From a Drood to a Kill - Simon R. Green Page 0,109

is this?”

“The River Styx,” said the Armourer. “Some say, a river in Hell, made from the tears of suicides. Or a symbol of the way between the worlds. A transition point, between Life and Death. Don’t expect me to pin it down, Eddie; we’re in legendary territory here. This is your journey, so it’s up to you to decide what the symbols mean.”

“If three Christmas ghosts turn up,” I growled, “I am going to kick the crap out of all three of them. And that goes for Tiny Tim too. Never did like ukulele music. Uncle Jack, what am I doing here?”

“You’re on the brink, Eddie,” said the Armourer. “You could go one way, or the other. It’s up to you. I’m helping you as much as I’m allowed, but . . . if you want to be forgiven, you have to forgive yourself. If you want to move on, or be renewed, you have to leave your sins behind you.”

I thought about that. “All my sins? Even the sins of omission? Things I should have done but didn’t?”

“Oh, I think those most of all,” said the Armourer.

I turned then, to look at him steadily. “Why have you brought me here?”

“I’m the Armourer. An engineer. I fix things that need fixing. It’s what I do. And it’s the last thing I can do for you.”

We both looked round sharply, as a voice emerged from somewhere deep in the right-hand tunnel mouth, mournfully singing “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” A long, narrow barge drifted slowly out of the tunnel mouth, old-fashioned and basic, made from dark cedar wood, propelled by no obvious engine or action. It glided silently through the dark waters towards us, and I made the connection immediately. The barge of ancient legend that transported the living to the land of the dead. But instead of Charon at the helm, it was Dead Boy. In his long deep purple greatcoat, still hanging defiantly open to show off the ragged stitching on his autopsy scar. He looked up, saw Jack and me, stopped singing, and brightened up. He pushed his floppy wide-brimmed hat onto the back of his head, and I saw that his corpse-pale face looked even worse than usual in the uncertain light. His eyes were dark and fever-bright, but his smile was marvellously uncomplicated.

“Hello, Eddie! Jack!” he said loudly. “Hey, you wouldn’t believe who I had in the back of my barge just the other day! So, two tickets to Tartarus, is it? One way or a return trip?”

“Do I need to give you a coin?” I said, just to show I was keeping up. “That is traditional, isn’t it? A coin to pay the ferryman?”

“Your uncle Jack already paid in full,” said Dead Boy. “Climb aboard! Sit anywhere you like. Don’t trail a hand in the waters if you like having fingers, and if things should get a bit choppy try to get some of it in the bags provided.”

I stepped aboard the barge, followed by Jack, and we arranged ourselves as comfortably as we could on the bare wooden bottom of the boat. The barge didn’t rock even a little under our weight. Dead Boy produced a gondolier’s pole from out of nowhere, thrust it down into the dark waters with a dramatic gesture, and started the barge moving. We headed steadily towards the left-hand tunnel mouth, while Dead Boy sang “Let It Be.”

We passed through the dark, gaping mouth and on into a new tunnel, whose walls shone with a pearly gleam. The dark waters dropped away before us, sloping sharply, carrying us deeper and deeper into the earth. Going down, all the way down. I looked back over my shoulder, and already there was no sign of the tunnel mouth. Clouds of birds fluttered silently overhead, black bunches of feathers slamming into one another and off the tunnel roof.

“Crows,” Dead Boy said wisely. “Indentured security for the place of the dead. They can sometimes be persuaded to carry messages out of the underworld.”

I looked at him. “If this is . . . the place of the dead, have you seen my parents? Charles and Emily Drood?”

“Like you,” said the Armourer, “their future has yet to be determined. Concentrate on what’s in front of you, Eddie.” He paused. “How do you feel?”

I considered the question. To my surprise, I discovered that I felt pretty good. No pain, no weakness, everything working perfectly. I looked at the Armourer.

“I feel great. Now tell me the truth, Uncle

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