CHAPTER THREE
Take a Chance on Me
We came home from Mars to find the old chapel waiting for us like a familiar pair of arms. It felt disturbing, but delightful, to go so quickly from an alien world to a place of such pleasant familiarity. The Armourer and I armoured down, and Molly sent her bark sideways again. She looked fine, but my uncle Jack looked . . . tired. Older. The three of us just stood together for a while, getting our mental breath back. Because even people like us need to take time out, now and again, to recover our bearings and recharge our batteries.
“Will everyone else get home okay?” I said, finally.
“Oh, sure,” said the Armourer. “And the Tombs will shut themselves down.”
“What if someone decides they want to hang around?” said Molly. “Dig out a few secrets?”
“The Tombs can look after themselves,” said the Armourer. “You really don’t want to outstay your welcome there.”
“Louise did,” said Molly. “She said she liked it there.”
“Yes, but she’s weird,” the Armourer said kindly.
“What about Natasha Chang?” I said.
“I’m sure someone will give her a lift home, if she needs one,” said the Armourer.
“I wouldn’t worry about her,” said Molly. “Take a lot more than a bottle over the head to slow that one down.”
“Why would anyone want to help her, when she was ready to kill us all?” I said.
“Now, that was always on the cards,” said the Armourer. “She is Crowley Project, after all. Bad Deeds R Us, where betrayal comes as standard. But . . . no one ever bears grudges over what happens at Summit Meetings. Not when you might need to work with them some day.”
“What happens on Mars, stays on Mars,” I said solemnly.
“Well, quite,” said the Armourer.
And then he insisted we all beat our clothing, and stamp our feet hard, to shake off any Martian dust we might have picked up. He crouched down, his knees creaking loudly, and carefully brushed up what few grains he could find, before dropping it all into a small specimen jar, and sealing it very carefully. He straightened up, slowly. I went to offer a helping hand, and he stopped me with a hard look. I should have known better. He tucked the jar away, somewhere about his person.
“I’ll study that later, then store it somewhere safe,” he said happily. The Armourer does love his work.
“Excuse me,” I said, “but what’s so dangerous about Martian dust?”
“I don’t know,” the Armourer said darkly. “That’s why I’m going to study it, and store it somewhere safe.”
“You said . . . all the Martians are dead and gone,” I said. “Long gone . . . so who else could there have been in the Tombs, watching us?”
“Beats me,” said the Armourer.
“I could always ask Louise,” said Molly, just a bit threateningly.
“Nothing lives in the Martian Tombs,” said the Armourer, firmly.
“So what the hell did J. C. Chance See, with his horrible eyes?” I said. “Martian ghosts?”
“God, I hope not,” said the Armourer. “Help me with this Door, Eddie. I’m not as young as I used to be.”
Together, we pushed Merlin’s Door into place against the chapel wall, and the moment we stepped back the Door just faded into the wall and disappeared, leaving nothing behind but an expanse of unbroken stonework. The Armourer sniffed loudly, turned away, and led us out of the old chapel. I was the last out, and I hesitated in the doorway, looking back. It would have been good to see the ghost of old Jacob, one last time. But there was no trace of him anywhere. There are miracles in my world, but rarely the ones you want.
I was just starting to turn away when the old television set suddenly turned itself on, and there on the screen was a ghostly image, grinning out at me.
“Jacob?” I said.
The television shut itself down. The screen was blank, the image gone—if it had ever really been there. It might have been him, or it might have been one last practical joke, arranged before he left. Jacob always did like to have the last laugh.
I left the old chapel, and heaved the door back into place. The ivy waved good-bye as I walked away.
The Armourer led us back through Drood Hall, heading for the Armoury. Like an old horse with the scent of the stables in his nostrils. He was clearly tired now, just plodding along with his shoulders bowed and his head down. People hurried back and forth through the corridors and hallways, and after a while I began to notice that they were looking at me. Not the usual Oh God it’s him back again . . . but more . . . sad, concerned. As though they knew something I didn’t and were commiserating in advance. I would have liked to stop and question some of them, but I didn’t like the way the Armourer was looking. The trip to Mars had taken a lot out of him, and I wanted him back in the Armoury where he belonged, as soon as possible. Hopefully, the familiar surroundings would invigorate him again.
Molly didn’t give a damn how tired he was. She kept badgering him about the Regent, and demanding the Armourer return control of the Merlin Glass to me, so we could get back to the Department of the Uncanny, and she could pin the Regent to the wall till she got some answers out of him. The Armourer finally had enough, and turned his old head sharply to glare at her.
“The Regent isn’t at the Department, just now. He’s gone to France.”
“What?” said Molly. “He didn’t say anything to us . . . what the hell is he doing in France?”
“He went some time back, to prepare the way for our assault on Casino Infernale,” said the Armourer.
“Why would the head of the Department of the Uncanny intrude on our mission?” I said. “And why has he gone personally, instead of sending his own people?” I was missing something here. I could tell.
“He had to go himself,” said the Armourer, “because your parents have been at Casino Infernale for some time. Playing the games, putting pressure on the bank. Setting things up for you.”
“But why is the Department of the Uncanny getting involved with Drood business?” I insisted, honestly confused.
“This is Summit business,” said the Armourer. “My father, and your parents, are working with us on this case.”
“Because . . . no one ever really leaves the family?” I said.
“You’re learning, Eddie,” said the Armourer.
Molly made a rude noise. “How is it you know so much about the Regent’s business?”
“He’s my dad,” said the Armourer. “We keep in touch; always have. Even though we couldn’t tell you, Eddie.”
“Yes . . .” I said. “We are going to have words about that, Uncle Jack.”
“It was for your own good, Eddie. Your protection.”
“That whole We know what’s best for you attitude is one of the main reasons I ran away from this family, first chance I got,” I said.
“I feel the same way myself, sometimes,” said the Armourer. “We will talk later, Eddie. About many things. I promise.”
Back in the Armoury, everything looked much the same. Except for the bits that had exploded or caught fire in our absence. Sometimes I don’t think of the Armoury as a scientific laboratory, more as evolution in action. It was raining very heavily in one corner of the Armoury, complete with thunder and lightning. A bit much just to test a new kind of umbrella. The Armourer seemed pleased to be back on his own territory again; stumbling along, not hurrying, smiling amiably about him at lab assistants who were usually much more preoccupied with whatever it was that was going horribly wrong right in front of them.
The Armourer finally sank down into his favourite old chair, complete with extra cushions and safety straps, in front of his personal workstation. He let out a long slow sigh of relief.