From a Drood to A Kill: A Secret Histories Novel

by Simon R. Green

  The moment I drew near the door, it swung open before me, and bright, healthy sunlight spilled through, pouring into the gloomy moor from the world beyond the door. I laughed aloud. The sunlight spoke of a sane and normal world, and I wanted it. I strode forward, though a small part of me was still thinking, Another damned door that could lead absolutely anywhere. Getting really tired of that . . . I stepped through the door, and fell into an ocean.

  * * *

  I dropped into the waters like a lead weight, plunging under the surface in a moment, sinking deeper and deeper. I thrashed helplessly as the weight of my armour pulled me down, and the bright light from the surface quickly faded away, becoming a dull green haze. I swam with all my armoured strength, kicking for all I was worth, but it did no good. The sheer weight of my armour worked against me, overcoming all my best efforts.

  The green light became steadily darker, the deeper I went. I soon lost all sense of direction, even which way was up. Panic burst inside me, at being so lost, and helpless. I had nothing to orientate me, nothing to see or hear or touch in the cold, empty dark. It was like a bottomless sensory deprivation tank. I could feel my heart racing, hear my ragged breathing, because they were inside my armour. I felt so alone . . . it was actually peaceful. Such a relief, to have nothing to fight any more. Nothing to disturb me, nothing I needed to do . . . But there was. I couldn’t rest, couldn’t give in, not while Molly still needed me. My thoughts snapped back into focus, and I grinned despite myself, under my golden mask. Whenever I weakened, whenever I lost my way, I could always rely on Molly to rescue me.

  My armour was the problem. It was allowing me to breathe, but it was dragging me down. It couldn’t help me, so it had to go. I armoured down, and immediately the terrible freezing cold of the dark waters hit me like a hammer blow. The shock of it was nearly enough to kill me. I thrashed my arms and legs, trying to swim, but the cold was inside my head, numbing my thoughts, and I couldn’t think what to do. I tried to concentrate, to make something solid under my feet, solid enough to stop my descent, as I had in the mire . . . But the cold was so awful, so overwhelming, it dominated my thoughts. I couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything else. My thoughts raced in a dozen different directions, and got nowhere. And I had only a little breath left in my lungs, to get me back to the surface.

  I seized on that thought. Keep it simple, keep it practical . . . I let a little air seep out of my mouth, and felt the bubbles bump against my face as they rose past it, heading for the surface. Now I knew which way was up. I forced the last of my strength into my legs, and kicked hard. I felt my descent slow, and stop; and then I began to rise up through the waters. New confidence forced more strength into my arms. I could barely feel them through the freezing cold, but I made them work through sheer willpower.

  I swam up, and up, and the green light returned. It seemed to take forever, fighting my way up out of the dark and back into the light, my heart slamming painfully in my chest, my lungs fighting me, demanding I open my mouth and take in a breath I knew wasn’t there . . . but once again Drood self-control kept me going. I shot up through the brightening green light, and then my head burst through the surface of the ocean, and I could breathe again.

  Bright sunlight dazzled me as I drew in air, and for a while all I could do was just bob there, struggling to keep my head above water, breathing in that glorious air. Still half dead from the awful cold, frozen to the bone, my body was wracked with terrible shakes and shudders, enough to endanger my attempts to stay afloat. But soon enough my vision cleared and I looked around me. I was floating in the middle of an ocean that seemed to stretch away forever. The sun beat down on the peaceful waters, out of what seemed like a clear Summer sky. Though if there was any warmth in the sunlight, I couldn’t feel it on my numb face.

  A voice called my name. It seemed to me that it might have been calling to me for some time. I slowly turned around in the water to look—and there was Molly, standing precariously in a small rowing boat, some distance away. She waved vigorously at me, once she saw she had my attention, and then had to stop and fight for balance as her boat rocked dangerously. She didn’t seem to have any oars, or any way of moving her boat closer to me. Which was typical of the situation I’d found myself in so far. I sighed heavily. Tired, exhausted, and frozen to the bone as I was, I would have to go to her.

  I swam steadily towards the rowing boat, carefully doling out the last of my strength. There had better not be any sharks in this ocean, I thought. Because the mood I’m in right now, I’d eat them. I lumbered slowly through the water, fighting to keep my head up, and finally got to the boat. I clamped one hand onto the side, and then just hung there. I looked closely at my fingers, to make sure they were holding on tightly, because I couldn’t feel them. I was so damned tired . . . Molly knelt down in the boat, talking to me, but her words made no sense. I couldn’t even answer her. In the end, she had to haul me out of the water and over the side.

  I collapsed in the bottom of the boat, as it rocked uneasily back and forth from the violence of our movements. I tried to say something to Molly, but couldn’t force it past the chattering of my teeth. She lay down in the bottom of the boat with me, saying my name over and over, and hugged me fiercely to her; pressing the whole length of her body up against mine, so she could share her body warmth with me. I was so cold I must have hurt her, but she never said a word. And slowly, blessedly, the cold left me. The shakes stopped, and feeling returned. I grimaced at the pins and needles, but I welcomed them too; they were a sign of life returning. After a while, I got my breathing under control again, and was able to sit up in the boat, with Molly’s assistance. She sat back and looked me over carefully. I managed a small smile for her.

  “We have got to stop meeting like this.”

  “Ho ho ho. Where the hell have you been?”

  “Sinking, mostly. Where is this place? Did you make it? Why did you choose an ocean?”

  “Of course I didn’t make this!” said Molly. “I don’t even like the seaside. The Cathedral disappeared on me, everything went dark . . . I tried to call on my woods, but when the light returned I was here. I suppose I should be grateful I appeared in a boat. Even if the bloody thing doesn’t have a sail or a motor.”

  I remembered Walker saying that the Shifting Lands responded more to mood and emotion than to willpower. I also remembered, now that it was far too late, strolling along the bottom of the ocean floor with Walker and the Somnambulist, and being able to breathe perfectly normally. I should have concentrated on that while I was underwater, but the cold had been so bad, so overwhelming . . . Just because the world you’re in isn’t real doesn’t mean it can’t kill you if you let your guard down. Worth remembering.

  “Still!” Molly said cheerfully, “At least we’re back together again. I knew if I just concentrated hard enough, I could fashion a door that would find you and bring you here.”

  “Hold on,” I said. “I made that door!”

  “Yeah, right,” said Molly. “Pull the other one; it plays the Bells of St Mary’s. Maybe we could use the door to get out of here!”

  But when we looked there was no sign of the door anywhere. While we were distracted, it had softly and silently vanished. First rule of the Shifting Lands: if you don’t keep concentrating on things, they disappear.

  “I could call it back,” said Molly.

  “I rather doubt it,” I said. “And even if we did, I’m not sure we could trust it. A door like that . . . there’s no telling where it might take us. We need to do better than that.”

  “Like what?” said Molly. “Wish up a motor for the boat? I’ve already tried, and got nowhere. It would probably help if I had some idea how an outboard motor works . . .”

  “No,” I said. “We need to think bigger. We need to change this world for a better one.”

  I’d stopped shivering almost completely now, and it suddenly occurred to me that
there was no need for me to be soaking wet any longer if I didn’t choose to be. One hard thought later, I was bone-dry. Molly saw me do it, swore briefly, and made all the damp disappear from her clothes, from where she’d hugged me. She grinned at me.

  “There are advantages to being stuck in an artificial world,” she said brightly. “I wonder if I could call up a whole new wardrobe . . .”

  “Let’s concentrate on what’s right in front of us for the moment,” I said carefully. “This is a Game, and the other people playing in it will kill us, given half a chance. Now, I am looking around and I don’t see land anywhere. I intend to change that. I shall start by calling for an island.”

  I sat cross-legged at the bottom of the boat and concentrated, focusing all my thoughts on the one idea. There was a sudden disturbance in the waters under the boat, and it rocked crazily from side to side. Molly and I had to cling to the sides to keep from being thrown overboard. Molly peered over the side, and made a startled sound.

  “Take a look, Eddie. You really need to see this.”

  I looked over my side, to help balance the boat. Something from far below was rising up through the dark waters, something really big. And it was heading straight for us. I tried to think of some way to move the boat, but it was so hard to concentrate with that huge shape sweeping up out of the depths . . . It slowed at the very last moment, to press hard against the underside of the boat. Lifting it up out of the waters. And then it stopped. The boat grew still. It was clear I’d called something from inside my mind, and brought it into this world, but what? I looked at Molly.

  “You need to hold my legs.”

  “I do? Why?”

  “Because I need to lean right over the side of this boat, to see what it’s currently resting on. And I don’t want to take any chance of falling out until I knew what’s what.”

  Molly grumbled under her breath, but took a firm hold of my legs as I leaned out over the side and looked down. And then, back and forth, taking in the familiar and very suggestive shape of what had risen up beneath us.

  “Ah,” I said.

  “Ah?” Molly said suspiciously. “What do you mean, ah?”

  “It’s . . . a whale,” I said. “Very large, and very white. I have an awful feeling . . . it’s Moby Dick.”

  “What? You’re kidding!”

  “Apparently not,” I said. “I can see the shape of it quite clearly. It would appear my subconscious mind moves in mysterious and only slightly helpful ways . . .”

  “How is this going to help us?” said Molly, just a bit dangerously. “What is a whale going to do? Swim us to land somewhere? Except there isn’t any land that I can see!”

  “Good point,” I said. “I want an island, dammit!”

  I concentrated again, taking a firm hold on my thoughts. I frowned until my forehead ached, and when I opened my eyes the waters were receding, rushing away in every direction. And when I looked over the side of the boat again, the white skin of Moby Dick was gone, replaced by what gave every appearance of being a sandy white beach. The boat was now resting on a small tropical island. Not a very big island; more the kind you see in a cartoon, just big enough for the two people necessary for the joke. White sand, and a handful of coconut trees. The ocean had pulled back, but it looked to me like it would just love to sweep straight back in again if I let it. I gave it a stern look, told it to behave itself, and then turned to Molly.

  “Welcome to my island!” I said grandly. “Take a walk; stretch your legs.”

  I lifted her up and put her over the side of the boat, lowering her carefully onto the white sands. She kicked at the ground suspiciously, and then glared about her.

  “It’s not much of an island, is it?” she said. “I mean, I could walk around the thing in under a minute.”

  “Well,” I said, “it is my first island. It’s . . . traditional.”

  “Underachiever,” said Molly.

  She walked over to the nearest coconut tree and looked up. A dozen or so nuts were clustered under the broad leaves, all of them well out of reach. Molly kicked the tree trunk, hard. A single nut broke free, and dropped obligingly into her waiting hands. She then realised she didn’t have anything to cut it open with, so she smashed the nut against the side of the tree. The nut obligingly broke open, to reveal that it was empty. Hollow, with not a scrap of meat or a drop of water. Molly gave me a disgusted look and threw the nut away.

  “I guess I didn’t imagine the place clearly enough,” I said. “It’s all in the details . . . Come on, though; be honest! It’s still an island. And islands have one very useful advantage over boats.”

  “Oh yes?” said Molly. “Like what?”

  “Islands very rarely sink.”

  “All right, you’ve got a point there.” She looked around her, hands on her hips. “We still need something more . . . useful. This whole world feels like a trap to me. I say we get the hell out of here. Go somewhere else completely!”

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” I said. “All right, brace yourself. I think I may be getting the hang of this.”

  I concentrated again, and felt the world move under me. It was like flexing a muscle I hadn’t known I had. And when I looked again, the boat and the island were gone, and Molly and I were standing in a London street.

  * * *

  And not just any street; we were standing on Oxford Street, with all its familiar shops and settings . . . not far from where I’d left it earlier. I allowed myself to relax a little, happy at being in a place I not only recognised but one that gave every indication of being entirely unthreatening. I did stamp my feet on the pavement a few times, surreptitiously, just to check that it wasn’t going to suck me down. I’d had enough of that. Molly slipped her arm through mine to show I was forgiven, and grinned at me.

  “I know this! Oxford Street, right? Have you transported us back there? Out of the Shifting Lands?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m pretty sure this is just another fake. Something that only looks like Oxford Street. Pretty damn close, though. All the details seem right.”

  “It’ll do,” said Molly. “But why did you choose this street, in particular? Did you want to go shopping?”

  “I was just here,” I said. “I’d been visiting Castle Inconnu.”

  Molly gave me a hard look. “What the hell were you doing there, with those stuck-up little prigs?”

  “A story for another day,” I said.

  My voice trailed away, as I realised something was wrong after all. Something was very wrong with Oxford Street. There were no people, no traffic, no noise or movement or signs of life anywhere. Why hadn’t I noticed that immediately? The whole street was horribly still and silent. Like a stage setting before the play has begun. Molly’s grip on my arm tightened as she realised it too. She looked quickly about her, and then took a deep breath, regaining control of herself. She gave me an encouraging smile. It looked cheerful, but strained.

  “You’re starting to get the hang of this, Eddie. It just needs . . . a little more work.” And then she stopped, and frowned. “Actually, you know . . . this does sort of remind me of something. Do you remember Casino Infernale, when I played the game of World War with the Bones Man? We created familiar backgrounds for us to fight in. This is the same sort of thing, but on a much larger scale. We can do this, Eddie! We just need to practise . . .”

  I shook my head. “I’m not playing any Game for the Powers That Be. Where they get to decide what the rules are, and change them when they feel like it. That gives them far too much of an advantage for my liking.”

  “But there isn’t any way out,” said Molly. “The only way to leave the Game is to win it. And that means . . .”

  “I know what it means,” I said. “And I don’t do that any more.”

  “Then what . . .”

  “I’m still working on it, okay?” I looked up an
d down the long, empty street. “Where is everyone? Where are the other competitors?”

  “I thought you didn’t want to play the Game?” said Molly, amused.

  “I don’t,” I said. “I’m mostly concerned with finding Charles and Emily . . . But I do think we need to locate the other three players. Before they find us. If they can force their way into this world, who knows what control they might have over it? Change the setting, change the rules, find new ways to attack us . . . Can you use your magic to find any of them?”

  Molly scowled, looked down at her feet, and then shook her head reluctantly. “My magic’s gone. I’ve been trying to access it ever since I arrived in the Cathedral, but nothing works. I think the Powers That Be did something to me, the bastards!”

  “They took your magic away?” I said. “Why would they do that?”

  “Perhaps to give you more of a reason to fight,” said Molly. “If I can’t defend myself in the Game, you would have to get involved. To protect me.”

  “Damn,” I said. “You’re right.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to be such a burden to you!”

  “You know I didn’t mean it that way . . .”

  But she just turned her back on me and folded her arms tightly, sulking. Molly can take the strangest things personally.

  Trees shot up out of the pavement and the road, hundreds of them, blasting up all around us. Huge, towering trees, soaring into the air, until Oxford Street was gone, overgrown and replaced by a dark, brooding forest. Broad-boled trees with wide-stretching leafless branches, set unnaturally close together. Nothing between them but patches of forest gloom.

  At first I thought this might be Molly’s doing, that because she was upset she’d summoned a setting she could feel more comfortable in. But it quickly became clear we weren’t anywhere in Molly’s familiar wild woods. This was a darker, far more threatening place. The light falling in heavy shafts through the overhead canopy of intertwined branches was trying to be golden sunlight, but it was curdled, spoiled. As though the whole forest setting was somehow corrupt. No wildlife anywhere, not even the smallest living thing moving among the trees. Not even any shrubs or grass, and the dark earth at my feet looked more like mud and ashes. As though the trees were growing out of dead matter. Molly and I moved quickly to stand close together, ready for any attack.