From Hell with love sh-4

by Simon R. Green

  Wispy, multicoloured sylphs danced across the surface of the river, darting and speeding and leaping high into the air, leaving shimmering sparkling trails behind them. A dozen of them leapt right over the bridge, and when the shimmering trail fell across me, I was briefly touched by pure unadulterated joy. Other things moved on and in the slowly moving dark waters-creatures old and new, and some I would have taken an oath on a pile of grimoires didn't even exist in the material world anymore. There were swans too, proud and majestic, moving unaffected among all the other magical creatures.

  In the centre of town we found the memory of old gibbets, from when so many men had been hanged during the old Wool Riots. Ghosts could still be seen, hanging from their gibbets, chatting amiably with each other. They were more than half transparent, colours moving slowly over them like so many soap bubbles, but their presence felt harsh and almost brutal in the clear sunlight. I did offer to release them from the place of their death, and help them move on, but they declined. They weren't trapped in the town; they had chosen to remain, to protect the town and their descendants. A few of them laughed nastily. The town has enemies, they said, laughing nastily. Let them come. Let them all come. Apparently if you stay a ghost long enough, in a place like this, it's amazing how much power you can accumulate. They did offer to demonstrate, but there was something in their voices, and in their laughter… so I declined. I did ask where Isabella and I might find the Waking Beauty, and one of them directed us to an old pub called the Dandy Lion.

  We found the place easily enough, right in the middle of town. It had clearly been around for some time. The painted sign above the door featured a lion walking upright, dressed in Restoration finery. It turned its head and winked at us as we passed under it. The oak-panelled doors swung open before us, revealing a carefully main tained old-fashioned ambience, with pleasantly gloomy old-time lighting, and a long bar stocked with every drink under the sun. It wasn't until my eyes adjusted to the gloom that I realised there were flowers growing right out of the wood-panelled walls, their delicate petals pulsing like heartbeats. The music box was playing a Beatles song, but one I'd never heard before. The chairs at the traditional wooden tables politely pulled themselves out so people could sit down. A pack of cards was playing solitaire by itself, and cheating. And behind the long bar, a young woman in authentic sixties hippie gear was just cutting off a Yeti, on the grounds that he got mean when he was drunk. The big hairy creature slouched out of the pub, sulking, shedding hairs all the way.

  We found Carys Galloway sitting tucked away in a corner, on her own, next to the window, so she could see anybody coming. She looked us over coolly before gesturing for us to sit down facing her. The chairs were very helpful. The Waking Beauty was a small delicate creature with a personality so powerful it almost pushed me back in my chair. She had a pointed chin, prominent cheekbones, a wide mouth and more than a hint of ethnic gypsy in her. Dark russet hair fell to her shoulders in thick ringlets, and her eyes were so huge and deep you felt like you could fall into them forever. And she smiled like she already knew everything you had on your mind. She had long bony hands, with heavily knuckled fingers, weighed down with gold and silver rings set with unfamiliar polished stones. Bangles on her wrists made soft chiming sounds with her every movement. She wore traditional Romany clothes, and wore them well. She could have been any age from her twenties to her forties, but even sitting there at her ease, her gaze hit me like a blow. She burned, she blazed, with a fierce unwavering intensity, like nothing human.

  I let Isabella do all the talking. I know when I'm outclassed.

  "Word is, you're connected," Isabella said bluntly. She waited for a moment, to give the Waking Beauty an opportunity to confirm or deny, but there was no reaction, so Isabella pressed on. "You're supposed to be the oldest person in this town. In fact, there are those who say you're older than the town. You draw your power from the many ley lines that cross here, and from never sleeping. Are you the oldest living person in this town, Carys Galloway?"

  "Well," she said, "There's Tommy Squarefoot. But he's a Neanderthal."

  "Are you immortal?" insisted Isabella.

  "Who knows?" said the Waking Beauty. "I just haven't died yet, that's all. There are those who call themselves the Immortals, but I'm not one of that family."

  "Some say you made a deal, for long life and power," said Isabella. "A deal you would like to break, if you dared. How am I doing so far, Carys Galloway?"

  "I've killed people for knowing less than that about me," the Waking Beauty said calmly. "Fortunately for you, I've mellowed these last few years. And I always did have a soft spot for Hecate's children. Witches know how to have fun. So, Isabella and Molly Metcalf. Where's Louisa?"

  "Walking in the Martian Tombs, last I heard," said Isabella, which came as something of a surprise to me.

  "Why have you come to talk with me, my sisters?" said the Waking Beauty. There was a trace of warning in her voice, that made it clear we'd better have a really good reason.

  "Our parents were murdered by the Droods," said Isabella. "We were always told they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but there have been… suggestions, that there may have been more to it than that."

  "We think they were killed deliberately," I said, unable to keep quiet any longer. "Someone in the Droods ordered their deaths. We want to know who, and why. And, whether there's any connection with the death of Eddie's parents."

  "Ah," said the Waking Beauty. "I always knew that would come back to bite the Droods on the arse. Droods killing Droods… secrets within secrets, lies within lies to hide a terrible truth… But first, you need to know about the Apocalypse Door."

  Isabella and I looked at each other.

  "We do?" I said.

  "Unfortunately, yes, you do. Follow the trail, oh my sisters, from the Door to Doctor Delirium to the Immortals. And if you're still alive at the end of it, you'll get your answers. Quite possibly more answers than you can comfortably deal with. The Apocalypse Door is one of the thirteen true entries to Hell in the material world. Open this Door, and you can let loose all the inhabitants of Hell, to run loose on the Earth. Set the damned free, to do as they will, to trample the cities of men and slaughter their inhabitants. Hell on Earth, forever and ever, and the Triumph of Evil."

  "Has anyone… ever tried to open this Door?" said Isabella, leaning forward, fascinated.

  "Usually, the owner of the Door only has to threaten to open it, and the world will give them whatever they want," said the Waking Beauty. "They want to be persuaded, to be paid off. But there have always been a few, who for their own various reasons wanted to unleash Hell on Mankind. Famous names like Faustus, and a certain Doctor Ware, back in the 1960s… These people always come to bad ends. You can't play with Hell and not get your fingers burned. The Droods, or someone else in the same line of work, always turns up just in time to stop these people, and stamp on their heads." The Waking Beauty stopped, and frowned thoughtfully. "Theoretically, or theologically, speaking… should the Door be opened, and the contents of Hell let loose on an unsuspecting populace; then the forces of Heaven would be obliged to turn out to stop them. Though the conflict would almost certainly lay waste to the Earth and everything on it. So Apocalypse would seem to be the appropriate name, for this particular Door."

  "What has all this got to do with us?" I said.

  The Waking Beauty smiled upon me, like a mother with a really dim child. "Follow the connections. All the way to the end."

  "You mentioned a name I didn't recognise," Isabella said suddenly. "A family called the Immortals."

  "Who are they?" I said.

  The Waking Beauty sat back in her chair, her face slipping into shadow. Her bangles clattered softly. "A great many people would like to know the answer to that question. Well, here is wisdom, for those wise enough to receive it. If the Apocalypse Door has reappeared in the world of men, it can only mean the Immortals are close to revealing themselves, at last. They've been
trying to get their hands on the Door for centuries, for their own inscrutable reasons, but somehow it's always eluded them. However; just before the legendary Independent Agent died, he sold off many of his accumulated treasures, and one of them, to the surprise of many, turned out to be the Apocalypse Door. Apparently he needed a great deal of money at the end, for some last scheme… I have heard that a battle has just been fought over the Door in Los Angeles, involving Doctor Delirium, the Immortals, and one Eddie Drood."

  "Is he all right?" I said.

  "Oh, he's fine. But the hotel will never be the same again."

  "Yeah," I said. "That sounds like Eddie."

  "What about the Immortals?" said Isabella.

  "It's not easy to talk about them," said the Waking Beauty. "They're powerful, they're vicious, and they're everywhere… and no one knows who they really are. They can be anyone, anywhere, hiding behind faces you've trusted all your life. But if you want to know what I know, you're going to have to pay my price."

  Isabella nodded slowly. "I know. You want an end to your bargain, to your curse. You want to be able to sleep again."

  "Okay, you've left me behind now," I said. "Bring me up to speed. How do you know what she needs, Is?"

  "Because I did my homework before we came here," she said. "I don't just go rushing into things. Like you."

  I ignored her, giving all my attention to the Waking Beauty. "If you break your bargain, you'll die. Won't you?"

  "Perhaps. I don't know. But I'm ready to find out."

  "So, who did you make your deal with?" I said. "The Devil?"

  Carys Galloway snorted loudly. "Please, I'm older than Christianity, and your limited concept of the Enemy. I made my deal with Queen Mab, original leader of the Faerie. Humanity, as such, hadn't been around long then, and Mab saw us as no threat to her people. But still, we had something they didn't have, something Mab wanted for herself. The Fae don't sleep, don't dream, and that limits their imagination, their creativity. Faeries are always curious, always wanting what they don't have… So Mab chose me. I don't know why. And we made a deal; my ability to sleep and dream, in return for immortality. I had no idea what I was giving up, and she had no idea what she was getting. Mab slept, and dreamed, and was never the same afterwards. She dreamed marvellous new cities, and weapons, and customs, and woke to make them real. She made the elves mighty. But she also became a little less Fae, and a little more human. Perhaps that's why Oberon and Titania were able to end her reign, replace her, and throw her down into Hell. I like to think so."

  "Mab is back," I said. "She rules the Fae again, in the Sundered Lands."

  "I know," said Isabella. "I met with her, some time back." Again, this was all news to me, but Isabella silenced me with a hard glare before I could ask any more questions. She'd tell me what she thought I needed to know, on her own time. She always was the bossy one.

  "I also made a deal with Mab," said Isabella. "I took her humanity from her, so that she could be pure elf again, and retake the Ivory Throne. I took back her ability to sleep and dream. And I have it right here, with me."

  She placed a small plastic snow globe on the table, between us and the Waking Beauty. It looked like a cheap toy, until you looked at it closely, and then wished you hadn't. Behind the continually falling snow, something looked back…

  "All you have to do is break this, and sleep and dreams will be yours again," said Isabella. "Whether you'll still be immortal or not… is probably up you. You're not losing anything, after all, just getting something back."

  The Waking Beauty cupped her large hands around the snow globe, staring unblinkingly into its unknown depths. "You have no idea how tired you can get, when you haven't been able to sleep for thousands of years. Never any rest, never any ease, never any break from the sheer effort of living, and thinking… You can have too much of a good thing."

  "You've got what you wanted," said Isabella. "Now tell me about the Immortals."

  "I'm the only one who can tell you about them, because I was there before them," said Carys Galloway. "I am the only living human being older than both the Droods and the Immortals. I was already centuries old when the other-dimensional entity known as the Heart crash-landed in ancient Britain. When the Heart materialised, its emanations affected the genetic material of every living thing for miles around. Most died, some mutated, and a few survived by making deals with the Heart. The Druid ancestors of the Droods were granted the armour they requested, so they could be shamans for the human tribe.

  "But one man got to the Heart before them, and he asked to be made immortal. Him, and his wife and children. Apparently this amused the Heart, and it agreed. The first Immortal went back to his family, and passed his blessing on to them, and so were born the Immortals. They can be killed, if you try really hard, but otherwise they just go on, and on and on and on. Fortunately they breed only rarely, and never with each other. Their children are half-breeds, incredibly long-lived but not immortal. They serve the Elders in the family. Down the centuries, the Immortals have learned the art of flesh dancing, of shape-changing. They can take on the appearance of anyone, be anyone, infiltrate any organisation, or family, so that they can shape the world as they wish, for their benefit. They are always on both sides of every conflict, whipping up the flames, growing rich and powerful on the proceeds of war. We're just mayflies, to them. We don't matter. Only family matters, to the Immortals. Remind you of anyone?

  "And like the Droods, the Immortals take the long view. They deal in small, subtle changes, designed to bear useful fruit in three or even four generations time. No wonder no one ever detects the truth, of their slow and remorseless influence; not even the shadowy agencies who like to think they guard the world. The Immortals have been shaping and manipulating history for fifteen hundred years, right under the Droods' noses.

  "Anyone can be an Immortal. Even a Drood. They've all had many names and identities, down the years. Some of them you'd know. Some of them Eddie would recognise. How can you fight an enemy who can be anyone?"

  "How does all of this tie in with the death of our parents?" I said, unable to hold back any longer.

  "I have had dealings with the Droods, down the centuries," said the Waking Beauty. "Perhaps mostly because they're almost as old as I am. It's good to have someone to talk to… But I never worked for the Immortals. At least, not knowingly. They use people, that's all. But you can't live as long as I have, and not hear things… And one of the things I've heard is that your parents and Eddie's parents knew each other. They met in battle, and ended up as allies. Very secret allies. They found out something, you see, discovered something they couldn't be allowed to tell anyone else. So a decision was made, to kill them and make it look like unfortunate accidents. The Immortals decided this, but the orders came from inside the Droods.

  "The Immortals infiltrated the Droods long ago, and they've been steering policy, sabotaging missions, and leading them around by the nose for their own purposes, for centuries. So, go back to the Droods. Find the hidden traitors, and make them tell you what you need to know. And tell Eddie… to watch his back. Now go. I'm tired…"

  We left her, sitting alone, staring into the depths of the snow globe.

  I held Molly close to me, trying to make sense of everything she'd told me. Traitors, inside the Droods? Inside the Hall? People in my family, who weren't family? Malevolent eyes watching me from behind trusted faces? And… if the Apocalypse Door was everything Molly said it was, then Doctor Delirium really was a Major Player at last, and a clear and present danger to the whole world.

  "I shouldn't have blown up at the Matriarch like that," said Molly, cuddling up against me. "It's hard being angry all the time. Sometimes, I just want to hold and be held. I'm glad you're here, Eddie."

  "Hush," I said. "Sleep. Everything will seem clearer, in the morning."

  It seemed only moments later when we were both awakened by a thunderous knocking on my bedroom door. The room was dark. I looked at the glowing f
ace of the clock beside the bed; it was a little short of four in the morning. Someone was still pounding on my door, and yelling my name. I turned on the light, pulled a dressing gown around me, and went to the door. It wasn't locked, but even in an emergency a Drood's room and privacy were sacrosanct. I pulled the door open, and there was Howard, Head of Operations. His face was grey with shock, and his eyes were wide. He looked like he'd been hit.

  "What is it?" I said.

  "You have to come with me, Eddie, you have to come now!" he said. "The Matriarch's been murdered."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sudden Death at Drood Hall Molly and I threw on some clothes while Howard waited impatiently outside in the corridor. I could hear him shuffling heavily from foot to foot. And all the time I was thinking, He has to be wrong. It has to be some kind of mistake. She can't be dead. Not her. I reached out to Ethel with my mind.

  "Ethel, what the hell is going on? Is the Matriarch really dead? Has she been murdered?"

  I don't know! said Ethel. I can't tell! I can't tell anything! The entire Hall is awake, thousands of minds, all of them yelling at once!

  "Are we under attack? Has someone broken into the Hall?"

  No, Ethel said immediately. All defences are in place, all protections are in order. We're the only ones here.

  By now, Molly and I were dressed and out the door, following Howard down the corridor to the Matriarch's suite. The corridor looked dim and unfamiliar in this early hour of the morning, and my head was still half full of sleep. I kept throwing questions at Howard, and he kept trying to answer, but couldn't, because he was fighting back tears. All I could get out of him was that the Sarjeant-at-Arms had told him the Matriarch was dead, murdered, and that he should come and get me.? I was still having trouble believing it. My grandmother couldn't be dead. How could someone as important, as powerful as her, be dead? Martha was the longest serving and surviving Matriarch the family had ever known. Most living Droods had never known another. To so many of us, she was the family.