“Are you all right, Molly?” said Strange. “You seem…”
“She’s fine,” I said.
“Yes,” said Molly. “I’m fine.”
“So,” I said. “Truman has the Soul of Albion. For that, he must have had the active cooperation of someone in the family. Any ideas, Sarjeant?”
“There are still members of the Zero Tolerance faction working openly within the family,” the Sarjeant said slowly. “Some could still be maintaining ties with Truman. There are those within the faction who see him as a means of reclaiming power and position within the family.”
“Including the Matriarch?” I said, and he nodded reluctantly.
“And where do you stand on the matter, Sarjeant?” said Harry.
He drew himself up to his full height, his scarred, disfigured face cold and forbidding. “I protect the family, against anything that threatens it.”
“The Matriarch…” I said thoughtfully. “Dear Grandmother Martha… she could have provided Truman with the necessary Words to unlock the protections around the Soul.”
“She could have,” said the Sarjeant. “But I have no evidence to that effect, or I would have done something. In my opinion, Truman sees the Soul as his ace in the hole, to protect him from the Invaders should they turn against him.”
“I’m getting more from Callan,” Strange said abruptly. “I really think you need to hear this, Eddie.”
“Okay, patch him through,” I said. “Callan, this had better be good.”
“Depends on your definition of good,” said Callan. “Truman’s found out we’re here. And rather then destroy us immediately, he wants me to pass on a message to you. Namely, that he is ready to destroy the Soul of Albion, unless the Drood family puts itself under his control. Specifically, he wants access to and control of the forbidden weapons held in the Armageddon Codex. Apparently he believes he can use them to force the Invaders out of our reality, once he’s used them to take control of the world. The idiot… I really would like permission to withdraw now, please. I don’t like him knowing exactly where we are. I can practically feel the vultures gathering.”
“You stay right where you are,” I said. “Talk to Truman, promise him anything; stall him. As long as he thinks there’s still a chance, he won’t do anything. I’ll get back to you as soon as we’ve made a decision. Strange, cut him off.”
“He’s still talking to the War Room,” said Strange. “Though shouting is probably more accurate. Dear me, such language…”
“First things first,” I said. “We have to find out who the traitors are in the family.”
“We don’t have time for a witch hunt,” said Harry. “Not when we have so many more important decisions to make.”
“Well, you would say that, Harry,” I said. “I think I’ll start by having a nice little chat with the Matriarch. I think she’ll talk to me, once I tell her about Sebastian.”
“You can’t see her,” said Harry. “She’s ill. She’s not seeing anybody.”
“She’ll see me,” I said. “Now, Strange, show me what the family’s been doing to fight the Invaders during my unintended absence. Just the highlights, for now. I’ll catch up on the details as we go along. Just show me what I need to know.”
Visions appeared, emerging from Strange’s crimson glow. Shifting scenes of golden-armoured family in running fights with Loathly One drones, in the nightmarish streets of ghoulvilles. I saw dozens of armoured forms taking on hundreds of drones and killing everything that moved that wasn’t family. The drones were often horribly misshapen, monsters with only the barest touch of humanity left in them. The Droods beat them down with golden fists and tore the drones limb from limb. A quick death was the only mercy they had left to offer. They stormed through the narrow streets, their golden armour shining bright in the sharp, painful light of the ghoulville. They destroyed buildings, tearing them apart and pulling them down through brute strength, to be sure they hadn’t missed anyone hiding inside, and afterwards they set fire to the ruins.
Whole towns went up in flames. They say fire purifies.
Sometimes the drones were already dead and decaying, only kept moving by the unnatural energies within them. Sometimes they looked just like you or me. They came out into the streets, pleading and crying and protesting their innocence. But they were so far gone they’d forgotten how to sound and act as people do. Especially the children. The armoured Droods killed them all. They had to be Loathly Ones, or they wouldn’t be in a ghoulville.
Sometimes family members dropped their armour, to vomit, or cry, or just sit on a pavement, holding themselves and rocking back and forth.
We’ve never seen ourselves as killers. That’s not the Drood way. We’ve always preferred to operate behind the scenes, making small changes here and there … to prevent the family as a whole having to do things like this. Secret wars are one thing; mass slaughter quite another. But we’re Droods, and we’ve always been able to do the hard, necessary things. To protect humanity.
I just hoped we didn’t get a taste for it.
I saw my family destroy towers in the ghoulvilles; huge, unnatural alien structures, part technological and part organic. Sometimes the towers screamed as they fell. They fell and they fell, and yet somehow there were always more of them…
The visions stopped. I stood silently, thinking. The Sarjeant cleared his throat in a meaningful way.
“We are further handicapped by our need to keep all of this secret from the general populace. They can’t be allowed to know what’s happening. We’re keeping politicians and governments informed, to a point, and they’re all cooperating. To one extent or another. Worldwide panic and chaos is in no one’s best interests.”
“Now you’ve seen how bad it is,” said Harry. “The odds we’ve been facing. Maybe Truman’s right. Maybe we should open the Armageddon Codex.”
“No,” I said. “Not yet.”
“Tell me you’ve got a really good plan,” said the Sarjeant.
“Well,” I said. “I’ve got a plan.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Truth, and Other Things, Will Out
I threw everyone out, as fast as I could without being too obvious about it. I sent Giles Deathstalker away with the Sarjeant-at-Arms, to discuss new training programs for the family. Between the two of them, I’d bet on our army against anyone else’s. Harry and Roger stalked off all on their own, no doubt to stir up new mischief somewhere else. Neither of them even looked back at me as they left. And after a discreet pause, Molly and I said good-bye to Freddie, and to Strange, and we went looking for some empty place where we could talk safely together, in private.
People looked at us as we walked through the corridors. No one actually cheered or booed, they just watched us and kept their thoughts to themselves. Most just looked like they were waiting for someone to tell them what to do for the best. I knew exactly how they felt.
Molly and I finally ended up in the main dining room at the back of the Hall. It was completely deserted, in between shifts, the rows of tables standing silent and waiting under their pristine white tablecloths. It was hard to believe that eighteen months has passed since we were last here. Molly and I sat down facing each other, and I suddenly realised I didn’t have a single clue what to say. What do you say when the woman you love is dying?
“It’s not like we haven’t been here before,” Molly said kindly. “Remember when you were infected by the strange matter, and we both thought you only had a few days to live? We didn’t sit around crying our eyes out; we just got on with business. We survived that. We’ll survive this.”
“How do you feel?” I said. “I mean, really; do you feel any…different?”
“I can feel…something else inside me,” she said slowly. “Like after a large meal. A feeling of… heaviness. As though there’s more of me now. My standard magical protections are containing it, for the moment.” She smiled briefly. “But then, I would say that, wouldn’t I? If I were already a Loathly One drone, in mind as well as body.”