Simon Green - Property of a Lady Faire

“I could have Isabella and Louisa here in minutes,” said Molly.

“No,” I said. “I think we need to do this ourselves. The more people we bring in, the more complicated the situation becomes. Who knows what other people might do, to get their hands on the Lazarus Stone? It must be pretty damned powerful, or valuable, if the Voice was prepared to wipe out the whole Department of Uncanny, just on the chance they might have it. No, we do this on our own, Molly. Because we know we can trust each other.”

“All right, then,” said Molly. “Let’s get this show on the road. Where are we going, exactly?”

“To the one part of Drood Hall where no one ever goes,” I said. “If they’ve got any sense.”

I took out the Merlin Glass, held the hand mirror close to my lips, and murmured the special set of spatial coordinates I’d programmed into it. Keeping my voice down, not because I didn’t trust Molly but because I wasn’t sure whether the Voice might still be listening. The Merlin Glass jumped out of my hand and hung on the air before me. It spun round rapidly several times, and then grew quickly in size to form a Door. I couldn’t keep from smiling. My uncle Jack isn’t the only one who can do marvellous things with useful items. I may not be the engineering genius he is, but I have always paid careful attention when he speaks. Even if he doesn’t always think so. Where the reflection in the Glass should have been, I could now see a dark and gloomy stone corridor. Molly squeezed in close beside me, and studied the opening dubiously.

“Is that it? I thought there’d be more . . . special effects, or something.”

“It’s a Door,” I said. “And the essence here, as you have already pointed out, is sneakiness.”

“But is that really it? The way to Cell 13?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve never been there before. Now follow me, stick close, and keep your voice down.”

“Oh please,” said Molly. “Like I’ve never burgled anywhere before.”

I stopped to take one last look round the Regent’s office, and at the Regent himself, still sitting in his chair, behind his desk.

“Good-bye, Grandfather,” I said. “I wish I could have . . .” And then I stopped, because there were so many things I wished we could have. “If you’re still listening, Voice,” I said, “I will do whatever it takes to save my parents. And then I will hunt you down. Even if I have to go to the ends of the Earth and beyond.”

I waited, but there was no response. So I just nodded to Molly, and we stepped through the Merlin Glass and into the depths of Drood Hall.

• • •

A long stone corridor fell away before us, just dull grey walls and a floor of bare flag-stones. Sparse illumination came from a line of naked light bulbs, hanging far apart so that there were long stretches of dark shadow between the pools of light. The air was cold, and still, and dusty. Not a place where people came unless they absolutely had to. Unless they were driven to it. The slightest sound seemed to echo on and on, hanging on the air. Drood Hall doesn’t have dungeons; we have something worse.

I turned back to retrieve the Merlin Glass, but the Door hung back, avoiding my reaching hand. Instead it turned edge on in the narrow space, so that for a moment it seemed to disappear, and then it floated smoothly down the corridor ahead of us, like a guide or a guard in dangerous territory. It stopped when it realised I wasn’t immediately following, and hovered on the air. There was a sense of impatience to it, as though it knew best what was needed here. I studied the Merlin Glass thoughtfully.

“It’s never done this before, has it?” Molly said quietly. She was standing right beside me, her mouth brushing my ear.

“No,” I said. “It hasn’t. But that’s the Merlin Glass for you, always full of surprises.”

I did my best to keep my voice casual and unconcerned. This was the very worst moment the Glass could have chosen to develop a personality, and I didn’t want Molly getting distracted from the business at hand.

“Is this why you didn’t want to give the Glass back to your family?” said Molly. “So you could come and go from Drood Hall as you pleased?”

“No,” I said, seizing gratefully on the change in subject. “That’s not it. I don’t actually know why I feel it’s so important the Glass remains in my possession. I just have this feeling . . . that I’m going to need it.”

Molly nodded. To a witch, premonitions are just warnings from the future, and always to be taken seriously. I didn’t mention my inner conviction that the Glass wanted to stay with me. I didn’t want to worry her. Molly looked up and down the long stone corridor. It stretched away into darkness in both directions, for as far as the eye could follow and then some. Molly didn’t actually turn up her nose, but she looked like she wanted to.

“This is pretty basic, even for Drood Hall,” she said. “I’ve never seen anything as . . . brutal as this, in the Hall before.”

“Not many have,” I said. “Most of my family prefer to believe that the Drood in Cell 13 doesn’t exist. And for most of them, he doesn’t. He’s our equivalent of an urban legend, a cautionary tale. It’s safer that way. You need special permission to approach him, along with very definite instructions on what you can and can’t ask him. And that’s for the visitor’s protection. Just talking to the Drood in Cell 13 has been known to drive people crazy.”

“Your family never ceases to intrigue and appal me,” said Molly. “I thought my sisters were scary . . .”

“They are,” I said.

Molly punched me in the arm.

“Ow,” I said obligingly.

Molly looked dubiously down the corridor.

“Just how dangerous is this Drood in Cell 13?”

“You have no idea,” I said. “He’s not imprisoned here as a punishment, but because he’s a danger to the whole family.”

“So he is a prisoner?”

“Yes. But he asked to be locked away. He knew how dangerous he is.”

“Is he crazy?”

“Hard to say . . .”

“What’s his name?”

“Laurence Drood,” I said. “Once the family Armourer. There was an accident, some two hundred years ago, or so. The details of the story are either lost, or blatantly contradictory. Either way, as a result of . . . whatever happened, Laurence now knows everything the family knows. Or has ever known. Including all the very secret things most of the family aren’t even supposed to suspect. And unfortunately, it’s a never-ending process. Every time the family learns something, Laurence knows.”

“How is that even possible?” said Molly.

“We’re the Droods,” I said. “We all do ten impossible things before breakfast, just to get our hearts started. Don’t hit me! Look, Molly . . . I don’t think anyone in my family knows anything for sure where the Drood in Cell 13 is concerned, not after all this time. He knows, of course. But apparently he only tells people what he feels like telling. There are . . . stories, among the higher levels of the family. About people who managed to make their way down here, to ask the Drood in Cell 13 questions. About things they weren’t supposed to know. It seems . . . he uses the things he tells to destroy people.”

“Why would he do that?” said Molly.

“Because he can,” I said. “Because he thinks it’s funny . . . The point is, whatever information comes into Drood Hall, Laurence just soaks it up and stores it away in his amazing altered mind. It’s impossible to hide anything from him. All of which makes him the perfect weapon to use against the Droods. That’s why he asked to be locked away, from the world and the family, and that’s why they went along. Put him down here, in the depths, out of sight and out of mind. It was either that or kill him, and who knows when he might prove useful? Or even necessary. It’s always possible that some small piece of information, forgotten by everyone else, might prove essential to the safety and security of the family. Droods never throw away anything that might prove useful someday.”