“You’re very hard to buy for,” I said. “What do you get for the other-dimensional entity who is everything?”
She giggled, which is an eerie thing in a disembodied voice.
I looked around the table, nodding briefly to each member of the Council in turn. I can be polite and civilised when I have to. The Armourer, my uncle Jack, was a tall man in late middle age, full of far too much nervous energy for his own good. Or, given his job, everyone else’s. He was tapping the fingers of one hand on the table, and frowning hard as he concentrated on some new awful thing to throw at the family’s enemies. Or someone he’d just seen on the television news who’d upset him. He wore a long lab coat that might have been white a long time before, but was now covered with chemical stains, acid burns, and what looked worryingly like teeth marks. Underneath the lab coat, the Armourer was wearing a grubby T-shirt bearing the legend Yes I do hear voices, and they all know your name. Two fluffy tufts of white hair peeked out above his ears-all that was left of a once impressive head of hair that had jumped ship many years earlier. He looked hard done by, but still hard enough to cope.
Back in his day, my uncle Jack had been one of the family’s leading field agents, rushing around Cold War Europe stamping out super-science and supernatural bush-fires. He still looked like he could punch his weight, but years of working in the Armoury had bent him over in a permanent stoop. Either from constant hard work at the design table, or just from the strain of putting up with generations of genius lab assistants who were often as much a threat to each other as they were to the family’s enemies. In my experience, they didn’t seem to feel a day was complete if they hadn’t shot, blown up, or mutated each other several times before lunch.
My uncle Jack had large engineer’s hands and an enquiring mind without nearly enough limits. And he was quite possibly the only real ally I had in the family.
The Librarian, William, looked a lot more together than usual. He’d come a long way from the fragile, broken soul I’d rescued from an asylum for the more than usually criminally insane, where he’d been hiding out for so long he’d gone native. One of our enemies broke his mind quite thoroughly, and he was still putting himself back together. With a little help from his friends. His recent marriage to the telepath Ammonia Vom Acht had clearly done him a lot of good, though I understood this was still an ongoing process. He was sitting up straight, his eyes were focused, and he was paying attention to what was going on. All of which were quite definite improvements.
He wore a smart blue three-piece suit and fluffy white bunny slippers. He had a great mane of silver grey hair, and a face with rather more character than I was used to seeing. His pale eyes still had a tendency to drift off on some private matter of his own, as though he was thinking of something far more important. And for all I knew, he was.
An excellent Librarian, mind. He knew where every book in the huge family Library was, and what was in it. He just often had trouble remembering why he’d wanted the book in the first place. A kind soul, with far more problems than one man should have to cope with.
I moved forward and stood right in front of him, so I could be sure he knew I was there, and then I produced a small black leather-bound book and laid it on the table before him. There was a title on the cover, but I can’t read Aramaic.
“There you go, William,” I said. “Straight from the shelves of the deepest darkest part of the Vatican’s Very Secret Library. They now have the duplicate copy you provided, not containing the bits we don’t want them to know about.”
William smiled happily, if just a bit vaguely. He patted the book fondly with one hand, like a wandering pet that had found its way home.
“Thank you, Eddie. How this little devil went missing from our Library and ended up so far away has yet to be determined, but it’s good to have it back. The Vatican wouldn’t have approved of what’s in it, anyway; never have been famous for their sense of humour, the Vatican.”
“See! See!” Ethel said loudly. “He got a present! Why don’t I get a present? Why didn’t you bring me back a book, Eddie?”
“What did you have in mind?” I said. “John the Baptist’s Desert Cookbook: A Hundred and One Things to Do with Locusts and Honey?”
“Actually,” said Ethel, “that does sound interesting . . .”
The Sarjeant-at-Arms stirred impatiently in his chair. He could be patient, when he had to, but essentially he was a man built for action. Not sitting around while other people whittered on about things that didn’t matter. Big and brutal and permanently angry, the Sarjeant was in charge of family discipline, and he enjoyed every punishing moment of it. He was a thug and a bully, by choice, and always went out of his way to appear dangerous and threatening. Especially at Council meetings. As though he was only ever one moment away from a violent outburst. Or perhaps, just so he wouldn’t be taken for granted.
He wore the stark black-and-white formal outfit of a Victorian butler, right down to the starched high collar, just like his predecessor, because that was the custom for the family Sarjeant-at-Arms. Even if no one still living remembered why. The Sarjeant liked the outfit. He thought it gave him presence and authority. Everyone else thought it made him look like a dick. He had a shaved head, brutal features, a cold gaze, and an unforgiving scowl. If he’d ever had a good side, he’d had it surgically removed ages ago. He didn’t like me, or approve of me, but he put up with me because I could do things for the family that no one else could.
And because I killed his predecessor. Or at least, got him killed.
I smiled coldly at him, and he nodded coldly back.
“We need to talk,” I said, to the table in general. “I just teleported directly onto the grounds through a door supplied by the Wulfshead Club management.”
The Sarjeant immediately sat up straight in his chair. “That’s not supposed to be possible! It’s a blatant invasion of family security!”
“Exactly,” I said. “The management did it to let us know it was possible. And, as they pointed out, if they have a door that can do that, where did they get it? And who else might have one? They didn’t feel like volunteering the information, of course . . .”
“We improved the main shields after the Accelerated Men got in,” said the Sarjeant, scowling thoughtfully. “The new ones were supposed to be one hundred per cent unbreakable . . .”
“Probably were, then,” said the Armourer. “But the first rule of science and engineering is nothing lasts. There is a place in the Nightside where you can buy inter-dimensional Doors that will take you anywhere. Run by the Doormouse . . . fascinating little fellow. He knows Drood property is strictly off-limits . . . but I’d better put in a call.”
“Anyone who comes here uninvited deserves every appalling thing that happens to them,” said the Sarjeant. “I’ll increase the security patrols.”
“Kill them all,” said the Librarian, just a bit unexpectedly.
“But who would dare?” said the Sarjeant. “And even, who’s left? I thought we’d wiped out most of the Major Players in recent years . . .”
“That is a subject for another time,” the Armourer said firmly. “We have to deal with the business at hand.”
“Right!” said Capability Maggie. “Starting with, What the hell am I doing here?”
She glared at everyone impartially. As far as Capability Maggie was concerned, nothing we’d just discussed meant anything to her. And I was just someone else keeping her from her beloved gardens and grounds. A short, stocky blonde, Maggie wore her hair so close-cropped it was almost military, along with basic fatigues and heavy boots. I’d never known her to wear anything else. In fact, I’d never seen her inside the Hall before. I usually just glimpsed her in passing, off in the distance somewhere, doing something useful with compost. Up close, she had a sulky mouth, fierce grey eyes, and a general air of barely suppressed fury. She sat stiff-backed in her chair, arms folded defiantly, and looked very much as though she’d like to bite someone.