I subvocalised my activating Words, and my armour spilled out of the torc to cover my face in a golden mask. And through the expanded senses of my mask, I studied every detail of Stephanie Troy’s corpse. Every wound, every impact, every impression of a great hoof. I zoomed in on every detail, using the mask like a magnifying glass and a microscope; checking and collating and comparing every last little bit of evidence.
Until quite suddenly, I spotted something interesting. All the hoof-prints were exactly the same. Same shape, same depth, same details. If this body had been trampled by a Horse, I would have expected four different and quite distinct hoof-prints. It might be a living god, but it was still a quadruped. Instead, there was the same single hoof-mark, over and over again. I called up several of the imprints on the inside of my mask, and superimposed them, one on top of the other . . . and they were all exactly alike. I dismissed my mask, stood up, and quietly explained my findings to Molly.
“The White Horse wouldn’t take the trouble to trample its victims to death one hoof at a time,” I said.
“So it’s not the Horse that’s been killing people,” said Molly.
“No,” I said. “Whatever else is going on with the White Horse, I don’t think it gives a damn about the next generation of the White Horse Faction. I think . . . we have ourselves a very human murderer, in Monkton Manse. And unless someone else has been hiding here all along, which doesn’t seem likely . . . we know who the killer is.”
“Hadrian Coll was my parents’ best friend,” said Molly. “It can’t be him. He taught me how to be a free agent!”
“He was a double agent, working for my family,” I said. “He betrayed people to the Droods, over and over again. He never was who you thought he was.”
“That was the job, all right,” said Coll.
We looked quickly round, and there he was, standing in a doorway, half hidden in shadows, smiling at us. I had no idea how long he’d been there. He looked entirely relaxed, even calm. Didn’t even glance at Troy’s body. He nodded to me. “I should have known you’d be the one to find me out, Drood.”
“How long have you known?” I said.
“From the moment I met you. Your torc is well hidden, but I am half Drood, after all. I inherited the Sight from your uncle James, the legendary Grey Fox. Who was always quick enough to father a child, but never wanted to hang around to see how they turned out. I take it you are his nephew, the equally legendary Eddie Drood? Molly’s fellow. What happened to the real Shaman Bond?”
“I took his place,” I said smoothly. “He doesn’t even know I’m here, using his name. But even with the Sight, you shouldn’t . . .”
Coll shrugged, almost angrily. “You can’t spend as long on the run as I have, with learning to See all kinds of things that you’re not supposed to be able to.” He looked at Molly. “You, with a Drood. Never thought I’d see the day. . . .”
“You don’t know me,” said Molly. “You don’t know anything about me. How could you, when you kept so much from me? How could you do this, Hadrian? How could you just murder these people, after they went to all the trouble of tracking you down, to give you a second chance?”
“It’s all about survival,” said Coll, entirely unmoved. “I never asked for their help, or their second chance. And I certainly never wanted to be found. Bloody fools. Survival always comes first, Molly. I taught you that.”
He stepped forward, out of the shadows of the doorway, into the light. Like the Regent had, so many years before. Coll carried a huge wooden club, with a steel hoof attached to the heavy end. The hoof, and much of the club, was soaked with blood and hair and gore. Thick crimson drops fell steadily from the club’s end to the carpet. A terrible, brutal weapon.
“I arrived on the Island first,” said Coll, smugly. “Long before you two, never mind the Faction. I watched you from the Manse, while I decided how to play this. It gave me quite a turn to see you, Molly, all grown up. I almost gave it up then . . . almost. Survival has no room in it for sentiment, or pity. I’d brought this nasty little toy with me, carefully designed to confuse the issue. I hid it here, in the house. I still hoped I wouldn’t have to use it . . . if the White Horse didn’t show up. But it did. I knew it would. The new Faction leaders had to die, in a sufficiently brutal manner that no one would even try to reassemble the White Horse Faction again.”
“But . . . why?” said Molly. “Why did they have to die? What did they do that was so much of a threat to you, that you had to bludgeon them to death?”
“They found me,” said Coll. “And I didn’t want to be found. Couldn’t afford to be found. It’s the Horse, you see. It’s been chasing me, all these years. Because I’m the last survivor of the Working that called the White Horse forth, and then tried to control it. Because I’m the only one who might be able to put it down, and put it back under its barrow mound again. That’s why I disappeared so thoroughly, ten years ago. Why I’ve been on the run ever since. Always on the run, never able to stop and rest for long, running from one bolt-hole to another, so it could never find me. Until those three young fools tracked me down.
“I still don’t know how they managed it. Someone must have talked. Someone always talks, eventually. But Troy and Adams and Morrison found me, and knocked on my door . . . when even the Droods didn’t know where I was.”
“My family stopped looking for you years ago,” I said. “You were never that important to us.”
Coll flinched, and then laughed. Briefly, and perhaps a little bitterly. “Oh, but I was important. . . . When the White Horse finally finds me, and has its revenge upon me, it will turn its hatred on all Humanity. For burying it under that mound for centuries. For the sin of not worshipping it any more. I’ve kept the world alive, all these years, by keeping the Horse’s attention fixed on me!”
“You do fancy yourself, don’t you?” I said. “It’s just a horse! My family will deal with it. We’ve dealt with worse.”
Coll laughed again, and shook his head stubbornly. He’d been the hero of his own story far too long to give it up now. Even with a murder weapon in his hand, dripping blood and brains from people who had wanted so badly to be his friend.
“I had to kill them,” he said, patiently. “Because if they could find me, then the White Horse could use them to find me. It wasn’t difficult. All I had to do was wait for one to go off on their own, and then just pick them off, one at a time. They never saw it coming. . . . Now I can just disappear again. Escape to somewhere else, become someone else . . . after I’ve killed you two. Sorry, Molly. I don’t have any choice. No witnesses left behind . . . so no one will ever know what happened here. Just a few more dead bodies, in a house with a bad reputation. One more mystery, in mad old Monkton Manse.”
“You’d kill me, Hadrian?” said Molly stepping forward. “You’d really kill me?”
“That’s close enough, Molly,” said Hadrian. “Glad to see you haven’t forgotten what I taught you. I am still fond of you, and very proud of what you’ve made of yourself. You’re . . . important to me; but not more important than me. It’s always all about survival.”
“You betrayed my parents to the Droods,” said Molly, and her voice was cold, so cold. “They were your friends!”
“I’ve had many friends, in many groups,” said Coll. “And left them all behind when I moved on. That was the job. I was only ever in it for the money. After all, you can’t hope to survive, and protect yourself properly, without money. So that always has to come first.” He turned his empty eyes on me. “The Droods promised me they’d take me in. Make me one of them, part of the family. I’d have been safe, as one of the family. Like my father. But they kept putting me off, saying, ‘just one more mission’ . . . until I finally realised they never had any intention of making good on their promises. Not while I could still be useful to them. So really, this is all your fault, Drood.”