Casino Infernale

CHAPTER TEN Fighting the Good Fight

“All right,” said Molly. “What do we do now?”

“I gave my word I’d do a great many things before I left this place,” I said. “Free all the trapped souls in the hotel corridor; do something to help the generic people on the Medium Games world; and bring down the whole damned Shadow Bank to put a stop to the rotten way they do things.”

“I’ve always admired your sense of ambition,” said Molly. “Caution and common sense just get in the way of having a good time. But first, I have to ask . . . where exactly are we? Since we passed through that dimensional door we could be anywhere at all . . . and I can’t help thinking there must be some really good reason why they covered these windows so we can’t see out. . . .”

She looked thoughtfully at the heavy steel shutters covering the three great windows, and the metal shutters shook and shuddered under the impact of her gaze. She glared at them, and the heavy steel groaned out loud as it fought the locks holding it in place. And then, one after the other, the locks shattered and blew apart, and each steel shutter rolled upwards. I walked forward, with Molly smiling smugly at my side, to look out the nearest window. And there, outside, were the star-filled night skies of the Medium Games world, its wide grassy plains lit by the harsh moonlight of too many moons.

“What the hell are we doing back here?” said Molly.

“You heard Parris,” I said. “This is the home world of the Shadow Bank. No wonder no one could ever find them. And no wonder they used this place to stage the more dangerous games of Casino Infernale. I think . . . there are a great many answers to be found in this other world. Think you can break this glass, Molly?”

“Of course,” she said airily. She glared at the window before us. The glass vibrated, and then shuddered violently, but it wouldn’t break. Molly jabbed an angry finger at the window, but although the glass bowed in and out, and shook desperately in its frame, it still wouldn’t give. Molly spoke a Word of Power; and the wall around the window split and cracked and fell apart . . . while the window remained entirely intact.

“Ah . . .” said Molly. “I don’t think this is glass, Shaman.”

“Maybe we should ask Parris how to get out there,” I said.

“Well,” said Molly. “You can try . . .”

Parris was still sitting in his chair, but it took only one look at his face to convince me there was no one home. His eyes stared unseeingly, his mouth drooled, and nothing at all moved in his face.

“Stay away from the Evil Eye,” said Molly, from a safe distance.

“I had already thought of that, thank you,” I said, not looking round. “I do have enough sense to avoid something called an Evil Eye. . . .”

“News to me,” sniffed Molly. “You know, we could take the Eye back with us. Your uncle Jack always complains you never bring him back a present. . . .”

“I am not dragging a mindless body around with me, just so the Armourer can have a new toy to play with,” I said firmly.

“We don’t need all of Parris,” said Molly. “Just his hand . . .”

“Oh, ick,” I said. “Very definitely ick. I don’t want the thing that badly.”

“We could put it in a box. . . .”

“No!”

“Well, at least search Parris,” said Molly. “See if he’s got all the things he confiscated from us. I want my anklet back.”

“Eiko took them, not Parris,” I said. “But I suppose they might have ended up with him, as boss. . . . Worth a look.”

Parris didn’t react at all as I searched through his pockets, carefully and very gingerly. No sign of my Colt Repeater, or Molly’s silver charm bracelet. I didn’t really think there would be, but it’s best to go along with Molly when she’s in one of her moods. Unless you like being a frog.

“Look behind the bar,” said Molly, remorselessly. “Eiko spent enough time there.” I gave Molly a look, and she glared back. “I want my anklet!”

So I went and looked behind the bar. Nothing there of any interest, apart from a great deal of shattered high tech from where Molly blew up the null generator. Small things crunched noisily under my shoes as I investigated. I came back out from behind the bar, and gave Molly my best meaningful shrug.

“Not a thing,” I said. “Chalk up more lost toys to the forces of experience. Uncle Jack will give me hell for losing yet another gun . . .”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Molly. “I can always make myself another charm bracelet.”

I thought a great many things in response to that, but had enough sense to keep them to myself.

“I was hoping to use the Colt Repeater on the windows,” I said. “How in hell are we going to get out there?”

“Forget the windows,” said Molly. “We’ll use the door.”

I looked at the door, and then at Molly. “What?”

“It’s a dimensional door, remember?” said Molly. She strolled over to consider the door in a don’t mess with me kind of way. “Where you end up depends on setting the right coordinates. Like I do when I teleport.”

“Then why don’t you . . .”

“Because personal teleporting is very complicated, all right? And it takes a lot out of me. So we will use this door, once I’ve cracked the combination lock with my magic, and sorted out the right coordinates for the world outside those windows.”

“Are you sure about this?” I said carefully. “Only, I can see a whole bunch of ways in which this could all go horribly wrong. . . .”

“Never met a dimensional door lock I couldn’t have eating out of my hand, in no time at all,” said Molly.

“What about booby traps?” I said.

“Do I tell you how to do your job?”

“Yes,” I said. “All the time.”

“I’m allowed,” said Molly. “I’m a girl.”

“I had noticed,” I said.

We shared a quick smile.

Molly gave the door her entire concentration, and I could hear the built-in combination lock whirring through its variations as Molly sorted out the correct destination. It took her only a few moments and then the door opened, just a crack. Molly punched the air triumphantly, while I stayed where I was.

“Is there some way of checking first, before we go through?” I said. “All it takes is one digit out and we could end up . . . well, anywhere.”

“This should be it,” said Molly.

“Should?” I said, loudly. “I do not find that a reassuring word, in this context!”

“Don’t be such a wimp,” said Molly, kindly. “Think positive.”

“I am positive. I am entirely positive I am not going through that door until someone provides me with a written guarantee, and travel insurance.”

“Don’t give me those negative waves, Moriarty.” Molly hauled the door wide open and waved a hand at what lay beyond. “There! See! Satisfied?”

I moved cautiously forward to stand beside her. A long grassy plain stretched away before me: dark green grass marked with the familiar purple tinge. A low murmuring wind came gusting through the door, carrying familiar subtle scents. It was still night in that other world, lit by the great swirl of stars and three bitter yellow moons. I made a point of going through the door first, and Molly made a point of brushing quickly past me. And just like that, we were in another world.

It was all very still, and very quiet. The night air seemed disturbingly cold this time, rather than cool. I felt a long way from home. I hadn’t realised just how alien this other world felt, until there were no human games or gamers to distract me. There was no one around, no matter which direction I looked. The Medium Games were over, and the Players had departed. I couldn’t see the Arena anywhere, or the stone Tower. And I had to wonder . . . just which part of this other world we’d arrived in.

“Relax,” said Molly, anticipating my thoughts with the ease of long practice. “I checked the coordinates. We’re within half a mile of where we arrived before. I do think these things through, you know.”

“Then where is everyone?” I said.

“Right . . .” said Molly. “This whole place is deserted.”

“Does rather raise the question,” I said. “What do the generic people do when there aren’t any Games to oversee? One of them did try to explain, in a vague sort of way, but I’m not sure I believe him, in retrospect.”

“He lied to you?” said Molly.

“Shocking, I know,” I said. “But it has been known to happen. What are the genetically created underclass coming to?”

“Good question,” said Molly. “What does a race of people created to serve do when there’s no one left to serve, and nothing to do?”

“I think we’re about to find out,” I said.

From every side they came, from in front and behind us and all around; rank upon rank, row upon row. The generic people. Thousands of them, all wearing the same formal clothes, and the same curiously unfinished, disturbingly characterless faces. They closed in on us, moving silently across the purple-tinged grass, saying nothing. They walked in perfect lockstep, with eerie synchronisation, all maintaining exactly the same space between them. Like flocking birds. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. People aren’t supposed to move like that. There was something openly menacing about the generic people now they didn’t have to act like servants any more.

“I could be wrong,” said Molly, “but they don’t look like they want to be saved. . . .”

The generic people all slammed to a sudden halt, looking steadily at Molly and me from every direction. All standing perfectly, inhumanly, still. The same eyes, the same expression, on a thousand and more faces. I didn’t need to look around me to know Molly and I were completely surrounded. Without making a big thing out of it, Molly and I moved closer together, ready to stand back to back, if need be. Though if this generic army wanted to overrun us, I didn’t see how we could stop them. None of them were carrying any weapons, but then, they didn’t need to.

One stepped forward, out of the crowd, and walked towards us. He didn’t look any different from the others. He stopped a polite distance away, but didn’t bow to me, or to Molly. His gaze was steady, and he didn’t smile at all.

“Have we met before?” I said.

“In a sense,” said the generic man. His voice was entirely characterless, like his blurred face. “I know you, Shaman Bond. I remember you. I remember everything you said, to every one of us. When you speak to one of us, you speak to all of us. What one of us knows, we all know. We see everything, we hear everything.”

“Just like the Shadow Bank,” I said. It was meant as a joke, but the moment the words left my mouth I was shaken by a sudden, awful insight. I could feel my jaw drop before I quickly took control of myself, and glared at the generic spokesman. “Oh my God . . . This is the home world of the Shadow Bank. And you live here . . . which means you are the Shadow Bank! You run the Shadow Bank!”

“What?” said Molly. “Oh come on, you have got to be kidding!”

“We were made to serve,” said the generic spokesman. “So long ago, no one here now remembers by whom, or why, or what for. It doesn’t matter. They are long gone. We were left alone here for a long time, just keeping the machinery going, replacing our numbers through the factory farms . . . but fading away through lack of purpose . . . until the original founders of the Shadow Bank came here and found us. Entirely by accident, as I understand. We needed someone to serve; we needed meaningful work to give our existence purpose; so we accepted them as our new masters. And they set us to work, to run their Games for them. Efficiently.

“Later, they brought us into the Shadow Bank, to run that efficiently. Because already the Bank was becoming too big and too complicated for its human managers to cope with. It didn’t take us long to realise that the most efficient way to run the Shadow Bank was to remove the human element, which got in the way of true efficiency. So we removed them and took control. It was the logical solution.”

“What did you do with all the bodies?” said Molly.

“Oh, we didn’t kill them,” said the generic spokesman. “We recycled them. We made them into us.”

“How long ago did all this happen?” I said.

“Does it matter?” said the generic spokesman. “We run the Shadow Bank as it needs to be run. Successfully. For years. Many years. But no one else must ever know that. It is our belief that Humanity would not take well to discovering the truth about the inner workings of the Shadow Bank. They might want to change things, and we could not allow that. The proper running of the Shadow Bank gives us purpose, and reason for existence. We live to serve, and we serve the Shadow Bank. Therefore, Shaman Bond and Molly Metcalf, you cannot be allowed to tell anyone what you have learned.”

“How are you proposing to stop us?” I said. “You really think you can kill us?”

“No,” said the generic spokesman. “We propose to make you like us. And then you won’t want to tell anyone anything.”

“I’d rather die,” said Molly.

“That is, of course, your other option,” said the generic man.

I looked around. The generic army covered the grassy plains and hills for as far as I could see in any direction. Molly’s hands had clenched into fists at her sides. I could feel her magics whispering on the air around us, waiting to be unleashed.

“Never fought an entire army before,” I said. “Or at least, not without my armour, and my family to back me up.”

“I think we should retreat,” said Molly. “And come back with reinforcements. Heavily armed reinforcements.”

“You can’t leave,” said the generic spokesman. “We control all entrances and exits to our world.”

And sure enough, when I looked quickly behind me the dimensional door was gone. I looked quickly at Molly.

“Are you sure you can’t teleport us out of here?”

“Very sure,” said Molly. “We’re on a whole different world, remember? Quite possibly a whole different level of reality. I can’t trust my coordinates here. I mean, I’m good, Shaman, but reluctant as I am to admit it, I do have my limitations.”

“Then I’ll just have to bring the reinforcements to us,” I said.

Molly gave me a look. “Really?”

“I’ve had an idea. . . .” I said.

“Go for it,” Molly said immediately. “Whatever this idea is, I love it and want to have its babies. Because I’ve got nothing.”

“I can’t call on my family without my torc,” I said. “But I believe there is someone who might still owe us a favour. So . . . Horse! Please, come to me! I need your help!”

There was a pause. Molly glared at me.

“That’s it? That’s your big idea? We’re on a whole other world! What makes you think the Horse can hear us from here?”

“Because he’s a living god,” I said. “And I believe he can hear a prayer for help, wherever he is.”

Every single member of the generic army suddenly tilted their heads right back, to stare up into the night sky. I looked up too, and grinned broadly. A massive White Horse filled the entire night sky, from one horizon to the next, blocking out the stars and shining bright as any moon. The generic people cried out as one—a terrible, awed cry. Because they’d never seen anything like the White Horse before. The Horse came riding down, out of the sky, shrinking rapidly in size without losing any of his grandeur and majesty, becoming finally a simple horse standing before Molly and me, regarding us with old, wise eyes. Molly threw her arms around his great white neck and hugged him fiercely. I bowed, respectfully. The Horse looked at me in a knowing way, and I couldn’t help but grin.

“You may have noticed,” I said to the Horse, “that Molly and I are currently surrounded by a whole bunch of enemies, who mean us harm. We need help. Reinforcements. If I were to give you the names of those I need, could you find them and bring them here? Really, very, very quickly?”

The Horse looked at me as though I’d just asked him whether he could gallop without tripping over his own hooves. For a horse, he did have a very expressive face. Comes with being a living god, I suppose.

Molly reluctantly let go of the Horse, after I’d cleared my throat meaningfully a few times, and turned to look at me.

“Who did you have in mind?” she said, just a bit suspiciously. “All the Drood field agents?”

“I don’t think we should push our luck too much,” I said. “The more people I ask for, the longer it might take the Horse to round them up and bring them here. And I don’t know how long the shock and awe of the Horse will hold the generic army back. So, I thought, those who started this should be here at the finish. Horse, please locate and bring here, as fast as is godly possible: the Drood Armourer, from Drood Hall; Sir Parsifal of the London Knights; J. C. Chance of the Carnacki Institute; Dead Boy from the Nightside; and Natasha Chang from the Crowley Project. And, I suppose, Bruin Bear and the Sea Goat, from Shadows Fall. No reason why they should miss out on all the fun.”

The Horse nodded his great white head, and disappeared. The generic people made a single, very disturbed, sound. Despite their characterless faces, they all gave every indication of being very upset. The generic spokesman looked at Molly and me.

“What . . . Who was that?”

Molly and I ignored him.

“Natasha Chang?” said Molly. “Are you sure? After the Sea Goat smashed a vodka bottle over her head at the Summit Meeting?”

“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 that, 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.”

“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 up!”

“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?”

Molly leaned in close to me. “Are you sure about this?” she said quietly. “I mean, you know I love your ideas, but . . . can you rely on this lot to do whatever it is you’re about to ask them to do?”

“Oh, I think so,” I said quietly. “As long as my family is there, looking over their shoulders.”

“Oh, hell,” said Molly. “Go for it. Genocide always makes me feel queasy.”

“Take what these machines know,” I said to the generic caretaker, “and use it to set people free. Destroy the financial records of all the evil organisations and individuals, make them bankrupt . . . and then use that money to put right all the wrongs you people have made possible. And set free all the souls you own, so they can move on to wherever they belong. Then, use the knowledge the Shadow Bank has acquired down the years to expose the hidden deals and corrupt conspiracies, and help make the world a better place. I know, Molly, I’m being idealistic again. But we have to try. Because it’s either that, or killing an entire people. And I’m just not in the mood. I’m an agent, not an assassin, remember? You, generic caretaker . . . do you accept the new purpose I give you?”

“Yes,” he said. “We live to serve.”

“Good,” I said. “And by the time you’ve finished with everything I’ve just said, my family will have thought of something else that needs doing, to keep you occupied.”

“Good,” said the generic man. “It will help us to have masters again.”

“Then tell your people,” I said.

“They already know. The fighting has stopped. The killing is over. It is no longer necessary. We have a new purpose.”

“Damn,” said Molly. “You people are seriously creepy.”

“And you people,” said the generic man, “are seriously scary. Because you’re always so certain.”

We took the elevator back down to the lobby. Molly was almost completely out of magic. We walked out of the lobby, and found our friends and allies standing together outside the hotel. Looking around them in a confused sort of way. The generic army had moved back, and were standing still, awaiting new instructions from their new masters. The moment Molly and I appeared, the whole generic army bowed their heads to us. The Armourer armoured down.

“Eddie? Molly? What have you done?”

“We won,” I said cheerfully. “The war is over, the Shadow Bank is no more, and the generic people work for the Droods now.”

“Bloody typical,” said J.C. He was breathing hard, and there was blood on his white suit. “We do all the hard work, and the Droods reap all the rewards. Don’t the rest of us get anything out of this?”

“The satisfaction of a job well done,” said Sir Parsifal.

Dead Boy looked at the London Knight. “You’re weird. And I have to ask, why are some of those empty-faced people gathered around Bruin Bear, and worshipping him?”

“Because he’s that sort of Bear,” I said. I moved over to the nearest generic person. “Are you sure there won’t be any bad feelings over all of your kind who died here?”

“We are one,” said the generic man calmly. “What’s a few bodies?”

“That,” said Molly. “That, right there, is what’s wrong.”

“No wonder you ran the Shadow Bank the way you did,” I said.