I watched the fierce shapes and impossible transformations strut back and forth before admiring audiences, and wasn’t sure I entirely approved. Right now we needed an army with every weapon at its command. But what would become of us, after the war? When there was no more need for golden monsters and gleaming gladiators? Under normal conditions, all the family ever needed to keep the peace was a limited number of specially trained field agents, like I used to be. Would these golden soldiers be ready to give up these exciting new possibilities?

And what if . . . what would happen if the armour itself started responding to unconscious impulses as well as conscious commands? Might we all become monsters from the id, ravening creatures driven by personal demons? Perhaps even trapped inside our own armour, as it responded to deep unconscious needs and ignored our conscious, horrified pleas to stand down?

Nightmares for another day. Right now, my job was to make sure the world would see another day. First win the war, then worry about the peace. So back to battle I went, armour clashing against armour, all through the long hot day. And before my eyes the Drood family quickly became something else, something fiercer and finer and more concentrated in its purpose. Giles Deathstalker was cranking the family up to eleven.

And we loved it.

During another brief break, I sat exhausted on the grass drinking a wonderfully chilled Becks straight from the bottle. The Matriarch had come out to observe how the manoeuvres were going, and had very thoughtfully brought a picnic hamper with her. I got first crack at it because rank has its privileges. So I chewed on cold chicken legs, enjoyed my nice Becks, and ostentatiously ignored the cucumber sandwiches. Sometimes I think Grandmother takes the whole county aristocracy bit far too seriously.

She sat beside me, perched confidently on a shooting stick in her usual tweeds and pearls, watching everything with great interest. She made a point of consulting with me at regular intervals, and agreeing with everything I said. This was all for public consumption, of course, so that the whole family could see I had her full backing. After a while, Giles Deathstalker came over to join us. He’d been working himself harder than any of us, but didn’t seem to be sweating or even out of breath. He looked like he did this every day, and for all I knew maybe he did. He was a Warrior Prime, whatever the hell that was. Giles bowed courteously to the Matriarch, and nodded cheerfully to me.

“Doing good, Eddie. Strong form and a fierce will to win. I’m impressed. So, what say you and I put on a bit of a show, demonstrate to your family just what two experienced fighters can really do? Nothing too strenuous, just a mock duel. What do you say?”