As I stared intently at the building, refusing to look away, the
details began to slip and flow, like a melting painting. As though a top coat
was being washed away, revealing the true image beneath. Just like the family
reports said, the Sceneshifters’ headquarters was protected by an uncertainty
spell. You had to be certain that what you were looking for was there, or it
wouldn’t be. It all came down to mental discipline. Which would be a shock for
certain members of my family, who’d been known to say loudly in classrooms that
I didn’t possess any.
As I watched, scowling fiercely with concentration, the office
building before me just faded away like a passing thought to reveal the true
structure beneath. An old church, with a massive wood and plaster fronting, an
arched doorway, and medieval stained-glass windows. It was half the size of the
modern buildings towering on either side of it, but there was a basic strength
and solidity to the place that was somehow reassuring. My instincts were still
prickling, but at least I didn’t feel like running anymore. I strode up to the
front door and knocked like I had a reason to be there.
When you’re dealing with people who change reality on a daily
basis, there’s not much point in trying to sneak in. They probably knew I was
coming to see them before I did. And I certainly wasn’t planning on throwing my
weight around; there were very definite limits to what my armour could be
expected to protect me from. When the door opened, I planned on being extremely
polite and using all the reasonableness at my command. I also planned on smiling
a lot, and running like a rabbit if my clothes started changing colour.
The door opened to reveal a cheerful-looking soul, a
reassuringly ordinary guy in grubby workman’s overalls. He was about my age, a
bit scruffy, with a pleasant face and a cigarette in the corner of his mouth
that he didn’t bother to take out when he was speaking. He nodded easily to me.
"Hello, squire. Looking for the Sceneshifters, are you? Thought
so. I’m Bert. I do all the real work around here, while they’re all off saving
the world. Someone has to check the state of the tubing and mop up the spills.
Fancy a nice cup of tea? I’ve got the kettle on…Well suit yourself. Don’t say I
didn’t offer. Come on in, come on in…So, you’re the new rogue Drood, are you?
Edwin Drood? Nice to meet you. Sort of thought you’d be taller, somehow…Never
mind. Come here looking for sanctuary, have you?"
"News does get around," I said dryly as soon as I could get a
word in edgeways. I stepped inside the church, and he shut the door behind me. I
listened carefully, but I didn’t hear him lock it. The interior was typical
old-fashioned religious, a bit on the gloomy side, with brightly coloured light
streaming in through the stained-glass windows. But there were no pews, no
altar, and the only religious symbols were those originally carved into the old
stone walls. It might be a church, but clearly no one had worshipped here for
some time.
"Oh, we always know what’s going on," Bert said cheerfully. "We
hear everything the moment it happens, and sometimes several months before. I’ve
always said we could make a fortune with a good gossip magazine (very upmarket,
nothing sleazy), but I can’t even get it on the committee agenda. Got their
heads in the clouds, that lot. Come to join us, have you, Edwin? You should, you
know; we’re doing important work here, when we’re not having endless arguments
about what constitutes a pivotal moment in history and which way we should tip
the balance. I ask you, who really believes World War Two could have been
averted by giving Hitler back his missing testicle? Still, tell you what,
squire; you come along with me and I’ll give you the basic tour while we’re
waiting for the others to show up. How would that be?"
"Won’t the others mind, us starting without them?" I said
cautiously. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected to find here, but Bert sure as hell
wasn’t it.
"Course they won’t mind! You’re expected, squire; we’ve all been
looking forward to you turning up here. The things we could achieve with a Drood
on our side! And we could use some new blood in the group, to be honest. Not to
mention someone with a propensity for actually getting things done, instead of
just sitting around talking about it. I swear we’d be ruling this world by now
if the committee could just get their heads out of their arses once in a while."
He headed for the back of the church, his hands in his overall
pockets and his cigarette still protruding jauntily from one corner of his
mouth. I followed along, keeping a wary eye out for sneak attacks or mutating
realities, but it all seemed very calm and peaceful.
"So," I said casually, "what is this important work that you’re
doing here, Bert?"
"We’re defeating the Devil, one day at a time." For the first
time Bert sounded entirely serious. "He rules this world, you know. Not God. He
hasn’t been in charge for ages. I mean, you only have to look around you to see
that for yourself. The world wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not this…mess. We
were supposed to live in paradise. But something happened long ago, and the
Devil’s been playing games with humanity ever since, the bastard. Telling us
lies, driving us to despair, torturing us every day with false hopes, impossible
ambitions, and chances snatched away at the last moment. Why do bad things
happen to good people? Why do bad guys thrive? Because the guy in charge gets a
kick out of it, that’s why. He’s making a Hell out of this world, just for the
fun of it. Some say the greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was to make us
believe love was real…"
"Oh," I said. I couldn’t think of anything else to say, except
perhaps Have you stopped taking any medication recently?
"But bit by bit we’re changing the world the Devil made," Bert
said cheerfully. "Rewriting reality and transforming the world into something
finer and fairer. We’re stealing back the world, inch by inch, and making it
something fit for people to live in. We’re all going home, to paradise. That’s
why the founding members chose this place for our HQ. Centuries of accumulated
faith and sanctity help keep the Devil from noticing we’re here."
"So the Devil hasn’t always ruled the world?" I said carefully.
"God was in charge, once?"
"Oh, yes…Word is the Devil snatched control of the world away
from God after he persuaded the Romans to crucify the Christ. The Son of God was
never supposed to die! He was supposed to stay with us forever, teaching us how
to live proper lives. But with him gone, the Devil sneaked in and stole creation
away from the Creator. And we’ve been stuck with the bastard ever since.
Screwing up everyone’s lives, in his own private torture chamber, just for a
giggle. This way, squire. Mind the step."
Bert led me out the back of the church and into a large
antechamber packed with men and women sitting around long tables. They all wore
bright red robes, complete with hoods. They were reading newspapers, magazines,
and books, and making careful notes in their laptops. A few looked up and nodded
to Bert before returning to their work. All four walls were lined with
bookshelves crammed full of books and bound magazines from floor to ceiling.
"Here is where we study the world," Bert said grandly. "Through
its media, its history books, and every up-to-date commentary. There’s another
room where they do nothing but watch every single news channel, all day long. We
have to rotate those people on a regular basis, or they start developing
conspiracy theories, and next thing you know you’ve got a schism on your hands.
And of course there’s our wide-ranging net of supporters and fellow travellers
tucked away in governments and religions and big businesses all across the
world, keeping us aware of what’s really going on. If you knew what Bill Gates
was planning to do next, you’d shit yourself. We’re always looking for that
crucial factor, that pivotal moment, when tipping over one small domino will set
all the others toppling…Come on, come on; lots more to see."
He led the way down a long wooden spiral stairway that creaked
alarmingly under our weight and finally gave out onto a low-ceilinged stone
chamber deep beneath the church, full of bubbling chemical vats almost as tall
as I was and a lot broader. Garishly coloured liquids surged up out of the vats
and along through what seemed like miles of thick rubber tubing stapled to the
walls and ceiling. All around there were gauges and valves and wheels and some
fairly primitive filtering systems. I’d seen stills that were more complicated.
Bert darted back and forth across the chamber, fussing over the equipment,
adjusting a valve here and turning a wheel there. He tapped one gauge with a
knuckle, sniffed at the reading, and then turned to smile proudly at me.
"It’s a very delicate setup," he said, patting a nearby vat
affectionately. "Needs constant monitoring, of course. The founders put all this
together, years ago, and they won’t let me change anything. Even though they’re
far too intellectual to actually come down here and get their hands dirty on a
regular basis. Not that I want them messing about with things, now that I’ve got
everything running just right."
He looked at me, inviting me to say something. I hadn’t a clue
what to say about his precious setup, so I retreated to something else that had
been bothering me.
"If the church’s sanctity is enough to hide you from the Devil,
why do you need the uncertainty spell as well?"
Bert looked distinctly disappointed in me but soldiered on with
his answer. "That’s not exactly a spell, as such. More what you’d call a side
effect, really. Comes from the Red King, down in the dream chamber. Or Professor
Redmond, as he was. We call him the Red King after the character in Through the
Looking-Glass. Remember him? He was fast asleep and dreaming, and everyone was
afraid to wake him, because they believed he was dreaming the world and
everything in it. So if he did wake up, they’d all cease to exist. Would you
like to meet him? We don’t normally show him off to visitors, but then you’re
special, aren’t you?"
I was still trying to form an answer to that one when we were
interrupted by the arrival of a man and a woman through the door on the far side
of the chamber. They were both wearing the ubiquitous long red robes, and they
both carried a definite air of authority about them. They were middle-aged, with
long, ascetic faces and severe expressions. Bert just nodded to them,
conspicuously unimpressed.
"Thank you, Bert," said the man. "We’ll take it from here." He
gave me a cold smile. "I’m Brother Nathanial, and this is Sister Eliza. Welcome
to the Sceneshifters, Edwin Drood."
I nodded coolly in return. I didn’t like his eyes, or hers. They
both had that look; that certainty beyond any doubt, inhumanly focused,
merciless in their logic. Fanatic’s eyes.
"I’m here looking for some answers," I said.
"Aren’t we all?" said Nathanial. "Come; ask us anything. We
shall conceal nothing from you. Bert, there’s been a spillage in the secondary
systems. If you wouldn’t mind…"
"All right, all right, I’ll go and clean up your mess while you
give Edwin the old pep talk." He nodded easily to me. "Have fun with the Red
King, and his dreams. Don’t have nightmares afterwards." He gave me one last
cocky wink and left the room.
"Marvellous fellow," said Nathanial. "An invaluable member of
our staff, though I’d never tell him that. He might want paying more. Now then,
Edwin; Sister Eliza and I run things here, in as much as anyone does. We like to
think of ourselves as a cooperative. Don’t expect dear Eliza to say anything.
She has no tongue anymore. Sometimes the small changes we make have the most
unexpected repercussions…"
"Bert said something about founding members," I said, just to be
saying something.
"Oh, yes, that’s us. There were six, originally, but now there’s
seven. Another side effect…"
"How many people are there in the Sceneshifters?" I said, trying
for a question that might possess even a slim chance of having a definite
answer.
"Oh, more than you’d think," said Nathanial, smiling coolly.
"Certainly far more than your family thinks. You’d be surprised, Edwin. Our
ranks are growing all the time, as we open people’s eyes to the terrible truth.
We’re the real salvation army, fighting a holy war against the Devil and all his
works. Bert has filled you in on the basics, hasn’t he? Good, good…I think it’s
time for you to meet the centre of our operations, our very own Red King,
Professor Redmond. We’re all very proud of him. This way, please…"
"But there are questions I need to ask you," I said. "About my
family, and why I was declared a rogue…"
"Yes, yes," said Nathanial. "All in good time. You really can’t
appreciate what we’re doing here until you’ve met the Red King."
He and the silent Sister Eliza ushered me politely but firmly
through the maze of chemical vats and looping tubes to a door at the back of the
chamber, and then through it into a long stone corridor that stretched away
before us, sloping down into the earth. Thick pulsing tubing was stapled to the
rough stone walls, while from the ceiling hung a series of bare electric bulbs.
We followed the tubes down the corridor, descending for some time, until I lost
track of just how deep we were under the church and the London streets. The air
was chill and damp, and water ran down the walls.
"Don’t you have any security down here?" I said after a while,
just to break the silence.
Nathanial shrugged easily. "The uncertainty effect keeps out the
riffraff, while the church’s sanctity hides us from the Devil and his disciples.
And the Red King dreams he’s safe, so he is…"
"How does this all work?" I said just a little desperately.
"This whole…sceneshifting business?"
"It’s really very simple," said Nathanial in that smug kind of
way that tells you it isn’t going to be at all simple. "While the Red King
sleeps, he dreams. Constantly. And while in that state he is able to see behind
the scenes of reality, as it were. How things really work, and how they’re put
together. We can influence his dreams and persuade him to make small changes.
And the alterations he makes there, affect things here. In reality. We only deal
in small changes, never big ones, no matter how tempting. They might be noticed
by…You Know Who.