Simon Green - For Heaven's Eyes Only

“What has this got to do with me?” I said. “And why do I know I’m really not going to like the answer?”

“Must be turning psychic,” the Armourer said cheerfully. “Now pipe down and pay attention, or there’ll be a short, sharp visit from the slap fairy. You need to know this. All the world’s most talented weapons makers turn up at the fair every year to show off their latest creations. And take orders for the coming year. We can often figure out what the bad guys are planning by studying their shopping lists. The location of the Supernatural Arms Faire changes every year, attendance strictly by invitation only. But it does keep coming back to the mountains over Pakistan, if only because they’re far enough from anywhere civilised that if something should go bang! unexpectedly, it won’t do too much damage. Do I really need to tell you that they’ve never even heard of Health and Safety? And the organisers do like to keep the fair as far as possible from the world’s prying eyes.”

“What organisers?” I said. “Who’s behind the fair?”

“The Gun Shops of Usher,” said the Sarjeant. “Very old firm. Older than us.” He fixed me with a cold stare. “We’re sending you in this year to observe and take notes, because you’re the most experienced field agent we’ve got left. Who isn’t busy with something else.”

“Why does it always have to be me?” I said plaintively. “Why can’t I ever get a case that involves loafing about at the seaside?”

“I could go,” said Harry.

“No, you couldn’t,” I said quickly. “I need you here, taking care of the day-to-day business. So I don’t have to.”

“Every man to what he does best, Harry,” said the Sarjeant.

“If you only knew what he does best . . .” murmured Roger.

“Not now, dear,” said Harry.

“How am I to get in, even as Shaman Bond, if I don’t have an invitation?” I said craftily, to show I had been paying attention.

“I visit the fair every year,” the Armourer said cheerfully. “I have a long-standing invitation to attend, because I have established a cover as a weapons enthusiast and retired nerd. You can get in on my ticket. Take Molly; I’m allowed a plus-one. Ah, I always have a great time wandering round the stalls, quietly sneering at new inventions I created or overcame years ago. And I always bring back a few good ideas. . . . Steal from the best, and call it research!”

“Do they know you’re a Drood?” said Molly.

“Of course not! They’d shut everything down and leg it for the horizon. Or try to kill me. Probably both. No, they think I’m another of those very keen trainspotter types who always turn up at affairs like these. Making endless notes, jotting down serial numbers . . . and exclaiming over unexpected obsolete makes, and proudly comparing their to-see lists. The fair security people could keep us out if they really wanted to, but the weapons makers like to have us around so they can show off in front of us and feel like stars. They’d miss us if we weren’t there. But this time it has to be you, Eddie. I’m too busy. You can go in as Shaman Bond, and no one need know you’re a Drood. I’ll give you the coordinates, and you can drop in through the Merlin Glass. In and out, no problem.”

“But what am I supposed to do there?” I said. “What is so important that an experienced field agent has to attend the Supernatural Arms Faire?”

“Because there are rumours, very serious rumours, that someone has come up with a high-tech equivalent to Drood armour,” said the Sarjeant. “And that they will be showing off the prototype at this year’s fair.”

“And we can’t have that,” said the Armourer. “Of course, people have been promising Drood-type armour for years, but no one’s ever been able to deliver.”

“Several normally trustworthy sources were very sure that this year, someone might have something,” the Sarjeant said firmly. “And, Eddie, if they have, you are to grab the prototype and bring it back with you, so the Armourer can hack it open and see what makes it tick. Before one of us has to go head-to-head with it in the field.”

“Who’s supposed to be behind this new armour?” I said.

“If you find out, bring them back, too,” said the Armourer.

“All right,” I said reluctantly. “But after I come back, I want to talk a lot more about Dusk and his proposed Great Sacrifice.”

“Of course,” said the Armourer. “We should have more definite information on the conspiracy by then.”

I sighed heavily. “First the Loathly Ones, then the Invisibles and the Accelerated Men, and now a brand-new Satanist conspiracy. How many conspiracies are there?”

“How long is a superstring?” said William.

We all looked at him, but he had nothing else to say.

“Any more business?” the Sarjeant-at-Arms said finally. “No . . . very well. Meeting adjourned. I’ll look into who’s properly next in line to be Matriarch; Armourer, I want a full report on whatever you discover about the secret departments; and Harry, I want a fully thought-out position paper from you on how we’re going to run the next election. We need some new ideas; the last election was really a shoo-in for the Matriarch. I’d like to see more of a fight this time. William . . . why don’t you go and have a nice lie-down, and see what else you can remember? And then write it all down. Before you forget it again.”

“Good idea,” said William. “I’ll get Rafe to help me.”

“Rafe is gone,” I said carefully. “You have a new assistant Librarian—Ioreth. Remember?”

“Oh. Yes,” said William. “I’d better write that down.”

The council broke up, everyone going their separate way with a certain amount of relief. The Sarjeant called in his security people to escort William back to the Old Library, and to put out the chair Roger Morningstar had been sitting on. I used the Merlin Glass to transport Molly and me straight to my room on the upper floor. Molly put her hands on my shoulders and started to say something, but I placed a fingertip on her lips and shook my head urgently. I leaned in close, so I could whisper in her ear.

“Molly, I need you to put up all your best privacy spells right now. I need protections so strong that no one will be able to overhear what I have to tell you. Do it now.”

“Who are you worried will listen in?” said Molly, as she stepped back and struck a series of mystical poses, her hands moving so quickly they left shimmering trails on the air.

“Everyone.”

“Including your own family?”

“Especially them.”

Molly made a final gesture and the whole room shuddered. The floor seemed to drop away an inch or so beneath my feet, and then steadied. There was a faint but very real tension on the air. Molly nodded briskly.

“Done and done. You can talk freely, Eddie. Gaea herself couldn’t overhear us now. What’s so important?”

I took both her hands in mine and had her sit down on the edge of the bed, facing me. “Remember when I was trapped in Limbo, and Walker was interrogating me, trying to make me give up all my secrets?”

“Of course,” said Molly. “We still need to figure out who was really behind that. Could it have been Dusk, do you suppose?”

“I did consider raising the subject with him,” I said. “But it never seemed the right time. I’d hate to think he was actually that powerful. . . . The point is, Walker said something to me right at the end. I said, ‘If this is where the dead people go, why aren’t my parents here?’ And he said, ‘What ever makes you think they’re dead?’”

Molly’s eyes widened, and then she squeezed my hands reassuringly. “Eddie . . . it would be wonderful if there were hope. But it probably wasn’t Walker. You can’t trust anything you see or hear in Limbo.”