Property of a Lady Faire

CHAPTER TWO

Harry Fabulous made a point of escorting me to a particular back door, which he assured me would open directly onto the grounds of my family home, Drood Hall. I let him do it, because I was intrigued to see if the Wulfshead management really could bring that off. My family has always taken its personal security very seriously (especially after the Chinese Communists tried to nuke the Hall, back in the sixties) and I’d always been assured it was impossible for anyone to teleport directly onto Drood property. Just by offering to do it, the Wulfshead management were making a point. See how powerful we are, they were saying. See what we can do, that no one else can.

And sure enough, Harry opened an apparently unremarkable door at the very rear of the club, and bright sunlight spilled through the opening, pushing back the close, smoky air inside. I looked through the door, and there were the wide-open grounds leading up to Drood Hall. I looked the door over carefully, and then turned my gaze on Harry Fabulous, who did his best to bear up under it.

“I think my family will take this intrusion very seriously,” I said. “This is simply not allowed, Harry. Tell the club management to rip this door out and destroy it.”

Harry shrugged helplessly. “I’ll tell them, Eddie, but they won’t listen to me. You know that.”

“They won’t be listening to you, Harry. They’ll be listening to me. I don’t mind helping them out, in an emergency, but putting my family’s security at risk is something else. You tell them either they shut this door permanently, or I will come back here with some of the more unpleasant members of my family, and we will shut down the Wulfshead Club, permanently. Suddenly and violently and with extreme prejudice.”

“They didn’t have to tell you about the door,” Harry said carefully. “This isn’t a threat; it’s a peace offering. You should consider where they got the door from and who else might have one just like it. And no, I don’t know, so there’s absolutely no point in threatening me.”

I considered the point, nodded, and stepped through the door. Immediately, I was back home, in the middle of the family grounds, brilliant green lawns stretching away in every direction, under a blazing blue sky. I heard the club door shut firmly behind me, and when I glanced back over my shoulder, it was gone. Not a trace left to show it had ever been there. Very well, Wulfshead management; message received and understood.

I strolled on through the grounds, taking my time, enjoying the scenery. Everywhere I looked, perfectly cut and professionally maintained lawns stretched away before me, big enough to land a whole fleet of planes on. Sprinklers filled the air with a moist haze, and stepping through them allowed me to enjoy a cool and refreshing moment in the blazing summer heat. The old hedge maze was still there, its spiky green walls towering over me as I passed. Of course, the old monster it had been constructed to imprison was long gone now, safely dumped and abandoned in another dimension. But I was sure we could find something equally bad and dangerous that deserved trapping inside the maze. Though I didn’t think I’d raise the idea with my family. Given our track record, they’d probably try to throw me in.

A little further on, I paused to enjoy the massive flower gardens, laid out in intricate shapes and mosaics and boasting more than a few multicoloured blooms not at all native to this world, or even this reality. Some of them still moved to follow an entirely different sun than ours. A wide circle of red, white, and blue roses had been planted to resemble a great eye that winked slowly at me as I passed. I didn’t wink back. It’s best not to encourage them.

A whole crowd of peacocks paraded proudly by, filling the air with their loud, discordant cries. All part of our early-warning system. High-tech and magical systems are all very well, but you can’t beat a natural response. Machines and magics can be overcome, or even sabotaged, but the only way to shut the peacocks up would be to shoot them all in the head. And I think we’d notice that. The gryphons were out on patrol too, waddling importantly back and forth. They can see a short way into the future, which makes them ideal for spotting potential attacks and attackers, and being there waiting for the poor sods when they arrive. They’re friendly enough creatures to the family, but they do like to track down dead things and then have a really good roll in them. Which is why they are never allowed inside the Hall. I waved at them, and kept moving.

I knew I was just putting off the moment when I would have to go inside, and make my report to the ruling Council. Not that I had anything to worry about; the mission had gone well, or at least well enough. But I just knew they’d find something to complain about. They always did. I hate debriefings. It’s hard enough explaining why you did something, without having to explain why you didn’t do something else that they thought you should have done.

And they always make such a fuss over my expenses.

Drood Hall rose up before me; huge and imposing, it dominated the grounds it was set in without even trying. My old family home. Very old. The centre structure was a great sprawling manor house, with ivy swarming all over the walls. It dated originally from Tudor times, and had been much added to down through the centuries. It still boasted the traditional black-and-white boarded frontage and heavy leaded-glass windows, all under a jutting gabled roof. Four great wings came later, massive and solid in the old Regency style, containing fifteen hundred rooms and a hell of a lot more Droods. We’re a big family, and getting bigger. Soon enough we’ll be packed to overflowing, and then it will be time to move on again. Floors and floors above me, the great roof rose and fell like a grey-tiled sea, complete with gargoyles, ornamental guttering, observatories and aeries, sprawling nests of antennae, and a series of landing pads for everything from autogyros to winged unicorns. Along with a hell of a lot of gun emplacements. I did mention that we take our security seriously, didn’t I?

I always have mixed feelings every time I come back to stand before Drood Hall. The family made my life hell, all the time I was growing up, and I ran away to London to be a field agent first chance I got. But the Hall is still my home.

Suddenly Molly Metcalf, my love and my delight, was running towards me, emerging from a door in mid-air that hadn’t been there just a moment before. Molly was allowed to open a door onto the Drood grounds from her personal forest, because she was my girlfriend and because there was absolutely no way of stopping her. The wild witch of the woods walked her own path, and woe betide anyone who got in her way. So the family made a special dispensation in her case, rather than have her do it anyway and just laugh in their faces when they got upset about it. I could see the massive ancient trees of her private forest through the door, stretching away forever-trees too big, too primal, to be part of today’s world. Someday I was going to have to find out just where, or more likely when, her wood was situated.

Molly came running from the opening she’d made in the world, smiling broadly at me, arms stretched out wide. The door behind her disappeared as she sprinted across the lawns to greet me. Sweet, petite, and overwhelmingly feminine, Molly always reminded me of a delicate china doll with big bosoms. She had bobbed black hair, huge dark eyes, and a rosebud mouth red as sin itself. She was wearing a long, billowing dress of ruffled white silk, possibly chosen to lend a touch of colour to her pale skin. For someone who preferred to spend most of her time out of doors, Molly never took even a touch of tan.

My Molly, my love. There are an awful lot of strange and disturbing stories about the wild witch Molly Metcalf, and every single one of them is true. I know; I was there at the time, for most of them.

She crossed the open space between us at incredible speed, her bare feet barely disturbing the thick green grass, and then she slammed right into me, throwing her arms around me as she bowled me over and sent me flying backwards. I was braced for the impact, and it still knocked the breath out of me for a moment. Molly ended up lying on top of me, laughing breathlessly into my face as I lay flat on my back on the thick green grass. I held her in my arms, grinning back at her. I always enjoy having Molly lie on top of me; it’s like her whole body from head to toe is saying, Hello! I’m here!

“All right,” I said finally, “how did you know to find me here?”

She kissed me several times, and ran her fingers through my hair. “I always know where you are, sweetie. I keep track. How else can I look after you? How was the Vatican?”

I looked at her sternly. “That’s family business. You weren’t even supposed to know I was there.”

“I refer you to my previous answer,” said Molly, in her most sultry voice. “And you haven’t answered my question. Any problems?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” I said.

“Showoff . . .”

I kissed her, to shut her up, and then we both lay there together, on the grass, in each other’s arms. She rested her head on my chest, riding my breathing.

“I haven’t paid the Vatican a visit in years,” she said finally. “It’s well past time I dropped in again, just to annoy them.”

“Please don’t,” I said. “I’m pretty sure they’re still getting over the last time you were there. When you transformed all the statues of the Saints into female versions.”

“I was making a point!” said Molly. “I changed them all back again, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” I said. “Eventually . . .”

Molly suddenly scowled at me, glaring right into my face from only a few inches away. “Why are we here, Eddie?”

“Why are any of us here?” I said, reasonably. “I can make a few informed guesses, if you like . . .”

She prodded me hard in the chest with one long, bony finger. “I mean, why are we here at Drood Hall when we should be smashing our way into the Department of Uncanny, roughing up the hired help and intimidating the security guards, before pinning the Regent of Shadows to his office wall and getting some answers out of him? Very definitely including why did he murder my parents?”

She didn’t give me time to answer. Just got up off me, scrambled to her feet, and turned her back on me, glaring at Drood Hall with her arms tightly folded. I sighed, inwardly, and took my time getting to my feet. Giving myself time to work out exactly what I was going to say. It wasn’t going to be easy, because there was no right thing to say, but it was important to me that we understood each other. I brushed crushed grass off my clothes, to let her know I was approaching, and then moved carefully in beside her. I had enough sense not to touch her.

“Visiting the Regent, my Grandfather, in search of answers . . . is next on my list of things to do,” I said. “Right after I’ve talked to the Council.”

“You had time to stop off for a drink at the Wulfshead,” said Molly, still not looking at me.

“That was business,” I said. “And this spying on me is becoming less charming by the moment.”

Molly turned her head to scowl at me, her dark eyes flashing dangerously. “You promised me that when we got back from France, we’d go straight to Uncanny and get some straight answers out of the Regent! I want to know who gave him the order to execute my mother and father! I want to know exactly who in your family was responsible!”

“And we will,” I said. “I promised. But first, loath as I am to admit it, I do have duties and responsibilities to my family.”

She looked away again. “That’s always been your problem, Eddie. Always one more mission, one more thing that needs doing . . .”

“Molly . . .”

“Cut the cord, Eddie! Before I decide to do it for you, and in a way you won’t like. What’s holding you here?”

“Right now?” I said.

“You didn’t have to come back here for a debriefing, and you know it!”

“You’re right,” I said. “I’m here because I was called back to attend the reading of my grandmother’s will. The mission was just something to keep me busy till all the paperwork was in order.”

Molly looked at me blankly. “But . . . Martha was killed ages ago! And they’re only now getting around to the reading of the will? Why has it taken so long?”

“Things move slowly inside the family,” I said. “Customs and protocols, and all that. And to be fair, we have all been very busy. Anyway, I have to be present for the reading, because apparently I’m mentioned in the will.”

“Ooh!” said Molly, brightening immediately. “Any chance she’s left you some money?”

“What do we need with money?” I said, suddenly suspicious. “Last time I looked, we had enough tucked away to last several lifetimes. Have you been shopping in the Nightside again?”

“Of course we don’t need the money,” said Molly, her voice maddeningly calm and reasonable. “It’s the principle of the thing.”

“No, it isn’t,” I said. “With you, it’s never the principle of the thing. It’s always all about the money!”

“So you do think she’s left you something!”

“I don’t know,” I said. “The Armourer just said I was . . . mentioned in the will. And knowing Grandmother, almost certainly not in a good way.”

Molly looked at me thoughtfully. “You know, most people have two sets of grandparents. I know the Regent, your grandfather Arthur, was Martha’s first husband. Before she kicked him out of the family, and married Alistair . . . and that Emily was her daughter by that first marriage, who married your father, Charles . . . Or Diana and Patrick as they now like to be known . . . God, your family’s complicated, Eddie. But where are your father’s parents? What about his family?”

“Good question,” I said. “I have no idea. The Droods never like to talk about outside relatives. Inside the Hall, it’s only Droods who matter. Makes it easier to instill family loyalty and duty. I grew up thinking both my parents were dead, and my family never wanted to talk about either of them. When I finally got to meet my parents, there just wasn’t time to stop and talk . . . And since they’ve gone missing again . . .”

“Complicated,” said Molly. “Very complicated.”

“It is something I think about,” I said. “I like to believe that there’s another family, out there in the world somewhere. People I could go to if I ever did turn my back on the Droods.”

“Are you thinking of leaving, Eddie?” asked Molly, not quite as casually as I think she intended. “I mean, you know I’m all in favour of that, but working for the Department of Uncanny didn’t really work out. Did it?”

“No,” I said. “The Regent lied to me almost as much as the Droods did. But I would like to have the option to leave; if only I knew for sure there was somewhere else for me to go . . .”

Molly smiled at me brilliantly and slipped a companionable arm through mine, and I knew I was forgiven. For the moment.

“Come on,” she said briskly. “Let’s do this. Get it done, and over with, so we can concentrate on the things that really matter. I wonder how much your grandmother’s left you . . .”

“I’m really not going to like it when next month’s bills come in, am I?” I said.

“All I ever inherited from my family were two sisters who always irritated the crap out of me,” said Molly.

“You never talk much about your family,” I said.

“Bunch of deadbeats and hangers-on,” she said. “I’d divorce the lot of them if I could just find a lawyer who wasn’t afraid of them.”

• • •

We strode briskly across the lawn, heading for Drood Hall. I could hear one of the underground robot gun emplacements, directly under our feet, stirring restlessly as we passed over it. I was safe enough, as a Drood, but the robot sensors didn’t approve of Molly. The robot gun would probably have liked to come up out of the ground to take a good look at her, but it was just sentient enough to be very wary of her. Even the peacocks backed away, to give her plenty of room. Which made me think . . . and take a good look around. The huge grassy lawns stretched off into the distance, open and empty. Not a Drood to be seen anywhere-which was just a bit odd, on such a lovely summer’s afternoon. Where was everyone? Which, of course, led me on to another thought.

“Molly,” I said carefully, “where are your sisters right now?”

“No need to look over your shoulder, sweetie,” said Molly, smiling. “I would warn you if there was any danger of them dropping in. If only so that you could keep up with me once I started running. No, the last I heard, Isabella had bullied her way onto an archaeological dig somewhere in darkest Peru, in search of the Great Demon Bear. And Louisa is currently scuba-diving among the sunken remains of the city of Lyonesse, somewhere off the Cornwall coast.”

“At least she won’t be bothering anyone there,” I said.

Molly laughed briefly. “You’ve never been to Lyonesse, have you?”

And then we both looked up sharply as a flying saucer went tumbling through the sky overhead. Just a small one, not much bigger than a London bus, covered with all kinds of crackling lights. It shot this way and that, turned rapidly end over end, circled the Hall twice, and then dived down for a not particularly dangerous crash landing on one of the empty arrival pads on the Hall roof. Dazzling colours blew off in every direction, exploding in the sky like so many silent fireworks. Two teenage girls on winged unicorns quickly appeared on the scene, and hovered overhead while spraying the scene with anti-radiation foam, from long nozzles attached to sturdy packs on the unicorns’ sides. Nobody emerged from the crashed flying saucer. Probably too embarrassed.

“A flying saucer?” said Molly. “Some of your lot, or just Visitors?”

“It’s questions like that,” I said, moving on, “that remind me why I prefer to stay away . . .”

The front door loomed up before us-the main entrance to Drood Hall, and everything it contained. I took a deep breath, and braced myself.

“Look,” I said to Molly, “I have to go in and see my family. You don’t. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go back and wait in your nice safe private forest, until all the shouting and bad temper has subsided?”

“Nonsense!” Molly said immediately. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I promise I’ll stand at the back, and be very quiet, and not attack anyone unless I feel I absolutely have to. Come on-a chance to watch your family lose their temper with each other, like the arrogant, entitled, elitist scum they are? I never miss a chance to feel superior . . . Besides, you really think I’d let you walk into the lions’ den on your own? It’s my job to watch your back, against friends and enemies and family.” She squeezed my arm against her side possessively. “What do you think the previous Matriarch of all the Droods has left you in her will, Eddie?”

“Nothing I’d want, knowing her,” I said.

“Maybe she’s appointed you her official successor and made you head of the whole Drood family!”

“Only if she was really mad at me . . .”

• • •

I kicked the main door in, and Molly and I strode into Drood Hall like we were thinking of repossessing the place. I was immediately surprised to discover that there was no one there to meet us. Or to try to stop us from entering. It’s usually one or the other. The Sarjeant-at-Arms was nearly always waiting, to say something sardonic and offensive, as though he felt it was his duty to make sure I knew I was not at all welcome. Like I needed him to tell me that. At the very least, the Sarjeant usually preferred to escort me through the Hall, to make sure I didn’t go anywhere the family didn’t want me going. It’s not like he could actually stop me doing any damned thing I felt like, including stuffing some of the family silver in a big bag marked Swag and making off with it, but we both usually went along. For the good of the family.

But it’s when there’s no one around that I know for sure something’s going on. Something I’m really not going to approve of.

First rule of an agent: Never let them see they’ve got you worried. I stuck my nose in the air and strode through the shadowy vestibule, and on into the main hallway, with Molly still hanging determinedly onto my arm. Light streamed in through dozens of long, narrow stained-glass windows, shimmering spotlights stabbing through the gloom, filling the long corridor with all the colours of the rainbow. Many of the stained-glass scenes depicted significant moments in my family’s long history, all the heroes and legends of Drood times. The secret history of the world. After that, it was row upon row of paintings and portraits, showing off honoured family members. Most of them looking dour or constipated, with not a single smile to be seen among the lot of them. The fashions changed as the centuries passed, but they all did their best to look like secret masters of the world.

Eventually portraits gave way to photographs, as the more modern generations appeared. And it was only when I got to the very end of the hallway that I spotted the small gap on one wall, where the photo of my parents used to be.

I remembered that photo. When I was a child growing up in Drood Hall, it was all I had to remember my father and mother by. The two of them together, not much older than I am now, smiling happily . . . And now the photo was gone, and they were gone, airbrushed out of Drood history.

I stood before the empty gap on the wall, staring at nothing, feeling like I’d just been punched in the heart. I had no other photo of my mother and my father. It had been allowed to hang there as long as the family thought they were honourably dead, lost in action in the field. But now we all knew they were alive, and working for the Department of Uncanny, the family had turned its back on them. Made them non-persons. Because no one is allowed to walk away from the family. After a while, Molly squeezed my arm reassuringly, and we walked on.

People started to appear, in the corridors and open spaces, as we made our way deeper into the Hall. Men and women hurried back and forth on family business, all of them far too busy to stop and chat. Some actually jumped skittishly when I looked at them. Some faces I recognised, and some I didn’t. We’re a big family. So big we have our own monthly in-Hall magazine, Drood Times. A big glossy thing, distributed only within the family. In fact, all copies are programmed to self-destruct if they’re touched by anyone without Drood DNA. The magazine is full of family doings, always bright and cheerful, and packed with the latest gossip-and it depresses me beyond words. I don’t tend to appear in it much, except as a Bad Example.

Of course I read it every month. Know thy enemy . . .

I smiled and nodded to one and all, and kept going. Some smiled and nodded back; some didn’t. Molly doesn’t really do the smiling and nodding thing, even under the best of circumstances. She just scowled around her, and the Droods who recognised her put on a really impressive burst of speed.

I kept a cautious eye on Molly, just in case she decided she’d been insulted, but she seemed far more interested in the many rare and expensive works of art that pop up everywhere in the Hall. Paintings and statues by world Masters, all of which have never seen the inside of a museum or gallery, and whose existence here explains certain gaps in the Masters’ official output. Tribute, from a grateful world and its governments. Or placations, to please leave them alone. Depends on how you look at it. I didn’t like the thoughtful way Molly was looking at some of the more easily moveable pieces, or the frankly larcenous look in her eye. So I hurried her along, just a little, in case her fingers started itching.

• • •

Finally, we came to the heart of Drood Hall, the great open chamber called the Sanctity. Off-limits to pretty much all the family, these days, except for the ruling Council. The Sanctity, where all the things that really matter are decided. Two large and muscular young Droods were standing guard in front of the closed double doors, and they both slammed to attention as Molly and I approached. They were trying hard to look brave and bold and officious, and not at all terribly worried. For all their size and bulk, they both looked like they really didn’t want to be there. Doing what they were doing. Whatever that turned out to be. They stood their ground as Molly and I walked right up to them, determined to do their duty. They were Droods, after all.

“Edwin Drood, we recognise you!” the guard on the left said loudly. “We acknowledge your right to enter the Sanctity!”

“Well,” I said, “that’s nice. But then, I’ve always had that right. Really didn’t need you to tell me that. Why are you guarding the Sanctity? Has someone tried to steal it?”

The guard swallowed hard, and pressed on with his carefully rehearsed speech, in an only slightly strangulated tone of voice.

“However, it is my duty to inform you, it has been decided by the Council that while you may enter for the reading of the Matriarch’s will, Molly Metcalf may not. We have been given specific instructions that she is not to be allowed into the Sanctity.”

“I hope there’s a good reason for that,” I said, in an only slightly dangerous tone of voice.

The guard looked like he wanted to whine piteously and wet himself, possibly simultaneously, but he pressed on. “It is a condition of the will that only those mentioned or directly affected by the terms of the will may be present during its reading. These are the words of the Council and nothing at all to do with me, so please don’t let the witch turn me or my brother into something squishy.”

I was getting ready to make a fuss, just on general principles, when Molly surprised me by nodding her head understandingly. She slipped her arm free of mine, stepped back, and smiled easily at me.

“It’s all right, Eddie. I get it. Wills are always going to be private family things. You go on. Take your time. I’m sure I can find some trouble to get into.”

I grinned back at her. “I’ll listen for the bang.”

Molly kissed me hard, just to scandalise the guards, and then swayed casually off down the corridor. Almost certainly with theft, abuse, and extensive property damage in mind. Serve my family right, for upsetting her. The guards seemed happy to see her go. So I gave them my best hard stare, and they immediately snapped to attention again, on either side of the doors. There was no real fun to be had in intimidating them; it was like bullying puppies. The double doors to the Sanctity swung slowly open on their own. I gave them a long, thoughtful look and walked in.

• • •

I entered the Sanctity with my head held high, and then relaxed despite myself as the warm rosy glow of the place fell on me like a benediction. The Sanctity isn’t just the main meeting place of Drood pomp and power; it’s also home to Ethel. Our strange visitor from another dimension, or reality. Or somewhere else. We don’t know, and frankly, most of us are too scared to ask. She looks after us, supplies the strange matter of our armour, and baffles us all on a daily basis. She does seem to be genuinely fond of the family, but I can’t shake the feeling that our other-dimensional patron really thinks she’s raising Droods as pets.

The constant red glow is the only sure sign of her presence in this world, and all we’ve ever seen of her. Given that she claims to have downloaded herself into our material reality from a higher dimension, I suppose it’s always possible that the red glow might be all there is of her. Certainly, just standing in the glow for any length of time makes you feel loved, cared for, and appreciated. Still doesn’t do much to keep major arguments from breaking out during Council meetings, though. The Droods are just that kind of family.

Sitting around the single bare wooden table before me were the current members of the Drood ruling Council. My uncle Jack, the Armourer. William, the Librarian. The Serjeant-at-Arms. And, somewhat to my surprise, the landscape gardener, Capability Maggie. Who was hardly ever seen inside the Hall, because she much preferred to be outside, looking after the gardens and grounds. If anything, she looked even less happy to be there than I was.

They all looked at me in much the same way, as though I was late, untidy and unwelcome, and let in only on tolerance. I was used to that from my family.

“Eddie!” said a loud, happy, and entirely disembodied female voice. “Hello hello hello! Welcome back! How was the Vatican? Did you bring me back a present?”

“Hello, Ethel,” I said, to the chamber at large. “Yes, the mission was successful, and no, I didn’t bring anything back for you. I had to leave in something of a hurry, with hellhounds on my trail, and the Gift Shop was closed. Besides, they didn’t have anything there you would have liked.”

“You don’t know that,” Ethel said immediately. “They might have. You could have looked.”

“You’re very hard to buy for,” I said. “What do you get for the other-dimensional entity who is everything?”

She giggled, which is an eerie thing in a disembodied voice.

I looked around the table, nodding briefly to each member of the Council in turn. I can be polite and civilised when I have to. The Armourer, my uncle Jack, was a tall man in late middle age, full of far too much nervous energy for his own good. Or, given his job, everyone else’s. He was tapping the fingers of one hand on the table, and frowning hard as he concentrated on some new awful thing to throw at the family’s enemies. Or someone he’d just seen on the television news who’d upset him. He wore a long lab coat that might have been white a long time before, but was now covered with chemical stains, acid burns, and what looked worryingly like teeth marks. Underneath the lab coat, the Armourer was wearing a grubby T-shirt bearing the legend Yes I do hear voices, and they all know your name. Two fluffy tufts of white hair peeked out above his ears-all that was left of a once impressive head of hair that had jumped ship many years earlier. He looked hard done by, but still hard enough to cope.

Back in his day, my uncle Jack had been one of the family’s leading field agents, rushing around Cold War Europe stamping out super-science and supernatural bush-fires. He still looked like he could punch his weight, but years of working in the Armoury had bent him over in a permanent stoop. Either from constant hard work at the design table, or just from the strain of putting up with generations of genius lab assistants who were often as much a threat to each other as they were to the family’s enemies. In my experience, they didn’t seem to feel a day was complete if they hadn’t shot, blown up, or mutated each other several times before lunch.

My uncle Jack had large engineer’s hands and an enquiring mind without nearly enough limits. And he was quite possibly the only real ally I had in the family.

The Librarian, William, looked a lot more together than usual. He’d come a long way from the fragile, broken soul I’d rescued from an asylum for the more than usually criminally insane, where he’d been hiding out for so long he’d gone native. One of our enemies broke his mind quite thoroughly, and he was still putting himself back together. With a little help from his friends. His recent marriage to the telepath Ammonia Vom Acht had clearly done him a lot of good, though I understood this was still an ongoing process. He was sitting up straight, his eyes were focused, and he was paying attention to what was going on. All of which were quite definite improvements.

He wore a smart blue three-piece suit and fluffy white bunny slippers. He had a great mane of silver grey hair, and a face with rather more character than I was used to seeing. His pale eyes still had a tendency to drift off on some private matter of his own, as though he was thinking of something far more important. And for all I knew, he was.

An excellent Librarian, mind. He knew where every book in the huge family Library was, and what was in it. He just often had trouble remembering why he’d wanted the book in the first place. A kind soul, with far more problems than one man should have to cope with.

I moved forward and stood right in front of him, so I could be sure he knew I was there, and then I produced a small black leather-bound book and laid it on the table before him. There was a title on the cover, but I can’t read Aramaic.

“There you go, William,” I said. “Straight from the shelves of the deepest darkest part of the Vatican’s Very Secret Library. They now have the duplicate copy you provided, not containing the bits we don’t want them to know about.”

William smiled happily, if just a bit vaguely. He patted the book fondly with one hand, like a wandering pet that had found its way home.

“Thank you, Eddie. How this little devil went missing from our Library and ended up so far away has yet to be determined, but it’s good to have it back. The Vatican wouldn’t have approved of what’s in it, anyway; never have been famous for their sense of humour, the Vatican.”

“See! See!” Ethel said loudly. “He got a present! Why don’t I get a present? Why didn’t you bring me back a book, Eddie?”

“What did you have in mind?” I said. “John the Baptist’s Desert Cookbook: A Hundred and One Things to Do with Locusts and Honey?”

“Actually,” said Ethel, “that does sound interesting . . .”

The Sarjeant-at-Arms stirred impatiently in his chair. He could be patient, when he had to, but essentially he was a man built for action. Not sitting around while other people whittered on about things that didn’t matter. Big and brutal and permanently angry, the Sarjeant was in charge of family discipline, and he enjoyed every punishing moment of it. He was a thug and a bully, by choice, and always went out of his way to appear dangerous and threatening. Especially at Council meetings. As though he was only ever one moment away from a violent outburst. Or perhaps, just so he wouldn’t be taken for granted.

He wore the stark black-and-white formal outfit of a Victorian butler, right down to the starched high collar, just like his predecessor, because that was the custom for the family Sarjeant-at-Arms. Even if no one still living remembered why. The Sarjeant liked the outfit. He thought it gave him presence and authority. Everyone else thought it made him look like a dick. He had a shaved head, brutal features, a cold gaze, and an unforgiving scowl. If he’d ever had a good side, he’d had it surgically removed ages ago. He didn’t like me, or approve of me, but he put up with me because I could do things for the family that no one else could.

And because I killed his predecessor. Or at least, got him killed.

I smiled coldly at him, and he nodded coldly back.

“We need to talk,” I said, to the table in general. “I just teleported directly onto the grounds through a door supplied by the Wulfshead Club management.”

The Sarjeant immediately sat up straight in his chair. “That’s not supposed to be possible! It’s a blatant invasion of family security!”

“Exactly,” I said. “The management did it to let us know it was possible. And, as they pointed out, if they have a door that can do that, where did they get it? And who else might have one? They didn’t feel like volunteering the information, of course . . .”

“We improved the main shields after the Accelerated Men got in,” said the Sarjeant, scowling thoughtfully. “The new ones were supposed to be one hundred per cent unbreakable . . .”

“Probably were, then,” said the Armourer. “But the first rule of science and engineering is nothing lasts. There is a place in the Nightside where you can buy inter-dimensional Doors that will take you anywhere. Run by the Doormouse . . . fascinating little fellow. He knows Drood property is strictly off-limits . . . but I’d better put in a call.”

“Anyone who comes here uninvited deserves every appalling thing that happens to them,” said the Sarjeant. “I’ll increase the security patrols.”

“Kill them all,” said the Librarian, just a bit unexpectedly.

“But who would dare?” said the Sarjeant. “And even, who’s left? I thought we’d wiped out most of the Major Players in recent years . . .”

“That is a subject for another time,” the Armourer said firmly. “We have to deal with the business at hand.”

“Right!” said Capability Maggie. “Starting with, What the hell am I doing here?”

She glared at everyone impartially. As far as Capability Maggie was concerned, nothing we’d just discussed meant anything to her. And I was just someone else keeping her from her beloved gardens and grounds. A short, stocky blonde, Maggie wore her hair so close-cropped it was almost military, along with basic fatigues and heavy boots. I’d never known her to wear anything else. In fact, I’d never seen her inside the Hall before. I usually just glimpsed her in passing, off in the distance somewhere, doing something useful with compost. Up close, she had a sulky mouth, fierce grey eyes, and a general air of barely suppressed fury. She sat stiff-backed in her chair, arms folded defiantly, and looked very much as though she’d like to bite someone.

I pulled up the only empty chair, and sat down at the table. “All right, I’m here. Can we please get this over with, so I can get on with my life?”

“Damn right!” said Maggie.

“I want to know why my Ammonia can’t attend the reading!” William said abruptly. “If I’ve got to leave the Library, I want her here with me. So I can be sure at least one person here is on my side. And to help me find my way back to the Library afterwards. Don’t you all look at me like that. You know very well it moves around once you take your eye off it.”

“Calm down, William,” the Armourer said patiently. “You know very well that only those directly concerned with the will can be present during the reading. I’ve explained it to you enough times . . .”

“Besides,” said the Sarjeant-at-Arms, “she’s not family. And, she’s a telepath.”

“She’s my wife now!” snapped the Librarian, matching the Sarjeant glare for glare. “That means she’s one of us now!”

“You know better than that,” said the Sarjeant, not unkindly. “It takes more than just marriage to make someone a Drood. Especially when the newcomer has a mind powerful enough to smash through all our security screens. It’s a good thing she doesn’t live here full-time.”

“She has to live most of her life in that remote cottage on the coast,” said the Armourer. “It’s the only way she can keep everyone else’s thoughts outside her head.”

“So she says,” said the Sarjeant darkly.

“I always feel better when she’s around,” said William. “More focused . . . I trust her implicitly!”

“Yes,” said the Sarjeant. “But you’re still not the most stable member of the family, are you?”

William started to say something, and then stopped. “Actually . . . you have a point there, Cedric.”

“But why do I have to be here?” demanded Maggie, very loudly. “None of this is anything to do with me! I do digging, and weeding, and general upkeep among flowery things, and I have never given a wet slap for anything the rest of the family does! Or its stupid secret world. So why have I been brought here, against my will, when there are so many more important things I should be doing? Flowers don’t just grow themselves, you know!”

“I think you’ll find they do,” murmured the Librarian.

“We’ll get to you in a moment, Maggie,” said the Armourer, entirely unmoved by her raised voice at close quarters. He was used to dealing with excitable lab assistants, and they went armed. He looked around the table, at each of us in turn. “As Martha’s only surviving child, I have been declared executor of her will, with authority over all matters arising.”

“Why has it taken so long to get around to the reading?” I said, just a bit pointedly.

“The family’s been a bit busy, of late,” said the Sarjeant.

“Not that busy,” I said.

“There are a great many traditional family protocols, for when a Matriarch dies,” said the Armourer. “And even more, for when one is murdered. There were . . . security aspects that had to be dealt with first. And even after that, there were certain conditions that had to be addressed, connected to the will. Mother always did believe in thinking ahead. I have already taken care of most of the relevant details, but there are a few clauses in the will so important that they require each of you to be present for the reading. So here we all are.”

He produced a large parchment scroll, apparently from nowhere, and placed it carefully on the table before us. He unrolled the thick brown parchment slowly, and considered the contents thoughtfully. I could just make out Grandmother’s distinctive spiky handwriting. The Armourer took a deep breath, and then plunged right in, beginning with Martha’s statement of intent. All the usual stuff about being of sound body and mind (both of which I would have happily disputed, given the chance). And then he got down to the good stuff.

“It is my firm belief,” said the Armourer, reading out Martha Drood’s words in a calm, controlled voice, “that my position as Matriarch should be inherited by the next in line. Which, given that I have had the misfortune to outlive all the other candidates, falls on Margaret Drood, also known as Capability Maggie.”

We all sat up straight at that, and looked at Maggie. She glared right back at us.

“I don’t want it! Is that why I’m here? Really? I don’t want to be the Matriarch, and have to run this batshit insane family! I am perfectly happy where I am, looking after the grounds. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. Let someone else be Matriarch!”

“Told you,” said William, to no one in particular.

I gave the Armourer a hard look. “I thought we’d all agreed that having a Matriarch in charge of this family is a really bad idea. Because the position is far too open to abuse of power. Martha being a really good example! My own grandmother tried to have me killed!”

“For the good of the family,” said the Sarjeant-at-Arms.

I gave him a hard look, and he stirred uneasily in his chair, despite himself.

“Don’t push your luck, Cedric,” I said.

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” said the Armourer. “But having a ruling Council in charge . . . just isn’t working. You’re not here often enough to see how badly it isn’t working. We all have our own jobs to do, our own duties and responsibilities inside the family. You wouldn’t believe how difficult it is, just to get everyone together in the same place for a meeting. And it’s even more difficult to get a decision made. On anything! As a result, decisions tend to get made by whoever turns up. And then get changed, or overturned, by whoever turns up next! The family needs one person in charge, who can set general policy and give the job their full attention. The Council will still be there, to offer advice and keep an eye on things . . .”

“Oh, of course,” I said. “Because that’s always worked so well in the past.”

The Armourer sighed loudly. “I know you believe in democracy within the family, Eddie. So do I. But you know as well as I do that if we did put this to the general vote, the family as a whole would just vote to appoint a new Matriarch. Because that’s what they know, and that’s what they feel safe with. You can’t impose democracy; they have to want it. And most of them aren’t ready yet. Real change . . . takes time.”

Capability Maggie could see the way this was going, and wanted none of it.

“But why does it have to be me? I don’t want to be the Matriarch! Keeping the Hall’s grounds under control is a full-time job! A job no one else could do as well as me, and you know it. And I love doing it. It’s all I ever wanted. Not least because it means I don’t have to deal with people much. I’ve never been good with people. You know where you are with flowers . . . I’d make a lousy Matriarch!”

“Sounds perfect material, so far,” said the Sarjeant. “Loud, aggressive, and not afraid to get her hands dirty.”

Maggie rounded on me. “Why don’t you take the job? You were in charge of the family for a while.”

“Yes,” I said, “I was. Long enough to discover I really wasn’t up to the job, and that I never want to do it again. I make a good field agent, but a lousy leader. I cared far too much about what happened to people when I had to make hard decisions. I prefer to stand aside now, and act as the family’s conscience. That’s a full-time job in itself.” I looked around the table. “But let us be very clear on this: if you put the wrong person in charge, and it all gets out of hand, again . . . I will come back and take over, like I did before. And those responsible for making me do that . . . will be made to suffer.”

The Sarjeant sniffed loudly. “You talk big, boy, but you know you’d never do anything that might threaten the family.”

“Don’t put money on it, Cedric,” I said. “I would disband and scatter this family to the four winds, rather than let them fall back into the madness of Zero Tolerance. The Droods are supposed to protect Humanity, not rule them. And besides, it’s not like we’re the only secret organisation guarding the world these days. There are hundreds of groups out there; you can’t move for tripping over them. Everything from the London Knights to the Department of Uncanny. The world doesn’t need us like it used to in the old days.”

“You can’t put any of them on the same level as us!” said the Sarjeant. “They’re . . . amateurs! We’re special. We’re necessary. And we need . . . direction.”

The Armourer looked thoughtfully at Maggie. “They do say . . . that the best person for a powerful position like this is often the one who doesn’t want it.”

“All right, then,” Maggie said quickly. “I want it! I really want it! Oh, you have no idea how much I want it!”

“Good,” said the Serjeant. “That’s settled, then.”

“What?” said Capability Maggie, really loudly.

I rose to my feet. “Congratulations on your new role, Maggie. Do your best, have a good time, try not to get too many people killed.”

“Bastard,” muttered Maggie.

I looked up and down the table. “You all wanted a Matriarch back in control, so be careful what you wish for, and all that. I’m out of here. You make whatever decisions you feel are necessary, to invest Maggie as the new Matriarch, and I’ll go along. For the sake of a peaceful transition, I will stand well back . . . and only intervene as and when I feel necessary.”

“Typical,” said the Sarjeant. “You want to have us dance to your tune, but you don’t want the responsibilities.”

“Exactly!” I said. “Glad to see we’re finally on the same page, Sarjeant. Now if you’ll all excuse me, I’ve got more important things to be getting on with.”

“Stay where you are, Edwin!” said the Sarjeant, rising quickly to his feet. “You’re not going anywhere!”

“You sure about that, Cedric?” I murmured. “You think you can stop me? Really would like to see you try . . .”

“Sit down, both of you!” the Armourer said forcefully. “We’re not finished with the reading of the will. That is why we’re all here, remember?”

I sat down, and so did the Sarjeant. The Armourer doesn’t raise his voice often, but when he does, everyone listens. He glared at the Sarjeant, and then at me, and shook his head slowly.

“I swear, you could both use a good slap round the head sometimes. You are here, Eddie, because Mother mentioned you specifically in her will.”

“Oh, this can only end well,” I said. “Ladies and gentlemen, hope has left the building. Running. With its arse on fire.”

“If this is just about him, can I go now?” said Maggie. “I’ve got seedlings to set out. And a hell of a lot of instructions to pass on, if I’m going to have to give up my lovely gardens.”

“No, you can’t go,” said the Armourer. “This concerns you too. Or at least, it might. Depending.” He sat there for a long moment, looking at the parchment scroll. He didn’t appear at all happy. “We don’t need to go through all the clauses in the will; the new Matriarch and the Council can deal with those. But only after we’ve sorted this out. Eddie, your grandmother has left you a bequest.”

“It’s not good, is it?” I said. “I can tell just from looking at you that this is not in any way shape or form, good. Unless it’s money. Is it money?”

“Not money, no,” said the Armourer. “But she did leave you . . . something.”

And he produced a small oblong black-lacquered box, about a foot long, and four inches by three, decorated with gold-leaf inlay and filigree. The Armourer placed the box carefully on the table before him, and we all leaned forward for a better look. I reached out and touched the box, very carefully, with one fingertip. Nothing happened, so I picked the box up and studied it closely. No lock, no hinges, no obvious way to open it at all. I shook the box, and it didn’t rattle. Though I did notice the Armourer and the Sarjeant wince, just a little. I put the box down again.

“What is it, Uncle Jack? Did you make this for her?”

“No,” said the Armourer. “Which rather begs the question, who did? None of us in the Council even knew the thing existed, until we found it with her will. And yes, my lab assistants and I have done our very best to open it. On the grounds of family security, of course. We failed. So we scanned the hell out of it, with every piece of equipment we have and a few I made specially. And all we were able to discover is the box is sealed on every level we can think of, and it has been designed so that only you, Eddie, and your specific DNA, can open it. We have no idea what that thing is, or what it’s for. All the will has to say about the box is, There is something inside that will make you Patriarch of the family, Eddie. Something that will place you in power, despite all obstacles, and ensure that no one in the family will be able to stand against you.”

The Sarjeant looked at the box, and then at me, openly stunned. Clearly, the Armourer hadn’t mentioned that to him before. William just looked interested. Maggie bounced up and down in her seat, going red in the face, openly outraged.

“Wait a minute! Wait a minute! First you force me to accept the position as Matriarch, and now this?”

“Thought you didn’t want the job,” I said.

“Well, yes, but . . .”

“Exactly,” I said.

The Sarjeant glared at the little black box. “What the hell was the Matriarch thinking . . . It could be a weapon of some kind, I suppose. Or it could be information . . . very secret secrets, for control or blackmail . . .”

“Just like Martha,” said the Librarian, just a bit unexpectedly. “Still trying to pull our strings, even from beyond the grave. If I were you, Eddie . . . I would take that box and throw it off the end of the world.”

“Why would she give something like this to me, of all people?” I said, honestly mystified. “She made it very clear that she disapproved of everything I did and said and stood for, when I was in charge . . .”

“There’s more,” said the Armourer.

“Of course there is,” I said. “Can everyone hear that sound? That is the sound of my heart, sinking.”

“The clause in Martha’s will that leaves you the box has a very definite condition attached,” said the Armourer. His mouth pursed for a moment, in what looked very like a moue of distaste. “I am only authorised to give you this box, Eddie, on the condition that you agree to give up Molly Metcalf. And never see her again.”

I looked at him and, give the man credit, whatever it was he was seeing in my face and in my eyes, his gaze didn’t waver one bit.

“Okay,” I said. “You must know that’s never going to happen.”

“Really?” said Maggie. “I mean, we are talking about undisputed control of the whole Drood family. Not that I want the job, of course.”

“You must know you can’t ever marry the witch,” said the Sarjeant-at-Arms. And he surprised me there, by saying it in a fairly sympathetic tone. “There is no way Molly Metcalf can ever be a part of this family. Not after all the things she’s done. You could marry her without the family’s permission, of course, but then there would be no place for you here either.”

“Really?” I said. “In this day and age?”

“Remember what happened to James?” the Armourer said steadily. “When he insisted on marrying, against Mother’s wishes? To someone the family considered . . . unsuitable? James forced it through anyway, and in the end Mother went along, because he was the very best of our field agents, and because he always was her favourite . . . But they had to live outside the Hall. And after he lost her, and had to come back here because he had nowhere else to go . . . he was never the same, after that.”

“Is the wild witch really more important to you than the family?” said the Sarjeant.

“Hell, yes,” I said. “I can always trust Molly.”

“Damn right!” said the Librarian firmly. “I would have walked out in a moment, if anyone had tried to keep me from marrying my Ammonia.”

We all managed a tactful silence, there.

“How typical of dear Grandma,” I said finally. “Still trying to run my life, even after her death. Still convinced she knows what’s best for me, and the family. Still trying to bribe or threaten me into doing what she wants . . . Yes. That settles it.”

I pushed the box away from me, back towards the Armourer. He looked at me steadily, kindly.

“Are you sure, Eddie?”

“I never wanted to be Patriarch again,” I said. “And nothing that’s happened here has changed my mind. I don’t want to be in charge, and I don’t care what’s in the box.”

“You’re not even curious?” said Maggie.

“No,” I said. “Could be a cat that’s alive and dead at the same time, for all I care.” I looked at the Armourer. “Is that all?”

“Yes,” said the Armourer. “There are a great many other clauses, but none that concern you directly.”

“Then there’s no reason for me to hang around any longer, is there?” I said. “So, if you’ll excuse me . . . Molly is waiting.”

I got up to leave, again. Everyone was staring at me, all of them shocked to some degree. Even the Librarian, in his own vague way. It was clear to me that none of them would have turned down the box if it had been offered to them, even if they would have used the power it gave them for quite different reasons. And equally clearly, they were all wondering why Martha hadn’t offered it to them . . .

“What should we do with the box?” said the Armourer.

“Disregarding all the obvious answers,” I said, “do your best to destroy it, Uncle Jack. And if you can’t, hide it away somewhere very secure, and never tell anyone what you did with it. Because no one in this family can be trusted with something that could give them undisputed control.”

“How can you say that about the family?” said the Sarjeant.

“Experience,” I said.

I nodded cheerfully to Maggie, but she just glared at me.

“By turning down that box, you’ve forced me to become Matriarch,” she said. “I’ll get you for this.”

“Lots of people say that,” I said.

I moved away from the table, and that was when the Sarjeant-at-Arms got up to face me. He moved carefully forward to block my way.

“Before you go, Edwin, there is one further matter.”

“Oh yes, Cedric?” I said. “And what might that be?”

“You have something that belongs to the family,” said the Sarjeant, calmly and coldly. “And we really can’t allow you to leave the Hall while you still have it in your possession.”

“Really not with you,” I said. “What are we talking about, exactly?”

“The Merlin Glass,” said the Armourer.

He met my gaze steadily when I looked back at him. William was off somewhere else again. Or perhaps pretending to be, so he wouldn’t have to get involved. Maggie just looked confused.

“Ethel?” I said. “You’ve been very quiet through all this.”

“None of my business,” said the voice from the rosy red glow. “This is human stuff. I don’t get involved.”

I turned my attention back to the Sarjeant. “What brought this on, Cedric?”

“New Matriarch, new rules,” he said. “Can’t have something as powerful as the Merlin Glass out of our hands while a new Matriarch is finding her feet. When the Armourer first gave you the Glass, it was never intended you should keep it for your own exclusive use . . . The Glass was a gift from Merlin to the Droods, and it belongs with the family.”

I looked at the Armourer again. “This wasn’t your idea, was it, Uncle Jack?”

“This was a Council decision,” the Armourer said carefully. “We all agreed. You can’t keep the Glass, Eddie.”

“Are you worried I might use it to bring down the Matriarch if I decide I disapprove?” I said.

“A wise man covers all the options,” said the Sarjeant.

“So we decided to ask for the Glass back, while we’re all together here,” said the Armourer.

“Ask?” I said.

“We’re being polite,” said the Sarjeant-at-Arms. “For now.”

“You’re talking like you’ll never get another chance,” I said. “I will be back. We can discuss this then.”

“We know where you’re going,” said the Sarjeant. “You’re going to the Department of Uncanny to talk to the Regent of Shadows. To get answers out of him. We don’t care about that. Skin him alive, for all I care. But you can’t use one of the family’s most powerful weapons for your own private war. Give it up, Edwin. That is a Council order.”

“So much for being reasonable,” I said. “I did try . . . Look, I need the Glass, for now. You can have it back when I’m finished with it. I think, after all I’ve done for this family, I’m entitled to a little latitude.”

“That’s not how it works, Eddie,” said the Armourer. “You know that.”

“Don’t I just,” I said.

“You can’t be allowed to leave here with the Glass!” said the Sarjeant.

“Try to stop me, Cedric,” I said, smiling slowly. And he flinched, just a little.

The Armourer was immediately up on his feet, glaring at me. “Are you seriously prepared to defy the family, Eddie?”

“Of course,” I said. “It’s what I do best.”

Maggie was up on her feet too. “If I’m going to be Matriarch, I’m going to make decisions. They’re right, Eddie. You have to give up the Merlin Glass.”

“You don’t even know what it is,” I said.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s the principle of the thing!”

“Good for you!” I said. “That’s the trick; sound decisive, even when you don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. You’ll make a fine new Matriarch. Just not right now.”

“No one member of the family can be considered more important, more powerful, than the Matriarch or her Council,” said Maggie.

And suddenly she sounded less like a gardener and a lot more like someone in charge.

“Except,” said the Librarian mildly, “Martha clearly thought Eddie was more important, or she wouldn’t have left him the box. Would she? Hmmm?”

Everyone looked at William, but he had nothing more to say. Maggie glared at me, and I glared right back at her.

“Well done,” I said. “Not even officially the Matriarch yet, and already you’ve learned the joys of abuse of power.”

“Why should you have the Glass, and no one else?” she said.

“Because I’ve proved I can be trusted not to abuse it,” I said. “I love my family. I really do. And everything it’s supposed to stand for. But it’s at times like this that I know for a fact . . . I wouldn’t trust most of you further than I could throw a wet camel.” I smiled widely at all of them. “Moments like this . . . are why I prefer to maintain a distance between me and Drood Hall. Good-bye.”

I walked straight at the Sarjeant-at-Arms, and he stepped back and out of the way at the very last moment. I left the Sanctity, and didn’t look back once.

• • •

The doors opened quietly before me, and closed firmly behind me. The two guards were still on duty. They stared straight ahead, refusing even to look at me. Which was probably just as well. I was in the mood to hit somebody, or something. I started down the corridor, and then stopped as I heard the double doors open behind me. I turned quickly and then relaxed, just a little, as the Armourer came hurrying out of the Sanctity. He waited for the doors to close, and then glowered at the two guards.

“Go for a walk.”

“But we were told . . .”

“Go!”

They both left, at speed, neither of them looking back. The Armourer looked at me severely.

“Eddie, there’s a limit to how many times you can walk out on the family and still hope to come back.”

“I keep leaving, and I keep hoping the family will take the hint,” I said. “But somehow, they always find a reason to call me back.”

“And if this is the last time?” said the Armourer.

“I’ll send you a postcard from wherever I end up.”

“What if you need something from us?”

“Then I think I’ve earned the right to just walk back in and ask for it,” I said. “You know I’ll never leave here for good, Uncle Jack. I can’t. Because despite everything I still believe in what the Droods are supposed to be. Shamans, to the tribe. Shepherds, to Humanity. And I suppose . . . there are a few people here I would miss. Like you, Uncle Jack. But I have to go now. I have to go talk to my grandfather, at the Department of Uncanny.”

The Armourer nodded slowly. “Of course you do. He killed Molly’s parents. On the family’s orders. He knows things . . . you need to know.”

“How long have you known, Uncle Jack?”

“Always,” he said. “But I couldn’t tell you.”

“So many things you kept from me,” I said. “And you’re still keeping secrets from me, after all this time.”

“Because some secrets . . . just aren’t mine to tell,” he said.

“It’s time for the truth to come out,” I said. “All of it.”

“It won’t make you happy and it won’t make you wise,” the Armourer said gruffly. “You watch your back, boy. It’s lonely out there in the cold.”

He stepped forward and embraced me. I hugged him back, and then we let each other go. We’ve never been a touchy-feely family. The Armourer went back inside the Sanctity. And I stood there for a long moment, thinking.

• • •

I wasn’t sure where to look for Molly. I listened carefully, but I couldn’t hear any screams, or explosions. Which suggested she probably wasn’t inside the Hall any longer. More likely she’d gone back out into the grounds; the one part of Drood Hall that reminded her of her beloved private forest. I looked at the black oblong box in my hand. I’d snatched it up off the table and concealed it about my person while we were all arguing, and no one had noticed. Sleight of hand is a very useful talent in a field agent.

I studied the box carefully, and it still refused to make any sense. Supposedly my DNA was enough to open it, but my touch wasn’t doing anything. And I really hadn’t felt like experimenting with the box while I was inside Drood Hall. I wouldn’t put it past dear departed Grandmother to have concealed some kind of booby-trap inside. No, I needed somewhere safer . . . like Molly’s forest. I grinned, despite myself. Whatever was inside the black box, I really didn’t feel like leaving it in anyone else’s hands. I wondered if anyone had noticed it had gone missing yet . . .

I took out the Merlin Glass, and told it to take me to Molly. Wherever she was.