Property of a Lady Faire: A Secret Histories Novel

  “They have to learn respect.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they’re both feeling very respectful,” I said. I looked at the remaining soldiers. “I expect you’d like to surrender now, wouldn’t you?”

  And then Molly and I looked round, as more soldiers came running towards us from both ends of the street at once. Dozens of black uniforms, heavily armed and armoured, crashing down the street with grim determination. The soldiers who had been firing on us turned and ran to join the others. Or perhaps to hide behind them. I looked past the approaching soldiers. Both ends of Bayswater Road had been completely sealed off by parked military vehicles and barricades. But I couldn’t see any helicopter gunships, or attack vehicles, of the kind MI 13 had used before. Just black-uniformed cannon fodder. What were they planning?

  “Do they really think sealing off the street is going to stop us leaving?” said Molly.

  “I think it’s more to keep other people out than to keep us in,” I said. “They don’t want any witnesses for whatever it is they have planned.”

  “I don’t like the feel of this,” said Molly, looking back and forth uncertainly. “Something is heading our way, apart from these idiots. Something . . . bad. I can feel it, crawling on my skin. You know what, Eddie? This might be a good time to exercise the better part of valour and leg it through the Merlin Glass. Before the bad thing gets here.”

  “You want to leave?” I said. “And miss a good scrap? A chance to beat the stuffing out of a bunch of smug, obnoxious thugs? Are you sickening for something?”

  “No,” said Molly, with quiet dignity. “I am just pointing out that MI 13 is showing every indication of having planned all this very thoroughly. They’ve got something else up their sleeves, and I can’t help feeling we would both be a lot better off if we weren’t here when it arrived.”

  “Hell,” I said, “it’s come to something if you’re being the voice of reason.” I looked up and down the street. “I can’t See anything unnatural. No sign of any high tech or magical energies. Come on, Molly, this is MI 13 we’re talking about. They couldn’t organise a hand job in a brothel. Their specially prepared ammunition didn’t amount to much, did it?”

  “Oh, go on then,” said Molly. “Mindless violence and extreme behaviour it is. Twist my arm . . .”

  The approaching soldiers slowed their pace as they drew near, spreading out to surround us. Molly and I moved unhurriedly to stand back to back. The soldiers formed quickly into ranks, covering us with their automatic weapons and barking orders at us from behind their anonymous black-visored helmets. I turned my golden mask back and forth, and soldiers flinched away from its eyeless gaze. It was one thing to hear all the stories about Drood armour, and quite another to have to face it in the real world. The soldiers in the front ranks tried to back away, but the ones behind were having none of that, and held them there. A few scuffles broke out, until their officers got them back under control.

  And Molly and I hadn’t even done anything yet. I just stood there, my spiked golden fists held out before me, while Molly’s magics flickered dangerously around her, full of nasty possibilities. Finally, one of the officers came forward to face me. His uniform had no markings, but there was a silver badge on his helmet, just above the visor. He stopped a more than respectful distance away, his automatic weapon trained on my armoured face. For psychological value, no doubt. His back was stiff, his head held high, and when he finally spoke his voice was sharp and authoritative.

  “Eddie Drood, surrender yourself and your woman, and give yourselves over to the authority of MI 13. Do it now, before things get ugly.”

  “You’re already ugly,” I said. “I’ve seen how your people handle innocent bystanders.”

  “And what’s this your woman crap?” Molly said loudly from behind me. “I am Molly Metcalf, wild witch of the woods and a supernatural terrorist in my own right! And a serial transformer of piggy little men who annoy me into squelchy little snot things!”

  “She really is,” I said. “I’d back away now and ask for new orders from someone higher up the food chain, if I were in your shoes.”

  “I don’t take orders from rogue agents and witches with delusions of grandeur,” snapped the MI 13 officer.

  “I do not have delusions!” said Molly very loudly.

  “You’ve upset her now,” I said to the officer. “I’d start running if I were you. Not that it’ll do any good, of course . . .”

  “We have orders to take both of you in, dead or alive,” said the officer. “Guess which we’d prefer.”

  “Why can’t people just be reasonable?” I said plaintively to Molly.

  “No good asking me,” said Molly. “I never did get the hang of reasonable.”

  I smiled, and shrugged at the officer. “Sorry, but you see how it is. Tell you what—why don’t you and your uniformed bully boys just put down your weapons and surrender to Molly and me? And then we won’t have to do terribly unpleasant things to all of you, that will make the survivors scream when they wake up at the hospital.”

  “Survivors,” said Molly. “Always the optimist, Eddie.”

  The officer stepped back, and gestured sharply to a nearby soldier, who stepped smartly forward out of the ranks and aimed a rocket launcher directly at me. I started to say something, and he fired the thing at me, at point-blank range. The shell shot across the few yards separating us at incredible speed, the sound of its rocket blast almost overpowering. The sensors in my mask kicked in immediately, speeding up my sight and reflexes till the world and everything in it seemed to be moving in slow motion. I grabbed the shell out of mid-air and cradled it in my arms, hugging it to my chest. It exploded almost immediately, and my armour soaked up every bit of it. There wasn’t even a shock wave to affect the soldiers around me. I’m considerate like that, sometimes. I’d crouched a little, to be sure of smothering the blast, and when I straightened up again, the soldiers made low, shocked sounds as they saw that my armour was entirely unmarked and unaffected.

  The officer gestured quickly again, and another soldier came forward, this time armed with a flame-thrower. The fuel tank had all kinds of magical symbols scrawled across it, so I assumed the flames had been specially treated. Given the effect of the specially prepared ammunition earlier, I decided not to be impressed. So I just stood there, my arms casually folded, and let the soldier get on with it. He bathed my armour in a blast of roaring flames, sweeping the jet back and forth across me, and I didn’t even feel warm.

  Good to be a Drood.

  The soldier gave up, turned the flame off, and stomped back into the ranks, where some of his friends patted him consolingly on the shoulder. There then followed something of a pause, as the officer quietly debated with his troops over what to do next. I don’t think they’d expected there to be a next. There was even more discussion going on in the ranks at the back, most of it of a somewhat dispirited nature.

  “You might have warned me about the flames,” said Molly, behind me. “I mean, yes, I have been to Hell and back and there isn’t a fire on this world that could actually get to me, but a warning would still have been the polite thing to do.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I was thinking . . . whoever sent these herberts out to annoy us must not have known much about Drood armour, or your magics. And given that this is MI 13, who have tangled with us before, to their cost . . . you’d expect them to know better.”

  I broke off, as Molly started chanting behind me. I could feel magical energies tingling on my armoured back. There then followed a series of explosions, and a whole bunch of screams, and then it all went quiet again. The soldiers in front of me looked past me and Molly, saw what she had just done, and appeared very upset. Several ripped off their helmets so they could be suddenly and violently sick.

  “Well?” I said.

  “Fine, thank you,” Molly said cheerfully.

  “You’re being extreme again, aren’t you?” I said.

  “They started it,” said Molly. “I b
elieve in getting my overreaction in first.”

  “I have a strong feeling,” I said thoughtfully, “that this—all of this—is just a distraction. Expendable foot soldiers, never expected to actually bring us in or take us down. They’re just . . . something to keep us occupied until the really heavy shit turns up.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” said Molly. “I wonder whose it is . . . Who’s in charge of MI 13 these days?”

  “Officially, Alan Diment,” I said. “But he made it clear to me, back at the Wulfshead, that he’s not much more than a figurehead. Being steered and pressured by people higher up.”

  “I think we should find those people and give them a good talking-to,” said Molly.

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” I said. “Hello . . . something new is coming our way.”

  Molly came round to stand beside me as the ranks of soldiers parted to allow Alan Diment to approach us. He still looked like a minor civil servant, out for an afternoon walk and not at all happy about it. He kept his back straight and his head high, but he still gave the impression that he should be waving a large white flag. He passed through the soldiers, and stopped a very respectful distance away from me and Molly. He looked from me to Molly and back again, and when he finally spoke he sounded scared but determined.

  “You know I didn’t want any of this,” he said. “None of it was my idea. I’d have known better.”

  “But you’re here,” I said. “Why is MI 13 so determined to take us down, dead or alive?”

  “Because you destroyed our operation at the Wulfshead Club,” said Diment. “And embarrassed my current lords and masters. You’ve made them lose face in the Intelligence community, and made them seem weak and useless to the Government that funds them. You must have known my masters would be just waiting for a chance to get back at you, and you gave them the perfect opportunity when you invaded the Department of Uncanny and slaughtered everyone there. What were you thinking? Did you really believe you could get away with that, just because of who you are? Every organisation in the hidden world is after you. Because if you’d turn on Uncanny, and your own grandfather . . . Well, nobody’s safe. The word is, whoever takes you down gets a free pass from the Droods. And everyone wants that. Your family is really disappointed in you, Eddie. You let the side down by getting caught. Now the British Government wants you. And you too, Molly; don’t feel left out. Both of you have been declared fair game. And MI 13 got here first.”

  “How?” I said. “How did you know we were here?” My voice cracked like a whip on the silence, but give Diment credit; he didn’t flinch.

  “Don’t be silly, Eddie. I’m hardly going to tell you, am I? Might need to use that source again, someday.”

  “Molly and I didn’t kill all those people at Uncanny,” I said. “We’ve been set up.”

  “Well, yes, you would say that, wouldn’t you?” said Diment. “The fact remains, you were seen leaving the scene of the crime.”

  “No, we bloody well weren’t!” said Molly. “We teleported out!”

  “So you were there,” said Diment. “Thank you for confirming that. Makes this so much easier. I will say I was surprised to learn you were responsible for a mass murder, Eddie. You were always an agent first, and only ever a reluctant assassin. But you’re a Drood, and she’s the wild witch, so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at all, really.”

  “Who saw us leaving the scene?” I said.

  “Presumably someone trustworthy,” said Diment. “Look, the Government has tasked MI 13 to bring you in, dead or alive. I would prefer alive, but if you insist on resisting . . .”

  “Kill a Drood?” I said. “You’re really ready to go to war with my family?”

  “You’re not listening, Eddie,” Diment said patiently. “You have been officially disowned by your family. Declared rogue, and no longer protected. Surrender, Eddie. Do it now, while you’re still in a position to strike some kind of deal.”

  “What kind of deal?” I said.

  “Eddie?” said Molly, looking at me sharply.

  “I’m just curious,” I said.

  “If you’ll stand down and go willingly, you’ll be allowed to hand over your armour on your own terms,” Diment said carefully. “It is the armour my current lords and masters want, after all. Imagine what MI 13 could do with its own armoured agents.”

  “That is never going to happen,” I said. “After what I saw at the Wulfshead today, it’s clear your current lords and masters can’t be trusted.”

  “That may or may not be the case,” said Diment. “It doesn’t make any difference. You don’t have a choice, do you, Eddie?”

  “I always have a choice,” I said.

  “Damn right,” growled Molly. “And right now I am choosing to be completely unreasonable, and downright violent with it.”

  I smiled at her, behind my mask. “Exactly, Molly. Time to put these uniformed little snots in their place. But we need to do it fast and get the hell out before my family turns up to complicate things. Because you can bet one of our people inside MI 13 will have contacted them by now.”

  “You have people inside MI 13?” said Molly.

  “We’ve got people inside every secret organisation,” I said. “How else do you think we stay on top of everything?”

  “That does explain a lot,” said Diment.

  “Are you still here, Alan?” I said pointedly.

  “Your family wouldn’t side with this bunch of creeps, would they?” said Molly. “I mean, they wouldn’t allow you to be handed over to the Government. Would they?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “But they would let MI 13’s troops wear us down, so they could move in afterwards once we were exhausted. And then . . . at the very least they’d demand to know what was really going on. And we can’t tell them.”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” said Diment. “What do you mean, what was really going on? What am I missing?”

  “Almost everything, Alan,” I said. “Now hush—grown-ups talking.”

  “Oh . . . shit,” said Molly.

  I looked at her. “What?”

  “Something’s happening,” said Molly. “And I really don’t like the feel of it.”

  The black-uniformed soldiers all tilted their heads at the same time, receiving a new communication, and then they all turned and ran for the ends of the street as fast as they could move in their heavy body armour. Diment hurried after them, not even glancing back at Molly and me. Molly made as though to stop him, but I intervened. Diment was just a messenger boy. The soldiers hurried behind the roadblocks and then stood their ground, covering the street with their automatic weapons.

  “They’re waiting for something,” said Molly.

  “Seems likely,” I said. “I wonder what . . . I mean, what could MI 13 have that they think could bring us down? That their own people are afraid of?”

  “I love the way you keep asking me questions, like you think I’ve got any answers,” said Molly. “I’m as much in the dark as you are!”

  “Probably even more so,” I said generously.

  And then I broke off, and studied the street ahead of me carefully, through my mask. The natural energies of the world had just changed. Something was forming in the air. I could See strange lights, pulsing, and there was a growing sense of presence . . . of something from Outside forcing its way into our reality. Forcing the edges of the world apart, so it could shoulder its way through. Molly saw it too, and sucked in a sharp breath.

  “Okay . . .” she said. “That doesn’t look or feel like anything I’m familiar with . . . Feels nasty, though.”

  “This is high tech, not magic,” I said. “Though admittedly, beyond a certain point it gets really hard to tell them apart. MI 13 is establishing some kind of Gateway, to let something through. And something pretty damned big too, given the size of the opening. Where the hell is MI 13 getting the kind of power they’d need, to open a Gateway this size? And what would they be bringing here, that they be
lieve can take on a Drood in his armour?”

  “Are you talking to somebody else?” said Molly. “Because I know for a fact I already told you I don’t know anything!”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Just thinking out loud and trying not to panic . . . Given everything that you and I have already tackled, from Hungry Gods to a worldwide Satanic Conspiracy, what could MI 13 be bringing to the table on a Government department budget? Hold everything . . . Do you See those energies bleeding out from the edges of the Gateway?”

  “Are you asking me, or is this just another . . . ?”

  “Do you See them?”

  “Yes! What are they?”

  “Tachyons. Time particles . . . We’re looking at a Time Gate! A transfer point, connecting one period in Time with another. Bringing something here, from the Past or the Future.”

  “Now that’s just cheating,” Molly said briskly. “And just a tiny bit alarming on any number of levels . . .”

  “This kind of technology is way beyond anything MI 13 should have access to,” I said, honestly shocked. “My family has always kept a very close eye on anyone messing around with Time. And there are Certain Others, who have been known to step in and make certain organisations and individuals never happened, just to put a stop to things like this.”

  “Could Black Heir be helping MI 13 out?” said Molly. “They’re responsible for cleaning up all the weird tech left behind after alien incursions.”

  “Black Heir know better than to meddle with things beyond their remit,” I said. “They survive by being useful, and not at all threatening. Oh, wait a minute . . . Yes! Got it! When MI 13 abducted those people from the Wulfshead Club earlier, one of them must have been an alien or a time traveller! There’s always one or the other passing through. MI 13 must have confiscated their tech before throwing them back. The bloody fools . . . messing around with things they can’t hope to understand or control, all in the name of ambition . . . This is what made Diment’s bosses brave enough to take on a Drood. And the wild witch, yes. But what have they found, what are they summoning through that Gateway . . .”