We all looked at Peter, who shrugged. “You’re right. Grandfather isn’t going to cough up his precious prize for an incomplete story. I’m in.”
“Just how much do you know about elves, Eddie?” said Honey. “I know enough to be seriously worried about this.”
“Right,” said Peter. “The best way to win a fight with an elf is to run like fun before it even knows you’re there.”
We all looked at him.
“Thought you weren’t afraid of elves,” I said. “And just when did you come in contact with the Fae, in your time in industrial espionage?”
He shrugged angrily. “I get around. I hear things. Even in my business, Grandfather’s reputation follows me. Anything with even a trace of weird attached to it ends up on my plate. One of the reasons I’ve worked so hard to maintain a good distance between my world and his. All I ever wanted was a sane, sensible, normal life. It’s safer.
“I’ve heard about elves. But I don’t believe half of it.”
“Well, you’re about to get a crash course, the hard way,” said Honey. “Try not to cry.”
Peter sniffed loudly. “I think I liked it better when you were hitting me . . .”
“The Blue Fairy was a guest at the Fae Court just before he joined up with us,” I said. “According to him, there’d been some major upheavals there. He said Queen Mab is back, after centuries of exile, and sitting on the Ivory Throne. Which begs the question, what’s happened to Oberon and Titania? Has there been civil war in the Elven Lands? Who’s in, who’s out, who’s been horribly maimed and disfigured? Could make a big difference to how much we can reasonably hope to achieve. I mean, Oberon and Titania might have been flitty psychopaths with a really unpleasant sense of humour, but at least they were a known quantity. My family have been able to make deals with them in the past. Mab . . . is an unknown quantity.”
“Why was she exiled?” said Honey.
“No one knows,” said Walker. “The elves have never talked about it. I had heard Mab was back; we had an elf turn up in the Nightside, begging for sanctuary. Not that we could do much for him. Someone had turned the poor bastard inside out, all down one side . . . We killed him, eventually. As a kindness.”
“You really think we can get answers, maybe even concessions, out of the elves?” said Honey. “They never miss a chance to do us down! Pride’s all they’ve got left.”
“No,” Walker said immediately. “It’s . . . more complicated than that. Elves are always passing through the Nightside on some errand or other, and I’ve had my share of dealings with them. Can’t say I’ve ever got to know one; they’re just too different. They are honourable, in their way. It’s just not an even remotely human way. They admire courage, and boldness, and outright insanity. You really think you can make the elves do anything they don’t want to, Eddie?”
“Of course,” I said. “I’m a Drood.”
“This is all going to end in tears,” said Peter.
“Shut up, Peter,” said Honey.
“Queen Mab was still . . . away, in 1943,” I said. “So whatever happened to the Eldridge was due to Oberon and Titania. Maybe we can use that . . . The real question is, if the elves did take the ship, why did they let her go? The Eldridge looked like she’d been through a real fight, but even so, their weapons wouldn’t have been enough to hold off elves . . .”
“No,” said Honey, looking out over the water. “The real question is, is the soft spot still out there? Is the doorway still there? And if it is, can you open it, Eddie?”
“That’s three questions,” said Peter. “Ow! Damn it, Walker; that hurt!”
“Good,” said Walker. “It was meant to.”
“It’s like working with bloody kids,” I said, glaring about me. “Can we all please stick to the subject? All we need is a boat to get us out there, and I can do the rest. But I’m not taking any of you anywhere until I’m sure you’re taking this seriously. There is a really good chance the elves will kill us all on sight. They’ve been given good reason to respect the Droods, but they have very recent reasons to hate my guts.”
“Oh, wonderful,” said Peter. “This gets better all the time. What did you do, pee in their wishing well?”
“I killed a whole bunch of elven lords and ladies,” I said.
Honey and Walker looked at me sharply with what I liked to think was respect. Even Peter looked at me in a new way.
“I think I’ll get Langley to express-order us some Really Big Guns,” said Honey.
“Nice thought,” I said. “But they wouldn’t help.”
“Just how are you intending to force your way into the Sundered Lands?” said Walker. “I wasn’t sure such a thing was possible, even for the legendary Droods. Even if there is a soft spot . . .”
“Blue had a torc stolen from the Droods,” I said. “Though he never did learn how to operate it, or he’d still be alive. Anyway, after he died, I used a spell built into his elven breastplate to send him home. My armour remembers the spell, and I can use it to force open the soft spot.”
“I didn’t know your armour could do that,” said Walker.
“There’s lots of things it can do that people don’t know about,” I said airily.
But that wasn’t one of them. My armour is strange matter, not magic. Whole different thing. I had a different plan to get us through. When Blue stole his torc from us, he took it to the Fae Courts, and they put their mark upon it. When I absorbed Blue’s torc into my armour, those changes became a part of my strange matter too. Changes I could follow right back to their origin. I could break into the Elven Lands any time I chose.
So why did I lie to my companions? To mislead them and keep them off balance. To keep something to myself. In the spy game, you take your advantages where you can find them.
Honey used her CIA contacts to hire us a boat. It wasn’t much of a boat, just something to run tourists around in, but it was close at hand and we were in a hurry. And it wasn’t as if I was paying for it. The Hope Street was little more than a long paint-peeling cabin set over an antiquated motor, but it looked sound enough. Honey found a discarded captain’s hat, clapped it on her head, and took over the steering wheel as though she’d been born to it. Walker stepped gingerly aboard, poking things with the tip of his umbrella and then shaking his head sadly. Peter dithered on the dockside, reluctant to step aboard.
“You have got to be kidding,” he said unhappily. “Surely we can do better than this piece of shit?”
“It’s a perfectly seaworthy piece of shit,” Honey said firmly. “And that’s all that matters. We’re not even going out of sight of land, technically speaking. It is also the very best boat available . . . at such short notice.”
“You’re CIA,” said Peter, not unreasonably. “Couldn’t you just have commandeered something more reliable on the grounds of national security?”
“We are supposed to be keeping our heads down,” said Honey. “I start throwing phrases like that around, and the local authorities will be all over us. Now get on board, or I’ll have you keelhauled, or something equally nautical and distressing.”
“Should never have given them the vote,” muttered Peter, slouching on board.
I looked over Honey’s shoulder and studied the instrument panels set out before her. They looked reassuringly up-to-date and mostly functional.
“You sure you can run this thing?” I said, trying hard not to sound too dubious.
“What’s the matter?” said Honey, grinning broadly. “Is there something here the high-and-mighty Drood field agent can’t operate?”
“I can drive anything modern,” I said defensively. “But have you seen this tub’s engines? Wouldn’t surprise me to find they ran on coal. Or clockwork.”