Secret Histories 10: Dr. DOA (30 page)

“Maybe,” said Molly. “But he hasn’t survived this long just by being lucky.”

“I know,” I said.

Buried Treasure

T
he problem with using unfamiliar teleport mechanisms is that you’re never quite sure what to expect. Sometimes it feels like being torn apart and then slammed back together again; sometimes like a side trip through a Hell dimension with hellhounds on your trail; and other times like being turned briefly inside out after a very heavy lunch. Django Westphalion’s teleport bracelet was surprisingly easy on the nerves. One moment Molly and I were in Under the Mountain, and the next we were standing near the top of a steep hill overlooking the sea. Somewhat to my relief, we seemed to be where we were supposed to be. At Black Heir’s Headquarters, right on the edge of the Cornish coast. (First rule of staying alive: Never trust an Immortal.) I grinned at Molly.

“A very smooth arrival, with everything inside me still where it ought to be. We should send Django a nice thank-you note.”

“No we shouldn’t,” said Molly. “The only thing I’d send him would be a death threat, with postage owing.”

At which point we disappeared and reappeared again, this time some ten yards farther away. Molly grabbed hold of my arm, and then we disappeared again, reappearing right on the cliff edge. So close, a part of the rocky edge actually crumbled and fell away under my feet.
Molly tried to pull me back, and a whole section of the cliff edge dropped out from under her feet. I hauled her away just in time, and we both stumbled backwards, putting some distance between us and the long drop.

“It’s the teleport bracelet!” said Molly.

“I know!” I said.

“Well, shut it down!”

“I’m trying!”

I fumbled at the controls, but they were all flashing wildly. Rather than risk the damned thing teleporting us blindly again, and maybe right over the edge this time, I ripped the bracelet off my wrist and threw it on the ground. I stared at it fiercely, my gut muscles tensing, while Molly held on to my arm with both hands so we couldn’t be separated. I slowly relaxed as the bracelet just lay there on the dirt path, trying to look innocent. The control crystals were still flickering unsteadily.

“Could be a malfunction,” I said. “Or maybe I did something wrong . . .”

“Hell with that,” Molly said immediately. “We know who’s to blame. The Immortal planned this.”

“Well,” I said, “it wouldn’t surprise me if he sabotaged the bracelet. The Immortals always did delight in thinking ahead, when it came to plotting their revenges.”

I stooped down over the bracelet to examine it more closely, but it disappeared. I shot a quick glance at my wrist, in case the bracelet had tried to reattach itself, but it hadn’t.

“Did you hear something?” said Molly.

There had been the sound of a splash, far below. I moved cautiously back to the cliff edge and peered over the side. Molly clung grimly to my arm, ready to haul me back, but she couldn’t resist leaning over for a quick look herself. A long way below, the sea crashed heavily against jagged black rocks. If the bracelet had fallen into those turbulent waters, the odds were it wouldn’t be coming back.

“It’s gone,” I said as we stepped back from the edge.

“Good,” said Molly. “But how are we going to get moving again, after we’re done here? Ask Black Heir to call us a taxi?”

“I can always call home,” I said. “And I still have the Merlin Glass. If I can persuade it to behave.”

Molly pulled a face. I didn’t blame her. I took a moment to look out over the view and appreciate it. Because I wasn’t sure how many views I had left. Dark waters, under a lowering late-evening sky. Heavy foam splashing over ragged rocks as the tide came crashing in to pound on them. No seagulls on the wing, no ships out at sea. Just the ocean, nature in the raw, savage and brutal and completely indifferent to the transient human eyes that found a cold beauty there.

“How are you feeling, Eddie?” Molly said quietly. “I mean, really?”

“Really?” I said. “Hanging on by my fingernails, but still on top of things. I’ve got enough left to get me where I’m going.”

I turned my back on the view, and looked up the long dirt path to the old house at the top of the hill. I could tell Molly wanted to talk some more, but I had nothing else to say. She sighed, just a little, and joined me in studying the house. It had clearly started out as a grand Victorian mansion, more than big enough to hold an organisation the size of Black Heir, with enough room left over to store any number of secrets. Black Heir did love to keep things to itself; until it could sell them.

The house was a wreck, with a battered exterior, broken slates on the roof, and a couple of squat brick chimneys that would have to be seriously upgraded before they could even pass muster as a fire hazard. No lights on anywhere, and heavy wooden shutters covered all the upper-floor windows. The house wasn’t short on character, though. It seemed to crouch sullenly, like an old predator past its prime, trying to summon up enough courage or spite to be dangerous one more time. I’d seen photos of the place, in files at Drood Hall, but nothing in them had suggested the dark malevolent power of the old house. This was a place where bad things were plotted, and done, because Black Heir
had always gone its own way. And if it could trample over everyone else in the process, so much the better.

“Very Gothic,” said Molly. “Reminds me of all the covers on those cheap paperback Gothic romances I used to devour as a teenager.”

“Much about you suddenly becomes clear,” I said. “Still, what better aspect to hide its true nature as a gatherer of high-tech trinkets that fell off the back of a starship?”

“Why have its Headquarters here, so far from anywhere?” said Molly.

“Its old Headquarters used to be up in Yorkshire,” I said. “That was back in the Forties, when, according to Uncle Jack, flying saucers were dropping out of the skies and crashing into fields all over the north country. Don’t ask me why. Maybe something about the scenery reminded them of home.”

“So why move all the way down here?” said Molly.

“Partly because the organisation outgrew the old place, but mostly because it got sloppy with procedures and was in danger of being noticed. Black Heir had to pull a disappearing act, to avoid answering some very awkward questions from some very awkward customers. As to why here, exactly, no doubt it had its reasons. Probably entirely selfish ones. Black Heir has always been run by scavengers, pirates, and borderline criminal scumbags. They’re in it for the money, not the service.”

“Then why does your family support them?”

“Because they’re our scumbags, and besides, they’re very good at what they do. These days.”

Molly scowled at the crumbling old house, as though it had personally offended her. “You know, it never occurred to me to ask before, but . . . why is it called Black Heir? I mean, black for black market; I get that. But . . . Heir? Heir to what?”

“Well . . . ,” I said patiently.

“Oh God, you’re about to lecture me, aren’t you?”

“You asked. Black Heir started out as an underground criminal organisation, looting alien tech left behind from close encounters that
went seriously wrong. Its members took the name when they came to work for us, because they’re heir to an earlier organisation that my family had to shut down with extreme prejudice. They had ended up crossing too many lines, and almost started a war between this planet and several different alien species. Scavenging is one thing; disrespect to the alien dead is quite another.”

“What did they do?” said Molly, her eyes glowing. She never could get enough gossip.

“Apparently,” I said, “they were running a thriving trade in dead aliens. Organs and tissues and so on as ingredients for really alternative medical treatments. Like tiger parts and monkey glands in certain traditional remedies. There was also a market for complete corpses, for very rich people with their own private museums and rabid collectors’ mania. Always desperate for something unique, to one-up their friends and colleagues. I’m told there was even a very specialized market for live aliens.”

“For private zoos?” said Molly.

“Occasionally. But some people will have sex with anything. If only for the bragging rights.”

“Oh
ick
,” said Molly. “And can I also add
ew
.”

“Quite,” I said. “My family shut it all down. Stamped out the trade at both ends, and disappeared a hell of a lot of people. War was averted, and Black Heir stepped up to become the new authorized vultures on the scene.”

“So your family is responsible for Black Heir,” said Molly. “I should have known.”

I shrugged. “There has to be someone to clean up after alien and other-dimensional incursions . . . And you can’t expect people to do the work of vultures and still act like gentlemen. Besides, no sane person would take the risks. Clambering around inside crashed alien ships is a lot like defusing an unexploded bomb, with the added risk of being poisoned, irradiated, or horribly transformed, as well as just
killed. I once had to help clean out a crashed starship that was infected with alien parasites. Poison wouldn’t kill them; we ended up having to chase after the little bastards with lump hammers.”

“Does your family have any history that isn’t completely appalling?” said Molly.

“Give me time,” I said. “I’ll think of something.”

I returned my attention to the old dark house. Vaguely worried it might have crept up on us while I wasn’t looking. But the house was entirely still and silent, and the only sounds in the evening were the low murmur of the wind and the distant crush of surf on the rocks below. Black Heir’s Headquarters looked grim and desolate and lonely. The house at the end of the world.

“Why are you looking like that?” Molly said. “Is there something wrong with the house?”

“It’s a house at the end of its life,” I said slowly. “Everything it was, everything it was for, is over now. It reminds me . . . of me.”

“Stop that,” Molly said firmly. “Don’t beat yourself up; you have any number of enemies ready to do that for you. Now, changing the subject. Have you ever been here before?”

“No,” I said. “My family doesn’t interfere in the everyday business of other agencies. Well, not directly, anyway. We just keep a watchful eye, and hand out spankings as necessary.”

I knew I was spending too much time talking when I should have been moving, but I felt oddly reluctant to get any closer to the old house. Something was wrong here. I could feel it.

Molly looked around her. “Shouldn’t there be some kind of security?”

“Yes,” I said. “There should. Everything from guards and guard dogs, to land mines and force shields. And all kinds of nasty surprises. Black Heir has a lot of enemies and a lot to protect. At the very least, someone should have noticed our arrival by unscheduled teleport, and sent some security personnel out to check who we are and what we’re doing here.”

“No lights anywhere.”

“I had noticed. An ominous detail, in an ominous setting.”

“Highly Gothic,” Molly said dryly. She grinned suddenly. “Ten to one, there’s something awful in the attic.”

“No bet,” I said.

“What have the Droods got in their attic?”

“The remains of people who asked too many questions.”

Molly looked at me. “I can never tell when you’re joking, with your family.”

“Neither can I,” I said.

I strode forward, up the dirt path to Black Heir’s Headquarters, and whatever lay in wait for us. It concerned me that I didn’t even know why I was feeling so worried. I’d been in a lot scarier situations than this and never let it get to me. Could Dr DOA’s poison be affecting my mind as well as my body? That would be something to worry about . . . I increased my pace, refusing to be intimidated, even by myself. Perhaps especially by myself. Molly had to hurry to keep up. Our footsteps sounded very loud in the quiet, warning the house that company was coming. I kept looking around for some kind of security, or defences. I even used my Sight briefly, but there was nothing.

The great old house loomed over us as we drew closer. Still not a single light showing in any of its windows, nor any sign of a face looking out.

“Is anyone here going to be glad to see us?” said Molly.

“Almost certainly not,” I said. “Black Heir is currently even more than usually annoyed with my family since the organisation lost out on taking control of the Department of Uncanny, when Charles and Emily decided to take it on. Black Heir sees that as a Drood takeover . . .”

“Charles and Emily . . . ,” said Molly. “Good people. Are your parents back with your family?”

“Yes, and no,” I said. “Which I think says more about my family than it does about my parents. But you can bet Mum and Dad will make
sure that Uncanny soon establishes its own identity and agenda, entirely separate from the Droods. Someone has to be the conscience for my family.”

“I thought that was you,” said Molly.

“I won’t always be here,” I said.

Molly stopped so abruptly, I had to stop with her. She glared at me, eyes bright with angry tears she refused to shed.

“I can’t do this, Eddie! I can’t keep on doing this . . . Pretending you’re all right, and that everything’s going to be all right. I just can’t!”