Simon Green - The Man with the Golden Torc

The Middleman laughed and spread his hands as though embracing the universe. "Who doesn’t, dear boy? It’s what makes the world go round!"

I armoured down as I walked out of the Thai café, the living armour melting back into my torc. Never wear the gold in public. I smiled slightly. I might be outcast from my family, and on the run, but I was still following their rules. Behind me, the Thai café staff hurried to lock the door and pull down the blinds. I didn’t blame them. I stood outside for a while, thinking, and then looked up suddenly as for the first time I realised how quiet the street was. I looked around me, and there was no one to see anywhere, up or down the street. No traffic, no pedestrians. The busy sounds of the city continued off in the distance, but my little part of it was completely deserted. Which just didn’t happen at this time of the evening, unless the whole area had been quietly and efficiently sealed off. And the only people with enough clout to do that, in the very heart of London, were my family. No one says no to the Droods. So; they’d found me. I looked around sharply as a man came strolling casually out of a side street. A very smart, very smooth man, with a familiar face, looking inordinately pleased with himself: Matthew Drood.

His manner was assured, even cocky, but I noticed he still came to a halt a respectful distance away from me. He smiled and nodded, and I nodded to him. As far as I could tell, he’d come alone, which worried me. That wasn’t family policy, when it came to dealing with a rogue. He seemed to be expecting me to say something, to defend or justify myself, so I just stood there, staring back at him. Matthew frowned slightly and shot the gleaming white cuffs of his expensive City outfit.

"I knew you’d come here first, Eddie," he said smugly. "Simple deduction, old boy. All I had to do was stake the place out and wait."

"Actually, this was my third stop," I said. "Late as always, Matthew. Why did they choose you for this? Volunteer, did you, to impress the Matriarch? Or maybe Alex? You’re not still mad at me over her, are you? It was a long time ago; we were just teenagers."

"Of course I volunteered," Matthew said angrily. "You’re a disgrace to the family, Eddie. I always said you were no good, and now my judgement has been vindicated."

"What did they offer you?" I said. "Really; I’m curious. I mean, you wouldn’t have been my first choice to take down a dangerous and experienced rogue. You’ve never been any good at the physical side of what we do. The old ultraviolence…Leaning on stuffed shirts in the City is more your level; putting the wind up stockbrokers who’ve been caught with their hand in the till."

Matthew glared at me, bright red spots burning on his cheeks. "Once I’ve proved myself by bringing you in, they’re going to give me all your territory and responsibilities, old boy, as well as my own. I’ll be the biggest and best agent in one of the most important cities in the world. The Matriarch gave me her word, personally."

"She’s using you, Matthew, just like she used me." I felt suddenly tired, worn down. "She’s setting us both up. Can’t you see that? She’s ready to throw you away, just to slow me down till more experienced agents can get here. We can’t trust the Matriarch anymore, Matthew. She’s got her own agenda now."

Matthew looked at me as though I’d suddenly started speaking in tongues. "She’s…the Matriarch. Her word is law. We live and die at her pleasure. That’s the way it’s always been. And you’re just a dirty little traitor!"

I looked around me. There was still no sign of any backup for Matthew. Maybe he really had been the only one close enough…

"I don’t need any help to take down a traitor like you," said Matthew.

"I’m not a traitor," I said, taking a step towards him. He stood his ground.

"You’ve always been a traitor," he said, and his smile was cold and unpleasant now. "To the spirit of what we do. To the duty and traditions of the family. You should never have been allowed so much freedom; see what it’s done to you. A mad dog, running loose, that has to be put down for everybody’s good."

I studied him for a moment. There was definitely something in his voice and in his smile…"This isn’t official, is it?" I said finally. "That’s why you’re here without backup. The family doesn’t know anything about this. You’re here representing the Matriarch, and no one else. You’re not here to bring me back alive, are you, Matthew?"

His smiled broadened. "What good would that serve?"

"I never liked you," I said. "You always were teacher’s pet."

We both armoured up, the living metal leaping into place around us. It was eerie, looking at Matthew in his armour, like a mirror image. I didn’t know what weapons he might have, but I didn’t think he’d use them, for fear I’d use mine. They’d make the situation too unpredictable. And besides, we were both curious. We wanted to do this the hard way, head to head and hand to hand, just because it had been centuries since anyone had tried that. It was very rare for two Droods to fight in the gold. We were never allowed to do that outside of training sessions, because it was unthinkable that Drood should fight Drood. There were records of such clashes in the library, very old records, but they were long on flowery words and short on detail. I wanted to do this, and so did he.

And if we were both doing this for the wrong reasons, there was no one here to stop us.

We sprang forward, golden hands outstretched. Equally motivated, equally fierce, equally determined. We slammed together, and the impact of armour on armour sounded like a great bell ringing in the depths of Hell. We hit each other hard, throwing punch after punch with all our amplified strength behind it, not even bothering to defend ourselves. The awful sound reverberated in the empty street, but neither of us took any hurt. Our armour protected us. The unstoppable force meeting the immovable object. I barely felt the impact of his fists, and I’m certain he didn’t feel mine. All we were doing was wearing each other out. We wrestled clumsily for a while, chest to chest, neither of us able to gain an advantage.

Finally I tripped him up, and while he was down I kicked him so hard in the ribs he skidded several yards down the street. I ran after him, and while he was still scrambling to his feet, I grabbed him with both hands, picked him up, and threw him at the nearest building. He crashed halfway through the wall, held in place for a moment while dislodged bricks rained down on his armour. He pulled himself free with hardly an effort, and the wall collapsed behind him. He launched himself at me, completely unfazed, and we slammed together again.

We couldn’t hurt each other. Matthew pushed me away, reached out, and grabbed the steel pole of a streetlight. He yanked it up out of its concrete setting, the jagged end trailing wires and sparks. He wound up and swung the steel pole like a bat, and I couldn’t move quickly enough to avoid it. The heavy steel smashed into my ribs, lifted me up off my feet, and sent me flying through the air. I hit the ground hard several yards away, rolling over and over, and was immediately up on my feet again, unhurt, not even breathing hard.

We went to it again, raging up and down the street, smashing everything we came in contact with except each other. We hit out with everything we could lay our hands on, punched each other through walls, demolishing the street from one end to the other. Buildings collapsed, glass shattered, and fires broke out, and we didn’t even notice. We fought like gods, trampling heedlessly through the paper and cardboard world of mere mortals.

Finally we ran out of room and came to the barricade set up at the end of the street. Behind a row of steel posts strung with barbed wire, half a dozen police stood watching from behind their parked cars. Behind them, a crowd of curious onlookers, drawn by the noise. They all watched in dumbstruck horror as Matthew and I went at it hammer and tongs right in front of them, so caught up in the righteous anger of what we were doing that we didn’t give a damn about the armour being seen in public.