Live and Let Drood: A Secret Histories Novel (27 page)

And standing there in that familiar-seeming room, I felt just that way again for no reason I could understand.

“Eddie?” said Molly. “What’s wrong? You’re shaking.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “Molly. I was just thinking. Remembering.”

She squeezed my arm reassuringly. And then we both looked round sharply as a young Indian woman wearing a brightly patterned sari entered the room. She smiled warmly at both of us, and we gave her our best professional smiles.

“Welcome to Uncanny,” she said, in a rich contralto voice. “I’m Ankani. Please come with me. The Regent is very much looking forward to meeting with you.”

“Are you his secretary?” I said.

Ankani smiled broadly. “Hardly. I’m one of his special agents. We didn’t want you overawing the regular staff. We all spend time here in between assignments, guarding the place and doing whatever needs doing. We all muck in around here. The Regent’s a great one for us all feeling like family. Breeds esprit de corps, and helps weed out those who aren’t in this for the right reasons. But we mustn’t keep the Regent waiting. He’s been preparing for this meeting all day.”

I looked at Molly, both of us conspicuously not budging. “Someone else who knew we were going to be here before we did.”

“Really not liking that,” said Molly. “I’d hate to think I was becoming predictable at my time of life.”

“It’s our job to know things,” said Ankani.

“Even before they happen?” I said.

“Oh, especially then.” Ankani smiled suddenly in a way that made her look a lot younger. “But mostly we’re just really good guessers.”

“Then maybe you can tell me,” I said bluntly. “Do you know why my family would never talk about the Regent?”

“Of course,” said Ankani. “But I really think I’d better leave it to the Regent to tell you. I think it will come better from him. I really don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

Ankani led us through a series of narrow, cheerfully lit corridors that reminded me of some old-fashioned country house. And, once
again, of the quieter parts of Drood Hall. Along the way we passed a number of other Uncanny agents of an especially outré nature. I did wonder whether this was a show put on for our benefit to impress us with the Department’s capabilities. We almost walked right into an agent so thoroughly camouflaged by his surroundings, I could hardly make him out. I looked back as he passed, and all I could see were the footprints he left in the deep carpeting.

“Show-off,” said Molly.

Our next encounter was with an oversized Hell’s Angel, all long hair and heavy biker leathers, with a
Rastamouse Lives!
T-shirt. He just grunted and nodded quickly, while I wondered exactly where he could blend in as an undercover agent.

He was followed by a ghostly Viking figure, complete with horned helmet and a bear-fur cloak that looked like it might have been part of the bear as early as that morning. He was a huge burly figure, but he still stepped quickly aside to let us pass, half of him disappearing into the wall.

“That’s the Phantom Berserker,” said Ankani. “We inherited him from the previous administration. They dug him up out of a burial mound in Norway back in the 1960s, and he followed them back here like a stray dog. So they gave him a bowl of mead and a blanket to sleep on in the kitchen, and he’s been here ever since. The Regent did discuss having him exorcised when he took over, but we found we liked having him around. He’s just like a big puppy, only with a really big axe. And it’s not like he’s got anywhere else to go, poor soul.…He’s a bit single-minded, and more than a bit on the shy side in mixed company, but there’s no one you’d rather have at your side when there’s serious Smiting of the Bad Guys to be done.”

She finally knocked on a door that looked no different from all the other doors we’d passed, waited for a voice from inside and then pushed the door open and ushered us into the Regent’s office. And there he was, at last, the Regent of Shadows and new head of the Department of the Uncanny. A man of average height though a little on the skinny side, who looked to be in his late seventies…wearing a scruffy suit
with leather patches on the elbows, and what looked like breakfast stains on his waistcoat. He had iron-grey hair, an almost military grey moustache, a charming smile and piercing blue eyes. He looked amiable enough at first, but you had only to meet his steady gaze for a moment to see the unrelenting authority in the man. He reminded me a lot of Catherine Latimer in that both of them seemed very hale and hearty and full of energy for someone of their years. The Regent looked like he’d be only too happy to challenge me to a friendly bout of arm wrestling, and probably win two out of three.

He came out from behind his desk with brisk movements and easy charm, and insisted on shaking hands with me and Molly. He had large bony hands and a firm hearty handshake. I found myself relaxing in his presence, despite myself, feeling safe and secure and at home.…Molly was friendly enough to him, but I could sense the reserve in her. She never was easily impressed by anyone.

I made a point of looking round the Regent’s office to keep from staring at him. It looked more like a retired gentleman’s study than a place where important decisions were made every day. More like a quiet room to sit and relax in and refresh the inner man. A comfortable setting, cosy and cheerful, with richly polished, wood-panelled walls. No framed portraits anywhere, for which I was grateful. I’d had enough of that for one day. Books filled the shelves of a battered old bookcase, but they were well-thumbed paperbacks rather than leather-bound first editions. And there were yet more fresh flowers, blooming in elegant vases.

There was just the one window, firmly closed, looking out over a late-evening view of wide-open fields spreading away to lap up against a dark forest, half-silhouetted against the dying day. More evidence, if more were needed, that we weren’t in London anymore. Beside the window stood a tall grandfather clock, its heavy pendulum swinging slowly, ticking loudly in an impressive and reassuring way. I was half-convinced the entire office had been specially designed to put visitors at their ease, to lull them into a false sense of peace and security. I did my best to resist it. Molly seemed entirely unimpressed by her surroundings, but then, she always did. On principle.

She’d liked Catherine Latimer’s office only because it was full of things she intended to liberate and take home with her. Or sell for a healthy profit. Fortunately, I couldn’t see anything in the Regent’s office worth stealing.

He smiled easily at Ankani, who was still hovering in the open doorway. “Thank you, Ankani. That will be all for the moment. I can take it from here. Do try and have those execution warrants on my desk by the end of day. There’s a dear.”

Ankani nodded quickly, smiled brightly at all of us and left in a swirl of sari, shutting the door quietly behind her. The Regent gestured invitingly at the two stiff-backed visitors’ chairs set out before his desk, and Molly and I sat down. She made a point of moving her chair a little to one side, so she wouldn’t be sitting with her back to the door. The Regent sank into his much more comfortable-looking chair on the other side of the desk. There were no in or out trays, no scattered papers; an entirely empty desktop, as though he’d deliberately cleared everything away so he could concentrate on Molly and me. He leaned forward and clasped his large hands together on top of his desk. But before he could say anything, his door flew open and a large, plain, middle-aged woman in a cheap print dress bustled in, bearing an enamelled tea tray, complete with a delicate willow-pattern china tea service, and all the makings necessary for a good cup of tea. She strode right up to the desk and planted the tray on the desktop. The Regent beamed at her.

“Thank you, Miss Mitchell. Right on cue. And a plate of chocolate hobnobs! You’re spoiling us today.”

“Those are for the visitors, sir,” said Miss Mitchell. “You told me to remind you you’re on a diet.”

“So I did! So I did…”

“Shall I be mother, sir, and pour for everyone?”

“No, no, that’s fine, Miss Mitchell. I can cope. That will be all for now.”

“Call if you need anything, sir. I’m never far away.” She smiled briefly about her and hurried off, closing the door firmly behind her.

“A very efficient, and almost frighteningly friendly woman, that Miss Mitchell,” said the Regent. “I inherited her from someone, and if I ever find out who, I’ll have his guts for garters. Possibly quite literally.”

And, of course, then nothing would do but the Regent had to set out all the tea things and make sure we all had a nice cup of steaming-hot tea before things went any further. I sipped at mine cautiously. It was good tea. The Regent gave every indication of being a decent, genial, charming sort, but I was determined not to be taken in by appearances. There had to be some good reason why my family would never talk about the man.…And then the Regent took a sip of his tea, grimaced at the heat, poured some of his tea into his saucer and sipped the cooled tea from the saucer.

I sat very still as a sudden chill seized my heart and my soul.

The Regent looked at me over his tilted saucer and smiled easily at me. “I’m glad you’ve come to see me at last, Eddie. It’s been such a long time since I last saw you.”

Molly looked quickly from the Regent to me, saw I wasn’t going to say anything, and looked back at the Regent. “You know Eddie?”

“Of course. Though it has been many years…”

“We’ve met before,” I said. It was a statement of fact, not a question. It was hard to speak. My lips, my face were numb with something like shock.

“Of course we have, Eddie,” said the Regent. His voice was calm and kind. “I am your grandfather Arthur. Martha Drood’s first husband.”

Molly was up on her feet in a moment, putting herself bodily between me and the Regent.

“Cut the crap! Eddie’s grandfather is dead! Everyone knows that! I don’t know what you’re up to here, but I won’t let you hurt him. I’ll kill you first!”

And then she stopped, because the Regent was smiling proudly at her. “I really am who I say I am, Molly Metcalf. And I would die before I let any harm come to my grandson here. I have to say, Eddie, I’m glad to see you have such a…protective girlfriend.”

I rose slowly to my feet to face the Regent. Molly stepped reluctantly
back to hover at my side, scowling unhappily, so the Regent and I could stand face-to-face.

“They told me you were dead,” I said. “Everyone in the family said you were dead, killed in the Kiev Conspiracy back in 1957.”

“Well, they would,” said the Regent. “There is a reason why the family doesn’t talk about me. I went rogue, Eddie, because I stood up and said I no longer believed in how the family did things. I wanted to make the Droods over, into a better and more ethical organisation. More involved in protecting people than ruling them. I really thought Martha would stand by me, right up to the moment when she didn’t. We’d been so close, after all, for so many years…ran so many missions together, back when we were both Drood field agents. But once she was made Matriarch, we both had no choice but to return to the Hall and our duties. I did my best to take on the burden of day-to-day decision making, keeping the pressure off her shoulders so she could concentrate on the things that mattered. Dictating policy, directing the family, guarding Humanity from all the things that threaten it. And the work…just ground us down and drove us apart. We never seemed to have time for each other after that.…

“We did talk about my growing doubts over how the family operated; it’s hard to overlook all the dirty business the family gets up to when you’re running things…but her answer was always,
What else is there? We have a duty,
she said,
to stick to what we know works.
When the time came…when I just couldn’t stand it any longer, because we’d lost our only daughter and her husband in the field over stupid mistakes that should never have happened…then I called an emergency meeting of the council and I stood up in front of all of them and said,
No more!
And Martha looked me right in the eye and ordered me to either sit down and shut up or get out. It was either complete and unswerving loyalty to her and the family or nothing. Her way or the highway…I think—I like to think—that she was actually shocked when I said I’d leave. That the Droods had become something I was ashamed to be a part of.

“Martha never thought I’d really leave, because that would mean
turning my back on her as well as the family. But…I no longer recognised her. She wasn’t the woman I’d loved and married anymore. She had to fight to be allowed to marry me, you know; had to go head-to-head with the previous Matriarch. Because she and I were second cousins. The family’s always had a horror of inbreeding.

“So, I left, or was driven out, depending on how you look at it. A rogue Drood. I became the Regent of Shadows, to put my beliefs into practice. An organisation of shadow agents, more concerned with amassing useful information than meddling in people’s lives. I adopted an impressive-sounding title because I didn’t want anyone to know I’d been a Drood, and because titles make people take you more seriously. To begin with, I made a point of recruiting people like myself, thrown out of other secret organisations for being wild cards, and I had a surprisingly high success rate with my choices.

“I discovered later that Martha wanted the rest of the family told I was dead rather than admit to the shame…that her own husband would rather leave the Droods than admit she was right. She always was very single-minded. I went along. It wasn’t like I had any intention of ever going back, you see. It never even occurred to me that the leopards could change their golden spots. A lack of vision on my part, or perhaps my pride was hurt. When I learned how much you’d changed the Droods, Eddie, how much you achieved and how quickly, I couldn’t believe it.

“Only the higher-ups in the family knew the truth about me, and they set out to rewrite Drood family history. I was written out, declared dead in 1957—don’t ask me why that date in particular—and all my triumphs and victories were given over to others. Not that I gave a damn…”