The Man with the Golden Torc sh-1 Read online

  "Ah, Alex; it’s good to see position and authority hasn’t mellowed you. How’s the work here going? Bitten the heads off any more white mice recently?"

  "That was just the once! And it was a perfectly reasonable scientific experiment!"

  "Of course it was, dear. You still cried like a girly when I had to give you all those rabies shots afterwards."

  I couldn’t say I was all that surprised to discover Alexandra was the new Armourer in training. She always was ambitious. Not to mention almost viciously focused and driven to excel. Alexandra was hard-core family, utterly dedicated to the good fight, with no time at all for people on the edge, like me.

  "I’m here to pick up some new weapons for my mission," I said, putting on my best let’s-all-be-calm-and-reasonable face. "I have a chitty, from the Matriarch."

  Alexandra gave me a look that plainly said she didn’t believe a word of it, and stuck out a hand for the paperwork. I handed it over, and she made a point of scrutinising it very thoroughly, line by line, looking for some subclause she could use to turn me down. I favoured her with my most confident and beneficent smile, which made her scowl ever harder. She’d give herself a headache soon, if she wasn’t careful. In the end, she had no choice but to approve my chitty. It came direct from the Matriarch, with her seal and signature. Alexandra reluctantly put her initials in the space provided, and then thrust the papers ungraciously back at me.

  "It all seems valid enough," she growled. "But I don’t want you in my armoury one moment longer than necessary, Eddie. You’re a troublemaker. You breed dissent, and you undermine proper authority. You stand for everything I disapprove of in the family. We should have eliminated you years ago. You’re a security risk, and you always will be."

  I had to smile. "And to think I sent you a Valentine’s Day card, when we were both fourteen."

  Her mouth twitched briefly. "So it was you. I did wonder."

  At which interesting point, we were interrupted by the arrival of another field agent. It was Matthew Drood, and Alexandra was suddenly all smiles for him. Matthew was another cousin from my year, and everything the family had wanted me to be. He’d grown up to be everything I’d always thought he would: very slick, very smart, very smooth. And not half as good in the field as he liked to make out. I’d worked a few cases with him in London, and somehow he ended up with all the credit after I’d done all the real work. He stood casually before me in his expensively cut suit, everything a field agent shouldn’t be: tall, dark, and handsome, and effortlessly charming when he chose to be. Good luck trying to hide him in a crowd. (All right, Uncle James was all those things too, but James had style.)

  Matthew worked mainly in business circles, keeping the City…if not actually honest, at least a lot more cautious. He also tended towards scorched-earth solutions to most problems, in which there was no such thing as an innocent bystander. Hard-core family, of course, which was why he and Alexandra got on so famously together. Matthew finally broke off being charming to her long enough to notice me.

  "Ah, Eddie…Super to see you again, old thing. You’re looking very…urban. Back from exile so soon? What happened, old boy? Run into something you couldn’t handle? You should have called me; you know I’m always ready to sail in and save the day."

  "Yeah," I said. "That’ll happen. Actually, the Matriarch summoned me back here to personally brief me on my next mission." I don’t normally stoop to one-upmanship, but Matthew always did bring out the worst in me. His pleasant smile started to look a bit forced, so I pushed things a little further. "I’m surprised you didn’t hear, Matthew. I always thought you were cleared for top-level discussions."

  "Really?" he murmured. "A secret mission, you say? Do tell…I’m just dying to know what kind of top-level mission would demand someone of your…particular talents."

  "Sorry," I said. "But it would appear you don’t have high enough clearance."

  He stiffened perceptibly and turned abruptly away to bestow his most charming smile on Alexandra. "Lexxy, darling, I come to you in need. I’m afraid I just have to have another truth field generator. I absolutely wore the last one out, following paper trails through the City on that big Brazilian fraud case…"

  "Of course, Matthew. Nothing but the best for the family’s golden boy. Come with me, and I’ll fix you right up."

  They both turned their backs on me and strolled away arm in arm, laughing easily together. The Armourer and I looked after them.

  "What that girl needs," said the Armourer, "is a right good—"

  I quickly dropped my clapped-out portable door on the bench in front of him. "I need this recharged. And as soon as possible."

  "I know, I know; I’ve read the chitty. Matriarch wants you fully equipped with the best we’ve got and out of here, on the double. Business as usual, these days." He called for one of his interns, who came and took the portable door away, holding it at arm’s length like a dead mouse. The Armourer lurched to his feet and fixed me with a penetrating stare. "You come with me, Eddie. And I’ll show you a few things that might just keep you alive when everyone else wants you dead."

  He led me over to another testing bench, shooing away half a dozen interns, and picked up a large silver handgun. He weighed it thoughtfully in his hand, and then passed it over to me. I raised an eyebrow at how heavy it was, and he smiled proudly.

  "That is a Colt Repeater. It never runs out of bullets, and it aims itself. All you have to do is point it in the right general direction, and the gun will take care of the rest. Even you should be able to manage that, Eddie."

  "What about recoil?" I said, just to be picky.

  "Since I made it with people like you in mind, none worth the mention. Try not to use it for too long at one time, or the binding spells will overheat, and the replacement bullets might not be able to find the gun."

  "Why is it so heavy?"

  He grinned nastily. "So if you do run out of bullets, you can club the buggers to death with it."

  He tossed me a shoulder holster, and I struggled into it as he led me over to another bench. I hate shoulder holsters. How women manage with brassieres, I’ll never know. I’d got it more or less into place by the time the Armourer was ready to show me his next creation. It looked a whole lot like an ordinary wristwatch.

  "It looks a whole lot like an ordinary wristwatch," I said.

  "Well, you wouldn’t want one that shouted Look at me! I belong to a field agent!, would you? This is a reverse watch. Looks and works as normal, except for this button here. Don’t touch it, except when you mean to use it. Push it down hard, and the watch will reverse time, rewinding the last thirty seconds of your life. This will give you a second chance to undo your more serious mistakes. But be warned: any attempt to meddle with time is dangerous. Don’t use the reverse function too often; it might attract the attention of certain beings who take time disruption very seriously."

  I accepted the watch gingerly. "How does it work?"

  "You wouldn’t understand if I told you, so just put it on and pay attention to this."

  I put the watch on, slipped my old Rolex into my jacket pocket, and looked at the compass the Armourer was holding. It looked a whole lot like an ordinary compass. The Armourer looked at me, but I just smiled politely. I hate to be predictable.

  "This compass will show you the best way out of any situation, no matter how turned around you’ve got yourself. It’s preprogrammed to lock onto the nearest viable exit and take you there. Just follow where the needle points. The Matriarch specifically asked for something simple in this line, and this is so simple a dog could use it. Just keep it away from strong magnetic forces, or it gets confused. If it starts sticking, grease the works up with a little butter. Only the best butter, of course."

  "Oh, of course."

  "Now then, what else have I got for you? I had a really nice aboriginal pointing bone, but someone stirred their coffee with it, and it was never the same after that. Then there was the personality enhancer…Looked
really good on the drawing board. The idea behind that one was that you’d use it to bring to the fore whatever part of your personality was best suited to deal with the situation you found yourself in."

  "Do I gather something went wrong?"

  "The enhancing part went fine. It was shutting the bloody things down afterwards that was the problem. So far we’re dealing with six cases of multiple personality disorder, and two cases of people refusing to talk to themselves. Further testing has been suspended. Ah! Yes; this is what I was looking for."

  He presented me with a small blue-black lacquered box, not much bigger than a matchbox, with a big red button on top. I shook it to see if it would rattle, and the Armourer actually winced.

  "Please don’t do that. What you’re holding is a prototype we haven’t finished testing yet, but the Matriarch said she wanted you supplied with the very best we could offer, so…That is a random teleport generator. Press the button, and the box will instantly send you somewhere else. And because it chooses each destination at random, no one will be able to trail you. Use it to escape from prison cells, blind alleys, death traps, that sort of thing. It works perfectly, except for the times when it doesn’t."

  "What?"

  "Which part of the word random do you need explained to you, Eddie? This box could send you anywhere, theoretically. It’s preprogrammed not to rematerialise you inside anything solid, but apart from that, all bets are off. You could end up at the North Pole. Or Death Valley. Or the Mariana Trench—"

  "I get the idea. Think I’ll pass on this one."

  I handed the box back to him very carefully. He shrugged and put the box down very carefully on the bench. "Suit yourself, boy."

  "Maybe Matthew would like to test it."

  "Now you’re just being nasty."

  I grinned and nodded my thanks to the Armourer. He looked at me for a moment.

  "You watch yourself out there, Eddie," he said gruffly. "It’s a lot scarier out in the world now, than it was in my day."

  The Armourer had spent twenty years as a field agent. That was what made him such a fine Armourer. He always understood that his clever devices had to work in the real world, not just in the labs. Alexandra, on the other hand, had never been out in the field in her life.

  "Don’t worry," I said. "I’ll be careful, Uncle Jack."

  But he was already hard at work on something else. Two of his interns had brought him a large wooden case held together by half a dozen faded leather straps with heavy black iron buckles. He undid each one carefully, opened the lid, and rooted around in the packing material, before bringing out a large old-fashioned chest plate. He held it up to the light to study it, and I leaned over his shoulder. The dark scarlet metal was wafer thin and deeply scored with long lines of writing in Sanskrit. The Armourer placed the chest plate gently on the bench before him and screwed a jeweller’s loupe into one eye to study it close up. I was puzzled. If this piece of armour was as old as it seemed to be, it ought to be part of family history, and I ought to recognise it. But I’d never seen anything like this before.

  "What is it?" I said, trying to sound just casually curious.

  He grunted, not looking up, and not fooled for a moment. "This is part of a Juggernaut Jumpsuit. Not dissimilar to the armour we wear, except on a much higher level. This is the kind of thing you wear when you want to push a mountain over onto its side with one hand. And the reason you’ve never seen it before is because it’s a part of the Armageddon Codex."

  I actually just stood there and gaped at him for a moment. "But…but…those are the forbidden weapons! The weapons too dangerous to be used, except when reality itself is threatened!"

  "I do know that, Eddie."

  "Then what the hell is something like that doing outside the Codex?"

  "Matriarch’s orders. She wants all the forbidden weapons removed and examined, one at a time, and checked to make sure they’re operating at peak efficiency. Just in case they should be needed. She hasn’t actually ordered any testing yet; I don’t think the council would stand for that. But how bad must things be if we’re opening the Codex for the first time in centuries?"

  I leaned in close for a better look at the scarlet metal chest plate. I’d never seen anything from the Armageddon Codex. I don’t think half a dozen people in the family have.

  "No one else is supposed to know what this is," the Armourer said quietly. "It’s here under a code name. But I wanted someone to know. Someone I trusted."

  "Not Alexandra?" I said, just as quietly.

  "The Matriarch specifically said not to tell her. Not tell the Armourer in training? What does that say to you?"

  "She thinks there’s a traitor in the family, Uncle Jack. And she’s not the only one…"

  "A traitor? In the family? Dear God, what have we come to?" The Armourer shook his head slowly. "There was a time I would have said such a thing was unthinkable. Now…I just don’t know anymore."

  "Do you know what my mission is?" I said. "What I’m carrying, and where I have to take it?"

  "Of course. One of the few who do. You put it back, Eddie. It should never have been brought here in the first place."

  "You didn’t ask for it?"

  "Hell, no! That was the Matriarch’s orders again."

  "This opening of the Codex," I said slowly. "Could it have something to do with the recent attacks on the Hall? And the Heart?"

  The Armourer looked away, his shoulders sagging even farther than usual. And for the first time, he sounded…old. "I don’t know, Eddie. No one tells me anything anymore."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Hellhounds on My Trail

  There are moments in every field agent’s life when he becomes convinced that his cover has been blown, and the eyes of the world are suddenly upon him. Usually because someone is shooting at him. I felt that way from the moment I left the Hall and its many protections behind me. Having the Soul of Albion in its lead-lined container tucked away in my dashboard compartment made me feel as though someone had painted a target on my car, or maybe even added a flashing neon sign saying ROB THIS IDIOT NOW. I drove the Hirondel back through the winding country lanes and onto proper roads again. Cows in fields watched me pass, following me with their heads as though even they knew what I was carrying. I’d never couriered anything this important in my life. It felt as though there was someone else in the car with me. Hamlets gave way to villages, which gave way to towns, and soon enough I was back on the M4 motorway, heading south to Stonehenge.

  The afternoon was pleasantly warm as I motored along, and the breeze was refreshingly cool as it ruffled my hair. There’s a lot to be said for a convertible. Traffic was light for a summer afternoon, and I just cruised along, listening to a Mary Hopkin compilation on the CD player. I hadn’t been to Stonehenge in years, and last time I went, it had been as part of an organised school trip. Apparently these days the ancient stone circle was sealed off behind perimeter fences and barbed wire to keep the public at a respectful distance from such an important national monument. (Not so unreasonable; in Victorian times they’d sell you a hammer and chisel on the way in, so you could gouge out your own personal souvenir to take home with you.) Still, I doubted they had anything that could keep me out. And no one sees me unless I want them to, remember?

  It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn’t passed a car coming the other way in quite a while. There wasn’t any traffic in front of me, and a quick glance in the rearview mirror confirmed that there was nothing behind me for as far as I could see. It seemed I had this whole stretch of the motorway all to myself. And the chances of that happening at this time of the day, on such a busy route, were…fantastically low. I shut off the CD player and tapped my fingers thoughtfully on the steering wheel. I was being set up for an ambush.

  Question was: Were they just after a Drood agent, or did someone know what I was carrying?

  I subvocalised the Words, and the living metal swept over me in a moment, sealing me off from all danger behind my g
olden armour. I checked that the Colt Repeater was comfortably loose in its shoulder holster under the armour, and I looked around me. Still nothing ahead and nothing behind, and only empty fields on either side of the road. An alarm blared suddenly inside the car, making me jump, and a flashing red arrow appeared on my dashboard, pointing straight up. I looked up, and there were half a dozen black helicopters flying in close formation right above me in complete silence. If it hadn’t been for my car’s detection system, I’d never have known they were there until it was too late. I hadn’t actually known my car could do that. Score one for the Armourer, and thank you, Uncle Jack.

  I braked hard, and the black helicopters shot on ahead, caught off guard. They spun around in a wide circle, still utterly silent, and headed straight for me. They looked like nasty ungainly insects. Two of the leading helicopters opened up with machine guns, raking the road on either side of the Hirondel, throwing up debris, trying to frighten me into stopping. I put my foot down again, and the Hirondel responded eagerly, surging forward. The helicopters were behind me now as I raced along, but already they were circling around to follow me, still holding perfect attack formation. One launched a missile, and it swept past me to explode in the road ahead. I snapped the wheel around to avoid the crater, and the car punched right through the smoke and flames and out the other side. The armour protected me from the heat and from smoke inhalation, but that was all it could do, for the moment. The armour’s strengths were mostly defensive in nature. Unless and until I got my hands on someone.

  I pressed the pedal to the metal so hard my foot ached, and the Hirondel hammered down the motorway, the engine roaring joyously. More missiles exploded on either side of me, the blasts rocking the car, but I refused to be bluffed. They couldn’t afford to just blow up the car, in case they damaged the Soul. The black helicopters kept up with me easily, taking up formation all around me. My thoughts were racing, trying to find a way out of this trap, but mostly I couldn’t help thinking, Why are the bloody Men in Black after me? It was more than three years since I’d burgled Area 52 on the family’s behalf. And I took only a few things…Could it be that Mr. President was still mad over the Harley Street affair and had called in a favour from his American counterpart? How very small-minded of him. You try to help someone out…