St. Martin’s Lane is in a nice enough area; all theatres and restaurants, pleasant stores and businesses. All very civilised, in fact. I followed the curving street around till I came to the next address on my list: the very secret home and lair of the Sceneshifters. Probably the most dangerous group on the scene, in their own small way. And so tricky to deal with that I’d never been allowed to have any direct contact with them, even though they were quite definitely on my patch. The Sceneshifters were the exclusive responsibility of a special group within the family; and I had been instructed very firmly to keep my distance.
But, things change.
Essentially, the Sceneshifters work behind the scenes of reality, changing small details here and there, to turn the state of the world to their advantage. There are members of the Drood family whose full-time job it is to detect these changes and put them back the way they were. We assume we’re winning, on the grounds that the Sceneshifters don’t actually rule the world yet. As far as we can tell…
From the outside, their address looked like just another building, part of a fairly modern row with bright white stone and oversized windows, but there was something about the place…something that raised the hackles on your neck and made you disinclined to linger. People passing by increased their pace and averted their eyes without even realising they were doing it. I stood before the main entrance, scowling thoughtfully. A field agent learns to depend on his instincts, and every instinct I had was yelling at me to get the hell away from this awful place. Just standing there, I felt…uneasy, disturbed, in peril of both body and soul. As though if I went inside, I might see things I couldn’t stand to see, learn things I didn’t want to know. Even with the torc around my throat, shielding me from outside influence, it still took all my willpower to hold my ground.
As I stared intently at the building, refusing to look away, the details began to slip and flow, like a melting painting. As though a top coat was being washed away, revealing the true image beneath. Just like the family reports said, the Sceneshifters’ headquarters was protected by an uncertainty spell. You had to be certain that what you were looking for was there, or it wouldn’t be. It all came down to mental discipline. Which would be a shock for certain members of my family, who’d been known to say loudly in classrooms that I didn’t possess any.
As I watched, scowling fiercely with concentration, the office building before me just faded away like a passing thought to reveal the true structure beneath. An old church, with a massive wood and plaster fronting, an arched doorway, and medieval stained-glass windows. It was half the size of the modern buildings towering on either side of it, but there was a basic strength and solidity to the place that was somehow reassuring. My instincts were still prickling, but at least I didn’t feel like running anymore. I strode up to the front door and knocked like I had a reason to be there.
When you’re dealing with people who change reality on a daily basis, there’s not much point in trying to sneak in. They probably knew I was coming to see them before I did. And I certainly wasn’t planning on throwing my weight around; there were very definite limits to what my armour could be expected to protect me from. When the door opened, I planned on being extremely polite and using all the reasonableness at my command. I also planned on smiling a lot, and running like a rabbit if my clothes started changing colour.
The door opened to reveal a cheerful-looking soul, a reassuringly ordinary guy in grubby workman’s overalls. He was about my age, a bit scruffy, with a pleasant face and a cigarette in the corner of his mouth that he didn’t bother to take out when he was speaking. He nodded easily to me.
"Hello, squire. Looking for the Sceneshifters, are you? Thought so. I’m Bert. I do all the real work around here, while they’re all off saving the world. Someone has to check the state of the tubing and mop up the spills. Fancy a nice cup of tea? I’ve got the kettle on…Well suit yourself. Don’t say I didn’t offer. Come on in, come on in…So, you’re the new rogue Drood, are you? Edwin Drood? Nice to meet you. Sort of thought you’d be taller, somehow…Never mind. Come here looking for sanctuary, have you?"
"News does get around," I said dryly as soon as I could get a word in edgeways. I stepped inside the church, and he shut the door behind me. I listened carefully, but I didn’t hear him lock it. The interior was typical old-fashioned religious, a bit on the gloomy side, with brightly coloured light streaming in through the stained-glass windows. But there were no pews, no altar, and the only religious symbols were those originally carved into the old stone walls. It might be a church, but clearly no one had worshipped here for some time.
"Oh, we always know what’s going on," Bert said cheerfully. "We hear everything the moment it happens, and sometimes several months before. I’ve always said we could make a fortune with a good gossip magazine (very upmarket, nothing sleazy), but I can’t even get it on the committee agenda. Got their heads in the clouds, that lot. Come to join us, have you, Edwin? You should, you know; we’re doing important work here, when we’re not having endless arguments about what constitutes a pivotal moment in history and which way we should tip the balance. I ask you, who really believes World War Two could have been averted by giving Hitler back his missing testicle? Still, tell you what, squire; you come along with me and I’ll give you the basic tour while we’re waiting for the others to show up. How would that be?"
"Won’t the others mind, us starting without them?" I said cautiously. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected to find here, but Bert sure as hell wasn’t it.
"Course they won’t mind! You’re expected, squire; we’ve all been looking forward to you turning up here. The things we could achieve with a Drood on our side! And we could use some new blood in the group, to be honest. Not to mention someone with a propensity for actually getting things done, instead of just sitting around talking about it. I swear we’d be ruling this world by now if the committee could just get their heads out of their arses once in a while."
He headed for the back of the church, his hands in his overall pockets and his cigarette still protruding jauntily from one corner of his mouth. I followed along, keeping a wary eye out for sneak attacks or mutating realities, but it all seemed very calm and peaceful.
"So," I said casually, "what is this important work that you’re doing here, Bert?"
"We’re defeating the Devil, one day at a time." For the first time Bert sounded entirely serious. "He rules this world, you know. Not God. He hasn’t been in charge for ages. I mean, you only have to look around you to see that for yourself. The world wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not this…mess. We were supposed to live in paradise. But something happened long ago, and the Devil’s been playing games with humanity ever since, the bastard. Telling us lies, driving us to despair, torturing us every day with false hopes, impossible ambitions, and chances snatched away at the last moment. Why do bad things happen to good people? Why do bad guys thrive? Because the guy in charge gets a kick out of it, that’s why. He’s making a Hell out of this world, just for the fun of it. Some say the greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was to make us believe love was real…"
"Oh," I said. I couldn’t think of anything else to say, except perhaps Have you stopped taking any medication recently?
"But bit by bit we’re changing the world the Devil made," Bert said cheerfully. "Rewriting reality and transforming the world into something finer and fairer. We’re stealing back the world, inch by inch, and making it something fit for people to live in. We’re all going home, to paradise. That’s why the founding members chose this place for our HQ. Centuries of accumulated faith and sanctity help keep the Devil from noticing we’re here."