“I don’t use weapons,” said Bruin Bear. “In fact, I think if the time ever comes when it becomes necessary for me to take up a weapon, that will mean the end of the world is nigh.”
“Trouble is, he’s probably right,” said the Sea Goat. “Don’t worry, Bear. You stick with me, and my really big stick. I’ll protect you. Just as I always have.”
“Whether I approve of your methods or not,” said the Bear.
The Sea Goat smiled down at the Bear, surprisingly tenderly. “That’s what friends are for, old chum.”
I stood beside my uncle Jack, subvocalised my activating Words, and armoured up. The strange matter flowed around and over me, surrounding and sealing me in, all in a moment. And immediately I felt stronger, faster, smarter. Like snapping fully awake after a long doze. A Drood in his armour, again and at last.
“This is how it should be,” the Armourer said approvingly, looking out over the ranks and ranks of the generic army. “Fighting against impossible odds, for the ashes of his father and the temples of his gods.”
I looked at him. “What?”
The Armourer sighed heavily behind his featureless golden mask. “It’s a quotation! From Macaulay’s ‘Lays of Ancient Rome’! Don’t they teach children the classics any more?”
Molly came forward to stand on my other side. Stray magics flared and discharged on the air around her. The generic spokesman stood at the front rank of his army, staring at us with his blurred, unfinished face.
“Please,” I said to him, as earnestly as I knew how. “I don’t want to have to do this. Stand down. Please.”
“No,” said the generic spokesman. “You must die. All of you. The Shadow Bank regulates Humanity. Keeps you under control. This is necessary. You cannot be allowed to run free. We know better than you what is good for you. We live to serve, to make you behave. Surrender. You cannot win.”
“Lot you know,” I said.
I started forward, and the others came with me. The generic army surged forward to meet us, like a great living wave. No weapons in their hands, just thousands of outstretched arms determined to drag us down and tear us apart. I raised my golden hands before me. Metal spikes rose up from the armoured knuckles of my left hand, while a long golden sword blade extended from my right hand.
Even then, at the end, I wanted to save them. But they weren’t what I thought they were. So I went forward to kill as many of them as I had to, to get to the hotel and do the right thing.
One more time.
* * *
The generic army came rushing forward in an awful, focused silence, intent on violence and murder. Their outstretched hands clenched and unclenched convulsively, desperate to tear and rend our flesh. Their blurred, characterless faces never changed. The spokesman was quickly swallowed up in the crowd as they all moved forward with the same swift, eerie synchronisation. The first of them slammed into me, and their vicious hands broke against my golden armour. They tried to force me backwards, drag me down, overwhelm me by sheer force of numbers, but they’d never faced a Drood in his armour before. I stood firm, and would not fall, and would not retreat. I cut about me with my golden sword, thrusting and slashing, its impossibly sharp edge slicing through flesh and bone alike. I swept the blade back and forth like a golden scythe, and generic men fell dead and dying before me. Thick dark blood flew on the air, splashing against my armour. The blood ran quickly away, dribbling down onto the grass, and the earth. I moved steadily forward, step by step, striking about me with undiminished strength. Men with exactly the same face died before me, and not one of them cried out in pain or shock or fear.
I led the way and the others came with me, and together we committed slaughter under a starry sky with too many moons.
There were thousands in the generic army, swarming all around us, grabbing at our arms and legs, our necks and heads, fingers raking like claws, fists hitting us with savage force. But that was nothing to Drood armour. The strange matter soaked up the impact of their blows and deflected the rest, so I wouldn’t be distracted from the messy business of killing. I struck fiercely about me with my golden sword, forcing my way forward, and a whole army wasn’t enough to stop me.
The Armourer was right there on my right hand, striking about him with his golden fists with grim precision. He had never been a soldier, but he had been a field agent in the Cold War, one of the most quietly savage wars of recent times. He struck generic men down, and none of them ever rose again. He strode forward over their bodies, old man though he was, raised in an older time of relentless, remorseless duty. He would not be slowed or stopped or turned aside, because he was a Drood.
Molly jumped and danced and spun on my left hand, laughing out loud in sheer exhilaration as she let loose her magics. It was enough for her that she finally had a clear enemy, a chance to strike out at last, after so many frustrations. She threw fireballs with one hand, and lightning bolts with the other. When she tired of that she stabbed a pointing finger, and whoever she pointed at exploded into bloody gobbets. She laughed happily, but her face was never cruel. She just believed in doing everything to the best of her ability, and enjoying her accomplishments. The enemy came at her, determined to kill her horribly, and she laughed in their faces and killed them all. Molly always was a better fighter than me.
I caught glimpses of the others, as we went to war.
Sir Parsifal wielded Ex Caliburn with practised skill and silent fury. Cutting down every generic figure who came against him, moving always on to the next target. He fought for duty and honour and the protection of Humanity, as a London Knight should, and there was no room left in him after that, for small things like mercy or compassion. I don’t think he cared who he was fighting, it was enough for him that they had been declared the enemy. He strode heavily forward in his armour, slamming the dead and the dying out of his way, singing a martial hymn behind his steel helm. Blood soaked his armour, falling away to be replaced by fresh. Sir Parsifal lived to fight the forces of evil. For him, this was a good day.
J. C. Chance thrust his Hand of Glory out before him—a wrinkled, withered thing whose stick-like fingers had been made into candles. The fingertips burned with a constant blue flame that never went out. And wherever J.C. pointed the monkey’s paw, the generic men just froze up and fell paralysed to the ground. They fell in waves as he swept the nasty thing back and forth, and he strode easily over the unmoving bodies. Sometimes a generic man would get too close, and then J.C. would glare into the unfinished face with his glowing gaze, and they would scream and fall away, writhing in horror on the bloody grass. J.C. would laugh at them as they fell, and something in that sound made me shudder, just for a moment.
Natasha Chang waved her piece of secret tech around, almost aimlessly, as though wafting clouds of bug spray on the night air, but wherever she pointed the thing, generic men would just softly and silently vanish away. Gone, disappeared, banished out of existence. I had no idea whether they were dead or not, but given Natasha Chang’s reputation, I had my suspicions. She laughed like a child as she stepped daintily over dead bodies, making men disappear forever.
Dead Boy just hit everyone who came within reach. He advanced happily into the ranks of the generic men, lashing out with the terrible strength of his dead arms. Flesh and bone broke under his blows, but he felt nothing, nothing at all. Hands grabbed at him from every side, fastening on to the deep purple greatcoat, but all their strength put together wasn’t enough to stop him, or even slow him down. He punched heads and smashed faces, broke arms and backs and necks, striking everyone down who came at him, hammering generic men to the ground and then happily trampling them into the bloody dirt. They couldn’t hurt him, and they couldn’t frighten him, because the worst possible thing had already happened to him, years before.
Bruin Bear and the Sea Goat brought up the rear. And when the generic men would push past the rest of us, hoping to attack us from the rear, they came face to face with the Bear, and stopped dead in their tracks
. Because they had never seen anything like him before. They bowed their heads and bent their knees to him, and adored him. Because he was that sort of Bear. And they had waited all their lives to meet someone like him, without ever knowing it. The Bear moved slowly, steadily forward, smiling on them all, patting them on their lowered heads with his fuzzy paw. The Sea Goat stuck close behind him, watching carefully, but his shillelagh was never needed.
Finally, I fought my way up a grassy slope to reach the Casino Infernale hotel. The generic men fought ever more desperately, but they couldn’t stop me. I reached the front door to the lobby, and Molly was immediately there at my side. I kicked the door in, and the two of us burst into the deserted lobby. I spun around and locked the door, and my uncle Jack was right there to set his back against the locked door and defy anyone to get past him. To buy Molly and me time to find the Shadow Bank’s head-quarters. Because they would have to kill him to get past him, and there weren’t many good enough to take down Jack Drood.
But, it did rather put the pressure on me, to get a move on.
I armoured down, and Molly and I leaned on each other for a moment, to get our breath back. Killing is hard work, slaughter even more so.
“All right,” Molly said finally. “What do we do now? That hopefully doesn’t involve any actual effort, or even strenuous movement.”
I looked around the lobby. The place was completely deserted, and eerily quiet. “Well,” I said. “I was hoping to ask a member of the staff for directions, but . . .”
“They probably grabbed the petty cash and ran for their lives the moment it became clear everything was going tits up,” said Molly. “I would have. I did check there weren’t any people present, before I brought the hotel here. I do think these things through! Because I know you worry about things like that. . . . What are we looking for, exactly?”
“Computers,” I said. “Records of financial transactions, details on all their clients. Everything the generic people need to run the Shadow Bank. They’ve got to be here somewhere. . . .”
“It’s a hell of a big hotel,” said Molly. “We haven’t got time to search it top to bottom.”
“Ah!” I said. “Where is the one place we went that drove the people in charge here absolutely batshit?”
“Parris’ private office!” said Molly. “And since I’ve already been there, I have enough coordinates for a personal teleport!”
“Do you have enough magic left for that?” I said carefully. “Only I’d hate for only part of us to make it there. . . . Wouldn’t it be easier to find a dimensional door and use that?”
Molly looked at me pityingly. “Would you trust one, right now? Or even the elevators?”
“Good point,” I said. “Almost certainly booby-trapped. It’s what I’d do. But, are you sure you’ve got enough magic. . . .”
“Shut up, and let me concentrate,” said Molly. She scowled deeply. Beads of sweat popped out on her forehead. She snapped her fingers, and just like that, we were in Parris’ private office.
We’d only just arrived when Molly cried out and grabbed on to me to stop herself from falling. I held her up, and glared about me, but there was no obvious threat anywhere.
“What is it, Molly?”
“A null!” said Molly. “There’s a major null operating here! Ripped the last of the magic right out of me. Bastards!”
“Hold on, Molly,” I said.
I subvocalised my activating Words, and my armour slammed into place around me. Because there isn’t a null big enough anywhere to keep a Drood from his armour. I glared about me through my golden mask, with all its augmented vision, and it took me only a moment to track down the null generator. I could See it clearly, hidden behind a wall. I lowered Molly carefully onto the nearest chair, behind the desk, and hurried over to the wall. I ripped it apart with my golden hands, and wood and plaster flew in all directions. The generator stretched all along the wall, a thin layer of unfamiliar high tech, with moving parts and glittering lights. I plunged both hands into the exposed machinery and tore it apart, piece by piece, glancing back over my shoulder to see what effect I was having. Molly remained slumped in her chair, her face worryingly slack, until I finally found the right piece to destroy. And then all the lights in the wall went out and Molly sat bolt upright, smiling widely with relief.
“Oh, that is so much better!” she said loudly. “That’s it. I’m back. I hadn’t realised how low I was running till I didn’t have anything left to keep me going.” She grinned at me. “I knew there had to be a reason why I kept you around.”
I armoured down, and went back to join her at the desk. Molly quickly used her magic to override the desk’s security systems, and the built-in computer immediately showed her where the hidden switch was. She hit it, and the whole wall behind her slid smoothly to one side, revealing a huge open area beyond, packed full of computers and high-tech equipment.
“We were so close, all along, and never knew it,” said Molly.
“We weren’t completely ourselves then,” I said consolingly.
“Bloody well are now,” growled Molly. “Come on, let’s go take a look around, and see what trouble we can cause.”
“That’s always worked for me,” I said.
We moved cautiously forward into the computer room. A large, gleaming white hall, full of rows of massive machines, towering above us, falling away in every direction. We wandered between rows of machines I didn’t even recognise, let alone understand, like children who had ventured into adult territory for the first time. It was hard not to be overawed by the sheer scale of things. . . . but, we had been to the Martian Tombs.
“I think . . . we are looking at the financial records and dealings of every suspect organisation in the world,” I said. “Probably a lot of political stuff, too, the kind of things most of us are never supposed to know about. The Shadow Bank couldn’t do what it needs to do if it didn’t have political support . . . all the secret deals, the hidden agreements, all the bribes and blackmail of the private world. All here. Makes the actual Crow Lee Inheritance look small. . . .”
“Never thought I’d see the actual Shadow Bank’s inner workings with my own eyes,” said Molly. “Who owes what, who owns what . . . Look, Shaman, Eddie, whoever you are right now—we have to consider the possibilities. If we were to take control of this, just you and me, we’d have the power to put everything in the world right, at last. Make everyone place nicely with each other. We could put an end to all the bad guys, forever.”
“Power corrupts,” I said. “We couldn’t do this on our own. We’d have to bring in my family. And the Droods are already far too powerful for their own good. I’ve had to pull them back from the brink once; this could push them right over the edge. If my family were to take control of the Shadow Bank, even for the noblest of reasons, we’d end up becoming the Shadow Bank. No. My family can’t be trusted with this. No one can. That’s the point. Better to destroy everything, and destroy the temptation that goes with it. Wipe all these records, and we financially cripple all the right people. And scare everyone else enough to give my family an advantage. I think that’s the best we can realistically hope for. A fighting chance. Which is, of course, all my family has ever needed.”
Molly sniffed loudly. “Sir Parsifal probably wouldn’t agree with you.”
“Just as well he’s not here, then,” I said. “Or any of the others.”
“You’re not tempted, even a little bit?” said Molly. “Isn’t there anything you want?”
“Just you,” I said.
“You always know the right thing to say,” said Molly. “Do you have any idea how annoying that is?”
“Yes,” I said.
We shared a smile, and then looked round again.
“Destroy it all,” I said. “Wipe it clean, and put an end to the Shadow Bank, at last. What do you think, Molly—a series of fires or one really big explosion?”
“You know how to spoil a girl,” said Molly. “Blow it all u
p!”
“And us, along with it?” said a quiet voice.
I looked round sharply, as a single generic man came out from between the huge machines. He was wearing a white lab coat that made me think immediately of my uncle Jack. He shuffled forward, almost tentatively, his hands held out before him to show they were empty. Molly brought up one hand, stray magics already spitting and crackling on the air around it, but I grabbed her arm, and made her stop. There was something about this one; he didn’t look dangerous, or menacing.
“What are you doing here?” I said. “Why aren’t you out fighting with the others?”
“One of us always has to be here,” he said. “To keep an eye on things.”
“You’re really the only one here?” said Molly, glaring suspiciously about her. “Because I swear if I see anyone moving around in the shadows, I will turn them inside out and leave them that way.”
“Just me,” said the generic man. “But what one of us sees, we all see. You know the rest. There’s always one of us here to see the machines run smoothly.”
“So, you’re the generic caretaker,” I said. “Are you going to give us any trouble?”
“I can’t stop you, whatever you decide to do here. I know that. But please, you must understand. Destroy the computers, and you destroy my people. We serve the Shadow Bank through these machines. We were made to serve. We will die without a purpose. We almost died out before the Shadow Bank’s original owners found us. I don’t believe we could survive another loss of purpose. Are you ready to commit genocide?”
“Hell yes,” said Molly. “After all the evil the Shadow Bank’s made possible? All the suffering and horror you people have been responsible for? And, you just tried to kill us!”
“After everything you’re responsible for,” I said to the generic caretaker. “Now there’s a thought. . . . No, I won’t be responsible for wiping you out. That’s the difference, right there, between you and me. I’ve got a much better idea. What if I was to give your people another purpose?”
Casino Infernale sh-6 Page 42