Secret Histories 10: Dr. DOA Page 3

  “How do we know?” I said.

  “Because we’re Droods,” said the Matriarch. “We know everything.”

  “If that was true, this mission wouldn’t be necessary,” I said. “What you mean is, somebody talked.”

  “Exactly,” said the Sarjeant. “Someone, and it really doesn’t matter who, bought future information from Cassandra. Whatever it was, it upset them so much, they ratted Cassandra out. And once we knew what to look for, nothing could hide Cassandra from us.”

  “Our new Armourer is settling in nicely,” said the Matriarch. “Doing really good work.”

  “How are we supposed to sneak onto an aircraft carrier zooming around in the stratosphere?” I said. “In fact, if it never lands . . . how does Cassandra get its own people on board?”

  “Shuttles,” said the Sarjeant. “Our first thought was to have you join the next replacement crew, but that would take too long. We want this operation shut down now.”

  “I suppose I could try the Merlin Glass,” I said. “Have it open a Door somewhere inside the carrier . . .”

  “No,” the Matriarch said flatly. “We can’t trust that unnatural thing any more. Not after it’s let you down so many times. And besides, using that much power would almost certainly blast right through the psychic chaff. You’d be spotted immediately.”

  “We never did find out why Merlin gave the Glass to the family in the first place,” said the Sarjeant. “As I am Head of Security for the family, that has bothered me for some time. The Trojan Horse insists on coming to mind.”

  “Merlin Satanspawn didn’t exactly have a reputation for kindly deeds, outside of King Arthur’s court,” said Molly. “I mean, come on. The clue is in the name.”

  “He was born to be the Antichrist,” I said, “but declined the position because of his friendship with Arthur. And because he believed in Arthur’s dream of Camelot. As far as I’m concerned, that buys him a lot of slack.”

  “Only because you’ve never met him,” said Molly.

  “And you have?” I said.

  “Oh sure. In Strangefellows bar, in the Nightside. Of course, that was after he’d been dead for centuries.”

  “What was he like?” said the Matriarch.

  “Grumpy,” said Molly. She looked at me thoughtfully. “He did say a few things . . . Did he work with the Droods, back in the day?”

  “Hard to know,” I said. “A lot of the family’s earliest records are missing. Some say deliberately destroyed. The family is supposed to have done some things, when it was starting out, that we’re better off not knowing. Supposedly, Merlin presented us with the Glass as a gift, for helping him take down Arthur’s greatest enemy. The evil sorceress, Morgana La Fae.”

  “Really?” said Molly.

  “Who knows?” I said. “Go back that far, and it’s as much legend as history.”

  “If we could please return to the matter at hand?” said the Matriarch.

  “Go ahead,” I said. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  “You can’t use any transfer mechanism or teleport spell,” the Matriarch said firmly. “They’re all too susceptible to prediction. You’re going to have to do this the hard way, sneaking on board inside the blind spot. Don’t worry, Eddie. We have a plan worked out for you.”

  And then she smiled. So did the Sarjeant-at-Arms.

  “I’m really not going to like this, am I?” I said.

  * * *

  After the plan had been explained to me, and I’d stopped shouting and calmed down a bit, I escorted Molly out of Drood Hall and round the back. It didn’t help that she’d laughed so hard, she’d given herself hiccups. Though whether this was because the more extreme aspects of the plan appealed to her, or just because she loved seeing me lose my temper with my family, was open to question. The Hall grounds stretched away into the distance, with hardly anyone about. No snow or ice here, just perfectly manicured lawns under a darkening sky. The only sounds on the quiet afternoon were the cries of peacocks and the occasional howl from the gryphons. It was too cold for anyone to be out and about if they didn’t have to be.

  “Where are we going?” said Molly. “I thought we had a plane to catch.”

  “You’ve never seen where my family keeps its fleet of Blackhawke jets,” I said, cheering up a little. “You’re in for a treat.”

  We’d only just rounded the corner of the Hall when the lawn before us split open and pulled apart, the two grassy sides rising up and up to reveal a vast hidden bunker deep underground. The straining of hidden mechanisms sounded loudly on the still winter air until the two huge green sides were practically vertical. And rising steadily into the air between them, on a gleaming hydraulic lift, was a sleek black futuristic jet. The Drood Blackhawke. Guaranteed to get you there in one hell of a hurry and not lose your luggage along the way. It slammed into position and stopped, and a bridge appeared so Molly and I could walk out over the long drop to board the plane. Molly squealed loudly and clapped her hands together delightedly.

  “That is so Tracy Island!”

  “Some ideas are just classic,” I said. “You’d be amazed what we keep under Stonehenge.”

  The Blackhawke’s massive jet engines thundered to life as it readied itself for take-off, and I flinched away from the sheer volume. Molly didn’t. The side door opened as I led Molly across the bridge, and a stairway descended. Molly all but danced up the steps. I’ve travelled on the family jets so often, a lot of the thrill has worn off, but I enjoyed Molly’s reaction. She stopped just before the open door and looked back at me.

  “What about the runway?”

  “Doesn’t need one,” I said. “Vertical take-off.”

  “This just gets better and better. Your family has all the best toys!”

  Inside the plane it was all very comfortable, even luxurious. The urgency of the situation meant we got the whole cabin to ourselves, and we could take our pick of the rows of empty seats. Molly took her time selecting a seat, before finally settling on one roughly in the centre. Safer, she said vaguely. She sat down by the window, and I sat down beside her. I prefer an aisle seat—gives me room to stretch my legs.

  “Doesn’t this beat having to hang around an airport for three hours for security checks?” I said. “There’s only so much duty free you can shoplift before you get bored.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” said Molly. “It takes a lot of effort and some major-league disguise spells to get me through airport security these days. I may have given up being a supernatural terrorist, but some people just can’t let it go . . . I stick to teleport spells and transfer Gates these days. Less harm to the environment, and a lot harder to intercept.”

  The pilot’s voice came over the intercom. That calm, relaxed, Never mind an engine’s just fallen off the wing everything’s fine voice that all pilots have to have. I think it’s a law.

  “This is Elliot, your pilot for this flight. Welcome aboard, Eddie and Molly. Make yourselves comfortable. It’s going to take us at least two hours to get to the other side of the world. No cabin crew, no complimentary drinks, no point complaining. We’re in a hurry. Not expecting any real turbulence, but if things should get a little shaky, try to get some of it into the bags provided. I’ll let you know when we’ve arrived, so don’t bother me.”

  “And people wonder why there are no Drood diplomats,” I said.

  “No they don’t,” Molly assured me. “Are there any magazines?”

  “Just the family in-house organ,” I said, pulling the latest issue out of the seat holder in front of me. “The Drood Times. Packed full of family chat, helpful articles, and inspirational thoughts. Ghastly beyond measure.”

  Molly took it from me anyway, just to be contrary. The front cover had a carefully posed photo portrait of the Matriarch with her new look, and the tag, A NEW MATRIARCH MEANS A NEW DAWN FOR THE FAMILY! Molly leafed quickly
through the glossy pages, curled a lip in disbelief, and tossed the thing to one side.

  “Lots of people do that,” I said.

  “Are you ever in it?” said Molly.

  “Only as a dire warning,” I said solemnly. “Apparently, I am a bad influence.”

  “I am so proud of you,” said Molly.

  There is also an entirely unofficial house organ, called the Drood Inquirer. Produced infrequently, very much in secret, and circulated from hand to hand when no one’s looking. Full of scandalous gossip, tales told out of school, and all kinds of things the higher levels of the family would rather the rest didn’t know about. It keeps being shut down, and resurfacing almost immediately.

  I have been known to contribute the odd piece, now and again.

  “Well,” I said. “So much for my family. Any news from your sisters? Has Isabella blown up anything big, or Louisa killed anyone particularly important?”

  “They’re around,” Molly said vaguely. “Almost certainly doing something your family would not approve of.”

  I smiled. She wasn’t usually that circumspect. “What’s the matter? Afraid someone in my family might be listening?”

  “Can you be sure they aren’t?” said Molly. She looked at me, considering. “Are you really happy to be back working with your family again? Given what you’ve had to do for your relatives, and what they’ve done to you? You keep leaving, but you keep going back.”

  “That’s family for you,” I said. “This will do, for now. For want of anything better. It helps that there’s nothing morally uncertain about this mission.”

  “As far as you know,” Molly said darkly. “Why was the Matriarch so keen to keep it secret from Ethel?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m going to have to look into that when we get back. Ethel’s motivations have always been a mystery, but the fact is the family couldn’t operate without her. I can’t see any way in which picking a fight with Ethel could be in the family’s best interests.”

  “Do you trust Ethel?” said Molly.

  “She’s never given me any reason not to,” I said carefully. “But she’s never explained just why a major entity such as herself would want to babysit the Droods. Some people outside the family have hinted to me that she has her own reasons, and that when we finally find out what they are, we’re really not going to like them.”

  “Is that why you’re back?” said Molly. “To keep an eye on things?”

  “I need to be doing something,” I said. “I need a good reason to get out of bed in the morning.”

  “What about me?” said Molly.

  “You’re a reason to get into bed. I need . . . to be someone worthy of you. To be doing something that matters. The Droods make that possible.”

  “You’re talking about duty and responsibility, and all those other things I can’t be bothered with,” said Molly.

  “You used to be one of the world’s feared supernatural terrorists,” I said. “Brown-trousering authority figures on a regular basis. Are you really saying there wasn’t a moral component to that?”

  “Hell no,” said Molly. “I just get bored easily.”

  * * *

  A few hours’ hard flying later, I was dozing while Molly slept the deep, untroubled sleep of the entirely conscience free. Elliot came back on the intercom to inform us he was currently manoeuvring the Blackhawke into position high above Cassandra Inc’s flying Secret Headquarters. Molly stopped snoring with a very unladylike grunt, lifted her head off my shoulder, and stretched languorously. I got up out of my seat and did a few deep knee bends and stretches. I felt the need to be in really good form for the crazy and quite possibly suicidal plan ahead of me. All I got for my troubles were some loud cracking noises from my joints and a few paranoid thoughts about deep vein thrombosis. I started down the aisle to the rear door, and Molly came hurrying after me. Somehow she’d magically changed her entire outfit when I wasn’t looking, and now she was wearing a snazzy black leather cat-suit, complete with a great many belts and buckles. Molly always believed in dressing for the occasion.

  I dressed anonymously, because I was a spy. And because I don’t give a damn.

  “We are now flying directly over the airship,” said Elliot. “Matching its speed exactly. All the Blackhawke’s security measures are functioning perfectly, but even so, I don’t feel like hanging around here one moment longer than I absolutely have to. So please take up your position by the rear door, and wait for the green light. Then feel free to get the hell off my plane as soon as humanly possible.”

  I couldn’t help noticing that the easy-going element to his voice had disappeared. I stood before the rear door, with Molly tucked in close at my side. I ran through the Matriarch’s plan in my mind again, and still thought I should have insisted on something better. Or even something else. A red light glared fiercely above the door, and a whole bunch of alarms sounded as Elliot rapidly reduced the air pressure in the cabin. There was a prolonged shrieking sound, and everything not strapped down flapped around like dying fish. I subvocalised my activating Words, and golden armour shot out from the torc round my neck, covering me from head to toe. Immediately I felt stronger and faster, more awake and more alive. Like I’d just been jolted out of the ordinary doze of living. My armour is the great family secret; it makes us untouchable and unstoppable. Mostly. I wasn’t sure just how well it could protect me in the unfortunate event of my falling out of a plane and slamming into the deck of a flying airship at high velocity.

  I glanced at Molly. She’d surrounded herself with a mystical shield, its crackling and coruscating energies protecting her from earthly and unearthly dangers while also supplying her with air to breathe. Again, I had no idea how much help the shield would be when it came to jumping out of an airplane with no parachute. She seemed cheerful enough, even smiling in anticipation. But then, that was Molly.

  We waited before the rear door as the pressure dropped, equalizing itself with the rarefied atmosphere outside. My golden hands clenched into fists. Molly stared unblinkingly at the red light over the door, willing it to change. Red became green, all the alarms shut down, and the rear door blasted open. The great roar of air rushing past came clearly to me as I stepped up to the opening to look down. And there it was, Cassandra Inc’s Secret Headquarters, cruising through the skies some two hundred feet below us.

  “I’ve brought the Blackhawke down as much as I dare!” said Elliot. “Any lower and someone would be bound to notice.”

  “This will do,” I said.

  “Can’t really miss at this range,” said Molly.

  “Can I have that in writing?” I said.

  “Are you sure you want to do this, Eddie?” said Elliot. For the first time, he sounded honestly concerned. “I mean, just jump and hope for the best?”

  “Of course,” I said. “I’m a Drood field agent. We can do anything. It says so in our job description.”

  “But what if you should miss? You wouldn’t believe how strong the winds are out there . . . You could even be shot out of the sky! My sensors are showing me some appallingly big guns . . .”

  “Really not helping my peace of mind, Elliot.”

  “Sorry. Go when you’re ready.”

  “Are you sure about this?” said Molly.

  “Of course not,” I said. “Where would be the fun in that?”

  Molly laughed. “A man after my own heart. Let’s do it.”

  I concentrated, and grew a pair of sturdy golden handles out of the back of my armour, right between my shoulder blades. So Molly would have something to hang on to. I stepped into the open doorway, and looked down at the long drop. The airship seemed very small and very far away. Just a small grey object in the wide-open sky. Molly clapped me on one golden shoulder to let me know she was ready, and took a firm grip on the two handles. I threw myself out the door and plummeted down. T
he Blackhawke roared away, leaving Molly and me behind.

  * * *

  The freezing air rushed past me. I could hear it even if I couldn’t feel it. I kept my arms close to my sides and my head pointed down, aiming myself at the flying airship like a golden arrow. Molly clapped her legs around my hips and hung on tight as the turbulence buffeted both of us. She was whooping with glee so loudly, I could hear her above the rushing wind. I fixed my gaze on the ship below, which was growing steadily larger.

  We dropped like a golden stone, building up speed, and the Secret Headquarters came rushing up to meet us. Really big gun positions took up a lot of the deck, along with any amount of sophisticated sensor tech. We’d better be hidden inside my family’s psychic null, or those guns would have no trouble at all shooting me out of the sky. I didn’t think they could actually hurt me inside my armour, but they could certainly blow me off target. And then it would be a really long way down to the ground. But the gun stations didn’t react at all as I drew closer, and I breathed a little more easily.

  I waited as long as I dared, until I was heading for the ship like a golden bullet, looking for the one point on the deck I had been assured was a blind spot for the ship’s sensors; just in case. I concentrated, and broad golden glider wings shot out from my armour’s sides. They immediately caught and cupped the air, slowing me down. I was still falling, but now I had at least some limited control over my speed and direction. I glanced back over my shoulder to check whether Molly was okay. She’d tightened her legs around my hips and let go of one of the handles on my back, so she could wave one arm in the air like a cowgirl riding a bronco. I had to smile.

  I was close enough now to see that the airship really was a ship. A mothballed aircraft carrier, tons of steel, blatant and uncompromising, sailing through the skies as though it had every right to be there. The deck rushed up, filling my sight till I could no longer see both ends of the ship at once. Coming at me like a windscreen on the freeway. I stretched my glider wings as wide as possible, braced my legs, and finally touched down so gently, I barely had to bend my knees. Ethel’s armour never ceases to amaze me. I quickly pulled my glider wings back into my armour; it’s a strain to maintain any big change in the armour for long. Molly dismounted lightly from my back, dropped her mystical shield, and then danced triumphantly around me. I sucked the golden handholds back into my shoulder blades.