Secret Histories 10: Dr. DOA

by Simon R. Green

  “I ran away from everyone I knew, and from all the people who were suddenly feeling brave enough to come after me, now they didn’t have to be scared of my reputation. I ran back to the only place I’d ever felt safe. The Deep Down Pit. I’ve been here ever since. Hiding. For years . . . I’m not even sure how many. Time seems to pass differently, down here in the dark. When you’re on your own . . .”

  His face had gone vague again, as though he were musing, remembering. I moved in beside Molly, still careful to give the old derelict plenty of room.

  “This old man was part of your group?”

  “He’s not old, Eddie,” Molly said tiredly. “He’s the same age as me. Look at what being down here has done to him!”

  “Going up against Hadleigh Oblivion probably took its toll as well,” I said.

  “Ben?” Molly said carefully. “What have you been doing all these years?”

  His face snapped back into focus. “Thinking. Repenting. Oblivion opened my eyes, you know. Showed me how wrong I’d been. All the people I killed, all the suffering I caused . . . He made me feel every bit of it. He made me see the truth of my life, and it was a hard lesson. I ran away from the world, and myself, because I didn’t want to be able to hurt people any more. I’ve kept myself busy, exploring the Deep Down Pit and mapping it. There’s far more here than we ever suspected, Molly! I shut down all the booby traps so I could move around. And so no one could be hurt by them.”

  “What is it that lives down here?” I said. “We’ve been hearing all kinds of things . . .”

  “We give each other plenty of room,” said Ben, nodding happily. “And they discourage anyone from coming after me.”

  “We found food stores in the arrival room,” said Molly.

  “Oh yes,” said Ben. “I still have a few friends. They don’t visit; I wouldn’t want them to. But they teleport in fresh supplies, now and again. When they remember. The rest of the time, I make do.”

  I didn’t like to think about exactly what Ben Luger might find to eat and drink, in the dark, when he had to.

  A new fear appeared in Ben’s face. He looked ready to bolt or ready to fight us if we tried to stop him.

  “Have you come to take me back, to stand trial for all the terrible things I did?”

  “We’re not here for you, Ben,” Molly said gently.

  “It’s been so many years,” I said, “I doubt anyone’s still looking for you. Your legend survives, but not much else. You’ve imprisoned yourself down here for so long, I think you’ve done your time. We could take you with us when we go, if you want. My family could set up a new identity for you so you could start a new life . . .”

  But he was already backing away from me, shaking his head, horrified at the thought of having to leave the safety of the Deep Down Pit. And perhaps even more afraid of a world he would no longer recognise or understand. He pushed past Molly and ran for his life, disappearing back into the comforting dark. Molly didn’t try to stop him, so I didn’t either.

  “It’s a hard life, being a supernatural terrorist,” Molly said finally. “It breaks as many as it makes.”

  “And no man runs faster than those pursued by their own demons,” I said.

  “I’d hate to end up like that,” said Molly.

  “You won’t,” I said. “Not while you’ve still got me.”

  Her head whipped round sharply. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Something just changed,” said Molly. “I felt it. Angelica changed something.”

  “Would I be correct in assuming that is not good?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Okay . . . ,” I said. “Any idea what, or where?”

  “This way,” said Molly.

  She led me back the way we’d already come. Moving quickly, as though worried it might already be too late to do whatever needed doing.

  “We’re going back to the arrival room?” I said. “How the hell did she slip in behind us?”

  “She always did know these tunnels better than me,” said Molly, not looking round.

  “Now you tell me,” I said.

  We hurried down tunnel after tunnel, plunging out of one and into another, until finally Molly crashed to a halt, breathing harshly. I looked quickly round, but couldn’t see anything. I was getting really tired of that. Molly pointed to a section of the tunnel wall up ahead. I moved carefully forward, and there in the rough stone was a dimensional Door. I didn’t need to put on my mask to sense the fierce dimensional energies surging around the ordinary-looking wooden door, with no frame or hinges. I could feel the limitless possibilities, of all the places it could take me, tingling against my skin like background radiation. A small brass combination lock had been set into the wood of the Door, just where you’d expect a handle, to select the Time/Space coordinates for wherever you wanted to go.

  “What the hell is something that powerful doing down here?” said Molly. “And before you ask, yes, I’m sure it wasn’t here before. This is new. Angelica’s doing.”

  “The only way to discover the Door’s current setting would be to open it,” I said. “And I am ready to class that as a really bad idea.”

  Angelica Wilde appeared, just suddenly standing in the tunnel, from where she faced Molly and me. As though she’d been there all along and we hadn’t noticed her because she wouldn’t let us. She was smiling that awful cold smile again, reminding me uncomfortably of the death’s-head grins on the skeletons she’d sent against us. If anything, she looked even crazier.

  “The Door is my bait, my trap,” she said. “I knew it would bring you here. To me.”

  “All you had to do was stand still,” said Molly. “We’ve been looking for you.”

  “Of course you have!” said Angelica. “You want to kill me. You have to kill me, because you know that’s the only way you can stop me from killing Eddie. But I won’t go down alone. This Door opens onto the bottom of the North Sea. Just think of all the pressure, all the tons of water, pressed up against the other side of that Door. Ready to flood into this tunnel the moment I open it! Even you and your armour couldn’t survive that, Eddie Drood. And don’t think you can use your Glass to escape; I’m suppressing it.”

  “But you’d drown with us!” said Molly.

  “It’ll be worth it,” said the Fury. “To have my revenge at last. You think I want to go on living without my husband?”

  “What if I could give him back to you?” I said.

  She looked at me. Thrown completely, by the one thing I could say that she wasn’t expecting. I moved over to the Door, armoured up my hand, and sent golden tendrils surging into the lock. I entered the access codes for the Dreamtime, which were still fresh in my armour’s memory from a recent case I worked with the Soulhunters. The combination lock spun frantically, and then slammed to a halt. I whipped out the golden tendrils, and the Door opened, onto the Dreamtime.

  It swung back into the wall, and light blasted out into the mine tunnel. A glorious illumination, like no other light in the world. Older, purer; primordial. Sounds rang out from behind the Door, wild and free, like mountains singing to one another at the dawn of the world. I raised my voice and addressed the Dreamtime.

  “Armin del Santos, come out! Your wife is waiting for you.”

  And out he came, stepping through the Door and into the tunnel, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. A tall, handsome young man, in a checked shirt, blue jeans, and cowboy boots. His face was full of a wonderful calm. He smiled at Angelica, and she tried to smile back as tears ran down her face. She didn’t look crazy any more.

  “They told me you weren’t dead,” she said numbly, “but I wouldn’t believe them. Oh, my love, my love, you haven’t aged a day in all these years . . . And I have. Don’t look at me. I’m not the woman you knew.”

  “
That’s why I’m here,” said Armin. “Come with me, Angel.”

  Angelica looked into the marvellous light spilling out from beyond the Door, and slowly shook her head. “I can’t. I don’t belong in a place like that. Not after everything I’ve done.”

  “Yes you do,” said Armin. “Because of everything you’ve done. That’s the point. The beginning of the world is a new beginning for everyone.”

  He took her by the hand and led her through the Door, into the Dreamtime. To learn a better way, like him. The Door closed itself behind them. I grabbed the combination lock with my golden hand and ripped it right off the Door so it could never be opened again. From this side.

  Molly threw her arms around me and hugged me tightly. “I do love a happy ending!” And then she let go and stepped back, smiling just a little shakily. “Now all we have to do is find one for you.”

  “That would be nice,” I said solemnly.

  And that was when a voice spoke to us, from beyond the Door. It didn’t sound like anything that belonged in the Dreamtime. A professionally warm and confident voice, like a cold-calling salesman.

  “Hello there! Do I have the honour of addressing Roxie Hazzard?”

  Molly looked at me.

  “Whatever you do, do not say, Come in,” I said. “Don’t even think it loudly.”

  Molly put on her Roxie voice, and addressed the Door. “Who the hell are you, and what do you want?”

  “Yes, that sounds like Roxie Hazzard,” said the Voice. “Word has reached me that you have been trying to locate Dr DOA. I’ve been trying to contact you for some time to discuss this, but you’re very hard to pin down.”

  “Yeah, well, I get around,” said Roxie. “I’ve been busy. How did you find me here?”

  “I didn’t,” said the Voice. “Someone else did. Now, why are you so keen to talk to Dr DOA?”

  “Because I want to hire him,” said Roxie.

  “And who do you want killed?”

  “Molly Metcalf,” said Roxie.

  “Ambitious,” said the Voice. “And expensive. Luckily for you, the Doctor is in. Go to the Hiring Ground in London and ask for the Psychic Surgeon. He’ll be there for the next two hours. He can put you in touch with Dr DOA.”

  The Voice fell silent. Roxie called after him, yelled at him, even kicked the Door, but the Voice was gone.

  “Interesting,” Molly said finally, in her own voice. “He knew enough to find me here, but he didn’t know Roxie is Molly. And the Hiring Ground? That’s pretty down-market for someone as supposedly exclusive as Dr DOA.”

  “Maybe that’s the point,” I said. “Who’d expect to find someone like him in a place like that? Still; the Psychic Surgeon? That scumbag . . . Do you know him?”

  “Not personally,” said Molly, “but like a great many people in our line of work, I know of him. Scumbag pretty much sums him up.”

  “Basically a con man,” I said. “Though a lot of his powers are supposed to be the real deal. The man who can cut bad things out of your soul. Molly, this has to be some kind of trap.”

  “We have to risk it!” said Molly. “Because it’s the only lead we’ve got, and because we’ve nowhere else to go . . .”

  I nodded. “Then it looks like this is a case for Shaman Bond and Roxie Hazzard!”

  “Damned right!” said Roxie.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Hard Times Make for Hard Choices

  Dr DOA. The man who murdered me. In my sights at last.

  After getting sidetracked by so many distractions, it felt good to have a solid lead at last. Assuming nothing else went wrong, of course. I retrieved the Merlin Glass from its pocket dimension and held it out before me. The hand mirror stared innocently back, as though the thought of misbehaving had never even occurred to it. But there was still something about the way my reflection was looking back at me that I really didn’t like. It seemed to be smirking rather than smiling, and there was something about the eyes . . . I looked like I knew something I didn’t. On an impulse, I pulled several extreme faces, and my reflection duplicated them all perfectly.

  “Eddie, what are you doing?” said Molly. “Trying to break it?”

  “Just testing,” I said.

  I looked around, and found Molly had transformed herself into Roxie Hazzard. The tall muscular redhead in a black leather jacket, with a length of steel chain wrapped around her waist. Every inch a warrior woman. She grinned at me cheerfully, and I nodded back respectfully.

  “Yes,” I said. “Where we’re going, that’s the kind of look that will get us answers.”

  “You negotiate,” said Roxie, “and I’ll intimidate.”

  “I can be intimidating,” I said.

  “Of course you can, dear,” said Roxie.

  “I’m a Drood!”

  “Trust me, I haven’t forgotten. It’s just that you’ve been trained, while I have natural talent.” She stopped, and looked at me seriously. “We’re getting close to Dr DOA, Eddie. I can feel it.”

  “We’ve been invited to meet a go-between,” I said. “A meeting that will almost certainly turn out to be a trap.”

  “Then we’ll just have to make sure that it’s our trap,” said Roxie. “Because I have the bit between my teeth, and I am not letting this lead get away from me.”

  I hefted the Merlin Glass in my hand. “I hate depending on this, when it’s so important . . . but I take it you don’t have enough magic in you to transport us to the Hiring Ground?”

  “I’ve barely got enough left to teleport us to the surface,” said Roxie. “Never mind all the way to London. Physical transport is hard; it takes a lot of power. You’re basically slapping the universe in the face to get its attention, telling it you’re not where it thinks you are but somewhere else, and then slapping it again if it looks like arguing. You can do that only so many times before the universe starts slapping back.”

  “I don’t know why I ask you questions,” I said. “I’m never any happier for knowing the answers.”

  “What’s the best way into the Hiring Ground these days?” Roxie said briskly. “It’s been a long time since I showed my face there, as Molly or Roxie. Is it still a major shithole?”

  “I doubt very much that it’s changed for the better,” I said. “But I haven’t been there in ages either. Assuming the old entrance points are still valid . . . I think our best bet would be around the corner from Kings Cross railway station.”

  Roxie pulled a face. “Not the most salubrious of areas.”

  “Then Shaman Bond and Roxie Hazzard should fit in nicely,” I said. “I’m told parts of the area are very nice these days, thanks to recent regeneration. Mind you, they keep saying that about most of London, and I’m rarely impressed.”

  “Just being near the Hiring Ground probably lowers the area’s tone,” said Roxie.

  I held the hand mirror out before me. “Give me a view of the Kings Cross area, near the Hiring Ground.”

  My reflection disappeared immediately, replaced by a bustling scene of London at night. Bright lights and loud traffic, and all kinds of people surging back and forth, hurrying on their way to somewhere important. Every single one of them staring straight ahead, to make it clear they were minding their own business. Taxi drivers leaned constantly on their horns, while big red London buses pulled out in front of everyone and bounced slower-witted cyclists off their heavy sides, just because they could. Trucks weighed down far beyond the legal limits carried the kind of goods you were never going to get a receipt for. And everyone else just tried to stay out of everyone else’s way.

  “Some years back, I remember watching a BBC documentary about Kings Cross,” I said. “They claimed the station area was rife with prostitution and drug trafficking. I used to go through there on a regular basis when I was a London field agent, and I never saw anything. Mind you, I was probably too busy look
ing for monsters and aliens and the like.”

  “I suppose that world is a lot like ours,” said Roxie. “Unless you know what to look for, you’re never going to see it. Two worlds existing side by side, barely touching. Parallel, but separate.”

  “A lot like our world, and the everyday world,” I said.

  “Except the hidden world is much more glamorous,” said Roxie.

  “Well of course,” I said. “We’re in it.”

  I shook the hand mirror out to Door size, and the view became an open window. A breeze blew through from Kings Cross, bringing with it enticing scents from a dozen ethnic restaurants and the smell of massed vehicle emissions. The roar of the traffic almost drowned out the roar of the crowds. I strode through the Door, with Roxie right on my heels. Out of the dark of the Deep Down Pit, and into the darkness of Kings Cross at night. No one noticed our arrival. I shook the Glass down and put it away.

  “At least the Glass is behaving itself,” said Roxie.

  “For now,” I said.

  Roxie linked her arm through mine, and we set off down the street. People moved quickly to get out of our way, without quite seeming to realise they were doing it. Perhaps because sheep can always sense wolves in their midst. No one looked twice at Roxie’s colourful outfit; in this part of London, she was almost dowdy, compared to some of the fashions on display. Sharp suits and pretty frocks; punks and hippies; every subculture you could think of and every fetish under the moon.

  “I never knew the leather-and-straps look was so in,” I said.

  “You need to get out more,” said Roxie.

  I laughed briefly. “I was always a lot more innocent than was good for me. For years, I thought BDSM stood for ‘Belle Dame sans Merci.’”

  “Not a million miles off,” said Roxie. “Where are we going, Eddie?”