Simon Green - Daemons Are Forever

“I can’t see this family giving up anything that useful so easily,” said Molly.

“I can,” I said. “The Droods have always been very cautious about anything involving time travel. Ever since the Great Time Disaster of 1217, when the family almost wiped itself out after inadvertently setting up a Möbius-strip time paradox. There’s still some rooms in the Hall we can’t find, because of what we had to do to break free. And we don’t even think about what might still be happening to the poor bastards we had to abandon in those rooms. The human mind just isn’t equipped to deal with all the possible complications and downright nasty ramifications of mucking about with time.”

And then I stopped short as an idea came to me, hitting me hard enough to stop my breath, while a cold hand curled around my heart. I looked into Merlin’s Glass, and my face stared back at me, so cold and harsh and determined I barely recognised it.

“Can I contact anyone in the past?” I said, and even I could tell that the voice didn’t sound like mine. It sounded reckless, and even dangerous. Everyone looked at me sharply. I think Molly got it first, perhaps because her mind had already begun moving along similar lines. I looked at the Armourer, and I think anyone else would have flinched at what he saw in my eyes. “I know it’s dangerous, and I don’t care,” I said. “Tell me, Uncle Jack, can I use this Glass to talk to my parents in the past, before they were murdered?”

“I’m sorry,” the Armourer said gruffly, kindly. “I thought of that. There’s always someone we’d like to speak to in the past. Friends and relatives and loved ones, gone too soon, before we could say all the things we meant to say to them. The things we put off saying, because we always thought there’d be time…until suddenly there wasn’t. But the Glass doesn’t allow anyone to ask questions for personal gain. Only for the good of the family. And the Glass can always tell the difference. A built-in safety factor, perhaps, to prevent…abuse of time.”

“Or perhaps the sorcerer Merlin Satanspawn just had a built-in nasty streak,” said Molly.

“There is that,” said the Armourer.

“I need to know what really happened to my father and my mother,” I said. “I will find out the truth, whatever it takes.”

“I spent years trying to find out,” said the Armourer. “So did James. She was our sister, poor dear Emily, and we loved her dearly. We even approved of your father, or we’d never have let him marry her. But the truth is … no one seems to know. The odds are it was just a stupid mistake. Poor intelligence, insufficient briefing, too many things going wrong at once… It happens. Even on the best planned missions.”

“There’s always the Time Train,” said Penny unexpectedly.

“No there isn’t,” the Armourer said quickly.

“What the hell is a Time Train?” said Molly. “And why do I get the feeling I’m really not going to like the answer?”

“Must be your witchy senses working overtime,” I said. “Damn, I haven’t thought about the Time Train in years…It’s a means of travelling through time, though perhaps a little stranger than most. No one’s used it for ages. I suppose it is still functional…Armourer?”

“Well, yes, technically,” said the Armourer. “But some things are just too dangerous to mess with.”

I had to raise an eyebrow. “This, from the man who wanted our best telepaths to try setting off all the atomic warheads in China, just by having the telepaths think really nasty thoughts at them ?”

“That would have worked, if the Matriarch hadn’t stopped me,” said the Armourer sulkily. “All my best ideas are ahead of their time.”

“I am changing the subject right now,” I said firmly. “One thing has to be clear to all of us: The family has to Do Something, something big and important and dramatic, to prove to the whole world that the Droods are still strong and nasty and a force to be reckoned with. We need to pick a target, some seriously important and unpleasant enemy, and then hit it with a really powerful pre-emptive strike force. Wipe them out, once and for all.”

“Now you’re talking, boy!” said the Sarjeant-at-Arms.

“Sounds good to me,” said the Armourer. “The family’s been terribly reactive for years, under the Matriarch.”

“Who did you have in mind?” said Molly. “Manifest Destiny?”

“No,” I said. “They’re still weak. Stamping on them wouldn’t impress anyone. We need something…bigger.”

“There are two main threats to humanity,” the Armourer said ponderously, slipping into his lecture mode. “Doesn’t matter whether they’re scientific or magical in origin, mythical or political or biblical; all of humanity’s enemies can be separated into two distinct kinds. Those who do us harm because they hope to gain something from it; these we call demons. And those who are too big to care about us, but who might do us harm just because we’re in the way; those we call gods, for want of a better word. The family is trained and equipped to deal with demons. The gods are best handled delicately, from a safe distance, and through as many intermediaries as possible.”…

“I’ve already killed one god,” I said. “And the Heart screamed just like a human as it died.”

“I helped,” said Strange. “You couldn’t have done it without me.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “But then you would say that, wouldn’t you?”

“Can we please put the delusions of grandeur to one side, just for the moment?” said Penny. “And concentrate on planning a strategy.”

“Not attacking any gods sounds like a really good strategy to me,” said Molly. “I’m voting for demons.”

“Demons sounds good to me,” said the Armourer. “Never any shortage of demons screwing over humanity.”

“All right,” I said. “Demons it is. Anyone want to throw some names onto the table, just to get us started?”

“The Stalking Shrouds?” said the Sarjeant-at-Arms.

“They were pretty much wiped out last year,” said Penny. “Fighting a turf war with the Cold Eidolon, in the back streets of Naples. Both sides are still recovering. Be ages before either of them can mount a decent threat again.”

“The Loathly Ones?” I said. “I hate soul-eaters.”

Penny frowned. “There has been some intelligence of late that they’ve been gathering together in big numbers, down in South America. No one seems to know what for, but that’s never a good thing.”

“I’d really like to do something about the Mandrake Recorporation,” said Molly, “if only because they creep me out, big time.”

“Not really a good enough reason to go to war with someone, though, is it?” said the Armourer.

“The Cult of the Crimson Altar?” said Jacob. “Old-school satanists, offshoot of the original Hellfire Club. Never liked them. They turned me down for membership back when I was alive, the blackballing bastards.”

“Currently enduring a major schism,” Penny said briskly. “Over some piece of dogma so complicated and so trivial that no one outside the Cult can make head or tail of it. The Cult’s been killing itself off for the last six weeks, and at the rate they’re going I doubt there’ll be enough of them left at the end to make up a social club.”

“The Dream Meme?” said the Sarjeant hopefully.

“No!” said the Armourer. “We still don’t know for sure who or what they are, or even what they want. And yes, Cyril, I have heard all the latest conspiracy theories, and I’m not convinced by any of them. They’re just a supernatural urban legend, like the Sceneshifters.”

“Vril Power Inc?” said Molly. “Everyone’s favourite nightmare from World War Two?”