"The Immortals took away my hope when they took away my Molly, Uncle Jack. I will make them pay for that; make them pay in blood and suffering. I had a life and a future, and now all I have is the family, and what it means to be a Drood. A life in service, to a war that never ends. A cause that consumes you, and an early death for reasons you'll probably never understand. Well, I can live with that, if there's revenge to be had along the way. Let's get to work, Uncle Jack. It's all I've got now."

"There's one obvious dropping-off point," said the Armourer, his face and his voice all business again. "The fake Frankenstein Castle-now just called… the Castle Hotel. The tourist trap, remember? Only a mile and a half down the road from the real thing, next to a small village. You could be just another tourist, attracted by the name and the legend. They must see enough of those. Hmmm. Wait a minute…" He searched quickly through several drawers, muttering to himself, and finally came up with a slim folder. "This should do you nicely. Standard field agent's package, for sudden intrusion into foreign climes. All the paperwork you'll need: passport, visa, travel documents, credit cards… the usual. I always keep a few basic sets handy. What name do you want to use?"

"Shaman Bond," I said. "He has a reputation for just turning up anywhere."

The Armourer grunted, and quickly customised the necessary documents. He passed them over to me, and I settled them here and there about my person. Nothing like a bunch of fake documents to make you feel like a real field agent. The Armourer fixed me with a firm stare.

"You probably won't need most of them, but it would be stupid to get yourself picked up by the locals over something so routine. And use the credit cards sparingly, we're on a budget. And get receipts, if you want to claim expenses."

"Shaman Bond's a good cover," I said. "I'm comfortable being Shaman. I'll book into the hotel, spy out the lay of the land, and if it looks clear I'll head straight for Castle Frankenstein. And then I'll use the cuff links to turn me into Rafe, and walk right in."

"You'll need a cover story as Rafe," said the Armourer. "To explain your escape from us. They must know we captured him by now."

"Easy," I said. "I'll just say I stole the Merlin Glass, and stepped through from the Hall to the Castle. They'll be so overjoyed at the prospect of getting their hands on such an unexpected prize, they won't even think to challenge my version of events until it's far too late."

"You can't actually give them the Glass, Eddie! Once it's out of your possession, there's no guarantee you'd ever get it back! I don't even want to think what the Immortals could do with the Merlin Glass!"

"Will you relax, Uncle Jack? Breathe deeply, and unclench. I have done fieldwork before. Promising them the Glass is one thing, delivering it quite another. I have no intention of handing it over to them; I'll just say I have it stashed safely somewhere nearby. You know, standard operational bullshit. I'm very good at bullshit."

"I've always thought so," said the Armourer. He looked at me thoughtfully. "Do you think you'll find Doctor Delirium and Tiger Tim with the Immortals? Could they have the Apocalypse Door at Castle Frankenstein?"

"I don't know," I said. "Dom Langford said he saw the Door at one of the Doctor's bases. But, who can be sure of anything, where the Immortals are concerned? Dom never actually saw where he was… But at the very least, I should find information on its location at the Castle. The Immortals will know."

"Information is what we need, first and foremost," the Armourer said sternly. "Revenge can wait. Let's put a stop to the immediate threat of the Apocalypse Door, and save the world; and then we can decide how best to drop the hammer on the Immortals."

"Of course," I said. "Information first. I understand."

"But, Eddie, if you get a chance… And I mean a real chance…"

"I will wipe them out down to the last man," I said. "Burn down their Castle, and piss on the ashes."

"Good man," said the Armourer. And then he hesitated. "Eddie… I need to ask you something. A personal favour. If you should find the rogue Tiger Tim at the Castle… If you should find Timothy Drood… Eddie, he's my son. My only child."

I could only gape at him for a moment. We're a big family, and I'd been away from the Hall for a long time. "Tiger Tim, Timothy… I knew the name, but I never made the connection. But, he nearly killed you, trying to persuade you to open the Armageddon Codex!"

"He lost his mother at an early age," the Armourer said steadily. "And I wasn't there for him. Afterwards, well, perhaps I tried too hard. I never was father material. You of all people should understand someone driven to rebel against family discipline…"

"Well, yes, but I was never a rogue," I said. "Not even when Grandmother said I was. I turned on the family, not on all Humanity. The things he's done, Uncle Jack, you don't know…"

"I know," he said. "I've made it a point to know. But… he's all I've got left, that's mine. He can still be saved, Eddie. I have to believe that. Please, if you can, don't kill him."

"I'll do what I can," I said. "But he may not give me any choice."

The Armourer nodded stiffly, and turned away. I wondered if he really knew all the awful things his estranged son had done, and planned to do. If he knew about what Tiger Tim had done at Doctor Delirium's Amazon base. And if it would have made any difference, if he had known. I've never found it easy to lie to my Uncle Jack. But I gave it my best shot when I said I'd try not to kill Tiger Tim.

Some people just need killing.

I coaxed the Merlin Glass back out of subspace, and had it open a doorway through to the Castle Hotel in Germany. I stepped through into a cobbled courtyard, and the Glass immediately disappeared again. If I hadn't known better I would have said it was frightened. After this was all over, I'd have to give it a good talking-to. Preferably where no one else could see me doing it.

I have to say, I wasn't that impressed by the Castle Hotel. To start with, it wasn't a Castle-and never had been-just a larger than usual manor house in the old European style. Five stories, half-timbered frontage, gables and guttering but no gargoyles, and three different satellite dishes. Pleasantly old-fashioned but with the clear promise of modern amenities. Warm, welcoming lights shone from the ground floor windows. On the whole, the hotel looked like it had stepped right out of one of those old Universal monster movies, from the thirties. Probably quite intentionally. Nostalgia for old fictions is the strongest nostalgia of all.

I looked around me. No one about, to notice my arrival. A dozen or so parked vehicles, scattered across the adjoining car park. Not many guests, then. Off season, no doubt. So if nothing else, the hotel should be grateful for an extra guest. It was early evening, cold with a cold wind blowing, and very quiet. There was no passing traffic, and the lights of the nearby village were a good half mile away. Dark ominous clouds were already covering half the evening sky, spreading long shadows across the bleak countryside. I shuddered suddenly, for no reason, and headed for the Castle Hotel's brightly lit entrance.

The lobby turned out to be warm, cosy and inviting, and gave the impression of being an old family business. A real fire blazed in an oversized fireplace, lots of wood panelling and beams in the ceiling. The walls were covered with framed photographs. I wandered over for a closer look. They were all head? and shoulder shots of actors who'd played Baron Frankenstein and his monster. Colin Clive and Boris Karloff, of course, and Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee. All of them personally autographed. A whole bunch of familiar faces, from dozens of European films that at the very least, tried hard. The most recent photos were of Kenneth Branagh and Robert De Niro. Boy, had Branagh got his film wrong. There was nothing romantic about the Frankenstein story. Ask any of his creations.