From a Drood to A Kill: A Secret Histories Novel

by Simon R. Green

  “Why not?” she said harshly. “Why not kill him? After what he would have done to us?”

  “Because that would mean playing the Game,” I said steadily. “I won’t kill, Molly. And I won’t see anyone killed. Not for them.”

  “Not even for me?”

  “He’s no danger to us now,” I said.

  She sniffed loudly and lowered her gun. “Odds are he’ll try to kill us again, the moment he wakes up.”

  “Then we’ll just have to beat the Game before he wakes up.”

  We both looked up sharply as a great shadow fell across us, blocking out the street lights and the blazing neon signs. The shadow kept spreading, covering the whole street. Because up in the night sky, the huge full moon was growing steadily larger. Falling at last, crashing towards us, descending with increasing speed to destroy everything beneath it.

  “Oh, come on!” said Molly. “Who’s doing that? I’m not doing that!”

  “I think the Powers That Be are annoyed with us,” I said.

  “Sore losers!” Molly screamed at the rapidly descending moon.

  “It’s time to go,” I said. “You’d better let go of this world so we can move on to a new one.”

  “I can’t!” she said. “I don’t know how! I’m trying, I’m concentrating, but nothing’s happening!”

  I tried too, but I couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything but the huge moon dropping out of the sky onto me. Which was probably the point. So I looked up at the massive white pock-marked face and met its gaze steadily.

  “All right,” I said. “We’ll do it the hard way. Pay attention. I don’t believe in you.”

  And the falling moon exploded into an incredible fireworks display. Bright burning colours, shining and sparkling, shot across the night sky. I braced myself, expecting a shower of burning meteors, or crashing moon fragments, but it was all just lights in the sky. Putting on a good show for the Powers That Be. Molly oohed and aahed, and clapped her hands delightedly. And when the last of the lights died down, I looked around and discovered that the world had changed again while I wasn’t looking.

  * * *

  Molly and I were standing together, side by side, in a place that made no sense at all. I couldn’t even be sure what we were standing on. There were shapes and structures and surfaces all around us that made me think of some freakish three-dimensional maze, or maybe even four or five dimensions. I couldn’t tell what anything was, or even how it all connected. Just looking at the shapes that made up this new world made my head hurt. Nothing stayed the same from one moment to the next. It was all shifting, changing . . . There were huge floating objects that seemed to turn themselves inside out as I looked at them. There were things that might have been buildings, or at least structures, with too many sides and too many angles. Things came and went, without any clear purpose or meaning. It was like being caught in a nightmare, trying to force yourself awake, and finding you can’t.

  Whose world was this? Who made this? Who would want to make something like this? I was sure none of it came from anywhere inside my head. I was less sure about Molly, but it seemed unlikely. She’d always been very practical and level-headed, for a witch. And then I made myself pay more attention to my immediate surroundings, as I realised there were living things, or things that looked like they might be alive, crawling over some of the nearer surfaces. Things that might have been creatures, or people, or people becoming creatures . . . that I could only see out of the corners of my eyes. When I looked at them directly, they weren’t there. But they did seem to be sneaking closer.

  Great Voices boomed from Above, and terrible sounds rose from Below, while flaring colours exploded around strange structures I couldn’t even put a name to. This ever-changing world threatened to take my mental breath away, but I could cope. I’d had Drood training, and I’d been around. I’d visited other worlds, other dimensions, even other realities. If all of this was supposed to throw me, they didn’t know anything about my family. I’d survived growing up in Drood Hall, and if you could cope with that, you could cope with anything.

  I thought about armouring up, but decided not yet. It might look like an admission of weakness, or even fear. And while this new world was quite definitely as weird as all get-out, I hadn’t seen anything yet that struck me as a real threat.

  Molly clutched at my arm, and I jumped, just a little. When I looked at her, I was surprised to see real distress in her face.

  “Eddie, I don’t like this. Do something . . . I’m scared!”

  For the first time, I was really worried. Because this wasn’t like Molly. Unless she was Seeing something I wasn’t. I put a comforting arm across her shoulders and held her close. She felt reassuringly real and solid, in this place of ever-changing things. And then someone said my name, and I looked up.

  And there he was. Chandarru; dressed in flowing and highly decorated Oriental robes, to accompany his traditional Chinese look of long moustaches and pigtail. The look an old-time theatrical audience would have expected from a Chinese stage magician.

  He floated effortlessly before us, sitting perfectly at ease on a throne made of monstrous bones held together by rotting threads of flesh. Some of them were still steaming, as though only recently pulled from the insides of dying things. It was hard to tell how far away Chandarru was. Hard to judge any distance in this place. He could have been close at hand or far away, both or neither.

  He smiled benignly down at us, in a really irritating way.

  “This is where I came in search of enlightenment. To this place between places, where nothing comes from and everything returns. I journeyed here to study with the Hidden Masters, in their spiritual redoubt. You might say this is what Space and Time look like when seen from the other side. This is where I learned many amazing truths and much secret knowledge. Most of it not in the least what I was expecting. The true nature of reality isn’t at all what I was hoping for. Came as something of a shock, in fact. I’m afraid it is necessary that you die now, Drood. And your little friend. I can’t let you stop me. Not when I still have so much more to learn.”

  “And then what?” I said, cutting across what promised to be another long explanatory lecture. “What will you do? When you’ve finally learned all you can, all that the human mind can encompass? What then?”

  “That is one of the things I have yet to learn,” Chandarru said serenely. “Maybe I’ll just take a good look at the way our world is going, and then wipe everything clean and start over, with something better.”

  “You haven’t learned a damned thing,” I said.

  Chandarru looked startled, even shocked, by the hard certainty and judgement he heard in my voice. For the first time he looked uncertain. He sat up straight on his throne, as though challenged. He glared at me, pulling his dignity about him, and I ignored him to look at Molly.

  “How are you doing?”

  “Better, thanks.” She grinned at me cheerfully. “Sorry. Something about this place just got to me, for a moment. I’m back. What do you need, Eddie?”

  “You have more experience with the odder realms of magic than I do. Does this place seem . . . I hesitate to use the word real, but I suppose it will have to do for want of anything better . . . Does all of this look real to you? Are we where we appear to be; or are we still in the Game?”

  “Hard to tell,” said Molly, peering dubiously about her. “It seems authentic enough, but then it would, wouldn’t it? But the bottom line is . . . I can’t believe a second-rate conjurer like Chandarru has the power to take us out of a world created by the Powers That Be. So this is almost certainly just some place he’s called into being because he feels important and powerful here. We’re still in the Game. Still being watched by the Powers That Be . . . no doubt waiting eagerly to see what we’ll do next. If I knew which direction they were in, I’d flash them.”

  “Have any of your magics r
eturned?” I said carefully.

  “Not yet,” said Molly, scowling fiercely. “Right now I couldn’t pull a hat out of a rabbit.”

  “Enough muttering!” snapped Chandarru. He sounded peeved that we weren’t paying any attention to him. “It’s time for both of you to die! There can only be one survivor, one winner, in this Game.”

  I turned unhurriedly back to face him. “You really think you can take down a Drood? We don’t die easily. That’s the point.”

  Chandarru gave me his best smug smile. “But you’re in my world now. And that makes all the difference.”

  “No, we’re not,” I said.

  “What?” said Chandarru.

  “If you were half the sorcerer you claimed, you’d know that,” I said. “Except you do know that, don’t you? Or you wouldn’t still be concerned with winning the Game. Nice bluff, conjurer, but we have to deal with reality. What really matters.”

  “What?” said Chandarru. “What?”

  “Look, we don’t have to do this,” I said. “We don’t have to fight and die to entertain the Powers That Be. We can work together. Find our own way out of this mess.”

  “No,” said Chandarru. “We can’t. You’re a Drood, you see. I could never trust you. Or, for that matter, the infamous Molly Metcalf. After everything I had to promise, all I had to swear myself to, to pay for my terrible learning . . . I really can’t afford not to win this Game.”

  I did my best to remain calm and reasonable. “Listen to me, Chandarru . . .”

  “No! No more talking! I am the amazing Chandarru, Master of the Occult and Lord of the Abyss! And you are in my power!”

  “Knock it off!” I said. “No you aren’t, and no we aren’t. This is all just another trick.”

  “What?” said Chandarru.

  “All you ever are is a collection of tricks,” I said. “A stage magician who desperately wanted to be something more. So you reinvented yourself. Went on the road, talked to all the right people, immersed yourself in weird shit like this . . . But even after everything you claim to have learned, you’re still just running tricks in front of an audience. All of this . . . is just another stage setting. None of it’s real. So the powers you claim to derive from this place can’t be real either. But this armour I wear, it’s real.”

  I armoured up, and concentrated . . . and a set of steps appeared before me, floating on the air, leading all the way up to Chandarru on his bony throne. The steps glowed golden, just like my armour. Chandarru gestured frantically at them, trying to make them disappear, but his willpower was no match for mine. I ascended the steps towards him. He stood up abruptly, and threw handfuls of his crackling green lightning at me. They flickered and flared all around me, spitting and sparking as they sank into my armour and were absorbed without trace. I never felt a thing. Chandarru drew himself up, and threw change spells, disappear spells, and distortion spells at me . . . and they all just detonated harmlessly against my armour. Chandarru hesitated as I kept heading straight for him, and then he hit me with the strongest curse magic he had. It rebounded from my armour and struck him down.

  The throne disappeared, leaving Chandarru floating unconscious in mid-air. His Oriental costume disappeared, and he was back in his formal stage outfit. He looked smaller, less impressive—and strangely peaceful now he wasn’t having to pretend all the time. I stood over him and armoured down. Molly hurried up the steps to join me.

  “I suppose you won’t let me kill him either?”

  “No,” I said. “Does this mean we’ve won the Game? I mean, we’ve run out of competitors.”

  “No,” said Molly. “It’s not over yet.”

  * * *

  The world snapped off, and for a long moment there was nothing but an impenetrable darkness. I reached out blindly for Molly, and her hand found mine. We held on to each other tightly, until light flared up again, dazzlingly bright. When I could see clearly again, we were standing in the main entrance hall of Drood Hall. I think it’s fair to say, it was the very last place I was expecting to see. Molly gave my hand a reassuring squeeze, let go, and looked quickly about her.

  “We’re back in Drood Hall? Does that mean we’re out of the Game? Out of the Shifting Lands, at last? Eddie! Have your family intervened and brought us home?”

  “Doesn’t seem likely,” I said. I stood very still, carefully studying my new surroundings. “I’m not in contact with my current handler, so there’s no way anyone in my family could know where I am. The whole point of the Shifting Lands is that they’re out of the Droods’ reach, remember? And anyway, even if my family had somehow tracked me down . . . they wouldn’t override a field agent in the middle of a mission and just yank him out of trouble. It’s not the way we do things. No, Molly, this isn’t real. It’s a fake Hall, like the fake grounds I originally appeared in. I think the main clue is it’s far too quiet. Listen . . . there’s not a sound anywhere. The Hall is many things, but it’s never quiet. There’s always people around, hurrying back and forth on family business. And by now the Serjeant-at-Arms would have burst out of his private office, demanding to know how we got in here without setting off all the security alarms. And probably challenging my very right to be here, because that’s what he does.”

  I walked over to a nearby table, picked up a heavy silver platter, and slammed it down hard on the tabletop. It made a hell of a racket. The sound carried loudly in the quiet, echoing on and on. But there was no response anywhere. I waited till the last echoes had died away, and then turned to Molly.

  “Told you. Nobody home.”

  I glanced at the silver platter, prior to replacing it on the table, and then I stopped and looked at it more closely.

  “What’s wrong?” said Molly.

  “It’s just an ordinary platter,” I said slowly, turning it back and forth. “No engravings, no decoration, nothing to suggest a significant history . . . It’s just . . . ordinary. And Droods don’t bother with ordinary things. This is blank, unfinished. As though the details haven’t been filled in. Like a stage prop.”

  “Another clue?” said Molly.

  “Right . . .”

  I put the platter down on the table. Molly looked it over.

  “It’s still silver,” she said brightly. “If I had a big enough pocket, I’d take it with me.”

  I had to smile. “You must be feeling better.”

  Molly shrugged, and looked quickly about her. “It all seems real enough. Familiar, in all the right ways. But then I suppose it would, if it’s come from your memories.”

  I didn’t say anything. I didn’t think I was responsible for this setting. I hadn’t called for it. But I supposed it could have come in answer to some subconscious need to replace the dark void left by the removal of Chandarru’s world.

  “Maybe we’re here because you felt the need to be somewhere safe,” said Molly.

  “Safe? Here? In Drood Hall?” I said. “You must be joking. You should know better than that, Molly.”

  “Well, this isn’t going to be coming from my mind, is it?” Molly said sharply. “You know I can’t stand this place! So what do we do now? If you don’t like it here, I suppose we could take a look outside.”

  “No,” I said. “I’ve already seen the fake grounds, and they aren’t up to much. I think we were brought here by someone else. For a reason. And almost certainly one we’re not going to like. There must be something here that matters, something significant to the Game.”

  “All right,” Molly said resignedly. “Let’s take a look around, see what there is to see. Maybe I can find a few useful items small enough to fit into my pockets.”

  I suddenly realised Molly was holding the gun she’d acquired in the Nightside. “Why have you still got that gun, Molly?”

  “They took away my magics,” she said, not looking at me. “I have to have something.”

  I felt as
though I should say something, but I couldn’t think what. In the end, I just nodded. She had a point.

  I strode off down the hallway, Molly trotting along beside me. Taking a close look at everything that seemed as though it might be valuable. I thought about fairy gold, which turns to leaves when returned to the real world, but I said nothing. The more I saw, the less the Hall felt right. I checked to see that we both had shadows, and that our feet were making the right kind of sounds on the waxed and polished wooden floor. Everything was as it should be . . . but I couldn’t escape the feeling that something wasn’t right.

  When you know you’re in a trap, the Devil is always going to be in the details.

  And while I knew this wasn’t the real Hall, there was no getting away from the fact that part of me wanted it to be real. To put all this madness behind me, and be home again.

  I glanced at the line of portraits of old, dead Droods, the honoured departed, that stretched all the way down the long wall, from our oldest paintings to the most recent photographs. When seen out of the corner of my eye, they all seemed strangely blurred, only to snap into sharp focus whenever I looked at one directly. And sometimes it seemed to me that a face here and there would turn to follow me as I passed. Everything else seemed dependably real and solid, and properly detailed. But I couldn’t shake the suspicion that something important was missing.

  On a sudden impulse, I moved quickly over to a side door and slammed it open, and there on the other side was the room I’d been heading for. But it shouldn’t have been there, behind that door. I ran down the hallway, with Molly hurrying to keep up, loudly demanding to know what was wrong. I kicked open the door at the end of the hallway, and there was the room again. Only this time, it was where it should have been. Molly looked back down the hall, and then back at the end room, and shuddered briefly.