Simon Green - For Heaven's Eyes Only

And straight into the Armoury, even though it was located in a whole other wing of Drood Hall. I looked quickly behind me, but no one had followed. I moved slowly forward, checking every dark shadow for a new accusing face. The huge stone chamber seemed strange and unsettling, far too quiet without the usual hustle and bustle of the Armourer and his lab assistants. Always busy working on new weapons and devices of appalling destruction. Or raising hell and getting themselves into trouble for the fun of it. It isn’t a successful day in the Armoury unless someone’s been transformed into something distressing, or exploded, or committed some brave new crime against nature. But the workstations were empty, and the weapons-testing ground was unnaturally quiet. I moved quickly through the Armoury, looking for something I could use as a weapon. There were always nasty destructive things lying about in the Armoury. But the few dark shapes I could make out were welded to surfaces by the extreme cold, buried under thick layers of ice. I tried to pry a few of them loose, but no amount of effort would budge them. I beat at the crusted ice with my fist, but couldn’t even crack or splinter it.

A sound behind me spun me round, hands up to defend myself, half expecting Uncle Jack, the Armourer. But instead it was my uncle James. The greatest field agent the family ever produced: the legendary Grey Fox. Dead, because of me. He stood there smiling, tall and dark and handsome in his splendid tuxedo. Every inch the master spy I never was. Looking just as he had before I got him killed.

“No,” I said. “Please. No. Not you, Uncle James. I can’t stand it. . . .”

“Relax,” said Uncle James. “It’s all right, Eddie. I forgave you long ago.”

For a long moment, I couldn’t say anything. Uncles James nodded understandingly.

“It’s good to see you again, Eddie. I understood why you did what you did, even when I was alive. Ah, the things we do for the family . . . I don’t hold grudges. You see things a lot more clearly once you’re dead. You did for the family what I should have done long before.”

“Why are you here?” I said. “Are you a prisoner in this place, like me?”

“No. I was called here, like the others. But unlike most of them, I’m on your side.”

“Do you think I should tell Walker what he wants to know?” I said. “Tell him all my secrets, and those of the family?”

“Of course not,” said Uncle James. “Walker always was too ready to bow down to authority, or to anyone with a public-school accent. Tell him to go to hell, Eddie.”

I had to grin. Death had not mellowed Uncle James. “Do you know whom Walker’s working for? Who it is who wants my secrets?”

Uncle James frowned. “It’s hard to be sure of anything here. Hardly anyone or anything is necessarily what they appear to be.”

“Even you?” I said.

He shrugged easily. “Hard to tell. I think I’m me, but then I would, wouldn’t I?”

I put out my hand to him, but when he went to shake it, our fingers drifted through one another.

“Am I a ghost?” I said. “Give it to me straight; I can take it.”

“Not even close,” snapped another familiar voice. “You shouldn’t be here, boy.”

And suddenly standing next to my uncle James was Jacob Drood, the family ghost. He wore a battered Hawaiian shirt over grubby shorts, looking older than death itself. His face was a mass of wrinkles, his big, bony skull graced with a few flyaway hairs. But his eyes were as sharp and fierce as ever. He nodded brusquely to Uncle James, and then fixed me with his glare. “I’m the only ghost here, Eddie; but I can’t help you. There are rules even the dead have to obey. Perhaps especially the dead.”

I studied him carefully. He looked more solid and more real than anyone else I’d met in this empty Hall. “Are you really here, Jacob?”

“Yes. But not everyone else is.” He looked at Uncle James, who smiled easily back. Jacob sniffed loudly and glared about him before piercing me with his sharp gaze again. “Someone’s running a game on you, Eddie. Even I can’t tell who the players are, for sure. You need to get out of here, boy. You don’t belong here. Bad things are on their way, attracted by the light.”

“The blue moonlight?”

“Your light, boy! Get out of here! Run, while you still can!”

I looked at Uncle James, and he nodded quickly. That was enough for me. I turned and ran back through the Armoury, and almost immediately found myself in the Sanctity, the great open chamber that served as a meeting place for the ruling council of the family. Once it was home to the Heart, the huge other-dimensional diamond that gave the family its power, and its original armour. As long as we fed it the souls of our children. I put a stop to that and destroyed the Heart, and now the Sanctity was only a room. But there was no trace of the rose red glow that usually suffused the chamber, the physical manifestation of the other-dimensional traveller called Ethel, who came to the Hall to replace the Heart and supply our new armour. The good angel I’d found to replace the bad. Except that angels always have their own agenda, and don’t always give a damn for merely human concerns. . . .

The Sanctity felt cold and desolate without Ethel’s comforting glow. I called out to her, but no one answered. I nodded quietly to myself. One final proof that this place wasn’t, couldn’t be, the real Drood Hall. No one could have kept Ethel from answering me in the real Hall.

“Always running, Eddie,” said yet another familiar voice. “Never staying in one place long enough to take responsibility for your actions.”

I took my time turning around, and there was Penny Drood, tall and slender in her usual white sweater and slacks. She looked at me with cold, desperate eyes.

“You let him kill me. That old monster from old London town. My blood is on your hands. You must make amends, Eddie. Tell Walker what he needs to know.”

“I did warn you about Mr. Stab,” I said. “I told you what he was, but you were so sure you knew better.”

“You’ve always got an answer, haven’t you, Eddie?” said Alexander King, the independent agent, stepping forward to stand beside Penny. “Typical Drood. Always ready to blame the bad things in the world on someone else.”

“In your case, I was right,” I said. “Nasty old man, squatting on your stolen secrets, guarding your hoard like a dragon in its cave. Yes, I killed you. Do it again in a minute. After everything you were responsible for, you deserved your death.”

“Tell them what they want to know,” said King. “You can’t keep anything from Walker or those he serves. They have all the power here. They know where all the bodies are buried.”

Suddenly the entire great chamber of the Sanctity was full of people crowding in around me. Matthew and Alexandra Drood, who did their best to have me killed in the name of Zero Tolerance, and died trying to stop me from saving the family. And more faces, and more: all the men and women who’d died at my hands, or because of me, because I was an agent of the Droods. All the bad guys, and those who thought they were good guys but chose a bad cause to follow, and all those in between. All the Accelerated Men, who died trying to storm Drood Hall and kill the family. All the teenage Immortals, who died trying to rule Humanity, or because they planned to unleash the forces of Hell by opening the Apocalypse Door. All those I’d fought to save the world from. I hadn’t realised there were so many of them. Hundreds of dead men and women surrounding me with cold, pitiless eyes, many of them with their death wounds still fresh and bloody. I stood my ground, glaring around me, refusing to accept the guilt they were trying to impose on me.