Simon Green - For Heaven's Eyes Only

“On a somewhat connected matter,” I said, after we’d all taken some time out to consider Roger’s words, “I was told that this family has long-standing pacts with Heaven and Hell. Is that right?”

“Oh, yes,” said the Armourer, entirely casually. “Very old pacts with the Courts of the Holy and the Houses of Pain. What about them?”

“Why?” I said. “And a whole side order of, How? ”

“You never did pay attention in history class, did you?” said the Sarjeant.

“This is very old family history,” said the Armourer. “Going back to the really early days, when our armour was still new and we were still making a name for ourselves . . . And we needed all the help we could get. The details of how contact was made, and even exactly what we get out of it, are kept locked away in Very Secret, Need to Know, Move Along, Nothing to See Here files.”

“I’m getting really tired of hearing that phrase, need-to-know ,” I said. “I used to run this bloody family, and the sheer number of things it turns out I didn’t need to know is getting on my tits big-time. Who does know?”

The Armourer and the Sarjeant-at-Arms looked at each other, their faces unreadable. Finally, the Sarjeant said reluctantly, “The Matriarch knew. And . . . one other.”

“William,” said the Armourer. “As Librarian, he knew.”

We all looked at William, and he looked back with surprisingly clear and thoughtful eyes. “The original contracts, or compacts, are still on file in the Old Library. They make very interesting reading. Which is why I’ve filed them away in such a manner that no one will ever be able to find them again without my help. Trust me on this, Eddie: You don’t need to know what’s in them. No one in the family does. It’s enough to know . . . that we have contacts, and perhaps even friends, in high and low places. And Jacob, of course.”

“What?” I said.

“The ghost, Jacob,” William said patiently. “He knew. He wasn’t supposed to, but then, it’s hard to keep secrets from the dead.”

“Could we use these . . . contacts?” I said. “To try to find out what’s happening with this new Satanist conspiracy, and what they’re up to?”

“No,” said William.

We all waited, but he had nothing more to say.

“The family must be protected,” the Sarjeant said heavily. “Some things must stay secret.”

“Like the source of our original armour?” I said. “Or the pact our ancestors made with the Heart? We did make some really bad decisions, back in the bad old days. That’s always been the trouble with this family. Too many secrets.”

“I think you’re pushing this too far, Eddie,” said the Armourer.

“Am I?” I said. “I don’t think I’m pushing this nearly far enough! What about those secret departments within departments that most of the family isn’t even supposed to know exist? You told me about them, William; have you remembered anything else?”

“I don’t know!” said William. “Don’t push me! I know what I need to know, when I need to know it, and on good days that includes where to find the chemical toilet. I know some things . . . but I’m not entirely sure I trust them. There are . . . agents, yes, more secret than the field agents, sent out to do the kinds of things the family would rather not admit to, even to itself. Perhaps especially not to itself. But I don’t remember who they were, or are. Maybe I never knew. . . . Only the Matriarch knew everything.”

“And she’s gone,” I said. “Which raises a very interesting question: Who’s running these special agents these days, and what exactly are they doing in the family’s name?”

“Eddie has a point,” the Armourer said reluctantly. “We’ve let things run loose far too long. Admittedly, we have been a bit busy lately, but still . . . Someone has to take charge. Someone has to set overall policy of what is and is not acceptable, and make sure the family’s left hand knows what its right hand is doing.”

“Once the family has elected a leader, they can take control,” said Harry.

“Can we wait that long?” I said. “Are we supposed to let these secret departments run themselves, without anyone knowing what they’re doing?”

“I know,” said William. “I’ve always known. Of course, I don’t always remember what I know. Or even if what I remember actually happened.”

“I don’t care what he may or may not know; we are not putting him in charge of anything,” the Sarjeant said firmly. “No offence, Uncle William.”

“Oh, hello, young Cedric,” said William. “Do you want an ice cream?”

“Uncle Jack,” I said, looking firmly at the Armourer, “you’re the senior man here, with actual field agent experience. You’ll have to take charge. Dig up these secret departments and rein them in. Only till someone can take overall charge again.”

“You do like to put me on the spot, don’t you, Eddie?” The Armourer scowled and drummed his fingertips on the table for a moment, but in the end he nodded shortly. “All right. There are people I can talk to. And they’ll talk to me, if they know what’s good for them.”

“I should be involved in this,” said the Sarjeant. “It involves family security.”

“Yes, it does, and no, you shouldn’t,” said the Armourer. “You tend your own briar patch, Cedric.”

“Hold it,” said Harry. “Don’t we get to discuss this? The Armourer gets to be in charge because he’s the oldest here?”

“Because he has seniority, because he has actual field experience and because he knows who these special agents are. Don’t you, Uncle Jack?” I met his gaze steadily. “You have to know who they are, because you’re the one who supplies them with all the necessary weapons and gadgets before they go out on their missions. Right, Uncle Jack?”

He smiled suddenly. “You always were smarter than you let anyone realise, Eddie. Yes, I know who they are. Now all I have to do is persuade them to tell me whom they work for; who gives them their orders and sends them out on their missions. As if I don’t have enough work on my plate . . . Engines big enough to drive the moon out of its orbit don’t build themselves, you know.”

There was a pause.

“I thought we’d agreed that you were going to table that one, for the time being,” I said tactfully.

The Armourer sniffed loudly. “Man’s allowed to have a hobby, isn’t he?”

I looked at Roger. “We are about to change the subject. What do you know about the family’s pact with Hell?”

“Not a thing,” said Roger. “Way above my pay scale.”

“Is there anyone you could talk to who might know what Dusk is up to?”

“I don’t think they’d tell me, even if they knew,” Roger said carefully.

“Even though you’re half Drood?”

“Especially because I’m half Drood. Besides, consider the source. Hell always lies.”

“Except when a truth can hurt you more,” said Harry.

“What did happen on your recent trip to Hell?” I asked Roger. “Did anything come of that?”

“Not really,” said Roger. “I had to call it off and come back in a hurry when everything started kicking off here with the Accelerated Men attack.”

“I think we’ve spent quite long enough talking about Hell,” said the Sarjeant. “It’s time to move on to more immediate business. Our immediate top priority is the Supernatural Arms Faire, currently being held in the mountains above Pakistan.”

“What?” I said. “What’s that got to do with us?”

“It’s still mostly called the Supernatural Arms Faire, even though most of the weapons on display these days tend towards superscience,” said the Armourer. “I go every year; never miss it. Last year they were giving away Shock and Awe in the goodie bags! It’s a very old affair, Eddie; goes all the way back to Roman times. Or at least, that’s when it first appears in an official report. Enthusiasts such as myself did take to calling it Harmageddon back in the eighties, but it never really caught on. Everybody who’s anybody who’s involved in weapons of mass destruction goes there to see what’s new and nasty. The Internet’s made a lot of things more readily accessible, but there’s still nothing quite like the joy of browsing.”