For Heaven's Eyes Only

Hell?”

“Not a thing,” said Roger. “Way above my pay scale.”

“Is there anyone you could talk to who might know what Dusk is up to?”

“I don’t think they’d tell me, even if they knew,” Roger said carefully.

“Even though you’re half Drood?”

“Especially because I’m half Drood. Besides, consider the source. Hell always lies.”

“Except when a truth can hurt you more,” said Harry.

“What did happen on your recent trip to Hell?” I asked Roger. “Did anything come of that?”

“Not really,” said Roger. “I had to call it off and come back in a hurry when everything started kicking off here with the Accelerated Men attack.”

“I think we’ve spent quite long enough talking about Hell,” said the Sarjeant. “It’s time to move on to more immediate business. Our immediate top priority is the Supernatural Arms Faire, currently being held in the mountains above Pakistan.”

“What?” I said. “What’s that got to do with us?”

“It’s still mostly called the Supernatural Arms Faire, even though most of the weapons on display these days tend towards superscience,” said the Armourer. “I go every year; never miss it. Last year they were giving away Shock and Awe in the goodie bags! It’s a very old affair, Eddie; goes all the way back to Roman times. Or at least, that’s when it first appears in an official report. Enthusiasts such as myself did take to calling it Harmageddon back in the eighties, but it never really caught on. Everybody who’s anybody who’s involved in weapons of mass destruction goes there to see what’s new and nasty. The Internet’s made a lot of things more readily accessible, but there’s still nothing quite like the joy of browsing.”

“What has this got to do with me?” I said. “And why do I know I’m really not going to like the answer?”

“Must be turning psychic,” the Armourer said cheerfully. “Now pipe down and pay attention, or there’ll be a short, sharp visit from the slap fairy. You need to know this. All the world’s most talented weapons makers turn up at the fair every year to show off their latest creations. And take orders for the coming year. We can often figure out what the bad guys are planning by studying their shopping lists. The location of the Supernatural Arms Faire changes every year, attendance strictly by invitation only. But it does keep coming back to the mountains over Pakistan, if only because they’re far enough from anywhere civilised that if something should go bang! unexpectedly, it won’t do too much damage. Do I really need to tell you that they’ve never even heard of Health and Safety? And the organisers do like to keep the fair as far as possible from the world’s prying eyes.”

“What organisers?” I said. “Who’s behind the fair?”

“The Gun Shops of Usher,” said the Sarjeant. “Very old firm. Older than us.” He fixed me with a cold stare. “We’re sending you in this year to observe and take notes, because you’re the most experienced field agent we’ve got left. Who isn’t busy with something else.”

“Why does it always have to be me?” I said plaintively. “Why can’t I ever get a case that involves loafing about at the seaside?”

“I could go,” said Harry.

“No, you couldn’t,” I said quickly. “I need you here, taking care of the day-to-day business. So I don’t have to.”

“Every man to what he does best, Harry,” said the Sarjeant.

“If you only knew what he does best . . .” murmured Roger.

“Not now, dear,” said Harry.

“How am I to get in, even as Shaman Bond, if I don’t have an invitation?” I said craftily, to show I had been paying attention.

“I visit the fair every year,” the Armourer said cheerfully. “I have a long-standing invitation to attend, because I have established a cover as a weapons enthusiast and retired nerd. You can get in on my ticket. Take Molly; I’m allowed a plus-one. Ah, I always have a great time wandering round the stalls, quietly sneering at new inventions I created or overcame years ago. And I always bring back a few good ideas. . . . Steal from the best, and call it research!”

“Do they know you’re a Drood?” said Molly.

“Of course not! They’d shut everything down and leg it for the horizon. Or try to kill me. Probably both. No, they think I’m another of those very keen trainspotter types who always turn up at affairs like these. Making endless notes, jotting down serial numbers . . . and exclaiming over unexpected obsolete makes, and proudly comparing their to-see lists. The fair security people could keep us out if they really wanted to, but the weapons makers like to have us around so they can show off in front of us and feel like stars. They’d miss us if we weren’t there. But this time it has to be you, Eddie. I’m too busy. You can go in as Shaman Bond, and no one need know you’re a Drood. I’ll give you the coordinates, and you can drop in through the Merlin Glass. In and out, no problem.”

“But what am I supposed to do there?” I said. “What is so important that an experienced field agent has to attend the Supernatural Arms Faire?”

“Because there are rumours, very serious rumours, that someone has come up with a high-tech equivalent to Drood armour,” said the Sarjeant. “And that they will be showing off the prototype at this year’s fair.”

“And we can’t have that,” said the Armourer. “Of course, people have been promising Drood-type armour for years, but no one’s ever been able to deliver.”

“Several normally trustworthy sources were very sure that this year, someone might have something,” the Sarjeant said firmly. “And, Eddie, if they have, you are to grab the prototype and bring it back with you, so the Armourer can hack it open and see what makes it tick. Before one of us has to go head-to-head with it in the field.”

“Who’s supposed to be behind this new armour?” I said.

“If you find out, bring them back, too,” said the Armourer.

“All right,” I said reluctantly. “But after I come back, I want to talk a lot more about Dusk and his proposed Great Sacrifice.”

“Of course,” said the Armourer. “We should have more definite information on the conspiracy by then.”

I sighed heavily. “First the Loathly Ones, then the Invisibles and the Accelerated Men, and now a brand-new Satanist conspiracy. How many conspiracies are there?”

“How long is a superstring?” said William.

We all looked at him, but he had nothing else to say.

“Any more business?” the Sarjeant-at-Arms said finally. “No . . . very well. Meeting adjourned. I’ll look into who’s properly next in line to be Matriarch; Armourer, I want a full report on whatever you discover about the secret departments; and Harry, I want a fully thought-out position paper from you on how we’re going to run the next election. We need some new ideas; the last election was really a shoo-in for the Matriarch. I’d like to see more of a fight this time. William . . . why don’t you go and have a nice lie-down, and see what else you can remember? And then write it all down. Before you forget it again.”

“Good idea,” said William. “I’ll get Rafe to help me.”

“Rafe is gone,” I said carefully. “You have a new assistant Librarian—Ioreth. Remember?”

“Oh. Yes,” said William. “I’d better write that down.”

The council broke up, everyone going their separate way with a certain amount of relief. The Sarjeant called in his security people to escort William back to the Old Library, and to put out the chair Roger Morningstar had been sitting on. I used the Merlin Glass to transport Molly and me straight to my room on the upper floor. Molly put her hands on my shoulders and started to say something, but I placed a fingertip on her lips and shook my head urgently. I leaned in close, so I could whisper in her ear.

“Molly, I need you to put up all your best privacy spells right now. I need protections so strong that no one will be able to overhear what I have to tell you. Do it now.”

“Who are you worried will listen in?” said Molly, as she stepped back and struck a series of mystical poses, her hands moving so quickly they left shimmering trails on the air.

“Everyone.”

“Including your own family?”

“Especially them.”