For Heaven's Eyes Only

Molly made a final gesture and the whole room shuddered. The floor seemed to drop away an inch or so beneath my feet, and then steadied. There was a faint but very real tension on the air. Molly nodded briskly.

“Done and done. You can talk freely, Eddie. Gaea herself couldn’t overhear us now. What’s so important?”

I took both her hands in mine and had her sit down on the edge of the bed, facing me. “Remember when I was trapped in Limbo, and Walker was interrogating me, trying to make me give up all my secrets?”

“Of course,” said Molly. “We still need to figure out who was really behind that. Could it have been Dusk, do you suppose?”

“I did consider raising the subject with him,” I said. “But it never seemed the right time. I’d hate to think he was actually that powerful. . . . The point is, Walker said something to me right at the end. I said, ‘If this is where the dead people go, why aren’t my parents here?’ And he said, ‘What ever makes you think they’re dead?’”

Molly’s eyes widened, and then she squeezed my hands reassuringly. “Eddie . . . it would be wonderful if there were hope. But it probably wasn’t Walker. You can’t trust anything you see or hear in Limbo.”

“It started me thinking,” I said. “I never did see the bodies of my parents. . . .”

“I never saw the bodies of mine,” said Molly. “They were killed by your family, fighting alongside the White Horse Faction, and the Droods never gave us anything to bury. There often aren’t bodies in our business, Eddie. You know that. I’d like to believe my parents could be alive, too. . . . But you have to let go. You have to move on.”

“But what if my parents are still alive?” I said. “In hiding, perhaps? Or even being held captive somewhere? I don’t like to think they would have left me here, all these years, if they were still alive. I like to think they would have rescued me from the family. But if they are still out there . . . and my family has been lying to me all this time . . .”

“We’ll look into it,” said Molly. “Find you the truth about what really happened to your mother and father. But do you really believe your family could have hidden this from you all these years?”

“Of course,” I said. “There are far too many secrets in my family.”

CHAPTER FIVE Weapons of Mass Distraction

The knock on my door came far too early in the morning. I was awake and up and about, but only just.

I’d been up barely half an hour, forced out of an extremely comfortable bed by a raucous alarm clock and Molly’s relentlessly good-natured presence. It was still dark when I looked out the window. The Hall grounds swept away before me like some strange night country. It reminded me of the view I’d seen from the windows in the Winter Hall, in Limbo, and I shuddered despite myself. No full moon here to light the grounds, though; the family never leaves such things to chance. Two long lines of electric lights lined the long driveway up to the Hall, and floating, shimmering spheres drifted silently across the great lawns in regular patterns. Balls of plasma energy, generated by some machine deep in the basements of the Hall, designed by the previous Armourer. Before that it was all paper lanterns and will-o’-the-wisps generated by a magical stone, by long tradition. The previous Matriarch put a stop to all that, in the name of efficiency. Some of the older Droods were heard to grumble that they preferred the old lights, that they were warmer and more comforting. But no one paid any attention. We’ve always been a very practical family.

There were guards out there in the dark, even if I couldn’t see them. There are always guards on the grounds. We all take a turn from the time we’re sixteen. It’s one of the things you look forward to, growing up in the Hall. The first time you’re designated a sector and sent out into the night is a great feeling. It means you’re an adult at last, with an adult’s responsibilities. Protecting the family while they sleep. I can still remember how that felt: making my rounds in the quiet of the early morning, the grass damp with dew under my feet, head snapping round at every unexpected sound.

And I could remember lying in my bed, tucked up tight and toasty warm, half-awake in the dog hours of the morning, part of me feeling sorry for the poor bastards out in the cold, and part of me happy to be able to relax, to feel safe and protected. Of course, the vast majority of the Hall’s defences are mechanical and magical in nature, everything from force shields to robot guns in their bunkers under the lawns, to the gryphons in the woods and the undine in the lake; but there always has to be the human element to be the last line of defence. Because protective systems can be sabotaged—from without and within.

We’re a very practical family.

When the knock on my door came, I’d barely finished shaving. All Droods do that the old-fashioned way, with lots of shaving cream and a straight razor. It teaches us to have steady hands and nerves. I wasn’t even dressed yet, bumbling around the room in my jockeys and one sock, looking for the other sock, and waiting for Molly to get out of the adjoining bathroom. I hadn’t yet progressed from grunting noises to actual words. I am not a morning person. Molly, on the other hand, had already been up for an hour, and had worked her way through a full British fryup breakfast of sausages, beans, bacon, eggs and fried bread, sent up from the kitchens through the dumbwaiter. She did offer me some, but my stomach never wants to know about food till at least eleven o’clock. I had a big mug of hot black coffee, to jump-start my heart, and forced down some All-Bran with milk. (The mug bore the legend Worship Me Like the Goddess I Am. Molly gave it to me.) The heavy breakfast smell still lingered in the room, and I allowed myself to sniff it now and again.

Molly was on the toilet, dress hiked up and knickers round her ankles, reading the latest Heat magazine. God knows where she found it, certainly not in my room. I knew she was doing this because she insisted on having the bathroom door wide-open. Because, she said, she liked being able to always see me. Now, I enjoy her company, and I’m not the most inhibited of people, but there are still some things I feel should remain private. When I finally got to use the toilet, I was quietly determined that the door was going to stay shut, even if I had to barricade it from the inside.

The knock on the door came again, and I went to answer it, glancing at the ornate Italian clock on the wall. Coming up to seven thirty a.m. Someone was going to pay and pay dearly for disturbing me at such an ungodly hour. Did I mention that I am not a morning person? I hauled the door open and glared out into the corridor, and there was my uncle Jack, beaming at me cheerfully.

“Hello, Eddie! Isn’t it a marvellous morning? Ready for the off?”

I growled at him, and tried an even fiercer glare, but it didn’t faze him in the least. He strode forward, and I had to step aside to let him in or he’d have run right over me.

“What are you doing here, Uncle Jack?” I finally managed. “Is there some emergency? I didn’t hear any alarms.”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. This is the day of the fair, my boy, and you don’t want to be late. I’ve decided I’m going with you.”

I realised I was still holding the door open, dressed in only my underwear, and there was a hell of a draught. I looked up and down the corridor, but there was no one else about, nothing to suggest any kind of trouble. I shut the door and looked blearily at the Armourer as he looked around my room and tried not to look too distressed at the state of it. I didn’t care. My room. If I want to live like a pig, it’s up to me. The Armourer stopped dead as he looked through the open bathroom door, and quickly turned his back to the sight of Molly on the loo. I managed a small smile.

“You take us as you find us this early in the morning,” I said. “I’m only up because Molly’s an early riser. Probably comes from living in a forest most of the time. Now, what’s this about the fair?”

“I’m going with you,” the Armourer said firmly. “I haven’t been out in the field for thirty-five years, and the odds are I never will again, now that I’ve been given the secret departments to run, as well as the Armoury. So I am seizing the opportunity for one last adventure, and to hell with Cedric. Who does he think he is, ordering me around, the bloody Sarjeant-at-Arms?”

“I didn’t know you missed working in the field,” I said. “I thought you were happy terrorising people in your Armoury.”

“Well, yes, but then there’s happy, and then there’s . . . happy,” said the Armourer, still carefully keeping his back to Molly. “All this talk about the fair has got the old adrenaline going again. I always thought of my yearly visits