Casino Infernale

CHAPTER TWO Half as Old as Time

Molly gave my uncle Jack her best cold hard glare, the kind that could punch a hole through a stone wall. The Armourer glared right back at her. And I quietly took several steps back to let them get on with it, because I knew better than to get involved. There was no way this was going to end well, for anyone involved, and the best I could hope for was to find something large and solid to hide behind, for when they started throwing things. There was nothing I could say that wouldn’t just make things worse, so I removed myself from the firing range, and took a look around.

The Drood family Armoury looked much the same as it always did. Lots of sound and fury, signifying things going bang. Lots of white-coated lab assistants hurrying back and forth between workstations and testing grounds, trying out brand-new versions of weapons of messy destruction. You have to be brave and talented and a mechanical genius to work in the Armoury; but it does also help if you’re completely lacking in self-preservation instincts. It’s a wonder to me we haven’t bred the lab assistant gene out of the Drood family, through extreme testing to destruction. But, there’s always a long waiting list to get in, proving once again the triumph of optimism over experience. There’s pride and honour and worth to the family to be found in the Armoury, if you last long enough.

One young woman was knocking chunks off a stone golem, using depleted-uranium knuckle-dusters. The golem was looking pretty peeved about it. Someone who’d turned himself invisible could be heard barging about and banging into things, while swearing loudly and bitterly at the world in general, because the field that stopped light getting out also stopped light getting in. So he couldn’t see anything. Or even find the OFF switch . . . and two interns who’d developed a highly miniaturised and very powerful explosive device, and then dropped it, were scrabbling around on the floor on all fours, trying to find the bloody thing before the timer ran out. Just another day in the Drood Armoury. I always enjoyed my visits. As long as I was careful where I put my feet.

Reluctantly, I turned back to Molly and the Armourer, who were now standing face to face, eyeballing each other so closely they could hardly blink without entangling their eyelashes. It would have been funny if the emotions involved hadn’t been so raw, and so dangerous. Molly had discovered what she’d always thought she wanted—the truth concerning the death of her parents. And it had stabbed her in the heart. Being Molly, she dealt with the pain by spreading it around.

“Give control of the Merlin Glass back to Eddie,” Molly said flatly. “I have to get to the Department of the Uncanny. I have questions to put to the Regent.”

“Ah,” said the Armourer. And just like that the fire went out of his eyes, and he stepped back. He sighed, almost sadly. “You’ve found out, then.”

Molly was so surprised, she almost forgot to be angry. “You knew?”

I was thrown, myself. “You knew the Regent of Shadows killed her parents? And you never said anything?”

“Of course I knew,” said the Armourer. He sat down in a handy chair. I sometimes forget how old he is, and how sudden shocks can drive the strength right out of him. Like most of my family he’s fine with violence, but has trouble with emotions. He looked suddenly tired, and frail. A tall and stooped man of more than middle age, wearing a grubby white lab coat with many chemical stains and burns, over a T-shirt bearing the legend BORN TO KILL PEOPLE WHO NEED KILLING. Two shocks of tufty white hair jutted out over his ears, under a bulging bald pate. He always looked like he carried the cares of the world on his shoulders, and couldn’t wait to do something really unpleasant to the people who put them there. He was an excellent field agent, in his day. Like his father before him, my grandfather Arthur, the Regent of Shadows. The Armourer sighed heavily.

“I always meant to talk to you about this, Molly. But somehow it never seemed to be the right time. And you were so pleased to find your missing grandfather, Eddie; I didn’t want to spoil it for you. But yes, I know. I’ve always known. I was still part of the family Council, back then, deciding policy, and enforcement . . .” He looked steadily at Molly. “You mustn’t think too harshly of the Regent. He only ever did what the family asked of him. He still thought there was a chance he might be allowed to come home.”

“That doesn’t matter,” said Molly. “Nothing matters, except getting to the truth. Right to the bottom of it.”

“Hadrian Coll claimed my grandfather had a reputation for killing work,” I said. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“We’re not responsible for the way the world is,” said the Armourer. “But we are responsible for doing whatever’s necessary to preserve it from those who would corrupt and destroy it.”

“Stop,” said Molly. “No excuses, no distractions. I don’t care what the Droods’ current emergency is . . .”

“Don’t care was made to care,” the Armourer said mildly. “Especially since the current emergency is mostly of your making.”

“Oh, hell,” I said. “What have I done now?”

“No!” Molly said fiercely. “I am not going to be reasonable, I am not going to listen to you, I am not going to be guilt-tripped by you! To hell with this. Keep your Merlin Glass; I’ll teleport myself out of here.” She looked at me. “Well?”

“You know I want to come with you,” I said. “I don’t want you facing the Regent alone. But, I think I ought to at least find out what this new emergency is.”

“This is why you’ll never be free of your family,” said Molly. “Even after everything they’ve done to you, they still have a hold on you. The Droods just use people, Eddie; I thought I’d taught you that. Don’t look at me that way . . . you stay if you want. I’m going.”

She concentrated . . . and then looked shocked when nothing happened. The Armourer cleared his throat, in an almost apologetic way.

“The Armoury has very powerful shields, my dear. Nothing gets in, nothing gets out. It’s safer for everyone, that way. . . .”

“Then lower your shields.” Molly’s voice had never sounded colder.

I slowly realised that it had grown unusually quiet in the Armoury. I looked carefully around me, and found that all the lab assistants had stopped what they were doing to watch the infamous and much feared Molly Metcalf go head-to-head with the Armourer. Some of them were quietly turning strange weapons and unusual devices in her direction. And, in mine. The assistants put their lives on the line every day, not just in service to the family, but in service to the Armourer. They admired and adored him, to a man and a woman. And they were more than ready to kill anyone who threatened him.

Sometimes, I forget that Molly had spent years at war with the Droods over the death of her parents. I had forgiven Molly her many sins, but my family hadn’t. Still, if the family was determined to make me choose between them and my Molly . . . the family would regret it. I smiled easily around me, and was pleased to see several of the lab assistants flinch. I moved forward, to stand beside Molly. Her whole body was painfully tense, her face dangerously cold.

“Lower your shields,” Molly said to the Armourer. “Or else.”

It’s always hard when you’re forced to choose between people you love. Especially when there’s a whole bunch of heavily armed people watching you with narrowed eyes, fully prepared to blow you into small meaty chunks if they don’t like your decision. So I braced myself and stepped very firmly between Molly and the Armourer.

“Everybody calm the fuck down,” I said. “Or there will be tears before bedtime.”

“You just can’t bring yourself to do it, can you, Eddie?” said Molly. “No matter how many times you leave the family, they always drag you back in, to do their dirty work.”

“I’m trying really hard not to choose a side,” I said. “I don’t want to see anyone hurt.”

“Well, tough,” said Molly. “That’s not an option. You’re either with me, or against me. Don’t try to argue! I’m not interested! I’ve waited too long for the truth about my parents’ death to be stopped by anyone.”

“It’s been ten years,” I said. “Can’t it wait just a few minutes more . . . ?”

“You got your parents back!” said Molly loudly. There were tears in her eyes. “Mine are still dead! All I’ve got left is the truth.”

I nodded, slowly, and turned to face the Armourer. “Let her go, Uncle Jack. Whatever this is, you don’t need her. You need me. So let her go. I’ll stay, if you let her leave.”

“Honourable as ever, Eddie,” said the Armourer. “You know I’ve always been so proud of you . . . but unfortunately being reasonable won’t do it, this time. You both have to stay, because you’re both needed. The family requires your assistance in this emergency.”

“Okay,” I said. “Stuff the family.”

I armoured up, and the golden strange matter flowed around me in a moment. Molly and I moved quickly to stand back to back, ready to stand off anything the lab assistants might throw at us. I showed them a golden fist, with heavy spikes rising from the knuckles. Molly raised one hand, and dark and vicious magics flared around it. Most of the lab assistants did the sensible thing, and ran for cover. The rest turned their guns and devices on us, with steady hands and wide scared eyes. And then the Armourer cleared his throat loudly, and everyone turned to look. He was holding up a small green plastic clicker, in the shape of a cartoon frog.

“I designed this for emergencies,” he said calmly. “It shuts down armour and magic, temporarily. I can strip you both of what makes you strong; but I can’t guarantee to give it back to you.”

“You wouldn’t,” said Molly.

“Only in self-defence,” said the Armourer.

Molly shot me a quick glance, and I shrugged quickly at her. “We haven’t got this far by being sensible. I’m game, if you are.”

“You’re really ready to go to war with your family, over me?” said Molly.

“Looks like it.”

“What about your old motto: anything, for the family?”

“I got a new one: anything, for you.”

“My lovely hero. All right, let’s do it. No magic, no armour; but . . . they still never met anyone like us. I’ve got a spare knife in my boot, if you need it.”

“No!” said the Armourer. He lowered the clicker, though I noticed he didn’t put it away. He looked quickly from me to Molly, and back again. “Please, just listen to what I have to say. Let me explain why your help is so necessary. If you don’t agree, then you’re both free to go.”

It was my turn to look at Molly. “I would like to hear what all this is about. But if you really need to do this . . .”

Molly considered the matter for a worryingly long moment, and then shrugged, and relaxed, just a little. “You’ve fought your family over me before, Eddie. I know where you stand. I’ve no right to ask you to do it again. The Regent . . . can wait. Talk, Armourer.”

I armoured down, and Molly let her magics dissipate into the air. The lab assistants lowered their various weapons, and wandered off for a quiet sit-down and a nice cup of tea, until the shakes wore off. The Armourer shook his head slowly, and put away his clicker.

“I swear to God, you two put years on me. Come with me now, and all will be made clear to you.”

He led the way out of the Armoury, and I hurried after him, with Molly bringing up the rear. I moved in close beside the Armourer.

“You were bluffing with that clicker, weren’t you, Uncle Jack?”

“I’ll never tell,” he said easily. “Good to have you back, nephew.”

We passed quickly through the wide corridors and packed passageways of Drood Hall, past paintings and sculptures of incredible value and antiquity, by names you’d know; the loot of generations of Droods, presented to us by a presumably grateful Humanity. Luxuries and comforts everywhere, wood-panelled walls and thick carpeting, along with objets d’art and objets trouvés that went back centuries. It was good to see the old place again; my bad memories were mostly of the family, rather than the Hall itself. And it was all made much easier by the knowledge that whatever the family said or did, I wasn’t staying.

People rushed back and forth, on missions of their own, and I spotted familiar faces here and there. Most of them seemed surprisingly pleased to see me. I hadn’t been this popular when I was running the family. Perhaps especially then. I was beginning to feel distinctly uneasy. The only time my family is ever pleased to see me is when they need me to do something for them. Usually something really unpleasant and spectacularly dangerous.

“I had no idea I was this popular,” I said dryly to the Armourer.

“You’re not,” he said, not even slowing his pace enough to glance around. “It’s just that something really bad is coming, headed straight for us, and you’re all we’ve got to put in its way.”

“Situation entirely bloody normal, then,” I said.

“Actually, no,” said the Armourer. “This particular situation shows every sign of being so bad it’s beyond the family’s abilities to deal with it. We’ve had to call a Summit Meeting.”

I just blinked at him for a while, utterly astonished. “But . . . that hasn’t been necessary for . . . what? Decades?”

“Oh, at least,” said the Armourer. “That’s how important and scarily dangerous this situation is. Major threat, red alert, atomic batteries to power and turbines to speed. So bad, in fact, that we’re already looking to you to pull one of your last-minute miracle saves out of the hat, one more time. Especially since this is all your fault anyway. You and Molly.”

“I just knew this whole mess would turn out to be our fault,” I said solemnly to Molly. “Didn’t you just know it would all turn out to be our fault?”

“Might be your fault,” Molly said briskly. “Not mine. Nothing is ever my fault. What’s a Summit Meeting?”

“Panic stations,” I said. “Whenever something comes along that’s too big for any single organisation to deal with, they ring the alarm bell and circle the wagons, and send out a call to all the major secret organisations, to talk things over. And see if there’s anything they can do together. And given how much these organisations distrust each other, and hate each other’s guts, you can see how serious things would have to get before they’d agree to talk to each other.”

“Should I be getting worried, about now?” said Molly.

“I passed worried long ago,” I said. “I have already reached deeply disturbed, and am heading into pant-wetting territory.”

“And you’re the one who persuaded me to stay,” said Molly. “I should have gone riding on the Horse.”

We came at last to the Sanctity, the huge open chamber at the heart of Drood Hall. I relaxed a little, despite myself, as I strode through the open double doors and into the massive room. The whole chamber was suffused with a marvellous rose red light that sank into my bones and into my soul, like a blessing. Molly and the Armourer smiled too, because it’s impossible to feel angry or scared or worried for long, in the presence of the Droods’ other-dimensional entity, Ethel. She has no physical presence in our world, or at least none she’ll admit to, but the rosy light is a sign of her presence. She manifests in the Sanctity as a feeling of contentment, love, and protection made real in the world. Ethel gives us our strange-matter armour, and is our very own guardian and protector. Probably. It’s hard to be sure, with an entity that’s downloaded itself into our world from a higher reality. She does seem honestly fond of us.

“Eddie! Molly!” her voice rose happily on the air. “Yes! It’s so good to have you both back again! How was Scotland? Did you bring me back a present?”

“Not as such,” I said. “You’re so hard to buy for, Ethel. What do you give the other-dimensional entity who is everything?”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Ethel said sulkily. “I never get any presents.”

“There might be a nice horsey in your future,” said Molly. “If you’re good.”

“Ooh! Ooh! I love ponies!” said Ethel, immediately cheerful again.

“Let us talk about the Summit Meeting,” I said determinedly. “To start with, where’s the rest of the Drood Council?”

“They won’t be joining us,” the Armourer said immediately. “They don’t need to be here. The debating is over. All future decisions will be made at the Summit.”

“I’m still not clear on why this Summit is so necessary,” said Molly. “I thought you Droods decided everything that mattered, and all the other groups just . . . specialised?”

“We do like to give that impression,” said the Armourer. “And a lot of the time, it’s true. But not always.”

“The Summit invites representatives from all the major secret organisations across the world,” I said. “Including the ones we don’t normally admit exist. Which goes a long way to explaining how rare these Summits are. Most of these groups would rather see the whole planet go up in flames than cooperate with a hated rival. We’ll be lucky if a dozen groups answer the call.”

“This Summit is necessary,” said the Armourer. “The invitations have gone out, and some representatives are already on their way. The current situation is quite possibly the biggest and the worst problem we’ve faced in a long time. . . .”

“Oh, bloody hell,” I said. “It’s not the Loathly Ones again, is it? I thought we’d finished off the Hungry Gods?”

“Nothing so straight forward, I’m afraid,” said the Armourer. He paused then, and his mouth twisted, as though bothered by a bitter taste. “This . . . is all about the Crow Lee Inheritance.”

“What?” I said.

“What kind of inheritance?” said Molly. “Is there any money involved? Only I have been running a bit short lately . . .”

“How can you be running short?” I said. “What about all the gold bullion . . .”

“Hush,” Molly said immediately. “He doesn’t need to know about that.”

“When you two killed The Most Evil Man In The World,” the Armourer said patiently, “all his many followers, enemies, and rivals started fighting among themselves over who would gain control of what Crow Lee left behind. His hidden hoard of secrets, unimaginable wealth, objects of power, blackmail material . . . etc., etc. We’ve had to send field agents rushing back and forth all over the world, stopping warring forces and stamping out supernatural bush-fires before they can spread. In secret bases and subterranean galleries, in every major city you can think of, the word is spreading . . . that there is one hell of a prize to be won. We’re being run ragged just trying to keep a lid on things, and the real war hasn’t even started yet. The Major Players and Individuals of Note are holding back, for the moment, letting the lesser forces exhaust themselves on each other, but that won’t last. Things are already bad, but they’re going to get much worse.”

“Hold everything,” I said. “We have been through this before. The Independent Agent was supposed to have left a hoard behind. Treasure beyond belief, secrets that would shock the world, magical and super-science weapons powerful enough to make anyone master of the world. And none of that ever amounted to anything. All bluff and bullshit. Just part of the myth such people create. Are we sure this Crow Lee Inheritance really exists?”

“Were we mentioned in the will?” said Molly. “I have bills to pay.”

“No, you don’t,” I said. “You’re famous for not paying your bills. I have bills to pay—on your behalf.”

“What’s yours is mine,” Molly said comfortably. “Though not necessarily vice versa, if you know what’s good for you.” She looked at the Armourer. “Was Eddie mentioned in the will?”

“There was no will!” said the Armourer. “Oh, God, I can feel one of my heads coming on. . . .”

“Me too!” said Ethel.

“You don’t have a head!” said the Armourer.

“Might have,” said Ethel. “You don’t know.”

“Anyway . . .” said the Armourer. “None of that matters. The point is, a great many important, significant, and horribly powerful people and organisations believe the Inheritance does exist, and they’re prepared to go to open war over it. Either to gain it for themselves, or to make sure their enemies don’t get it. We are looking down the barrel of a war so potentially far-reaching it’s bound to spill over into the everyday world. And we can’t allow that to happen. We’re only able to operate so freely because the world doesn’t know we exist. If Humanity ever finds out who and what they really share this world with, they will go batshit mental. Fighting in the streets, blood in the gutters, churches and governments burning in the night, for having kept so much secret for so long . . . all the world’s arsenals finally unleashed: nuclear, bacterial, chemical . . . and God alone knows where it would go from there. No. We have to stop this dead, before it gets out of hand.”

“And how exactly are we supposed to do that?” said Molly. “Eddie, he’s smiling. Why is the Armourer smiling?”

“Because this is the part we really aren’t going to like,” I said.

“The Summit Meeting has been called to help us decide how best to defuse this situation,” the Armourer said smoothly. “I am going, as Drood representative, and you two are going because you killed Crow Lee, and therefore have more immediate information about him than anyone else. And because it’s all your fault, remember?”

“I thought we’d get back to that,” I said.

“I gave up guilt for Lent,” said Molly. “And never took it up again. You should try it, Eddie, it’s very liberating.”

“Molly and I were there when the family investigated Crow Lee’s country house,” I said. “They tore the place apart, and didn’t find a single damned thing worth a second look.”

“Or at least, nothing important,” said Molly. “I mean, yes, there was a whole load of really weird shit, scattered all over the place, but nothing of any worth.”

“Or you’d have taken it,” I said.

“Exactly!” said Molly. “The point being, all Eddie and I know for sure about Crow Lee was that he was a complete bastard and an utter shit, and the world is better off without him. So what can we contribute to this Summit?”

“The house was empty because it had already been emptied of anything that mattered, before you got there,” said the Armourer. “Which suggests . . . that perhaps he saw his death coming, and made plans. Possibly involving a comeback. So as the last people to see Crow Lee alive, you become vitally important. You have to talk to the Summit.”

“Will the Regent be there, at this meeting?” Molly said suddenly. “Representing the Department of the Uncanny?”

“No,” said the Armourer. “Given his past, and his past reputation, and his closeness to the Establishment these days, it was felt his presence would be . . . divisive. You and Eddie can represent the Department.”

I nodded. “Yes. I can do that. Since I’ve left the family.”

“No one ever really leaves the family,” said the Armourer. “You should know that, Eddie. Anything, for the family.”

I deliberately turned my back on him, to look at Molly.

“You don’t have to do this, Molly. But, I don’t want you facing the Regent on your own. So I think you should wait this one out, in the wild woods. I could join you there, once the Summit is over.”

“No,” said Molly. “I’m going with you. Someone has to watch your back.”

We shared a smile. The Armourer smiled fondly on us. Ethel was singing Love is in the air . . .

“That’s the trouble with you and your damned family,” said Molly. “There’s always some crisis going on. Never a chance to catch your breath around here.”

“Never a dull moment,” the Armourer said brightly. “Ethel, will you please knock that off!”

There was a pause. “I do requests,” said Ethel.

“How long before everyone gets here?” I said quickly. “And we can get this Summit started?”

“Oh, the Summit isn’t being held here, at Drood Hall,” said Ethel, sounding faintly scandalised. “No, we’re not considered neutral ground. Or even safe ground.”

“You mean there are people out there who don’t trust the Droods?” said Molly. “I am shocked, I tell you, shocked.”

“That’s all right,” said the Armourer. “We don’t trust most of them, either. Just because we’re on the same side, mostly, it doesn’t mean we aren’t all ready to stab each other in the back first chance we get. We spend more time spying on our allies than we do on the enemy. You know where you are, with the enemy. It’s the friends and partners you have to keep an eye on.”

“It’s all about survival. . . .” said Molly.

“Exactly!” said the Armourer, beaming.

“I like you better in the Armoury, Uncle Jack,” I said. “Let you loose in the world, and you get downright devious.”

“I was a field agent before you were born, boy,” said the Armourer. “Mostly I prefer to forget all that, and hide away in my Armoury. Where all I have to worry about is the lab assistants . . . but sometimes, the world just won’t leave you alone.”

“What about the Nightside?” said Molly, suddenly. “That’s been neutral ground, for all sides, for thousands of years!”

“No,” the Armourer said immediately. “Droods aren’t allowed in the Nightside. By long compact and binding agreements.”

“I never did get the full story on that,” I said. “If there are these ancient agreements, requiring us to leave the Nightside strictly alone, what do we get out of it?”

“I find it best not to ask questions like that,” said the Armourer. “The answers would only upset you.”

“So where is this neutral ground?” said Molly.

The Armourer beamed happily again. “We’re going to Mars!”

“What?” said Molly.

“What?” I said.

“Hold everything, go previous, hit rewind,” said Molly. “Mars, as in the planet Mars? You mean the Martian Tombs? My sister Louise was just there!”

“We know,” said the Armourer, scowling. “And we’re really not happy about that. If you ever find out how she got there, and how she got inside the Tombs, we’d really like to know. So we can stop her ever doing it again.”

“There’s no stopping Louise,” said Molly. “That’s what makes her so . . . disconcerting.”

“Moving on . . .” I said, firmly.

“We use the ancient Martian Tombs for Summit Meetings,” said the Armourer, “because there’s nowhere left on Earth that’s truly neutral ground. Every group and organisation lays claim to some territory. So we go to Mars, when we have to.”

“Are you saying the family has its own rocket ship?” I said. “Blast off to Mars, and all that? Something worryingly old and unusual, like Ivor the steam Time Engine?”

“Well, I have been working on something like that,” said the Armourer, not at all modestly. “Though it doesn’t have rockets, and isn’t really a ship, as such. . . . But no. We have a Door. A good old-fashioned dimensional doorway. Takes us straight to Mars, no stopping off along the way, no passport control, no chance to lose your luggage.”

I looked at Molly. “He wants someone to make Ooh! and Aah! noises. You do it; I’m too tired.”

“Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction,” said Molly.

“All right,” I said. “Where is this Door? Back in the Armoury?”

“Actually, no,” said the Armourer. “We felt we needed to keep it somewhere more secure than that.”

Uncle Jack led Molly and me out of the Sanctity, and then out of the Hall, passing through the main entrance and on into the massive grounds that surround Drood Hall. Sweeping lawns, hedge mazes and ornamental lakes, peacocks and gryphons, and robot guns sleeping under the grass in case of unwanted visitors. A peaceful retreat for a family that’s always at war with someone. The Armourer led us briskly along the gravel pathway, past the East Wing and round the corner . . . and for the first time I realised where he was taking us.

The old family chapel looked just as I remembered from all the times I’d sneaked out of the Hall at night, against all the rules and regulations, to visit with the disreputable old family ghost, Jacob Drood. The chapel was tucked away out of sight, though not always out of mind, and didn’t look particularly religious. An ugly stone structure with crucifix windows and a grey slate roof with holes in it, the chapel didn’t even try to look inviting. It gave every appearance of being Saxon, with maybe a touch of Norman, but it was really just a nineteenth-century folly. Back when it was all the rage to erect brand-new buildings that already looked like they were falling apart. The Gothic tradition has a lot to answer for.

These days, the family has its own peaceful and restful and thoroughly multi-denominational chapel inside the Hall. For those who feel the need. When you have to deal with Heaven and Hell’s cast-offs and spiritual droppings on a daily basis, it makes you more thoughtful than anything else. We all believe, we have no choice, but we reserve the right to have serious doubts about just what it is we’re believing in. The old chapel is a left-over from more traditional times, and strictly out of bounds. Not that such limited thinking ever stopped me, of course.

“Isn’t this where . . . ?” said Molly.

“Oh, yes,” I said. “This is where I used to meet with the only member of the family who was more of an outcast than me. Mostly because he was dead, but damned if he’d depart. With a family as old as ours, you have to take a tough line on ghosts and the causes of ghosts, or we’d be hip deep in the bloody things. But Jacob was . . . different.”

Uncle Jack paused by the door to let me look the old place over. For a man who claimed never to look back, the Armourer could be very understanding with those who did. Most of the few happy memories I have from my childhood concern the times I escaped from my family, with Uncle Jack in the Armoury, or Jacob the ghost in the chapel. It seems like every time I come home, I get my past pushed in my face. Like the family can’t even leave my memories alone. . . .

I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and looked the chapel over. Ugly as ever—rough stone walls buried under thick mats of ivy. The heavy greenery was already stirring and murmuring restlessly, disturbed by our presence. I stepped forward and spoke to the ivy in a calm and friendly way, and it soon settled down again. Jacob’s personal early warning system . . . still operating long after he was gone. The heavy door still stood half open, wedged in place. Swollen wood in a contorted frame. I put my shoulder to it, and the door creaked loudly as it slid reluctantly inwards. I led the way in.

The interior was the same old mess. All the pews had been pushed over to one side long ago, and stacked up against the wall. Dust and cobwebs and desiccated leaves scattered everywhere. The far end of the chapel was taken up with Jacob’s old great black leather reclining chair, set before a massive old-fashioned television set on which Jacob liked to watch the memories of old television programmes. I could feel old memories welling up, like tears I was damned I would shed. Molly sensed my mood and moved in close beside me.

The Armourer looked around, and sniffed loudly. “Horrible old place. Horrible old man. But he was still family . . . and he did finally go to his end in an honourable fashion. Destroying the Hungry Gods. I come in here, from time to time, hoping he might have found some way to escape his doom. . . . Hoping against hope that he might find his way home again . . . But he never has.”

“Why are we here?” said Molly, impatiently.

“Because this is where we keep the Door,” said the Armourer, immediately all business again. “It’s been here pretty much forever. That’s why the family suffered Jacob to remain here all those years, instead of just exorcising him. He guarded the Door for us. Family ghost, family watchdog . . . Certainly no one was going to bother the Door while he was here.”

“Are you going to get another guardian, now Jacob’s gone?” I said.

“How do you know we haven’t?” said the Armourer.

He spoke a Word of Power and gestured vaguely, and just like that the Door appeared before us. Standing still and alone, and completely unsupported, in the middle of the chapel. A heavy elm wood door with no handle or hinges, no knocker or ornamentation of any kind. No mystic symbols carved into the wood, nothing to suggest it was anything more than an ordinary, everyday door. Apart from the fact that just looking at it, you knew it was old. Really old. And that, just possibly, it was looking back at you. I studied the Door carefully from what I hoped was a safe distance. Molly strode right up to it, stuck her face close to the wood, and inspected it thoroughly. Did everything, in fact, but sniff and lick the damn thing. Molly never let caution get in the way of satisfying her curiosity.

“Old,” she growled, not looking back. “And I mean really old. I can feel Deep Time in this, going back more centuries than I’m comfortable with. And . . . I think it knows we’re here.”

She backed away from the Door, not taking her eyes off it for a moment.

“How the hell did the family get its hands on this?” I said to the Armourer. “It doesn’t have the feel of something one of our old Armourers might have cobbled together, while not in spitting distance of their right mind. This came from Outside. . . .”

“Forget Saxon or Norman,” said Molly. “I’d say Celtic. Maybe even Druidic. It’s got some of that old-time religion to it, that Nail his guts to the old oak tree vibe.”

“Very good, Molly,” said the Armourer, beaming. “Gold star on your report card, and extra honey for tea. We acquired this Door from the same place we got the Merlin Glass. From the same benefactor.”

“What?” I said. “Merlin made this Door? Merlin knew about Mars?”

“Merlin knew about everything,” said the Armourer. “That’s what made him so dangerous.”

“He gave us the Glass, and he gave us this Door?” I said. “Come on, Merlin Satanspawn was never known for his generosity. This doesn’t feel like gifts, or even tribute; it smells a lot more like payment for services rendered. So what exactly did the family do for him, all those centuries ago? That he felt obliged to craft us such matchless gifts? What did we do, or what did we promise him, in return?”

“Excellent questions,” said the Armourer. “If you ever find out, do let us know. I’d love to have one less thing to worry about. There’s always the chance he might turn up in person one day, to present us with the bill.”

“Merlin’s dead,” said Molly.

“That never stopped him before,” said the Armourer, darkly. “So, everybody ready? Time to go to Mars, before the others get there.”

“Why?” I asked bluntly.

“We can survive the Martian conditions in our armour, so we get to open up the Martian Tombs and turn on the machines,” said the Armourer. “The old energy generators are still working, and can supply air and heat and gravity to Earth normal conditions, for the length of the Summit. And, we go first because it’s traditional. Doesn’t do any harm to remind the others that Droods always go first.”

“Of course,” I said. “The family runs on tradition. Don’t smile, Uncle Jack. I didn’t say that was a good thing.”

“The Droods are always the hosts of the Summit,” said the Armourer.

“Okay, my turn,” said Molly. “Why?”

“Because we found the Tombs,” said the Armourer. “And because we are best placed to keep the peace, if certain others start getting out of hand. Discussions have been known to get a bit . . . heated, in the past.”

“So, everyone else goes along because they’re afraid of us,” I said.

“Isn’t that what I just said?” said the Armourer. “I’d prefer to be admired and respected, but I’ll settle for everyone else being shit-scared of us, if that means we can get the job done. Decisions have to be agreed on, one way or another. Now, ready yourselves, my children. Because once I open that Door, the red planet is waiting.” He looked dubiously at Molly. “Eddie and I have our armour; are you sure you’ll be all right . . . ?”

“I go to worse places than Mars for my tea-break,” Molly said briskly. “I regularly visit clubs where you have to evolve into a more dangerous being just to use the toilets.”

“It’s true,” I said solemnly. “She has. You wouldn’t believe the things she brings home as party favours.”

The Armourer surprised me then by laughing, and fixing Molly with a twinkling gaze. “Always knew Eddie would bring home someone . . . interesting.”

Uncle Jack and I subvocalised our activating Words, and armoured up. Two gleaming golden figures stood facing each other in the chapel, and the confined space seemed suddenly that much smaller, and more shabby. Interestingly, the Door felt more real, more solid. There were differences between the Armourer’s armour and mine. His was traditional, smooth, functional. Mine was more streamlined, detailed, personalised. There was a time all Drood armour looked the same, but since Ethel gifted us with her strange matter, we can shape our armour to fit our own needs and personalities. Uncle Jack was just a traditionalist.

We both looked to Molly, to see what she would do, and then we both stepped back quickly as a great leafy tree burst up through the flag-stones of the chapel floor. The tree surged upwards, and stopped only when its leafy head slammed against the stone ceiling. The tree toppled forward over Molly, and engulfed her in a brown and green embrace, until it was gone and only Molly stood before us. Wrapped from head to toe in skintight living tree bark, decorated here and there with strings of mistletoe. She looked like a wood nymph, or a dryad of old, with an elemental Druidic feel. The hole in the floor was gone, as though it had never been there, and possibly it hadn’t. Molly turned to face Uncle Jack and me, and smiled. The gleaming bark stretched easily across her face, without cracking.

“I got the idea from you, Eddie,” she said. “This way, I carry the strength and protection of the wild woods with me, wherever I go.”

“You look amazing,” I said.

“Treemendous,” said the Armourer.

“Leaf it out,” I said.

Molly shook her head sadly. “You don’t deserve me; you really don’t.”

The Armourer turned to face the Door. “Mars!” he said loudly. The Door swung open, falling back before us, and a great red glare spilled through the Doorway and into the chapel. A whole new shade of red, unlike anything I’d ever seen before. Warm, almost organic . . .

“That’s it?” Molly said to the Armourer. “You just shout where you want to go?”

“They liked to keep things simple, in Arthurian times,” said the Armourer. “Now stay close, and don’t go wandering off.”

He led the way through the Door, and just like that . . .

We went to Mars.

Everything changed.

The light slammed down like a brick-red waterfall, and everywhere I looked, red planet Mars looked back. Even through my armour’s protection I could tell I’d come to a whole new place, a whole other world. I stood very still, just looking around me. The bleak and dusty surface of the Martian plateau stretched away in every direction. A huge red plain, interrupted here and there with rocks and pebbles, but nothing else. No sign of life at all. The surface of Mars looked like the bottom of the ocean: a sea bed with all the water gone, long gone. A scene not just dead and lifeless, but lacking in any quality to suggest there might ever have been life here. Except for the city. Straight ahead of us rose a huge cliff face. Brick red, rising high as a mountain range, dominating the horizon. And there, cut deep into the cliff face itself, Someone or Something had carved a great city.

Not as we would understand such a thing, of course, but the shapes and structures, the entrances and windows, the long lines and the deep-etched details, all added up to something recognisable as a city. I couldn’t even grasp the scale. I had to tilt my head right back, just to take in the jagged-towered top. There was nothing like it on Earth, in all of human history. The sense of . . . sheer scale, was utterly inhuman. I didn’t know why I was so excited, why my heart was hammering so madly in my chest. I’d been to other worlds, other dimensions, other realities . . . but this was Mars. And Mars has always had a special place in the human heart. It had honestly never even occurred to me that I would ever get to walk on the Martian plains. Behind my golden mask, I was grinning so hard it hurt my face.

So, this was it. The Martian Tombs. All that remained to mark the presence of a race that was over, finished. A race gone to dust and less than dust before Humanity ever appeared on Earth. Our closest neighbour, our older brother. It felt like walking through a graveyard.

Molly moved in close beside me. “A rose red city, half as old as Time . . .”

“That’s what most people say, the first time they see it,” said the Armourer.

I glanced behind me and realised for the first time that the Door was gone. Not a mark left on the red ground, nothing to show the Door had ever been there. We were alone, on Mars.

“Don’t worry, lad,” said the Armourer. “It’ll return, when it’s called. It’s a good Door.”

Molly couldn’t tear her eyes away from the deep red cliff face. “Look at it . . . it’s magnificent! That’s not even a human aesthetic, but it’s obvious what it is. A Martian city . . .”

“No matter how many times I see it, it still takes my breath away,” the Armourer admitted.

I turned to look at him. “You’ve been here before? You never said. How many Summit Meetings have you attended?”

“Three,” said the Armourer. “Neutral ground like this is important. When important decisions have to be made.”

“What sort of agreements are we talking about here?” I said. “I never heard anything about any of this, and I used to run the family! Or at least I thought I did . . .”

“We would have got around to telling you about things like this,” the Armourer said vaguely, “if you’d stayed in charge a bit longer. . . . Do I ask you about all your secrets?”

“Yes!” I said. “All the time!”

“I’m allowed,” said the Armourer. “I’m your uncle. I worry about you. When are you two going to get properly married, and make me a great-uncle? I’m not getting any younger, you know.”

“No,” I said. “But I bet you’re working on it.”

The Armourer shrugged easily. “Ask me something else.”

“How are we hearing each other talk?” I said. “There’s no atmosphere here.”

“Armour speaks to armour,” said the Armourer. “Though how Molly’s joining in is frankly beyond me.”

“Why did the Door drop us all the way out here, on the Martian plain?” said Molly. “It’s a good half-hour’s walk to that cliff. Why not deliver us safely inside the Martian Tombs?”

“Because the Tombs won’t let it,” said the Armourer. “This . . . is as close as the Tombs will allow.”

“Who built the city?” I said. “And when?”

“We don’t know,” said the Armourer. “We just found it. The family, I mean.”

“When?” said Molly.

“More centuries ago than I am comfortable considering,” said the Armourer. “Our family does get around. . . . You must always remember that the Droods are very old and hold many secrets. All I can tell you is that our family’s age is nothing compared to that city. The Tombs are really old. Millennia old. You’re about to ask me how we came here and discovered the Tombs, aren’t you, Eddie? Well, not even I know everything. Loath though I am to admit it. There’s supposed to be a full report on the original discovery somewhere in the Old Library. But William hasn’t found it yet. He says it’s hiding.”

I looked at Molly. “Are you all right, in your . . . bark? Breathing okay?”

“I’m fine, Eddie. Don’t fuss. I’ve probably got more air inside my woods than you have in your armour.” She stopped to look at the Armourer. “Should we be hurrying? Didn’t occur to me to wonder about your air supply.”

“We have more than enough,” the Armourer said comfortably. “But you’re right; we should get a move on. The others will be here soon.”

He started forward, across the great red plain, and Molly and I hurried after him.

My armour quickly adjusted to the different, lighter gravity, compensating for my every movement so I could walk almost normally, instead of just bouncing along. Molly quickly gave up trying, tucked her legs under her to sit cross-legged in mid-air, and floated along between me and the Armourer. There was no sound anywhere around us, just the faint thudding of our feet on the unyielding surface. No shadows, either. I looked up into the swirling dusty skies, where Martian sunlight fell through in fitful streams. It was hard to make out the sun at all, and the two moons were so small I couldn’t see them anywhere.

Molly stopped suddenly and grabbed me by the arm, bringing me to an abrupt halt. “Eddie! Did you see that?”

The Armourer stopped too, and we all looked where Molly was pointing, at the base of the great red cliff. I zoomed in through my mask for all it was worth, but I couldn’t see anything. Nothing moving at all . . .

“What?” said the Armourer, urgently. “What did you see, Molly?”

“I don’t know.” Molly’s voice was small, doubtful. “I thought I saw . . . something moving. But there’s nothing there now. Nothing at all.”

We all stood and looked, for a while.

“Nothing there now,” I said.

“It moved . . . strangely,” said Molly. “Like nothing I’ve ever seen before. And I’ve been around.”

“It’s true,” I said. “She has.”

“Probably just a shadow,” said the Armourer. “Nothing’s lived on Mars for millions of years.”

“You sure about that?” I said.

“Absolutely,” said the Armourer. “Let’s get inside. We’ll be safer there.”

“Safe from what?” said Molly.

“From jumping at shadows,” said the Armourer, firmly.

“We will be safe, inside the Martian Tombs?” I said.

“Well . . . yes and no,” said the Armourer. “We can’t go far inside. The Tombs’ hospitality is strictly limited. But we’ll be safe enough in the entrance lobby. The only thing we really have to worry about are the other people coming to the Summit. Powerful organisations tend to send powerful representatives. Discussions can become heated, and it’s not unheard-of for there to be a certain amount of . . . physical jockeying for position. A butting of heads, if you like, to determine seniority. And all that.”

“Alpha males,” said Molly, scathingly. “Evolution—I’m looking forward to it.”

We moved on again, the Armourer leading the way. Slow plumes of crimson dust rose up with our footprints, settling gradually back again. I moved in close beside Molly.

“Did you really see something?” I said quietly. “Or were you just yanking the Armourer’s chain?”

“I don’t know,” said Molly. “I saw something . . . but maybe it was just a shadow. In case you hadn’t noticed, the shadows don’t move here like they move on Earth. Even the light is weird. This whole place gives me the creeps. Don’t you feel like there’s something watching us?”

“All the time,” I said. “Comes with being a Drood.”

The closer we got to the cliff face, the more details I could make out in the crimson city. The whole cliff face was one enormous facade, all the pieces endlessly interlocking and connecting, and all of it made up of remorselessly straight lines. Not a curve, or a dome, or a circle anywhere. Every single detail was almost unbearably sharp and clear, after unknown millennia standing alone and forgotten. Standing firm, in the face of Time and the Martian elements. Any Earth city would have been ground to dust by now . . . I slowly realised that there were patterns in the face of the city, meaningful shapes within shapes . . . but none of them made any sense to me. The face of the city was an alien mask, inscrutable and unreadable to human eyes.

We came to a halt, finally, standing at the foot of the massive cliff face. Up close, I could make out lines of . . . markings, images. Might have been writing, or language. Though whether they were names, or instructions, or warnings . . . was beyond me. Each symbol was almost insanely intricate. Just running my eyes along them was enough to make my head ache, as though I was trying to assimilate concepts the human mind couldn’t cope with. I pointed them out to the Armourer and he just shrugged.

“Don’t ask me, lad. Haven’t a clue. Don’t know anyone who has. There’s no one left to tell us what they might have meant. No Rosetta Stone, to help us translate them. The words of a lost race . . . their meaning lost, in Time.”

I deliberately didn’t look up the cliff face. The sheer size and scale of it seemed to hang over me, as though it may come crashing down at any moment. Usually, when I’m wearing my armour I feel like I’m ready to take on anything in the world, but I didn’t feel like that here, on this world. My exuberance at making it to Mars was gone; I felt alone, in a strange place, beyond my understanding.

The Armourer leaned forward abruptly, studying a door-shaped design in the cliff face before him. It was huge, some thirty feet tall and maybe half as wide. Definitely not built to any human scale. The Armourer placed one golden palm flat against the brick-red surface. Dust fell in jerking rushes from the outlines of the door, and there was a sudden sense of movement and purpose to the door shape. As though we’d disturbed, or awoken, something. Molly lowered her feet to the ground and stood beside me, ready for action. The door seemed to stand out before us, more definite than ever, as though taking on a role. It slid suddenly, smoothly upwards, revealing a dark opening. Utterly dark, impenetrable even to my mask’s augmented vision. I tried infrared and ultraviolet, and still couldn’t make out anything beyond the door.

“Don’t worry,” said the Armourer. “I have powerful lights built into my armour.”

“Of course you have,” I said.

Two large lenses rose up out of my uncle Jack’s shoulders, and blasted great beams of pure white light into the doorway. They blazed brightly, pushing back the dark, revealing a tunnel of dark red, almost organic material. Like staring into the body of some enormous beast. The white light was subtly comforting, after so much red everywhere. The Armourer strode into the tunnel, blasting his white light ahead of him, and Molly and I followed him in, sticking close behind. We didn’t want to be left outside the light. The moment we were all inside, the door slid silently shut behind us. Locking us in.

The Armourer just kept walking, counting his steps under his breath. He moved his shoulders just enough to keep the lights ranging back and forth. The tunnel soon opened out into a huge, overpoweringly massive chamber. The sheer size of it was unpleasantly oppressive to merely human senses. The light from the Armourer’s suit showed only brief glimpses of our surroundings. No human could ever be comfortable in such a place. The sense of scale was off the chart. They were bigger people, here. Back then.

The floor was made up of pale yellow squares that didn’t look like stone or metal. Some kind of crystal, perhaps. Flat and smooth, they seemed to swallow up the sound our footsteps made as we trod on them. For all its antiquity the floor was completely unsullied and unmarked, with not a speck of dust anywhere.

“Is there nothing left here to tell us who and what the Martians were?” Molly said softly.

“No,” said the Armourer. “Not a trace. They were long gone, millions of years gone, before the first Human set foot on Mars. Long and long before we found the Tombs. Of course, we haven’t been able to explore much. The Tombs don’t allow us to travel beyond this chamber. But as far as we can tell, nothing remains to even suggest what manner of creature the Martians were.”

“Bigger than us,” I said. “And, they built to last.”

We were all talking quietly, respectfully. As though we didn’t want to draw attention to ourselves. The darkness outside the Armourer’s white light was still complete, and unfathomable.

“Why do you call this place the Tombs?” Molly said suddenly. “If you’ve never found any bodies?”

“Because that’s what this place feels like,” said the Armourer. “A place of the dead.”

“And Louise was here on her own?” I said to Molly. “Your sister must have been scared out of her wits.”

“Oh, nothing bothers Louise,” said Molly. “Not if it knows what’s good for it. If she really was here . . . I mean, she didn’t leave any traces. Nothing missing, nothing broken. Which is not like Louise . . .”

The Armourer was still moving steadily forward, counting steps, or maybe panels, under his breath. And we went with him, to stay in his light. He finally stopped counting, knelt down and placed one golden palm on the floor, covering one particular crystal square. It lit up immediately, pouring out a pale yellow light, strangely unpleasant, like stale urine. The Armourer stood up, and shut down his shoulder lights. Crystal squares lit up all around us, pouring more light into the massive chamber. Great rumbling sounds started up deep beneath the floor. I could feel slow juddering vibrations through the golden soles of my feet. The whole floor suddenly blazed with yellow light, and then the walls, and the ceiling far above. The huge chamber made itself known all around us, appallingly large and entirely unsympathetic. The three of us stood close together, desperate for human contact and feeling, in the face of such . . . inhuman vastness. You could have stuck the whole of Drood Hall in this chamber, and it would have looked small and lost.

There was something wrong with the yellow light, something subtly disturbing, as though it was meant for a different kind of eye, or sensibility. It was like being underwater, though I could make out every detail clearly enough. The light pulsed endlessly, moving in slow rolls or waves from one end of the huge chamber to the other, and then back again. It took me a moment to realise I wasn’t casting a shadow. Neither was Molly, nor the Armourer. That spooked me, on some deep primal level. I wanted to ask the Armourer to put his lights back on, to have some sane white light to look at. But I didn’t. First rule of a Drood in enemy territory: never do anything that might make you look weak. I craned my head back to look up at the ceiling; it had to be three, maybe four hundred feet above us. I felt a kind of reverse vertigo, as though I might fall upwards at any moment. I looked away.

There were no markings, no lines of alien symbols, on any of the walls. Just more flat crystal squares, like those on the floor and the ceiling: smooth and untroubled.

“Why did this place react to your touch?” I asked the Armourer. Just to be saying something. “Did you . . . ?”

“Hell no,” said the Armourer. “None of this is anything to do with me. The Tombs created this room, for us. To serve our needs. Don’t ask me why. It’s a mystery. Ah, there! Can you feel that? Earth gravity has been established. That means this room now has Earth normal conditions. It’s safe to armour down. In the sense that nothing in this room will actually try to kill us.”

“You sure about that?” I said.

“Don’t mess around, Eddie,” said the Armourer, not unkindly. “I have done this before.”

He armoured down, and the golden strange matter disappeared back into his torc in a moment. He was still wearing his messy lab coat, over his rude T-shirt, and looked extremely out of place. But then he always did, anywhere outside his beloved Armoury. He peered interestedly about him, apparently completely unconcerned, so I armoured down too. The air was flat and tasteless, and though I breathed deeply, I couldn’t smell anything. The air was cool, and completely still. I turned to Molly just as the bark surrounding her disappeared. She shuddered briefly, despite herself, and then her head came up and she glared about her. Molly didn’t believe in being impressed by anything. She shot me a quick grin.

“The wild woods I brought with me aren’t gone, I just shifted them sideways. I can call them back at a moment’s notice.”

I looked at her, and then at the Armourer. “Her explanations are even worse than yours, Uncle Jack.”

“What an appalling place this is,” said Molly. “I have been in travel lodges with more character. Whole place looks like one big toilet.”

“Don’t you dare!” I said immediately.

She sniffed loudly. “It’s all right for you. You can do it in your armour. Knew I should have gone before we left.”

“What do you want me to do?” I said. “Extrude a golden chamber pot for you, from out of my armour?”

“You can do that?” said Molly.

“Well,” I said, “I’ve never tried . . . but I suppose, in an emergency . . .”

“A little less chatter, children,” said the Armourer, not looking back at us. “We’re not alone, here. . . .”

Even as he spoke, machines or something that looked very like machines began to rise up out of the floor all around us. Utterly silent, with no discernable moving parts, formed from some strange kind of translucent metal, with an odd bluish tinge. Molly and I moved quickly to stand back-to-back. Just on general principles. The machines didn’t seem to be doing anything, but the Armourer seemed pleased to see them.

“Will you two please behave?” he said testily. “I’ll tell you when it’s time to panic. Think of these things as the welcoming committee. I’d love to take one of them back with me to study, but the Tombs won’t let anything go.”

A single column of glowing crystal rose up out of the floor, right beside me. A small flat grey thing sat on the flat top of the column. It looked like a grey credit card, with no markings of any kind. I stood very still, and considered the object.

“Uncle Jack?” I said carefully. “What does this mean? What am I supposed to do?”

“Haven’t a clue,” he said, watching with great interest. Though I noticed he wasn’t moving a single step closer. “This has never happened before. . . .”

The farther end of the crystal column tilted up, so that the grey card started to slide towards me, and in the end I had to grab it or let it fall to the floor. It felt flat and very smooth, and subtly cold to the touch. The moment I had it, the column sank back into the floor again.

“All right, take the bloody thing,” said the Armourer. “Clearly the Tombs want you to have it. Never mind that I’ve hosted three Summits here, and it’s never offered me anything. I’m not sulking at all.”

Molly leaned in close for a better look. I offered her the grey card, but she declined. “Maybe it’s a Get out of jail free card. I’ve always wanted one of those.”

“Become a Drood,” I said. “We have diplomatic immunity.”

“This has never happened before,” the Armourer said thoughtfully. “But then, you’ve never been here before, Eddie. Maybe you are special, after all.”

“Don’t,” said Molly. “He’s hard enough to live with as it is.”

“Put the thing somewhere safe,” said the Armourer. “And for God’s sake don’t lose it. I’ll take a closer look at it when we get back.”

I slipped the grey card carefully into my pocket, and on into the pocket dimension I keep there. For strange and valuable items, or things that might go off bang unexpectedly. Because you never know when you might have a use for such a thing. Although, a part of me was whispering Beware of Martians bearing gifts . . .

A table rose up out of the floor. A quite ordinary table: flat surface and four legs, some thirty feet long and ten wide. Made of the same crystal stuff as the floor. A set of human-sized, human-scaled chairs rose up next, around the table. They didn’t look the least bit comfortable, but they were clearly intended to be used by beings of human proportions. I looked at the Armourer.

“Are you doing this?”

“No. This is what always happens at Summit Meetings. Whether one of our ancestors first arranged this, or whether the Tombs worked it out for themselves, I have no idea. Hmmm, that’s interesting.”

“What?” Molly said immediately. “What’s interesting? Should I be worried yet? Guess what—too late . . .”

“I count nine chairs,” said the Armourer. “And I was given to understand that only five others would be joining us, representing five organisations.”

I gave him a hard look. “How does this room know how many places to set at table? Are we being watched? Are there computers here, or something?”

“Almost certainly something,” said the Armourer. “Just go with the flow, that’s my advice.”

Another machine appeared, at the end of the table. Just a clear glass container, on top of another crystal column. No obvious controls or clues as to what it was supposed to do. The Armourer made a happy, satisfied sound; and I had to fight down the urge to dive for cover. Whenever my uncle Jack makes that kind of noise in his Armoury, it usually means something extraordinarily destructive is about to happen.

“About time!” said the Armourer, beaming happily on the new arrival. “I’ve been feeling a bit peckish.”

“What is it?” said Molly, moving right up to the glass container and staring at it closely. Mention of food always draws her forward, like a moth to a flame.

“A machine to produce food and drink for Summit guests,” the Armourer said happily. “Human food, mind, not Martian. Don’t ask me how it does it, but this can supply anything you could ever want. Go on! Ask it!”

“You ask,” I said. “We’ll watch.”

“I really have trained you awfully well, haven’t I?” said the Armourer. He addressed the empty container with a clear carrying voice. “I’ll have a Provencal truffle with grated Stilton; Siberian caviar on dry toast fingers; and a glass of pink champagne. Shaken, not stirred.”

Two plates of food and a champagne glass appeared inside the glass container. The top disappeared, and the Armourer reached in and helped himself. He set them down on the table, and tucked in cheerfully.

“God, I miss being a field agent. And having unlimited expenses.”

I moved forward and addressed the thing. “Beef madras curry, with pilau rice. And a bottle of Beck’s.”

And there it all was. Along with plain functional cutlery, made from the bluish metal. I took the steaming curry to the table, and sat down. The bottle was ice cold. I tried a mouthful of food, followed by a mouthful of drink, and had to struggle to hold back delighted ecstatic sounds. Best I’d ever tasted. I studied the bottle carefully. The label gave every indication of being genuine. Maybe it was some kind of transporter, beaming things up from Earth . . . though the power involved would be almost inconceivable.

Molly confronted the glass container with the gleam of battle in her eye. “I want a beefburger, twelve ounces, medium rare, with cheese and onion and bacon, and a fried egg on top.”

The burger appeared. It was a work of art; a thing of beauty and a joy forever. Molly grabbed it and bit into it, and grease ran down her chin as her eyes squeezed shut. She didn’t even try to hold back the loud ecstatic noises. We all sat at the table, engrossed in our food. When we were finished, we all looked thoughtfully at the glass container. We were all thinking of second helpings, but no one wanted to go first and seem like a pig.

“How the hell does it do that?” said Molly.

“I have no idea,” said the Armourer. “And I’m getting really tired of saying that. I’ve been trying to duplicate the thing in my lab for years, with only very limited success.”

“How does it get everything so right, from such a basic description?” I said.

“I think something in the Tombs reads our minds,” said the Armourer.

Molly glared about her suspiciously.

A viewscreen suddenly appeared, six foot by three, floating in mid-air above the table. It showed a view of the open red plain that we’d just crossed to get to the Tombs. The detail was so sharp I could see the trail our footprints had left.

“Ah!” said the Armourer, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “This means our guests are about to arrive. Pay attention. You might learn something useful. The Summit Meeting, also known as the Consultation, has been going on, off and on, for centuries. It has outlasted many of the secret groups and organisations who originally founded it. So it’s always interesting to see who actually turns up. No one ever wants to refuse the honour, but circumstances sometimes take their toll. When the call goes out, everyone who can attends. If only to make sure they don’t get left out of having their say in whatever’s decided.”

Quite suddenly without benefit of dimensional Door, secret Gate, or any obvious means of transportation, a figure was walking across the red plain. Plodding steadily towards the city in a heavy suit of plate steel armour. Resolutely medieval in style, with boots and gauntlets, stylised greaves and main-gauches, and a great blocky steel helmet with a coloured feather sticking up: blue, with purple trimmings. The knight in armour wore a great sword on one hip, and a bloody big axe on the other. It was hard to judge scale at such a distance, but he gave every indication of being a really big fellow. He left a trail of deep footprints behind him, punched into the plain by the sheer weight of his armour.

“Sir Parsifal, representing the London Knights,” said the Armourer. “I recognise the plume. An interesting choice, for a representative.”

“You know him?” said Molly.

“Let’s say, of him,” said the Armourer. “Brave and true, honest as the day is long, arrogant and stuck-up and a real pain in the arse to work with.”

“How can you be so sure, if you haven’t actually met him?” I said.

“Because that sums up all the London Knights,” the Armourer said flatly. “Think they’re so big time, just because they’ve been around almost as long as we have. They’ve been even more insufferable, just lately, ever since King Arthur returned to lead them again. Haven’t got a dragon, though, have you, Parsifal? We’ve got a dragon!”

My gaze was jerked back to the floating viewscreen, as something dark and indistinct came hurtling down through the swirling atmosphere. Sir Parsifal didn’t even pause to look. Even when the something slammed down into the red plain not fifty feet away, hard enough to raise great clouds of red dust. The clouds slowly settled, revealing a single human shape kneeling in the centre of a new crater. He was wearing what looked like some kind of steampunk spacesuit. Without waiting to be asked, the viewscreen obligingly closed in for a better look. The atmosphere suit had clearly been based on an old-fashioned diving suit, complete with a bulbous metal helmet, and weights attached here and there to compensate for the lesser gravity. Modern scuba oxygen cylinders had been strapped on to his back, while his chest boasted a large Union Jack flag. The figure slowly straightened up, got its bearings, and headed purposefully for the great cliff face.

“All right,” said Molly. “I’ll bite. What the hell is that tatty museum piece doing here?”

“That,” said the Armourer, “is almost certainly the representative from the Carnacki Institute. They’ve been around for ages, and they never throw anything away.”

“The Ghost Finders?” I said. “What business have they got at a Summit like this?”

“I have to wonder whether that might be their boss, inside that suit,” said the Armourer. “Catherine Latimer . . . She and Crow Lee were something of an item, back in the day. Her insight on the nature of the Inheritance would be invaluable. But, she’s a bit too old and too fragile to handle a landing like that. Must be one of her field agents. And don’t be so snotty, Eddie! The Institute does valuable work.”

“Okay,” I said. “Now explain the spacesuit.”

“From the original manned moon landing, back in Victorian times,” said the Armourer. “We’re not the only ones with a secret history.”

“You just made that up!” said Molly.

“I wish,” said the Armourer.

The view in the viewscreen shifted suddenly, whipping sideways across the great red plain at staggering speed, and then slammed to a halt to show a Door opening. It looked a lot more modern than ours, while still entirely basic and ordinary. A tall dark figure stepped through it, and the Door immediately slammed shut behind him, and disappeared. The figure looked around, taking his time. Molly and I looked at each other, sighed heavily, and shook our heads regretfully. We knew this one, by reputation. Everyone did.

Dead Boy was seventeen. He’d been seventeen some thirty years now, ever since he was mugged and murdered in the Nightside. And then came back from the dead to avenge his murder. He made a deal with Someone he still won’t talk about, but he should have paid more attention to the small print. Because there was nothing in the compact he made about getting to lie down again afterwards. So now Dead Boy goes on and on, trapped in his body; a returned soul possessing his own corpse.

Tall and adolescent thin, he wore a deep purple greatcoat over black leather trousers, and scuffed calfskin boots. He wore a black rose on his lapel, and a large floppy hat crammed down on dark curly hair. He stood alone on the Mars surface, unprotected and unaffected by the local conditions because he was, after all, dead. He stared about him in an open, touristy way, and then jumped up and down a few times, to test the gravity. He looked like he was giggling. He strode off across the red plain, kicking red dust this way and that with happy abandon.

“Oh, hell,” said the Armourer. “All the people the Nightside Authorities could have sent, and they chose Dead Boy? Why couldn’t they have sent their new Walker, John Taylor?”

“Because he’s on honeymoon,” said Molly. “He married Shotgun Suzie, just recently. I read it in Heat magazine.” I looked at her, and she shrugged self-consciously. “The Nightside edition. I’m a subscriber. Look, do I make comments when you watch Testosterone Gear?”

“I like Top Gear,” I said. “It makes me feel manly.”

“Pay attention, children,” said the Armourer. “Someone else is arriving.”

A bright light flared, out on the Martian plain, and suddenly . . . a four-foot-tall teddy bear was standing there, looking around him with great interest. He was wearing his famous blue tunic and trousers, and his big red scarf. He smiled at everything, and his bright intelligent eyes were full of wonder and delight. Every child’s good friend, and companion in adventure, in the far off Golden Lands. Bruin Bear. From those wonderful stories we all read when we were young. I understand he’s out of fashion and out of print, these days.

Kids today don’t know what they’re missing.

And there at Bruin Bear’s side, his constant friend and companion, the Sea Goat. Tall and angular in his blue-grey trench-coat, human enough in shape, but topped with a large blocky goat’s head, complete with long curving horns. He . . . didn’t look particularly pleased to be on Mars.

Dead Boy went over to join them, and they were soon having a cheerful conversation. The lack of air didn’t seem to bother any of them. Because he was dead, and they were fictional. Bruin Bear and the Sea Goat resided at Shadows Fall these days, a small town in the back of beyond where legends go to die when the world stops believing in them. An elephant’s graveyard for the supernatural.

The Ghost Finder in his antiquated atmosphere suit came over to join them, and patted Bruin Bear fondly on the head. The Bear let him because he was, after all, everyone’s friend. The Sea Goat gave the Ghost Finder a cold unwavering glare that clearly said Don’t even think about it . . . and then they all walked on together, heading for the city in the cliff. None of them made any attempt to catch up with Sir Parsifal.

“Oh, bloody hell,” said the Armourer. “Not Bruin Bear and the Sea Goat . . . I was sure Shadows Fall was going to send Old Father Time. Okay . . . hide everything valuable, including the cutlery; don’t promise the Sea Goat anything; and if he starts any trouble, just hit him over the head with something solid. Don’t worry, you can’t hurt him; he’s fictional.”

And then, finally, the last arrival. A strange contraption appeared out of nowhere, some distance away from the others. A great cage of twisted silver bars, throwing off multicoloured sparks like a fireworks display. The cage shook and shuddered, like it might fly apart at any moment, and then abruptly settled down. The lights blinked off, and there, standing in the middle of the cage, was a tall Asian young lady, looking very formal and intimidating. She held herself like a Royal on a state visit, as though she was slumming just by being there. The silver cage disappeared, leaving her standing alone on the Martian surface, surrounded by a shimmering force shield. She was wearing a pink leather cat-suit, topped with a pink pillbox hat, over neatly trimmed black hair. She strode purposefully forward across the red plain, ignoring the others completely.

“Now, what is that little bitch doing here?” said Molly.

“You know her?” I said.

“Natasha Chang? Hell, yes. She still owes me money. She’s a field agent for the Crowley Project. . . . Oh come on, Eddie, you must have heard of them! Nasty people, doing nasty things, always for a profit. Natasha is a Project field agent. A supernatural terrorist, serial nightclubber, rampant despoiler of fit young men who should know better, and eater of souls. And no, I am not even a little bit exaggerating. She eats ghosts, and digests their memories. I worked with her, a few times. On . . . matters of mutual interest.”

“My girlfriend has a past,” I said solemnly. “The horror, the horror . . . What’s this Natasha Chang doing here?”

“The Crowley Project was originally founded by Crow Lee,” said the Armourer. “The gaps in your background knowledge never cease to amaze me, Eddie. The Project kicked him out, eventually, so they could go their own unpleasant way . . . but they still know more about Crow Lee than anyone else. They kept him under constant surveillance, probably in self-defence. Which is why they have a seat at the table today. Because if anyone knows for sure what the Crow Lee Inheritance actually is, it’s them.”

“This is going to be a very noisy meeting, isn’t it?” I said.

“Oh, you have no idea,” said the Armourer. “We’ll probably have to clean blood and hair off the walls before we can leave.”

It took them all a while to arrive and assemble in the oversized entrance hall of the Martian Tombs. Sir Parsifal was the first, of course. The door in the cliff face didn’t even wait for him to touch it, just slid rapidly upwards to get out of his way as he strode heavily forward. I sort of got the impression that if it hadn’t, he would have walked right through it. There’s no doubt the London Knights are the good guys, but they do like to think of themselves as the biggest dog on the block.

Sir Parsifal slammed to a halt at the foot of the long table, and studied us silently through the Y-shaped slit in the front of his helmet. His eyes were cold and grey and unyielding. He dismissed Molly and me immediately, and gave all his attention to the Armourer, who bowed politely. The Knight inclined his head slightly, and then removed his helmet to reveal a hard-faced man in his early thirties, with a blunt square head, a bald pate, and no eyebrows. His mouth was set in a thin straight line.

“I greet you, Jack Drood, in the name of King Arthur Returned,” said Sir Parsifal. His voice was polite, but distant.

“I greet you, Sir Parsifal, in the name of Drood,” said the Armourer. “Be welcome to this Summit Meeting. Allow me to present . . .”

“I know who they are,” said the Knight. “The witch, and the renegade Drood.”

He didn’t seem at all pleased to meet me, so I made a point of giving him my most friendly smile, while holding Molly firmly by the elbow so she wouldn’t throw herself at him. The Knight had already looked away.

“Please be seated,” said the Armourer, “while we wait for the others. Refreshments are available.”

“Not while I’m on duty,” said Sir Parsifal. His mouth twitched slightly. Apparently that had been his idea of a joke. “I do not eat or drink, in enemy territory.”

“I thought this was supposed to be neutral ground,” I said. “That’s why we came all this way.”

Sir Parsifal kept his gaze fixed on the Armourer. “No such thing, boy. What are you teaching them at the Hall these days, Armourer?”

“You two know each other?” I said.

“Back in my field agent days,” said the Armourer. “Everyone knows everyone, out in the field.”

“That was back in the sixties,” I said. “You don’t look nearly old enough, Sir Parsifal.”

“I don’t believe in aging,” said the Knight. “Do enough of it, and you die.”

His mouth twitched again. Another joke. He was going to be a barrel of laughs, this one; I could tell.

I let go of Molly’s elbow. She was still glaring daggers at the Knight, but even she had enough sense not to take on a Knight of the Round Table. Unless she had to. The London Knights exist to protect our world from Outside threats. They’ve fought off alien invasions, other-dimensional incursions, and gone head-to-head with gods and monsters and everything in between. And they’ve never lost a war. The Droods exist to protect Humanity from Earthly threats; the London Knights take care of everything else.

And on the few occasions when we overlap, we’re all terribly careful to be very polite, and hide the fact that we can’t stand each other.

“We had to take on the Hungry Gods ourselves,” I said, just a bit pointedly. “Where were you guys when we needed you?”

“We can’t be everywhere, boy,” said Sir Parsifal. “It’s a big universe. We’re stretched thin, these days.”

The steampunk spacesuit arrived next, stomping in through the entrance tunnel. Steam hissed loudly from the joints, and the lead boots made loud jarring sounds on the crystal floor. The suit waved cheerfully at us all, as the man inside peered out through the metal grille on the front of his diving helmet. And then the whole suit split open, right down the middle, from top to bottom, and the Ghost Finder stepped out. The suit crumpled to the floor, and lay there, as the man from inside strode forward to join us at the table.

Tall and dark and handsome, elegant and arrogant, in a blindingly white suit, the Ghost Finder had a rock star’s mane of really long dark hair, and wore sunglasses so dark I was amazed he could see through them. He grinned cockily at all of us, as though he just knew he was the one we’d all been waiting for.

“J. C. Chance, Ghost Finder Extraordinaire, at your service,” he said easily. “Don’t all cheer at once, just throw money. I represent the Carnacki Institute, for my sins; officially licensed arse-kickers of the supernatural. Our motto: We don’t take any shit from the Hereafter. Or anyone else, for that matter. We exist to investigate ghosts, and Do Something about them. I recognise everyone here, of course. We have extensive files, at the Institute. On everyone who matters and a great many who might. Hello, Molly. Been a while, hasn’t it?”

I glowered at her. “Is this another of your dodgy exes?”

“Oh, please,” said Molly. “Him? I wouldn’t piss down his throat if his lungs were on fire. We just . . . worked together, a few times. That’s all. Hello, J.C. Play nice, or I’ll tell everyone what your initials really stand for.”

“I stand for pretty much anything,” said J.C.

And then he took off his sunglasses, and looked around. His eyes blazed with a fierce golden light. He studied the massive chamber as though he was looking right through the crystal walls, at what lay behind, and when he turned suddenly back to look at me I actually shuddered, for a moment. There was something inhuman about that gaze. He slipped his sunglasses back into place, and we all relaxed, just a little.

“Those are seriously spooky eyes,” I said. “What happened?”

“Laser surgery,” said J.C. “I’m suing.”

“He was touched inappropriately by Outside forces,” said the Armourer.

“Good or bad?” said Sir Parsifal, immediately.

“Let me get back to you on that,” said J.C.

“I was rather hoping to see Catherine Latimer,” said the Armourer. “Given her . . . close relationship with Crow Lee.”

“Sorry,” said J.C. He didn’t sound it. “She’s busy.”

“Busy?” said Sir Parsifal, loudly. “What could possibly be more important than stopping a war that threatens to tear the whole world apart?”

“You ask her,” said J.C. “I wouldn’t dare.”

He flashed a wide meaningless smile at all of us, and took a seat at the table, adjusting his ice-cream white trousers carefully to favour the razor-sharp crease.

Next to appear was Dead Boy, swaggering in like he owned the place. Up close, he looked even more dead, even while he blazed with an unnatural vitality. His long greatcoat hung open at the front, revealing an old Y-shaped autopsy scar, a whole bunch of other injuries, and several bullet holes. Along with a great many stitches, staples, and the occasional length of black duct tape, to hold everything in. His long pale face had a restless, debauched, Pre-Raphaelite look, with fever-bright eyes and a sulky colourless mouth.

“God save all here, and call the Devil a bastard to his face,” he said loudly. “No . . . can’t say I know any of you. Don’t much care, either. Sorry if I’m not much on manners, but it’s hard to sweat the small stuff when you’re dead. Let’s get this over with, so I can get back to some serious smiting of the ungodly I’ve got lined up in the Nightside. Got to take your pleasures where you can find them, when your senses are a sometime thing. I was told there were refreshments. . . .”

The Armourer explained the glass container to Dead Boy, who studied it thoughtfully, with a most unpleasant smile. He produced a silver pillbox, and dry swallowed half a dozen pills, of various Technicolor hues.

“Got this marvellous Obeah woman, whips up these little treasures for me,” he said. “Builds a fire in the cold, cold flesh so I can experience bodily pleasures. For a while.”

He then ordered some of the most revolting food and drink I’ve ever heard of, piled it all up on the same plate, and pounded it down with great enthusiasm. He bent right over the table from his chair, pushing the stuff in with both hands, and everyone else edged their chairs a little bit farther away. Dead Boy studied us all with his burning eyes, and grinned.

“So, you two are Droods. I recognise the torcs. You’re a London Knight; I recognise the armour. And you’re a Ghost Finder; I recognise the complacency. And you’re. . . . No. Sorry, girlie. Don’t know you at all.”

“I’m Molly Metcalf! The wicked witch of the wild woods!”

“Doesn’t mean a thing. Don’t really keep up with the tabloids any more.”

“You’ll have to excuse our friend,” said a warm and fuzzy voice. “Because it’s either that or hit him a lot, and he wouldn’t feel it anyway.”

Bruin Bear came forward to greet us, and we all had some kind of smile for him. He was that sort of Bear. Dead Boy laughed out loud and jumped to his feet. He ran over to hug the Bear fiercely. By then we were all on our feet, and Bruin Bear made a point of shaking hands with everyone. His paw was warm and furry and very firm in my hand. He smiled at me, and I had tears in my eyes. It’s not every day you greet an old childhood friend of your early reading days, made real. I wanted to hug him too, but I had my dignity. Afterwards, I wished I had. I’m sure he wouldn’t have minded. Molly patted his head and tugged at one of his ears, and he let her. Even Sir Parsifal had a real smile for the Bear, leaning right over to carefully enclose the fuzzy paw in one great steel gauntlet.

“Oh, no, don’t mind me,” said a figure in the doorway. “Ignore me, overlook me, I’m used to it. My lot in life, these days. It’s just hard . . . when you’re not a star any more. Unlike some people . . .”

The Sea Goat raised a bottle of vodka to his oversized mouth, and took a good long swig. He’d fallen far and fallen hard, and didn’t care who knew it. Dead Boy laughed, threw an arm around the Sea Goat’s shoulders, grabbed the vodka bottle away from him, and drank deeply.

“You think it’s hard being dead,” said the Sea Goat. “Try being fictional! I was a beloved hero of childhood fantasies, along with Bruin Bear. And now, no one gives a damn. Bloody kids don’t read any more. . . . They should be made to read! I was big, I tell you! Big! It’s just the books that got small. . . .”

“Why isn’t Old Father Time here?” said the Armourer, just a bit plaintively.

“Apparently there’s a major backup in the Chronoflow,” said Bruin Bear. “And no, I don’t understand that either. But he couldn’t get away, so we volunteered. I’ve always wanted to see Mars!”

“I wanted to see Disneyland,” said the Sea Goat, wrestling his vodka bottle back from Dead Boy. “But apparently they only let in their own characters.” He grinned suddenly, showing large blocky teeth. “So I sneaked in! I had Snow White! Standing up on a roller coaster!”

“Is there anything more embarrassing than a legend that doesn’t know when it’s time to lie down and shut up?” said the final arrival, in a polished, very private finishing school tone of voice. We all turned to look.

Natasha Chang stood facing the end of the table, sweet as cyanide and twice as deadly. The door to the entrance tunnel slid smoothly and very firmly down behind her. Natasha didn’t even look back. A beautiful and exotic young lady in her pink leather cat-suit, with artfully bobbed black hair, heavy makeup to exaggerate her slanting eyes, and a teasing smile. Elegant and stylish, and aristocratically poised, but I couldn’t help noticing that she was wearing enough heavy rings on the fingers of both hands to qualify as knuckle-dusters. Molly sniffed, quietly and dangerously, beside me.

“Try to force your eyeballs back into their sockets, Eddie. First rule when it comes to dealing with anyone from the Crowley Project is never relax for a moment. Because they’ll steal your soul first chance they get, just to keep their hand in.”

“Or eat it?” I murmured.

“Well, well!” said Natasha, deepening her smile to bring out the dimples in her cheeks. “The amazing Eddie Drood and the infamous Molly Metcalf . . . how nice! Are you here representing the Droods, or your new masters, the Department of the Uncanny?”

“Both,” I said. “We get around.”

“So I’ve heard,” murmured Natasha, batting her heavy eyelids at both of us.

“Don’t push your luck, darling,” said Molly.

“How rude,” pouted Natasha. She turned away, dismissing both of us, and swayed forward to stand before J. C. Chance. Who, to do him justice, stood his ground. He bowed to her sardonically, but something in his face, and perhaps his gaze, stopped her short. She pretended it was her own idea, and turned to Dead Boy.

“Love the look, darling,” she said. “I could just eat you up.”

“I’d only make you ill,” said Dead Boy.

Natasha looked at Bruin Bear and the Sea Goat. “Oh, I see you’ve brought your pets you with. . . . Bless.”

“Nasty woman,” said Bruin Bear.

“Oh, yeah,” said the Sea Goat, grinning unpleasantly. “Hey there, bad girl, want a suck on my Stoli?”

“Can’t take you anywhere,” sighed the Bear.

“As host of this Summit Meeting, I suggest we all take our seats at the table,” the Armourer said loudly. “We have a lot to discuss, and not much time to do it in. For the moment no one knows we’re here, but that won’t last. The Martian Tombs are proof against eavesdropping, but there’s nothing to stop other interested parties from dropping in to crash the party, once they realise something’s going on here.”

“I was going to mention that,” I said. “I can’t help noticing that all the groups gathered here are based in England. Where are the Americans, and the Russians? Not to mention the Chinese, the Indians, and so on and so on? This is a worldwide threat we’re here to discuss.”

“The word went out,” said the Armourer. “It’s not our problem if they don’t take it seriously.”

“They can play catch-up later,” said Sir Parsifal. “I prefer smaller gatherings; decisions get made faster.”

“I was hoping the Regent of Shadows would be here,” said J.C. “A very useful person to have around when there’s sudden death in the offing, by all accounts.”

“His reputation does precede him,” said the Armourer. “But it was thought his presence here might prove . . . divisive.”

“Because so many of us would kill him on sight, for good reason,” said Sir Parsifal. “Penance and good works in his old age are all very well, but some of us remember why he really had to leave his family.”

I looked at the London Knight sharply, but he had nothing more to say. The Armourer looked uncomfortable, but remained silent. We all chose a chair and settled ourselves around the long table, allowing plenty of room between our various spheres of influence. The Armourer sat at the head of the table, as host, and looked hopefully about him . . . but nobody seemed to want to get the ball rolling. And then J.C. took his sunglasses off again, and glared about with his terrible glowing eyes. We all started, and looked quickly around.

“Is anyone else Seeing what I’m Seeing?” said J.C.

I called my armour out of my torc and fashioned a pair of golden sunglasses to look through, and glared all around me . . . but I couldn’t See anything new. I glanced at Molly, and she shrugged quickly.

“This whole place looks weird to me,” said Dead Boy. “I do feel sort of . . . at home, here, but then I would. What are you Seeing, Ghost Boy?”

“We’re not alone here,” said J.C.

“You can See Martians?” said Bruin Bear.

“Not . . . as such,” said J.C. He put his shades back on. “I think the sooner we make our decisions and get the hell out of here, the better. And no, I’m not going to say anything else.”

“Well, thanks a whole bunch for that,” said the Sea Goat. “Unnerve us all, why don’t you? Martians? Hah! Bug-eyed Monsters . . . I eat stranger things than that for breakfast in Shadows Fall!”

“It’s true,” said Bruin Bear. “He does.”

I looked around, one last time. The crystal walls blazed brightly . . . and maybe it was just my imagination that made me think I glimpsed huge dark shadows moving beyond them. The Armourer said the Martians were dead and gone, long gone. But that didn’t mean there was no one else here in the Tombs.

Louise wouldn’t have come here for no reason. . . . I made the golden sunglasses disappear, and deliberately turned my back on the walls.

“Hold everything,” said Molly. “Isn’t there going to be anyone here from Bradford-on-Avon? It is supposed to be the most important town in the world.”

“I thought that was Shadows Fall,” said the Sea Goat.

“No, we’re outside the world, strictly speaking,” said Bruin Bear.

Sir Parsifal leaned forward, the joints of his armour creaking loudly. “The town you just mentioned . . . is best left to itself.”

“We leave the town alone,” said the Armourer, “and they leave the world alone. It’s safer that way.”

“Boring . . .” said Dead Boy.

Sir Parsifal glared at him. “Since when do we allow walking corpses to attend our Summits? We used to have standards. . . . The business of the living should be determined by the living. Not by dead bodies with delusions of grandeur.”

Dead Boy punched Sir Parsifal in the head. The Knight’s head whipped round under the force of the blow, and we could all hear the bones in Dead Boy’s hand breaking. When Sir Parsifal turned back, his cold expression hadn’t changed at all. Dead Boy snarled defiantly at him, and quietly pushed the bones in his hand back into place again.

The Armourer was on his feet. “Behave yourself, Dead Boy! Or I will throw you out of this meeting! You know I can do it. And then you can explain to the Nightside Authorities why you weren’t present when the important decisions were made. And Sir Parsifal—apologise.”

“He started it,” said the Knight.

“You deserved it. You know the rules of the Summit. We all leave our personal feelings behind, the better to concentrate on the matter at hand. Now apologise to Dead Boy, or I’ll put you out. And you know I can do it.”

“Of course,” said Sir Parsifal. “You would think that, wouldn’t you?”

“We’re Droods,” I said. “We can do anything. Everyone knows that.”

Sir Parsifal nodded. “Of course. You are quite right, Sir Armourer. I was forgetting. I apologise, Dead Boy.”

“Fair enough,” said Dead Boy. “Let’s all be friends! Group hug?”

The Armourer sat down again. I was still watching Sir Parsifal. My uncle Jack had warned me about head-butting and jockeying for position, but I hadn’t thought it would be so obvious. The Knight had pushed things, to see what he could get away with, and now he was sitting there quite calmly, looking around him, waiting for his next chance.

“The Meeting will come to order,” said the Armourer, harshly. “First order of business: does anyone here know exactly what the Crow Lee Inheritance is?”

There was a lot of glancing back and forth, but no one said anything. Until finally Natasha Chang cleared her throat in a meaningful sort of way.

“No one in the Crowley Project has had anything to do with the nasty old scrote himself, since we booted him out all those years ago. Are you saying you don’t know, Drood?”

“We know the Inheritance exists,” said the Armourer. “We know that a great many powerful organisations and individuals are preparing to go to war over it. So whatever it might or might not turn out to be, we have to decide what to do about it, now. Before things get really out of hand.”

“We’ve heard our fair share of rumours at the Institute,” said J.C. “The Inheritance could consist of all the riches, secrets, unique items he acquired down the years. More than enough there to go to war over. The Boss allowed me to take a quick look through Crow Lee’s file before I left. You wouldn’t believe how many pages it runs to. . . . But there’s nothing about an Inheritance. I don’t think any of us expected him to die so suddenly. . . .”

He looked at Molly and me, almost accusingly. I looked right back at him. I wasn’t going to let myself be ruffled. I was too busy keeping an eye on everyone else. I was starting to feel the undercurrents in the Meeting, all the dark and dangerous shapes moving just beneath the surface. I was beginning to get the feeling that not everyone present was singing from the same song sheet.

“Crow Lee made himself into a legend, in his own extended lifetime,” Bruin Bear said slowly. “The Most Evil Man In The World. Now he’s dead; I suppose it’s always possible he might turn up at Shadows Fall. And then we could just ask him.”

“No,” said the Sea Goat. “Not going to happen. Shadows Fall is for legends that no one believes in any more. People still believe in Crow Lee.”

“I don’t understand Shadows Fall,” said J.C.

“Not many do,” said the Bear.

“Why are you here, Bear?” said Dead Boy.

“Because if the Inheritance is what some people think it is,” said the Sea Goat, sounding suddenly sane and sober, “it’s worth going to war over. A war that would threaten all of us. Shadows Fall is a refuge for the spiritually walking wounded, and we don’t want its existence threatened.”

“How very lucid of you,” said Sir Parsifal.

“Up your poop chute, Knight,” said the Goat.

“I may be able to contribute something useful here,” said Natasha. Something in her voice made us all settle down and look at her. She smiled demurely. It wasn’t very convincing. “Crow Lee left a . . . living will. The Project got its hands on a copy. Best not to ask how. I brought it with me. So, if you’re all sitting comfortably . . . brace yourselves, darlings.”

She produced something I immediately recognised as a memory crystal, and muttered over it; and just like that Crow Lee himself was standing at the far end of the table, smiling ghoulishly. A large and overbearing presence in a long white Egyptian gown, with a shaven head and bushy black eyebrows, and hypnotically fierce eyes. Broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, huge hands folded together before him. A nasty, despicable, fascinatingly ugly man, with a presence that wouldn’t let you look away, even in death.

“If you are hearing this, then I have been murdered,” said Crow Lee’s image. “So, I leave the world my Inheritance. My greatest achievement, for those with the guts to go after it, and the will to master it. Whoever gains control of my Inheritance will have control over the world. Or, the means for its destruction. I have no way of knowing who will hear this—hopefully a great many people, and organisations. By all means, fight for the prize I give you. Tear civilisation apart to get your hands on my Inheritance. I promise you—it will be worth it.”

He was still laughing when the image snapped off.

“Typical of the man,” said the Armourer. “Do you have any further information, Natasha?”

“Not as such,” she said, making the memory crystal disappear. “We have been assembling files on those most likely to go after the Inheritance.”

“Including yourself, of course,” said J.C.

“Well, of course, darling. But all we really have are theories, and educated guesses. We have interrogated a great many people, but to little useful effect. The possibilities do seem . . . seriously scary.”

“But what is Crow Lee’s greatest achievement?” I said. “Something he made, or had made for him, perhaps? We could be talking magic, or technology, or just his personal cache of secrets. I mean, he dabbled in everything at one time or another.”

I looked to the Armourer, but he just shrugged. “Given some of the things Crow Lee’s been known to use, the possibilities are worryingly endless. Information bombs, to rewrite reality. Words of Power, that could blow the whole world apart like a firecracker in a rotten apple. Blackmail information, to manipulate the movers and shakers in power. And let us not forget, he was responsible for the removal of Drood Hall from this world, for a time. No one’s ever been able to do that before. Of course, we have since put new protections in place to ensure that can never happen again.”

“Oh, of course,” said Natasha. “Perish the thought.”

“I can promise this much,” said Sir Parsifal. “I can declare, on behalf of the London Knights, that anyone found in possession of the Crow Lee Inheritance will be punished severely.”

“Typical Knight,” said Dead Boy. “Still trying to bully the world into playing nicely.”

“I’m sure the direct approach of the London Knights will be enough to put off all the right people,” said the Armourer, diplomatically, “but, you’re hardly ever here, are you? The Knights are always riding off to do battle, in worlds and dimensions beyond our own. You can make as many threats as you like, Sir Parsifal, but I fear it will fall to the Droods to back them up. And as you already said, we’re all stretched a bit thin, these days. We can’t be everywhere.”

“Don’t look at me,” said J. C. Chance. “The Carnacki Institute exists to deal with threats from the Hereafter, not earthly villains with guns and armies.”

“Right,” said Dead Boy, nodding quickly. “Half the Nightside’s already out looking for the Inheritance, with the other half standing by, to steal it from the first half when they find it. I’m sure the Authorities will do what they can. But that usually involves letting both sides fight it out, and then kicking the crap out of the winners. And I wouldn’t be too ready to trust the Authorities, either. This is the Nightside we’re talking about . . .”

“The Nightside will do what it always does,” said Sir Parsifal. “Unleash the hounds of Hell, and the Devil take the hindmost. And no one in that unholy place will give a damn about all the innocents killed in the process.”

“If they were really innocent they wouldn’t be in the Nightside,” said Dead Boy.

“You were innocent, once,” said Bruin Bear, putting a paw on the cold dead hand beside him. “You weren’t always Dead Boy.”

“That was a long time ago,” said Dead Boy. “I don’t remember.”

“If the Inheritance should turn up in Shadows Fall, we will sit on it until someone worthy comes along to claim it,” said Bruin Bear.

“Right,” said the Sea Goat. “No one messes with us. We’ve got things in Shadows Fall that make the Inheritance look like a wet paper towel.”

“Strangely, that doesn’t reassure me,” said J.C.

“If the Crowley Project should acquire the Inheritance, you can all go to Hell,” Natasha Chang said sweetly. “By the direct route.”

“None of this deals with the main problem,” the Armourer said severely. “How to prevent the war for the Inheritance from breaking into the everyday world. That would be bad news for all of us. The Droods have discussed this, at length, and we feel we have a plan that will work.”

“Of course you do,” said Sir Parsifal. “Droods always have a plan. And, their own agenda.”

“It seems to us,” said the Armourer, pressing on determinedly, “that the best way to stop all these people from fighting and intriguing over the Inheritance, is to destroy their economic base. You can’t run a war without funds. Guns and armies cost serious money. So you can bet they’ll all be looking to the Shadow Bank for loans and support. But, if the Bank should happen to be in such a delicate position that it can’t afford to lend the money . . .”

“That would keep everyone quiet, until we could track down the Inheritance ourselves, and neutralise it,” said Sir Parsifal.

“Now, that’s what I call lateral thinking!” said J.C. “But how are we going to undermine a huge organisation like the Shadow Bank? I mean, they’re big! Really big! And very well protected.”

“Our plan is to infiltrate this year’s Casino Infernale,” said the Armourer. “Our agents will be Eddie and Molly. They will play the games, win big, and break the bank at the Casino, and thereby fatally weaken the Shadow Bank, who depend on these games for a large part of their income.”

“Oh, terrific!” I said. “When were you planning to tell Molly and me about this amazing plan that will almost certainly get both of us killed?”

“I just did,” said the Armourer.

Sir Parsifal rose suddenly to his feet, and glared coldly round the table. “If anyone is going to Casino Infernale and bring down the Shadow Bank, it must be a London Knight. Because only we are true and pure of heart enough not to be tempted. Money means nothing to us. We are Knights of the Round Table, of the Company of King Arthur Returned! We can be trusted.”

“Yeah,” I said. “But can you play cards?”

Sir Parsifal turned the full force of his glare on me. “Even the least of us is more trustworthy than a Drood who ran away from his family to serve that most despicable of creatures, the Regent of Shadows. Or a pagan witch who changes sides more often than her underwear.”

I was immediately up on my feet and facing him. I knew what he was doing, but I had no choice.

“None of you would last ten minutes at Casino Infernale, Sir Knight, because you know nothing about gambling. About when to bluff, or take a risk. And you’d be spotted the minute you walked through the door, because you don’t know how to pass. This is a job for a secret agent, not a knight in shining armour. And what’s more, keep your mind off my girlfriend’s underwear.”

“Damn right,” said Molly. “And the joke’s on you anyway, Percy. I’m not wearing any!”

Sir Parsifal put his steel helmet back on, and stood back from the table. “The matter is not open to debate. The decision has been made. The London Knights will run this operation because none of you can be trusted to do the right thing.”

I armoured up, and everyone else was quickly up out of their chairs, and backing away. Because it’s one thing to have heard about Drood armour, and quite another to see it manifest right in front of you. To feel its power and potency beating on the air; its terrible significance. Everyone watched silently from the end of the table, while the Armourer did his best to calm things down. I gestured to Molly, and she reluctantly fell back to join them. Leaving Sir Parsifal and me staring at each other, from inside our armour. He turned slowly to face me, his joints making slow sinister noises, and his hand dropped to the heavy sword at his side. I stepped forward, and my armour didn’t make a single sound.

“You can’t be allowed to screw this up, Knight, through your own arrogance,” I said. “This is too important. The whole world is at stake.”

“Business as usual for the London Knights,” said Sir Parsifal. “What’s the matter, Drood; stakes too high for you?”

“This was supposed to be a chance for discussion, not ultimatums,” I said.

“Typical Drood,” said Sir Parsifal. “This is why none of the Big Names from around the world showed up for your little get-together. Because real Powers don’t negotiate. I only came to see what you were up to. And now I know, I will take over. And do what needs to be done.”

Uncle Jack armoured up, and came forward to stand beside me. Molly was quickly there too, on my other side.

“No,” I said. “Thanks for the thought, but we can’t have a London Knight thinking it takes more than one Drood to bring him down. We can’t have these sanctimonious little pricks getting above themselves.”

The Armourer leaned in close beside me, his voice murmuring inside my mask. “Nice words, Eddie. Excellent sentiments. Couldn’t agree more. But, this is Sir Parsifal. A legendary warrior, undefeated fighter, and one of the most dangerous Knights in Arthur’s Company. His strength is as the strength of ten, because he’s too pure and single-minded to even entertain the concept of defeat. That sword he’s carrying isn’t Excalibur, but it is really old and horribly powerful, and soaked in martial magics. It might actually be able to cut through strange matter.”

“Then I’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t have the chance to cut me with it,” I said. “Thanks for the pep talk though, Uncle Jack.”

“Any time, nephew.”

He moved back, taking Molly with him. She didn’t want to go, but she didn’t want me to look weak in front of the others.

I grew a long golden sword out of my armoured hand, and extended it out before me. Light as air, and sharper than a cutting word. Sir Parsifal drew his sword and the long blue-hued steel gleamed viciously. I could feel its presence, like a new arrival in the room. The two of us stepped forward, good men in armoured suits, fighting for what we each believed to be right. I was sure Sir Parsifal would honestly regret killing me, afterwards, but it wouldn’t stop him. He thought he had to win, for the sake of the world. Trouble was, I thought that too.

We both lunged forward, and our blades slammed together and then jumped apart again. I could see surprise in Sir Parsifal’s eyes; he’d expected his magic blade to shear right through mine. He knew nothing of strange matter. We cut at each other, again and again, stamping and thrusting, parrying and retreating. Circling each other, feinting and withdrawing, searching out weaknesses in the other’s position and style. The two great swords hammered together, and neither of us would give an inch.

Sir Parsifal was fast and furious, incredibly strong and practised, coming at me from every direction; but he’d never met a Drood before. He didn’t know how to fight dirty. So when I was sure I had his style down pat, I deliberately let my sword drop, just a little. He thought he saw an opening, and lunged forward, his sword leaping forward in full extension, to run me through the chest. I stood my ground, and the sword point hit my chest and bounced away, unable to penetrate. And while Sir Parsifal was shocked and caught off guard, I swung my sword with both hands, and hit him so hard on the wrist that his fingers leapt open, and his sword fell from his hand. I set the point of my golden sword at Sir Parsifal’s throat, unprotected under his steel helm.

“Had enough?” I said.

“Well played, Drood,” said Sir Parsifal, standing very still. “You took a hell of a chance, though. You couldn’t have known your armour would withstand my sword.”

“I gambled,” I said. “And I won. And that’s why I’m going to Casino Infernale.”

“It isn’t over yet,” said Sir Parsifal. “Are you really ready to kill me, over this?”

“Yes,” I said. “This matters.”

“Then you are the right man for the job,” said the Knight. “I yield. And I salute you, Sir Drood.”

I stepped back, and he leant down and picked up his sword from the floor. He saluted me with his blade, and then put it away.

“You didn’t really think it was going to be that easy, did you, darlings?” said Natasha Chang.

We all looked round, to see her standing away from the rest of us, covering us all with a nasty-looking piece of high tech in her hand. Energy weapon of some kind, presumably. She smiled happily.

“You should never have invited me here. I learned far more than I gave away; but just to be sure, I think I’ll kill you all now. And then eat all your ghosts, and digest all your secrets. And then my people will come here, and make the Martian Tombs our own. And we’ll find the Crow Lee Inheritance, and make that our own. It was always meant for us, anyway. Little people like you wouldn’t appreciate it. I’m going to have it all, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me!”

While she was still shouting and threatening us with her tech gun, the Sea Goat appeared suddenly behind her and hit her over the head with his vodka bottle. The glass shattered, and she slumped unconscious to the floor. J.C. moved quickly in to snatch up the weapon as it fell from her hand. The Sea Goat grinned broadly.

“No one ever notices me. Or takes me seriously.”

“Did you have to break a bottle over her head?” said Bruin Bear. “You’ve got very coarse since you got real.”

The Goat shrugged. “Stick with what works, that’s what I always say.”

“Can’t take you anywhere,” said Bruin Bear.

The Armourer and I armoured down, and then moved to one side to talk quietly together.

“This marvellous plan of yours,” I said. “The one where we break the bank at Casino Infernale, to damage the Shadow Bank . . . correct me if I’m wrong, but hasn’t this already been tried before? Many times, by many brave and experienced agents? And hasn’t it always gone horribly wrong, never worked, and got everyone involved killed?”

“Well, yes,” said the Armourer. “And, since they’ll be looking for Drood field agents at Casino Infernale, you’ll have to go in as Shaman Bond. But you and Molly do have this marvellous knack for winning against appalling odds. So, we’re counting on that.”

“But you’re betting with our lives!” I said.

“Oh, no,” said my uncle Jack. “Not just your lives, Eddie. They don’t play for money at Casino Infernale. They play for souls.”