other. I took a long pull at my nice cold Beck’s and smiled easily on one and all. I was the only Drood present, because people like these wouldn’t have felt at all safe or comfortable about discussing the Jack Drood they knew in front of his family. Because Uncle Jack . . . got around. I was allowed in only because everyone there knew how close I’d been to the Armourer. So, no Droods. My family can be tactful when we have to.
But almost immediately I saw one face that shouldn’t have been there. Cedric Drood, the family’s Serjeant-at-Arms. The only Drood who could break the rules with impunity, because he was responsible for enforcing them. He was dressed so casually I almost didn’t recognise him; instead of his usual traditional butler’s outfit, he was wearing a Sex Pistols T-shirt over very distressed jeans, and Doc Martens boots. Much about his personality suddenly became clear. But he actually did have every right to be at Jack’s wake; I knew for a fact that he was one of the few other Droods who regularly went off the reservation, to meet and drink with people he shouldn’t. I was sure that if pressed, Cedric would claim he did such things only so he could gather useful gossip and intelligence for the family. But then, as a wise woman once said, he would say that, wouldn’t he? I could remember a time when I was the only Drood who got out and about; but perhaps I only thought that.
Cedric was drinking and laughing openly with people who genuinely didn’t seem to care that he was a Drood. It’s not often that that happens. In fact, the Serjeant seemed to be on friendly and even familiar terms with a great many people. I was actually shocked to see Cedric abandoning his dignity and letting his hair down, so openly and so enthusiastically. It was like finding out your strict old maiden aunt wore erotic underwear. Cedric looked around, caught me looking at him, and dropped me a heavy wink. I looked away.
The more I peered around the Wulfshead, the more I seemed to be surrounded by familiar faces. The current Seneschal of the London Knights was there: Sir Perryvale. A large Falstaffian gentleman, he was holding forth to a rapt audience on some of the more secret rituals the Knights got up to when no one else was around. Some of these rituals were extremely old; and some, he freely admitted, he and Jack just made up to see if the Knights would notice the difference. Sir Perryvale had a great mane of silver-grey hair, and a broad ruddy face with huge bristling side whiskers. He was wearing a deafeningly loud Hawaiian shirt over a pair of shorts that were far too short. Especially for a man with legs that hairy. He interrupted himself regularly to drink vintage Champagne straight from the bottle, despite the winces and vigorous protests from more civilised types around him.
He finished off the bottle and tossed it casually over his shoulder. One of the barman snatched it easily out of mid-air and supplied Sir Perryvale with a fresh bottle, already opened. The Seneschal saw me watching, and called for me and Molly to come over and join him, his great booming voice full of good cheer. I looked at Molly, and she nodded, so we made our way through the packed crowd. Sir Perryvale struck me as a useful person to know. You never know when you might need a friend or a favour, among the London Knights. Particularly now that King Arthur was back.
Sir Perryvale clapped me heavily on the shoulder with a big, meaty palm and made a point of kissing Molly’s hand. I was a bit surprised she let him; she doesn’t normally have much time for the formal stuff. It might have been the man’s wide smile, or the roguish glint in his eyes; or she might also have decided she could use a future favour from the London Knights. It’s hard to be truly spontaneous in our crowd. You always have to be thinking about what these people might have meant to us in the past, or how they might be useful in the future.
We chatted easily together about the usual inconsequential things, until the crowd Sir Perryvale had acquired drifted away, disappointed that he wasn’t telling tales out of school any more. Once he was sure they were all gone, he leaned