“Sounds fair to me,” I said. But when I tried to reach through the opening, the Glass wouldn’t let me. I’d been afraid of that. “Look, I’m not really a stranger. I’m speaking to you from far in your past. I don’t know exactly how far. Centuries, certainly; maybe more. You are a descendant of my family. And my family needs a warrior’s guidance. But I can’t just…bring you through. You’re too far off from me. But I have another way of reaching you.”
“Better be quick,” he said dispassionately. “My enemies will be here soon. What’s your name?”
“Edwin Drood,” I said. “And yours?”
The warrior smiled. “Deathstalker. Giles Deathstalker.”
CHAPTER TEN
Various Voices, Prophesying War
Sometimes it seems to me that the whole of my time at the Hall consists of people marching up to me, determined to tell me things they already know I’m not going to like. There’s a certain look I’ve learned to recognise; equal parts determination and it’s-for-your-own-good glee. This time it was Callan Drood, emerging from a side room as I wandered back into the Hall. He looked not so much sunburned from his trip to South America, as sun-roasted. He headed straight for me, already scowling furiously. Didn’t mean it had to be bad news; Callan always looked that way. Even at the best of times, he gave the impression of someone perfectly prepared to walk through anything that got in his way, including walls, regulations, and, quite possibly, people. I just knew I didn’t want to hear what he was so determined to tell me, but short of clubbing him down with the nearest blunt instrument and walking right over him, there was no way of avoiding the man. So I stopped, heaved a heavy sigh just to show I wasn’t at all happy, and let him get on with it. “The Inner Circle wants to talk with you,” Callan said bluntly. “It’s nice to want things,” I said. “I want several large drinks and a meat pie, followed by a nice lie down, and I think I’ll go get them right now.”
“Let me rephrase the message,” said Callan. “The Inner Circle needs to see you right now, and I have been instructed not to take No, Go to hell, or even Fuck off and die for an answer.”
“The Circle has already demonstrated that it can make decisions without me,” I said flatly. “Let them get on with it.”
“Sulking doesn’t become you,” said Callan. “So cut it out, or I’ll slap you somewhere painful. Right here, in public. This is important.”
“This bluff-but-honest act of yours is really starting to get on my tits,” I said. “How important?”
“Sphincter-clenching, testicle-shrivelling, end-of-the-world-and-everything-turning-to-shit important,” said Callan. “They’re waiting for you down in the War Room. Probably crying and wetting themselves and trying to hide under things.”
“Oh,” I said. “That important.”
So we went down to the War Room, threading our way through all the security checks, until finally we passed through the specially reinforced doors and into complete bedlam. The usual hushed air was gone, replaced by a tense, charged, and very noisy atmosphere, in which people ran from station to workstation, held rapid conversations, threw up their hands, and then hurried on somewhere else. The giant display screens covering the black basalt walls, showing maps of every country in the world, were thickly dotted with flashing red lights, indicating realtime emergencies and disaster spots. The farcasters and computer technicians were all shouting into their hands-free headsets while waving sheets of paper for messengers to pick up and take wherever necessary.
I actually stopped and stared for a moment. The War Room was always the cold, calm, and collected heart of family decision-making. I’d never seen the place so distracted, so openly close to panic. What used to be my Inner Circle was standing around the main mission table, waiting impatiently for me to join it. Or at least most of them. There was no sign of Jacob, of course, nor of Molly or Penny. Presumably those two were still off somewhere private, having their little girl-to-girl chat. The Sarjeant-at-Arms was there, and the Armourer, and Harry…and Roger Morningstar. I did wonder whether I should object to a known hellspawn being allowed into the Drood family War Room, but that was after all the kind of thinking I was trying to overturn. If he had anything useful to contribute, I’d listen to him.
We could always kill him later.
Still, with Molly and Penny absent, and both the living and the dead Jacob off about their business, it meant the only real ally I had in the Circle was the Armourer. Good old Uncle Jack. Who was, to be fair, glowering at Roger.
“What is that half-breed demon doing down here?” he demanded as I approached the main mission table with Callan at my side.
“Roger’s with me,” said Harry.
The Armourer sniffed loudly. “Don’t know what the family’s coming to.”
“Hi guys,” I said. “What’s happening?”
The Armourer immediately turned his glare on me. “Where the hell have you been, Eddie? Look at the world maps! Information has been flooding in ever since your little exercise in South America; all of it bad. There are brush fires breaking out across the globe, all because there aren’t any agents left in the field to stamp them out. The staff here are being run ragged just trying to keep track of what’s going on.”
“I’ve brought in some extra people, from intelligence and the media pit, and basically anyone else who didn’t look too busy or who couldn’t run away fast enough,” Callan said briskly. “We’re just about staying on top of things, for the moment. But world events are definitely accelerating, as world leaders give spectacularly good impressions of lemmings with a really bad hangover and no inhibitions.”
I had to raise an eyebrow at him. “Since when have you been in charge of the War Room, Callan?”
“Since you and your precious Inner Circle decided you’d rather spend your time squabbling with each other, instead of getting your hands dirty with the day-to-day running of the family. I used to work here, before I had delusions of being a field agent, and when I got back from that major clusterfuck in South America, I felt a need to be doing something useful, so I looked in here and was appalled to see how lax things had become in my absence. So I just walked right in, rolled up my sleeves, and took over. No one else was volunteering. The people here were actually grateful for someone to tell them what to do. You don’t like the way I’m running things, fine, boot my arse out of here; if you can find anyone dumb enough to take over. I’ll bet you lot don’t even know the precedence protocols, do you? And what are you smiling at, Edwin?”
“For a moment there,” I said, “you reminded me of me.”
“Now you’re just being nasty,” said Callan.
“These tough-guy bonding rituals are all very sweet,” said Harry, “but, Callan, as lord and master of the War Room do you think you could lower yourself to actually brief us on what’s happening now?”
Callan flared his nostrils. “Don’t push your luck, new boy. You and brimstone boy are only here on sufferance. Okay, everyone; bottom line. Politicians of every stripe and flavour are currently threatening each other with war, invasions, and all sorts of economic terrorism, because they believe the family is incapable of stopping them. Word of our lack of field agents, and maybe even lack of torcs, has clearly got around. So, all across the world lots and lots of old grudges, hatreds, and blood feuds are finally being paid off, with age-old enemies gearing up for some serious and long-delayed bloodletting.
“Added to that, all the usual unusual suspects are just itching to take advantage of the situation. While the cat’s away, the mice will inevitably get uppity. All the usual nasty organisations and individuals are operating more and more openly, just daring us to try and stop them. We’ve been enforcing the peace so long, we’ve forgotten just how much bad stuff was bubbling under the surface.”