Casino Infernale (4 page)

“A rogue Drood,” said Molly. “And I didn’t bring him, because if I had . . . you wouldn’t have dared turn up. My Eddie has left his very scary family, but I knew you wouldn’t be comfortable in his presence. That’s why I hired Shaman. We’re old colleagues.”

Troy was already shaking her head. “Our invitation was just for you. We are here to decide the final direction of the White Horse Faction—and the future of the whole world.”

“Just the three of you?” I said, innocently.

“We represent hundreds of supporters,” Adams said quietly. “Hundreds of cells, with thousands of fellow travellers, spread out across every country in the world. All of them dedicated to give their all in defence of Mother Earth. We will dictate policy, and our armies will carry it out.”

“Armies?” said Molly. “I thought it was all about non-violence, these days.”

“We have to use language the rest of the world will understand,” said Morrison. “We’re at war with all those who would pollute our waters and poison the air. Just because we don’t believe in violence, doesn’t mean we’ll shy away from open confrontation. We have to save the world while there’s still time.”

“And this meeting will decide how we’re going to do it,” said Troy.

“Occupy!” said Morrison, smiling for the first time. “Stand in the way. Place ourselves between the bad guys and their evil ways. Make it impossible for them to screw up our poor planet any more.”

“In a totally non-threatening, non-violent way, of course,” said Adams.

I didn’t smile. I approved of their sentiments, and admired their courage, but in my experience, the nail that sticks up most is the first to get hammered down.

“Who knows?” said Troy, smiling frostily in my direction. “When you’ve seen all the evidence, and heard all the arguments, perhaps we’ll convert you, Shaman.”

“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.”

“Of course you do,” said Coll. For the first time he sounded properly serious. “Don’t you remember . . . how they died?”

“I thought I did,” said Molly. “I thought I knew what happened . . . until I came here, and realised I only really remembered bits and pieces.”

“That’s probably for the best,” said Coll.

“No, it isn’t!” said Molly, so loudly that everyone winced, and backed away from her. Molly fixed Hadrian with a cold hard gaze. “I need to know! I need to know everything that happened.”

“We’ll talk later,” said Coll. “I promise. But I have business with these good people, and I owe them my full attention. Afterwards, we’ll sit down together, you and I, and I’ll tell you everything.”

He smiled fondly at Molly, and after a moment she smiled back. I couldn’t help but feel that he was putting it on, but Molly just smiled and nodded, and hugged him quickly.

“I am so proud of you,” Coll said quietly. “So proud of everything you’ve achieved, and what you’ve made of yourself. You’ve far surpassed your old tutor. . . .” He looked suddenly at me. “Why do you need a bodyguard, Molly? And why him?”

“Because even the infamous wild witch of the woods needs someone to watch her back, on occasion,” I said. “And like you said, Hadrian, I’ve been around. I’m not easily fooled, or distracted, and I’m really hard to surprise.”

Coll nodded, and then turned the full force of his charisma on the patiently waiting next generation. “Ten years! I can’t believe it’s been that long since I last set foot in this monstrous old house. Later on, I’ll have to give you the grand tour; fill you in on all the old stories. I have so many memories of this place . . . and the original White Horse Faction. The long nights we spent here, talking and talking into the early hours, plotting and planning . . . we would change the world, we said.”

“We still can,” said Troy, her voice entirely serious. She may be impressed by Coll, but he was still nothing compared to her devotion to the cause. “You must tell us everything about the old times, and the old organisation. If only so we can avoid making their mistakes.”

“We want to hear everything,” said Morrison.

“And so you shall, my friends!” said Coll. “But first, food and drink! Something for the inner man, hmm?”

He looked meaningfully at Stephanie Troy. Anyone else, she would have told to go to hell. That just because she was a woman, she wasn’t there to cook and make the tea and wait on the men. But this was Hadrian Coll, so she just nodded quietly.

“I’m sure I can manage something. Our advance agents are supposed to have left some food in the kitchens, tins and things. . . .”

“Excellent!” said Coll, rubbing his large hands together.

“You do that,” I said. “I think I’ll go for a little walk, down on the beach. Get some fresh air in my lungs. Care to accompany me, Molly?”

She tore her gaze away from Coll, looked at me for a long moment, and then nodded quickly.

“Of course,” she said. “Fresh air. Just the thing.”

“Don’t take too long,” said Troy. “A meal will be ready soon.”

“Don’t be late,” said Coll. “Or we’ll start without you.”

Molly and I smiled meaninglessly all round, and then I took her by the arm and led her away. No one seemed too disappointed to see us go. The next generation wanted Hadrian Coll all to themselves. I wasn’t sure yet what Coll wanted. I led Molly out of Monkton Manse, chatting cheerfully to her all of the way, of this and that, until the front door slammed shut behind us.

•   •   •

Once we were outside Molly pulled her arm free of mine, and strode on ahead on her own. I let her go. She strode back to the cliff edge, and then set off down some very steep stone steps, cut into the cliff face itself. She hurried ahead of me, not waiting for me to catch up. I pressed my shoulder hard against the cliff face, to keep from straying too close to the edge, and the long drop. The gusting, bitterly cold wind hit me hard, ruffling my hair and plucking at my clothes. The steps just seemed to fall away forever, and by the time I finally reached the bottom and stepped off onto the beach, my legs were aching fiercely.

Molly stood with her back to me, farther down the beach, just short of the incoming tide, looking out at the great crashing waves. I took my time, stretching my back and stamping my feet to ease the kinks out of my leg muscles. Finally, I moved forward to join Molly. She didn’t say anything. I looked around me. Not a stretch of sand anywhere on Trammell Island beach; just dark pebbles, for as far as the eye could see, interrupted here and there with great swatches of ugly green and brown seaweed, washed up by the heavy tides as they pounded up and down the beach. Not a living thing to be seen anywhere—no crabs, or lobsters. Not even a gull in the sky overhead. The overcast sky was darkening from evening into night, but there was still enough light to see there was nothing much to see.