Moonbreaker

by Simon R. Green

“They probably thought the Demon Droods would be family first, and demons second,” I said. “And we know how well that worked out. Molly, those demons really are getting very close now. Tell me you’ve got something . . .”

  “Fortunately, I have been here before,” Molly said quickly. “You’re not the only one the Librarian likes to talk to. He once told me there are books in the Old Library powerful enough to eat anyone who tried to read them, so a long time ago one particular Librarian had his Armourer whip him up a little something to keep the more dangerous books in their place.”

  She struck a pose, concentrated, and stuck out one hand. Something flashed through the air, flying out of the stacks to slap into her waiting hand. A long, slender golden wand, glowing brightly in sudden pulses. Molly looked at it and then grinned nastily at the Demon Droods. They came to a sudden halt.

  “A repurposed elven wand, coated in Drood armour and weaponised with preprogrammed attack spells,” Molly said proudly. “Given that it was designed to keep Major Grimoires in line, it should be able to deal with this bunch of arranged marriages with delusions of grandeur.”

  “To tell the truth,” I said, looking at the wand, “I was hoping for something a bit more . . . dramatic. I’m still going to have to go head-to-head with the Demon Droods, aren’t I?”

  “I can’t do everything for you, Eddie.”

  “Terrific . . .” I turned to Peter, grabbed him by the shoulder, and gave him a good shake, until his eyes snapped back into focus again.

  “Man up, Peter! You’re a field agent! And, more importantly, a Drood. So start acting like one!”

  He nodded jerkily. “Yes. Sorry. I’ve been out of the field too long. I’d forgotten how fast things can go bad on you.” His back straightened and his chin came up, and just like that he was the last of the very-secret agents once again. “First rule of any agent in the field: If your horse throws you, shoot the ungrateful thing in the head and replace it with something more reliable. You’re right. We can do this. Though I would welcome any advice anyone might happen to have. I’m getting a bit old for fisticuffs.”

  “You’re the one who knows about the Demon Droods,” I said. “Can we give them orders, in the family’s name?”

  “No,” said Peter. “No one could. That’s one of the reasons we put them in a prison within a prison—just in case. Look, I’m really sorry I destroyed the Grim Gulf. It honestly never occurred to me Edmund would just disappear like that!”

  I turned to Molly. “Any chance your wand could hold the Demon Droods back long enough for us to reach the painting, get the hell out, and seal it behind us?”

  “We’d never make it,” Molly said flatly.

  “So we stand and fight,” I said.

  “Suits me,” said Molly. “I really am in the mood to hit someone.”

  “Never knew you when you weren’t,” I said generously. “Peter, it’s time. Armour up.”

  We subvocalised our activating Words, and our armour swept over us in a moment. Immediately I felt stronger and faster, and so sharp I could cut a thought in half. All the aches and pains and bone-deep weariness from the poison that was killing me disappeared. It felt so good to feel human again. I looked at Peter in his armour, and he didn’t look like an old man any more. He looked like a Drood agent. The Demon Droods stirred uneasily, their barbed tails lashing restlessly back and forth.

  One demon strode forward, slapping a heavy wooden stack out of his way as though it weighed nothing. The shelves exploded at his touch, and books flew everywhere. I stepped forward to meet the Demon Drood, and his savage smile widened. Heavy batwings extended, curling out and around him to block off any side attacks. The Demon Drood put forward his golden hands, to show off the vicious claws, and then seemed a little taken aback when I didn’t even slow my approach. Back in his day, his appearance was probably still frightening, because it was what people expected from a demon out of Hell. But now it was just a cheap joke, a caricature. Hell has moved on; its horrors have become more personal. I should know—I’ve seen enough of them. The Demon Drood stopped, almost shocked that I wasn’t intimidated, and I took advantage of his hesitation to reach up and punch him right where his eyes should have been.

  The power behind that punch would have ripped anyone else’s head off, but the Demon was still a Drood. His head snapped all the way round, but he recovered in a moment. A golden hand shot out so fast I didn’t even see it coming, and vicious claws slashed across my throat . . . only to skid away in a shower of sparks. A sudden confidence ran through me as I realised he hadn’t even scratched my armour. I laughed out loud, and the Demon Drood froze where he was. Because that was the one response he hadn’t been expecting. I glanced back at Molly and Peter.

  “Okay, people. We are back in the game! These Droods are from so long ago they’re still wearing Heart armour; no match for the strange matter Ethel provides. All we have to do is hold them off until their armour runs down and disappears back into their torcs!”

  “And then we kick their heads in,” said Molly.

  “Right!” I said.

  “Unless they kill us first,” said Molly.

  “Well, yes,” I said. “Try not to let that happen.”

  Peter stepped up beside me and punched the Demon Drood so hard in the gut he actually went stumbling backwards. Peter laughed delightedly. The Demon Droods surged forward in a pack, howling like the fiends they were. And Peter and I went to meet them. Barbed claws slammed into my armour again and again, hitting me from every side, and even though they couldn’t break through, the sheer impact from so many blows sent me staggering this way and that. I struck back with all my armour’s strength, and Demon Droods went reeling away, shaking their horned heads dazedly. Their great golden wings flapped uselessly, just getting in the way. There wasn’t room to fly in between the towering stacks. I forced my way into the midst of them, striking out savagely. And every time my fists struck home, armour on armour, there was a sound like the tolling of great golden bells.

  Peter spun and pirouetted like a young man, striking down the Demon Droods with happy enthusiasm. He avoided most of their blows, and blocked the rest with an upraised arm that was always just where it needed to be. He was faster, stronger, smarter than the Demons. He swept their legs out from under them, kicked them in the head when they crashed to the floor, and laughed out loud.

  Molly darted around the edges of the fight, stabbing her wand every time she had a clear shot. Golden armour cracked and splintered under the magical impacts, but always repaired itself. She blasted one Demon Drood right through a heavy wooden stack, destroying any number of books, but he rose from the wreckage unharmed. Molly cursed dispassionately. The wand hadn’t been designed for this kind of warfare.

  The fight surged back and forth through the Old Library, doing terrible damage to irreplaceable books and precious manuscripts. Because the Demon Droods didn’t care, and we were fighting for our lives. The Demons surged around us, striking out with vicious strength, attacking us from every direction at once. Terrible claws slammed in out of nowhere to slice along my rib cage. The claws skidded away in a squeal of sparks, but the impact was enough to drive the breath out of me. I staggered backwards, caught off balance, and a punch from a golden fist almost took my head off. Peter was quickly there at my side, driving the Demon back with incredible speed and strength. In his armour he wasn’t old and frail any more, and he gloried in it. He danced among the Droods, ducking and dodging everything the enemy could throw at him, buying me time to recover. I was seeing him as he used to be, in his prime, but I had to wonder how long that would last. I got my breath back and returned to the fight.

  We were holding our ground but we weren’t hurting them, and they knew it. The Demon Droods never grew tired and never slowed down. They pressed forward constantly, their fists slamming down like golden hammers—because even old-style Drood armour was made strong enough to
shake the world. We’d been fighting for some time now, but they showed no signs of losing their armour. Perhaps their demonic nature supplied it with new energy.

  One of the Demon Droods lifted a whole standing stack into the air to throw at Molly. The books flew off the shelves in a rustling cloud and circled him menacingly. The Demon Drood threw the shelving aside and struck out at the books with his golden hands, but they avoided him easily. They all closed in at once. And when they fell to the floor, just books again, there was no trace remaining of the Demon Drood. Some books in the Old Library really don’t like to be disturbed.

  I fought the Demon Droods with all my strength and speed, delivering punches that would have cracked open a mountain, to no avail. Peter was moving so quickly now the Demon Droods couldn’t even get close to him. We clubbed the Demons down, again and again, while magics from Molly’s wand exploded among them, throwing them this way and that. But for all our efforts we weren’t damaging or hurting them. And I knew we would break before they did.

  So, when all else fails, cheat. I fell back on the one ace I still had tucked up my golden sleeve. Marked very firmly as ONLY FOR REAL EMERGENCIES. I raised my voice.

  “Pook! This is Eddie Drood! Look what they’re doing to your Library!”

  And just like that, there he was. The great white rabbit himself, standing a little off to one side. Tall and dignified in a Playboy Club smoking jacket, with a martini in one paw and a monocle screwed firmly into one pink eye.

  “What is all this noise?” he said crossly. “And who’s responsible for all this mess?”

  The Demon Droods took one look at the Pook and immediately backed away. They were afraid of him. Perhaps because their demonic senses Saw more of him than mere mortal eyes ever could. The Pook threw aside his martini and lunged forward, a fierce white blur, right into the midst of the Demon Droods. And in a moment, they were all gone. The Pook turned unhurriedly back to face me and Molly and Peter, and smiled easily.

  “Tasty . . .”

  I armoured down so he could see who I was. Though I was pretty sure he already knew. I’ve always been pretty sure the Pook knows anything he wants to know. Peter armoured down, his eyes wide and his jaw dropping. Molly lowered her wand, as though it had suddenly become very heavy.

  “How?” said Peter. “I mean, what?”

  “You’ve never met the Pook before, have you?” said Molly.

  Peter shook his head, lost for words. Now he no longer had his armour to hold him up, he looked old and frail again, and his eyes were terribly lost. After all his years in the field, after everything he’d seen and done, he was finally faced with something beyond his knowledge and experience. Demons are scary enough, but whimsical Things that shouldn’t even exist can be downright unnerving. I cleared my throat and addressed the Pook as calmly as I could manage.

  “Took you long enough to show up.”

  “I was busy. And don’t ask with what, because you wouldn’t understand. And even if you did, you wouldn’t want to.”

  “But how?” said Peter.

  “I am the Pook. Be grateful.” The white rabbit looked around him, as though staring past the Old Library at the Hall beyond. “What have you been doing in my absence? Oh, I see. Honestly, I turn my back on this family for five minutes . . . There. I’ve lowered the force shield around the Hall, shut down Alpha Red Alpha, and reinstalled the spatial suppressors. Everything’s back to where it should be, and I strongly suggest you leave it there. So much eccentric geometry was getting on my nerves.”

  He started to turn away, but Molly called quickly after him.

  “Pook! Don’t go. Eddie is sick. Dying. Please, can’t you do something to help him?”

  The Pook looked at me. “No.”

  And just like that, he was gone. I smiled, slowly and just a little bitterly, and nodded to Molly.

  “That’s the Pook for you.”

  “I really thought he might be able to help you,” said Molly.

  “I didn’t,” I said.

  Molly looked at her golden wand, and threw it away. It shot off through the air, disappearing into the stacks. Molly sniffed. “Those things never turn out to be as much use as you hope. Let’s get out of here. We have to track down Edmund. Again.”

  “First things first,” I said. “Peter, I have a question.”

  The old man gathered around him what was left of his dignity and met my gaze steadily.

  “Only the one question? Then you haven’t been paying attention.”

  “Come on, Eddie,” said Molly.

  “Wait,” I said. “This is important. Peter, you said certain members of the family entered into alchemical marriages with Heaven and Hell. Some became the Demon Droods, and we know what happened to them. But what about the Angelic Droods?”

  “Is that your question?” said Peter. “What happened to them?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Because in my experience, you can’t trust agents of Heaven or Hell.”

  “You’re right,” said Peter. “That is an important question.”

  He turned and walked away, heading out of the Old Library. I looked at Molly, and she looked at me. And all we could do was go after him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Angels of No Mercy

  Drood Hall was back to what passed for normal.

  The corridors were empty, the halls were wide open, and everything was where it should be and as it should be . . . with none of my family around to spoil the moment. Not a trace remained of all the weird and threatening things and people my family had decided we were better off not knowing about. Just as well. Drood Hall was weird enough as it was, without my family’s past sins screaming for attention.

  I let Peter lead the way through the Hall, hanging back so I could talk privately with Molly. Peter had already made it very clear he wasn’t interested in talking about the things I wanted to talk about. So I let him plod on ahead like the tired old man he sometimes was, scowling fiercely and muttering to himself. A man shouldn’t be interrupted when he’s communing with his conscience.

  “I should have held on to some of the things we saw,” I said quietly to Molly.

  “Why would you want to do that?” said Molly. “You’ve never been one for souvenirs, and I prefer not to clutter up my life with things. Unless they’re valuable, of course. Or pretty.”

  “I was thinking more about evidence,” I said. “Now the forbidden rooms and their contents have been forced outside reality again, there’s nothing left to back up my story when I tell it to the Matriarch.”

  “You’ve got me,” said Molly. “And I’d like to see anyone call me a liar to my face. I really would.”

  “Oh, they wouldn’t argue with you or me,” I said. “Not openly. But you can bet the Matriarch would use a lack of any actual hard evidence to justify putting off an official investigation until everyone had forgotten about it. The powers that be in this family have always supported the status quo over everything else.”

  Molly nodded slowly. “I have to say, Eddie, some of the things your family had tucked away appalled even me. And I have a very high appal level. But what good would it do, really, to bring it all out into the open? At best it would undermine your family’s morale, and at worst it wouldn’t.”

  “It’s the principle of the thing,” I said.

  “You do realise you are talking to someone who wouldn’t recognise a principle if she tripped over it in the gutter,” said Molly. “Forget the principle; go with the practical. The bad shit is gone, and can’t hurt anyone any more. Who else in the family knows about this stuff, apart from Peter?”

  “The Matriarch must know some of it,” I said. “And probably the Sarjeant-at-Arms. He’d have to know, so he could be ready to defend against it. What worries me is that we only have the spatial suppressor fields to keep the forbidden rooms at bay. What happens if the fields go down
again, either through sabotage or just . . . age? My family needs to know about these things, not just as a warning from history, but so they can guard against their return.”

  “We could always have a quiet word with the Armourer,” said Molly. “Have Maxwell and Victoria whip up something that would make it impossible for any of the bad stuff to come back. You know they live to solve problems like that.”

  “They’d talk to the Matriarch first,” I said. “To make sure she’d approve. Max and Vicki have always liked having an authority figure to cosy up to, so that when things inevitably go wrong in the Armoury they’ve got someone on their side. And I don’t think the Matriarch would want anyone messing with this. Because even the worst of the removed things might be needed someday. No, she’ll just want to make it all go away and never have happened, so everyone can forget about it as soon as possible.”

  Molly looked at me thoughtfully. “You seemed to know an awful lot about some of the things we saw. Can I ask . . . ?”

  “I used to run this family,” I said.

  “You never talked about any of this before.”

  “Family secrets aren’t always mine to share.”

  “You don’t trust me!” Molly said accusingly.

  “Where things like this are concerned,” I said, “I’m not sure I even trust me.”

  “What is it you want to do, Eddie?” Molly said patiently. “What do you think is for the best? Tell the truth and shame the devil, or at least your family, and to hell with whatever damage that does? Or just let it all stay forgotten, so it won’t give people nightmares?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It just seems to me that people shouldn’t be allowed to do things like this and get away with it.”

  “Welcome to my world,” said Molly.

  We walked on together for a while. It was all very peaceful in the Hall, like the calm before a storm.

  “Do they give you a really big book when you take office?” Molly said finally. “Called something like A Hundred and One Things You Don’t Know about the Family but Really Should?”