Secret Histories 10: Dr. DOA (3 page)

“I’m going!” said Molly. “I just don’t like being taken for granted . . .”

“Trust me,” I said. “Nobody does. They wouldn’t dare.”

She beamed at me. “Somebody’s getting something special in their Christmas stocking . . .”

“If we could please stick to the subject,” said the Sarjeant. “We need to get the two of you moving as soon as possible.”

“Given our psychic department’s past record,” I said, “I can’t say I have much faith in psychic chaff. I wouldn’t trust that bunch to guess my weight.”

“I’m sure they know that,” said the Matriarch. “Now, since you’ll be operating inside a blind spot, you won’t be able to communicate with the family until the job is over.”

“You mean I won’t be bothered constantly by my family-mandated handler?” I said. “Gosh, what a pity; never mind. Now, what is the mission? Exactly? Information gathering, property damage, or blow up everything and sow the ground with salt afterwards?”

“Whatever you decide to be necessary,” the Matriarch said carefully. “It’s up to you to discover what’s really going on, and do whatever it takes to resolve the situation. Permanently.”

I looked steadily at her. “Do I need to remind you, I have sworn I won’t kill again. Even in the line of duty. I’m an agent, not an assassin.”

The Matriarch met my gaze unflinchingly. “I’m not asking you to kill, Eddie. Just asking you to spy.”

The Sarjeant moved over to the left-hand wall, and the creeping vines drew back to reveal a viewscreen. An image of a massive aircraft carrier appeared. In flight. It seemed to be sailing through the clouds quite serenely, without any obvious means of support. So high in the sky, there was no sign of ground anywhere.

“Cassandra Inc’s Secret Headquarters,” said the Sarjeant. “It remains constantly in flight, never landing. Held aloft by alien tech acquired on the black market.”

“While you’re there,” said the Matriarch, “find out what this tech is, and where Cassandra got it, so we can shut down the suppliers
as well. There’s far too much alien contraband out in the world these days. Drawing attention to itself. We’re supposed to be the only ones with that kind of advantage.”

“The unknown technology also seems to hide the Headquarters from the rest of the world,” said the Sarjeant. “No one knows where the ship is. Apart from us.”

“How do we know?” I said.

“Because we’re Droods,” said the Matriarch. “We know everything.”

“If that was true, this mission wouldn’t be necessary,” I said. “What you mean is, somebody talked.”

“Exactly,” said the Sarjeant. “Someone, and it really doesn’t matter who, bought future information from Cassandra. Whatever it was, it upset them so much, they ratted Cassandra out. And once we knew what to look for, nothing could hide Cassandra from us.”

“Our new Armourer is settling in nicely,” said the Matriarch. “Doing really good work.”

“How are we supposed to sneak onto an aircraft carrier zooming around in the stratosphere?” I said. “In fact, if it never lands . . . how does Cassandra get its own people on board?”

“Shuttles,” said the Sarjeant. “Our first thought was to have you join the next replacement crew, but that would take too long. We want this operation shut down now.”

“I suppose I could try the Merlin Glass,” I said. “Have it open a Door somewhere inside the carrier . . .”

“No,” the Matriarch said flatly. “We can’t trust that unnatural thing any more. Not after it’s let you down so many times. And besides, using that much power would almost certainly blast right through the psychic chaff. You’d be spotted immediately.”

“We never did find out why Merlin gave the Glass to the family in the first place,” said the Sarjeant. “As I am Head of Security for the family, that has bothered me for some time. The Trojan Horse insists on coming to mind.”

“Merlin Satanspawn didn’t exactly have a reputation for kindly deeds, outside of King Arthur’s court,” said Molly. “I mean, come on. The clue is in the name.”

“He was born to be the Antichrist,” I said, “but declined the position because of his friendship with Arthur. And because he believed in Arthur’s dream of Camelot. As far as I’m concerned, that buys him a lot of slack.”

“Only because you’ve never met him,” said Molly.

“And you have?” I said.

“Oh sure. In Strangefellows bar, in the Nightside. Of course, that was after he’d been dead for centuries.”

“What was he like?” said the Matriarch.

“Grumpy,” said Molly. She looked at me thoughtfully. “He did say a few things . . . Did he work with the Droods, back in the day?”

“Hard to know,” I said. “A lot of the family’s earliest records are missing. Some say deliberately destroyed. The family is supposed to have done some things, when it was starting out, that we’re better off not knowing. Supposedly, Merlin presented us with the Glass as a gift, for helping him take down Arthur’s greatest enemy. The evil sorceress, Morgana La Fae.”

“Really?” said Molly.

“Who knows?” I said. “Go back that far, and it’s as much legend as history.”

“If we could please return to the matter at hand?” said the Matriarch.

“Go ahead,” I said. “Don’t let me stop you.”

“You can’t use any transfer mechanism or teleport spell,” the Matriarch said firmly. “They’re all too susceptible to prediction. You’re going to have to do this the hard way, sneaking on board inside the blind spot. Don’t worry, Eddie. We have a plan worked out for you.”

And then she smiled. So did the Sarjeant-at-Arms.

“I’m really not going to like this, am I?” I said.

*   *   *

After the plan had been explained to me, and I’d stopped shouting and calmed down a bit, I escorted Molly out of Drood Hall and round the back. It didn’t help that she’d laughed so hard, she’d given herself hiccups. Though whether this was because the more extreme aspects of the plan appealed to her, or just because she loved seeing me lose my temper with my family, was open to question. The Hall grounds stretched away into the distance, with hardly anyone about. No snow or ice here, just perfectly manicured lawns under a darkening sky. The only sounds on the quiet afternoon were the cries of peacocks and the occasional howl from the gryphons. It was too cold for anyone to be out and about if they didn’t have to be.

“Where are we going?” said Molly. “I thought we had a plane to catch.”

“You’ve never seen where my family keeps its fleet of Blackhawke jets,” I said, cheering up a little. “You’re in for a treat.”

We’d only just rounded the corner of the Hall when the lawn before us split open and pulled apart, the two grassy sides rising up and up to reveal a vast hidden bunker deep underground. The straining of hidden mechanisms sounded loudly on the still winter air until the two huge green sides were practically vertical. And rising steadily into the air between them, on a gleaming hydraulic lift, was a sleek black futuristic jet. The Drood Blackhawke. Guaranteed to get you there in one hell of a hurry and not lose your luggage along the way. It slammed into position and stopped, and a bridge appeared so Molly and I could walk out over the long drop to board the plane. Molly squealed loudly and clapped her hands together delightedly.

“That is so Tracy Island!”

“Some ideas are just classic,” I said. “You’d be amazed what we keep under Stonehenge.”

The Blackhawke’s massive jet engines thundered to life as it readied itself for take-off, and I flinched away from the sheer volume. Molly
didn’t. The side door opened as I led Molly across the bridge, and a stairway descended. Molly all but danced up the steps. I’ve travelled on the family jets so often, a lot of the thrill has worn off, but I enjoyed Molly’s reaction. She stopped just before the open door and looked back at me.

“What about the runway?”

“Doesn’t need one,” I said. “Vertical take-off.”

“This just gets better and better. Your family has all the best toys!”

Inside the plane it was all very comfortable, even luxurious. The urgency of the situation meant we got the whole cabin to ourselves, and we could take our pick of the rows of empty seats. Molly took her time selecting a seat, before finally settling on one roughly in the centre.
Safer,
she said vaguely. She sat down by the window, and I sat down beside her. I prefer an aisle seat—gives me room to stretch my legs.

“Doesn’t this beat having to hang around an airport for three hours for security checks?” I said. “There’s only so much duty free you can shoplift before you get bored.”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Molly. “It takes a lot of effort and some major-league disguise spells to get me through airport security these days. I may have given up being a supernatural terrorist, but some people just can’t let it go . . . I stick to teleport spells and transfer Gates these days. Less harm to the environment, and a lot harder to intercept.”

The pilot’s voice came over the intercom. That calm, relaxed,
Never mind an engine’s just fallen off the wing everything’s fine
voice that all pilots have to have. I think it’s a law.

“This is Elliot, your pilot for this flight. Welcome aboard, Eddie and Molly. Make yourselves comfortable. It’s going to take us at least two hours to get to the other side of the world. No cabin crew, no complimentary drinks, no point complaining. We’re in a hurry. Not expecting any real turbulence, but if things should get a little shaky, try to get some of it into the bags provided. I’ll let you know when we’ve arrived, so don’t bother me.”

“And people wonder why there are no Drood diplomats,” I said.

“No they don’t,” Molly assured me. “Are there any magazines?”

“Just the family in-house organ,” I said, pulling the latest issue out of the seat holder in front of me. “The
Drood Times
. Packed full of family chat, helpful articles, and inspirational thoughts. Ghastly beyond measure.”

Molly took it from me anyway, just to be contrary. The front cover had a carefully posed photo portrait of the Matriarch with her new look, and the tag,
A NEW MATRIARCH MEA
NS A NEW DAWN FOR TH
E FAMILY
! Molly leafed quickly through the glossy pages, curled a lip in disbelief, and tossed the thing to one side.

“Lots of people do that,” I said.

“Are you ever in it?” said Molly.

“Only as a dire warning,” I said solemnly. “Apparently, I am a bad influence.”

“I am so proud of you,” said Molly.

There is also an entirely unofficial house organ, called the
Drood Inquirer.
Produced infrequently, very much in secret, and circulated from hand to hand when no one’s looking. Full of scandalous gossip, tales told out of school, and all kinds of things the higher levels of the family would rather the rest didn’t know about. It keeps being shut down, and resurfacing almost immediately.

I have been known to contribute the odd piece, now and again.

“Well,” I said. “So much for my family. Any news from your sisters? Has Isabella blown up anything big, or Louisa killed anyone particularly important?”

“They’re around,” Molly said vaguely. “Almost certainly doing something your family would not approve of.”

I smiled. She wasn’t usually that circumspect. “What’s the matter? Afraid someone in my family might be listening?”

“Can you be sure they aren’t?” said Molly. She looked at me, considering. “Are you really happy to be back working with your family
again? Given what you’ve had to do for your relatives, and what they’ve done to you? You keep leaving, but you keep going back.”

“That’s family for you,” I said. “This will do, for now. For want of anything better. It helps that there’s nothing morally uncertain about this mission.”

“As far as you know,” Molly said darkly. “Why was the Matriarch so keen to keep it secret from Ethel?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m going to have to look into that when we get back. Ethel’s motivations have always been a mystery, but the fact is the family couldn’t operate without her. I can’t see any way in which picking a fight with Ethel could be in the family’s best interests.”

“Do you trust Ethel?” said Molly.

“She’s never given me any reason not to,” I said carefully. “But she’s never explained just why a major entity such as herself would want to babysit the Droods. Some people outside the family have hinted to me that she has her own reasons, and that when we finally find out what they are, we’re really not going to like them.”

“Is that why you’re back?” said Molly. “To keep an eye on things?”

“I need to be doing something,” I said. “I need a good reason to get out of bed in the morning.”

“What about me?” said Molly.

“You’re a reason to get into bed. I need . . . to be someone worthy of you. To be doing something that matters. The Droods make that possible.”

“You’re talking about duty and responsibility, and all those other things I can’t be bothered with,” said Molly.

“You used to be one of the world’s feared supernatural terrorists,” I said. “Brown-trousering authority figures on a regular basis. Are you really saying there wasn’t a moral component to that?”

“Hell no,” said Molly. “I just get bored easily.”

*   *   *

A few hours’ hard flying later, I was dozing while Molly slept the deep, untroubled sleep of the entirely conscience free. Elliot came back on
the intercom to inform us he was currently manoeuvring the Blackhawke into position high above Cassandra Inc’s flying Secret Headquarters. Molly stopped snoring with a very unladylike grunt, lifted her head off my shoulder, and stretched languorously. I got up out of my seat and did a few deep knee bends and stretches. I felt the need to be in really good form for the crazy and quite possibly suicidal plan ahead of me. All I got for my troubles were some loud cracking noises from my joints and a few paranoid thoughts about deep vein thrombosis. I started down the aisle to the rear door, and Molly came hurrying after me. Somehow she’d magically changed her entire outfit when I wasn’t looking, and now she was wearing a snazzy black leather cat-suit, complete with a great many belts and buckles. Molly always believed in dressing for the occasion.

I dressed anonymously, because I was a spy. And because I don’t give a damn.