“And I led you people right to her,” I said, “when I tracked her down to her hiding place in Cornwall.”
“Hardly, old thing,” said a familiar voice. “That was all down to me.”
We all looked round, and there, slouching elegantly in the doorway, with a really big drink in his hand, was Ammonia’s husband, Peter. His smile was as vague as ever, but his eyes were clear and sharp. He smiled benevolently on us all, toasted us with his glass and took a long drink, deliberately making us wait to hear what he had to say. When the glass was empty he tossed it casually to one side, and didn’t even look round when it smashed on the floor.
“I’m afraid I got rather tired of the old girl,” said Peter. She really was very needy, very clingy, and she was such hard work: always having to comfort her, and look after her and be a shoulder for her to cry on. I never used to drink, you know, before I met Ammonia Vom Acht. And look at me now. . . . It’s the only thing that helps, so I’m able to stand her overbearing presence, her never-ending needs. And never any money for me! Oh, no, no . . . Not a penny for poor old Peter.
“She made millions, but I had to remind her to hand over my allowance! And we had to live like hermits, at the end of the world. I used to have friends; I used to go out; I used to have fun! Finally it all got a bit too much. So I contacted the satanic conspiracy. They weren’t difficult to find; the Internet is a wonderful thing. . . . And they were very understanding. So I needed to wait for the right moment to set her up—too soon and people like you might figure out what they wanted with her, and try to stop them. But once you’d come sniffing around, it was clear we couldn’t wait any longer. So when she came back from Chez Drood, all tired and worn-out, there I was with a very special nice hot drink waiting for her. And once she was safely snoring in her chair, I shut down the defences and told the nasty old Devil worshippers to come and get her.
“She sort of woke up when they were manhandling her out of the house. She looked at me, wondering why I was doing nothing to stop them, and when she understood, she cried and cried and cried. Ah, you have no idea how good it feels to be free of the old bat at last.”
“You utter shit,” said William, and his voice was cold and collected and quite deadly. He rose to his feet to glare balefully at Peter, who didn’t seem to give even the smallest of damns. William headed straight for him. “She had a magnificent mind!”
“Oh, boo-hoo,” said Peter. He took a gunmetal flask from inside his jacket. “Sorry, old sport; do I know you? Do I care? No, I don’t think I do, actually.”
William armoured up, the golden skin sweeping over him in a moment. “You can be made to care, for what you’ve done.”
“No,” said Peter. “I don’t think so.”
He held up his other hand and showed us a simple metal clicker like the one Roger Morningstar had back at the Cathedral Hotel. And before any of us could even react, Peter clicked the thing, a sharp, metallic sound in the quiet, and William’s armour disappeared, driven back into his torc by an irresistible command. My armour disappeared, too, and I was suddenly exposed and shivering in the cold of the laboratory. Molly stepped quickly forward, but when she raised her hands to unleash her magics, nothing happened. She tried a few simple chants, but the words fell awkwardly into the quiet, doing nothing. Peter smiled patronisingly at her.
“Magic won’t work here, dearie. All such subtle energies had to be suppressed, so the machine could do its work.”
“I don’t need my armour to beat the crap out of a treacherous little tit like you,” said William.
“Just as well I’ve got a gun, then,” said Peter. He shook his gunmetal flask once, and suddenly it was a Luger. Peter giggled happily. “Now, that’s what I call a transformer. Marvellous little toy, isn’t it? My new masters have been very generous.” For all his studied vagueness, his hand was very steady as he covered the three of us with the Luger. We all stood very still. None of us doubted he’d use it.
“I’ve already summoned security,” said Peter. “Oh, dear, now that my flask is gone I don’t have any booze anymore. I should have told them to bring a bottle. . . .” He smiled at us all easily. “We’ve all got clickers here, you know. Lots and lots of them. The rest of your people are in for a really nasty shock, once they’ve got past those Nazi bullyboy clones and encountered the real armed forces. And the best part is, we got the formula for the clicker from inside your own family! Isn’t that delightful? It’s based on the very device your Armourer created all those years ago. One of your own is a traitor, but then, I think you already knew that, didn’t you? He’s sold you out again, I’m afraid. Or she! Far be it from me to give anything away! Please don’t move, Eddie. I really don’t think I can allow any of you to get any closer to me. I’m not a physical person. But don’t think I won’t shoot if I have to. In fact . . . I think I’d quite like to. Could be fun . . . So, whom should I start with?”
I glanced at William, our eyes met briefly, and we were off and moving. There’s a lot more to a Drood than his armour. We’re trained to fight, with and without weapons, from early childhood, and one of the first things we’re taught is what to do if our armour isn’t available. I moved abruptly to the left while William dived to the right, and while Peter hesitated, unable to decide which of us to go after . . . Molly stepped smartly forward and kicked him full in the balls. There was an awful lot of strength and vindictiveness in that kick, and Peter bent sharply forward, tears flying from his bulging eyes. He crashed to his knees, shaking and shuddering, trying to get enough air into his lungs for a decent scream. Molly snatched the gun out of his nerveless hand and pressed the barrel to the side of his head. I didn’t think he even knew it was there. I took the clicker away from him, threw it on the floor and stamped on it. It shattered, and immediately William and I were both wrapped in our armour again. William moved over to Molly, took the Luger from her hand and shot Peter in the head, twice. The side of his skull exploded, blood and brains and bone fragments flying in the air, and he fell backwards and lay still. William then turned and shot Stefan Klein, once in the heart and once in the head, and the technician fell sprawling across his machine. William gave the gun back to a somewhat startled Molly.
“Some shit I just don’t put up with,” he explained, before going back to Ammonia. He leaned in close to study the wires connecting her mind to the machine. “I can deal with this. It’s not rocket science. You two go and look for Isabella. I’ll free Ammonia from this . . . thing and take her back to the Hall.”
“Will you be all right here on your own?” I said cautiously.
“I only came here for Ammonia,” said William. “She really is a most remarkable lady. That little shit never was worthy of her.” He looked back at me. “I saw her mind when she made contact with mine. You should see what she’s really like, Eddie. She glows like a star, burns like a brilliant fire. . . .”
“You really think she can come back, after what’s been done to her here?” I said.
“Why not?” said William. “I did.”
Molly moved in close beside me. “He doesn’t need us, Eddie. And I’m getting really worried about Iz.”
“Is she far from here?” I said.
“Not far, no.”
“Then let’s go. Catch you later, William.”
But he was already lost in admiration of his Ammonia, murmuring comforting words to her as he removed the wire connections one by one.