Night Fall

  “If I understand Time travel theory,” Conrad said slowly, “and I’m perfectly prepared to be told that I don’t, there are supposed to be any number of different futures. So I suppose anything is possible . . .”

  “All that matters,” said the Sarjeant, “is will it work for us?”

  “Find out,” said the Matriarch.

  The Sarjeant smashed the glass display-case with an armoured fist, reached in, and grabbed the hand-mirror. No alarms sounded. The Sarjeant handed the Merlin Glass to the Matriarch, who identified herself to it. The Glass didn’t do anything, but it did seem to be listening.

  “Contact the London Knights,” said the Matriarch.

  The mirror jerked itself out of her hand and grew rapidly to door size, hanging on the air before them. At first all they could see was their own reflection, then that was replaced by a face they all knew. A large and blocky man in an expertly cut grey suit, with a square and brutal face, marked with scars that had healed crookedly a very long time ago. Kae, stepbrother to King Arthur. Sole survivor of Camelot and the only immortal Knight. Grand Master of the London Knights, the last defenders of the dream of Camelot. He looked coldly out of the Glass.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to try me again, Matriarch. My people kept you at arm’s length before so I wouldn’t have to say no to your face. But things have changed.”

  “Are you ready to help us now?” said the Matriarch.

  “No,” said Kae. “We have our own problems. While you’ve been wasting your time in the Nightside, a real problem has arisen that threatens the entire world. The London Knights are preparing to ride out and deal with it. But I will send you some of my younger, more headstrong Knights. They’re inexperienced, and too ill-disciplined to be trusted in my army, but they’re brave enough and ready for action . . . and desperate for a chance to prove themselves. Sir Bors, Sir Allain, Sir Gawaine . . . Maybe a dozen others. If you want them, they’re yours. They’ll make good shock-and-awe troops if nothing else.”

  “We’ll take them,” said the Sarjeant.

  “Thought you would,” said Kae. “I’ve got them waiting. Send the survivors back when you’re done with them.”

  “Thank you, Kae,” said the Matriarch.

  “It is quite literally the least I can do,” said Kae. He studied her soberly for a moment. “You know this can only end badly, don’t you?”

  His image disappeared from the Merlin Glass, which then shot out of the shop and into the street. The Droods hurried out after it, just as a company of Knights in full medieval armour came bursting through the Glass on huge, powerful horses. The Sarjeant went to meet them, subtly shifting his armour to look a little more like theirs, so they would take him seriously. The huge war-horses stamped their feet and tossed their heads. They didn’t like the feel of the place they’d come to. The leading Knight leaned forward in the saddle of his brightly caparisoned charger.

  “Where is the enemy, Drood?”

  Behind his square, steel helmet, with only a narrow slit for the eyes, the Knight sounded very young. The Sarjeant pointed down the street.

  “That way. You can’t miss them. Anyone not in Drood armour should be considered a threat. Show them no mercy because they won’t show you any.”

  “We don’t do mercy,” said the young Knight.

  He drew his sword and set off down the street, and the whole company of Knights surged forward after him, quickly accelerating to full gallop. The Knights had broadswords, axes, and morning stars, and looked very eager to use them. Some were already singing victory songs. The Sarjeant watched them go, pulled his armour away from his face, and went back inside the shop.

  “Well . . .” said Conrad. “They all sounded very keen, I suppose.”

  “Children,” the Sarjeant said disgustedly. “He sent us children. They won’t last long, but they should keep the Nightsiders occupied for a while. Give us a chance to think.”

  “They’re London Knights!” said the Matriarch. “The pride of Camelot!”

  “They might be, one day,” said the Sarjeant. “If they survive being thrown in the deep end, where the sharks are. If they were any good, Kae wouldn’t have been able to spare them. From the sound of it, he’s facing a serious problem of his own.”

  “I wonder why he didn’t tell us what the threat was,” said Conrad.

  “Because if he had put a name to it, I might have felt obliged to leave the Nightside to help him,” said the Matriarch. “He was being kind, in his way.”

  “Is there anyone else we can ask for help?” said Conrad.

  “There’s always the Spawn of Frankenstein,” said the Sarjeant. “The Baron’s surviving creations are indebted to us. And maybe . . . we need monsters to fight monsters.”

  The Matriarch marched out of the shop and into the street, to stand before the hovering Merlin Glass. The Sarjeant and Conrad hurried after her. The Matriarch called out to the Spawn of Frankenstein, and the Glass showed her another familiar face.

  The Bride was seven feet tall and very well-built. In his early days the Baron made all his creations extra large, so he could be sure of having enough room to fit everything in. The Bride’s face was deathly pale, with taut skin and huge dark eyes that didn’t blink often enough. Prominent scars showed on her chin and neck, and she wore her long black hair piled on top of her head in a towering beehive. A low-cut blouse showed off even more scar tissue over skin-tight leather jeans. The Bride would never be beautiful, but she was attractive, in a frightening sort of way.

  “None of us will fight for you,” the Bride said flatly, before the Matriarch could say anything. “Yes, we owe the Droods. But not enough to get involved in the mess you’ve made. You have no business being in the Nightside. You deserve everything that happens to you for as long as you’re dumb enough to stay there.”

  Her image disappeared from the Glass.

  Next, the Matriarch tried the Soulhunters. Strange sights came and went in the Merlin Glass, as though it was having trouble making a connection, then yet another familiar face appeared. All three Droods winced.

  “Oh hell,” said the Sarjeant. “We’ve got Demonbane again.”

  The figure in the Glass smiled happily on them. “That’s because no one else here wants to talk to you.”

  Unhealthily slender in his pale lavender suit with padded shoulders, Demonbane’s grey skin looked like it could use a trip through a car wash, with extra detergent. His face was sunken and hollowed, as though he were burning up from some spiritual fever. He had the look of someone who had seen many things, none of which any sane person would want to hear about. He stepped out of the Glass and onto the street, and all of the Droods flinched, just a little.

  “Everyone else is busy,” said Demonbane. “Don’t ask what with. You wouldn’t understand. So I’m all you’re getting! I’m only here because I fancied a trip to the Nightside. I don’t play well with others, so I won’t be joining your army. I’ll just wander around and look for some trouble to get into, on your behalf.”

  “How can we be sure you’re on our side?” said the Sarjeant.

  “You can’t!” Demonbane said cheerfully. “However, to put your minds at ease, I brought someone with me. Someone you know.”

  And out of the Merlin Glass stepped the current Head of the Carnacki Institute, JC Chance himself, in his marvellous white suit, rock-star hair, and very dark sun-glasses. He nodded easily to one and all.

  “And I’m all you’re getting from the Ghost Finders, so don’t go bothering them. I felt a need to be here, to see what’s happening. But basically, I’m just along for the ride.”

  The Matriarch gave Demonbane a hard look. “You already contacted JC? How did you know I was going to contact you? I hadn’t decided that till a moment ago!”

  “Time is just another direction to look in,” Demonbane said grandly.

  “Don?
??t ask,” said JC. “I don’t, and I find I’m a lot happier that way.”

  “You two are friends?” said the Sarjeant.

  “Not sure if I’d go that far,” said JC. “More like colleagues, with interests in common. And you really don’t want to ask about them, either.”

  “He deals with death,” said Demonbane. “And I deal with what comes after.” He nodded to JC. “Shall we sally forth and see what this place has to offer in the way of entertainment?”

  “Why not,” said JC.

  The two of them strolled off down the street, calm and casual, two young gentlemen on a night out. The Droods they passed fell back to give them plenty of room.

  “You know,” said Conrad. “We were probably better off before they arrived.”

  The Sarjeant gestured at the Merlin Glass, still hovering patiently in mid air. “You want to ask anyone else, Matriarch? We haven’t done too well so far.”

  “No,” said the Matriarch. “It’s our job to do, so let’s do it.”

  “At least we got some Knights out of it,” said Conrad.

  They looked down to the end of the street, where the company of London Knights were cutting a bloody path through the packed Nightsiders, with an excess of enthusiasm and bloody slaughter. Their charge had been slowed almost to a halt, but their weapons were still rising and falling.

  “If nothing else, they’re holding the Nightsiders’ attention,” said the Sarjeant. “What do you want to do with the Merlin Glass, Matriarch?”

  “It comes with us,” the Matriarch said immediately. “I’m not leaving it in the Nightside. I can’t believe no one here has tried to use it.”

  “Maybe they did,” said Conrad. “No doubt it has all kind of protections.”

  “The Glass is ours,” said the Matriarch. “Wherever it comes from.”

  She thrust out her hand, and the Glass shrank back down to hand-mirror size, flew through the air, and nestled comfortably into her hand. The Matriarch slipped the Glass through her armoured side and into a dimensional pocket.

  “When we get back to the Hall, we’re going to have two versions of the Merlin Glass,” said the Sarjeant. “That could mean problems . . .”

  “I’m really not thinking that far ahead, for the moment,” said the Matriarch.

  “I suppose it’s always possible some future Drood sent the Glass back to help us,” said Conrad. “Because they read in the family records that somebody did.”

  The three Droods thought about that.

  “I hate Time travel,” said the Sarjeant. “It makes my head hurt.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Bettie Divine appeared outside Drood Hall, holding up a dying Ioreth. She started toward the front door, but Ioreth made her stop and listen to him.

  “You can’t just go barging in, Bettie. The Hall is protected.”

  “I’m half demon, darling, remember?” said Bettie. “I can handle this.”

  “No, you really can’t,” said Ioreth.

  Scarecrows stepped out of the shadows to block their way. Ranks of raggedy things that looked like they’d just come down off their crosses in a really bad mood. They stood before the front door, wrapped in the tattered remains of what had once been fashionable and even elegant clothes. Because they used to be people. Their faces were horribly weather-beaten, the skin taut and brown as parchment, and tufts of straw jutted from ears and mouths. Their eyes were still present, alive and endlessly suffering.

  “What the hell are they?” said Bettie.

  “The Hall’s first line of defence,” said Ioreth. “Guardians, fashioned from the bodies of my family’s greatest enemies. Hollowed out and filled with straw, animated by unnatural energies, bound by unbreakable pacts to defend the family from all threats. I’m told if you listen in on the right spiritual frequency at night, you can hear them screaming.”

  “Why would your family do that?” said Bettie.

  “Because no one bears a grudge like a Drood,” said Ioreth.

  “Anywhen else I’d be impressed,” said Bettie, “but we are in just a bit of a hurry right now, sweetie. We’ve got to get you to a doctor. Isn’t there a password you can use to shut them down, or at least make them stand aside?”

  “If there is such a thing, I never knew it,” said Ioreth.

  “I recognise some of them,” said Bettie. “That’s Laura Lye, the Liquidator! And Mad Frankie Phantasm . . . I always wondered what happened to him.”

  “My family happened to him,” said Ioreth.

  “Just as well, he was a complete bastard,” said Bettie. She lowered Ioreth to the ground, and he wrapped his arms around himself tightly, because it felt like his guts might fall out of the hole Wulfsbane had made. He was shuddering, and not from the cold. Bettie put a hand on his forehead and winced. “You sit tight, sweetie. I’ll deal with this. Now close your eyes.”

  “Why?” said Ioreth.

  “Because I’m going to have to let out my inner bad girl,” said Bettie. “And I don’t want you to see that.”

  She kissed him on the forehead, and he closed his eyes. So he never saw her change into the image of her mother. Suddenly all fangs and claws, with goat-horns curling up from her brow, Bettie Divine launched herself at the scarecrows and tore them to pieces, ripping off arms and tearing torsos apart. Decapitated heads rolled along the street, their eyes still suffering and hating. And still Bettie raged among the scarecrows, reducing them to ragged bits and pieces and trampling the remains under her cloven hooves. Ioreth heard it all and kept his eyes squeezed shut. After a while, it all went quiet.

  “It’s all right, sweetie,” said Bettie. “You can open your eyes now.”

  He did, and she was crouching before him, herself again. The scarecrows were just ragged bits and pieces. Some were still twitching.

  “Impressive,” said Ioreth, trying to find the strength to smile at her.

  “Sorry about the mess,” said Bettie.

  “Don’t worry,” said Ioreth. “My family will put them back together again. Waste not, want not.”

  Bettie helped Ioreth back onto his feet. His legs trembled under him, and the whole front of his clothes was soaked in blood. Bettie steered him toward the front door, and Ioreth gritted his teeth so he wouldn’t make any noise. He didn’t want her to know she was hurting him.

  * * *

  • • •

  Once they were inside the main hallway, Bettie looked quickly around her. Any other time she would have taken a moment to admire all the valuable things out on open display and calculate the best way of liberating a few for herself, but all she cared about now was finding help for Ioreth. She raised her voice, calling out his name, but no one answered. Her voice echoed on the quiet, then died away. She looked at Ioreth.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “Most of the family went to war,” said Ioreth. He had to fight to focus his drifting thoughts. He was feeling increasingly numb and distant, and part of him wondered if he ought to be worried about that. He realised Bettie was waiting for him to continue. “There are only a few of us left here. The old, the young, and the sick. Locked up in the Redoubt, the Drood equivalent of a panic room. You couldn’t get past that door with a tactical nuke. But we can’t just stand around, Bettie; the Hall’s internal defences will start kicking in soon.”

  “More defences?” asked Bettie, glaring around her. “Like the scarecrows?”

  “No,” said Ioreth. “Much worse than the scarecrows.” His voice faded away. His eyes had almost closed. He forced himself awake again. “Get me to the Old Library, Bettie.”

  “You need a doctor!”

  “All gone, with the army,” said Ioreth. “And I don’t think they could have helped with this anyway. I want William. The Librarian knows things that no one else knows.”

  “Where do I find him?” s
aid Bettie. “Where is this Old Library?”

  It took Ioreth a while, but he finally made her understand about the painting that wasn’t a painting but a door. Bettie locked onto it with her teleport, and just like that they were inside the Library. Ioreth smiled at the familiar setting, with its warm and comforting lighting.

  “Home . . .” he said.

  “I don’t see anyone!” said Bettie. She looked at Ioreth, but his eyes had closed. She was having to support most of his weight now, and the colour in his face was really bad. She raised her voice. “William! Librarian! I have Ioreth with me! He’s hurt! He needs you!”

  The Librarian emerged from the stacks, took one look at Ioreth, and hurried forward. He helped Bettie lower Ioreth onto a nearby chair and looked him over quickly. Ioreth opened his eyes and smiled at the Librarian. William did his best to smile reassuringly back. He turned to Bettie, and his eyes were dangerously cold.

  “Who did this to him?”

  “He was stabbed with a cursed sword,” said Bettie. “An Infernal Device.”

  William flinched. “Damned things.”

  “Told you,” Ioreth said proudly to Bettie. “The Librarian knows everything. William, this is Bettie Divine.”

  William glanced at the horns on her forehead, then smiled at Bettie. “About time he brought a girl-friend home to meet the family.”

  “Don’t you have one of those medical blob things?” said Bettie. “I thought they were standard issue for Droods?”

  “They wouldn’t help,” said William. “Not with a wound made by an Infernal Device. Help me get him on his feet again, Bettie.”

  Between the two of them, they half led and half carried Ioreth deeper into the stacks, until they reached the Librarian’s personal area. They laid Ioreth down on William’s cot, and he sighed happily at being off his feet at last. William put a blanket over him, then found a cloth, so he and Bettie could wipe Ioreth’s blood off their hands.

  “How did you get past the scarecrows?” said William.

  “I’m half demon,” said Bettie.