I raised a hand. "I think we’re rapidly approaching the point of
too much information. How do you feel about the Droods? Or this new resistance
group, Manifest Destiny?"
Digger shrugged again. "The names change, faces come and go, but
there’s always someone in charge. I’ve yet to see any hard evidence that
Manifest Destiny would be any kinder or more just than the Droods…But it doesn’t
really matter to me. Whoever’s running things, there will always be work for me
and my kind."
I turned, just a little reluctantly, to Mr. Stab. He was
drinking a Perrier water with his little finger crooked, every inch the calm and
cultured gentleman. I once helped fish a victim of his out of the Thames, down
by Wapping. She’d been gutted, cut open from crotch to throat and all her
internal organs removed. He’d done other things to her too, before he finally
killed her. The only reason I wasn’t tearing him to pieces right now was because
it might upset Molly, and I needed her on my side. For now.
"I hear you got shot with an arrow," he said calmly. "Right
through your celebrated armour."
"News does travel fast, doesn’t it?" I said, careful neither to
confirm nor deny. "But I doubt you’ve got anything that could touch me."
"You might be surprised," said Mr. Stab. "But you really should
try to relax, Edwin. You’re in no danger from me, as long as you’re with Molly.
Dear girl. She’s an old friend, and I’d hate to upset her."
"You said you’d done some work for my family," I said. "What did
you do for the Droods?"
"Sometimes people can’t just be killed," Mr. Stab said smoothly.
"Sometimes it’s necessary for them to disappear completely. No
trace of what was done to them, or why. No body, no clues, just a gap in the
world where someone important used to be. Someone who thought no one could touch
them. I’ve always been able to make people disappear. The world only gets to see
a small fraction of my many victims. The ones I want seen, to keep my myth
alive…to maintain my reputation. Vanity, vanity, all is vanity; but my legend is
all I have left, and I will not have it tarnished or diminished by my many
inferior imitators."
"How did you get to meet Molly?" I said.
"She tried very hard to kill me," said Mr. Stab, smiling fondly
at the memory. "She was part of a coven in those days, still learning her trade,
when I found it necessary to kill one of her witchy friends. After we’d
exhausted ourselves trying to kill each other, we fell to talking and discovered
we had more in common than we thought. Certain people we detested, and with good
reason. People of power and influence that we couldn’t hope to reach on our own,
but together…Ah, those were happy times, teaching her the ways of slaughter."
"But did she ever forgive you for killing her friend?" I said.
"No; but she’s a practical soul. She knows that sometimes you
have to go along, to get along. I like to think we’re friends now. You can’t do
the things we did and not grow…close. And in all London, she is perhaps the only
woman I have no desire to kill. I still remember her friend, whose death brought
us together. Her name was Dorothy. A dainty little thing, and she screamed so
prettily under my blade…Don’t, Edwin. Don’t even think about calling up your
armour. You can’t kill me. No one can. That’s part of what I bought, with what I
did in Whitechapel, all those years ago."
"I’ll find a way," I said. "If I have to."
Girl Flower moved quickly in to put a gentle hand on my sleeve.
"Boys, boys…lighten up, darlings. We’re all friends here, and we
are very definitely not at home to Mr. Grumpy." She rubbed her shoulder up
against Mr. Stab, like an affectionate cat, and he nodded briefly to her before
giving all his attention to his Perrier water. Girl Flower batted her overlong
eyelashes at me and pouted with her dark lush mouth.
"Why do men always have to talk about such awful things? Life
contains much that is good, and much that is bad, and there’s nothing we can do
that will change it. So why not just choose to celebrate all the wonderful
things in life? Like me! I am the lovely Girl Flower, created just so that men
might have the pleasure of adoring me! If they know what’s good for
them…Honestly, darlings, if everyone just had sex a lot more often, the world
would be a far happier place." She beamed at me. "Would you like to undo the
buttons on my blouse and play with my boobies, Edwin?"
"You know you shouldn’t drink, Flower," Subway Sue said kindly.
"It goes straight to your petals." She considered me thoughtfully. "I have to
say, Edwin, you’re a more interesting sort than most of the specimens Molly
drags in here. For such an intelligent woman, she has remarkably bad taste in
men. I can’t help thinking the two are probably connected. You should choose men
with your heart, not your head. Not that I’ve had much luck with either
approach. Men! If there was an alternative that didn’t involve ending up living
alone with too many cats, I’d sign up tomorrow."
There didn’t seem any obvious answer to that, so I changed the
subject. "Would I be right in thinking you’ve also done work for my family?"
"Certainly not!" Subway Sue drew herself up proudly, bristling
at the very thought. "I have my principles, you know."
Perhaps fortunately, Molly chose that moment to come back and
rejoin us, and I turned to her with a certain amount of relief. I’ve never been
very good at talking to a woman’s friends. "Did you get through? Will they see
me?"
Molly nodded curtly. "I had a lot of trouble getting through to
anyone that mattered, but once I made it clear I could deliver the new rogue
Drood, they couldn’t wait for me to bring you in. We can go right now, if you
want. The head man himself is waiting to greet you with open arms. They’ll offer
you anything you want in exchange for the inside secrets of your family and a
chance to examine your armour in their laboratories."
"I don’t know that I’m ready to commit myself to their cause
just yet," I said carefully.
Molly snorted loudly. "I should think not, in your position.
This is just a meet and greet, a chance for you and the head man to feel each
other out, see if you can work together. But do yourself a favour, Drood; drive
a hard bargain. Take them for everything they’ve got. Because once you’ve given
up your secrets, you can’t sell them again."
"There’s more to me than just secrets," I said.
"Good bargaining position," said Molly.
"If you’re going to meet the actual leader of Manifest Destiny,
I think I might come along too," Mr. Stab said suddenly. "Although I have
performed some small services for them in the past, in return for very generous
recompense, I have to say I’m a little irritated that they have never tried to
recruit me. I would like to ask them why."
"If he’s going, I’m going too," said Girl Flower, clapping her
soft little hands together delightedly. "I never get to go anywhere."
I started to object, but Molly cut me off quickly. "Oh, let
them, or they’ll both sulk. Besides, it’s always easier to negotiate when you’ve
got some serious backup."
She had a point. I looked inquiringly at Digger Browne, but he
shook his head. "I’m afraid I have a previous engagement. My family and I are
having an old friend for dinner."
"And you couldn’t get me one inch closer to Manifest Destiny if
you used a whip and a chair," Subway Sue said very firmly. "I don’t trust any of
these big organisations. There’s never any room in them for the private
entrepreneur. And anyway, I’ve heard things about Manifest Destiny…Yes, yes, I
know, Molly; you won’t hear a word said against them. But I’ve been around a lot
longer than you, and there are those who’ll talk to me who won’t talk to you. I
can’t help feeling there’s a lot more to Manifest Destiny than just bringing
down the Droods." She looked at me with cold, piercing eyes. "Ask them all the
awkward questions, Drood. Make them tell you everything, before you give them
your trust."
She turned her back on us and stalked out of the Wulfshead.
Digger Browne shook hands politely with all of us and followed her out. And
Molly Metcalf, Girl Flower, Mr. Stab, and I went off to see Manifest Destiny.
One witch of the wild woods, one elemental of rose petals and owls’ claws, one
legendary serial killer, and one very confused ex-agent for the good.
Some days you just shouldn’t get up in the morning.
We left the Wulfshead Club by a back door I didn’t recognise and
ended up in a dimly lit alley just off Denmark Street, deep in the dark heart of
Soho. It was late evening now, with all the twilight people spilling out onto
the streets, rubbing the day’s sleep from their eyes. Girding their weary loins
to prey on the sheep, one more time. None of them paid us any attention. We very
obviously weren’t sheep. Molly strode out into the middle of the empty road and
looked around her, scowling.
"What are you looking for?" I said patiently. "You won’t find a
taxi in this area, not at this time of night."
She looked back at me and sighed heavily. "All right; lecture
mode. Pay attention, Drood, and you might just learn something useful. Once upon
a time, way back during the most paranoid days of the Cold War, the
establishment of that time arranged for the construction of a huge network of
bunkers and tunnels deep under the streets of London. A last desperate bolthole
to which the important personages of that time could retreat in the event of a
nuclear strike. Presumably so they could continue to rule the radioactive ruins
above. I love a government that thinks ahead, don’t you? Anyway, this very large
bolthole was fully equipped and supplied, and very safe and secure. But the Cold
War ended, officially, and the network of bunkers and tunnels was declared
redundant. Abandoned and left to rot, guarded by just a few old Cold Warriors
who were also pretty much redundant.
"Manifest Destiny occupies the network now, with, it is said,
the winking acknowledgment of the current powers that be. Unfortunately, and
this is the part you’re really going to hate, Edwin, the only way to access this
network is via the city sewers. According to my contact, there’s a manhole
somewhere around here that will let us into the system, so stop just standing
around like a spare dick at a wedding and help me find it."
As it turned out, the manhole was right behind her. None of us
said anything. She scowled down at the heavy steel cover and snapped her fingers
at it, and the cover shot up into the air as though someone had goosed it. The
cover hovered above us in midair, while we all gathered around the hole and
peered dubiously down into it. Molly generated a witchfire, a shimmering silver
glow around her left hand, but even that magical light could only show us a
series of metal rungs leading down into the darkness. The smell coming out was
pretty ripe, though. We all looked at each other, and finally Molly sighed
heavily and led the way down into the sewers.
Once we were all inside, the manhole cover dropped back into
place, sealing us in.
Underground, the smell hit me like a fist in the face. Shocked
tears ran down my cheeks as I struggled to breathe only through my mouth. It
didn’t help. The ladder deposited us in a long dark tunnel with curving walls
and an uncomfortably low ceiling. Molly boosted her witchlight, pushing back the
dark to give us a better view. The brick walls were slick with damp and slime
and filth, and dark churning waters surged through a deep central channel, thick
with refuse and unpleasantly familiar things floating in it. The walkway was
only wide enough to accommodate two of us at a time, and the old stone beneath
our feet was encrusted with foul matter. It was enough to make you vow never to
use a toilet ever again. Girl Flower and Mr. Stab appeared entirely unmoved, but
Molly was almost gagging from the stench. Two rats floated past us, crouched
together on a particularly large…object. That was enough. I started to armour
up, to protect myself from plague, but Molly whirled angrily on me.
"Don’t!" she said, in a harsh whisper. "We don’t want to attract
attention."
"Attention from whom?" I said, not unreasonably. "Who else would
be dumb enough to come down into the sewers at this time of night?"
"She has a point," said Girl Flower, glancing nervously about
her.
"You do hear stories…Of things that have chosen to live down
here, away from the light and the scrutiny of man. Awful, unpleasant things,
darling. Not at all the sort of people you want to meet."
"Right," said Molly. "I’ve talked to people who work down here,
and they all have stories to share that the civilised world doesn’t want to
listen to. Not everything that gets flushed is gone forever. There are things
down here that have learned to thrive in conditions like this, and they’re
always hungry. Strange fruit grown from rotten branches, monsters grown out of
discarded experiments, and some blighted shapes that might have been human, long
and long ago. I’ll generate a low-level field to protect us from…contamination,
but any stronger magic might call them to us."
"Maybe you should lose the witchlight, then," said Mr. Stab.
"I’m almost sure I have a light about me somewhere…"
"No!" Molly said quickly. "No flames or anything that might
generate a spark. Methane gas has a tendency to build up in pockets, and you
can’t detect it through the general nasty ambience. Until it’s far too late."
"In the old days," Mr. Stab said conversationally, "the workers
used to bring down canaries in cages. And when the canaries started to smoulder,
they knew they were in trouble."
There was a pause, and then Molly said, "You’re really not
helping, you know."
"Poor little birdies," said Girl Flower.
Molly conjured up her protective field, incorporating a simple
directional spell that manifested as a glowing arrow floating on the air before
us. We started off after it, slipping and sliding on the treacherous surface of
the walkway. Our shadows leapt around us in the witchlight, huge and menacing.
Sudden noises echoed away through the long dark tunnels, lingering on long after
they should have died away. I kept a watchful eye on every shadowed tunnel we
passed, and sometimes I thought I saw twisted, distorted shapes lurching away in
the uncertain gloom ahead; but nothing ever ventured out into the witchlight to
confront us.