Live and Let Drood: A Secret Histories Novel (13 page)

“Well, yes, in a complicated sort of way. The point is, some of the rogues are more dangerous than others. When Droods go bad, we go really bad.”

“You really think the rogues would talk to you if you could find them?” said Molly, wrinkling her perfect nose. “I mean, I hate to be the one to point this out, Eddie, but you have killed rogue Droods in your time. Arnold Drood, the Bloody Man, and Tiger Tim…”

“I didn’t kill them,” I said. “I executed them. Because they earned it.”

“And yet, strangely, I don’t see that argument going down terribly well with the other rogues when you catch up with them. If I were one and I saw you walking up my front path, I think I’d set fire to my own house and shoot myself in the head, just to get it over with. On the other hand…I know a few rogue Droods. Sort of. They might be willing to talk to me, where they wouldn’t want anything to do with you.”

“You know everyone, don’t you?” I said admiringly. “And mostly not in a good way. You’ve done deals with rogue Droods in the past, haven’t you?”

“I was at war with your family,” said Molly. “And when you’re at war, you go looking for allies. This was all long before I hooked up with you, Eddie.”

“Even so,” I said. “You can bet they know about you and me now. And that you’re no longer at war with the Droods. You still think they’d talk to you?”

“They’ll tell me anything I want to know, if they know what’s good for them,” Molly said firmly. She paused as a thought struck her. I could practically see the wheels turning. “Wouldn’t the rogue Droods be happy to hear that the Hall and the family are gone? They’d finally be free to emerge from the shadows or whatever holes they’ve been hiding in, and come out into the world again. No more looking over their shoulders all the time for someone like you…”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” I said. “But no. They’ll be far more interested in having the family back so they can get their armour back.
With Ethel gone, they’re all suddenly as vulnerable and helpless as I was. No, they might not be part of the family anymore, but they still like being Droods, with all the power and privilege that comes from wearing the torc.”

“Hold it. Are you telling me that Ethel gave all the rogues new strange-matter torcs, along with everyone else?” said Molly.

“I did argue very strongly against it,” I said. “But Ethel was very firm on the subject and would not be moved. Either everyone in the family got one or no one did. Sometimes there’s just no arguing with the whims of an immensely powerful other-dimensional entity.”

“That might be enough to put pressure on the rogues,” said Molly. And then she stopped and looked at me carefully. “There is one…very powerful rogue Drood that we could call on. I suppose. Someone in Ethel’s league. The one you told me about. The one the family buried long ago, deep in the permafrost under Tunguska…”

“Gerard Drood,” I said. “Grendel Rex. The Unforgiven God. No, Molly. Things haven’t got that bad yet. In fact, I think the whole world would have to be ending before I even considered disturbing him again. And even then I’d think twice.…”

“But…”

“
No
, Molly. I didn’t tell you the whole story about Grendel Rex because I wanted you to be able to sleep nights. I didn’t tell you everything about what happened in Tunguska, either, for the same reason. If the Unforgiven God ever wakes up, if he ever breaks the chains we bound him with and rises…it would take the whole family and every other group of power we could bring on board to put him down again. He is the end of the world…just waiting to happen.”

“All right, then…Heading a hell of a long way in the other direction to the most harmless rogue Drood I know…What about the Mole?”

I looked at her sharply. “I thought you said he’d disappeared. Gone deep underground, dropped into a hole and then pulled it in after him?”

“Well, yes, but there’s disappeared and then there’s
disappeared
,”
said Molly. “I haven’t a clue where to look for him, but I’m sure if I put the word out, he’d hear it eventually. Just because he’s stopped talking doesn’t mean he’s stopped listening. And who else is there who has access to as much information as he does?”

“To get the news to him, it would have to pass through too many people,” I said. “No way we could control it. I can’t have that, Molly. The Mole is out.”

“Well, who else is there that we know of?” Molly said impatiently. “Sebastian is dead, murdered. Freddie is missing in action, presumed dead. Arrabella fell into a mirror and never came out again. What other rogues do you know?”

“I’m not as up-to-date as I should be,” I admitted. “I haven’t kept up on the files or any of the required reading since I got involved in running the wars against the Hungry Gods and the Immortals and the Great Satanic Conspiracy.…There’s only so many hours in the day.” I concentrated, organising my thoughts. “There’s old Mother Shipton, last heard of running a baby-cloning clinic in Vienna. Nasty piece of work. Manfred Drood was last heard of in Moscow, running the Baba Yaga Irregulars. Fighting Russian supernatural crime, for a healthy profit. I doubt we could afford him. Then there’s Anastasia Drood, last heard of in darkest Peru. And if she really is doing what she’s supposed to be doing down there, I will kill her dead before I ever willingly exchange a word with her.

“There are always stories and rumours of other rogue Droods, under this grand-sounding alias or that. Good and bad and in between…The details and locations are always changing, scattered across the world. And the family just doesn’t care enough to check them all out. Besides, we might need them someday. The family can be very pragmatic about some things.…The whole point of being a rogue Drood is to never be who or what or where the family thinks you are. If only so they won’t send someone like me to come and drive a stake through your rotten heart.”

“What about your late uncle James’s many and varied illegitimate offspring?” said Molly. “The Grey Bastards?”

“Them? They’re never on anyone’s side but their own!” I did think about it for a moment, which only goes to show how desperate I was. “The family has always employed as many of them as we can, from a distance, if only to keep them from straying and falling under bad influences. But I wouldn’t trust a single one of them farther than I could throw them into the wind with both hands tied behind my back. No, Molly. Much as I hate to admit it, there’s only one rogue Drood we can go to. The most infamous rogue of all. The Regent of Shadows.”

“What? Hold everything. Go previous. Wipe my face with a cold sponge,” said Molly. “
He
’s a rogue Drood? The Regent of Shadows, the secret master of hidden information…is just another member of your extended family? No one ever told me that! Of course, your family never tells me anything it doesn’t absolutely have to. I mean…I’ve heard of the Regent of Shadows—everyone has.…Runs his own secret organisation, beholden to no one, gathering information in all the areas no one else wants to admit even exist.…Tell me, Eddie: Why is it that whenever anyone in your family even mentions him, someone else always says, ‘We don’t talk about him!’?”

“I don’t know!” I said. “They don’t talk about him! I only know he’s a rogue Drood because I used to run this family. Briefly. And even then you’d be surprised at the sheer number of things I’ve found out since that they thought I didn’t need to know.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” said Molly. “Nothing surprises me about your family anymore.”

“Smugness does not become you, Molly.”

“How are we supposed to find the secretive and almost legendary Regent of Shadows, anyway? Put an ad in
The Times
?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea where to look,” I said. “I was hoping you’d have some ideas.”

She thought about it, frowning fiercely. “We need a source of information that no one else would expect us to go to, who wouldn’t sell us out or spread the story to unfriendly ears. That narrows the field considerably…but if it’s just information you’re after, I may know someone. She’s a hell of a way off the beaten track, by her own decision, and
really small-time, because that’s the way she likes it…so we should be able to consult her without even being noticed.”

“Sounds good so far,” I said. “Who are we talking about?”

And then we both stopped and looked round sharply. There was the growing sound of approaching engines coming right up the main drive, by the sound of it. I was off and running immediately, with Molly right there at my side. I had no idea who it might be or what they wanted, but I didn’t care. A threat to the Hall and its grounds always takes precedence. And I was just in the mood to be distracted from my many problems.

“Whoever it is, they’re not on the guest list,” I said to Molly. “No one is allowed in here until we’ve got the family back in residence again.”

“Probably looters,” Molly said cheerfully.

“Oh, almost certainly looters,” I said. “The poor bastards. I am just in the mood to beat the crap out of some bad guys.”

By the time we got to the front of the Hall, a whole line of really big trucks was storming up the main gravel drive and heading for the front entrance. All the trucks were huge, oversized monster-storage jobs, the kind you hire to move the whole contents of really big houses. They were heading through the grounds like they had every right to be there, and I was really looking forward to making it clear to them that they didn’t. They had no right to be on Drood territory, menacing my home. They had to know what had happened to the Hall and my family, or they’d never have dared be so brave. Made my blood boil…Show one sign of weakness in this world, and before you know it the vultures are turning up with knives and forks and their best bibs on. That’s what those trucks were. A convoy of scavengers. Come to loot and ransack whatever was left of the ruined Hall while the charred timbers were still warm.

I ran out into the main drive and stopped, taking up a position between the lead truck and the Hall. I struck an authoritative pose and held up one hand to signal the driver to stop. Did he, hell. He just sounded his horn and kept on coming. So I called up my armour. I didn’t need the old activating Words; I just had to think, and there it
was. The rogue armour swept over me in a moment, sealing me in from head to toe. I didn’t cry out at the cold this time. I was growing accustomed to the new armour. I wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not, but with a massive big truck bearing down on me and showing absolutely no signs of slowing, I was glad to have the armour about me.

The driver in the lead truck took one look at the Drood in his armour who’d just appeared out of nowhere right in front of him (when presumably he’d been promised he’d never have to face any such thing) and slammed his foot hard down on the brake. The truck skidded to a halt amid screams of burning tyres and unhealthy-looking smoke issued out from under the wheel arches. Gravel flew in every direction as the front of the truck skidded back and forth, the driver fighting to bring it under control. It finally slammed to a halt so close to me, I could have reached out a hand and prodded the radiator grille. There was more screeching and skidding from all the other trucks farther down the line as they were forced into equally sudden halts.

I folded my golden arms across my golden chest and studied the white-faced driver in his raised cab. And then Molly Metcalf stepped out into the drive to stand beside me, and the driver looked even more upset.

For a long moment the driver stayed in his cab, looking down at us, clearly lost for what to do. I’m sure he was hoping that if he just sat there long enough, we would disappear or go away…but when it became clear that wasn’t going to happen, he sighed heavily, turned off the engine, opened the side door and dropped down into the gravel to join us. He looked back at the long line of suddenly parked trucks, took a deep breath and walked slowly and very unhappily forward to face Molly and me. An average height, average weight, middle-aged guy with male pattern baldness and a sickly smile, wearing a much-used workman’s outfit. He crashed to a halt right before me, his uncertain smile losing confidence by the moment.

“Hello!” he said with desperate conviviality. “Nice to be here! Isn’t it a great day? Very…summery! Yes. I’m Dave Chapman, head of Plunder, Incorporated.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” said Molly, cutting across his words mercilessly. “I know who this is. You used to be the Road Rats, didn’t you?”

Chapman winced. “We did operate under that trade name, yes, but we have recently upgraded. Gone upmarket, as it were.” He was trying for dignity and not even coming close. “Might I enquire…whom I might be addressing?”

“I’m Molly Metcalf.” She gave Chapman her very brightest and most dangerous smile, and all the colour dropped out of his face.

“Oh, shit.”

“You’ve heard of me,” said Molly, pleased.

Chapman glanced back over his shoulder, clearly debating whether to just break and make a run for it, and then he reluctantly stood his ground and looked at me.

“And I am Edwin Drood,” I said, not wanting to be left out of the intimidation. Chapman made a high whining noise and looked even more upset, if that were possible. His feet shifted nervously, disturbing the gravel, as though he desperately wanted to be excused.

“
Oh, shit
,” he said, miserably.

“Well, quite,” I said. “What are you doing here at my home, on Drood grounds, Mr. Road Rat Chapman?”

Given his piteous condition it was hard to stay mad at him, but worth the effort. I had only to look at the long line of trucks come to haul away my family’s heritage, and my blood started boiling all over again.

Chapman gave up looking at Molly and me and looked down at his steel-toed workingman’s boots currently digging little holes in the gravel, as though he hoped to find some answers there. Or at the very least, a large and comforting hole he could disappear into. He glanced up again, saw that Molly and I were still there, and shrugged glumly. He looked unhappily back and forth between us, as though he couldn’t make up his mind which of us unnerved him most.

“Well, sir—and miss, of course,” he said finally. “Strictly speaking, you shouldn’t be here. We’d been promised no one would be here. We were, in fact, informed that Drood Hall had been blown up, set fire to and generally reduced to wreck and ruin.” He glanced past us at what
was left of the Hall and seemed to draw strength from the confirming vision. “We were told the Droods were no more, that the Hall and its grounds were no longer defended, and that there were rich pickings for everyone. Or at least for whoever got there first. So I rounded up the boys, fuelled up the rigs and put the hammer down all the way here.”