Property of a Lady Faire (A Secret Histories Novel) (25 page)

“Damn!” Molly said loudly, stretching so hard I could hear all her joints creaking at once. “That is the good stuff! I feel great! And I can feel my magics coming back!” She looked at me. “And you don’t look like shit any more!”

I had to agree. All my bruises were gone, my muscles had stopped aching, and I felt like I could beat up a grizzly bear with both legs strapped behind my back. But since I have learned never to trust good luck or apparent miracles, I gave the Doormouse a hard look.

“Are we really back in top form, or do we just feel that way? Is this good feeling likely to wear off at some inopportune moment? Are there side effects we should be warned about in advance?”

“Typical Drood,” said the Doormouse, entirely unmoved by my suspicions. “It’s an old family remedy, nothing more.” He put the two empty glasses down on a handy side table that I would have sworn wasn’t there a moment before. He smiled benevolently on Molly and me. “It’s all natural, and very good for you, and almost certainly won’t cause any real damage on the genetic level. Though you might piss blue for a few hours.”

“Will it put hair on my chest?” said Molly.

“Not like mine,” said the Doormouse.

“Good to know,” I said.

Molly laughed, threw her arms around the Doormouse, and hugged him tightly. He suffered her to do that, his whiskers twitching occasionally, and then Molly stepped back and clapped him on the shoulder, hard enough to make him wince.

“Good to see you again, Mouse,” she said. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“It has indeed,” said the Doormouse. “And this is your young man, is it? Eddie Drood himself! Delighted to meet you, dear boy, please don’t hug me. Any friend of Molly’s . . . I won’t ask what trouble you’re both in, because it’s none of my business and you probably wouldn’t tell me anyway, but I’ll do what I can to help. Please try not to break anything while you’re here.” He looked thoughtfully at Molly. “The last time I saw you we were in Strangefellows bar, and you’d just . . .”

“Not now,” Molly said quickly. “Not in front of the Drood.”

“Of course,” said the Doormouse. He looked me over carefully. “Eddie Drood . . . I am of course honoured, and fascinated, to meet such a legendary figure at last, but I have to say I am just a little . . . concerned, to see you here. In my humble and
very fragile
establishment. Might I inquire why you’ve come to see me, Sir Drood? Have you, in fact, come to shut me down? I mean, this is about those Doors I made, isn’t it? The Doors that open onto Drood property . . .”

“I would like to know what you thought you were doing, making such things,” I said. “You must have known my family would not be at all pleased. They might nuke your establishment from orbit, just to be sure. No one overreacts like a Drood.”

“I know!” said the Doormouse, wringing his paws together piteously.

“I think you’d better issue a recall,” said Molly.

“I will certainly try,” said the Doormouse. “Though I doubt anyone will listen. They are very popular. And no, I can’t shut them down from here. Not once they’ve left the Storeroom.”

“You don’t install a hidden override, or back-door command?” I said.

The Doormouse looked honestly shocked. “If my customers even suspected such a thing, my sales would plummet! All my Doors are guaranteed to be self-repairing and self-perpetuating. A Door isn’t just for convenience; it’s forever! That’s the point. That’s what I sell—reliability.”

“But why . . . ,” I said.

“I was tricked!” the Doormouse said shrilly. “The original order came from inside Drood Hall. Apparently from the Matriarch Martha Drood herself. It had all the correct signatures and security code phrases attached . . . I did check! And it came through all the usual channels, with nothing out of the ordinary about it. Of course I thought it was a bit weird . . . but you don’t challenge a Drood, after all. If this was what the Matriarch wanted, I had to assume there was a good reason.”

“Martha Drood has been dead for some time,” I said.

“I know that now! But I didn’t know it then! I don’t keep up with that sort of gossip. Don’t read those magazines . . . I only found out the Nightside had a new set of Authorities when John Taylor popped in to tell me he was the new Walker. I think it’s fair to say none of us saw that one coming . . . He’s off on his honeymoon at the moment, so if you want to get away with anything here, now’s probably a good time . . .”

“Didn’t you wonder why my family would want people to have Doors that gave them access to the Drood grounds?” I insisted, refusing to be sidetracked.

“I didn’t think it was any of my business,” said the Doormouse, holding on to what was left of his dignity. “You Droods have always gone your own way, and your ways have always been a complete mystery to outsiders. If you want to bury a dragon’s head in your backyard . . . I just made the Doors and started shipping them out to the addresses provided. And sent my invoice in to the Hall, as usual. Which is, of course, when the sawdust hit the fan. I had to shut my phone off. I don’t like being shouted at.”

“How many of these Doors did you sell?” I said.

“Only forty-seven,” the Doormouse said quickly. “I made a hundred, as requested, but not everyone has picked them up yet. Once it became clear these Doors weren’t . . . officially sanctioned, I locked them away. I can provide you with a list of everyone who’s already received their Door . . .”

“That’s something,” I said. “Don’t give me the list; send it to the Hall, marked
Attention: Armourer.
And:
Really, really urgent
. He’s almost certainly worked out a way to block the Doors by now, but it’ll probably help him to know who might try to use them.”

“The Armourer, of course!” said the Doormouse. “I know Jack Drood. He does good work. He often pops in here for a chat. Hell of a poker player too.”

I gave him my very best hard look. “Uncle Jack visits the Nightside regularly, doesn’t he? Even though he isn’t supposed to.”

The Doormouse shrugged, elaborately casually. “I couldn’t possibly comment. I haven’t heard anything at all about him being given special dispensation. I have nothing to say on the subject. On the grounds that Jack Drood can be a seriously scary individual when he chooses.”

“What, that sweet old man?” said Molly.

“My uncle Jack was one of the family’s top field agents, during the coldest part of the Cold War,” I said. “A respected and feared troubleshooter in all the worst parts of the world, just like his brother, the Grey Fox.”

“James Drood,” said the Doormouse, nodding energetically. “I may or may not have met him, as well. Somewhere or other.”

“Just how many members of my family come to the Nightside?” I said.

“I couldn’t possibly comment,” said the Doormouse. “On the grounds that I don’t want to end up as a rug in Drood Hall.”

“Look, this could be your chance to get back into the Droods’ good books,” said Molly. “We need a Door. A very special kind of Door.”

“Oh well,” said the Doormouse. “If it’s for the Droods . . .”

I smiled. “Send them the invoice.”

I looked around at the long rows of hovering Doors, heading off into the distance in every direction. It was like standing in a forest of very flat trees. And it had to be said: they weren’t just Doors. I could feel their presence, like they were watching me. I turned back to the Doormouse with a certain sense of relief.

“How did you learn to make Doors?”

“I studied with old Carnacki, years and years ago,” said the Doormouse. “When I was just a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed young hippy. When I was still human.”

I started to say something, but the Doormouse had already turned away to address Molly.

“I had your sister Louisa in here, just the other day. Or was it last year? Anyway, she wanted me to make her a very special kind of Door.”

“Of course!” said Molly. “That’s how she got to the Martian Tombs!”

“Please don’t tell anyone!” said the Doormouse, glancing furtively around him. “Mars is supposed to be off-limits, especially the Tombs. I went there, once, just to test the Door, you understand. I couldn’t get my fur to lie flat again for weeks afterwards.”

“Do you know what’s there?” I said. “Inside the Tombs?”

“No,” said the Doormouse, very firmly. “And given all the connotations attached to the word
Tombs
, I don’t want to. Ever. I didn’t really want to make the Door, but your sister can be very persuasive, Molly. And very hard to say no to when she’s got you by the throat.”

“We need a Door to take us to Ultima Thule,” I said loudly, to get us back on track again.

“Why on earth would you want to go there?” said the Doormouse. “Awful place! Cold enough to freeze the nuts off a squirrel . . .”

“It is necessary that Molly and I attend the Lady Faire’s annual Ball, this year, at the Winter Palace,” I said carefully. “And no, we don’t have an invitation. We’re going to crash. Which means we need to sneak in. Unnoticed.”

“I’d say you weren’t her type,” said the Doormouse. “Except the whole point of the Lady Faire is that everyone and everything is. She’s a ladything, you know! The only one of her kind, which is probably why she’s so very . . . lonely. I did meet her once, in person. If that’s the right term . . . At one of the late Immortal’s parties, at Griffin Hall, here in the Nightside. Of course, that was before the Griffin and his wife and his Hall were all dragged down to Hell by the Devil himself . . . But then, that’s the Nightside for you. Their cook used to make the most marvellous canapés. Stuffed baby Morlock.”

“Stuffed with what?” said Molly, before I could stop her.

“Baby Eloi, probably,” said the Doormouse. “An amazing creature, the Lady Faire, quite delightful. In her own singular way. Sweet and charming and most . . . overwhelming at close quarters. Like being hit over the head with the
Kama Sutra
. She was very kind to an old mouse . . .”

“You didn’t!” said Molly.

“No, I didn’t,” said the Doormouse, drawing himself up to his full height so he could look down his muzzle at her. “I made an excuse, and ran. She isn’t my type. Or, to put it another way, she scared the living crap out of me. Far too intense. But I do understand the attraction. She was made to turn people’s heads. And I did used to be a person, long ago.”

“I never knew you were human originally,” said Molly. “You never said . . . Would you like me to turn you back?”

“No, I would not,” said the Doormouse very firmly. “I am the way I am by choice. There were several of us, once. Very happy being hippies, in that long lost Summer of Love. But the world changed and moved on, and we didn’t like the way it was going. So we made the decision to give up being human, and become something closer to how we actually saw ourselves. We are the Mice! Fear our playfulness! The others went off to form a commune in some small country town, but I was always much fonder of the bright lights. City mouse . . . I found a trade and a craft, working with Doors. Look at them! Aren’t they marvellous?

“Every Door is a possibility, a chance to be Somewhere Else, to travel through all the places there are . . . all the worlds of if and maybe. A never-ending exploration into the works of God . . . No, my dear Molly, I am content as I am. Except for when Droods come into my life and mess it up, big time. You can’t go directly to Ultima Thule, Eddie Drood! Even I couldn’t make you a Door that would sneak you through that many layers of protection.” He stopped abruptly, and thought about it. “Well, actually I could, but you’d probably have to blow up a sun to generate enough energy to power it. And you said you didn’t want to be noticed.”

“I thought you could make a Door to take anyone anywhere,” Molly said innocently.

“I can!” the Doormouse said immediately, bristling. “I have made Doors to Heaven and Hell and Everywhere in Between! But there are always going to be . . . problems. Side effects. Look, you’d better come with me.”

And he scurried off into the long ranks, darting in and out of the hanging Doors. Molly and I hurried after him. We had to struggle to keep up. He could move pretty damned quickly for an oversized mouse. Moving between the rows of Doors proved to be a creepy and even disturbing experience. I couldn’t shake off the feeling that they were looking at me, and considering—and not in a good way. Some of them felt . . . attractive, as though tempting me to open them and see what they had to offer. Others felt alien, invidious, as though there was something lying in wait behind them, just waiting for someone foolish enough to open the Door. And some . . . I didn’t even want to get close to. As though they were Doors to places that shouldn’t exist, or at the very least shouldn’t have access to our world. I passed one Door that made all my hair stand on end. It felt like something was beating and hammering on the other side of the Door, trying to break it down so it could get into our world . . . to do terrible, unspeakable things. I gave that Door plenty of room, and hurried on.

Molly didn’t seem too bothered by any of it, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on the Doormouse’s back as he scurried ahead of us. So I just stared straight ahead too, and made myself concentrate on keeping up. Until finally the Doormouse came to a sudden halt, standing before one particular Door.

“There!” he said, gesturing grandly with one furry paw. “You see what I mean?”

I had to admit that I did. The Door before us was covered from top to bottom with a thick layer of ice, shining blue-white under the Storeroom’s bright lights. The encased Door was only just visible, deep inside the ice. It radiated a bitter cold, so fierce I had to brace myself to take a step closer. I didn’t try to touch the ice; I just knew I’d draw back a handful of frostbite. I walked around the Door, taking my time, looking it over, and there wasn’t a crack or a flaw to be seen anywhere in the thick ice. Just a solid block, formed around a Door that had tried to go somewhere it was never meant to.

“I created this Door just like any other,” said the Doormouse, his voice respectfully low. “It should have worked. The mathematics were sound, the science unchallenged. I had no reason to believe there would be . . . problems. But within moments after I finished this Door, and set the coordinates for Ultima Thule, the whole thing just froze over. Solid ice, from the coldest place in the world. Some places just don’t want to be visited.”