Scraps.2 was sitting quietly on his own. The robot dog had been there all along, watching everything with his glowing red eyes. I wasn’t sure how much he’d understood about what was happening. I pointed him out to the Matriarch.
“Who’s going to look after the Armourer’s dog now?” I said.
“Oh, don’t worry,” said Maxwell, moving over to join us. “Victoria and I have already decided he can stay with us. In the Armoury.”
“We’ll look after him,” said Victoria.
Scraps.2 rose to his feet and padded unhurriedly over to join them. He didn’t seem too enthusiastic about the idea, but it was hard to read anything in his inflexible metal face. Maxwell and Victoria headed off to find the right copse to scatter the Armourer’s ashes. Scraps.2 started after them, and then paused and turned his head to look back at me.
“Don’t worry, Eddie,” he said. “I’ll look after them.”
He padded after Maxwell and Victoria, and I just stood there and watched him go. It wasn’t just that this was the only time I’d ever heard him speak; it was that Scraps.2 had spoken with his master’s voice.
* * *
With the funeral over, the family broke up and everyone disappeared. Moving quickly off in different directions, going about their various business. In small groups, in couples, or on their own. As families will. Most of them went straight back to the Hall, of course; back to work. Because the family’s work was always waiting. The Grey Bastards disappeared through a series of briefly manifesting Doors. And a few of us just went wandering off through the grounds, to commune with nature for a while. Everyone mourns in their own way.
The Matriarch made a point of staying with me, for a few last words. Molly stuck close beside me.
“I have to say, I’m not pleased with your handling of the Big Ear business,” the Matriarch said flatly, “but I suppose you did the best you could, in a difficult position. I’m definitely annoyed that the Prime Minister tried to use us to clean up his mess. I really must ring him up later and put the hard word on him. I haven’t had good reason to make a world leader cry like a baby, so far.”
“It is one of the perks of the job, as Drood Matriarch,” I said solemnly.
“And I am most definitely not pleased that this Gemma Markham is doing the kind of job only Droods should be allowed to do,” the Matriarch said loudly. “Only we get to listen in on everybody, because only we can be trusted. And because mostly we don’t care. Eddie, you were ordered to bring the device here. Along with the telepath.”
“I couldn’t remove the device from Lark Hill,” I said steadily, “because Gemma needed it to do her job. And I didn’t feel right about removing her, in case I crippled this country’s ability to defend itself from terrorists.”
“You don’t get to decide policy like that,” said the Matriarch.
“I do when you can’t make up your mind in time,” I said. “It really doesn’t matter. We don’t need the device itself. Now that we know the government acquired it from Black Heir, we can lean on the organisation to find out where they got it, what they know about it, and how it works. Because you can bet they examined that device top and bottom, and inside and out, before they handed it over. And . . . now we know Black Heir has ambitions to become a Major Player in the hidden world. To be the new Department of Uncanny. Forewarned is forearmed.”
“Would that necessarily be such a bad thing?” said the Matriarch. “Somebody has to take over. Work isn’t being done that needs to be done, and someone has to take up the slack. At least Black Heir is a known organisation. They’re ambitious, but we can live with that.”
“What matters is they didn’t tell us about the device, and what it can do,” I said. “And they should have.”
“Good point,” said the Matriarch. “I can see I’m going to have to make another phone call, and make someone else cry hot tears of bitter shame before I’m through.”
We all walked back to the Hall. Along the way, we met up with the Serjeant-at-Arms. He presented the Matriarch with a thick sheaf of papers, and she leafed quickly through them as we walked.
“A lot of people have sent their regards . . . ,” she said. “Friends, and colleagues, and even a few enemies, from all over the world. And from a few places not anywhere in the world. The Armourer did get around . . . Word has got out very quickly, to the supernatural and the super-science communities. Jack knew a great many people outside the Hall, even though strictly speaking he wasn’t supposed to. And yes, Eddie, I do know all about his clandestine visits to the Nightside, and the London Knights, and a whole bunch of other places very much off-limits to members of this family. The previous Matriarch knew too. It never seemed worth making a fuss over. As long as he was . . . discreet, we thought it better to just let him go, rather than have a confrontation. Which might have led to us having to lay down the law and him defying us.”
I thought about that. “Do other people in the family . . . ?”
“Of course,” said the Serjeant-at-Arms. “Don’t ask, don’t tell. And above all, don’t get caught.”
“The Armourer touched the lives of a great many people,” said the Matriarch, still working her way through the thick sheaf of papers. “One way, or another . . . He was the last of the Old School Droods. Blunt instruments of Drood policy. A lot of people are going to miss him. A pity we couldn’t allow some of them to attend the ceremony . . . but it just wasn’t practical. We can’t have outsiders at a Drood ceremony, in Drood grounds.”
“I’m here!” Molly said immediately.
“Believe me,” said the Serjeant, “we noticed.”
“We made an exception for you,” said the Matriarch. “Because we have to.”
“Damn right,” said Molly.
“There’ll be a wake, in a few hours, for friends and colleagues and . . . others,” said the Serjeant. “At the Wulfshead Club. We’ve hired the place exclusively for the evening. Should be quite a do.”
“We’ll head over there later,” I said to Molly.
“Of course,” she said. “And then we’ll see the old man off properly.”
I stopped, and everyone else stumbled to a halt. They looked at me, as I looked out over the wide, sweeping grounds.
“You go on,” I said. “I’m not going back to the Hall, just yet. I think . . . I need to be by myself for a while. Take a little stroll around the grounds. Do some thinking.”
“Of course,” said the Matriarch. “We’ll talk more later, Eddie.”
“Looking forward to it,” I lied.
She moved on, with the Serjeant-at-Arms. Already forgetting me as they discussed existing business, and what the change in Armourer might mean to the family, and how it would affect ongoing operations. I found I felt a bit annoyed about that. It seemed disrespectful, with Jack only just dead. But the family goes on. Molly leaned in close and kissed me on the cheek.
“Go for your walk, Eddie. Take your time, say your good-byes. I’ll head on over to the Wulfshead, make sure they’re arranging things properly.”
She stepped back and disappeared. Gone in a moment. The air crashed in to fill the empty space where she’d been standing. I looked at where she’d been thoughtfully. It wasn’t supposed to be possible for an outsider to just teleport out of Drood grounds without permission. The standing defences and protections should have prevented it. But then, that was Molly for you. Always ready to do the impossible and make it look easy.
* * *
I wandered off into the grounds, across the great grassy lawns, past the huge flower beds with their intricate patterns of unusual and unnatural blooms. A large eye composed of almost unbearably colourful flowers winked slowly at me as I passed. Most of the family were gone now, and even the gryphons and peacocks had returned to their usual stomping grounds. Raucous noises floated on the still air as they made their presence known. I walked on, taking my time, not head
ing anywhere in particular. I was thinking about my uncle Jack. I wished we’d talked more. I wished I’d listened more. So many things I meant to ask him, or tell him, but I never did, because I always thought there’d be another time. Until suddenly there wasn’t.
I passed a small copse of quite unremarkable trees, not far from the lake, and there in the quiet patch of shade Maxwell and Victoria were taking it in turns to scatter Jack’s ashes from the small golden urn. They were being very solemn, and very efficient about it. Scraps.2 watched them work, lying on his back with all four metal legs in the air, for all the world like a real dog. I left them to it.
I wandered here and there, thinking about this and that, and couldn’t seem to make up my mind about anything. It was all too sudden, too raw . . . like a wound that needed time to heal. An important part of my life had been torn away, and that would take some getting used to.
I finally wound up standing before the great burial mound at the rear of the grounds, under which lay the dragon’s head I had brought back from Castle Frankenstein. I think he knew I was coming to see him before I did. He addressed me from inside his mound, the warm, friendly voice booming inside my head, expressing his regrets over Jack’s passing. Of course he knew the Armourer was dead. He was a dragon.
“Your human lives go by so quickly,” he said. “Mayfly moments, flickering through history . . . It amazes me you ever get anything done in such a short time. I shall miss Jack Drood. He did a lot for me. And he often came out here to talk to me. We learned so much from each other.”
“What did you talk about?” I said.
“We had a lot in common,” said the dragon. “We’d both seen the world change in so many ways since we were young. And we both understood that it’s never too late to make your mark.”
I thought about that, all the way back to the Hall.
* * *
Finally, because I’d run out of reasons not to, I went back into the Hall. I didn’t want to talk to my family, or share my private memories of the Armourer with them, but I knew it was required of me. Not by my family—I didn’t give a damn what they wanted—but because my uncle Jack would have expected it of me. He was always very firm on duty and responsibilities and family obligations. The upholding of family traditions. Except for when they got in the way of what he believed needed doing.
I found William the Librarian waiting for me just inside the entrance hall. He stood alone, still in his good suit, looking uncomfortable but determined. I looked around, but there was no sign anywhere of his assistant and part-time keeper, Yorith.
“I sent him away,” said William, without having to be asked. “You and I have private business, Eddie.”
“We do?” I said politely.
“Oh yes! Very definitely yes. Do we? Yes.”
He looked firm and focused enough, but there was still a certain vagueness in his eyes. I nodded slowly.
“Shouldn’t we be attending some terrible prepared buffet, with cold finger food and people making forced small talk?” I said. “That is what usually happens after a funeral, isn’t it?”
“Knowing this family, by now they’ll have descended on the free food like a swarm of locusts,” said the Librarian. “Let them. You and I have something far more important to do.”
“Oh yes?” I said, still being as polite as I could. “Like what, exactly? What could be so important now?”
“We have to clear out Jack’s room,” William said firmly. “Sort through his belongings and possessions, decide what to keep and what to throw away. Because Maxwell and Victoria are waiting to move in.”
Of course. I understood. It’s family tradition that when someone high up dies, their replacement takes over straightaway. In all private, as well as public, matters. It’s the only way some of us ever get a better room. There would be a whole series of upheavals in the Hall now, with people dragging suitcases and crates up and down the hallways as everyone moved up one. So I just nodded, and followed William up the stairs, all the way to the top floor. A room on the highest floor of the Hall was a mark of the exalted status the family afforded Jack, and not just as Armourer. He’d served the family in so many ways, for so many years. It’s all about seniority and respect.
Jack’s room turned out to be cosy and comfortable, with a large window and a really nice view out across the grounds. I knew people in the Hall who would kill for a window, with or without a really nice view. I stopped just inside the door and looked the room over. Decent-sized if characterless furniture, white walls, and a grey carpet. It all seemed very . . . tidy. As though Jack had hardly made an impression on the space.
William wandered around, looking at things, picking them up and putting them down again. After a while he realised I hadn’t moved from the door, and he stopped to look back at me.
“He wasn’t ever here much, you know. Spent all the hours he could down in the Armoury. Even kept a cot there, for emergencies. He did love his work . . . It was different, I think, back when he had Clara. Do you remember his wife, Clara?”
“Not really,” I said. “Did you know her, William?”
“I think so,” he said. “My memories still tend to come and go, but . . . yes, I’m pretty sure I knew her. A pleasant enough sort. You know, he should have had this carpet cleaned. Look at the state of it . . .”
“I haven’t been here in years,” I said. “Not since I was a kid. But nothing seems to have changed much. Why are we doing this, William? Why does it have to be us? Shouldn’t something like this be down to the Matriarch, or the Serjeant?”
“We get to do the honours,” said William, “because we were his friends. We knew him best.”
“You were his friend?” I said. “I never knew that.”
“Jack . . . liked to compartmentalise his life,” said the Librarian. “Kept things, and people, separate. Easier to keep secrets that way.”
“Secrets?” I said. “What kind of secrets?”
But William was already off again, bumbling around the room with vague eyes, as though expecting to see something he couldn’t quite remember.
I moved slowly forward, to look at the Armourer’s bed. It was still unmade, the blankets thrown back from where he’d got out of it just that morning. There was even a dent in the pillow, from where his head had rested. It seemed wrong to me that so many things could just go on when my uncle Jack didn’t. The world should have stopped, at least for a while, when he died. It was as though the world didn’t care. Didn’t realise what a marvellous thing it had lost.
“Your uncle Jack left you something,” William said suddenly.
“Yes, I know,” I said. “The Bentley.”
“No,” said the Librarian. “I meant this . . .”
I looked around. William was holding out an object to me, wrapped in rough cloth. The kind of rag Uncle Jack always kept handy to mop up spills. I took the object from the Librarian and carefully unwrapped it. And of course, it was the Merlin Glass. The silver-backed hand mirror looked innocently back at me. I studied the Glass for a long moment, and then looked at William. He shrugged quickly.
“Jack had it delivered to me, in the Library. Don’t ask me how; it was just . . . suddenly there. With a note saying I should get the Glass to you if anything should happen to him. I don’t think it was any kind of presentiment; he was just being cautious. Which is always a good idea, with something as powerful as the Merlin Glass. Can’t risk it falling into the wrong hands, hmm? According to the note, he hadn’t had time to do any work on the Glass . . . Presumably you know what that means.”
I nodded and put the Glass away in my pocket dimension. And then I carefully folded the piece of cloth and tucked that away too. Because it was the last thing Uncle Jack ever gave me. Of course, he would never have approved of such a gesture. He was never sentimental. I looked at William.
“Does the Matriarch know about the Glass?”
>
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll get around to telling her,” said the Librarian. “Eventually.”
“Maggie is taking her new role as Matriarch very seriously,” I said. “She won’t like things being kept from her.”
“Tough,” said William.
“I don’t want you getting into trouble on my behalf.”
“If the Matriarch is ever dumb enough to raise her voice to me,” William said calmly, “my wife will make Maggie think she’s a chicken. For a whole week. Besides, I’m crazy. Everyone knows that. I can’t be expected to remember everything. And I don’t. Really! I have witnesses!” He grinned at me. “Which can be a very useful mask to hide behind, on occasion.”
His voice was calm and rational. His face was everything a normal face should be. But there was still something about his eyes . . . I decided it was probably best to move on. William must have seen something in my face, because he nodded quickly.
“Is the Merlin Glass broken?” he said. “You really are very rough with your toys, Eddie.”
“It’s been . . . acting wilful, just recently,” I said.
“Oh, that is never good in an inanimate object,” William said cheerfully. “I’ll do some research once I’m back in the Library. Dig through some of the family’s oldest annals and see what I can turn up on the Glass’ earliest history. Maybe I can finally discover just why Merlin Satanspawn made us a gift of the Glass in the first place. I mean, after all, the man didn’t exactly have a reputation for kindness and generosity. The clue is in the name.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Think nothing of it! I won’t . . .” He stopped, and fixed me with a thoughtful look. “But you must know you are going to have to give the Glass back at some point. Picking an open fight with the Matriarch is rarely a good idea.”