best clockwork winds down eventually,” said Victoria.
“The old order changes,” said Maxwell, “but the family goes on.”
* * *
I was on my way out of the Hall, actually headed for the front door and the grounds, when the Serjeant-at-Arms appeared suddenly out of nowhere, to block my way. I stopped, reluctantly, and glared at him.
“Really not in the mood, Cedric,” I said.
“You rarely are. But the family comes first. Always.”
“What do you want?”
“The Matriarch has decided on a new official policy for all field agents,” said the Serjeant. “And you are back with us, as a field agent, are you not?”
“For now,” I said darkly.
“From now on, all agents operating in the field must keep in regular contact with the family, through an individual designated handler. That means regular updates, a steady flow of two-way information, and readiness to obey new orders and instructions as necessary.”
“I don’t need a handler!”
“It has been decided,” said the Serjeant. “All agents in the field. No exceptions.”
“I used to have a handler,” I said. “Penny. She was murdered by Mister Stab.”
“After you brought him into the Hall,” said the Serjeant.
“Don’t push your luck, Cedric,” I said. “Really. Don’t.”
“Your new handler is Kate,” said the Serjeant. “She’s on line now, waiting to talk to you.”
“Hi!” said a bright and cheerful young voice, through my torc. “I’m Kate! I’m right here! Think of me as your backup and support, Eddie. I’m here to see that you have whatever you need. I can provide information, weapons, and tech, and even have the cavalry ready to ride in at a moment’s notice. But you need to keep me updated on everything that’s happening, Eddie, so I can learn to anticipate your needs. Oh, I just know we’re going to have such fun, working together!”
“Oh, this can only go well,” I said.
CHAPTER THREE
From Out of the Past
Outside of the main entrance, waiting for me, was the Armourer’s Bentley. I stood there for a long moment, staring at it, transfixed. Just the sight of that magnificent old car was enough to take my breath away. It wasn’t simply a superb example of restored period technology; it was a work of art in its own right. Sleek and powerful, and very deadly. Though of course that last point really went without saying; this was the Armourer’s car, after all.
A lovingly restored 1930s open-topped, four-and-a-half-litre, racing green Bentley with red leather interiors. And an Amherst Villiers supercharger under the long, gleaming bonnet. Along with God alone knows what else, after the Armourer finished working on her. Back when he was a field agent, Jack drove this Bentley all over Eastern Europe, all through the heights and depths of the Cold War. Stamping out supernatural bush-fires, stopping wars before they could get started, and keeping the lid on all manner of unnatural things. My uncle James might have the reputation, as the internationally feared and respected Grey Fox; but Jack did good work too, in his own quiet and often very final way.
Somewhat to my surprise, I found that the Serjeant-at-Arms had followed me out of the Hall and was standing beside me, staring admiringly and just a bit wistfully at the Bentley. I wasn’t used to seeing him display his emotions so openly. We stood together a while, looking at the car.
“I do miss my old 1930s Hirondel,” I said finally. When it became clear that somebody was going to have to say something, and it clearly wasn’t going to be him. “Marvellous old car. My tribute to the Armourer’s Bentley . . . But after I had to destroy her, back when I was on the run from the family, I never felt right about replacing her with just another Hirondel. She was one of a kind . . . And as the family does so love to say, never look back.”
The Serjeant nodded solemnly. “Of course. All you’ll ever see are all your old sins and regrets, piling up behind you. Which is why I don’t even keep a photo album. But the Bentley is a special case. One of the family’s official treasures . . . I can’t believe the Armourer just handed her over to you! Especially considering the appalling condition you brought her back in, the last time he let you drive her.”
“Be fair,” I said. “I had just been attacked by armed men and gunship helicopters from British intelligence.”
“Excuses, excuses . . .”
I looked at him. “The Armourer only just gave her to me. News does