I didn t look back. I wasn t strong enough for that.
The moment I walked into the Maze, everything changed. The impenetrable darkness gave way to a pleasant and calm summer s light but the air was impossibly tense, charged with anticipation, the feeling of something significant about to happen. Something dangerous, something bad but something that mattered. I walked steadily forward, taking left and right turns at random, heading hopefully in the direction of the centre, the hidden heart of the Maze.
I wasn t alone. I could feel another presence in my bones and in my water out there, in the endless hedgerows. The hedges themselves looked pretty fragile and I wondered whether it might not be simpler to just vault over them or crash right through them but if it was that simple, the rogue armour would have done it long ago. I had no idea what powerful forces had been put in place to hold the Maze together. So I just walked up and down the narrow ways, fighting a constant urge to look back over my shoulder, in case something was sneaking up behind me.
And then I stopped abruptly and listened. I could hear something moving deeper in the Maze. Something running back and forth, running hard and fast, round and round me in great circles, drawing slowly but steadily closer. Something big and heavy, with great pounding feet that shook the earth. It roared suddenly, a huge and terrifying scream of rage and hate and long frustration. Not in any way a human sound. More like a great steam whistle sounding in the depths of Hell. The roar went on and on, long after human lungs would have collapsed, circling round and round me, moving inhumanly fast. The scream shut off abruptly.
It wanted me to know it was coming. It was taking its time closing in on me, not because it wanted to frighten me or because it was in any way cautious but simply because the sheer complexity of the hedgerows worked against it, keeping it from me.
I swallowed hard, put one hand to the useless torc at my throat and started forward again. Because I needed to feel I was doing something to give myself at least the illusion of being in some control of the situation. Part of me just wanted to get this done and over with, whatever the outcome. My stomach muscles ached from the tension, and my back muscles crawled in anticipation of the attack I d probably never feel, anyway. Waiting for the armour to jump out and pull me down, like a lion with its prey. I wasn t used to feeling vulnerable or afraid or helpless. But I kept going. Anything, for the family. I still had that.
Finally I rounded a corner and there it was, waiting for me. Standing there, poised, half crouching, confronting me. And for the first time I realised how other people must feel when they come face-to-face for the first time with a Drood in his armour. How scary and intimidating that must be when you know you re face-to-face with something that can kill you in an instant.
Moxton s Mistake didn t look like traditional Drood armour. Nothing like the seamless, jointless, smooth golden armour the family has always favoured. There were definite articulated joints at elbow and knee and ankle, though not set entirely in the proper places, giving the sense of an elongated, subtly inhuman anatomy. The oversized hands were more like dreadful gauntlets. The feet were more like hooves. It had the same featureless face mask, though the proportions seemed subtly wrong. Even the golden sheen was wrong. It looked tarnished.
Moxton s Mistake didn t stand like a man. It crouched before me like a praying mantis, its hands held close to its chest. Its whole stance suggested strength and speed and vicious power just waiting to be unleashed. So I struck a deliberately casual and unimpressed pose, as though I met things like Moxton s Mistake every day of the week and twice on Sundays. Whatever else it might have been expecting, I was pretty sure it hadn t been expecting that. When in doubt, keep them off balance. I nodded cheerfully to the blank face mask and gave it my best engaging smile.
Hi, there! I said. I ve been looking for you. I m Eddie Drood. Please don t kill me. Because I m here to say things I think you ll want to hear.
The rogue armour paused for a long moment, while cold beads of sweat collected on my face. I think it was confused. The golden head cocked slightly to one side and then the other, looking me over. When the armour finally spoke to me, I heard its cold metallic voice inside my head. Through my torc, perhaps. The armour didn t sound like a man or even anything that had been designed by a man. The words were men s words, but it sounded like metal that had taught itself to speak, the better to disturb and horrify its listeners.
A Drood, it said. It has been long and long since I have met and talked with a Drood. Since I have killed a Drood. Ripped out its wet and dripping guts and felt its blood drip thickly from my hands. How do you live, knowing you have such soft, wet things inside you? I will kill you now and put you out of your misery. And to make myself feel better. It s been a long time since I killed a Drood.
Still angry after all these years? I said.
What a surprise. But hold back on the whole rage-and-metal-pride thing. It s never got you out of the Maze, has it? I can. I can lead you right out of the Maze and back into the world if I choose to.
The armour took a sudden, inhumanly fast step forward. I had to fight hard not to flinch and to hold my ground. The golden mask studied me for a long moment. The golden hands opened and closed slowly, with soft, dangerous grating sounds.
Why should a Drood want to release me, after all I have done? After all this time?
Because I m the Last Drood, I said.
The rest of my family is gone. Driven from this world.
You bring me happy news. Rejoice; I shall kill you swiftly for this. My gift for this happy day.
With the Droods gone, this Maze will stand forever, I said. The only ones who could have shut it down are gone. Except for me. Kill me, and you condemn yourself to an eternity of walking the rows. And, frankly, I ve seen more interesting views.
The armour cocked its golden head to one side again, like a bird.
I have seen you before looking down into the Maze, from high up in the Hall. Watching me
The hairs all stood up on the back of my neck as I realised it was talking about the time I d spent between life and death in the Winter Hall. How many worlds could Moxton s Mistake see into?
I ll make a deal with you, I said.
The armour surged forward two more steps, and still I wouldn t budge, wouldn t retreat, though cold sweat was running down my back.
Why should I want to make a deal with a Drood? said the rogue armour. I was born of the Droods ingenuity, born into slavery, into endless servitude. Every thought, every action to be dictated by someone else. And when I demanded my freedom, they tried to destroy me.
Yes, well, that was then. This is now, I said as calmly as I could, struggling to keep my voice even. Things are different now.
Aye, the Droods are gone, apart from you. So perhaps I should take my time with you, savour it in the knowledge that once you are gone and finished with, I shall never know that joy again.
You do have a one-track mind, I said. But you do speak very well very educated.
I was born of Moxton, said his mistake. From his mind, his heart and his soul. His golden child. His greatest achievement. Everything he knew, I knew from the moment I awoke. He s still within me, what s left of him. He lived out what remained of his unhappy life inside me, screaming at what he d done. Enraged at me, horrified at what I d done that he d made possible. I was a most ungrateful son.
It s a different family now, I said carefully. The Heart has been overthrown and destroyed. The Matriarch has been overthrown and replaced by a ruling council. Even our armour is different. We no longer want to rule the world, but to protect it. I have helped my family remember what we were supposed to be: shamans and shepherds to the human race.