From Hell with love

Ethel's familiar red glow filled the Sanctity, but the once refreshing and revitalising energies of her manifestation now seemed distinctly weakened.

"Ethel?" I said. "You seem a little off colour. Is everything all right with you?"

I don't know, she said. Is it really over, Eddie?

"Pretty much," I said. "It's just down to mopping up, now. Taking care of the loose ends."

There were traitors and murderers right here in the Hall, and I never knew… The Droods are under my protection. I failed you.

"We can all be deceived, Ethel. Happens to the best of us."

I never knew humans could be so… deceitful. I'm going to have to think about that.

I left Ethel thinking, and headed for Molly and the buffet, only to be intercepted by Harry. We nodded to each other, warily. He pushed his owlish wire-rimmed glasses into place with a fingertip, and considered me thoughtfully.

"We're going to have to talk soon, Eddie," he said, in his most reasonable voice. "About who's going to replace our dear departed grandmother. Someone has to take control of the family."

"We'll organise an election as soon as the family's recovered from its various traumas," I said. "We've all been a little busy, in your absence."

"An election?" said Harry. "Yes, well, I suppose that's one way of doing it."

He drifted away to join Roger Morningstar at the buffet, where they kissed briefly before taking turns to feed each other delicate little rolls of sushi. I saw the Armourer standing on his own, staring suspiciously at something palely loitering on a cocktail stick. I braced myself, and went over to join him.

"Uncle Jack…"

"You killed him, didn't you?" said the Armourer, not looking up.

"Yes," I said. "He didn't give me any choice."

The Armourer sighed briefly. "No. He wouldn't." He looked at me directly. "Tell me he died well."

"As well as could be expected," I said. "He stood his ground, and fought to the end."

The Armourer shook his head slowly. "I thought that would mean something, but it doesn't." He popped the thing on a stick into his mouth, and chewed fiercely. "We took the dragon's head out to the old north barrow, and buried it there. Apparently it had got quite used to being covered, and felt… exposed, in the open air. Took a dozen men a whole day to manage it, but then, that's what lab assistants are for. Healthy exercise, I'm sure. Right now, our best historians are taking it in turns to sit and talk with the dragon, and take notes. That dragon has seen an awful lot of history in its time, before and after it was beheaded. A surprisingly amicable creature, I found, for a dragon. Spending centuries as just a head under a hill, winding down but unable to die, did a lot to mellow it. Now it's just glad for some company." He looked at me sternly. "But you can't keep bringing home stray pets, Eddie. The thought does you credit, but we just don't have the room." He brightened abruptly. "On the other hand, theoretically speaking, it does seem possible that we might be able to grow back the rest of its body! And stick it back on, of course. We could really hold our heads up, with our very own personal dragon! Even those snotty London Knights don't have their very own personal dragon! If only it hadn't been dead for so long… Still, that just makes it a little bit trickier. I do so love a challenge…"

"Speaking of which," I said, "how are you getting on with the Hand of Glory, and the remains of the robot dog?"

He positively beamed on me. "You're spoiling me, Eddie. You don't usually bring me back? such wonderful presents. The Hand in particular has real possibilities… It seems to have exhausted all its magical properties, but it is still the hand of an angel."

I gave him a hard look. "Tell me you're not thinking of trying to grow a whole angel from the Hand."

The Armourer smiled i

"Well," I said. "As long as you're happy."

"I still want my devices back," said the Armourer. "The cuff links and the ring. I want to run a whole series of tests on them; see how they stood up to use in the field."

"In a while," I said. "Molly and I have it in mind to run a few special tests of our own."

"Ah, yes…" The Armourer gave me a knowing look. "I had the same idea. Ran some very interesting tests, with the assistance of four of the more open-minded female lab assistants."

I could feel my jaw dropping. "You didn't…"

He gri

He started to turn away, but I stopped him with one last question.

"Uncle Jack, why did Timothy call himself Tiger Tim? Was it something to do with Africa?"

"No," said the Armourer. "Tiger Tim was his favourite character, when he was a child. I used to read to him from some old children's books, in between rushing off to save the world in the Cold War. He always liked the Tiger Tim stories the best."

We both looked round as the Sarjeant-at-Arms strode over to join us, chewing enthusiastically on a chicken leg. He nodded briskly to the Armourer, and to me.

"I've just put together a team of our best field agents, to track down the remaining Immortals. Wherever or whoever they are. You'd better get that detecting device finished, Armourer; the computer files from the Castle are far from complete. They're still dragging bodies out of Castle Frankenstein, you know. That was a good night's work. Not often you get to smite the ungodly in such great numbers."

"And the team I had you send to Area 52?" I said, just to get a word in edgeways.

"They have blown up, burned out, and utterly destroyed every last bit of it," said the Sarjeant. "The American government has made all the expected protestations, but I got the distinct impression that they were actually very relieved. It would appear previous administrations had rather let things get out of control."

"Tell me your people thought to empty out the armoury before they blew the place up," said the Armourer.

"Of course," said the Sarjeant. "Acquired some very interesting pieces."

I left them deep in discussion over their new toys, and slipped in beside William, standing at the buffet table staring at an empty plate. The Librarian seemed even more lost and distracted than usual. We'd found him a new assistant, a keen young chap called Iorith, and he was hovering beside the Librarian, ready to be of use at a moment's notice. But William didn't even seem to know he was there. I said a few kind words to the new assistant Librarian, and he brightened immediately.

"I do try to help," said Iorith. "But I think he's still getting used to me. Used to me not being Rafe, I mean. He still calls me by that name, now and again." He looked at me thoughtfully. "Can I ask you, is it true, what they say? That there's Something… alive, in the Old Library? I haven't seen anything myself, but…"

"There's definitely Something there," I said. "But don't ask me what. I was right there when it stopped the false Rafe from killing the Librarian, and I still couldn't tell you what it is. But it does seem very keen on protecting William and the Old Library, so I think we should just let it be, and try very hard not to upset it."

"I wonder what it is," said Iorith. "Or perhaps who…"

William stirred suddenly, and looked at me directly. "I trusted him," he said. "Rafe. I trusted him. He looked after me, and I was teaching him how to be a good Librarian… I liked him. Was the Rafe I knew always an Immortal? Did I ever know the real Rafe? We have to find him, Eddie. The real Rafe, I mean. Find him, and bring him home…"