Simon Green - For Heaven's Eyes Only

“Very healthy young girl!” he said loudly. “Got a good pair of legs on her. They go all the way up to her arse. I don’t know why you insist on keeping her out of the Old Library, Sarjeant. She can come and visit me anytime. . . .”

“She can’t have access, because she isn’t family,” said the Sarjeant.

“Oh, let the girl in,” said William. “I could show her a few things. Oh, yes. I may be insane, but I’m not crazy.”

“Dirty old man,” said Molly, in a not entirely disapproving way.

“Moving on,” I said deliberately. “I’m mostly concerned about Alexandre Dusk, and the Great Sacrifice he was talking about.”

“It is a worry, yes,” said the Sarjeant. “But I don’t see anything serious enough in this that we should make it a top priority.”

“What?” I said. “Are you out of your mind, Cedric? A Satanist conspiracy involving every government in the world, talking about a satanic coup so big it could debase all Humanity, and let loose the Great Beast himself . . . and you don’t see that as a top priority?”

“It’s just Satanists,” said the Sarjeant. “They always talk big. We’ll keep an eye on them, certainly. Gather information, see who’s actually involved and what they might have going for them. . . . I’ll delegate one of our field agents to infiltrate Lightbringer House.”

“I could do that!” I said immediately. “I could go in as Shaman Bond!”

“The council has a far more important mission in mind for you,” said Harry. “Important and urgent. You’ll need to be ready for insertion first thing tomorrow morning.”

“What?” I said. “I’ve only just got back from being dead!”

“No rest for the wicked,” the Armourer said solemnly. “I can always whip up one of my special pep-you-up tonics, if you like.”

“No, I do not like,” I said. “Grandmother used to dose me with your tonics all the time I was growing up, and they always tasted vile .”

“That’s how you know it’s doing you good,” said the Armourer. “You always got a nice chocolate afterwards, didn’t you?”

“There isn’t a chocolate in the world that could take away the taste of your tonics!”

“It’s nice to be appreciated,” said the Armourer. He shook his head slowly. “An actual Satanist conspiracy, after all these years. I always have trouble taking them seriously. It’s all a bit too much Dennis Wheatley, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Who?” said Harry.

“You know,” said Roger. “ The Devil Rides Out , that was him. The old Hammer horror film we watched on DVD last week. Most of the people in my circles think it’s a classic. We all love Charles Gray as the coven leader, Mocata. Very sinister. He made being a Devil worshipper look so damned cool . Mocata was supposedly based on Aleister Crowley, but I am here to tell you, Crowley was never that impressive. Or even that dignified. Hell of a mountain climber, though.”

“Have you heard anything about this new conspiracy?” I said. “These are your people, aren’t they?”

“Oh, please! Hardly,” said Roger. “They’re nothing but wannabes, whereas I am the real thing. There have always been satanic conspiracies, but none of them were ever as powerful or as important as they liked to think.”

“Yes, well,” said Molly, “you would say that, wouldn’t you? Do you know anything about Alexandre Dusk and his proposed Great Sacrifice?”

“Haven’t heard anything,” said Roger.

We all waited, but he had nothing more to say. Even Harry was looking at Roger thoughtfully, but he didn’t seem to care.

“I have to ask,” I said, looking round the council. “Given that there is an unquestionably real satanic conspiracy, is there, in fact, a good-guy equivalent? Apart from us, obviously.”

“There are other organisations on the side of the Light,” said the Sarjeant-at-Arms. “And any number of powerful individuals, like the Lord of Thorns, in the Nightside; and the Walking Man, the wrath of God in the world of men. . . .”

“I was thinking of something more specific,” I said. “Are there agents of good in the world, to match the agents of evil?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” said the Armourer. “There is . . . the Emmanuel.”

Everyone seemed to sit up a little straighter. Even William was giving the conversation his full attention, such as it was.

“Emmanuel,” said William. “Literally, ‘God with us.’”

“Is that a person or an organisation?” I said.

“Good question,” said the Armourer. “Nobody knows. Or at least, no one knows for sure. This family has had dealings with the Emmanuel, down the centuries. When we knew for sure that we were in way out of our depth. According to family records, and these are very secret and very private records, the Emmanuel is extremely powerful, and not to be summoned lightly.”

“All right,” I said. “What’s the big secret here? What does the Emmanuel do?”

“He answers questions,” said William. “Truthfully. He knows everything there is to know about people, places and the true nature of reality. Which can be . . . very upsetting. Not to mention downright disturbing. We do have a book of his recorded sayings in the Old Library. It’s locked shut, in half a dozen different and very thorough ways, and on the front cover someone has stamped the words ‘Do Not Open Till Doomsday. ’ I for one can take a hint.”

“He can do . . . pretty much whatever he feels like doing,” said the Armourer. “I never met him, but Mother did. She said he was a man with no restraint and no limits. A man who would do absolutely anything in the name of the good. Which is why this family has only ever made contact with the Emmanuel when we were really deep in the shit, and going under for the third time. Apparently being around him can be . . . damaging.”

“Why?” I said.

“Because he scares the crap out of us,” said William.

“Of course,” said Roger. “Agents of the light, the ones who draw their power directly from the Most High, can be as cold-blooded, single-minded and dangerous to be around as any agent of the dark. Neither side really cares about people; it’s always the long view for them. Whatever’s best for Humanity as a whole, and God help the poor individual. Always ready to sacrifice today, in the name of tomorrow.”

“Any way,” said the Sarjeant, “according to family records, we’ve only ever met the one man. And whether that is the Emmanuel or the representative of a larger organisation . . . we have no way of knowing. Certainly the family has always been very glad to see the back of him. Apparently, he has only to look at you and you want to blurt out every bad thing you’ve ever done, or thought of doing, and then throw yourself at his feet and beg for mercy. We had to be very careful about whom we let talk to him. Even the best of us came away from such meetings . . . disturbed.”

“I have heard of the Emmanuel,” said Roger, and something in his voice made us all turn to look at him. “I’ve never met him. Don’t know anyone who has. But then, of course, we don’t move in the same circles. . . . He’s even more of an urban legend in the invisible world than the Droods. Often talked about, rarely encountered, best left strictly alone. Everyone knows someone who claims to know someone who’s met the Emmanuel; but when you try to pin them down . . . Where he comes from, nobody knows, but we’re all really glad when he goes back there. Extreme good can be just as scary, and just as dangerous, as extreme evil. All of my kind . . . the half-castes, the hellspawn and the Nephilim, and every possible combination of the natural and unnatural worlds, have good reason to stay well clear of such . . . archetypal forces. Neither good nor evil has any use for shades of grey. . . .”