Simon Green - Property of a Lady Faire

The hammer came crashing down, and I stopped it in mid-air with a very briefly golden hand. I didn’t care what happened to the Living Shroud, but I couldn’t let it happen on my watch, or people might start to wonder why. And I didn’t want anything to happen that might dissuade the Lady Faire from appearing. So I armoured up my hand, just for a moment, and thrust it in the way of the descending hammer. The golden glove absorbed all the impact, stopping Mjolnir dead in its tracks. And then I pulled the golden strange matter back into my torc before anyone noticed it was there. It was a risk using my torc, even so briefly, but I had no choice. It didn’t seem to have set off any alarms.

Jimmy Thunder swore loudly, his whole arm twitching painfully from being stopped so suddenly. He stepped back, looking at me with shocked, startled eyes. I glared back at him, secure behind my security mask.

I moved in between him and the Living Shroud, and gave my full attention to the inhabited grave clothes as they flapped and fluttered agitatedly before me. They rose up, growing and expanding. Strange energies flared around them. And then Molly appeared behind the Shroud, and threw a tray of champagne glasses over it. The alcohol soaked quickly into the rags, and Molly set fire to them. The grave wrappings immediately went up in blue flames, burning fiercely.

The Living Shroud howled miserably and spun round and round, beating at its burning self with empty sleeves, which only seemed to encourage the flames. The Shroud went running up and down the Ballroom, burning brightly, while people fell back delightedly and cheered and applauded. Until finally the Lady Alice Underground put the Shroud out with a handy soda siphon. The Living Shroud stood very still, half its rags just scorched tatters, falling away in blackened lengths. There was still no sign of whatever might be inhabiting what remained.

I called the security people back to the Ballroom, and they quickly surrounded the Living Shroud. There was a tense moment, and then the Shroud allowed itself to be escorted out. Leaving a trail of dark smudges on the floor behind it. Some of the guests actually got down on their hands and knees to pick up charred bits of rag, for souvenirs. I glared at Jimmy Thunder, who just shrugged. He’d been glared at by far worse than me. He went back to join Ms. Fate, who gave him a stiff talking-to, on the grounds that she operated as a costumed adventurer in the Nightside, and thus could be considered quite capable of looking after herself.

I nodded to Molly. “Thank you. That was very helpful. You can return to your duties now.”

She bobbed an almost convincing curtsey. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

She moved quickly away. I was still getting my breath back, when I found myself suddenly confronted by the Last of Leng. It crouched before me, giving the distinct impression it was glaring up at me from under its lowered hood. Up close, the poison green robes and tatters smelled strongly of rotting flesh and ordure. My torc burned at my throat, trying to protect me against something.

“Where is the Lady Faire?” said the Last of Leng in a harsh, grating voice.

“I’m sure she’ll be here, when she’s ready,” I said smoothly.

“Not good enough. Go. Tell the Lady Faire I am here. Tell her to come. Now.”

“I am Head of Security,” I said, careful to keep my voice calm and polite. “I have duties and responsibilities here. I’m sure the Lady Faire will appear, in good time.”

“I gave you an order!”

“So you did. And this is me, ignoring it, because I don’t work for you. Now be a good little last survivor of an appalling civilisation, and piss off. Before I throw an entire security force at you.”

I shouldn’t have lost my temper, but after all, this was the Last of Leng. There are limits.

“You dare!” shrieked the Last of Leng.

“Frequently,” I said. “Famous for it. One more word out of you, and I’ll have you thrown out into Ultima Thule, and you can spend the long journey home knocking icicles off your wrappings. Except you can’t go home, because some sensible and public-spirited person blew it up. So beat it, you bum.”

The Last of Leng started to say something, and then turned abruptly and strode away. Several guests nodded approvingly. They would have liked to applaud, but it was the Last of Leng, after all, and they weren’t as brave as me.

I turned away, and there was Dead Boy, waiting for me, grinning all over his deathly pale face. I sighed inwardly. As if I didn’t have enough problems . . . Dead Boy had a tall glass of something dark and steaming in one hand, and a half-eaten dodo leg in the other. He dropped me a heavy wink.

“I knew it was you! I never mistake an aura. Don’t worry,” he said, in what he probably thought was a conspiratorial tone, “I’ve got your back.”

“Oh good,” I said. “I’m sure whoever you think I am is very grateful. Now will you please go away and ruin somebody else’s day?”

“That’s what I’m here for,” said Dead Boy.

He dropped me another heavy wink, with his heavily mascaraed eye, and swaggered away. Dead Boy didn’t care what I was doing here. He just thought it was funny. Being dead for so long has given him an odd sense of humour. I wasn’t sure whether having his support felt comforting or not. I watched him latch on to a waiter with a new tray of party snacks, and launch himself in hot pursuit. Dead Boy had the attention span of a goldfish swimming in a bowl of liquid LSD. I sighed quietly again, and wondered what else could go wrong. I was attracting far more attention than was good for me. In fact, I was starting to wonder whether I should just leave the Ballroom and start bullying hotel staff until one of them told me where the Lazarus Stone was.

And then I spotted a face I knew, deep in the milling crowd. A face I recognised immediately, that I had thought never to see again. My heart hammered painfully in my chest, and I had trouble getting my breath. A tall, distinguished figure in a formal tuxedo moved easily through the crowd. He looked exactly like my uncle James. My late uncle James, the legendary Grey Fox. I hadn’t seen him since he died right in front of me, in Drood Hall, all those years ago. He couldn’t be here. He died. I went to his funeral. Unless . . . somebody had already used the Lazarus Stone.

Unless someone had rewritten History, bringing James back from the dead. But if History had been changed, I wouldn’t still remember the way things used to be . . . would I? I had survived the destruction of the Sceneshifters . . . so I was the only person in the world who still remembered them . . . I plunged forward into the crowd, pushing people out of my way and ignoring their objections, but by the time I got to where I’d seen my uncle James, he wasn’t there any more. I looked quickly about me, while everyone else stuck their noses in the air and made pointed comments about my rudeness, but I couldn’t see Uncle James anywhere.

If he’d ever really been there.

I was seized with an awful sense of urgency, a need to do . . . something. If the Lady Faire, or anyone else, had started using the Lazarus Stone after all these years . . . we were all in real trouble. But deep down, I didn’t believe it. If James’ death had been undone, I wouldn’t still remember him dying. Hell, I probably wouldn’t still be standing here. So whoever it was I saw, it couldn’t have been the Grey Fox. Just someone trying to pass as him. Unless . . . Could Uncle James have pulled off the greatest trick and comeback of his career? Faked his own death, back then? I saw him die, but so had a great many people, down the years, and he’d always bounced back, smiling broadly, refusing to explain how he’d done it. All part of the legend of the Droods’ greatest field agent: the infamous Grey Fox.