From a Drood to a Kill - Simon R. Green Page 0,102
his helmet. The impact spun the Knight around on his feet, and he fell to the floor, the sword flying from his hand. The owl spun round in a tight circle and came screeching in again, striking another Knight so hard in the chest that he was thrown over backwards. The owl swept up into the air, hooting triumphantly.
“I am stealth owl! Death from above!”
The Knights scattered, surprised and unnerved by this unexpected intervention, turning desperately this way and that to see where the next attack would come from. The owl drove the Knights away from me and yelled my name as I hauled myself painfully back onto my feet.
“Get the hell out of here, Drood! I’ll hold them off! Teach them to look down their noses at me! I am a weapon of war, dammit! I am!”
And while the Knights were still coming to terms with that, I lurched forward and made it all the way to the main entrance without being stopped. I grabbed the handle—and the door was locked. Of course it was locked. And then I heard the lock mechanism work and felt the handle turn in my grasp.
“I always was a sucker for true love,” said Gayle.
I pulled the door open and staggered out into a London street, armouring down as I went. The cool evening air was a blessing on my torn and bloody flesh. The door slammed shut behind me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Going Underworld
Cold; so cold.
I was back in the world again, and already it was starting to feel like a really bad mistake. I felt cold and tired, and I hurt all over. I looked cautiously around me and gradually realised I’d emerged onto Oxford Street. A familiar enough area to me; part of my old hunting ground when I was the official Drood field agent for London. Traffic was roaring past, taxi drivers leaning on their horns when anyone hesitated even for a moment; and all kinds of people hurried past me, far too busy and preoccupied with their own lives to pay me any attention. The late-evening sky was heavily overcast, and an increasingly bitter rain was slanting down. From an Arthurian Castle to a wet and windy day in London—story of my life, really.
I looked behind me. According to my family’s files on the London Knights, there should have been a Green Door, the only real-world access to Castle Inconnu. Instead, there was just a bleak expanse of yellowing wall, separating two quite ordinary and respectable businesses. Presumably with Castle security now on Red Alert, the Door was closed. I turned away and stumbled off down the street before the Door could reappear and spit out a whole bunch of outraged London Knights charging after me. The Seneschal might be able to justify my presence in the Castle, or he might not. And Gayle might decide to keep the Green Door closed, or she might not.
I staggered through the driving rain, keeping my head well down as I weaved my way through the crowds as best I could, not wanting to draw anyone’s attention. Though this was, after all, London; where people are well versed in not seeing people and things they don’t want to know about. I was feeling worse all the time. I’d taken a hell of a beating inside my armour, and it was starting to get to me. Stabbing pains jolted through my body with every step, and I was feeling increasingly weaker and more worn down. I braced myself in case anyone should bump into me and make things worse, but somehow nobody did. Which was . . . unusual for a street in London.
Every movement sent more and more pain shooting through me. I’d been too busy concentrating on moving forward while the Knights attacked me to realise just how much punishment I was soaking up inside my armour, and now that I no longer had the armour to support me, the damage was catching up fast. I had to stop, just for a moment. I concentrated on my breathing, pushing back the pain and weakness with an act of iron will. I lurched over to the nearest shop-
window. Shop dummies in sharp city suits stared blankly back at me. Watching coldly, dispassionately. They didn’t care how bad I felt, no more than the people passing by did. London can be a cold city.
I made myself concentrate on my reflection in the glass. I looked bad. Hell, I looked awful. Battered and bloody. I was