Simon Green - Property of a Lady Faire

“It is a bit of a mess, I agree,” I said. “Just a little more than I was expecting . . . I used to have this cheerful little Pixie who kept the place spic and span, but as I haven’t paid her in years . . . Look, we won’t be here long. I just need to access the computer, and then we’ll be on our way. Hold your nose if you think that will help. Or your breath. I can’t open a window; that would tell the whole world someone was here.”

Molly stood in the middle of the hallway, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Never a good sign.

“I am not sitting down anywhere,” she said. “The whole place looks unhealthy. I might catch something.”

“Come into the study, Molly,” I said encouragingly. “You’ll like the study.”

I led her to the end of the hall, and sent a tendril of golden strange matter down my arm from my torc to form a golden glove over my right hand. And then I carefully extruded a key from one finger and unlocked the study door. I waited a moment, just to be sure the key had shut down all the various nasty deathtraps protecting the room, and then pushed the door open. The study seemed calm and quiet, so I led Molly inside. She looked around and sniffed loudly, but I could tell she was impressed, really.

The walls were all spotless white tiles, with not a speck of dust or dirt anywhere. The floor was so clean you could have performed major surgery on it. The computer system set up on the only table looked just as it had the day I’d left it. I pulled out the only chair and sat down at the keyboard. Molly moved in close behind me, so she could peer over my shoulder.

“I programmed this room to look after itself,” I said. “And protect and defend the computer, of course. If the wrong key tried the door’s lock, the room would have blown up the whole building. Drood tech must never be allowed to fall into enemy hands. Aren’t you glad I told you that after I tried the key? Thought so.”

“Blow up the house and to hell with the neighbours,” said Molly. “That’s the Drood way, all right.”

I fired up the computer and logged in, using one of my old Shaman Bond online identities. Just in case someone tried chasing the connection. The monitor screen showed me a screensaver of a Soho street at midnight, with something odd lurking in the background.

“We’re going to have to be quick,” I said, tapping away at the keyboard with my usual two fingers. “Just my being online will attract the attention of my family. And then they’ll wonder what Shaman Bond is doing in Newcastle, and someone will come running to find out. And this will be another of my secret bolt-holes I can’t come back to. I really must find the time to set up some new ones. You can never have enough hiding places. Okay, let’s do this. Get the info and get out.”

“Fine by me,” said Molly, her chin on my shoulder and the side of her face pressed against mine as she studied the monitor screen. I found her presence comforting. I slipped easily into the OverNet and moved rapidly from one site to another, following one promising link to the next. Images came and went quickly on the screen, as I went looking for the Lady Faire.

“You know,” said Molly, “you don’t need all these safe houses and bolt-holes any more, Eddie. You can always stay in my forest. No one can get to you there. You’d be safe with me. Not even Droods can enter my wild woods without my permission.”

“That’s very kind of you,” I said, keeping my gaze fixed on the screen. “But I’ve never liked to be dependent on the kindness of others. Besides, your forest doesn’t have computers.”

“Lot you know,” Molly said easily. “You’d be amazed at what I’ve got there, tucked away. The wild woods are a lot bigger than you think.”

“How on earth can you have computers in the woods? Where’s your power supply, and your connections? How could . . . No. No, I’m not going to be distracted. You can tell me all about it later, and I’ll disbelieve you then.”

“Suit yourself,” said Molly.

I went rummaging roughly through the OverNet, searching for information on the Lady Faire. I did get distracted by a few things along the way, because you can’t help it. Even Drood tech can’t protect you from all the unwanted pop-ups and unnatural ads that infest the OverNet. Would you like to meet other pagans in your area? said one insistent message. I had to wonder, what did they mean, other ? What sort of list was Shaman Bond on? Another ad wanted me to Join the Satanic Swingers Club! You’ll have a Hell of a good time! There were photos attached, but I didn’t have the time. And then there was Hello, I am an Elven Prince with a large fortune in fairie gold that I need to transfer into your reality. If you will just give me all your bank details . . . I’m amazed anyone still falls for that one.

I finally left the distractions behind and moved on, in hot pursuit of the Lady Faire. There was no shortage of stories about her past exploits, most of them wildly contradictory in the details. That’s legends for you. The Lady who’s been everywhere and had everyone . . . A lot of the accounts tended to quickly degenerate into He said, She said, They said . . . And there was no shortage of fan sites for the Lady Faire, all unofficial. Some were even set up to worship her, quite literally, as a living goddess. These people were praying to her, even sending her gifts and supplications, pleading for intervention in their personal lives and solutions to their problems.

It didn’t look like the Lady Faire ever responded to their entreaties, or talked directly to any of them. In fact, I couldn’t find a single instance of her communicating with anyone. There were just as many sites condemning her as everything from a Bad Example to a female Antichrist. Angry accusations, death threats, calls for jihad . . . It did seem that some sites were actually at war with one another, with mounting real-life casualties. These people took the Lady Faire very seriously. And yet, strangely, there wasn’t a single photo of her to be found anywhere. Not even on the most rabid and obsessive fan sites. Instead, there were any number of artist’s impressions, everything from court sketches to fully painted portraits.

And every single one of them different.

I finally ended up on the message boards. As Shaman Bond, naturally. Because the whole point of my cover identity was that Shaman could turn up anywhere and no one was ever surprised. I chatted with a lot of people who claimed to know the Lady Faire, or more usually knew people who knew her, but while everyone had heard about her annual Ball, none of them had any idea where it was being held. Until finally I made contact with Dead Boy.

Dead Boy came to the Nightside as a teenager and was immediately mugged and murdered. He made a deal he still won’t talk about, to come back from the dead and avenge his murder. But he should have read the small print. He’s stuck in his risen corpse, unable to leave, possessing his own dead body. At least until his body wears out. He’s something of a party animal, and he does get around.

I know where the Lady Faire’s Ball is being held, he said. I just got my invitation.

“Okay,” said Molly, her chin still resting comfortably on my shoulder. “The Lady Faire only gives out invitations to her lovers. Which means she, he, or it has had sex with Dead Boy. Who is, after all, dead. Now that’s just creepy. I mean, I like to think I’m open-minded about most things, especially if I haven’t got around to trying them yet, but even I draw the line at sleeping with someone who smells strongly of formaldehyde. Even if they are still moving around.”

“I am very pleased to hear that,” I said.