Property of a Lady Faire (A Secret Histories Novel) (7 page)

BOOK: Property of a Lady Faire (A Secret Histories Novel)
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“Visiting the Regent, my Grandfather, in search of answers . . . is next on my list of things to do,” I said. “Right after I’ve talked to the Council.”

“You had time to stop off for a drink at the Wulfshead,” said Molly, still not looking at me.

“That was business,” I said. “And this spying on me is becoming less charming by the moment.”

Molly turned her head to scowl at me, her dark eyes flashing dangerously. “You promised me that when we got back from France, we’d go straight to Uncanny and get some straight answers out of the Regent! I want to know who gave him the order to execute my mother and father! I want to know exactly who in your family was responsible!”

“And we will,” I said. “I promised. But first, loath as I am to admit it, I do have duties and responsibilities to my family.”

She looked away again. “That’s always been your problem, Eddie. Always one more mission, one more thing that needs doing . . .”

“Molly . . .”

“Cut the cord, Eddie! Before I decide to do it for you, and in a way you won’t like. What’s holding you here?”

“Right now?” I said.

“You didn’t have to come back here for a debriefing, and you know it!”

“You’re right,” I said. “I’m here because I was called back to attend the reading of my grandmother’s will. The mission was just something to keep me busy till all the paperwork was in order.”

Molly looked at me blankly. “But . . . Martha was killed ages ago! And they’re only now getting around to the reading of the will? Why has it taken so long?”

“Things move slowly inside the family,” I said. “Customs and protocols, and all that. And to be fair, we have all been very busy. Anyway, I have to be present for the reading, because apparently I’m mentioned in the will.”

“Ooh!” said Molly, brightening immediately. “Any chance she’s left you some money?”

“What do we need with money?” I said, suddenly suspicious. “Last time I looked, we had enough tucked away to last several lifetimes. Have you been shopping in the Nightside again?”

“Of course we don’t need the money,” said Molly, her voice maddeningly calm and reasonable. “It’s the principle of the thing.”

“No, it isn’t,” I said. “With you, it’s never the principle of the thing. It’s always all about the money!”

“So you do think she’s left you something!”

“I don’t know,” I said. “The Armourer just said I was . . . mentioned in the will. And knowing Grandmother, almost certainly not in a good way.”

Molly looked at me thoughtfully. “You know, most people have two sets of grandparents. I know the Regent, your grandfather Arthur, was Martha’s first husband. Before she kicked him out of the family, and married Alistair . . . and that Emily was her daughter by that first marriage, who married your father, Charles . . . Or Diana and Patrick as they now like to be known . . . God, your family’s complicated, Eddie. But where are your father’s parents? What about his family?”

“Good question,” I said. “I have no idea. The Droods never like to talk about outside relatives. Inside the Hall, it’s only Droods who matter. Makes it easier to instill family loyalty and duty. I grew up thinking both my parents were dead, and my family never wanted to talk about either of them. When I finally got to meet my parents, there just wasn’t time to stop and talk . . . And since they’ve gone missing again . . .”

“Complicated,” said Molly. “Very complicated.”

“It is something I think about,” I said. “I like to believe that there’s another family, out there in the world somewhere. People I could go to if I ever did turn my back on the Droods.”

“Are you thinking of leaving, Eddie?” asked Molly, not quite as casually as I think she intended. “I mean, you know I’m all in favour of that, but working for the Department of Uncanny didn’t really work out. Did it?”

“No,” I said. “The Regent lied to me almost as much as the Droods did. But I would like to have the option to leave; if only I knew for sure there was somewhere else for me to go . . .”

Molly smiled at me brilliantly and slipped a companionable arm through mine, and I knew I was forgiven. For the moment.

“Come on,” she said briskly. “Let’s do this. Get it done, and over with, so we can concentrate on the things that really matter. I wonder how much your grandmother’s left you . . .”

“I’m really not going to like it when next month’s bills come in, am I?” I said.

“All I ever inherited from my family were two sisters who always irritated the crap out of me,” said Molly.

“You never talk much about your family,” I said.

“Bunch of deadbeats and hangers-on,” she said. “I’d divorce the lot of them if I could just find a lawyer who wasn’t afraid of them.”

• • •

We strode briskly across the lawn, heading for Drood Hall. I could hear one of the underground robot gun emplacements, directly under our feet, stirring restlessly as we passed over it. I was safe enough, as a Drood, but the robot sensors didn’t approve of Molly. The robot gun would probably have liked to come up out of the ground to take a good look at her, but it was just sentient enough to be very wary of her. Even the peacocks backed away, to give her plenty of room. Which made me think . . . and take a good look around. The huge grassy lawns stretched off into the distance, open and empty. Not a Drood to be seen anywhere—which was just a bit odd, on such a lovely summer’s afternoon. Where was everyone? Which, of course, led me on to another thought.

“Molly,” I said carefully, “where are your sisters right now?”

“No need to look over your shoulder, sweetie,” said Molly, smiling. “I would warn you if there was any danger of them dropping in. If only so that you could keep up with me once I started running. No, the last I heard, Isabella had bullied her way onto an archaeological dig somewhere in darkest Peru, in search of the Great Demon Bear. And Louisa is currently scuba-diving among the sunken remains of the city of Lyonesse, somewhere off the Cornwall coast.”

“At least she won’t be bothering anyone there,” I said.

Molly laughed briefly. “You’ve never been to Lyonesse, have you?”

And then we both looked up sharply as a flying saucer went tumbling through the sky overhead. Just a small one, not much bigger than a London bus, covered with all kinds of crackling lights. It shot this way and that, turned rapidly end over end, circled the Hall twice, and then dived down for a not particularly dangerous crash landing on one of the empty arrival pads on the Hall roof. Dazzling colours blew off in every direction, exploding in the sky like so many silent fireworks. Two teenage girls on winged unicorns quickly appeared on the scene, and hovered overhead while spraying the scene with anti-radiation foam, from long nozzles attached to sturdy packs on the unicorns’ sides. Nobody emerged from the crashed flying saucer. Probably too embarrassed.

“A flying saucer?” said Molly. “Some of your lot, or just Visitors?”

“It’s questions like that,” I said, moving on, “that remind me why I prefer to stay away . . .”

The front door loomed up before us—the main entrance to Drood Hall, and everything it contained. I took a deep breath, and braced myself.

“Look,” I said to Molly, “I have to go in and see my family. You don’t. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go back and wait in your nice safe private forest, until all the shouting and bad temper has subsided?”

“Nonsense!” Molly said immediately. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I promise I’ll stand at the back, and be very quiet, and not attack anyone unless I feel I absolutely have to. Come on—a chance to watch your family lose their temper with each other, like the arrogant, entitled, elitist scum they are? I never miss a chance to feel superior . . . Besides, you really think I’d let you walk into the lions’ den on your own? It’s my job to watch your back, against friends and enemies and family.” She squeezed my arm against her side possessively. “What do you think the previous Matriarch of all the Droods has left you in her will, Eddie?”

“Nothing I’d want, knowing her,” I said.

“Maybe she’s appointed you her official successor and made you head of the whole Drood family!”

“Only if she was really mad at me . . .”

• • •

I kicked the main door in, and Molly and I strode into Drood Hall like we were thinking of repossessing the place. I was immediately surprised to discover that there was no one there to meet us. Or to try to stop us from entering. It’s usually one or the other. The Sarjeant-at-Arms was nearly always waiting, to say something sardonic and offensive, as though he felt it was his duty to make sure I knew I was not at all welcome. Like I needed him to tell me that. At the very least, the Sarjeant usually preferred to escort me through the Hall, to make sure I didn’t go anywhere the family didn’t want me going. It’s not like he could actually stop me doing any damned thing I felt like, including stuffing some of the family silver in a big bag marked
Swag
and making off with it, but we both usually went along. For the good of the family.

But it’s when there’s no one around that I know for sure something’s going on. Something I’m really not going to approve of.

First rule of an agent: Never let them see they’ve got you worried. I stuck my nose in the air and strode through the shadowy vestibule, and on into the main hallway, with Molly still hanging determinedly onto my arm. Light streamed in through dozens of long, narrow stained-glass windows, shimmering spotlights stabbing through the gloom, filling the long corridor with all the colours of the rainbow. Many of the stained-glass scenes depicted significant moments in my family’s long history, all the heroes and legends of Drood times. The secret history of the world. After that, it was row upon row of paintings and portraits, showing off honoured family members. Most of them looking dour or constipated, with not a single smile to be seen among the lot of them. The fashions changed as the centuries passed, but they all did their best to look like secret masters of the world.

Eventually portraits gave way to photographs, as the more modern generations appeared. And it was only when I got to the very end of the hallway that I spotted the small gap on one wall, where the photo of my parents used to be.

I remembered that photo. When I was a child growing up in Drood Hall, it was all I had to remember my father and mother by. The two of them together, not much older than I am now, smiling happily . . . And now the photo was gone, and they were gone, airbrushed out of Drood history.

I stood before the empty gap on the wall, staring at nothing, feeling like I’d just been punched in the heart. I had no other photo of my mother and my father. It had been allowed to hang there as long as the family thought they were honourably dead, lost in action in the field. But now we all knew they were alive, and working for the Department of Uncanny, the family had turned its back on them. Made them non-persons. Because no one is allowed to walk away from the family. After a while, Molly squeezed my arm reassuringly, and we walked on.

People started to appear, in the corridors and open spaces, as we made our way deeper into the Hall. Men and women hurried back and forth on family business, all of them far too busy to stop and chat. Some actually jumped skittishly when I looked at them. Some faces I recognised, and some I didn’t. We’re a big family. So big we have our own monthly in-Hall magazine,
Drood Times
. A big glossy thing, distributed only within the family. In fact, all copies are programmed to self-destruct if they’re touched by anyone without Drood DNA. The magazine is full of family doings, always bright and cheerful, and packed with the latest gossip—and it depresses me beyond words. I don’t tend to appear in it much, except as a Bad Example.

Of course I read it every month. Know thy enemy . . .

I smiled and nodded to one and all, and kept going. Some smiled and nodded back; some didn’t. Molly doesn’t really do the smiling and nodding thing, even under the best of circumstances. She just scowled around her, and the Droods who recognised her put on a really impressive burst of speed.

I kept a cautious eye on Molly, just in case she decided she’d been insulted, but she seemed far more interested in the many rare and expensive works of art that pop up everywhere in the Hall. Paintings and statues by world Masters, all of which have never seen the inside of a museum or gallery, and whose existence here explains certain gaps in the Masters’ official output. Tribute, from a grateful world and its governments. Or placations, to please leave them alone. Depends on how you look at it. I didn’t like the thoughtful way Molly was looking at some of the more easily moveable pieces, or the frankly larcenous look in her eye. So I hurried her along, just a little, in case her fingers started itching.

• • •

Finally, we came to the heart of Drood Hall, the great open chamber called the Sanctity. Off-limits to pretty much all the family, these days, except for the ruling Council. The Sanctity, where all the things that really matter are decided. Two large and muscular young Droods were standing guard in front of the closed double doors, and they both slammed to attention as Molly and I approached. They were trying hard to look brave and bold and officious, and not at all terribly worried. For all their size and bulk, they both looked like they really didn’t want to be there. Doing what they were doing. Whatever that turned out to be. They stood their ground as Molly and I walked right up to them, determined to do their duty. They were Droods, after all.

“Edwin Drood, we recognise you!” the guard on the left said loudly. “We acknowledge your right to enter the Sanctity!”

“Well,” I said, “that’s nice. But then, I’ve always had that right. Really didn’t need you to tell me that. Why are you guarding the Sanctity? Has someone tried to steal it?”

The guard swallowed hard, and pressed on with his carefully rehearsed speech, in an only slightly strangulated tone of voice.

“However, it is my duty to inform you, it has been decided by the Council that while you may enter for the reading of the Matriarch’s will, Molly Metcalf may not. We have been given specific instructions that she is not to be allowed into the Sanctity.”

BOOK: Property of a Lady Faire (A Secret Histories Novel)
13.03Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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