Simon Green - For Heaven's Eyes Only

I armoured up, extended a golden blade from my hand and cut his head off. It was the only mercy I could give him. The head fell away as the body collapsed in upon itself, and in a few moments he was gone, leaving nothing behind but thick, greasy stains on and around his desk. The stench was so bad it drove Molly and me from the room, and I slammed the door shut to contain it. Molly glared at me.

“Where the hell is the Timeless Moment? You know, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Well, what is it?”

“Just what you’d think,” I said. “The perfect hiding place.”

Sometimes even the strangest of journeys begins with a single step. Molly and I stepped through the Merlin Glass and passed instantly from the dead man’s office to the Armoury at Drood Hall. It was the usual chaos of lab assistants running wild, explosions, transformations and brief outbreaks of spontaneous combustion. Strange machines doing things the laws of physics never allowed for, and even stranger contraptions doing things nature never intended. And one lab assistant with two heads, arguing furiously with himself as to whose fault it was. And, indeed, which was the original head, and which needed pruning. Business as usual, in the Drood family Armoury. Molly looked at me darkly as I shut the Merlin Glass down and put it away.

“Okay, what are we doing here? Why aren’t we in the War Room, which is where I thought we were going? You know I don’t like surprises. And there had better be a really good reason for this. . . . Why are we in the far more dangerous and unnervingly arbitrary science lab from hell?”

“Because you want to know what the Timeless Moment is,” I said. “And I know enough to know I don’t know nearly enough about it. So we are here to talk with my uncle Jack, because as the Armourer he understands six impossible things before breakfast. This is, after all, the man who invented a time machine to go back in time and tell himself not to build time machines, because they’re far more trouble than they’re worth. You have to be impressed by lateral thinking like that. Ah, here he is.”

I led Molly through the bedlam of unrestrained genius at work, to where the Armourer was sitting unusually quietly in his favourite chair. The one with all the chemical stains and blast marks, and the sign on the back saying, SUDDEN EXPERIMENTS MAKE GOD JUMP. The Armourer was sitting pensively, his eyes far away, completely untroubled by loud noises and the occasional outburst of harsh language. He had a fresh cup of hot, steaming tea to hand, along with a plate full of Jaffa Cakes and a packet of chocolate HobNobs. Brain food, if ever there was. He ignored Molly and me, completely lost in thought. There are those who have been known to say that the Armourer is never more dangerous than when he’s thinking. I had to say his name several times, increasingly loudly, before he looked up.

“Ah, Eddie,” he said vaguely. “And Molly, too. How nice. Yes. I was thinking about the best way to counter the satanic conspiracy’s new influence machine. It seems to me the best way to do it would be to build one of my own, and then figure out how to stop that.”

“We have had this talk before, Uncle Jack,” I said carefully. “The family exists to serve Humanity, not rule them. And most especially, we are not here to make up their minds for them.”

“I’m not talking about direct mind control,” said the Armourer. “Not as such . . . But would it really be such a bad thing to nudge Humanity in the right direction now and again? Whisper in their ear things like, ‘Make war no more’? ‘Feed the hungry, house the homeless, bring back proper Coke in the original bottles and stop making crap film versions of perfectly good television shows’?”

“You see?” I said. “It’s not where you start, but where you end up. It’s all too tempting to stop helping and start meddling. Put the whole idea out of your mind, Uncle Jack.”

“Oh, all right, all right,” said the Armourer, pouting. “Consider it done. You young people today don’t know how to have fun. . . . So, what are you doing down here, Eddie? I know I’m your favourite uncle, and I do enjoy our little chats. . . . Oh, would you like a biscuit? That’s real chocolate, you know.”

“Not right now,” I said.

“But the fact is, you only ever come down here when you want something,” said the Armourer, fixing me with a hard gaze from under his bristling white eyebrows. “What is it, having trouble with your TiVo again?”

“If we could return to the subject at hand,” I said patiently. “Why have you given up on trying to block the influence machine? You don’t usually give up so quickly. What’s wrong? Something’s wrong; I can tell.”

The Armourer sighed briefly and nodded reluctantly. “Sit down, both of you.”

Molly and I looked around. There weren’t any other chairs. So we stole a couple from some lab assistants who weren’t actually using them, and sat down facing the Armourer. He made a big deal of pouring some tea into his saucer to cool it, and then sipping it loudly, but we all knew he was putting off the moment, so he put the tea down and gave us his full attention.

“It’s Harry and Roger,” he said heavily. “Their deaths . . . hit me hard. Harder than I expected, given that I couldn’t stand the pair of them half the time. My poor nephews . . . They tried so hard to do the right thing. Old men shouldn’t have to see young men die before them. Uncles shouldn’t have to bury nephews. My generation hasn’t done too well with its children. Harry was James’s only legitimate child. And yes, I know there are many other bastards like Roger . . . some good, some bad, most somewhere in between, scattered across the world. All of them thrust outside the family because we didn’t approve of their mothers. Many of them have made names for themselves, but I can’t help wondering how much more they might have achieved if only we’d embraced them, brought them up and trained them as Droods. There will have to be a funeral after this mess is over. And I think we should invite all of James’s numerous progeny. Bring them all home. We’ve left them out in the world alone for far too long. Open to too many bad influences and temptations. They must feel as though we abandoned them, as though we didn’t care, and they’d be right. So bring them all home, because they’re family and we owe them.”

“Harry and Roger came back to the Hall,” I said carefully. “And it didn’t work out too well for them. We kept sending them out on missions until it killed them.”

The Armourer looked at me sharply. “That’s not how it was, Eddie, and you know it.”

“Do I?” I said. “That’s how it feels. . . .”

“Timothy was my only child,” said the Armourer. “I can’t help wondering whether, if I’d spent more time with him, he might not have grown up to become Tiger Tim. But I always had so much work to do, so many responsibilities . . . and I never was any good with children. Never knew what to say to them . . . I only got to know you, Eddie, because you were a teenage troublemaker, cutting lessons to sneak down here and badger me with endless questions about life out in the field. . . . Because you were already plotting on how best to get the hell out of the Hall, and as far away from the family as you could.”

“And here I am, back where I belong,” I said. “Funny how life works out sometimes.”

The Armourer nodded slowly. “Charles and Emily’s only child. The only surviving descendent of my generation. Only you and me left now of the Matriarch’s direct line.”

He scowled brusquely and looked away, his gaze the thousand-yard stare of a soldier who’s seen too many die in too many wars. I wondered if I should tell him what Walker had said to me during my time in Limbo. That my parents might not be dead after all . . . But there were already too many important things happening at once, and I couldn’t afford for him to become distracted. Not when there were still so many things I needed him to do. His attention snapped back to me as though it had never been away.