Simon Green - Daemons Are Forever

“No,” I said, my voice just as cold and stern as hers. “Harry’s a good field agent, with a lot of experience. We still need him. I won’t declare him rogue just because … I mean, come on, Grandmother; we’ve had gay people in the family for ages. You must have noticed.”

“Of course I’ve noticed! I don’t care that he’s a homosexual! Your generation thinks it invented sex and all its possibilities … I don’t give a damn that Harry is gay; I care that he’s taken his half brother as a lover! Incest like that is strictly forbidden in the Droods, Edwin. It has to be, or we would have become dangerously inbred by now. The vitality and vigour of the Drood bloodline must be strictly maintained; that’s why marriages are always so carefully considered and, if need be, disallowed. And above all, to take as his lover a thing from the Pit! I can’t believe that you allowed a hellspawn into the Hall, Edwin!”

“Roger is James’s son,” I said carefully. “He’s your grandson too, just like Harry and me.”

“He is a demon, and never to be trusted,” Martha said flatly. “Kill him, Edwin. For the good of the family and the sake of the world.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said.

“That’s what I used to say to you, when you were a child, and I had no intention of doing what you wanted,” Martha said dryly.

“Maybe you’re right,” I said. “I am growing up, after all.”

We both stood up. The Matriarch stepped forward, and for a moment I thought she was going to shake my hand formally. Instead, she put her hands on my shoulders, squeezed them gently, and smiled at me.

“Make me proud, Eddie.”

“I’ll do my best, Grandmother.”

“I know you will.”

“Grandmother…”

“Yes, Eddie?”

“It was you who told the prime minister where and when to find me, when I went back to my old flat, wasn’t it?”

“Of course, dear. You see; you’re thinking like a Drood leader already.”

We summoned up a nurse to sit with Alistair, and then the Matriarch and I went down to the War Room. All along the way people stood and stared, and then broke into spontaneous applause. Some even cheered. No one had seen Martha in public for a year and a half, and now here she was walking by my side. Word went swiftly ahead of us, and by the time we’d descended to ground level, crowds were lining all the rooms and corridors to cheer our progress. The Matriarch ignored them all, her back stiff and her head held high, and they loved her for it. Some of the cheers and applause were for me, and I made a point of smiling and nodding, while being very careful not to let it go to my head.

When we finally strode into the War Room, an almost palpable wave of relief swept through the huge chamber. Men and women stood up at their consoles and workstations to cheer and clap us. A few actually whistled. Martha bowed once to the room, and then made a quick cutting gesture with one hand; and the applause stopped immediately. I don’t think I could have managed that on the best day I ever had. The Matriarch cracked out a series of brisk commands, her voice sharp and authoritative, and above all calm and businesslike; and soon people were back at work, bent over their various stations with new confidence and enthusiasm. Runners charged back and forth like mad things, gathering the latest information to bring the Matriarch up to date, while others made sure she was supplied with a fresh pot of tea and a new packet of Jaffa Cakes. Sometimes I think this family runs on tea and Jaffa Cakes.

I stood back and watched. It’s always a pleasure to observe a real professional at work.

The communications people soon had her in contact with all the world leaders: every government, country, and powerful individual who mattered. Display screens all around the War Room were filled with scowling faces, and translation programmes ran overtime as the Matriarch addressed them all with her usual cool authority. Many of the faces seemed relieved to see her back. Martha strode from screen to screen, speaking to everyone individually, and through a carefully calculated combination of calm reason, sweet talking, basic bullying, and the occasional reminder that she knew where all the bodies were buried, the Matriarch soon had all the most important people in the world falling over themselves to agree to work together on dealing with the Loathly Ones. They committed money, manpower, and military resources, and most importantly, they all agreed to keep the hell out of our way while we did what was necessary. Martha cut them off one by one, and then stretched slowly, luxuriously, like a cat. She seated herself with royal dignity at her command station and smiled briefly at me.

“And that, Edwin, is why the family has to be in charge. Because we’re the only ones equipped to see the really big picture, and remain independent enough that people will accept our advice as impartial. We can persuade anyone, regardless of politics, on what must be done for the good of all. You can never trust politicians to do the right thing, Edwin, because at heart all they really care about is staying in power. They live in the present; it’s up to us to take the long view.”

I just smiled, nodded, and said nothing. There would be time for philosophical arguments later, once we’d made sure there would be a later. I hung around just long enough to make sure she had things firmly under control, and then I left the War Room and went down to the Armoury, where Molly was waiting for me.

I was happy to find the Armoury back to its usual raucous and very dangerous self, complete with bangs, bright lights, and the occasional unfortunate transformation. Happy chaos and mayhem went on around me as I wandered through the Armoury in search of Molly and Uncle Jack. Now that the lab interns had their armour back, they had once again embraced their old daredevil practices, and were clearly back in their usual productive and self-destructive mind-sets.

In the firing range, half a dozen armoured forms were taking it in turn to test new guns on each other. The armour soaked up all kinds of punishment from projectile guns, curse throwers, and handheld grenade launchers. The noise in the confined space was appalling.

I still remembered the time the Armourer created a gun that fired miniature black holes. It took six people to wrestle him to the ground and sit on him, and then prize the damned thing out of his hand before he could demonstrate it.

One young lady was trying out the latest version of a teleportation gun. I stopped to watch. The family’s been trying to get the bugs out of that for years. Basic idea is very simple; you point the gun at something and it disappears. In practice, it tended to backfire a lot, and we lost a lot of interns. This particular intern was chained firmly to a bolt in the floor as she fired her gun at a target dummy. The dummy’s left leg disappeared and it fell over sideways. The intern whooped in triumph, did a little victory dance, and then the leg reappeared, flying straight at her with some force. Wherever the teleport gun had sent the leg, they clearly hadn’t wanted it.

Someone else was trying to get an invisibility cloak to work, but all it was doing was making the wearer partially transparent, so we could see all his insides working. Beauty really is only skin deep. A large explosion sent half a dozen armoured figures flying through the air. No one looked around. Two of the braver or perhaps more suicidally minded, interns were duelling with atomic nunchaku behind a portable radiation shield. Rather them than me. And one guy with a third eye in the middle of his forehead was flipping urgently through his notes trying to figure out what had gone wrong.

Business as usual, in the Armoury.

I found Molly talking with the Armourer at his usual workstation. Or at least, Molly was listening while the Armourer talked. Apparently Uncle Jack was taking it very badly that his test to uncover drones in the family had failed. He broke off to glower at me as I joined them.