“Armour down,” said Tiger Tim. “Or I’ll kill the witch. I’ll crack her bones and crush her insides, and then I’ll rip her head right off her shoulders.”
“Don’t hurt her,” I said. “This is between you and me.”
“Knew I’d find a way to hurt you eventually,” said Tiger Tim. “There’s always a way.”
I was thinking furiously, but I couldn’t see any way out. I had no doubt he’d kill her. I was just starting to subvocalise the activating Words that would send my armour back into my torc, when Molly laughed suddenly.
“Come on, Eddie. You know I don’t do the damsel in distress bit.”
Crackling energies surrounded her in a moment, coruscating in vivid flashes and boiling magics, blasting Tiger Tim’s arms away from her. She moved quickly to one side, and yelled at me to get him, but I was already moving. I’d thought I’d been angry before, but it was nothing to the rage that moved me now. Now he’d threatened to kill my Molly again.
I fell upon him with all my strength and speed, my golden hands locking onto his golden throat. He fell backwards, tripped, and measured his length on the lounge floor. I followed him down, my grip on his throat never loosening for a moment. I knelt over him, forcing my hands closed with all my strength. He struggled and kicked and tried to throw me off. He grabbed my wrists with his hands and tried to break my stranglehold, but he couldn’t. I saw my Molly, stabbed through again and again, dying at the hands of Droods maddened because of Timothy Drood. I saw good men and women dying on the grounds of Drood Hall, at the hands of his Accelerated Men. I saw him talking calmly of throwing Humanity to the wolves of Hell. I saw him threatening to kill my Molly, again, right in front of me. And there was no room left in me for anything but the need to kill.
I concentrated on my armour, moulding it with my will, and my fingers became impossibly sharp, cutting through the armour round his throat. I forced my hands through the gap I’d opened up, and my bare hands closed around his bare throat. I throttled him to death, inside his own armour.
After a while, I realised he wasn’t breathing, wasn’t moving. I pulled back my hands, releasing my hold on his armour, and it disappeared back into his torc. Tiger Tim stared blankly upwards, seeing nothing. There was a little froth around his distorted mouth. I knelt over him for a while, getting my breath back, and then I extruded a blade from one hand and cut his head off. So I could take the torc back to my family, where it belonged.
Doctor Delirium cried out as blood flooded across the lounge floor. He wasn’t used to bloodshed. He always did his killing from a safe distance. Methuselah allowed himself a mild moue of distaste. I looked at Timothy’s severed head, and wondered what I should tell his father. I would have brought his son back alive, if things had gone differently. I’m almost sure I would have. Though whether that would have been a kindness, in the end . . . I could tell the Armourer that his son had died fighting bravely. Or that Tiger Tim had somehow got away, and was still out there, somewhere. But I’d never been able to lie to my Uncle Jack.
I armoured down, and rose slowly to my feet. I felt horribly weary; bone deep, soul deep. Molly came over and held me carefully, as though I was fragile, and might break. She understood what I was feeling; she understood about family. But she also knew there was still work to be done, so she let me go and stood at my side. I looked at Doctor Delirium, still half hidden behind his Door. He flinched away from my gaze, but I just stood where I was, and beckoned for him to come out.
“You don’t dare touch me!” he said, his voice high and shrill. His eyes kept going to Tiger Tim’s headless body, and then jerking away. “You’d better not even get too close! I’ve infected myself with every deadly disease known to man, and several I made up specially. I’m the universal carrier, for everything from typhoid to Ebola, from the black death to green monkey fever. Doesn’t affect me at all, but all I have to do is concentrate in a certain way, and my pores will sweat poison, releasing all the deadly germs into the air!”
I looked at Molly. “Does that even sound likely to you?”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Molly. She strode right over to Doctor Delirium. “I have been to Heaven and Hell and back again, and walked on alien worlds. You really think you’ve got anything that can touch me?”
As she moved in close the Doctor suddenly whipped out a spray aerosol and blasted its contents right into her face. Molly fell back a step, wiping at her face with a hand, while the Doctor crowed triumphantly.
“That was the Acceleration Drug! Full strength, with all the wonderful new extra ingredients! And you breathed it in! It’s running through your system now, speeding you up, faster and faster till it burns you up from the inside out! You’ll live a whole lifetime in just a few minutes, and I’ll watch you die of old age right in front of me!”
Molly swept the last few tears from her eyes. Doctor Delirium fell suddenly silent as he realised she was laughing.
“You need to get out and about more,” she said cheerfully. “I’m Molly Metcalf! I take nastier stuff than that for fun!”
“Don’t laugh at me,” whispered Doctor Delirium. “Don’t you laugh at me!”
Molly reached out and grabbed him by an ear. She hauled him out from behind the Door and walked him back to me. I looked at her, and she let go of his ear.
“Don’t be afraid, Doctor,” I said. “I think there’s been enough killing. It doesn’t always have to end in blood. Forget the Door, and its voices. They lied. It’s what they do. Give up on your revenge; what did it ever get you, except a life on your own? Come back with me to Drood Hall. Put your genius to work for us. Use our labs to create all those cures you used to believe in. Be the good man you originally wanted to be, before Methuselah gave you money, and made you into the kind of man he wanted you to be. Come with me, Doctor. It’s not too late.”
“I won’t give up the Door,” said Doctor Delirium. “It’s mine. It’s my revenge on you all. I can’t give that up. It’s all I’ve got.” He looked at Molly, and his face was utterly empty. “You shouldn’t have laughed at me.”
And he went for her, lunging forward with a knife in his hand. Molly snapped her fingers hard, and Doctor Delirium disappeared. A very warty green and yellow toad fell to the floor, and crouched there, looking around in a bemused kind of way. Molly nudged it with her foot, and it hardly reacted.
“He can go back to the Amazon rain forest,” Molly said briskly. “Where he’ll feel right at home.” She came over to join me, and prodded me in the chest with one finger. “Offering to take Tiger Tim back for trial? Offering the Doctor a job at the Hall? After everything they’ve done, and meant to do? You’re getting soft, Eddie.”
“There’s been enough killing,” I said. “I’m sick of it. I saw you die, and I have avenged you. But I never want to feel this way again.”
“I know,” said Molly. “I know. My knight in shining armour.” She caressed my face with one hand, and her touch was very gentle.
“How very sentimental,” said Methuselah. “You should have dealt with me first, you know. I always was the most dangerous.”
And when Molly and I turned to look at him, he was gone. And so was the Apocalypse Door in its teleport ring. Molly pointed abruptly at the virtual view on the wall, and there he was, standing in the snow and ice, one hand resting possessively on the Door.
“Oh shit,” said Molly.
“Can’t take your eyes off the bastard for a second,” I said. “Quick, Molly, teleport us after him before he can open the Door.”
“How?” said Molly. “I’ve no idea where that is! It’s just a view from a hidden camera; what we’re looking at could be just outside the base, or somewhere miles from here! I can’t jump blind!”
“Oh shit,” I said.
“The Glass!” Molly said quickly. “Remember how it got us through the invisible force shield?”
I grinned. “I always said you were the smart one.”
I called up the Merlin Glass and slapped it fla
t against the virtual view. The hand mirror clattered fiercely against the image, and then grew suddenly in size to make a doorway. The Glass was apparently a great believer in lateral thinking. Which I would have found worrying if I’d had the time, but I didn’t. I could feel the freezing cold rushing through the open door. I grabbed Molly by the hand, and we rushed through the door, back into the freezing Antarctic air.
I armoured up, and Molly raised her shields. I couldn’t help noticing they didn’t look as strong and certain as they had before. The Apocalypse Door was standing firmly upright, in a circle of steaming melted snow. Methuselah stood before the Door, holding up the awful Hand of Glory he’d made from the severed hand of an angel. The dead white skin glowed fiercely, brighter than the sun itself, and as the Immortal chanted something in a tongue so old I didn’t even recognise it, the candles made from the Hand’s fingers ignited one by one. Somehow I found the time to wonder whether that was the language the Immortal had originally spoken, when he bargained with the Heart for eternal life.
“Where the hell did the Hand come from?” said Molly. “He didn’t have it before. I would have noticed.”
“He must have a subspace pocket, like me,” I said.
“Oh, I want one of those . . .”
Methuselah let go of the Hand and backed away, and the brightly shining Hand hung on the air before the Door. Its fingers moved slowly, flexing through a series of mystical gestures, significant and compelling. It hurt just to watch them, as though they were moving through more than three dimensions.
“He’s preprogrammed the bloody thing!” said Molly. “All he has to do now is say the right Words, and it’s all over! From the Apocalypse Door to the Paradise Door, in a series of easy gestures. I think I’ll believe that when I see it, but . . . Look; you take the Immortal, I’ll take the Hand. I don’t care what it’s made from, it’s magic, and that puts it in my territory. If it’s magic, I can work my will on it. That’s what being a witch is all about.”
“Who are you trying to convince?” I said. “You or me? Just how much magic do you have left, after everything you’ve done?”
“Enough! Now be a good boy, and go hit the Immortal.”
“Love to.”
Molly charged forward, skipping lightly over the snow as though she was playing hopscotch. She grabbed the gesturing Hand of Glory with both of her hands, and tried to stop the fingers from moving. When that failed, she tried to pull the Hand away from the Door, but it wouldn’t budge so much as an inch. So she forced one of her hands inside the Hand, and arm-wrestled it. The brightly glowing Hand slammed shut, crushing Molly’s hand inside it. I heard the bones crack and break, saw blood fly on the air; but although Molly’s whole body convulsed, she never made a sound.
I charged forward, ploughing through the deep snow and sending it flying. The Hand of Glory slowly opened, and Molly fell to her knees on the snow, cradling her injured hand against her chest. Blood dripped steadily from her broken fingers, onto the accepting snow. I could hear Methuselah laughing. I moved quickly to put myself between Molly and the Hand, and knelt down beside her. She was breathing hard, her eyes wide with shock and pain. She hadn’t healed herself, and that told me all I needed to know about how much magic she had left.
Molly glared at me. “All right, you deal with the Hand. I’ll deal with Methuselah.”
“Works for me,” I said.
I heard heavy footsteps slamming through the snow, and looked round to see the Immortal coming right at us, wielding a glowing blade he hadn’t had earlier. Molly raised her good hand, and snapped her fingers fiercely. But though Methuselah flinched at the sound, it didn’t stop him. Either Molly had used up all her magic, or as an Immortal and a flesh dancer, he was immune. Either way, he was a lot closer now. So I rose up and went to meet him. I lashed out at him with a golden fist, but somehow he dodged it at the last moment. And while I was caught off balance, he lunged past me and ran on. It took me a moment to turn around in the heavy snow, and when I did, it was just in time to see Methuselah run Molly through with the glowing blade. It slammed in under her sternum, and punched out her back. Blood shot out of her contorted mouth. And then she grabbed the Immortal’s extended arm with both her hands, and broke it in two. The sound of the bone breaking was sharp and crisp on the still air. Methuselah screamed, and fell backwards into the snow. Molly grabbed the glowing blade, pulled it carefully out of her, and threw it away. She looked up to see me watching, and glared at me.
“How many times do I have to tell you? He can’t kill me! Now deal with the bloody Hand!”
Methuselah clutched his broken arm and gaped at Molly. “Cheat!” he said shrilly. “You’re all cheats!”
I ran through the snow towards him, and he scrambled back onto his feet again. His arm wasn’t broken anymore; the wonders of flesh dancing. He still backed away rather than face me. I knew I should be going after the Hand, but he’d tried to kill Molly. I hit him in the face with my golden fist, with all my strength behind it. The bones of his face collapsed inwards, and blood exploded out, steaming on the cold air. He didn’t fall, so I hit him again and again, until finally he did fall, into the blood-soaked snow. He glared up at me, eyes shining fiercely through the bloody mess I’d made of his face.
“It’s not fair! I’ve won, I’ve won! Look at the Door, you see? You’re too late! My Hand has done it!”
I turned and looked. The Door didn’t seem any different. Methuselah seized the moment to scramble back onto his feet, and run raggedly towards the Door. I went after him. And the Hand of Glory drifted slowly, almost thoughtfully, forward; and then knocked three times on the Door. The sound was impossibly loud, and carrying, reverberating on the air. And then the Hand closed, and fell out of the air like a dead bird. The Door started to open. It didn’t actually move, as such, but I could feel it opening. I put on a burst of speed, and ran right past Methuselah, sending snow flying in every direction. I slammed up against the Door, and put my golden shoulder against it. I dug my feet in, and strained against the Door with all my armoured strength. I could feel a growing pressure on the other side of the Door. None of the disturbing heat, or the voices Doctor Delirium had heard, just an increasing sense of pressure. Of something on the other side, moving slowly, relentlessly closer. Wanting out. I threw all my weight, all my strength, against the Door. I was a Drood, shaman to Humanity, and I would hold against all the hoards of Hell, or die trying.
And then Methuselah called my name. I looked around, and he was back with Molly. Only this time, he had the glowing blade pressed against her throat. He was grinning broadly, his eyes wide and no longer entirely sane.
“Get away from the Door!” he yelled. “Even a witch will die, if you cut off her head! Doesn’t matter where she keeps her heart then, does it? Get away from my Door, or watch your witch die, right in front of you.”
“She wouldn’t want me to do that,” I said.
“Yes I bloody would!” said Molly. “It’s all right, Eddie. Do as he says.”
“What?”
“Trust me, Eddie. You can’t stop the Door opening. So let Methuselah have what he wants.”
There was something in the way she said that. I looked at her closely, and she dropped me the briefest of winks. Okay, I thought, she must know something . . . So I pushed myself away from the Door, and backed away from it. Methuselah waited till I was a safe distance away, and then headed for the Door, dragging Molly along with him, the blade still pressed against her throat. He hesitated by the Door, clearly wondering if he could cut Molly’s throat and get away with it, but in the end he just threw her face forward into the snow, grabbed up the fallen Hand of Glory, and pronounced one final, irrevocable Word. I ran forward, grabbed Molly, and hauled her away from the Door. She struggled fiercely in my arms, so I put her down, and we both turned to look at the Door.
“I’ve done it!” yelled Methuselah, dancing hysterically before the Door. “I’ve turned it, I’ve transformed its nature, it’s the P
aradise Door now! I will take Heaven by storm, and know pleasures beyond bearing! Paradise is mine!”
The Door opened, just the slightest crack, and a brilliant light blasted out, so pure and blindingly brilliant that Molly and I both cried out, wanting to turn our gaze away but held where we were. The light incinerated Methuselah where he stood, reducing him to ashes in a moment. The Door closed, and all that was left of the Immortal was a few final ashes, spiralling slowly to the snow below. And then the Door just disappeared, turning in a direction my eyes could not follow—gone forever, leaving nothing behind but the crater of steaming water it had been standing in.
“Well,” I said finally. “The light of Heaven is not for mortals. And . . . somebody really doesn’t like gate-crashers.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Taking Care of Loose Ends
Afterwards
Back at Drood Hall, I paid a visit to the Infirmary. One of the closed-off wards, where we keep the lost causes. For those Droods injured or damaged beyond all hope of recovery, but somehow still alive. Because out in the field, a bullet can be the kindest threat an agent has to face. We never give up on them, because they’re family. And because every now and again, we win one. Alistair had a small private room all to himself, befitting his status as husband to the late Matriarch, my grandmother. He wasn’t my real grandfather; that had been the Matriarch’s first husband. Which might have been why I never cared much for Alistair.
He lay quietly on his bed, still wrapped from head to toe in bandages, even after all this time. Surrounded by the very latest medical equipment, apparently helpless to do anything more than monitor his condition. They made pleasant, efficient sounds at regular intervals, and lights made impressive patterns on their displays, but still Alistair lay there, held somewhere between life and death. He slept most of the time, I was told, waking up just often enough to take nourishment through a straw. He breathed slowly, evenly, without any help.
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