Simon Green - Property of a Lady Faire

“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.

The Merlin Glass dropped me off by the family’s very own artificial lake, where I found Molly Metcalf keeping herself busy by tormenting the swans.

I took my time walking over to the edge of the lake. I didn’t want to startle Molly, or the swans. The lawns stretched away in every direction, broad and gently undulating, like a dark green sea under a brilliant blue sky. The waters of the lake were deep and dark, with mad ripples spreading in every direction. The surface was disturbed by Molly running across it, waving her arms wildly at the retreating swans, and shouting obscenities after them.

I paused, to look down at the Merlin Glass in my hand. Such a small and innocent-looking thing, in its hand-mirror guise. I wasn’t sure why I was so determined to hang on to it. The Glass was a useful enough item, but I’d managed perfectly well without it for years. It had never even occurred to me that I wasn’t going to give it back until the Sarjeant demanded that I hand it over. But now I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was going to need it. And I also couldn’t help feeling . . . that the Glass wanted to stay with me. Which was just a bit worrying. I put the hand mirror away in my pocket, and stood on the bank of the lake, looking out across the waters.

It’s not an everyday sight, even in the weird and wondrous grounds of Drood Hall, to see a witch charging across the surface of a lake with her dress rucked up to her waist, in hot pursuit of a dozen panicked swans. Their great white bodies shot this way and that, wings flapping energetically, never able to build up enough speed to get into the air, because they kept having to change direction when Molly got too close. She went sprinting up and down the length of the lake, her toes digging just below the surface of the waters to give her more traction. I stayed where I was, if only to avoid the energetic splashing from all concerned. My armour has many fine and useful qualities, but walking on water isn’t one of them.

“Molly?” I said, after a while. “Please stop doing that, and come over here and talk to me. I’m sure whatever the swans did, they’re really very sorry now.”

“Snotty, arrogant, entitled birdy things!” said Molly. Loudly. “They were looking down their noses at me!”

She stopped running, quite abruptly, and glared about her. The swans glided to a somewhat ruffled halt a safe distance away. Molly sniffed scornfully, and stomped across the water to join me. I reached down, and pulled her up onto the bank beside me. She was still scowling, which is never a good sign.

“Swans don’t have noses,” I said mildly.

“Well, whatever they have, they were looking down them at me! They don’t like me. I could tell. Yes, I’m talking about you, you fluffy white bastards! You’d better stay at that end of the lake, or it’s sandwich time for the lot of you!”