From a Drood to A Kill: A Secret Histories Novel

by Simon R. Green

  “Okay, that is spooky. Someone is playing games with us, Eddie.”

  “Of course they are!” I said. “That’s the point!”

  “Well, pardon me for breathing! Don’t you snap at me, Eddie Drood, or I will slap you one and it will hurt!”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I really don’t like being messed with, in what looks like my own home. It’s like someone is meddling with my memories. Sniping at me from behind the scenes.”

  I looked out the window opposite, and for a moment I saw faces looking in. Strangely familiar faces, though they were come and gone so quickly I couldn’t place them or put a name to them. I hurried over to the window and looked out, but nobody was there. Molly quickly forced her way in beside me and studied the sweeping green lawns.

  “What? What did you see, Eddie?”

  “You didn’t see them?”

  “See who? I wasn’t looking.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said.

  I turned my back on the window and scowled at the room around us. The almost exact familiarity of the Hall was giving me the creeps. Like a monster hiding behind the mask of a friendly face.

  “We didn’t choose this setting,” I said. “Someone else did. Which means this is a trap. I think we need to get the hell out of here.”

  “Are you sure?” said Molly. “If we keep going, we might flush out our hidden enemy, force him to reveal himself.”

  “We’re going,” I said. “I won’t play their Game.”

  But of course it was never going to be that easy. Whichever way I went, whichever route I chose, it never led us outside. When I strode back down the hallway and out the main entrance, I found myself walking back into the hallway through the end door. I tried a dozen different ways out, running up and down side corridors and kicking open side doors, but somehow Molly and I always ended up back in the hallway. And when I finally lost my temper and tried to dismiss the whole setting by shouting I don’t believe in you! at it . . . Nothing happened. It’s hard to really concentrate when you’re feeling that angry.

  Which was almost certainly the point.

  It was actually a relief when someone opened fire on us from hiding. Out of the corner of one eye I caught a brief glimpse of movement, and armoured up immediately. Bullets slammed into my chest in a steady tattoo, and my armour absorbed them as fast as they arrived. Molly ducked behind me in a moment and used me as cover to return fire. Whoever our attackers were, they were really well hidden. I couldn’t even see the muzzle flashes, let alone movement. And with my mask in place I should have been able to see . . . something.

  “We can’t stay here, Eddie!” said Molly, shouting to be heard over the staccato bursts of gunfire. “We’re too exposed!”

  “Where are they shooting from?” I said.

  “Can’t you see?”

  “No!”

  “Then how do you expect me to be able to?”

  “They’re very good,” I said. “Professionals.”

  “We need to move, Eddie! Now!”

  “All right!” I peered quickly around. “Do you see that alcove to my left, with the really ugly statue of Bacchus in it? I’m going there. Right now. Try to keep up.”

  I sprinted for the alcove, though still careful to keep my armoured body between Molly and the gunfire. Bullets followed me all the way, and every single one hit me somewhere, tracking back and forth and up and down as though searching for a weak spot. I didn’t feel any of it, of course, but it was starting to get on my nerves. I reached the alcove, grabbed Bacchus and threw him out, and then Molly and I squeezed into the narrow space, pressed close together. More bullets slammed into the walls on either side of us, chewing up the wood panelling . . . But they couldn’t reach us, and that would do, for the moment.

  We couldn’t stay in the alcove. All the enemy had to do was change position, and he’d have a clear shot. I had hoped he would reveal himself, doing just that, but I still couldn’t see anything. I needed to take the fight to the enemy, but I couldn’t just run off and abandon Molly. She was almost defenceless without her magics. Without me. I had to protect her, even though I knew she’d deny needing it. There was a sudden pause, a worrying hush.

  “Must be reloading,” said Molly. “Quick, where can we go next? We need more room to move, and better protection. And preferably someplace where we can launch our own attack.”

  I peered down the hallway, and spotted an ironwood table. “There. That’s our best bet.”

  Molly looked. “That’s a table!”

  “Ironwood. Trust me.”

  “You’d better be right about this, Eddie.”

  I charged out of the alcove and sprinted down the hallway to the table, with Molly pounding along and crowding my heels all the way. The gunfire started up again, a deafening fusillade of bullets. It was like running into horizontal steel rain. I got to the table, overturned it, and then grabbed Molly and pulled her down so we could both shelter behind the heavy wood. Massed firepower slammed into the table, and the ironwood absorbed it all, quite complacently. It didn’t even budge under the repeated impacts. Molly grinned at me.

  “Some table! I love this table! Where did you get it?”

  “From the future,” I said. “A present from the Deathstalker.”

  Molly shook her head. “You and your family.”

  As though annoyed they couldn’t blast their way through the ironwood, the heavy stream of bullets turned its attention to the portraits of my ancestors on the walls. Old photographs and older paintings were chewed up and shredded, centuries of family history destroyed in moments. Scraps of old canvas floated on the air. I knew they weren’t real, weren’t the real thing, but I was still mad as hell. This was a cold act of contempt, against my family. Molly put a hand on my golden arm.

  “You stay put, Eddie. They’re doing this deliberately, to get to you. To upset you enough that you’ll break cover, so they can get a clear shot at you.”

  “Let them,” I said. “I have my armour.”

  “And they must know that,” said Molly, doggedly patient. “Which suggests they have even nastier weapons, held in reserve. Something they think can get to you.”

  And while I was considering that, a large, chunky grenade came rolling down the floor towards us, from out of nowhere. I saw it coming, grabbed Molly, and wrapped myself around her as completely as I could. The grenade rolled to a halt just on the other side of the table, and exploded with a roar so loud it actually deafened me inside my armour. The ironwood tabletop absorbed a lot of the blast, but the sheer impact was enough to send the table skidding down the hallway, pushing Molly and me ahead of it. Black smoke filled the hallway. I approved of that; it should hide us from the enemy, for a while. I grabbed Molly by the arm and hauled her up onto her feet. She clung to me for a moment, half dazed by the explosion, so I picked her up and ran for the far end of the hallway.

  I pushed my armour’s speed to its limit, till I was just a golden blur hammering through the black smoke, my armoured feet punching holes in the wooden floor. The smoke was already clearing as I approached the end door. Bullets followed me down the last part of the hallway, but couldn’t catch up. Other statues in alcoves blew to pieces, shattered by gunfire; furniture was destroyed; and priceless antiques were smashed and shattered. Even though I was sure my surroundings weren’t real, I still felt hot flushes of real anger, and guilt at seeing such familiar objects lost because of me. I reached the far end of the hallway and skidded to a halt before the door. I put Molly down, though she still clung to one of my arms. I was worried she might have been hit and wounded, but she didn’t seem to be. Just shocked. Which wasn’t like Molly. What had the Powers That Be done to her? I tried the door; it was locked. I lowered one golden shoulder and slammed it open. It sprang back, accompanied by the sounds of rending wood and a broken lock. I plunged through into the next room, turning all the
while to protect Molly with my armour from the continuing hail of bullets. How much ammunition did the bastard have? I grabbed the door, and forced it back into place. The heavy wood immediately jumped and shuddered, as gunfire slammed into it.

  “Whoever our attackers are,” I said, just a bit breathlessly, “they are really well armed. Guns and grenades, and an apparently endless supply of ammo . . .”

  “Could be worse,” said Molly. “They might have incendiaries.”

  “Hush,” I said. “Don’t give them ideas.”

  She was standing on her own now. I looked her over. The colour had come back into her face, and her eyes were tracking again. She glared at the door, then stepped smartly to one side, just as the first bullets punched right through it. Our enemy had found some heavier ammunition.

  “Speaking of ammo,” said Molly, “I’m almost out. Hey, why don’t you morph your hands back into machine guns? Give the bastard something to think about.”

  “I’ve been trying,” I said. “But I’m getting nothing. It’s hard to concentrate, with everything that’s happening. And it might be because I’m back at Drood Hall, where I was always taught that such adaptations were unacceptable inside the house.”

  “But it’s not really the Hall!”

  “I know! But I’m having a really hard time convincing my subconscious of that!”

  “Terrific . . . ,” said Molly. “All right, let’s go down to the Armoury. Where your family keeps all the really powerful weapons and nasty devices. There’s bound to be something there we can use. Something to let us turn the tables and take the fight to the enemy.”

  “Would those weapons really be there?” I said, frowning. “Assuming this fake Hall has a fake Armoury?”

  “It’ll all be there, if you believe it will,” Molly said firmly. “Just because you didn’t summon this place it doesn’t mean you don’t have any influence over it. Okay, that sentence got a bit out of control, but you know what I mean! Whoever it is out there, you must know the Hall better than they do. Your certainty should override whatever they’re thinking.”

  I didn’t want to go down to the Armoury, though I wasn’t prepared to admit that to Molly. I was afraid I might meet a fake Uncle Jack there. And I didn’t think I could cope with that, so soon after our recent encounter. But since I couldn’t say that to Molly, I just nodded brusquely.

  “The only problem is, the entrance to the Armoury is right over on the other side of the Hall.”

  “Not necessarily,” said Molly. “Not if you don’t want it to be. Concentrate on a short cut.”

  I looked at the closed door. There were almost more jagged holes in it now than there was wood holding it together. I concentrated hard, screwing up my face till sweat ran down it, and a door appeared in the wall opposite. A sign on it said simply, To the Armoury. I relaxed, shaking just a bit from the exertions.

  “I think I’m starting to get the hang of this. If I wasn’t so annoyed with absolutely everyone involved, I could get to like this Game.”

  “Famous last words,” said Molly. “Move!”

  I opened the door, and we went straight through into my family’s Armoury.

  * * *

  It looked exactly as it should. A huge stone cavern, full of work-benches and computer stations, assorted high tech, shooting ranges, and testing grounds. But all of it was unnaturally still, and silent. Utterly deserted. It felt eerie, with no Armourer and none of his lab assistants working away. Nothing dangerous or explosive or worryingly unwise going on. But before Molly and I even had a chance to look for new weapons, gunfire opened up on us again. The attack came from the far end of the Armoury, a concentrated firepower that tore through the computers and workstations to get to Molly and me. Experimental tech exploded, things caught on fire, and delicate equipment simply vanished in sudden bursts of shattered silicon and shrapnel. I grabbed Molly and hauled her behind a tall piece of standing machinery. It rocked and shook under the repeated impacts of the heavy-duty bullets, but did good work as a shield.

  “Don’t grab me!” said Molly, pulling free.

  “Sorry!” I said. “How the hell did our enemy get here first? How is that even possible?”

  “It’s the Game,” said Molly. “Whoever creates the setting has control over the setting. They can be wherever they need to be.”

  “Really?” I said.

  “I don’t know!” said Molly, her voice rising sharply. “I’m just guessing! Do I look like I’ve got a copy of the rule book on me?”

  The tall standing machinery rocked dangerously on its base, as our attacker concentrated his fire. Molly and I knelt down and put our shoulders against the machinery to steady it. The sheer rate of firepower slamming into our only protection was impressive, and just a bit worrying. We couldn’t stay where we were, but I couldn’t think where else to go. I could go—I hadn’t seen anything yet that looked like it could damage my armour—but I couldn’t leave Molly behind. Which was almost certainly what our attacker was counting on.

  “Look,” said Molly, “you must have some control over the environment here, because you know this Armoury like the back of your hand. And he doesn’t. So work with that.”

  “All right,” I said. “If I concentrate on certain things being where I want them to be . . . If I decide, for example, that this drawer right here contains a personal force shield . . .”

  I glared at the drawer in front of me, which I was almost sure hadn’t been there a moment before, then hauled it open and looked inside. And sure enough, there was a personal force shield. Score one for lateral thinking under pressure. I took the chunky metal bracelet out of the drawer and handed it to Molly. She slipped it on, worked the controls, and a six-foot-by-three-foot shield of crackling energy appeared on her arm. A force screen that would serve as an actual shield. Another present the Deathstalker had left us. Molly grinned widely, then stepped out from behind the tall piece of tech. Heavy gunfire immediately targeted her, hundreds of rounds slamming into the force shield. Molly grinned delightedly, as not one bullet got through. She fired her gun around the edge of the shield a few times, just to make a point, and then ducked quickly behind the standing piece of machinery again. She dropped me a wink.

  “I feel so much better now.”

  “Thought you might,” I said.

  A second burst of gunfire opened up, joining the first, hitting the standing machinery from a different direction. Confirmation, for the first time, that we were facing more than one attacker. The standing tech was taking a hell of a pounding. I didn’t know how much longer we could depend on it. And our enemies weren’t sparing the rest of the Armoury either. Whole sections were being demolished by the continuous firepower. Great jagged holes appeared in the stone walls of the cavern, and lengths of chopped short electrical cable hung down from the ceiling, jumping and sparking. I was just relieved that the bullets hadn’t found anything explosive or really dangerous yet. It was only a matter of time, though. Whoever our enemies were, they had really powerful weapons. And hiding from them wasn’t getting me anywhere. Now that Molly was safe behind her force shield, it was time for me to show our attackers what a man in Drood armour could really do.

  I stepped out from behind the standing machinery, and it seemed like every gun the enemy had opened up on me. I stood there, letting my armour soak up the bullets and hoping I might at last catch a glimpse of who our attackers were, or where they were. I could see muzzle flashes now, from the far end of the Armoury, but they kept changing position. I still couldn’t see the enemy themselves. I concentrated on my armour, forcing a change in it through sheer willpower. My golden gloves became machine guns again. It probably helped that I was in the Armoury now, where such weapons were not only allowed but actively encouraged.

  I opened fire, raking the far end of the Armoury with pulverising firepower, blasting apart absolutely everything in front of me. Everything t
hat stood between me and my enemies. Workstations blew up, equipment was blasted apart, and the rest was just blown away in all directions. It still disturbed me to see such familiar sights destroyed, but I hardened my heart and kept firing.

  And then an energy beam hit me square in the chest. It came out of nowhere, catching me completely by surprise, almost blasting me off my feet. I fell back several steps, but still kept my balance. The impact had been so great I actually felt it, inside my armour. I looked down, and was relieved to see that my armour had held—but only just. There was a great dent in my golden chest, right over my heart. It slowly straightened itself out. But while I was still gathering my wits about me, another energy beam hit me dead on—and another. My armour rang loudly, like a wounded gong, and great golden ripples spread out across my chest, as though a stone had been thrown into a pool.

  I was sent staggering backwards, and very nearly did fall this time. I had to fight to stay on my feet. Whatever this new weapon was, it had to be incredibly powerful to almost breach my armour. So powerful as to be almost unheard of. There shouldn’t have been anything like it in the Armoury. The Droods had never made such a weapon, strong enough to destroy Ethel’s work . . . as far as I knew. A lot goes on down in the Armoury that no one else ever knows about. For the good of the family. I looked up and saw another energy beam heading my way. I seemed to have all the time in the world to watch it coming towards me, and no time at all to evade it. I wondered if this would be the one that killed me.

  And then a tall black woman appeared out of nowhere, to stand between me and the energy beam, with her own personal force shield on her arm. The crackling energy field soaked up the energy beam as though it was nothing. And the woman who’d just saved my life turned to smile at me. She was taller than me, Amazonian, with dark coffee skin and close-cropped blonde hair. She wore a tight-fitting white jumpsuit under a long white fur coat, with thigh-high white leather boots. She looked impressive as all hell—but then, she always did.