And that was how I first met the wild witch Molly Metcalf.
The last mission we butted heads on was the case of the Pendragon reborn. It seemed like every precog and medium in the country worth her salt was excitedly reporting the return of the Pendragon: that Arthur had been reincarnated and would soon start to remember who he really was. And so the race was on to find him, with all sides ready to claim him as their own.
And brainwash the poor sod to their particular cause, Molly interrupted.
Well, quite, I said.
Anyway, my family always has the best information, and the Pendragon reborn was quickly identified as one Paul Anderson, a young advertising executive based in Devon. As it turned out, the only Drood agent in that area was still incapacitated after a very unfortunate incident involving one of the local powers, Joan the Wad, so I was sent down to fill in on the grounds that I was the only field agent not currently working in a case. The family couldn’t teleport me there in case such a magic was detected and gave away our interest. So I had to take the train down from London to Devon, and it’s a hell of a long journey.
The family wouldn’t even spring for a first-class ticket.
But I got to Paul Anderson first, explained the situation as best I could, showed him my armour to prove I wasn’t crazy, and persuaded him to come back to the Hall with me, for further testing. Just to make sure he was the real deal. (You’d be amazed how many pretenders to the throne turn up every century. And don’t even get me started about the bloody Fisher King.) Paul was actually rather relieved. Apparently he’d been having recurring and very vivid dreams of knights in armour clashing bloodily on heaving battlefields, which was a bit disturbing for a young advertising executive with prospects.
And then Molly turned up. Yelled for Paul to get the hell away from me, called me a liar and a fascist stooge to my face, and then backed Paul up against the wall of his own living room while she hit him with all her best arguments. I argued my corner just as fiercely, and soon Molly and I were shouting right into each other’s faces. Unfortunately, all we succeeded in doing was confusing the crap out of Paul, who yelled for both of us to get out of his house and his life and never come back. Molly wasn’t used to being out-shouted, so she lashed out at Paul with one of her best resolution spells, forcing his inherited core personality to the surface.
And that was when it all went to hell in a handcart.
The spell hit something inside Paul Anderson, expanded out of all control, and blew up the cottage we were standing in. At first I really thought Molly and I had done it again, but when the smoke cleared the three of us were all standing safe and sound in the ruins of the cottage. Me in my armour, Molly inside her protective shield, and Paul Anderson in blackened and tattered clothing but with a whole new look on his face. Molly seized the moment to attack me, determined that the Droods would not control and influence this Pendragon reborn. I fought back, of course, and while the two of us were distracted, the new Pendragon just walked away, into the night.
The first hint Molly and I got that something had gone terribly wrong was when the forest on the hill behind the cottage exploded. We stopped trying to kill each other and looked around, and for as far as I could see the whole horizon was on fire, as century-old trees burned brightly against the night sky. The flames leapt up high, fierce and malevolent, driven by more than natural forces. Molly and I agreed to a very temporary truce and went up the hill to see what the hell was going on. I’ll never forget my first sight of the man who had been Paul Anderson, transformed and transfigured, standing laughing in the flames, untouched by the terrible heat, chanting ancient and awful spells in a forgotten tongue.
Turned out the precogs and mediums had only got it half right, as usual. Paul Anderson was a Pendragon reborn, all right, but not Arthur. Paul was Mordred, son of Arthur, back again to spread his malice in the world.
Molly and I approached him cautiously. We both knew who he was, who he had to be. I was already thinking seriously about calling in reinforcements. If Mordred had come into his full power, he was way out of my league. Fortunately, Molly’s spell had brought him back prematurely, and he was still pretty confused. Or he’d never have launched such a basic attack spell at my armour. The armour reflected the spell right back at him and blew his as yet unprotected human form to pieces. Nothing left of him but bloody gobbets, spread over a wide area.
Molly disappeared while I was organising a force to deal with the forest fire.
And the family were really scathing about this one.
That was pretty much the pattern, down the years. Molly and I would show up to claim some important person or prize, always on different sides of every argument, more than ready to kill each other to prevent the other from getting away with the prize or the person. Sometimes I won, sometimes she did, but I’d say honours were about even, on the whole. I can’t say I ever really hated her, and I was relieved to discover she felt the same way. It was only ever business for both of us; just the job, nothing personal. Except in a strange way I guess it became personal. There’s nothing like repeatedly trying to kill someone to really get to know them, and admire them. To appreciate their qualities.
"How many people have you killed, Eddie?" Molly said finally, hugging her knees to her chest.
I shrugged. The question didn’t make me feel uncomfortable, as such. It just wasn’t anything I ever thought about. "I stopped counting years ago. You?"
"Surprisingly few, all things considered. It’s a big thing to kill someone. You don’t just kill who they are, but everyone they might have become, and everything they might have done."
"Sometimes that’s the point," I said. It was important to me that she understood. That I was an agent, not an assassin. "I like to think I’ve only ever killed in self-defence, or to protect the world. To prevent future suffering or killing. But in the end…my job was just to do whatever my family told me to do. And I did, because I trusted them. If they told me someone needed killing, I always assumed they must have a good reason. In my defence, I would say that mostly they were right, and obviously so. I have killed some really evil bastards, in my time. I could give you names…"
"I probably already know them," said Molly. "You have quite a reputation, Eddie."
"Yes. I was proud of it, once. But not just as a killer, I hope?"
"Well…mostly. You never were the subtlest of agents, Eddie."
"Lot you know," I said airily. "Most of the jobs I did, I was in and out and never left a trace. That’s the mark of a good agent: to get the job done, and no one ever knows you were there."
"If you say so," said Molly, smiling. "But…did you never question any of your orders? Any of your assignments?"
"Why should I? They were my family. We were all raised to fight the good fight, to protect the world, to see ourselves as heroes in the greatest game of all. Family was the one thing you could depend on, in an untrustworthy world. So I killed the people they told me to. And if sometimes I wasn’t happy about what I did…I learned to live with it."
"That’s why you live alone," said Molly. "Apart from family, who could hope to understand the things we do?"
We sat quietly for a while, listening to Enya sing on the portable CD player. From outside came the low murmur of the wind, the sounds of the water and the wharf, and the distant rumble of city traffic. A whole world going on, just as always, not knowing that everything had changed. But that…was for tomorrow. I could feel my body slowly relaxing, winding down from a day I thought would never end.
"So," Molly said finally. "What do we do next? What can we do next?"
"I don’t know," I said honestly. "I’ve learned a lot I didn’t know, but not the one thing I needed to know. Why my family threw me to the wolves. Why I’ve been declared rogue from a family I served faithfully all my life. Why my own grandmother is so determined to see me dead. I must have done something, but I’m damned if I know what. I mean, I know now why my family have hung on to power for so long. I know what the Drood family business really is. But it’s not like I knew or even suspected any of this before today."