Simon Green - The Man with the Golden Torc

"Definitely no," I said. "I’m here on business."

"How very tiresome." The Middleman sniffed loudly. "Typical Drood; you people just don’t know how to have fun. I suppose it was too much to hope you might have been thrown out of your nauseatingly self-righteous family for actually developing a few civilised vices. So, what can I do for you, dear boy?"

"You’ve worked for the Drood family for years, off and on," I said carefully. "Helping us locate just the right specialist, when needed for certain out of the ordinary operations."

"Yes, and don’t I know it, duckie; your family uses me ruthlessly and never pays a penny. I do as I’m told, or they’ll shut me down. And they’re always so terribly rude to me. I don’t know why; I merely provide a service. I put people of like minds together for mutual fun and profit. What they do afterwards is no concern of mine."

"No," I said. "You don’t care how much trouble and suffering you cause. None of the blood that ends up spilled ever stains your dainty fingers. You make awful things possible but never take responsibility for your actions."

"Oh, how very tiresome. A philosopher Drood. But still something of a man of action, I hear. It’s all over town, what you did to the Chelsea Lovers, the poor dears. It’ll take them years to regain the ground you’ve lost them. Not that I care, of course. I never care; it’s bad for the complexion. And I can’t help feeling they’d find my little peccadilloes far too bland for their extreme tastes. I never had much time for revolutions anyway, of any stamp. I like the world just the way it is." He reached across his pillows and took a Belgian chocolate from a large open box. He popped it into his mouth, chewed for a moment, and then gestured vaguely at me with one black-nailed hand. "What exactly did you come here for, dear boy? Do get to the point. I have some important lounging about I should be getting on with."

"You have contacts inside my family," I said slowly. "You must…hear things. Do you know why I was banished, declared rogue?"

"I’m afraid not, no. Haven’t heard a thing, I promise you. The news came out of nowhere, no warning at all. You could have knocked me down with a feather, duckie. Cover me in chocolate and throw me to the lady-boys, I thought. Not dear upright Eddie! You’ve established quite a reputation here in the city, these last ten years. Honest, upright, and depressingly incorruptible, I would have said. No wonder your family assembled such an army to attack you on the motorway…"

"It was you," I said abruptly. "The penny’s just dropped. You organised the attacks on the M4!"

"Well, of course, dear boy. Who else? And don’t think it was easy, contacting and putting together so many disparate elements, and getting them to play nice with each other for the duration of the attack. I wouldn’t have chosen half of them, but my instructions were very specific; all bases were to be covered, scientific and magical. Honestly, the disputes I had over orders of precedence! Half of them wouldn’t even talk to each other, except through me. I would have had them all attack you at once, get it over with, and be sure of killing you…but no, they all had to take their separate turn, to show what they could do…Why can’t people be professional?"

I lowered my arms and took a step forward, and he actually flinched back against his pillows. "There’s something else you haven’t been meaning to tell me, isn’t there?" I said. "What is it, Marcus?"

"All right, all right! It’s just that…this particular commission didn’t come from your family. As such. This was a private commission, from the Drood Matriarch herself. Dear old Martha, bless her black vindictive little heart. I danced with her, you know, one memorable evening back in the sixties, when Soho was still Soho…Of course, we were both a lot younger and prettier in those days. Such a glamorous scene…It was only after the attack on you failed that I got word you’d been officially declared rogue. What did you do to upset her?"

"Didn’t she tell you?" I said.

"Didn’t tell me one thing more than she absolutely had to, duckie. Just the hired help, that’s all I was. And she wanted the whole package put together impossibly quickly, as well as extremely secretly. Gave me less than twelve hours to get the job done, and then was very rude to me when I tried to explain how difficult that was going to be. The words guts and garters were mentioned, and not in a good way."

He carried on some more about how overworked and underappreciated he was, but I’d stopped listening. Grandmother wanted me dead and had only resorted to declaring me rogue when her assassination attempt failed. And twelve hours…that had to be significant. What could have happened in that short time frame, to set the Matriarch so fiercely against me? I did a good job at Saint Baphomet’s. Did everything I was ordered to do, and got out clean.

"So you don’t know anything useful," I said finally, cutting across his well-rehearsed self-pity.

"I could ask around," he said with a vague and very languid gesture.

"But all you’ll get at this stage is gossip. Of course, now that you’re rogue…If you were looking for a new role in the world, or a secure position, I’m sure I could find a use for you in my organisation. If only because it would be absolutely killing for me to be able to say ever so casually at one of my little soirées that I had my very own Drood on the payroll! I know people who would just shit at the very thought! I could be very generous to you, Eddie. And what better way to get back at your snotty family?"

"I don’t think so," I said. "I’m…otherwise engaged. There are answers out there, and I will find them. Nothing is going to stop me."

"Of course, of course," said the Middleman. He shifted uneasily, disturbed at something he heard in my voice. "But I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do to help you there. Nothing at all. I deal in people, you understand, not information. I could put you together with certain specialists who might be able to assist you in your quest. For a consideration, you understand."

"How about you help me, in return for my not killing you in horrible and inventive ways?" I said.

He sniffed and puffed sulkily on his cigarillo. "Typical Drood. Go ahead; threaten me, bully me, see if I care. Why should you be any different from the rest of your appalling family? No one appreciates what I go through for them. I swear, I’m so delicate these days that I’m not long for this world…"

I raised a hand in self-defence. "All right! How about you help me for the satisfaction of putting one over on the Drood family, who’ve been using you for years without paying you? Wouldn’t you like that?"

He considered me thoughtfully. "Why should I risk upsetting your very powerful, not to mention vengeful, family…when I could seriously ingratiate myself with them by handing you over? They might be so grateful they’d finally let me off the hook."

"You really think they’d do that?" I said. "The Droods never give up anything they own. And do you think you have any way of making me stay here till they come to collect me?"

"No…and no," the Middleman said sadly. "So…run along, dear boy. Don’t let me keep you; you’re free to go. I never bother with a threat I can’t back up."

"If only everyone was so civilised," I said gravely.

I was turning to leave when the Middleman leaned forward suddenly. "There is someone you could talk to. She knows many things, most of which she’s not supposed to. And she has more reason than most to hate your family. The wild witch Molly Metcalf."

"Ah," I said. "Molly. Yes."

"Do I detect a problem? You don’t sound too enthusiastic."

"Molly and I have a history," I said.