Oh no, sir, said the Steward, just a bit surprisingly. You are a member in good standing, Mr. Edwin. Everyone in your family is, and has been for centuries. Mr. Matthew used to come in all the time to avail himself of the club s wine cellars. The young lady is, of course, entirely welcome as your guest. How may I assist you?
Matthew always did like a free drink, I said.
And I think I could murder something tall and frosty, too. How about you, Molly?
I could drink, said Molly. In fact, after the day I ve had, I think I could drink quite a lot.
The steward issued the very faintest of sighs, and I looked interestedly to see if dust would come out of his mouth. It didn t. He led us down a corridor or two and into the club bar. Everyone else in the bar immediately decided they were needed urgently elsewhere. In fact, there was a bit of a rush and a definite crush in the door, for a moment. Molly and I lined up at the bar, and the barman came forward to serve us. A tall, grey-faced figure in the same old-fashioned outfit, with deep-set eyes, a cadaverous face and a professional smile. He gave the impression he d been serving behind that bar for quite some time.
How long have you been here, barman? said Molly, her thoughts clearly running the same way as mine.
I have always been here, madam, said the barman, in a cool if distant voice. What is your pleasure, sir and madam?
I had an ice-cold bottle of Becks. Molly had a bottle of Beefeater gin. The barman served them both immediately from under the bar counter, as though he d had them there prepared and waiting all along. And then he just stood there, waiting for his next instructions. I took a slow reflective drink from my nice cold bottle of Becks, while Molly made serious inroads into her bottle of gin. Nothing like fighting delinquent demon schoolboys and an ex-SAS combat sorcerer to work up a serious thirst. The steward stood to one side, waiting patiently. And giving every indication of being prepared to wait there for as long as was necessary. I looked him over thoughtfully, and only then realised that he wasn t blinking. Or breathing.
Excuse me, steward, I said. But you are dead, aren t you?
Indeed, sir, said the steward. All the staff here are. Though we prefer to think of ourselves as mortally challenged. We served the club in life and continue to serve it in death. Not a lot of difference, really. We are here because we choose to be, because none of us wishes to leave the club. We think of it as ours. The members are just passing through, but we are always here.
I have always been the barman, said the barman, without being asked.
Do the members know? said Molly.
They prefer it, madam, said the steward. It means they don t have to remember our names or bother with gratuities. Now that you are both suitably refreshed, might I again enquire as to your purpose here at the Establishment Club? Can I assist you in any way?
We re looking for Crow Lee, I said.
Nothing simpler, sir. He s just this way, in the club library. He s been waiting for you.
I looked at Molly and then back at the steward. He has?
Oh, indeed, sir. He s been waiting here for you for quite some time. He came in especially early for him, just to be sure of meeting you.
I emptied my bottle of Becks, slammed it down on the bar counter, and nodded briskly to the steward. Then take us to him. Right now.
Of course, sir. If you and the young lady would like to follow me
He led us out of the emptied bar and set off at a steady pace. Molly and I strolled along behind him, refusing to be hurried, on general principle. Molly was still clinging determinedly to her bottle of gin. I knew better than to comment. She leaned in close beside me to murmur in my ear.
So, what s the plan?
Plan? I said.
We re about to go up against the Most Evil Man in the World! On his own territory! I think at least one of us ought to have a plan of action. Don t you?
Well, we can t just walk in there and kill him, I said.
We can t? said Molly. Are you sure about that, because I m certainly willing to give it a good try.
What was it you said just now about not killing in cold blood?
That was a person! Just an old pro, like us! This is the Most Evil, et cetera, who will almost certainly kill us if we don t get our retaliation in first!
He sent my family away, I said. It s always possible he might be able to bring them back again.
Ah, said Molly. Yes. All right. So we talk first, see if we can strike some kind of deal, and as soon as it becomes clear we can t, then we kill him. Any ideas on how?
We improvise, I said. Suddenly and violently and all over the place. And try very hard not to get ourselves killed in the process.
How powerful do you think he is, really? said Molly.
I don t know, I said. But I think we re about to find out the hard way.
The steward took us straight to the club library, opened the door and stood well back, allowing Molly and me to enter entirely at our own risk. Even the mortally challenged know better than to get involved in some things. Or to get caught in the crossfire. He announced us as we strode in.
Mr. Crow Lee, may I present to you Mr. Edwin Drood, and his associate, Miss Molly Metcalf. Should you require me or any other member of staff, I should point out that we will all be hiding in the cloakroom until the forthcoming unpleasantness is over. At which point we will emerge, as there will no doubt be a great deal of cleaning up to do. Gratuities will be appreciated on this occasion, for the extra work.
The closing door cut off his last few words as he absented himself. No one was paying him much attention. Molly and I stood side by side in the club library, facing Crow Lee and his bodyguard. The library wasn t much, in my opinion. I was used to the massive, extensive libraries of Drood Hall. Repositories of secret and hidden knowledge amassed over centuries; forbidden books laid down to mature like fine wines. This was just a big room with bookshelves on all four walls. I leaned over for a quick look; not even leather bound. Just standard hardback editions, the kind you can order by the yard.
There were no other members in the club library, presumably because Crow Lee was there. He sat in a large comfortable armchair, entirely at his ease, smiling in a smug and satisfied way. As though he d been sitting there for ages, just waiting for us to come in. And maybe he had. Crow Lee was a large, broad-faced, powerful-looking man, wearing a long Egyptian gown so spotlessly white it seemed to shine and shimmer in the restricted light of the library. He had a great shaven head and piercing dark eyes under bushy black eyebrows. So large a man, he seemed to fill his chair to overflowing. His hands, emerging from the narrow pure white sleeves, were particularly big and powerful. He had an almost hypnotic gaze, with eyes that seemed to look deep into me. So I deliberately looked away. At meetings like this it s always important to establish the ground rules early on.
Crow Lee reclined in his chair and made no move to rise to greet Molly and me. He didn t even offer to shake hands. Instead he smiled easily at me, ignoring Molly, like an important personage indulging some pushy interloper. So completely confident in manner that he passed right through arrogance and out the other side into confident again. We didn t worry him, because nothing worried him. Because he d killed everyone who might have worried him. He fixed me with his cold, dark gaze, giving me his full attention. So I refused to look at him, giving all my attention to the bodyguard standing silently at his side.
I took my time looking him over. I knew him. Molly and I both knew Mr. Stab, and he knew us. The notorious uncaught serial killer of Old London Town. He d operated under many names down the years, and I don t think even he knew just how many women he d butchered and killed in his time. Since he made himself deathless through the ritual slaughter of six unfortunate women in Whitechapel during that unseasonably warm autumn of 1888. When everyone knew the name the papers had given him. Mr. Stab was tall and solemn, dressed in the formal clothes of his own time, right down to the opera cape and top hat. He could blend into a crowd when he had to, could look just like everyone else when he was out on the streets after dark, pursuing his prey. But when acting in his professional capacity, he preferred the look of his legendary past.
His ominous presence dominated the whole room, but he was still the second-most-dangerous person there, and everyone knew it. Because Crow Lee really was the Most Evil Man in the World. You had only to look at him to know it.
He should have been stroking a white cat in his lap. Or pulling its legs off.
I stepped forward, still deliberately not looking at Crow Lee, giving all my attention to the man in black, Mr.
