For a while, none of us in the Sanctity said anything. We were all shocked, for our various reasons. Freddie came out of his corner, his face pale and drawn, looking at us as though we might have some answers for him.
“He was my friend,” he said. “We worked together. How could he be infected, and I couldn’t see it? How could he pretend to be Sebastian so closely that I couldn’t tell?”
“The touch of the Loathly One corrupts,” said the Sarjeant. “Part of him was still Sebastian, and wanted to collaborate. But by the end there, Sebastian was probably just a coat the drone could put on and take off.”
I looked at Molly. I still didn’t say anything.
“We need to know exactly when he was infected,” said Harry. “So we can figure out just how long he’s been spying for the enemy. How much he might have told them. How much of our plans and intelligence are compromised.”
I glared at him. “I ordered the Armourer to work out a test, to determine who among us might be infected!”
“So you did,” said Harry. “The Armourer came up with a test; we all went through it and we all passed. So either Sebastian was infected after he was tested…”
“Or the test is no damn good,” I said. “The Armourer’s worked so many miracles for us down the years that we tend to forget he does fail, from time to time. Sebastian suggested there were others like him in the family. Maybe right here in the Hall. Maybe even the original traitor, who arranged for us to bring the Loathly Ones through in the first place. And … he said his torc worked for him, protecting and hiding him once he was infected… Strange?”
“Don’t look at me,” said Strange. “It shouldn’t have been possible. I designed your new torcs and armour to exactly duplicate the properties of those provided by the Heart. I can only assume he was already infected before I handed out the new torcs, and that it was…affected by his infection. Remember, the Loathly Ones are just the intrusions into our reality of the Hungry Gods themselves. And they are vast and powerful and terrible enough to frighten even me.”
“We need to test everyone again,” I said. “I’ll talk to the Armourer, see if we can boost the test some.”
“Test everyone?” said Harry. “Including you?”
“Everyone,” I said. I didn’t look at Molly. “We need to know who’s who.”
“Sebastian said they were many of his kind among us,” said Freddie. “Hiding behind familiar faces, watching us…”
“The Devil always lies,” I said.
“Except when a truth can hurt you more,” said Molly.
“Are you all right, Molly?” said Strange. “You seem…”
“She’s fine,” I said.
“Yes,” said Molly. “I’m fine.”
“So,” I said. “Truman has the Soul of Albion. For that, he must have had the active cooperation of someone in the family. Any ideas, Sarjeant?”
“There are still members of the Zero Tolerance faction working openly within the family,” the Sarjeant said slowly. “Some could still be maintaining ties with Truman. There are those within the faction who see him as a means of reclaiming power and position within the family.”
“Including the Matriarch?” I said, and he nodded reluctantly.
“And where do you stand on the matter, Sarjeant?” said Harry.
He drew himself up to his full height, his scarred, disfigured face cold and forbidding. “I protect the family, against anything that threatens it.”
“The Matriarch…” I said thoughtfully. “Dear Grandmother Martha… she could have provided Truman with the necessary Words to unlock the protections around the Soul.”
“She could have,” said the Sarjeant. “But I have no evidence to that effect, or I would have done something. In my opinion, Truman sees the Soul as his ace in the hole, to protect him from the Invaders should they turn against him.”
“I’m getting more from Callan,” Strange said abruptly. “I really think you need to hear this, Eddie.”
“Okay, patch him through,” I said. “Callan, this had better be good.”
“Depends on your definition of good,” said Callan. “Truman’s found out we’re here. And rather then destroy us immediately, he wants me to pass on a message to you. Namely, that he is ready to destroy the Soul of Albion, unless the Drood family puts itself under his control. Specifically, he wants access to and control of the forbidden weapons held in the Armageddon Codex. Apparently he believes he can use them to force the Invaders out of our reality, once he’s used them to take control of the world. The idiot… I really would like permission to withdraw now, please. I don’t like him knowing exactly where we are. I can practically feel the vultures gathering.”
“You stay right where you are,” I said. “Talk to Truman, promise him anything; stall him. As long as he thinks there’s still a chance, he won’t do anything. I’ll get back to you as soon as we’ve made a decision. Strange, cut him off.”
“He’s still talking to the War Room,” said Strange. “Though shouting is probably more accurate. Dear me, such language…”
“First things first,” I said. “We have to find out who the traitors are in the family.”
“We don’t have time for a witch hunt,” said Harry. “Not when we have so many more important decisions to make.”
“Well, you would say that, Harry,” I said. “I think I’ll start by having a nice little chat with the Matriarch. I think she’ll talk to me, once I tell her about Sebastian.”
“You can’t see her,” said Harry. “She’s ill. She’s not seeing anybody.”
“She’ll see me,” I said. “Now, Strange, show me what the family’s been doing to fight the Invaders during my unintended absence. Just the highlights, for now. I’ll catch up on the details as we go along. Just show me what I need to know.”
Visions appeared, emerging from Strange’s crimson glow. Shifting scenes of golden-armoured family in running fights with Loathly One drones, in the nightmarish streets of ghoulvilles. I saw dozens of armoured forms taking on hundreds of drones and killing everything that moved that wasn’t family. The drones were often horribly misshapen, monsters with only the barest touch of humanity left in them. The Droods beat them down with golden fists and tore the drones limb from limb. A quick death was the only mercy they had left to offer. They stormed through the narrow streets, their golden armour shining bright in the sharp, painful light of the ghoulville. They destroyed buildings, tearing them apart and pulling them down through brute strength, to be sure they hadn’t missed anyone hiding inside, and afterwards they set fire to the ruins.
Whole towns went up in flames. They say fire purifies.
Sometimes the drones were already dead and decaying, only kept moving by the unnatural energies within them. Sometimes they looked just like you or me. They came out into the streets, pleading and crying and protesting their innocence. But they were so far gone they’d forgotten how to sound and act as people do. Especially the children. The armoured Droods killed them all. They had to be Loathly Ones, or they wouldn’t be in a ghoulville.
Sometimes family members dropped their armour, to vomit, or cry, or just sit on a pavement, holding themselves and rocking back and forth.
We’ve never seen ourselves as killers. That’s not the Drood way. We’ve always preferred to operate behind the scenes, making small changes here and there … to prevent the family as a whole having to do things like this. Secret wars are one thing; mass slaughter quite another. But we’re Droods, and we’ve always been able to do the hard, necessary things. To protect humanity.
I just hoped we didn’t get a taste for it.
I saw my family destroy towers in the ghoulvilles; huge, unnatural alien structures, part technological and part organic. Sometimes the towers screamed as they fell. They fell and they fell, and yet somehow there were always more of them…
The visions stopped. I stood silently, thinking. The Sarjeant cleared his throat in a meaningful way.
“We are further handicapped by our need to keep all of this secret from the general populace. They can’t be allowed to know what’s happening. We’re keeping politicians and governments informed, to a point, and they’re all cooperating. To one extent or another. Worldwide panic and chaos is in no one’s best interests.”