From Hell With Love: A Secret Histories Novel by Simon R. Green Page B

Fox. Perhaps the greatest Drood ever. Harry leaned back in his chair and rocked easily back and forth on the rear legs as he studied me silently through his owlish wire-rimmed glasses. He’d already heard about the debacle at the Magnificat, and the loss of the Apocalypse Door, and he couldn’t wait to hit me with every unfortunate detail, while he figured out how to turn it to his best advantage. Because that was what he did.
    “Just once,” Harry said calmly, “it would be nice if you could bring us back some good news after a mission, Edwin.”
    “You’re allowed to lose ˚ the occasional battle, as long as you win the war,” I said, meeting his gaze squarely.
    “Lose enough battles and you run out of war,” said Harry.
    “You want a slap?” I said. “Only I’ve got one handy . . .”
    “Edwin!” the Matriarch said sharply.
    “There will be no violence in this chamber unless I start it,” said the final member of the Advisory Council: the Sarjeant-at-Arms. He sat to attention on his chair, a big ugly brute of a man with a face like a fist and muscles on his muscles. “Sudden and unexpected punishment is my domain. So take your seat at the table, Edwin, before I find it necessary to discipline you.”
    “Like to see you try, Cedric,” I said, as I seated myself at the end of the table, facing the Matriarch. “Really would like to see you try. I kicked the crap out of the last Sarjeant-at-Arms, and he had years more viciousness under his belt than you.”
    “Yes,” said the Sarjeant. “But I’m sneakier.”
    I figured honours were about even, but I changed the subject anyway, just in case. “Where’s William? He’s still part of the Council, isn’t he? Surely we need the Librarian here, if we’re to discuss the significance of the Apocalypse Door?”
    “William is still away with the faeries, as often as not,” said the Matriarch, regretfully. “I had hoped letting him live in the Old Library, away from the pressures of family life, might help to settle and stabilise him, but I can’t honestly say I’ve seen any signs of improvement.”
    “The Librarian is a looney tune,” said Harry. “Crazier than ever, if anything. He only appears at Council meetings through spiritual projections, insists his assistant Rafe acts as his food taster, and keeps wittering on about Something unseen that lives in the Old Library with him and steals his socks. It’s well past time we retired him, and let Rafe take over as Librarian.”
    “William is a better Librarian crazy than most other men sane,” the Armourer said stubbornly. “It’s amazing how much that man knows, when he can remember it. No one knows the Old Library like he does. But he is only a part-time member of the Council now, Eddie. We’ve been forced to consider bringing in new members.”
    “Fresh blood,” said Harry, with entirely too much relish in his voice.
    “Howard has been in charge of Operations for some time now,” said the Matriarch. “And done an excellent job. All right, he is over-bearingly arrogant, and his company is best enjoyed in very small portions, but he’s very good at thinking outside the box. We can always insist he sits next to the Sarjeant, and issue the Sarjeant with a Taser. Being part of the Council might actually help teach him how to play nicely with others. Then there’s Callan, who’s been a real success as Head of the War Room. And yes, I’ll admit that some days it does seem like he fell out of the sarcasm tree and hit every branch on the way down, but we can live with that. We’ve lived with worse.” She glared at me. “I’ve allowed you to distract us long enough, Edwin. It is time to talk about what happened in Los Angeles. Why didn’t you report here directly?”
    “I needed some downtime,” I said.
    “So you could think up some excuses for your many failures on this mission?” said Harry.
    “You always expect everyone to think like you, Harry,” I said. “I was only supposed