Secret Histories 10: Dr. DOA

  The great old house loomed over us as we drew closer. Still not a single light showing in any of its windows, nor any sign of a face looking out.

  “Is anyone here going to be glad to see us?” said Molly.

  “Almost certainly not,” I said. “Black Heir is currently even more than usually annoyed with my family since the organisation lost out on taking control of the Department of Uncanny, when Charles and Emily decided to take it on. Black Heir sees that as a Drood takeover . . .”

  “Charles and Emily . . . ,” said Molly. “Good people. Are your parents back with your family?”

  “Yes, and no,” I said. “Which I think says more about my family than it does about my parents. But you can bet Mum and Dad will make sure that Uncanny soon establishes its own identity and agenda, entirely separate from the Droods. Someone has to be the conscience for my family.”

  “I thought that was you,” said Molly.

  “I won’t always be here,” I said.

  Molly stopped so abruptly, I had to stop with her. She glared at me, eyes bright with angry tears she refused to shed.

  “I can’t do this, Eddie! I can’t keep on doing this . . . Pretending you’re all right, and that everything’s going to be all right. I just can’t!”

  She put up a hand when I tried to answer her, and turned away. I had to wait, until she had control of herself again.

  “I’m sorry,” she said finally. “I thought I was stronger than that.”

  “Me too,” I said. “We have to keep going, Molly. It’s all we’ve got.”

  Molly scowled fiercely at the old house. “There had better be someone in there who can help you, even if it’s only with information on Dr DOA, or I will burn the place down around their heads!”

  “Be my guest,” I said generously.

  She let out a brief caw of laughter, and just like that, she was herself again.

  “What do you think?” she said. “Would we be better off going in as Shaman Bond and Roxie Hazzard?”

  I thought about it, and then shook my head. “No. They’d be too small fry to be allowed in. Black Heir might be happy to make deals with Shaman or Roxie, in the street or in the clubs, but they’d never be invited into Headquarters. Black Heir would never trust a pair of rogues like Shaman and Roxie with access to its secrets. Its people will let me in as Eddie, because they’ll be afraid of upsetting my family. And they’ll let you in as Molly Metcalf, because they’d be afraid of upsetting you.” I smiled. “That’s always been the best way to deal with Black Heir, from a position of power, and fear. Keeps the organisation respectful . . . and less likely to plunge an alien knife into our backs.”

  We finally came to a halt before the front door; a huge slab of dark-stained wood, with no name or number, no bell or knocker, not even a letter box. Some doors are there just to keep people out.

  “Not exactly welcoming,” said Molly.

  “I think that’s the point,” I said. “You don’t put your Headquarters on top of a hill in the middle of nowhere, unless you really don’t want to be bothered.”

  I banged on the door with my fist. The sound was flat and muffled, as though the heavy wood was soaking up the vibrations. I felt like kicking the door, but restrained myself. Dignity at all times. After a lengthy pause, the door swung slowly back, without even the faintest of creakings from the hinges. Standing in the doorway was an old man in a shabby black suit who looked like he had answered an ad for wrinkled retainer. He stared flatly at Molly and me, volunteering nothing. He might have been tall once, but age had stooped him right over. He was almost unhealthily thin, so that his suit hung loosely around him, with nearly enough room in there for someone else. His bald head was graced with just a few flyaway grey hairs, and his heavily lined face was punctuated by a beak of a nose and tightly pursed lips. As though the whole world had left a bad taste in his mouth. But there was still a spark in his deep-set eyes. He looked like a sudden breath of wind might blow him away, yet there was something in the way he blocked the doorway that suggested he might still prove hard to move, if he put his mind to it.

  “Yes?” he said, in a way that made it clear he didn’t expect anything good to come from the answer.

  “I’m Eddie Drood,” I said. “This is Molly Metcalf.”

  “They’re gone,” he said immediately. “Black Heir. Packed up everything and moved to the new Headquarters, in London. No one here now. I’m all that’s left. The Caretaker.” And then he stopped, and smiled suddenly. It changed his whole face and demeanour. There was mischief in that smile, and a hint of old secrets faithfully kept. He tapped the side of his nose meaningfully with one finger, as though inviting us to consider the implications of what he’d just said. “It might not have got the Department of Uncanny, like the organisation had been expecting, but it did get new Government funding, and an extended remit to operate, until Uncanny is up and running again. Black Heir is going to be very busy. For as long as it can get away with.”

  I looked to Molly. “While the cat’s preoccupied, the packrats will steal everything that isn’t nailed down. And when it is, they’ll steal the nails too. You can also bet Black Heir will grab as much new territory as it can, which it won’t want to give up.”

  “It’s going to be a problem, isn’t it?” said Molly.

  “Of course,” I said. “That’s why the Government did this. Stirring things . . .” I smiled coldly. “But once my parents have got Uncanny going, they won’t take any nonsense from the likes of Black Heir.”

  And then I stopped. I’d run out of things to say. I hadn’t realised how many hopes I’d pinned on Black Heir’s being here, so I could question its people about Dr DOA. I’d been sure they’d know something, and now there wasn’t even anyone to talk to. I’d come all this way for nothing. An empty trail, and a dead end. I was lost for anything to say or do. I realised the Caretaker was still looking at me.

  “Might as well take a look around, while we’re here,” I said with a confidence I didn’t feel. “See if they left anything useful behind. Bound to be something . . .”

  Molly nodded and smiled determinedly. She could sense my mood, and was trying hard to be cheerful and supportive. It was a brave effort.

  “Bound to be!” she said.

  “You’re welcome to come in, I suppose,” said the Caretaker. “But there’s nothing here. They took everything that mattered with them.”

  “But not you,” I said.

  “Someone has to do the dusting,” said the Caretaker. “And answer the door to unexpected visitors. Come in . . . Watch your feet! I’ve just cleaned in here.”

  * * *

  Once inside, he gestured for us to move on down the dark, shadowy hall while he closed the front door. Given his age, and the obvious weight of the door, I was surprised he could move it. I was ready to give him a hand, but he managed easily enough. Hidden counterweights, probably. I half expected him to creak more than the door did. Only a handful of light bulbs still glowed in the chandelier hanging overhead, and the flat yellow light barely reached from one end of the hall to the other. The long wood-panelled walls looked like they’d been stripped clean, with patches to show where pictures had hung until very recently. No furniture, no fixtures or fittings, but there were a great many scratch and scuff marks on the bare wooden floorboards, to show where heavy things had been moved across them on their way to the front door.

  “Damn . . . ,” said Molly. “They even took the carpets.”

  “Oh, there used to be a lot of stuff here,” said the Caretaker. “You could hardly move for interesting items. Used to be a whole row of standing suits of armour, right there. Nothing a human being could get into, but very decorative. And glass display cases, crammed full of alien flotsam and jetsam. Their equivalent of scrimshaw. All gone now. Black Heir never likes to give up on anything it owns. Or thinks it might be able to sell one day. It took eve
rything but my memories.”

  “You know Black Heir is going to shut this place down, sooner or later,” I said. “Do you have somewhere to go?”

  “Bless you, sir,” said the Caretaker. “Black Heir will never sell this place! Blow it up, maybe . . . Far too many secrets, and far too many weird things that the world never got to hear about. As long as I’m here, its people won’t do anything.” He tapped the side of his nose again, just a bit roguishly. “They know better than to bother me. This is my home.”

  “Do you have a name, Caretaker?” said Molly.

  “Oh yes, miss.” And then he turned away, hobbling proudly down the hall like it was his own private kingdom. “You’re welcome to the run of the place,” he said, not even glancing back over his shoulder. “There’re still a few things of interest left, as long as you’re not too choosy. All the internal security measures have been shut down. I think.”

  He turned slowly to look back, and gave Molly and me a perfectly unpleasant smile before wandering off down the hall. His shoulders were shaking slightly, as though he were giggling to himself. Molly looked at me.

  “After you,” I said.

  * * *

  We took our time, walking around the ground floor. Nothing but empty rooms now, just dimly lit spaces, and even more shadows. A few old-fashioned fireplaces without even any ash in them, and bare floorboards that creaked complainingly under our feet. The air was flat and stale, as though the windows hadn’t been opened in a long time.

  “Notice something?” said Molly. “No dust, no cobwebs, not even a trace of dirt or grime. Even the windows look to have been cleaned recently. I’ll say this for the Caretaker; he keeps the place spotless.”

  “Don’t suppose he’s got anything else to do,” I said. “I hope his own quarters are a bit more comfortable.”

  “Is it worth asking him about Dr DOA, do you think?”

  “He’s just the Caretaker,” I said. “I doubt Black Heir’s people told him anything they didn’t have to.”

  We tramped up the bare wooden steps of the staircase to the next floor, but it was just more empty rooms, only darker because of the closed wooden shutters. Our footsteps echoed loudly. It felt like walking round an old deserted cemetery.

  “Do you want to go up, and take a look at the attic?” I asked Molly. “I’ll hold your hand.”

  “If there’d been anything there worth looking at, they would have taken it,” said Molly. “Or buried it out back. I’m surprised they didn’t rip up the floorboards and take them as well.”

  “The people here didn’t want to leave any trace of themselves behind,” I said. “Nothing to show what they did here; nothing that could be used against them.”

  Molly nodded absently as she looked up and down the empty landing. “You know, this old house reminds me of Monkton Manse on Trammell Island. Where I lived with my parents, before they were murdered. I never liked it. Another house with too much history and that no one ever loved.”

  “Don’t,” I said. “You’ll get me started on Drood Hall.”

  “Do we even know anyone who had a happy childhood?” said Molly.

  “Give me time,” I said. “I’ll think about it.”

  * * *

  We went back down to the ground floor, making as much noise as we could, to drive away any ghosts that might still be lingering. I took another close look at the heavy scrape marks on the hall floor. A lot of really heavy things had been moved through the entrance hall, in something of a hurry, going by the amount of damage to the floorboards.

  “I can understand Black Heir wanting to move to London,” said Molly. “To take advantage of the situation there before Uncanny can get its feet under the table. . . . but why leave in such a rush? The signs here almost suggest a panic.”

  “We could be reading too much into this,” I said. “I might not study my family’s weekly briefing sheets as thoroughly as I should, but if there had been any real trouble here, I’m sure there would have been something about it.”

  “Whatever happened here, we missed it,” said Molly.

  “I thought that!” I said. I looked up and down the shadowy hall. “Is it worth wasting any more of our time? I mean, we’ve seen all there is to see.”

  “Are you sure we’ve come to the right place?” said Molly. “Just because this was Black Heir’s official Headquarters, it doesn’t necessarily follow that this is where it kept the good stuff.”

  “I used to be in charge of the family, remember?” I said. “It was my job to know about places like this. I used to get regular briefings on what went in and out of here. This is definitely the right place!”

  “All right!” said Molly. “You know, you’ve got very testy since you started dying.”

  “I wonder why,” I said.

  We shared a small smile.

  “If the good stuff isn’t here . . . ,” I said, “then it must be somewhere else.”

  “You’ve been hanging around Monkton Farley too long,” said Molly. “You’ll be deducing things next.” And then she stopped as a thought struck her. “How does Black Heir collect the things it salvages? Does it have field agents? Does it have contacts in the alien communities here on Earth to tell it where to look? Can it track starship landings?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  “You were in charge of the family!” said Molly. “It was your job to know things!”

  “I knew what I needed to know,” I said with great dignity. “I had departments for everything else. They knew things, so I didn’t need to. Until I did.”

  “And here I thought you knew everything . . .”

  “I do! Mostly. And when I don’t, I fake it.”

  “Now he tells me.” Molly looked to the rear of the hall. “When in doubt . . . try the cellar. That’s where all the really interesting and disturbing things always are, in deserted, spooky old houses.”

  “There’ll be rats,” I said. “I hate rats. And spiders.”

  “I’ll hold your hand,” said Molly.

  * * *

  We searched the whole of the ground floor, but couldn’t find any way down. I was ready to call the Caretaker back, when Molly gave a sudden sharp cry of triumph and pointed at one section of a wall. Like a hunting dog that’s just spotted prey lurking in the undergrowth. I leaned in close and discovered quite a large door cunningly concealed in the woodwork.

  “I’m impressed,” I said. “You have keen eyes, to go with your innately suspicious nature.”

  “I spent a lot of time looking for hidden doors and secret panels in the walls of Monkton Manse, back when I was a kid,” said Molly. “It was something to do while the grown-ups were busy plotting terrorist outrages and violent insurrection. I learned to recognise the signs. Things that don’t quite fit, two different kinds of wood that don’t belong together, and the fact that if you actually use your eyes, you can see the outline of a bloody big door!”

  She pushed hard against the concealed door, but it didn’t want to move. I briefly armoured up one arm, and gave the door a hard shove. It jerked back a good couple of feet, revealing nothing but darkness. A strange, unpleasant smell wafted out. I coughed a few times, and Molly wrinkled her nose.

  “What is that?” she said.

  “Beats the hell out of me,” I said. “I’ve never smelled anything like that before, and I have smelled some pretty weird things in my time.”

  “I won’t ask,” said Molly.

  “Best not to,” I agreed. “Not a good sign, though . . .”

  “We’re looking for things not of this earth,” said Molly. “A smell even you don’t recognise is probably a really good sign.”

  I reached through the opening and ran my fingers across a bare stone wall until I found the light switch. I tried it, without much hope, but a fierce light immediately snapped on, illuminating a set of rough stone ste
ps descending farther down than I could follow. I squeezed through the gap, onto the top step. That strange, unpleasant smell was even stronger. Molly quickly squeezed in beside me and peered down the long stairway.

  “That’s a hell of a lot of light bulbs that they didn’t take with them.”

  “They must be planning to come back, for whatever’s down there,” I said. “Which means it has to be worth taking a look at.”

  “Told you,” said Molly. She shot me a mischievous glance. “If you don’t mind the rats, and the spiders.”

  “You kick the rats; I’ll stamp on the spiders.”

  “I’m calling the RSPCA on you.”

  I started down the stone stairs. There wasn’t any railing, and the rough steps weren’t wide enough for the two of us to walk down side by side, so Molly settled for crowding my back and peering over my shoulder. I expected the air to grow colder as we descended into the depths, but instead it felt increasingly unpleasantly warm. A damp, sweaty heat that reminded me uncomfortably of a greenhouse, where living things are forced into growth against their will. It didn’t take long before we’d gone down farther than the house went up, with no end in sight. I had to wonder whether this could be the real Black Heir repository. The part of the iceberg that mattered.

  Some time later we reached the bottom and found our way completely blocked by a solid steel door. The gleaming metal slab had no details, no markings, and no handle. Just a single and very singular lock, set flush with the metal. I didn’t even want to think how they’d got a slab of steel this big down the narrow steps. I leaned in for a closer look at the lock. I’d never seen anything like it, and I know locks. Molly, both hands on my shoulders, was peering past me. The mechanism boasted a number of flickering lights, and there was something off, something wrong and maybe even disturbing, about those lights.

  “That is not normal,” said Molly. “I know locks. I mean, really know them, and I’ve never seen anything like that.”

  “Probably alien,” I said. “Typical of Black Heir. Hide away all the good stuff where no one else can get at it. Maybe some of it was so big, it couldn’t be moved without drawing attention to itself, so it’s still there. And that’s why the Caretaker was so sure Black Heir would never sell the house.”