Luther gasped for breath and fought back the pain so he could concentrate on killing John Taylor. The man was still standing there, watching him carefully to see what he would do. Luther straightened his back and raised his sword again. He grinned fiercely behind his face mask, and blood spilled down his chin. He was hurt, but he could still do the job. He drew back his sword, to thrust it through John Taylor’s gut, and the shotgun roared a second time.
The impact slammed him into the bar again, but this time Luther didn’t feel it. He couldn’t feel anything. His legs gave out, and he sat down hard on the floor. He didn’t feel that either. It was starting to worry him. He couldn’t seem to get his breath. He could see the golden sword retreating back into his hand because he couldn’t concentrate enough to maintain it. He wondered how he was going to complete his mission now. And then he stopped worrying about anything, and his head dropped forward.
His last thought was It’s the Nightside.
* * *
• • •
Most of the bar’s patrons were already running for the exit. They’d just seen a Drood killed, and they really didn’t want to be around if more of the family turned up. The few that remained stayed well back, fascinated but wary, knowing they were seeing history in the making. A live Drood in his armour was rare enough; to see one killed was almost unheard of. John Taylor nodded to Suzie Shooter, standing at the foot of the metal stairs, still training her double-barrelled pump-action shotgun on the Drood. Tall and sturdy, cold and collected, with a grimly handsome face and long blonde hair, Shotgun Suzie was a Valkyrie in black motor-cycle leathers, with bandoliers of bullets crossing her chest.
She was due to give birth in about five weeks. She’d had to have her leather jacket specially tailored to accommodate the bump. She walked slowly forward, still covering the unmoving Drood with her shotgun, and the few people remaining fell back even farther to give her plenty of room. More of them decided it was well past time they were somewhere else. The rest were wondering how much the Night Times would pay for photos. Or the Unnatural Inquirer. Suzie reached the bar and ignored the Drood body as she looked John over carefully, assuring herself he was unharmed.
“No one messes with my man,” she said in her cold voice.
“Hello, Suzie,” said John. “Great timing.”
“You never could resist making an entrance,” said Alex. He leaned over the bar to peer at the Drood. “Look at all that blood. I’ve only just had the place cleaned up after your last visit.”
“I’m a professional,” said Suzie. “Blood comes with the job.” She looked steadily at John. “You probably could have beaten him, but I didn’t feel like risking it.”
John passed the glowing baseball bat back to Alex. They exchanged a quiet nod because that was as far as either of them would go to acknowledging how close it had been. Suzie studied the dead Drood, and John moved in beside her. The Drood’s golden head hung down, and his back was bent right over, revealing jagged rents in the armour. Blood dripped steadily out of the holes and onto the floor. John looked at Suzie.
“How did you do that?”
“I picked up some strange-matter ammunition from the Gun Shoppes of Usher,” said Suzie. “I’d heard about the Drood operating on Blaiston Street, and I wanted to be prepared. I could only afford a dozen shells. Apparently strange matter is really hard to get hold of.”
John knelt beside the Drood, studying the holes in the armoured back.
“He is dead,” said Suzie. For her, that was always going to be a statement, not a question.
“Oh, he’s very dead,” said John. “That’s the problem. You just killed a Drood.”
“You’re welcome,” said Suzie.
“No, you don’t get it,” said John, as he straightened up again. “This means war, between the Nightside and the entire Drood family.”
“Not necessarily,” said Alex. “We just dispose of the body and swear blind he was never here. Wouldn’t be the first time. Someone will pay good money for a chance to examine that armour. We could make a lot of money here. I don’t suppose either of you have contact details for the Dark Academie?”
“The Authorities instructed me to make an example of the next Drood to show up in the Nightside,” said John. “They wanted this. They’ll make sure word gets back to Drood Hall, so they can take responsibility.”
“They wanted you to kill someone, just to make a point?” said Suzie.
“Yes,” said John.
“Were you going to do it?” said Alex.
“I was thinking about it,” said John.
“They should have asked me,” said Suzie, staring coldly at the dead body. “Damned fools. Did they think this would impress the Droods and keep them out? They always avenge their own.”
“You knew that, and you still killed him,” said John. “You were ready to piss off the whole Drood family, to save me.”
“No one messes with my man,” Suzie said again.
“You’ve done enough work for the Authorities that they can still claim the kill as their own,” said John. “Alex, give me one of those cheap and dirty teleport spells you keep behind the bar, to get drunks home safely.”
“Oh, come on, John!” said Alex. “Don’t do this! There’s serious money to be made out of a dead Drood!”
“No,” said John. “He goes home. A sign of respect might help to cool the Droods’ anger.”
“You really think that?” said Suzie.
“No,” said John. “But I have to try.”
Alex handed him a purple patch that wriggled and squirmed eagerly. John slapped it onto the Drood’s bent back, just above the jagged holes, and the body disappeared before John could even tell the patch where to take it.
“Must have had a teleport built into his armour,” said John. “With return coordinates programmed in.”
“I can see hope running for the horizon,” Alex said gloomily.
“God help us all,” said John.
“Praise the Lord and pass the special ammunition,” said Suzie.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Road Paved with Good Intentions
No one knows how old the Old Library really is. Some say the oldest parts of the collection reach back to the very first Drood Hall and that the Library has transferred itself from Hall to Hall down the centuries. Always growing, always expanding, accumulating ancient texts and secret histories and forbidden knowledge that no one else could be trusted with.
The Old Library was lost to the family for many years until Eddie found it and brought it back. William has been in charge for some time now because he’s the only one who isn’t scared of it. Possibly because he’s still a little bit crazy. There are books in the Old Library that know more than is good for them, along with others that know things that used to be true but aren’t any longer, and some things that shouldn’t be true but unfortunately are. William has put a lot of work into cataloguing the contents of the Old Library and will happily tell you all about it until you beg him not to.
* * *
• • •
Eddie and Molly entered the Old Library, and the doorway closed silently behind them. It had been awhile since they’d last been there, but nothing had changed. The vast, cavernous space was filled with rows upon rows of shelves that stretched off into the distance for as far as the eye could follow, and quite a lot beyond that. The Librarian kept promising to produce a map, right after he finished the Index. He didn’t seem to have any trouble finding his way around, but everyone else stuck to the coloured guide-lines on the floor if they knew what was good for them. Eddie and Molly looked around them, and stacks of books looked back, on every subject you could think of, and quite a few things best not thought on too much if you liked sleeping at night.
Eddie and Molly followed the blue line on the floor, which usually led straight to the Librarian. Unless he didn’t wa
nt to be found, in which case you could follow any colour you liked for as long as you liked, until it led you back to the exit. William’s way of hinting that he didn’t want to be bothered. Eddie scowled about him suspiciously. It always felt to him like there were monsters lying in wait, watching from the shadows. Or the shelves. The butter-yellow light was soothing enough, until you realised it came from everywhere at once, and the air was thick with drifting dust motes and the heavy scents of old paper and leather bindings. Eddie sometimes wondered what would happen in the event of a fire, but he was pretty sure the books would never allow that to happen.
Eddie and Molly stopped abruptly as they heard footsteps approaching, then relaxed as Ioreth emerged from the stacks to greet them. The Assistant Librarian was a cheery, scholarly type, wearing a faded brown monk’s habit. He had a pleasant face, a shaved head, and one gold ear-ring. He also had the disposition of a saint, or he’d never put up with William.
“Hello, Ioreth,” said Eddie. “Are you any closer to deciding on how you want your name spelt? We can’t keep changing it . . .”
Molly frowned. “And why are you still dressed as a monk?”
“William says he finds it soothing,” said Ioreth, just a bit long-sufferingly. “You wouldn’t believe the outfits we had to go through to find something we could both live with. So! Here you are again! The Matriarch has ordered me to provide you with every assistance possible, right up to the point where she changes her mind and tells me not to. I am, of course, happy to help you with whatever you need unless it involves the Nightside, in which case I don’t want to know. Awful place.”
“Tough,” said Molly. “We want to see whatever books you’ve got on the long night.”
“Trust me,” said Ioreth. “You really don’t.”
“There must be something here we can use!” said Molly. “You’ve got lots of books here!”
“Yes, we have, and please don’t touch any of them! The kind of histories you’re talking about are stored among the really dangerous books, the volumes of mass destruction. Literary predators, just waiting for a chance to prey on an unwary mind. This is not a petting zoo! Even I have to wear special gloves when I handle some of the books in the Restricted section. They’re knitted for me specially, by cloistered nuns of the Salvation Army Sisterhood. It’s come to something when my gloves are holier than I’ll ever be.”
“The Nightside can wait,” said Eddie. “I need to talk to William about the Pacts and Agreements.”
Ioreth winced. “Do you have to? He’s not really himself at the moment, whoever that might be. He always goes into a bit of a decline when Ammonia has to leave.”
“She’s gone?” said Eddie. “I was hoping she’d stick around, to help out with the invasion.”
“That was never going to happen,” said Molly. “A mind as receptive as hers in the midst of so much blood and slaughter? It would destroy her.”
“She wanted William to go with her,” said Ioreth. “Asked him to leave Drood Hall and go stay with her. But he couldn’t do that. Not even for her. Of course, he won’t be going in with the invasion. He’ll stay behind and help guard the Hall, in the family’s absence.”
He glanced back into the stacks, just a bit nervously. “He’s just got out the Drood copy of the Pacts and Agreements. He knew you’d want to see them. I’ll take you to him, but I have to warn you: What you see is all you’re going to get. I can’t tell whether he’s less focused than usual, or more. Don’t blame me if he thinks you’re pixies.”
Ioreth led Eddie and Molly off the main route and into the less-travelled areas of the Old Library. He was careful to maintain a respectful distance from the books on the shelves, and Eddie and Molly followed his example. Eddie wasn’t sure he’d ever ventured this deep before. It was hard to be sure, given that there weren’t any landmarks: just row after row of tightly packed book-shelves staring ominously back at him. He had a strong suspicion the Old Library liked to change its lay-out when it thought no one was looking. Expanding quietly, to accommodate its ever-growing number of books. Many of which seemed to find their way to the Old Library under their own power.
If all you wanted was to do research, or borrow the odd book, there was the regular Drood Library. Full of interesting and highly useful materials. The Old Library existed to store the kind of knowledge you only went looking for in emergencies.
Ioreth, Eddie, and Molly finally found the Librarian sitting at a reading-desk, with a huge leather-bound volume set out before him. William wasn’t reading it; he hadn’t even opened the book yet. The front cover was so faded as to be almost colourless and had no title or any other markings. William didn’t look up as the others approached, giving all his attention to the book like a fighter sizing up a worthy opponent.
“Hello, Eddie and Molly. And Ioreth, of course,” said William, not lifting his eyes from the book. “Took you long enough to get here. This is it. The family’s original copy of the Pacts and Agreements existing between the Droods and the Nightside. As laid down by Gaea herself, some fifteen hundred years ago. Or thereabouts.”
“It’s worn it well,” said Eddie, just to be saying something.
William smiled briefly. “Because it’s been so rarely consulted, I should imagine. The book has all kinds of protections in place to keep its contents safe from unauthorised eyes.”
“What kind of protections?” Molly asked, taking a professional interest.
“Basically, no one gets to open the book unless it thinks Gaea would want them to,” said William. “That’s why I’ve been waiting for you. I didn’t want to even try opening it till everyone was here who needed to be here.”
They all moved behind him, so they could look over his shoulders. William took a firm hold on the front cover and opened the book. There was a sudden new tension on the air, as though William had just opened the door to a lion’s cage. He laid the front cover down carefully and gave his full attention to the gleaming metal pages that made up the book.
“Why aren’t you wearing gloves?” Molly said abruptly. “Ioreth said he had to wear special gloves before he could handle the really dangerous books.”
“I’m the Librarian,” William said patiently. “The books respect me. Ioreth is still earning their trust. They haven’t forgotten how my last assistant turned out to be a traitor. One of the reasons why I’ve got him wearing that monk’s robe; it helps the books tell him apart.”
Ioreth leaned in close to Eddie and Molly. “It probably also helps that the books are just a little bit frightened of William. I don’t think they’ve ever encountered a mind like his before.”
“The leather used to make the book’s covers came from human skin,” said Molly.
Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You can tell that, just by looking?”
“Yes,” said Molly.
“I won’t ask,” said Eddie.
“Best not to,” said Molly.
“Supposedly, the leather was made from the skin of one particular Drood who objected a little too loudly about the nature of the Agreements,” said Ioreth. “Gaea could be really hardcore, back in those days.”
They all examined the pages carefully as the Librarian turned them. The lines of text etched into the metal were elegantly inscribed and just went on and on, without punctuation or break or ending.
Molly shook her head. “Some of this was supposed to be written in Latin, but I don’t recognise anything here.”
“The book can only be read by members of the Drood family,” said William. “It doesn’t recognise you as part of the blood line.”
Molly glared at the book. “Snob. Bet you I could make it recognise me.”
“Possibly,” Eddie said quickly. “But we really don’t want to upset it, do we? William, how is the translation process going?”
“Sorry,” said William. “I forget not everyone has my background.”
He produced a long, slender wand carved from somebody’s arm-bone, etched from one end to the other with ancient elven script. William swept the wand across the page like a scanner, and just like that the words made sense. Eddie and Ioreth made low, satisfied sounds. Molly’s frown deepened.
“Still doesn’t make any sense to me. So someone had better start reading aloud before I decide to get cranky.”
“What exactly are you looking for, Eddie?” said William.
“A way out of this mess,” said Eddie. “Something to convince the Matriarch that open conflict won’t get the family anywhere. But from what I’m seeing . . . It’s all just quid pro quo stuff. You don’t do this, and we won’t do that, backed up by dire warnings of what Gaea will do if either side does anything to defy her. And Ioreth was right; some of these threats are pretty hardcore. She starts with promises of earthquakes and plagues, then escalates. But it’s clear no one ever expected Mother Earth to retire. Least of all her. Without her authority to back them up, these agreements are worthless. Because there’s no other mechanism in place to enforce them.”
“So basically, we need someone as ancient and powerful as Gaea to come in and make both sides behave,” said Molly.
They all raised their heads from the book to look at each other, then peered cautiously off into the shadows.
“William,” said Eddie, “have you thought about asking the Pook what it feels about all of this?”
“I’ve thought about it,” said William.
They were all uneasy now, as though just saying the Pook’s name might be enough to summon the creature. It claimed to be one of the wild things of Creation, already old when the world was young. A crafty, mischievous, mercurial spirit that appeared to this one and to that one, as the mood moved it. A mostly invisible giant white humanoid rabbit, the Pook had followed William home from the Happy Daze Asylum for the Criminally Insane because it had taken a fancy to him. It came and went as it pleased, occasionally dispensing words of warning or wisdom, and on rare occasions protected the Librarian from harm in terrifyingly whimsical ways.