Simon Green - For Heaven's Eyes Only

“Agreed,” I said.

“Could I try yours?” Ammonia said to Molly. “Just for a moment, to see what it feels like?”

“No, Molly,” I said immediately. Molly’s hands were already rising to the crown on her head, but when I spoke she snatched them back down again. I smiled at Ammonia. “You’re very . . . persuasive in person, Ammonia. But try anything like that again and the deal is off. Forever.”

“What?” said Molly. “What happened there?”

“You know a lot of Drood secrets,” I said. “And if you had taken your crown off, only for a second . . .”

“You sneaky cow,” Molly said to Ammonia.

“You have no idea what it’s like, never to be trusted even for a moment,” said Ammonia. “What makes you think I care about your stupid little secrets?”

“Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you?” I said.

Ammonia made us both wait outside in the garden while she said her good-byes to her husband. Or perhaps she wanted to lock up all the drinks cabinets before she left. Though Peter had the look of a man who would gnaw through a wooden cabinet to get to his favourite tipple. Molly and I wandered back up the garden path, stopping to smell the roses along the way. It really was a very peaceful setting.

“You know you can’t go back with us,” I said to Molly. “This is private, and very personal, Drood business.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” said Molly, in that special, casual tone of voice she uses only when she wants me to know that I’ll have to do something really special to make up for it later. “I’ll make my own way back. See you again, lover.”

She snapped her fingers and was gone. I sighed. She was going to go off and sulk now. She hated not being included in things. And it was going to take more than a double-layer box of Thorntons dark chocolate assortment to win her round this time.

Ammonia finally came out of the cottage, slamming the front door shut behind her. She stomped over to me, looked round her garden as though she wasn’t sure she would ever see it again, then looked at me standing on my own, and sniffed loudly.

“Let’s do this, if we’re going to. I don’t like to leave Peter on his own for too long. Get a move on, Drood; you’re the one with the Merlin Glass.”

I removed the mirror from its pocket dimension, but before I could even activate it, Ammonia stepped back sharply, as though I’d tried to shove a poisonous snake in her face. I looked quickly at the Merlin Glass, but for the moment it still looked like an ordinary hand mirror.

“There’s something in there!” said Ammonia, glaring into the Glass. “Something, or someone. I can’t see it, but it can see me. I can tell. It’s looking at me right now.”

I looked into the Glass, but all I could see was my own somewhat puzzled reflection. I shook the Glass a few times, on general principle, but the reflection stayed the same. I looked at Ammonia.

“Friendly . . . or unfriendly?”

Ammonia shrugged. “I could find out for you. But that would cost extra.”

“Then it can wait,” I said. “Let’s see what you can do with the Librarian first.”

I shook the Merlin Glass out to full size and opened a doorway directly to the Old Library. Ammonia peered interestedly at the new view on the other side of the mirror. Rows and rows of bookshelves, under a pleasant golden glow, stretching away in all directions for as far as the eye could follow. I went through the Glass first, to reassure Ammonia, but she didn’t hold back a moment in following me through. I shut down the Glass and put it away, turned to Ammonia and found the most dangerous telepath in the world was trembling visibly.

“It’s the memories,” she said. “Every book in this place still carries the traces of everyone who ever read it. It’s like millions of voices, all shouting in my head at once. It’s taking everything I’ve got to keep them out. Your Old Library is a lot older than you realise. It doesn’t belong to your family. Droods didn’t put the Library together; you inherited it. And then you brought it here with you from the Hall before this, and the Hall before that.”

“Okay,” I said, “you’re getting into family business and family secrets you don’t need to know about. Look away, Ammonia.”

She wasn’t even listening to me, her gaze fixed on something only she could see. “So many have passed through this place, and left footprints in the sands of Time. Not all of them were human. Gods and monsters have walked these dusty ways in search of lost and forbidden knowledge.”

“Okay,” I said, “you’re pushing it now. I don’t need the dramatics.”

Ammonia shrugged easily. “All part of the service. All part of what you’re paying for. I’m fine now. I’ve got your Library’s measure. It’s really quite pleasant, now that I’ve shut out the books. I can work here. Well away from your family, I’m happy to say, off in the Hall proper.”

I looked at her. “How do you know we’re not actually in the Hall?” “Because it’s my job to know things like that. This is some kind of pocket dimension. The Hall itself is . . . that way.”

And she pointed up and to the left with complete certainty. Given that the Old Library is only lightly connected to the real world, I decided not to push the point. She might be right.

“Hello!” Ammonia said suddenly. “I’m picking up something . . . odd. There’s you and me, and your Librarian, and his assistant; but I’m also picking up another presence . . . definitely not human.”

“That’s probably Ethel,” I said. “The other-dimensional entity who lives with us. She’s always looking in.”

“The source of your family’s power, and your new armour,” said Ammonia. “I know all about Ethel. And it’s not her. I can sense her watching us from back in Drood Hall. Behind quite extraordinarily powerful shields. I have to wonder what it is she’s so desperate to hide from me . . . and you. I could find out; but that would cost you extra. But never mind about strange presences. That’s not why I’m here. Where’s the patient?”

Ioreth appeared suddenly from out of the nearest stacks, glaring at Ammonia from what he probably believed was a safe distance. He was wearing a monk’s habit, with the hood pushed back to reveal a shaved head, on which was jammed a crown very similar to the one the Armourer had given Molly. Ioreth was doing his best to stand tall and proud, but couldn’t quite bring it off. He looked more like someone desperately in need of a toilet.

“Hello! I’m Ioreth! I’m fine, thank you! I’m not thinking about anything. I’m definitely not thinking about that. Or that. I’m fine! Really.”

“Ioreth, if you don’t calm the fuck down right now, I am going to hose you from head to foot with Ritalin,” I said. “You’ve had plenty of warning about this. And I know I’m going to regret asking, but why are you dressed like a monk?”

“William says he finds it soothing,” said Ioreth. “You wouldn’t believe the number of outfits we had to go through to find one he could live with. I can tell you for a fact that he really doesn’t like sneakers. Or ties. Found that out the hard way. It was either this or a kilt, and this was less draughty. You haven’t seen my dignity, have you? I’m sure I left it around here somewhere. I’m fine! Thanks for asking.”

“And why are you wearing one of the Armourer’s brand-new psychic protection units?” I asked, gesturing at his crown. “Your torc is all you need.”

“The council insisted,” Ioreth said stiffly. “In your absence. The telepath cannot be allowed access to Drood secrets. Especially the kind you learn from reading the books in the Old Library. I know things even I don’t think I should know.”