He bobbed a quick bow to Giles and left the hangar at something approaching a dead run.
“And you have work to be about too,” said the ghost Jacob, scowling ominously at me. “Harry, bad cess to the man, and the useless bunch of toadies and yes-men he appointed to replace your Inner Circle, are currently deciding important matters in the Sanctity, and making a right dog’s breakfast of it. You need to be there, boy, before Harry drops this family in it any deeper.”
“You seem a lot more…together,” I said. “More focused, in body and soul.”
The ghost shrugged quickly, little blue balls of ectoplasm bobbing up off his shoulders. “Having my living counterpart around certainly helped remind me of who I used to be, and there’s nothing like a major emergency and the almost certain death of the whole damned world to concentrate the mind wonderfully. On the other hand…my memories of this shared time are still almost nonexistent. I think … I may have done this to myself deliberately. Perhaps so I wouldn’t have to tell my living self how he’s going to die.”
“You still think he’s going to die here, in this time, helping us?” I said.
“Oh yes. A glorious death…but still no peace for the wicked. He will die and become me, and I… will linger on for centuries to reach this place, this point in time. And all I can say is, there had better be a bloody good reason for it.”
“You still don’t know why you’re here?” said Molly.
Jacob favoured her with his usual nasty smile. “Hell, does anybody?”
“You’re not a hologram, are you?” said Giles.
“Wouldn’t lower myself,” said Jacob. “I am one hundred percent ectoplasm, and proud of it. I can walk through walls on a good day, though mostly I don’t because it’s very disconcerting. What’s the matter, warrior; don’t they have ghosts in the future?”
“No,” said Giles. “We’re civilised.”
“Let’s get to the Sanctity,” I said. “If only because this conversation is starting to make my head hurt. Molly, Giles, stick close to me, and don’t kill anyone unless you feel you absolutely have to. Jacob, you coming?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the netherworld,” said the old ghost, grinning unpleasantly.
I used the Merlin Glass to transport us to the corridor right outside the Sanctity. It seemed even a glass made by Merlin couldn’t break through Strange’s other-dimensional protective barriers. So we all stepped through the enlarged mirror into the corridor, and immediately found ourselves facing half a dozen men standing guard outside the doors. They were all big muscular types, who might as well have had the word
thug
tattooed on their low foreheads. There’s always a few, in every family. I blame bad toilet training. The guards moved quickly to block our way, scowling in their best intimidating manner. One actually flexed his muscles at us.
“No admittance,” the head thug said coldly. “The Patriarch is not to be disturbed.”
“What a pity,” I said. “Because I really feel like disturbing him. You don’t recognise me, do you?”
“No,” said the head thug flatly.
“How soon they forget,” murmured Molly.
“Don’t care, neither,” said the thug. “Doesn’t matter who you are. No admittance, no exceptions. Now piss off, or we’ll hurt you.”
“No one does decent threats anymore,” said Molly. “They just can’t be bothered to make the effort to be decent henchmen.”
“I really don’t have the patience for this,” I said. “Jacob, do you think you could…”
The ghost thrust his ancient grinning face forward, his eyes blazing, and all the thugs took one involuntary step back. Jacob drew his awful aspect around him, and the corridor was suddenly full of the presence of death and horror, and the cold, inescapable embrace of the grave. It was like waking up and finding a corpse in bed with you, like suddenly knowing when everyone you loved was going to die.
It was sometimes all too easy to forget what Jacob really was: a dead man walking, only held together by an inhuman effort of will.
Jacob took a step forward, and the thugs just broke and ran, departing screaming down the corridor. Jacob laughed softly, and I winced. There was nothing human in the horrid sound. And then suddenly he was just Jacob again, my old friend and support. But after seeing what he really was, or could be, I had to wonder if I’d ever be able to look at him the same way again.
He must have sensed something, because he turned and looked at me uncertainly. He tried to smile, but it wasn’t very convincing.
“Sometimes … I feel like I’m just the tip of an iceberg, Eddie, and that if I ever found out just how much more of me there really is, I wouldn’t be me at all. That’s why I need to keep my living self close; he reminds me of what it is to be human. To be only human.”
“Wonderful,” I said, deliberately keeping my voice light. “Something else to worry about.”
Jacob managed something like his old grin. “It’s not easy being a ghost. Or everybody would be doing it.”
“Fascinating,” said Giles. “You people have taken psychological warfare in a whole new direction.”
“Can we please burst in on Harry and ruin his day?” said Molly. “I’m feeling an increasing need to hit someone.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s been that kind of a day.”
I kicked in the Sanctity doors, and we all stormed into the great open chamber. Strange’s rich crimson glow had expanded to fill almost half of the massive hall, but it no longer projected the old comfort and reassurance. Harry broke off from shouting at his advisors and spun around to face us. He recognised me immediately, but instead of the surprise I expected, after eighteen months away and no guarantee I was ever coming back, all I saw in his face was a cold, calculating anger. Behind him, his advisors’ jaws dropped in a quite satisfactory manner, though I didn’t think much of Harry’s choices. The Sarjeant-at-Arms was there, of course, and Roger Morningstar, and Sebastian and Freddie Drood. The latter pair doing their best to hide behind the first two. Still, to give Harry his due, he recovered quickly. He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, as though to see me more clearly, and glared haughtily at me.
“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded. “Typical of you, Eddie, not to be around when you’re needed. And where are my guards? They’re supposed to keep out…unnecessary people when I’m working.”
“Your guards will be back,” I said. “Eventually. There’s only so far they can run before they run out of grounds. One of them called you Patriarch. When did that happen, Harry?”
He sniffed loudly. “Someone had to take charge, after you abandoned us to go play with your Time Train.” He looked disparagingly at Giles. “It took you eighteen months to find…him? A barbarian with a sword?”
“I am Giles Deathstalker,” said the future warrior, and there was something cold and very dangerous in his voice that shut Harry up immediately. “I am Warrior Prime to the emperor Ethur, commander of his armies, and conqueror of worlds. Do but say the word, Edwin, and I will make him kneel to you. Or I could cut off his head. I’m really quite good at that, and it just might stop him yapping.”
“A nice thought,” I said, “but leave it for later. You can forget that Patriarch crap, Harry; I’m back, and you can return to the substitutes’ bench.”
“You really think it’s going to be that easy?” said Roger, stepping forward to stand at Harry’s side. “Harry’s been running this family for over a year. The family has accepted him. What makes you think anyone wants you back in charge?”
“When I walked in, this room was full of barely suppressed hysteria and panic,” I said calmly. “Not what I’d expect from a Patriarch. And really, Harry, is this the best you could do for advisors? I wouldn’t take their advice on how to pick my nose. I swear, I take my eye off this family for five minutes, and everything goes to hell.”
“Five minutes?” said Harry. “Eighteen months! We didn’t know whether you were dead or alive, or captured, or gone over to the enemy, or ever coming back! And now you swagger back in here with a smug smile and a condescending word, and what have you got to show for it? One man!”
“One Deathstalker,” said Giles. “And that makes all the difference.”
“He’s big,” said Sebastian.
“I had noticed,” said Freddie.
“And he’s got a really big sword.”
“Best kind.”
“What happened to my Inner Circle?” I said loudly. “I chose them carefully, to represent all the voices in this family. I’m not surprised to see the Sarjeant here, hello Cyril, and Molly and Jacob are with me…but where, pray tell, are the very sensible Penny and our extremely experienced Uncle Jack?”
“The Armourer is back in the Armoury, where he belongs,” said Harry. “And Penny is very busy looking after those tutors you so graciously inflicted on the family. They’re popular enough, I suppose, if not especially useful. If I had to be in charge, and there was no one else, I decided I wanted my own advisors. People I could trust to see things my way, and carry out the policy I set. There’s no room for arguments during an emergency. Don’t think you can just walk back in and take over, Eddie. You had your chance, and you blew it.”
“Whereas you have done so much better?” I said. “Do tell.”
“You weren’t here! You don’t know everything that’s happened in the last year and a half! I’ve been fighting a war against an enemy that threatens the whole world. Not just one nest, one tower, but thousands of the bloody things. Hundreds of thousands… we can’t even keep count anymore, they’re spreading so fast. Look at you, standing there, sneering at me… You have no right to judge me! You have no right to just walk in and expect us all to fall at your feet, and plead with you to save us! I run the family now, by right. I’ve earned this. I am the Patriarch; if you want it, you’re going to have to take it from me.”
“You see, that’s the difference between us right there, Harry,” I said. “I never wanted it. But I’ve always known my duty to the family. And that’s why I have to replace you—for the good of the family.”
Harry armoured up, and to my surprise the metal that flowed from his torc was golden, not silver. He laughed at the expression on my face, his own hidden behind the featureless golden mask.
“I never liked the silver look. So I talked to Strange, and he saw no reason why the strange matter shouldn’t be gold … so I had him change it. Gold is the colour of tradition, of continuity, a reminder of the days when our family was strong. And will be again!”
“Strange!” I said. “Are you listening?”
“Yes, Eddie.” The voice emanating from the crimson glow sounded strangely muted, and far away. “It’s so good to see you again. You’ve been a long way; I can see it on you. And the world… has moved on, while you were away. Even I am not what I was, being spread so thin. Only my protections keep the family safe. It’s the Loathly Ones, Eddie. They infect the living world like a virus, like a cancer. And the more they take over, the more their presence limits me. I provide armour for the Droods, and power for the family’s weapons and defences…but every day I find it that little bit harder. The Hungry Gods are coming…and not even I can hope to stand against them once they manifest in all their awful glory.”
I’d never heard Strange sound so tired, so beaten down…almost defeated. He’d always seemed so powerful, so far above humanity, it had never even occurred to me that there might be other forces, other Beings, as far above him… I looked at Harry, standing proud and tall in his golden armour.
“Put that away,” I said. “We don’t have time for this shit. We have important business to discuss. Family business.”
“No,” he said immediately. “There’s nothing more important than this. Nothing can happen, nothing can be decided, until we decide who’s in charge. I noticed you haven’t put on your armour, Eddie. What’s the matter? Haven’t you got the balls for a fair fight?”
“A duel?” I said. “In the middle of all this, you want to fight a duel?”
“It is the traditional way,” said the Sarjeant-at-Arms, smiling just a little bit.
“Just another reason why I never got along with the traditional ways,” I said. “But if it’ll make you happy, Harry…”
I subvocalised the activating Words, and the armour poured out of my torc to encase me. I immediately felt stronger, sharper, more confident. A quick glance down showed me my armour was now as golden as his. I flexed my golden fists slowly, and then started towards Harry. He came to me, and we circled each other cautiously. Everyone else fell back, to give us plenty of room. I saw Molly holding Giles by the arm and murmuring urgently in his ear, making it clear he mustn’t interfere. He nodded. He looked like he understood all about duels.
The Sarjeant-at-Arms took a step forward, perhaps to say something in support of Harry, or perhaps just to try to distract me, and Giles swept forward impossibly quickly, crossing the width of the hall in a moment. His long sword leapt into his hand as he slammed the Sarjeant up against the wall, and then he set the edge of the long blade against the Sarjeant’s throat. It all happened so quickly the Sarjeant didn’t have a chance to call up his armour. He looked into Giles’s cold eyes, so close to his own, and stood very still
,
saying nothing. A slow trickle of blood ran down his throat from where the razor edge of the sword just parted the skin over his Adam’s apple.
“Don’t,” said Giles.
Harry seized the moment while my attention was elsewhere, and threw himself at me. We went head to head, both of us too angry to think of subtlety. We traded blows that would have killed ordinary men, but neither of us felt them. We grappled with each other, swaying back and forth as we wrestled, but we both knew all the tricks. We slammed together again and again, our superhuman strength and speed equally matched. I pushed him away from me and extruded long golden blades from my hands. Harry grew blades from his hands too, and we cut viciously at each other, thrusting and hacking and swirling around each other too quickly for the human eye to follow. We were in the grip of the armour now, our passion and hate transformed into superhuman action.
I slammed his left blade aside through brute force and cut at his chest. The supernaturally sharp edge cut through his armour to reach him, the only thing that could. I heard him grunt, in pain and surprise, and then I had to duck quickly as his backhand response almost took my head off. We spun and danced, stamping our golden feet so hard we cracked the wooden floor. We fought on, golden blurs in the crimson light. But even in this we were too evenly matched, trading superficial cuts and wounds that never even came close to ending the duel.