Property of a Lady Faire: A Secret Histories Novel

by Simon R. Green

  “I think you’ll find they do,” murmured the Librarian.

  “We’ll get to you in a moment, Maggie,” said the Armourer, entirely unmoved by her raised voice at close quarters. He was used to dealing with excitable lab assistants, and they went armed. He looked around the table, at each of us in turn. “As Martha’s only surviving child, I have been declared executor of her will, with authority over all matters arising.”

  “Why has it taken so long to get around to the reading?” I said, just a bit pointedly.

  “The family’s been a bit busy, of late,” said the Sarjeant.

  “Not that busy,” I said.

  “There are a great many traditional family protocols, for when a Matriarch dies,” said the Armourer. “And even more, for when one is murdered. There were . . . security aspects that had to be dealt with first. And even after that, there were certain conditions that had to be addressed, connected to the will. Mother always did believe in thinking ahead. I have already taken care of most of the relevant details, but there are a few clauses in the will so important that they require each of you to be present for the reading. So here we all are.”

  He produced a large parchment scroll, apparently from nowhere, and placed it carefully on the table before us. He unrolled the thick brown parchment slowly, and considered the contents thoughtfully. I could just make out Grandmother’s distinctive spiky handwriting. The Armourer took a deep breath, and then plunged right in, beginning with Martha’s statement of intent. All the usual stuff about being of sound body and mind (both of which I would have happily disputed, given the chance). And then he got down to the good stuff.

  “It is my firm belief,” said the Armourer, reading out Martha Drood’s words in a calm, controlled voice, “that my position as Matriarch should be inherited by the next in line. Which, given that I have had the misfortune to outlive all the other candidates, falls on Margaret Drood, also known as Capability Maggie.”

  We all sat up straight at that, and looked at Maggie. She glared right back at us.

  “I don’t want it! Is that why I’m here? Really? I don’t want to be the Matriarch, and have to run this batshit insane family! I am perfectly happy where I am, looking after the grounds. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. Let someone else be Matriarch!”

  “Told you,” said William, to no one in particular.

  I gave the Armourer a hard look. “I thought we’d all agreed that having a Matriarch in charge of this family is a really bad idea. Because the position is far too open to abuse of power. Martha being a really good example! My own grandmother tried to have me killed!”

  “For the good of the family,” said the Sarjeant-at-Arms.

  I gave him a hard look, and he stirred uneasily in his chair, despite himself.

  “Don’t push your luck, Cedric,” I said.

  “I’m sorry, Eddie,” said the Armourer. “But having a ruling Council in charge . . . just isn’t working. You’re not here often enough to see how badly it isn’t working. We all have our own jobs to do, our own duties and responsibilities inside the family. You wouldn’t believe how difficult it is, just to get everyone together in the same place for a meeting. And it’s even more difficult to get a decision made. On anything! As a result, decisions tend to get made by whoever turns up. And then get changed, or overturned, by whoever turns up next! The family needs one person in charge, who can set general policy and give the job their full attention. The Council will still be there, to offer advice and keep an eye on things . . .”

  “Oh, of course,” I said. “Because that’s always worked so well in the past.”

  The Armourer sighed loudly. “I know you believe in democracy within the family, Eddie. So do I. But you know as well as I do that if we did put this to the general vote, the family as a whole would just vote to appoint a new Matriarch. Because that’s what they know, and that’s what they feel safe with. You can’t impose democracy; they have to want it. And most of them aren’t ready yet. Real change . . . takes time.”

  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 . . .”

  “There’s more,” said the Armourer.

  “Of course there is,” I said. “Can everyone hear that sound? That is the sound of my heart, sinking.”

  “The clause in Martha’s will that leaves you the box has a very definite condition attached,” said the Armourer. His mouth pursed for a moment, in what looked very like a moue of distaste. “I am only authorised to give you this box, Eddie, on the condition that you agree to give up Molly Metcalf. And never see her again.”

  I looked at him and, give the man credit, whatever it was he was seeing in my face and in my eyes, his gaze didn’t waver one bit.

  “Okay,” I said. “You must know that’s never going to happen.”

  “Really?” said Maggie. “I mean, we are talking about undisputed control of the whole Drood family. Not that I want the job, of course.”

  “You must know you can’t ever marry the witch,” said the Sarjeant-at-Arms. And he surprised me there, by saying it in a fairly sympathetic tone. “There is no way Molly Metcalf can ever be a part of this family. Not after all the things she’s done. You could marry her without the family’s permission, of course, but then there would be no place for you here either.”

  “Really?” I said. “In this day and age?”

  “Remember what happened to James?” the Armourer said steadily. “When he insisted on marrying, against Mother’s wishes? To someone the family considered . . . unsuitable? James forced it through anyway, and in the end Mother went along, because he was the very best of our field agents, and because he always was her favourite . . . But they had to live outside the Hall. And after he lost her, and had to come back here because he had nowhere else to go . . . he was never the same, after that.”

  “Is the wild witch really more important to you than the family?” said the Sarjeant.

  “Hell, yes,” I said. “I can always trust Molly.”

  “Damn right!” said the Librarian firmly. “I would have walked out in a moment, if anyone had tried to keep me from marrying my Ammonia.”

  We all managed a tactful silence, there.

  “How typical of dear Grandma,” I said finally. “Still trying to run my life, even after her death. Still convinced she knows what’s best for me, and the family. Still trying to bribe or threaten me into doing what she wants . . . Yes. That settles it.”

  I pushed the box away from me, back towards the Armourer. He looked at me steadily, kindly.

  “Are you sure, Eddie?”

  “I never wanted to be Patriarch again,” I said. “And nothing that’s happened here has changed my mind. I don’t want to be in charge, and I don’t care what’s in the box.”

  “You’re not even curious?” said Maggie.

  “No,” I said. “Could be a cat that’s alive and dead at the same time, for all I care.” I looked at the Armourer. “Is that all?”

  “Yes,” said the Armourer. “There are a great many other clauses, but none that concern you directly.”

  “Then there’s no reason for me to hang around any longer, is there?” I said. “So, if you’ll excuse me . . . Molly is waiting.”

  I got up to leave, again. Everyone was staring at me, all of them shocked to some degree. Even the Librarian, in his own vague way. It was clear to me that none of them would have turned down the box if it had been offered to them, even if they would have used the power it gave them for quite different reasons. And equally clearly, they were all wondering why Martha hadn’t offered it to them . . .

  “What should we do with the box?” said the Armourer.

  “Disregarding all the obvious answers,” I said, “do your best to destroy it, Uncle Jack. And if you can’t, hide it away somewhere very secure, and never tell anyone what you did with it. Because no one in this family can be trusted with something that could give them undisputed control.”

  “How can you say that about the family?” said the Sarjeant.

  “Experience,” I said.

  I nodded cheerfully to Maggie, but she just glared at me.

  “By turning down that box, you’ve forced me to become Matriarch,” she said. “I’ll get you for this.”

  “Lots of people say that,” I said.

  I moved away from the table, and that was when the Sarjeant-at-Arms got up to face me. He moved carefully forward to block my way.

  “Before you go, Edwin, there is one further matter.”

  “Oh yes, Cedric?” I
said. “And what might that be?”

  “You have something that belongs to the family,” said the Sarjeant, calmly and coldly. “And we really can’t allow you to leave the Hall while you still have it in your possession.”

  “Really not with you,” I said. “What are we talking about, exactly?”

  “The Merlin Glass,” said the Armourer.

  He met my gaze steadily when I looked back at him. William was off somewhere else again. Or perhaps pretending to be, so he wouldn’t have to get involved. Maggie just looked confused.

  “Ethel?” I said. “You’ve been very quiet through all this.”

  “None of my business,” said the voice from the rosy red glow. “This is human stuff. I don’t get involved.”

  I turned my attention back to the Sarjeant. “What brought this on, Cedric?”

  “New Matriarch, new rules,” he said. “Can’t have something as powerful as the Merlin Glass out of our hands while a new Matriarch is finding her feet. When the Armourer first gave you the Glass, it was never intended you should keep it for your own exclusive use . . . The Glass was a gift from Merlin to the Droods, and it belongs with the family.”

  I looked at the Armourer again. “This wasn’t your idea, was it, Uncle Jack?”

  “This was a Council decision,” the Armourer said carefully. “We all agreed. You can’t keep the Glass, Eddie.”

  “Are you worried I might use it to bring down the Matriarch if I decide I disapprove?” I said.

  “A wise man covers all the options,” said the Sarjeant.

  “So we decided to ask for the Glass back, while we’re all together here,” said the Armourer.

  “Ask?” I said.

  “We’re being polite,” said the Sarjeant-at-Arms. “For now.”

  “You’re talking like you’ll never get another chance,” I said. “I will be back. We can discuss this then.”

  “We know where you’re going,” said the Sarjeant. “You’re going to the Department of Uncanny to talk to the Regent of Shadows. To get answers out of him. We don’t care about that. Skin him alive, for all I care. But you can’t use one of the family’s most powerful weapons for your own private war. Give it up, Edwin. That is a Council order.”