family probably does know,” said Nicolai. “At some level. But like most of us who think we might know something, we don’t like to talk about it.”
“Why not?” Molly said immediately.
“Because the Big Game is protected,” Nicolai said flatly. “By the people who run it. The Powers That Be.”
There was a pause, as everyone looked at everyone else.
“What kind of a name is that?” I said. “It’s so vague; it could be anybody! Who the hell are these people?”
Sir Perryvale shrugged uncertainly. “Nobody knows. I think that’s the point. In a community like ours, where you can be sure somebody knows something about everything . . . Even so, nobody knows. And that should tell you something. It’s not even wise to talk about the Big Game, because you don’t want to attract the attention of . . . whoever it is that’s in charge of running the Big Game.”
“I’m not sure I believe any of this,” I said.
Nicolai nodded quickly. “Probably the wisest course.”
“I need a drink,” said Molly. “I need a really big drink, with an even bigger chaser.”
This quickly became a very popular notion, and the crowd broke up as everyone besieged the long bar, shouting their orders to Demonbane and the barmen. Drinking and talking started up again, loud voices competing to drown each other out, as the subject of the Big Game was deliberately left behind. If not necessarily forgotten.
* * *
Finally, after hours of heavy talking and even heavier drinking, the wake began to break up. People started leaving. Heading off to their various homes, in their various ways. Julien Advent went off with Catherine Latimer, still deep in conversation—which raised a few eyebrows. Waterloo Lillian departed with a giggling Dead Boy slung over his shoulder. And Demonbane looked at me, muttered something rude about precogs, and departed as sober as he’d arrived. At the end, no one was left in the club but me and Molly. Even the bar staff had disappeared. Literally blinked out when I wasn’t looking, now that they were no longer needed. Maybe the Management just put them back in their box. The piped music cut off in the middle of a Deep Fix medley, and a quiet calm settled over the club.
Molly and I sat side by side at the bar, still somehow perched on bar-stools, leaning companionably against each other. Savouring our last drinks before we headed out into the cold, cold night. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d allowed myself to get this drunk outside of safe environs. I felt . . . mellow. Decidedly mellow. The funeral hadn’t seemed like a proper good-bye to my uncle Jack, and neither had clearing out his room, but this . . . this wake had been more like it. A proper farewell to a man who had always been so much more than just the family Armourer. I turned to Molly to say as much, and saw that she was very mellow. So mellow, in fact, that it was a wonder to me she was still perched on her bar-stool. I smiled at her fondly. I hadn’t been trying to keep up with her, because I knew from experience that I couldn’t. Nobody could, when she had her drinking boots on.
“I think we gave Jack a good send-off,” I said slowly. “I wish he could have been here to see it.”
“Now, that,” said Molly, “would have been creepy. Also macabre.”
“I mean,” I said, speaking slowly and clearly to show I wasn’t in any way befuddled by the booze, “so he could see just how well loved and admired and respected he was. In the greater community. Not just . . . at the Hall. Or in the Armoury.”
“I think he knew,” said Molly, nodding wisely.
“I hope he knew,” I said.
“Eddie?” said Molly.
“Yes, love?”
“Something’s wrong. I can’t move. Why can’t I move? What the hell have I been drinking?”
“It’s not just you,” I said steadily. “I can’t move either.”
“Eddie, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know.”
And just like that I felt stone-cold sober. As though someone had thrown a bucket of icy water in my face. Shock can do that to you. I struggled to move, or even turn my head to look at Molly, but I couldn’t move a muscle.
“We’ve been spelled!” said Molly. “Frozen in place!”
“But my torc is supposed to protect me from all kinds of attack!” I said. “What kind of spell could be powerful enough to overpower Drood armour? And why are we still able