I particularly liked the one of Mother Teresa drop-kicking a possessed leper off a tenement roof. Huge silver crucifixes had been mounted at regular intervals along the walls, in a variety of styles from a variety of periods, along with a number of surprisingly tasteful little shrines. The huge open marble floors were covered with intricate mosaics of London Knights in their armour, fighting armies of monsters in the mud and blood of alien battlefields, under strange night skies with unknown constellations. Fighting for their dream. King Arthur’s dream. Of might for right, instead of might makes right.

  The Seneschal and I passed quickly through a number of elegant stone galleries, huge banqueting halls with long, extended tables that seemed to go on forever, and wonderful indoor gardens with trees and fountains and flower displays that reminded me irresistibly of the Drood grounds. There were even comfortable gathering places with tables and chairs set out in front of bistros and restaurants.

  “We do like our morning coffee,” said Sir Perryvale, hurrying along. “No better way to start the day than with a chat and a gossip over the morning papers. Nothing like a black coffee, thick as tar, to get your heart started on a cold morning. I wish I had time to give you a proper tour, Eddie.”

  “I wouldn’t be able to concentrate,” I said.

  “Of course, my dear chap. Molly must come first. I quite understand. But if whoever has taken Molly had wanted her dead, they would have killed her right there in the Wulfshead while you were distracted. And they didn’t. Which definitely implies they have a purpose in mind for her. And after all, my dear fellow, she is Molly Metcalf. If there is anything at all to her legend, that young lady can take care of herself.”

  “Usually, yes,” I said. “But this whole business seems to be linked to the Big Game, and the Powers That Be . . . Personages strong enough to break through the Wulfshead’s notoriously tough security measures. I didn’t think anyone could do that. I’m worried they’ve taken Molly because they want her to do something for them. And the longer they have her in their power, the more time they’ve got to . . . persuade her. One way or another.”

  Sir Perryvale shot me a concerned look. “You have time, Eddie. You must believe that. Or you’ll never get anything done.”

  “But what if they’re using that time to . . . do things to her?”

  “I re
fer you to my previous answer,” Sir Perryvale said sternly. “That the infamous witch of the wild woods is perfectly capable of kicking the crap out of anyone who upsets her. I’m right, aren’t I?”

  I smiled despite myself. “There is that, yes.”

  “You mustn’t let a big impressive name like the Powers That Be get to you,” said Sir Perryvale. “In my experience, the bigger the name people give themselves, the less there is to worry about.”

  “What if they’re not people?” I said. “And what if we gave them that name?”

  “Just concentrate on what’s in front of you, Eddie,” Sir Perryvale said kindly.

  * * *

  We finally came to a halt in a great open space, surrounded by stairways leading up and up, and floors and floors rising around us. For the first time I got a real sense of the scale of Castle Inconnu. It wasn’t just a building; it was a whole world in itself.

  “Impressed?” Sir Perryvale said calmly.

  “Yes,” I said. “It reminds me a lot of Drood Hall. But where is everybody? We’ve covered a lot of ground, and I haven’t seen a single soul anywhere. Has something happened?”

  “Our Grand Commander, Sir Kae, has led the Knights off into battle against some other-dimensional threat to the Earth,” said Sir Perryvale. “Apparently something really nasty is brewing.”

  I looked at him, frowning. “What threat is that? I haven’t heard anything. I’m sure somebody would have said something at the Hall if my family had known . . .”

  “We do rather specialize in such things,” said Sir Perryvale, in an only faintly patronising tone of voice. “You Droods protect Humanity, but in the London Knights we set our sights somewhat higher. We keep an eye on the bigger picture.”

  “And who decided that?” I said.

  The Seneschal shrugged, just a bit vaguely. “The Knights and the Droods did both start out at roughly the same time in history, give or take a century or two. Doubtless . . . people got together, and agreements were made. As to territory, and responsibilities. To prevent . . . disagreements, and even clashes. It’s probably for the best that the London Knights aren’t here right now. Most of us don’t get on with Droods. Professional courtesy is all very well, but . . . Of course, to be fair, we don’t get on with anyone, much. There’s nothing like defending this world for centuries, against all comers, highly successfully, to convince you that you’re always right. Mind you, we nearly always are. It’s a matter of attitude, I suppose . . . You understand, Eddie.”