Property of a Lady Faire

CHAPTER SEVEN

Molly and I stepped through the Merlin Glass, and back into the computer room of my safe house, somewhat to Molly’s surprise. I shut the Glass down quickly, to make sure Diment didn’t get a glimpse of where we’d gone. Molly looked around her, as though to make sure she was where she thought she was, and then fixed me with a hard look.

“Explain.”

“There’s no way Diment will expect us to hang around,” I said. “Which means he won’t even think to check here. Last place he’d look.”

“And you’re sure about that?” said Molly.

“Reasonably sure,” I said cheerfully. “Don’t worry, the house’s shields will hide and protect us.”

“Even from your family, when they get here?”

“That’s the idea,” I said. “I want to see what happens when they turn up and see the fallen False Knights. Because I need to be sure . . . that only MI 13 higher-ups were involved in bringing the Knights here.”

Molly shook her head. “I’d say you were being paranoid, but I’ve met your family.”

“You’ll notice I’m still holding on to the Merlin Glass,” I said. “Just in case we need to leave in a hurry.”

Molly looked suspiciously at the hand mirror. “And not because you don’t trust it?”

“Hush,” I said. “It might be listening.”

Molly started to say something, and then didn’t. She suddenly looked very tired, and swayed on her feet. She’d exhausted herself, along with her magics. I was just as tired, bruised and battered from head to foot. So I took Molly in my arms and we held each other, and leaned on each other.

“How long can we stay here?” Molly murmured, her face pressed into my shoulder.

“Not long,” I said. “But long enough to get our second wind.”

She was so worn out that I was supporting her weight as well as my own, and I was so tired I could barely stand, but I did anyway. Because she needed me, and because I would rather die than let her down. After a while her legs straightened as she got some of her strength back, and she pushed me away. Molly has always believed in standing on her own two feet. I pulled the chair out from the desk and she sat down on it, just a bit heavily. I sat down carefully on the edge of the desk, not letting myself groan out loud. My muscles ached fiercely, but Molly didn’t need to know just how badly the False Knights had hurt me.

“Why isn’t your family already here?” she said crossly, not looking at me. “Just the arrival of something like the False Knights in our world should have set off all kinds of alarms, back at the Hall.”

“Undoubtedly,” I said. “They’re probably spitting blood and teeth in the War Room right now. But I rather suspect they’ve been busy, giving all their attention to tracking down those they believe responsible for the massacre at Uncanny.”

“Your family can’t really believe that was us! They must know better!”

“They know you know the Regent killed your parents, on Drood orders,” I said carefully. “So it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that things might have got . . . out of hand.”

“Your family tried to kill me once before,” said Molly. “When they thought I’d murdered the Matriarch. Damn near succeeded . . .”

“I will never allow that to happen again,” I said. “I will stand between you and all harm.”

“Even from your family?”

“Especially from my family.”

We smiled at each other. It is good to say some things out loud, even when you both already know them. Molly looked at the computer on my desk, and then did a double take, sitting up straight in her chair.

“Hold everything! That computer is entirely intact and untouched! But I saw you smash it . . .”

“Drood tech,” I said, just a bit smugly. “Built to last, look after itself, and put itself back together again after Drood temper tantrums. Uncle Jack does good work.”

“Boys and their toys . . . ,” said Molly.

“Agents and their equipment,” I said severely.

And then I looked round sharply and moved over to the window to peer out into the street. Molly immediately levered herself out of her chair and hurried forward to stand beside me. Outside, Alan Diment was walking unhurriedly around the piled-up bodies and bits and pieces of the fallen False Knights, occasionally leaning over to peer at a decapitated head, or poke a body with the toe of his boot, just to be sure. He didn’t look particularly upset, or disturbed. If anything, he looked . . . calm, even satisfied. Which wasn’t what I would have expected from a mere functionary who’d just seen his operation go down in flames, and the people he was after disappear. Unless . . .

“I wonder,” I said. “Did he know this would all go wrong, but did nothing and allowed it to happen? Just so it would discredit and bring down his loathed lords and masters?”

“He had the guts to take on the Wulfshead Club,” said Molly.

“Crafty bugger,” I said. “He’s come a long way . . .”

“Our little boy is all grown up,” said Molly.

A handful of black-uniformed MI 13 soldiers moved cautiously down the street, approaching slowly, with weapons at the ready. They looked like they’d crap themselves if a nearby dog farted. They passed the scattered remains of their fallen fellow soldiers, and shied away from the great pools of blood, giving the dead plenty of room. I looked for more soldiers to come and join them, but there weren’t any more. Just these dozen or so men, with their dark visors pushed up, showing pale, shocked faces. They were professional types, and no doubt seasoned fighters, but they weren’t used to meeting things so much worse than they were. I wondered where the rest of them were, and then realised this small number were all that had survived. The False Knights had slaughtered everyone else. I said as much to Molly, and she just shrugged.

“Do you care, Eddie? Really? Those uniformed scumbags would cheerfully have handed us over to . . . God knows who. To be locked up, or dissected, or just taken out back somewhere and executed.”

“It’s my job to protect people from things that aren’t people any more,” I said. “Even uniformed thugs and bully boys. It’s a Drood’s job to protect Humanity. No one ever said we had to like them. Or vice versa.”

“The False Knights were . . . something of a surprise,” said Molly, not looking at me. “You never mentioned them before. First the Drood in Cell 13, now the False Knights. Any more deep, dark secrets in your family’s past?”

“More than you can possibly imagine,” I said, trying to keep it light. “My family has secrets like a dog has fleas.”

Molly turned abruptly away from the window and looked back at my computer. “Eddie, if that’s your uncle Jack’s work, how did it get here?”

“He gave it to me as a moving-in gift,” I said. “The Armourer helped me set up all my safe houses, the approved ones and the underground ones. Who else do you think put in all the shields and defences? I’m a field agent, not an engineer. He’s helped set up safe houses for all our agents. Admittedly I have more than most, because I have always had more reason than most to want to hide from my family . . . but Uncle Jack has always been very supportive.”

“But that means this place isn’t safe!” Molly said sharply. “He knows about it! He could lead your family straight here!” She stopped, and frowned. “Would he tell them?”

“Of course,” I said. “He’s fond of me, but this is family business. However, he would be the first to point out that while he knows all my safe houses, he has no way of knowing which one I’d go to first. And the family can’t spare enough people to investigate all of them at once. They’ll have to jump around the world, checking them one at a time. The odds are in our favour, Molly. We have time to get our breath back.”

“But you want them to come here,” Molly said slowly. “So you can . . . observe them. I’m not sure I’m following this, Eddie.”

“Not sure I am myself,” I said. “Far too many unanswered questions at the moment. When you’re stuck in the middle of a mystery, information is ammunition. So, we wait.” I forced out an easy smile for her. “And get our strength back, for major arse-kicking in the future.”

She didn’t look convinced. “Sometimes I think you trust your uncle Jack too much. Don’t get me wrong-I like him. But he’s old school Drood. And I’ve always known he has his own secrets, and his own agenda. I don’t think he’s always on your side.”

“No one is,” I said. “Except you, of course.”

Molly smiled. “Nice catch.”

“While we’re waiting,” I said. “We need to decide where we’re going next.”

“Ultima Thule,” said Molly. “For the Lady Faire’s annual Ball, at the Winter Palace.”

“Well, yes,” I said. “But we can’t go there directly. Far too many shields in place. Ultima Thule is a world within a world, a private reality, with all the ways in and out carefully configured and heavily guarded.”

“Too much even for the Merlin Glass?”

“The Winter Palace is supposed to be hard to get to,” I said carefully. “That’s why it’s so popular as an exclusive retreat. For the kind of people who don’t want to be interrupted in their very private pleasures. The Merlin Glass might be powerful enough to punch through all the shields and protections, but that would undoubtedly set off all kinds of alarms and bring the guards running. Or everyone might just pack up and leave, so they were all long gone when we got there. We can’t risk that. So we need a sneaky way in. One that won’t be noticed. We need a dimensional Door.”

“You’ve been thinking about this,” Molly said accusingly. “In fact, you are giving every indication of being downright devious and cunning. I approve.”

“Good to know,” I said. “One of the things I’ve been thinking about is that some unknown person has been providing unauthorised people with Doors that open onto Drood grounds. Which is not only never allowed, but is supposed to be impossible. Which means . . . whoever is providing these Doors must be a master at his work.”

“Sounds like the Doormouse to me,” Molly said immediately.

I looked sternly at her. “You just made that name up!”

“I did not! The Doormouse has been a fixture in the Nightside for ages, at his House of Doors. He’s a master craftsman, making dimensional Doors to order.”

“I know,” I admitted. “I have heard of him. The Armourer’s talked about him, on occasion. The Doormouse has been known to make Doors for the Droods, on occasion. Uncle Jack always says you can’t beat a specialist. But why would someone with a good working relationship with my family, who knows what we do to people who annoy us, make Doors our enemies could use to breach our security? It doesn’t make sense.”

“I think we should go ask him,” said Molly.

“Good idea,” I said. “Maybe I can get some answers, and pressure or guilt the Doormouse into providing us with a sneaky back Door into Ultima Thule.” I stopped, and looked at Molly. “Is he really a mouse?”

“Oh yes,” said Molly, offhandedly. “Just not your ordinary everyday mouse.”

“Sort of gathered that,” I said. “You know the strangest people, Molly.”

“I’ve met your family,” said Molly.

And then we both looked out the window again, as we heard raised voices and new movement outside. Half a dozen Droods were marching down the street, heading for Alan Diment, their golden armour shining brightly, even under the grey northern skies. The uniformed soldiers scattered out of the Droods’ way and stayed well back, keeping their automatic weapons pointed very carefully at the ground. They’d seen what one Drood in his armour could do, and they really didn’t want to risk upsetting a whole bunch of them. The Droods didn’t even glance in their direction.

“Don’t worry,” I murmured to Molly. “Even if the Armourer has told them about this address, they won’t know we’re here. They can’t even see us looking out the window. The house shields will see to that.”

“You’d better be right,” said Molly, just as quietly. “Neither of us is in any condition to fight off six Droods in their armour. How did they get here? I didn’t hear any transport, or sense any teleport energies.”

“My family has many ways of getting around,” I said. “But they’re still here a lot faster than I expected. They must really want to find me and shut me down before anyone else does.”

“The last time you were declared rogue,” Molly said carefully, “your whole family was out to kill you.”

“I think this time they want answers first,” I said, trying hard to sound confident. “Of course we can’t count on that. To the family, the only good rogue Drood is a dead rogue Drood.”

The six armoured Droods gathered around the dead False Knights. I watched closely. They were all doing their best to appear calm and casual and in charge of the situation, but I could tell from their body language just how shocked and surprised they were. They hadn’t expected anything like this. They clearly recognised the False Knights, just as I had, but I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding as it quickly became clear they didn’t know how the False Knights got here. They didn’t know about MI 13’s Time Gate.

They all turned on Diment and took it in turns to growl questions at him. Give the man credit, he held up well in the face of open interrogation by six angry Droods. It helped that he obviously didn’t know much, and what he did know pointed the blame very firmly somewhere else-at his current bosses. I wished I could hear what they were saying. Diment was doing a lot of nodding and compliant gesturing, and even more talking. One of the Droods suddenly armoured down, the better to glare at Diment, and I sucked in a sharp breath as I recognised the Sarjeant-at-Arms himself. Scowling and frustrated and very angry. He towered over Diment, barking questions at him, and Diment just kept smiling and talking, as persuasively as he knew how. Dropping his lords and masters right in it, with every word.

“Well, well,” I said. “The Sarjeant-at-Arms, out in the field . . . He is taking this seriously. And, perhaps, personally.”

Diment gestured at my safe house, having presumably got to my part in what happened, and the Droods all turned to look at my window. Molly and I both flinched back in spite of ourselves, but they only looked casually at the house for a moment, then turned back to Diment. The house’s shields were still holding. The Sarjeant gestured for the other Droods to inspect the dead False Knights thoroughly, while he continued his interrogation of Diment. The Droods nodded quickly and moved away to form a circle round the bodies and bits of bodies. Some knelt down to study the bitter yellow armour close up, though they were all very careful not to touch anything.

“That was close,” I said. “Too close for my liking. I think we should go visit the Doormouse. Right now. No, wait a minute . . . Am I right in thinking his House of Doors is situated in the Nightside?”

“Well, yes and no,” said Molly.

“That is never a good start to any answer,” I said. “Molly, I keep telling you, I can’t enter the Nightside! Droods are banned, by long compact and agreement!”

“Even rogue Droods?”

“I think especially rogue Droods.”

“Well, technically the House of Doors isn’t necessarily actually inside the Nightside,” said Molly. “You can access the Doormouse’s establishment from the Nightside, but then, you can access it from a whole lot of places. The entrance may be in the Nightside, but the shop isn’t. That’s the whole point of Doors. They’re short cuts, through Space. So the House of Doors is in the Nightside, but not of it. A bit.”

“That is a technicality,” I said. “But it’s good enough for me. If the Merlin Glass is in a mood to cooperate . . .” I glared at the hand mirror, still firmly gripped in my hand. “You behave yourself, or I’ll write dirty words on you with a bar of soap.”

The Merlin Glass seemed to stare innocently back at me. I took another look out the window. The Sarjeant-at-Arms was looking straight at me from the middle of the road, standing very still. I stood just as still. Could he see me? His face was unreadable, his gaze steady. And then he turned away, and I started breathing again. If the Sarjeant had seen me, he’d chosen to let me go. Which wasn’t like the Sarjeant-at-Arms. Unless he knew something I didn’t. Which wouldn’t surprise me in the least. Given my current situation, I was entirely ready to believe that everyone in the world knew more about what was really going on than I did.

So I needed to concentrate on what mattered: getting my hands on the Lazarus Stone, and rescuing my parents. I turned my back on the window and nodded abruptly to Molly. She provided the Merlin Glass with the spatial coordinates for the House of Doors, and the hand mirror jumped eagerly out of my hand, shaking itself out to Door size. A bright light shone through the Glass from the other side, and I stepped quickly through the Door, with Molly on my heels.

• • •

We arrived in a large and strikingly impressive reception area that was bigger than most shops. The Merlin Glass shut itself down immediately, shrank back to hand-mirror size, and all but forced itself into my grasp. I got the distinct impression it didn’t like this new location. I put it away, and looked curiously about me.

“This is it!” Molly said proudly. “The House of Doors! For when you definitely, absolutely, have to be Somewhere Else in a hurry!”

“Where is this House of Doors, exactly, if it isn’t in the Nightside?” I said.

“I don’t think anybody knows, exactly,” said Molly. “The Doormouse takes his privacy very seriously, and so would you if you were large and fluffy. You can only access his establishment through the Doors he makes. And yes, there is a hell of a lot of unseen security operating here, so let’s try being polite first, okay?”

“Of course,” I said. “First.”

“Stand further away from me,” said Molly.

The reception area was a large open space of quite staggering style and elegance. Thick white carpeting and walls so white they were positively luminous. Lots of large abstract paintings and intricate mosaics, heavy pieces of antique furnishings, and a number of low tables covered with strange things that might have been high tech, abstract sculpture, or just objets d’art. The track lighting was bright and cheerful, but I couldn’t help noticing there wasn’t any reception desk, or even a receptionist. At least there was no piped music, which argued for a certain level of civilised behaviour.

“Hey, Mouse!” yelled Molly. “Shop!”

I glared at her, and she smiled sweetly back. And just like that, there he was-the Doormouse, scurrying forward to meet us from the back of the reception area. A six-foot-tall, vaguely humanoid mouse, with dark chocolate-coloured fur, under a white lab coat that reminded me irresistibly of the Armourer. The Doormouse even had a neat little pocket protector in place, to back up his many colour-coded pens. He had a dark muzzle, laid-back ears, long twitching whiskers, and thoughtful, very human eyes. He looked cute, in an oversized and extremely disturbing and unnatural way. Mice just aren’t supposed to be that big. I felt an overwhelming urge to put some traps down. The Doormouse hurried forward to join us, clapping his fuzzy paws together, and when he finally spoke, his voice was high-pitched, cheery, and not quite human.

“How did you get in here without an appointment?” he said loudly, bouncing up and down before us. “No one’s supposed to be able to get in without-oh, it’s you, Molly! I might have known. You never did have any respect for other people’s privacy. Especially when there were valuables involved. Ah, well, at least it isn’t your sisters. Don’t tell them I said that. Hello, Molly! How are you, my dear?”

Molly started to say something, and then all the colour just drained out of her face, and she would have collapsed if I hadn’t caught her in time. I made a loud, pained noise despite myself, as her weight almost dragged me down too. The damage I’d taken from the False Knights was catching up with me. The Doormouse leaned in close for a better look at Molly’s pale face, and then he nodded quickly.

“It’s dimensional shock! Seen it before, seen it before. Too many trips through too many Doors, with not enough time in between, crashes the nervous system. You’d better both come on through, into the Showroom. Yes, that’s the ticket! Oh, my word, yes. Bring her through, Drood. Oh yes, I know who you are. I know a torc when I See one.”

He led the way to the back of the reception area, chittering loudly to himself, scurrying along and then making himself wait until I caught up with him. It was all I could do to keep Molly staggering forward. Her eyes were half shut, and she was barely cooperating. I was worried. I hadn’t seen her this exhausted in a long time. She must have really drained her energies, fighting the False Knights. And I’d let her do it. I held her up, biting my lip against the fierce pains shooting through my abused body, and kept her moving.

And I still had the presence of mind to study the Doormouse unobtrusively. Very few people can See a Drood torc. That’s rather the point.

The Doormouse led us through a very ordinary-looking door at the back, and on into his Showroom. Which turned out to be almost unbearably vast. One of the biggest enclosed spaces I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been around. I literally couldn’t see the sides or the end of it. When I looked up, there wasn’t a ceiling, just a layer of puffy white clouds. The Showroom was packed full of Doors, standing upright and unsupported, hovering a few inches above the colourless floor. They stood in long rows and ranks, stretching away into the far distance. They seemed to go on forever, Doors beyond counting, made from every kind of wood I could think of, in every shade and fashion. There were even some Doors made from metal and glass and crystal. Some burned and blazed with their own inner lights. And each and every Door had its own special handwritten card, describing its particular destination. I looked at a few of the closest as I held Molly up. The Doormouse had disappeared off somewhere.

Shadows Fall. Carcosa. Sinister Albion. Lud’s Gate.

I was still getting my head around the sheer range in those destinations when the Doormouse came bustling back, carrying a tall glass of something hot and steaming in each furry paw. He thrust both glasses at me. I held Molly a little more securely, and she leaned her head on my shoulder and murmured something indistinct. I looked suspiciously at the proffered drinks.

“Oh, don’t be so mistrustful, Eddie Drood!” said the Doormouse. “It’s just a hot cordial, to restore your depleted energies. Perfectly safe, and very tasty. On the house!”

“Oh well,” I said, “if it’s on the house . . .”

Anywhen else, I would have held the Doormouse’s nose and made him take a good drink of the stuff first, but Molly needed something to help her, and there was nothing else on offer. I accepted one glass, and took a careful sip. Because bad as Molly was, I wasn’t about to give her anything I hadn’t tried myself first. It tasted like mulled cider, and it went down smooth and easy. Almost before I knew what I was doing, I’d downed the lot. A small and very pleasant explosion went off in my stomach, and a delicious warmth rocketed through my body, wiping out all my pains. It felt like someone had just kicked me in the adrenal glands. I snapped wide awake in a moment, and grinned broadly at the Doormouse, who sighed heavily.

“You’re supposed to sip it! Honestly, I go to all the trouble of brewing up something special, something you can savour, and you knock it back like it’s a cheap muscatel.”

“I like it!” I said happily. “What’s it called?”

“Rocket fuel,” growled the Doormouse. “Though that is of course metaphorical rather than descriptive. Go on, give Molly the other glass while it’s still hot.”

I handed him my empty glass and held the other to Molly’s mouth. I eased a little of the steaming beverage past her slack lips, and she swallowed slowly, and then her eyes shot open. I tilted the glass so she could get a good mouthful, and she immediately stood up straight and grabbed the glass with both hands. She chugged it all down in several large gulps, and the Doormouse shook his head bitterly.

“I don’t know why I bother . . . Next time I’ll just give you a bottle of Snakebite each, and you can rough it out. I’m wasted on you, I really am.”

Molly pushed herself away from me, tilted her glass all the way back to get at the last few drops, and then tossed the empty glass to the Doormouse. Her face was flushed with a healthy colour, and her eyes sparkled. She grinned at me, grabbed me and hugged me, and then pushed me away again so she could do her happy dance, right there on the spot. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Damn!” Molly said loudly, stretching so hard I could hear all her joints creaking at once. “That is the good stuff! I feel great! And I can feel my magics coming back!” She looked at me. “And you don’t look like shit any more!”

I had to agree. All my bruises were gone, my muscles had stopped aching, and I felt like I could beat up a grizzly bear with both legs strapped behind my back. But since I have learned never to trust good luck or apparent miracles, I gave the Doormouse a hard look.

“Are we really back in top form, or do we just feel that way? Is this good feeling likely to wear off at some inopportune moment? Are there side effects we should be warned about in advance?”

“Typical Drood,” said the Doormouse, entirely unmoved by my suspicions. “It’s an old family remedy, nothing more.” He put the two empty glasses down on a handy side table that I would have sworn wasn’t there a moment before. He smiled benevolently on Molly and me. “It’s all natural, and very good for you, and almost certainly won’t cause any real damage on the genetic level. Though you might piss blue for a few hours.”

“Will it put hair on my chest?” said Molly.

“Not like mine,” said the Doormouse.

“Good to know,” I said.

Molly laughed, threw her arms around the Doormouse, and hugged him tightly. He suffered her to do that, his whiskers twitching occasionally, and then Molly stepped back and clapped him on the shoulder, hard enough to make him wince.

“Good to see you again, Mouse,” she said. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“It has indeed,” said the Doormouse. “And this is your young man, is it? Eddie Drood himself! Delighted to meet you, dear boy, please don’t hug me. Any friend of Molly’s . . . I won’t ask what trouble you’re both in, because it’s none of my business and you probably wouldn’t tell me anyway, but I’ll do what I can to help. Please try not to break anything while you’re here.” He looked thoughtfully at Molly. “The last time I saw you we were in Strangefellows bar, and you’d just . . .”

“Not now,” Molly said quickly. “Not in front of the Drood.”

“Of course,” said the Doormouse. He looked me over carefully. “Eddie Drood . . . I am of course honoured, and fascinated, to meet such a legendary figure at last, but I have to say I am just a little . . . concerned, to see you here. In my humble and very fragile establishment. Might I inquire why you’ve come to see me, Sir Drood? Have you, in fact, come to shut me down? I mean, this is about those Doors I made, isn’t it? The Doors that open onto Drood property . . .”

“I would like to know what you thought you were doing, making such things,” I said. “You must have known my family would not be at all pleased. They might nuke your establishment from orbit, just to be sure. No one overreacts like a Drood.”

“I know!” said the Doormouse, wringing his paws together piteously.

“I think you’d better issue a recall,” said Molly.

“I will certainly try,” said the Doormouse. “Though I doubt anyone will listen. They are very popular. And no, I can’t shut them down from here. Not once they’ve left the Storeroom.”

“You don’t install a hidden override, or back-door command?” I said.

The Doormouse looked honestly shocked. “If my customers even suspected such a thing, my sales would plummet! All my Doors are guaranteed to be self-repairing and self-perpetuating. A Door isn’t just for convenience; it’s forever! That’s the point. That’s what I sell-reliability.”

“But why . . . ,” I said.

“I was tricked!” the Doormouse said shrilly. “The original order came from inside Drood Hall. Apparently from the Matriarch Martha Drood herself. It had all the correct signatures and security code phrases attached . . . I did check! And it came through all the usual channels, with nothing out of the ordinary about it. Of course I thought it was a bit weird . . . but you don’t challenge a Drood, after all. If this was what the Matriarch wanted, I had to assume there was a good reason.”

“Martha Drood has been dead for some time,” I said.

“I know that now! But I didn’t know it then! I don’t keep up with that sort of gossip. Don’t read those magazines . . . I only found out the Nightside had a new set of Authorities when John Taylor popped in to tell me he was the new Walker. I think it’s fair to say none of us saw that one coming . . . He’s off on his honeymoon at the moment, so if you want to get away with anything here, now’s probably a good time . . .”

“Didn’t you wonder why my family would want people to have Doors that gave them access to the Drood grounds?” I insisted, refusing to be sidetracked.

“I didn’t think it was any of my business,” said the Doormouse, holding on to what was left of his dignity. “You Droods have always gone your own way, and your ways have always been a complete mystery to outsiders. If you want to bury a dragon’s head in your backyard . . . I just made the Doors and started shipping them out to the addresses provided. And sent my invoice in to the Hall, as usual. Which is, of course, when the sawdust hit the fan. I had to shut my phone off. I don’t like being shouted at.”

“How many of these Doors did you sell?” I said.

“Only forty-seven,” the Doormouse said quickly. “I made a hundred, as requested, but not everyone has picked them up yet. Once it became clear these Doors weren’t . . . officially sanctioned, I locked them away. I can provide you with a list of everyone who’s already received their Door . . .”

“That’s something,” I said. “Don’t give me the list; send it to the Hall, marked Attention: Armourer. And: Really, really urgent. He’s almost certainly worked out a way to block the Doors by now, but it’ll probably help him to know who might try to use them.”

“The Armourer, of course!” said the Doormouse. “I know Jack Drood. He does good work. He often pops in here for a chat. Hell of a poker player too.”

I gave him my very best hard look. “Uncle Jack visits the Nightside regularly, doesn’t he? Even though he isn’t supposed to.”

The Doormouse shrugged, elaborately casually. “I couldn’t possibly comment. I haven’t heard anything at all about him being given special dispensation. I have nothing to say on the subject. On the grounds that Jack Drood can be a seriously scary individual when he chooses.”

“What, that sweet old man?” said Molly.

“My uncle Jack was one of the family’s top field agents, during the coldest part of the Cold War,” I said. “A respected and feared troubleshooter in all the worst parts of the world, just like his brother, the Grey Fox.”

“James Drood,” said the Doormouse, nodding energetically. “I may or may not have met him, as well. Somewhere or other.”

“Just how many members of my family come to the Nightside?” I said.

“I couldn’t possibly comment,” said the Doormouse. “On the grounds that I don’t want to end up as a rug in Drood Hall.”

“Look, this could be your chance to get back into the Droods’ good books,” said Molly. “We need a Door. A very special kind of Door.”

“Oh well,” said the Doormouse. “If it’s for the Droods . . .”

I smiled. “Send them the invoice.”

I looked around at the long rows of hovering Doors, heading off into the distance in every direction. It was like standing in a forest of very flat trees. And it had to be said: they weren’t just Doors. I could feel their presence, like they were watching me. I turned back to the Doormouse with a certain sense of relief.

“How did you learn to make Doors?”

“I studied with old Carnacki, years and years ago,” said the Doormouse. “When I was just a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed young hippy. When I was still human.”

I started to say something, but the Doormouse had already turned away to address Molly.

“I had your sister Louisa in here, just the other day. Or was it last year? Anyway, she wanted me to make her a very special kind of Door.”

“Of course!” said Molly. “That’s how she got to the Martian Tombs!”

“Please don’t tell anyone!” said the Doormouse, glancing furtively around him. “Mars is supposed to be off-limits, especially the Tombs. I went there, once, just to test the Door, you understand. I couldn’t get my fur to lie flat again for weeks afterwards.”

“Do you know what’s there?” I said. “Inside the Tombs?”

“No,” said the Doormouse, very firmly. “And given all the connotations attached to the word Tombs, I don’t want to. Ever. I didn’t really want to make the Door, but your sister can be very persuasive, Molly. And very hard to say no to when she’s got you by the throat.”

“We need a Door to take us to Ultima Thule,” I said loudly, to get us back on track again.

“Why on earth would you want to go there?” said the Doormouse. “Awful place! Cold enough to freeze the nuts off a squirrel . . .”

“It is necessary that Molly and I attend the Lady Faire’s annual Ball, this year, at the Winter Palace,” I said carefully. “And no, we don’t have an invitation. We’re going to crash. Which means we need to sneak in. Unnoticed.”

“I’d say you weren’t her type,” said the Doormouse. “Except the whole point of the Lady Faire is that everyone and everything is. She’s a ladything, you know! The only one of her kind, which is probably why she’s so very . . . lonely. I did meet her once, in person. If that’s the right term . . . At one of the late Immortal’s parties, at Griffin Hall, here in the Nightside. Of course, that was before the Griffin and his wife and his Hall were all dragged down to Hell by the Devil himself . . . But then, that’s the Nightside for you. Their cook used to make the most marvellous canapés. Stuffed baby Morlock.”

“Stuffed with what?” said Molly, before I could stop her.

“Baby Eloi, probably,” said the Doormouse. “An amazing creature, the Lady Faire, quite delightful. In her own singular way. Sweet and charming and most . . . overwhelming at close quarters. Like being hit over the head with the Kama Sutra. She was very kind to an old mouse . . .”

“You didn’t!” said Molly.

“No, I didn’t,” said the Doormouse, drawing himself up to his full height so he could look down his muzzle at her. “I made an excuse, and ran. She isn’t my type. Or, to put it another way, she scared the living crap out of me. Far too intense. But I do understand the attraction. She was made to turn people’s heads. And I did used to be a person, long ago.”

“I never knew you were human originally,” said Molly. “You never said . . . Would you like me to turn you back?”

“No, I would not,” said the Doormouse very firmly. “I am the way I am by choice. There were several of us, once. Very happy being hippies, in that long lost Summer of Love. But the world changed and moved on, and we didn’t like the way it was going. So we made the decision to give up being human, and become something closer to how we actually saw ourselves. We are the Mice! Fear our playfulness! The others went off to form a commune in some small country town, but I was always much fonder of the bright lights. City mouse . . . I found a trade and a craft, working with Doors. Look at them! Aren’t they marvellous?

“Every Door is a possibility, a chance to be Somewhere Else, to travel through all the places there are . . . all the worlds of if and maybe. A never-ending exploration into the works of God . . . No, my dear Molly, I am content as I am. Except for when Droods come into my life and mess it up, big time. You can’t go directly to Ultima Thule, Eddie Drood! Even I couldn’t make you a Door that would sneak you through that many layers of protection.” He stopped abruptly, and thought about it. “Well, actually I could, but you’d probably have to blow up a sun to generate enough energy to power it. And you said you didn’t want to be noticed.”

“I thought you could make a Door to take anyone anywhere,” Molly said innocently.

“I can!” the Doormouse said immediately, bristling. “I have made Doors to Heaven and Hell and Everywhere in Between! But there are always going to be . . . problems. Side effects. Look, you’d better come with me.”

And he scurried off into the long ranks, darting in and out of the hanging Doors. Molly and I hurried after him. We had to struggle to keep up. He could move pretty damned quickly for an oversized mouse. Moving between the rows of Doors proved to be a creepy and even disturbing experience. I couldn’t shake off the feeling that they were looking at me, and considering-and not in a good way. Some of them felt . . . attractive, as though tempting me to open them and see what they had to offer. Others felt alien, invidious, as though there was something lying in wait behind them, just waiting for someone foolish enough to open the Door. And some . . . I didn’t even want to get close to. As though they were Doors to places that shouldn’t exist, or at the very least shouldn’t have access to our world. I passed one Door that made all my hair stand on end. It felt like something was beating and hammering on the other side of the Door, trying to break it down so it could get into our world . . . to do terrible, unspeakable things. I gave that Door plenty of room, and hurried on.

Molly didn’t seem too bothered by any of it, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on the Doormouse’s back as he scurried ahead of us. So I just stared straight ahead too, and made myself concentrate on keeping up. Until finally the Doormouse came to a sudden halt, standing before one particular Door.

“There!” he said, gesturing grandly with one furry paw. “You see what I mean?”

I had to admit that I did. The Door before us was covered from top to bottom with a thick layer of ice, shining blue-white under the Storeroom’s bright lights. The encased Door was only just visible, deep inside the ice. It radiated a bitter cold, so fierce I had to brace myself to take a step closer. I didn’t try to touch the ice; I just knew I’d draw back a handful of frostbite. I walked around the Door, taking my time, looking it over, and there wasn’t a crack or a flaw to be seen anywhere in the thick ice. Just a solid block, formed around a Door that had tried to go somewhere it was never meant to.

“I created this Door just like any other,” said the Doormouse, his voice respectfully low. “It should have worked. The mathematics were sound, the science unchallenged. I had no reason to believe there would be . . . problems. But within moments after I finished this Door, and set the coordinates for Ultima Thule, the whole thing just froze over. Solid ice, from the coldest place in the world. Some places just don’t want to be visited.”

Molly sniffed loudly, conjured up a handful of hellfire, and threw it at the frozen Door. The blazing flames splashed harmlessly against the ice, fell away, and disappeared. Not a single drop of melted water ran down the ice covering the Door. Instead, the Storeroom’s sprinklers opened up, directly over the Door. I jumped back to avoid being soaked, dragging Molly with me. The Doormouse had backed away the moment Molly conjured up her fires. He barked a command at the sprinklers, and they turned themselves off. The Doormouse looked pityingly at Molly.

“Like I hadn’t already tried that . . .”

“Bet you didn’t try this,” I said.

I subvocalised my activating Words, and armoured up. The Doormouse made a high chittering noise and backed away several steps. Drood armour always makes a strong first impression. I stepped up to the Door, and was surprised to find I could still feel primordial cold radiating from the block of ice, even through my armour. It was protecting me, but I could still feel it. I hit the block of ice with my armoured fist, and it just glanced away, without doing the slightest damage. I could punch a hole through a mountain with my armour on, but I hadn’t even cracked this ice. I hit the block again and again, all my armour’s strength behind every blow, and my golden fist just jarred harmlessly against the thick ice.

I threw my arms around the frozen block and wrestled with it, and for the first time, the ice cracked. Thick shards fell away, to shatter on the floor. The Doormouse made a loud, shocked sound. Molly cheered me on. I threw everything I had against the ice, and it cracked again, a long, jagged line from top to bottom. But still it wouldn’t break.

A thick layer of hoarfrost formed on the front of my armour, and I could feel the terrible cold creeping in. Forcing its way past my armour’s defences. I struggled with the ice block, throwing all my armour’s power against it, and the ice defied me. The awful cold sank deep into my flesh, into my bones. I was shaking and shuddering inside my armour, gritting my teeth to keep them from chattering, and to keep myself from crying out in pain and shock. Until finally I had no choice but to let go, and stagger backwards, before the cold penetrated my heart, and perhaps my soul.

I stood there, glaring at the great block of ice, breathing hard. The ice covering the Door had already repaired and restored itself, looking thicker and even more impenetrable than before. I had been defeated by the cold, by the winter of the world, Ultima Thule. I looked at the Doormouse, and he nodded slowly.

“So,” he said. “Drood armour does have its limitations. Interesting to know . . .”

I armoured down, shaking and shuddering convulsively. Molly threw her arms around me and held me tightly to her, using the warmth of her body to drive the cold out of mine. I held her close, and the cold quickly fell away. The Doormouse stood off to one side, tactfully staring into the distance. I finally patted Molly on the back, to let her know I was all right again, and we let go and stepped back from each other. We shared a smile. The Doormouse cleared his throat loudly.

“Only a Drood would try to wrestle winter itself. Still, you actually cracked the ice of Ultima Thule! I am impressed, young Drood! Really!”

“That . . . was serious cold,” I said, looking at the ice-covered Door with respect.

“Well, yes,” said the Doormouse. “I mean, the clue is in the name. Ultima Thule, the ultimate cold. The unending winter of the world. And you’re telling me you want to go there?”

“I don’t want to brag,” said Molly, “though I’m going to . . . I have been to the Antarctic, without any special clothes or equipment. I can handle cold.”

“That’s natural cold,” the Doormouse said severely. “There is nothing natural about Ultima Thule. It’s a pocket dimension, a created reality, a world within a world, with its own rules. I’ve always believed it was made to store something . . . I don’t know what, and I don’t want to. But I’d hate to think what might happen if it ever thaws . . . and gets out.”

Molly looked at me. “We are going to need more than long thermal underwear . . .”

“I’ve got my armour,” I said, “and you’ve got your magics. We can survive long enough to reach the Winter Palace.” I looked at the Doormouse. “All right, we can’t go direct. Is there an . . . indirect way of getting there?”

“Of course!” said the Doormouse. “If logic and reason aren’t enough to scare you off, then I feel I have done all that can reasonably be required of me. I may ask you to sign something to that effect before you go. I can provide you with a Door that will drop you off on the Trans-Siberian Express! One of the last surviving steam trains still running in the world today, from Eastern Europe to Siberia, all the way across Russia, and beyond. Somewhere along the way, you will pass by a naturally occurring dimensional Door that opens onto Ultima Thule. I think it’s a crack in the world, or perhaps even a mistake in the original calculations. Or maybe a back door into Ultima Thule left by the dimension’s original designer. Very few people know it even exists. It isn’t always there and it won’t stay open for long, but it should be there for the next thirty-six hours.”

“Should?” I said.

“Best I can do,” said the Doormouse.

“We’ll take it,” said Molly.

• • •

The Doormouse bustled back through the long lines of Doors, and Molly and I went with him. I took the opportunity to ask him what he knew about the Merlin Glass, on the grounds that anyone as interested as in Doors as he is should have at least heard of it. The Doormouse was immediately so excited that nothing would do but that I get the hand mirror out and show it to him. He preferred not to hold the Glass himself, so I had to hold the mirror as he leaned forward, bent so far over that the tip of his muzzle almost touched the Glass. He kept his arms behind his back, so he could be sure he wouldn’t accidentally touch the mirror. His eyes gleamed brightly, and his long whiskers went into full twitch mode. After a while, he backed carefully away and looked at me thoughtfully.

“Now that is interesting . . . Come with me, dear boy, and we’ll take a closer look, in my laboratory.”

“What about our Door?” said Molly.

“Patience, dear girl, patience! Now come along, come along!”

He scurried off, ducking and diving between the standing Doors, and we had no choice but to go after him. He took a sudden sharp turn to the left, and opened a fairly ordinary-looking door that I would have sworn wasn’t there a moment before. I glanced at Molly, we both shrugged more or less simultaneously, and we went through the door after him.

We found ourselves in a large open workplace, a scientific laboratory with dozens of work-benches, all kinds of equipment, and enough different projects on the go to keep even my uncle Jack happy. The workstations were covered with all kinds of partially assembled high tech, some of it so advanced, alien, or just plain other, that I couldn’t even recognise what it was, never mind guess what it might be for. Some were clearly functioning, flashing lights or making odd sounds, while others seemed to be moving on their own, to some unknown purpose. One had almost reached the edge of its bench, and the Doormouse absently pushed it back to the middle again. He smiled at me encouragingly, and gestured for me to set the hand mirror down on a work-bench already crowded with half-finished things. I looked for some open space, and the Doormouse swept it all away with one quick brush of his arm. Many things crashed to the floor, but the Doormouse only had eyes for the Merlin Glass. I set it down on the bench, and stepped back. He immediately leaned right over the mirror again, making soft humming sounds to himself.

“What do you know about the Merlin Glass?” I said bluntly.

“I have been aware of it for some time,” said the Doormouse, not looking away. “Your uncle Jack and I do consult, from time to time, on occasion. On matters of . . . mutual interest. And I know something of the Glass’ history, of course. It is one of the great Mysteries of the world, after all. You didn’t know? I am surprised . . . The London Knights had the Merlin Glass under lock and key for centuries, until one of them returned it to your uncle Jack a few years back.”

“Wait a minute!” I said. “The London Knights had it? But Merlin gave the Glass to my family! Why did the Knights have it for so long? And why would they give it back?”

“Ask your uncle Jack,” said the Doormouse.

“No, wait, hold on just a minute,” I said. “I looked this up, in the family archives. Merlin Satanspawn made a gift of the Glass to my family, not the London bloody Knights!”

“Oh, he gave the Glass to the Droods, right enough,” said the Doormouse. “But your family knew, better than most, that you should always beware sorcerers bearing gifts. At some point, they chose to give the Glass to the London Knights. For safekeeping, perhaps? Or in return for . . . something else? I really don’t know. Perhaps you should go back and check your family archives more carefully . . .”

“Do you know why Merlin gave the Glass to my family in the first place?” I said.

The Doormouse looked at me, and if there was any expression on his furry face, I couldn’t read it. “If you don’t know, young Drood, I certainly don’t.”

He turned back to his work-bench, and reached out a fuzzy paw to the hand mirror. It slid smoothly away from him, across the bench. The Doormouse blinked a few times and then tried again, with his other paw. The hand mirror jerked back several inches, refusing to be touched. The Doormouse muttered something quite astonishingly obscene, and grabbed at the Glass with both paws. It shot back and forth across the bench, like a drop of water on a hot surface, avoiding his grasp no matter how quickly he moved. The Doormouse finally gave up and stood back, breathing hard.

“It has been acting up, just lately,” I said. “Almost as though it has a mind of its own. I was told . . . there might be something alive or aware, hiding or imprisoned, inside the mirror’s reflection. I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything, but . . .”

“That’s Merlin Satanspawn for you,” said the Doormouse. “Always thinking three steps ahead of everyone else. I think . . . we need to take a closer look at this. Yes . . .”

He turned abruptly away from the work-bench, and hurried off to trot back and forth among the larger pieces of scientific equipment cluttering up his laboratory. He peered closely at some, patted others familiarly like old friends, rejecting one after another as he searched for something specific. There was something about the Doormouse’s laboratory that reminded me irresistibly of the Armourer’s workplace. Though thankfully there weren’t any little mouse lab assistants scuttling around. I took the opportunity to look closely at several half-finished Doors standing off to one side. Bits and pieces protruded, strange tech that made no sense at all to me. Some of the Doors’ insides were so complicated I couldn’t even seem to focus on them properly. As though they possessed too many spatial dimensions for the human mind to cope with.

Molly wandered around, prodding things, until I asked her very politely not to.

The Doormouse came back, huffing and puffing as he pushed a huge piece of equipment ahead of him. It looked a bit like one of those really big telescopes you see in observatories, except for all the ways in which it didn’t. The Doormouse pushed one end right up to the Merlin Glass, which was resting on the work-bench, apparently at peace for the moment, and then he retreated some distance, to peer through an eyepiece on the far end of the apparatus.

“What is that thing?” I muttered to Molly.

“Beats the hell out of me,” she murmured back. “Just looking at half the stuff in this place gives me a headache. Why did you have to get him started on the Glass? We could have been out of here by now!”

I shrugged. I didn’t really have an answer, except that I didn’t like not being able to trust something I’d come to depend on so much. I glared at the Merlin Glass, hoping it would stay put if I just kept my attention fixed on it. I half expected it to jump up off the work-bench, and try to force itself back into my pocket. The Doormouse had his furry face screwed right up, his eye jammed against the eyepiece of the thing that wasn’t a telescope. All the while muttering to himself and pulling distractedly at his whiskers. He finally came out from behind the thing and hurried over to stand with Molly and me. He glowered at the Merlin Glass, but didn’t try to touch it again.

“Interesting,” he said.

“What is?” said Molly. “What?”

The Doormouse looked at me carefully. “You’ve been using the Glass as a Door, mostly?”

“Yes,” I said. That much I was sure of.

“The Merlin Glass has a great many other functions and capabilities built into it,” said the Doormouse. “Some of which have apparently never been accessed, never mind activated. This is a very intricate piece of work . . . I looked inside it, and it just seemed to fall away forever . . . There are layers upon layers, levels within levels. Merlin always was ahead of his Time. I can’t even say for sure what the original purpose of the Glass was. What he intended it to do for the Droods. Or to them . . .”

“Is it . . . I don’t know-alive, or aware?” I said.

“I didn’t see anything to suggest that,” the Doormouse said carefully. “Though it does seem to have a strong survival instinct built in. I suppose Merlin thought it would need that if it was going to hang around with Droods.”

“Is there anyone, or anything, present in the reflection?” I said.

“Oh yes,” said the Doormouse quite casually. He seemed to be concentrating on something else. “I saw it, briefly, looking back at me. Don’t know what it was, though. Or why it’s there. It seemed to be hiding from my equipment, though before today I would have said that was impossible. So! The Merlin Glass has been operating quite efficiently as a Door?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Then I should just use it for that,” said the Doormouse.

“So there’s nothing to worry about, with the Glass?” said Molly.

“I didn’t say that,” said the Doormouse. “I’m just fed up looking at it. Damn thing’s given me a headache.”

I picked up the hand mirror from the work-bench. It didn’t try to avoid my touch. I looked into the mirror, and my reflection stared innocently back at me. I looked carefully at what lay behind me in the reflection, but I couldn’t see anyone, or anything, that shouldn’t be there. I put the Glass away.

And then we all looked round sharply, as a heavy iron bell began to toll loudly somewhere in the background. The Doormouse’s ears stood straight up, and he clasped his paws together in front of him, almost as though he was praying. His eyes were very wide.

“What is that?” said Molly.

“The cloister bell,” said the Doormouse. “General alarm. Panic stations. Something bad is coming, so run like hell while you’ve still got a chance.”

He sprinted out of his laboratory and into the Showroom, not even glancing back to see if Molly and I were following. I had to run at full pelt just to catch up with him, while Molly pounded determinedly along behind me. The Doormouse shot through the Storeroom and back into his reception area, and then slammed to a halt so suddenly I almost crashed into him. He stood very still, head up and whiskers at a slant. Molly caught up with me, clapped a hand on my shoulder, and leaned heavily on me.

“What?” she said breathlessly. “What the hell . . . is going on?”

“Someone is trying to force their way into my establishment,” said the Doormouse. He was staring down the length of the reception area, his gaze fixed on his front door. “Even though I put up the Closed sign! People have no manners these days . . .”

He moved slowly forward, trembling and twitching. I gestured to Molly, and we moved forward on either side of him. The closed front door had a large section of frosted glass, through which I could just make out a single dark shape standing outside. It looked human, and it didn’t seem to be moving. But there was something about the shape . . . like one of those indistinct threatening figures you see in nightmares, full of awful significance. And the iron bell was still tolling mournfully in the background.

“Is this the Door that gives you access to the Nightside?” Molly said quietly to the Doormouse.

“Yes,” he said, staring transfixed at the shape outside his door. “I don’t care who that is. They can’t get in. They can’t! No one could get through all the layers of protection I’ve put in place! It’s just not possible . . .”

There was a loud, harsh sound, like a great pane of glass shattering. Followed by another, and another.

“He’s breaking through my shields!” said the Doormouse, almost hysterically. “Even Walker couldn’t do that!”

“Do you want to run?” said Molly, practical as ever. “Choose a Door and just disappear?”

“I can’t,” whispered the Doormouse. “This is my place. My shop, my home. I won’t be driven out of my own home.”

“You work for the Droods,” I said. “That means you’re protected by the Droods. No one messes with anything that belongs to us. You stand your ground, Mouse. If they want to get to you, they have to get past me first.”

“I find that a perfectly acceptable arrangement,” said the Doormouse.

He reached inside his lab coat, and produced a monocle, a single gleaming lens set in old ivory. He screwed the thing into his left eye, and studied the door before him. And the dark figure standing motionless on the other side. The Doormouse scowled, concentrating, and then he straightened up suddenly, his eyes wide and staring. The monocle fell out, and he caught it absently and tucked it away again.

“Oh hell,” he said miserably. “It’s him.”

“Run?” said Molly.

“No point,” said the Doormouse. “There’s nowhere we could go where he couldn’t find us.”

The front door swung open, quite casually, and in walked a man I’d never met before, and never wanted to. There are people in my line of work, people who operate exclusively in the hidden world, that everyone knows about but no one ever wants to meet in person. Hadleigh Oblivion, the Detective Inspectre, was very definitely one of those people. He stopped just inside the reception area, and smiled politely at the Doormouse and Molly and me. As though he’d just dropped in to see how we were. The front door slowly closed itself behind him. I suddenly realised the iron bell had stopped tolling, as though it had realised there just wasn’t any point any more. The enemy was inside the gates, the wolf in the fold. I looked at Molly.

“I know who that is,” I said.

“So do I,” said Molly.

“This is bad, isn’t it?” I said.

“You have no idea,” said the Doormouse.

“He used to be Walker,” said Molly, staring steadily at Hadleigh. “He used to represent the Authorities, here in the Nightside. All through the Sixties and into the Seventies, Hadleigh Oblivion was The Man. And then something happened . . . that he has never been able to talk about. Something too extreme even for the Nightside. He was never the same afterwards. He went a bit strange, they say, and gave up being Walker to walk his own path. Strange and awful paths, forbidden even in the Nightside.

“And then, they say, Hadleigh went underground. All the way underground. He studied at the Deep School, the Dark Acadamie, the one place you can go to study the true nature of reality. He came back disturbingly powerful, and strangely transfigured. He walks in shadows now, between Life and Death, Light and Dark, Law and Chaos. The Detective Inspectre, who only ever investigates the very worst crimes, where reality itself is under threat.”

“You know a lot about him,” I said.

“Know thy enemy,” said Molly.

“But . . . do you really believe all that?”

“No one knows what to believe when it comes to Hadleigh Oblivion,” said Molly. “Except that he is seriously scary. And if I’m saying that . . .”

“We can stop him,” I said. “I mean, come on, you’re Molly Metcalf and I’m Eddie Drood!”

“Eddie, I don’t think you or I could even slow him down, on the best day we ever had.”

“Okay,” I said. “That’s what comes of spending too much time in the Nightside. You start to believe all the weird shit they talk here. Besides, if he only turns up when reality itself is threatened, what the hell is he doing here?”

“I have a horrible suspicion we are about to find out,” said the Doormouse.

“I am still very much in favour of beating a hasty retreat,” said Molly.

“Molly . . .”

“This is Hadleigh Oblivion!” said Molly.

“No point in running,” the Doormouse said glumly. “Wherever we ran to, he’d already be there, waiting for us. No one escapes the Detective Inspectre. I’d wet myself if this wasn’t a new carpet.”

“Why?” I said, honestly baffled by their reaction. “All right, he’s got a bad rep. I’ve heard some of the things he’s supposed to have been involved in. But what’s so special about him? What can he do?”

“Anything he wants,” said the Doormouse.

I glared at the man still standing patiently before us. “Well?” I said loudly. “Is any of that stuff true?”

“Believe it,” said Hadleigh Oblivion. “I am the man who can’t be stopped, or turned aside. The man who will do whatever is necessary, whatever the cost. It says so on my business cards. I am the Detective Inspectre, Eddie Drood, and you should not have come here.”

He smiled calmly at me, not moving at all, wearing a long black leather coat so dark it seemed to have been made from a piece of the night itself. He had a bone white face, a long mane of jet-black hair, deep-set unblinking eyes, and a coldly cheerful, colourless mouth. He looked as though he was contemplating doing awful things in the name of the Good, and enjoying them. He looked starkly black and white, because there was no room left in him for shades of grey. He gave the impression that wherever he was, that was where he was supposed to be. He appeared surprisingly young, barely into his twenties, though if he’d been Walker in the Sixties, he would have to be in his eighties now.

Power burned in him. I didn’t need my mask to see it.

“What did they do to you, Hadleigh?” said Molly. “Down in the Deep School, in the Dark Acadamie?”

“They opened my eyes,” said Hadleigh Oblivion.

“What are you doing here?” I said bluntly. “What do you want?”

He ignored me, turning the full force of his dark eyes on the Doormouse, who shuddered suddenly.

“Hello, Mouse. Been a while, hasn’t it? Made any more Doors you shouldn’t have?”

The Doormouse looked startled. “How did you know about that?”

“I know everything,” said Hadleigh. “It’s in my job description.”

“Everything?” I said, not even trying to hide my scepticism.

“Well,” Hadleigh said easily, “everything I need to know.”

“Whatever Doors the Doormouse may or may not have made,” I said, “that’s Drood business. And we will deal with it.”

“We?” murmured Hadleigh. “But you have been declared rogue, Eddie Drood. Rejected and repudiated by your family. And you have entered the Nightside illegally, in defiance of long-standing pacts and obligations.”

“No, he hasn’t!” Molly said immediately, ready as always to defend me. “The House of Doors isn’t in the Nightside, not as such. In fact, by walking through that Door into the Doormouse’s establishment, technically speaking you have left the Nightside! So you don’t have any jurisdiction here, do you?”

“That is a technicality,” said Hadleigh. “But let us agree that we are all of us outside the Nightside. It doesn’t matter. Unfortunately for all of you, I have jurisdiction wherever I go.”

“Who gave it to you?” Molly challenged him.

“It was decided where all the things that matter are decided,” said Hadleigh. “In the Courts of the Holy, on the Shimmering Planes. And in the Houses of Pain, in the depths of the Pit.”

None of us had any answer to that. I was beginning to get a very bad feeling about the situation.

“I won’t let you take me back to my family,” I said.

“Dear Eddie,” murmured Hadleigh. “Always so single-minded. That’s not why I’m here. It has been brought to my attention that you and the witch are looking to gain possession of that most unpleasant of Mysteries, the Lazarus Stone. And that is a threat to reality itself. Because it can rewrite and undo History. No man or woman was ever supposed to have such power. It always ends badly. You can’t be allowed to have it, Eddie Drood.”

“I don’t want it for myself,” I said.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Hadleigh. “No one can be allowed to possess the Lazarus Stone.”

“What about the Lady Faire?” said Molly.

“She never wanted to use it,” said Hadleigh. “So it was safe enough with her.”

“You don’t understand why I need it!” I said.

“I don’t care,” said Hadleigh. “No man or woman can be trusted with the Lazarus Stone.”

“Not even you?” said Molly.

“I would only want it to destroy it,” said Hadleigh. “Now, you must come with me, Eddie Drood.”

“So you can hand me over to the Authorities?” I said. “You think my family will stand for that? Rogue or no rogue?”

“I haven’t served the Authorities in a long time,” said Hadleigh. “You must come with me, to the Deep School.”

And something in the way he said that, and something in the way Molly reacted, sent a cold chill racing down my spine.

“Why?” I said. “Because your people have always wanted to get their hands on a Drood torc? On Drood armour?”

“No, Eddie,” said Hadleigh, still smiling that cold, calm smile. “Because we have always wanted to get our hands on a Drood. We have so much to learn-from your flesh, your armour, and your mind. Your history and your secrets. Your education is about to begin, Eddie. I can’t promise you’ll enjoy it, but it will . . . open your eyes. The Dark Acadamie will make a new man out of you.”

“Well, there’s a kind offer,” I said, fighting to keep my voice calm and conversational. “But I think I’m going to have to decline. I don’t have the time right now.”

“You don’t have a choice,” said Hadleigh.

I gave him my best cold smile. “I think you’ll find I do, Hadleigh. I always have a choice. That’s what being a Drood is all about. Now, you’re worrying my girlfriend and terrorising the Doormouse, and I won’t stand for that. I think you should leave here, now. While you still can.”

“Oh, Eddie,” said Hadleigh. “What fun we’re going to have, breaking you.”

I armoured up, my golden strange matter encasing me in a moment. The Doormouse yelped and fell back several steps, looking quickly around for something to hide behind. Molly laughed out loud, shot Hadleigh the finger, and moved quickly to one side to give me room to work. I walked slowly towards Hadleigh, and the carpeted floor shook and shuddered under the weight of my armoured tread. Hadleigh looked into my featureless golden mask and didn’t budge an inch. He raised one milk white hand, and snapped his fingers imperiously. I stopped, and braced myself, but nothing happened. Hadleigh looked startled. He snapped his fingers again, the sound of it loud and forceful in the quiet, but still nothing happened. Molly laughed mockingly, behind me.

“How very odd,” said Hadleigh. “That should have forced your armour back into your torc and put it to sleep. It worked on Droods before . . .”

I grinned broadly behind my mask. A sudden new shot of confidence rushed through me, as I realised Hadleigh wasn’t up to date. He didn’t know about the new Drood armour. Didn’t know about Ethel, and her other-dimensional strange matter. Which meant he wasn’t infallible after all. Which was good to know. I started towards him again.

Hadleigh thrust out an open hand, and it felt like I’d crashed into an invisible wall, stopping me dead in my tracks. I strained against it, with all the strength my armour could provide, but I couldn’t move an inch closer to the Detective Inspectre. I stopped trying, and looked at him. He was frowning with effort. I extruded a long, gleaming sword from my golden hand, concentrating on the edge until it was the sharpest thing I could imagine, and then swung it with both hands. The golden blade sheared clean through the invisible barrier, and there was the sound of a great glass pane shattering. I grinned again behind my faceless mask, and pulled the sword back into my hand. I raised one golden fist and showed it to Hadleigh. And then I raised thick golden spikes out of the knuckles and walked towards him.

He thrust out his hand again, scowling with concentration, and it was like being struck in the chest by a mountain. It stopped me dead again, and it was all I could do to stay upright. Hadleigh thrust his hand at me, and this time my whole armour boomed, like a struck gong. I looked down at myself, and to my utter astonishment I saw long, slow ripples move across the surface of my armour. The kind you get when you throw a pebble into a pond. The ripples rose and fell in the surface of my armour, radiating out and then back again, until finally . . . they settled down, and disappeared. The surface of my armour was still again.

I’d never felt anything like it before. My armour felt . . . shocked. But it was still there. It had survived. Bless you, Ethel.

Hadleigh was looking at me oddly. As though he wasn’t used to having his will, or his power, defied. That made me feel good. I laughed at him.

“That the best you’ve got, Detective Inspectre?”

“Hell no,” said Hadleigh Oblivion.

He started to raise his hand again, and Molly moved quickly forward to stand between him and me. I was expecting her to hit him with a handful of hellfire, or blast him with one of her storm winds . . . and I really didn’t think either of those old reliables would work this time. But instead, she raised her voice and said one commanding word.

“Tree!”

And just like that, out of nowhere, one of the great old trees from her primordial forest slammed into being, right in the middle of the Doormouse’s reception area. Its upper branches flattened against the high ceiling, while the rest spread out to fill the area. It brought the scent of wood and leaves and growing things with it, rich and overpowering, and its sheer presence dominated everything. Hadleigh just stood there and looked at it, openly bemused. For the first time he looked genuinely caught off balance. A squirrel came running down one of the long branches, to glare at Hadleigh with sharp, beady eyes. It had grey fur with a wide red-brown streak down its back and tail. It peered disapprovingly at Hadleigh, and then turned its head to wink at Molly.

“Don’t you worry, girl!” it said loudly. “You get the hell out of here. We’ll slow him down for you, see if we don’t. Hey, rube!”

Dozens of squirrels burst out of the leafy depths of the tree, scampering along its many branches. And every single one of them pelted Hadleigh with handfuls of nuts. Hundreds of them shot through the air, thrown with incredible force. Hadleigh started to say something, and then stopped as a nut hit him in the forehead with such force that even I winced. Hadleigh fell back a step in spite of himself, holding one arm up to protect his face, and a whole barrage of nuts hit him in the ribs, hard enough to knock all the wind out of him.

The nut barrage intensified, filling the air. I didn’t know where the squirrels were getting them from, but not one missed its mark. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many angry squirrels in one place before. And I certainly don’t think I’ve ever seen a man look so surprised before. Molly grabbed my armoured arm.

“You heard the squirrel! Let’s get the hell out of here!”

“I have come around to your way of thinking,” I said. “Running is good.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” said the Doormouse.

The three of us sprinted back through the door at the back of the reception area, and on into the Storeroom.

• • •

The Doormouse slammed the door shut and locked it with a barked command. He looked quickly around, at the long rows of standing Doors. I armoured down and looked at him, and then at the locked door.

“Will that stop him?” I said.

“Almost certainly not,” said the Doormouse. He looked at Molly. “You will get that Tree out of my reception area at some point, won’t you?”

“It’ll go home when its job is done,” said Molly. “It was just the quickest way of summoning the squirrels. They’ve always had a soft spot for me. Don’t worry, they’ll disappear along with the Tree. Though it might take you a while to gather up all the nuts and get the squirrel shit out of your carpet.”

The Doormouse looked at her, started to say something, and then thought better of it.

“Why are we hiding in here?” I said. “Do you have a Door that can take us somewhere he can’t follow?”

“No,” said the Doormouse. “But we should be safer, hidden among so many Doors. They impact on so many realities, just the sheer number of possibilities should help confuse Hadleigh. For a while.”

“You really think we can hide from him?” said Molly.

“I don’t know!” the Doormouse wailed plaintively. “This is the Detective Inspectre we’re talking about! Oh shit . . . Listen. He’s coming.”

“Take us farther in,” said Molly. “Deeper among the Doors.”

“There must be something here we can use,” I said.

“Against him? Against Hadleigh Oblivion?” said the Doormouse.

“Stop hyperventilating right now, or I will make you breathe into a paper bag,” I said sternly. “He thought he could take me, and he couldn’t. So he’s not unbeatable.”

“Have you had an idea?” said the Doormouse, looking at me hopefully.

“Not yet,” I admitted. “But I am working on it.”

“Come on,” Molly said to the Doormouse. “Eddie’s a Drood, I’m the wild witch, and you’re a Master of Doors. Between us, we should be able to come up with something.”

The Doormouse nodded quickly and scurried off between the rows of Doors. He stopped before one, chosen apparently at random, and pulled it open. He gestured frantically to Molly, and she hurried through. I went after her. The Doormouse followed close behind, all but shoving me, and once we were all through he slammed the Door shut behind us.

• • •

Rows and rows of Doors stretched off into the distance, for as far as I could make out and quite a bit farther, but in front of us was just a blank wall, of so pure a white it was essentially colourless. The Doormouse worked frantically on a combination lock set into the Door, and then sighed heavily and stepped back.

“There! I’ve just scrambled the spatial coordinates. No way he can follow us through that Door! We’re right at the extreme end of the Storeroom. Should take him a while to catch up with us. We’re as far away from Hadleigh as we can get and still be inside the House of Doors.”

I looked at Molly. “Hadleigh Oblivion is pretty damned powerful, and maybe just a bit scary, but I still don’t like running from an enemy.”

“I do!” said Molly. “When it’s the Detective Inspectre his own bad self in person, I am fully in favour of sprinting for the nearest horizon, and going to ground in a whole different reality! If you’d heard some of the stories I’ve heard, your heart would be jumping right out of your chest too.”

“Really?” I said.

“Yes! Really!”

“Oh, come on,” I said. “We’ve faced down the Most Evil Man in the World! What makes Hadleigh so different?”

“You haven’t been paying attention, have you, Eddie?” Molly stopped herself short, closing her eyes briefly as she fought for control. “Damn, I’m hyperventilating now. And that is not like me.”

“No, it isn’t,” I said. “So if you’re that worried, I’m that worried.”

“You should be,” said Hadleigh Oblivion.

We all spun round, to find the man standing politely just a few feet away. He hadn’t come through the Door the Doormouse had blocked, and though I looked all around me, I couldn’t see any other Door standing open. Hadleigh didn’t seem to have been running. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

“You’re getting on my tits,” I said to Hadleigh.

He smiled. “I get that a lot.”

“Shut up and run!” howled the Doormouse. He shot off between the hovering Doors, with Molly and me right on his furry heels. The Doormouse yanked open every Door he passed, revealing shifting views of a dozen different destinations, some of them quite definitely out of this world. I could hear Hadleigh behind us. I risked a glance back over my shoulder. He was just trotting along, not hurrying, not pushing himself, but still keeping up with us effortlessly. He was smiling, like he was just out for a pleasant afternoon run.

The Doormouse looked back too, and saw that Hadleigh was ignoring all the opened Doors. The Doormouse barked a command at one Door, in a language I didn’t even recognise, and the Door swung open just as Hadleigh drew abreast of it. A blast of superheated flame shot out of the opening, as though the Door had opened onto the surface of the Sun. Hadleigh ran right through the terrible flames without even slowing. And came out the other side entirely unaffected. The Door slammed shut.

The Doormouse yelled another command at another Door, and a great jet of water shot out, under intense pressure. As though this Door had opened somewhere deep under the Sea. And again, Hadleigh just ran on through the solid jet of water like it was a pleasant summer shower, and when he came out the other side he wasn’t even damp.

The Doormouse yelled at another Door. It burst open, and a giant mutant killer bee flew out. Just the one, but so damned big it had to force its way through the opening. Twelve feet long from proboscis to stinger, and almost half as wide, with great flapping wings, a vast black and yellow body, and arched, spiky legs. And a buzz so deep it sounded like a roll of thunder. With its huge faceted eyes, it saw Hadleigh approaching, and its stinger pulsed in anticipation. Drops of poison fell from the stinger, to hiss and steam on the floor like acid. Hadleigh strolled right up to the bee without even pausing and punched it so hard in its oversized face that his fist slammed right through the skull and ended up arm-deep in the bee’s head. Its buzz shot up into a pained squeal, and its wings flapped hard as it tried to pull itself away. Hadleigh yanked out his hand, in a flurry of steaming ichor, placed his other hand flat on the bee’s distorted face, and pushed the creature firmly back through the Door. He then slammed the Door shut, and came after us again.

The Doormouse made a high whining noise, of almost spiritual distress, and tried again. Another command opened another Door, and a freakishly long, thick, and warty tentacle shot out and wrapped itself around Hadleigh. The tightening coils stopped him in his tracks, but then shuddered suddenly. The tentacle withered and shrivelled away from the Detective Inspectre, falling to the floor in twitching coils. Hadleigh stepped easily out of them and carried on. The tentacle whipped back through the Door, and it slammed shut.

I hadn’t realised how long I’d been running while looking back over my shoulder, until Molly stopped right in front of me and I crashed into her. The impact threw her headlong on the floor, hard enough to drive all the breath out of her. I had to pick her up and stand her on her feet again. Up ahead was another blank wall. Long rows of Doors still stretched away in every direction, but there was nowhere left to run.

I looked behind me again. Hadleigh had slowed to a walk. He could see he had us cornered. I looked at the Doormouse, who was peering frantically this way and that, unable to make up his mind. He saw Hadleigh coming, pointed a stubby furred finger at the Door nearest Hadleigh, and shouted a single command.

“Eat!”

The Door flew open, and something behind it bellowed hungrily. Hadleigh paused, and looked into the opening. The bellow shut off abruptly, and the Door closed itself, almost apologetically. The Doormouse whimpered, and yelled a series of high-pitched commands. All the Doors between Hadleigh and the three of us opened at once. He walked steadily forward, and every single Door closed itself as he approached, ignoring the Doormouse’s increasingly hysterical commands.

A Door appeared suddenly in the floor right in front of Hadleigh, dropping open like a trap-door. Hadleigh walked across the open space as though it wasn’t there, not even glancing down. Two Doors came flying forward out of nowhere at fantastic speed, on either side of Hadleigh, sweeping in like two great wooden flyswatters. Only to slam to a halt at the very last moment, as though they’d run into an invisible wall. I knew the feeling. Hadleigh looked at each Door in turn, and they vanished.

“You’ll pay for that, Hadleigh Oblivion!” screamed the Doormouse. “Full price!”

Molly stepped forward, rolled up her sleeves, and raised both arms in the stance of summoning. The Doormouse put a gentle paw on her shoulder.

“Don’t,” he said, making a great effort to take command of himself again. “You haven’t got anything that could affect him. And the backlash . . . would be unpleasant. Nothing can stop him.”

“Why?” I said, honestly baffled. “He’s just one man! What makes him so special?”

The Doormouse leaned in close to me, fixing me with a terrible frightened gaze.

“They say he’s realer than us.”

While I was still trying to get my head around that, the Doormouse turned away and fiddled with the combination on the front of a nearby Door.

“There,” he said quickly. “This will deliver you onto the Trans-Siberian Express. Somewhere along the Siberian route. Stick with the train until you feel the presence of the natural gateway. Then get off the train. You’ll have to jump; it doesn’t stop anywhere there. Don’t worry-you’ll know the gateway when you get close enough. Whether you want to or not. Now go! Best of luck, send me a postcard, don’t look back.”

“No,” I said.

“No?” said Molly, stopping just short of the Door. “Really?”

“Really,” I said. “I’m not leaving you to face Hadleigh on your own, Mouse. I don’t leave friends in the lurch. Not even if the enemy is the Detective bloody Inspectre. Just can’t do it.”

“You’re crazy,” said Molly. “But you’re right. Running is one thing; running out on a friend is quite another. Don’t know what I was thinking.”

“It’s Hadleigh Oblivion,” said the Doormouse, as though that was all the explanation anyone needed. And maybe he was right.

I turned to face Hadleigh, armoured up, and crossed my golden arms over my armoured chest, blocking his way. Molly moved quickly in beside me, glaring at the Detective Inspectre unswervingly, stray magics spitting and sparking around her fists. The Doormouse hid behind us. Hadleigh strolled forward, crossing the remaining space like we were just good friends meeting in the park. He was still smiling easily, not in the least affected by anything he’d been through. He finally came to a halt, an acceptably respectful distance short of me. He looked my armour over like he was thinking of renting it, and then ignored me to smile coldly at Molly.

“Step away from the Drood, witch,” he said. “You can’t protect him. If you even try . . . I’ll have you banned from the Nightside. I might even have you banned from your own private forest. Don’t think I couldn’t.”

“Nuts,” said Molly, and his smile flickered for a moment.

I took a step forward, and his dark eyes turned immediately to me. I unfolded my arms and let him see my spiked golden fists.

“You really shouldn’t have done that,” I said. “No one threatens my Molly and gets away with it.”

Hadleigh started to say something, and I lunged forward and took hold of his throat with one golden hand. He grabbed at my wrist with both hands, and then his eyes widened as he found he couldn’t break my grip and he couldn’t get his breath. His lips moved soundlessly, and strange energies flared all around my armour, but none of them could touch me. He summoned forces and powers to batter and assault me, until reality itself seemed to ripple around me, but none of them could reach me. He fought me with everything he had, and it wasn’t enough.

I shook him hard, to get his attention.

“I don’t care who or what you think you are, Hadleigh,” I said. “You never met a Drood like me.”

I threw him backwards, and he fell on his arse. He sat there on the floor, looking at me with something very like shock.

“What . . . ?” he said. “I don’t . . .”

“Shut up and listen,” I said. “I am a Drood in my armour, and we exist to stop people like you from throwing their weight around. Let me remind you, Hadleigh: to threaten one Drood is to threaten the whole family. And you really don’t want to go there.”

“You’re rogue,” said Hadleigh. He scrambled back onto his feet again, and I let him. He stared into my faceless mask. “Your family has disowned you.”

“I was declared rogue before,” I said calmly. “And I came back to rule my whole damned family. It doesn’t matter what they think I’ve done; they’ll learn better. It doesn’t matter how angry they are; they’ll get over it when they learn the truth. My family and I may disagree from time to time, but in the face of a mutual enemy it’s always going to be one Drood for all, and all for one. Are you really ready to go to war with all the Droods, Detective Inspectre?”

He glared at me, and considered the question for a long moment. He actually thought about it, before slowly shaking his head.

“You’re right, Eddie Drood. You’re not worth fighting a war over. I’ll wait till you’ve done all the hard work and claimed the Lazarus Stone, and then I’ll take it away from you.”

He bowed stiffly, to me and Molly and the Doormouse, and then he turned and walked away, disappearing between the long lines of Doors.

“Damn,” said Molly. “Damn! Eddie, you just faced down the Detective Inspectre! I am seriously impressed!”

I armoured down so I could smile at her. “When in doubt, go for brute strength and ignorance, and baffle them with bullshit. And a little applied psychology.”

“Did you know your armour could protect you from the Detective Inspectre?” said the Doormouse.

“Of course,” I lied.

He shook his furry head slowly.

“Will your family really go up against him for you?”

I shrugged. “Probably. Once I’ve got them back on my side. But for that I need the Winter Palace, the Lady Faire, and the Lazarus Stone. In that order.”

“Then the sooner you’re out of my establishment, the better,” said the Doormouse. “You are bad for business, Eddie Drood. My nerves may never recover. Now, off you go. The Trans-Siberian Express is waiting for you. No charge for the service, best of luck, why aren’t you two moving?”