I tried the door, and to my surprise it opened easily. In the old days, I had to put my shoulder to the heavy wood just to get it to move. Because I was the only one who ever used it. But now all the old gloom was gone, dismissed by newly installed electric lighting, and the interior looked completely different. There used to be a pile of old wooden pews stacked against the far wall, and a big black leather recliner chair, where Jacob would slump at his ease and watch the memories of old television shows on a set that didn’t even have any workings. And an old-fashioned freezer, somehow always full of ethereal booze. For a ghost, Jacob really did like his comforts. But all of that was gone now. The place had been cleaned up and cleared out. Someone had even swept the floor, revealing old flagstones worn smooth in places by massed bent knees.
The Matriarch was sitting at the back of the Chapel, behind a richly polished mahogany desk. Complete with telephones and a laptop so she would never be out of touch. She sat up straight in her chair, her hands together and resting on the tabletop before her. She looked calm and composed, with everything she had to say carefully rehearsed in her head so she could shut down any objections I might have before they could get off the ground. The Sarjeant went to stand beside her, holding himself at parade rest. The Armourer, Maxwell and Victoria, sat side by side before the table. Close enough that they could still hold hands. I had to wonder whether that was an affectation, or whether I’d always been too old for love’s young dream. Love, real love, came somewhat late in life for me. I glanced round to make sure Molly was still at my side, and she smiled and slipped a reassuring arm through mine. I looked back at Maxwell and Victoria; they seemed younger than ever in such a formal setting.
Which was more than could be said for the old gentleman sitting opposite them; he looked tired and fretful and out of place. Though it had to be said William the Librarian did appear pretty spruce, for once. In a heavy tweed suit, a clean white shirt, a peach cravat held in place by a diamond pin . . . and fluffy pink bunny slippers. Suggesting his ongoing rehabilitation to civilised behaviour wasn’t entirely complete just yet. His bushy white hair had been attacked with a brush and comb and partially subdued, and someone had shaved him recently. His gaze was clear and his mouth was firm, but there was still an air of vagueness about him, as though he were trying to remember why he was there. Or why he’d ever thought turning up was a good idea in the first place.
The reason for the general improvement stood beside him; his wife, Ammonia Vom Acht. The most powerful telepath in the world. Ugly as a bulldog licking piss off a thistle and about as convivial, Ammonia had a square, almost brutal face, not improved by a permanent thunderous frown. Short and squat in her shapeless grey suit, Ammonia was still an impressive, striking figure. She and William were devoted to each other. And there was no denying she’d been good for him. The Librarian was a lot more himself these days. It amazed me to think how far he’d come since I brought him back from where he’d been hiding, at the Happy Acres high-security institute for the criminally insane.
Technically speaking, Ammonia shouldn’t have been present at a Council meeting. Just marrying a Drood wasn’t enough to make you family. But as she was only a psychic sending, and not physically present, everyone made allowances. Because Ammonia didn’t give them any choice. Her image looked real enough, until you noticed her feet didn’t quite reach the floor. Because of her incredible telepathic abilities, Ammonia couldn’t bear to be around people. She lived alone in a cottage on the coast, miles from everywhere, and preferred to limit her travelling to her spirit form. She looked solid enough. I had to resist the urge to give her a quick prod, just to check. She looked at me coldly, as though she knew what I was thinking. I quickly turned my gaze to the Matriarch.
“Where are the Heads of the War Room and Operations?” I said. “Shouldn’t they be here? They were still part of your advisory Council, last I heard.”
“They’re busy,” said the Matriarch. “Clearing up the mess in the field left by Cassandra’s interference. I’ll brief them later. Take a seat.”
I stood my ground. “Why are we meeting here, of all places?”
“Because this location is steeped in ghostly energies and temporal complications, thanks to Jacob’s peculiar afterlife existence,” said the Matriarch. “The psychic plane is so saturated with information, it should be impossible for anyone to observe us.”
“Including Ethel?” I said.
“Yes,” said the Matriarch.
“Is that right, Ethel?” I said.
There was a long pause. Everyone’s head came up, listening, but response came there none.
“What is going on?” I said.
“I’ll tell you when you return from your mission,” said the Matriarch.
“Why not tell me now?”
“Because you’re going to speak to Ethel about your condition before you leave. I would.”
“Am I not supposed to tell her what we discuss here?” I said.
“That would be wisest,” said the Matriarch.
She gestured again at the two empty chairs set out before her table. Set out exactly half-way between the Armourer and the Librarian. I decided I’d pushed her as far as I usefully could, and sat down. Molly settled onto the chair next to me, as stiff and watchful as a suspicious cat. I looked at Maxwell and Victoria, but they didn’t want to meet my gaze. William reached out to pat me on the arm, as though reassuring a restless dog.
“I’ve been ransacking the Library ever since I heard, looking for something to help you, Eddie. Found all kinds of interesting things. None of them particularly helpful as yet, but . . . early days. It’s a big Library. In fact, I’m not even sure just how big the Old Library really is. I have a suspicion the boundaries move when I’m not looking. My assistant, Yorith . . . You remember Yorith? Of course you do . . . He’s searching through some of the more arcane areas while I’m here.” He stopped to look meaningfully at the Matriarch. “I still don’t know why my presence was deemed so damned essential. You’ll do what you decide to do, whatever any of us have to say. Just like always.”
“I value your opinions,” said the Matriarch.
“Then you should pay more attention to them,” said the Librarian.
“Hush, dear,” said Ammonia. Her hand hovered just above his shoulder, and he settled a little at the seeming touch. “We need to get on with this, William. So Eddie can get on with what he has to do.”
“Of course,” said the Librarian. “Sorry, Eddie.”
“We are still pursuing a number of promising leads!” Maxwell said loudly. “Very promising! The lab assistants have dropped everything else.”
“You must come down to the Armoury before you leave, Eddie,” said Victoria. “You really must. We’ll have something for you.”
“To help you on your mission,” said Maxwell.
“Something useful,” said Victoria.
“We are all doing our best for you, Eddie,” said the Sarjeant. “The whole family is outraged at what has been done to you. An attack on one Drood is an attack on us all.”
“Are you so outraged because I’ve been poisoned?” I said. “Or because Dr DOA got to me despite all your vaunted security?”
“We will throw all of the family’s resources into tracking down your attacker,” said the Matriarch. Which, I noted, wasn’t exactly an answer to my question. “I know you feel the need to pursue this case yourself. But should the worse come to the worst, and Dr DOA is able to hide himself until you are no longer capable of going after him . . . I promise you, the family will continue the hunt for as long as it takes. He can’t hide from all of us.”
“You couldn’t see him when he was here in the Hall, right under your noses!” Molly said angrily. “If Eddie hadn’t collapsed, and if I hadn’t insisted on a complete medical check, you’d never have known Dr DOA was ever here!”
There was a pause as everyone t
ook it in turns not to look at one another. I like to think they were feeling guilty, rather than just caught out.
“All of our security protocols are being overhauled,” said the Sarjeant. “All protections and defences are being seriously upgraded as we speak.”
“After the horse has sneaked in and out,” I said.
“Have you found any trace of Dr DOA yet?” said Molly.
“No,” said the Sarjeant. “No sign he ever set foot inside the Hall. Which is . . . disturbing. Before today, I would have said that was impossible.”
“Your parents are currently in London, Eddie,” said the Matriarch. “Putting together a new Department of Uncanny, under their leadership. We are endeavouring to contact them, to tell them what’s happened. So they can come back. They will be here waiting for you, when you return.”
It was nice of her to say when, instead of if.
“I’ll turn the Library upside down if that’s what it takes to find some cure, some answer!” said William. “There has to be something in the records! Nothing is ever really new. Everything comes from somewhere. The poison must have been used before, must have been developed and tested . . . If the family has ever encountered it, there’ll be a record somewhere. And I will find it!”
“There’s always the Pook,” Molly said suddenly.
There was a long pause as we all thought about the strange rogue presence that sometimes appeared in the Old Library. That old spirit, which sometimes makes itself known as a giant white rabbit. Terribly powerful and sometimes worryingly terrible in its aspect.
“We still don’t know exactly what the Pook is,” the Matriarch said carefully.
“Or what its true intentions are,” said the Sarjeant. “We know it followed William home from the asylum. Which doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence that it is what it appears to be.”
“Whatever that is,” said the Matriarch.
“I trust him,” said the Librarian.
“You would,” said the Matriarch.
I looked to Ammonia. “You’ve spent time inside William’s head. You’ve seen the Pook through his eyes. What do you think?”
“It’s an old power,” Ammonia said slowly. “Older than the Droods. It scares me. I think the Pook, or what we see of it, is only what it allows us to see. The tip of the iceberg. The smile on the face of the tiger.”
“I will ask the Pook if he can help you, Eddie,” said William. “But whether he’ll answer . . .”
“What are things coming to?” I said. “When my best bet for survival would seem to be an invisible giant white rabbit that might or might not actually exist?”
“Yes, well,” said the Librarian, “that’s the Drood life for you.”
“I am receiving constant updates on your condition from Dr Mary, Eddie,” said the Matriarch. “Representing all the medical teams. I’ve got every department in the family working on this. There’s always a chance someone will come up with something. We have a wide range of your blood and tissue samples, taken while you were unconscious.”
“Good,” I said. “Because you’re not getting any more. Hate needles.”
“I will reach out to the telepathic community,” said Ammonia. “Have them search for Dr DOA. For any knowledge of where he is, who he is, and, more importantly, who hired him. After all, Dr DOA is just the weapon, not the killer.”
I liked what she was saying, but it still came as something of a surprise. I hadn’t even known there was a community of telepaths. Beyond a certain point, telepaths tend to be solitary creatures, for their own mental protection. To keep the world’s voices outside their heads. They go their own way, like cats, highly individual and fiercely independent.
“We don’t congregate,” said Ammonia, “but we do communicate. We don’t need to meet in person, because we’re never more than a thought away.”
“Could Dr DOA be a telepath?” said Molly. “Could that be how he hides from people, and how he passed unnoticed inside the Hall? Because he can make people not see he’s there?”
“Our psychics would have detected his presence,” said the Sarjeant.
“Not necessarily,” said Ammonia. “Not if he was a high-functioning telepath. There was a time I would have said it was impossible for any telepath that powerful to appear out of nowhere and not be noticed, but that was before Eddie found the artificially created telepath working at Lark Hill. The world is always moving on, leaving the rest of us to play catch-up. Not every telepath wants to be known . . .”
“You made a good point, about who hired Dr DOA,” said the Sarjeant. “There has to be a clue in that. Who wants Eddie dead that badly? Why him, of all of us, and why now? Why not go after someone more important in the family, while he had the chance? He could have taken out any number of us . . . Hell, he could have poisoned us all!”
“Maybe one poisoning was all he could manage without being noticed,” said Molly. “Anything more might have attracted attention, revealed his presence. Maybe even caught Ethel’s attention. That’s a point . . . Why didn’t she detect his presence?”
“Good question,” said the Matriarch. “Perhaps you should ask her.”
“Haven’t you asked her?” I said.
The Matriarch made a point of moving on. “Everyone here has been checked; we’re all free of the poison. The entire family is currently undergoing tests, just in case. And all agents out in the field are being called in, the moment they’ve completed their missions. On the off chance Dr DOA might be targeting field operatives.”
“The question remains,” said the Sarjeant. “Who wants Eddie dead so badly? You’ve made your share of enemies, Eddie; it comes with the job and the territory. But I would have said the truly dangerous ones were all dead.”
“They are, as far as I know,” I said. “The kind of cases I get, you can’t afford to leave any of the really bad guys alive. Or the bad stuff will just start happening again. That’s one of the reasons why I decided I wasn’t going to kill any more. Too much blood on my hands.”
“The family has never asked you to do anything that wasn’t necessary,” said the Sarjeant. “Nothing that any member of the family shouldn’t be prepared to do. For the greater good.”
“But the family didn’t do it,” I said. “I did. And sometimes, when I look back . . . all I can see are the ghosts lined up behind me.”
The Matriarch leaned suddenly forward across her table, fixing me with her cool, implacable gaze. “I give you my word, Eddie. The family will not rest until everyone involved in your murder is caught and punished. No one does this to a Drood and gets away with it.”
“Are you doing this for me?” I said. “Or to protect the family’s reputation?”
“Yes,” said the Matriarch. She sat back in her chair again and regarded me thoughtfully. “Where will you begin your search?”
“The Sarjeant’s right,” I said. “The answer must lie somewhere in my past. Some case I worked, some mission left unfinished, some enemy I didn’t kill that I should have. Or perhaps someone I did kill that I shouldn’t have. I’ll have to think about it.”
“In the meantime,” said Molly, “we go looking for answers. Talk to people who know things. The Wulfshead Club is always the best place to start.”
“Do I really need to tell you to be discreet?” said the Matriarch. “It wouldn’t be good for our reputation if people discovered an assassin was able to poison one of us inside our own Hall.”
“It wouldn’t be good for people to know a Drood can be killed,” said the Sarjeant. “The protection our armour gives us is one of our most important weapons.”
“We know how to be discreet,” I said.
“It’s just that normally we don’t bother,” said Molly.
“True,” I said. “But just for you, Maggie, for the family, we’ll give it a shot.”
“If necessary,” sai
d the Sarjeant, “I will avenge you, Eddie. Personally. I will find your killer and pour his heart’s blood on your resting place.”
Everyone nodded sternly in agreement. Looking around the Chapel, I could see genuine anger and resolve in all their faces. I was touched to see how upset everyone was on my behalf.
“I never knew you cared,” I said.
“We’re your family,” said the Matriarch. “You’ve done so much for us; we have to do this for you.”
* * *
There was some more talk, but it just went round and round without getting anywhere. So I stood up and said I was leaving. Molly was immediately out of her chair and on her feet beside me. The Matriarch and her Council fell silent, and then one by one, they wished me luck and said good-bye. Trying hard not to sound like it was for the last time.
I left the Chapel with Molly, closed the door firmly, and strode off into the grounds again. Every time I left my family, it felt like a weight coming off my shoulders. And I was carrying enough burdens as it was. Right now they might mean well, but I always remember which road is paved with good intentions. I walked for a while, though I went nowhere in particular, just putting some distance between me and the Hall. Molly glanced up at the leaden skies.
“Looks like it might snow soon.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas. Hell of a present I got this year.”
“We’ll just have to find the receipt,” said Molly. “So you can give it back.”
We shared a smile. We had to keep it light, or we’d both go crazy.
“You know,” Molly said carefully, “we don’t have to do this alone. I mean, just this once it might be better to work with your family. Use its resources. Have other field agents do the actual legwork while you stay here at the Hall and orchestrate things. So you’d never be far from help.”
“No,” I said immediately. “I told you, no hospital bed for me. I need to be out of here, doing something. I need to keep myself occupied. It keeps me from thinking too much. And anyway, we do have to do this for ourselves. Run our own separate investigation into what’s really going on. Because it’s always possible someone in my family might be behind this. That would explain how I could be poisoned inside Drood Hall despite all the security, and why no one noticed anything.”