The Man with the Golden Torc sh-1

by Simon R. Green

  "But he’s never harmed me, or any of my friends, and he has been there for me when I needed him. Not even monsters are monsters all the time, remember? I’ve killed, in my time, for what seemed like good reasons, and so have you. You really think the world sees you as any different from him? How many grieving families have you left in your bloody wake, Edwin Drood?"

  I took a long slow breath and forced myself into a kind of calm. I’d come here looking for answers, and the kind I needed could only be freely given. I nodded jerkily to Molly, and she let go of my arm. We turned back to face the others.

  "There’s a traitor in my family," I said stiffly. "I would be grateful for any information you could give me."

  "How grateful?" said Subway Sue. "Are we talking serious money?"

  "If I had serious money, do you really think I’d be here talking to you?" I said just a bit ungraciously. "I’m rogue, outcast, outlaw. All I have is what I stand up in."

  "I’m sure we could make some kind of deal," said Girl Flower in her breathy voice, batting her eyelashes at me, and then spoiled the mood by giggling.

  "There is a traitor at the heart of the Droods," said Digger Browne.

  "That’s common knowledge. But I don’t think anyone knows who."

  "Lots of people have put forward names," said Mr. Stab. "But it’s all guesswork. Lots of people thought it might be you, Edwin. A field agent operating on his own, far from Drood central control, the only Drood ever to run away from home and not be hunted down like a dog by his family. The only reason everyone didn’t think it was you was because that would have been too obvious."

  "And none of you know why I was made rogue?" I said.

  "I’ve done some work for your family on occasion," said Digger. "I’d have sworn you were depressingly squeaky clean, like most of your family. I mean, yes, you run the world and everything, but—"

  "I too have done work for the Droods," said Mr. Stab. He smiled crookedly at me. "Pretty much everyone here has, at one time or another. It’s the Droods’ world; we just live in it."

  "We would never deal with filth like you," I said, but my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t know what my family was capable of anymore.

  "There are many like us," Molly said carefully. "Allowed to operate as long as we don’t rock the boat too much. As long as we pay tithes, or perform the occasional service for them. Dirty jobs, off-the-books cases; the kind you regular field agents aren’t suited for. The kind you were never supposed to know about, because it might stain your precious honour. We’ve all done the Droods’ dirty work. That’s why we’re all so ready to bring them down."

  My head was spinning. I felt sick. Could I really have spent my whole life supporting a lie? Was there really anything left to me now, except to bring down my own family?

  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.