Simon Green - For Heaven's Eyes Only

“Some shit I won’t put up with,” said Molly, staring straight ahead.

“You sweet, sentimental old thing, you,” I said.

She smiled suddenly, like the sun coming out. “Yes,” she said. “I am. And I’ll kick the crap out of anyone who says otherwise.”

The next booth was a technological wonder, all brightly polished steel with flashing lights and electronic sound effects. The booth operator was trying to persuade passersby to step inside the booth and be made over into a perfect new version of themselves. Results guaranteed. Strangely, no one seemed interested. The operator was working himself into an absolute lather of excitement, but no one even stopped to enquire about the price. I looked at Molly.

“It’s a con,” she said briskly. “You step into the booth and disappear forever. What steps out is a Thing from Outside transformed into a perfected version of you. It then goes out into the world to gather information before an invasion by the rest of its kind. No one’s fallen for it in years, but they keep trying.”

“If the fair knows about this, why do they allow it to go on?” I said.

Molly gave me a pitying look. “Because they’ve paid.”

“Ah,” I said. “Of course. Silly me.” I looked at the transformation booth. “I knew I’m supposed to be on holiday, but I really don’t think I can allow an alien invasion to happen right in front of me. Distract the operator for me; there’s a dear.”

“Can’t take you anywhere.” Molly sighed. She walked up to the operator and glared right into his face. “Hey! You! My sister walked in there ten minutes ago and she hasn’t come out yet! What’s your game?”

And while the operator was sputtering and protesting his innocence, and offering to open the booth so that Molly could see her sister wasn’t in any way in there, I strolled round the back of the booth, glanced casually around to make sure no one was watching and then concentrated on my torc, muttering the activating Words under my breath. As I concentrated, a slender filament of golden strange matter eased out of the torc and slid across my shoulder and down my arm, till it could jump off my fingertip and into the open workings at the back of the booth. I whipped the filament back and forth, ripping and tearing at the delicate parts within, and there was a sudden flash of discharging energies, followed by a burst of thick purple smoke. I quickly pulled the strange matter back into my torc and stepped away as purple smoke enveloped the booth. The operator forgot all about placating Molly, and howled something inhuman as he saw what was happening to his transformation device. It suddenly imploded, sucked inside itself by whatever was happening within, and alien forces pulled the whole thing back into its home dimension. Molly gave the operator a good shove from behind, and he tottered forward, to be sucked in by the imploding energies. In a few moments booth and operator were both gone, and Molly and I were some distance away, not even looking in that direction.

“I know,” said Molly. “Some shit you won’t put up with.”

“Damned right,” I said.

And that was when the Satanist conspiracy made their appearance at the Supernatural Arms Faire. A group of about twenty large and menacing men in dark suits appeared out of nowhere, striding purposefully through the fair, looking quite ready to trample over anyone who didn’t get out of their way fast enough. They weren’t even trying to hide what they were; each wore a large inverted cross on a chain. As they drew nearer, I realised they were wearing formal tuxedos, and very smartly fitted, too. Nothing like a tuxedo to add that touch of class and dignity to a bunch of Satanist scumbags. Molly and I stood well back to let them pass. They all seemed very serious, very focused, very determined. I got the giggles.

“Look, everybody!” I said loudly. “They all look like waiters! No, penguins!”

And I moved in behind them and waddled along in the rear, flapping my arms at my sides and making plaintive feed me! noises in penguin. The crowd loved it. They went apeshit, laughing and cheering and joining in with penguin noises of their own. The Satanists kept going. They couldn’t stop and look back to see what was going on; that might make them look weak. So they increased their pace, trying to leave me behind. So I made plaintive wait for me! noises in penguin and hurried after them. Until Molly grabbed me by an arm and hauled me away, forcefully pushing me into a side turning, out of sight of the Satanists and the wildly applauding crowd.

“We’re not here to attract attention!” said Molly. “Especially from a whole bunch of probably highly trained satanic foot soldiers! You’re supposed to be a secret agent, so act secret! Stick close to me, and observe what the bastards are up to from a safe distance. They wouldn’t have shown up here in such an ostentatious way unless they were up to something important!”

“You mean, like, make friends and influence people?” I said. “Or are they here to buy weapons like everyone else? I know! Let’s grab the smallest one, haul him off somewhere private and hit him in the head until his eyes change colour, or he starts telling us things we want to know.”

“What’s the matter, Eddie?” said Molly, looking searchingly into my face. “This isn’t like you.”

“Lightbringer House,” I said. “They made us run away with our tails between our legs. I’m not taking that from a bunch of Devil-worshipping scumbags.”

Molly shook her head slowly. “Testosterone must be such a curse. No one is supposed to know there’s a Drood here, remember? You’re Shaman Bond. Who fortunately has a reputation for eccentric behaviour.”

I smiled briefly. “I put a lot of time and effort into building that reputation. Lets me get away with all kinds of things that would otherwise require explanations.”

“You’re not going to do the penguin thing again, are you?” said Molly.

“Almost certainly not,” I said. “Satanists bring out the worst in me. They’re so straight-faced. We can still sneak along behind them and spy on them, can’t we?”

“Oh, sure,” said Molly. “I can sneak with the best of them.”

So we caught up with the Satanists and strolled casually along behind them, observing their every move from a respectable distance. We weren’t alone. A lot of people were interested in why Satanists had come to the arms fair. The tuxedo group walked up and down the stalls and booths, row after row, looking over the exhibits on display, but never buying anything. They seemed much more interested in the people behind the stalls, especially the weapons designers and manufacturers. Quite often the Satanists would make these people a more than generous offer to come and design weapons for them. Most of the weapons makers turned them down. Even they had a line they wouldn’t cross. The Satanists never made a fuss, never tried threats or intimidation, only smiled politely, gave everyone their card and moved on to the next stall.

They did buy a few things, after it became clear people wouldn’t talk to them if they didn’t, and by eavesdropping shamelessly at the next stall, I was able to ascertain that the Satanists had established a major line of credit with the fair before they arrived. Which made me wonder who was backing them. You can’t set up a major conspiracy without extensive funding. A question to raise with the family once I got back. Certainly the stallholders seemed only too happy to take the Satanists’ money, even if none of them seemed to be taking the tuxedo guys particularly seriously.

One of the Satanists broke away from the group, attracted by a stall offering cloned monkeys’ paws. He spoke briefly with the stallholder, who spoke briefly in return. Then somebody must have said something, because it all kicked off, with the two men shouting into each other’s faces and the insults flying thick and fast. The rest of the tuxedos got involved in a hurry, backing up their own with cold, glaring eyes and a heavy, threatening presence. The stallholder must have hit a silent alarm, because almost immediately the fair’s security people were making the scene. The crowd backed quickly away to give both sides room to manoeuvre, but not so far that they might miss any of the excitement.