Moonbreaker

by Simon R. Green

Indira sniffed loudly. “We grow up fast around here.” She dropped down on one knee so she could look closely at my injury. “Take your hand off your arm, Eddie. Let the dog see the rabbit. The sooner I deal with you, the sooner I can get back to the butcher’s shop you people have made of my Wards. There are patients there who need me a lot more than you do. I’m only here visiting you now because this implacable voice in my head told me I had to.”

  “Get on with it,” said Ethel.

  The moment I let go of my arm, blood spurted from the long wound, splashing the front of Indira’s coat. She didn’t flinch. Golden gloves formed over her hands, and she murmured under her breath as she examined and probed my wound with gentle fingers. My blood didn’t cling to her gloves, just dripped steadily onto the floor. I gritted my teeth as she worked, but I wouldn’t let myself look away. I needed to know how bad it was. Indira raised one hand, and a long, slender wand appeared in it from nowhere. It looked worryingly like bone. Maybe unicorn’s horn. I’m no expert.

  “Is that the same kind of magic that allows the Sarjeant to summon his guns?” I said. Just to be saying something.

  “Yes. Probably. Only more scientific, and therefore more reliable. Now shut up while I’m working, before I decide to take a look at your prostate while I’m here.”

  She swept the wand over my wound, made the wand disappear, and then looked away to study a display only she could see.

  “Hmmm . . .”

  “I hate it when doctors do that,” said Molly.

  “You’d hate it even more if you knew what we were really thinking,” said Indira. “I can see your problem, Eddie. Your tissues are healing too slowly, and your blood isn’t clotting. Basically, all your body’s repair systems are shutting down as the poison inside you continues to make progress. We did warn you . . .”

  “Never mind that,” said Molly. “What can you do?”

  “Not much,” said Indira. She got to her feet and looked at me thoughtfully. “Do you need the bedside manner, or can you take it like an adult?”

  “Tell me what I need to know,” I said.

  “Your torc is still fighting like a trooper, keeping you alive in spite of everything the poison can do. But the only way it can do that is to fight any change to the status quo, at the expense of everything else. So even simple corrective surgery is out. Your situation is serious, Eddie, and it’s only going to get worse. You really should come down to the Infirmary, let us run some more tests.”

  “Not going to happen,” I said.

  “I could have told you that,” said Molly.

  Indira sighed loudly. “The bane of a doctor’s life: patients with minds of their own. If it were up to me, I’d just hit you over the head with something substantial and drag you out of here . . . All right, try this.”

  She knelt down before me again and instructed me on how to use extruded armour from my torc to close my wound, using a series of small golden clamps. Enough of them to seal the whole length of the injury and hold it together. When we were done, I covered my arm with the golden sheath again. Indira nodded stiffly and got to her feet.

  “That should prevent you from losing too much blood, and keep out infection. It’s not a long-term solution, but, then, you don’t need one.” She looked at me steadily. “It isn’t going to get any better, Eddie. What we just did only amounts to a holding action.”

  “Good enough,” I said. “I can live with that.”

  Indira fished inside her coat pocket, delving deep enough to suggest she had a pocket dimension of her own in there, and brought out half a dozen bottles with handwritten labels. She peered closely at each of them in turn, and finally handed one to me. I opened the screw top and looked inside. Heavy black pellets, big enough to make me wince when I thought about swallowing them.

  “For the pain,” said Indira. “Your torc should allow that. Take as many as you need. You don’t have to worry about addiction, because you’re not going to be taking them that long. And you’re well past the point where you can do yourself any damage that matters. If you get dizzy, don’t operate heavy machinery or fire really big guns. Little bit of doctor humour there. You should probably stock up with as many bottles as you can carry, Eddie, before you leave the Hall. You don’t want to get caught without them, once things start getting bad.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” I said. I popped back four of the black capsules in quick succession, swallowing hard to get them down and keep them down. Indira winced, but said nothing. I screwed the top back onto the bottle, and dropped it into my own dimensional pocket.

  “That’s it?” Molly said to Indira. “That’s all you can do?”

  “Outside of the Infirmary, yes.” She looked at me steadily. “You know this is going to get really bad before the end?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I know.”

  Indira shrugged. “Okay, I’m out of here. I’ve got patients waiting. People I can help. Try not to die on my watch, Eddie. I hate doing the paperwork.”

  She hurried out, slamming the door behind her. Molly looked at me.

  “Indira Drood?”

  I smiled. “We’ll take fresh blood from anyone who’s brave enough to join us. Droods come in all flavours.”

  Molly stood over me, fists planted on her hips. “You have to be straight with me, Eddie. Talk to me about how you’re feeling. Because if we’re going to work together to locate Edmund and put that little shit down, I need to know for sure how much of you is left that I can still depend on.”

  “Okay,” I said. “No more secrets.”

  I slowly and carefully unbuttoned my shirt, and pulled it open to show Molly the network of slender golden bands criss-crossing my chest, all the way up to my throat and down past my trouser belt. Molly put a hand to her mouth, shocked silent. Her gaze moved back and forth across the dozens of golden strips holding me together. When she was finally able to speak again, her voice was quiet but steady.

  “Is it just your chest? How many of those things are there?”

  “Lots of them,” I said. “They’re all over me now, under my clothes. Holding me together, keeping me strong. It’s not my full armour, just extrusions from my torc. Enough to keep me going. Without them, I wouldn’t be able to get around at all, never mind do what I need to do.”

  Molly’s eyes filled with tears she refused to let fall. She reached out with one hand and carefully traced a few of the golden bands with a fingertip. I sat still and let her. Eventually she pulled her hand back.

  “How long have you been using these?”

  “Some time now,” I said. “Just a few at first, adding more as I felt the need. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry. I’ve had to add a lot more, since the Demon Droods and the Angelic Droods. They took a lot out of me. I know, I should have said something. But it wasn’t like there was anything you could do to help. I have to be able to do what needs doing if we’re to track Edmund down and make the bastard pay for his crimes.”

  “Then maybe . . . we should forget about Edmund,” said Molly. She swallowed hard and looked at me imploringly. “Why let him steal from us what little time we have left? We could go back to my woods and let your family go after him. We could go for walks, spend some time in your cottage, or sit by the lake. Be together, while we still can.”

  “It’s a tempting thought,” I said. “But you know I can’t do that, Molly. I could never rest, never be at peace with myself or concentrate on you knowing Edmund was still out there, getting away with my murder. Still killing people and ruining lives while wearing my face.”

  “You know I’d track him down after you were gone.”

  “Thanks for the thought,” I said. “But I need to do it myself. Come on, Molly. If this is going to be our last adventure together, let’s make it a good one.”

  “Stand up,” said Molly.

  I forced myself up out of my cha
ir and she hugged me tightly, burying her face in my shoulder. I held on to her just as tightly.

  “I’ll never let you go, Eddie,” she said fiercely.

  “Hush,” I said. Knowing the time would come when she would have to.

  There was another knock at the door, and another young Drood came rushing in without waiting for an answer. Molly let go of me and stood back. I closed my shirt so the newcomer wouldn’t see the golden bands holding me together. He smiled vaguely at us, and Molly glared right back at him.

  “What do you want? We’re busy!”

  “Oh, don’t mind me,” the newcomer said airily. “I don’t care what people get up to in the privacy of public rooms with no lock on the door. I’m Mark, messenger for the Matriarch. I have something important to tell you. Yes. I’m sure I do . . . It was on the tip of my tongue before I came in here. I really should write these things down. Ah yes! I remember!” And then he paused to look appealingly at Molly. “Can I just say in advance, please don’t kill the messenger for the message. Or transform him into something squelchy.”

  “No promises,” said Molly. “Get on with it.”

  “What’s the message?” I said.

  “The Matriarch wants to see both of you right now, for a Council meeting,” said Mark.

  “Both of us?” I said. “Are you sure?”

  “I know!” said Mark. “I couldn’t believe it either! You could have knocked me down with a feather duster when she told me. Either she’s mellowing, or the shit has hit the fan to such an extent that it’s gummed up the works. I know which way I’d bet if I was a betting man, which I’m not.”

  And then he just stood there and smiled vaguely, until I realised he was waiting for an answer. I considered the matter carefully while Molly scowled at him.

  “The Matriarch really was terribly keen that you come right away,” Mark said tentatively. “It’s all very urgent, you see. As in, all-hands-on-deck, all-hands-to-the-pump, the-ship’s-going-down-and-there’s-sharks-in-the-water sort of thing. That’s me speaking there, of course, not the Matriarch. I’m just paraphrasing.”

  “Where is she holding the Council meeting this time?” I said, speaking right over him, since he showed no signs of stopping anytime soon.

  “In the Sanctity,” said Mark.

  “The Matriarch has moved back into the Sanctity?” I said. “Are you sure?”

  “No, I just made it up to mess with you!” said Mark. “Of course I’m sure! I’m a messenger. I deliver messages. Would you like me to lead you to the Sanctity or just leave you a trail of bread-crumbs?”

  “He’s getting sarcastic now,” Molly said dangerously.

  “Unless you’ve something important to add, I would suggest you leave now,” I said. “Probably running.”

  “No one’s ever glad to see a messenger,” Mark said sulkily. “Can I at least tell the Matriarch you’re on your way?”

  “Disappear,” said Molly.

  “Love to,” said Mark.

  In a moment he was out of the room and gone, the door closing on the sound of his rapidly departing footsteps. I buttoned up my shirt.

  “He wasn’t nearly scared enough of me,” said Molly. “Time was, I could make any member of your family wet themselves just by raising an eyebrow. I can see I’m going to have to do something extreme while I’m here, just to put them in the proper respectful frame of mind again. A fire, perhaps, or a flash flood. Or maybe something creative involving mutated cockroaches.”

  “Everyone’s just a bit stressed at the moment,” I said. “You have to make allowances.”

  “No I don’t,” said Molly. “I am famous for not cutting anyone any slack whatsoever.” She looked at me steadily. “You know, we don’t have to go to this meeting. Whatever the Matriarch wants, it can’t be that urgent. Or she’d have sent the Sarjeant-at-Arms to fetch you.”

  “But if she’s calling for both of us, it has to be something important,” I said. I rose to my feet and stretched, slowly and carefully, feeling the golden bands move with me under my clothes. I was feeling . . . not better, exactly, but good enough for the moment. I smiled at Molly. “Come on. Let’s go and be rude to the Matriarch. You know that always cheers you up. Maybe she’s got some fresh news about Edmund.”

  “He’ll be the death of you,” said Molly.

  “Yes,” I said. “And I will be the death of him, if it kills me.”

  • • •

  It took a while to get to the Sanctity, that great open chamber at the heart of the Hall, traditional meeting place for the Matriarch’s advisory Council. There were an awful lot of Droods just standing around, filling the corridors and galleries and talking excitedly, unsettled by recent events. I knew how they felt. Whatever the Matriarch had to tell me, it had better not be a surprise. I really wasn’t in the mood for a surprise.

  Two very large Droods stood on guard in front of the massive double doors that gave access to the Sanctity. As Molly and I approached, they snapped to attention and then turned quickly to open the doors and get the hell out of our way. I nodded calmly to them as we strode past, while Molly stuck her nose in the air and ignored both guards with regal indifference.

  The Sanctity seemed even larger than I remembered. And quite empty, apart from the Matriarch and the Sarjeant-at-Arms, standing together. The Matriarch gestured to the guards, and they quickly closed the doors. She seated herself carefully on a stiff-backed wooden chair, and the Sarjeant waited till she was settled before sitting down on the chair beside her. I considered the semicircle of equally uncomfortable-looking chairs set out before them. I counted four, which wasn’t nearly enough for a full Council meeting. I settled myself carefully on a chair right in front of the Matriarch. Molly dropped down onto the chair beside me, crossed her legs, and folded her arms tightly, just to make it clear she wasn’t going anywhere.

  There was no sign of the usual rose-red glow that suffused the air when Ethel was around, none of the usual sense of well-being, of All is well with the world.

  I raised my voice. “Ethel? Are you here?”

  “Hello, Eddie. Hello, Molly,” said Ethel, her voice seeming to come from everywhere in the Sanctity at once. “Everything all right now?”

  “Don’t you know?” I said.

  “Well, of course I know; I was just being polite. I’m still trying to get the hang of this privacy thing.”

  Molly scowled at the Matriarch. “Why am I here? Why did you send me for me? Normally you move heaven and earth trying to keep me out of these meetings.”

  “Because you’re not family,” the Matriarch said coldly. “And because you have a tendency to heckle and throw things. However, given the current situation, I would value your opinion.”

  “Things have changed,” said Molly.

  “Yes,” said the Sarjeant. “They have.”

  The doors to the Sanctity swung open, and we all looked round as the Armourer came hurrying in. Maxwell and Victoria looked tired and overworked, and more than usually burdened. They were still holding onto each other’s hands like babes in the wood, afraid they might get lost if they allowed themselves to become separated. I tried to remember if I’d ever seen them separately. The last time I’d seen them, they both looked like they’d taken a real beating, and their lab coats had been torn and ragged and soaked in blood. But now they had new coats, immaculately clean and heavily starched, and Maxwell and Victoria didn’t have a mark on them. They did look a bit twitchy, and their eyes were much too big, suggesting they were both relying on chemical helpers to keep them going. They nodded quickly to me and to Molly, bowed jerkily to the Matriarch and the Sarjeant, and then dropped heavily onto the seats beside me.

  “We are not late!” Maxwell said loudly. “I checked my watch all the way here, and we are right on time.”

  “You tell them, Max,” said Victoria.

  “I am telling
them, dear.”

  “Don’t you let them put you down, Max. They don’t appreciate you.”

  And then they both looked at the Matriarch, took in her expression, and stopped talking. Though given the sullen set to their mouths, I didn’t think that would last long. I took a moment to study the Matriarch.

  “Nice to be back in the Sanctity. Am I to take it your war of words with Ethel is at an end?”

  “Let’s say, more like an armed truce,” said Ethel. She sounded more amused than anything.

  The Matriarch said nothing, and her face gave away even less. The Sarjeant-at-Arms sat stiffly on his stiff-backed chair. On the back of one hand he still had a splash of someone else’s blood that he hadn’t gotten around to washing off yet. Unless he’d deliberately left it there as a statement.

  “Where’s the rest of the Council?” I said.

  “They’re busy,” said the Matriarch. “Putting the Hall back in order and reinstating all the proper protections and defences. Just in case one of our many enemies should try to take advantage.”

  The Sarjeant was about to add something to that, but broke off as the doors swung open again and the Librarian came striding in. He looked angry and aggrieved, neither of which were usually part of his temperament. He crashed to a halt and glared at the Matriarch. She stared calmly back, entirely unmoved by his entrance or his attitude.

  “What are you doing here, William? I left word with Yorith that your presence wasn’t required for this meeting. You need your rest.”

  “I am not some ancient relic or dusty old fossil, to be sat in the corner and patted on the head!” William said loudly. “I am the Librarian! I know more about this family and its workings than everyone else in the Hall put together, and I am not going to be left out of things!”

  The Librarian was wearing a heavy tweed suit remarkably similar to the Matriarch’s, except that his looked a lot more lived-in. His white shirt was reasonably clean, and he still had his peach cravat, held in place by a diamond pin. Not that the Librarian cared about such vanities; he only wore it because it was a gift from his wife, the telepath Ammonia Vom Acht. He was also wearing fluffy white bunny rabbit slippers, with prominent pink eyes that seemed to follow my every movement. The slippers reminded me of my recent close encounter with the Pook. I had to wonder if that meant anything.