The Man with the Golden Torc

CHAPTER ELEVEN Good Golly Miss Molly

You hear a lot of stories about Molly Metcalf. How she once frightened a ghost out of the house it was haunting. How she abducts aliens in order to run strange experiments on them. How she once called up the Devil himself, just to tell him an endless stream of knock-knock jokes. The most disturbing thing about these stories is that far too many of them are true. But that’s the wild witch Molly Metcalf for you: free spirit of anarchy, Hawkwind fan, and queen of all the wild places. Enemy to the Drood family and everything they stand for.

Somehow I just knew this meeting wasn’t going to go smoothly.

But there I was, on the run in London and hiding in the smoke, sticking to the darker and nastier back streets because I couldn’t afford to be seen by old friends or enemies. Using the secret shortcuts and subterranean ways that normal people never get to know about. Heading reluctantly towards the one remaining person who might be able to find me a way out of the mess I was in. My oldest and fiercest enemy, my opposite in every way: Molly Metcalf. Sweet, petite, and overwhelmingly feminine, Molly specialised in forbidden old magics, applied with much passion and not a little lateral thinking.

She once changed the magnetic patterns of force over London, just so that all the migrating birds would have to pass over the Houses of Parliament and crap on them. She once worked a subtle magic on certain bed fleas and venereal crabs, making them her eyes and ears so that she could spy on the very important personages who patronised a brothel that specialised in the rich and famous. As a result she learned many interesting things, and blackmailed her victims ruthlessly. As much for the fun of it as the money. One of her victims had to stand up in Parliament and recite the whole of "I’m a little teapot, here’s my spout," during the prime minister’s question time, before she’d let him off the hook. Given who it was, I quite approved of that one…

And of course there was the time she bribed a group of disgruntled earth elementals into causing massive earthquakes in the bedrock beneath the British mainland. Apparently she wanted to split the United Kingdom into three separate island states: England and Wales and Scotland. I only just stopped that one in time. And she was an enthusiastic part of the Arcadia Project, a gathering of top-rank magicians dedicated to changing the rules of reality itself, to bring about a new world constructed a lot more to their liking. Fortunately for the world and reality, magicians have the biggest egos outside of show business and rarely play well with each other. Half of them ended up turning the other half into various kinds of livestock, and Molly lost her temper and called down a plague of frogs on the lot of them.

People were clearing frogs out of their gutters all over London for weeks after that.

Molly Metcalf resisted authority; any authority. She also hated my guts, with good reason. We’d been on opposite sides of a dozen missions, with me standing for order and her for chaos. We’d come close to killing each other several times, and neither of us had failed for want of trying. If I went to her in my armour, wearing the golden face she had every reason to hate, she’d attack me on sight. My only chance to get close to her was as Shaman Bond. Molly knew Shaman, in a friendly if distant way, as just another face on the scene. We’d even had the odd drink together, as part of my cover. I planned to use that, to get a foot in her door.

Molly lived in Ladbrook Grove, in what had once been quite a trendy area that had now fallen upon reduced circumstances. Her house was a simple two up, two down, in the middle of a long terraced row. From the outside it appeared no different from any of the others: a bit shabby, a bit neglected, and in urgent need of a new coat of paint. The street was full of squabbling kids riding their bikes back and forth, kicking a football around, or just hanging about in the hope something would happen. None of them paid me any attention as I went up to Molly’s front door and leaned on the bell. There were always strangers coming and going on a street like this. There was a long pause, long enough to make me consider ringing again, and then the front door opened just enough to allow Molly to peer out.

"Shaman?" she said in her usual dark and sultry voice. "What brings you to my door, uninvited? I wasn’t aware you even knew where I lived. Not many do, and I’ve killed most of them. I hate being bothered."

I gave her my best charming smile. Molly Metcalf looked like a delicate china doll with big bosoms. Bobbed black hair, huge dark eyes, ruby rosebud mouth. She wore a gown of ruffled white silk, possibly to lend a touch of colour to her pale skin. She was beautiful, in an eerie, threatening, and utterly disturbing way.

"Sorry to bother you, Molly," I said when it became clear the charming smile wasn’t having any effect. "I need to talk to you. About the new rogue Drood, Edwin. I know something about him that I think you need to know. May I come in? It is rather urgent."

She thought about it for a long moment, studying me with her dark unblinking eyes, but finally nodded and stepped back, opening the door just a little wider. I squeezed in past her, and she immediately shut the door behind us and locked it. I barely noticed. I was standing in a vast forest glade, with my mouth hanging open. I didn’t know what I’d expected to find behind the facade, but it sure as hell wasn’t this. Molly lived in style.

Towering trees surrounded me on every side, heavy with summer foliage. The clearing rose and fell in grassy mounds, and a nearby waterfall tumbled down a jagged rock face into a wide crystal clear pool. Out among the trees, deer watched solemnly from a safe distance, while birds sang sweetly and heavy shafts of golden sunlight dropped down through the overhead canopy. Dappled shadows gave the clearing a drowsy, cosy feel, and the air was thick with the rich damp and earthy smell of woodland.

Molly ignored me, walking among a small stand of trees. She talked to them in a soft whispered language I’d never heard before, and I swear they bowed down their heads to listen. Wide-eyed deer came forward to nuzzle her with their soft mouths, and she rubbed their muzzles with gentle hands. A russet squirrel dropped out of the overhead branches to land lightly on her shoulder. It chattered urgently in her ear, and then looked straight at me.

"Hey, Molly," it said. "Who’s the rube? New boyfriend? About time; you get really moody when you’re not getting your ashes hauled regularly."

"Not now, dear," Molly said indulgently. "Run along and play while I speak to the nice man. And don’t eavesdrop or I’ll do something unpleasant to your nuts."

The squirrel pulled a face at her and leapt back up into the safety of the trees. Molly came unhurriedly back to stand before me, beside the pool. I decided not to ask about the talking squirrel. I didn’t want to get sidetracked into what promised to be a very long story.

"Talk to me, Shaman Bond," Molly said. "Tell me this thing you know. And it had better be good, or there’ll be another cute little talking animal in my garden paradise."

"It’s about Edwin Drood," I said. "The new rogue. He’s in real trouble. Outlawed by his family, forsaken by his friends, all alone and on the run. He has been given good reason to doubt his family, or at least some part of it, and he wants to know the truth. He believes you can tell him things that others couldn’t, or wouldn’t. In return for your help, he’s prepared to offer you the one thing you want more than his head on a spike: a chance to bring down the whole corrupt Drood family."

"Works for me," Molly said easily. She sat down on the edge of the pool and trailed her fingers lazily through the lily-pad-covered waters. Fish came to nibble at her fingertips. I stayed on my feet. I would have felt too vulnerable sitting. Molly looked up at me with her dark, thoughtful eyes. "Where do you fit into this, Shaman? This is way out of your usual league. Why should I believe you when you say these things?"

"Because I’m Edwin Drood," I said. "And I always have been."

I armoured up, the living gold covering me in a moment. Molly scrambled onto her feet, glaring at me with wild, dangerous eyes. Her ruby mouth contorted with rage as she raised one hand into a spell casting position. I made myself stand very still, my arms limp at my sides, my hands conspicuously open and empty. She stood there, breathing harshly, and then slowly she pulled back from the edge and lowered her hand.

"Take off the armour," she said harshly. "I won’t talk to you while you’re wearing the armour."

With the armour off, I’d be defenceless. She could kill me, torture me, or mindwipe me into her slave; all things she’d threatened to do in the past. But I had come to her, so I had to make the gesture of trust. Of vulnerability. I subvocalised the Words, and braced myself as the living gold disappeared back into my torc. Molly looked me over, as though searching for signs of treachery, and I looked back at her as calmly as I could. Molly nodded slowly and moved a single step closer.

"I heard about what happened, on the motorway. About all the things your family sent after you. People all over town are having a hard time believing you fought them all off. I mean, no offence, Edwin, but…no one on the scene ever thought you were that good. Did one of the Fae really shoot you with an arrow?"

Moving slowly and carefully, I unbuttoned my shirt and pushed it back to show her the arrow wound in my shoulder. Molly took another step forward to study the healed wound more closely. She didn’t touch me, but I could feel her warm breath on my bare skin as she leaned in close. She pulled back again and met my gaze squarely. She was taller than I remembered, her eyes almost on a level with mine. She smiled suddenly, and it was not a pretty smile.

"So; Drood armour can be breached, after all. That’s a thing worth knowing. I could kill you now, Shaman. Edwin."

"Yes," I said. "You could. But you won’t."

"Really? Are you sure about that?"

"No," I admitted. "You’ve never been…predictable, Molly. But I’m not your enemy anymore. I’m not Drood: I’m rogue. That changes everything."

"Maybe," said Molly. "Convince me, Edwin. I can always kill you later, if I get bored."

I relaxed just a little and buttoned up my shirt again. Give me an inch, and I can talk anyone into anything. "You’ve tried to kill me often enough, in the past," I said. "Remember the time you blew up the whole Bradbury building, just to get me? The look on your face when I walked unharmed out of the ruins! I thought you were going to pop an artery."

Molly nodded, smiling. "Do you remember the time you stuck me through the chest with three feet of enchanted steel? Only to discover that like all good magicians, I keep my heart safe and secure somewhere else? I thought you were going to have a fit."

"We’ve lived, haven’t we?" I said dryly, and she laughed briefly. "We can work together," I said. "We want the same things in this, and who else has shared as much history as we have?"

"That makes sense," said Molly. "In a warped kind of way. Who knows us better than our enemies? Though I have to say the Shaman Bond thing came as a bit of a surprise." She cocked her head to one side, like a bird, considering me. "Why did you come to me as Shaman? You could have burst in here in your damned armour, safe from all my magics, smashed through my defences, and demanded I help you."

"No, I couldn’t," I said. "You’d have told me to go to hell."

"True, very true. You do know me, Edwin."

"Please; call me Eddie. And besides, I wanted to make a point. That I would share my secrets with you, if you would share yours with me. You know things, Molly, things few other people know; things you’re not supposed to know. And there are things I need to know about my family. Things that have been withheld from me." I looked around.

"And I really would like to know how you got a forest inside your house."

"Because I am the wild witch! I am the laughter in the woods, the promise of the night, the delight of the soul, and the dazzle of the senses. And because I hired a really good interior decorator. You never did appreciate me, Edwin."

"Eddie, please."

"Yes…You look like an Eddie. Now, if answers are truly what you want, look into my scrying pool. But don’t blame me if the truth you learn is a truth you’d rather not know."

Molly sat down beside her pool again, gathering her long white gown around her, and I crouched cautiously down beside her. The whole thing was a scrying pool? It had to be twenty feet across, easy, which would make it hellishly powerful. Molly slapped the flat of her left hand onto the surface of the waters, and the ripples spread out, pushing the lily pads to the borders of the pond. The crystal clear water shimmered, and then blazed bright as the sun, dazzling my eyes, before clearing abruptly to show me a vision of a man and a woman, in two different rooms, talking on the phone. I leaned forward as I recognised them. The man was the British prime minister; the woman was Martha Drood.

"You can See into the Hall?" I said, my voice hardly more than a breath. "That’s not supposed to be possible!"

"It’s all right," said Molly. "They can’t see or hear us. But listen now, and pay attention. You need to hear this."

"Look, this is your mess!" the prime minister was saying angrily.

"Drood agents, in full armour, fighting each other in full view of the public? Thank God the media didn’t catch it. Do you even realise what it’s going to take to put this right? The rebuilding, the witness intimidation programme, the hush money? All because you couldn’t take care of your own dirty work!"

"Stop whining," said Martha, her voice cold as a slap in the face.

"Damage limitations is one of the few things you’re actually good at. Probably because you’ve had so much experience at it. You will do everything you have to, and you’ll do it efficiently and well and very quickly, or I’ll have you killed and see if your replacement learns anything from the experience. Remember your place, Prime Minister. I got you elected so you could serve the family’s interests, just like your predecessors. The family knows best. Always."

"All right! All right!" The prime minister said defensively. "I’m on top of this, Matriarch. You don’t have anything to worry about."

"No, I don’t," said Martha. "But you do."

Molly took her hand off the water, and the vision disappeared. I looked numbly at Molly. "How could she speak to him like that? How could he grovel to her like that? She wouldn’t really have hurt him. We don’t do things like that. The family serves the powers that be; we don’t interfere. That’s always been our duty and our responsibility. To preserve—"

"Poor Eddie," said Molly. "You only wanted to know the truth because you didn’t know how much it would hurt. Well, here it is, so brace yourself. The family isn’t what you think it is, and it never was. Only those Droods at the very top of the family tree know what the family is really for. You protect the world, yes, but not for the people…for the establishment. The Droods work to maintain the status quo, keeping everyone calm and controlled, and the people in their proper place. Under the thumbs of those in authority. Droods aren’t the world’s bodyguards, and never have been; you’re enforcers. Bullyboys. Hammering down any nail that dares to stick its head above the rest.

"And after centuries of establishing power and control, along with the odd assassination of those in power who wouldn’t or couldn’t learn to go along to get along, even those who make up the official establishment have learned to be afraid of your family. Politicians all across the world are allowed to hold power only as long as they answer to Drood authority. Your family, Eddie, are the secret rulers of the world."

I just sat there, shocked into silence. My whole world had just been kicked away from under my feet. Again. I wanted to believe she was lying, but I couldn’t. It all made too much sense. Too many things I’d seen and heard that I wasn’t supposed to, so many hints and whispers on the scene, so many little things that had never added up…till now. There is a reason why things are the way they are; but it’s not a very nice one.

I think I might have swayed a little, because Molly tossed a handful of icy pond water into my face. "Don’t you dare flake out on me, Eddie! Not when I’m just getting to the interesting bit."

"My family runs the world," I said numbly, cold water dripping unheeded from my face. "And I never knew. How could I have been so blind?"

"It’s not all bad news," said Molly. "There is a resistance. And I’m part of it."

I looked at her. "You? I thought you always said you refused to belong to any group that would accept the likes of you as a member. Especially after what happened last time, with the Arcadia Project. As if that whole plague of frogs thing wasn’t bad enough, you ended up pulling that Klan sorcerer’s intestines out through his nostrils."

"He annoyed me," said Molly. "And anyway, I work with the resistance, not for them, as and when it suits me."

I considered that, not liking the taste. One of the Drood family’s greatest fears has always been that another organisation might arise to work against them. An anti-family, as it were. There had been several attempts, down the centuries, but the various bad guys had never been able to find enough things in common to hold them together. They always ended up arguing over ends and means, and matters of precedence, and who exactly was going to be in charge. This led to factions and fighting, and it always ended in tears. Though admittedly it didn’t usually involve intestines and nostrils.

"The new cabal is called Manifest Destiny," said Molly, just a little grandly, after it became clear I had nothing to say for the moment.

"They, we, want humanity to be free from all outside control; by the Droods or anyone else. Free to make its own destiny. The leaders of the cabal have brought together powers from across the whole spectrum of opposition: the Loathly Ones, the Cult of the Crimson Altar, the Dream Meme, Vril Power Inc., even the Lurkers on the Threshold."

"Ah," I said. "The usual unusual suspects."

"Well, yes; plus a whole army of powerful and committed fellow travellers. Like me. More than you ever dreamed possible, determined to break the Droods’ stranglehold on humanity, once and for all. Not to gain power for themselves, but just to set humanity free. That’s what makes this cabal so different; for the first time it’s not about us."

"This…cabal," I said. "Were they behind recent attacks on my family home?"

Molly shrugged. "I don’t get involved in day-to-day decisions. I told you: I only work with them when I feel like it, on matters of mutual interest."

"So I suppose you don’t know the identity of the traitor in my family, either? Or why I was declared rogue?"

"I know there is a traitor. That’s old knowledge. And if it matters, word is he or she approached Manifest Destiny, not the other way around." She looked at me coolly, almost compassionately. "Poor little Drood; they’ve taken away your innocence, and now you have to think for yourself. I don’t know why your family threw you to the wolves, Eddie, but I know a few people who might. Why don’t you come with me and meet some of my friends and associates? See what they’re really like, when you and they aren’t busy trying to kill each other. Not all of those condemned by your family are one hundred percent dyed in the wool bad guys. Even monsters aren’t monsters all the time, you know."

I nodded, too numb to muster any arguments. I wasn’t up to speed yet. There was a great hole in my gut where my family used to be, and I hadn’t figured out what to fill it with. Molly helped me to my feet, and then let go of my arm immediately. She still wasn’t used to being this close to me. She turned abruptly and headed off deeper into the forest. I hurried after her. We walked together, maintaining a comfortable distance, for quite some time. Wherever this forest was, it wasn’t inside her house. The door must have been spelled to transport me straight here, wherever here was.

I’d just about worked this out when we came to another door, standing on its own, upright and unsupported. Molly stood before it, muttering Words under her breath. I wondered where this door would lead; what charming underworld dive Molly wanted to show me. Café Night, perhaps, where vampires flocked together to feast on willing victims. It started out as a fashionable salon, but of late had lapsed into an S and M parlour. Vampires added whole new shades of meaning to the phrase tops and bottoms. It might be the Black Magicians’ Circle, which once upon a time was the place to be, if you worshipped dark forces and could boast your very own demonic familiar. These days it was more of a self-help and support group. The Order of the Beyond was still going strong, in marvellous new high-tech premises down on Grafton Way, where people offered themselves as temporary hosts to outer-dimensional beings in return for forbidden and outré knowledge. Of course, conversations in that place did tend towards the seriously weird…Molly pushed the door open and stepped through, and I hurried in after her. And then I stopped abruptly and looked around me.

"Wait a minute! This…this is the Wulfshead Club!"

And it was. Just as big and bold and brassy and hellishly noisy as it always was. Molly looked at me pityingly.

"Of course. Where else? The Wulfshead has always been the hottest spot on the scene. Everyone comes here; good and bad and in between. You never noticed the bad guys because you always mix with your own crowd, and we all mix with ours. That’s what makes the club’s truce workable. Come on; come and meet some of my friends. Looks like we have an interesting crowd in tonight."

I was still a little dazed, so she grabbed me by the arm and dragged me through the crowd in the direction of the bar. I let her. I felt I could use a whole bunch of very large drinks. Several people nodded to Shaman Bond, and several more nodded to Molly Metcalf. Some of them looked quite surprised and not a little intrigued at seeing the two of us so openly together, but no one said anything. The Wulfshead crowd understands the need for discretion and the occasional blind eye. Molly and I ended up at one end of the high-tech bar, where the professionally uninterested bartender served us drinks. I had a very large brandy, Molly had a Southern Comfort, and I ended up paying for both. She gestured for certain personages to come and join her, and they drifted warily over.

Subway Sue I already knew. She drifted unseen among passengers using the Underground trains, quietly leeching off a little luck from everyone she brushed up against. Which is why so many people miss their trains or end up on the wrong platform. To look at her, you’d think she was only one step up from homeless, buried under layers of charity clothes, but that was just so that no one would notice her. There was always someone willing to pay her good money for the stolen luck she hoarded. On the quiet, Subway Sue lived very well.

Girl Flower was an ancient Welsh elemental, made up of rose petals and owls’ claws long and long ago by an ancient travelling sorcerer who might or might not have been Merlin. The story changed every time she told it. She looked human enough, most of the time. Treat her right, and she’d be soft as rose petals for you. Mistreat or wrong her, and the owls’ claws would come out. And then the best you could hope for was when the authorities finally found what was left of you, your relatives would be able to find an undertaker who was really into jigsaw puzzles. Girl Flower had very high standards, which was why she was always so very disappointed in men. But she remained optimistic, and the police kept fishing body parts out of the Thames. Girl Flower dressed in bright pastel colours, in gypsy styles, and wore so many bracelets they clattered deafeningly every time she gestured. She’d had one glass of champagne and was already more than a bit tipsy.

Digger Browne was a short, stocky personage, in an old-fashioned wraparound coat with mud stains on the sleeves. He wore heavy woollen gloves when he was out in public, to hide his long horny fingernails made for digging and tearing. He also wore a wide-brimmed hat that hid most of his face in shadow. Digger was a ghoul and smelt strongly of carrion and recently disturbed earth.

"I’m just a part of nature," he said easily. "I take out the trash, clean up the garbage, and generally keep the world tidy. So I enjoy my work; is that a sin? Not everyone has a taste for the kind of work I do, but it has to be done. Someone’s got to eat all those bodies. Remember the undertakers’ strike, back in the seventies? People couldn’t do enough for me then…"

And finally, there was Mr. Stab. I didn’t need to be introduced to him. Everyone knew Mr. Stab, if only by reputation: the notorious uncaught serial killer of old London Town. He’d operated under many names, down the long years, and I don’t think even he knew for sure exactly how many people he’d murdered since he started out with five unfortunate whores in the East End in 1888. He gained something, some power, from what he did then. A ceremony of blood, he called it; a celebration of slaughter. And now he goes on and on and no one can stop him. When he was just being himself at the Wulfshead, he still dressed in the formal dark clothes of his time, right down to the opera cloak and top hat.

Most of these people knew or at least knew of Shaman Bond, and it came as quite a shock to them when Molly introduced me as Edwin Drood. Subway Sue looked around for the nearest exit, Digger Browne chewed nervously on his finger snack, and Girl Flower giggled at me owlishly over her glass. Mr. Stab smiled slowly, showing large blocky teeth stained brown with age.

"So you’re Edwin Drood. The man behind the mask. You probably have a body count nearly equal to mine."

"I kill to put an end to suffering," I said. "Not to celebrate it."

"I serve a purpose, just as you do."

"Don’t you dare try to justify yourself to me!" I said, and my voice was cold enough that everyone except Mr. Stab fell back a step.

"Why not?" said Mr. Stab. "I am a part of the natural order, just like Mr. Browne here. I cull the herd, thin out the weak and helpless, improve the stock. Someone has to do it, if the herd is to stay healthy."

"You do it because you enjoy it!"

"That too."

I started to subvocalise the Words that would call up my armour. The only reason I hadn’t killed Mr. Stab before this was because I’d never known where to look for him. I’d seen some of his victims, or what he’d left of them, and that was enough for me. Molly guessed what I was about to do, grabbed me by the arm, and pulled me around to glare right into my face.

"Don’t you dare embarrass me in front of my friends!"

"This is a friend? Mr. Stab? Do you know how many women just like you he’s killed?"

"But he’s never harmed me, or any of my friends, and he has been there for me when I needed him. Not even monsters are monsters all the time, remember? I’ve killed, in my time, for what seemed like good reasons, and so have you. You really think the world sees you as any different from him? How many grieving families have you left in your bloody wake, Edwin Drood?"

I took a long slow breath and forced myself into a kind of calm. I’d come here looking for answers, and the kind I needed could only be freely given. I nodded jerkily to Molly, and she let go of my arm. We turned back to face the others.

"There’s a traitor in my family," I said stiffly. "I would be grateful for any information you could give me."

"How grateful?" said Subway Sue. "Are we talking serious money?"

"If I had serious money, do you really think I’d be here talking to you?" I said just a bit ungraciously. "I’m rogue, outcast, outlaw. All I have is what I stand up in."

"I’m sure we could make some kind of deal," said Girl Flower in her breathy voice, batting her eyelashes at me, and then spoiled the mood by giggling.

"There is a traitor at the heart of the Droods," said Digger Browne.

"That’s common knowledge. But I don’t think anyone knows who."

"Lots of people have put forward names," said Mr. Stab. "But it’s all guesswork. Lots of people thought it might be you, Edwin. A field agent operating on his own, far from Drood central control, the only Drood ever to run away from home and not be hunted down like a dog by his family. The only reason everyone didn’t think it was you was because that would have been too obvious."

"And none of you know why I was made rogue?" I said.

"I’ve done some work for your family on occasion," said Digger. "I’d have sworn you were depressingly squeaky clean, like most of your family. I mean, yes, you run the world and everything, but—"

"I too have done work for the Droods," said Mr. Stab. He smiled crookedly at me. "Pretty much everyone here has, at one time or another. It’s the Droods’ world; we just live in it."

"We would never deal with filth like you," I said, but my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t know what my family was capable of anymore.

"There are many like us," Molly said carefully. "Allowed to operate as long as we don’t rock the boat too much. As long as we pay tithes, or perform the occasional service for them. Dirty jobs, off-the-books cases; the kind you regular field agents aren’t suited for. The kind you were never supposed to know about, because it might stain your precious honour. We’ve all done the Droods’ dirty work. That’s why we’re all so ready to bring them down."

My head was spinning. I felt sick. Could I really have spent my whole life supporting a lie? Was there really anything left to me now, except to bring down my own family?