The Man with the Golden Torc

CHAPTER TWELVE Down, Down, Deeper and Down

There are times in every man’s life when the woman you’ve taken up with suddenly disappears on business of her own, and you’re left to make polite conversation with her friends. Personally, I’d rather stick needles in my eyes, but it’s one of those things you just have to do. Molly Metcalf produced a one-time-only mobile phone and headed for the women’s toilet so she could reach her contact in Manifest Destiny without being glared at by everyone else in the club. I approved of her sense of caution. One-time-only phones are phones you can use only once, and then immediately discard and destroy. A call that can’t be tapped and a phone that can’t be traced. It was good to know Manifest Destiny operated in a professional way. But it did mean I was left alone with Molly’s friends, most of whom I would have tried to kill on sight only a few days before. And vice versa, quite probably. So we stood and smiled awkwardly at each other, while the only thing we had in common disappeared into the ladies’.

"So," I said finally to the ghoul, Digger Browne, as the least obviously disquieting of the bunch, "you say you’ve done work for my family, on occasion?"

He shrugged easily. "I help out, when called upon to do so. The price of existence, in these hard times. My clan’s status is not what it was in the old days, when we had an honourable place in society, cleaning up the mess left behind by man’s many battles…These days, your family only ever call us in to devour those bodies deemed too costly or too dangerous to otherwise dispose of. You know; the kind that might rise again, or regenerate, or melt down into hazardous waste. There’s not much a ghoul can’t digest. Though admittedly our toilets have to be rather more thorough than most…"

I raised a hand. "I think we’re rapidly approaching the point of too much information. How do you feel about the Droods? Or this new resistance group, Manifest Destiny?"

Digger shrugged again. "The names change, faces come and go, but there’s always someone in charge. I’ve yet to see any hard evidence that Manifest Destiny would be any kinder or more just than the Droods…But it doesn’t really matter to me. Whoever’s running things, there will always be work for me and my kind."

I turned, just a little reluctantly, to Mr. Stab. He was drinking a Perrier water with his little finger crooked, every inch the calm and cultured gentleman. I once helped fish a victim of his out of the Thames, down by Wapping. She’d been gutted, cut open from crotch to throat and all her internal organs removed. He’d done other things to her too, before he finally killed her. The only reason I wasn’t tearing him to pieces right now was because it might upset Molly, and I needed her on my side. For now.

"I hear you got shot with an arrow," he said calmly. "Right through your celebrated armour."

"News does travel fast, doesn’t it?" I said, careful neither to confirm nor deny. "But I doubt you’ve got anything that could touch me."

"You might be surprised," said Mr. Stab. "But you really should try to relax, Edwin. You’re in no danger from me, as long as you’re with Molly. Dear girl. She’s an old friend, and I’d hate to upset her."

"You said you’d done some work for my family," I said. "What did you do for the Droods?"

"Sometimes people can’t just be killed," Mr. Stab said smoothly.

"Sometimes it’s necessary for them to disappear completely. No trace of what was done to them, or why. No body, no clues, just a gap in the world where someone important used to be. Someone who thought no one could touch them. I’ve always been able to make people disappear. The world only gets to see a small fraction of my many victims. The ones I want seen, to keep my myth alive…to maintain my reputation. Vanity, vanity, all is vanity; but my legend is all I have left, and I will not have it tarnished or diminished by my many inferior imitators."

"How did you get to meet Molly?" I said.

"She tried very hard to kill me," said Mr. Stab, smiling fondly at the memory. "She was part of a coven in those days, still learning her trade, when I found it necessary to kill one of her witchy friends. After we’d exhausted ourselves trying to kill each other, we fell to talking and discovered we had more in common than we thought. Certain people we detested, and with good reason. People of power and influence that we couldn’t hope to reach on our own, but together…Ah, those were happy times, teaching her the ways of slaughter."

"But did she ever forgive you for killing her friend?" I said.

"No; but she’s a practical soul. She knows that sometimes you have to go along, to get along. I like to think we’re friends now. You can’t do the things we did and not grow…close. And in all London, she is perhaps the only woman I have no desire to kill. I still remember her friend, whose death brought us together. Her name was Dorothy. A dainty little thing, and she screamed so prettily under my blade…Don’t, Edwin. Don’t even think about calling up your armour. You can’t kill me. No one can. That’s part of what I bought, with what I did in Whitechapel, all those years ago."

"I’ll find a way," I said. "If I have to."

Girl Flower moved quickly in to put a gentle hand on my sleeve.

"Boys, boys…lighten up, darlings. We’re all friends here, and we are very definitely not at home to Mr. Grumpy." She rubbed her shoulder up against Mr. Stab, like an affectionate cat, and he nodded briefly to her before giving all his attention to his Perrier water. Girl Flower batted her overlong eyelashes at me and pouted with her dark lush mouth.

"Why do men always have to talk about such awful things? Life contains much that is good, and much that is bad, and there’s nothing we can do that will change it. So why not just choose to celebrate all the wonderful things in life? Like me! I am the lovely Girl Flower, created just so that men might have the pleasure of adoring me! If they know what’s good for them…Honestly, darlings, if everyone just had sex a lot more often, the world would be a far happier place." She beamed at me. "Would you like to undo the buttons on my blouse and play with my boobies, Edwin?"

"You know you shouldn’t drink, Flower," Subway Sue said kindly. "It goes straight to your petals." She considered me thoughtfully. "I have to say, Edwin, you’re a more interesting sort than most of the specimens Molly drags in here. For such an intelligent woman, she has remarkably bad taste in men. I can’t help thinking the two are probably connected. You should choose men with your heart, not your head. Not that I’ve had much luck with either approach. Men! If there was an alternative that didn’t involve ending up living alone with too many cats, I’d sign up tomorrow."

There didn’t seem any obvious answer to that, so I changed the subject. "Would I be right in thinking you’ve also done work for my family?"

"Certainly not!" Subway Sue drew herself up proudly, bristling at the very thought. "I have my principles, you know."

Perhaps fortunately, Molly chose that moment to come back and rejoin us, and I turned to her with a certain amount of relief. I’ve never been very good at talking to a woman’s friends. "Did you get through? Will they see me?"

Molly nodded curtly. "I had a lot of trouble getting through to anyone that mattered, but once I made it clear I could deliver the new rogue Drood, they couldn’t wait for me to bring you in. We can go right now, if you want. The head man himself is waiting to greet you with open arms. They’ll offer you anything you want in exchange for the inside secrets of your family and a chance to examine your armour in their laboratories."

"I don’t know that I’m ready to commit myself to their cause just yet," I said carefully.

Molly snorted loudly. "I should think not, in your position. This is just a meet and greet, a chance for you and the head man to feel each other out, see if you can work together. But do yourself a favour, Drood; drive a hard bargain. Take them for everything they’ve got. Because once you’ve given up your secrets, you can’t sell them again."

"There’s more to me than just secrets," I said.

"Good bargaining position," said Molly.

"If you’re going to meet the actual leader of Manifest Destiny, I think I might come along too," Mr. Stab said suddenly. "Although I have performed some small services for them in the past, in return for very generous recompense, I have to say I’m a little irritated that they have never tried to recruit me. I would like to ask them why."

"If he’s going, I’m going too," said Girl Flower, clapping her soft little hands together delightedly. "I never get to go anywhere."

I started to object, but Molly cut me off quickly. "Oh, let them, or they’ll both sulk. Besides, it’s always easier to negotiate when you’ve got some serious backup."

She had a point. I looked inquiringly at Digger Browne, but he shook his head. "I’m afraid I have a previous engagement. My family and I are having an old friend for dinner."

"And you couldn’t get me one inch closer to Manifest Destiny if you used a whip and a chair," Subway Sue said very firmly. "I don’t trust any of these big organisations. There’s never any room in them for the private entrepreneur. And anyway, I’ve heard things about Manifest Destiny…Yes, yes, I know, Molly; you won’t hear a word said against them. But I’ve been around a lot longer than you, and there are those who’ll talk to me who won’t talk to you. I can’t help feeling there’s a lot more to Manifest Destiny than just bringing down the Droods." She looked at me with cold, piercing eyes. "Ask them all the awkward questions, Drood. Make them tell you everything, before you give them your trust."

She turned her back on us and stalked out of the Wulfshead. Digger Browne shook hands politely with all of us and followed her out. And Molly Metcalf, Girl Flower, Mr. Stab, and I went off to see Manifest Destiny. One witch of the wild woods, one elemental of rose petals and owls’ claws, one legendary serial killer, and one very confused ex-agent for the good.

Some days you just shouldn’t get up in the morning.

We left the Wulfshead Club by a back door I didn’t recognise and ended up in a dimly lit alley just off Denmark Street, deep in the dark heart of Soho. It was late evening now, with all the twilight people spilling out onto the streets, rubbing the day’s sleep from their eyes. Girding their weary loins to prey on the sheep, one more time. None of them paid us any attention. We very obviously weren’t sheep. Molly strode out into the middle of the empty road and looked around her, scowling.

"What are you looking for?" I said patiently. "You won’t find a taxi in this area, not at this time of night."

She looked back at me and sighed heavily. "All right; lecture mode. Pay attention, Drood, and you might just learn something useful. Once upon a time, way back during the most paranoid days of the Cold War, the establishment of that time arranged for the construction of a huge network of bunkers and tunnels deep under the streets of London. A last desperate bolthole to which the important personages of that time could retreat in the event of a nuclear strike. Presumably so they could continue to rule the radioactive ruins above. I love a government that thinks ahead, don’t you? Anyway, this very large bolthole was fully equipped and supplied, and very safe and secure. But the Cold War ended, officially, and the network of bunkers and tunnels was declared redundant. Abandoned and left to rot, guarded by just a few old Cold Warriors who were also pretty much redundant.

"Manifest Destiny occupies the network now, with, it is said, the winking acknowledgment of the current powers that be. Unfortunately, and this is the part you’re really going to hate, Edwin, the only way to access this network is via the city sewers. According to my contact, there’s a manhole somewhere around here that will let us into the system, so stop just standing around like a spare dick at a wedding and help me find it."

As it turned out, the manhole was right behind her. None of us said anything. She scowled down at the heavy steel cover and snapped her fingers at it, and the cover shot up into the air as though someone had goosed it. The cover hovered above us in midair, while we all gathered around the hole and peered dubiously down into it. Molly generated a witchfire, a shimmering silver glow around her left hand, but even that magical light could only show us a series of metal rungs leading down into the darkness. The smell coming out was pretty ripe, though. We all looked at each other, and finally Molly sighed heavily and led the way down into the sewers.

Once we were all inside, the manhole cover dropped back into place, sealing us in.

Underground, the smell hit me like a fist in the face. Shocked tears ran down my cheeks as I struggled to breathe only through my mouth. It didn’t help. The ladder deposited us in a long dark tunnel with curving walls and an uncomfortably low ceiling. Molly boosted her witchlight, pushing back the dark to give us a better view. The brick walls were slick with damp and slime and filth, and dark churning waters surged through a deep central channel, thick with refuse and unpleasantly familiar things floating in it. The walkway was only wide enough to accommodate two of us at a time, and the old stone beneath our feet was encrusted with foul matter. It was enough to make you vow never to use a toilet ever again. Girl Flower and Mr. Stab appeared entirely unmoved, but Molly was almost gagging from the stench. Two rats floated past us, crouched together on a particularly large…object. That was enough. I started to armour up, to protect myself from plague, but Molly whirled angrily on me.

"Don’t!" she said, in a harsh whisper. "We don’t want to attract attention."

"Attention from whom?" I said, not unreasonably. "Who else would be dumb enough to come down into the sewers at this time of night?"

"She has a point," said Girl Flower, glancing nervously about her.

"You do hear stories…Of things that have chosen to live down here, away from the light and the scrutiny of man. Awful, unpleasant things, darling. Not at all the sort of people you want to meet."

"Right," said Molly. "I’ve talked to people who work down here, and they all have stories to share that the civilised world doesn’t want to listen to. Not everything that gets flushed is gone forever. There are things down here that have learned to thrive in conditions like this, and they’re always hungry. Strange fruit grown from rotten branches, monsters grown out of discarded experiments, and some blighted shapes that might have been human, long and long ago. I’ll generate a low-level field to protect us from…contamination, but any stronger magic might call them to us."

"Maybe you should lose the witchlight, then," said Mr. Stab. "I’m almost sure I have a light about me somewhere…"

"No!" Molly said quickly. "No flames or anything that might generate a spark. Methane gas has a tendency to build up in pockets, and you can’t detect it through the general nasty ambience. Until it’s far too late."

"In the old days," Mr. Stab said conversationally, "the workers used to bring down canaries in cages. And when the canaries started to smoulder, they knew they were in trouble."

There was a pause, and then Molly said, "You’re really not helping, you know."

"Poor little birdies," said Girl Flower.

Molly conjured up her protective field, incorporating a simple directional spell that manifested as a glowing arrow floating on the air before us. We started off after it, slipping and sliding on the treacherous surface of the walkway. Our shadows leapt around us in the witchlight, huge and menacing. Sudden noises echoed away through the long dark tunnels, lingering on long after they should have died away. I kept a watchful eye on every shadowed tunnel we passed, and sometimes I thought I saw twisted, distorted shapes lurching away in the uncertain gloom ahead; but nothing ever ventured out into the witchlight to confront us.

The smell wasn’t getting any easier to take.

There were rats everywhere, scuttling and scurrying and pausing now and then to bare their yellow teeth at us. Many were bigger by far than any rat had a right to be, and they didn’t seem nearly scared enough of us to suit me. I’ve got a bit of a thing about rats. Most just watched us pass from their holes and lairs, dark beady eyes gleaming malevolently. Molly amused herself by pointing her finger at those who got too close, whereupon they immediately exploded wetly in all directions at once. Girl Flower squeaked loudly every time this happened and finally stopped to pick up most of a dead rat and hold it close to her bosom.

"Poor little ratty."

"Oh, ick," said Molly.

"I am flowers, darling," Girl Flower said stubbornly. "And all dead things are compost to my pretty petals."

She slipped the rat carcass inside the front of her dress, and it immediately disappeared. Molly looked at me. "Think about that, the next time she invites you to unbutton her blouse."

I looked determinedly in another direction. "If she starts coughing up owl pellets, she’s going back."

We moved on, into the darkness. Tunnel led to tunnel, twisting and turning deep under London’s streets. Others had been here before us, leaving their marks upon the brick walls. Some were hopeful; some were despairing messages to loved ones they never hoped to see again. There were arrows, pointing in varying directions, and even the occasional crude map scratched into the brick. Masonic symbols, odd phrases in old forgotten languages…I half expected to find Arne Saknussemm’s initials. Or Cave Carson’s. We pressed on, following Molly’s glowing arrow. Her protective field kept the filth at bay, even when we occasionally had to wade through the revolting waters to get to another tunnel. Pity it couldn’t do anything about the smell.

We stopped abruptly as Mr. Stab broke away from us to study a particular section of brick wall close up. I moved in beside him for a look, but it seemed no different from any other wall we’d passed. The curving surface ran with damp, as though sweating in the uncomfortable heat, and the original colour of the brick was lost under layers of accumulated filth and clumps of bulging white fungus. Mr. Stab ran his fingers caressingly over the surface, ignoring the thick residue that appeared on his expensively tailored gloves. My first thought was that it seemed there were definite limits to Molly’s protective field, and not to touch anything with my hands, but I was quickly distracted by the look on Mr. Stab’s face. He was smiling, and it wasn’t a very nice smile.

"I remember this place," he said, and something in his soft voice raised all the hackles on the back of my neck. "It’s been a long time since I was down here. I think they were still building this section then…I used to come here all the time, to get away from the bustle and noise of Humanity…Yes, I remember this place."

He pressed a particular brick, and it sank inwards with a loud click. Mr. Stab put all his weight against the wall, and a large section swung slowly inwards on concealed hinges. Only darkness lay beyond, and silence. Mr. Stab gestured sharply for Molly to come forward, and she thrust her illuminated hand into the new opening. We all crowded around, to see what was to be seen, but Mr. Stab couldn’t wait. He took Molly by the shoulder and urged her inside. They moved forward into the gloom, and Girl Flower and I followed close behind.

There was a room behind the brick wall, a very secret room. I stood still, just inside the entrance, held there by what I saw. I felt appalled, and sickened, and terribly angry. My first thought was that it looked like a ghastly doll’s house. The room had been fitted out as an old Victorian parlour. Heavy furniture, thick carpeting, stiff-backed chairs on either side of a long dining table, complete with heavy tablecloth, silver settings, and candlesticks. Even framed portraits on the walls.

Dead women sat in the chairs on either side of the long table, dressed in the fashions of widely varying times, all of the bodies in varying stages of decay. The enclosed setting had preserved them to some degree, but that only added to the horror. The dead women stared across the table at each other. Some had eyes; some did not. Some had faces; some did not. They all carried their death wounds openly, and there were so many of them…Some had the front of their dresses cut open, revealing bodies that had been hollowed out. A few held teacups in their clawed hands, as though they were all attending some hideous tea party.

"Hi, honey," said Mr. Stab. "I’m home."

Molly looked back at me. "I never knew about this, Eddie, I swear."

I stepped forward to stand between her and Mr. Stab. "This is sick! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now!"

"How many have you killed down the years, young Drood?" said Mr. Stab, not even looking at me. He moved slowly down the line of corpses, smiling slightly, trailing his fingers above the bowed heads, not quite touching them. "Could a room this size even contain all those you’ve cut down? I know; you were only obeying orders. You did what you did out of cold duty; at least I’m honest enough to enjoy what I do." He leaned over one gray shoulder to peer into a desiccated face. "I keep stashes of my victims all over London. In my secret hidden places, where no one will ever find them. I like to visit them, and…play with them. I enjoy the ambience, and the smell…Like coming home."

I looked at Molly. Her face was taut and strained, but the illuminated hand she held aloft was still steady. "What was that you said?" I murmured. "About monsters not being monsters all the time?"

"I never knew," she said. "Never even suspected…"

"You know nothing about me," said Mr. Stab.

He stood at the far end of the table, tall and proud like a typical Victorian patriarch, his chin held high and his eyes alight with a terrible regard. "You know nothing about what drives me to do the things I do. Once women fascinated me, and then they horrified me. Teasers, liars, betrayers. I took a proud vengeance upon them, hurting them as I had been hurt, and gained much in return…But now the only intimacy I can ever know is with my victims. That moment when their eyes meet mine, that little sigh as the blade penetrates…is all I have, now. When I was just beginning, when everyone called me Jack, I had no way of knowing that the immortality I bought would be as an immortal killing machine. Driven to kill and kill, and never know peace or rest. I go on and on, in a world that makes less and less sense to me, and all that is left to me is to take what pleasure I can, from my endless work…"

"You can’t kill him, Eddie," Molly said quietly. "You can’t. Not even your armour could undo what he did to himself."

"What about your magic?" I said.

"Don’t ask me that, Eddie. He has been my friend. He has done…good things, because I asked him to."

"Enough to make up for this? And all the other stashes we don’t know about?"

"Don’t ask me that. Not here."

Girl Flower floated prettily around the room, bending over withered shoulders to stare into corrupt faces, humming a happy song to herself.

"You shouldn’t let this get to you, darlings. All living things have their roots in dead things. It’s the way of the world." She slipped a hand inside her dress and frowned prettily for a moment, and when she brought her hand out again it was piled high with seeds. She walked up and down both sides of the long table, dropping a few seeds into the gaping mouths and empty eye sockets of every corpse. "Let new life bloom," she said. "It’s nature’s way."

Mr. Stab looked at her, and Girl Flower smiled happily back at him, entirely unafraid. And the man who was once called Jack by a whole horrified city nodded slowly.

"Perhaps I’ll come back, in some future time," he said. "To see what strange new life has blossomed here."

I didn’t kill him. As an agent in the field, you learn that sometimes you have to settle for little victories.

Mr. Stab sealed up his private place, and we moved on through the sewers until finally we came at last to Manifest Destiny’s hidden domain, their underground kingdom. I’d come a long way in search of a credible resistance to my family’s newly exposed tyranny, and they had better not disappoint me. I needed them to be something I could depend on in this treacherously changing world. I needed them to be a weapon I could throw at the family who’d betrayed me. The entrance point was a huge circular portal of solid steel set flush with the old brick wall. Four very large and muscular men stood before the portal, wearing stark black uniforms with discreet silver piping and covering us with heavy automatic weapons as we approached.

"Cold iron," said Molly, indicating the portal. "Keeps magic out. They’re very security conscious."

Mr. Stab sniffed loudly. "It would take more than that to keep me out, if I wanted in."

"Oh, get over your bad self," said Girl Flower, and Mr. Stab surprised us all with a brief bark of laughter.

I armoured up as we approached the armed guards. I wasn’t ready yet to trust Manifest Destiny with the secret of my Shaman Bond identity. The guards were visibly impressed at the sight of my armour, gleaming golden in the gloom, and they quickly got on their radios to check for instructions from someone higher up. Whatever they heard through their earpieces clearly impressed them even more, and then they couldn’t open the portal fast enough for me. I strode up to them as though I expected such treatment as my right, and they fell back, raising their weapons in salute. All except for one, still blocking the way but not looking especially happy about it.

He smiled nervously at my featureless golden mask, his eyes darting back and forth. The lack of eyes on the mask really throws people. The guard swallowed hard. "Your pardon, sir, Sir Drood, but…We have orders to admit you and the witch Molly Metcalf, but no one said anything about your…companions. Perhaps they could wait here while you—"

"No," I said. "I don’t think so. This is Girl Flower and Mr. Stab. Upset them at your peril."

"Get out of my way or I’ll fillet you," said Mr. Stab in his most cold and sepulchral voice. The watching guards retreated even farther, one of them making small squeaking noises. The guard before us looked like he’d like to make some noises of his own. I gestured for him to lead us in, and he nodded jerkily. Molly extinguished her witchfire, and the four of us strode into Manifest Destiny’s most secret headquarters as though we were thinking of buying the place. Of course Girl Flower had to spoil the moment by giggling.

A short tunnel led into a vast chamber whose walls and high ceiling were covered entirely with gleaming steel. Presumably originally added to protect against the effects of atomic blast, but useful now to keep magic at bay. No wonder my family had never suspected their existence. You couldn’t hope to scry or remote view through this much cold iron. The guard led us on through more gleaming steel corridors and chambers, and everything bristled with urgent efficiency. There were banks of computers and monitor screens, maps and clocks and operations tables, and any amount of cutting-edge communications equipment. It reminded me of the Drood War Room, on a somewhat smaller scale. And everywhere there were tall and splendid men and women in their black uniforms, sitting at workstations or crowded around tables or just striding back and forth with important messages. The men were all perfect masculine specimens, glowing with health and vitality and purpose. Perfect soldiers. The women were tall and lithe, and just as heavily armed as the men. Valkyries, warrior women. They all nodded respectfully to me as I passed. A few nodded familiarly to Molly. None of them so much as looked directly at Mr. Stab or Girl Flower. I glanced across at Molly. She didn’t seem very happy.

"Have you ever been here before?" I asked quietly.

"No. I was never important enough to be invited here. And I have to say…it isn’t what I thought it would be. I don’t like the feel of this place…"

The guide led us on and on, through endless branching corridors, escorting us deeper and deeper into this unexpected labyrinth far below the streets of London. A steel maze, with the head of Manifest Destiny at its unknown heart.

"What do you know about this man we’re going to see?" I said quietly to Molly.

"Not much," she said just as quietly. "His name is Truman. Never met him. Don’t know anyone who has. You should feel honoured, Eddie."

"Oh, I do," I said. "Really. You have no idea. How did you hook up with these people in the first place?"

"I was recruited four years ago," said Molly. "By Solomon Krieg."

"Now him I have heard of," I said. "The Golem with the Atomic Brain, right? A Cold War attempt at combining magic and science, to produce a Cold War supersoldier. Deadly in his time, and a legend in those secret wars the public never get to hear about; but last I heard, he’d been retired from the field."

"He was," Molly said. "Over ten years ago. His old masters didn’t need him anymore, but he couldn’t be allowed to run loose, so they sent him down here to guard the bunkers. Word is, they locked him in here and then changed all the combinations, just in case. Manifest Destiny found him when they moved in, still standing guard, and Truman took him in and gave him a new purpose. The Golem with the Atomic Brain has a new cause and a new faith, and he’d die for Truman. You can’t buy loyalty like that.

"So now Solomon Krieg walks abroad in the world’s hidden places, its secret haunts and clubs, recruiting people like me as allies to his new cause. He found me at the Wulfshead. He can be…very persuasive. And there he is, right ahead, guarding his master’s lair."

Our soldier guide handed us over into Solomon Krieg’s care with visible relief and not a little haste, barely managing a sketchy salute before hurrying back to his post at the entrance portal. I studied Krieg openly. A legend in his own right, the most terrible secret weapon the British Secret Service ever produced. The English Assassin, the British Bogeyman: Solomon Krieg had many such names down the years. But there was nothing romantic about the Golem with the Atomic Brain. In his own way, he was almost as disturbing as Mr. Stab. A killer with no conscience, no compassion, and, many said, no soul. The greatest secret agent of all, because he would do absolutely anything and never once question his orders. He was a terror weapon from the coldest part of the Cold War, designed to scare the shit out of whomever he was up against.

It was a very cold Cold War. Everyone did terrible things, then.

Krieg was a little over six feet tall, with jet-black hair and pale colourless skin that contrasted eerily with his black uniform. He was muscular but not to any unusual extent. That wasn’t where his strength came from. Krieg was carved from clay, made flesh with ancient magics, and then supercharged with implanted mechanisms. The best technology of his day. Right across his forehead ran a long deep scar, usually hidden by makeup in the old photos I’d seen. It looked like they’d just sawed the top of his head off, popped in their amazing atomic brain, and then jammed the top back on again. It wasn’t a subtle age, back then.

Just standing before us, calm and collected, his pale face empty of all emotion, Krieg looked dangerous. Like a coiled snake or a crouching tiger, ready to strike out and kill at any moment, without warning. I only had to look at him, and I believed every terrible story I’d heard about him. When he finally did speak, his voice was a harsh whisper, uninflected and uncaring.

"Edwin Drood," he said, and just hearing my name in such a cold voice was like listening to my own death warrant. "It is right that you should come to us. Now that you’re rogue. You understand what it is, to be betrayed by those you gave your life to. You must meet Mr. Truman. He is a man of vision and destiny. You can trust him."

"Well," I said. "That’s good to know. Can my companions come too?"

Solomon Krieg looked them over with his cold, unblinking gaze. "If they behave themselves. You understand: if they step out of line, I may have to spank them."

"Go right ahead," I said. "I’ll hold your coat."

"Come on, Solomon," said Molly. "You must remember me. You were the one who brought me into Manifest Destiny, four years ago. At the Wulfshead. Remember?"

"No," said Solomon Krieg.

He led us down yet another steel corridor, around a corner, and into a simple, private office. And there behind a simple desk sat the head of Manifest Destiny. Leader of the resistance against the old and mighty power of the Droods. He sat in his swivel chair with his back to us, watching as a dozen monitor screens blazed information at him. From the way he moved his head slowly back and forth, it seemed he was taking it all in, though it was just a babble of mixed-up noise to me. He made us wait a while, just to remind us who was in charge here, and then he waved one hand at the screens, and they all shut down at once. He turned slowly around to face us, while Solomon Krieg took up a place at his side. Truman had a broad, kindly face, but that wasn’t what I was looking at. I’d seen some strange sights in my time, but what Truman had done to himself was truly extraordinary.

Long steel rods thrust out of his shaven head at regular intervals, radiating out for over a foot in length, connected by a wide steel hoop, like a great metal halo. The way the skin puckered around the base of the rods suggested they’d been there for some time. The combined weight must have been appalling, but Truman showed no sign of any strain. My first thought was that he’d been in an accident, and this was some kind of head brace, but the pride in his eyes and in his bearing suggested differently.

Look at what I have done to myself, his face said. Isn’t it magnificent?

"Yes," he said, in a deep authoritative voice. "It’s all my own work. I drilled the holes in my skull myself, inserted the steel rods one at a time, forcing them a specific distance into my brain, following my own very careful calculations. And then all I had to do was connect them up with a reinforcing ring, and I became the first man to realise the true potential of the human brain. Oh, yes, my friends, this crown of thorns serves a definite purpose."

"Really?" I said. "I’m so glad to hear that."

"It all arose out of my interest in acupuncture and trepanation," he said, carrying on with his prepared speech as though he hadn’t even heard me, and perhaps he hadn’t. "The rods in my brain activate the energy centres, expand my thoughts, and increase the power of my mind beyond all normal limitations. My brain is now the equal of any computer, able to store incredible amounts of information, make decisions at undreamt-of speed, and multitask like you wouldn’t believe. I hold the entire organisation of Manifest Destiny in my head, down to the smallest detail. Nothing escapes me.

"I can see all the scientific and magical forces at work in the world around me, all the things that are hidden to most mortals. I can see all the invisible and intangible threats to the works of man. And at the same time, I am invisible and invulnerable to all those forces who would bring me down, if they could. No magic or science can touch me now."

I tried to interrupt, but he was on a roll. He must have said this many times before, to new recruits, but I could tell he never got tired of it.

"I created Manifest Destiny through the force of my own will, bringing people to me and convincing them of the need for an organisation like this. People of like mind and true hearts, dedicated body and soul to the good and necessary work before us. Nothing less than freeing humanity from the ancient yoke of the Droods. Nothing less than setting mankind free, at last. Every day my agents walk abroad in the world, gathering new allies, sabotaging the Drood infrastructure, and clawing the world back from them, inch by inch. We’re not strong enough to go head-to-head with the Droods, not yet. But soon enough, we will be. And then…we’ll see a whole new world, with mankind no longer held in check by Drood authority, free to make our own destiny at last."

He leaned forward across his desk, fixing me with his powerful gaze. He was staring right into the golden mask of Drood armour, but it didn’t seem to faze him at all. "Join us, Edwin. You know now that everything your family taught you is a lie. Believe me; it is a far greater honour to free a world than to rule it. With your help, with what you know, and with the secrets of your incredible armour…there are no limits to what we might achieve! Join us, Edwin. Be my agent. And I will give you a new cause and a new purpose. Just like Solomon here."

He smiled briefly at the artificial man standing beside him. "My faithful Solomon. He was a lost soul when I found him. Discarded by his creators, abandoned by those he’d served so faithfully and for so long. A warrior without a war. I opened his eyes to a new cause, new possibilities, and now he is a part of the greatest and most important army this world has ever known. An organisation dedicated to one end…setting mankind free."

"Tell me," I said when he finally paused for breath, "did you start getting these ideas before or after you began drilling holes in your head?"

He stared at me blankly for a moment, and Solomon Krieg stirred ominously. And then Truman laughed, a big open cheerful sound, and Solomon relaxed again. Truman shook his head slowly, still chuckling.

"I know; I do tend to go on a bit once I get started, don’t I? But people expect a big speech from the big man, so…Damn, it’s good to have someone in here who isn’t intimidated or overawed by me! Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to have a normal conversation around here? It’s hard to just chat with other people by the watercooler, when everyone’s ready to agree with every word I say, as though it was holy writ…Come and join us, Edwin, if only so I can have someone around me who isn’t afraid to tell me when I’m talking crap."

He grinned at me, and I couldn’t help grinning back. I liked him rather more now, even if I still didn’t entirely trust him. First rule of an agent: if something seems too good to be true, it probably is too good to be true. Truman turned his smile on Molly.

"How’s my little fellow traveller? Still spreading chaos among our enemies? Good, good…You’ve done well, Molly, in bringing Edwin to me. I know how badly you must have wanted to kill him. I’m not blind to the history you two have. But rest assured, having him here changes everything. The time is coming when we will take Drood Hall by force, and you have my word that you will be with us on that day and wade in Drood blood up to your ankles."

"You know what a girl wants to hear," said Molly.

Truman smiled at Mr. Stab and Girl Flower, if a little more distantly.

"Be welcome here, my friends. There is good work here for you to take up, should you choose to accept it. If not, go freely and of your own will." He looked back at me, his smile broadening again. "Tell me the truth, Edwin. Now that you’ve seen Manifest Destiny, what do you think of it?"

"You have a very impressive organisation," I said carefully. "But doesn’t it all strike you as just a bit…Aryan?"

"Hell, no," Truman said immediately. "That was the past. We’re only interested in the future. We have military discipline here because you can’t get anything done without it. And everyone is expected to achieve their full potential. But we are all dedicated to the cause first, and ourselves second."

"I’m still not clear on the philosophy behind your cause," I said.

"Freedom is a marvellous concept, but a bit nebulous in practice. Overthrowing my family is one thing; but what do you propose to replace them with? What, exactly, is Manifest Destiny for?"

Truman sat back in his chair and considered me thoughtfully. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He knew set speeches wouldn’t work with me. Tiny sparks manifested briefly among his halo of steel rods, like passing thoughts. When he finally spoke, he chose his words carefully, directing them only at me, ignoring everyone else in his office.

"Man has gotten soft," he said flatly. "Under Drood rule, he’s lost his courage and his pride. The Droods have used unfair, nonhuman advantages to keep us in our place, like sheep. They maintain a bland status quo that allows alien and magical forces and creatures to run freely in what was always supposed to be our world. Man’s world. The Droods’ control over us must be broken, by any means necessary, so that these inhuman beings can be driven out of our world and man can be free to forge his own destiny at last."

"And yet," I murmured, "some of these beings are your allies. The Loathly Ones. The Lurkers on the Threshold. Some might call these beings…evil. Certainly they have no love for humanity."

Truman spread his hands. "I’m fighting a war, Edwin, against the greatest conspiracy this world has ever known, against a powerful and implacable enemy. I have to take my allies where I can find them. We work together, in common cause, to bring the Droods down. Afterwards…things will be different."

I took a step forward, and Solomon Krieg tensed. I leaned forward over Truman’s desk so he could see his own face reflected in my golden mask.

"If you want me on your side, tell me the truth, Truman. The whole truth. And don’t hold anything back. This close, the armour will tell me if you lie, even by omission. Tell me everything, or I walk out of here, right now."

I was bluffing about my armour being a lie detector, but he had no way of knowing that. When my armour can do so many amazing things, what’s one more? I was gambling that Truman was so desperate to get his hands on my secrets and my armour that he’d tell me things he wouldn’t tell anyone else. Truman smiled slowly, his eyes bright with the glee of someone who knows something you don’t know and can’t wait to impress you with it. Once again he spoke only to me, ignoring my allies.

"Why not?" he said. "I knew you’d be someone I could talk to. Someone I could trust with…everything. Science came from man’s mind. It is ours. We created it and we control it. Magic…is a wild thing, unnatural and uncontrollable, and it always has its own agenda. We make use of it when we must, but we can never trust it or those who use it. When we come to power, science will replace magic. It’s the only way man can be truly independent. The Droods are just our first and most important enemy. Once they have been thrown down, we will stamp out every other form of magic, and every magical creature, and mankind shall be free at last."

I glanced at Molly. She was shocked silent, her face drained of all colour. This was obviously all news to her. I laid a golden hand gently on her arm, signalling her to hold in her anger till we’d heard it all. I could tell from Truman’s face that there was more to come.

"Eliminate all undesirables?" I said. "That sounds like a huge undertaking."

"Oh, it is," said Truman, still smiling. "But we’ve made a good start. Would you like to see?"

"Yes," I said.

"Yes," said Molly.

Truman chuckled. "Why not? Let me show you the future, Molly. You’ll find it…educational. Come with me, all of you," he said, but looking only at me. "I’ve waited such a long time for someone I could share this with, Edwin. Someone who’d understand. Come with me, Edwin Drood, and see what Manifest Destiny is all about."

Solomon Krieg wasn’t at all happy about this, but Truman overruled him, speaking quite sharply in the end. So Krieg led us down into the levels below the bunkers into caverns they’d carved out of the bedrock themselves to hold Manifest Destiny’s most important secret. Something hidden from the rank and file. Krieg and Truman led the way, and I followed, with Molly and the others behind me. At last we were heading into the true heart of the labyrinth, where the final truth was waiting to be revealed.

We descended down bare stone stairwells, in single file, in silence. Whatever was ahead of us, we could all feel it drawing closer; and it felt very cold. Molly stuck close to me, her face a rigid mask. Truman breezed along, happily humming some tune under his breath that made sense only to him.

We finally emerged into a great stone cavern, much of it in darkness. The air was cold and damp, and the smell reminded me of the sewers. It was a sick, rotten smell, full of filth and pain and death. Even Mr. Stab wrinkled his nose. None of us said anything. We all knew we’d come to a bad place, where bad things happened. All except Truman, who was still humming his happy tune. He turned on all the lights at once with a grand gesture, and the cavern’s contents lay illuminated below us. We were standing on a narrow walkway halfway up the cavern wall, looking down on long rows of cells, each with its own beaten-down inhabitant. It reminded me of Dr. Dee’s establishment in Harley Street, except there were no cages here. Only long rows and blocks of concrete stalls, with bare concrete floors and cold iron gates. No beds or chairs, not even straw on the concrete floors; just iron grilles to carry away some of the wastes.

"I didn’t know about this," Molly whispered to me. "I swear I didn’t know about this."

"Come and see, come and see," Truman said happily, leading us down from the walkway. We followed him down, and he led us gaily along the central aisle, proudly showing off the contents of his cells. The first thing he showed us was a werewolf, in full wolf form. Seven feet from head to tail, with silver-gray fur, it had been spread-eagled on its back on the concrete floor, pinned down with silver spikes through all four limbs, like a specimen laid out on a dissecting board. It whined piteously as we looked in.

"We have to do that," Truman said. "Otherwise the brutes gnaw off their own limbs to escape. Animals. Still, they’re not here long enough to suffer much."

All I could see was the basic doggy suffering in the creature’s trapped eyes. I had no love for werewolves. I’d seen too many of his kind’s half-eaten kills in small towns and villages. But this…this was no way to treat even a hated enemy.

Farther down the row, vampires were nailed to the concrete walls by wooden stakes hammered through their arms and legs. They snapped and snarled at us feebly, all intelligence driven out of their minds by continuous suffering. Then there were elf lords, stripped naked of their usual finery, chained with heavy steel shackles. The cold iron burned their pale flesh terribly where it touched, charring right down to the bone, but not one of the elves would do anything but sneer at us when we looked in. They still had their pride. Gryphons with their eyes cut out whined pitifully in their cells. They might not be able to see the future anymore, but they all knew what was coming. There was a unicorn whose wings had been broken, her horn gouged roughly out of her forehead, her glory much diminished. And a water elemental who’d been frozen into an icy statue. Her solid eyes were still horribly aware.

Cold-eyed, cold gray lizard men from the silent subterranean ways under South London; smoke gray gargoyles snatched from the few churches and cathedrals they still haunted. A clay-skinned bogeyman with both its arms and legs broken, dragging itself back and forth across the concrete floor. And something with the stink of the Pit about it. A genuine half-breed, born of a demon’s lust. A succubus stores semen from a man she sleeps with, and then changes into its male form, an incubus, and deposits that stolen seed in a receptive woman. The result: a human body with a demon soul. Half of this world, and half of the world below. They fight for one side or the other, both and neither, and they’re not nearly as rare as they ought to be. This half-breed was held in check by a pentagram etched deeply into the concrete floor.

It inclined its head mockingly to Mr. Stab, as though acknowledging one of its own kind. It couldn’t speak. Someone had cut out its tongue, just in case.

Truman looked at me again and again, waiting for me to say something, but I held myself in check as he showed me horror after horror. Pretty much everything on display here was evil, or had done evil in their time; but nothing to match the cold-blooded evil of what had been done to them here. In my time as a Drood agent, I’d fought and killed many of the things imprisoned here, but that had always been in the heat of battle and the hottest of blood. I’d killed but I’d never tortured, never delighted in the agonies of my enemies. That wasn’t the Drood way. We fought the good fight to keep the world safe, and we took pride in doing that work well, but this…this was an abomination.

The last captive, in the last cell, was Subway Sue. Her ragged clothes were tattered and torn, and there was blood on them and on her face. Someone had beaten the crap out of her. She’d been blindfolded and shackled to the wall of her concrete pen. Molly moved in close to the bars, her face terribly cold, her eyes dangerously angry. I looked at Truman.

"This," he said proudly, "is just today’s batch. Arrogant magical creatures who prey on humanity, overpowered by the science and stealth of specially trained soldiers. My people are very busy these days, hunting these vermin down and bringing them here for elimination. We can’t kill in public, of course; that would draw too much attention. It’s better this magical filth don’t know we’re out there, on their trail…I wish we could take the time to deal with them properly, give them the kind of death they deserve. Make them suffer as they’ve made humanity suffer. But we can’t take the risk. So we bring them in until the cells are full, and then we kill them humanely and give their bodies to the cleansing flames. It’s a very efficient operation. The ovens never grow cold. Solomon sees to that. One by one, creature by creature, we’re winning our world back from the monsters who infect it."

"There’s only one monster here," said Mr. Stab. "And for once it isn’t me. Is there, by any chance, a cell here with my name on it?"

"Not as long as you support the cause," said Truman, and he actually dropped Mr. Stab a roguish wink.

"I know this woman," said Molly, still staring through the cold iron bars at Subway Sue. "She’s my friend."

"She’s a leech," Truman said briskly. "Stealing good fortune from innocent men and women, and selling it to those who don’t deserve it. Just another magical parasite on the human race."

Molly spun around and glared at him. "She’s my friend!"

Truman wagged a finger at her like she was a recalcitrant child. "Don’t look at me like that, little witch. Remember your place. We allow you to use your unnatural gifts on our behalf, and in return you get to be part of the only organisation with a real chance of bringing down the Droods you hate so much. Obey me, and you will be well rewarded in the world that’s coming. There will be room for you and your kind in the new order, but only as long as you remember your place."

"That’s the problem with tunnel vision," said Molly. "All I could see was the destruction of the Droods you promised. So when I listened to your recruitment speech, all I heard was what I wanted to hear. But you’ve opened my eyes at last, Truman." She turned back to the cell.

"Sue; it’s me, Molly. What do you suppose are the chances of all the locks on all these cells falling open, all at once?"

"Not good," said Sue through cracked and swollen lips. "As long as these cold iron bars hold my magic in check."

Molly looked at me. I grabbed the steel bars with one golden hand and ripped them right out of their concrete setting. Molly gestured once, and Sue’s shackles fell away from her. Sue stood up, stretched painfully, and pulled away her blindfold.

"Bingo," she said softly. And every lock on every cell fell open, all at once.

Truman looked at me, gaping blankly, as I crumpled the steel bars into a ball, and then dropped it heavily on the ground before him.

"You’ll never replace my family," I said. "You think too small. And too nasty."

He turned and ran, yelling for Solomon Krieg to hold us back while he went for reinforcements. The Golem with the Atomic Brain moved quickly to block the way while his master scrambled up the steps to the walkway. All around us creatures were lurching and spilling out of their pens, free at last. Sirens were blaring in the distance. Molly and Girl Flower helped Subway Sue stumble out of her cell, while Mr. Stab and I faced up to Solomon Krieg.

The artificial creature smiled for the first time, and there was no humour in it, only a terrible satisfaction that at last he would get to do what he was made to do. He raised one hand, and a gun muzzle poked out of a slit in his wrist. He sprayed Mr. Stab and then me with machine gun fire but couldn’t hurt either of us. Bullets ricocheted harmlessly off my armoured chest and seemed to pass through Mr. Stab as though he was nothing but smoke. Krieg turned his aim on the three women, but I moved quickly to shield them. Krieg raised his other hand, and a hidden flamethrower in his other arm bathed my armour in liquid fire. The heat was so terrible that even Mr. Stab flinched back, but I felt nothing.

Solomon Krieg shut off his flames and frowned deeply, as though concentrating on some difficult problem. Fat sparks of static electricity appeared spontaneously around his head, like a halo of electric flies. They spat and crackled, growing fiercer and more powerful, and then struck out at Mr. Stab like a hammer blow of unleashed energies. The blast picked him up and threw him twenty feet or more before slamming him into a concrete wall with devastating force. The whole wall crumbled into ruin under the impact, burying Mr. Stab under a pile of rubble. Solomon Krieg, the Golem with the Atomic Brain. He turned to me and I braced myself. Once I would have trusted my armour to protect me even from such an attack as this, but after the incident with the elf lord’s arrow, I wasn’t as confident as I once was. I still stood my ground. I was all that stood between the three women and Krieg’s atomic blast.

And that was when the escaped prisoners fell upon Krieg like a pack of howling wolves. Humans and inhumans, demons and creatures of the night, they fell upon their common foe and sought to drag him down through sheer weight of numbers. Claws and fangs tore his colourless flesh, but no blood flowed. Krieg swayed under their attack but did not fall. He lashed out with his machine-driven arms, throwing dead and broken bodies this way and that with appalling strength, not yielding an inch. More prisoners came running from every direction, desperate for a chance to drag down their hated jailer and executioner.

While Krieg was safely preoccupied, I hurried over to search the rubble for Mr. Stab, but he was already rising to his feet, entirely unhurt, fussily brushing dust from his coat and opera cloak. He stooped down to retrieve his top hat and placed it on his head at a jaunty angle. He might be the worst serial killer in history, but the man had style. He looked around him at the block of concrete pens and shook his head firmly.

"No. I will not stand for this. I am no stranger to the joys of suffering and slaughter, Edwin, but this…There are some things a gentleman just doesn’t do."

And he went with me among the cells, helping release those who couldn’t free themselves. The werewolves and the vampires and the like. It went against the grain for me to free such vicious and deadly creatures, after years of hunting them down and killing them, but I couldn’t leave them here. For the ovens. As Mr. Stab said: some things are just beyond the pale.

We left the demon half-breed where he was, of course. We weren’t stupid.

We came back from the concrete pens to find Solomon Krieg still standing, surrounded by the bodies of the dead and the fallen. Girl Flower threw herself at him, screaming something obscene in old Welsh. Atomic forces erupted from the golem’s scarred forehead, hitting Girl Flower and blowing her apart into a shower of rose petals. They churned and circled in midair, and then transformed, becoming a razor storm of a thousand cutting owls’ claws. They hit Solomon Krieg like a deadly hailstorm, ripping and tearing at his pale flesh, but still he stood his ground and would not fall. I might have admired him, if I hadn’t hated him so much. (The ovens never grew cold…) The razor storm finally collapsed, exhausted, and I went forward to do battle with the Golem with the Atomic Brain. I needed to punish someone for what had been done here, and he would do. I try hard, but sometimes I’m not a very nice person.

The creatures of the night fell back as I strode through their midst. They recognised the golden armour. Solomon saw me coming and smiled again. His face was hanging in tatters from scratched and scored bone after Girl Flower’s attack, and one eye was just an empty red socket, but still he smiled. He didn’t bother with his built-in gun or flamethrower. Just stepped forward and threw a punch with all his mechanised strength behind it. I heard the bones in his hand break as his fist glanced harmlessly from my golden mask. I grabbed his arm with both hands before he could draw it back and broke it over my knee like a piece of kindling. Bits of shattered tech flew out of the gaping wound. Solomon Krieg grunted once, but that was all. I let go of his arm and grabbed his head, pulling it down and forward. He fought me with all his legendary strength, but it wasn’t enough. Atomic forces sputtered and shimmered on the air as he struggled to put an attack together. I ripped the top of his head right off, tearing along the old scarred fault line on his forehead, and then reached into his head with my other hand and tore his atomic brain out.

I held it in my golden hand for a moment, studying it, that nasty triumph of Cold War technology, and then I dropped it on the ground and stamped on it. The brain shattered into a thousand pieces, and Solomon Krieg’s empty body fell twitching to the floor. I walked away, and the creatures of the night fell upon the body, tearing it to pieces in a frenzy of rage and revenge.

And that was when a spatial portal opened in the air before us, and an army of black-uniformed Manifest Destiny soldiers came pouring through, opening fire with automatic weapons the moment they caught sight of us. Bullets ricocheted from my armour, but I couldn’t shield everyone. Newly freed prisoners fell screaming and dying all around me. I grew golden spikes on my armoured fists and charged into the midst of the coming soldiers. I struck down men and women as they tried their best to kill me, and they did not rise again. But more and more soldiers were spilling out of the portal, their faces alight with the fury of the true fanatic. I broke necks and heads, and threw men and women through the air with deadly force, but still more of them streamed past me like a river around a single rock.

I fought on. It felt good to be striking them down. Manifest Destiny had betrayed me by not being the hope I’d so desperately needed.

Mr. Stab stepped forward to stand at my side, a long scalpel gleaming thirstily in his hand. Nothing the soldiers did could touch him, and he cut down all who came within his reach with an elegant disdain. Standing in the midst of blood and slaughter, he was in his element at last. Creatures of the night, hurt and weakened as they were, fought fiercely with the black-clad soldiers, and everywhere there was blood and screaming. Step by step we slowed the soldiers’ advance, and step by step we drove them back. Perhaps because their fanaticism was no match for our fury. We forced our way forward, over their dead and ours, until finally the surviving soldiers turned and fled back through the spatial portal, and it was shut down from their end.

I stood among the dead, in my blood-spattered armour, and raised one spiked fist in triumph. And all around me the creatures of the night howled their triumph and my name.

Molly yelled my name again and again until finally I lowered my fist and looked at her. "Eddie! We have to get out of here! Truman must have emergency contingency plans for a mass breakout, and I really don’t think we want to be here when he puts them into effect."

I nodded and strode over to her, kicking black-uniformed bodies aside. Blood and gore dripped thickly from my hands as I made the spikes disappear. My breathing slowed, and my head cleared. Mr. Stab walked beside me without a drop of blood on his elegant outfit.

"I know you want Truman dead," said Molly. "I do too. But there’s no way we can reach him right now."

"Agreed," I said. "His time will come. Any suggestions on what we do next?"

"I open a spatial portal of my own, and we all get the hell out of here and scatter into the night."

"Sounds like a plan to me," I said. "Where’s Girl Flower?"

"Oh, she’ll put herself back together again, over the next few days, in some place where she feels safe." She looked at Mr. Stab. "Can I trust you to look after Sue? I have to stick with the Drood. We have revenges to plan."

He inclined his head graciously. "Of course, my dear. She will be safe with me. You have my word on it."

And strangely enough, I believed him. I didn’t think he’d lie to Molly. He offered Subway Sue his arm, and she leaned on it gratefully. Molly opened a spatial portal, and we rushed the surviving prisoners through it as fast as we could. I kept glancing around, ready for another sneak attack, but it never came. The great cavern remained as silent as a mass grave. In the end, only Molly and I were left.

"So now we have two mortal enemies on our trail," I said. "My family, and Manifest Destiny. This day keeps getting better and better. Is there anyone left we can trust?"

"Maybe," said Molly. "A few names come to mind. But even if it was just you and me, I wouldn’t back down or cry off. I will have justice, even if I have to kill everyone else in the world to get it."

"You know," I said, "you’d have made a good Drood."

"Now you’re just being nasty," she said.

We left through the portal, back up into the cold clean air of London town.