Simon Green - Property of a Lady Faire

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 . . .”