Simon Green - Casino Infernale

Monkton Manse looked like it should be on the front cover of some old paperback Gothic romance, with just the one light showing in a window.

“Looks to me like the setting for some old Agatha Christie murder mystery,” said Molly.

“You know I’ve always preferred Ngaio Marsh,” I said. “She cheats less in the denouement.”

“This house was the last meeting place for the old White Horse Faction,” said Molly. “My parents’ old group. Supernatural terrorists, or ecological freedom fighters, depending on who you listen to. I was here with them ten years ago, when they planned their last great adventure. Before your family had them all killed.”

“And so, you went to war with my family,” I said. “Now here we are together, you and I. Who would have thought . . .”

“The house doesn’t look at all how I remember it,” said Molly, frowning. “I thought it would look . . . brighter. Happier.”

“Given the house’s downright disturbing history, that was never on the cards,” I said. “I have to ask, Molly: Given that the old White Horse Faction had their roots in English countryside Leveller traditions . . . what the hell were they doing all the way out here?”

“My parents chose this location,” Molly said sternly, “because it was as far from England as they could get. Because it was one of the few places in this world where they could be sure they were free from spying eyes, very definitely including the Droods. This whole Island lies inside a natural, or perhaps more properly unnatural, mystical null. No one can see in. Trammell Island is invisible to crystal balls, remote viewing, and spy satellites. Not at all easy to get to, but worth the effort. The perfect place to plot the overthrow of all the sanctimonious, two-faced, hypocritical Powers That Be.”

“We’re talking about my family again, aren’t we?” I said. “The Droods are like the dentist: a necessary evil. Because all the other options are worse.”

“Eddie,” said Molly. “Sorry, I mean Shaman. . . . Why are you still holding the Merlin Glass in your hand? Are you anticipating a hurried exit?”

I looked down. She was right. I still had the looking glass in my hand. I honestly hadn’t realised. Not much to look at, at first glance. Just a simple hand mirror with a silver frame and handle. A gift to my family from the old Arthurian sorcerer himself, Merlin Satanspawn. The Glass could show you anything, anywhere, and then take you there through a dimensional short cut. It could do other things, too; some of them very disturbing.

“Is that the original Merlin Glass?” said Molly. “Or is it the one we found in the Other Hall—the other-dimensional duplicate that replaced Drood Hall for a time?”

“Other people don’t have conversations like this,” I said. I hefted the Merlin Glass in my hand. “The original mirror was broken during our attack on the Satanic Conspirators hiding out in Schloss Shreck, in the Timeless Moment. The Armourer did his best to repair the Glass, but even his skills are no match for that old devil Merlin. So, my uncle Jack got out the second Merlin Glass, from the Other Hall, so he could compare the two. He put the mirrors down on his work-bench, side by side, and they just . . . slid together and merged into one. So I guess this is both. And no, I don’t know why I’m holding on to it. Except . . . that I really don’t like this island.”

Molly sniffed loudly. “We could have come here through the dimensional gate in my wild woods.”

“We don’t want anyone else knowing that way exists,” I said firmly. “You’re only safe in those woods because no one else knows how to get into them. And I need there to be somewhere I can be sure you’re safe when I’m not around.

“I can look after myself,” said Molly. “But you are a sweetie for saying it.”

“Boyfriend brownie points?”

“Well, a tick in the plus column, at least,” said Molly. She looked past the great hulking house. “There’s an old fairy circle, out behind the Manse. A Fae Gate. The elves used to use it as a stepping-off point on their way to places beyond this world. I don’t think anyone knows why. Elves don’t talk to humans if they can help it.”

“You must show it to me, after we’ve completed our mission here,” I said. “It might explain how all the old Columbian monks came to disappear, so suddenly and completely.”

“You always were big on doing your homework before a mission,” said Molly. “Go on; lecture me. You know you love it. But keep it concise, or I’ll heckle you and throw things.”

I took a moment to stuff the Merlin Glass into my pocket. I keep a pocket dimension there, for storing weapons and dangerous objects, and things I don’t want other people to detect.

“There are a lot of stories about what the heretic monks of Saint Columba got up to here, in their monastery on Trammell Island,” I said. “Most of them not suitable for everyday company, or those of a nervous disposition. They established their monastery here precisely because the Island existed in a mystical null zone, and they didn’t want anyone to see what they were doing.”

“You know, of course,” said Molly. “Droods know everything.”

“Not this time,” I said. “The monks just vanished, overnight. A supply boat turned up one morning to find the monastery completely deserted. No monks, no signs of a struggle or violence of any kind. Just the monastery, standing silent and empty with its front door wide open. The monks had no boat of their own, no known way off the Island. A single severed human hand was found, in the hallway, with one finger pointing at the open front door. Not a drop of blood anywhere. Interestingly enough, nothing inside the monastery had been disturbed, but every single book in the monastery’s extensive and infamous library . . . was missing. Nothing left but empty shelves. So we never did find out what they were up to here . . . but given how things turned out, I doubt it was anything pleasant.”

“The monks could have left through the Fae Gate,” said Molly, “if they thought their enemies were closing in on them.”

“Some of my ancestors explored that possibility,” I said. “They were quite positive no one had activated the Gate in years. Trammell Island has a long history of dark secrets, and sudden disappearances. People came here to do things they didn’t want the rest of the world to know about.”

“I escaped through the Fae Gate,” said Molly. “It opened onto the wild woods, and then closed again, so I could be safe.”

“What?” I said. “Escaped? Escaped from what, Molly?”

“I don’t know,” she said, frowning. She looked suddenly confused, disoriented. “I don’t remember. And I didn’t even realise there was anything to remember, until just now.”

She shuddered heavily, and not from the cold. Her eyes were fey and distant, her mouth pulled into a tight grimace.

“The others will be here soon,” I said. Just to be saying something.

“Let’s get inside the house,” said Molly. “I don’t like it out here. This whole island gives me the creeps.”

We headed towards Monkton Manse, Molly clinging tightly to my arm again. I was disturbed, because it wasn’t like Molly to be scared of anyone or anything. More usually, it was the other way round. The huge manor house loomed over us as we approached—dark and foreboding. Evening was falling fast on Trammell Island, and there were no lights on anywhere in the house. The dark windows seemed to study us like so many thoughtful eyes, planning and plotting. At least there weren’t any gargoyles. I’ve never liked gargoyles. We stopped before the massive oak door, which was, of course, very firmly closed and locked.