They say a lot of things about the elves. Believe what you will or whatever makes you feel most comfortable. The elves don’t care.
I armoured down. The
Hope Street
was sailing a whole new sea now, beneath a pale pink sky with three huge moons hanging low and a sun too bright to look at directly. Long slow ripples spread out from the boat as we chugged steadily towards the simple docks straight ahead of us. The water was thick and viscous, almost syrupy, with half a dozen vivid colours swirling in it, like a painter’s palette. Far, far below, huge dark shadows swam in great slow circles around the
Hope Street,
escorting us to shore.
We passed between massive elven ships, standing tall and graceful in the multicoloured waters. Old-fashioned three-masters with great billowing sails and delicate metal hulls, thin as foil, dainty as petals, strong as eternity. The sails were made from tanned hides, their rigging as intricate as the most delicate lace or spiderwebs. No one stood on the decks or at the wheels, but none of the ships moved at all, despite the gusting wind. We moved between these sleeping giants like small children creeping through an adult’s world.
“They’re more like works of art than working vessels,” said Walker. “Like the dream of a ship in the designer’s mind . . .”
“They’re real enough,” I said. “Their sails are made from the stretched skins of vanquished enemies.”
“Including humans?” said Peter.
“Most definitely,” I said.
We all stood very close in the cabin, watching the docks approach. A simple construction made up of thousands of bones, neatly fitted and locked together. On either side of the docks stood two huge elven statues carved from a dark, green-veined marble. They towered above us, sixty feet tall and more, like the legendary Colossus of Rhodes. At least, I thought they were statues until they slowly turned their great heads to follow our progress.
Beyond the docks lay vast stretches of green land. Not exactly grass or moss, but close enough to pass and of a shade so sharp and vivid it almost glowed. And striding across these peaceful green-lands, their feet slamming down in perfect lockstep, came the elves. Thousands of them. They finally crashed to a halt at the very edge of the land, all around the docks, standing straight and tall in perfectly set out ranks. Thousands of elves, standing impossibly still, watching the arrival of the
Hope Street
with cold glowing golden eyes.
They were fine, tall, and noble, and far more dangerous than the broken-spirited elves I was used to seeing on Earth.
The
Hope Street
slid expertly in beside the docks, and then we all jumped just a bit as the engine shut down without us telling it to. We all looked at each other, and then we left the cabin and went out on deck. None of us made any move to step out onto the docks. Having a whole army of elves studying you, silently and implacably, is enough to give anyone pause. I could have armoured up, just to show them who I was and who I represented, but I didn’t. Encasing myself in protective armour might have been taken as a sign of fear or even weakness. And no man can afford to be thought weak when dealing with elves. Up close, they looked almost painfully beautiful. Some have sought to dismiss this as mere glamour, protective illusion, but that’s not strictly true. The elves can be, or seem to be, anything they choose. Especially here, in the world they made for themselves.
“What is that they’re wearing?” said Walker very quietly. “Some kind of armour?”
“Made out of porcelain maybe?” said Honey just as quietly. “Though how it hangs together . . . The pieces seem to be moving independently . . .”
“They’re shells,” I said. “Up close, you can hear them rasping against each other as they move. The creatures inside those shells are still alive: stitched together, constantly suffering. That’s the elven way.”
“How do you know that?” said Peter.
“Because I’ve been here before,” I said. “Let’s go ashore and say,
Hi!
Can’t have them thinking we’re afraid of them.”
I led the way forward across the bone docks. The bone ridges were soft and polished under my feet, worn down by long use. The elves made no move as we approached, standing impossibly still, utterly silent. They looked more alien than ever up close. Unbearably glamorous, burning with an intensity no human could ever match. The sheer passion of their presence beat in the air like a fast drumroll. I could feel the weight of their massed gaze, and there was nothing of surprise in it. They were here because they’d known we’d be here. Elves don’t have the same relationship with time as everyone else. They treat it like a pet and make it do tricks for their amusement.
“Anything else we need to know about this place?” Honey said urgently, murmuring the words right into my ear.
“It’s dangerous,” I said. “This is the world the elves made, and we have no place in it. Have you noticed, there are no birds flying in the sky? No animals anywhere, not even any insects? When the elves first came to this place, they killed everything that lived here. Right down to the last of every kind and the smallest of species. The only things that live here now are the elves and the creatures they brought with them. Or made. They always did like tinkering.”
“The light hurts my eyes,” said Peter. “It’s too bright . . .”
“It was never intended for human eyes,” I said. “Look down; we don’t even have any shadows here.”
“Now, that is disturbing,” said Walker. We came to a halt at the end of the docks, and he looked out over the massed ranks of assembled elves, his gaze impressively cool and calm. “Which one is Mab?”
“She wouldn’t come here to meet us,” I said. “She’s the Queen of all the Elves; we’re nobody. So, we go to her.”
“How?” said Honey. “They’re blocking the way.”
“They’ll make a way for us,” I said. “When they’re ready. They’re great ones for protocol and intimidation.”
Honey sniffed. “I’m American. We don’t bow our heads to foreign royalty.”
“You do if you’re a diplomat,” I said patiently. “Our only hope for surviving this is if we’re perceived as representatives of greater powers. And . . . I think we’ve stood around here far too long already. We have to put on a good show, or they’ll never respect us. So follow me, and whatever happens . . .
don’t let it get to you.
The elves love to see us afraid.”
I strode forward off the docks, heading straight for the nearest rank of elves. They stood firm before me, an implacable wall. I still didn’t armour up, but I did lift my chin just a little, so they could clearly see the torc around my neck. At the very last moment, the elves stepped gracefully to one side, leaving a narrow gauntlet for me to walk through. I kept my face carefully calm and composed, as though I’d expected nothing else. I could hear the others hurrying behind me and hoped they were putting on a good show. There were limits to how much I could hope to protect them in this world.
I could feel the steady pressure of the elves’ regard as I walked through their massed ranks. It’s not easy, walking through a crowd of people, any of whom might kill you in a moment, for any reason, or none. The skin on my back crawled in anticipation of an attack that never came. I could sense as much as feel my companions all but treading on my heels, crowding in close behind me.
And then the ranks of elves fell away abruptly, revealing a great and wondrous city. Miles and miles of buildings like works of art, like dreams cast in stone and marble and other things. Dreams, and nightmares. I led the way through the massive central gate carved from the skull of a dragon. A single skull bigger than a house. All the teeth had been yanked out of its long jaws, and the empty eye sockets were crammed with strange alien flowers. They writhed and hissed at me as I passed by them, my attention fixed on the city.
The streets were wide and wandering. Distorted buildings towered to every side, all of them different, individual, diseased, like the cunning dreams of a mad mind. Their shapes were basically organic but sick and harsh and even distressing to merely human eyes. Like they might have been grown as much as put together. Most of the shapes made no sense to my human eyes and aesthetics. And they moved, all of them, subtly changing, only ever still when looked at directly. Only fully real when actively perceived. I thought about quantum states and observer’s intent, and then tried hard not to think about it at all.
In a small open square we passed by an elf who had been made into a statue and forced to function as a fountain. Water gushed from his open eyes and mouth, but I could still make out enough of his face to know he was still alive, and aware, and suffering. Later, we passed by a heap of severed hands, piled up as tall as a man, with all the fingers still twitching. The impact of the overbright sun beat down on my head, and my bare skin stung and smarted from the light, as though exposed to strange alien radiations.
A dragon flew by overhead. Not the ugly wyrms the elves ride when they come to earth, but the real thing: vast and glorious, bigger than a jumbo jet, with wings so huge and wide they hardly moved as the dragon flew past. Very beautiful, and very deadly. Half a dozen dragons could take out any human city. Fortunately, there aren’t half a dozen of them left anymore.
We stopped abruptly to let a huge beast go by: a great unnatural creature with skin stretched so tight you could see the organs pulsing within. It strode on long stiltlike legs, and elves rode on its back. They beat at its pulpy head with long barbed sticks and laughed musically as it moaned. Small scuttling things stuck to the shadows of side streets, trying not to be noticed. And now and again the walls I passed would have pulsing veins or eyes that opened, or they would slowly melt away. I kept looking straight ahead. It helps if you have an aim, a destination to concentrate on. The human mind isn’t equipped to deal with a world where there are no certainties or constraints and not a damned thing on which you can depend.
Honey moved forward to walk beside me. Behind me, I could hear Walker murmuring comfortingly to Peter. Of course the elf world wouldn’t bother Walker; he was used to the Nightside.
“You’ve been here before, Eddie,” said Honey. Her voice was steady but strained. “What are the protocols for meeting the Queen?”
“Damned if I know,” I said. “It’s always different here and in the Fae Court. The city didn’t look anything like this the last time I was here. The sea and the sky weren’t those colours. The Elven Lands are always changing. They like it that way. I suppose when you’re immortal, you can get tired of things pretty quickly.”
“I thought you said they weren’t immortal,” said Honey.
“They’re not, but they might as well be. Either way, don’t tell them they’re not immortal. They tend to take it rather badly.”
“What brought you here before? I thought you were just a London field agent.”
“I was,” I said. “But you go where family needs you to go. A few years back, an elf called Peaseblossom came to London and misbehaved himself on a rather grander scale than usual. My family got word he’d been abducting small children and carrying them away; easy enough to do with his glamour. I was sent after him to get the children back, but by the time I tracked down his squalid little lair, he’d already eaten three of them.” I stopped for a moment, remembering the cold rage, the bitter helplessness . . . “I was ready to kill him on sight, but there are ancient pacts between the Droods and the Fae. The best I could do was find him, kick the crap out of him, and then send him back to the Fae Court for punishment.
“But then things got complicated . . . It turned out Peaseblossom hadn’t come to London for children. They were just appetisers. He was on his way to the Old Soul Market in Crouch End Towen. The fool.
“Elves don’t have souls. Not as such. Or at least nothing we’d recognise as a soul. Peaseblossom wanted to buy one for himself. Not as difficult as you’d think, and not actually a problem in itself, but . . . the Old Soul Market is almost as ancient as the elves, and the proprietors didn’t take kindly to discovering that Peaseblossom thought he could just waltz in and demand their very best merchandise and expect to pay on credit. So they mugged and rolled him, locked him in a cage, and made arrangements to sell his stuffed and mounted corpse to the Collector. (Apparently Peaseblossom was considered a collector’s item because he’d been name-checked in
A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
) Which was fine by me, but I was ordered to get the elf out and take him home before he started a war. So I went down into the London Warrens and the Subterranean Ways and retrieved Peaseblossom via my usual blend of calm reason, calculated diplomacy, and applied mayhem. And was he grateful? What do you think? So I beat the crap out of him on general principles and took him home to the Fae Court.”
“You do get around, don’t you?” said Honey. “So the elves are beholden to you? They owe you, for your help?”
“Not necessarily,” I said. “It’s more complicated than that. It always is, with elves.”
“It always is with you,” said Walker, appearing suddenly on my other side. “Why did you kill all those elves, Eddie?”
“Because they were trying to kill me,” I said. “It was an honest enough fight; no one cheated more than usual. But still, there are many here who would just love to watch me die slowly and horribly. Except they can’t kill me, because then they’d never be able to pay me back the favour they owe.”
“But if they tried to kill you before . . .” said Honey.
“I was rogue then,” I said. “Disowned by my family. Fair game. Now that I’m a Drood again and back in good standing with my family, they can’t touch me. Unless they can find a way to justify it to themselves. Elf honour is . . . complicated. Remember, everyone: once we get to the Fae Court, don’t eat or drink anything they offer you, don’t speak unless you’re spoken to directly, and don’t start anything. Leave that to me. And above all don’t try to have sex with them or you’ll be carrying your genitals home in a bag.”