For Heaven's Eyes Only sh-5

by Simon R. Green

  “Good punch, Edwin. Just like I taught you. But that won’t help you here. You can’t fight us. You can’t stop us. Tell us what we want to know. Tell us all your secrets. It’s the only way you’ll ever be free of this place.”

  “You’re not the Sarjeant-at-Arms,” I said. “He’d die before he betrayed a single Drood secret to an outsider.”

  “You can’t escape us,” said Walker.

  “Yeah?” I said. “Kiss my arse.”

  I sprinted past him, up the stairway and onto the next floor. Only the next floor wasn’t there; instead I stumbled to a halt inside the War Room, the nerve centre of the family, where all the really important decisions are made: looking after the hundreds of field agents out in the world, stamping out supernatural brush fires and slapping down the bad guys. Brown-trousering the ungodly, as my uncle James liked to put it. The War Room was usually packed with people at their work, full of sound and fury; but now it was deserted, silent. All the workstations were empty, the computer monitors and the scrying balls left unattended. All the lights were out on the great world map, and all of the clock faces, showing the time in every country in the world, were blank, without hands. Time had stopped here, too.

  The work surfaces were layered with frost, and the communication systems were thickly coated with ice. (Part of me wondered where the blue moonlight was coming from to illuminate the War Room, but I’d made a conscious decision to worry only about those things that mattered immediately.) I wrote my name with my fingertip on the frost covering one monitor screen, but I couldn’t feel the cold of the ice. I looked up sharply, as one by one the monitor screens on the walls that should have shown trouble spots across the world turned themselves on, and vaguely familiar faces appeared on the screens, looking down at me, watching me with cold, angry, judgemental eyes. When I looked at any face directly it vanished, reappearing when I looked somewhere else. I was surrounded by a sea of faces, grim and condemning, but none of them could face me directly. I looked quickly back and forth, but all I could do was catch glimpses of my accusers out of the corners of my eyes. Glimpses of cold, scowling faces watching me with bad intent.

  I almost jumped out of my skin when I suddenly realised there was someone in the War Room with me. I spun round, putting my back against the nearest workstation, and there facing me was the Blue Fairy. Half elf, thief, traitor . . . sometimes a friend, and sometimes not. That’s often how it is, out in the field. He looked very smart, almost fashionable, in his own ratty way; but his face was ravaged by time and far too much good living. He looked at me and shook his head sadly.

  “Eddie, dear boy, what are you doing here, pursued by the dead, at the mercy of old friends and enemies? So much bitterness and unpleasantness, and all for a few secrets that probably never mattered that much, even when we were alive.” He looked about him. “Terrible place, no sense of style. Tell them what they want to know, Eddie, and then we can both get the hell out of here. I don’t like this place. Don’t like being dead, for that matter. When I first discovered what being dead was like, I cried and I cried and I cried. . . .”

  “There has to be a way out of here,” I said. “Help me. I helped you. . . .”

  “Did you, Eddie? Did you really? Yes, you rescued me from the depths of depression and disgrace, gave me new life and purpose . . . but did you think I’d be grateful? You should have left me as I was: a broken man, dying by inches and not giving a damn. You woke me up, gave me hope . . . just so I could die anyway a few years later in one of your stupid spy games. You should have left me as I was. It would have been kinder.”

  “You always did make bad decisions, Edwin,” said another familiar voice.

  And out of the deep, dark shadows of the War Room came my grandmother, Martha Drood, Matriarch of the family. She stood tall and stiff and proud before me in her neat grey twinset and pearls. Looking at me with her cold eyes and colder face. No sign of the awful wound that killed her in her own bed, soaking the whole front of her in blood. She looked me up and down and sniffed briefly. Another familiar sound. It tore at my heart. I hadn’t realised I’d missed it so much.

  “You ran away from the Hall to be a field agent, and what good did that do you? All because you didn’t have the discipline to buckle down and do what you were told, like everyone else. I was grooming you to take a high position in the family, but you turned your back on us. You were always such a disappointment to me, Edwin.”

  “I avenged your murder,” I said steadily. “I caught your killer, the Immortal disguised as your husband, Alistair. I killed him for you, Grandmother.”

  “I’m still dead,” she said. “All because you weren’t paying attention. Too caught up with your new girlfriend. I never approved of her.”

  “You never approved of me, Edwin,” said Alistair Drood, stepping forward to stand beside Martha. “You were responsible for my death too. I was only trying to do the right thing and protect my wife. You watched me burn in hellfire, and did nothing to save me. Tell them what they want to know, Edwin. Let your grandmother and me know peace, and rest at last.”

  “Tell them,” said Martha Drood. “Tell them everything, Edwin.”

  “Tell them,” said the Blue Fairy. “Or we’ll never leave you alone.”

  “None of your deaths were my fault!” I yelled at them, and then I turned and ran out of the War Room.

  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?”

  Unc
le 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.

  “There isn’t one of you here who didn’t deserve your death,” I said. “I did my duty. To the family, and to Humanity. You all needed killing.”

  And one by one they faded away, unable to face the certainty in my gaze.

  “Harsh words, Eddie,” said one final familiar voice. “Hard and harsh, even cold-blooded. I always knew you were an agent, but I never knew you were such a successful assassin.”

  Philip MacAlpine of MI-13 stood before me, middle-aged and rumpled, but still every inch the professional spy.

  I glared right back at him. “What the hell are you doing here? Did someone in your own department finally shoot you in the back?”

  He grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know? You must allow me my little secrets, even if you can’t be allowed to hang onto yours. It’s your own fault, Eddie; you shouldn’t have led such an interesting life. Or acquired so many fascinating secrets. You must have known you couldn’t hang onto them forever. You mustn’t be greedy, Eddie. You must be a good boy and learn to share. Tell Walker what you know. Or you can tell me, if that’s easier.”

  I laughed in his face. “Yeah, right. That’ll be the day. At least Walker has some integrity in him. You sold your soul long ago, to any number of masters. I wouldn’t give you the time of day.”

  “How very hurtful,” murmured Philip. “We’re not really so different, Eddie. Both of us secret agents, operating in the shadows because we don’t belong in the light. You served an ancient family with its own hidden agenda, while I was a blunt instrument for government policy. Doing all the hard and dirty things that needed to be done to hold the world together. And perhaps manage a few good deeds along the way, when we could.”

  “The difference between us is that I took the bigger view,” I said. “I never let politics get in the way of what needed to be done. I protected Humanity from those who would prey on it. Which, as often as not, turned out to be politicians.”

  “We don’t all have that luxury,” said Philip. “Must be nice to look down on us like gods and decide what’s best for us, while the rest of us scrabble around in the gutter, getting our hands dirty from all the rotten little jobs you can’t be bothered with. You can make as big a mess as you like, with your marvellous golden armour, stepping in to save the day and then disappearing, leaving the rest of us to clean up after you. Well, now all your sins have come home to roost, Eddie. You’ve upset a lot of very important persons, and now that you’re . . . vulnerable, they’re determined to wring you dry. They want everything you know, and they will get it, sooner or later. You’re a prisoner here, with no armour and no family to protect you. You’re on your own, Eddie, facing a legion of tormentors.”

  “And if I don’t feel like talking?” I said.

  “It’s the only way you’ll ever get out of here,” said Philip. “Wouldn’t you like to be free of all this? Free to lie down and rest, and be at peace at last?”

  “Peace is overrated,” I said. “And why should I want to leave? This is my home, isn’t it? My family home, Drood Hall. Needs a bit of cleaning up, got to fix the boiler, and there’re a whole bunch
of gate-crashers I have to give the bum’s rush to. . . .”

  Philip scowled at me. “You are in the hands of your enemies, Eddie. You can’t stop them. They are endless, they are multitudes, they are legion. They will be at your back and at your throat and they will never stop coming for you, forever and ever and ever. By hook or by crook, they’ll tear every secret you know out of you, even the ones you didn’t know you knew, and they will laugh at your screams as they do it.”

  “Over my dead body,” I said.

  I punched him in the face. I meant it as a gesture of defiance, expecting my clenched fist to pass straight through him, but it collided with solid flesh and bone. I heard his nose break, and saw blood fly from his pulped mouth, and it felt good, so good. Philip fell backwards, crying out in shock and pain. I laughed out loud as I strode past him and out of the Sanctity. For the first time, I felt like I was getting a handle on the situation.

  The moment I left the Sanctity I was back in the entrance hall again, approaching the firmly closed doors. Walker was still there, smiling easily at me, leaning on his rolled umbrella. He stood between me and the doors, blocking my way. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

  “I’ll never talk,” I said. “You of all people should understand. My secrets don’t belong only to me; they belong to the family. Our secrets keep people safe, keep people alive, help protect them from people like you and your secret lords and masters. I wouldn’t let my family down while I was alive, and I’m damned if I’ll do it now. Droods stand between Humanity and their enemies, alive or dead.”

  “I have my Voice,” said Walker. “The Voice that commands and cannot be disobeyed. I could make you tell me.”

  “No, you couldn’t,” I said. “Because if you could, you would have done it by now. You can’t con a con man, Walker.”

  “Perhaps,” said Walker. “But I was always so much more than just a man with a commanding Voice. I have always known a great many unpleasant ways to make people tell me what I need to know.”