Simon Green - For Heaven's Eyes Only

The crowd hit me with everything they had, unleashing all their weapons at once. Terrible energies crawled all over me, dancing on my armour, discharging in the air, unable to pierce strange matter. Magics fell away; curses failed, unable to get a hold. My armour rang like a gong and sounded like a bell from all the many impacts and concussions, but I felt none of it, safe from harm.

The armour absorbed bullets and shook off everything else. I stood firm, defying them all, letting them exhaust their weapons. The crowd quickly grew tired of that, and the braver of them surged forward to attack me directly. Glowing blades shattered on my armour, and magical weapons glanced aside harmlessly. I laughed behind my featureless mask, waiting for them to come within reach of my armoured hands. A part of me wanted to run wild and kill them all. To smash their hated faces with my spiked gloves, to kill and kill, sinking myself in rage. But I couldn’t do that. Wouldn’t do that. Partly because . . . that would make me just like them. But mostly because I still knew my duty: to wait for a chance to escape and get the information out.

And then suddenly, it all stopped. No more weapons, no more attacks, no more shouted threats and insults. The crowd was silent, backing away to allow Roger to walk through them to face me again. They didn’t want to, but Roger’s air of authority, and his sheer infernal presence, overpowered them. He stood before me, careful to stay out of arm’s reach. I studied him carefully from behind my mask. He knew I was Shaman Bond. Was he about to reveal and destroy my other identity? Because he could? I didn’t think so. . . . More likely he’d keep that knowledge for himself, for some future occasion of pressure or blackmail.

He looked more demonic than ever. Crimson flames curled around his cloven hooves, and he’d left a trail of burning hoofprints behind him in the expensive rugs and carpets. He carried with him a stench of blood and sulphur and sour milk: the scent of Hell. A circle of buzzing flies surrounded his horned head like a halo.

“Sorry about all that,” he said easily. “Have to let them have their fun now and again.”

“Why?” I said.

He nodded slowly, knowing I wasn’t talking about the crowd. Why am I here? Why am I on Hell’s team? Oh, Eddie, it’s really very simple. When I last went down into Hell, as an emissary for your family, it was made very clear to me in the Houses of Pain that I was persona non grata. For letting the side down, for embracing my human nature over my infernal inheritance, for siding with the Droods. But most of all for showing love and compassion to Harry. That’s not allowed for my kind. I was given a choice: Show which side I was truly on by leading this new Satanist conspiracy, betraying the Droods in general and Harry in particular . . . or be hauled down into Hell again at the first opportunity, dragged screaming and kicking into the Pit, to know torment and horror forever. Not a difficult choice, really.

“And now, the end is nigh. There’s enough power in this place and in these people to allow me to peel that armour right off you. If you won’t see sense and surrender.”

I laughed right into his face. “You could try, hellspawn.”

“The time of the Droods is over. This is Hell’s time, come round at last. You heard what’s coming. You can’t stop it.”

“This isn’t you, Roger,” I said. “Not really. You were with us when we fought the Hungry Gods, and the Accelerated Men, and the Immortals.”

“That was then,” said Roger. “This is now. And this, truly, is me.”

“Do you really think this pathetic bunch of losers and wannabes will ever be a match for my family?”

The crowd made ugly noises, only to fall silent again the moment Roger glanced at them. Roger smiled calmly. “We have something you don’t.”

“Like what?”

“You’ll find out. The whole point of a secret weapon is to keep it secret right up until you finally use it.”

“So,” I said. “What now? Are you really going to try to kill me, cousin?”

“No,” said Roger. “I’m going to let you go.”

“What?” I said.

But my voice was drowned out by the crowd’s. They turned on Roger, yelling and protesting in a hundred voices at once. A Drood, helpless before them? They’d dreamed of an opportunity like this. Some of them had been at Lightbringer House when Alexandre Dusk had let me go, and they weren’t at all happy about my escaping their anger again. But Roger glared about him, not even deigning to speak to them, and where his gaze fell the Satanists grew silent and looked away. And slowly, like a man surrounded by a pack of half-trained dogs, Roger brought them under control again.

“I want you to go back to your family, Edwin, and tell them of your failure.” Roger smiled slowly, letting me see his pointed teeth. “I want you to make your report to the council and tell them everything you learned here.”

“Tell Harry?” I said.

“Tell them all. I want the Droods to know what’s coming, what I’ve put together to send against you. There’s nothing you can do to stop it. Because you’re one oversize and overextended family, while the conspiracy is a worldwide organisation with governments at our beck and call.”

“What should I tell Harry?” I said.

“Tell him . . . it was fun while it lasted.” He made a brusque gesture with one hand. “There. The shields are down. Go. While you still can.”

Molly and Isabella appeared immediately behind me, grabbed me in their arms and teleported me out. And the last thing I heard was Roger Morningstar’s infernal laughter.

Glad as I was to be waving good-bye to the Satanists’ little get-together, of all the places Molly and Isabella might have teleported me to, a Drood Council meeting in the Sanctity . . . wouldn’t even have made my top ten. But still, when the glare of the teleport died down, there Molly and I were, standing right in front of the council table, facing a somewhat startled Sarjeant-at-Arms, the Armourer, Harry and . . . William the Librarian. The Sarjeant went from startled to shocked to a state of utter outrage, where his face went a shade of purple not normally seen in nature. Unless you’re thinking of a baboon’s arse, which mostly I try not to. The Armourer cracked a big smile, and actually dropped me a brief wink. Harry looked at me disapprovingly, but then, he always did. While William . . . considered me thoughtfully, his expression surprisingly cool and collected. He was also a whole lot better dressed than usual, in that he looked like he might actually have dressed himself, for once. The Sarjeant glared at Molly and me.

“Just once, I would appreciate it if you could find the common courtesy to use the bloody door, like everyone else!”

“Boring,” said Molly. “I don’t do ordinary, and I have never been like everyone else.”

“One of your many charms,” I said. “And thanks for the rescue.”

“Rescue?” said the Armourer. “Are we to take it something went wrong with your infiltration of the Satanists’ meeting?”

“Pretty much everything that could go wrong did,” I said.

“Hold it,” said Molly, looking quickly around her. “Where’s Isabella?”

“She was right there with you when you arrived to grab me,” I said. “Was she supposed to appear here with you?”

“Well, I assumed . . . We were both hovering nearby in London Undertowen, waiting for the Satanists’ shields to drop long enough for us to jump in and haul you away. . . . We didn’t bother to discuss things. I suppose she must have decided she wouldn’t be welcome here.” She scowled at the Sarjeant. “Wonder where she could have got that idea.”