“On the top floor, strictly private, cut off from the rest of the hotel,” said Luther. “One night only, before the hotel officially opens, very definitely By Invitation Only. Lots of armed guards in place, security people everywhere, trespassers will be disappeared. The auction’s being run by the Really Old Curiosity Shoppe people; long established firm, very good reputation. Of a kind. They specialise in acquiring rare and unusual items, with or without their owners’ permission, and then offering them up at their very private auctions for the delectation of interested (and extremely wealthy) parties. No questions, no provenance, and absolutely no guarantees or refunds. But, they can get you things no one else can, things from the Past, Present and Futures. Sometimes things no one ever really thought existed, and a few that just plain shouldn’t.”
“I’ve heard of the company,” I said. “Who runs things, these days?”
Luther shrugged. “No one knows, and the company likes it that way. I suppose it’s possible someone in our family knows, but if they do it’s way above my level.” He looked at me thoughtfully. “You used to run the family. And you’re still part of the Advisory Council. Are you sure you don’t know who these people are?”
It was my turn to shrug. “The family ˚ as a whole knows lots of things, but at any given time we all only know what we need to know.”
“Why are you just a field agent again?” Luther said bluntly.
“I prefer to maintain a comfortable distance from the family,” I said. “Running it will do that to you.”
Luther carefully refolded his map, put it away, produced an oversized colour brochure and handed it to me. “This is an advance copy of the auction catalogue.”
I studied it carefully. Very expensive, stiff laminated paper, lots of colour photographs; images so sharp they seemed to jump right off the page. Which was actually quite disturbing in places, given the nature of the images. No suggested prices, or values, though. Probably came under the heading of If you have to ask, you can’t afford it. I looked at Luther.
“How did you get hold of an advance copy? If they even suspect a Drood knows they’re here . . .”
Luther looked at me pityingly. “This is my territory. I know people, and people who know people.”
“Do any of these people know you’re a Drood?”
“Of course not. I’m Philip Harlowe. Whoever he is.”
I sniffed, and went back to studying the catalogue. Items up for grabs included a formula from thirteenth-century Venice to make your blood undrinkable by vampires; a spell from Old Moore’s grimoire to make ghosts corporeal so you could have sex with them; a wristwatch that could show you the exact time in fifty-two different universes, to make dimension-hopping more exact; a crystal alien skull that when properly provoked would provide you with mental images of all the worlds its owner had visited; and a Word tattooed on the framed and mounted skin of a murdered priest, that when spoken aloud would blow this world apart like a firecracker in a rotten apple. Allegedly.
There were photos of a Martian tripod (some assembly required). a hard-boiled Roc’s egg (double yolk), a Crystal Egg (see what the Curate saw), a Hellfire grenade, an Angel’s tears preserved in aspic, and Baphomet’s Engine of Destruction. Just looking at that last one made my eyes hurt. I handed the catalogue back to Luther.
“We need to take the Word back with us,” I said briskly. “Can’t have something like that running around loose. Besides, the Armourer always says I never bring him back anything fun.”
“I also have a list of some of the Big Names and Major Players who are supposed to be attending the auction,” said Luther.
I gave him another of my hard looks, though he seemed to be developing an immunity. “Any more useful information, or are you planning to keep on doling it out one bit at a time, in case I get overexcited?”
“No,” said Luther. “That’s it.”
He handed me the paper, and I ran my eyes quickly down the list of names. I then resisted the urge to whistle, or indeed curse loudly. A whole lot of Very Important Personages, Complete Bastards and not a few Powers and Dominions. Not one of them the kind of people even Droods like to cross without heavy weaponry and serious backup.
Jerusalem Stark, the Knight Apostate, heretic and blasphemer. Used to be one of the London Knights, until he had a crisis of faith. Now he carries his dead love’s heart in a silver cage on his belt, right next to the sword he used to kill the Man who would be King. Then there was Prince Gaylord the Damned, Nuncio to the Court of King Artur, of Sinister Albion. Aunt Sally Darque, current Witch of Endor, and banned from every coven and gathering in Europe after that nasty affair at the Danse Academy in the German Black Forest. Three Dukes of Hell, attending via the possessed; two living Saints (stigmata permitting); and a Name I didn’t even want to think out loud, in case He heard me.
“What the hell does Doctor Delirium think he’s doing, mixing with people like this?” I said. “He is not in their class. Nowhere near. He must know that. Hell, he won’t even get through the first round of bidding . . .”
“There’s no way we could hope to infiltrate the auction with so many Major Players around,” said Luther. “That’s why I thought we should get here early, find a nice hiding place, wait for Doctor Delirium to show up, and then put the grab on him before he even enters the hotel. That way he doesn’t even get within spitting distance of the Apocalypse Door. Whatever that might turn out to be.”
“Strike your enemy down from behind, when he’s not looking,” I said cheerfully. “That’s the Drood way. Though I think we’ll be better off hiding inside the hotel . . . That way we can sneak onto the top floor, grab the Word and the Apocalypse Door, and anything else worth acquiring, before we go home.”
“What if the auction people find out it was us?” Luther said carefully. “I have to live in this town, remember? And if they catch us actually burgling their items, there could be major firepower, curses for everyone, and blood and slaughter all over the shop.”
“Well, let’s not let that happen, then,” I said.
We both looked the Magnificat Hotel over very carefully. To the everyday eye, it looked like just another really ugly, tasteless expensive building. But Luther and I are Droods, and when we choose, we can See the world as it is, and not as most people think it is. We both concentrated, and the torcs around our throats extended long filaments of strange matter, that shot up the sides of our faces to form really quite stylish golden sunglasses over our eyes. And through these special lenses we Saw the Magnificat as it really was—in every awful detail.
Major security defences surrounded the hotel on every side, roiling and spitting on the air in tight little bundles of spite and malevolence. Force fields, magic screens, avoidance spells and Move along nothing to see here influences. Floating curses, proximity mindwipes, soul scramblers, and bottle demons lying buried under the hotel patio like so many red-eyed trap-door spiders. Screaming ghosts with terrible teeth and claws, just waiting to be unleashed, and a whole bunch of really nasty transformation spells just waiting to be activated. All kinds of nastiness, spreading out from the hotel in overlapping layers of appalling vileness. And up on the roof of the hotel . . .
“Oh bloody hell,” I said. “Luther, do you See what I See, up on the roof? Is that what I think it is? It is, isn’t it? They’ve only got a bloody dragon up there!”
“And not just any old dragon,” said Luther, craning his head right back. “Not one of those stupid and extremely ugly beasts the elves ride around on. That . . . is one of the Great Old Beasts of England. That is the Lampton Wyrm.”
“You have got to be kidding,” I said. “Really? Who’d be crazy enough to dig that old horror up, and let it loose in the world? Is it tied down? Tell me it’s tied down! Tell you what, I’ll start running and you try and keep up.”