Simon Green - From Hell with love

Maxwell and Victoria departed quickly, holding hands. The Armourer glared after them. "I think it's time we started putting that white powder in their tea again."

"Given that they clearly only have eyes for each other, it's a wonder they found anyone," I said solemnly.

"Probably tripped over him," sniffed the Armourer.

I levered myself up out of my chair, found a handy surface to put my cup on, and the Armourer and I glared down at the Accelerated Man on his stretcher.

"So," I said. "Why aren't you dead?"

"Let me up," he said. "I've got cramps. You can't keep me tied up like this. I've got rights."

"No you bloody haven't," I said briskly. "We are not the law, we are not the government. We are Droods, and you are in deep shit. A lot of good people died this morning, at the hands of you and your kind, so if you like having your organs on the inside, this would be a really good time to start answering questions."

Give the man his due. In his position, he had to be scared out of his wits, but with the Acceleration Drug already killing him by inches, he must have realised we were his best hope for keeping him going. So he just sniffed loudly, and addressed the air as though we weren't there.

"All right, all right… I was one of the last men through the dimensional door. Last wave in, before the suicide bombers. And I just want to say right now, that no one told the rest of us about that particular addition to the plan. We are mercenary soldiers, not martyrs. Anyway, I got sideswiped by a Drood, had the wind knocked out of me, and hit the ground hard. Next thing I know, I'm under a bloody gryphon. Great big smelly beast. And of course, that was when the Drug ran its course, and the side effects kicked in. All the extra strength ran out of me, and I could feel myself aging. Felt my muscles shrivelling up, my heart slowing down, my lungs straining… really bad experience."

"Of course," said the Armourer, tapping his chin thoughtfully with one fingertip. "Trapped under the gryphon he couldn't move, so he couldn't use up the last of his energies. Basically, he's just running on borrowed time now."

"Am I going to die?" said the mercenary.

"Of course you're going to die, you appalling creature," said the Armourer. "And quite right too."

"But," I said. "The more helpful you are, the harder we'll try to stave off the results of the Drug. Deal?"

"I hate Droods," said the mercenary. "Always so bloody reasonable."

And that was when the Sarjeant-at-Arms appeared. He stamped over to join us, still full of the fury of battle.

"Heard you had a prisoner! That him! Course it is, course it is. Look at the state of him. I've buried people that looked less dead than he does. Now, why wasn't I informed about this? I demand to be a part of the interrogation!"

And he cracked his knuckles eagerly.

"You don't get to demand anything, Cedric," the Armourer said coldly. "This is not your job. What the hell are you even doing here? Your job is to protect the Hall, and the family. So get your people together and make sure no one slipped past us and sneaked into the Hall during the confusion. And while you're at it, I want every acre of our grounds searched thoroughly, to make sure no one's hiding anywhere."

"You could help Max and Vicky look under the gryphons," I said helpfully. "That's where they found this one. Yes, I know; the gryphons are smelly, disgusting and generally revolting, but someone's got to do it, and I can't think of anyone else I'd rather recommend for the job."

"My people are bringing all the interior defences back on line," said the Armourer, not giving the Sarjeant a chance to get a word in. "But you need to check that they're all functioning properly. And determine the state of the outer defences. When you've done that, have your people set up regular patrols in the grounds, just in case another dimensional door opens up. We can't afford to be caught napping again. When you've done all that, then you can come back here, and I'll find something else for you to do."

"That's telling him," said a voice from the floor.

"Shut up, you," I said.

The Sarjeant had been nodding reluctantly all through the Armourer's tirade, but now he stopped and fixed him with a cold gaze.

"There is one other thing we need to discuss, Armourer. In case of another attack, and things not going quite so well. We need to discuss the extreme option: Alpha Red Alpha."

"What?" I said. "What was that? And why have you suddenly gone all pale and thoughtful, Uncle Jack?"

"Alpha Red Alpha is our security strategy of last resort," the Armourer said slowly. "For use only when all else has failed… We have a dimensional door of our own, buried deep under the Hall. Power it up, and the device can rotate the Hall and its immediate environs right out of our world and into another reality. The idea being that we could stay there until the danger was past. Unfortunately, this particular device has never been tested. We might survive the journey, and we might not. And we might be able to get back again, or we might not." He looked steadily at the Sarjeant. "Put the thought right out of your mind. Things would have to get a bloody sight more serious than this before I would even consider activating Alpha Red Alpha."

"Am I to take it that this is another of those things that no one thought fit to tell me about, back when I was running this family?" I said.

"You didn't need to know," said the Armourer. "No one does." I had to smile. "You mean it might upset the family, if they learned they were living above such a thing?"

"People panic far too easily," the Armourer said airily. "I'm almost certain it's entirely safe, as long as no one goes too near it. Panicking… Try working down here every day, surrounded by enthusiastic lab assistants, with too much imagination and no moral compass. You'd wear out your adrenaline gland before the first tea break. Sarjeant. You are still here. Why? Get back out into the grounds! For all we know, the whole open assault could have been just a diversion, to distract us from something else! Move!"

"I want a full transcript of the interrogation," said the Sarjeant, moving reluctantly away.

"Yes, well, it's nice to want things," said the Armourer, waving him away. "And don't forget to check for tunnels!"

"I'm still down here, you know," said a voice from the floor. "It's bad enough I'm dying, but do I have to do it in a cold draft?"

I knelt down beside the mercenary and undid the leather straps, while the Armourer wandered off in search of something. The mercenary wasn't any threat, just skin and bones and a face like a road map. I'd never seen a man look so old and not be laid out in a coffin. His skin had shrunk right back to the bone, his mouth was just a thin slit, but his eyes were still clear and knowing. It was hard to think he'd been a young and vigorous man, just a few hours before. I checked him over quickly for wounds, but he didn't seem to have taken any serious damage. His black and gold uniform hung baggily around him, as though it had been meant for a much larger man. The mercenary just let me get on with it, grunting occasionally with pain when I moved him too roughly. I did my best not to care. He was a hired killer, and he would have killed all of us, if he could.

The Armourer came back lugging an oversized metal chair, with cables hanging off it. He let it slam down on the floor, grunting with the effort, and then leaned on it for a moment while he got his breath back. He straightened up slowly, massaging the small of his back with both hands.

"I am too old, too talented and too necessary to be doing heavy lifting," he said flatly. "If I put my back out again, everyone's going to suffer. All right, Eddie, help me get him into the chair."

I looked the chair over. "Are we going to electrocute him?"