“Up your poop chute, Knight,” said the Goat.
“I may be able to contribute something useful here,” said Natasha. Something in her voice made us all settle down and look at her. She smiled demurely. It wasn’t very convincing. “Crow Lee left a . . . living will. The Project got its hands on a copy. Best not to ask how. I brought it with me. So, if you’re all sitting comfortably . . . brace yourselves, darlings.”
She produced something I immediately recognised as a memory crystal, and muttered over it; and just like that Crow Lee himself was standing at the far end of the table, smiling ghoulishly. A large and overbearing presence in a long white Egyptian gown, with a shaven head and bushy black eyebrows, and hypnotically fierce eyes. Broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, huge hands folded together before him. A nasty, despicable, fascinatingly ugly man, with a presence that wouldn’t let you look away, even in death.
“If you are hearing this, then I have been murdered,” said Crow Lee’s image. “So, I leave the world my Inheritance. My greatest achievement, for those with the guts to go after it, and the will to master it. Whoever gains control of my Inheritance will have control over the world. Or, the means for its destruction. I have no way of knowing who will hear this—hopefully a great many people, and organisations. By all means, fight for the prize I give you. Tear civilisation apart to get your hands on my Inheritance. I promise you—it will be worth it.”
He was still laughing when the image snapped off.
“Typical of the man,” said the Armourer. “Do you have any further information, Natasha?”
“Not as such,” she said, making the memory crystal disappear. “We have been assembling files on those most likely to go after the Inheritance.”
“Including yourself, of course,” said J.C.
“Well, of course, darling. But all we really have are theories, and educated guesses. We have interrogated a great many people, but to little useful effect. The possibilities do seem . . . seriously scary.”
“But what is Crow Lee’s greatest achievement?” I said. “Something he made, or had made for him, perhaps? We could be talking magic, or technology, or just his personal cache of secrets. I mean, he dabbled in everything at one time or another.”
I looked to the Armourer, but he just shrugged. “Given some of the things Crow Lee’s been known to use, the possibilities are worryingly endless. Information bombs, to rewrite reality. Words of Power, that could blow the whole world apart like a firecracker in a rotten apple. Blackmail information, to manipulate the movers and shakers in power. And let us not forget, he was responsible for the removal of Drood Hall from this world, for a time. No one’s ever been able to do that before. Of course, we have since put new protections in place to ensure that can never happen again.”
“Oh, of course,” said Natasha. “Perish the thought.”
“I can promise this much,” said Sir Parsifal. “I can declare, on behalf of the London Knights, that anyone found in possession of the Crow Lee Inheritance will be punished severely.”
“Typical Knight,” said Dead Boy. “Still trying to bully the world into playing nicely.”
“I’m sure the direct approach of the London Knights will be enough to put off all the right people,” said the Armourer, diplomatically, “but, you’re hardly ever here, are you? The Knights are always riding off to do battle, in worlds and dimensions beyond our own. You can make as many threats as you like, Sir Parsifal, but I fear it will fall to the Droods to back them up. And as you already said, we’re all stretched a bit thin, these days. We can’t be everywhere.”
“Don’t look at me,” said J. C. Chance. “The Carnacki Institute exists to deal with threats from the Hereafter, not earthly villains with guns and armies.”
“Right,” said Dead Boy, nodding quickly. “Half the Nightside’s already out looking for the Inheritance, with the other half standing by, to steal it from the first half when they find it. I’m sure the Authorities will do what they can. But that usually involves letting both sides fight it out, and then kicking the crap out of the winners. And I wouldn’t be too ready to trust the Authorities, either. This is the Nightside we’re talking about . . .”
“The Nightside will do what it always does,” said Sir Parsifal. “Unleash the hounds of Hell, and the Devil take the hindmost. And no one in that unholy place will give a damn about all the innocents killed in the process.”
“If they were really innocent they wouldn’t be in the Nightside,” said Dead Boy.
“You were innocent, once,” said Bruin Bear, putting a paw on the cold dead hand beside him. “You weren’t always Dead Boy.”
“That was a long time ago,” said Dead Boy. “I don’t remember.”
“If the Inheritance should turn up in Shadows Fall, we will sit on it until someone worthy comes along to claim it,” said Bruin Bear.
“Right,” said the Sea Goat. “No one messes with us. We’ve got things in Shadows Fall that make the Inheritance look like a wet paper towel.”
“Strangely, that doesn’t reassure me,” said J.C.
“If the Crowley Project should acquire the Inheritance, you can all go to Hell,” Natasha Chang said sweetly. “By the direct route.”
“None of this deals with the main problem,” the Armourer said severely. “How to prevent the war for the Inheritance from breaking into the everyday world. That would be bad news for all of us. The Droods have discussed this, at length, and we feel we have a plan that will work.”
“Of course you do,” said Sir Parsifal. “Droods always have a plan. And, their own agenda.”
“It seems to us,” said the Armourer, pressing on determinedly, “that the best way to stop all these people from fighting and intriguing over the Inheritance, is to destroy their economic base. You can’t run a war without funds. Guns and armies cost serious money. So you can bet they’ll all be looking to the Shadow Bank for loans and support. But, if the Bank should happen to be in such a delicate position that it can’t afford to lend the money . . .”
“That would keep everyone quiet, until we could track down the Inheritance ourselves, and neutralise it,” said Sir Parsifal.
“Now, that’s what I call lateral thinking!” said J.C. “But how are we going to undermine a huge organisation like the Shadow Bank? I mean, they’re big! Really big! And very well protected.”
“Our plan is to infiltrate this year’s Casino Infernale,” said the Armourer. “Our agents will be Eddie and Molly. They will play the games, win big, and break the bank at the Casino, and thereby fatally weaken the Shadow Bank, who depend on these games for a large part of their income.”
“Oh, terrific!” I said. “When were you planning to tell Molly and me about this amazing plan that will almost certainly get both of us killed?”
“I just did,” said the Armourer.
Sir Parsifal rose suddenly to his feet, and glared coldly round the table. “If anyone is going to Casino Infernale and bring down the Shadow Bank, it must be a London Knight. Because only we are true and pure of heart enough not to be tempted. Money means nothing to us. We are Knights of the Round Table, of the Company of King Arthur Returned! We can be trusted.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But can you play cards?”
Sir Parsifal turned the full force of his glare on me. “Even the least of us is more trustworthy than a Drood who ran away from his family to serve that most despicable of creatures, the Regent of Shadows. Or a pagan witch who changes sides more often than her underwear.”
I was immediately up on my feet and facing him. I knew what he was doing, but I had no choice.
“None of you would last ten minutes at Casino Infernale, Sir Knight, because you know nothing about gambling. About when to bluff, or take a risk. And you’d be spotted the minute you walked through the door, because you don’t know how to pass. This is a job for a secret agent, not a knight in shining armour. And what’s more, keep your mind off my girlfriend’s underwear.”