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"Because we've been doing this forever, and we're really good at it. We can fool anyone, because deep down you want to be fooled. You don't want to believe that the high and mighty Droods could ever be infiltrated, and played for fools. It's not difficult to replace a Drood. Just catch one on their own, pose as someone they trust, then abduct and kill them, and replace them before anyone even knows they're missing. And taking on a new face, even a whole new body, is never a problem. We're flesh dancers. Shape-changers. Just one of the many arcane abilities we've acquired down the centuries. We can look like anyone… and we do! We can be your friend, your mother, your child… you'll trust us right up to the point we stick the knife in, and twist it. Look around you. Anyone could be an Immortal. And if we live a little too long, and people start noticing, we can always fake our own death and come back as our own bastard offspring. Always lots of Drood bastards turning up…"
"Like Harry, and Roger," said the Armourer, frowning.
"Exactly!" said Rafe. "Isn't paranoia wonderful? A game for the whole family!"
"You're everything we exist to fight," said the Armourer. "Heartless, soulless, all the evil in the world in one place."
"Evil is such a subjective term," said Rafe, yawning widely. "So… situational. Immortals see the long game. Compared to us, all Humanity, and yes that includes you Droods as well, are just… mayflies. Come and gone in a moment. You're just there to be used, because after all, you're not around long enough to make any real difference in the world." He stretched slowly, within the chair's restraints. "I've had enough of this. My superior flesh has metabolised your stupid drug. I don't need to justify myself, to the likes of you."
I drew my Colt Repeater from its holster, and pointed it at Rafe's face. "Tell me where the Headquarters of the Immortals is located. Tell me where to find you. Or I swear I'll shoot you in the head. Right here, right now."
Rafe looked at me, and saw I was completely serious. He tried to shrink back in the chair away from my gun, but the chair wouldn't let him. I centred my aim on his left eye.
The Armourer cleared his throat. "I don't think we should kill him, Eddie. Not when there's still a lot more we could get out of him."
"Nothing else matters," I said. "Except this. Did you think I was joking, Rafe, when I said I'd kill you all? After what you did to my grandmother, and my Molly?"
Rafe looked past me at the Armourer. "You can't just stand by, and let him shoot me in cold blood!"
"There's nothing cold about my blood," I said. "All I have to do is think about my Molly, and how she died, and my blood is blazing hot. Where do I find the Immortals? Where are Doctor Delirium and Tiger Tim and the Apocalypse Door?"
Rafe couldn't meet my gaze, so he concentrated on the Armourer. "You're a Drood. This isn't what Droods do! Stop him!"
"Most Droods don't do things like this," said the Armourer. "That's why we have field agents. He's all yours, Eddie."
"Is it any easier to die, having known centuries?" I said. "Or is it harder, knowing you could have had centuries more? You have so much more to lose than us mere mortals…"
"All right, all right!" said Rafe. There was sweat on his face, for the first time. "I'll tell you, but only because it won't do you any good. You can't get in. No one can get in, who isn't an Immortal."
"Tell me anyway," I said.
"We live in Castle Frankenstein," said Rafe. "The real one, the original thirteenth-century fortress, set atop a great hill overlooking the River Rhine. The Baron Georg Frankenstein killed a dragon there, in fifteen thirty-one. These days, another castle stands in for the original; they've made it over into a hotel for tourists who love the legend, and the films. We took over the original facilities at the end of the nineteenth century, after the infamous Baron Viktor von Frankenstein went on the run. He was never one of us; we just liked the irony. The Baron hasn't been seen since, but various of his offspring and his creations keep turning up, looking for knowledge, or revenge, or closure. The hotel takes them in, gives them the grand tour, and sends them on their way. No one ever bothers us. I told you. No one can get in, unless you're one of us."
I made him give us an exact location, and the Armourer checked his computer. He nodded briefly.
"Any more questions?" said Rafe.
"No," I said. And I shot him in the left eye. His head slammed back against the chair. He kicked once, and then slumped in the restraints, and was still. I shot him twice more in the head, because I wanted to be sure. Above the chair, the display screens went out, one by one.
"For Rafe," I said. "The real Rafe." I looked at the Armourer. "See that this piece of shit is cremated. And then scatter the ashes in the grounds, just in case."
CHAPTER NINE
Here Comes the Bride The Armourer threw a sheet over Rafe's body, and then we both turned our backs on it. The noisy hustle and bustle of the crowded Armoury went on around us, as though nothing unusual had happened. As though I hadn't just shot a defenceless man in the head. The Armourer's lab assistants are a tough crowd to shock. I slipped the Colt Repeater back into its holster with a steady hand, and looked at the Armourer. He shrugged.
"Some of my people will take care of the body," he said. "When they're not so pushed."
"I'm going to break into the Immortals' base," I said. "Right now, while they're still trying to figure out what's happening. One agent on his own has a far better chance of getting in, uncovering the necessary information and getting out again, than any larger force. And it has to be me, Uncle Jack. I'm the only one the family can spare. The rest of you have to concentrate on making the Hall and grounds secure again. Just in case there's another assault on its way."
"That isn't why you want to do this," said the Armourer. "It's still all about revenge. Didn't I teach you better than that? Never take it personally. You weren't the only one who was lied to, and taken in."
"But I'm the only one who can do something about it."
The Armourer shook his head. "You always were good at finding reasons why you should be allowed to do something you'd already decided to do anyway."
"This needs doing, Uncle Jack, and it needs doing now!"
"I'm not arguing," the Armourer said mildly. "If anyone can take on the Immortals where they live, it's you. I just don't want you going in there in the wrong frame of mind. That gets more field agents killed than anything else. Come over here, Eddie, and let's take a look at the place."
We pulled up chairs before his main workstation, and he put his whole computer network online. Screens lit up one after another in a long row, and the Armourer cracked his prominent knuckles noisily as he bent over the main keyboard. It took him only a minute to lock on to a Chinese surveillance satellite, and task it to cover the exact location Rafe had given us. (I still thought of him as Rafe. Even though he wasn't.) A remarkably clear image appeared on the screen before us, but the image was that of a ruin, fallen down and beaten into submission by the erosive forces of time and rough weather. A few stubby stone towers, some crumbling i
"He lied to us!" I said. "If the Immortals ever were there, they moved out long ago."
"Not so quick, not so quick," said the Armourer, checking the information on his other screens. "Rafe couldn't have flat out lied to us-not after everything I'd pumped into him. This is the right location, and it matches what we have on file for the infamous Castle Frankenstein. So let me try a few things here… slip in a few filters… Ah. Now that's more like it. I'm picking up major energy spikes, and definite traces of scientific and magical protections. Layer upon layer of the things… not unlike Drood Hall, actually. We're looking at a carefully designed and maintained illusion; the same kind of thing we use to hide the Hall from prying outside eyes. Yes, very professional work. But not good enough to keep me out."