Property of a Lady Faire (A Secret Histories Novel) (2 page)

Harry Fabulous wouldn’t normally say boo to a Drood, so for him to contact me at all was . . . interesting.

“What do you want, Harry?” I said. “And can’t it wait till I’ve broken out of the Vatican?”

“Not really, no,” said Harry. “I have a client in desperate need of your help. As in right now!”

“Keep your voice down!” I said, glancing quickly out through the crack at the door. The corridor still looked empty, but I wasn’t as convinced of that as I had been. I couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was creeping up on me. And not in a good way.

“What are you doing in the Vatican, Eddie?” said Harry.

“I could tell you,” I said, “but then I’d have to exorcise you.”

“Come on, Eddie, you know me,” said Harry. “I am the soul of discretion. Mostly.”

“I do know you, Harry Fabulous,” I said, “and I would not trust you as far as I could throw a wet camel.”

“Lot of people say that,” Harry said sadly.

“Can we please get on with this? I am rather in the middle of something here . . .”

“Doing what?”

“Something I am entirely sure both my family and all the Powers That Be at the Vatican would not want you to know about.”

“Fair enough,” said Harry. “I currently represent the management of the Wulfshead Club. And no, I don’t have a clue who they are, just like everyone else, so there’s no point in asking me.”

“Then how do you know it’s really them?” I said craftily.

“They were very convincing,” said Harry. “I still get the shakes when I think about it.”

“All right,” I said. “I’ll come straight to the Wulfshead, as soon as I’m outside the Vatican buildings.”

“No!” Harry said quickly. “You can’t! The club’s new privacy shields don’t allow anyone to teleport in. Even the mighty Merlin Glass would bump its nose. I’ll meet you in the alley outside the main London entrance. As soon as you can, Eddie. Please.”

“Give me ten minutes,” I said. “Unless I run into Security . . . then make it fifteen minutes.”

Harry’s face disappeared from the Merlin Glass, replaced by my own reflection. Even in the dim light of the empty office, I thought I looked tired and hard done by. As one of the most secret of the hidden world’s secret agents, I go to a lot of trouble to appear ordinary and anonymous, but people like Harry Fabulous put years on me. I would have preferred for him to hang around just a little longer, to answer a few pointed questions about exactly why I was needed so urgently, but that was probably why he’d disappeared so quickly. I slipped the Merlin Glass back into my pocket and stood still for a moment, thinking.

I knew all about the Wulfshead Club. Everyone in my line of work does. A very private drinking establishment, for very private people. A covert bolt-hole, for those of us who operate in the hidden world. The Good, the Bad, and the In-between are always welcome, as long as they’ve got money to spend. More importantly, it’s neutral ground for those of us who feel the need for somewhere safe and secure to let our hair down. Many of us who work in the supernatural Intelligence community tend to end up there. If only because we all need someone we can talk to, about the things we’ve seen and the things we’ve done, who won’t judge us. The kinds of things only people like us ever get to know about.

The world doesn’t need to know. It would only worry.

There are a great many secret entrances to the Wulfshead Club, in any number of cities, scattered around the world. Though getting in, or out, can be murder. The club’s been around for as long as anyone can remember, in one form or another, but no one knows for sure who owns and runs it. Despite a clientele who make their business digging out answers, the Wulfshead’s management remains determinedly anonymous. And they have never, ever, asked a member of my family for help before. I had to smile. This was just too good to turn down.

My head came up sharply as I heard soft running footsteps outside the office, approaching rapidly from the far end of the corridor. Not good. Not in any way good. I couldn’t use the Merlin Glass to teleport out until I was completely outside the building and back in the official world.

I pulled the door open and slipped back out into the corridor, not making a sound. When you’re a field agent for the Droods, moving unseen and unobserved comes as standard. I glared into the gloom at the far end of the corridor, back the way I’d come, and could just make out a number of dark, indistinct figures heading my way at more than human speed. Charging down the corridor, they shifted their shapes subtly as they moved. I couldn’t hear any bells or sirens; the advancing shapes were doing nothing to raise the alarm. Presumably they intended to bring me down before anyone else found out I was ever there. I had to smile. Being chased by a small army of angry priests and warrior nuns was probably every good Catholic boy’s worst nightmare. Good thing I was raised Church of England.

I ran down the corridor at full pelt, not even trying to be quiet or unobserved any more. My feet hammered on the floor, and my arms pumped at my sides as I made good speed, leaving my pursuers behind. I was still hoping to make my escape without having to fight my way out. I didn’t want to make more of a fuss than was necessary. Scrapping with priests and nuns inside the Vatican, even the parts that don’t officially exist, is never going to be profitable. And I really didn’t want the Vatican Security Forces to even suspect they’d had a Drood in the house. Which was why I hadn’t raised my incredible Drood armour. Just the presence of so much golden strange matter in the holy city would set off every alarm they had and bring everyone running at once.

I risked a glance back over my shoulder. My pursuers were catching up fast, moving so quietly now that their feet didn’t even seem to be brushing the bare wooden floor. I could see robes and wimples, but no faces. Even as I looked, though, the dark shapes changed, flowing like water. Legs and arms lengthened, backs became hunched, and great black membranous wings stretched out, their tips brushing against the corridor walls, beating loudly on the still air. The whole atmosphere in the corridor changed, becoming horrid and oppressive. There was a sudden stench of blood and brimstone. It seemed the rumours were true, after all. The Vatican had contracted out for its most secret security forces, drawing on denizens from the Lower Reaches. The remote activating of the Merlin Glass must have alerted them to my presence.

I was in real trouble now.

I pounded down the corridor, forcing the last bit of speed out of my aching muscles. It had been a long night, and I’m not really built for running. I could hear my breathing coming fast and hard, and my heart was hammering in my chest. I finally reached the door at the far end, skidded to a halt, and rattled the handle. It was locked. Of course it was; it was that kind of night. I grabbed a handy piece of heavy marble statuary from its niche (almost certainly centuries old, and valuable beyond price) and used it to smash the lock. The statue came to pieces in my hand, but the door jumped open. I threw the pieces aside and charged through the opening. I didn’t dare look back. I could hear the flapping of huge wings right behind me, like wet blankets on the air.

Outside, an old-fashioned black iron fire escape clung precariously to the ancient stone wall. I hurried up the steps, heading for the roof. Having to pass through the door one at a time should slow my pursuers down nicely, especially if they stopped to argue over who had precedence. I hauled myself up the shaking metal rungs, making a hell of a racket, grabbing at the railings with both hands to hurry myself along. I made it onto the slanting tile roof and then stopped to get my breath and my bearings.

I could hear heavy things hammering up the fire escape, their combined weight almost pulling the metal stairs away from the side of the building. I didn’t look. I didn’t want to see, didn’t want to know. I could hear angry buzzing voices, only just trying to be human, saying bad things. I went to stand on the very edge of the roof, planting one foot on the iron guttering, and looked out over the view below.

It was a hell of a long drop down to the ground below. Hundreds of feet, at least. But I could see the whole of the holy city stretched out before me, the great white buildings glowing and gleaming in the fierce moonlight. You get to see some of the best views in the world in my job. Though mostly not for very long.

I took out the Merlin Glass, shook it till it was the size of a Door, and then gave it the correct Space Time coordinates and threw it off the edge of the roof. The Glass fell away into the moonlight, an open Door full of the bright lights of London. I took a deep breath and jumped off the roof after it.

I heard a roar of frustrated buzzing voices rush by behind me, but I didn’t look back at the fire escape. Some things you just don’t want to see. I went hurtling down, gathering speed all the time, the ground rushing up to greet me. Cool evening air battered at my face and tugged at my clothes. The fall would be more than enough to kill any ordinary man. Good thing I was a Drood. I subvocalised the activating Words, and the golden armour contained in the torc at my throat rushed out to cover me from head to toe in a moment.

I could hear flapping heavy wings behind me, as dark things launched themselves in pursuit, but I was concentrating on the open Door falling away before me. The added weight of my armour sent me hurtling down faster than ever, and it was the easiest thing in the world to catch up with the falling Merlin Glass and plunge right through it, without even brushing against the sides. The Door slammed shut the moment I was through, cutting off the last angry screams from my pursuers.

• • •

And I crashed back to earth in a dark and deserted back alley in London’s old Soho. I hit the ground at appalling speed, but my armoured legs absorbed most of the impact. I stayed where I was for a moment, crouched on one knee in the crater I’d blasted out of the alley floor, getting my breathing back under control. It never ceases to amaze me, all the things I can do in my armour. I muttered the Words, and the golden strange matter flowed back into my torc. I straightened, adjusted my clothing, and grabbed the hand mirror–sized Merlin Glass out of mid-air, where it had been hovering above me. I slipped it carefully back into its hidden pocket, and only then looked around me.

After the bright moonlight of the Vatican, it felt something of a step down to be standing in the grimy amber light of a London street lamp, interrupted now and then by the flickering glare of malfunctioning neon signs. I was back in Soho, all right. For someone whose job description genuinely is globe-trotting secret agent, it’s astonishing how often I end up hanging around in grimy back alleys in the seedier parts of civilisation.

The never-ending roar of London’s traffic blasted by at the far end of the alleyway. All rushing shapes and blaring horns. The alley itself was dark and foul and smelled of appalling things. Quite definitely including fresh urine. Assorted garbage lay in scattered heaps, troubled only by rats with really strong stomachs. The stained brick walls were covered with the usual overlapping graffiti:
Dagon Has Risen! Cthulhu Has Bad Dreams.
And, more worryingly,
Eye Can See You.
And there, standing right at the end of the alley, sticking to the shadows because that was where he felt most at home: Harry Fabulous. He stepped forward, just a little, and nodded jerkily, doing his best to look like he was pleased to see me.

“Nice of you to drop in, Eddie. You Droods do love to make an entrance.”

“Stick to what you’re good at; that’s what I always say. Why am I here, Harry?”

“Good of you to get here so quickly,” he said, avoiding the question. “Here, let me show you into the Wulfshead.”

He moved quickly over to the left-hand wall, being very careful where he put his feet, and muttered certain secret Words. A massive silver door appeared in the brick wall, as though the silver had shouldered the brickwork aside for being less important, or less real. The door was big enough to drive an elephant through, and it shone with its own dull light, painting the wall opposite with a shifting, uncertain glow. The solid silver door was deeply carved and etched with a great many threats and warnings, in angelic and demonic script. The Wulfshead Club doesn’t discriminate. There was no bell, no knocker, not even a handle. It isn’t meant to be easy to get in. Harry placed the palm of his left hand flat against the silver, and after a moment that stretched on just a bit longer than was comfortable, the door swung slowly back before him. He snatched his hand back and smiled weakly at me. There were beads of sweat on his face. I wasn’t surprised. If your name isn’t on the approved guest list, the door will bite your hand right off.

Bright, cheerful light spilled out through the door and into the alley. Harry hurried in, and I moved quickly to follow him. It only took me a moment to realise I wasn’t in the Wulfshead. Instead, the door had let us into a small business office. All very basic—just a table and two chairs. No windows, no decorations; a door behind us and another door on the other side of the room. I had a very definite sense of being observed. I turned to look thoughtfully at Harry, and he backed quickly away, holding his hands out before him.

“It’s all right, Eddie! Really! That far door leads into the club proper—I promise you!”

“What are we doing here, Harry?” I said, and he actually flinched away from something in my voice.

“This is one of the private offices used by the club’s management. For when they . . . want to keep an eye on things. It’s just somewhere private, where we can discuss the management’s current . . . problem.”

“And why are you speaking for them, Harry?”

“Because they’re not stupid enough to reveal themselves to a Drood. And because I owe them,” Harry said flatly. His words gave him a certain amount of courage, and he did his best to look at me defiantly. “They didn’t want you in particular, and the Drood family in general, knowing who they are. You’d only take advantage . . . And anyway, if you did know who they were, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t approve.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” I said. “My family doesn’t approve of most people. And nearly always with good reason. So why are the management asking for my help? What could be so bad?”