to shake. Molly looked at it for a moment and then clasped the hand briefly.
“She’s my contact,” I said. “New ruling from the Matriarch; all field agents have to have their own personal contact with the family. For information, backup, and the like.”
“Really?” said Molly. “How nice.”
The two women glared at each other. I could tell they’d taken an immediate dislike to each other. I could feel frost in the air between them.
“Strictly speaking,” said Kate, her cold gaze fixed on Molly, “this is a gathering for family members only.”
“Molly is with me,” I said. “That makes her family.”
“You’re not married to her yet,” said Kate. “And a lot could happen before that. You need to think about which side you’re on, Eddie.”
“I have,” I said.
Something in the tone of my voice must have got through to Kate, because she stopped glowering at Molly and looked uncertainly at me.
“Ah. Well,” she said, “I won’t bother you during the funeral. We can talk later.”
People were already frowning at us, for raising our voices during the vicar’s service. Kate backed quickly away, disappearing into the nearest collection of family members. Molly looked at me.
“Controller?”
“In her dreams,” I said.
“I suspect that may be the problem,” said Molly.
“What?”
“We’ll talk about it later.”
“Looking forward to it,” I lied.
Molly stared around her. “I have to say, I’m really impressed at the size of the turnout. Is this . . . everybody?”
“Not everybody,” I said. “There’s still a skeleton staff on duty inside the Hall, manning the sensors and defences, just in case anyone should try to take advantage of the situation.”
Molly nodded at the Librarian. “William’s looking almost . . . normal. At least he didn’t bring his giant white rabbit friend with him.”
“The Pook?” I said. “He might be here. Being tactfully invisible.”
“No,” said Molly, “I’d See him.”
“Have you any idea what he is?” I said.
“He’s the Pook,” said Molly.
“Okay . . . ,” I said.
I turned my attention to a small group of people standing to one side, keeping themselves very much to themselves. I knew who they were, who they had to be. Such a varied assortment of types and attitudes could only be James’ assorted illegitimate offspring. The Grey Bastards. Unacknowledged and unaccepted by the family—though that didn’t stop us making use of them when we needed people who operated in their murky twilight worlds. I shouldn’t have been surprised there were so many of them; you can’t swan around the world the way the legendary Grey Fox did, seducing one and all, and not leave a trail of illegitimate children in your wake.
I’d met a few of them. Maurice Levallier, Le Freak. Charlotte Karstein, the Wilderness Witch. Monkton Farley, consulting detective. And so many others, whom I knew by name or reputation. All of them here for Jack. He always had time for them. He kept in regular contact with a surprising number of his nephews and nieces, looking out for them as best he could. I had to wonder why so few of them had been brought home, into the arms of the family. Certainly Uncle Jack had always been ready to go to bat for them, down through the years, convinced that it was wrong for us to leave them out in the cold.
I moved over to the Matriarch, and quietly put the question to her. She shrugged quickly, as though irritated by such a question on such a formal occasion, but answered me anyway.
“Most of them have been contacted and offered sanctuary at one time or another. Usually on Jack’s urging. And most of them politely, and sometimes not so politely, turned us down. They value their independence—perhaps because that’s all they have that’s rightfully theirs. They like to maintain a distance from us, though not so much that they won’t take work from us when it’s offered. As long as the money’s right. We would never turn away anyone in need, Eddie, as long as they have Drood blood in them. Now hush, please; pay attention to the service.”
The vicar was winding down, coming to the end of his reading. I went back to looking round at the family. All the lab assistants were there, still wearing their white lab coats with all the usual chemical stains, electrical burns, and bullet holes, like so many proud battle scars. A great many older members of the family stood with them, also wearing lab coats, just for the occasion. Men and women who had been the Armourer’s assistants once,