From Hell With Love: A Secret Histories Novel (29 page)

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Authors: Simon R. Green

BOOK: From Hell With Love: A Secret Histories Novel
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“And I’m a Drood. Anything, for the family. Remember?”
I was ready to jump him. I knew the odds weren’t good, knew that even if I could get my armour up in time, the strange matter bullets would punch right through it, but I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t let Rafe get away with it. I just couldn’t. I was bracing myself for the jump when Ethel suddenly materialised in the Old Library. A fierce red glare filled the air—a heavy overwhelming presence, like a never-ending clap of thunder. Rafe cowered away from it, and then cried out and threw his gun away, steam rising from his hand where the gun had burned it. The red glare concentrated around the gun, and it faded away to nothing.
How dare you!
said Ethel, her voice so large it roared inside my head. It must have been worse for Rafe; he clapped both hands to his ears, as though he could keep it out.
You stole my substance from me, my very existence in this world! You took it by force!
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” said Rafe.
Sorry isn’t enough! Give back your torc. You are not worthy of it.
There was a pause, and then Ethel spoke again, in her usual tone of voice.
Eddie, this is rather odd. I can’t take his torc, because he doesn’t have one. That thing around his neck is a fake.
“He’s not a real Drood,” I said. “He just looks like one.”
Rafe turned to run, and immediately I was upon him. I clubbed him to the ground with a single blow, and he hit the floor hard. I kicked him in the ribs, and all the breath went out of him. I kicked him again, just because it felt so good. Rafe cried out, and curled around his pain. I reached down, grabbed his shirt front, and pulled him up so I could stick my face right into his.
“Where’s Rafe? What happened to the real Rafe?”
“You’ll never know,” said Rafe. His voice was sharp and defiant, but he couldn’t meet my gaze.
“Search the Hall, Ethel,” I said. “See if you can find any more of these bastards with the false torcs. If you do, tell the Sarjeant; let him deal with them. Go.”
The harsh red glare shut off in a second, and the usual calm golden glow of the Old Library returned. I let go of Rafe, and he slumped back onto the floor.
“You’re too late,” he said. “They’re all gone.”
“Well,” I said. “You would say that, wouldn’t you?”
Rafe suddenly stopped being all beaten and broken, and lunged forward across the Library floor. He knelt over William’s unconscious form, pulled the head back and pressed a knife against the Librarian’s throat. I’d started after him, but stopped abruptly as I saw a thin trail of blood trickle down William’s throat, as the knife’s edge just parted the skin.
“Get out of here, Eddie,” said Rafe, smiling again. “And tell everyone else to stay out, until I’m safely gone. Or you’ll have no Librarians left at all.”
“I can’t let you go, Rafe,” I said steadily. “Or whoever you really are. You’re a clear and present danger to the whole family.”
“I’ll kill him!”
“He’d understand. Anything, for the family.”
We looked at each other, both of us ready to do what we had to; and then Rafe looked round sharply. He saw something, and shrank back horrified, the knife falling away from William’s throat. Rafe’s face was horribly pale, his eyes focused on something so terrible, something so bad he had no thought for anything else. He scrambled backwards away from William, making low whimpering noises.
I looked where Rafe was looking, and couldn’t see a damned thing. Just the books on the shelves, and the steady golden glow of Library light. Rafe’s back slammed up against a stack, and he cried out miserably when he realised he couldn’t retreat any farther. His wide eyes were locked on something, and he was making a high whining noise now. I moved forward, to put myself between Rafe and William, but Rafe no longer cared about either of us. He threw his knife away, and made pitiful, childish
go-away
motions with his hands. I raised my Sight and looked hard, but I still couldn’t See anything.
“
Can’t you see?
” said Rafe, in a harsh, strained voice.
“Can’t you see
that? It’s coming for me! Do something! Don’t let it get me!”
I could feel all the hackles rising on the back of my neck, in response to the stark terror in Rafe’s voice. He was definitely seeing something, and given what the sight of it was doing to him, I was glad I couldn’t see what he was seeing. I moved cautiously forward, grabbed up the knife from the floor, and Rafe scrabbled quickly behind me, putting me between him and whatever he saw coming for him. William had been convinced there was Something living down here in the Old Library with him; Something that watched him, or watched over him. Rafe clutched at me like a frightened, desperate child.
“Don’t let it get me,” he said, in a small broken voice. “Please. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“Come with me,” I said. “I’ll get you out of here. But you give me any trouble, and I’ll just walk away and leave you here.”
“Yes. Anything. Please;
I can’t stand it . . .
”
I stood up straight, and addressed the space before us. “I am Edwin Drood. I speak for the family. Who’s there?” There was no response. The light didn’t flicker, and the shadows were just shadows. I still couldn’t See anything. Rafe stopped whimpering suddenly, the sound cut off in his throat. I looked back, and saw him turn his head slowly, as though watching Something move across the Library and then disappear behind the stacks. He collapsed, shuddering with relief.
“What was it?” I said. “What did you see?”
Rafe shook his head. He didn’t want to say, as though just naming or describing it might be enough to summon it back. Finally, he whispered one word.
“White . . .”
I left him sitting huddled up against a stack, clutching his knees to his chest, looking around with wide, shocked eyes. I used the Merlin Glass to summon medical help for William. A doctor in a blood-smeared white coat came through, and examined William quickly but thoroughly. He ran gentle fingers over William’s broken head, while shooting me an accusing glance.
“I do have other patients to attend to, you know. Other people who need my help. This is nothing serious. Bad, but fixable. Upstairs, we’re so packed we’re running triage, sorting out the save-able from the hopeless. The Librarian can wait.”
“No he can’t,” I said flatly. “You give William top priority. He knows things no one else in the family knows. Take him up to the hospital wards through the Glass, and make sure he gets to the front of the queue. Don’t make me come looking for you.”
The doctor sighed. “Go ahead, bully me! That’s what I’m here for.” He called through the open Merlin Glass for stretcher bearers, and then peered across at Rafe, still shuddering and staring. “Want me to take a look at that one too? Though I’m pretty sure I can diagnose shock from here.”
“He stays with me,” I said. I wasn’t ready to say we had an Immortal in the family. Not just yet.
They took William away, still unconscious, and I took Rafe back to the Armoury. He clung to me like a child. I told the Armourer everything that had happened, and he looked at Rafe with cold, angry eyes. He pulled Rafe away from me and thrust him into the diagnostic chair, tightening the restraining straps around him with almost brutal efficiency. He then attached all the sensors, checked the display screens, and put the tubes in place. Rafe jumped and flinched a few times, but didn’t say anything. Away from the Old Library, he was quickly regaining his old composure and self-control. He looked at the Armourer and me with a cold and thoughtful gaze. The Armourer finished his work, stepped back to look at the display screens, and then scowled fiercely.
“Wait a minute, that can’t be right . . .” He checked all the connections again, fiddled with a few things, and even gave his computer a warning slap; but when he checked the display screens again he still didn’t like what he saw. “These readings . . . they’re just
wrong
. They’re barely human. Half of what I’m looking at makes no sense, and the other half . . . Whatever the Immortals are, Eddie, they’re a long way from anything we’d call human.”
“Of course,” said Rafe, sitting calmly and at ease in the diagnostic chair, as though he’d chosen to sit there. “We’re better than human. We don’t have your . . . limitations.”
He had all of his poise and arrogance back, the same superior attitude he’d shown me with his knife at William’s throat. He surreptitiously tested the restraining straps, and smiled slowly.
“A diagnostic chair,” he said easily. “One of the few things that might actually hold me. You can’t tie down an Immortal with ropes and chains. But, it’ll take me a while to break free from this, so off you go, Eddie; ask me your questions. I might answer them. I might even tell you the truth.”
“You even look like you’re trying to escape,” said the Armourer, “and I will have the chair do really quite appalling things to your central nervous system.”
“So you’re the Drood torturer, now?” said Rafe. I knew that wasn’t really his name, but it was hard to think of him as anyone else, even when the look on his face had nothing to do with the young Librarian I’d thought I’d known. He sneered at the Armourer. “I don’t think so. You Droods don’t have it in you to be really ruthless. Not like us.”
The Armourer punched Rafe in the face. A sudden, vicious blow, with all of the Armourer’s strength behind it. I heard Rafe’s nose break, and saw blood fly on the air as the force of the blow whipped
Rafe’s head around. The Armourer studied Rafe calmly. He wasn’t even breathing hard. Rafe sat stunned in the chair, blood coursing down his face. I didn’t know which of us was more startled by what had just happened: Rafe or me. I’d never seen my Uncle Jack do anything like that before. Certainly not with a defenceless prisoner. Rafe looked at me.
“Are you going to just stand there, and let him do that?”
“Sure,” I said. “I might even join in. I like William.”
“We all like William,” said the Armourer.
And he hit Rafe again, right in the eye. It was a hard, solid blow, and the sound was loud and unpleasant. People around us hesitated, decided quickly it was none of their business, and got on with their work. Rafe strained briefly against his bonds, breathing hard.
“I can keep this up all day,” said the Armourer. “You can’t. Traitor.”
“I am not a traitor,” Rafe said thickly. He spat out a mouthful of blood. “I’m not a Drood. I never was. I’m an Immortal. You can’t treat me this way.”
“People forget I used to be a field agent,” the Armourer said easily. “And those who do know, prefer to forget the kind of things field agents had to do, in that coldest of wars. Hard men, for hard times. We were men, in those days, making hard necessary decisions, to do hard necessary things, to keep the world safe. I haven’t been that man for some time, but I still remember how to get things done.”
“What happened to the original Rafe?” I asked the man in the chair.
He spat out some more blood. “Removed and replaced, long ago.”
“How long ago?”
He smiled. “Before you came back. You never met the real Rafe.”
“Is he dead?”
“Of course,” said the Immortal, smiling easily. “We detest loose ends. Never leave anything behind that might come back to haunt you.”
He shook his head sharply, back and forth, back and forth, and then the Armourer and I fell back a step as flesh rippled all across Rafe’s face. The cheekbones rose and fell, the chin lengthened and the nose narrowed, and just like that, a whole new face stared back at us. Completely different features, with an unbroken nose and an unsmashed mouth, fierce green eyes that shone with a cold intelligence. A whole new person was sitting in the diagnostic chair, staring at us with unbridled arrogance.
It was the face of a teenager, with ancient eyes.
“All of us can do this,” said the young man who used to be Rafe. Eerily, he was still using Rafe’s familiar voice. “All of us Immortals. See, Armourer: no broken nose, no blood. You don’t scare me, because you can’t hurt me.”
“Don’t put money on it,” said the Armourer. “I’ve spent twenty years in this place, learning how to damage people in new and inventive ways. About time I got my hands dirty again.”
Probably only someone who knew the Armourer as well as I did would have been disturbed as I was. Uncle Jack had played up to the mercenary, Dom Langford, to put him in the right frame of mind. But the Armourer wasn’t playing a role anymore. He was deadly serious. And I . . . didn’t know what to think. The thing in the chair was seriously freaking me out. It was one thing for the display screens to imply he wasn’t human, and quite another to see it demonstrated right in front of you.
“Talk,” I said. “Tell us everything you know.”
“Or?” said Rafe.
“Or I’ll take you back down to the Old Library,” I said. “Lock you in, and leave you alone with whatever it is that doesn’t like you.”
The Armourer looked at me. “William was right? There really is Something living down there?”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “Big time. We’re going to have to do something about that, when we’ve got a spare minute. Though when I say we, I mean someone a damned sight braver than I am.”

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