“Now, what is that little bitch doing here?” said Molly.
“You know her?” I said.
“Natasha Chang? Hell, yes. She still owes me money. She’s a field agent for the Crowley Project. . . . Oh come on, Eddie, you must have heard of them! Nasty people, doing nasty things, always for a profit. Natasha is a Project field agent. A supernatural terrorist, serial nightclubber, rampant despoiler of fit young men who should know better, and eater of souls. And no, I am not even a little bit exaggerating. She eats ghosts, and digests their memories. I worked with her, a few times. On . . . matters of mutual interest.”
“My girlfriend has a past,” I said solemnly. “The horror, the horror . . . What’s this Natasha Chang doing here?”
“The Crowley Project was originally founded by Crow Lee,” said the Armourer. “The gaps in your background knowledge never cease to amaze me, Eddie. The Project kicked him out, eventually, so they could go their own unpleasant way . . . but they still know more about Crow Lee than anyone else. They kept him under constant surveillance, probably in self-defence. Which is why they have a seat at the table today. Because if anyone knows for sure what the Crow Lee Inheritance actually is, it’s them.”
“This is going to be a very noisy meeting, isn’t it?” I said.
“Oh, you have no idea,” said the Armourer. “We’ll probably have to clean blood and hair off the walls before we can leave.”
It took them all a while to arrive and assemble in the oversized entrance hall of the Martian Tombs. Sir Parsifal was the first, of course. The door in the cliff face didn’t even wait for him to touch it, just slid rapidly upwards to get out of his way as he strode heavily forward. I sort of got the impression that if it hadn’t, he would have walked right through it. There’s no doubt the London Knights are the good guys, but they do like to think of themselves as the biggest dog on the block.
Sir Parsifal slammed to a halt at the foot of the long table, and studied us silently through the Y-shaped slit in the front of his helmet. His eyes were cold and grey and unyielding. He dismissed Molly and me immediately, and gave all his attention to the Armourer, who bowed politely. The Knight inclined his head slightly, and then removed his helmet to reveal a hard-faced man in his early thirties, with a blunt square head, a bald pate, and no eyebrows. His mouth was set in a thin straight line.
“I greet you, Jack Drood, in the name of King Arthur Returned,” said Sir Parsifal. His voice was polite, but distant.
“I greet you, Sir Parsifal, in the name of Drood,” said the Armourer. “Be welcome to this Summit Meeting. Allow me to present . . .”
“I know who they are,” said the Knight. “The witch, and the renegade Drood.”
He didn’t seem at all pleased to meet me, so I made a point of giving him my most friendly smile, while holding Molly firmly by the elbow so she wouldn’t throw herself at him. The Knight had already looked away.
“Please be seated,” said the Armourer, “while we wait for the others. Refreshments are available.”
“Not while I’m on duty,” said Sir Parsifal. His mouth twitched slightly. Apparently that had been his idea of a joke. “I do not eat or drink, in enemy territory.”
“I thought this was supposed to be neutral ground,” I said. “That’s why we came all this way.”
Sir Parsifal kept his gaze fixed on the Armourer. “No such thing, boy. What are you teaching them at the Hall these days, Armourer?”
“You two know each other?” I said.
“Back in my field agent days,” said the Armourer. “Everyone knows everyone, out in the field.”
“That was back in the sixties,” I said. “You don’t look nearly old enough, Sir Parsifal.”
“I don’t believe in aging,” said the Knight. “Do enough of it, and you die.”
His mouth twitched again. Another joke. He was going to be a barrel of laughs, this one; I could tell.
I let go of Molly’s elbow. She was still glaring daggers at the Knight, but even she had enough sense not to take on a Knight of the Round Table. Unless she had to. The London Knights exist to protect our world from Outside threats. They’ve fought off alien invasions, other-dimensional incursions, and gone head-to-head with gods and monsters and everything in between. And they’ve never lost a war. The Droods exist to protect Humanity from Earthly threats; the London Knights take care of everything else.
And on the few occasions when we overlap, we’re all terribly careful to be very polite, and hide the fact that we can’t stand each other.
“We had to take on the Hungry Gods ourselves,” I said, just a bit pointedly. “Where were you guys when we needed you?”
“We can’t be everywhere, boy,” said Sir Parsifal. “It’s a big universe. We’re stretched thin, these days.”
The steampunk spacesuit arrived next, stomping in through the entrance tunnel. Steam hissed loudly from the joints, and the lead boots made loud jarring sounds on the crystal floor. The suit waved cheerfully at us all, as the man inside peered out through the metal grille on the front of his diving helmet. And then the whole suit split open, right down the middle, from top to bottom, and the Ghost Finder stepped out. The suit crumpled to the floor, and lay there, as the man from inside strode forward to join us at the table.
Tall and dark and handsome, elegant and arrogant, in a blindingly white suit, the Ghost Finder had a rock star’s mane of really long dark hair, and wore sunglasses so dark I was amazed he could see through them. He grinned cockily at all of us, as though he just knew he was the one we’d all been waiting for.
“J. C. Chance, Ghost Finder Extraordinaire, at your service,” he said easily. “Don’t all cheer at once, just throw money. I represent the Carnacki Institute, for my sins; officially licensed arse-kickers of the supernatural. Our motto: We don’t take any shit from the Hereafter. Or anyone else, for that matter. We exist to investigate ghosts, and Do Something about them. I recognise everyone here, of course. We have extensive files, at the Institute. On everyone who matters and a great many who might. Hello, Molly. Been a while, hasn’t it?”
I glowered at her. “Is this another of your dodgy exes?”
“Oh, please,” said Molly. “Him? I wouldn’t piss down his throat if his lungs were on fire. We just . . . worked together, a few times. That’s all. Hello, J.C. Play nice, or I’ll tell everyone what your initials really stand for.”
“I stand for pretty much anything,” said J.C.
And then he took off his sunglasses, and looked around. His eyes blazed with a fierce golden light. He studied the massive chamber as though he was looking right through the crystal walls, at what lay behind, and when he turned suddenly back to look at me I actually shuddered, for a moment. There was something inhuman about that gaze. He slipped his sunglasses back into place, and we all relaxed, just a little.
“Those are seriously spooky eyes,” I said. “What happened?”
“Laser surgery,” said J.C. “I’m suing.”