Property of a Lady Faire (A Secret Histories Novel) by Simon R. Green

great white bodies shot this way and that, wings flapping energetically, never able to build up enough speed to get into the air, because they kept having to change direction when Molly got too close. She went sprinting up and down the length of the lake, her toes digging just below the surface of the waters to give her more traction. I stayed where I was, if only to avoid the energetic splashing from all concerned. My armour has many fine and useful qualities, but walking on water isn’t one of them.
    “Molly?” I said, after a while. “Please stop doing that, and come over here and talk to me. I’m sure whatever the swans did, they’re really very sorry now.”
    “Snotty, arrogant, entitled birdy things!” said Molly. Loudly. “They were looking down their noses at me!”
    She stopped running, quite abruptly, and glared about her. The swans glided to a somewhat ruffled halt a safe distance away. Molly sniffed scornfully, and stomped across the water to join me. I reached down, and pulled her up onto the bank beside me. She was still scowling, which is never a good sign.
    “Swans don’t have noses,” I said mildly.
    “Well, whatever they have, they were looking down them at me! They don’t like me. I could tell. Yes, I’m talking about you, you fluffy white bastards! You’d better stay at that end of the lake, or it’s sandwich time for the lot of you!”
    “You wouldn’t like them, Molly,” I said. “Swan meat is actually pretty bland and greasy. We have to supplement their feed with a special kind of corn just to make them palatable. Like the Royal swan-keepers do.”
    Molly looked at me. “Didn’t I read somewhere that only the Royal family are allowed to eat swan?”
    “We have a special dispensation,” I said.
    “The Queen told you that you could eat swan?”
    “No, we told her that we could eat swan.”
    “I’ve had enough of this lake,” said Molly. “And the swans. Let’s go somewhere else, Eddie.”
    • • •
    We strolled through the grounds together, heading for a pleasantly shady copse of elm trees. It all seemed very calm and peaceful, but long experience had taught me that you can’t trust anything at Drood Hall to be what it appears to be.
    “You should be more careful,” I said. “Antagonising swans is never a good idea. Powerful creatures, you know. A swan can break your arm. If it’s got a crowbar.”
    Molly laughed, despite herself. “I couldn’t stay in the Hall,” she said. “Far too dark and gloomy. And claustrophobic. And far too many people looking at me.”
    “Looking down their noses, perhaps?” I said. “Like the swans?”
    “So,” Molly said brightly, in her best I am changing the subject now and you’d better go along voice. “How was the family?”
    “Much as usual,” I said.
    “Bad as that, eh?” said Molly.
    “Yes,” I said. “I’m pretty sure I’ve been banished again. Go, and never darken our doorstop—the whole bit.”
    “They should know by now,” said Molly. “That never works. So, what did your grandmother leave you in her will? Was it money?”
    “No,” I said. “She just left me a keepsake. Something to remind me of the kind of person she was.”
    Molly waited until she was sure I had nothing more to say, and then she said, almost casually, “Have you finished your business here?”
    “Yes,” I said. “Nothing to hold me here now. It’s time for us to go visit the Department of Uncanny, and have our long-delayed little chat with the Regent of Shadows. My grandfather, Arthur Drood.”
    “Good,” said Molly. “I could use cheering up. I am just in the mood for some serious violence and extreme property damage.”
    “Never knew you when you weren’t,” I said.
    “Flatterer,” said Molly.
    “We are going to try talking first,” I said firmly. “If communications break down, then we move on to more distressing measures of persuasion.”
    “Wimp,” said Molly.
    “The Regent didn’t just decide to kill your