From a Drood to A Kill: A Secret Histories Novel

  “They said you were lost,” I said. “And James . . . didn’t know how to find you again.”

  “Did James ever speak of me after I was gone?” said Melanie.

  “Not so much, to me,” I said. “But I know he never forgot you. Never gave up looking for you.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “From Uncle Jack.”

  She nodded slowly. “I like to think of James still looking for me. That he never gave up on me.”

  “I don’t think the family helped much,” I said. “Uncle Jack tried, of course, but . . .”

  “How is Jack?”

  “He’s the family Armourer now,” I said. “Has been for years. He’s getting ready to retire.”

  “Hard to think of Jack as old,” said Melanie.

  I wanted to ask her how old she was, but this didn’t seem the right time, so I approached the question obliquely.

  “Are elves really immortal?”

  “No,” said Melanie. “We do die, eventually. James knew I would outlive him, but he loved me anyway. And I knew he would pass through my long life like a mayfly, but I loved him just the same. I thought . . . we’d have more time together.”

  “Why are you still here?” I said. “In this place? Surely your power must have returned by now?”

  “Don’t you like this world?” said Melanie. “We fashioned it just for you. The world of your dreams. Your darkest dreams.”

  “I love it!” I said cheerfully. “Just like the old Hammer films Uncle James introduced me to.”

  “Yes,” said Melanie. “He did like them. I never understood that.”

  “I’m not surprised,” I said. “It’s a human thing. What’s it like here usually?”

  “You wouldn’t like it,” said Melanie. “You wouldn’t recognise it. A place of elven dreams and desires.”

  “Would Uncle James have recognised it?” I said.

  “No,” said Melanie. “There were things, parts of me, that I could never share with him. He knew that.”

  I looked around at the silently watching elves. “Where did all your . . . companions come from?”

  “The elves have always had a taste for the soft worlds,” said Melanie. “Their chaotic nature appeals to us. And a world like this can be a good place to get away from it all. Down the long years the elves came here, looking to lose themselves . . . for their own reasons.”

  “You do know . . . James is dead,” I said carefully. “Has been for some years now.”

  “Of course I know,” said Melanie. “How could I not? I knew the moment it happened. We were always close. That’s why I never made any attempt to leave this place. What would be the point? I had no reason to go home. Because it wouldn’t be home without James. This world is good enough for me.”

  “Where are we exactly?” I said.

  “A place of refuge,” said Melanie. “For broken hearts and broken spirits, and those who wish to remain lost.”

  She didn’t seem to know that Molly and I were responsible for James’ death—and I didn’t see any good reason to tell her.

  “You thought I was Jack,” I said. “When you saw the Bentley . . . after bringing it here. What do you want with Jack?”

  “I hadn’t thought of him in a long time,” said Melanie. “He was kind enough to me, I suppose. Didn’t give a damn whether the Droods approved of James and me or not. But he never came to find me, so . . . Then I caught a glimpse of his famous old chariot, speeding so dramatically through the adjoining spatial dimensions, and I remembered. I reached out with my magics and brought the car here. Because I have a use for Jack. Back when I knew him, he was fascinated by the possibilities of Time Travel. And I thought he must have a working device by now. So I would persuade him to use it, and take us back through Time, to save James. Make it so he never died. And then I could go home again, to him.”

  “Never work,” I said quickly. “The Droods have never believed in Time Travel. Mostly because the few times we’ve tried it, it’s gone really badly wrong.” I didn’t tell her about the Time Train, and Alpha Red Alpha. It would only have complicated things. “Trust me; Uncle Jack doesn’t have a working Time machine! Really! The family doesn’t allow meddling with Time.”

  “Jack will work something out, for me,” said Melanie.

  “That’s not going to happen!” I said. “Don’t you think Jack would already have gone back and saved James if he could?”

  “He just needs the proper motivation,” said Melanie. “I may not have him, but I have you. I shall send a message back to Drood Hall, explaining that. And making clear all the terrible things I will do to you if Jack doesn’t do what I want. I will be cruel, to be kind to myself. I will have my beloved back again. Or the Droods can have you back in pieces.”

  “You really believe you can hold a Drood against his will?” I said.

  “This world, this reality, exists because we made it with an effort of will,” said Melanie. “We have control over it, and everything in it. Including you. There’s no way out, Eddie.”

  It was my turn to fix her with a cold smile. “You’ve been away too long, Melanie. Things have changed. To start with, you don’t know how my family feels about me. They wouldn’t send you a dead dog in return for my safety.” I stopped, and looked at her thoughtfully. “Indulge my curiosity; how were you able to kidnap the Bentley, snatch it out of the spatial dimensions, and bring it here? I was given to understand that was impossible, because of all the protections the Armourer built in.”

  “The Bentley was always James’ car as well as Jack’s,” said Melanie. “So of course he gave me the secret override codes, for emergencies.” She turned to look at the other elves. “Take him down. Hold him securely. Hurt him if you have to, but don’t kill him. We need him alive, as a bargaining chip.”

  “You think James would have wanted this?” I said.

  “James is gone,” said Melanie. “And after the way your family treated me, I have no time for any of you. I will do whatever it takes to get my James back. He can forgive me afterwards.” She glared at the other elves. “Don’t just stand there! Take him captive!”

  “Not going to happen,” I said.

  She ignored me, turning to the elf nearest her. “Contact Drood Hall. Tell them what they must do.”

  The elf nodded, then disappeared. Melanie Blaze looked at me coldly.

  “Surrender,” she said. “It will go easier for you.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’m a Drood. You should remember that we’ve never given a damn for doing it the easy way.”

  I subvocalised my activating Words, and my armour flowed out and over me in a moment. I concentrated, and heavy spikes rose on my arms and shoulders. A long golden sword blade extended from my right hand. The elves murmured loudly, staring at me, fascinated. This was new to them. They only knew the old inflexible Drood armour; now they had to wonder what else this new armour could do. Melanie studied me carefully.

  “Your armour is . . . different,” she said. “Changed radically since my time. Strange matter! Interesting. Strange matter comes from places like this.”

  I did wonder then if that meant Ethel might come from a place like this . . . but I made myself concentrate on the matter at hand. I reshaped my armour to make it more martial-looking and more threatening, and the watching elves murmured loudly again. I swept my golden blade back and forth before me.

  “Take me down,” I said. “Go on, give it a try. See how far it gets you.”

  The elves stepped forward, drawing their enchanted blades. Slender swords and heavy axes that shone brightly in the night, crawling with elven magics. Anywhere else, I would have backed my strange matter armour against any number of elven blades; but this wasn’t anywhere else, and I wasn’t sure of the ground rules here. If the elves really had fashioned this world through willpower alone, it could be
that the rules were whatever they decided the rules were. But on the other hand . . . I was here now, and I had a pretty strong will of my own. The elves moved in, and I braced myself.

  The nearest elf launched himself at me, moving impossibly quickly, raising his glowing battle-axe and swinging it down with vicious force. I put up my golden sword to block it, and the enchanted blade shattered against it, falling away in a dozen pieces. If strange matter really did come from around here, apparently it had the home advantage. The elf cried out in shock and horror as his axe fell apart, and then he backed quickly away from me. The other elves looked at him, and then at one another; and made no move to approach me. I swept my long golden blade back and forth, waiting.

  “There’s only one of him!” Melanie said loudly. “And an army of you!”

  “One Drood is enough,” I said.

  And then the elf who’d disappeared, sent to make contact with Drood Hall, suddenly reappeared. He hurried forward and spoke quietly and urgently with Melanie. And just like that, all the strength and purpose went out of her. She looked older, and terribly tired. Almost haggard. She gestured sharply at the other elves and they sheathed their weapons. Then Melanie Blaze looked at me.

  “It’s over,” she said. “You can go, Eddie. It doesn’t matter any more.”

  “What?” I said. “I don’t understand. What’s happened?”

  “Go home, Eddie.”

  She gestured briefly and a Door appeared, not far from the Bentley. A Door back to the spatial dimensions. I could tell. I looked at the elves standing between me and the car, but they were already walking away. I pulled my sword back into my golden glove and hurried over to the Bentley. I sat behind the wheel and armoured down, as the seat belts snapped into place. I fired the car up and headed for the Door. Before Melanie could change her mind.

  I looked for her, but she’d already disappeared. One by one, the other elves were blinking out of existence. I steered the Bentley carefully through the open Door. The soft world was already starting to fade away; turning into something else. Something I was pretty sure I’d rather not see. I kept my gaze away from the rearview mirror, and gunned the Bentley.

  And wondered if I’d ever find out what the hell that was all about.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Keeping an Ear on the World

  A blast of brilliant sunlight hit the windscreen as the Bentley roared through the Door, out of the subtle realms, and back into the world. A long country lane stretched away before me, bounded on both sides by low stone walls. I slammed on the brakes, but I had the whole road to myself. Even the fields beyond the walls were open and empty, just grazing land for a few incurious cows. The sun was bright, the sky was blue, and everything looked reassuringly real and solid again.

  I took a moment then to access the Bentley’s computers and have them flash up a detailed local map on the inside of the windscreen. The Bentley only looks old-fashioned; the Armourer would never send an agent out into the field without everything he needed to get the job done. It quickly became clear that the Door had delivered me just a few miles short of the Lark Hill Centre, home to the Big Ear. Which raised a couple of rather interesting thoughts.

  The first being, how did Melanie Blaze know where I was going? I never told her . . . though I suppose she could have hacked my car’s computers. Elf magic prides itself on being sneaky. And second, if she could open a Door directly back to this reality, she wasn’t trapped in the subtle realms. She could have come home anytime. Perhaps she was telling the truth after all. That this world just wasn’t worth it without my uncle James in it. I shut down the information on the windscreen and headed for Lark Hill. I still had a mission to complete.

  Kate’s voice rang suddenly in my ear. “Eddie! Eddie, can you hear me?”

  “Yes! Yes, I can hear you! Now will you please turn down the volume before you have me off the road and into a hedge!”

  “Well, where the hell have you been?” said Kate at a more reasonable level. “We’ve all been on tenterhooks since you went quiet. What’s been happening?”

  “Beats the hell out of me,” I said. “Let’s just say I got lost for a while. I’m back now. I’d settle for that if I was you.”

  “Eddie . . .”

  “I’m almost at the Big Ear.”

  “Already? What kind of short cut did you take?”

  “Really don’t want to talk about it,” I said.

  “Keep in contact,” said Kate, after an only slightly ominous pause. “I can only advise you properly if I’m kept in the loop.”

  Her voice went blessedly quiet, and I was left to concentrate on my thoughts and my driving. If I had to have a family overseer, I was going to have to work out some kind of off switch so I could call the inside of my head my own. I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t told her about Melanie Blaze. I think it was because the family just didn’t need to know. She was none of their business any more.

  I followed the long, curving country lane as it passed between fields full of waving corn and hulking farm machinery, until finally it took a sharp turn to the left and cut across a wide-open moor. After a couple of miles of almost nothing, the road came to a sudden halt before a pair of massive steel-mesh gates standing upright and alone in the middle of nowhere, completely blocking off the road. Barbed-wire fences extended away in both directions. No name, no warning signs—just two uniformed soldiers carrying automatic weapons. They took up positions in front of the gates as I approached, covering me with their guns.

  I eased the Bentley to a halt and gave the two soldiers my best I have every right to be here smile. I took my time pulling out my prepared documents, since both soldiers had the look of men who wouldn’t react well to sudden movements. One soldier shouldered his weapon, came forward, and took his time sorting through my papers, one page at a time. I wasn’t worried. The Armourer always did good work.

  I’d already decided this wasn’t a case for Shaman Bond, when I’d filled in the details earlier. His reputation wouldn’t be of any use in a situation like this; in fact, it would probably be enough to get me shot on the spot, just on general principles. The Big Ear might specialize in security work, but it was still a military establishment. So for this mission I was using an old family name, Sebastian Graves. He had a tradition of turning up at places where absolutely no one would be pleased to see him.

  The soldier finally nodded reluctantly and handed the papers back to me. I accepted them with a told you so smile, and he stepped back and gestured to his companion. The other soldier opened the gates, stepped quickly back, and actually saluted me as I drove through. I approved of that. I don’t get saluted nearly often enough.

  The road carried on for another half-mile, and then dropped sharply away before me, plunging down into the earth through a steel-walled tunnel illuminated by harsh fluorescent lighting. The roar of the Bentley’s engine was painfully loud in the enclosed space. Somebody should have told me Lark Hill Centre was an underground bunker. I contacted Kate.

  “The information was there, in the briefing notes,” she said patiently. “But you didn’t bother to read all the way through, did you?”

  “I may have skimmed,” I said. “I really don’t like underground bases . . . They’re always so much harder to fight your way out of. I was expecting some kind of high-tech establishment, with big windows and lots of antennae and dishes and things . . .”

  “You quaint old-fashioned thing, you,” said Kate.

  The tunnel finally levelled off and opened out into a vast underground garage half full of assorted military vehicles. A small group of uniformed soldiers was waiting for me, before the only obvious exit. I goosed the Bentley’s engine just enough to make it roar, and then screeched to a halt right in front of the soldiers. A few of them actually flinched. I shut down the engine and took my time getting out of the car. I didn’t want these military types to think they could hurry me.
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  Half a dozen soldiers immediately surrounded the Bentley, covering me with really big guns. They’d noticed the dark blood from the soft world splashed across the car’s sides and bonnet. Their commanding officer stood his ground and looked me over with open disapproval. A large man, with a barrel chest and broad shoulders that strained his spotless uniform to the breaking point. Well into middle age, with close-cropped iron-grey hair and a face deeply etched with the harsh lines of experience, he looked like he ate spies for breakfast and crapped bullets. I just knew we weren’t going to get on. I gave him my most charming smile, but he only thrust out a hand for my identifying documents.

  I handed them over, and he took his time working his way through them, checking every detail against information already listed on his clipboard. Clearly looking for something out of place, so he could deny me entrance to his precious base. I’d met his type before. Hard-core military, determined not to be pushed around by some mere civilian. I leaned casually against the Bentley and smiled meaninglessly at the soldiers. They just stared steadily back, watching me carefully, still covering me with their guns. The commanding officer finally reached the last page in my documents, checked the very last signature, and scowled fiercely at me before reluctantly handing the papers back.

  “Commander Donald Fletcher, Mister Graves. I am in charge of this installation.”

  “Good to meet you, Commander,” I said, still smiling remorselessly. “What nice tunnels you have. And a really big garage. Can’t help noticing those are all military vehicles—not a civilian car anywhere.”

  “This is a military base,” said the Commander. “We don’t get many visitors. Security is paramount at Lark Hill. Your papers appear to be in order; I’ll check them again against the security computers once we get inside. I can’t allow you access to the more secure areas of this installation until you provide fingerprints, a retina scan, and a DNA sample.”

  “That . . . is not going to happen,” I said. “You don’t have the security clearance for that kind of information.”