Casino Infernale (47 page)

“Never fought an entire army before,” I said. “Or at least, not without my armour, and my family to back me up.”

“I think we should retreat,” said Molly. “And come back with reinforcements. Heavily armed reinforcements.”

“You can’t leave,” said the generic spokesman. “We control all entrances and exits to our world.”

And sure enough, when I looked quickly behind me the dimensional door was gone. I looked quickly at Molly.

“Are you sure you can’t teleport us out of here?”

“Very sure,” said Molly. “We’re on a whole different world, remember? Quite possibly a whole different level of reality. I can’t trust my coordinates here. I mean, I’m good, Shaman, but reluctant as I am to admit it, I do have my limitations.”

“Then I’ll just have to bring the reinforcements to us,” I said.

Molly gave me a look. “Really?”

“I’ve had an idea. . . .” I said.

“Go for it,” Molly said immediately. “Whatever this idea is, I love it and want to have its babies. Because I’ve got nothing.”

“I can’t call on my family without my torc,” I said. “But I believe there is someone who might still owe us a favour. So . . . Horse! Please, come to me! I need your help!”

There was a pause. Molly glared at me.

“That’s it? That’s your big idea? We’re on a whole other world! What makes you think the Horse can hear us from here?”

“Because he’s a living god,” I said. “And I believe he can hear a prayer for help, wherever he is.”

Every single member of the generic army suddenly tilted their heads right back, to stare up into the night sky. I looked up too, and grinned broadly. A massive White Horse filled the entire night sky, from one horizon to the next, blocking out the stars and shining bright as any moon. The generic people cried out as one—a terrible, awed cry. Because they’d never seen anything like the White Horse before. The Horse came riding down, out of the sky, shrinking rapidly in size without losing any of his grandeur and majesty, becoming finally a simple horse standing before Molly and me, regarding us with old, wise eyes. Molly threw her arms around his great white neck and hugged him fiercely. I bowed, respectfully. The Horse looked at me in a knowing way, and I couldn’t help but grin.

“You may have noticed,” I said to the Horse, “that Molly and I are currently surrounded by a whole bunch of enemies, who mean us harm. We need help. Reinforcements. If I were to give you the names of those I need, could you find them and bring them here? Really, very, very quickly?”

The Horse looked at me as though I’d just asked him whether he could gallop without tripping over his own hooves. For a horse, he did have a very expressive face. Comes with being a living god, I suppose.

Molly reluctantly let go of the Horse, after I’d cleared my throat meaningfully a few times, and turned to look at me.

“Who did you have in mind?” she said, just a bit suspiciously. “All the Drood field agents?”

“I don’t think we should push our luck too much,” I said. “The more people I ask for, the longer it might take the Horse to round them up and bring them here. And I don’t know how long the shock and awe of the Horse will hold the generic army back. So, I thought, those who started this should be here at the finish. Horse, please locate and bring here, as fast as is godly possible: the Drood Armourer, from Drood Hall; Sir Parsifal of the London Knights; J. C. Chance of the Carnacki Institute; Dead Boy from the Nightside; and Natasha Chang from the Crowley Project. And, I suppose, Bruin Bear and the Sea Goat, from Shadows Fall. No reason why they should miss out on all the fun.”

The Horse nodded his great white head, and disappeared. The generic people made a single, very disturbed, sound. Despite their characterless faces, they all gave every indication of being very upset. The generic spokesman looked at Molly and me.

“What . . . Who was that?”

Molly and I ignored him.

“Natasha Chang?” said Molly. “Are you sure? After the Sea Goat smashed a vodka bottle over her head at the Summit Meeting?”

“She’ll have recovered by now,” I said confidently. “Hard-headed creature like her . . . and I don’t think she’ll bear a grudge. She is Crowley Project, after all. She’ll have done worse.”

“You are clearly too dangerous to be allowed to live,” said the generic spokesman. “You have to die. You have to die now.”

“Too late,” I said. “Listen, can you hear the sound of approaching hooves?”

The whole generic army raised their eyes to the sky again as the sound of pounding hoofbeats filled the night . . . and then they all fell back abruptly, pushed back by the godly pressure of a whole bunch of White Horses appearing out of nowhere, to stand in a great circle around Molly and me. It was the same Horse, appearing simultaneously in several places at once. You could tell. The Horse’s presence slammed on the air, like a living thing, like an endless roll of silent thunder.

He was currently bearing several rather surprised-looking riders. The Horse turned his several heads to look at them, and they all dismounted quickly, in their various ways. After which all the Horses seemed to just . . . slide together, until there was only one—the living god of Horses, standing before Molly and me. He bowed his great white head to me, winked briefly, and was gone.

“Is that the end of our favours, do you think?” said Molly, practical as always.

“Who can tell with a living god?” I said. “Or a Horse.”

My uncle Jack was the first to come forward and greet me. The others all seemed preoccupied with the surrounding army, which was only natural. The Armourer smiled easily at me, in a vague and confused sort of way. He was wearing his usual lab coat, with fresh chemical burns steaming all down one scorched and blackened sleeve. He looked at me reproachfully.

“I was just in the middle of something important, you know. But it is hard to say no to a Horse like that, particularly when it’s just appeared right in the middle of the Drood Armoury, passing right through the Hall’s defences as though they weren’t even there, and without setting off a single alarm. . . .”

“He’s the living god of all horses,” I said. “I don’t think they do defences or alarms. And I did sort of promise Ethel she could have the Horse as a companion.”

“Oh, well,” said the Armourer. “Someone for the dragon to play with. As soon as I’ve finished growing a body for his head. Hello, Eddie! Hello, Molly!” He looked about him. “Do I understand correctly that you’re in some sort of trouble?”

“These are the generic flunkies,” I said. “They want to kill me. And Molly.”

“Ah,” said the Armourer. “Can’t have that, can we?” He fixed the generic spokesman with a hard look. “Any of you make even one move I don’t like, and I’ll let my lab assistants have you for experiments!”

“Trust me,” I said to the somewhat bewildered generic spokesman. “That is probably the worst threat you have ever heard. So behave.”

“When I agreed to attend the Summit Meeting on Mars, I had no idea I’d been conscripted into a war,” said J. C. Chance, striding forward to join us in his bright ice-cream white suit. He glared about him with all his usual cockiness, apparently not bothered in the least by the sheer numbers surrounding us. “Not that I’m complaining, you understand. Always ready to do really horrible things to villains and scoundrels, but I do normally like a bit of warning. If only so I can stock up on really nasty weapons. I mean, there I was, just on my way home from the pub, when suddenly I am kidnapped by this really big horse! And before I know it, I’m riding through the dimensions without benefit of saddle or bridle.”

“He doesn’t like bridles,” I said. “He got you here safely, didn’t he?”

“Wherever here is,” said J.C. “I take it from the sheer overwhelming numbers that those are the bad guys? Why have they all got the same face? Are we talking attack of the clones?”

“Something like that,” I said.

“I don’t even want to know how that Horse got into the toilets at Strangefellows,” said Dead Boy, looming over everyone in his dark purple greatcoat, scowling at everyone with his dark fever-bright eyes.

“What were you doing in a toilet?” said Molly. “You’re dead.”

“I still eat and drink,” said Dead Boy, reasonably. “It’s got to go somewhere. Often suddenly and violently and all over the place. When I’m short of funds I bottle it, and sell it to the Little Sisters of the Immaculate Chainsaw for use in their emergency exorcisms.”

Perhaps fortunately for all our tender sensibilities, Dead Boy was interrupted by the arrival of Sir Parsifal, clanking loudly in his plate steel armour, his plumed helmet stuffed under one arm. He frowned at the generic army, and the nearest rows actually fell backwards a few steps.

“We are used to horses in the London Knights,” said Sir Parsifal. “They are our companions, our war chargers, our partners in the great cause. King Arthur recognised the White Horse the moment it appeared in our Court. I was honoured to be chosen, to be carried here to fight the good fight. Is this all of us?”

“Pretty much,” I said.

“Good,” said Sir Parsifal. “More deaths at our hands, more honour for us all.”

“I don’t know about the clones,” said J.C., “but he scares the crap out of me. I may hide behind him, once the advance starts.”

“That does sound like you,” said Natasha Chang, striding elegantly forward to join us. “I am not even going to discuss what I was doing when the Horse appeared out of nowhere to carry me away . . . I just hope the cleaning lady will untie him in the morning, if I’m not back.” She stopped, to glare at the Sea Goat as he came ambling forward with Bruin Bear.

“Living gods are two a penny in Shadows Fall,” the Sea Goat said loudly. “And I hate riding horses. Makes me feel sea-sick.”

“You stay away from me, you . . . animal,” said Natasha.

The Sea Goat leered at her, showing large blocky teeth in his grey muzzle. “Come on, sweetie—in Crowley Project terms, what we did was practically foreplay.”

Bruin Bear shook his head. “Can’t take you anywhere. . . . Hello, everyone. Good to see you all again.”

And the thing was, he meant it. You could tell. He was just that sort of Bear.

“It’s good to see you again, Eddie,” the Armourer said gruffly. “I brought you a gift. From Ethel. I’ve been holding on to it ever since you left.”

He held out a simple golden circlet, and I took it from him with an unsteady hand. Immediately the circlet opened, and shot forward to wrap itself around my neck. It was all I could do to keep from crying out. I had my torc again; I had my armour again. A Drood again, at last. I stood up straighter, and grinned savagely around me. I was back! I was Eddie Drood, and let everything and everyone in all the worlds beware! I threw my arms around Uncle Jack, and hugged him fiercely. He patted me awkwardly on the back, till I was finished. We’ve never been very good at the touchy-feely stuff in my family.

“All right,” said J.C. “I am now officially confused. I was told Shaman Bond was infiltrating Casino Infernale.”

“Shaman is my use name,” I said. “My cover identity, when I’m out in the field. I hope you’ll all keep this knowledge to yourselves, or I will have to track you down and kill you in inventive and highly distressing ways.”

“Yeah,” said Dead Boy. “He’s a Drood.”

Molly was looking at the generic spokesman, who’d retreated almost all the way back to the front row of his army. He actually flinched as she fixed him with her gaze.

“You’re in trouble now, boys,” Molly said loudly. “The gang’s all here. Surrender now, and avoid the rush.”

“We outnumber you,” the generic spokesman said stubbornly. His face was pale and his eyes were wide, but his voice was still steady. “There are thousands of us, to your handful. You cannot win. You must all die so that the truth you know dies with you.”

“Truth?” said the Armourer. “And what truth might that be? Have you been keeping something from us, Eddie? I think you need to bring us all up to speed, boy.” He shot the generic spokesman a heavy glare, from under his bushy white eyebrows. “Anyone, and I mean any one of you, who makes the slightest aggressive move, or tries to interrupt us while Eddie’s talking, will be made a horrible example of for the others.”

“Yeah,” said Dead Boy. “He’s a Drood too. No one does a nasty threat like a Drood.”

And he must have been right, because the generic army just stood there and did nothing, while I gave all the original members of the Summit Meeting a short, concise version of what had gone down at Casino Infernale, and what I had learned about the true nature of the Shadow Bank, and the Crow Lee Inheritance. I showed them the silver key, and they all expressed polite amazement over how such a small thing could be so dangerous. None of them interrupted while I talked. They were all good listeners. They were, after all, professionals. When I finally finished I liked to think they were all looking at me, and Molly, a little more respectfully. Even the London Knight.

“So,” said Sir Parsifal. “The war over the Crow Lee Inheritance is finished before it began. A non-starter. Pity. I would have liked to get my hands bloody, punishing the various dirty factions. But”—and here he looked out over the standing rows of the generic army—“I suppose these will do.” He picked out the generic spokesman with his cold fierce eyes, and raised his voice. “You, fellow, there! Do you still intend to kill us all?”

“Of course,” said the generic man. “It is necessary. You cannot be allowed to stand in the way of efficiency.”

Sir Parsifal looked at me. “You want us to kill them all?”

“I think that might be beyond even us,” I said carefully. “No, I think we need to find their head-quarters, from where they actually run the Shadow Bank, and destroy it. Destroy their ability to support organised supernatural crime. Bring the whole thing down. It’s all so clear, now . . . they run things in an inhuman way, because they are inhuman. No conscience, or compassion, in their day to day business, because they have none. This cannot be allowed to continue.”

“That’s my nephew,” the Armourer said proudly. “More ambitious than a barrelful of Hollywood starlets. I’m sorry, I don’t know where that image came from.”

“But why should the rest of us fight for you, Drood?” said Natasha. “A Summit Meeting is one thing; open warfare is quite another.”