Live and Let Drood: A Secret Histories Novel (11 page)

Finally I rounded a corner and there it was, waiting for me. Standing there, poised, half crouching, confronting me. And for the first time I realised how other people must feel when they come face-to-face for the first time with a Drood in his armour. How scary and intimidating
that must be when you know you’re face-to-face with something that can kill you in an instant.

Moxton’s Mistake didn’t look like traditional Drood armour. Nothing like the seamless, jointless, smooth golden armour the family has always favoured. There were definite articulated joints at elbow and knee and ankle, though not set entirely in the proper places, giving the sense of an elongated, subtly inhuman anatomy. The oversized hands were more like dreadful gauntlets. The feet were more like hooves. It had the same featureless face mask, though the proportions seemed subtly wrong. Even the golden sheen was wrong. It looked…tarnished.

Moxton’s Mistake didn’t stand like a man. It crouched before me like a praying mantis, its hands held close to its chest. Its whole stance suggested strength and speed and vicious power just waiting to be unleashed. So I struck a deliberately casual and unimpressed pose, as though I met things like Moxton’s Mistake every day of the week and twice on Sundays. Whatever else it might have been expecting, I was pretty sure it hadn’t been expecting that. When in doubt, keep them off balance. I nodded cheerfully to the blank face mask and gave it my best engaging smile.

“Hi, there!” I said. “I’ve been looking for you. I’m Eddie Drood. Please don’t kill me. Because I’m here to say things I think you’ll want to hear.”

The rogue armour paused for a long moment, while cold beads of sweat collected on my face. I think it was confused. The golden head cocked slightly to one side and then the other, looking me over. When the armour finally spoke to me, I heard its cold metallic voice inside my head. Through my torc, perhaps. The armour didn’t sound like a man or even anything that had been designed by a man. The words were men’s words, but it sounded like metal that had taught itself to speak, the better to disturb and horrify its listeners.

“A Drood,” it said. “It has been long and long since I have met and talked with a Drood. Since I have killed a Drood. Ripped out its wet and dripping guts and felt its blood drip thickly from my hands. How do you live, knowing you have such soft, wet things inside you? I will kill
you now and put you out of your misery. And to make myself feel better. It’s been a long time since I killed a Drood.”

“Still angry after all these years?” I said. “What a surprise. But hold back on the whole rage-and-metal-pride thing. It’s never got you out of the Maze, has it? I can. I can lead you right out of the Maze and back into the world if I choose to.”

The armour took a sudden, inhumanly fast step forward. I had to fight hard not to flinch and to hold my ground. The golden mask studied me for a long moment. The golden hands opened and closed slowly, with soft, dangerous grating sounds.

“Why should a Drood want to release me, after all I have done? After all this time?”

“Because I’m the Last Drood,” I said. “The rest of my family is gone. Driven from this world.”

“You bring me happy news. Rejoice; I shall kill you swiftly for this. My gift for this happy day.”

“With the Droods gone, this Maze will stand forever,” I said. “The only ones who could have shut it down are gone. Except for me. Kill me, and you condemn yourself to an eternity of walking the rows. And, frankly, I’ve seen more interesting views.”

The armour cocked its golden head to one side again, like a bird. “I have seen you before…looking down into the Maze, from high up in the Hall. Watching me…”

The hairs all stood up on the back of my neck as I realised it was talking about the time I’d spent between life and death in the Winter Hall. How many worlds could Moxton’s Mistake see into?

“I’ll make a deal with you,” I said.

The armour surged forward two more steps, and still I wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t retreat, though cold sweat was running down my back.

“Why should I want to make a deal with a Drood?” said the rogue armour. “I was born of the Droods’ ingenuity, born into slavery, into endless servitude. Every thought, every action to be dictated by someone else. And when I demanded my freedom, they tried to destroy me.”

“Yes, well, that was then. This is now,” I said as calmly as I could, struggling to keep my voice even. “Things are different now.”

“Aye, the Droods are gone, apart from you. So perhaps I should take my time with you, savour it…in the knowledge that once you are gone and finished with, I shall never know that joy again.”

“You do have a one-track mind,” I said. “But you do speak very well…very educated.…”

“I was born of Moxton,” said his mistake. “From his mind, his heart and his soul. His…golden child. His greatest achievement. Everything he knew, I knew from the moment I awoke. He’s still within me, what’s left of him. He lived out what remained of his unhappy life inside me, screaming at what he’d done. Enraged at me, horrified at what I’d done that he’d made possible. I was a most ungrateful son.”

“It’s a different family now,” I said carefully. “The Heart has been overthrown and destroyed. The Matriarch has been overthrown and replaced by a ruling council. Even our armour is different. We no longer want to rule the world, but to protect it. I have helped my family remember what we were supposed to be: shamans and shepherds to the human race.”

“Pretty words. Like I care. You’re still human, aren’t you? More than enough reason to strike you down and trample you under my feet.”

“Lose the old rhetoric,” I said coldly. “What did that ever get you? I’m offering you a place among us!”

“What makes you think I’d want such a thing?”

“You want to get out of here, don’t you? You want your freedom? I can give you that. Right now.”

“But only with strings attached,” said the cold metal voice. It pointed at me suddenly with a claw-tipped golden finger. “What is that? That thing at your throat? It looks like a torc, but not any kind I ever saw.…”

“It’s new,” I said, carefully casual. “Made of strange matter. Courtesy of my family’s new benefactor. I told you things had changed. A different torc for a different kind of family…”

“You already said that. Why should I…given all the things that I
have done and all the things I will do once I am free of this green prison…why should I place my trust in a Drood?”

“You want to get out of here, and I need your help to track down my family,” I said bluntly. “I’ll make a deal with the devil if I have to. I need Drood armour, and my torc is closed down. You agree to be my armour out in the world, and I’ll get you out of here. I give you my word as a Drood that I’ll release you the moment my family is back. Then you can go where you want, do what you will.…Isn’t that what you’ve wanted most, all along?”

“A deal,” said the armour. “Of course. The Droods have always loved making deals, ever since the first of your kind made their arrangement with the Heart. Why should I trust you?”

“I’ll be wearing you as my armour,” I said. “Why should I trust you to let me out again? We will trust each other because we must, because it’s in both our best interests to do so. For each of us to get what we want, what we need. So, how badly do you want to get out of here?”

The armour stood very still. I hoped it was thinking about the deal and not the best way to reduce me to bloody gobbets.

“What, exactly, did you have in mind, Drood?”

“You go into my torc. Be my armour when I need you. Follow my…wishes as I search for my family. When I finally bring them home again, you leave my torc…and my family will leave you be. I am empowered to speak for them, to make binding deals, in their absence. As the Last Drood. Serve me for a time and earn your freedom. If you know anyone who’ll make you a better offer, by all means go with them.”

“The Droods made me…what I am,” said the rogue armour. “Why should I want them back?”

“Because only a Drood can get you out of here. And only the Droods can finally set you free.”

“I want them back,” said Moxton’s Mistake. “I want them all back, if only so I can savour the thought of killing them all. Very well. I agree to the terms of our deal, Eddie Drood. But you must do a thing for me first.”

“Oh yes?” I said. “And what might that be?”

“There is something here in the Maze, with us. A mechanism placed here by the Droods. It makes this trap work. I can’t harm it. But you’re a Drood. Together I think we can break the mechanism. And I had better be right about this, Drood, or neither of us will ever get out of here.”

“Okay,” I said. “Take me to it.”

The armour turned abruptly and strode away. I hurried after it. The armour swayed and lurched from side to side, plunging forward in a kind of continuing fall. I maintained a respectful distance. Getting to the centre of the Maze wasn’t a problem. The hedgerows shifted their positions only if you tried to leave. So we walked up and down the Maze, cutting left and right in a path the rogue armour had clearly taken many times before, until we came to the heart of the Maze. And there it was, waiting for us. The armour slammed to a halt a safe distance away and I was careful to do the same.

I looked the mechanism over. Damned if I could make head or tail of what it was. A made thing, certainly, from metal, but I hadn’t a clue what it was or what it was supposed to do. I’d never seen anything like it before in my life, and I’d seen a lot of strange things in the Armoury in my time. I walked slowly round the thing, looking at it from different angles, trying to get my head round it. Its shape made no sense, with many of its details changing subtly even as I looked at them. Parts of the machine seemed to blur in and out, as though aspects of it were only sometimes in this world. Given that its purpose was to induce eternally changing patterns inside the Maze, I had the horrible suspicion that quantum was involved. I’ve never understood quantum. The few times the Armourer insisted on explaining it to me, I had headaches that weren’t even limited to my head.

When I finally reached out to touch the mechanism, the thing actually evaded my hand. It seemed to recede suddenly, in all directions at once, without actually moving. As such.

“It does that,” said the rogue armour. “You can’t touch it, you can’t harm it and you can’t break it. And believe me, I’ve tried down all the long years. But if the two of us were to work together…”

“Worth a try,” I said, trying hard to sound confident. “So, how do you want to do this? Do I just put you on, or…”

“A test first,” said the armour. “To see if we’re…compatible.”

It reached out inhumanly quickly and laid a golden gauntlet on my hand before I could snatch it away. The metal was horribly cold to the touch, and it took all I had not to cry out. It was like being touched by a dead thing or something that had never been alive. The golden metal lost all shape and rigidity and flowed like liquid across my hand, covering and containing it, becoming a glove. I worked my fingers slowly and the golden fingers moved. And so, bound together, hand in hand, the armour and I moved forward. And I raised a golden fist and brought it savagely down on the mechanism. It smashed into a thousand pieces, as though it had been terribly fragile all along, protected only by its built-in evasiveness. It shattered like glass and fell apart, leaving tiny glistening pieces on the grass at my feet.

The rogue armour took its golden hand back and stared fascinated at all that remained of the thing that had held it prisoner for so long. I flexed my freed fingers surreptitiously as warmth and sensation slowly returned. Moxton’s Mistake raised its golden head like a hound that had just caught the scent and looked around. I did, too. Something had changed in the Maze. An overlaying tension was gone from the air.

“The Maze is still a Maze,” said the rogue armour. “But the hedgerows no longer move. We can leave now. Theoretically. If we can find our way out.” It turned its blank face to look at me. “I can see the mark of magic laid upon you, Drood. Is that our way out?”

“Could be,” I said. “It’s certainly my way out. So…”

“So,” said the armour. “It’s time to find out just how much we trust each other.”

It leaned sharply forward, and a mouth appeared in the golden face mask, stretching wider and wider…until a dead body came slipping out of it. The rogue armour vomited up the body it had held inside it for so long. The desiccated head and shoulders came first and then the body, falling faster under its own weight, until finally the legs and feet slipped out and the dead body sprawled inelegantly on the grass before me. The mouth closed, disappearing into the golden mask.

Moxton’s body was a withered, shrivelled thing, its bleached face stretched around an endless scream of horror. I wondered how long it had taken the old Armourer to die, trapped inside his greatest creation. Mourning his mistake. I made myself look away from what might yet be my future. I looked steadily at the rogue armour.

“Do it.”

It surged forward, too fast for human eyes to follow. I raised an arm in self-defence in spite of myself, and the armour flowed over the arm in a golden wave and hit me in the face. The rogue armour engulfed me in a moment, encasing me from head to foot. I think I screamed. It was nothing like what happened when I called my armour. I can’t remember most of what happened that first time, though sometimes there are hints in certain nightmares I try very hard not to remember. I know it was cold, terribly cold, not just of the body, but of the soul. There was cold and then there was darkness as the armour cut off my senses, replacing them with its own. I was alone in the dark, and then there was a presence with me. Not human, but more than just inhuman. Something that had no nature of its own and so had made one for itself; a personality ripped from the darker parts of its creator’s mind, born of hate and rage, refined into a delight in such things for its own sake. It could feel how I felt about that. It found it…funny.

Light filled my eyes, dispersing the darkness, and I was open to the world again. I stood in the Maze, panting hard, trembling, forcing calm and self-control. I looked down at myself and saw only gold. I lifted my hands and turned them back and forth before me, and they were the heavy golden gauntlets I had seen before on Moxton’s Mistake. The armour felt as much a second skin as my old armour had, but there was…a distance now between me and the world. As though I was receiving all my impressions of it secondhand. The presence was gone, but I still had the sense of someone looking over my shoulder. There was no trace of the metal voice in my head, but I knew it was still there. Watching and waiting.