Moonbreaker

by Simon R. Green

  “What staff?” Molly said loudly. “You said there aren’t any staff!”

  “Well,” I said. “There’s staff, and then there’s staff.”

  “Are you feeling feverish?” Molly said sternly. “Do you need to sit down and have me force your head between your knees?”

  “It’s not me—it’s the Museum!” I said. “It’s just that sort of place. And that sort of lock. If it was solid and tangible I could use my armour to pick or smash it. Come on, Molly. You were supposed to be one of the best supernatural burglars in the business.”

  “I was!” said Molly. “It’s just that my magics are running so low right now . . . Let me think.” She scowled at the door. “Okay . . . I think I’ve probably got enough left in me for a Pretty Please. That’s a basic persuasion spell to make the door think it’s unlocked, so it’ll let us in.”

  “Go for it,” I said.

  Molly frowned fiercely, beads of sweat popping out on her brow, and a gently glowing old-fashioned lock appeared on the door. There was the sound of heavy things turning reluctantly inside it, and then the door swung slowly back. Molly let out her breath in a deep sigh, and smiled at me triumphantly.

  “Good to know I’ve still got it. There was a time I could have stolen the hat off your head even when you weren’t wearing a hat.”

  “I believe you,” I said.

  She started forward, and then stopped as I put a staying hand on her arm. I called a pair of golden sunglasses out of my torc to cover my eyes, and studied the open hallway carefully. I finally armoured up one hand and slammed the door all the way back, until it banged against the inside wall. The sound from the heavy impact hung on the air, the echoes only reluctantly dying away. The long hallway was full of shadows, deep and dark and utterly still. I couldn’t See any hidden protections . . . until I looked down at the welcome mat just inside the door. I reached down, picked it up between one golden thumb and forefinger, and moved it carefully to one side. Molly raised an eyebrow.

  “Teleport device,” I said. “Hidden inside the mat. Ready to grab hold of anyone who steps on it and transport them somewhere they really wouldn’t want to be.”

  “Oh, that is so cool!” said Molly. “Can we take it with us when we go? I can think of all kinds of amusing places I could just happen to leave it lying around.”

  “Maybe later,” I said. “If you’re good.”

  She smiled at me demurely. “Now, you know, sweetie, I’m always good.”

  “Later.”

  “Can you See any other nasty little surprises lying in wait?”

  “Not at the moment, but you can bet we’ll run into some more along the way. The scholars do like to keep each other on their toes. So watch your step.”

  “Which one of us used to be the professional burglar?” She shouldered me aside and strode into the hallway. I stepped in after her and carefully closed the front door. Because I didn’t want anyone else to get in, or anything to get out.

  • • •

  A gentle illumination appeared as we proceeded down the hallway. Warm and pleasant, easy on the eye, except . . . I couldn’t see any light bulbs anywhere. And although the hallway was packed full of shadows, Molly and I didn’t appear to have one. Which was . . . odd. The air was still and stale and dusty, and almost as cold as it was outside. Molly shuddered pointedly.

  “Maybe we should set fire to something.”

  “A lot of people feel that way about this Museum,” I said solemnly. “Keep moving. That’ll warm you up.”

  “Oh, so now you’re in a hurry?”

  “We’re in the same building as Edmund,” I said. “He could be anywhere. I wouldn’t put it past him to walk out of a wall to get to us.”

  Molly looked around her uneasily. “Of course; he’s got the Glass. He could appear out of anywhere.”

  “My armour would warn me about that.”

  “Would it? It didn’t warn you while he was hiding inside the damned thing.”

  “The Merlin Glass,” I said. “The work of Merlin Satanspawn. I should never have trusted it. The clue was always in the name.”

  The quiet in the hallway was so heavy we were both speaking in hushed voices for fear of the sound carrying. Even our footsteps sounded unnaturally loud. When we finally reached the end of the hallway, the swing-doors opened onto a standard reception area. The unmanned desk was littered with colourful leaflets, but they were all covered with dust.

  “No one’s been here in a while,” I said.

  “Or, at least, no one who was interested in leaflets,” said Molly. “Look at the floor, Eddie—not a speck of dust anywhere.”

  She was right. The floor was just basic wooden boards. The furniture was bulky and old-fashioned, and the bare walls had been painted in flat industrial colours. No style, no character—nothing in the least inviting.

  “People don’t come here for the friendly, welcoming atmosphere,” I said.

  “Just as well,” said Molly. “Where do we go now?”

  “Good question,” I said. “Most of what I know about this place comes from stories my uncle Jack used to tell. He always made a point of dropping in here once or twice a year. To donate things the Armoury didn’t want or had outgrown. And to see if anything interesting had turned up here that he could liberate for the Droods.”

  “And the staff who aren’t staff just let him?”

  “No one ever argued with my uncle Jack,” I said.

  “Why did you come here?”

  “I was intrigued by the stories. So I volunteered to drop a few things off for him. Two visits was sufficient to cure me of that.”

  Molly looked at me. She’d heard something in my voice.

  “Something happened, didn’t it? On the second visit.”

  “I should have known better,” I said. “My first visit was enough to freak me out big time. But I was at that age when you don’t like to admit anything can scare you. I should never have come back.”

  I stopped talking. Because even after so many years, I still found it difficult to talk about.

  “Eddie, what happened to you?”

  “The exhibits have taken over the asylum,” I said, not looking at her. My mouth had gone dry. “Like freaks in a sideshow who’ve grown tired of being stared at and are looking to get their own back. The exhibits put up with the scholars, because the scholars worship them, but everyone else is fair game.”

  “Is that why you spent so much time outside?” said Molly. “You were working up your nerve?”

  “You don’t understand!”

  “I’m trying, Eddie. Talk to me.”

  “One of the exhibits . . . took a liking to me,” I said. “It tried to make me into an exhibit too. So I could never leave.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Armoured up and kicked the crap out of it. And then I got the hell out and told myself never to come here again.”

  Molly put a comforting hand on my arm. “You’re not alone this time, Eddie. I’m here.”

  “I’m not scared.”

  “I never said you were.”

  “It’s just, things that disturb you when you’re young tend to leave their mark.”

  “Like not climbing the Stone?”

  “The Stone didn’t say it loved me.”

  “Well, now you can say you’re spoken for.”

  I managed a small smile.

  “Edmund must have come here for something specific,” said Molly, deliberately changing the subject. “Any ideas?”

  “Maybe something he saw in his world’s Museum,” I said. “Or something in the book he stole from the Old Library. It doesn’t matter. He’s here, and so are we. So let’s finish this.”

  “Can’t wait,” said Molly. “Where do we start?”

  I pointed an entirely steady hand at the informatio
n board on the far wall. Crammed with names in gold lettering, it provided directions to any number of rooms, each with its own area of specialised knowledge. THE CHALLENGER EXPLORATION ROOM; BIG GAME AND ASSOCIATED TROPHIES. THE ARNE SAKNUSSEN ROOM; DISCOVERIES FROM DOWN BELOW. THE DEATHSTALKER ROOM; WHAT DOES THE FUTURE HOLD FOR US? The names went on and on, tempting and warning in equal measure.

  “How big is this museum?” said Molly. “Is this another of those bigger-on-the-inside-than-the-outside deals?”

  “Comes as standard these days,” I said. “That’s what overcrowding and a lack of funding for extensions does to you. There—that’s the one we want: the Old Curiosities Room. Where everything that won’t fit anywhere else ends up.”

  Molly looked at me steadily.

  “Is that where you had your bad experience?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Stick close to me, sweetie,” said Molly. “Anything even looks at you funny, I will rip its insides out and stamp on them. Hard.”

  I had to smile. “Without your magics?”

  “Now, you know I always keep a few things in reserve for emergencies. I’ve still got a few surprises left in me.”

  “Never knew you when you didn’t,” I said generously.

  • • •

  I led the way into the depths of the Museum, following the colour-coded lines on the floor through a warren of twisting, turning corridors. I was surprised at how much of it I remembered, given how hard I’d worked to wipe the place from my memory. All the corridors were empty and quiet, and subtly oppressive. As though someone or something was always watching. I couldn’t see any security cameras, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Finally we came to a closed door, and stopped to look it over.

  “Okay,” said Molly. “The sign says we’re at the right place. How do you want to handle this?”

  “I feel like armouring up,” I said. “Just on general principle.”

  “Then do it.”

  “No,” I said. “Because that would be giving in, and I don’t do that.”

  “Concentrate on why we’re here,” said Molly. “If Edmund is in there, don’t hesitate. You get the chance to put him down, take it.”

  “That’s the plan,” I said.

  I took a careful hold of the door handle and turned it slowly. It wasn’t locked. I pushed the door open and slipped quietly inside, with Molly right behind me. Everything was very quiet, very still. The Old Curiosities Room stretched away before us, an indoor cavern hundreds of feet long and almost as wide, packed with thousands of exhibits. In glass cases, standing cabinets, and specially reinforced display units. Even more things had been left carelessly piled up on row after row of trestle tables. Separated almost reluctantly by narrow aisles, to allow people access. I took a deep breath and headed for the main aisle, down the centre. There was still only just room for Molly to walk alongside me. This wasn’t a room that encouraged visitors. Molly looked at all the amazing things set out before her and smiled.

  “So many pretty things . . . My fingers are itching.”

  “Later,” I said.

  We moved slowly down the aisle, keeping our eyes open. At first I was half-convinced Edmund had to be here somewhere, maybe hiding behind something. But more and more I became fascinated by the items set out on display. I’d forgotten what a treasure trove this place was. A Hand of Glory stood upright on its stand. The helpful sign said it had been made from the severed hand of an angel. I’d seen it before. I always wondered what the Armourer did with it. The flesh was deathly white, the palm was completely free of lines, and the fingertips showed no signs of ever having possessed any nails.

  Not far away, a single silver coin had been set out on a velvet cushion. The sign said it was one of thirty.

  A Mole Machine stood proudly alone in an open space, surrounded by a chain-link fence. The huge drill on the front made it look very futuristic, but the pressurised cabin was only big enough to hold one person. The sign said it had been designed for deep-earth explorations, but the last time I’d heard of it being used, it was to tunnel into the secret vaults of the Bank of England.

  Molly slapped my arm suddenly and pointed at one particular display case. “Eddie! Is that what I think it is?”

  I let her drag me over for a closer look. The secure unit was sealed on every side, even though all it contained was a single wooden amulet on a cord made from intertwined hair. The wooden disk bore a simple design: a stylised letter M. The sign read THE MANX MEDALLION.

  “It’s real,” I said. “My family donated it a long time ago. Because just having it around the Hall was creeping people out. A gift from Merlin, along with the Glass. The amulet is supposed to be a repository for extremely powerful magical forces and the work of Morgana La Fae. The strands of hair making up the cord came from her own head, or the heads of her many victims. Depending on which source you choose to believe.” And then I stopped and frowned. “Strange, the way her name keeps cropping up. I don’t believe in coincidences, not in the hidden world. This means something.”

  “Almost certainly,” said Molly. “But does it mean anything important? Anything that matters? Magic has a fondness for patterns and repetition. And, let’s face it, there would have to be something seriously wrong with a collection this big if it didn’t have at least one item to represent the most powerful witch this world has ever known. Good thing for all of us she’s dead and gone . . . Why are you looking at me like that, Eddie? She is dead, isn’t she? I mean, Merlin killed her for her part in bringing down Arthur’s Camelot. Everyone knows that. Or are you about to tell me no one ever saw the body? Because as you keep saying, if you don’t see the body . . .”

  “I’ve never heard anything to even suggest she survived,” I said carefully. “And if she had, I think we’d all know about it by now. Morgana never was one to hide her ambition under a bushel. In every book I’ve read on the subject, the author seemed entirely convinced of her sudden and violent death at Merlin’s hand. Come on, Molly. You knew Merlin in the Nightside. Didn’t you ever ask him?”

  “He really didn’t like to talk about Morgana,” said Molly. “And I mean in a hit-you-with-a-bolt-of-lightning-or-a-plague-of-boils kind of way, if you were dumb enough to press him. I just thought your family would know, if anyone would.”

  “Morgana La Fae is dead and gone,” I said firmly. “And the whole world can feel a lot safer because of it.”

  “Very good,” said Molly. “Now try saying that like you mean it.”

  I had to smile. “What’s the matter? Are you thinking about stealing the medallion, but you’re afraid the big, bad witch might come after you?”

  “Yes!” said Molly. “Of course I’m worried! Any sane person would be!”

  “Let us move on,” I said. “Lots to see.”

  “But not Edmund,” said Molly, glaring about her.

  “I was sure he’d come here,” I said. “Look around; he might have left a clue behind somewhere.”

  And besides, I need to prove to myself there’s nothing here to worry about, I thought but didn’t say. Though Molly had probably figured that out for herself. She stuck close to my side as we strolled down one aisle and up another, until finally I stopped before a heavy-bladed straight razor set out on a trestle table. The sign said SWEENEY TODD. I sneered at it.

  “Sweeney was never more than a fictional character. Even more, now they’ve made a musical out of him. Yesterday’s monster has become today’s antihero.”

  “I liked the musical,” said Molly.

  “You would,” I said. “This is almost certainly nothing more than an old Springheel Jack razor.” And then I looked sharply at Molly. “Edmund had one in the Old Library. From his world, he said.”

  “Do you suppose he got it from his world’s Museum?” said Molly. “And that’s how he knows this place so well?”

  “Could be.”


  I studied the straight razor. Another coincidence in a case that already had too many. Molly stirred impatiently.

  “Do you want to take this razor for yourself, Eddie? So you can be on equal footing with Edmund?”

  “No,” I said. “I’ll put my trust in my armour.”

  We moved on. Past glowing athames and rococo energy weapons, cursed musical boxes and seriously deranged alien bric-à-brac. Scrimshaw made from the bones of a sasquatch, and shell fragments from a phoenix egg. And something that flickered in and out of reality too quickly to be seen clearly. The sign just read TIME MACHINE. IN MOTION. Eventually Molly grabbed me by the arm again and pointed silently. Lying on its side on a trestle table, in the midst of a whole bunch of miscellaneous junk, was a statue of the goddess Kali. An exact duplicate of the one we’d seen in the Other Hall, except this was barely two feet tall. But it was quite definitely the same pose, the same face; every detail just as I remembered it. Though this time the base held no inscription, and there was no dried blood caked around the goddess’s feet.

  “Is that why Edmund came here?” Molly said quietly.

  “As far as I can See, it’s just a statue,” I said.

  “Then what’s it doing here?”

  “Far too many coincidences turning up in this case,” I said almost angrily. “Some people say coincidences are the universe’s way of trying to draw your attention to something that matters.”

  “This has gone beyond hinting,” said Molly. “This is the universe shouting in our face and slapping us round the head. What do you think it means?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. I looked around. “I’ve had my fill of this room. We’ll give it a few more minutes, just so we can be sure we’ve done it justice, and then unless something turns up to prove Edmund was here, we’ll try somewhere else.”

  “There’s lots more rooms left to check,” said Molly.

  “I know,” I said.

  We moved on. Glancing at treasures from the Past and mysteries from the Future—because things are always falling through Timeslips and cluttering up the here and now. Things so old they were beyond any provenance, and items so advanced no one could figure out what they were. Most of them too powerful or too dangerous to be left out in the world for just anyone to stumble over.