Simon Green - Casino Infernale

Or was he just here . . . because Molly was here?

We left the hallway and entered a huge dining room. Molly snapped her fingers and once again the candle stubs in the overhead chandeliers blazed into friendly yellow light. The next generation looked startled, and then applauded lightly. Coll grinned at Molly.

“You always did show such promise, Molly my sweet,” he said. “It’s been so many years since I last saw you . . . look at you! My little girl is all grown up!”

“I need to talk to you, Hadrian,” said Molly. “About my mother and my father. And what really happened to them.”

“Of course you do,” said Coll. For the first time he sounded properly serious. “Don’t you remember . . . how they died?”

“I thought I did,” said Molly. “I thought I knew what happened . . . until I came here, and realised I only really remembered bits and pieces.”

“That’s probably for the best,” said Coll.

“No, it isn’t!” said Molly, so loudly that everyone winced, and backed away from her. Molly fixed Hadrian with a cold hard gaze. “I need to know! I need to know everything that happened.”

“We’ll talk later,” said Coll. “I promise. But I have business with these good people, and I owe them my full attention. Afterwards, we’ll sit down together, you and I, and I’ll tell you everything.”

He smiled fondly at Molly, and after a moment she smiled back. I couldn’t help but feel that he was putting it on, but Molly just smiled and nodded, and hugged him quickly.

“I am so proud of you,” Coll said quietly. “So proud of everything you’ve achieved, and what you’ve made of yourself. You’ve far surpassed your old tutor. . . .” He looked suddenly at me. “Why do you need a bodyguard, Molly? And why him?”

“Because even the infamous wild witch of the woods needs someone to watch her back, on occasion,” I said. “And like you said, Hadrian, I’ve been around. I’m not easily fooled, or distracted, and I’m really hard to surprise.”

Coll nodded, and then turned the full force of his charisma on the patiently waiting next generation. “Ten years! I can’t believe it’s been that long since I last set foot in this monstrous old house. Later on, I’ll have to give you the grand tour; fill you in on all the old stories. I have so many memories of this place . . . and the original White Horse Faction. The long nights we spent here, talking and talking into the early hours, plotting and planning . . . we would change the world, we said.”

“We still can,” said Troy, her voice entirely serious. She may be impressed by Coll, but he was still nothing compared to her devotion to the cause. “You must tell us everything about the old times, and the old organisation. If only so we can avoid making their mistakes.”

“We want to hear everything,” said Morrison.

“And so you shall, my friends!” said Coll. “But first, food and drink! Something for the inner man, hmm?”

He looked meaningfully at Stephanie Troy. Anyone else, she would have told to go to hell. That just because she was a woman, she wasn’t there to cook and make the tea and wait on the men. But this was Hadrian Coll, so she just nodded quietly.

“I’m sure I can manage something. Our advance agents are supposed to have left some food in the kitchens, tins and things. . . .”

“Excellent!” said Coll, rubbing his large hands together.

“You do that,” I said. “I think I’ll go for a little walk, down on the beach. Get some fresh air in my lungs. Care to accompany me, Molly?”

She tore her gaze away from Coll, looked at me for a long moment, and then nodded quickly.

“Of course,” she said. “Fresh air. Just the thing.”

“Don’t take too long,” said Troy. “A meal will be ready soon.”

“Don’t be late,” said Coll. “Or we’ll start without you.”

Molly and I smiled meaninglessly all round, and then I took her by the arm and led her away. No one seemed too disappointed to see us go. The next generation wanted Hadrian Coll all to themselves. I wasn’t sure yet what Coll wanted. I led Molly out of Monkton Manse, chatting cheerfully to her all of the way, of this and that, until the front door slammed shut behind us.

Once we were outside Molly pulled her arm free of mine, and strode on ahead on her own. I let her go. She strode back to the cliff edge, and then set off down some very steep stone steps, cut into the cliff face itself. She hurried ahead of me, not waiting for me to catch up. I pressed my shoulder hard against the cliff face, to keep from straying too close to the edge, and the long drop. The gusting, bitterly cold wind hit me hard, ruffling my hair and plucking at my clothes. The steps just seemed to fall away forever, and by the time I finally reached the bottom and stepped off onto the beach, my legs were aching fiercely.

Molly stood with her back to me, farther down the beach, just short of the incoming tide, looking out at the great crashing waves. I took my time, stretching my back and stamping my feet to ease the kinks out of my leg muscles. Finally, I moved forward to join Molly. She didn’t say anything. I looked around me. Not a stretch of sand anywhere on Trammell Island beach; just dark pebbles, for as far as the eye could see, interrupted here and there with great swatches of ugly green and brown seaweed, washed up by the heavy tides as they pounded up and down the beach. Not a living thing to be seen anywhere—no crabs, or lobsters. Not even a gull in the sky overhead. The overcast sky was darkening from evening into night, but there was still enough light to see there was nothing much to see.

I picked up a pebble, hefted it thoughtfully, and then sent it flying out across the uneven surface of the waters. It bounced several times, before sinking. After a moment Molly bent down, picked up a pebble of her own, and threw it out across the sea. Her pebble bounced a lot farther than mine. For a while we just stood there, throwing pebbles with all our strength, trying to outdo each other. Neither of us could manage much in the way of distance; the huge waves just snatched at the pebbles and dragged them under. The tide was coming in. I stooped down for another pebble, and a length of seaweed curled suddenly around my hand and clamped down, painfully tight. I had to use both hands to break the seaweed’s grip, and throw it aside. It was tough and springy, and unnaturally strong.

“There are those who say you can use seaweed to tell the weather,” said Molly.

“Oh yes?” I said. “Like, if it’s wet, it must be raining?”

“Something like that,” said Molly. “Tell me, Shaman—what are we doing here?”

“Here on the beach, or here on the Island?” I said, carefully.

“You don’t like Hadrian, do you?”

“I don’t trust him,” I said. “But then, I don’t trust any of the next generation, either. We’re here to do a job, Molly.”

“Hadrian was my first tutor. He taught me so much. My parents admired him. I think he was the closest friend they ever had.”

“A lot of people trusted him, in a lot of organisations, most of which aren’t around any longer. He was a very dangerous man, Molly. He still has a bad reputation in many parts of the world.”

“So do I,” said Molly.

“You always believed in your cause,” I said. “Hadrian Coll, aka Trickster Man, let us not forget . . . claimed to believe in a great many causes down the years. But somehow he was never there when the authorities closed in to round up the groups and make them pay for their crimes. I’m . . . not convinced by him. He has the feel of a professional politician. The kind who’ll say anything, do anything, that will advance his cause. Whatever that might turn out to be. I don’t trust this man, Molly, and I don’t think you should either.”