The Spy Who Haunted Me sh-3

by Simon R. Green

  “Don’t try pulling rank on me, Grandmother. I’ll slouch if I want to.”

  “I was about to say, it always comes back to there being a traitor in this family. Someone with access to all our secrets.”

  “Secrets,” I said. “Could this traitor . . . be the same traitor who gave up the secrets of the Hall’s defences so the Heart could be attacked? We never did find out who was behind that. And given what we now know about the sick and evil nature of the Heart, could those attacking forces have been good guys all along?”

  “Ethel?” said the Matriarch.

  “I keep telling you,” the disembodied voice said reproachfully, “I really don’t know. I know many things. Secrets of the universes. If you knew what pyramids were really for, you’d spit and go blind. But the Heart . . . made a lot of enemies before it came here. Destroyed whole worlds, whole civilisations, for its pleasure. I wasn’t the only one trying to track it down for justice and vengeance.”

  “And your first contact with this dimension was through the Blue Fairy,” I said thoughtfully.

  “Yes; he went fishing through the dimensions and happened to catch on to a very small part of me.”

  “He opens dimensional doors,” the Matriarch said slowly. “And we brought him here, into the Hall, during the Hungry Gods War. On your recommendation, Edwin.”

  “He betrayed my trust,” I said. “But he couldn’t be our traitor.”

  “Why not?” said the Armourer. “What do we really know about him? A half elf, product of an elven father and a human mother. We have a pretty good idea of who the father was, but I don’t think anyone ever identified the mother . . . Could she have been a Drood? It would help explain why the Blue Fairy was so desperate to steal a torc from us.”

  “I once discovered the Blue Fairy lurking in the old library,” I said. “Maybe he was looking for evidence of his family roots . . .”

  “We need to talk with William,” said the Matriarch. “Ethel, establish a communication link, please.”

  “Oh, sure! No problem! I love doing stuff like this. You know the material laws of your dimension are really easy to mess with. Basically because they’re not so much laws as local agreements. I could—”

  “No, you couldn’t,” I said quickly. “Contrary to anything you may hear us say, we actually do like things the way they are. Just give us a window to the old library, please.”

  Ethel sniffed. “You’re so unadventurous. And you never did get around to explaining this sex thing you all do . . .”

  “Later, Ethel. The window, please . . .”

  The air shimmered before us, and a pair of heavy plush velvet purple curtains appeared. There was a loud trumpet fanfare from nowhere, followed by a roll of drums, and then the curtains opened dramatically to reveal a view into the old library. Hard to tell where, exactly; one tall stack of dusty old bookshelves looks much like another. The light was a dull golden glow, like a patina of age impressed upon the air itself. William appeared abruptly before us, thrusting his angry face right at us, a bit like one of these three-dimensional images gone feral. With his heavily lined face, fierce eyes, and lengthening gray hair and beard, William looked a lot like one of those Old Testament prophets, the ones who specialised in predicting really bad things happening anytime soon.

  “There is absolutely no need to ring an incredibly loud bell at this end when you want to talk to me! I am crazy, not deaf! You know I don’t like loud noises. Or squirrels . . .”

  “Report your progress, Librarian,” said the Matriarch, cutting across what promised to be a lengthy diatribe.

  William scowled at her. “Say please.”

  The Matriarch sighed. “Edwin, would you like to be head of this family again?”

  “Just say please to him and get it over with,” I said.

  “Oh, very well. Please,” said the Matriarch.

  “Didn’t sound like you meant it,” William said cunningly. “Say pretty please.”

  “Pretty please!”

  “Very good, Matriarch! Now try disestablishmentarianism in Krakatoa east of Java.”

  “William . . .” I said.

  He pouted. “No one knows how to have fun in this family. All right; progress report.” He sniffed a few times and blinked his eyes just a bit vaguely. “I’m still putting together a list of all the books missing from the old library. Some quite important volumes and documents are not where they should be. Mostly to do with our own family history . . .”

  “That’s it?” said the Armourer. “That’s all you’ve done? You’ve had months!”

  “Don’t shout! Or I’ll have a mood swing. You know I’m still not properly myself yet.” The Librarian clasped his hands together tightly, perhaps so we wouldn’t see how badly they were shaking. “Being in the old library helps. I feel safe here. Secure.”

  “We have prepared a very comfortable room for you in east wing,” said the Matriarch. “It’s got a view. Not much of a view, perhaps, but still . . .”

  “No! No . . .” William shook his head jerkily. “I’m not ready to be with other people. Not yet. Had enough of that in the asylum. It’s easier to be me when I’m not . . . distracted. I like it here, among the books. I trust them. You know where you are with books . . .” He stopped and looked around him uncertainly for a moment. “Though sometimes I still see things out of the corners of my eyes . . . Might be real. Might not. I don’t take chances anymore . . . Eddie, good to see you again! Always good to see you. Yes . . . Did you want something?”

  “The books that have gone missing from the old library,” I said patiently. “You said they concerned Drood family history.”

  “One hundred and twenty-seven items, so far,” the Librarian said instantly. He was immediately more precise and focused, once he was on safe ground again. “Books, folios, even original manuscripts. Some I can only identify from their titles or from gaps left on the shelves. No idea about the actual contents. We really must assemble a proper index, as a matter of urgency. There are some gaps on the shelves I can’t explain at all . . .

  “My first thought was that the books might have been taken by the Zero Tolerance faction, to hand over to Truman’s Manifest Destiny group . . . but I am told a thorough search of their abandoned bases has failed to turn up a single volume, so . . . I’ve been working on the assumption that the traitor in our family is responsible. Perhaps he intended to sell them to our enemies. Perhaps they contained clues to his true identity . . .”

  He stopped again to look jerkily about him. “This is the old library,” he said slowly. “Long thought lost and destroyed. Not the library I used to run before the Heart destroyed my mind . . . No. This is an old place, older than you think. Older than anyone thinks. Listen to me, Martha. I may not be the man I once was, and I may have trouble with my memory, but I am not crazy. Even if I sometimes play it, just to watch that vein throb in your forehead. I can say I am not crazy with some confidence, because I have been crazy, and I know what it feels like. This . . . is different. There’s something in here, with me. Hiding in the stacks, in the shadows, in the gaps . . . Watching. Waiting. I don’t know what it is or how long it might have been here. Maybe it’s always been here. Sometimes I think it’s a good thing, sometimes not. Maybe there was a good reason why the old library had to be lost . . . And maybe, just maybe, when we reopened the old library, we woke it up again.

  “I’m pretty sure there’s something inside the Merlin Glass too. You should be careful, Eddie. Check the reflection for things that shouldn’t be there . . .”

  He broke off as his young assistant Librarian, Rafe, appeared beside him in the window. Rafe had been made family Librarian in William’s absence but immediately stood aside on William’s return. Rafe was the first to admit he wasn’t in William’s league. He patted William comfortingly on the shoulder. Rafe had a kind, almost clerical face and a first-class mind when he concentrated.

  “There you are,” he said chidingly to William. “I take my eye off you for te
n minutes . . . You didn’t take your medication again this morning, did you?”

  “Turns my piss blue,” grumbled William. “Never trust anything that turns your piss blue.”

  Rafe looked out the window at me. “Is this anything I can help you with? The Librarian really isn’t strong, you know. He should be having his rest period now.”

  “I am not a child, Rafe,” said the Librarian. “I do not need a rest period.”

  “All right then,” Rafe said patiently. “Why not come and have a nice sit-down, then? I’ve just made a fresh pot of tea.”

  “Are there Jaffa Cakes?” said the Librarian.

  “Of course there are Jaffa Cakes. And a few chocolate chip cookies.”

  “That’s more like it!” said the Librarian cheerfully. “Nothing like a good cup of tea to sharpen the wits and clean out the kidneys. I shall address my thoughts to the problem, Matriarch, and inform you when I have an answer.”

  He marched away, not even looking back. Rafe watched the Librarian go and sighed quietly.

  “He has his good days and his bad days. He has a remarkable mind when he’s . . . himself. The work he’s done here has been exceptional. We’re months ahead of where I thought we’d be. But he’s still . . .”

  “Distracted,” said the Matriarch.

  “Well, yes. Sometimes. But he is a lot better than he used to be. Really.”

  “Of course, Rafe,” said the Armourer. “We understand. Can you tell us anything about the missing books or the identity of our possible traitor?”

  “Nothing that William wouldn’t already have said. I really thought we were onto something when we discovered the Zero Tolerance faction had had access to the old library, but Callan’s been very firm that he hasn’t found anything in all of the Manifest Destiny bases he’s been through.”

  “Keep looking,” said the Matriarch. “And keep an eye on William.”

  She gestured sharply, and Ethel closed the window. She didn’t bother with the curtains or flourishes this time. Perhaps even Ethel could sense when the Matriarch really wasn’t in the mood.

  “How is Callan these days?” I said carefully.

  “Recovering,” said the Armourer. “He’s adapted well to his new torc, but we’re all keeping a watchful eye on him. No Drood has ever survived having his torc ripped off him before.”

  “There’s no denying he’s been behaving . . . oddly,” said the Matriarch. “But then, Callan always did. He insisted on returning to the field the moment he was physically capable, and none of us had the heart to say no. But since then, he’s been a driven man. Working every hour God sends, either to prove to us that he’s still the man he used to be or to prove it to himself.”

  “The family has always asked a lot of us,” I said.

  “Only when necessary,” the Matriarch said immediately. “For the good of the family, and the world.”

  “At least tell me Callan’s not out there on his own,” I said.

  “Of course not!” said the Matriarch. “We partnered him with Subway Sue. Another of our spiritually walking wounded. Each of them thinks they’re there to look after the other, and so far it seems to be working. They’re currently down in Tasmania, investigating a new outbreak of devil worship.”

  “He sent us a postcard,” said the Armourer. “Quite a rude one, actually. I’ll show it to you later, Eddie.”

  “It is vital to the family that we recover the stolen torc,” the Matriarch said forcefully. “We cannot allow our most powerful weapon to remain in the hands of an enemy.”

  “The Blue Fairy said he was taking it to the Fae Court,” said the Armourer. “And the only direct route to the world of the elves these days is in Shadows Fall.” The Armourer shuddered briefly. “Don’t know which of those places disturbs me the most.”

  “Well, somebody’s going to have to go and get it,” said Ethel. “I can’t reach the torc myself, and it’s not for want of trying. It’s part of me and I want it back. But I can’t just reach into the elven realm; it’s too different. And believe me, I know from different. The Fae Court would put my teeth on edge. If I had any.”

  “Hold everything!” I said. “If that’s why you called me back, you can forget it. I am not going to the Fae Court. It’s dangerous! Besides, they hate me!”

  “They hate everybody,” said the Armourer, not unreasonably. “They’re elves.”

  “Yeah, but I killed a whole bunch of elf lords and ladies on the M4, remember? I turn up before Oberon and Titania, and they’ll turn me into something. Probably something soft and squishy that squelches when it moves. You do remember that attempt on my life, Grandmother? You did arrange it, after all.”

  “I have apologised,” said the Matriarch. “I don’t see what else I can do.”

  “No,” I said. “You wouldn’t. Look, for this you need a diplomat. Someone they’ll talk to. Or at the very least listen to.”

  “Trust me,” said the Matriarch. “I would never send you on any mission where diplomacy was necessary.”

  “Even when you say something nice, it sounds like an insult,” I said. “Come on, people, you’ve been around and around the bushes so many times you’ve worn a trench in the ground. Why am I here?”

  The Matriarch and the Armourer glanced at each other. “Forgive us for coming at this in such a roundabout way,” the Armourer said finally. “But we thought it important you understood and appreciated the situation the family is in. Traitors within, enemies without, and far too many questions we can’t answer. On top of that, we’re stretched far too thin. We’ve had to send out too many new field agents to replace those who died during the Hungry Gods War. Often without proper training, because there just wasn’t time. Many of them are going to die, but we had to send them anyway, because we have to reestablish our presence in the world. Remind everyone that the Droods are still a force to be reckoned with.”

  “The family cannot afford to be perceived as weak or divided,” the Matriarch said flatly. “For the moment, most of the world gov ernments are still impressed, if not actually grateful, that we were able to save the world from the invading Hungry Gods. So everyone’s behaving themselves and playing nice. But it won’t last.”

  “And all the usual troublemakers are still out there,” said the Armourer. “Dr. Delirium, the Kali Corporation, the Djinn Jeanie. So . . . when someone comes forward and offers us the name and current identity of the traitor within the family . . . we have to take them seriously.”

  “We have received . . . a communication,” said the Matriarch, her thin mouth compressing as though tasting something bad. “From Alexander King, the legendary Independent Agent. Yes, I thought you’d recognise the name, Edwin. The single greatest spy the world has ever known.”

  “Damn right!” I said, sitting up straight in spite of myself. “You used to tell me stories about him when I was just a kid, Uncle Jack. Hell, everyone knows stories about the Independent Agent!”

  “Impress me,” said the Matriarch. “Show me you paid some attention during your lessons. What do you know about Alexander King?”

  “There have always been other intelligence agencies in the world,” I said, “doing the same work as us. Some political, some religious: the Regent of Shadows, the London Knights, the Salvation Army Sisterhood. And any number of individual agents playing the great game for their own reasons: the Walking Man, the Travelling Doctor, the Old Wolf of Kabul, John Taylor in the Nightside . . . But the best of them has always been Alexander King. He’s taken on every rogue organisation, faction, and Individual of Mass Destruction and run rings around all of them. He’s worked with or against pretty much every government at one time or another, but always on his own terms. He’s even worked with us a few times. Didn’t he and Uncle James once . . . ?”

  “Yes, he did,” said the Armourer. “And we still don’t talk about it. The point is, the Independent Agent has no loyalty to anyone other than himself. He’s worked for every country, every cause, every organisation, and alway
s strictly for cash. He’s saved the world nine times, to our certain knowledge, and come close to destroying it twice.”

  “I always thought he did it for the challenge,” said the Matriarch. To my surprise she was smiling just a little, and her usually calm and cold voice had just a touch of the wistful in it. “To see if he could do it, when no one else could. Alexander has been the best spy in the world for almost seventy years now. He admits to being ninety-one years old but could be even older. The point is, he became increasingly choosy about his missions, turning down most people. He said it was because there were no real challenges left anymore, but age catches up with all of us, even the incredible Independent Agent. In fact, he’s been quiet for so long most of us thought he’d retired.”

  “He did contact us during the Hungry Gods War, to offer his services,” said the Armourer. “But that was when Harry was running things, and he said no. I don’t think he wanted to be overshadowed. Of course, that was before we realised just how serious the whole affair was . . .”

  “The point is,” said the Matriarch, glaring sternly at the Armourer until he sank back into his chair, “Alexander King has contacted us. He says he’s dying. And is therefore prepared to divulge a lifetime’s hoarded knowledge and secrets to whichever present-day agent can demonstrate that they are worthy to take his place when he dies. To ascertain this, he is summoning the six most promising agents in the world to his home deep in the Swiss Alps. And he says he wants you, Edwin.”

  “What? Me?” I sat bolt upright, honestly shocked. “Why would he want me?”

  “He probably wants you because you took on the whole Drood family and won,” the Armourer said dryly. “And just possibly because you led us to victory against the Hungry Gods and saved all humanity. Anyway, he was most firm. He wants you, for this . . . competition of his.”

  “You have to go,” said the Matriarch. “For the pride of the family, and to make sure the Independent Agent’s accumulated treasure of secret knowledge doesn’t fall into the wrong hands. That cannot be allowed to happen, Edwin. Alexander King knows things that no one else knows. The kind of suppressed truths that can bring down governments, start wars, and quite possibly set the whole world at each other’s throats. Any individual or organisation with that kind of knowledge would be a real threat to the Droods, particularly in our current weakened state.”