The Man with the Golden Torc sh-1

by Simon R. Green

  "Take off the armour," she said harshly. "I won’t talk to you while you’re wearing the armour."

  With the armour off, I’d be defenceless. She could kill me, torture me, or mindwipe me into her slave; all things she’d threatened to do in the past. But I had come to her, so I had to make the gesture of trust. Of vulnerability. I subvocalised the Words, and braced myself as the living gold disappeared back into my torc. Molly looked me over, as though searching for signs of treachery, and I looked back at her as calmly as I could. Molly nodded slowly and moved a single step closer.

  "I heard about what happened, on the motorway. About all the things your family sent after you. People all over town are having a hard time believing you fought them all off. I mean, no offence, Edwin, but…no one on the scene ever thought you were that good. Did one of the Fae really shoot you with an arrow?"

  Moving slowly and carefully, I unbuttoned my shirt and pushed it back to show her the arrow wound in my shoulder. Molly took another step forward to study the healed wound more closely. She didn’t touch me, but I could feel her warm breath on my bare skin as she leaned in close. She pulled back again and met my gaze squarely. She was taller than I remembered, her eyes almost on a level with mine. She smiled suddenly, and it was not a pretty smile.

  "So; Drood armour can be breached, after all. That’s a thing worth knowing. I could kill you now, Shaman. Edwin."

  "Yes," I said. "You could. But you won’t."

  "Really? Are you sure about that?"

  "No," I admitted. "You’ve never been…predictable, Molly. But I’m not your enemy anymore. I’m not Drood: I’m rogue. That changes everything."

  "Maybe," said Molly. "Convince me, Edwin. I can always kill you later, if I get bored."

  I relaxed just a little and buttoned up my shirt again. Give me an inch, and I can talk anyone into anything. "You’ve tried to kill me often enough, in the past," I said. "Remember the time you blew up the whole Bradbury building, just to get me? The look on your face when I walked unharmed out of the ruins! I thought you were going to pop an artery."

  Molly nodded, smiling. "Do you remember the time you stuck me through the chest with three feet of enchanted steel? Only to discover that like all good magicians, I keep my heart safe and secure somewhere else? I thought you were going to have a fit."

  "We’ve lived, haven’t we?" I said dryly, and she laughed briefly. "We can work together," I said. "We want the same things in this, and who else has shared as much history as we have?"

  "That makes sense," said Molly. "In a warped kind of way. Who knows us better than our enemies? Though I have to say the Shaman Bond thing came as a bit of a surprise." She cocked her head to one side, like a bird, considering me. "Why did you come to me as Shaman? You could have burst in here in your damned armour, safe from all my magics, smashed through my defences, and demanded I help you."

  "No, I couldn’t," I said. "You’d have told me to go to hell."

  "True, very true. You do know me, Edwin."

  "Please; call me Eddie. And besides, I wanted to make a point. That I would share my secrets with you, if you would share yours with me. You know things, Molly, things few other people know; things you’re not supposed to know. And there are things I need to know about my family. Things that have been withheld from me." I looked around.

  "And I really would like to know how you got a forest inside your house."

  "Because I am the wild witch! I am the laughter in the woods, the promise of the night, the delight of the soul, and the dazzle of the senses. And because I hired a really good interior decorator. You never did appreciate me, Edwin."

  "Eddie, please."

  "Yes…You look like an Eddie. Now, if answers are truly what you want, look into my scrying pool. But don’t blame me if the truth you learn is a truth you’d rather not know."

  Molly sat down beside her pool again, gathering her long white gown around her, and I crouched cautiously down beside her. The whole thing was a scrying pool? It had to be twenty feet across, easy, which would make it hellishly powerful. Molly slapped the flat of her left hand onto the surface of the waters, and the ripples spread out, pushing the lily pads to the borders of the pond. The crystal clear water shimmered, and then blazed bright as the sun, dazzling my eyes, before clearing abruptly to show me a vision of a man and a woman, in two different rooms, talking on the phone. I leaned forward as I recognised them. The man was the British prime minister; the woman was Martha Drood.

  "You can See into the Hall?" I said, my voice hardly more than a breath. "That’s not supposed to be possible!"

  "It’s all right," said Molly. "They can’t see or hear us. But listen now, and pay attention. You need to hear this."

  "Look, this is your mess!" the prime minister was saying angrily.

  "Drood agents, in full armour, fighting each other in full view of the public? Thank God the media didn’t catch it. Do you even realise what it’s going to take to put this right? The rebuilding, the witness intimidation programme, the hush money? All because you couldn’t take care of your own dirty work!"

  "Stop whining," said Martha, her voice cold as a slap in the face.

  "Damage limitations is one of the few things you’re actually good at. Probably because you’ve had so much experience at it. You will do everything you have to, and you’ll do it efficiently and well and very quickly, or I’ll have you killed and see if your replacement learns anything from the experience. Remember your place, Prime Minister. I got you elected so you could serve the family’s interests, just like your predecessors. The family knows best. Always."

  "All right! All right!" The prime minister said defensively. "I’m on top of this, Matriarch. You don’t have anything to worry about."

  "No, I don’t," said Martha. "But you do."

  Molly took her hand off the water, and the vision disappeared. I looked numbly at Molly. "How could she speak to him like that? How could he grovel to her like that? She wouldn’t really have hurt him. We don’t do things like that. The family serves the powers that be; we don’t interfere. That’s always been our duty and our responsibility. To preserve—"

  "Poor Eddie," said Molly. "You only wanted to know the truth because you didn’t know how much it would hurt. Well, here it is, so brace yourself. The family isn’t what you think it is, and it never was. Only those Droods at the very top of the family tree know what the family is really for. You protect the world, yes, but not for the people…for the establishment. The Droods work to maintain the status quo, keeping everyone calm and controlled, and the people in their proper place. Under the thumbs of those in authority. Droods aren’t the world’s bodyguards, and never have been; you’re enforcers. Bullyboys. Hammering down any nail that dares to stick its head above the rest.

  "And after centuries of establishing power and control, along with the odd assassination of those in power who wouldn’t or couldn’t learn to go along to get along, even those who make up the official establishment have learned to be afraid of your family. Politicians all across the world are allowed to hold power only as long as they answer to Drood authority. Your family, Eddie, are the secret rulers of the world."

  I just sat there, shocked into silence. My whole world had just been kicked away from under my feet. Again. I wanted to believe she was lying, but I couldn’t. It all made too much sense. Too many things I’d seen and heard that I wasn’t supposed to, so many hints and whispers on the scene, so many little things that had never added up…till now. There is a reason why things are the way they are; but it’s not a very nice one.

  I think I might have swayed a little, because Molly tossed a handful of icy pond water into my face. "Don’t you dare flake out on me, Eddie! Not when I’m just getting to the interesting bit."

  "My family runs the world," I said numbly, cold water dripping unheeded from my face. "And I never knew. How could I have been so blind?"

  "It’s not all bad news," said Molly. "There is a resistance. And I’m part of it."


  I looked at her. "You? I thought you always said you refused to belong to any group that would accept the likes of you as a member. Especially after what happened last time, with the Arcadia Project. As if that whole plague of frogs thing wasn’t bad enough, you ended up pulling that Klan sorcerer’s intestines out through his nostrils."

  "He annoyed me," said Molly. "And anyway, I work with the resistance, not for them, as and when it suits me."

  I considered that, not liking the taste. One of the Drood family’s greatest fears has always been that another organisation might arise to work against them. An anti-family, as it were. There had been several attempts, down the centuries, but the various bad guys had never been able to find enough things in common to hold them together. They always ended up arguing over ends and means, and matters of precedence, and who exactly was going to be in charge. This led to factions and fighting, and it always ended in tears. Though admittedly it didn’t usually involve intestines and nostrils.

  "The new cabal is called Manifest Destiny," said Molly, just a little grandly, after it became clear I had nothing to say for the moment.

  "They, we, want humanity to be free from all outside control; by the Droods or anyone else. Free to make its own destiny. The leaders of the cabal have brought together powers from across the whole spectrum of opposition: the Loathly Ones, the Cult of the Crimson Altar, the Dream Meme, Vril Power Inc., even the Lurkers on the Threshold."

  "Ah," I said. "The usual unusual suspects."

  "Well, yes; plus a whole army of powerful and committed fellow travellers. Like me. More than you ever dreamed possible, determined to break the Droods’ stranglehold on humanity, once and for all. Not to gain power for themselves, but just to set humanity free. That’s what makes this cabal so different; for the first time it’s not about us."

  "This…cabal," I said. "Were they behind recent attacks on my family home?"

  Molly shrugged. "I don’t get involved in day-to-day decisions. I told you: I only work with them when I feel like it, on matters of mutual interest."

  "So I suppose you don’t know the identity of the traitor in my family, either? Or why I was declared rogue?"

  "I know there is a traitor. That’s old knowledge. And if it matters, word is he or she approached Manifest Destiny, not the other way around." She looked at me coolly, almost compassionately. "Poor little Drood; they’ve taken away your innocence, and now you have to think for yourself. I don’t know why your family threw you to the wolves, Eddie, but I know a few people who might. Why don’t you come with me and meet some of my friends and associates? See what they’re really like, when you and they aren’t busy trying to kill each other. Not all of those condemned by your family are one hundred percent dyed in the wool bad guys. Even monsters aren’t monsters all the time, you know."

  I nodded, too numb to muster any arguments. I wasn’t up to speed yet. There was a great hole in my gut where my family used to be, and I hadn’t figured out what to fill it with. Molly helped me to my feet, and then let go of my arm immediately. She still wasn’t used to being this close to me. She turned abruptly and headed off deeper into the forest. I hurried after her. We walked together, maintaining a comfortable distance, for quite some time. Wherever this forest was, it wasn’t inside her house. The door must have been spelled to transport me straight here, wherever here was.

  I’d just about worked this out when we came to another door, standing on its own, upright and unsupported. Molly stood before it, muttering Words under her breath. I wondered where this door would lead; what charming underworld dive Molly wanted to show me. Café Night, perhaps, where vampires flocked together to feast on willing victims. It started out as a fashionable salon, but of late had lapsed into an S and M parlour. Vampires added whole new shades of meaning to the phrase tops and bottoms. It might be the Black Magicians’ Circle, which once upon a time was the place to be, if you worshipped dark forces and could boast your very own demonic familiar. These days it was more of a self-help and support group. The Order of the Beyond was still going strong, in marvellous new high-tech premises down on Grafton Way, where people offered themselves as temporary hosts to outer-dimensional beings in return for forbidden and outré knowledge. Of course, conversations in that place did tend towards the seriously weird…Molly pushed the door open and stepped through, and I hurried in after her. And then I stopped abruptly and looked around me.

  "Wait a minute! This…this is the Wulfshead Club!"

  And it was. Just as big and bold and brassy and hellishly noisy as it always was. Molly looked at me pityingly.

  "Of course. Where else? The Wulfshead has always been the hottest spot on the scene. Everyone comes here; good and bad and in between. You never noticed the bad guys because you always mix with your own crowd, and we all mix with ours. That’s what makes the club’s truce workable. Come on; come and meet some of my friends. Looks like we have an interesting crowd in tonight."

  I was still a little dazed, so she grabbed me by the arm and dragged me through the crowd in the direction of the bar. I let her. I felt I could use a whole bunch of very large drinks. Several people nodded to Shaman Bond, and several more nodded to Molly Metcalf. Some of them looked quite surprised and not a little intrigued at seeing the two of us so openly together, but no one said anything. The Wulfshead crowd understands the need for discretion and the occasional blind eye. Molly and I ended up at one end of the high-tech bar, where the professionally uninterested bartender served us drinks. I had a very large brandy, Molly had a Southern Comfort, and I ended up paying for both. She gestured for certain personages to come and join her, and they drifted warily over.

  Subway Sue I already knew. She drifted unseen among passengers using the Underground trains, quietly leeching off a little luck from everyone she brushed up against. Which is why so many people miss their trains or end up on the wrong platform. To look at her, you’d think she was only one step up from homeless, buried under layers of charity clothes, but that was just so that no one would notice her. There was always someone willing to pay her good money for the stolen luck she hoarded. On the quiet, Subway Sue lived very well.

  Girl Flower was an ancient Welsh elemental, made up of rose petals and owls’ claws long and long ago by an ancient travelling sorcerer who might or might not have been Merlin. The story changed every time she told it. She looked human enough, most of the time. Treat her right, and she’d be soft as rose petals for you. Mistreat or wrong her, and the owls’ claws would come out. And then the best you could hope for was when the authorities finally found what was left of you, your relatives would be able to find an undertaker who was really into jigsaw puzzles. Girl Flower had very high standards, which was why she was always so very disappointed in men. But she remained optimistic, and the police kept fishing body parts out of the Thames. Girl Flower dressed in bright pastel colours, in gypsy styles, and wore so many bracelets they clattered deafeningly every time she gestured. She’d had one glass of champagne and was already more than a bit tipsy.

  Digger Browne was a short, stocky personage, in an old-fashioned wraparound coat with mud stains on the sleeves. He wore heavy woollen gloves when he was out in public, to hide his long horny fingernails made for digging and tearing. He also wore a wide-brimmed hat that hid most of his face in shadow. Digger was a ghoul and smelt strongly of carrion and recently disturbed earth.

  "I’m just a part of nature," he said easily. "I take out the trash, clean up the garbage, and generally keep the world tidy. So I enjoy my work; is that a sin? Not everyone has a taste for the kind of work I do, but it has to be done. Someone’s got to eat all those bodies. Remember the undertakers’ strike, back in the seventies? People couldn’t do enough for me then…"

  And finally, there was Mr. Stab. I didn’t need to be introduced to him. Everyone knew Mr. Stab, if only by reputation: the notorious uncaught serial killer of old London Town. He’d operated under many names, down the long years, and I don’t think even he knew f
or sure exactly how many people he’d murdered since he started out with five unfortunate whores in the East End in 1888. He gained something, some power, from what he did then. A ceremony of blood, he called it; a celebration of slaughter. And now he goes on and on and no one can stop him. When he was just being himself at the Wulfshead, he still dressed in the formal dark clothes of his time, right down to the opera cloak and top hat.

  Most of these people knew or at least knew of Shaman Bond, and it came as quite a shock to them when Molly introduced me as Edwin Drood. Subway Sue looked around for the nearest exit, Digger Browne chewed nervously on his finger snack, and Girl Flower giggled at me owlishly over her glass. Mr. Stab smiled slowly, showing large blocky teeth stained brown with age.

  "So you’re Edwin Drood. The man behind the mask. You probably have a body count nearly equal to mine."

  "I kill to put an end to suffering," I said. "Not to celebrate it."

  "I serve a purpose, just as you do."

  "Don’t you dare try to justify yourself to me!" I said, and my voice was cold enough that everyone except Mr. Stab fell back a step.

  "Why not?" said Mr. Stab. "I am a part of the natural order, just like Mr. Browne here. I cull the herd, thin out the weak and helpless, improve the stock. Someone has to do it, if the herd is to stay healthy."

  "You do it because you enjoy it!"

  "That too."

  I started to subvocalise the Words that would call up my armour. The only reason I hadn’t killed Mr. Stab before this was because I’d never known where to look for him. I’d seen some of his victims, or what he’d left of them, and that was enough for me. Molly guessed what I was about to do, grabbed me by the arm, and pulled me around to glare right into my face.

  "Don’t you dare embarrass me in front of my friends!"

  "This is a friend? Mr. Stab? Do you know how many women just like you he’s killed?"