“What have you done, Rafe?” I said.
He didn’t move a muscle, studying me carefully. “He shouldn’t have tried to stop me leaving.”
“He was your colleague. He was your friend. He trusted you!”
“He trusted Rafe. And I’m not Rafe. He never mattered to me. He’s not one of us.”
“One of you,” I said, sick to my stomach. “An Immortal.”
“Exactly. If you’re wise, you won’t try to stop me leaving. My work here is done.”
“Over my dead body; traitor.”
“My plan exactly,” said Rafe.
There was a gun in his hand. A large bulky pistol of a kind that sent a chill through me.
“Yes,” said Rafe. “The gun that fires strange matter bullets. This is the actual original, that the Armourer made for the Grey Fox. The one he trusted me to destroy. Of course, I couldn’t do that. Far too useful. And I have a sentimental attachment, to anything that can kill Droods. I got this to my people, and they used it as a template, to make more. Though it took our scientists years to work out its secrets. The Armourer does good work. He really does have a first-class mind, for someone who isn’t an Immortal. Step aside, Eddie. You don’t have to die here. Just disappear back through your useful little toy, and you can come back again for poor William when I’m gone. And you’ll never see me again.”
“I’ve faced a far better man than you, with that gun,” I said. “And I’m still here.”
“Oh, Eddie,” said Rafe. “You never met a man like me. I’m an Immortal.”
“And I’m a Drood. Anything, for the family. Remember?”
I was ready to jump him. I knew the odds weren’t good, knew that even if I could get my armour up in time, the strange matter bullets would punch right through it, but I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t let Rafe get away with it. I just couldn’t. I was bracing myself for the jump when Ethel suddenly materialised in the Old Library. A fierce red glare filled the air—a heavy overwhelming presence, like a never-ending clap of thunder. Rafe cowered away from it, and then cried out and threw his gun away, steam rising from his hand where the gun had burned it. The red glare concentrated around the gun, and it faded away to nothing.
How dare you! said Ethel, her voice so large it roared inside my head. It must have been worse for Rafe; he clapped both hands to his ears, as though he could keep it out. You stole my substance from me, my very existence in this world! You took it by force!
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” said Rafe.
Sorry isn’t enough! Give back your torc. You are not worthy of it. There was a pause, and then Ethel spoke again, in her usual tone of voice. Eddie, this is rather odd. I can’t take his torc, because he doesn’t have one. That thing around his neck is a fake.
“He’s not a real Drood,” I said. “He just looks like one.”
Rafe turned to run, and immediately I was upon him. I clubbed him to the ground with a single blow, and he hit the floor hard. I kicked him in the ribs, and all the breath went out of him. I kicked him again, just because it felt so good. Rafe cried out, and curled around his pain. I reached down, grabbed his shirt front, and pulled him up so I could stick my face right into his.
“Where’s Rafe? What happened to the real Rafe?”
“You’ll never know,” said Rafe. His voice was sharp and defiant, but he couldn’t meet my gaze.
“Search the Hall, Ethel,” I said. “See if you can find any more of these bastards with the false torcs. If you do, tell the Sarjeant; let him deal with them. Go.”
The harsh red glare shut off in a second, and the usual calm golden glow of the Old Library returned. I let go of Rafe, and he slumped back onto the floor.
“You’re too late,” he said. “They’re all gone.”
“Well,” I said. “You would say that, wouldn’t you?”
Rafe suddenly stopped being all beaten and broken, and lunged forward across the Library floor. He knelt over William’s unconscious form, pulled the head back and pressed a knife against the Librarian’s throat. I’d started after him, but stopped abruptly as I saw a thin trail of blood trickle down William’s throat, as the knife’s edge just parted the skin.
“Get out of here, Eddie,” said Rafe, smiling again. “And tell everyone else to stay out, until I’m safely gone. Or you’ll have no Librarians left at all.”
“I can’t let you go, Rafe,” I said steadily. “Or whoever you really are. You’re a clear and present danger to the whole family.”
“I’ll kill him!”
“He’d understand. Anything, for the family.”
We looked at each other, both of us ready to do what we had to; and then Rafe looked round sharply. He saw something, and shrank back horrified, the knife falling away from William’s throat. Rafe’s face was horribly pale, his eyes focused on something so terrible, something so bad he had no thought for anything else. He scrambled backwards away from William, making low whimpering noises.
I looked where Rafe was looking, and couldn’t see a damned thing. Just the books on the shelves, and the steady golden glow of Library light. Rafe’s back slammed up against a stack, and he cried out miserably when he realised he couldn’t retreat any farther. His wide eyes were locked on something, and he was making a high whining noise now. I moved forward, to put myself between Rafe and William, but Rafe no longer cared about either of us. He threw his knife away, and made pitiful, childish go-away motions with his hands. I raised my Sight and looked hard, but I still couldn’t See anything.
“Can’t you see?” said Rafe, in a harsh, strained voice. “Can’t you see
that? It’s coming for me! Do something! Don’t let it get me!” I could feel all the hackles rising on the back of my neck, in response to the stark terror in Rafe’s voice. He was definitely seeing something, and given what the sight of it was doing to him, I was glad I couldn’t see what he was seeing. I moved cautiously forward, grabbed up the knife from the floor, and Rafe scrabbled quickly behind me, putting me between him and whatever he saw coming for him. William had been convinced there was Something living down here in the Old Library with him; Something that watched him, or watched over him. Rafe clutched at me like a frightened, desperate child.
“Don’t let it get me,” he said, in a small broken voice. “Please. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”
“Come with me,” I said. “I’ll get you out of here. But you give me any trouble, and I’ll just walk away and leave you here.”
“Yes. Anything. Please; I can’t stand it . . .”
I stood up straight, and addressed the space before us. “I am Edwin Drood. I speak for the family. Who’s there?” There was no response. The light didn’t flicker, and the shadows were just shadows. I still couldn’t See anything. Rafe stopped whimpering suddenly, the sound cut off in his throat. I looked back, and saw him turn his head slowly, as though watching Something move across the Library and then disappear behind the stacks. He collapsed, shuddering with relief.
“What was it?” I said. “What did you see?”
Rafe shook his head. He didn’t want to say, as though just naming or describing it might be enough to summon it back. Finally, he whispered one word.
“White . . .”
I left him sitting huddled up against a stack, clutching his knees to his chest, looking around with wide, shocked eyes. I used the Merlin Glass to summon medical help for William. A doctor in a blood-smeared white coat came through, and examined William quickly but thoroughly. He ran gentle fingers over William’s broken head, while shooting me an accusing glance.
“I do have other patients to attend to, you know. Other people who need my help. This is nothing serious. Bad, but fixable. Upstairs, we’re so packed we’re running triage, sorting out the save-able from the hopeless. The Librarian can wait.”