Book 1 - The Man With the Golden Torc (31 page)

"All right," I said. "Spill it. What kind of a place have you
brought me to?"

"This is Happy Acres," Molly said calmly. "A high-security
installation for the criminally insane. The locals call it Happy Daze."

"And our rogue is in there? What is he, crazy?"

"Yes, and no," said Molly. "You’ll have to see for yourself.
Oddly John’s position here is…complicated."

We started down the hillside, slipping and sliding on grass
still wet from the dawn, heading towards the home for the criminally insane. All
at once, the heavy iron gate didn’t look nearly heavy enough. I studied the
manor house dubiously until the rising stone walls shut it off from view. I’d
never been to a madhouse before. I wasn’t sure what to expect. When Droods go
seriously crazy, we kill them. We have to. The armour makes them far too
dangerous. Like Arnold Drood, the Bloody Man. I can’t believe that bastard was
able to fool us for so long. Molly and I reached the bottom of the hill, and I
trailed after Molly as she headed for the entrance. I wasn’t holding back. It
was just that Molly knew the way.

"So," I said. "Criminally insane. Are we talking…ax murderers
and the like?"

"Oh, at least," Molly said cheerfully. "But not to worry; I’m
sure everyone will make you feel perfectly at home."

We stopped outside the iron gate, which seemed even bigger close
up. It looked like it had been cast in one piece, with bars so thick you
couldn’t get a hand around them. Its design was stark and purely functional. It
was there to keep the inmates in, nothing more. Molly hit the buzzer recessed
into the thick stone pillar beside the gate, and after a lengthy pause a
heavyset man in hospital whites came over to glare suspiciously through the gate
at us. The leather belt around his thick waist held a radio, pepper spray, and a
long heavy truncheon.

"Hello, George," Molly said easily. "Remember me? I’m here to
see my uncle John again. John Stapleton."

"You know the routine, Molly," said George in a surprisingly
soft and pleasant voice. "You have to show me a signed and dated pass from the
hospital administration."

"Oh, sure," said Molly. She held an empty hand up before him,
and he leaned forward for a closer look, his lips moving slowly as he read the
details on a nonexistent pass. He finally nodded, and Molly quickly lowered her
hand. George worked an electronic lock on the other side of the gate, and there
was the sound of heavy metal bolts disengaging. The gate swung smoothly open on
concealed hydraulics, and Molly led the way into the house grounds. The gate
swung shut behind us, locking us in with the inmates.

"Shall I call up to the house for an escort to take you the rest
of the way?" said George, his hands resting on his belt next to the pepper spray
and the truncheon.

"No, that’s all right, George," said Molly. "I know the way."

I must have looked a bit disconcerted, because George smiled
reassuringly at me. "First visit? Don’t worry. None of the patients will bother
you. Just stick to the path, and you’ll be fine."

We set off up the wide gravel path. "What was that bit with the
empty hand?" I said quietly.

"Basic illusion spell," Molly said briskly. "Lets people see
what they expect to see."

"Uncle John," I said with some emphasis. "And you knew the
guard’s name. Are you a regular visitor here, by any chance?"

"Spot on, Sherlock. I found out who Oddly John really was by
accident, and I’ve been keeping it to myself ever since. I was hoping I could
use him to dig up some useful dirt on your family. Some secret piece of insider
knowledge I could use as a weapon."

"And?"

She looked at me briefly, her expression unreadable. "Wait till
you meet him. You’ll understand then."

Wide green lawns stretched away on either side of the path,
cropped and cultivated to within an inch of their lives. Patients in dressing
gowns, with wild hair and empty eyes, wandered listlessly back and forth, taking
the air. A handful of bored-looking guards in hospital whites were enjoying a
cigarette break by the ornamental fountain. Some of the patients muttered to
themselves. Some just made noises. None of them looked like an ax murderer. And
none of them even glanced at Molly and me, caught up in their own private
worlds.

As Molly and I drew closer to the big house, I realised that all
the windows were barred, with heavy metal shutters ready to be swung into place.
Swivelling exterior cameras watched us approach. The main door looked very solid
and very shut. Molly leaned over the electronic combination lock set into the
post by the door and pecked out four numbers.

"You’d think they’d change the number once in a while," she said
fussily. "Or at least come up with a decent combination. I mean, it’s been 4321
for as long as I’ve been coming here. Just so the staff won’t have any trouble
remembering it in an emergency. Anybody could guess it! Or at least, anyone with
the normal number of marbles. I’d write a stern letter to the hospital
governors, but you never know. I might need to break in here some day. Or break
out."

The door swung open, revealing a pleasant open lobby. Nice
carpeting, comfortable furnishings, plaques and commendations on the walls. The
only off note was that the receptionist sat in her own little cubicle behind
heavy reinforced glass. She was a middle-aged, matronly figure in the ubiquitous
hospital whites, with an easy, welcoming smile. Molly smiled and nodded
familiarly back, and the receptionist pushed a guestbook through a narrow slit
in the glass for us to sign. After only a moment’s pause, I wrote Mr. & Mrs.
Jones.

"Oh, that’s nice," the receptionist said cheerfully. "Makes a
change from all the Smiths we get coming here. Most people don’t care to use
their real names, when they come visiting relations. Just in case someone finds
out there’s a cannibal in the family. Though of course we’re always very careful
about things like that. Good to see you back again, Molly. Most people don’t
like to come to a place like this. We get all the bad ones here: the child
killers, the serial rapists, the animal mutilators…All the patients no one else
wants, or can’t cope with. We had the Dorset Ripper in here just the other week.
No trouble at all; sweet as you like."

"We’re here to see my uncle John," said Molly, cutting off a
monologue that threatened to run and run. "John Stapleton?"

"Of course you are, dear. Oddly John, we call him. He’s never a
problem, bless him. Don’t know what he did to get sent to a place like this,
before my time, but it must have been pretty bad, because there’s never any talk
of transferring him to a less secure establishment, for all his good behaviour.
Remember: always watch your back here, dears. Many of the patients in this place
are the last faces a lot of people ever saw. Now, you make yourselves
comfortable, and I’ll call for an attendant to escort you up to the top floor."

Molly stretched out in a comfortable chair, but I didn’t feel
like sitting. This was not a comfortable place, for all the trimmings. I looked
through an open door into an adjoining parlour, where patients were just sitting
around in dressing gowns. It wasn’t what I’d expected. No thrashing figures in
straitjackets, no muscular guards hovering, ready to beat the crap out of anyone
who misbehaved. Instead, just a collection of very ordinary-looking people,
sitting in chairs, flicking through papers and magazines, or watching morning
television shows. The only attendant nurse was sitting at the back, doing the
Times crossword puzzle. Molly moved in beside me, and I jumped a little despite
myself.

"It’s all done with kindness, these days," she said quietly.
"The chemical cosh. They’re all doped to the eyeballs, so they won’t cause any
trouble or talk back. It’s a lot cheaper than restraints. Though you’ll notice
there are surveillance cameras everywhere, just in case. The real hard cases are
kept out of sight, so as not to upset the visitors."

"That’s right," said our escort, appearing suddenly beside us.
Another muscular man in hospital whites, this time with a shaved head and a
self-satisfied smirk on his face. He kept one hand on his belt, right next to
the truncheon. He didn’t offer to shake hands. "Hi; I’m Tommy. Ask me about
anything. I’ve been here, like, forever. It’s good money, with lots of vacation
time, and the work’s not exactly demanding most of the time. Hardly any
excitement, these days. The wonders of modern science; better living through
chemistry." He looked though the door into the parlour and sniggered openly.
"Look at them. You could set fire to their slippers, and they wouldn’t notice.
Like your missus said, we keep the real animals downstairs, in the Bear Pit." He
sniggered again, looking sideways at Molly. "We had to put your uncle John down
there a few times, when he first came here. He didn’t give us any more trouble
after that."

"How is he?" said Molly. "Is my uncle having one of his good
days?"

Tommy shrugged easily. "Hard to tell, with him. Long as he
behaves himself, that’s all I care about." He sniggered again, this time looking
at me. "Oddly John—that’s what we call him. He’s really not all there, poor
bastard. First visit, is it? Don’t expect too much from the old man. We keep him
well tranked, so he won’t go wandering. A lot of them get restless legs…"

"It’s nice to know you’re taking such good care of my uncle,"
said Molly. "I must be sure to give you a little something, before I leave."

Tommy smiled and nodded, the fool.

He and Molly talked some more, but I stopped listening. I used
the Sight the torc gave me to see the lobby as it really was, hidden from merely
mortal gaze. There were demons everywhere, scuttling across the ceiling and
clinging to the walls and riding on the backs of the patients. Demons don’t
cause madness, but they delight in the suffering it causes. Some of the demons
had grown fat and distended, like parasites gorged on too much blood. A squat
black insect thing squatted at the attendant nurse’s feet, like a faithful pet
waiting for a treat. Some of the demons realised I could See them. They stirred
uneasily, sinking barbed claws and hooks into the patients’ backs and shoulders,
making it clear they wouldn’t give up their victims without a fight. I wanted to
kill every demon in the room, rip them off their victims, feel their skulls and
carapaces break and shatter under my golden fists, but I couldn’t risk making a
scene. I needed to see Oddly John. I needed to know what he knew.

I turned my back on the parlour and shut down my Sight. There’s
a reason why I don’t use it very often. If we could all See the world as it
truly is, all the time, we couldn’t bear to live in it. Not even Droods.
Ignorance can be bliss.

I went back to stand with Molly, who immediately sensed my
impatience. She stopped pressing the guard for information and said she’d like
to see her uncle now. Tommy shrugged and led us over to the elevators. And all
the time I was thinking, Three days, four tops. Part of me wanted to sulk and
stamp my feet and shout, Not fair! But when had my life ever been fair? I
couldn’t afford to give in to hysterics. Had to stay calm and focused. Perhaps,
at the end, all that would be left to me was to go down fighting and take as
many of my enemies with me as I could.

If so, I couldn’t wait to get started.

Tommy took us up to the top floor. The elevator had its own
security override lock. I peered unobtrusively over Tommy’s shoulder as he
punched in the combination. Sure enough, it was 4321. A bunch of determined Boy
Scouts could burgle this place. Probably get a badge, these days.

"Why Oddly John?" I said abruptly. "What is it that’s so…odd,
about him?"

Tommy sniggered. I was getting really tired of that sound.
"Because he talks to people that aren’t there and often won’t talk to people
that are. He sees things no one else can and talks all kinds of rubbish about
it, if you’ll let him. Lives in a world all his own, that one. Used to have
really bad nightmares, until we increased his medication. To be fair, though,
he’s never violent; eats up all his food and never makes a fuss about taking his
pills. That’s the best kind of patient, in a place like this."

He led us all the way down to the end of the corridor. Its walls
had been painted in pale pastel colours, so as not to overexcite the patients.
Motion-sensitive cameras followed us all the way. The door to Oddly John’s room
stood halfway open. Tommy stood back and gestured for Molly and me to go in.

"Any problems, there’s a big red panic button right by the door.
Hit that, and I’ll come running. Don’t be afraid to use it. We had a nurse here
not long ago who let a guy get too close to her, and he bit half her face off
before we could pull him away. We kicked the crap out of him afterwards, but it
didn’t do her much good. Never came back. Don’t blame her. Heard she got some
really decent compensation money, though. Remember: no matter how nice and sweet
they are to you, you can’t trust any of them. They’re all sick, vicious
bastards, or they wouldn’t be here. No offence, Molly. You have a nice visit
with your uncle John."

He ambled away, and Molly and I looked at each other. "Cheerful
fellow," she said.

"I thought so."

"I really must remember to give him an appallingly fierce case
of hemorrhoids before I leave."

"I would. Shall we go in?"

We went in. The room seemed pleasant enough. More calming
colours on the walls, a comfortable-looking bed, and some basic furnishings, all
clearly bolted to the floor. Some books on a shelf, flowers in vases, and a
television in one corner, turned off. The patient was sitting quietly in a chair
by the window, looking out through the bars. A frail old man, in a faded
dressing gown. He didn’t look around as we came in or react at all as we
approached him. I checked him out briefly with the Sight. He didn’t have a demon
anywhere on him, but he did have a golden collar around his throat. He was a
Drood, all right. I moved around to get a good look at his face, and then gasped
and gaped openly.