Secret Histories 10: Dr. DOA

  “Not a bit of it, sweetie,” said the ambulance. “Just a regular working girl, with far too many streets under her white stilettos.” She paused. “You know, I’ve always wanted to visit the Wulfshead. Any chance you could get me in?”

  “Not looking the way you do now,” said Molly. “Two legs good, four wheels bad.”

  “Ah well, you know what they say, darlings,” said the ambulance. “A change is as good as a rest. It’s not like I meant to be an ambulance all my life; I just chose it as a quick way to make money, and work out my frustrations on slow-moving traffic. You won’t know me the next time you see me! See you on the flipside, sweeties.”

  She sped off into the night, in a swirl of flaring blue lights and wailing sirens. I could almost hear the rest of the world flinch.

  “You meet the strangest people in this business,” I said.

  * * *

  I led the way down the dark alleyway. Someone had made a public-spirited attempt to clean the place up since I was last here. Probably using really long-handled brooms, and a flame-thrower. The usual piles of garbage were gone, though I could still hear rats scurrying in the shadows. At least, I hoped they were rats. An attempt had been made to clean away some of the accumulated dirt and grime, with varying success. But the alley walls were still slick with moisture, running down the old brickwork in sudden streams, and there were still far too many shadows, deep and dark and quietly menacing. The long alleyway had a worryingly uncertain feel, as though its edges weren’t properly nailed down. Like the alleyways we walk in dreams, where the end is always farther away than you think, and you don’t need to look back to know something is after you.

  I couldn’t work out why the alleyway was disturbing me so much. I’d been there often enough before, to visit the Wulfshead, and it had never bothered me. Was it the alley, or was it me? I couldn’t ask Molly if she was feeling the same, in case she wasn’t. I wasn’t ready to have it all be in my mind. And I didn’t want to upset her. I realised I’d come to a halt, just standing there, looking . . . and that Molly was looking at me. I gave her a quick smile, and did my best to appear confident. I didn’t think I was fooling her, but she was kind enough to pretend I was. I moved on, trying to keep an eye on everything at once. Even if I wasn’t sure why.

  The walls were still covered in overlapping layers of graffiti. Messages and warnings from the Past, the Present, and the Future. Recent additions included Cthulhu Has Bad Dreams, Don’t Move Anything; It Leaves Gaps, and more worryingly, Say Good-bye to the Flesh. And then I had to stop suddenly as the world seemed to lurch under my feet. I turned quickly to the nearest wall and leaned against it, supporting myself with both hands. My head was swimming. Everything felt far away. My legs were trembling, as though they might stop holding me up at any moment. As I looked at my hands before me, pressed against the wall, I realised I couldn’t feel them. Both hands were completely numb.

  Slowly, my head began to clear, and I straightened up again as my legs grew firmer. I held my hands up before me, and flexed them both several times. At first I could only see the fingers moving, but then the usual sensations crept back. No feeling of cold, or even pins and needles. I looked at my hands as though they’d betrayed me. It’s always the extremities that go first. The first sign that for all my torc could do, the poison was still progressing, and my body was breaking down. I wondered when my hands would go numb again, and whether I’d get the feeling back next time. Or what would fail me next. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about . . .

  Molly was right beside me, watching silently and trying to keep the concern out of her face. I could tell she wanted to say something, but because I didn’t, she couldn’t. I smiled at her, to show I was back, and then gestured with an almost entirely steady hand at the opposite wall.

  “Well, here we are. The Wulfshead Club. How do you want to play this?”

  “We can’t go in as Eddie Drood and Molly Metcalf,” she said, her tone indicating she would accept the change of subject, for now. “Too many complications, and too much back history with the club and its patrons. Some might have heard that you’re . . . not yourself, and try to take advantage. And for those who haven’t heard anything yet, best not to drop any clues.”

  “Right,” I said. “I do have the feeling that we’re still banned. As Eddie and Molly. We made a hell of a mess of the place, last time we were here. It’s going to be hard enough to ask casual questions about Dr DOA, without having to fight off heavily armed bouncers at the same time.”

  “I’m sure they’ll have forgotten all about our little upset,” said Molly. “Well, no, they won’t have forgotten, but if they banned anyone who got a little rowdy now and then, they wouldn’t have any customers left.”

  “Of course,” I said, “we’re not just anyone.”

  “Damned right,” said Molly.

  “In order to make it easier for us to pursue our enquiries, I’ll go in as Shaman Bond,” I said. “People are always glad to see Shaman, that charming rogue about town.”

  “You like being him,” said Molly, “I often think, more than you like being Eddie. Which is . . . just a bit weird.”

  “Shaman doesn’t carry the weight of my family’s history around with him, and he hasn’t done the kind of things I’ve had to do. But he’ll still die when I do. That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “Okay,” said Molly. “Moving on . . . I’ll go in as Roxie Hazzard, well-known mercenary soldier and adventurer for hire. She’s a cover persona I often use when I have to work in the Nightside and don’t want to carry Molly Metcalf’s personal and professional baggage in with me.”

  I looked at her. “And why have I never heard anything about this Roxie person before?”

  “Because you didn’t need to know,” Molly said loftily. “A girl’s entitled to a few secrets.”

  “And you have more than most,” I said generously. “Has Roxie been involved in anything, or done anything, that Shaman might know about?”

  “I wouldn’t have thought so,” said Molly. “Shaman’s never been to the Nightside. Has he?”

  I smiled. “Not officially. I have my secrets too, you know.”

  Molly laughed, and closed in on me. “Tell me all, right now, or it’s tickle time.”

  “Later,” I said.

  Molly dropped me a wink, snapped her fingers, and just like that, she was somebody else. Molly Metcalf blinked out of existence, to be replaced by a tall, muscular figure with frizzy brick red hair and a harsh, handsome face. She wore a heavy black leather jacket over a simple blue jumpsuit, with thigh-high calf-leather boots, and a length of steel chain wrapped around her waist. She looked like she could punch out a rabid Rottweiler and look good doing it.

  “Okay, that is incredible,” I said. “I’m looking at you through my Sight, backed by all the power of my torc, and I still can’t see a trace of Molly Metcalf anywhere.”

  Roxie Hazzard grinned back at me, and when she spoke, even her voice had changed to a low, sultry growl with a hint of an accent I couldn’t place.

  “That’s the idea, lover. The change has to be complete, to go undetected in places like the Wulfshead and the Nightside.”

  “Is it just an illusion?” I said. “Or have you undergone an actual physical transformation?”

  “Allow a girl a few trade secrets,” said Roxie. She struck a pose, showing herself off. “So, do you fancy me like this?”

  “I’m going to be in trouble whatever I say, aren’t I?”

  She laughed happily; a low, throaty sound. And then we both looked round sharply. There had been movement, and the sound of movement, farther down the alley. Deliberately made, wanting to be noticed. I looked hard into the shadowy depths of the alleyway, but couldn’t see anything. I glanced at Roxie, and she shook her head quickly. We started down the alley together, and I quickly discovered that while she might look like Roxie, she still moved l
ike my Molly. Like a predator, always ready for trouble.

  Half-way down the alley, a figure stepped out of the shadows to confront us. Even though there was nowhere he could have come from, no way he could have got that close without us noticing. As though he’d just appeared out of nowhere. Which is never a good sign. I stopped, and Roxie stopped with me. The new arrival stood very still, waiting for us to make the first move.

  A tall, almost spindly figure in a grey hoodie over grey slacks and grubby trainers. So he could disappear into the shadows whenever he felt the need. He had the air of someone used to hiding from unfriendly eyes. He pushed his hood back, to reveal a pale, youthful face with short black hair and heavy stubble. His eyes burned fiercely, and his thin lips were pressed tight together; holding harsh emotions within. There was something of the wild about him, ready to fight or flee, as necessary.

  I relaxed a little as I recognised his face, but only a little. His presence here made no sense.

  “It’s all right, Roxie; I know who this is. Allow me to present to you the current Jack a Napes. One of the good guys. I’ve worked with him. Jack a Napes is a title, but you can’t inherit it or assume it. You can only get it by the acclaim of your peers, in the relevant underground communities.”

  “Never heard of it, or him,” said Roxie.

  “You wouldn’t have,” I said. “He doesn’t move in your circles. Or mine, normally. Shaman Bond, not the other guy, knows him.”

  “Your life can be very schizophrenic at times,” said Roxie.

  “We knew you were going to say that,” I said.

  “So who or what is a Jack a Napes?” said Roxie. “And why is he just standing there, looking at us like that? In fact, I really don’t like the way he’s looking at us.”

  I didn’t either. Jack a Napes was, if not actually an old friend, certainly an old colleague. He should have been pleased to see Shaman Bond. Instead, he was standing stiffly, half-hidden in the shadows, and I could all but smell the tension coming off him. He had the air of a man who’d come looking for a fight. Which really wasn’t like him.

  “Jack!” I said loudly. “It’s me, Shaman!”

  “I know you,” he said.

  I waited, but he had nothing more to say. His voice sounded harsh and threatening, even defiant. Really not what I remembered.

  “Jack a Napes is the latest in a long line of English trickster adventurers,” I said quietly to Roxie. “The name goes back centuries, championing any number of causes. Each new Jack a Napes gets to decide what he’s going to dedicate his life to. He’s part of the Robin Hood tradition, battling authority figures on behalf of those who can’t defend themselves. There are any number of old songs and stories about various Jack a Napes, but he’s never been romantic enough, or safe enough, for the mass media.”

  “So what’s the current Jack a Napes all about?” said Roxie.

  “He’s part of the Animal Liberation Force,” I said. “Frees animals from science labs or breeding farms, bad zoos, and circuses. Anywhere he believes the animals are being mistreated. He’s very fond of animals; not so much of people.”

  “How does he know Shaman Bond?”

  I kept a careful eye on Jack a Napes, but he still didn’t move a muscle. I raised my voice to make sure he could hear me. Hoping my words would remind him of the Shaman Bond he used to know.

  “I was sent to break into a secret Government research facility, not far from Porton Down. The scientists there were running drug trials on monkeys, trying to blow their little minds with massive doses of psychedelics. To see what would happen to primate minds without the human ego and complexity to get in the way. All they had to show for it was a whole bunch of confused and really pissed-off monkeys, more likely than most to shit in their hands and throw it at their tormentors. According to a whistle-blower, who’d left in a hurry ten minutes before being fired, the scientists were about to kill and vivisect all the monkeys, and harvest their brains. They had plans for those chemically altered brains. Jack a Napes broke into the facility to liberate the animals, and found me already there.”

  “Hold everything,” said Roxie. “Since when did your family have a soft spot for animals?”

  “I was there to stop what was supposed to happen next. According to the whistle-blower, the scientists were planning to use all those brains to create an organic computer. Not a new idea; it’s been tried many times before, with all kinds of animals. It never ends well. I hadn’t expected to run into Jack a Napes. I introduced myself as Shaman Bond, so as not to freak him out, and he persuaded me to help him smuggle the monkeys out of the facility, to where he had friends waiting with transport. They left, and I went back inside and burned the place down. Jack a Napes didn’t care about the scientists, and after what I’d seen in the files, about what they’d done and planned to do, neither did I.

  “Some time later, I tracked down the politicians and businesspeople behind the scheme. Because monkeys were just the first step; stage two called for harvesting the homeless. Jack a Napes never knew what I did, to the people in charge. At least, I hope not. He was always a gentle soul.”

  “I like the sound of this Jack a Napes,” said Roxie, “or rather I would if he weren’t still looking at us like that. What’s wrong with him?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “He shouldn’t even be here; he’s not a part of the Wulfshead scene. He shouldn’t even know the club exists.”

  “Really don’t like the way he’s looking at us,” said Roxie. “Like he’s betting on which way we’ll fall, after he’s ripped our throats out with his bare teeth. And what he’ll do to the bodies afterwards. Is he usually this creepy?”

  “No,” I said, “he isn’t.”

  “We can’t hang around here all night, waiting for him to get off the pot!” said Roxie. “We have things to do!”

  “I know!” I said. I took a step forward and addressed Jack a Napes directly. “Jack! You know me!”

  “I know you, Eddie Drood,” said Jack a Napes. “I know you too, Molly Metcalf.”

  “Hey!” said Roxie. “He shouldn’t be able to see me when I’m being Roxie!”

  “It’s time for you to pay for your sins, Drood,” said Jack a Napes. He sounded like he meant it.

  I looked at Roxie. “Okay, something is very wrong here. There’s no way Jack a Napes could know I’m a Drood. He shouldn’t even have heard of the Droods. He isn’t part of our world.”

  “And he just used the exact same words as the Manichean Monk, on Cassandra Inc’s airship,” said Roxie.

  “You’re right,” I said. “But Jack a Napes wouldn’t know someone like the Monk either. No way their paths would cross.”

  “It can’t be a coincidence,” said Roxie. “Not the same threat, in the same words, from two people who should have no quarrel with you.”

  “Somebody else must be behind this,” I said.

  “Want me to ask him who?” said Roxie.

  “I think I’d better do it,” I said. “You’d scare him.”

  “Damned right,” said Roxie.

  I took another step forward, and Jack a Napes smiled unpleasantly at me. His hands came up, clenched into white-knuckle fists. I kept my voice carefully calm and reasonable.

  “What are you doing here, Jack?”

  “Looking for you, Drood.”

  “But we only decided to come here a few hours ago!” Roxie said behind me.

  “I know what I need to know,” said Jack a Napes. “I see you, wherever you are, whoever you are.”

  “Okay . . . ,” said Roxie. “That wasn’t at all spooky.”

  “What’s going on here, Jack?” I said.

  “Word is out, Eddie,” said Jack a Napes, his voice openly mocking now, “that you’re weakened, vulnerable. What better time to make you pay for what you and your family have done?”

  “That’s what
the Manichean Monk said!” said Roxie.

  “Who put out the word, Jack?” I said. “No one’s supposed to know but me and my family.”

  “And the man responsible,” said Roxie.

  I glanced back at her. “Why would he want everyone to know?”

  “Why did he want to kill you?” said Roxie.

  Jack a Napes made an impatient sound, to draw our attention back to him. He wanted to be the centre of attention.

  “Did you know the Monk, Jack?” I said.

  “You could say that,” said Jack a Napes. “I know you killed him, Eddie. Threw him off an airship.”

  “That’s not what happened!” I said.

  “Don’t let him get to you, Eddie,” Roxie said quietly. “That’s what he wants.”

  “I never did anything to hurt you, Jack,” I said. “Neither has anyone else in my family.”

  “Your family murdered the only person I ever loved,” said Jack a Napes.

  “What?” I looked at him, honestly baffled. “That can’t be right; I’d have heard . . .”

  “It’s time,” said Jack a Napes. “Time for you to suffer, the way I have.” He smiled slowly, a cold, anticipatory smile, out of place on his youthful features. “Maybe I should kill your woman first, right in front of you.”

  “Okay,” said Roxie. “That’s it. He just crossed the line and he’s going down. I don’t care if he is an old friend of yours.”

  “Molly, please,” I said. “There’s something going on here, something I don’t understand . . .”

  “Time’s up, Drood!” said Jack a Napes. “Time to pay for all your sins!”

  “That’s the Monk again!” said Roxie. “That’s what he said!”

  Jack a Napes strode forward, and Roxie got ready to meet him, but I stopped her with a quick gesture.

  “No, Molly.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want Jack hurt,” I said. “He’s one of the good guys. I don’t believe he’s in his right mind. Someone’s got to him.”