Simon Green - For Heaven's Eyes Only

“Of course,” I said. “Typical MI-13: always an ulterior motive. Still, I’m glad you’re here, Phil. Where’s your backup?”

“A whole brigade of SAS combat sorcerers, just waiting for my word,” Phil said smugly.

“Let’s see what my people can do first,” I said. I had a strong feeling a whole bunch of SAS roughnecks would come in very handy if the Satanists did use their clickers against my family, but I didn’t want to call them in yet. Couldn’t have word getting out that the Droods had to yell for help . . . I clapped MacAlpine on the shoulder. “Good to see you, Phil. We’ll take all the help we can get. We’re not proud.”

“Not what I’ve heard,” said MacAlpine, and we both laughed briefly. Molly looked round, her pale face empty of all expression.

“Help me. I need help for Isabella.”

I crouched down beside her, and MacAlpine moved in closer, frowning at Isabella’s wounds.

“How are we going to get all those nails out?” he said. “And the steel bolts? I haven’t got a crowbar, and even if I did, the shock of digging them out would probably finish her off. . . .”

While he was still talking, Molly gestured sharply with one hand, and every single nail and bolt shot up out of Isabella’s flesh with such force and velocity they buried themselves in the stone ceiling overhead. Isabella’s body jerked once, but she still didn’t make a sound. Molly crouched down beside her, stroking her sister’s pulped and bloody face with one hand, crooning ancient healing chants. The gaping wounds left by the dislodged nails were already beginning to close. I didn’t know how long it would take Molly to repair the major damage, or even if Isabella would be able to move afterwards; I just knew I couldn’t wait around while she did it. There was still a lot of work to be done here at Schloss Shreck. Castle Horror.

“I thought witches couldn’t handle cold iron?” MacAlpine murmured in my ear.

“Depends how mad they get,” I said quietly.

“I’m amazed Isabella’s still alive,” said MacAlpine. “After everything that’s been done to her. Must have the constitution of an ox. No offence.”

“Metcalf sisters are very hard to kill,” I said. I could have told him about the hidden heart, but he was MI-13, after all, and he had tried to kill me and Molly more than once. Some secrets should stay in the family.

Molly looked up at me. “I can’t leave her, Eddie. She needs me. Look what they’ve done to her. . . .”

“Do what you can,” I said. “Get her stable. Then get her out of here and back to the Hall. They’ve got specialists; they’ll know what to do.”

“I don’t want to leave you here on your own,” said Molly.

“You won’t be,” I said. “I’ve got Philip MacAlpine with me to watch my back.”

“Indeed,” MacAlpine said quickly. “I know a common enemy when I see one.”

Molly studied MacAlpine. “Thank you. For trying to help my sister. Look after my Eddie.”

“Trust me,” said MacAlpine. “I wouldn’t dare let anything happen to him.”

Outside in the corridor, I reached out to the Sarjeant-at-Arms through my torc. And much to my surprise and relief, I managed a brief if variable contact. He sounded very far away, and his voice kept fading in and out, but we could hear each other. I made MacAlpine stand and wait while I brought the Sarjeant up to speed.

“Where are you, Sarjeant?”

“Damned if I know! We’ve fought our way in from the outside, down through the roof and in through the walls, heading for the centre of the castle, and waded through a whole army of Nazi clones in the process. We’ve been destroying anything that even looked dangerous along the way, including the conspiracy’s teleport gates! The Satanists aren’t going anywhere, Eddie. They’re trapped in here with us. Where are you?”

“Just leaving the cells, along with an agent of MI-13 I picked up along the way. He says he can call in a whole brigade of SAS combat sorcerers, if you feel the need. . . .”

“Good to hear,” said the Sarjeant unexpectedly. “We’ve taken casualties, Eddie. I’ll take all the help we can get.”

“I take it you’ve encountered the clickers, Sarjeant. How are you coping?”

“After a few fairly disastrous close encounters, when it all came down to hand-to-hand fighting and every nasty trick we could spring on them, we learned to scoop up every weapon we came across and shoot the nasty bastards at a distance, before they could even use their clickers. But it’s slowing our advance right down, Eddie. I think the leader and his inner circle have run out of clones to throw at us, but we’re no nearer to getting our hands on them.”

MacAlpine kept crowding me and demanding to know what was going on, so I broke contact with the Sarjeant and filled MacAlpine in on the high spots.

“I think I know where we can find the conspiracy leader,” he said immediately. “We’ve had one of our people close to him for some time, in really deep cover. He told us a lot about the layout of this place. Follow me.”

I let him lead me through the brightly lit stone corridors and passageways, most of them still lined with burning Nazi flags and banners from where Molly had expressed her displeasure earlier. No sprinkler systems in medieval castles. I could still hear signs of fighting, but way off in the distance. The main party of Droods hadn’t caught up with me. MacAlpine warned me not to armour up just yet; golden feet make a hell of a racket on marble floors, and he didn’t think we should advertise our approach. If the leader thought the Droods were almost upon him, he’d probably run. As we drew closer, small groups of Satanists would run past, heading for the battle, and MacAlpine would give them the proper password and they’d keep going.

“You’re a useful person to have around after all, Phil,” I said.

“You have no idea,” he said. “Really.”

I was starting to be seriously impressed with him. It was too easy to forget that this middle-aged, passed-over man had been a pretty decent spy in his day, and had worked with both my uncle Jack and uncle James. The fact that he’d tried to kill me and failed shouldn’t be held against him. A lot of people came into that category.

“Droods may be flashy,” said MacAlpine, “but MI-13 is thorough. You never even knew we were investigating the conspiracy, did you? I always was a better field agent than you ever gave me credit for.”

“Stop fishing for compliments,” I said. “I’m impressed, all right?”

“Not yet,” he said. “But you will be.”

Finally we came to a great oaken door with a huge Nazi swastika carved into it in brutal bas-relief. MacAlpine eased up to the door, listened for a moment and then carefully turned the handle and opened it a crack. He slipped me a quick wink and then pushed the door all the way open. He strode in, and I moved quickly in after him. Beyond the door was a great auditorium packed with people sitting in row upon row of raked seating, facing an open stage. The door closed quietly behind me.

“All the upper echelons of the new satanic conspiracy,” MacAlpine murmured. “Safe and protected here behind layer upon layer of defences too strong for even Droods to break through.”

I stayed by the door, studying the people in the raked seating, surprised at how many I recognised. Familiar faces from politics, big business, the media, and all kinds of celebrities. And there on the stage was Alexandre Dusk himself, smiling broadly and looking right at me. He made a welcoming gesture in my direction, and everyone in the auditorium turned to look at me and smile. Except they weren’t looking at me. They were looking and smiling at Philip MacAlpine. And when I turned to look at him, he smiled at me and held up one hand. With a clicker in it. He snapped it sharply. I tried to call my armour and couldn’t. MacAlpine gestured to two waiting guards, big muscular types in SS uniforms, and they moved quickly forward to take me by the arms. I didn’t struggle. I had my pride.