Read Book 3 - The Spy Who Haunted Me for Free Online

other how easy it was all going to be, and how much fun, and the great reputations they’d make for themselves. The usual stuff. Sometimes I swear they’re just a bunch of big kids. I took the time to review all the information about the Tower of London that the family had supplied me with earlier. The Drood researchers know all there is to know about . . . pretty much anything, really. And enough to fake it about everything else. That’s their job. By the time Big Aus had calmed the others down and turned back to me, I was ready to sound like an expert and blind them with details.
    “The best time to approach the Tower will be in the early hours of the morning,” I said confidently. “When the human guards are at their lowest spirits. Also, no tourists to get in the way. Nothing like innocent bystanders to screw up the most well-laid of plans.”
    “Right,” growled the Dancing Fool. “The fewer uncontrollable factors, the better. Go on, Shaman.”
    “Thank you,” I said dryly. “First off, you should know there isn’t just one Tower of London. There’s a whole bunch of them. Over a dozen, in fact, set together inside a high stone wall, like a veritable castle. And we are talking seriously thick stone walls, baptised with human blood by their builders to give them strength and with executed criminals buried down in the foundations so the dead will hold them up forever. Builders took pride in their work, in those days.
    “The original Tower of London was the White Tower, built on the orders of William the Conqueror, back in the eleventh century. The one most people think of when they say Tower of London is actually the Bloody Tower, dating from Tudor times. That’s where traitors to the realm were kept, before execution. But there’s also Flint Tower, St. Thomas’s Tower (which contains the Traitor’s Gate entrance), and Whitechapel Tower, which holds the Crown Jewels. Each of these Towers stands host to secrets and treasures undreamt of by the everyday public, and they are very heavily defended.”
    “You’re just showing off now,” said the Dancing Fool. “Stick with what matters, Shaman.”
    “My feet are cold,” Coffin Jobe said wistfully.
    “You want research, you get research,” I said. “The ravens have their own lodging house inside the castle complex for shelter during particularly inclement weather. Which means if we want to be sure of getting them all, we’re going to have to get inside the castle. Which will mean getting past the human guards, the Yeomen Warders. Never call them Beefeaters, by the way; apparently that started out as an old French insult, and the Warders are still very sensitive about it.”
    “Well, hell,” said Strange Chloe. “We wouldn’t want to upset them . . .”
    “No, we wouldn’t,” I said sternly. “Our best bet lies in sneaking in and out without anyone ever knowing we were there until it’s too late. The Yeomen Warders are all military men, including ex-SAS and combat sorcerers. They don’t choose just anybody to guard England’s treasures. And then there are the magical protections: the proximity mines and the shaped curses. Are you still with us, Jobe, or are you dead?”
    “Just resting my eyes,” said Coffin Jobe. “I hope someone is writing all this down. I’ll never remember it all.”
    “Nothing on paper!” Big Aus said quickly. “Carry on, Shaman. You’re doing fine.”
    “It’s the ghosts we have to worry about,” I said. That got their attention. “These aren’t the usual memories recorded in time, played back to haunt the present. I’m talking about actual spirits, lost souls, damned and bound to this world by terrible magics. All the executed traitors, condemned to defend the Towers of London for all eternity, for their crimes. To serve and protect England as they failed to do in life, until Judgement Day itself, if need be. Some of these ghosts have been around a really long time, and they have grown strange and awful.