After breakfast, I led Molly to the back of the main house and out through the huge French windows onto the long sloping lawns where the funeral was to be held. The coffins gleamed brightly in the early morning sun, rows and rows of them stretching away before us. All closed, of course, to hide the fact that most contained only parts of bodies, and some contained nothing at all. Two hundred and forty wooden boxes. I didn’t know we kept that many in stock. Or perhaps someone just used a duplication spell. Two hundred and forty fewer Droods, to stand between the world and all the evils in it.

All family loss matters. But my family matters more than most.

The whole family, or so it seemed, turned out for the funeral. They came from all over the Hall, standing in groups according to their calling or status. No one wanted to stand with Molly and me, not even the other members of my Inner Circle. Ranks and ranks of the living lined up before the rows of coffins, while hidden speakers pumped out consoling music. The Armourer was off to one side, fussing over a remote control panel. Keeping an eye on the energy field that protected us from enemy attacks and spying eyes.

The music finally ended with a stirring rendition of “I Vow to Thee My Country,” which we’ve pretty much adopted as our anthem, and then a Drood vicar came out to start the service. He was a Christian; nothing more. The family has never bothered with all the various schisms that have split the Protestant Church down the years. We’d probably still be Catholic if the pope hadn’t ordered us to assassinate Henry VIII, when he split England away from Rome. The pope really should have known better. No one orders Droods around.

The vicar took us quickly through a stripped-down service, not even pausing for hymns or homilies, and then he stepped back and nodded to the Armourer. Uncle Jack hit a large red button with the flat of his hand, and just like that, two hundred and forty coffins disappeared, gone, leaving only faint indentations in the grassy lawn. Molly looked at me inquiringly.

“Transported directly into the heart of the sun,” I said. “Instant cremation. Ashes to ashes, and less than ashes. Nothing left behind to be used against the family. I told you we all get cremated; we’re just a bit more dramatic about it than most. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to make my speech. Good thing I don’t suffer from stage fright; looks like everyone’s here, except the Matriarch.” I frowned. “She should be here. She shouldn’t let private arguments get in the way of family duty. Ah well, wish me luck.”

“Anyone even looks like heckling, I’ll set fire to their underwear,” said Molly.

“How very fitting,” I said.

“I thought so,” said Molly.