Property of a Lady Faire

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Doormouse’s Door dropped us off in a long wooden carriage, full of crates and boxes, suitcases and other luggage, and lots of shadows and shifting light. Molly and I had to cling to each other as the speeding carriage lurched back and forth, throwing us this way and that. The air was thick with dust and the smell of unvarnished wood, and freezing cold. I looked back at the Door, but it was already gone, as though to make sure we couldn’t change our minds.

“Well,” I said, as lightly as I could manage, “welcome to what appears to be the baggage compartment of the renowned Trans-Siberian Express.”

Molly laughed and clung to my jacket lapels with both hands so she could grin right into my face. “You just faced down the Detective Inspectre, Eddie! I am so proud of you! But if you ever scare me like that again, I will slap your head right off. What do you mean, baggage compartment?”

“I have never known anyone who could change direction so often, and so fast, in the same conversation,” I said. “So, in order, thank you, understood, and take a look around.”

We finally got our balance and let go of each other, so we could properly investigate our new surroundings. We’d arrived in a narrow railway carriage, constructed almost entirely from wooden slats, an unpolished wooden floor thickly covered in sawdust, and a rough, curving wooden ceiling. Two bare bulbs swung in the gloom overhead, unlit, but bright light punched through slits and holes in the carriage walls, filling the long open space with great blasts of flaring light, more than enough to push back the constantly shifting shadows. Crates and boxes and expensive leather luggage were piled up everywhere, and crammed tightly into shelves that ran the whole length of the carriage. Much of it had the look of expensive designer brands, while the carriage itself was deliberately old-fashioned. A blast from the past, in the service of tradition and nostalgia.

Molly staggered up and down the rattling carriage, looking closely at anything that seemed expensive or interesting and getting into everything. She didn’t seem particularly impressed by our new surroundings. I said as much.

“You don’t seem too impressed by our new surroundings, Molly.”

“Oh, come on!” she said, not even glancing back at me. “It’s a dump! Whoever put this place together had never even heard of style or comfort, except as something other people did. Look at all this unfinished wood, I’ll get splinters, I know I will.”

“It’s traditional,” I said. “It’s supposed to be . . . basic. The whole journey is a throwback to the grand old days of steam travel. This kind of in-depth historical re-creation is very popular these days. And extremely expensive. It costs a lot of money to look as authentically crap as this. I’m sure the passenger carriages are much more stylish, and comfortable. In a determinedly old-fashioned way, of course. Steam trains are considered very romantic, mostly by people who’ve never actually travelled on one. You have at least heard of the Trans-Siberian Express, Molly, haven’t you?”

“No,” Molly said shortly, idly testing the locks on a suitcase. “Sounds very much a boy thing, steam trains.”

“The journey starts off in Eastern Europe,” I said patiently. “Runs from one side of Russia to the other, including Siberia, and then down through China, to its farthest coast. The height of old-time luxury, I’m told, for those who can afford it.”

“Then what are we doing in the baggage car?” said Molly.

“Hiding out,” I said. “We don’t want to be noticed, remember?”

Molly sniffed loudly, giving all her attention to a pile of designer luggage with entirely insufficient defences. Given that this was the luggage of very rich and important people, I have to say most of it was painfully badly protected. The bigger crates and boxes were just held together with elastic cables, leather straps, and the odd length of baling wire. And the locks weren’t anything I couldn’t have opened in a moment, if I’d been so inclined. I looked thoughtfully at one long rectangular box, pushed up against the far wall . . . which gave every appearance of being a coffin. Wrapped in heavy iron chains. I drew Molly’s attention to the coffin, and we stood together, to consider it.

“Are those chains there to keep thieves out, or whatever’s inside in?” wondered Molly.

“Let sleeping mysteries lie,” I said. “And since there aren’t any seats or chairs in here . . .”

We sat down on the coffin lid, side by side. The baggage car continued to throw itself violently back and forth, as the train hammered along the tracks. The air was close, and the cold was starting to bite, but for the first time it felt like I could relax and feel safe. Or at least not immediately threatened by anything. It felt good, to be somewhere no one was looking for us. Molly stared unblinkingly at the expensive suitcases piled up opposite us, and I sighed inwardly as I recognised a familiar mercenary gleam in her eye. Molly was considering going shopping, and not in a good way.

“I will bet you there are all kinds of serious valuables in those cases,” said Molly.

“Could we think about that later?” I said, even though I knew a lost cause when I saw one right in front of me.

“No time like the present,” Molly said cheerfully. “You’re the one who didn’t inherit any money from his grandmother. One of us has to be the provider.”

“I’m really not going to like this month’s bills, am I?”

“Oh, hush, you big baby. It’s only money.” Molly looked around her speculatively. “There’s got to be a safe in here somewhere, where they lock up the really tasty stuff.”

“We don’t want to set off any alarms,” I said sternly. “Or alert people on the train that we’re here. We need to be quiet.”

“What’s all this we shit, kemo sabe?” said Molly. “A girl has to look out for her best interests . . .”

“We are on our way to a place that doesn’t officially exist, to steal something that almost certainly doesn’t do what it says on the tin, from a person who isn’t even a person, to buy my parents back from someone we don’t even have a name for!” I said. “While every secret organisation in the world, very definitely including my own family, wants us dead! We don’t need any more complications, Molly!”

“Oh, all right!” said Molly. She sat back on the coffin lid, stuck out her lower lip, and glowered at me. “I can remember when you were fun . . .” She looked around the baggage car some more, and a deep frown slowly etched itself between her eyebrows. “You know, Eddie, there is some seriously strange stuff in here. I’m picking up all kinds of magical emanations, leaking past a whole bunch of quite unusual wards and protections.”

“All the more reason not to go messing around with them,” I said.

“I’m just curious . . .”

“Oh, that is always a bad sign.”

Molly was already up off the coffin lid and on her feet again, staggering across the lurching floor to peer closely at this piece of luggage and that. She knelt down opposite a large hatbox and considered it thoughtfully. The hatbox had been sealed with all kinds of pretty ribbons, tied in really intricate bows, along with several lengths of delicate silver chain and one really heavy steel padlock.

“Molly . . . ,” I said warningly.

“I want it.”

“You don’t even wear hats!”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” said Molly, still staring intently at the hatbox. “How dare the world hide things from me . . .”

She snapped her fingers smartly, and the padlock flew open. I braced myself, ready to dive for cover, but nothing happened. Molly smiled sweetly, and pulled the silver chains away, dropping them casually on the floor beside her. She undid the pretty ribbons with nimble fingers, and then opened the lid. Only to immediately fall backwards onto her haunches, as a very large hat covered with all kinds of brightly coloured feathers flew up out of the box and fluttered vigorously around the baggage car. It bobbed this way and that and then flapped upwards, where it bounced back and forth along the curving wooden ceiling. The hat rose and fell and turned itself around, as the fluttering feathers tried to drive it in a dozen different directions at once. It seemed cheerful enough, for a flying hat.

Molly glared at it. “Get back in the box!”

The hat ignored her, flitting up and down the length of the baggage car at considerable speed, clearly having the time of its hatty life. And probably setting off all kinds of security alarms. I got up off the coffin, grabbed several small useful items and lobbed them at the hat, trying to bring it down. The hat avoided my efforts with almost insulting ease. Molly scrambled up off the floor and we pursued the thing up and down the carriage, while it fluttered back and forth, always just out of reach. The jolting floor didn’t help, throwing Molly and me all over the place. I crashed into some piled-up bags and sent them flying. A few broke open, spilling their contents across the sawdust floor. Clothes and books and assorted valuables, and one brass cage containing one very large black bat. The cage broke open on impact, and the bat saw its chance for freedom and took it. It flew swiftly back and forth, its leathery wings making a sound very like gloved hands clapping. And then the bat saw the hat, and went for it. The bat and the hat threw themselves at each other with clear mutual loathing, and not a little viciousness. They crashed together, spun round and round the carriage several times, and then separated, to regard each other ominously from a distance.

Molly lost her balance, and grabbed at the nearest shelf to steady herself. Her hand missed the shelf and fastened onto a bottle bearing a handwritten sign that said simply Gin. The bottle slipped out of her hand and smashed on the floor. A great cloud of purple smoke billowed up, taking on a vaguely human form, with a grinning bearded face at the top. Not Gin. Djinn. Nothing causes more damage than a bottle of cheap djinn. The gaseous figure quickly spread out to fill the whole carriage. It had enough physical presence to knock me off my feet and send me staggering backwards, until I crashed up against the far wall. I could just about see through the purple fumes to where Molly was pinned up against the opposite wall. Her arms flailed through the gassy body without doing any damage. The bat and the hat fluttered helplessly together, pressed against the ceiling. The giant bearded face grinned nastily, and piled on the pressure as it continued to expand.

“Get this thing off me!” yelled Molly. “I can’t move! It’s crushing me!”

I forced myself down the carriage wall, until I could crouch with my arse on the floor. I could hear the djinn laughing. I pushed myself forward until I was lying on the floor, and then I crawled forward on my belly, setting all my strength against the pressure of the djinn’s gaseous body, until I reached the sliding door set into the carriage wall opposite me. I tried to force it open, but it was locked shut. I armoured up my hand, smashed the lock with my golden glove, and gave the sliding door a good shove. The door flew open, and the djinn’s gassy body was sucked right out through the opening. I just caught a glimpse of a shocked and surprised bearded face, and then the djinn disappeared, sucked away and dispersed in the rushing wind.

The bat and the hat flew out after it. I waited till I was sure they were safely gone, and then sat down in the opening with my legs dangling over the side and watched the scenery rushing past. Molly came lurching forward, and sat down heavily beside me. She leaned against me companionably, as we both got our breath back, and then we just sat there together and enjoyed the world speeding past. It was very . . . scenic. An endless sea of snow, stretching away in all directions as far as the eye could see. Rising and falling but frozen in place, just a great expanse of gleaming white, without even a single tree or shrub to break the monotony.

“Where are we, exactly?” said Molly, after a while.

“Siberia,” I said. “Somewhere. It’s a big place. Covers a lot of ground.”

Molly shuddered. “Damn, it’s cold! I mean . . . really cold!”

“And this is just Siberia,” I said. “It’s going to be a whole lot colder once we pass through the Gateway into Ultima Thule.”

Molly looked down at her long white dress. “I’m really not dressed for the occasion, am I? Hold on while I break open the suitcases and have a good rummage round for something more suitable. Preferably with furry bits of dead animal attached.”

“I think we’ve let loose enough annoyances for one day, don’t you?” I said. “God alone knows what else they’ve got packed away in here.”

“Good point,” said Molly. “I’ll just find a passenger on the train who’s wearing something seriously furry, lure her to a quiet place, and then mug her. My need is greater.”

“How very practical,” I said.

Molly shuddered again from the cold, so I helped her to her feet and slammed the heavy sliding door back into place. I squeezed the lock shut with my golden glove, and then sent the armour back into my torc. I was shivering now too from the cold that had got into the baggage car, and my breath steamed on the air, along with Molly’s. We went back to the coffin and sat down, hugging ourselves tightly. Molly banged on the coffin lid.

“Are you awake, Count Magnus?”

“Can’t take you anywhere,” I said.

She glared at me. “Explain to me again why we’re having to do this the hard way?”

“Once more, then,” I said, “For the hard of learning at the back of the class. This train will carry us to a naturally occurring Gateway, somewhere in the snowy depths of sunny Siberia, and this Gate will in turn deliver us to Ultima Thule, the Winter Palace, and eventually, the Lady Faire.”

Molly sniffed loudly. “And how long is it going to take to reach this Gateway?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Hours, I should think.”

“What?” said Molly, sitting up straight. “Hours?” She stood up abruptly and planted herself before me with her fists planted on her hips, the better to glare down at me. “I am not sitting here, in this dump, freezing my tits off, for hours on end! And . . . I am hungry! Very seriously hungry. Eddie Drood, we are going to the restaurant car. Right now!”

I stood up, and smiled at her. “Your relentless logic has defeated me. I will admit, I am feeling just a bit peckish myself.”

“Then let’s go!” said Molly.

“Can we at least try to keep a low profile?”

“Who’s going to know us here? Let them look.”

“You’ve never been one for hiding your light under a bushel, have you?”

“Listen,” said Molly, “I am so hungry right now, I could eat a bushel.”

• • •

The door between the baggage car and the next compartment was of course very firmly locked, but a little firm pressure from a golden glove was all it took to persuade the door to open. Having Drood armour is like possessing a free pass to everywhere. Molly slipped her arm through mine, and we strode proudly on into the passenger carriage, which turned out to be a much warmer place, and far more civilised. A perfect re-creation of an early-twentieth-century railway carriage, with every conceivable comfort and luxury, and every relevant detail carefully preserved. Or at the very least, cunningly duplicated. The old original gas lamps in fact contained carefully concealed electric light bulbs, while hidden central heating soon took the chill out of our bones. The richly gleaming beechwood panels were stamped at regular intervals with the golden crest of the Trans-Siberian Express Company. The carriage was made up of spacious separate compartments, with padded leather seats and specially reinforced wide windows through which the rich and important passengers could enjoy glorious views of snow-covered scenery. Very nice views. If you liked snow. And not much else.

Molly and I sauntered down the narrow aisle, arm in arm and heads held high, as though we had every right to be there. The few people we encountered just smiled and nodded pleasantly to us. Molly and I nodded and smiled in return. No one raised a fuss, or asked any questions, because since we gave every appearance of belonging there, then obviously we must.

And there you have it. How to be a secret agent, in one easy lesson.

A steward in a blindingly white uniform with lots of gold piping and serious braid on his shoulders and rows of gleaming buttons came bustling forward to meet us. He smiled and bowed, and inquired how he might best be of service, in formal Russian he’d clearly learned from a book. I answered him in English, and he immediately responded in English he’d clearly learned from a book. Molly dazzled him with her smile, and asked for directions to the restaurant car. The steward bobbed his head quickly.

“Just follow the corridors through carriages second and third, honoured sir and lady, and you will emerge immediately into the restauranting car. Second serving of the day is just beginning.”

I gave the steward my best dazzling smile, to make up for the fact that I didn’t have any suitable money about me with which to tip him, and Molly and I moved on. The steward was gracious and understanding about it, and made a rude gesture at our backs that he didn’t realise I could see in the mirror on the wall. I wasn’t worried he might say something. The rich are often notoriously poor tippers. It’s part of how they got to be rich.

• • •

We reached the restaurant car without further mishap, and it turned out to be barely half full. Perhaps the constant lurching of the train had made the other passengers travel-sick. At least it meant we had no problems getting a table. Molly and I just marched down the aisle with our noses stuck in the air, and none of the exquisitely dressed people already at their tables paid us any attention at all. I chose the very best table, picked up the Reserved sign and threw it away, and pulled out a chair for Molly to sit down. She sank elegantly into it with a gracious smile, and I sat down opposite her and studied the setting details as the spoils of conquest.

Gleaming white samite tablecloth, luxurious plate settings, and first-class cutlery, all of it stamped with the Trans-Siberian Express company crest. I shook out the heavy napkin, dropped it in my lap, and pocketed the silver napkin holder. I glanced out the window, just in case anything had changed. Snow. Lots of snow. And even more snow. For a moment I thought I saw something moving, but when I looked more closely I realised it was just the train’s shadow, racing along beside us. Molly caressed the inside of my thigh with her toes, underneath the table, and smiled at me demurely.

I picked up one of the oversized menus. The heavy paper stock was bound in red leather, and everything on offer was in French. I can read French, but it was a sign the food was almost certainly going to be overcooked and underwhelming. That kind of food nearly always is, outside of France.

“There aren’t any prices,” said Molly, running her eyes rapidly over what the menu had to offer.

“If you have to ask the price, you can’t afford it,” I said. “That goes as standard, in places like this. Ah, there’s an English translation at the back, if you need it.”

Molly glowered at me over the top of her menu, and withdrew her foot. “I’ll back my French against yours any day.”

“Splendid idea. Bring her on,” I said. “Baguettes at dawn?”

Molly giggled, and we turned to the menu’s back pages, honour satisfied. The English-language translation was in very small type, as though it was being presented only very grudgingly. I couldn’t say I was particularly impressed by any of it. Just because something is rare and expensive and fashionable, it doesn’t necessarily follow that it’s going to be in any way tasty. I can remember when baby mice stuffed with hummingbirds’ tongues was all the rage, in the most-talked-about London restaurants. I once outraged a celebrity chef by asking if I could have mine in a sesame seed bun.

“Oh look!” said Molly. “There’s going to be a caviar and vodka tasting later this afternoon.”

“Don’t get too impressed,” I said. “Unless it’s the real Beluga stuff, all caviar tastes the same. Salty. The trick is to get them to provide you with enough dry toast to eat it on.”

“Snob,” said Molly, not unkindly.

“I’m a Drood!” I said cheerfully. “We’re entitled to the best of everything the world has to offer. It says so in our contract.”

“You have a contract with the world?”

“Oh yes,” I said. “Of course, we don’t let the world see it.”

“Of course,” said Molly.

“You can’t talk,” I said. “All the time you were staying with me at Drood Hall, you insisted the kitchens provide you with six boiled eggs for every breakfast, just so you could choose the best one.”

“I got the idea from Prince Charles,” said Molly.

“You’ve never met Prince Charles!”

“I read about it, in Hello! magazine. And if it’s good enough for him . . . Have you anything witty and informative to say about the vodka?”

“Only that vodka usually only tastes of whatever you mix it with. I’ve had peppermint vodka, paprika vodka, chocolate vodka . . . What an afternoon that was. I do remember a story my uncle James told me, from his time in Russia during the Cold War. He said he always used to drop a little black pepper onto the surface of a glass of vodka, let the pepper sink to the bottom, and then knock the vodka back in one, so that the peppered dregs stayed in the bottom of the glass. Because in those days you got a lot of homemade bathtub vodka showing up in Moscow, even at the best parties, a lot of it spiked with fuel oil. The fuel oil floated on the surface of the vodka, and the black pepper attached itself to it, and took it to the bottom of the glass. Made the stuff safe, or at least safer, to drink. Blind drunk wasn’t just an expression in those days.”

“You know such charming anecdotes,” said Molly. “Better not try that trick here; I don’t think it would make a good impression.”

“Of course not,” I said cheerfully. “Only the very best for us, because we’re worth it.”

“I love to hear you talk,” said Molly. “You’ve lived, haven’t you, Eddie?”

“Not as much as you,” I said generously.

Her earthy laughter filled the air, and well-manicured heads came up all around us. I don’t think they were used to hearing the real thing. Perhaps fortunately, a train conductor came bustling into the carriage just then. Wearing a sharp and severe black uniform, with lots and lots of gold buttons down the front, and a stiff-peaked cap. He looked quickly round the restaurant car, fixed his gaze on Molly and me, and headed straight for us. He had that look, of a small man with a little power, determined to abuse it for all it was worth. And make everyone else’s life as difficult as possible, just on general principles. It was clear from his expression that he didn’t like the look of Molly and me. We weren’t dressed well enough, didn’t look rich or powerful enough, to be eating in his restaurant car, on his train. The likes of us had no place in such a salubrious setting.

He walked right up to us, ignoring all the other diners seated at their tables, and everyone else sensed trouble coming and determinedly minded their own business. Molly studied the conductor lazily as he approached, and smiled a quietly disturbing smile.

“Want me to turn him into something squelchy?”

“Not in front of the passengers,” I said quickly. “We’re trying not to draw attention to ourselves, remember?”

“All right,” said Molly. “I’ll try something subtle.”

“Oh good,” I said, wincing. “You always do so much more damage when you’re trying to be subtle.”

The conductor slammed to a halt at our table and drew himself up to his full height, the better to puff out his chest and sneer down his nose at us.

“Yes?” I said, drawing the word out in my best aristocratic English, so that it sounded like an insult. “Is there something you need, fellow?”

He’d clearly heard that kind of English before, and it threw him a little off balance, but one look at our clothes reassured him that we were definitely not the right sort. He glared at me unblinkingly, ignoring Molly. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that going down really badly with Molly.

“Pardon me, sir and madam,” he said, in only lightly accented English. “I am afraid I must insist you show me all your tickets and passes. Including your reservations for dinner at this serving. If you cannot, you must explain yourselves immediately! I hope it will not be necessary for me to summon the security guards. They can be . . . most unpleasant.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” I said. “Molly dearest . . . ?”

“Of course, darling,” said Molly. She snapped her fingers imperiously, to draw the conductor’s attention, and then fixed his gaze with hers. His face went blank, and his jaw dropped, just a little. Molly held out an empty hand to him. “There. See? We have first-class tickets. And reservations. And everything else we need. So you don’t need to bother us ever again. Do you?”

The conductor started to say something, and then his mouth snapped shut as Molly frowned. The conductor looked at her empty hand, and then smiled meaninglessly at Molly and at me.

“Of course . . . madam and sir. Everything is in order. You will not be troubled again.”

“We’re not the diners you’re looking for,” I said.

“Quite so, sir . . .”

He turned abruptly away and marched off, looking completely convinced and terribly confused. He rubbed at his forehead with one hand, as though bothered by something he couldn’t quite place, or something in his head that shouldn’t be there. He glared at everyone he passed as he hurried back down the aisle, looking for someone to take out his unease on, but everyone had the good sense to keep their heads down and say nothing. Molly looked around for the nearest waiter and caught his eye, and the young man immediately snapped to attention and hurried forward to take our order.

In the end, Molly ordered one whole page of the menu, and not to be outdone, I ordered everything on the opposite page. Just to increase the odds of ending up with something worth having. The waiter actually lowered himself to look seriously impressed. The bill for that much food was probably more than he and his fellow waiters on the train earned in a week. I then raised myself even further in his estimation by blithely ordering him to bring us a bottle of the best Champagne the Trans-Siberian Express could offer. The waiter smiled and bowed quickly, several times, and then hurried off to place our order and tell his fellows all about it. Obviously anticipating a really good tip, because clearly money meant nothing to such wealthy patrons as us.

Molly and I threw aside the menus, sat back in our comfortable seats, and looked about us. It was all very calm, very civilised. Very peaceful. Not a hint of piped music. Though if they sent a gypsy violinist in to serenade us, I was fully prepared to punch him in the head repeatedly until he gave up and went away again.

“We should do this more often,” said Molly. “We never seem to find the time to just kick back and enjoy ourselves. Pamper the inner person . . . Though I have to ask, are you actually planning to pay for all this, or are we just going to have to break a window and jump for it? I mean, I never pay for anything on principle, on the unanswerable grounds that the world owes me. But I have to say, confusing a conductor is one thing, but confusing a credit card reader could prove problematic . . .”

“Not to worry,” I said. “I have a whole bunch of credit cards, courtesy of the Armourer. All part of an agent’s legend, once he’s out in the field. I was supposed to hand them back in, but after the way my family treated me, somehow it just slipped my mind . . .”

“Won’t they have shut those cards down, now you’re disowned?” Molly said carefully.

“They can’t,” I said cheerfully. “They’re not real cards. They’re good enough to fool any machine, anywhere in the world, but the best of luck to anyone actually trying to get money out of them . . .”

Molly looked at me accusingly. “Why haven’t I heard about these cards before?”

“Because you’d only have abused them,” I said.

“Of course!” said Molly. “That’s what credit cards are for!”

“It’s people like you that undermine economies,” I said. “Now then, I can only use each card once, and then they self-destruct so they can’t be traced. And since I can’t go back to the Armourer to ask for more, we’re going to have to make them last.” I stopped for a moment to consider the matter. “I still believe I can go home again, eventually. That I can put things right with them. When I explain about my parents, and the Voice, and the Lazarus Stone.”

“After everything your family has put you through, you still want to go back?” said Molly. “After all the terrible ways they’ve treated and mistreated you, you still think you have to explain yourself to them? You let your family walk all over you, Eddie.”

“Of course,” I said. “That’s what families are for.”

I looked out the window again. Snow. I looked up and down the restaurant car, studying the other passengers. They all seemed very prosperous, very comfortable, and happy enough with the food in front of them, if not necessarily with each other’s company. There was barely a murmur of conversation going on in the whole carriage. Most of the diners had the look of couples who’d been together for some time and had said everything to each other that was worth saying. So they sat, and ate, and didn’t look at each other. I hoped Molly and I would never get to that stage.

It also occurred to me that there was an awful lot of expensive and impressive jewellery on open display, because after all there couldn’t be any dangers in a place like this . . . I turned back to Molly and found she was also studying the jewellery, with the look of someone doing mental arithmetic. She caught me looking at her.

“Relax, Eddie. I’ll be discreet. They’ll never know what hit them. Yes, I know, we’re not supposed to draw attention to ourselves, but who would be looking for us here?”

“Who wouldn’t?” I said. “It feels like everyone in the world is after us. Very definitely including whoever is really responsible for the murder of all those people at Uncanny. We still don’t have a clue as to who that was. We’re the only ones who can find out, because we’re the only ones looking. Everyone else is convinced it was us. There are a lot of people out there who’d do anything to punish us for what they think we’ve done. The Regent of Shadows did a lot of good for people in his time. He still has a lot of friends out there. Then there are all the people who’d love to get their hands on a rogue Drood and his armour. And finally, people like the Detective Inspectre, who think they can use us to get to the Lazarus Stone.”

“I’m not sure there is anyone like Hadleigh Oblivion,” said Molly.

“You could be right there,” I said. “But you get the point.”

“How could I not, after you’ve explained it all so laboriously? I am keeping up with things, Eddie! Honestly, you’d think I’d never been on the run before . . . So, basically, we’re hiding from absolutely everybody?”

“Basically, yes,” I said. “Just like old times.”

We shared a smile, remembering how we first met. When my family denounced me for the first time, and tried to have me killed, and the only people I could turn to for help were those I’d previously considered my enemies. Molly and I had already tried to kill each other several times, earlier in our careers, so she was one of the first people I turned to. The only person who knows you as well as an old friend is an old enemy. Who knew the two of us would get on so well . . . ?

The waiter came hurrying forward, proudly bearing a bottle of Champagne in an ice bucket. He placed the bucket reverently on the table and then opened the bottle with practised ease. He poured me a glass, and presented it to me with a grand gesture. I think I impressed him, and perhaps even faintly scandalised him, by not even glancing at the label on the bottle. I took a good sip, and nodded nonchalantly. I gestured to the waiter to pour a glass for Molly. He did so quickly, and Molly took the glass and downed it in one. She smiled sweetly at the shocked waiter.

“That’s the stuff. Pour me another, sweetie. I’ve got my drinking cap on, and my liver is going to take some real punishment this evening.”

The waiter looked at me imploringly, but I just gave him a What can you do? shrug. He sighed, quietly, in a Barbarians Are at the Gate sort of way, and refilled Molly’s glass. She knocked that one back too.

“I can’t help feeling you’re not getting the most out of that,” I said.

“I’m thirsty!” Molly said loudly. “It’s been a busy old day.” She glared at the waiter, and he hurried to pour her a third glass. He then put the bottle in the ice bucket and ran away before he could be forced to participate in any more appalling behaviour. Molly sipped at her Champagne, little finger delicately extended, grinned at me, and looked out the window. At all the endless, unmarked snow rushing past. I looked too, just to keep her company. There still wasn’t a single tree or landmark to be seen anywhere, even along the distant horizon. No sign of life, let alone civilisation.

“It’s like looking at a dead world,” Molly said quietly. “Like looking at the surface of the Moon . . . Siberia. You were here once before, weren’t you, Eddie? On that case you still don’t like to talk about.”

“Yes,” I said. “The great spy game. Somewhere out there, beyond the horizon, buried deep beneath the Siberian tundra, lies one of my family’s greatest secrets and most terrible horrors.”

“What?” said Molly.

“Hush,” I said. “Keep your voice down. We don’t want to wake him.”

“Your family history never ceases to appal me,” said Molly.

But there must have been something in my face . . . because she stopped asking questions. We both have our pasts, and our secrets, places we cannot go. Molly looked out at the empty landscape again, resting her chin on her hand.

“How are we supposed to find this Gateway?” she said morosely. “How are we supposed to find anything, in all this . . . wilderness?”

“The Doormouse said we’d just know,” I said. “That we’d sense where it was, the moment we were close enough, whether we wanted to or not. Which is, of course, not in the least worrying.”

“What can you do?” said Molly. “He’s a Mouse.”

We stopped talking, as the food finally arrived. So much food, in fact, that it had to be wheeled to our table on several large trolleys, by several large waiters hoping to share in a really big tip. Or perhaps because they wanted to see what kind of idiots would order so much more food than they could possibly eat. The waiters took it in turn to lay out plates and bowls, dishes and tureens, and all kinds of steaming-hot food, until they ran out of room on the table and had to start overlapping things. I just sat back and let them get on with it. I have to say, everything smelled pretty damned good. Molly started making cute little hungry sounds, and clapping her hands together. When the waiters finally finished, they stood back and stared respectfully at the magnificent repast they’d delivered, and then they all looked expectantly at me and Molly. Molly looked right back at them, and they all suddenly remembered they were needed urgently somewhere else, and ran away as slowly as their dignity would allow.

Molly and I tried bits and pieces of everything, stabbing things with forks or just picking them up with fingers. To the accompaniment of appalled noises from people around us, who couldn’t believe what they were seeing. I chewed enthusiastically at this and that, only occasionally spitting things out. Because there are limits. A lot of what we’d ordered turned out to be regional specialities, and strange delicacies from local cultures. Mostly hotly spiced meats, and unfamiliar vegetables beaten and boiled to within an inch of their lives. Some was just unidentifiable bits of animal, whole organs swimming in sauces thickened with fresh blood. More like a road accident than a meal.

“I think this . . . is yak,” I said, chewing determinedly on something purple, served on a bed of bright pink rice and grey peas. “On the grounds that just eating this fills me with an overwhelming impulse to shout Yak! in a loud and carrying voice.”

“I think what I’ve got here is Mammoth,” said Molly. “It’s certainly big enough. Could this be its trunk, do you think?”

“No,” I said judiciously. “That looks like a much more intimate part of its anatomy. You’re going to eat it, aren’t you?”

“Damn right I am!” said Molly. “I’m hungry! You sure I can’t tempt you to try just a little bit?”

“No,” I said. “I would wince with every bite.”

“I wonder if they had to tenderise it first, with a mallet?” said Molly, smiling wickedly, and I had to cross my legs and look the other way.

We ended up eating a hell of a lot of the food, and drinking all of the Champagne, before finally throwing in the napkin and leaning back in our seats, happily replete and more than a little stuffed. Molly fixed me with a sly grin.

“You know, I could probably use my magics to convince the conductor we have reservations for a first-class sleeping compartment. How would you like to join the Hundred-Mile-an-Hour Club?”

“Nice thought,” I said. “But I am so full right now, all I’d want to do with a bed is sleep in it. My body is completely preoccupied with digestion.”

“Getting old, Eddie,” said Molly. “But we could just sleep, if you like. It has been a long, hard day . . . We could take it in turns, one sleeping while the other stays on guard. If we really are in any danger, this far from everyone and everything . . .”

“We’re in danger wherever we are,” I said. “And perhaps especially here. If word has got out that we’re going after the Lazarus Stone, they’ll expect us to go through Ultima Thule. So there are bound to be people lying in wait along the way . . . Hoping to intercept us, or follow us, or just pick us off from a distance. People who would just love to catch us napping . . . No, Molly, we can’t sleep, we can’t take it easy, and we can’t take our eye off the ball. Even for a moment.”

Molly looked out the window again. “There’s no one out there, Eddie.”

“No one we can see.”

Molly sniffed, and gestured rudely at the other diners. “I can’t see much of a threat coming from any of these overprivileged nostalgia freaks. Unless they plan to smug us to death.”

And then we both sat up straight, as shouts and screams and sounds of open violence suddenly exploded from beyond the closed door at the end of the restaurant carriage. The door we’d come in through. The other diners looked up, startled, and began to babble nervously among themselves. One large gentleman stood up, rather officiously, and started toward the door to investigate. He’d almost reached it when the door was smashed inwards with such force that the whole thing was blasted off its hinges and out of its frame. It flew down the aisle to slam into the large gentleman, knocking him off his feet and onto his back. He lay groaning on the floor, with the door on top of him.

One of the white-uniformed stewards came flying through the gap where the door had been, tumbling bonelessly down the narrow aisle between the tables, until finally he crashed to a halt. There was blood all over the torn white uniform, and it was suddenly horribly clear that the body had no head. The ragged wound at the neck suggested the head had been torn off by brute force.

Blood from the severed neck had been thrown everywhere as the body tumbled down the aisle, splashing the furnishings and fittings, and soaking into the expensive clothing of those diners sitting in the aisle seats. Their cries went flying up like startled birds, and they shrank back in their seats, away from the awful thing that had so violently invaded their comfortable lives. I looked at Molly, and we both got up from our seats and moved out into the aisle, to face whatever might be coming. We stood side by side, confronting the dark opening. Molly shot me a quick grin, ready for anything, and I had to smile back at her.

It would feel really good to hit something. To take out the day’s frustrations on whatever poor fool was stupid enough to interrupt our downtime.

The first man to step through the doorway was dressed all in red. Blood-red leather jacket and trousers, with a dark red mask covering his entire face, with just the eyes showing. There was something about the eyes . . . Too fixed, too fierce, too intent. He stood in front of the doorway with fresh blood dripping from his bare hands, his long lean body almost quivering with nervous energy. You had only to look at him to know that he was here to fight, and kill . . . and that he would enjoy every bloody moment of it. He wasn’t a soldier, or even a mercenary; he was a killer.

He stepped quickly forward, and half a dozen more men came quickly through the doorway after him. Six more lean and hungry men, dressed in blood-red.

“Why are they all wearing masks?” Molly said quietly. “Are they afraid we might recognise them?”

“There’s something odd about the way they all look,” I said. “The way they move. They all have exactly the same body language. Weird.”

And then we glanced behind us, as the rear door to the carriage slammed open. Two armed security guards, in much the same black uniform as the conductor, came running in. They shouted at Molly and me in Russian, telling us to get the hell out of their way. They were both big muscular types, carrying heavy machine pistols. They looked like they knew how to use them.

Molly and I moved hastily back out of the way, and they ran straight past us, training their guns on the men in red and yelling for them to surrender. One of the blood-red men stepped forward, raising his bloody hands, and both security men opened up on him at once. The bullets raked him from chest to groin and back again, but he just stood there and took it. I saw the bullets go in, but he didn’t bleed at all. Didn’t even stagger back, from the repeated impacts.

He came forward, incredibly fast, and hit the nearest security man in the head so hard it broke the man’s neck and sent his head swinging all the way round to stare over his shoulder with empty eyes. The body was still crumpling to the floor when the blood-red man turned on the other guard, who was still emptying his gun into the quickly moving target. The blood-red man snatched the machine pistol out of the security guard’s hand, reversed it, and smashed the stock of the gun into the man’s chest so hard, it sank half its length into his body. Blood flew out in a jet, soaking the blood-red man’s jacket. The security man let out a single agonised grunt. The blood-red man pulled the gun back out, in a fresh flurry of blood, and the security man fell to the floor. The blood-red man tossed the gun carelessly aside, and looked at me again. With those mad, fierce eyes.

And I just knew I’d seen them somewhere before.

The other passengers scrambled up out of their seats, screaming and shouting, and ran for the rear door. Molly and I stayed back to let them pass, not taking our eyes off the blood-red men. The passengers slammed into one another in the narrow aisle, fighting hysterically as they tried to make their escape. Molly and I stood together in the aisle, blocking the blood-red men’s way. I could hear diners struggling to force their way through the far door. Finally the last shouts and cries died away as they disappeared into the next carriage. Molly and I were left alone with the blood-red men.

I looked them over carefully, and the more I studied them, the more identical they seemed. Same height, same weight, same body language. The way they held themselves. And they all had the same intent, fanatic’s eyes . . .

“Who are these guys?” Molly said quietly.

“Beats the hell out of me,” I said. “But they’re not just uniformed thugs, like MI 13’s shock troops. They’re stronger than anything human should be, and faster, and from the way that one just soaked up bullets . . . Augmented men? Specially created soldiers? Clones?”

“Ask them,” said Molly.

“Worth a try, I suppose,” I said. I took one careful step forward, and all their eyes moved to follow me. “Who are you?” I said loudly. “What do you want with us?”

“I would have thought that was obvious,” said Molly.

“I have to ask,” I said, not looking back. “You know how the bad guys always love to boast. And it is always possible there’s been some terrible misunderstanding.”

“You think?” said Molly.

“Not really, no. But you have to cover every possibility . . . Look, do you want to come forward and take over the questioning? I don’t mind. Really.”

“No, no, you carry on,” said Molly. “Though I would just point out that not one of these arseholes has answered you yet. Which is just rude. I say we forgo further questioning and move straight on to the arse-kicking. Just on general principles. We can always ask questions afterwards, to whoever’s still conscious.”

The blood-red men surged forward, moving incredibly quickly. More of them came bursting through the open doorway, until a small crowd of blood-red men filled the end of the carriage. An army of fanatical killers, all dressed the same, all looking and moving exactly alike. They stood unnaturally still, their gaze fixed on me, ignoring Molly. Poised and ready, as though just waiting for the order to attack.

“Okay, Molly,” I said steadily. “I count twenty-three of them now. And I have this horrible feeling there are probably even more of them on the other side of that doorway. They’re all looking at me, but I’m pretty sure they’d be just as happy to take you down too, so I have to ask, Molly, are you back to full strength?”

“Are you?” said Molly. “You were the one complaining you were too full to do anything physical.”

“I have my armour,” I said patiently. “Do you have all your magics back?”

“Not all of them, no, but . . . enough. Come on, Eddie, there are twenty-three of them against two of us, so for all practical purposes we outnumber them. Let’s do it.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” I said.

I armoured up, and golden strange matter flowed all over me in a moment. I felt stronger, faster, my mind suddenly running at full speed. Putting on Drood armour is like suddenly emerging from a doze to full wakefulness, or like coming out of a dream to sharp reality. Like a blast of adrenaline to the soul. I always feel more alive, more aware, more me, when I’m in my armour. Ready to take on the whole damned world.

Interestingly, not one of the blood-red men reacted at all. They didn’t even flinch. Which was unusual. Most people jump half out of their skin the first time they see a Drood armour up. It’s basically just self-preservation instincts kicking in, because if a Drood’s turned up, everyone else is in real trouble. The blood-red men just stood their ground and stared at me with their overbright eyes, as though this was what they’d been waiting for.

Molly got fed up with being ignored, stepped forward, and thrust out a hand at the blood-red crowd. She spoke a couple of really nasty Words, and I winced inwardly as I recognised her favourite transformation spell. I have seen Molly turn whole armies of very rude unfortunates into so many confused-looking toads with that spell. Which made it all the more interesting, and upsetting, when nothing happened. The blood-red men just stood where they were, entirely unaffected. Molly slowly lowered her hand.

“They must be protected,” I said.

“No!” said Molly. “You think?”

“Don’t get ratty with me,” I said. “It’s not my fault your spell didn’t work.”

“Might be,” said Molly. “You don’t know.”

“Look, let’s go straight to the ultraviolence,” I said. “That’ll cheer you up. I’m going in. You watch my back.”

“You got it,” said Molly.

I surged forward with all the strength and speed my armour could provide, and the blood-red men came to meet me. There was a terrible vicious energy in their movements. I punched the first one in the head so hard I heard his neck break, but his masked face just seemed to soak up the punch, and he didn’t fall. In fact, I heard his neck bones crack and creak as they repaired themselves. So I kicked his feet out from under him, let him fall to the floor, and just walked right over him to get to the next target.

I lashed about with spiked golden fists, and bones broke and shattered under my armoured strength. I punched in heads, punched out hearts, grabbed arms and shoulders and crushed them with my terrible hands, and not one of the blood-red men cried out, or made a single sound of pain or shock. I hit them hard, sending them flying this way and that, but they just kept coming, pressing silently forward, trying to overwhelm me and drag me down through sheer force and weight of numbers. I couldn’t seem to hurt or damage any of them, no matter how hard I tried. I knocked them down and they just got up again. I broke them, and they put themselves back together. They swarmed all over me, hitting me from every direction at once, clinging heavily to my arms and legs.

It was like fighting in some awful nightmare, where nothing you do seems to have any effect and there’s no end to the silent, faceless enemy.

I grabbed hold of the ones clinging to me, pulled them loose one at a time, and threw them away. They slammed into tables and chairs and partitions, but they always got up again. I grabbed one, picked him up bodily by the ankles and used him as a flail, swinging him round and round, smashing into the others. I had some vague idea his body might be able to affect those like him. But although I heard his bones break, and theirs, as I used him as a living club . . . when I finally dropped him to the floor neither he nor his targets had any problem putting themselves back together again.

I took hold of a red-masked face with both golden hands, and ripped the head right off. No blood erupted from the ragged neck, and the fierce eyes behind the mask still glared at me mockingly. I threw the head away, and its body went lurching after it, arms outstretched. I felt like laughing hysterically. You can’t see things like that, such brutal disregard and contempt for all natural laws, without losing some self-control. But when in doubt . . . If your tactics aren’t working, change your tactics.

The Sarjeant-at-Arms taught me that.

So I grabbed hold of the nearest blood-red man, and hurled him at the nearest window. The thick glass shattered and the body went flailing through, into the cold outdoors, to be left behind as the train roared on. One less enemy to fight . . . is one less enemy to fight. Freezing-cold air blasted in through the shattered wooden frame, so cold I could feel some of it even through my armour. Interestingly, I could see breath steaming on the carriage air, seeping out from behind the blood-red masks. Which suggested my attackers were still sort of human after all. I grabbed another one and threw him out the window too.

The blood-red men pressed forward, and I struck them down, hauled them off me, and threw them out the broken window. I whittled the crowd down to less than a dozen, and suddenly a whole new crowd of blood-red men came charging through the open doorway, as though summoned by some unheard call. More and more of them, forcing their way into the restaurant car, squeezing through the narrow doorway, determined to get at me. All of them dressed in the same crimson leathers and full face masks, all of them looking exactly the same and packed full of the same endless energy. They never said a word and they never made a sound. I counted thirty of them before I lost track, with still more crowding in through the doorway.

All the time I was fighting I could hear Molly behind me, chanting Words of Power. Her magics spat and crackled on the air as they fought to get some hold on the blood-red men’s impervious bodies. Half a dozen of them suddenly burst into flames. They didn’t seem to care, and it didn’t slow their attack. Their burning leathers gave off an awful stench, but the jumping flames didn’t seem to affect the flesh beneath. The blood-red men fought on, even as they burned, their flames setting light to tables and chairs and hanging curtains as the train’s motion sent them lurching this way and that. Soon both sides of the carriage were on fire at that end, flames leaping up eagerly. A dark smoke drifted down the carriage, whipped up by the cold air still blasting in through the smashed window.

The blood-red men kept pressing forward, through the smoke and flames, while more and more of them plunged through the open doorway.

I kept hitting them, and they kept getting up again. I hit them with punches that would have demolished a house, but the damage just wouldn’t take. They were all superhumanly strong, and inhumanly resistant to punishment. If I hadn’t had my armour, they would have taken me down easily; as it was, all it could do was keep me in the game. They weren’t strong enough to hurt me through my armour, but the sheer overpowering weight of their numbers drove me back, step by step. All the way down the restaurant car, with Molly forced to back up behind me, still lobbing the odd nasty spell over my shoulder, like occult grenades. They didn’t do any lasting damage, but they did slow the enemy down. The blood-red men never said a word as they pressed forward, their unblinking gaze fixed always on me.

I kept grabbing individual attackers when I could, and throwing them out the window, but they were arriving faster than I could get rid of them. I hauled a table out of its setting and forced it into place across the aisle before me, then followed it with several more. Trying to set up a barricade. The blood-red men set their hands on the tables and tore the heavy wood apart like it was paper. They threw the pieces aside and came after me again. And I was getting tired. The armour makes me strong and fast, but it still relies on me to operate it. I grabbed hold of the nearest blood-red man and tried to tear his scarlet mask away, so I could see the face beneath. But there was no gap between mask and skin, as though they were sealed or fused together.

“Rip the mask off!” Molly yelled behind me.

“I don’t think it is a mask,” I said. “I think . . . it’s his face.”

“Rip it off anyway!”

And then we were interrupted by the sound of approaching feet behind us. I threw the blood-red man away and glanced quickly back over my shoulder, just in time to see a dozen or so train security guards come running in through the rear door. They wore the same black uniforms, but this time they were armed with all kinds of heavy-duty weaponry. Molly and I jumped back out of the way, to opposite sides of the aisle, and the security men opened up with everything they had, shooting at everyone in front of them.

They advanced steadily, blasting away at the blood-red men . . . who just stood their ground, soaking up the bullets as though they were nothing. They didn’t flinch and they didn’t blink, and they didn’t fall back one single step. The noise of so many guns firing at once was deafening in the enclosed space. An occasional stray bullet hit my armour, which obligingly swallowed it up. I glanced across at Molly, but she was already hiding under a table. The security guards kept on firing, yelling half-incoherent obscenities at each other in military Russian, their eyes wide and shocked at what they were seeing.

Chests and heads exploded under the impact of heavy ammunition, only to repair themselves in moments, like film running backwards. And step by step, the blood-red men forced themselves forward, into the heat of the attack, against the terrible pressure of massed gunfire, until they were close enough to lay hands on the security guards. They tore the men apart, limb from limb, ripping off heads with horrid ease and throwing them away. The guards died quickly, smoking guns falling uselessly from their dead hands. The blood-red men didn’t even bother to pick them up. Blood sprayed up to stain the carriage ceiling, then fell back in heavy crimson drops. More blood splashed across the fixtures and fittings, and ran in thick rivulets along the polished wooden floor. Until nothing was left of the security guards but a bloody mess in the aisle that the blood-red men kicked their way through as they came on.

Molly and I had taken the opportunity to fall back to the rear door. I looked down the length of the carriage, at the army of blood-red men striding through the debris of dead guards, with flames and smoke at their backs as fire consumed the whole back half of the restaurant car. They were still coming for me, relentless and implacable, like demons out of Hell.

“Well,” said Molly, just a bit breathlessly, “I think we know now just who it was killed all those people at the Department of Uncanny. Men who can’t be stopped, with inhuman brute strength, who don’t use weapons . . . Fits the bill, don’t you think?”

“Undoubtedly,” I said. “They killed all those people, looking for the Lazarus Stone. And they killed my grandfather. No mercy for these bastards, Molly.”

“I have no problem with the sentiment,” said Molly, “But I have to say . . . I really don’t see how we can stop people who won’t stay dead when you kill them!”

“The ones I threw out the window didn’t come back,” I said. “So let’s concentrate on the one tactic we know works. I mean, they’ve got to run out of numbers eventually. Haven’t they?”

“Do you want the truth, or a comforting lie?” said Molly.

“Convince me,” I said.

“This is a great idea!” said Molly. “I love it!”

We strode forward, laid hands on the first blood-red men we came to, and went to work. They had strength, but we had the element of surprise. I had my armour, and Molly had her magical protections. We picked the blood-red men up and tossed them out the carriage windows, one after the other. Half a dozen of them went flailing through the air, and out into the Siberian winter, before they even knew what was happening. But after that the blood-red men stuck close together, making it harder for us. And even as we thinned out the ranks, more and more of them came charging through that open doorway, appearing out of the smoke and flames as fresh reinforcements.

There had to be a dimensional Door back there somewhere. It was the only answer that made sense.

It was getting harder to see what I was doing. Half the carriage was on fire, with flames sweeping forward in sudden rushes, while thick black smoke hung heavily on the air. Molly’s face was flushed, and wet with sweat, I hoped just from the growing heat. The blood-red men kept throwing themselves forward, clinging stubbornly to my arms and shoulders, trying to drag me down by sheer force. I straightened my legs and stiffened my back, and would not fall. Molly was forced back behind me again, using me as a shield. I crushed skulls with my golden fists, and threw men away, but they just swarmed all over me with nightmare tenacity. More of them had caught on fire from the surroundings, but it didn’t slow them down.

We had to retreat; we had no choice. There were just too many of them, filling their end of the carriage, and forcing their way forward as more appeared. I backed away, step by step, with Molly behind me, until we slammed up against the rear door. I yelled for her to open the door, and then we both backed quickly through it. I slammed the door in the face of the blood-red men, and crushed the lock with my golden hand. Molly worked a quick spell to fuse the wood of the door with its surrounding frame. And then we both backed away some more. The door bucked and shuddered, and then tore apart as the blood-red men smashed right through it.

The other passengers, who’d thought they were safe from the madness, were shouting and screaming, running down the aisle to the far door and the next carriage on. Others retreated into the separate compartments, pulled the shades down, and locked the doors. Like that would help. One man stood his ground in the aisle, defiantly pointing a gun at the blood-red men coming through the broken door. His hand was shaking as he opened fire, and he barely missed Molly and me as we squeezed quickly past him. He soon ran out of bullets, but instead of doing the sensible thing and running with the rest, he just stood there and fumbled in his pockets for more ammunition. I grabbed at his arm to haul him along with me, but he just jerked his arm free and went back to his reloading. Molly was some way down the aisle, yelling to me, so I left him to it.

I caught up with Molly at the far end of the carriage. I hauled the door open and Molly darted through. I looked back just in time to see the blood-red men fall on the man who wouldn’t run. They surged forward, into the face of his bullets, uncaring and unaffected, even as he fired into them at point-blank range. They pulled him down and trampled him underfoot, and moved on. He didn’t scream for long. The blood-red men smashed in all the doors of the compartments they passed, and killed everyone they found. Again, the screams didn’t last long.

I retreated through the door, and locked it. There was nothing else I could do. I hurried down the new aisle with Molly at my side, and we soon caught up with the retreating passengers, packed so tight now that they filled the aisle and blocked the way to the next door. They shoved and fought each other blindly, in their need to get away. The blood-red men burst in the door and fell into the new carriage, bringing with them the last dying screams of slaughtered men and women, and the thick coppery smell of freshly spilled blood.

“I don’t think they intend to leave any witnesses,” I said to Molly. “I can’t let this go on. These people are dying because of us. Innocent bystanders. Just by being here, we’re endangering these people.”

“Well, what do you suggest?” Molly said roughly, her flushed face dripping with sweat. She was so exhausted she could barely hold herself up,

“I suggest we save as many as we can,” I said. “We can’t win this fight. There are too many attackers, and they won’t stay dead. Which is cheating, in my book. So, if we’re going to protect the other passengers, we need to lead the enemy away from them.”

I turned to the door in the carriage wall at my left, and kicked it open. My armoured boot sent the door flying out of its frame, and it went bouncing down the track behind us. Through the open gap, the featureless snow-covered landscape rushed by. I stuck my head out the gap, took a good look around, and then looked back at Molly.

“I saw we take the fight upstairs. Care to follow me up?”

“Oh hell,” said Molly. “Why not?”

I stepped out into the blasting wind, swung around, and clambered up the side of the heavily rocking carriage. The train’s jolting motions did their best to throw me off, but I grew sharp golden spurs on the palms of my gloves, and sank them deep into the wood of the carriage wall. It took me only a few moments to climb up onto the roof, stand up, and look around me. My armour kept me balanced as I took in the view. Snow and more snow, under an empty blue-grey sky. One of the back carriages was now completely consumed by fire, burning fiercely. Thick black smoke billowed up, snapped back in long dark threads by the racing wind. The flames were already spreading to the carriages on either side. Apparently sprinkler systems hadn’t been thought traditional.

Molly flew up to join me on the roof, soaring elegantly through the air. She landed hard beside me, as the last of her levitation magic ran out. She grabbed one of my arms to steady herself, and then quickly let go. She was shuddering hard in the bitter cold and the blasting wind. She was trying to maintain a layer of warmth around her, but it was already breaking down. Her magics were running out. But she wouldn’t say anything, so I couldn’t. It wasn’t as though there was anything I could do. Except stand between her and the worst of the blasting air, as a windbreak. She nodded briefly, appreciatively, but she was still shivering.

The blood-red men came climbing up both sides of the carriage, hauling themselves up by brute strength, quickly and without grace, punching holes in the outer walls to make climbing aids. Apparently untroubled by the rocking motion of the train, or the freezing wind. More of them burst out through the carriage windows, and out the doors at both ends. I moved quickly back and forth, kicking their hands away as they reached the roof, but there were just too many of them, and I couldn’t be everywhere at once. Molly tried to blast them away with sudden bursts of storm wind, but with her magics failing, her winds were quickly blown away and dispersed by the existing wind. All too soon there were thirty, forty blood-red men assembled on top of the carriage roof, with still more climbing up the sides.

I could have gone to meet them, knocked them down and kicked them off the speeding train, but I couldn’t see the point. Head-to-head confrontation didn’t work. So I turned to Molly.

“Run,” I said.

“What?” said Molly. “Where?”

“Away from them!” I said.

I took her by the hand, and we sprinted down the long metal roof. The blood-red men came running after us. We reached the end of the carriage worryingly quickly, and jumped the gap to the next carriage. I landed hard, still holding on to Molly, and we ran on. My armoured feet left heavy dents in the metal. Molly was breathing loud and strenuously at my side, but she kept up. She shot me a wide grin, and a laugh that was immediately torn away by the rushing wind. We ran on and on, until we ran out of carriages, and all that remained was the great steam engine itself and its massive bunker half full of coal.

The noise from the engine was deafening, and great blasts of blistering-hot steam shot past us, thick with flying cinders. Molly had to move quickly to stand behind me, one hand raised to keep the cinders out of her eyes. There was nowhere left for us to go, and the blood-red men were already charging down the last carriage roof towards us.

And, just like that, suddenly I could feel the presence of the Gateway. Off in the distance, not far ahead. A certain knowledge, like the pointing of a compass needle. Not a very pleasant feeling, knowledge of something that shouldn’t exist, that had no right to exist, in the natural world. Like a vicious itch I couldn’t scratch.

“Can you feel that?” shouted Molly, over the roar of the engine.

“Hell yes!” I said. “The train’s finally brought us within the Gate’s field of influence!”

“So what are we going to do?” said Molly. “We can’t stay on the train much longer, in case it carries us past the Gateway. Come on, Eddie, you must have a plan. You always have a plan, even if it’s usually a really bad one.”

“I thought you liked my plans,” I said.

“I promise I will love the arse off this plan, whatever it is, as long as it means we don’t have to fight the blood-red men any more! They are seriously wearing me out.”

“Okay,” I said. “Jump.”

Molly looked over the side of the jolting railway carriage, at the endless snowy plain rushing past us at speed. And then she looked back at me.

“Are you crazy?”

“We’re a long way from where I’d hoped to be,” I said. “But it feels like we’re in walking distance of the Gateway. You can feel that, can’t you?”

Molly nodded reluctantly. “Like dead cockroaches crawling all over my skin. Unnatural bloody thing. You really want to do this, Eddie?”

“Not as such, no. Do you have a better idea?”

“No, but . . .”

“The snow will break our fall.”

“All I’m hearing is the word break. It’s all right for you-you’ve got your armour.”

“You can fly down.”

“I haven’t got enough magic left to fly!”

“Some days, things wouldn’t go right if you paid them,” I said. “Please accept my apologies in advance.”

I picked her up in my arms, cradled her against my armoured chest, ignored her outraged cries, and jumped off the edge of the speeding carriage. We seemed to hang on the air for a long moment as the train shot past, carrying the blood-red men with it. And then the snow leaped up to meet us. We hit hard, the sheer weight of my armour driving me into the snowy bank like a nail into wood. My legs absorbed most of the impact, though Molly shook and shuddered in my arms. She’d sworn harshly all the way down, but the jolt of our sudden stop shut her up. I ended up sunk in snow almost to my waist, still holding Molly tightly. The moment she got her breath back she demanded I put her down, in a strained and rather dangerous tone. So I lowered her carefully onto the snowy bank.

She sank only a foot or so into the snow, but it was enough to make her cry out in shock at the bitter cold. I hauled myself up out of the hole I’d made, and stood beside her. We watched the Trans-Siberian Express race off into the distance, trailing flame and smoke. None of the blood-red men had jumped off the train to come after us. They were all standing unnaturally still, on top of the carriage, looking back at us.

The train quickly disappeared into the distance. I somehow doubted the blood-red men would still be aboard when what was left of the burning train pulled into its next station stop. It was all very quiet now, with the train gone. The freezing air was still, without even a breath of wind. Not a sound to be heard anywhere, and not a movement to be seen.

“Why didn’t they come after us?” said Molly, hugging herself tightly to try to stop shaking from the cold. “Not that I’m complaining, you understand . . .”

“Maybe they’re not equipped to survive in the wild,” I said. “Or maybe their orders didn’t cover leaving the train.”

“Maybe they know something about this place that we don’t,” said Molly darkly.

“Wouldn’t surprise me in the least,” I said, looking around. “Desolate bloody location.”

“I’ll bet there are wolves,” said Molly.

The more I looked, the more appallingly empty and deserted the snowy landscape seemed. Like a desert, covered with the perfect disguise. No trees or shrubs anywhere, no landmarks, nothing that stood out against the gently rising and falling snow, stretching off in all directions as far as I could see. And I could see pretty damned far through my mask. The sky was perfectly clear, just a pale blue, pale grey, cloudless cover. The sunlight was fierce and unrelenting, but gave no warmth at all. I could see Molly trying to summon her protections, to keep out the cold, but they were little more than a faint shimmer in the air around her. I considered armouring down, to join her, and then quickly pushed the thought aside. One of us had to be properly insulated from this appalling environment if we were to keep moving.

“How long do the days last up here?” Molly said suddenly.

“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s not like my armour comes with built-in Google. Or even a compass. Since we’re in Siberia . . . that means we’re inside the Arctic Circle. Daylight could last for ages. Or, the sun could just go down and not come up again for weeks. I suggest we think positive, and get a move on.”

Molly started to say something, and then stopped. Her head snapped around, to stare out across the snowy wastes. We both stood very still, and listened. And from off in the distance came the howling of wolves. A whole lot of wolves.

“Told you,” said Molly.

“What the hell are wolves doing all the way out here, in this wilderness?” I said.

“Looking for food, probably,” said Molly. “Let them come. I am so cold I’m fully prepared to rip the fur right off a wolf and wrap myself up in it.”

I stared off in the direction of the Gateway, concentrating my Sight through my mask. I could feel the presence of the Gate stronger than ever, peering back at me. And suddenly I could See it-a great light, fierce and brilliant, blasting up into the sky like a spotlight, right on the edge of the far horizon. Like a beacon, calling us on.

“We’re a lot closer to the Gate than I thought,” I said. “Easy walking distance. Can you See it?”

Molly looked where I was pointing, and then scowled and shook her head. “My magics are all but flatlined. I used them all up, fighting on the train. I can’t even feel the Gate’s presence any more. Though that’s no great loss. Made my skin crawl. Let’s get moving, Eddie. I am freezing my tits off just standing here.”

“How much longer will what’s left of your protections last?” I said carefully.

“Long enough. Let’s go!”

I thought about Ultima Thule, the winter of the world, on the other side of the Gateway, where the conditions were bound to be so much worse . . . but I didn’t say anything. I wouldn’t be saying anything Molly didn’t already know.

• • •

We started off through the thick snow. I went first, slamming through the snow with my armour, sending it flying to either side. I ended up blasting out a trench for Molly to trudge along in, behind me. It saved time, and made life easier for her. The sheer weight of the packed snow fought against me, but it was no match for my armour. Molly slogged along, not complaining at all, which worried me. That wasn’t like her. When I finally glanced back over my shoulder, there wasn’t a trace of her protections showing. She was shivering and shuddering, arms folded tightly to preserve what warmth she had, her mouth clamped shut to keep her teeth from chattering. Her breath leaked out in short bursts, steaming on the cold air, and there wasn’t a trace of colour left in her face.

“I’ve been thinking about the blood-red men,” I said, to try to keep her mind off things. “The way they all looked the same, moved the same . . . I think they were clones.”

“Could be homunculi,” said Molly, forcing the words out past her pale lips. Even half frozen, she still had to be contrary.

“No one makes those any more,” I said. “Too time-consuming, too expensive, and you just can’t get the proper ingredients these days. But it seems like everyone’s into cloning now. I blame Dolly the sheep. She made it look easy, even though it wasn’t. Why clone a sheep, anyway? It’s not like there’s a shortage . . . Why not clone a giant panda, or something else we’re in danger of losing?”

“If you’re trying to keep up a cheerful chatter to take my mind off the desperate situation you landed us in, please stop,” said Molly. “As for the blood-red men, I’m sure I sensed some kind of outside control, back on the train. A single will, working through all the blood-red men at once. Which could mean we have a single enemy after us.”

“I suppose that helps,” I said, smashing through a tall snowbank with one sweep of my golden arm. Small pieces of snow pattered down all around. “A single enemy, who can command a murderous army of things that don’t know how to die. I don’t suppose you have any idea who that might be?”

“Someone who wants the Lazarus Stone,” said Molly. “Damn, my hands are screaming at me . . . Whoever it was, they’re responsible for killing the Regent and his people. No wonder the place was such a mess. A whole army of unstoppable, inhumanly strong killers . . . The poor bastards at Uncanny never stood a chance.”

“Not after a traitor opened the door for them,” I said. “Somebody planned all this . . . Almost certainly the Voice who took my parents. But who? Why?”

“There you go again,” Molly said grimly. “Asking questions you know I don’t have any answers for. Once upon a time, when it came to enemies with good reason to want us dead, I could have provided you with a really long list . . . But it seems to me that we wiped most of them out, these last few years.”

“We have been busy,” I said, checking the distance still to go, to the Gateway. The bright pulsing pillar of light on the horizon didn’t seem any closer. “Seems to me the only way to identify our enemy is to discover as much as we can about the Lazarus Stone. That’s the driving force behind everything that’s happening. We need to know what it really is, what it really does . . . And maybe that will tell us why the Voice wants it so badly.”

“A Stone that can snatch people out of Time, before History says they’re dead,” said Molly. Her voice was growing quieter, the words less distinct as her lips grew numb. “If you could do that, Eddie, if you could save someone, who would you choose?”

“My uncle James,” I said immediately. “He was like a father to me for so many years, after my parents disappeared. He did so much for me, and did his best to protect me from the worst sides of my family.”

“He would have killed you, at the end,” said Molly. “We had to kill him.”

“I know,” I said. “He had to die. For the family to survive. But I do miss him. How about you, Molly? Who would you bring back?”

Before she could answer, we were interrupted. A great pack of wolves came running across the snow towards us. They moved at incredible speed, seeming to barely touch the surface of the snow. As though their sheer speed kept them from sinking in. Huge animals, twice the size of the average dog, long and lean with pale grey fur and mouths dropped open to reveal large, jagged teeth. They ran in silence, dozens of them, in perfect formation. Their eyes glowed red, fixed on Molly and me.

The pack split suddenly in two as it drew nearer, the wolves swinging out and around us, closing in from all sides, until they were running in a great circle around us. Molly and I moved to stand back to back. The wolves kept moving, speeding across the snow, endlessly circling. Watching us with unblinking crimson eyes, searching for some sign of weakness.

“They look . . . hungry,” I said.

“Much as I hate to admit it,” said Molly, “I am seriously low on magic, and running on fumes. I have a few useful items about my person, but that’s pretty much it. And there are an awful lot of them . . .”

“Maybe if I kill a few, the others will get the message and leave us alone,” I said.

“Worth a try,” said Molly.

“Okay,” I said. “Leave this to me . . .”

“Hell with that!” Molly said immediately. “I can handle a few wolves!”

“Wouldn’t doubt it for a minute,” I said. “But it’s not just a few wolves. And you need to hang on to your remaining magics. Never know when you might need them.”

I was thinking of Ultima Thule, and I knew she was too. When she spoke again, her voice was worryingly quiet.

“It’s nice you’re still assuming we’ll both get that far, Eddie. But those are really big, really vicious-looking wolves, and you’re the only one with armour. I’m not feeling as . . . dangerous as I usually do. I’m just . . . tired.”

I’d never heard her say that before. Never heard her sound like that before. A chill ran down my spine.

“It’s just the cold getting to you,” I said. “Stay put, while I go teach these wolves a few manners.”

I charged forward through the packed snow, sending it flying in all directions. Every single wolf stopped dead in its tracks to look at me, but I was bearing down on the nearest wolf before it had time to do more than bare its nasty teeth at me. I grabbed it by the tail, jerked it up off the ground, and swung it round and round my head. It howled miserably as I put some muscle into it, until it was just a grey blur on the air. And then I let go of the tail, and the wolf flew off into the distance. It travelled quite a way before it finally crashed back to earth, burying itself in the snow. All the other wolves turned their heads to watch it fly and land and not move again, and then they all turned their shaggy grey heads back to look at me. They held themselves perfectly still, as though communing on some deep level, and then they all moved purposefully forward, heading straight for me.

“Now, you see?” I said, my voice hard and flat on the quiet. “Any rational creature would have taken the hint. It’s no wonder you guys are nearly extinct.”

Half a dozen wolves surged forward, crossing the intervening snow with incredible speed. I stood my ground, waiting. They all hit me at once, each going for a different target. Their jaws snapped closed on arms and wrists, legs and groin, and one went straight for my throat. Their teeth clattered harmlessly against my armour, and they all fell back, yelping in a hurt and confused sort of way. I smashed their skulls, one at a time in swift succession, with brutal efficiency. I wasn’t in the mood to mess around. Molly needed me.

More wolves hit me, from behind this time, scrambling all over me as they tried to force a way through my armour with their teeth and claws. I grabbed them, one at a time, snapped their necks, and threw the limp bodies away from me. Dead wolves lay broken in the snow all around. And still the rest of the pack held their ground, watching me with cold, implacable crimson eyes.

Two wolves shot in from the side, ignoring me and going straight for Molly. She threw something at them. There was a sudden explosion, and both wolves were blown apart. Bits of bloody meat and smouldering fur rained down across the snow, staining it in ugly scarlet Rorschach blots. Molly grinned at me.

“Incendiaries are our friends. Never leave home without them.”

The wolf pack fell back on two sides, presenting us with an opening in the circle, a way out. I went back to Molly and offered her my hand, pulling her up out of the trench I’d made. I led the way slowly forward, heading for the opening, looking quickly back and forth, ready for any movement by the wolves. Molly trudged along through the snow, sticking close to me. The wolves let us pass, but we’d hardly made a dozen paces beyond the circle before they came stalking after us. Moving slowly, silently, maintaining a respectful distance but still following.

“They’re not giving up,” I said quietly to Molly. “Why aren’t they giving up?”

“Why do you keep asking me questions you know I don’t know the answers to?” said Molly.

“Just to annoy you,” I said.

“Then it’s working. They must be really hungry . . . Wait a minute-can you feel something?”

“Like what?”

“Hold up a moment.”

We both stopped and looked around us. I couldn’t see a damned thing anywhere in the whole snowy landscape, apart from the wolves behind us and the Gateway up ahead. But the wolves all had their heads up, looking nervously about them, ignoring Molly and me. They looked disturbed, and frightened, making darting little runs this way and that, as though not sure where to go for the best.

“Come on, you have to feel that!” said Molly. “Vibrations, deep in the ground, under the snow.”

“Yes . . . ,” I said. “Like an underground train . . . But there’s no subway system all the way out here. Is there?”

“There you go with the questions again,” said Molly. “The vibrations are getting stronger! Whatever’s down below, it must be pretty damned big. And heading straight for us.”

“You know,” I said, “for a deserted Siberian tundra, there’s a hell of a lot going on here.”

The ground exploded before us, snow and earth and rocks blasting up into the air and falling back again. The wolves scattered and ran, as something huge and nasty burst up out of the broken earth to tower over us. Twenty feet tall and still rising, covered in dark brown scales, a living column four to five feet in diameter, a terrible creature from the depths of the earth, still rising up and up into the air before us. The great blunt head unfolded suddenly, blossoming like some fleshy flower, revealing flapping pink petals of dark-veined flesh, surrounding great circular jaws packed with teeth, swirling round and round like a meat grinder.

The creature made an insanely loud sound, like some awful factory siren in Hell. The thing had no eyes, or any other sensory organs, but it was obvious it could sense its prey. The great flowering head slammed down, the body bending in an arch, and the grinding teeth fell upon a running wolf, picking it off with flawless accuracy. The creature snapped up the wolf and swallowed it whole as it straightened up again, leaving just a few spatters of blood on the snow where the wolf had been, its paw-prints just suddenly stopping.

“What the hell is that thing?” said Molly.

“Siberian Death Wurm!” I said. “I thought they were extinct!”

“Has anyone told it that?” said Molly.

The ground shook heavily, and Molly and I had to grab each other to keep our feet. The earth exploded again and again, snow and dirt flying into the air, as more and more of the awful creatures erupted from below. Until we were surrounded by ten of the huge, openmouthed Wurms, their heads swaying high in the air above us. The wolves were running in all directions now, running hard for their lives, but the Wurms just slammed their heads down and picked the wolves off neatly, one by one. Swallowing them whole, to be ripped apart by the swirling, grinding teeth, until there were no wolves left at all. The Wurms swayed around us like a living forest of tall scaly columns, sending their deafening screams out to each other. They sounded horribly triumphant.

“Run,” I said to Molly.

“Which way?” said Molly. “The bloody things are everywhere!”

“Head for the Gateway,” I said. “Make for the light.”

“What bloody light?” said Molly. “I don’t see it anywhere!”

“Oh, I just know I am going to regret this later,” I said.

I grabbed Molly and threw her over my shoulder, and then sprinted for the horizon, forcing my way through the thick snow by brute force. I ran hard, accelerating to more than human speed, snow flying in all directions as I ploughed right through the packed banks, refusing to let them slow me down. Molly cursed me shakily, in between breaths forced out of her by my lurching progress.

“Put me down! Now!”

“Oh, shut up,” I said. “I am saving your life!”

“This . . . is so undignified . . .”

“I’m faster than you are.”

“Not fast enough. We’re not out of them yet.”

“Back-seat driver.”

I ran between the last two towering Wurms, dodging back and forth as the great flowering heads came crashing down. They didn’t even come close, but just the terrible impacts were enough to throw me off my feet for a moment. I kept going, not looking back. I could hear Molly breathing hard, as the continual impacts slammed the breath out of her, but she didn’t say a word. When I was some distance away, and felt safe enough to stop, I let her down. I had to hold on to her for a moment, steadying her till she got her breath back. Then she pushed me away, and glared at me.

“We will have words about this, later.”

“Understood,” I said.

She looked about her. “I still don’t see this damned light of yours. I can feel the Gate’s presence, though. We’re not far from it, are we?”

“Almost there,” I said. “Ten, twenty feet, and we are out of here.”

The ground ripped open between us and the Gate, sending me staggering backwards as a Siberian Death Wurm blasted up out of the earth. A shower of snow hit Molly hard, throwing her to the ground. More snow splattered against my armour, and fell away. Molly scrambled back to her feet, plucked a charm off her ankle bracelet, and threw it at the Wurm’s towering body. It slammed against the scales, exploding in fierce violet flames, and the Wurm didn’t even notice it. The flames died quickly away, unable to get a hold. Molly looked at her charm bracelet as though it had betrayed her, and then looked at me.

“That’s it!” she said. “I’m out! I haven’t anything left that could even touch that thing!”

She was shaking and shuddering harder than ever, no longer protected from the awful cold by any of her magics. I looked back the way we’d come. The other Wurms were plunging down into the snow, throwing themselves back into the ground and burrowing towards us. I could feel the vibrations through my golden boots. I looked at the bright spotlight of the Gateway, stabbing up into the sky. Easy running distance, once we were past the Wurm before us. I didn’t think it could sense us as long as we stood still, but the moment we started running . . . it would know. But we couldn’t stay where we were for long. The other Wurms were coming.

“Molly,” I said steadily, “I need a distraction. Something to hold the Wurm’s attention, just for a few moments.”

“Got you,” said Molly, forcing the words out through chattering teeth. “I run for the Gate, it goes after me, and you take it out when it isn’t looking.”

“That’s the idea,” I said. “Trust me?”

“Forever,” said Molly.

“Forever and a day,” I said.

She ran for the Gate, plunging through the deep snow as fast as she could. The Wurm’s head whipped around, attracted by the movement, and the huge head came slamming down, its wide-petaled mouth stretching out to take her. I ran forward and threw myself at the creature as it came within reach. I hit the neck just below the head, hard, and the sheer impact of my armour, moving at speed, forced the head aside so that it missed Molly by several feet. The head surged back up into the air, and I rode along with it, my golden fingers plunged deep into its flesh. My legs dangled, until I grew spurs in my golden boots and plunged them into the scaly body.

The Wurm reared up to its full height while I clambered up the last of its neck until I was right below the mouth. The circles of grinding teeth whirled round and round, unable to reach me. I pulled one hand back and then thrust it deep into the flesh right in the gaping mouth, as hard as I could. My fist sank in deep, probing for the brain, until my arm was in all the way to the elbow. The Wurm convulsed, shaking its great head back and forth, trying to throw me off. I yanked my hand out, and dark purple blood spurted, steaming on the chilly air. The head whipped back and forth, and I hit it again, with all my armour’s strength behind it. This time my arm sank in almost up to my shoulder.

The long, scaly body shuddered down all of its length, and then suddenly went limp. I’d found the brain at last. The head crashed down as the body collapsed, and I rode it all the way to the snow-covered ground, waving my free arm and whooping wildly. The snow came flying up to meet us, and I jumped free at the last moment. The ground shook as the Wurm measured its length on the earth, and snow jumped up into the air all around it. The Wurm just lay there, shuddering and twitching its whole length, the great grinding teeth slowing to a halt. I dug myself out of the hole I’d made in the snow, and strode back to join Molly.

“Showoff,” she said. But she couldn’t keep from grinning.

“Worms should know their place,” I said.

“You want to tell that to the ones still heading our way?”

“What are they burrowing through, exactly?” I said. “The snow, the earth, the rock beneath?”

“If we hang around here long enough, you can ask them,” said Molly.

“Good point,” I said. “Follow me.”

I led her the last few feet to the Gateway. Up close, it was just a light shining up into the sky, from no obvious source. Molly still couldn’t see it, but she could feel it. She put her hands out to the light, as though to warm them.

“I can feel the power it’s generating,” she said. “Nasty, crawling sensation. Like sticking your hands into a dead body that isn’t dead enough. How do we open the Gate?”

“I don’t think it’s closed,” I said. “No one made this, it’s a . . . phenomenon. A crack in the world. Like a geyser . . . I think we just walk through it. Ultima Thule should be on the other side.”

“Should?” said Molly. “Really not liking the should. Something like this, we need to be sure.”

“We can’t stay here,” I said. “Stuck in the middle of the Siberian wilderness, with a whole bunch of Death Wurms coming straight for us. There isn’t anywhere else for us to go, Molly.”

“You’re right,” said Molly. “After you.”

I had to smile. “Whatever happened to ladies first?”

“Do I look crazy?” said Molly.

I looked at her as she shivered violently in the cold, and a hand tightened round my heart. “Molly . . . this is just the cold of the natural world. I don’t know if you can survive the unnatural cold of Ultima Thule without your protections.”

“You’ll find a way to protect me,” said Molly, meeting my gaze steadily. “I trust you, remember? I trust you to find a way to keep me alive in Ultima Thule. Don’t let me down, Eddie.”

“Never,” I said.

The Siberian Death Wurms were almost upon us. I took my Molly by the hand, and led her into the light and out of this world.

Into Ultima Thule.