Live and Let Drood

ROC
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    First published by Roc, an imprint of New American Library,
    a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
    First Printing, June 2012
    10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
    Copyright © Simon R. Green, 2012
    All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
    REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA
    LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:
    Green, Simon R., 1955–
    Live and let Drood: a secret histories novel/Simon R. Green.
    p. cm.
    ISBN: 978-1-101-58541-2
    1. Drood, Eddie (Fictitious character)—Fiction. I. Title.
    PR6107.R44L58 2012
    823’.92—dc23 2011045364
    Set in ITC New Baskerville
    Designed by Elke Sigal
    Printed in the United States of America
    PUBLISHER’S NOTE
    This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
    The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
    ALWAYS LEARNING
    PEARSON

Previously in the Secret Histories…

    I came home and found someone had murdered my whole family.
    Someone is going to pay.
    In blood.

CHAPTER ONE

    Home Is Where the Heart Breaks
    Y ou think you know where your life is going. You think you’ve got everything sorted out. You’ve defeated your enemies, saved the world, made peace with your family and gone on holiday with the woman you love. And then you discover what you should have known all along: that it takes only one bad day to turn your life upside down. That there’s nothing you can have, nothing you’ve earned, nothing you’ve paid for with blood and loss and suffering…that the world can’t take away from you.
    I stood before all that remained of my home, Drood Hall, and all I could think of was how it used to look. How it had looked all my life. A huge, sprawling old manor house dating back to the time of the Tudor kings, though much added onto and improved through the centuries. Traditional black-and-white-boarded frontage with heavy leaded-glass windows, proud entrance doors strong enough to hold off an army, and a jutting peaked and gabled roof. Four large wings had been added to accommodate the growing size of the family; it was massive and solid in the old Regency style. So large and solid and…significant, it looked like it could take on the whole world and win.
    High above the extensive grounds, the wide roof rose and fell like a great grey-tiled sea, complete with sharp-peaked gables, scowlinggargoyles that doubled as water spouts and ornamental guttering that had probably seemed like a good idea at the time. Add to that a perky little observatory, extensive landing pads for all the family’s more outré flying machines (and, of course, the winged unicorns), and more aliens and antennae than you could shake a gremlin at…and it all added up to one very crowded and very useful roof.
    I used to spend a lot of my time up on the roof when I was just a kid, enjoying the various comings and goings and getting in everyone’s way.
    All gone now.
    The Hall was a burnt-out ruin. Someone had taken it apart with gunfire and explosives and set fire to what remained. Walls were broken