Molly looked at me. She didn’t say anything, but now we both knew why the Regent had sent us here, on this mission. To learn the truth about Molly’s parents, and their execution, that he couldn’t bring himself to tell us, face to face. Coll said the Regent had changed, but he also said the Regent of Shadows had a reputation for bloody work. And I had to wonder: what else was there my newly found grandfather had done that he couldn’t bring himself to tell me?
Just what kind of a man was I working for now?
For a long while, no one said anything. We all just sat there round one end of the stupidly long dining table. Lost in our thoughts, looking at each other for some clue as to what we should say, or feel. Coll ate everything on his plate, poured himself another glass of wine, and seemed content for someone else to start the ball rolling again. For someone who’d supposedly experienced so much guilt and remorse over his previous sins, he didn’t seem particularly upset. In the end, Stephanie Troy broke the silence, speaking quietly, with great dignity and utter certainty.
“We . . . would never do anything like that. What the old Faction tried to do with the White Horse was utterly unacceptable. The crushing of a free spirit . . . no. We would never do that. We are different.”
“That’s why we’re here,” said Adams, in his soft and calm voice. “To plan a new, non-violent way of bringing about lasting change.”
“Damn right,” said Morrison. “You can’t defeat the enemy by becoming the enemy.”
“Fine words,” said Hadrian Coll.
And then the next generation of the White Horse Faction turned as one to look meaningfully at Molly. She stared right back at them.
“What?”
“Your reputation precedes you,” said Troy. “Your violent reputation.”
“We’ve heard all the stories,” said Adams. “And while we admire your . . . passion, there’s no room in our organisation for anyone who still believes in the kind of violent confrontation that fills your . . . exploits.”
“They say you once made all the portraits inside Number 10 Downing Street come alive, to attack the then prime minister,” said Morrison. “And that you briefly gave the American Pentagon a new sixth side, full of horrors.”
“No,” said Molly. “The Pentagon has always had a secret sixth side. I just fixed it so everyone could see it, for a while. Not that it made any difference. Most people didn’t understand the significance of what they were seeing. Next time, I’ll put up some explanatory signs. Maybe something in neon . . .”
“Mischief is one thing,” said Troy. “Mass murder is another. You blew up an entire private members club in the West End of London. Killed everyone inside. Do you deny it?”
“Hell no,” said Molly. “I’m proud of it. That particular club was a brothel, where men of wealth and privilege could go to do appalling things to underage children. I got the kids out, before I killed everyone else. Do it again, in a moment.”
“I have always been so proud of you, Molly,” said Coll.
She didn’t look at him. She didn’t look at me, either. Which was probably just as well, because I was thinking of a whole bunch of other things she’d done that I knew for a fact were a hell of a lot more extreme than anything the next generation had mentioned. Usually with good reason, but probably not one the avowedly non-violent next generation could accept. They were looking steadily at Molly in a way that suggested they were still sitting in judgement of her, and hadn’t made up their minds yet.
“The word is, that you’ve calmed down a lot since you hooked up with your Drood,” said Troy. “Now you’ve got in bed with the enemy.”
Everyone winced at that, just a bit. Trust a woman to fight dirty.
“I got involved with one particular Drood,” Molly said calmly. “My Eddie. I have never been a part of his family. I didn’t bring Eddie here with me because I knew you wouldn’t approve of him. That’s why I shelled out good money to hire Shaman Bond, to watch my back.”
“Now you finally know the truth,” I said carefully, “about what really happened to your parents. . . . What do you want to do next, Molly? Do you want to kill the Regent?”
“Yes,” said Molly. “But, I have to think about it.”
She didn’t say, Because he’s your grandfather. So it’s complicated. She didn’t say any of that out loud, but I could see it in her eyes.
Phil Adams rose to his feet. “I’m really not comfortable with the atmosphere in this room. I’m going to get another bottle of wine. I hope to experience a more positive atmosphere, when I return.”
He left quickly. Obviously thinking he was making a point of principle. And not just running away from questions he couldn’t cope with. Troy and Morrison looked at each other knowingly.
“He’s never been comfortable with clashing emotions,” said Troy. “Always wants everyone to be nice, just because they’re on the same side.”
“Don’t give me those negative vibes, Moriarty!” said Morrison.
We all managed some kind of smile, at that. Troy and Morrison talked with Coll some more, ignoring Molly and me. Coll was full of apologies and justifications for his past, and how much he wanted to make up for his sins, by helping them build a new White Horse Faction. Troy wanted to believe him. I wasn’t so sure about Morrison. Molly and I sat side by side, and didn’t even look at each other. We both had a lot to think about. It took all of us a while to realise that Phil Adams hadn’t returned.
“Oh, bloody hell,” said Morrison. “He’s not sulking again, is he?”
“He’s probably hovering outside in the corridor,” said Troy. “Refusing to come back in until we’re all being happy bunnies together.”
“Get your arse in here, Phil!” Morrison said loudly. “This is as positive as it’s going to get!”
There was no response. Morrison got up and went to look out the door. Adams wasn’t there. Troy went to join Morrison, and they both called Adams several more times. There was no reply. Coll got to his feet.
“I think we should go look for him. This isn’t a good place to be on your own.”
“Why?” said Troy. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t you know about this house?” I said. “Didn’t you research the awful history of Monkton Manse before you came here?”
“No,” said Morrison. “We chose it because it was the last meeting place of the original White Horse Faction. And because the Island’s in a null.”
“You should have checked,” said Coll.
I rose to my feet, and Molly immediately rose to her feet to stand beside me. “Trust me,” I said. “This is a bad place. Really bad things happened here . . . long before the Faction massacre. I think we need to find Adams quickly, before someone or something else does.”
Molly led the way out of the dining hall, since she knew the house best, and we all followed her through a twisting maze of hallways and side corridors. Some of the lights had gone out, leaving whole areas nothing but darkness and shadow. I told myself it was just old bulbs failing, but I wasn’t sure I believed me. We called out Adams’ name, at regular intervals. He never replied. Eventually, we split into two groups, to cover more ground. Coll went off with Troy and Morrison, while Molly and I stayed together. We went back and forth, and up and down, checking every door and room we passed, until finally, we found him.
Phil Adams lay at the bottom of a flight of stairs. From the way his head was twisted around, it was clear his neck was broken. There was a lot of blood around the body. At first, I thought he must have fallen. Maybe even been pushed. But once I turned him over, I saw that he was covered in bloody hoof-marks. His flesh was torn and his bones were broken and his face was a bloody mess. He looked like he’d been trampled to death, by some great horse.