Simon Green - The Man with the Golden Torc

"So now Solomon Krieg walks abroad in the world’s hidden places, its secret haunts and clubs, recruiting people like me as allies to his new cause. He found me at the Wulfshead. He can be…very persuasive. And there he is, right ahead, guarding his master’s lair."

Our soldier guide handed us over into Solomon Krieg’s care with visible relief and not a little haste, barely managing a sketchy salute before hurrying back to his post at the entrance portal. I studied Krieg openly. A legend in his own right, the most terrible secret weapon the British Secret Service ever produced. The English Assassin, the British Bogeyman: Solomon Krieg had many such names down the years. But there was nothing romantic about the Golem with the Atomic Brain. In his own way, he was almost as disturbing as Mr. Stab. A killer with no conscience, no compassion, and, many said, no soul. The greatest secret agent of all, because he would do absolutely anything and never once question his orders. He was a terror weapon from the coldest part of the Cold War, designed to scare the shit out of whomever he was up against.

It was a very cold Cold War. Everyone did terrible things, then.

Krieg was a little over six feet tall, with jet-black hair and pale colourless skin that contrasted eerily with his black uniform. He was muscular but not to any unusual extent. That wasn’t where his strength came from. Krieg was carved from clay, made flesh with ancient magics, and then supercharged with implanted mechanisms. The best technology of his day. Right across his forehead ran a long deep scar, usually hidden by makeup in the old photos I’d seen. It looked like they’d just sawed the top of his head off, popped in their amazing atomic brain, and then jammed the top back on again. It wasn’t a subtle age, back then.

Just standing before us, calm and collected, his pale face empty of all emotion, Krieg looked dangerous. Like a coiled snake or a crouching tiger, ready to strike out and kill at any moment, without warning. I only had to look at him, and I believed every terrible story I’d heard about him. When he finally did speak, his voice was a harsh whisper, uninflected and uncaring.

"Edwin Drood," he said, and just hearing my name in such a cold voice was like listening to my own death warrant. "It is right that you should come to us. Now that you’re rogue. You understand what it is, to be betrayed by those you gave your life to. You must meet Mr. Truman. He is a man of vision and destiny. You can trust him."

"Well," I said. "That’s good to know. Can my companions come too?"

Solomon Krieg looked them over with his cold, unblinking gaze. "If they behave themselves. You understand: if they step out of line, I may have to spank them."

"Go right ahead," I said. "I’ll hold your coat."

"Come on, Solomon," said Molly. "You must remember me. You were the one who brought me into Manifest Destiny, four years ago. At the Wulfshead. Remember?"

"No," said Solomon Krieg.

He led us down yet another steel corridor, around a corner, and into a simple, private office. And there behind a simple desk sat the head of Manifest Destiny. Leader of the resistance against the old and mighty power of the Droods. He sat in his swivel chair with his back to us, watching as a dozen monitor screens blazed information at him. From the way he moved his head slowly back and forth, it seemed he was taking it all in, though it was just a babble of mixed-up noise to me. He made us wait a while, just to remind us who was in charge here, and then he waved one hand at the screens, and they all shut down at once. He turned slowly around to face us, while Solomon Krieg took up a place at his side. Truman had a broad, kindly face, but that wasn’t what I was looking at. I’d seen some strange sights in my time, but what Truman had done to himself was truly extraordinary.

Long steel rods thrust out of his shaven head at regular intervals, radiating out for over a foot in length, connected by a wide steel hoop, like a great metal halo. The way the skin puckered around the base of the rods suggested they’d been there for some time. The combined weight must have been appalling, but Truman showed no sign of any strain. My first thought was that he’d been in an accident, and this was some kind of head brace, but the pride in his eyes and in his bearing suggested differently.

Look at what I have done to myself, his face said. Isn’t it magnificent?

"Yes," he said, in a deep authoritative voice. "It’s all my own work. I drilled the holes in my skull myself, inserted the steel rods one at a time, forcing them a specific distance into my brain, following my own very careful calculations. And then all I had to do was connect them up with a reinforcing ring, and I became the first man to realise the true potential of the human brain. Oh, yes, my friends, this crown of thorns serves a definite purpose."

"Really?" I said. "I’m so glad to hear that."

"It all arose out of my interest in acupuncture and trepanation," he said, carrying on with his prepared speech as though he hadn’t even heard me, and perhaps he hadn’t. "The rods in my brain activate the energy centres, expand my thoughts, and increase the power of my mind beyond all normal limitations. My brain is now the equal of any computer, able to store incredible amounts of information, make decisions at undreamt-of speed, and multitask like you wouldn’t believe. I hold the entire organisation of Manifest Destiny in my head, down to the smallest detail. Nothing escapes me.

"I can see all the scientific and magical forces at work in the world around me, all the things that are hidden to most mortals. I can see all the invisible and intangible threats to the works of man. And at the same time, I am invisible and invulnerable to all those forces who would bring me down, if they could. No magic or science can touch me now."

I tried to interrupt, but he was on a roll. He must have said this many times before, to new recruits, but I could tell he never got tired of it.

"I created Manifest Destiny through the force of my own will, bringing people to me and convincing them of the need for an organisation like this. People of like mind and true hearts, dedicated body and soul to the good and necessary work before us. Nothing less than freeing humanity from the ancient yoke of the Droods. Nothing less than setting mankind free, at last. Every day my agents walk abroad in the world, gathering new allies, sabotaging the Drood infrastructure, and clawing the world back from them, inch by inch. We’re not strong enough to go head-to-head with the Droods, not yet. But soon enough, we will be. And then…we’ll see a whole new world, with mankind no longer held in check by Drood authority, free to make our own destiny at last."

He leaned forward across his desk, fixing me with his powerful gaze. He was staring right into the golden mask of Drood armour, but it didn’t seem to faze him at all. "Join us, Edwin. You know now that everything your family taught you is a lie. Believe me; it is a far greater honour to free a world than to rule it. With your help, with what you know, and with the secrets of your incredible armour…there are no limits to what we might achieve! Join us, Edwin. Be my agent. And I will give you a new cause and a new purpose. Just like Solomon here."

He smiled briefly at the artificial man standing beside him. "My faithful Solomon. He was a lost soul when I found him. Discarded by his creators, abandoned by those he’d served so faithfully and for so long. A warrior without a war. I opened his eyes to a new cause, new possibilities, and now he is a part of the greatest and most important army this world has ever known. An organisation dedicated to one end…setting mankind free."

"Tell me," I said when he finally paused for breath, "did you start getting these ideas before or after you began drilling holes in your head?"