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But he was already hard at work on something else. Two of his interns had brought him a large wooden case held together by half a dozen faded leather straps with heavy black iron buckles. He undid each one carefully, opened the lid, and rooted around in the packing material, before bringing out a large old-fashioned chest plate. He held it up to the light to study it, and I leaned over his shoulder. The dark scarlet metal was wafer thin and deeply scored with long lines of writing in Sanskrit. The Armourer placed the chest plate gently on the bench before him and screwed a jeweller’s loupe into one eye to study it close up. I was puzzled. If this piece of armour was as old as it seemed to be, it ought to be part of family history, and I ought to recognise it. But I’d never seen anything like this before.
"What is it?" I said, trying to sound just casually curious.
He grunted, not looking up, and not fooled for a moment. "This is part of a Juggernaut Jumpsuit. Not dissimilar to the armour we wear, except on a much higher level. This is the kind of thing you wear when you want to push a mountain over onto its side with one hand. And the reason you’ve never seen it before is because it’s a part of the Armageddon Codex."
I actually just stood there and gaped at him for a moment. "But…but…those are the forbidden weapons! The weapons too dangerous to be used, except when reality itself is threatened!"
"I do know that, Eddie."
"Then what the hell is something like that doing outside the Codex?"
"Matriarch’s orders. She wants all the forbidden weapons removed and examined, one at a time, and checked to make sure they’re operating at peak efficiency. Just in case they should be needed. She hasn’t actually ordered any testing yet; I don’t think the council would stand for that. But how bad must things be if we’re opening the Codex for the first time in centuries?"
I leaned in close for a better look at the scarlet metal chest plate. I’d never seen anything from the Armageddon Codex. I don’t think half a dozen people in the family have.
"No one else is supposed to know what this is," the Armourer said quietly. "It’s here under a code name. But I wanted someone to know. Someone I trusted."
"Not Alexandra?" I said, just as quietly.
"The Matriarch specifically said not to tell her. Not tell the Armourer in training? What does that say to you?"
"She thinks there’s a traitor in the family, Uncle Jack. And she’s not the only one…"
"A traitor? In the family? Dear God, what have we come to?" The Armourer shook his head slowly. "There was a time I would have said such a thing was unthinkable. Now…I just don’t know anymore."
"Do you know what my mission is?" I said. "What I’m carrying, and where I have to take it?"
"Of course. One of the few who do. You put it back, Eddie. It should never have been brought here in the first place."
"You didn’t ask for it?"
"Hell, no! That was the Matriarch’s orders again."
"This opening of the Codex," I said slowly. "Could it have something to do with the recent attacks on the Hall? And the Heart?"
The Armourer looked away, his shoulders sagging even farther than usual. And for the first time, he sounded…old. "I don’t know, Eddie. No one tells me anything anymore."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hellhounds on My Trail
There are moments in every field agent’s life when he becomes convinced that his cover has been blown, and the eyes of the world are suddenly upon him. Usually because someone is shooting at him. I felt that way from the moment I left the Hall and its many protections behind me. Having the Soul of Albion in its lead-lined container tucked away in my dashboard compartment made me feel as though someone had painted a target on my car, or maybe even added a flashing neon sign saying ROB THIS IDIOT NOW. I drove the Hirondel back through the winding country lanes and onto proper roads again. Cows in fields watched me pass, following me with their heads as though even they knew what I was carrying. I’d never couriered anything this important in my life. It felt as though there was someone else in the car with me. Hamlets gave way to villages, which gave way to towns, and soon enough I was back on the M4 motorway, heading south to Stonehenge.
The afternoon was pleasantly warm as I motored along, and the breeze was refreshingly cool as it ruffled my hair. There’s a lot to be said for a convertible. Traffic was light for a summer afternoon, and I just cruised along, listening to a Mary Hopkin compilation on the CD player. I hadn’t been to Stonehenge in years, and last time I went, it had been as part of an organised school trip. Apparently these days the ancient stone circle was sealed off behind perimeter fences and barbed wire to keep the public at a respectful distance from such an important national monument. (Not so unreasonable; in Victorian times they’d sell you a hammer and chisel on the way in, so you could gouge out your own personal souvenir to take home with you.) Still, I doubted they had anything that could keep me out. And no one sees me unless I want them to, remember?
It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn’t passed a car coming the other way in quite a while. There wasn’t any traffic in front of me, and a quick glance in the rearview mirror confirmed that there was nothing behind me for as far as I could see. It seemed I had this whole stretch of the motorway all to myself. And the chances of that happening at this time of the day, on such a busy route, were…fantastically low. I shut off the CD player and tapped my fingers thoughtfully on the steering wheel. I was being set up for an ambush.
Question was: Were they just after a Drood agent, or did someone know what I was carrying?
I subvocalised the Words, and the living metal swept over me in a moment, sealing me off from all danger behind my golden armour. I checked that the Colt Repeater was comfortably loose in its shoulder holster under the armour, and I looked around me. Still nothing ahead and nothing behind, and only empty fields on either side of the road. An alarm blared suddenly inside the car, making me jump, and a flashing red arrow appeared on my dashboard, pointing straight up. I looked up, and there were half a dozen black helicopters flying in close formation right above me in complete silence. If it hadn’t been for my car’s detection system, I’d never have known they were there until it was too late. I hadn’t actually known my car could do that. Score one for the Armourer, and thank you, Uncle Jack.
I braked hard, and the black helicopters shot on ahead, caught off guard. They spun around in a wide circle, still utterly silent, and headed straight for me. They looked like nasty ungainly insects. Two of the leading helicopters opened up with machine guns, raking the road on either side of the Hirondel, throwing up debris, trying to frighten me into stopping. I put my foot down again, and the Hirondel responded eagerly, surging forward. The helicopters were behind me now as I raced along, but already they were circling around to follow me, still holding perfect attack formation. One launched a missile, and it swept past me to explode in the road ahead. I snapped the wheel around to avoid the crater, and the car punched right through the smoke and flames and out the other side. The armour protected me from the heat and from smoke inhalation, but that was all it could do, for the moment. The armour’s strengths were mostly defensive in nature. Unless and until I got my hands on someone.
I pressed the pedal to the metal so hard my foot ached, and the Hirondel hammered down the motorway, the engine roaring joyously. More missiles exploded on either side of me, the blasts rocking the car, but I refused to be bluffed. They couldn’t afford to just blow up the car, in case they damaged the Soul. The black helicopters kept up with me easily, taking up formation all around me. My thoughts were racing, trying to find a way out of this trap, but mostly I couldn’t help thinking, Why are the bloody Men in Black after me? It was more than three years since I’d burgled Area 52 on the family’s behalf. And I took only a few things…Could it be that Mr. President was still mad over the Harley Street affair and had called in a favour from his American counterpart? How very small-minded of him. You try to help someone out…