For Heaven's Eyes Only

CHAPTER SIX Who’s Been Sleeping in My Bed?

Like all proper missions, the next one started with a stop off at the Armoury, that heavily shielded cavern underneath the Hall, where the Armourer and his devil’s assortment of highly motivated and only technically mentally disturbed lab assistants labour night and day to provide the Drood family with all the guns, gadgets and assorted weird shit that field agents need to carry out their missions successfully. Not the safest of places to visit, but where’s the fun in safe, anyway? Certainly there’s always something interesting going on in the Armoury.

The old place looked as it always did, when Molly and I wandered in the next day. All very different from the cold, silent, deserted place I’d seen in the Winter Hall. In what might or might not have been Limbo. Despite Molly’s well-meant reassurances, I hadn’t forgotten a single thing about my time in that place: what I’d seen and heard, and what people had said to me. I’d checked with the family’s researchers; Walker was quite definitely dead. Had been for some time. So who was it who came to me in the Winter Hall, wearing Walker’s face, to tell me my parents might not be dead after all? A question . . . for another time. I had a mission to prepare for.

I found the familiar loud and violent circumstances of the Armoury strangely comforting as Molly and I followed the Armourer past the packed workstations and smoke-wreathed testing grounds. The lab assistants were all hard at work, creating appalling and distressing weapons for my family to throw at our enemies and damn all their underhanded schemes. Guns roared, swords glowed and things went suddenly bang! with all their usual nasty efficiency; and an oversize eyeball with big, flapping bat wings went fluttering down the main aisle, pursued by an assistant with a really big butterfly net.

The Armourer stalked through his territory like Daddy come home to see what the kids have been getting up to in his absence. He peered over shoulders, made useful suggestions and cutting remarks, and yelled right into people’s faces when they weren’t following the proper safety protocols. Which was a bit much, coming from him. I still remember the time he showed us his new handgun that fired black holes, and it took four of us to wrestle him to the ground and take it away from him before he could demonstrate it.

Uncle Jack was always convinced the lab assistants started slacking, or practicing their own self-destructive forms of one-upmanship, the moment he wasn’t around to watch over them; but they all seemed as absorbed and homicidally inclined as always. One of them was wearing a T-shirt with the message Blow It All Up and Ask Questions Later.

One particular lab assistant, naked but for a lab coat unfortunately not buttoned up at the front, was sitting inside a chalk-drawn mandala on the bare floor, playing an electric bass with all kinds of weird tech plugged into it. I knew him of old. Eric was convinced he could make his bass guitar generate a chord so powerful it would make everyone who heard it crap themselves simultaneously. Psychologically effective and physically distressing at the same time. He hadn’t had much success so far. The best he’d been able to produce was a chord that acted as a mild but effective laxative. So every morning Eric went to the family hospital wards to play a short recital. Which, I understand, was always very well received by the patients.

A rather fierce young lady in a blood-spattered lab coat was walking up and down before a row of large, warty toads wired securely in place along a wooden plank. She was holding what looked like a souped-up soup ladle with many wires hanging off it, and every time she pointed the thing at a toad, the toad exploded. Messily. None of the other toads reacted. In fact, they all seemed quite resigned about it. Drugs will do that to you. Just say no. Especially to lab assistants with a funny look in their eyes.

“Ah!” the Armourer said happily. “I was wondering when Charlotte was finally going to get the kinks out of her protein exploder. Very efficient . . . The toads are all clones, of course, to avoid running out of test subjects.”

“Why toads?” I said.

The Armourer shrugged. “Nobody likes toads. If it were kittens . . .”

“Don’t go there,” said Molly. “Just don’t.”

“Of course, it’s all pretty basic for the moment,” said the Armourer. “Simply point and die. But once Charlotte gets the fine-tuning right, she’ll be able to blast the warts right off their backsides!”

“And when exactly would that come in handy?” I said.

“Early days yet, Eddie, early days . . .”

A rather upset-looking young man was being led away by the hand by a rather resigned-looking young woman. He’d somehow ended up with both eyeballs in one socket, and he was not being a brave bunny about it. I got the impression from the look on the young woman’s face that this wasn’t the first time she’d had to do something like this.

Molly picked up a small brass box covered in pretty flashing lights, from the top of a computer console. The Armourer almost jumped out of his skin.

“Don’t touch that!”

“Why, what is it?” said Molly, hanging onto the box even more firmly.

The Armourer snatched the box away from her, looked at it and then shook it fiercely. Nothing happened, so he put it back on the console.

“Odd,” he said. “It should have reversed your polarity. I’ll have to work on it.”

“You hit him,” Molly said to me. “You’re closer.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” I said.

“I’ve got something for you, Molly,” the Armourer said quickly. “Come and take a look at this little beauty.”

He scrabbled among the assorted tech and junk cluttering up his worktable, tossed aside a pistol with five barrels and a fluffy gonk with an evil stare, and finally held up a golden crown: a simple circle of gold, with an intricate golden lattice containing dozens of brightly shimmering crystals. He offered the crown to Molly, and she looked it over while being very careful not to touch it. The Armourer preened proudly.

“Very nice,” Molly said finally. “Expensive, but vulgar, vaguely Celtic in design, but aesthetically pleasing from every angle. What am I supposed to do with it?”

“You put it on your head!” said the Armourer. “It’ll protect you from every known form of psychic attack, and make damn sure Ammonia Vom Acht can’t prise any useful secrets out of your pretty little head.”

Molly looked at him coldly. “I am supposed to put something you made on my head, and trust that my brains won’t start leaking out of my ears?”

“That was a long time ago!” said the Armourer. “I wish people would stop going on about it. . . . Look, put the bloody thing on so I can fine-tune the settings to your personal aura. It has been very thoroughly tested, you know. What do you want, a guarantee in writing?”

Molly stuck her lower lip out and looked at me. “Why doesn’t he have to wear one?”

“Because I have a torc,” I said patiently. “And psychic protection comes standard. Please put the crown on, Molly, or I’ll have to go without you. You go up against Ammonia Vom Acht with an unprotected mind and she’ll rip your thoughts open and gut them like a fish, with one look.”

Molly sniffed loudly, snatched the crown out of the Armourer’s hands and lowered it gingerly onto her head. The Armourer ran his fingertips lightly over the various crystals, humming something he fondly imagined had a tune, until he had them all blinking and flickering at the same rate. He then grunted in a satisfied sort of way and stepped back. Molly immediately demanded a mirror to see how she looked. I held the Merlin Glass up before her so she could study her new look in the reflection.

“This really isn’t me, Eddie. I do not do the fairy-princess look. People will snigger at me.”

“No one would dare,” I assured her.

“Ammonia won’t think I’m . . . scared of her, will she, wearing protective headgear in her presence?”

“It won’t even occur to her that you wouldn’t be scared,” said the Armourer. “Anyone with half a working brain in her head would have enough sense to be scared shitless of Ammonia Vom Acht. The most powerful telepathic mind in the world today . . . Well, human mind, anyway. If you were to enter her presence unprotected, even for a moment, she could read every thought you ever had, or make you think you were someone else and always had been, or plant secret hidden commands for future behaviour so deep in your subconscious even other telepaths wouldn’t know they were there. Until it was far too late. Or, even worse . . . she might think of something funny to do to you. Ammonia’s sense of humour isn’t what you’d call normal.”

Molly scowled unhappily, but left the crown where it was. I thought it did make her look a bit like a fairy princess. I liked it. I looked expectantly at the Armourer.

“Well, Uncle Jack? Don’t I get any new toys before I set out on this extremely dangerous mission?”

“None of my guns or gadgets would do you any good against Ammonia Vom Acht,” said the Armourer. “In fact, they’d only give you a false sense of security. Trust to your torc to protect you, and try not to antagonise her. You will anyway, but she might appreciate the effort.”

“That’s all the advice you’ve got for me?”

“Please don’t kill her. She might be annoying, but she’s very useful. We might need her help again someday.”

I frowned. “Why would I want to kill her?”

“You haven’t met her yet.”

I waited, but he had nothing else to say. So I nodded good-bye, and he nodded vaguely and hurried off to show his lab assistants what they were doing wrong. I hefted the Merlin Glass in my hand, thinking hard. Molly looked at me.

“Ready to go, Eddie?”

“I don’t know if ready is quite the right word,” I said. “But I can’t seem to come up with a good enough reason to put it off, so . . .”

“Aren’t you going to armour up first?” said Molly. “You don’t want Ammonia seeing your face; or would she be able to read your identity anyway?”

“No, the torc will protect me at all levels,” I said, trying hard to sound calm and confident. “But it doesn’t matter if she sees my face, or yours. She won’t know me as Shaman Bond, because he doesn’t move in her kind of circles. Ammonia . . . doesn’t get out much. People come to her.”

“She might not know you,” said Molly. “But you know her; don’t you?”

“I know of her; everyone in the secret-agent business does. And she’ll probably know you by reputation.”

Molly smiled smugly. “Lot of people know my reputation.”

“And you say that like it’s a good thing. . . .”

“You want a slap?”

I activated the Merlin Glass, and we watched our reflections disappear from the hand mirror as the Glass sought out Ammonia Vom Acht’s location. The image flickered uncertainly for some time, struggling past her various protections, until finally an image appeared in the Glass: a rather distant image of an isolated cottage somewhere down in Cornwall. I tried to get the Glass to zoom in for a closer look, but this was as close as it could get. I sort of got the feeling that the Glass was afraid to get any closer. Which was . . . interesting. The cottage didn’t look particularly threatening.

“The Glass is detecting really heavy-duty protections,” I said. “We’ll have to go through as is, and walk the rest of the way. And hope we don’t set off any psychic land mines. Doesn’t look too far. Weather looks nice. My torc and your crown should protect us.”

“And if they don’t?” said Molly.

“Then we improvise. Suddenly and violently and all over the place. That’s what field agents do!”

“Don’t you raise your voice to me, Edwin Drood!” said Molly. “Just because we’re off to visit the witch in her gingerbread cottage. I have a really bad feeling about this. . . .”

“Situation entirely normal,” I said.

It turned out that the greatest and most dangerous telepath of our time had chosen to live in a pretty little cottage down on the Cornish coast, on top of a hill looking out over the sea. Miles from anywhere, with acres of desolate-looking landscape between her and the nearest town or village. Molly and I stepped through the Merlin Glass and emerged onto the very edge of the cliff top. Two more steps and we’d have both been grabbing handfuls of fresh air as we plummeted towards the crashing sea. I couldn’t really see that as a coincidence.

I have tried forming glider wings out of my armour, and I don’t want to talk about the results.

Molly and I carefully moved back a few paces, and I put the Glass away. It had already shrunk down to its original size without being ordered to, as though it were afraid of being noticed. I put it away in its pocket dimension, so called because I keep the separate dimension in my pocket, and looked down. Hundreds of feet below, the heavy swelling sea smashed against dark and ragged rocks, foam flying on the air.

A cold wind was blowing out of the north, and gulls hung in the air above us, keening mournfully. There is an old legend that says the gulls are crying for the sins of the world, and that when we finally get our act together, the gulls will stop crying. It was easy to believe such a story in a desolate place like this.

The cottage looked to be a good half a mile away, as the crow flew: across a bare stone and scrub plain. Molly and I looked at each other and started walking. There wasn’t a single living creature to be seen anywhere, and even the steady sounds of our footsteps on the stony ground seemed strangely muted. As we drew closer, I could see the cottage was fronted by a carefully laid-out garden. A low stone wall marked the boundaries, hand-built in the old style, and there were hedges and flowers and topiary trees. A splash of vivid colours in such a grey setting. We stopped before the wrought-iron gate that was the only entrance to the garden. Beyond the gate, a narrow gravel path led straight to the cottage’s front door. A simple sign beside the gate said, TRESPASSERS WILL BE VIOLATED. Molly and I stood before the gate, carefully not touching anything, peering between the bars. The garden looked lovely.

“I can feel industrial-strength protections and defences hanging in the air, waiting to be triggered,” said Molly. “They feel . . . strange. No magic, no tech, only the power of one person’s mind. I get the feeling we’ll be safe as long as we stick to the path. She knows we’re here, Eddie.”

“I’d be disappointed if she didn’t,” I said. “Stay put for the moment. Let her get a good look at us and our protections.”

“She’s been watching us from the moment we arrived,” said Molly, shuffling uncomfortably from foot to foot. Molly’s never been one for standing around. Not when there’s dashing in where angels fear to tread to be done. “I can feel her attention, like a great weight pressing down, or like staring into a blinding searchlight. The sheer power I’m sensing is downright scary. And I don’t usually do scary. Ah!”

“What?” I said, looking quickly around.

“It’s gone. She’s not watching us anymore.”

The wrought-iron gate swung slowly open before us, the hinges making soft protesting noises. I knew Ammonia could have oiled those hinges, but chose not to, as a simple extra warning system. It was what I would have done. I strode forward, doing my best to exude confidence, and Molly stuck close beside me, head erect, eyes glaring in all directions. The gate swung noisily shut behind us, but I wouldn’t give it the satisfaction of looking back. Our feet crunched on the gravel path as we headed for the cottage. The garden really was delightful: open and attractive, with all kinds of flowers, neat hedgerows, and trees trimmed into perfect geometric shapes. Someone had put a lot of work into this garden.

“A peaceful setting,” I said. “For such a famously unpleasant woman.”

“So all the stories I’ve heard are true?” said Molly, still scowling arond her.

“If they’re distressing, awful and appalling stories, almost certainly yes,” I said. “This is a woman who once called the current Anti-Pope a big-nosed idiot. To his face.”

“An accurate description,” said Molly.

“Well, yes, but you don’t say something like that to a cult leader with a private army of fanatical followers. Not to his face.”

“I do,” said Molly.

“Well, yes again, but you’re weird.”

“You say the nicest things, Eddie.”

“I do my best,” I said.

The cottage loomed up before us like a dentist’s waiting room; it might look pleasant enough, but you know there’s trouble ahead. Actually, the cottage, in its delightful setting, looked as though it should be a photo on the lid of a jigsaw box. Say about a thousand pieces, nothing too difficult, you know the sort. A charming, old-fashioned cottage with a brick chimney poking up through the neatly thatched roof, roses curling round the front door, long vines sprawled across the creamy white stone of the facing wall. Two large bay windows on either side of the front door, which, as I drew closer, I could see had no bell or knocker. Ammonia Vom Acht always knew when visitors were coming.

Bees buzzed loudly over the flower beds, and brightly coloured butterflies fluttered by, but no birds sang. Which struck me as a bit odd. And possibly even disturbing. I stopped short of the front door and listened carefully.

“It’s quiet,” said Molly. “Perhaps even too quiet.”

“Why aren’t there any birds?” I said. “Even the gulls are steering well clear of this place. You’re always saying you’re one with the wild woods; what’s wrong with this picture?”

“You’re right,” said Molly. “I’m not picking up a single living creature bigger than an earthworm anywhere near here. Not even a mole or a dormouse. And that’s not natural.”

“This means something,” I said.

Molly looked at me sideways. “Why are you so nervous, Eddie? You’ve faced far worse than this in your time. I know; I was there. This isn’t like you.”

“I’ve always preferred dangers I can hit,” I said steadily. “Telepaths . . . are sneaky. They come at you in unexpected ways, and they don’t fight fair. And this is, after all, Ammonia Vom Acht we’re talking about. You must have heard the stories. . . .”

“Pretend I haven’t,” said Molly. “Get it out of your system. What stories?”

“Some of her more famous cases, then,” I said. “Just the high points. She was once asked to help resolve a case of split personality in a very important and well-connected person, where the two personalities were in conflict with each other. The dominant good guy versus the usually subordinate trickster type. Ammonia decided she liked the trickster personality better, so she made that the dominant personality and put the other one to sleep. Lot of trouble there, until he was finally removed from office with a lead ballot. Another time, she was hired to investigate an amnesiac, only to discover he’d already paid a substantial amount to a previous telepath to wipe all his memories, because he couldn’t stand being the kind of man he’d become. Ammonia agreed, destroyed his memories again, only even more thoroughly, kept all the money the man’s family had paid her, and defied them to do anything about it!”

“So far, I have no problem with any of this,” said Molly.

“You wouldn’t,” I said. But it gets worse. Having decided that she now knew better than anyone else what was good for people, Ammonia then went through a phase of overhauling the personalities of everyone she met. Rewriting their minds for the better . . . according to her lights. More like telepathic muggings. Some of these rewritings were successful; others weren’t. A lot of people ended up killing themselves, because they knew they weren’t who they were supposed to be. Some of them killed other people, because some subtle restraint had been removed. But by then Ammonia had moved on, never around to clean up the messes she’d made. She stopped only because practically every other telepath in the world got together and ganged up on her and made her stop. Such a gathering was made possible only through my family’s intervention, and I’m not sure we could make it happen a second time. Getting telepaths to work together is like herding cats. It is possible, but only with the continued threat of immediate extreme violence. Which can be very wearing . . . I’m pretty sure Ammonia still blames us for stopping her fun. Anyway, after all this she went into a bit of a sulk and retreated from the world. Only comes out to work on cases no one else can manage; and then only for the challenge, and a truly massive fee.

“She lives all the way out here because she knows too many secrets. No one can keep anything from her, you see. And since she’s met pretty much everyone who matters, at one time or another, there are always agents and assassins on her trail, either to kidnap her to force those secrets out of her, or to kill her to make sure her secrets die with her. She could hide herself so completely that no one could find her, but her pride won’t allow that. And she does so love to prove she’s still as powerful as everyone’s afraid she is. So she stays here, and lets her enemies get close enough that she can have some fun playing with them. Sometimes she lets them get right to her gate before she makes their heads explode. Sometimes she mind-wipes them, and leaves them to wander the world as horrific living examples. And sometimes she rewrites them and sends them back to murder the people who sent them to kill her.”

“Okay,” said Molly. “You’ve said your piece. I feel very thoroughly lectured and warned. Do you feel better?”

“Not really, no.”

We headed for the front door again. I didn’t hurry, taking my time. Molly frowned.

“You’re actually scared of her, aren’t you?”

“Not scared, not as such . . .” I said, and then stopped. I could feel my heart hammering in my chest, and the cold sweat beading on my forehead. “If my torc isn’t enough to protect me, the first I’ll know about it is when Ammonia slips inside my head and makes me do things. Think what she could do with my armour. . . . All the terrible things she could make me do to you, or my family, while I was held helpless inside my own head . . .”

I stopped, because Molly was smiling at me fondly. “I have never known anyone who could find so many ways to feel guilty about things you haven’t even done! None of that will happen, because I won’t let it happen. You may not be able to trust your torc, but you trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said. “I can always trust you, Molly.”

We were right outside the front door. I raised a hand to knock, and the door swung suddenly open before me. And there, standing in the doorway and very obviously blocking our path, was Ammonia Vom Acht herself. She didn’t look pleased to see us.

The greatest telepath mankind has ever produced was under medium height, stocky, with a broad and almost mannish face under a frizzy shock of unrestrained auburn hair. She had piercing green eyes, a hook of a nose and a thin, flat mouth not really helped by a brief slash of dark red lipstick. There was a lot of character in her face, but no one was ever going to call her pretty. Or even handsome, unless the light was really bad. Someone once said she had a face like a bulldog licking piss off a thistle, and I could see why. She wore dull, characterless clothes with more than a touch of the masculine about them: a battered tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows, over baggy trousers with earth stains still on the knees from working in the garden. Her shoes were stout brogues, with trailing laces.

I didn’t run. I knew my duty.

When she finally spoke, her voice was harsh and clipped and almost emotionless.

“So. Edwin Drood and Molly Metcalf. I’ve been expecting you. I was busy gardening when I sensed you were coming, so this had better be worth it.”

“Hold everything,” I said, caught off guard despite myself. “We arrived instantaneously through the Merlin Glass.”

“I sensed the Glass was about to open here,” said Ammonia. “You have no idea what an impact that thing makes on the world when you use it. But then, you don’t even know what it is, really, do you?”

“Do you?” Molly said bluntly.

Ammonia ignored her, which isn’t easy. She looked us both over, eyes narrowed, and then nodded abruptly. “You’re both shielded. Good. Nothing worse than a noisy mind. That’s why I have to live out here, so far away from everyone else. Being the most powerful telepathic mind in the world isn’t always all it’s cracked up to be. I have trouble keeping everyone else out of my head. The world will keep pressing in. People will intrude . . . and all the shouting makes me tired.”

She stepped back. “Come in. Brush your feet on the mat. Properly! And don’t mutter.”

She beckoned us into a wide, brightly lit hallway with bare wooden floors and faded prints of rare flowers on the walls. Molly and I slipped in, and the door closed itself behind us. Ammonia turned her back on us and headed for the door at the far end, gesturing brusquely for Molly and me to follow her. We did so. She didn’t look back, but she did keep talking to us over her shoulder.

“You were wondering why there are only insects in my garden, and no beasts or birds. I scare them off. Have to. Can’t stand to have anything with a mind around me. All that red-in-tooth-and-claw stuff; they can’t turn it off, you know. The endless fear and appetite make me bad tempered.”

I felt a chill run up the back of my neck. “Were you reading our minds just then?”

“No,” said Ammonia. “I heard you talking about it in the garden. It’s quiet in the garden. That’s why I like it. Come through into the parlour. Meet my husband, Peter.”

That last bit almost stopped me dead. There was nothing in any of my family’s files about the infamous Ammonia Vom Acht being married. Molly shot me a quick look and mouthed the word husband? and all I could do was shrug helplessly.

The parlour was small and cosy, filled with modern, brutally styleless furniture that clashed loudly with the rest of the cottage. Bright sunlight streamed in through the great bay window. There were vases of fresh flowers on every flat surface, pleasantly scenting the air. A large and very modern electric clock dominated one wall, working silently away, while the other walls presented paintings by several masters. Ammonia, it seemed, was very fond of the Pre-Raphaelites. Payment for past services, presumably. Two large and very comfortable-looking armchairs stood facing each other across the real fireplace. Sunk deeply in one of the chairs was Ammonia Vom Acht’s husband, Peter.

He rose languidly from the depths of his chair to greet us. He smiled vaguely in our direction, but didn’t offer a hand to shake. He was a tall, diffident sort in an expensive three-piece suit with recent dinner stains on the waistcoat, a pale, bland face under thinning blond hair, and a calm, uncommitted smile. He had a large drink in his hand, though it was barely midday.

“This is Peter,” said Ammonia. She might have been speaking about her accountant. “I married him because he’s a psychic null. Born shielded from every form of telepathic contact. His thoughts stay inside his head. I can’t hear him. I can relax around him.”

“And I married her because she needed me,” Peter said blithely. “And I do so love to be needed. Don’t I, old thing?”

His voice was well educated, even aristocratic: that affected, bored drawl that gets on everyone’s nerves.

“I can’t hear his thoughts or sense his feelings,” said Ammonia. “Everything he says and does is a surprise to me. You have no idea what a relief that is.”

“So many compliments,” said Peter. “You’ll make me blush, dear.”

Ammonia nodded slowly. “I’m not easy to live with. I know that.”

“Some marriages are made in heaven,” said Peter. “The rest of us do the best we can.” He spoke vaguely, his voice trailing away. When he looked up from his glass to take Molly and me in, his eyes were frankly disinterested. “You mustn’t mind Ammonia. She’s only being herself. Her problem is, she’s always had difficulty deciding where she stops and other people begin. The edges are never properly nailed down, for a telepath. Things sneak in: thoughts, emotions, intentions. . . . She has no people skills. None at all. I’m not even sure she is people, really.”

“Peter . . .” said Ammonia.

“Yes, dear, I know. We have guests. Party manners! Can I get you people a little something? I’m having a little something. I always have a little something about now.”

Molly and I declined. Peter nodded understandingly, knocked back what was left in his glass, and drifted over to the very modern sideboard to refill his glass from a functional but quite ugly crystal decanter that was already half-empty.

“Ammonia doesn’t drink,” he announced, turning lazily back to face his visitors. “She daren’t. Whereas I . . . am rarely sober. I daren’t . . . I drink like a fish, you know, like a spiny denizen of the deep. So would you, if you were married to the most powerful telepath in the world. It’s not the person, you understand; it’s the lifestyle. Oh, do sit down, both of you. You make the room look untidy. No use waiting for Ammonia to ask you. Such things simply don’t occur to her. No people skills, remember? Not her fault, of course.”

Peter slumped bonelessly back into his armchair, and Ammonia sank down into the chair opposite him. Not a single recognisable emotion had crossed her face so far. Molly and I pulled up two stiff-backed wooden chairs and sat down facing them.

“Given everything the poor girl’s been through, it’s a wonder she’s as sane as she is,” Peter said affably. It was off-putting, the way he talked about his wife as if sometimes she was there, and sometimes she wasn’t. He smiled vaguely at Molly and me. “Do you know the story? It’s not one of the better-known ones, but it is jolly interesting. Ammonia spent the first ten years of her life in a coma, you see. Self-inflicted, to protect her developing mind from the thoughts of all the world crashing in on her at once. She had to learn how to make a shield that would keep everyone else out, before she could decide on who she was. Think of the poor child knowing all there was to know about human nature at such a young and defenceless age. The good and the bad, the sane and the insane, the saints and the devils . . . Only an iron will kept her together. . . . That’s what makes her such a marvellous curative telepath. She knows all there is to know about the demons of the mind, because she’s been there. You’re very good at what you do, aren’t you, dear? Yes, you are.”

“Peter . . .” said Ammonia.

“I’m telling them what they need to know, old thing.” Peter smiled conspiratorially at Molly and me. “I see you’ve noticed all the fittings and furnishings are terribly up-to-date. Have to be. Ammonia can pick up traces, echoes, from all the people who used to own old things. People imprint on everything, you see. She had to run a full-scale telepathic exorcism on the cottage before we could move in, wiping the stone tape recording clean, as it were. And all the furniture has to be replaced regularly, every twelve months, because they soak up memories. We hold a nice little bonfire for the old stuff, out back. Because you can never tell what another telepath might pick up from it. For a telepath like Ammonia, peace of mind is everything. Everything. Isn’t that right, old girl?”

“Yes,” said Ammonia.

“And she has to be a vegetarian,” said Peter. “Because she can hear the dying screams and last terrified emotions of even the smallest piece of meat. Someone once told me that a plant screams when it’s plucked from the ground, but apparently that’s not true. Certainly not root vegetables, because we eat enough of the things. I haven’t had a sausage in years. Can’t even pig out when she’s away. You always know, don’t you, dear?”

“Does she always let you do all the talking?” said Molly.

“Mostly,” said Peter, entirely unperturbed. “It’s what I’m for. She has no small talk, poor old thing. And she doesn’t trust anyone. All the time we’ve been sitting here, chatting so cosily, she’s been trying to break through your shields, to see if she can. It’s not that she wants to know things; she can’t help herself. Have I distracted them enough now, old dear? Jolly good . . . I’ll be quiet. Got some serious liver damage to be getting on with. . . .”

“I’ve heard of both of you,” Ammonia Vom Acht said flatly, and my eyes snapped back to her. Edwin Drood and Molly Metcalf. The Drood who thinks he’s better than other Droods. Who thinks he’s the first Drood to develop a conscience. But you’re far from the first to try to redeem your family, Eddie. Power corrupts; always has, and always will. Those torcs of yours make you more powerful than people were ever meant to be.

“And you, Molly. The loudest and least of the infamous Metcalf sisters. Is there anything more obvious and pathetic than another young rebel without a cause? Who rejects everything so she doesn’t have to commit to anything? And yes, Molly, I know my reputation, too. Is there ever anyone more rejected than the one who tells the truths that no one wants to hear?”

“Well,” I said brightly. “That’s told us! But I don’t think I’ll take any of it too seriously. You tell the truth, Ammonia, only as you see it. ‘ “What is truth?” said jesting Pilate, and would not stay for an answer. . . . ’ ”

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?” said Ammonia.

“No,” I said. “Somewhat to my surprise . . .”

“I can’t stand people who aren’t afraid of me,” said Ammonia.

“It’s true,” said Peter, staring sadly into his drink. “She can’t.”

“I’m not hiring you to like me,” I said to Ammonia, meeting her gaze steadily. “I’m hiring you to break into our Librarian’s head and see if you can put him right. An other-dimensional entity assaulted his mind some years back, and it’s still scrambled. You think you can fix that?”

“I do love a challenge,” said Ammonia.

“It’s true,” said Peter. “She does. She really does. . . . Oh. Sorry, dear. Sorry, everyone. I’ve had too much to drink. Or not nearly enough. It’s so hard to tell. . . . But you will help them, won’t you, old thing? You can do this for them. You can do anything.”

Ammonia ignored him, all her attention fixed on me. “If I can put William Drood right, repair what damage has been done and put his personality back together again . . . will the family agree to pay my price?”

“What do you want?” I said.

“I want your Armourer to make something for me,” said Ammonia. “I want a crown like the one Molly is wearing right now. Only much stronger. I want something strong enough to keep the whole world out, so I don’t have to. So I can rest.”

“Agreed,” I said.

“Could I try yours?” Ammonia said to Molly. “Just for a moment, to see what it feels like?”

“No, Molly,” I said immediately. Molly’s hands were already rising to the crown on her head, but when I spoke she snatched them back down again. I smiled at Ammonia. “You’re very . . . persuasive in person, Ammonia. But try anything like that again and the deal is off. Forever.”

“What?” said Molly. “What happened there?”

“You know a lot of Drood secrets,” I said. “And if you had taken your crown off, only for a second . . .”

“You sneaky cow,” Molly said to Ammonia.

“You have no idea what it’s like, never to be trusted even for a moment,” said Ammonia. “What makes you think I care about your stupid little secrets?”

“Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you?” I said.

Ammonia made us both wait outside in the garden while she said her good-byes to her husband. Or perhaps she wanted to lock up all the drinks cabinets before she left. Though Peter had the look of a man who would gnaw through a wooden cabinet to get to his favourite tipple. Molly and I wandered back up the garden path, stopping to smell the roses along the way. It really was a very peaceful setting.

“You know you can’t go back with us,” I said to Molly. “This is private, and very personal, Drood business.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” said Molly, in that special, casual tone of voice she uses only when she wants me to know that I’ll have to do something really special to make up for it later. “I’ll make my own way back. See you again, lover.”

She snapped her fingers and was gone. I sighed. She was going to go off and sulk now. She hated not being included in things. And it was going to take more than a double-layer box of Thorntons dark chocolate assortment to win her round this time.

Ammonia finally came out of the cottage, slamming the front door shut behind her. She stomped over to me, looked round her garden as though she wasn’t sure she would ever see it again, then looked at me standing on my own, and sniffed loudly.

“Let’s do this, if we’re going to. I don’t like to leave Peter on his own for too long. Get a move on, Drood; you’re the one with the Merlin Glass.”

I removed the mirror from its pocket dimension, but before I could even activate it, Ammonia stepped back sharply, as though I’d tried to shove a poisonous snake in her face. I looked quickly at the Merlin Glass, but for the moment it still looked like an ordinary hand mirror.

“There’s something in there!” said Ammonia, glaring into the Glass. “Something, or someone. I can’t see it, but it can see me. I can tell. It’s looking at me right now.”

I looked into the Glass, but all I could see was my own somewhat puzzled reflection. I shook the Glass a few times, on general principle, but the reflection stayed the same. I looked at Ammonia.

“Friendly . . . or unfriendly?”

Ammonia shrugged. “I could find out for you. But that would cost extra.”

“Then it can wait,” I said. “Let’s see what you can do with the Librarian first.”

I shook the Merlin Glass out to full size and opened a doorway directly to the Old Library. Ammonia peered interestedly at the new view on the other side of the mirror. Rows and rows of bookshelves, under a pleasant golden glow, stretching away in all directions for as far as the eye could follow. I went through the Glass first, to reassure Ammonia, but she didn’t hold back a moment in following me through. I shut down the Glass and put it away, turned to Ammonia and found the most dangerous telepath in the world was trembling visibly.

“It’s the memories,” she said. “Every book in this place still carries the traces of everyone who ever read it. It’s like millions of voices, all shouting in my head at once. It’s taking everything I’ve got to keep them out. Your Old Library is a lot older than you realise. It doesn’t belong to your family. Droods didn’t put the Library together; you inherited it. And then you brought it here with you from the Hall before this, and the Hall before that.”

“Okay,” I said, “you’re getting into family business and family secrets you don’t need to know about. Look away, Ammonia.”

She wasn’t even listening to me, her gaze fixed on something only she could see. “So many have passed through this place, and left footprints in the sands of Time. Not all of them were human. Gods and monsters have walked these dusty ways in search of lost and forbidden knowledge.”

“Okay,” I said, “you’re pushing it now. I don’t need the dramatics.”

Ammonia shrugged easily. “All part of the service. All part of what you’re paying for. I’m fine now. I’ve got your Library’s measure. It’s really quite pleasant, now that I’ve shut out the books. I can work here. Well away from your family, I’m happy to say, off in the Hall proper.”

I looked at her. “How do you know we’re not actually in the Hall?” “Because it’s my job to know things like that. This is some kind of pocket dimension. The Hall itself is . . . that way.”

And she pointed up and to the left with complete certainty. Given that the Old Library is only lightly connected to the real world, I decided not to push the point. She might be right.

“Hello!” Ammonia said suddenly. “I’m picking up something . . . odd. There’s you and me, and your Librarian, and his assistant; but I’m also picking up another presence . . . definitely not human.”

“That’s probably Ethel,” I said. “The other-dimensional entity who lives with us. She’s always looking in.”

“The source of your family’s power, and your new armour,” said Ammonia. “I know all about Ethel. And it’s not her. I can sense her watching us from back in Drood Hall. Behind quite extraordinarily powerful shields. I have to wonder what it is she’s so desperate to hide from me . . . and you. I could find out; but that would cost you extra. But never mind about strange presences. That’s not why I’m here. Where’s the patient?”

Ioreth appeared suddenly from out of the nearest stacks, glaring at Ammonia from what he probably believed was a safe distance. He was wearing a monk’s habit, with the hood pushed back to reveal a shaved head, on which was jammed a crown very similar to the one the Armourer had given Molly. Ioreth was doing his best to stand tall and proud, but couldn’t quite bring it off. He looked more like someone desperately in need of a toilet.

“Hello! I’m Ioreth! I’m fine, thank you! I’m not thinking about anything. I’m definitely not thinking about that. Or that. I’m fine! Really.”

“Ioreth, if you don’t calm the fuck down right now, I am going to hose you from head to foot with Ritalin,” I said. “You’ve had plenty of warning about this. And I know I’m going to regret asking, but why are you dressed like a monk?”

“William says he finds it soothing,” said Ioreth. “You wouldn’t believe the number of outfits we had to go through to find one he could live with. I can tell you for a fact that he really doesn’t like sneakers. Or ties. Found that out the hard way. It was either this or a kilt, and this was less draughty. You haven’t seen my dignity, have you? I’m sure I left it around here somewhere. I’m fine! Thanks for asking.”

“And why are you wearing one of the Armourer’s brand-new psychic protection units?” I asked, gesturing at his crown. “Your torc is all you need.”

“The council insisted,” Ioreth said stiffly. “In your absence. The telepath cannot be allowed access to Drood secrets. Especially the kind you learn from reading the books in the Old Library. I know things even I don’t think I should know.”

“Like I care,” said Ammonia. “I have enough secrets. I am stuffed full of secrets. I crap secrets and piss mysteries. And as for your blessed books . . .”

She ran her fingertips roughly along the spines of the books nearest her, and I swear they winced back from her. Ioreth almost jumped out of his habit.

“Don’t touch the books! Don’t touch anything in here! We have a large number of really dangerous books here in the Old Library, and by dangerous I mean violent, possessive and occasionally homicidal. This is not a petting zoo! I use special gloves to take some of these books off the shelves, and they’re knitted personally for me by cloistered nuns from the Salvation Army sisterhood. Gloves that are actually holier than I will ever be. And even then I cross my fingers for luck.”

“You’re babbling, Ioreth,” I said.

“I know! I’m fine, very fine; I’m really very nervous. I really don’t think this is a good idea, Eddie, and I especially don’t like the way that woman is looking at me; why is she looking at me like that? Eddie, make her stop looking at me like that! William . . . is not in a good mood. And yes, I know, he rarely is, but I would have to say that today he is even more not in a good mood than usual. He doesn’t like visitors, he doesn’t like telepaths, and he very definitely doesn’t like Ammonia Vom Acht, though of course who does—sorry, I said that out loud, didn’t I? Perhaps you could bring her back some other day, Eddie, when William’s feeling more . . . receptive.”

“Neither of us is going to live that long,” I said. “It has to be now. It’s for his own good, Ioreth.”

He sniffed. “That’s what they told Joan of Arc, poor girl. All right, follow me; I’ll take you to him. But try not to make any loud noises or sudden moves. I don’t want to have to get him down from the high stacks with the boat hook again.”

He scurried off down the nearest aisle, and Ammonia and I went after him. William wasn’t far. We found him standing straight backed and stiff necked, with his back to a display of Very Restricted Books. ALL PASSES MUST BE SHOWN, said a polite sign. AND A LIST OF YOUR NEXT OF KIN. William had clearly made an effort to improve his appearance, or perhaps Ioreth had, on his behalf. His grey hair and beard had been neatly trimmed, and he was wearing a brand-new and very clean dressing gown. He was still wearing his favourite white bunny slippers, which still disturbed me, for no good reason I could put my finger on. He looked a lot older than his years, and spiritually as well as physically tired. But he held himself well, and his face was calm, if a little distracted. He looked at Ammonia with his lost eyes, as though expecting the worst but holding up bravely nonetheless.

“I’m not sure I want to be healed,” he said, speaking directly to Ammonia. “I think I prefer this me to the me I used to be. I’m not sure the old me was a very nice person.”

“Lot of my patients say that,” Ammonia said briskly. “It’s avoidance and displacement at work. Like when your toothache disappears on the way to the dentist.”

“But if I was a bad person . . .”

“Of course you were!” said Ammonia. “You were a Drood!”

“Ammonia,” I murmured. “Not really helping . . .”

“William,” said Ioreth, standing protectively close to the Librarian, “if she can help, you might not be so frightened all the time. . . .”

Ammonia moved forward to stand before William, and to his credit he didn’t flinch. She looked into his eyes.

“Interesting. I’m getting . . . absolutely nothing from him. As though he were a psychic null, like my Peter. And it’s not only his torc protecting him. Someone has placed very powerful blocks inside this man’s mind.”

“Can you break through them without damaging him?” I said.

“Can you stop talking about him as though he wasn’t here!” said William.

“No problem,” said Ammonia. “Easy-peasy, lemon squeezy. That’s why you hired me.” She looked back at William and gave him what she probably thought of as a reassuring smile. “I need you calm and relaxed. Sitting in your favourite chair, perhaps. Do you have a favourite chair?”

“Of course,” said Ioreth. “I’ll go and get it, shall I? Yes. Don’t talk about me while I’m gone. I’m really very nervous.”

He hurried off and quickly came back with a sagging overstuffed armchair so heavy he couldn’t pick it up, but had to push it along in front of him as fast as the squealing and protesting castors would allow. He pushed it into place, and then leaned on the back breathing heavily, to show how much effort he was making on our behalf. William sank into the chair and arranged himself until he was as comfortable as he was going to get. Ammonia was surprisingly patient with him, until it became clear he was never going to stop wriggling about.

“Will you bloody well relax!” said Ammonia. “I am not the bloody dentist!”

“Don’t like him either,” said William. “Is this going to hurt?”

“Probably not physically,” said Ammonia.

William started to get back up out of his chair, and Ioreth and I had to step forward and push him back into it. William subsided and scowled at Ammonia.

“I demand a second opinion!”

“All right,” said Ammonia. “You’re a Drood and I despise everything you stand for. Now shut up and let me concentrate.”

I was expecting her to go into some kind of trance, or wave her hands about, or at least have her eyes light up; but there was nothing of the dramatic about what she did. She stood there before the Librarian, frowning thoughtfully, holding his gaze with hers. He stared back at her blankly, as though waiting for the real scanning to begin. Suddenly, I realised that the temperature in the Old Library was dropping. It’s mostly maintained at a little more than comfortably warm, for the sake of the books; but now it was growing distinctly chilly. As though something were sucking all the heat out of the Library. Even the light seemed dimmer than before. Shadows slowly filled the stacks around us, until we were all standing in the only real pool of light left. Everything was still and silent, the whole Library’s attention focused in one place. William’s face was entirely blank now, his gaze unblinking and far away.

“I’m past the shields,” said Ammonia. Her voice was quite calm and matter-of-fact. She might have been talking about her shopping. “A lot of really nasty protections here . . . Nothing I couldn’t handle. I’m inside his head now. His thoughts are a mess. His memories have been heavily interfered with; whole chunks are missing, destroyed. Quite deliberately. There are things he discovered, truths he was never meant to know, that someone didn’t want him to ever be able to think about again. But there’s more to it than that. Whole sections of his mind have been placed off-limits; he doesn’t even know they’re there. More shields, more protections . . . high walls with barbed wire on the top . . . What are you trying to hide from me, William? Or what has someone been hiding from you all these years? What’s hiding inside your head?”

William’s face suddenly exploded with emotion, contorting with rage and hatred and a vicious malevolence. He didn’t look like William anymore. It was as though someone else were using his face for a mask, looking out through his eyes and hating everyone it saw. It glared threateningly at Ammonia, who stared calmly back at him.

“Well, well, what have I woken up? Who are you?”

“Get out! You don’t belong here! You have no business being here! Get out or I’ll kill you! I’ll kill all of you!”

But for all the evil in that face, and the venom in the voice, William didn’t move a muscle in his chair.

“That . . . doesn’t sound like William,” said Ioreth.

“It isn’t,” said Ammonia, still apparently entirely calm. “There’s someone else living inside this man’s head, inside his mind, his thoughts. Not a complete person or personality, as such; more like a residue . . . left behind by whatever assaulted his mind all those years ago. Something implanted, left to grow . . . A seed! Yes, a psychic seed! Hidden so deep within him he didn’t even know it was there. The seed has been infiltrating his mind slowly but surely, like a parasite. Eating him up a little at a time, replacing him with itself.”

“It’s the Heart,” I said. My stomach was churning painfully, and my hands were clenched into fists. “It’s the Heart, isn’t it? I always knew it had done something awful to him.”

“Yes,” said Ammonia, nodding slowly. “William didn’t run away from the Hall and his family; he was driven out. Sent into exile, commanded to hide himself where no one else would look, so his family would never discover what had been done to him. It made William its last-chance bolt-hole, hiding the smallest part of itself deep within this man’s mind. So that if anything should ever happen to the Heart, it could grow back again. From the safety of William’s mind.”

“Like a witch, hiding her heart somewhere safe?” I said.

“Same principle, yes,” said Ammonia. “William would have returned to the Hall at some point. He’d been programmed to do everything necessary to bring about the rebirth of the Heart. Eventually it would have burst out of him like some evil moth from its human cocoon, and your family would never have seen it coming.” She looked thoughtfully at William, spitting and snarling at her from his chair. “The Heart . . . must have had some kind of premonition. Extradimensional entities often don’t perceive time in our limited, linear fashion. Either that or it was warned by the traitor in your family. Still sure you don’t want me to look into that?”

“Stick to William,” I said. “Look, the Heart is dead. I saw it die. I killed it!”

“Not all of it,” said Ammonia. “You destroyed its physical form . . . destroyed its power over you and your family. I’m impressed. Really. But given enough time, the seed inside this man’s mind would have grown into a new Heart. Probably not in William’s lifetime, or yours. It would have gone on hopping from mind to mind and digging in deep, concealing itself like an invisible parasite, growing stronger with every generation. Reaching out with its increasing mental skills, influencing your family’s thoughts, affecting their decisions, pushing them in the right direction . . . and they’d never even know it was happening. Until the Heart was finally ready to manifest in the material world again, and retake control of the Drood family.”

“Why didn’t Ethel detect this?” I said. My mouth was dry, and my voice wasn’t as steady as I would have liked.

“Good question,” said Ammonia. “Presumably the Heart knows how to hide itself from its own kind. Probably it intended to attack your Ethel from ambush, destroy her and take her place. A very clever plan. Might well have worked, if you hadn’t called me in. But then, you never met a mind like me.”

William stood up suddenly, and then kept rising up until he was levitating in midair, above his chair. He hung there unsupported, completely at ease, glaring down at Ammonia with a terrible cold malice. His face didn’t look human anymore, as though what was on the other side were pushing through. Strange energies formed out of nowhere, swirling in the air in thick black blotches, spitting and crackling as they discharged on the material plane. Bits of the dark world called through to keep their master company. I started to armour up, and then stopped as I looked at Ammonia. She was staring up at the levitating man, entirely unperturbed. She seemed to know what she was doing, and this was her show, so . . . I decided to wait and see what she could do. I gestured to Ioreth not to armour up, and he nodded reluctantly.

“You’re showing off now,” said Ammonia. She hadn’t budged an inch. “Come down from there, and get back into that chair. Don’t make me come up there and get you.”

Their eyes locked. Nothing obvious happened, but the air seemed colder than ever. There was a growing tension in the Old Library. It felt like . . . there were a lot more than four people present. It felt like the four of us were standing on a great dark plain, while two massive forces clashed together, battling savagely without restraint or mercy. And then, very slowly, inch by inch, William dropped back down into his chair. The dark energies slowly dissipated, while long trails of static ran up and down the bookshelves. William was so stiff, so motionless now, he barely seemed alive. His face was flushed red with rage, his eyes glaring malignantly. His mouth was stretched wide in an almost animal snarl as the thing inside him fought for every inch of psychic ground.

“Don’t be too impressed,” said Ammonia. “All of that was sound and fury, preprogrammed defence routines. Just mental attack dogs. Bad dogs!”

Oily black smoke burst out of William’s mouth and nostrils, forming into thick clouds and streamers in the air before us. It twisted and shuddered like some horrible black ectoplasm, taking on the shape of a vast demonic face hanging in the air between William and Ammonia. It had horns and teeth, and it wept thick black tears that fell to steam and hiss on the bare floorboards. Ammonia laughed right into the demonic face, and inhaled sharply. The face abruptly lost all shape and structure as Ammonia breathed it in, every last bit of it. When it was all gone, she smacked her lips briefly.

“Tasty . . .” said Ammonia Vom Acht.

“I can’t help feeling I should be contributing something,” I said.

“You are,” said Ammonia. “If I look like I’m losing, kill me.”

And then we all retreated a step, even Ammonia, as a brilliant light flared up before us, incandescent, blinding. And when the light fell back to a bearable level, a huge diamond shape had formed around William and his chair, encasing the Librarian completely. He was only a vague image now, inside a huge multifaceted diamond. The Heart had taken on its true form again. Nowhere near as big as it had once been, when it dominated the Sanctity in Drood Hall. When we all worshipped and adored it, because most of us didn’t know any better. The diamond blazed with a fierce cold light that chilled my flesh and shuddered in my soul. My new torc tingled sharply at my throat, warning me. I moved forward, very cautiously, and rapped one shining facet with a knuckle. It felt very real, and very cold.

“It’s the Heart!” I said to Ammonia. “It’s back!”

“No, it isn’t!” Ammonia said immediately. “This is just a memory, a projection, given shape and form by the sheer power locked within the seed. This is good, Drood! We’re forcing it to use up that power, to fight us and defend itself. Manifesting in the material world like this, to defend its host from me, takes a hell of a lot of energy. It’ll eat itself up . . . if we can last long enough.”

“Should I armour up?” I said. “Try to smash the diamond so we can free William?”

“Don’t be a fool, Drood! At this stage, an attack on the physical diamond would be an attack on the host. The seed’s still a part of your Librarian. The psychic feedback would almost certainly kill him!”

“Then give me another option!” I said. “But don’t take too long. We can’t risk letting the Heart seize control of the family again. William would rather die than let that happen. Anything for the family.”

“You Droods are always so keen to die for your precious causes,” said Ammonia. “Why don’t you try finding one to live for?”

The light from the diamond was pulsing fiercely now, like a heartbeat, filling the Old Library with its unnatural glare. It seemed to be growing stronger. Ioreth and I were both shielding our eyes with our arms. Ammonia narrowed her eyes, but didn’t look away. She stood still, glaring into the light, bristling with her own fierce energy.

“This is a psychic attack,” she said. “Not material. I can hear the seed. It’s trying to talk to me, now that it knows it’s been detected. It’s offering me things, promising me all kinds of things, but that’s a distraction. It’s trying to sneak past my defences so it can invade my mind and take control of my powers. Smart little seed . . . And the really bad news is, I’m not sure I can stop it without attacking it head-on. Which could kill William. The Heart is powerful. So inhumanly powerful. I’m good, but I’m still only human; and the Heart isn’t bound by human limitations.”

“Neither is my armour,” I said.

I subvocalised the activating Words, and my golden armour swept over me in a moment. I felt stronger, sharper and ready to rock. The diamond’s fiercely glowing light was nothing to my armoured mask. Ioreth followed my lead, and another gleaming golden figure appeared in the Old Library. Ammonia actually fell back a step. It is not an easy thing to see a Drood take on his armour and his power. A great cry of rage filled the Old Library as the Heart saw Droods in armour not of its making. I stepped forward and placed a golden hand flat on the shimmering facets of the diamond, and Ioreth quickly followed suit. Even through the strange matter covering my hand, I could feel the terrible strength of the Heart, pulsing like a living thing. I reached out with my mind, trying to contact William through his torc, but the diamond blocked me. I could feel Ioreth trying, too, and together we slowly forced our way in, until we could feel William’s presence inside the diamond. Ioreth and I said the activating Words together, and William said them along with us.

The Heart cried out again as golden strange matter welled out of William’s torc and encased him from head to toe: a golden figure inside the shining diamond. The light flared up again, almost unbearable now even through my mask, as the Heart seed fought to hold on to its host. William fought to move, and we fought to reach him, but even linked together the three of us weren’t strong enough to shatter the diamond. We were strong enough to keep the seed from jumping out of William and into Ammonia, but nowhere near strong enough to destroy it. Because in the end we were only three men in armour, and it was an other-dimensional entity from someplace we couldn’t even imagine. We’d fought the seed to a standstill; but even that wouldn’t last for long.

“Kill me,” said Ammonia.

“What?” I said, not taking my eyes off the diamond.

“Kill me! I’m the catalyst here. My presence, my power, has activated the Heart seed. It won’t give up now that it sees a superior host in me. I’d rather die while I’m still human than have this thing use me as a cocoon. I told you that you might have to do this. It’s why I let you stick around. You Droods aren’t the only ones who understand duty and responsibility. Now do what you have to. Without my power to draw on, the seed will go back to sleep inside your Librarian. And then you can take as many years as you need to find a way to destroy the bloody thing.”

“We don’t kill innocents, Ammonia,” I said. “That’s not the Drood way. We save people.”

“We’re barely holding the Heart off!” said Ioreth. “And William’s weakening! What are we going to do?”

“Call for help,” I said. The idea came to me quite spontaneously, but it was as though I’d always known what to do. “You said it yourself, Ammonia; we’re not alone in here.” I raised my voice. “I know you’re here! You’re always here! You protected William from the Immortal posing as Rafe! Help us protect him now! Because if you don’t, there’s a fate far worse than death waiting for him and all the people he cares for!”

“All right,” said a calm and amused voice from out of the nearby stacks. “No need to shout. I’m here.”

Suddenly, a ten-foot-tall giant white rabbit stepped out into the light to join us. It was a huge, overbearing creature, muscular rather than fat, with tall, floppy ears over a wide, intelligent face. It wore a pale blue dressing gown, elegantly styled, with the Playboy logo prominent on one lapel. It moved like a man, but with animal grace. And for all the clear intelligence, there was still a wildness to it, an almost feral charm, dangerous and untamed. It smiled at the diamond, showing sharp, pointed teeth. The tips of its long ears brushed against the ceiling as it moved forward to join us, and its presence beat on the air like a roll of thunder. Or perhaps a roll on the drums.

It wasn’t hiding anymore.

It nodded easily to Ioreth and me, winked at Ammonia, and then laid one great furry white paw on top of the diamond, right over William’s head. The diamond cracked, and cracked again, and the Heart seed screamed. William’s mind leapt out and joined with mine and Ioreth’s, and together we smashed the diamond with our golden fists, until there was nothing left but a few shimmering motes of light drifting in the air, winking out one by one.

I armoured down, and so did Ioreth and William, and we all turned to look at the giant white rabbit. It leaned easily against the nearest bookshelf, which groaned slightly under its weight, and looked us over with calm, cheerful eyes. Ammonia made a big deal of ignoring the rabbit, and leaned in close to study William’s face. A single shimmering tear ran down his cheek, and Ammonia reached out to catch it on the end of one fingertip. She held the single tear up before her, studied it for a long moment and then flicked it away. It snapped out of existence and was gone.

“That’s it,” Ammonia said loudly. “All done. The seed has been destroyed. With its malign influence removed, this man should be able to recover most of what he’s lost. In time. Another triumph for Ammonia Vom Acht!”

“Is it really gone?” I said. “I mean, all the way gone?”

“Gone, and good riddance,” said Ammonia. “Bloody other-dimensional creatures, always more trouble than they’re worth.”

“I feel so much better,” said William, and immediately collapsed back into his chair. Ammonia snorted loudly.

“Hardly surprising, carrying that bloody thing around in your head all these years. But I had a good look around inside; there’s nothing in there but you now. Anything you still can’t cope with is therefore very definitely your problem, not mine.”

I considered Ammonia thoughtfully. “That does leave us with the problem of whatever Drood secrets you might have seen in there while you were working.”

“Couldn’t see a damned thing,” Ammonia said briskly. “His torc protected him; only let me see what I needed to see. Your Ethel is very protective. I do have to wonder what it is she’s so keen to hide from me . . . and perhaps you. Could it be she has plans of her own for the Droods, like the Heart did? I could find out for you, see exactly what it is she has on her other-dimensional mind. . . . But that would cost extra.”

“We’ll think about it,” I said.

“If Ethel lets you think about it,” Ammonia said cheerfully. “Never trust anything from Outside. And speaking of which . . .” She turned abruptly to look at the giant white rabbit now standing behind William with one fluffy white paw resting protectively on his shoulder. Ammonia glowered at the rabbit, entirely unimpressed. “What the hell are you?”

“I’m Pook,” the rabbit said easily, in a deep, cultured voice. “I am that merry wanderer, travelling the world, being mischievous. I am the laughter in the woods and the lightning in the sky, and you never had a friend like me. Your Molly would know of me, Eddie Drood; many’s the time we danced together in the early morning mists in the wood at the end of the world. But now I’m here. I took a liking to William when I happened to be passing through the asylum where he was staying, and I followed him here. Just because. Do not question me; I am beyond answers. Accept that I’m here, and I’m marvellous.”

“It was you who protected William from the fake Rafe?” I said.

“Yes,” said Pook. “That was me.”

“You frightened the bastard half out of his mind.”

“No one messes with my friends,” said Pook.

“But . . . what are you?” said Ioreth.

“Perhaps I’m a figment of someone’s imagination,” said Pook. “Perhaps I’m the last survivor of the world before this one. Perhaps I’m all that remains of an old god, fallen low. And perhaps I’m just a giant white rabbit. I’m Pook, and I’m a good friend. Be grateful.”

“I remember you from the asylum,” William said slowly. “You kept me company. Comforted me. We had such marvellous long talks together. I’m glad you are real, after all. Why didn’t I remember you till now?”

“Because it wasn’t safe for you to do so,” said Pook. “The seed knew me as a danger, and I wasn’t strong enough to rip it out of your head on my own. I had to wait for the right time and the right kind of help. That’s why I summoned Ammonia Vom Acht here.”

“You didn’t summon me!” Ammonia said immediately. “No one summons me anywhere!”

“I put your name into the council’s heads,” said Pook. “And then I persuaded you to come all the way here to help the Droods, even though you despise everything they stand for. Or perhaps I didn’t. Who can tell? I am wise and wonderful and know many things, some of them true.”

Ammonia glared at the rabbit, but couldn’t find anything to say.

“Is that it?” said William. “Are we all done now? Is this what sanity feels like? It’s been such a long time. . . . What do I do now?”

“Put the Old Library in order,” said Ioreth. “You’re the Librarian.”

“Of course,” said William. “Come along, Ioreth. Lots of work to do . . .” He got up out of his chair, and then stopped to look at the rabbit. “You will still be . . . around, won’t you?”

“Of course,” said Pook. “We still have so much to talk about.”

“I’m going to have to discuss this with the family council,” I said.

Pook inclined his great white head to me, grinning broadly. “You really want to tell them there’s a possibly imaginary giant white rabbit haunting the Old Library? Good luck with that one. Especially since I guarantee I won’t be around if they come looking. I’m very choosy about whom I reveal myself to. Even Ethel can’t see me, not least because I am of this world, and she isn’t. Let me become a rumour, a whisper, a family legend. One final family secret, and a last line of defence.”

He walked off into the Old Library and disappeared between the tall stacks with William on one side and Ioreth on the other. They all seemed very happy together. And I . . . was left alone with Ammonia Vom Acht.

“Take me to the Armourer,” she said. “I want the crown we talked about. The one strong enough to keep out the whole damned world.”

“You can wait here,” I said. “I’ll have someone bring it down to you.” I considered her thoughtfully for a long moment. “You know, there is something else you might be able to help us with. . . .”

Ammonia grinned at me nastily. “The true name and identity of the traitor hiding inside your family? Oh, yes, I could find him for you. No problem. But you’d have to give me access to every living mind in Drood Hall. And your family would never allow that, even though it’s clearly in your best interests, and those of all Humanity.”

“You don’t get to decide what’s in Humanity’s best interests,” I told Ammonia. “Only Droods get to do that.”