Live and Let Drood

in the right room. But even with all the damage and destruction, I had no doubt I was in the right place. The entrance should have been here, but it wasn’t and clearly never had been. I didn’t know what to think.
    The Armoury has always been in the same place ever since the family set it down below the Hall, centuries ago. Right down in the bedrock under the West Wing, as far away from the family as they could get, to protect the rest of us from the weapons development and explosives testing that went on every day, and the inevitable unexpected side effects produced by lab assistants with a whole lot of scientific curiosity and not nearly enough self-preservation instincts. Impossible.
    I had to search through three other rooms to find a trapdoor in the floor that to my certain knowledge hadn’t been there before. I kicked the last of the rubble aside, leaned over the steel-banded wooden square and studied it thoughtfully for a long moment, ignoring the threatening creaks and groans from the ceiling overhead. Molly stirred uneasily at my side.
    “This room is trying to tell us something, Eddie, and I’m pretty sure Get the hell out of here while you still can would be a fairly accurate translation.”
    “Hell with that,” I said. “It’s taken long enough, but I think I’ve finally found a clue. There’s no way I could be wrong about how you get down into the family Armoury. I’ve been sneaking down there to pester Uncle Jack since I was ten years old.”
    “Maybe they made a new entrance while you were gone,” said Molly, moving quickly sideways to avoid a stream of dust falling from the ceiling. “Maybe they blew up the old one.”
    “I haven’t been gone that long,” I said. “You couldn’t rush a major change like that through the Works Committee in less than a twelve-month. You don’t know what bureaucracy is until you’ve been part of a family that’s been around for centuries.”
    “But the trapdoor is intact,” said Molly. “Which would suggest…”
    “Yes,” I said. “It would.”
    I grabbed the heavy iron ring set into the top of the wooden trapdoorand hauled it open with an effort. It started to slam backwards onto the floor, and Molly and I grabbed it at the last moment and lowered it carefully down. More dust was falling in thick streams from the ceiling, and I was getting a strong feeling that one good slam might be enough to bring the whole thing down. Once, I wouldn’t have given a damn, but not having my armour was making me cautious. The trapdoor opening revealed an unfamiliar set of stone steps leading down into gloom. Old, scuffed steps, polished smooth by much hard use. The stairs had clearly been there a long time. I led the way down, with Molly treading close on my heels and peering over my shoulder. I was just as fascinated as she was. We were in new territory now, and for the first time I began to wonder if things really were as they appeared to be.
    The stairs gave entrance to the Armoury, which looked exactly as I remembered it. The family had set up its Armoury in what used to be, centuries earlier, the old wine cellars. The heavy, specially reinforced blast-proof door was intact, but once again it hung partway open. I squeezed through the gap between the door and the frame, with Molly pressing so close behind me that she was breathing heavily down my neck.
    The lights flickered on as we entered the Armoury proper. It’s really just a long series of interconnected stone chambers with bare plastered walls, curved ceilings high above, and mile upon mile of multicoloured wiring tacked carelessly into place across the walls, crisscrossing in patterns that may or may not have meant something to somebody at some time. All the overhead fluorescent lights were working, but I realised immediately that I couldn’t hear the usual strained sounds of the air-conditioning. The air was stale, but there was no smell of smoke or sign of fire damage.
    “I don’t see any signs of a firefight,” said Molly, looking quickly about her. “No bullet holes, no energy burns or anything more extreme to suggest the people here fought back…”
    “No,” I said. “But there has been a hell of a lot of looting. Look at all the gaps.…I’m not seeing half the things I should be seeing. No computers, no weapons. Even the shooting range is empty. It’s all so quiet.…I don’t think I’ve ever heard the Armoury this quiet before. There was always something going on; Uncle