From a Drood to a Kill - Simon R. Green Page 0,103

shaking and shuddering all over now, and not just from the cold rain. My left arm hung limply at my side, blood coursing down to drip steadily from my numbed fingertips. I couldn’t move the arm at all without risking a pain so bad it almost made me pass out. I hadn’t realised how far over I was leaning to compensate and favour my damaged side. Underneath the arm, my whole left rib cage shouted pain at me with every breath I took. The left side of my face was worryingly slack, under heavy mottled bruising. And my left eye was swollen completely shut. A nasty wound jerked across my brow above the eye, and when I touched it gently with my right hand, fresh blood ran streaming down my face. It didn’t hurt at all—which was not a good sign.

So . . . my left arm was broken, in at least two places. Most of my left ribs were broken, and from the feel of it, pressing in to pierce the lung. Add to that the beginnings of a really serious concussion as well as any number of internal injuries. Something inside me felt loose, detached, damaged. Blood gathered in my mouth, and when I spat it out, more blood immediately appeared to replace it. Really not good. I felt suddenly hot, and then cold, and then hot again, in sudden sharp flushes. My head was swimming and my legs were trembling, and only an act of desperate willpower was holding me up.

I didn’t have time to be hurt this badly. Molly needed me.

I put forward my good arm, placing my right hand flat against the window glass, so I could lean on it. That supported some of my weight, and helped a little. I pushed back the gathering confusion in my head, refusing to give in to it, and tried to work out what I should do next. I could armour up again, and let the strength of the armour carry me until I could reach a place of safety. But that would definitely freak out all the people around me, and give the game away as well. There had been too many sightings of armoured Droods in public in recent years. Most of them my fault. The general public isn’t supposed to know that Droods move among them. When people stopped running and hyperventilating, they might start worrying about what else might be moving unseen in their midst. And they really wouldn’t like the answer.

Besides, the open presence of a Drood in his armour on a London street would be bound to attract the attention of all the wrong people. The kind who would very definitely come running, for the chance to attack a wounded and weakened Drood. I turned and put my back against the window, gritting my teeth against the horrid pains that stirred up. I looked around, but I couldn’t see anyone, or anything, immediately threatening. I pushed myself away from the shop-window and moved on, not sure where I was going, knowing only that I had to get away. Get somewhere safe. I needed help; I was no use to Molly like this.

So I gathered up my courage, swallowed my pride, and called on my family for help.

“Kate?” I said, through my torc. “This is Eddie, reporting in. I’m in trouble. I need support, and backup, and a really good medical team. I’m on Oxford Street. Who have you got in the area? Who’s nearest? Kate? Kate, can you hear me?”

I couldn’t hear anything. Which was disturbing. My controller should have been there, just waiting for me to make contact, in the event I might need something urgently. That’s the only reason field agents put up with controllers. I called Kate again, but there was still no response, so I called out to anyone in my family. Anyone on duty, who might be listening. There’s always someone on monitor duty. But there was only silence. I tried to make sense of what was happening. Could someone have already told my family about what had just happened at Castle Inconnu? If the Seneschal hadn’t cleared me, could my family have already cut me off, abandoned me, to avoid a war? Without even wanting to hear my side? It was possible. They’d done worse to me before. I kept moving. I was on my own. So I had to keep moving, or die.

I weaved ponderously through the packed crowd on Oxford Street, and no one