Simon Green - Property of a Lady Faire

“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.”