“Fair question,” I said. “For justice. To stop further injustice. So we can all be free of the Shadow Bank and the evils it makes possible.”
“So . . . I wouldn’t have to pay off my loans?” said J.C. “Sounds good to me.”
“Always did love a challenge,” said Dead Boy, beaming happily around him at the generic army.
“You cannot win!” said the generic spokesman, almost desperately. “Why do you persist in this? The situation is clear. We are many; you are few.”
“You never met anyone like us,” said Sir Parsifal. He drew his great sword, and the long blade blazed a dazzling silver on the night. “This is the sword Ex Caliburn, soaked in the blood of evil men. I have fought Humanity’s enemies on a thousand worlds, spilled alien blood in alien mud, brought down a thousand forces who thought they could prey on Humanity. I don’t see why this should be any different.”
He stood tall and proud in his gleaming medieval armour, and I believed every word he said.
J.C. stepped forward, and whipped off his sunglasses to glare at the generic army with his awful glowing eyes. “I have fought forces and beings from beyond the realms of death. Because I work for the Carnacki Institute, and we don’t take any shit from the hereafter. We exist to make sure Humanity can sleep safely in its bed at night. You? You’re just an annoyance that needs slapping down.”
The Armourer activated his armour and the golden strange matter whipped itself around him in a moment, so that he stood there like a perfect golden statue, under the stars and the moons. “I represent Drood,” he said flatly. “You know of us. You know what we can do. Stand down now. While you still can.”
When it became clear that the generic army wasn’t going to do that, Dead Boy sauntered forward, flashing his cold, dead smile. “Come on, then! Give me your best shot! I can take you! Ah, there’s nothing like a little vicious mayhem to warm the heart, once you’re dead!”
Natasha Chang sighed quietly. “Testosterone—such a curse . . . I represent the Crowley Project. You’ve had dealings with us. You don’t get to run Humanity; that’s our job. And whilst normally I wouldn’t be seen dead in present company, I will make common cause with them, against you. It has been a while since I helped commit genocide, and a girl does like to keep her hand in. . . .”
Molly looked at J.C. “Did you really go out with her for a while?”
J.C. shrugged, and smiled winningly. “You know how it is . . . it’s always the bad girl who makes a good guy’s heart beat that little bit faster. . . .”
“It was just sex,” Natasha said crushingly. “And not very good sex, either.”
Dead Boy shook his head. “Women always fight dirty.”
I looked at Bruin Bear and the Sea Goat. “I don’t know what I was thinking, bringing you guys here. You don’t belong in a war. Just . . . sit this one out, till it’s over.”
“You brought us here to be your conscience,” said Bruin Bear, fixing me steadily with his warm, wise eyes. “To make sure you wouldn’t go too far. So the Goat and I will go with you. Don’t worry; no one will harm us.”
“He’s quite right,” said the Sea Goat. “No one will lay a hand on him. He’s that sort of Bear.”
“I will guard your back,” said the Bear. “With the Goat’s help.”
The Sea Goat sniggered loudly. “Damn right. Because I’m not that sort of Bear.” And suddenly he was holding a long ironwood shillelagh in one hand, thick and heavy and carved with nasty runes. A stick made for violence. “Ah, this takes me back! Been a while since I was an action hero.”
“We were heroes and adventurers in the Golden Lands,” the Bear said sternly. “Not thugs or bullies.”
“Why are you here?” said Molly. “Really?”
“Because the Horse said we would be needed, later,” said Bruin Bear.
“And we know better than to argue with a living god,” said the Sea Goat. “Even if he is really just a stuck-up pony with delusions of grandeur.”
Molly gave up on that one, and turned back to me. “We still have to locate the Shadow Bank’s head-quarters. I don’t see any suitable candidates. Hell, I don’t see a single building anywhere! Could it be underground?”
“No,” I said. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Clearly not, or I would be looking at the bloody thing!” said Molly.
“What did we say when we first saw the Casino Infernale hotel?” I said patiently. “That it looked like an alien starship. Frankie said it could travel to anywhere in the world, just popping out of nowhere and setting down into its next location. So where do you think such a thing came from, originally?”
“Right here!” said Molly. “Good thinking, Shaman! Or Eddie . . . Never mind that now. All I have to do is concentrate on the coordinates built into the dimensional door inside the hotel, and I can manipulate that with my magic and bring the hotel here!”
“That was my idea!” I said.
“You were taking too long,” said Molly. “Now hush. I’m working.”
She frowned hard, waved one hand in a certain way, and the hotel materialised on the hilltop opposite us. On the other side of the generic army. They all cried out together in a strange mixture of anger and loss. It made an eerie, almost plaintive sound on the night. Perhaps because they’d never lost control of the hotel before. Never lost control of the situation . . . Events were moving against them, and they could tell. For the first time, for all their blank characterless faces . . . it seemed to me that they looked uncertain.
“It’s a big building,” said Molly, scowling at the massive hotel dominating the horizon. “Where, inside all of that, would they hide their head-quarters? Could be anywhere!”
“I’m more concerned with the way the whole generic army is gathering together to place themselves between us and the hotel,” I said, just a bit reproachfully. “You couldn’t have landed the thing right next to us, Molly? So we wouldn’t have to fight our way through the whole generic population just to reach it?”
“Don’t you criticise me, Eddie Drood!” Molly said fiercely. I always know I’m in trouble when Molly uses my full name. She stepped forward so she could glare right into my face. “I brought that hotel all the way here from another world, by remote control! Given how far the bloody thing’s travelled, I think that is pretty damned close! Don’t you?”
“Children, children,” murmured the Armourer. “Not in front of the enemy. Or in front of the allies, for that matter.”
“Argue about it after the war,” said Sir Parsifal. “With those of us who survive. Now, come and present yourselves, all you forces for the Good. It’s killing time.”
“I will lead the way,” I said. “I will take Molly with me into the hotel to search for the head-quarters, while the rest of you keep the generic army outside and off our backs. Think you can do that?”
“Piece of cake,” said Dead Boy, cheerfully.
“I have Ex Caliburn,” said Sir Parsifal. “And my duty, and my honour.”
“I have a Hand of Glory, made out of a monkey’s paw,” said J.C. “And there was absolutely no need for all of you to look at me like that. Yes, I know such a thing is illegal under any number of internationally recognised pacts and conventions, and that you can be executed just for knowing such a thing is possible in a large number of countries, but in my defence, I don’t give a damn. And, yes, of course I stole it, so can we please move on.”
“I have my nasty piece of high tech,” Natasha said demurely, “which I don’t feel obliged to discuss. It isn’t illegal, because you haven’t heard of it. Yet.”
Dead Boy sniffed loudly. “Weapons are for wimps. Just let me get my hands on them.”
“I don’t use weapons,” said Bruin Bear. “In fact, I think if the time ever comes when it becomes necessary for me to take up a weapon, that will mean the end of the world is nigh.”
“Trouble is, he’s probably right,” said the Sea Goat. “Don’t worry, Bear. You stick with me, and my really big stick. I’ll protect you. Just as I always have.”
“Whether I approve of your methods or not,” said the Bear.
The Sea Goat smiled down at the Bear, surprisingly tenderly. “That’s what friends are for, old chum.”
I stood beside my uncle Jack, subvocalised my activating Words, and armoured up. The strange matter flowed around and over me, surrounding and sealing me in, all in a moment. And immediately I felt stronger, faster, smarter. Like snapping fully awake after a long doze. A Drood in his armour, again and at last.
“This is how it should be,” the Armourer said approvingly, looking out over the ranks and ranks of the generic army. “Fighting against impossible odds, for the ashes of his father and the temples of his gods.”
I looked at him. “What?”
The Armourer sighed heavily behind his featureless golden mask. “It’s a quotation! From Macaulay’s ‘Lays of Ancient Rome’! Don’t they teach children the classics any more?”
Molly came forward to stand on my other side. Stray magics flared and discharged on the air around her. The generic spokesman stood at the front rank of his army, staring at us with his blurred, unfinished face.
“Please,” I said to him, as earnestly as I knew how. “I don’t want to have to do this. Stand down. Please.”
“No,” said the generic spokesman. “You must die. All of you. The Shadow Bank regulates Humanity. Keeps you under control. This is necessary. You cannot be allowed to run free. We know better than you what is good for you. We live to serve, to make you behave. Surrender. You cannot win.”
“Lot you know,” I said.
I started forward, and the others came with me. The generic army surged forward to meet us, like a great living wave. No weapons in their hands, just thousands of outstretched arms determined to drag us down and tear us apart. I raised my golden hands before me. Metal spikes rose up from the armoured knuckles of my left hand, while a long golden sword blade extended from my right hand.
Even then, at the end, I wanted to save them. But they weren’t what I thought they were. So I went forward to kill as many of them as I had to, to get to the hotel and do the right thing.
One more time.
• • •
The generic army came rushing forward in an awful, focused silence, intent on violence and murder. Their outstretched hands clenched and unclenched convulsively, desperate to tear and rend our flesh. Their blurred, characterless faces never changed. The spokesman was quickly swallowed up in the crowd as they all moved forward with the same swift, eerie synchronisation. The first of them slammed into me, and their vicious hands broke against my golden armour. They tried to force me backwards, drag me down, overwhelm me by sheer force of numbers, but they’d never faced a Drood in his armour before. I stood firm, and would not fall, and would not retreat. I cut about me with my golden sword, thrusting and slashing, its impossibly sharp edge slicing through flesh and bone alike. I swept the blade back and forth like a golden scythe, and generic men fell dead and dying before me. Thick dark blood flew on the air, splashing against my armour. The blood ran quickly away, dribbling down onto the grass, and the earth. I moved steadily forward, step by step, striking about me with undiminished strength. Men with exactly the same face died before me, and not one of them cried out in pain or shock or fear.
I led the way and the others came with me, and together we committed slaughter under a starry sky with too many moons.
There were thousands in the generic army, swarming all around us, grabbing at our arms and legs, our necks and heads, fingers raking like claws, fists hitting us with savage force. But that was nothing to Drood armour. The strange matter soaked up the impact of their blows and deflected the rest, so I wouldn’t be distracted from the messy business of killing. I struck fiercely about me with my golden sword, forcing my way forward, and a whole army wasn’t enough to stop me.
The Armourer was right there on my right hand, striking about him with his golden fists with grim precision. He had never been a soldier, but he had been a field agent in the Cold War, one of the most quietly savage wars of recent times. He struck generic men down, and none of them ever rose again. He strode forward over their bodies, old man though he was, raised in an older time of relentless, remorseless duty. He would not be slowed or stopped or turned aside, because he was a Drood.
Molly jumped and danced and spun on my left hand, laughing out loud in sheer exhilaration as she let loose her magics. It was enough for her that she finally had a clear enemy, a chance to strike out at last, after so many frustrations. She threw fireballs with one hand, and lightning bolts with the other. When she tired of that she stabbed a pointing finger, and whoever she pointed at exploded into bloody gobbets. She laughed happily, but her face was never cruel. She just believed in doing everything to the best of her ability, and enjoying her accomplishments. The enemy came at her, determined to kill her horribly, and she laughed in their faces and killed them all. Molly always was a better fighter than me.
I caught glimpses of the others, as we went to war.
Sir Parsifal wielded Ex Caliburn with practised skill and silent fury. Cutting down every generic figure who came against him, moving always on to the next target. He fought for duty and honour and the protection of Humanity, as a London Knight should, and there was no room left in him after that, for small things like mercy or compassion. I don’t think he cared who he was fighting, it was enough for him that they had been declared the enemy. He strode heavily forward in his armour, slamming the dead and the dying out of his way, singing a martial hymn behind his steel helm. Blood soaked his armour, falling away to be replaced by fresh. Sir Parsifal lived to fight the forces of evil. For him, this was a good day.
J. C. Chance thrust his Hand of Glory out before him—a wrinkled, withered thing whose stick-like fingers had been made into candles. The fingertips burned with a constant blue flame that never went out. And wherever J.C. pointed the monkey’s paw, the generic men just froze up and fell paralysed to the ground. They fell in waves as he swept the nasty thing back and forth, and he strode easily over the unmoving bodies. Sometimes a generic man would get too close, and then J.C. would glare into the unfinished face with his glowing gaze, and they would scream and fall away, writhing in horror on the bloody grass. J.C. would laugh at them as they fell, and something in that sound made me shudder, just for a moment.