Daemons Are Forever

CHAPTER TWELVE A Circle Full of Secrets

“Sorry, Giles,” I said. “But it looks like you’re going to have to hit the ground running. I don’t have the time to give you a proper briefing and a guided tour of the Hall. So just do your best to pick it up as we go along.”

He smiled coldly, a tall, dark, and dangerous presence in his futuristic armour. “I’ve experienced enough alien worlds and cultures in my time; I think I can cope with anything you have here. Do people still drink wine? Do they still have sex? Are there still braggarts and villains and people who need killing? Then I believe I’ll fit in just fine.”

“The man has a point,” said Molly.

“Well, I’m going to have to love you and leave you,” Jay said briskly. “I have work that must be attended to, with Rafe and William in the old library. When it comes to the Loathly Ones, information is ammunition, and we’re pitifully short on both.”

He bobbed a quick bow to Giles and left the hangar at something approaching a dead run.

“And you have work to be about too,” said the ghost Jacob, scowling ominously at me. “Harry, bad cess to the man, and the useless bunch of toadies and yes-men he appointed to replace your Inner Circle, are currently deciding important matters in the Sanctity, and making a right dog’s breakfast of it. You need to be there, boy, before Harry drops this family in it any deeper.”

“You seem a lot more…together,” I said. “More focused, in body and soul.”

The ghost shrugged quickly, little blue balls of ectoplasm bobbing up off his shoulders. “Having my living counterpart around certainly helped remind me of who I used to be, and there’s nothing like a major emergency and the almost certain death of the whole damned world to concentrate the mind wonderfully. On the other hand…my memories of this shared time are still almost nonexistent. I think … I may have done this to myself deliberately. Perhaps so I wouldn’t have to tell my living self how he’s going to die.”

“You still think he’s going to die here, in this time, helping us?” I said.

“Oh yes. A glorious death…but still no peace for the wicked. He will die and become me, and I… will linger on for centuries to reach this place, this point in time. And all I can say is, there had better be a bloody good reason for it.”

“You still don’t know why you’re here?” said Molly.

Jacob favoured her with his usual nasty smile. “Hell, does anybody?”

“You’re not a hologram, are you?” said Giles.

“Wouldn’t lower myself,” said Jacob. “I am one hundred percent ectoplasm, and proud of it. I can walk through walls on a good day, though mostly I don’t because it’s very disconcerting. What’s the matter, warrior; don’t they have ghosts in the future?”

“No,” said Giles. “We’re civilised.”

“Let’s get to the Sanctity,” I said. “If only because this conversation is starting to make my head hurt. Molly, Giles, stick close to me, and don’t kill anyone unless you feel you absolutely have to. Jacob, you coming?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the netherworld,” said the old ghost, grinning unpleasantly.

I used the Merlin Glass to transport us to the corridor right outside the Sanctity. It seemed even a glass made by Merlin couldn’t break through Strange’s other-dimensional protective barriers. So we all stepped through the enlarged mirror into the corridor, and immediately found ourselves facing half a dozen men standing guard outside the doors. They were all big muscular types, who might as well have had the word thug tattooed on their low foreheads. There’s always a few, in every family. I blame bad toilet training. The guards moved quickly to block our way, scowling in their best intimidating manner. One actually flexed his muscles at us.

“No admittance,” the head thug said coldly. “The Patriarch is not to be disturbed.”

“What a pity,” I said. “Because I really feel like disturbing him. You don’t recognise me, do you?”

“No,” said the head thug flatly.

“How soon they forget,” murmured Molly.

“Don’t care, neither,” said the thug. “Doesn’t matter who you are. No admittance, no exceptions. Now piss off, or we’ll hurt you.”

“No one does decent threats anymore,” said Molly. “They just can’t be bothered to make the effort to be decent henchmen.”

“I really don’t have the patience for this,” I said. “Jacob, do you think you could…”

The ghost thrust his ancient grinning face forward, his eyes blazing, and all the thugs took one involuntary step back. Jacob drew his awful aspect around him, and the corridor was suddenly full of the presence of death and horror, and the cold, inescapable embrace of the grave. It was like waking up and finding a corpse in bed with you, like suddenly knowing when everyone you loved was going to die.

It was sometimes all too easy to forget what Jacob really was: a dead man walking, only held together by an inhuman effort of will.

Jacob took a step forward, and the thugs just broke and ran, departing screaming down the corridor. Jacob laughed softly, and I winced. There was nothing human in the horrid sound. And then suddenly he was just Jacob again, my old friend and support. But after seeing what he really was, or could be, I had to wonder if I’d ever be able to look at him the same way again.

He must have sensed something, because he turned and looked at me uncertainly. He tried to smile, but it wasn’t very convincing.

“Sometimes … I feel like I’m just the tip of an iceberg, Eddie, and that if I ever found out just how much more of me there really is, I wouldn’t be me at all. That’s why I need to keep my living self close; he reminds me of what it is to be human. To be only human.”

“Wonderful,” I said, deliberately keeping my voice light. “Something else to worry about.”

Jacob managed something like his old grin. “It’s not easy being a ghost. Or everybody would be doing it.”

“Fascinating,” said Giles. “You people have taken psychological warfare in a whole new direction.”

“Can we please burst in on Harry and ruin his day?” said Molly. “I’m feeling an increasing need to hit someone.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s been that kind of a day.”

I kicked in the Sanctity doors, and we all stormed into the great open chamber. Strange’s rich crimson glow had expanded to fill almost half of the massive hall, but it no longer projected the old comfort and reassurance. Harry broke off from shouting at his advisors and spun around to face us. He recognised me immediately, but instead of the surprise I expected, after eighteen months away and no guarantee I was ever coming back, all I saw in his face was a cold, calculating anger. Behind him, his advisors’ jaws dropped in a quite satisfactory manner, though I didn’t think much of Harry’s choices. The Sarjeant-at-Arms was there, of course, and Roger Morningstar, and Sebastian and Freddie Drood. The latter pair doing their best to hide behind the first two. Still, to give Harry his due, he recovered quickly. He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, as though to see me more clearly, and glared haughtily at me.

“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded. “Typical of you, Eddie, not to be around when you’re needed. And where are my guards? They’re supposed to keep out…unnecessary people when I’m working.”

“Your guards will be back,” I said. “Eventually. There’s only so far they can run before they run out of grounds. One of them called you Patriarch. When did that happen, Harry?”

He sniffed loudly. “Someone had to take charge, after you abandoned us to go play with your Time Train.” He looked disparagingly at Giles. “It took you eighteen months to find…him? A barbarian with a sword?”

“I am Giles Deathstalker,” said the future warrior, and there was something cold and very dangerous in his voice that shut Harry up immediately. “I am Warrior Prime to the emperor Ethur, commander of his armies, and conqueror of worlds. Do but say the word, Edwin, and I will make him kneel to you. Or I could cut off his head. I’m really quite good at that, and it just might stop him yapping.”

“A nice thought,” I said, “but leave it for later. You can forget that Patriarch crap, Harry; I’m back, and you can return to the substitutes’ bench.”

“You really think it’s going to be that easy?” said Roger, stepping forward to stand at Harry’s side. “Harry’s been running this family for over a year. The family has accepted him. What makes you think anyone wants you back in charge?”

“When I walked in, this room was full of barely suppressed hysteria and panic,” I said calmly. “Not what I’d expect from a Patriarch. And really, Harry, is this the best you could do for advisors? I wouldn’t take their advice on how to pick my nose. I swear, I take my eye off this family for five minutes, and everything goes to hell.”

“Five minutes?” said Harry. “Eighteen months! We didn’t know whether you were dead or alive, or captured, or gone over to the enemy, or ever coming back! And now you swagger back in here with a smug smile and a condescending word, and what have you got to show for it? One man!”

“One Deathstalker,” said Giles. “And that makes all the difference.”

“He’s big,” said Sebastian.

“I had noticed,” said Freddie.

“And he’s got a really big sword.”

“Best kind.”

“What happened to my Inner Circle?” I said loudly. “I chose them carefully, to represent all the voices in this family. I’m not surprised to see the Sarjeant here, hello Cyril, and Molly and Jacob are with me…but where, pray tell, are the very sensible Penny and our extremely experienced Uncle Jack?”

“The Armourer is back in the Armoury, where he belongs,” said Harry. “And Penny is very busy looking after those tutors you so graciously inflicted on the family. They’re popular enough, I suppose, if not especially useful. If I had to be in charge, and there was no one else, I decided I wanted my own advisors. People I could trust to see things my way, and carry out the policy I set. There’s no room for arguments during an emergency. Don’t think you can just walk back in and take over, Eddie. You had your chance, and you blew it.”

“Whereas you have done so much better?” I said. “Do tell.”

“You weren’t here! You don’t know everything that’s happened in the last year and a half! I’ve been fighting a war against an enemy that threatens the whole world. Not just one nest, one tower, but thousands of the bloody things. Hundreds of thousands… we can’t even keep count anymore, they’re spreading so fast. Look at you, standing there, sneering at me… You have no right to judge me! You have no right to just walk in and expect us all to fall at your feet, and plead with you to save us! I run the family now, by right. I’ve earned this. I am the Patriarch; if you want it, you’re going to have to take it from me.”

“You see, that’s the difference between us right there, Harry,” I said. “I never wanted it. But I’ve always known my duty to the family. And that’s why I have to replace you—for the good of the family.”

Harry armoured up, and to my surprise the metal that flowed from his torc was golden, not silver. He laughed at the expression on my face, his own hidden behind the featureless golden mask.

“I never liked the silver look. So I talked to Strange, and he saw no reason why the strange matter shouldn’t be gold … so I had him change it. Gold is the colour of tradition, of continuity, a reminder of the days when our family was strong. And will be again!”

“Strange!” I said. “Are you listening?”

“Yes, Eddie.” The voice emanating from the crimson glow sounded strangely muted, and far away. “It’s so good to see you again. You’ve been a long way; I can see it on you. And the world… has moved on, while you were away. Even I am not what I was, being spread so thin. Only my protections keep the family safe. It’s the Loathly Ones, Eddie. They infect the living world like a virus, like a cancer. And the more they take over, the more their presence limits me. I provide armour for the Droods, and power for the family’s weapons and defences…but every day I find it that little bit harder. The Hungry Gods are coming…and not even I can hope to stand against them once they manifest in all their awful glory.”

I’d never heard Strange sound so tired, so beaten down…almost defeated. He’d always seemed so powerful, so far above humanity, it had never even occurred to me that there might be other forces, other Beings, as far above him… I looked at Harry, standing proud and tall in his golden armour.

“Put that away,” I said. “We don’t have time for this shit. We have important business to discuss. Family business.”

“No,” he said immediately. “There’s nothing more important than this. Nothing can happen, nothing can be decided, until we decide who’s in charge. I noticed you haven’t put on your armour, Eddie. What’s the matter? Haven’t you got the balls for a fair fight?”

“A duel?” I said. “In the middle of all this, you want to fight a duel?”

“It is the traditional way,” said the Sarjeant-at-Arms, smiling just a little bit.

“Just another reason why I never got along with the traditional ways,” I said. “But if it’ll make you happy, Harry…”

I subvocalised the activating Words, and the armour poured out of my torc to encase me. I immediately felt stronger, sharper, more confident. A quick glance down showed me my armour was now as golden as his. I flexed my golden fists slowly, and then started towards Harry. He came to me, and we circled each other cautiously. Everyone else fell back, to give us plenty of room. I saw Molly holding Giles by the arm and murmuring urgently in his ear, making it clear he mustn’t interfere. He nodded. He looked like he understood all about duels.

The Sarjeant-at-Arms took a step forward, perhaps to say something in support of Harry, or perhaps just to try to distract me, and Giles swept forward impossibly quickly, crossing the width of the hall in a moment. His long sword leapt into his hand as he slammed the Sarjeant up against the wall, and then he set the edge of the long blade against the Sarjeant’s throat. It all happened so quickly the Sarjeant didn’t have a chance to call up his armour. He looked into Giles’s cold eyes, so close to his own, and stood very still, saying nothing. A slow trickle of blood ran down his throat from where the razor edge of the sword just parted the skin over his Adam’s apple.

“Don’t,” said Giles.

Harry seized the moment while my attention was elsewhere, and threw himself at me. We went head to head, both of us too angry to think of subtlety. We traded blows that would have killed ordinary men, but neither of us felt them. We grappled with each other, swaying back and forth as we wrestled, but we both knew all the tricks. We slammed together again and again, our superhuman strength and speed equally matched. I pushed him away from me and extruded long golden blades from my hands. Harry grew blades from his hands too, and we cut viciously at each other, thrusting and hacking and swirling around each other too quickly for the human eye to follow. We were in the grip of the armour now, our passion and hate transformed into superhuman action.

I slammed his left blade aside through brute force and cut at his chest. The supernaturally sharp edge cut through his armour to reach him, the only thing that could. I heard him grunt, in pain and surprise, and then I had to duck quickly as his backhand response almost took my head off. We spun and danced, stamping our golden feet so hard we cracked the wooden floor. We fought on, golden blurs in the crimson light. But even in this we were too evenly matched, trading superficial cuts and wounds that never even came close to ending the duel.

But I’d been through a lot more than he had, and I was tired. My arms ached, and I could feel blood trickling warmly down my skin inside my armour. I had to end this, while I still could. So I used an old trick, the one I used to beat his father. I parried both his blades with mine, forced them up and out of the way, and went for his throat with both hands. My blades withdrew into the golden gloves so I could get a good grip on his golden neck. The impact sent us both crashing to the floor and I ended up on top, both my hands bearing down on his throat. His hands discarded their blades as he instinctively grabbed at my wrists, trying to force my hands away. The armour around his neck should have been a match for my armoured hands, but at such close proximity, under the force of my will, his armour and mine melded together so that my bare hands were suddenly at his bare throat, inside the armour.

He made some sound of shock and surprise, and then my hands closed, and I cut it off. He bucked and struggled under me, but he couldn’t shift my hands. He choked and convulsed, and I wouldn’t let him breathe.

Until finally he stopped fighting me and slapped the ground at his side. The old signal of a fighter who yields. I let go, and he started breathing again. I stayed crouched over him, ready to go again if he was faking. For a while we stayed there, him on the floor, me over him, both of us breathing hard. I would have killed him if he hadn’t yielded, and he knew it.

“Was that how you killed my father?” he said finally.

“Typical of you, Harry,” I said. “Always fixated on the past. A leader has to look to the future. I could have killed you, but I didn’t want to. First, because it would probably have caused more problems than it solved, and secondly, the family needs experienced field agents like you. Now more than ever. So forget this Patriarch crap. Go back to being part of my Inner Circle. Give me your word that you’ll follow me, obey my orders, for the good of the family…and this is over.”

“And if I say no?”

“You know the answer to that. It’s all or nothing, Harry. Deal?”

“Deal,” he said quietly, bitterly. “For the good of the family.”

We both armoured down. I gave him my hand and helped him to his feet.

“No!” Roger said suddenly, stepping forward. “You don’t have to give in to him, Harry! You don’t have to take any crap from anyone, not while I’m here!”

And just like that, he took on his Infernal aspect, wrapping it around him like a cloak, and he didn’t seem in any way human anymore. Shadows gathered around him, a living darkness that seemed to eat up the crimson light. There was a thick stench of blood and sulphur on the air, and a rush of almost unbearable heat sent all of us stumbling back, even Harry. Roger smiled, and his mouth was full of pointed teeth. His eyes were black pits in his face. His presence was heavy in the Sanctity, like an unbearable weight pressing down on the world. He looked like what he really was; something from the Pit. Even Harry couldn’t bear to look at him directly. Roger laughed softly, an evil, hateful sound that had no human humour in it, and we all winced. Roger rose up into the air, defying the natural laws of the world as though they were nothing, and hung on the air with his arms mockingly outstretched as though nailed to an invisible cross.

“Jesus doesn’t want me for a sunbeam,” he said in a voice like an animal grunting. “You think you’re so much, Eddie Drood…Let me show you true power.”

Before I could even say anything, Molly rose up into the air to face him, levitating effortlessly. Her face was set and cold as she put herself between me and the hellspawn. I wanted to call out to her, but I had no voice. Unnatural energies coalesced around both of them, felt as much as seen, spitting and crackling like beads of water on a hot surface. Something was gathering between them, something awful…Just being this close to the two of them felt like razor blades slicing into my soul. Mortals weren’t supposed to see things like this, feel things like this. Forbidden magics and inhuman practices…

Roger waved a hand, and a hole opened up in the floor of the Sanctity. The wooden floorboards seemed to just rot away into nothing, and the hole grew steadily, like a cancer in the body of the world. Barbed brass tentacles, already slick with spilled blood, shot up out of the hall and snapped around Molly, pinning her arms to her sides. She cried out, as though fouled by their touch, and struggled fiercely, blood spurting on the air as the metal barbs dug into her flesh. And then the tentacles snapped back into the hole, taking her with them, and the hole disappeared. The floor was solid again, untouched, as though nothing had happened. Roger turned slowly, still hanging unsupported on the air, and smiled his awful smile at me.

“I am of Hell,” he said, “and I carry it with me everywhere. So I’m never far from home. I just sent your girlfriend to Hell, Eddie Drood. Damned her forever, to eternal suffering, to the lake of flames and the torments of the Pit, just because I felt like it. How do you feel about that, Eddie Drood?”

“After I’ve killed you, I will go down into Hell and bring her back,” I said. “Whatever it takes, whatever it costs. But first I will break your body with these golden hands, and make you scream, and after all the terrible things I do to you, falling back into Hell will seem like a relief.”

“Wow,” said Molly. “Hard core, Eddie.”

We all looked around, startled, and there she was, standing untouched and unharmed where the hole had been. I ran over and took her in my arms, and we held each other tightly and nothing else mattered.

“I really thought I’d lost you,” I said.

“You really think I’d go anywhere and leave you behind?” she said.

When we finally broke apart and looked around, Roger was staring at us incredulously. And for all his Infernal presence, he didn’t look half as threatening anymore.

“You can’t be here!” he said. “You can’t! I sent you to Hell!”

“Been there, done that,” said Molly.

She snapped her fingers crisply and a hole opened in the high ceiling above us. A celestial light slammed down through the hole, shouldering its way into the mortal world like a holy spotlight, transfixing Roger where he was like a bug on a pin. He screamed horribly, thrashing helplessly in agony in the grip of that Heavenly light, and we all had to turn our heads away. The light was just too dazzling, too pure, for human eyes to look on. Just being in the same room with it hurt, as though it was burning away my imperfections. Molly snapped her fingers again, and the light snapped off, the hole in the ceiling gone in a moment. Roger fell to the floor and lay still, breathing harshly. He looked like just a man again. Harry hurried forwards to kneel beside Roger and take him in his arms. He rocked him back and forth like a hurt child, murmuring soothing words. Roger’s face was blank with shock and suffering and an indescribable horror. I looked at Molly.

She shrugged. “I’ve been around. You’d be surprised at who owes me favours. Really.”

“We’ll talk about this later,” I said. “Everybody else okay?”

I looked around. Sebastian and Freddie were huddled together in a far corner, trying to climb into each other’s pockets. The Sarjeant-at-Arms looked pale and shaken, but not even the sight of Heaven and Hell could break his composure. Jacob the ghost had disappeared. And Giles Deathstalker…was grinning widely, as though he’d just watched a really good show.

While I was still considering that, the Sanctity doors flew open and a whole bunch of Droods came running in, led by the thugs who used to guard the doors. They seemed to have got their second wind and, emboldened by reinforcements, they were back to teach us all a lesson. Unfortunately, they made the tactical error of bursting in unarmoured. Giles was off the spot and heading right for them the moment they appeared, moving impossibly quickly for someone who didn’t have Drood armour. He didn’t bother to draw his sword, just slammed into the newcomers, stopping them in their tracks, and taking them all down with swift, almost clinical precision. He struck about him with amazing skill, and every blow sent a man flying. In just a few moments he was the only man standing, surrounded by moaning and unconscious bodies. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

“Now that is what I call a fighter,” said the Sarjeant-at-Arms. I’d never heard him sound impressed before. “You did well, Edwin. This is exactly what we need.”

“Thank you for not killing them,” I said to Giles. “They’re family.”

He nodded briefly. “I know. I saw the collars around their necks. I only kill when necessary. And these poor specimens definitely weren’t worth it.”

“That is partly why you’re here,” I said. “I need you to train my family, turn them into warriors, to fight a war against impossible odds and the most powerful enemy even you’ve ever seen.”

“I can do that,” said Giles. “I’ve made armies out of worse. I can take the most unprepossessing material and turn them into fighting men. I am a Deathstalker. We win wars. It’s what we do. How long have I got?”

“Good question,” I said. I looked at the Sarjeant-at-Arms. “Talk to me, Cyril. I need to know exactly what’s been happening while I’ve been away. Just the high spots, for now; I’ll pick up the details later, as we go along.”

The Sarjeant nodded slowly. “Welcome back, Edwin. The family has missed your…decisiveness. You have to understand; Harry had the support of the Matriarch. I had no choice…”

“Just tell me what happened,” I said. “We can spread the blame around later. You can start with, how did everything go so wrong? When I left we were winning. Sort of.”

“Manifest Destiny had some of their people at the Nazca site,” said the Sarjeant. “Long before you and your team arrived. Truman wanted to keep a close eye on his new allies. But everyone he sent there ended up possessed, or infected, by the Loathly Ones. They returned to Truman, to spread the gift that keeps on giving. They infiltrated his organisation and penetrated his new base, infecting others in their turn. They became his closest advisors and whispered poison in his ear. They persuaded Truman to support the establishing of new nests, and fund the building of new towers.

“Backed by Manifest Destiny’s resources, and under Truman’s protection, the Loathly Ones spread their influence across the world, embedding their infected agents in organisations and governments in every country. Ostensibly they spoke for Manifest Destiny, representing it as an alternative to Drood rule. Of course, once they were invited in, they quickly moved up to high positions and set about spreading chaos and indecision, dividing humanity from within. There are nests everywhere now, in every country, often hidden away inside ghoulvilles to hide the building of their towers. Once these have reached a specific number, known only to them, the great summoning will begin and the Invaders will come through.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “They haven’t infected Truman himself? Why not? Then they’d run his organisation.”

“It seems they can’t,” said the Sarjeant. “After all the operations he’s carried out on his brain, it would appear he is immune to their touch.”

“Maybe we can use that,” I said. “If we could reach him, make him see the truth… we might even learn from him a way to make everyone immune…”

“Perhaps,” the Sarjeant said kindly. “If I might continue…”

“Oh yes, you go right ahead, Cyril. Don’t let me stop you.”

“We know that those infected by the Loathly Ones become Loathly Ones,” said the Sarjeant. “They work together like insects, a hive mind, where each of them knows what every one knows. The nests communicate, ghoulville to ghoulville, in a way we can’t understand or intercept. We invade and destroy every nest we locate, and burn down their towns, but they’re better at hiding than we are at finding. We’re winning the battles, but losing the war.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” said Strange, “but the War Room has just received a significant communication. Callan is on the line; he says he’s finally located Truman’s new base of operations. Shall I patch him through?”

“Damn right,” I said. “First good news I’ve heard…Callan! This is Edwin Drood; I’m back. What have you found?”

“Well it’s about bloody time,” said Callan, his unmistakable voice emerging from Strange’s crimson glow. “You picked a hell of a time to go on vacation. Did you bring me back a present? No one ever brings me back presents. Look, I’d love to chat but I don’t know how long I dare remain in contact. Truman’s new base is crawling with security people, and some things that very definitely aren’t people. You wouldn’t believe the layers of protection he’s put in place.”

“Understood,” I said. “Where is he?”

“You’re not going to believe this. I’m here looking at it, and I don’t believe it. To be exact, I’m just outside of Stonehenge, keeping what I fervently hope is a safe distance from the outer ring of Stones. Truman has set up his new base in the bunkers set deep underneath the Stones. Once again he’s taken advantage of an old, mothballed government installation, dating back to World War II, I believe. The bunkers were put in place as a last redoubt, to which the government could retreat if the Nazis invaded and forced them out of London.”

“Hold it,” I said. “I thought as long as the Soul of Albion was safely in place at Stonehenge, no one could invade England?”

“Maybe the government of the day didn’t trust it,” said Callan. “Are you ready for the really bad news? Truman’s got his hands on the Soul. He’s dug it up from under the main sacrificial stone and locked it away in his private office.”

“Callan,” I said carefully. “Just how sure are you of your information?”

“I went in and had a look for myself, and I am here to tell you right now that I am not doing it again. Sneaking past all his protections and very heavily armed guards has taken ten years off my life, and positively cured that slight but definite touch of constipation I was suffering from. If I were shaking any more you could mix cocktails in me. See if I ever volunteer for field work again.”

“How could Truman have got to the Soul?” I said. “The family’s been adding layers of protection around it for centuries.”

“I know,” said Callan. “There’s only one answer, and it’s really not a very nice one. Someone in the family must have given him the necessary Words to unlock the guards. And that someone would have to be very high up. A traitor in the family…”

“Impossible!” said the Sarjeant. “It’s unthinkable…”

“Not after the Zero Tolerance debacle,” I said. “They were ready to destroy the family in order to rebuild it in their own image.”

“Just like you,” said Harry.

“Shut up, Harry,” I said. “This is grown-up talk. Recommendations, Callan?”

“Put together a major strike force, transport it straight here, and I will use it to hit Truman where it hurts, right now, while we’ve still got the element of surprise.”

“No!” I said quickly. “I know your idea of tactics, Callan; everything forward and trust in the Lord. You hold your position, keep watching, and report back if there are any new developments. I’ll work out a plan of attack and get back to you. Until then, stay put. That’s an order.”

“You can go off people, you know.”

“Strange, cut him off, and then talk to me.”

“Yes, Eddie. Callan is still talking to the War Room. He is not at all happy.”

“Wouldn’t recognise him if he was,” I said. “Tell me about the Soul of Albion, Strange.”

“I only know what the family knows, Eddie. According to your records, an unnatural, other-dimensional crystal fell to earth from the stars, thousands of years ago. Long ago, so long ago that history shades into legend, someone carried out a major Working with the Soul, harnessing its power to ensure that England could never be invaded. As long as the Soul stayed in position, under Stonehenge.”

“Could we use the Soul to stop the Invaders coming through?”

“I don’t know,” said Strange. “Its full capabilities have never been tested. It might protect England, if it was replaced in time.”

“All right,” I said. “How about you, Strange? Could you stop them? There’s some evidence in the old library to suggest that the Heart intervened to stop them, back in Roman times.”

“No,” said Strange. “You must understand, Eddie; there is so little of me here, relatively speaking. Even with all the extra strange matter I brought through to make your armour. In order to put up a barrier that could keep out the Many-Angled Ones, I’d have to manifest my whole self in this reality, and that would be just as disastrous as the Invaders coming through. Strange matter doesn’t belong here; it upsets the natural balance. You have no idea how far removed I am from what you think of as life.”

“How long do you think it will be before the Loathly Ones are ready to summon the Invaders?” said Molly, just to show she wasn’t being left out of the discussions.

“Three, four days,” said Strange. “I can feel the strain the completed towers are putting on the natural dimensional barriers. I can feel the Hungry Gods, gathering around this little universe and making their terrible plans.”

“I’m beginning to wish I’d never asked you,” I said. I looked at Giles. “How about it, Warrior Prime? Can you put together an army in three, four days?”

“Normally, no,” said Giles. “But this clearly isn’t a normal family, or a normal world. I like it. It’s so … extreme. If the rest of your family are anything like you, I might just manage something interesting in a few days.”

“Actually, you don’t even have that long,” said Sebastian.

We all looked round. Sebastian was no longer cringing in his corner. He stood alone, smiling at us, and there was something in his smile and in his eyes that closed a cold hand around my heart. He didn’t look like Sebastian anymore.

“Seb?” said Freddie, still in his corner. “What are you doing, darling? This is no time to stand up and be noticed. This really isn’t like you, Seb.”

“You don’t know me,” said Sebastian. “None of you really know me. But then, Sebastian was such an easy part to play. Unfortunately, now his time is up. And so is yours.”

“My God,” said Harry. “He’s infected. He’s a Loathly One. How did we miss that? He’s the traitor in the family!”

“Not the only one,” said Sebastian, still smiling his inhuman smile. “I’m afraid you’ve all been very naïve. Now it’s time for you all to die.”

He shook and shuddered, his whole body convulsing and twisting in sudden spurts of growth. He rose up to be eight feet tall, broad at the shoulders and barrel-chested, his torso packed with thick cables of muscle, his angry red skin stretched almost to bursting point. Two more arms burst out of his sides, and all four hands now boasted heavy curving claws. His face was broad and monstrous, with no trace of humanity left in it.

“The Hungry Gods condemn you to death, Edwin Drood,” he said in a horribly normal voice.

“Hit him,” I said.

Harry and the Sarjeant-at-Arms and I all armoured up and threw ourselves at what used to be Sebastian. We hit him with our golden fists, and he just stood there and took it. Harry and I extruded long blades from our golden hands and hacked at him, but the cuts closed up as fast as we made them. The thing that used to be Sebastian laughed at us and struck out with his four heavy fists, and even with all the speed our armour gave us, we were hard put to avoid them. It was the torc, you see. Sebastian still had his torc. He couldn’t wear the armour over this monstrous form, but it still protected him. Why hadn’t it protected him from infection by the Loathly Ones? Why had it hidden the infection from the rest of us?

“Don’t kill him!” I yelled to the others. “We need him alive, to answer questions!”

“Don’t kill him?” said Harry. “I can’t even hurt the bastard!”

Giles stepped forward out of nowhere, swinging his sword. The long blade came sweeping round in a long arc and slammed into Sebastian’s thick, muscular neck. The steel blade rebounded helplessly, leaving the neck undamaged, and the vibrations almost jarred the sword out of Giles’s hands. He shrugged, sheathed the sword, drew his energy gun, and shot Sebastian in the head at point-blank range. There was a bright flare of discharging energies, and when we could see again, half of Sebastian’s head had been blown away. Sebastian lurched sideways, and almost fell. Bits of charred brains fell out of his head. The Sarjeant and Harry and I grabbed him and wrestled him to the ground, using all our armoured strength to restrain him and pin him to the floor. He still bucked and heaved under us, even with half his head gone. Molly and Roger stepped forward, bathing him in soothing spells and stupefying enchantments. Sebastian relaxed with a great sigh and lay still.

And only I saw what happened next.

Molly got in too close, concentrating on her magics, and one clawed hand swept out, just touching Molly’s side in passing. It didn’t cut her, or damage her, but through my golden mask I saw something pass between them. Something came out of Sebastian and entered into Molly, all done in just a moment. Molly cried out, in shock more than pain, and fell back clutching her side. I cried out something too, because I knew what had just happened, even though I didn’t want to admit it. I leant over and punched Sebastian right in his exposed brain. Blood and charred materials flew out of his head, and he howled miserably in pain. I drew back my spiked golden fist to hit him again, and the Sarjeant grabbed my arm with his armoured hand.

“Easy, boy,” he said. “I understand, but you wanted him alive, remember?”

I nodded briefly, not trusting my voice. Sebastian was quiet now, and the Sarjeant and Harry held him easily to the floor. He’d shrunk back down to human size and form, and his damaged head was already slowly healing. Giles stood by, gun in hand, ready to fire again if necessary. I yelled at Strange to summon some security people, and then I went to see Molly. She was standing a little apart, hugging herself tightly with both arms, as though trying to hold something in, or hold herself together. I spoke to her, but she didn’t seem to hear me.

Sebastian laughed, and I turned to look at him. He wasn’t struggling, but he’d raised his damaged face to look at me.

“My torc is real, Eddie,” he said in a high, taunting voice. “It couldn’t protect Sebastian, and yours won’t protect you, or your people. I passed unnoticed among you, and no one hid anything from me. Oh, the secrets I know! The secrets I’ve told! The Droods who went to their deaths, because of me!” Harry punched him in the face, breaking his nose with a flat crack. Sebastian paused to spit out blood, but he was still grinning at me. “The Hungry Gods are coming, and there’s nothing you can do to stop us!”

“Get him out of here,” I said. “Put him in a cage, somewhere secure, and get the truth out of him. Take him apart if you have to, right down to the genetic level if need be, but find out what makes him tick. I want to know everything there is to know about him.”

“You’re authorising extreme measures?” said the Sarjeant. “Not that I’m arguing, but…this isn’t like you, Eddie.”

“Just do it,” I said.

Sebastian had infected Molly. Something alien and awful was growing within her, gestating in her mind and soul to make her into a Loathly One too. I knew it, but I couldn’t tell anyone else. I daren’t. They’d want to put her in a cage, and take her apart, and I couldn’t allow that. Not Molly. So I didn’t tell anyone. Interestingly, neither did Sebastian. Perhaps he thought no one had noticed.

The extra security men came rushing in, already armoured, and the Sarjeant and Harry handed Sebastian over to them. He didn’t fight them, but even as they dragged him away he shouted back at us, his voice full of a terrible laughter.

“When we come in all our glory, you will love us! We will make you love us! And worship us, and work for us, even as we consume you and all your world! You’ll love us and adore us, and walk willingly into the slaughterhouse! Everything that lives will become us!”

“Who infected you?” said the Sarjeant-at-Arms. “You know we’ll get it out of you eventually. Was it someone in the family?”

But Sebastian just laughed and laughed until the doors slammed behind him.

For a while, none of us in the Sanctity said anything. We were all shocked, for our various reasons. Freddie came out of his corner, his face pale and drawn, looking at us as though we might have some answers for him.

“He was my friend,” he said. “We worked together. How could he be infected, and I couldn’t see it? How could he pretend to be Sebastian so closely that I couldn’t tell?”

“The touch of the Loathly One corrupts,” said the Sarjeant. “Part of him was still Sebastian, and wanted to collaborate. But by the end there, Sebastian was probably just a coat the drone could put on and take off.”

I looked at Molly. I still didn’t say anything.

“We need to know exactly when he was infected,” said Harry. “So we can figure out just how long he’s been spying for the enemy. How much he might have told them. How much of our plans and intelligence are compromised.”

I glared at him. “I ordered the Armourer to work out a test, to determine who among us might be infected!”

“So you did,” said Harry. “The Armourer came up with a test; we all went through it and we all passed. So either Sebastian was infected after he was tested…”

“Or the test is no damn good,” I said. “The Armourer’s worked so many miracles for us down the years that we tend to forget he does fail, from time to time. Sebastian suggested there were others like him in the family. Maybe right here in the Hall. Maybe even the original traitor, who arranged for us to bring the Loathly Ones through in the first place. And … he said his torc worked for him, protecting and hiding him once he was infected… Strange?”

“Don’t look at me,” said Strange. “It shouldn’t have been possible. I designed your new torcs and armour to exactly duplicate the properties of those provided by the Heart. I can only assume he was already infected before I handed out the new torcs, and that it was…affected by his infection. Remember, the Loathly Ones are just the intrusions into our reality of the Hungry Gods themselves. And they are vast and powerful and terrible enough to frighten even me.”

“We need to test everyone again,” I said. “I’ll talk to the Armourer, see if we can boost the test some.”

“Test everyone?” said Harry. “Including you?”

“Everyone,” I said. I didn’t look at Molly. “We need to know who’s who.”

“Sebastian said they were many of his kind among us,” said Freddie. “Hiding behind familiar faces, watching us…”

“The Devil always lies,” I said.

“Except when a truth can hurt you more,” said Molly.

“Are you all right, Molly?” said Strange. “You seem…”

“She’s fine,” I said.

“Yes,” said Molly. “I’m fine.”

“So,” I said. “Truman has the Soul of Albion. For that, he must have had the active cooperation of someone in the family. Any ideas, Sarjeant?”

“There are still members of the Zero Tolerance faction working openly within the family,” the Sarjeant said slowly. “Some could still be maintaining ties with Truman. There are those within the faction who see him as a means of reclaiming power and position within the family.”

“Including the Matriarch?” I said, and he nodded reluctantly.

“And where do you stand on the matter, Sarjeant?” said Harry.

He drew himself up to his full height, his scarred, disfigured face cold and forbidding. “I protect the family, against anything that threatens it.”

“The Matriarch…” I said thoughtfully. “Dear Grandmother Martha… she could have provided Truman with the necessary Words to unlock the protections around the Soul.”

“She could have,” said the Sarjeant. “But I have no evidence to that effect, or I would have done something. In my opinion, Truman sees the Soul as his ace in the hole, to protect him from the Invaders should they turn against him.”

“I’m getting more from Callan,” Strange said abruptly. “I really think you need to hear this, Eddie.”

“Okay, patch him through,” I said. “Callan, this had better be good.”

“Depends on your definition of good,” said Callan. “Truman’s found out we’re here. And rather then destroy us immediately, he wants me to pass on a message to you. Namely, that he is ready to destroy the Soul of Albion, unless the Drood family puts itself under his control. Specifically, he wants access to and control of the forbidden weapons held in the Armageddon Codex. Apparently he believes he can use them to force the Invaders out of our reality, once he’s used them to take control of the world. The idiot… I really would like permission to withdraw now, please. I don’t like him knowing exactly where we are. I can practically feel the vultures gathering.”

“You stay right where you are,” I said. “Talk to Truman, promise him anything; stall him. As long as he thinks there’s still a chance, he won’t do anything. I’ll get back to you as soon as we’ve made a decision. Strange, cut him off.”

“He’s still talking to the War Room,” said Strange. “Though shouting is probably more accurate. Dear me, such language…”

“First things first,” I said. “We have to find out who the traitors are in the family.”

“We don’t have time for a witch hunt,” said Harry. “Not when we have so many more important decisions to make.”

“Well, you would say that, Harry,” I said. “I think I’ll start by having a nice little chat with the Matriarch. I think she’ll talk to me, once I tell her about Sebastian.”

“You can’t see her,” said Harry. “She’s ill. She’s not seeing anybody.”

“She’ll see me,” I said. “Now, Strange, show me what the family’s been doing to fight the Invaders during my unintended absence. Just the highlights, for now. I’ll catch up on the details as we go along. Just show me what I need to know.”

Visions appeared, emerging from Strange’s crimson glow. Shifting scenes of golden-armoured family in running fights with Loathly One drones, in the nightmarish streets of ghoulvilles. I saw dozens of armoured forms taking on hundreds of drones and killing everything that moved that wasn’t family. The drones were often horribly misshapen, monsters with only the barest touch of humanity left in them. The Droods beat them down with golden fists and tore the drones limb from limb. A quick death was the only mercy they had left to offer. They stormed through the narrow streets, their golden armour shining bright in the sharp, painful light of the ghoulville. They destroyed buildings, tearing them apart and pulling them down through brute strength, to be sure they hadn’t missed anyone hiding inside, and afterwards they set fire to the ruins.

Whole towns went up in flames. They say fire purifies.

Sometimes the drones were already dead and decaying, only kept moving by the unnatural energies within them. Sometimes they looked just like you or me. They came out into the streets, pleading and crying and protesting their innocence. But they were so far gone they’d forgotten how to sound and act as people do. Especially the children. The armoured Droods killed them all. They had to be Loathly Ones, or they wouldn’t be in a ghoulville.

Sometimes family members dropped their armour, to vomit, or cry, or just sit on a pavement, holding themselves and rocking back and forth.

We’ve never seen ourselves as killers. That’s not the Drood way. We’ve always preferred to operate behind the scenes, making small changes here and there … to prevent the family as a whole having to do things like this. Secret wars are one thing; mass slaughter quite another. But we’re Droods, and we’ve always been able to do the hard, necessary things. To protect humanity.

I just hoped we didn’t get a taste for it.

I saw my family destroy towers in the ghoulvilles; huge, unnatural alien structures, part technological and part organic. Sometimes the towers screamed as they fell. They fell and they fell, and yet somehow there were always more of them…

The visions stopped. I stood silently, thinking. The Sarjeant cleared his throat in a meaningful way.

“We are further handicapped by our need to keep all of this secret from the general populace. They can’t be allowed to know what’s happening. We’re keeping politicians and governments informed, to a point, and they’re all cooperating. To one extent or another. Worldwide panic and chaos is in no one’s best interests.”

“Now you’ve seen how bad it is,” said Harry. “The odds we’ve been facing. Maybe Truman’s right. Maybe we should open the Armageddon Codex.”

“No,” I said. “Not yet.”

“Tell me you’ve got a really good plan,” said the Sarjeant.

“Well,” I said. “I’ve got a plan.”