“Nothing but the unvarnished and entirely unembellished truth for you!” said the Drood in Cell 13. “All for you! I love visitors . . . They always want to know things, but they’re never happy when I tell them. I think it’s because the world isn’t what they think it is, and no one ever likes being told that.”
He broke off, and fixed me with his burning gaze. “Do you know who and what I really am, Eddie Drood? The result of an accident, is that what they’re still saying? Oh no no no . . . the real and secret truth, the sad sad reality is . . . that I did this to myself. I am the author of my own tragedy. The idea was for the family to have its own Living Library, just in case they lost the real thing. Like they did with the Old Library. I was family Armourer back then, all those years ago, and I worked with the Heart to find a way to download all the contents of the family Library into a single human mind. A living repository for all Drood knowledge. Except that the human mind was never meant to contain so much information . . .
“There were six volunteers, including me. I used to remember their names but now I choose not to . . . Anyway, the result of the experiment was three dead, two insane and later dead, and me. Poor poor Laurence . . . Of course, I’m not the only one of my kind, these days. Once word got out that the idea was possible, was in fact doable, all kinds of other organisations had to try. With . . . differing results. You met one, Eddie! Remember the Karma Catechist? You bumped into him in Saint Baphomet’s Hospital, in Harley Street! He knew all there was to know about magical systems, rituals, and forms of power. And much good it did him. He killed himself, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” I said. “I was there when he did it.”
Molly looked at me sharply. “I didn’t know that. You never told me about that.”
“I’ll tell you later,” I said.
“But . . .”
“Hush,” I said. “He’s just trying to distract us, and turn us against each other.”
Laurence laughed breathily. “Stick to what you’re best at, that’s what I always say.”
“Do you really know everything?” I said.
“Well, not everything, no. I didn’t know you were coming. I don’t know why you’re here, Eddie Drood and Molly Metcalf . . . and I don’t know what you want with me. Go on. Surprise me, I dare you.”
“What do you know about the Lazarus Stone?” I said.
Laurence stepped back from the bars, folded his arms tightly across his sunken chest, and looked at me curiously. “Well well well . . . It’s been ever such a long time since anyone mentioned that name to me. The Lazarus Stone . . . possibly the single most dangerous individual item in the whole damned world. Yes . . . It’s usually thought to be a small piece of the great stone that was rolled away from Lazarus’ tomb, so Jesus could raise him from the dead. People think the Lazarus Stone can bring loved ones back from the dead, and make them live again. Because people are stupid. All nonsense, of course. Just romantic religious bullshit. A fake exotic history, to conceal the Stone’s far more dangerous nature.
“The Lazarus Stone isn’t actually a stone, and it doesn’t really bring the dead back to life . . . As such. No no no . . . It’s some kind of mechanism, almost certainly alien in origin, and it’s all to do with Time Travel. Supposedly, and I say this because I don’t know anyone who’s actually used the thing successfully . . . Supposedly the Lazarus Stone can reach back through Time, and pluck any person from the Past, just before History says they died. Then bring them forward into the Present Day. So that someone who was dead can live again. This of course rewrites History. Often in unexpected and highly disturbing ways. So it is possible that the Lazarus Stone has been used and I just didn’t notice. No one would, except for the people involved. I wonder if they thought it was worth it, in the end . . . I loathe Time Travel. You put butter in a pocket watch and it’s bound to mess up the works even if it is the very best butter. Our family did possess the Stone briefly, but the Regent of Shadows took it with him when he left.”
“What?” I said. “Why?”
Laurence leaned in close to the bars, and slipped me a sly wink. “Ask your uncle Jack! And do it quickly, oh yes; accessing me sets off all kinds of silent alarms, up above. And you can be sure they’ll all come running to shut me up before I say something they think I shouldn’t. Before I can say things about the family that the family doesn’t want anyone to know.”
He shoved his face right up against the bars, glaring at me. “Too late! Too late!”
I took a step back, reached out and took hold of the Merlin Glass, and shook it down to hand-mirror size. I showed it to Laurence.
“Do you know what this is?”
“Of course I know!” said Laurence, pouting just a bit. He thrust a hand through the bars and tried to snatch the mirror from me, but I was careful to stay just out of reach. Laurence sneered at me, and stepped back. He pulled a white hair from his head, studied it intently, and then threw it away. He waved at the hand mirror, as though he could see someone in the reflection as well as himself, and then smiled at me guilelessly.
“That is the Merlin Glass, and you only think you know what it is and what it’s for. It’s not a toy. Or even a useful device. That . . . is Merlin Satanspawn’s last revenge upon our family.”
“What do you mean?” I said.
He shook his head several times, and then smiled craftily at me. “Let me out of here and I’ll tell you. No? You’re smarter than you look, Eddie Drood. Are you sure? I could tell you so many things.”
“I thought you wanted to be locked up down here,” said Molly.
“That was then,” said Laurence. “This is now. They’re different. The family will never let me out. I know that. When I let them imprison me, I never thought I’d live this long . . . But then, who knows how long a Living Library will last? Information is immortal, and Truth wants to be free! I am the family’s memory, and as long as the family goes on, so must I . . . After I’ve spent all these years soaking up Drood information and Drood secrets, they can’t ever allow me to fall into someone else’s hands. Far too dangerous . . . But one day I will know all there is to know, including all the things they’ve managed to keep from me, and then . . . I’ll just walk right out of here and there will be nothing they can do to stop me! And oh, the fun I’ll have, walking up and down in the world, and playing with it . . .”
He laughed softly, a cold, horrible, and barely human sound. He broke off abruptly and looked at Molly.
“There’s something you want to ask me, little witch. About the Regent of Shadows, and just how dark the shadows get.”
“Yes,” said Molly. “Do you know who gave him his orders after he left the family?”
“Of course!” said Laurence. “I know everything! That’s the point. Arthur Drood, Grandfather to Eddie, late husband of the late Matriarch Martha. The Drood with a conscience, they used to call him . . . though that didn’t last long once he was out alone in the cold cold world. The Droods used him to do their dirty work. All the secret executions and deniable operations thought to be too much even for Droods. They held the possibility of being allowed to return over him, of being welcomed back into the bosom of the family . . . and he did want that so very badly.”
“Who was it?” Molly said harshly. “Who, specifically, gave him his orders? Who told him to kill my parents? Was it the Matriarch?”
“Oh, she was just one of many,” Laurence said offhandedly. “A lot of people in the upper registers of the family used the Regent, for their own reasons, to do the things they weren’t supposed to do. He did so many bad things, and so many good . . . before he finally wised up. And realised the family never had any intention of taking him back. He told them all to go to Hell and walked away, and set up his own organisation. The Regent of Shadows, doing good, doing penance, for the atonement of sins.”
Laurence abruptly turned his back on us, went back to his bed, and lay down again, staring up at the ceiling. As though all the energy had suddenly gone out of him. When he spoke again his voice was flat, almost uninterested.