Damn right I do. Trust me, Eddie. There is something seriously wrong about the Soulhunters. Every damned one of them.
You know how sometimes this job can drive you crazy? I said. The Soulhunters have always dealt with the darkest, nastiest and freakiest areas of the hidden world. Word is, when you re too weird, too disturbed or just too broken for any of the other supernatural organisations, that s when you re ready for your Soulhunters interview. In fact, I think this is how it goes: Are you crazy? Yes, I am! Welcome to the Soulhunters! If we let them take over from the Droods, the world won t know what s hit it. Certainly the hidden world wouldn t remain hidden for very long.
I love how you mention things and then immediately talk yourself out of it, said Molly.
Years of practice.
There s always the lone guns, said Molly.
The heroes and adventurers, the rogues and the headbangers. Maybe we could put together our own version of the Magnificent Seven.
Have bad attitude; will travel that sort of thing. We could start with the Walking Man.
No, we couldn t, I said immediately.
Him? The wrath of God in the world of men? He s not exactly subtle, is he? Never met a scorched-earth policy he didn t like. No. I suppose there s always Augusta Moon, the monster hunter.
She s getting on a bit, Molly said doubtfully. There s the English Assassin.
No, there isn t, I said. He s dead again. Look. There s never been any shortage of adventurers in the supernatural, the heroes and the differently sane, but there s nearly always a reason why they work alone. I m sure we could round up any number of reputable names and maybe even get them to play nice together as long as we were there to crack the whip, but none of them could carry the weight of the world on their backs for long. They don t have the training, the organisation or even the big guns to get the job done. That s why the Droods are so important and why it s so vital we get them back as soon as possible. Come on, Molly. There s only one place we can go, and that s to the Regent of Shadows.
Molly scowled fiercely, considering the matter. The Shadows are a secretive bunch, she said finally. Even for the usual secret organisations. I mean, yes, I ve heard of them everyone has. But that s it. They deal in information. I can t say I ve ever heard of them wading in and getting their hands dirty. I always thought they were part of the Establishment, like the Carnacki crowd.
Not as such, I said. They tend more towards working with the Establishment, rather than for them. An important distinction in this day and age. Sufficiently independent for our purposes, and not likely to spread around the information we ll be giving them. And once they ve told me what I need to know, hopefully I can persuade the Regent to jump in and become far more active than he s used to.
Why would he want to? Molly said bluntly.
Because he s still a Drood, even if he is a rogue, I said. He s still family, which means he understands duty and responsibility. If they re dropped onto him from a great enough height.
But you ve never even met the man! said Molly. Your family wouldn t even talk about him!
That is a point in his favour, I said.
We reached Brighton late in the day, with the afternoon already heading into evening, though the sun still shone brightly as it sank down the perfect blue sky. Not a cloud to be seen or a breath of breeze anywhere. The Phantom s speed dropped abruptly as we hit the city traffic, and I bullied my way as best I could through the narrowing streets of the city centre. There was quite a lot of traffic, this being the height of the tourist season, with whole families packed into cars and pointed at the seaside. There wasn t the room for my usual driving tactics, so I just hunched down in my seat and cruised along, resisting the impulse to open up with the front-mounted machine guns.
The slow progress made me uneasy. Made me feel more and more as though there were targets painted all over the bodywork. I trusted the Armourer s shields to do their job, but, on the other hand, Crow Lee didn t get to be number one in the Bastard Business without being able to locate his enemies. I checked the surrounding cars and their drivers carefully, but I didn t see anything or anyone I could honestly identify as showing inappropriate interest.
Molly was just pleased to be back in Brighton. She bounced up and down excitedly in her seat, peering happily out of all the windows, pointing out the sights and interrupting herself to beat a fast paradiddle on the dashboard with both hands.
I love Brighton! she said loudly. Good food, good bars and bad company! If you re a girl who likes to drink, dance and debauch, and wallow in everything that s bad for you, Brighton is the place to be! Used to be Blackpool, but that s gone very down-market of late.
I never knew you to be such a happy camper, Molly, I said solemnly.
My glass may be half-empty, but I am half-full! Can t we get a move on?
Not without actually driving right over the cars in front of us, no.
Molly looked like she was seriously considering it. We need the Pier. That s where we ll find my old acquaintance. Brighton Pier. You know, one time I
Never mind your disreputable past, I said.
How do we get there?
Molly shifted uneasily in her seat, looking around for signposts and landmarks. I don t know! Give me a chance it s been a few years. Honestly, Eddie, all the extras your uncle Jack built into this car, and he didn t think to include a sat nav? And don t ask me to check the maps. I do not do the map thing. Look. Just head for the seafront. Listen for the sound of the waves, and if that doesn t work, stick your head out the side window and sniff out the tang of the sea!
World s worst navigator, I said, and she punched me in the shoulder.
I have other talents, she said, grinning.
So you do.
After some back-and-forthing and a certain amount of going round and round in circles, we finally found our way to the seafront and Brighton Pier. A large and impressive structure stretching away from the beach and out into the sea, so people could go walking across the ocean and get a sense of the sea without actually having to go in it. The Pier looked to just go on and on, but then I supposed it had to be that long to fit in all the overpriced souvenirs, games and tourist traps that paid for its continued existence. Hell of a lot of seagulls flying around, making a lot of noise. Molly lowered her window and stuck her head right out, the better to savour the sea air.
I looked around for a parking place, which was naive of me. Of course there wasn t one. All the parking places in Brighton are probably full by dawn s earliest light, or inherited and passed on within the family. So I just brought the Phantom V to a halt directly in front of the Pier s main entrance, right next to a NO PARKING sign. One of life s little pleasures. I turned off the engine and powered up the car s defences, while Molly conjured up an official DISABLED sticker and slapped it on the inside of the windscreen. I looked at her reproachfully.
You are very definitely not in any way disabled, I said. Not as long as you can still get your ankles behind your ears like you did last night
Anyone messes with this car while we re away, they will find themselves suddenly and violently disabled, said Molly. It s the thought that counts.
Can t take you anywhere, I said sadly.
You know you love it, really.
We left the Phantom V to fend for itself and strolled towards the Pier s main entrance. Molly surprised me by taking my hand in hers. She s not usually one for public displays of affection. Presumably she was just trying to blend in. A seagull dive-bombed us, and Molly shot it out of the air with her free hand. When she makes a gun with her hand, she s not kidding. The seagull plummeted from the sky with feathers flying off it and crashed into the sea. Molly smiled happily. I hurried her through the main entrance and onto the Pier proper.