Simon Green - Property of a Lady Faire

Laurence reached out an eager hand to take the Lazarus Stone, and the Lady Faire drew back her hand.

“Why do you want the Stone?” she said. “What would you use it for?”

“I will use the Stone to reach back in Time, and grab myself,” said Laurence. “Rescue myself from History, before the awful accident happens. Save myself, so I won’t have to spend all those horrible years being the Drood in Cell 13. Being me.”

“I thought the Stone could only be used to save people from the point before they died?” said the Lady Faire.

“You people,” said Laurence quietly, contemptuously. “Always so limited in your thinking. And besides, I’m as good as dead anyway, aren’t I? You couldn’t say that I’ve had a life. But I will have.”

“You would undo centuries of History,” said the Lady Faire. “The world as we know it would just disappear!”

“I know,” said Laurence. “And I don’t care. Why should I? When did anyone in the whole world ever care about the Drood in Cell 13? That’s why I keep saying it doesn’t matter. Because nothing does, because I will make it all never happened. All the lives lost, all the lives ruined . . . won’t matter at all. Let the whole world vanish, if that’s what it takes for me to have a real life. Now give me the Lazarus Stone, Lady, or I’ll have my clones take it. And you really won’t like how I’ll have them do it.”

The Lady Faire put forward her hand, offering him the alien tech, and then she opened her hand and let the Stone fall on the floor between them. Laurence sneered at her, and bent forward to pick up the Lazarus Stone. And the Lady Faire kicked him square in the left eye, with the tip of her elegant white boot. A lot of people in the room winced, and some cried out despite themselves as they saw and heard the boot strike home. I was one of them. Laurence fell backwards, crying out abjectly as he clapped both hands to his face. The Lady Faire laughed at him.

“Didn’t see that one coming, did you? I am not predictable!”

But what interested me was that all around the great ice cavern of the Ballroom, all the blood-red men had clapped their hands to their crimson masks. They had felt in their eyes what Laurence had felt in his. Slaved to his will, what he experienced, they experienced. And while Laurence might have Kayleigh’s Eye fused to his chest, like my grandfather the Regent . . . it didn’t protect Laurence as well as it had protected the Regent. My grandfather had been immune to all pain and damage; Laurence just repaired himself. As long as he felt pain, he was vulnerable. And through him the blood-red men . . .

I was just getting ready to jump Laurence, and try out a whole bunch of violent theories, when a glowing form appeared out of nowhere, right in front of Laurence. He lowered his hands, and looked at the ghostly figure through watering eyes. The Phantom Berserker smiled at his erstwhile master, and it was not a good smile.

“Time for me to perform one last act of penance, Laurence Drood. To pay for my betrayal of all those who were so kind to me, at Uncanny. One last act of vengeance, on the one who betrayed me.”

The Phantom Berserker thrust a glowing hand into Laurence’s chest. It plunged in deep, and then materialised just enough for the glowing fingers to close around the glowing amulet. The Phantom Berserker tore Kayleigh’s Eye out of Laurence’s chest, by brute force. The only way it could be taken. Laurence screamed, but the sound was drowned out by the Phantom Berserker’s triumphant laughter. He held the amulet up, so everyone in the Ballroom could see it, still dripping with its previous owner’s blood. And then the ghost just vanished, taking Kayleigh’s Eye with him. There was a long pause. Laurence slowly straightened up, panting harshly. The great wound in his chest was still bleeding heavily. He looked . . . like he couldn’t believe what was happening.

All around the Ballroom, the blood-red men were clutching at their own fresh wounds.

“Well,” I said loudly, “this is interesting, isn’t it? You’re not untouchable any more, Laurence. And neither are your clones. When you get hurt now, you stay hurt. And so do they.” I looked around the Ballroom. “Ladies, gentlemen, others . . . I think it’s time for a little violent revenge. Don’t you?”

Laurence glared around him. “Stay where you are! I still outnumber you!”

“What are numbers?” said a new and very familiar voice, “in the face of retribution?”

The Replicated Meme of Saint Sebastian strode forward, together, all six of them. And something in their natural authority made everyone else fall back to let them pass. They strode forward to join us, Molly and me, Laurence, and the Lady Faire. And then, one by one, they removed their stylised metal masks, and immediately I understood why they’d all seemed so familiar. They weren’t the Replicated Meme at all. They were my uncle Jack, the Armourer; the Sarjeant-at-Arms; William the Librarian; Callan, Head of the War Room; and Capability Maggie, the new Matriarch. And the most powerful telepath in the whole world, joined to us by marriage, Ammonia Vom Acht. Uncle Jack smiled at me cheerfully.

“Stand ready, my boy. The cavalry just arrived.”

“How the hell did you get in here?” It wasn’t much, but it was all I could think to say.

“I still had James’ old invitation,” said the Armourer. “I was able to use that, to track down the Ball’s current location. And then it was easy enough for us to get in, hidden behind the masks of the Replicated Meme of Saint Sebastian. Who were only too willing to give up their current invitation and let us come in their place, after the Sarjeant had a few quiet words with them. Threatening, vicious, brutal words, I’m sure. Sorry we couldn’t let you know, Eddie, but . . . we had to save the element of surprise for just the right moment. You didn’t think we really believed all that nonsense about you being responsible for the killings at Uncanny, did you? You didn’t really think we’d leave you out in the cold again? We know you better than that.”

“We just let the world think we saw you as rogue,” said Capability Maggie. “So we could operate quietly in the background, working out what was really going on, while everyone else was watching you.”

“You did good work against the False Knights, boy,” growled the Sarjeant. “You must have seen me look at you, and let you go?”

“And we brought a little something with us!” William said brightly. “Something to even up the odds!”

“Don’t boast, darling,” said Ammonia. “You’re better than that.”

William nodded quickly. “It’s true. I am.”

“We brought a Door,” said Callan, smiling unpleasantly about him at the blood-red men. “A dimensional Door, to link the Winter Palace to Drood Hall. The Doormouse was most eager to make amends.”

The Armourer snapped his fingers imperiously, and a Door appeared in the middle of the Ballroom. Just an ordinary-looking wooden door, standing tall and wide and upright, and apparently completely unsupported. It swung open and a whole army of Droods in full armour came storming through into the Ballroom. Dozens, hundreds of golden-armoured Droods. More than enough to match the numbers of the blood-red men.

The Lady Faire’s guests fell back, hugging the far walls. They could see a massive clash between two armies about to happen, between golden masks and crimson masks, right in front of them . . . And they really didn’t want to be involved. They knew a grudge fight when they saw one. Laurence glared around him. He straightened up, his hands clenching into fists, and all the blood-red men did the same. And just like that, it was on.

The Droods and the clones slammed together, no quarter asked or given. Laurence tried to snatch the Lazarus Stone away from the Lady Faire, who had it clasped firmly in both her hands. She backed quickly away from him, losing herself in the crowd, and he went after her. I went after him.