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“Such a relief,” said the Blue Fairy.
“Children, children,” murmured Walker. “Play nice.”
“This is why I prefer industrial espionage,” said Peter. “No personalities to get in the way.”
I looked around the empty landing pad. “Is this it? Just us? No Russian or Chinese agents?”
“They’re mostly concerned with internal problems these days,” said Honey.
“You’d know,” said Walker.
“Still,” I said. “This isn’t quite the gathering I’d expected. I mean, we’re the six greatest agents operating in the field today? Us?”
“I think that says more about the current state of the world than I am comfortable knowing,” said Walker.
“Grandfather chose us,” said Peter. “He must have his reasons.”
“And why the flux fog?” said the Blue Fairy. “What was the point of that? We all know where we are.”
“Do we?” I said. “Once we arrived and stepped into the flux fog, it could have taken us anywhere. This is supposed to be the Swiss Alps, but I couldn’t prove it. One mountain chain looks much like another. It would seem Alexander King wants to keep the exact location of his private lair a mystery, right to the end.”
“And no one here to greet us,” said Peter. “How typical of Grandfather. What are we supposed to do, just stand around in the cold until he feels like talking to us?”
He’d barely finished speaking when the concrete rocked under our feet. There was a loud grinding noise, and puffs of dust flew up in long lines all around us, forming a great square. The concrete seemed to drop out from under our feet, and suddenly we were descending a huge dark shaft, leaving the cold and the light behind. We all moved to stand close together, forming our own square so we could look in every direction. The light above us disappeared, and for a long moment there was only the dark and a sense of movement as we descended towards some unknown fate. And then the great concrete slab groaned to a halt and there was a sudden flare of light that made us all wince, and we realised we were standing in a huge entrance lobby.
The air was refreshingly warm, after the cold up above. I looked down, but the concrete slab fitted perfectly into the floor. The entire lobby was bare and empty. No sign of life anywhere. No sign that anyone had ever lived here. Just where had Alexander King brought us? His tomb? And then we all winced again as a great Voice sounded inside our heads. That isn’t supposed to be possible when you wear the Drood torc; we’re supposed to be protected from such invasions. But the Independent Agent always did play by his own rules.
Welcome to Place Gloria, said the Voice. Welcome to my home. Welcome to the greatest game of all.
I waited, but that was all there was. I shook my head gingerly, half expecting something to leak out of my ears. That Voice had been seriously loud . . . I looked at Peter.
“Can you identify that as your grandfather’s voice?”
“No,” he said. “I’ve never been here before, never met the old bastard, never talked to him on the phone. Not even a card on my birthday. If there were any letters, my mother kept them to herself. I got my invitation to this game through an . . . intermediary.”
He broke off as we all turned abruptly and looked in the same direction. There was new information in my head that I very definitely hadn’t put there, telling us which way to go to meet with Alexander King. It had the feel of a summons.
“It’s a magical working,” the Blue Fairy said quietly. “An influence. Sort of like a low-key geas. I didn’t know he could do that.”
“What do any of us really know about Alexander King?” said Katt. “Come on, darlings. We came here to meet the man. Let’s get this show on the road.”
We all stepped smartly forward, not wanting to be left behind and not ready to acknowledge any of the others as leader by letting them get ahead of the rest of us. We crossed the empty lobby, our footsteps echoing loudly in the quiet, and a door opened in the far wall before us. We walked through into the very lap of luxury. The fittings and furnishings of Place Gloria were soft and plush, sensual and sybaritic. I was so fascinated by the riot of colours before me, I almost didn’t hear the door closing itself firmly behind us. The decor was basically very sixties and seventies. Lots of comfort and bright colours, artistic furniture, and Day-Glo art from the decades that taste forgot. The huge low-ceilinged room, with its concealed lighting and its rich scents of sandalwood and attar, boasted luxury and wealth wherever you looked, along with an almost complete lack of restraint. We all moved slowly forward, tugged inexorably on by King’s subtle influence.
There were niches in the walls, each with their own special lighting, to show off the Independent Agent’s many spoils of war. There were treasures and wonders to every side, the loot and tribute of a lifetime’s secret wars. I had to smile. Alexander King could almost have been a Drood. We all stopped before a small statuette of a black bird.
“Oh, come on; that couldn’t be the real thing, could it?” said the Blue Fairy, leaning in for a close look.
“I wouldn’t touch,” I said quickly. “It’s bound to be protected.”
Blue straightened up and glared at me. “I wasn’t going to touch! I’m not an amateur! Credit me with a little sense.”
“I suppose it could be the real thing,” said Walker. “If anyone could have the original, it would be Alexander King.”
“Hell,” said Honey. “For all we know, he could have the Holy Grail itself tucked away here somewhere.”
“No,” I said. “That’s the one thing he definitely doesn’t have.”
They all looked at me. “Don’t say the Droods have got the Grail,” said Katt.
“No,” I said. “But we know where it is, and we’re very happy for it to stay there. The Sangreal is not for the likes of us. It . . . judges you.”
“You mean we’re not worthy?” said the Blue Fairy. “How will I ever recover from the shame?”
“Of course we’re not worthy,” said Honey. “We’re agents. You can’t do what we have to do and still be able to wash the blood off your hands.”
“Speak for yourself,” said Walker unexpectedly. “I do my duty, and I sleep perfectly well at nights.”
“So do I,” said the Blue Fairy. “With a little medicinal help, sometimes.”
“It’s not what you do,” I said. “It’s why you do it.”
“Typical high-and-mighty Drood,” sneered Blue. “Always so sure you’re better than everyone else.”
“Mostly we are,” I said. “Mostly.”
The influence nagged at us and we moved on, only to stop again as we came face-to-face with the Mona Lisa.
“Supposedly that’s the real thing,” said Peter. “Stolen from the Louvre, back in the sixties. Grandfather never could resist a challenge.”
King also had on his walls two Pickmans, an unknown Shlacken, and The Painting That Devoured Paris. Which suggested, if nothing else, that the Independent Agent was more of a collector than an art critic. There were also a number of display cases showing off items of unusual interest. The skull of an alien Gray peered blankly back at us, with holes and long grooves in the bone showing where bits of alien technology had been rudely extracted. Hopefully after death. A bottle of unholy water from the original Hellfire Club, Tom Pearce’s Old Grimoire, a stuffed Morlock, and a mummified monkey’s paw nailed very firmly to its stand. And, finally, a human skeleton wired together and standing upright inside a grandfather clock.
“That’s my mother,” said Peter. We all looked at him, but he had eyes only for the skeleton. “After she died, Grandfather claimed the body and had it brought here. Stole it, in fact, from the undertaker I’d entrusted her to. Had the body smuggled out of the country before I even knew what was happening. I got a solicitor’s letter sometime later informing me that Grandfather had used carpet beetles to consume the flesh, leaving only the bones, as they do in museums. And that Mother’s skeleton would be on display at Grandfather’s home, along with his other prized possessions. There was a photograph enclosed. Grandfather can be sentimental, but not in ways you’d expect. I was never allowed to visit Mother, until now. Remember this, if you remember nothing else: Grandfather never lets go of anything he owns.”