“Then how do people normally get to the Museum when they want to visit it?” said Molly.
“Mostly, people don’t,” I said. “Visitors aren’t encouraged. It’s not that kind of museum.”
“Well, what kind is it, then?” said Molly.
“I told you,” I said. “A dumping ground.”
“Give us time!” said Maxwell. “We’ll think of something. Though short of attaching a jet pack to one of the winged unicorns . . .”
“One of the lab assistants tried that last year,” said Victoria. “I didn’t know unicorns knew that kind of language.”
“There must be some kind of flying vehicle we can adapt,” said Maxwell. “Though landing is always going to be a problem.”
“Maps!” said Victoria. “We need maps!”
“You said there weren’t any,” said Molly.
“That’s official maps,” said Maxwell.
“Droods have their own maps,” said Victoria.
“Because we know where things really are.”
“Where the bodies are buried.”
“Because we put them there.”
The Armourer beamed happily at me and Molly, and then hurried out of the Sanctity, chattering animatedly to each other. I looked thoughtfully after them.
“They must be on something,” I said. “It can’t be natural to be that happy all the time.”
“Wait a minute!” said Molly. “What about the teleport station inside the walk-in freezer? If it can teleport food in, couldn’t it be repurposed to teleport us out?”
“It was specifically designed to work only on nonliving materials,” I said. “For security reasons.”
“How did you know about the freezer’s teleport?” demanded the Sarjeant.
Molly smiled sweetly at him. “You’d be amazed at all the things I know.”
“And probably horrified,” I said.
“Well, yes,” said Molly. “That goes without saying.”
“We’ll find you some kind of transport, Eddie,” the Matriarch said quickly. “Just give us time to think. It’s been a long day . . . You know, you could take advantage of the wait to visit the Infirmary. They might have come up with something new. You mustn’t give up on us, Eddie. We haven’t given up on you.”
“You’re still hoping for some last-minute miracle,” I said. “I’m not. I have no intention of dying slowly in some hospital bed.”
“I could order you to go,” said the Matriarch. “For your own good.”
“You could,” I said. “Want to try to see how far that gets you? Besides, who else could you send after Edmund who wouldn’t come home in a box? Or, more likely, several boxes?”
“The family does have other field agents,” said the Matriarch.
“Edmund would chew them up and spit them out, and you know it,” I said. “I’m the only one who can stop him, because I can think enough like him to out-think him.”
“Of course,” said the Sarjeant. “Because that’s worked so well, so far.”
“Loath as I am to admit it, Cedric may have a point,” said Molly.
“It has to be me,” I said. “Because I’m the only agent who knows Edmund and Grendel Rex.”
“You say that like it’s a good thing,” said the Sarjeant.
“And because I’m the most expendable agent you’ve got.”
The Matriarch smiled briefly. “I’m sure the other field agents will be happy to hear that.”
“This is personal,” I said.
“But you don’t have to do it on your own, Eddie,” said the Sarjeant. “You’re part of a family.”
“I need to do this,” I said. “It’s all I have left.”
Something moved in Molly’s face when I said that. She looked like I’d slapped her. I started to say something to her, and she turned her face away. I reached out, took hold of her chin, and turned her face back to me. She didn’t fight me, but she didn’t make it easy for me either.
“Edmund is the last bit of family business I need to attend to,” I said. “Before I can stop. Before I can rest. The last thing in my life that needs doing. But he doesn’t matter to me, Molly. Not the way you do.”
Molly pulled her chin out of my hand. “If the last thing I can share with you is revenge, I can live with that.”
“It’s important to me that I go out on my feet,” I said. “Still being me. But I wouldn’t want to do it without you.”
“Eddie, what am I supposed to do after your work is done? After you’re gone?”
I smiled at her. “Live.”
I got up to leave the Sanctity and was unpleasantly surprised to find how weak I’d become, just from sitting still for so long. My head swam, and my legs didn’t want to support me. The golden bands under my clothes were still holding me together, but it was up to me to keep moving. I gritted my teeth and forced myself up and out of the chair. Trying to hide from the watching Matriarch and Sarjeant just how much effort it took and how much it cost me. Molly was quickly there at my side, taking my arm and surreptitiously supporting me. We headed for the doors, arm in arm.
“One last thing, Eddie,” the Matriarch said behind me. “I’ve just been informed: Your parents are here.”
CHAPTER SIX
Memories, Given Shape and Purpose
I took Molly out of the Hall, and we went walking through the grounds. I felt better once I’d left what should have been my home and so rarely felt like one. Some of my strength came back, and Molly only held on to my arm because she wanted to. The evening air was cool and calm, and the light had an almost serene quality. I led Molly round the side of the East Wing and then just kept walking until we’d put the Hall behind us. The wide-open lawns at the rear looked very different from the disturbed earth and bloody mess we’d made out front. It was all very quiet, with no one around. Great lawns stretched away into the distance, trees lined the horizon, and peacocks and gryphons paraded happily as though nothing had happened. That was one of the great things about Drood Hall: Whatever violent and appalling things might take place, there was always a feeling that the Hall and the grounds and the family would still survive.
Because we had made ourselves a part of the way things were.
We passed by huge open flower-beds, where the intricate and majestic displays combined species from any number of different worlds. Everything from bobbing flowers the size of a man’s head, in almost Technicolor hues, to sharp and spiky growths that swelled slowly and rhythmically as though they were breathing, to towering ornate things that seemed perfectly ready to tear up their roots and go for a stroll at any given moment. Wild and almost savage beauty, flowers with passion and power, only constrained by Drood knowledge. Just so we could have something to please our eyes. I pointed out a few of my favourites, struggling over the correct names and origins. I hadn’t done a lot of walking on the grounds since I came home again, because there was always so much waiting to be done.
“Most of these flowers come from other worlds, other dimensions,” I said. “Some are souvenirs, some the spoils of victory. And a few are hostages.”
“Really?” said Molly.
“No,” I said smiling. “You shouldn’t believe everything I tell you, Molly. Hey! Don’t hit! I’m fragile.”
She sniffed loudly, hugged my arm against her side to show I was forgiven, and we moved on. The flowers turned their heads to watch us go. A small group pursed their rosebud mouths to sing an alien song in sweet harmonies. Beyond the flower-beds, carefully tended copses and thickets stood scattered across the lawns. All kinds of trees leaned together companionably, as though in hushed conversation. Some had leaves; some didn’t. Whatever grows in Drood grounds never gives a damn about the seasons. Like us, they go their own way. Follies and outbuildings stood proudly alongside standing stone circles and hedge mazes. And out on the artificial lake, swans s
ailed serenely back and forth while the resident undine amused herself by making the waterfall run backwards.
“Uncle Jack and Uncle James used to bring me out here for picnics when I was younger,” I said. “Because I had no parents to do that for me. James taught me the names of all the trees and flowers . . . But that was a long time ago. I never listened enough to the things he told me.”
“You know, a lot of this reminds me of my wood between the worlds,” said Molly. “I’m surprised how much of it feels wild and unfettered. Not coerced into artificial groups or shapes to please someone’s aesthetic choices or the fashion of the moment. Making nature seem neutered.”
“Different Drood gardeners follow different paths,” I said. “Capability Maggie got her nickname because of her fondness for landscaping, but always in a nurturing sort of way. Before she had to give it all up to become the new Matriarch.”
“Seems to me she’s still doing her best to make everything line up in neat rows,” said Molly.
“The family needs an organiser,” I said. “If only to keep us from tripping over each other. You’d be surprised how often the left hand doesn’t know what deals the right hand is making with the third hand.”
I looked around the grounds as we walked, taking it all in. Soaking up every detail, quietly enjoying every weird and wonderful sight. Molly shook my arm angrily.
“Stop that, Eddie.”
“Stop what?”
“Looking at everything as though it’s the last time you’ll ever see it.”
“Well, it might be,” I said. “I’m trying to fix it all in my head, store it in my memory, so I can take it with me when I leave. Just in case I don’t get to come back again.”
“You can’t think that way, Eddie! I can’t think that way.”
“I have to,” I said. “Because you can’t.”
“You go up against Edmund in this frame of mind, he’ll kill you dead before you get anywhere near him,” Molly said sternly. “Stop allowing yourself to be distracted. Get your head back in the game.”
“I’m just being practical,” I said. “I have no illusions about my future, because I’ve come to terms with the fact that I don’t have one. I couldn’t keep on being angry all the time; it was just wearing me out. I wish you could learn to accept it too, Molly. You might find it easier to cope.”
“I don’t give up,” said Molly. “Not ever. It’s not in my nature.”
We stopped before a massive standing stone. A great jagged thing, with deep cracks running through it. Ancient volcanic rock, it rose out of the lawn like an intrusion from another age, a good sixty feet high and almost as wide. Looked at from just the right angle, there was a suggestion of a face staring back. Not a modern face; it was older and more brutal than that. Primitive, almost prehuman. A gently gusting wind made strange noises as it moved through the deep fissures, like unearthly voices calling from distant places. The Stone looked like it had burst out of the ground, driven up and forced out by some deep, implacable force. Molly looked at the Stone and then at me.
“Okay, this is seriously ugly. What the hell is it? I never saw it before.”
“I never brought you this way before,” I said. “The Drood grounds cover a lot of territory, with more wonders and mysteries than you can shake something defensive at. We call this one the Stone.”
“That’s all?” said Molly. “No name?”
“If the Stone ever had one, it was lost to history long ago,” I said. “And it’s not like there’s anything else in the grounds for us to confuse it with. We all know what we mean when we talk about the Stone.”
“Why show it to me now?” said Molly.
“Look at the Stone,” I said.
Molly gave me a hard look, to make sure I understood she was only indulging me, and then studied the Stone carefully.
“If you look at it long enough,” I said, “you get the feeling something is looking back at you.”
“Can’t help thinking it’s getting the better part of the deal,” said Molly.
“The Stone is more than old,” I said. “It’s ancient. It was here long before Drood Hall. In fact, there are those who say my family only decided to build the Hall here because the Stone was here.”
“To protect the Stone, or so it could protect the Hall?” said Molly.
“Your guess is as good as anyone’s,” I said. “The only thing everyone can agree on is that the Stone is dangerous.”
“Isn’t everything here?” said Molly.
“Sometimes people disappear around the Stone,” I said. “They go walking round it and never reappear on the other side. Others climb to the top and never come down again. We all used to try that when we were kids. Daring each other on to prove our courage. I suppose every new generation does, despite it being strictly forbidden. Even a family as famously authoritative as ours has to have room in it for little rebellions.”
Molly tore her gaze away from the Stone to look at me. “What do you think happened to all the missing people?”
“There’s any number of theories,” I said. “Some say the Stone marks a point where this world bumps up against another, and the walls between the worlds have been rubbed thin. So that every now and again, just for a moment, a Door opens and people can go through.”
“Any idea where?” said Molly.
“No,” I said. “But it can’t be that bad. No one ever comes back to complain.”
Molly scowled. “I’m not Seeing anything out of the ordinary. Looks like just a big rock to me.”
“But it still feels disturbing, doesn’t it?”
“Yes it does.” Molly looked at me sharply. “If this thing is so dangerous, why haven’t your family gotten rid of it? Why not smash it or blow it up?”
“It’s been tried,” I said. “Usually by people who’d lost children to it.”
“And?” said Molly.
“The Stone is still here,” I said. “And some of the people aren’t.”
Molly went back to studying the Stone. I knew she’d like it.
“Are there any books about the Stone in the Old Library?”
“Lots,” I said. “Everything from personal histories to learned dissertations. All kinds of theories as to what it is and what it’s for, and every single one of them contradictory. The only thing the family can agree on is that it’s here for a purpose. That one day we’re going to need it.”
“Why would you believe that?”
“Remember the oracle?”
Molly shook her head firmly. “I wouldn’t trust that arsehole to guess my weight.”
“He doesn’t guess,” I said. “He knows. That’s what’s so annoying about him.”
“Why did you bring me here, Eddie?” said Molly. “Why show me this?”
“I like the permanence of it,” I said. “Our little lives come and go, the family’s fortunes rise and fall, but the Stone endures. I need to believe something will still be here when I’m gone. Probably after the whole family has gone. But right now . . . I want to climb it.”
“What?” said Molly, looking at me sharply.
“I never did when I was a boy. Ran around it a few times to prove I wasn’t chicken, but that was it. This is something left over from my childhood; something I always meant to do and never did. So I’m going to do it now, while I still can.”
“Even though the Stone is quite definitely dangerous, and people disappear on it?” said Molly.
“Yes.”
She grinned at me. “Okay! Let’s do it.”
“You want to climb it too?”
“You’re not going anywhere without me, Eddie Drood.”
“Good to know,” I said.
Climbing the Stone turned out to be easier than I’d expected. The cracks and crevices provided easy foot and hand support, and I went up the face in a series of co
ntrolled rushes. Molly was right there beside me, scrambling over the Stone’s glowering face with easy grace. The sound of the wind in the crevices grew louder and more eerie. I laughed out loud, and Molly did too. I got to the top of the Stone, reached a hand down to Molly, and hauled her up alongside me, and then we stood together, arms around each other, looking out over the grounds. When I was just a child, the Stone seemed like the biggest and toughest challenge I could ever imagine. And now it seemed so much smaller.
“Well, go on, Stone!” Molly shouted challengingly. “Do something!”
“Come on, give it your best shot!” I said loudly. “You’ll never get another chance like this!”
We waited, but nothing happened. I laughed quietly with Molly, and then we climbed back down. Taking our time, because this would be a really stupid way to mess up before we went after Edmund. We reached the ground without incident and walked away from the Stone. Not looking back once.
• • •
“I feel as though a small but very real psychic millstone has just been removed from around my neck,” I said.
“Glad to have been of assistance,” said Molly. “Hey, you didn’t finish your history lesson. Why did your family move here? What happened to the original Drood home?”
“The first Drood Hall was down in Cornwall, not far from Ilfracombe. There was a battle, or a war, or a great disaster . . . All the records from that period are lost, some say deliberately. I went back for a visit some years ago. Nothing there, not even any ruins. Just dead ground where nothing will grow. Even the birds steer well clear. The place, the setting, the atmosphere, all of it tainted and poisoned.”
“So, the Droods came here?” said Molly.
“No. There were several false starts in between. London in the Ninth Century, and Nottingham in the Thirteenth. This manor house dates from the Sixteenth Century. Some say Queen Elizabeth the First deeded the land to us personally, for favours received. And because we agreed to be custodians of the Stone.”
“Your family is full of history,” said Molly.
“My family is history,” I said.
Molly sniffed loudly. “You wish.”