I moved quickly from room to room, slamming open the doors and checking out the rooms. My footsteps sounded loud and carrying on the quiet, as though the house resented its long peace being disturbed. I came back out into the hall, and Molly was standing exactly where I’d left her, looking around in a way that made it very clear she had no wish to go anywhere else until somebody did some serious cleaning. I didn’t blame her. There was no carpeting on any of the floors, no prints or posters or decorations on any of the bare plaster walls, and the secondhand furniture had been chosen for its cheapness and utility.
“Yes, it’s a dump!” I said cheerfully. “You’d probably have to spend serious money on an upgrade before it was good enough to be condemned. That’s the point.”
“How can you stand to live in a place like this?” said Molly.
“I don’t,” I said. “This isn’t a home, it’s a bolt-hole. A place to hide out that no one would want to look inside. It has four walls and a roof, and a door I can barricade. That’s all you need in a bolt-hole.”
“I don’t like to think of you living in places like this,” said Molly. “The cold and seedy side of the secret agent life.”
“For years, places like this were all I knew,” I said. “Hiding in unlit rooms, watching unobserved, checking out secrets or people, until it was safe to move on. Not a lot of glamour in the life of a Drood field agent. Until I met you.”
She smiled briefly, and then wrinkled her nose. “What is that smell?”
“Any number of really unpleasant answers cross my mind,” I said. “I find it best not to inquire. Don’t get comfortable. We’re not staying here long.”
“Best news I’ve had so far,” said Molly.
I armoured up and looked around through my golden mask, checking the house’s security settings. None of the booby-traps had been tripped, and none of the shields and protections had been forced. Everything seemed to be just as I’d left it. I had to stop and think for a moment to work out that it had been eight years since I was last here, bodyguarding an art historian who’d found something nasty living in an old painting. Eight years . . . probably not a good idea to look inside the fridge. I armoured down again.
Molly made her way steadily down the hall, peering through the open doorways and quietly expressing extreme disgust for everything she saw. I didn’t blame her. It was all cheap and cheerful, where it wasn’t damp and dusty. There were cobwebs in the corners, and the sound of small scuttling things.
“It is a bit of a mess, I agree,” I said. “Just a little more than I was expecting . . . I used to have this cheerful little Pixie who kept the place spic and span, but as I haven’t paid her in years . . . Look, we won’t be here long. I just need to access the computer, and then we’ll be on our way. Hold your nose if you think that will help. Or your breath. I can’t open a window; that would tell the whole world someone was here.”
Molly stood in the middle of the hallway, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Never a good sign.
“I am not sitting down anywhere,” she said. “The whole place looks unhealthy. I might catch something.”
“Come into the study, Molly,” I said encouragingly. “You’ll like the study.”
I led her to the end of the hall, and sent a tendril of golden strange matter down my arm from my torc to form a golden glove over my right hand. And then I carefully extruded a key from one finger and unlocked the study door. I waited a moment, just to be sure the key had shut down all the various nasty deathtraps protecting the room, and then pushed the door open. The study seemed calm and quiet, so I led Molly inside. She looked around and sniffed loudly, but I could tell she was impressed, really.
The walls were all spotless white tiles, with not a speck of dust or dirt anywhere. The floor was so clean you could have performed major surgery on it. The computer system set up on the only table looked just as it had the day I’d left it. I pulled out the only chair and sat down at the keyboard. Molly moved in close behind me, so she could peer over my shoulder.
“I programmed this room to look after itself,” I said. “And protect and defend the computer, of course. If the wrong key tried the door’s lock, the room would have blown up the whole building. Drood tech must never be allowed to fall into enemy hands. Aren’t you glad I told you that after I tried the key? Thought so.”
“Blow up the house and to hell with the neighbours,” said Molly. “That’s the Drood way, all right.”
I fired up the computer and logged in, using one of my old Shaman Bond online identities. Just in case someone tried chasing the connection. The monitor screen showed me a screensaver of a Soho street at midnight, with something odd lurking in the background.
“We’re going to have to be quick,” I said, tapping away at the keyboard with my usual two fingers. “Just my being online will attract the attention of my family. And then they’ll wonder what Shaman Bond is doing in Newcastle, and someone will come running to find out. And this will be another of my secret bolt-holes I can’t come back to. I really must find the time to set up some new ones. You can never have enough hiding places. Okay, let’s do this. Get the info and get out.”
“Fine by me,” said Molly, her chin on my shoulder and the side of her face pressed against mine as she studied the monitor screen. I found her presence comforting. I slipped easily into the OverNet and moved rapidly from one site to another, following one promising link to the next. Images came and went quickly on the screen, as I went looking for the Lady Faire.
“You know,” said Molly, “you don’t need all these safe houses and bolt-holes any more, Eddie. You can always stay in my forest. No one can get to you there. You’d be safe with me. Not even Droods can enter my wild woods without my permission.”
“That’s very kind of you,” I said, keeping my gaze fixed on the screen. “But I’ve never liked to be dependent on the kindness of others. Besides, your forest doesn’t have computers.”
“Lot you know,” Molly said easily. “You’d be amazed at what I’ve got there, tucked away. The wild woods are a lot bigger than you think.”
“How on earth can you have computers in the woods? Where’s your power supply, and your connections? How could . . . No. No, I’m not going to be distracted. You can tell me all about it later, and I’ll disbelieve you then.”
“Suit yourself,” said Molly.
I went rummaging roughly through the OverNet, searching for information on the Lady Faire. I did get distracted by a few things along the way, because you can’t help it. Even Drood tech can’t protect you from all the unwanted pop-ups and unnatural ads that infest the OverNet. Would you like to meet other pagans in your area? said one insistent message. I had to wonder, what did they mean, other? What sort of list was Shaman Bond on? Another ad wanted me to Join the Satanic Swingers Club! You’ll have a Hell of a good time! There were photos attached, but I didn’t have the time. And then there was Hello, I am an Elven Prince with a large fortune in fairie gold that I need to transfer into your reality. If you will just give me all your bank details . . . I’m amazed anyone still falls for that one.
I finally left the distractions behind and moved on, in hot pursuit of the Lady Faire. There was no shortage of stories about her past exploits, most of them wildly contradictory in the details. That’s legends for you. The Lady who’s been everywhere and had everyone . . . A lot of the accounts tended to quickly degenerate into He said, She said, They said . . . And there was no shortage of fan sites for the Lady Faire, all unofficial. Some were even set up to worship her, quite literally, as a living goddess. These people were praying to her, even sending her gifts and supplications, pleading for intervention in their personal lives and solutions to their problems.