“Non-violence is an excellent idea,” I said. “I just wish it worked more often. Is everyone in your new White Horse Faction equally dedicated to turning the other cheek? Only, a little bird did tell me a certain Hadrian Coll will be joining us. . . .”
The three next-generation leaders looked at each other quickly, and that glance was all I needed to see how they felt about Hadrian Coll, also known as Trickster Man. Troy looked excited, Adams looked disapproving, and Morison looked conflicted, like he thought they were all making a big mistake.
“He’s . . . on his way,” said Troy. She made an effort to appear upbeat. “You mustn’t be put off by his past reputation. He’s changed. It’s only because he’s heard how much we’ve changed the organisation, and its methods, that he’s agreed to come out from deep cover, to talk with us here.”
“He was a warrior, in defence of Mother Earth,” said Adams. “It took great courage for him to admit the old ways didn’t work.”
“He still needs to understand that he’s not in charge any more,” said Morrison.
“He was a good friend to my parents,” said Molly. “And a tutor to me. He helped make me everything I am today.”
All three of the next generation looked seriously uncomfortable, as they considered all the very definitely violent and destructive things the infamous Molly Metcalf had done in her time. They might revere her parents, and be impressed by her accomplishments, but none of them wanted anything to do with her idea of tactics. I could see in their faces they were all wondering whether they’d done the right thing in inviting her, after all.
“Well, it’s good to know I haven’t been forgotten,” said a new, cheerful voice. We all looked round sharply, and there he was in the open doorway, grinning easily at all of us. Hadrian Coll himself; the Trickster Man. The only surviving member of the original White Horse Faction.
He stood tall and proud, loud and cocky, hard worn and showing his middle age, but still possessed of a certain shop-soiled charisma. He looked like a retired businessman, dressed for a walking holiday, all casual and slouching. But you had to look at him for only a few moments to see that was just a mask, with the real and very dangerous persona peering out from behind it. Then, he looked a lot more like a mercenary soldier, dressed for a walking holiday. He had thinning white hair, bushy black eyebrows, and a heavy broken nose protruding from a blocky, hard-lined face. He smiled easily enough, but it never reached his eyes.
I’d seen his sort before drinking happily at the end of the bar, just waiting for trouble to break out, so he could join in and get his hands bloody. He’d never start anything, but you could always be sure he’d be the last one standing. And he wouldn’t care at all how many bystanders got hurt in the process. Now here he was, claiming to have retired and reformed. Ready to do non-violent penance for his bloody past.
I wanted to believe it. Wanted to believe Molly’s old tutor wasn’t what the Drood files said he was. But I didn’t.
Troy and Adams and Morrison just stood there, mouths open and wide-eyed, dazzled by the glare of Coll’s reputation. His legend. Molly squealed with delight, and ran forward to hug Coll fiercely. He wrapped his great arms around her and lifted her off her feet, so he could swing her around in a circle. They both laughed loudly, as he hugged her to him like a friendly old bear. He finally put her down and let her go, and turned to grin at all of us, one arm still draped companionably over Molly’s shoulders. Like she belonged to him. Molly’s face was flushed, and her eyes were shining. Coll nodded easily to the next generation.
“So, you’re my replacements. Good to see you all! Great to be here! Seems I’ve been away too long; the world’s grown even worse, while I turned my back. Well, no more of that! I have returned and all my knowledge and experience is at your disposal. My way didn’t work; I can only hope that yours will. Molly, my sweet, do the introductions, there’s a dear girl.”
He was probably the only one present who could have got away with calling her that. Molly ran through the names quickly, and Coll strode forward to shake each of the next generation firmly by the hand. He gave them all the same big smile, and lots of eye contact, and they all smiled and simpered, like a dazzled fan meeting their favourite movie star. They fell all over each other to say how proud they were to meet him, and how delighted they were he’d agreed to come out of retirement to be their spiritual mentor and advisor. Coll nodded easily to each of them. And then, finally, Molly introduced him to me.
I gave Coll my best harmless smile, playing the chancer con man act to the hilt; but I couldn’t tell whether he bought it or not. He crushed my hand in his, clapped me hard on the shoulder, and loudly said any friend of Molly was a friend of his.
“Shaman Bond! I know the name, of course,” he said. “You’ve been around, haven’t you? I’ve pitched up at every trouble spot there is in the last few years, and as often as not, your name was there before me. Never anything big, but always there, hanging around on the edge of the scene. A good man to know, they say, when you need a helping hand.”
“For a reasonable price,” I said.
He laughed. “Your reputation precedes you!”
“That was going to be my line,” I said.
“Ah,” he said sadly. “I’m not the man I was. And mostly, I’d have to say that is a good thing.”
He turned abruptly, to face the next generation again and give them his full attention. “It’s been a long trip, getting here. Took a lot out of me. I could use a nice sit-down, and a spot of something to eat. I’m old now. I get tired. I have Nam flashbacks.”
“You were in Vietnam?” said Morrison.
“No,” said Coll. “That’s what makes the flashbacks so worrying . . .” He laughed again, a great roar of joyous sound, and everyone joined in. The next generation looked at him like he was the Second Coming. Molly looked at him adoringly. And I smiled until my cheeks ached.
Troy and Adams and Morrison led the way down the hall, chattering loudly, trying to make a big fuss of Coll, though he would have none of it. He was just there to advise and support them, he insisted. They were the important ones. Molly wandered after him, smiling just a bit foolishly, while I brought up the rear, thinking my own thoughts. I just couldn’t see it. This amiable old bear of a man wasn’t the tricksy, dangerous man I’d discovered in my research. Hadrian Coll had killed a lot of people, for any number of causes. He planted bombs in public places, arranged magical booby traps for important people, undermined whole governments for any number of organisations. And was never, ever, around when it came time to pay the butcher’s bill. Of course, the records covered only what he did, not why he did it. And I had enough blood on my own golden hands to know that appearances aren’t everything.
But, no one had seen hide nor hair of Hadrian Coll, the legendary Trickster Man, for almost ten years. No one knew where he’d been, or what he’d been doing. Why would he reappear now, to support a White Horse Faction that was nothing like the group he used to belong to? Did he feel the need to do penance, for the monster he used to be?
Or was he just here . . . because Molly was here?
We left the hallway and entered a huge dining room. Molly snapped her fingers and once again the candle stubs in the overhead chandeliers blazed into friendly yellow light. The next generation looked startled, and then applauded lightly. Coll grinned at Molly.
“You always did show such promise, Molly my sweet,” he said. “It’s been so many years since I last saw you . . . look at you! My little girl is all grown up!”
“I need to talk to you, Hadrian,” said Molly. “About my mother and my father. And what really happened to them.”