“She’ll have recovered by now,” I said confidently. “Hard-headed creature like her . . . and I don’t think she’ll bear a grudge. She is Crowley Project, after all. She’ll have done worse.”
“You are clearly too dangerous to be allowed to live,” said the generic spokesman. “You have to die. You have to die now.”
“Too late,” I said. “Listen, can you hear the sound of approaching hooves?”
The whole generic army raised their eyes to the sky again as the sound of pounding hoofbeats filled the night . . . and then they all fell back abruptly, pushed back by the godly pressure of a whole bunch of White Horses appearing out of nowhere, to stand in a great circle around Molly and me. It was the same Horse, appearing simultaneously in several places at once. You could tell. The Horse’s presence slammed on the air, like a living thing, like an endless roll of silent thunder.
He was currently bearing several rather surprised-looking riders. The Horse turned his several heads to look at them, and they all dismounted quickly, in their various ways. After which all the Horses seemed to just . . . slide together, until there was only one—the living god of Horses, standing before Molly and me. He bowed his great white head to me, winked briefly, and was gone.
“Is that the end of our favours, do you think?” said Molly, practical as always.
“Who can tell with a living god?” I said. “Or a Horse.”
My uncle Jack was the first to come forward and greet me. The others all seemed preoccupied with the surrounding army, which was only natural. The Armourer smiled easily at me, in a vague and confused sort of way. He was wearing his usual lab coat, with fresh chemical burns steaming all down one scorched and blackened sleeve. He looked at me reproachfully.
“I was just in the middle of something important, you know. But it is hard to say no to a Horse like that, particularly when it’s just appeared right in the middle of the Drood Armoury, passing right through the Hall’s defences as though they weren’t even there, and without setting off a single alarm. . . .”
“He’s the living god of all horses,” I said. “I don’t think they do defences or alarms. And I did sort of promise Ethel she could have the Horse as a companion.”
“Oh, well,” said the Armourer. “Someone for the dragon to play with. As soon as I’ve finished growing a body for his head. Hello, Eddie! Hello, Molly!” He looked about him. “Do I understand correctly that you’re in some sort of trouble?”
“These are the generic flunkies,” I said. “They want to kill me. And Molly.”
“Ah,” said the Armourer. “Can’t have that, can we?” He fixed the generic spokesman with a hard look. “Any of you make even one move I don’t like, and I’ll let my lab assistants have you for experiments!”
“Trust me,” I said to the somewhat bewildered generic spokesman. “That is probably the worst threat you have ever heard. So behave.”
“When I agreed to attend the Summit Meeting on Mars, I had no idea I’d been conscripted into a war,” said J. C. Chance, striding forward to join us in his bright ice-cream white suit. He glared about him with all his usual cockiness, apparently not bothered in the least by the sheer numbers surrounding us. “Not that I’m complaining, you understand. Always ready to do really horrible things to villains and scoundrels, but I do normally like a bit of warning. If only so I can stock up on really nasty weapons. I mean, there I was, just on my way home from the pub, when suddenly I am kidnapped by this really big horse! And before I know it, I’m riding through the dimensions without benefit of saddle or bridle.”
“He doesn’t like bridles,” I said. “He got you here safely, didn’t he?”
“Wherever here is,” said J.C. “I take it from the sheer overwhelming numbers that those are the bad guys? Why have they all got the same face? Are we talking attack of the clones?”
“Something like that,” I said.
“I don’t even want to know how that Horse got into the toilets at Strangefellows,” said Dead Boy, looming over everyone in his dark purple greatcoat, scowling at everyone with his dark fever-bright eyes.
“What were you doing in a toilet?” said Molly. “You’re dead.”
“I still eat and drink,” said Dead Boy, reasonably. “It’s got to go somewhere. Often suddenly and violently and all over the place. When I’m short of funds I bottle it, and sell it to the Little Sisters of the Immaculate Chainsaw for use in their emergency exorcisms.”
Perhaps fortunately for all our tender sensibilities, Dead Boy was interrupted by the arrival of Sir Parsifal, clanking loudly in his plate steel armour, his plumed helmet stuffed under one arm. He frowned at the generic army, and the nearest rows actually fell backwards a few steps.
“We are used to horses in the London Knights,” said Sir Parsifal. “They are our companions, our war chargers, our partners in the great cause. King Arthur recognised the White Horse the moment it appeared in our Court. I was honoured to be chosen, to be carried here to fight the good fight. Is this all of us?”
“Pretty much,” I said.
“Good,” said Sir Parsifal. “More deaths at our hands, more honour for us all.”
“I don’t know about the clones,” said J.C., “but he scares the crap out of me. I may hide behind him, once the advance starts.”
“That does sound like you,” said Natasha Chang, striding elegantly forward to join us. “I am not even going to discuss what I was doing when the Horse appeared out of nowhere to carry me away . . . I just hope the cleaning lady will untie him in the morning, if I’m not back.” She stopped, to glare at the Sea Goat as he came ambling forward with Bruin Bear.
“Living gods are two a penny in Shadows Fall,” the Sea Goat said loudly. “And I hate riding horses. Makes me feel sea-sick.”
“You stay away from me, you . . . animal,” said Natasha.
The Sea Goat leered at her, showing large blocky teeth in his grey muzzle. “Come on, sweetie—in Crowley Project terms, what we did was practically foreplay.”
Bruin Bear shook his head. “Can’t take you anywhere. . . . Hello, everyone. Good to see you all again.”
And the thing was, he meant it. You could tell. He was just that sort of Bear.
“It’s good to see you again, Eddie,” the Armourer said gruffly. “I brought you a gift. From Ethel. I’ve been holding on to it ever since you left.”
He held out a simple golden circlet, and I took it from him with an unsteady hand. Immediately the circlet opened, and shot forward to wrap itself around my neck. It was all I could do to keep from crying out. I had my torc again; I had my armour again. A Drood again, at last. I stood up straighter, and grinned savagely around me. I was back! I was Eddie Drood, and let everything and everyone in all the worlds beware! I threw my arms around Uncle Jack, and hugged him fiercely. He patted me awkwardly on the back, till I was finished. We’ve never been very good at the touchy-feely stuff in my family.
“All right,” said J.C. “I am now officially confused. I was told Shaman Bond was infiltrating Casino Infernale.”
“Shaman is my use name,” I said. “My cover identity, when I’m out in the field. I hope you’ll all keep this knowledge to yourselves, or I will have to track you down and kill you in inventive and highly distressing ways.”
“Yeah,” said Dead Boy. “He’s a Drood.”
Molly was looking at the generic spokesman, who’d retreated almost all the way back to the front row of his army. He actually flinched as she fixed him with her gaze.
“You’re in trouble now, boys,” Molly said loudly. “The gang’s all here. Surrender now, and avoid the rush.”
“We outnumber you,” the generic spokesman said stubbornly. His face was pale and his eyes were wide, but his voice was still steady. “There are thousands of us, to your handful. You cannot win. You must all die so that the truth you know dies with you.”
“Truth?” said the Armourer. “And what truth might that be? Have you been keeping something from us, Eddie? I think
you need to bring us all up to speed, boy.” He shot the generic spokesman a heavy glare, from under his bushy white eyebrows. “Anyone, and I mean any one of you, who makes the slightest aggressive move, or tries to interrupt us while Eddie’s talking, will be made a horrible example of for the others.”
“Yeah,” said Dead Boy. “He’s a Drood too. No one does a nasty threat like a Drood.”
And he must have been right, because the generic army just stood there and did nothing, while I gave all the original members of the Summit Meeting a short, concise version of what had gone down at Casino Infernale, and what I had learned about the true nature of the Shadow Bank, and the Crow Lee Inheritance. I showed them the silver key, and they all expressed polite amazement over how such a small thing could be so dangerous. None of them interrupted while I talked. They were all good listeners. They were, after all, professionals. When I finally finished I liked to think they were all looking at me, and Molly, a little more respectfully. Even the London Knight.
“So,” said Sir Parsifal. “The war over the Crow Lee Inheritance is finished before it began. A non-starter. Pity. I would have liked to get my hands bloody, punishing the various dirty factions. But”—and here he looked out over the standing rows of the generic army—“I suppose these will do.” He picked out the generic spokesman with his cold fierce eyes, and raised his voice. “You, fellow, there! Do you still intend to kill us all?”
“Of course,” said the generic man. “It is necessary. You cannot be allowed to stand in the way of efficiency.”
Sir Parsifal looked at me. “You want us to kill them all?”
“I think that might be beyond even us,” I said carefully. “No, I think we need to find their head-quarters, from where they actually run the Shadow Bank, and destroy it. Destroy their ability to support organised supernatural crime. Bring the whole thing down. It’s all so clear, now . . . they run things in an inhuman way, because they are inhuman. No conscience, or compassion, in their day to day business, because they have none. This cannot be allowed to continue.”
“That’s my nephew,” the Armourer said proudly. “More ambitious than a barrelful of Hollywood starlets. I’m sorry, I don’t know where that image came from.”
“But why should the rest of us fight for you, Drood?” said Natasha. “A Summit Meeting is one thing; open warfare is quite another.”
“Fair question,” I said. “For justice. To stop further injustice. So we can all be free of the Shadow Bank and the evils it makes possible.”
“So . . . I wouldn’t have to pay off my loans?” said J.C. “Sounds good to me.”
“Always did love a challenge,” said Dead Boy, beaming happily around him at the generic army.
“You cannot win!” said the generic spokesman, almost desperately. “Why do you persist in this? The situation is clear. We are many; you are few.”
“You never met anyone like us,” said Sir Parsifal. He drew his great sword, and the long blade blazed a dazzling silver on the night. “This is the sword Ex Caliburn, soaked in the blood of evil men. I have fought Humanity’s enemies on a thousand worlds, spilled alien blood in alien mud, brought down a thousand forces who thought they could prey on Humanity. I don’t see why this should be any different.”
He stood tall and proud in his gleaming medieval armour, and I believed every word he said.
J.C. stepped forward, and whipped off his sunglasses to glare at the generic army with his awful glowing eyes. “I have fought forces and beings from beyond the realms of death. Because I work for the Carnacki Institute, and we don’t take any shit from the hereafter. We exist to make sure Humanity can sleep safely in its bed at night. You? You’re just an annoyance that needs slapping down.”
The Armourer activated his armour and the golden strange matter whipped itself around him in a moment, so that he stood there like a perfect golden statue, under the stars and the moons. “I represent Drood,” he said flatly. “You know of us. You know what we can do. Stand down now. While you still can.”
When it became clear that the generic army wasn’t going to do that, Dead Boy sauntered forward, flashing his cold, dead smile. “Come on, then! Give me your best shot! I can take you! Ah, there’s nothing like a little vicious mayhem to warm the heart, once you’re dead!”
Natasha Chang sighed quietly. “Testosterone—such a curse . . . I represent the Crowley Project. You’ve had dealings with us. You don’t get to run Humanity; that’s our job. And whilst normally I wouldn’t be seen dead in present company, I will make common cause with them, against you. It has been a while since I helped commit genocide, and a girl does like to keep her hand in. . . .”
Molly looked at J.C. “Did you really go out with her for a while?”
J.C. shrugged, and smiled winningly. “You know how it is . . . it’s always the bad girl who makes a good guy’s heart beat that little bit faster. . . .”
“It was just sex,” Natasha said crushingly. “And not very good sex, either.”
Dead Boy shook his head. “Women always fight dirty.”
I looked at Bruin Bear and the Sea Goat. “I don’t know what I was thinking, bringing you guys here. You don’t belong in a war. Just . . . sit this one out, till it’s over.”
“You brought us here to be your conscience,” said Bruin Bear, fixing me steadily with his warm, wise eyes. “To make sure you wouldn’t go too far. So the Goat and I will go with you. Don’t worry; no one will harm us.”
“He’s quite right,” said the Sea Goat. “No one will lay a hand on him. He’s that sort of Bear.”
“I will guard your back,” said the Bear. “With the Goat’s help.”
The Sea Goat sniggered loudly. “Damn right. Because I’m not that sort of Bear.” And suddenly he was holding a long ironwood shillelagh in one hand, thick and heavy and carved with nasty runes. A stick made for violence. “Ah, this takes me back! Been a while since I was an action hero.”
“We were heroes and adventurers in the Golden Lands,” the Bear said sternly. “Not thugs or bullies.”
“Why are you here?” said Molly. “Really?”
“Because the Horse said we would be needed, later,” said Bruin Bear.
“And we know better than to argue with a living god,” said the Sea Goat. “Even if he is really just a stuck-up pony with delusions of grandeur.”
Molly gave up on that one, and turned back to me. “We still have to locate the Shadow Bank’s head-quarters. I don’t see any suitable candidates. Hell, I don’t see a single building anywhere! Could it be underground?”
“No,” I said. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Clearly not, or I would be looking at the bloody thing!” said Molly.
“What did we say when we first saw the Casino Infernale hotel?” I said patiently. “That it looked like an alien starship. Frankie said it could travel to anywhere in the world, just popping out of nowhere and setting down into its next location. So where do you think such a thing came from, originally?”
“Right here!” said Molly. “Good thinking, Shaman! Or Eddie . . . Never mind that now. All I have to do is concentrate on the coordinates built into the dimensional door inside the hotel, and I can manipulate that with my magic and bring the hotel here!”
“That was my idea!” I said.
“You were taking too long,” said Molly. “Now hush. I’m working.”
She frowned hard, waved one hand in a certain way, and the hotel materialised on the hilltop opposite us. On the other side of the generic army. They all cried out together in a strange mixture of anger and loss. It made an eerie, almost plaintive sound on the night. Perhaps because they’d never lost control of the hotel before. Never lost control of the situation . . . Events were moving against them, and they could tell. For the first time, for all their blank characterless faces . . . it seemed to me that they looked uncertain.
“It’s a big building,” said Molly, scowling at the massive hotel dominating the horizon. “Where, inside all of t
hat, would they hide their head-quarters? Could be anywhere!”
“I’m more concerned with the way the whole generic army is gathering together to place themselves between us and the hotel,” I said, just a bit reproachfully. “You couldn’t have landed the thing right next to us, Molly? So we wouldn’t have to fight our way through the whole generic population just to reach it?”
“Don’t you criticise me, Eddie Drood!” Molly said fiercely. I always know I’m in trouble when Molly uses my full name. She stepped forward so she could glare right into my face. “I brought that hotel all the way here from another world, by remote control! Given how far the bloody thing’s travelled, I think that is pretty damned close! Don’t you?”
“Children, children,” murmured the Armourer. “Not in front of the enemy. Or in front of the allies, for that matter.”
“Argue about it after the war,” said Sir Parsifal. “With those of us who survive. Now, come and present yourselves, all you forces for the Good. It’s killing time.”
“I will lead the way,” I said. “I will take Molly with me into the hotel to search for the head-quarters, while the rest of you keep the generic army outside and off our backs. Think you can do that?”
“Piece of cake,” said Dead Boy, cheerfully.
“I have Ex Caliburn,” said Sir Parsifal. “And my duty, and my honour.”
“I have a Hand of Glory, made out of a monkey’s paw,” said J.C. “And there was absolutely no need for all of you to look at me like that. Yes, I know such a thing is illegal under any number of internationally recognised pacts and conventions, and that you can be executed just for knowing such a thing is possible in a large number of countries, but in my defence, I don’t give a damn. And, yes, of course I stole it, so can we please move on.”
“I have my nasty piece of high tech,” Natasha said demurely, “which I don’t feel obliged to discuss. It isn’t illegal, because you haven’t heard of it. Yet.”
Dead Boy sniffed loudly. “Weapons are for wimps. Just let me get my hands on them.”
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