From a Drood to a Kill - Simon R. Green Page 0,137

and they held me close, held me the way I always wanted my mother and father to hold me, when I was a child, left alone with the family. I had to fight for self-control, but eventually I let go and stood back, and looked them over carefully.

My father, Charles. A calm, self-possessed middle-aged man, completely bald but with a bushy salt-and-pepper beard. He had sleepy eyes and an easy smile, but there was still a definite presence to the man. Something about him suggested he could still be dangerous if the need arose. He wore a casual suit in a careless manner. My grandfather, the Regent of Shadows, originally introduced him to me as Patrick, the best weapons master the Department of Uncanny ever had. Apparently the engineer’s gene ran in my side of the family, though it seemed to have bypassed me. Uncle Jack did try to teach me some basic skills when I used to hang out in the Armoury as a child, but nothing ever took.

“I have to ask,” I said quietly, “do you happen to have any of your nasty little tricks about you? Like your famous protein exploder?”

“Unfortunately, no,” said Charles just as quietly. “We’re only allowed what the Powers That Be allow us.”

He didn’t ask whether I had anything about me. But we did exchange a look before I turned to my mother, Emily.

Originally presented to me as Diana, one of the Regent’s very Special Agents. She spoke with a clipped, aristocratic accent that I knew for a fact never came from any of the standard finishing schools, because Droods don’t go in for that sort of thing. Emily was a calm, poised middle-aged lady, good-looking in a classic way. She wore an elegantly cut tweed suit, with a creamy panama hat crammed down over her long grey hair. And a flounced white silk scarf at her throat. She sparkled with charm and grace, without even trying.

Without being asked, she shook her head. “No, Eddie. I’ve tried repeatedly, but the Powers That Be have suppressed my shadow-dancing skills. Just as well, or I’d have grabbed your father, dived into the nearest shadow, and disappeared from this awful place so fast it would have made their heads spin. I didn’t think anyone could interfere with my abilities, especially after everything I had to go through to get them; but then, I didn’t think anyone could kidnap your father and me against our will either.”

“So you’ve been here all this time?” I said.

Charles and Emily looked at each other, quickly picking up from me that more time had passed during their absence than they’d thought.

“Not by choice,” said Charles.

“We were abducted,” said Emily. “Snatched out of our hotel room, past all the Casino’s defences, between one moment and the next.”

“No warning,” said Charles. “No way to avoid it. A most professional job.”

“I have so many questions to put to you,” I said. “But first, I have some bad news. You’ve been gone for months, and bad things have happened. The Regent of Shadows is dead. Murdered.”

Emily and Charles made low, shocked sounds and held each other’s hands. They looked like they’d been hit.

“How?” said Emily. “My father had Kayleigh’s Eye! How could anyone hurt him while he had that?”

“The Drood in Cell 13 found a way,” I said. “But my grandfather has been avenged. His murderer is dead. And I’m sorry, but that’s not all. The Armourer, Jack, is also dead. A heart attack.”

Charles and Emily embraced each other tightly, as though they were holding each other up. They looked suddenly older, and frailer.

“But I just saw him!” said Emily. “He seemed fine!”

“You’ve been gone a lot longer than you think,” I said.

“Have we missed the funeral?” said Emily. “We have, haven’t we. Bastards!”

“And the wake,” said Charles. “After we were forced to miss James’ wake, we swore we’d be there for Jack’s. Someone is going to pay for this.”

We would have talked more, but Walker insisted on interrupting so he could present the other players in the Big Game. I turned reluctantly away to study the three other people standing at the altar. Walker started with Tarot Jones, the Tatterdemalion. A tall, lean, and almost indecently young-looking man, though years of experience showed in his eyes. He wore the traditional mix of travellers’ clothes: rags and woollens, leathers and jeans, bangles and beads. Strangely constructed stick figures clung to his back, as though they were catching a lift. He had a great mass of