From Hell with Love

CHAPTER FIVE Secret Discussions, With Unexpected References to Heaven and Hell

I stepped through the Merlin Glass into the Old Library, and the Glass shrank down and disappeared back into its subspace pocket with even more haste than usual. As though it was actually disturbed by the place I’d brought it to. Which was fair enough. The Old Library contains far more than just shelves and shelves of old books. It is a place of secrets, a depository of knowledge too terrible for the everyday world. I was standing somewhere among the rows and rows of stacks, stretching away in every direction I looked. Not that far away, the Librarian, William, and his young assistant, Rafe, were talking quietly together, so intent on the book before them they hadn’t even noticed my arrival.

I took a moment to look around me. Simple, functional, standing shelves packed with books rose all the way to the gloomy ceiling. The floor was just bare wooden boards, that clearly hadn’t known wax or polish in a very long time. There were no windows, the only illumination a sourceless golden glow that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. Presumably real lights would be too much of a fire risk. I had to wonder about central heating, since the air was toasty warm—again, presumably to help preserve the books. There wasn’t a touch of dust anywhere, and not a single cobweb, despite the Old Library having ˚ been lost and abandoned for centuries before I rediscovered it.

The golden glow reminded me of the last days of summer, and the place felt more like a chapel than a library. A repository of wisdom, of worship. And yet, not a comfortable setting. Although the many rows of standing shelves limited my view of the Old Library, it still felt unnaturally large, as though the stacks stretched away farther in every direction than the human mind could comfortably accept. There were rumours that the Old Library was actually growing, quietly, to make room for all the books and papers entrusted to it, and I was quite prepared to believe it. Just looking around I had no idea how to find an exit, without the help of a map, a compass, and a ball of thread to follow. And I also had to wonder: if this was a labyrinth, might there be a monster somewhere, lurking at the heart of the maze?

Rafe was patiently trying to persuade William to put aside his work for a while, and get some rest. William ignored him, standing stooped before a great oversized volume set out on a podium. The Librarian was a frail old man, with a sad lost face, wearing a bright cheerful dressing gown and a pair of fluffy bunny slippers. His bushy grey hair seemed to stick out in every direction at once, but his mouth was firm and his gaze was sharp and keen. William had a great mind, but a lot had happened to it, little of it good.

The assistant Librarian, Rafe (never call me Raphael, I am not a turtle) was a pleasant young man with a bright beaming face. He always looked like he’d got dressed in a hurry and didn’t give a damn. He had a first-class mind, and was devoted to the old Librarian. He was currently trying to persuade William to be sensible, and getting nowhere.

“You need to go to bed, William; get some proper rest.”

“Haven’t got a bed,” William said craftily. “I’ve got a nice little cot, and my very own blanket. All I need.”

“When was the last time you got a good sleep?” said Rafe.

The old man shrugged. “My memory doesn’t go back that far. Besides, I don’t like to sleep. I have dreams . . . bad dreams. And anyway, I’ve far too much work to do. So many books, so little time . . .”

They both looked round sharply as I approached, but William accepted my sudden appearance the way he accepted everything, because everything was equally important, or unimportant, to him. Rafe gave me a hard look.

“Hello, Eddie. I didn’t think anyone could just walk into the Old Library these days, without setting off all kinds of alarms.”

“I think the Merlin Glass is getting sneaky,” I said. “That’s what happens when you hang around with Droods. Hello, Rafe. Hello, William.”

“Hello, hello, nice to see you, don’t bother me now, I’m busy.” William turned back to the book on the podium. “If you want to make yourself useful, see if you can find my socks. Someone’s been stealing them.”

I looked at Rafe. “I thought the whole idea of allowing William to live down here was that it would help to stabilise him?”

“That was the theory, yes,” said Rafe, coming over to join me. “But it appears that there’s stable, and then there’s stable. He knows who he is, and where he is, and his work is impeccable; everything else tends to vary from day to day.”

“I like it down here,” William said loudly. “I’m not ready to live in the Hall. Too many people. Had enough of that living in the asylum. No, no, I’m not at all ready for people . . . I’m fine down here. Fine.” He broke off, and looked carefully left and right. “Though I’m not entirely alone, down here. Not strictly speaking. There’s Someone in here with me. Someone, or Something. It watches me. Or watches over me . . . hard to tell.”

I raised an eyebrow to Rafe, who shook his head firmly. “I heard about what happened to the Matriarch, Eddie, and to Molly. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe it. It’s been years since there was a murder in the Hall, let alone two in one night.”

“Eighteen fifty-two,” said ˚ William, unexpectedly. “And that was a murder/suicide. We were a lot tougher about cousins marrying, in those days.”

“I popped up for a quick look,” said Rafe. “Everyone was running around, shouting and screaming like mad things. Couldn’t get a straight answer out of anyone. Everyone’s looking for you, Eddie. Either because they think you’re guilty, or because they want you to tell them what to do. You did lead the family once, after all.”

“Once was enough,” I said. “Let the Sarjeant-at-Arms run his investigation. He knows what he’s doing.”

“Never thought I’d hear you saying good things about the Sarjeant,” said Rafe. “What have things come to?”

“In a situation like this, a merciless thug and bully is just what we need,” I said. “If there are answers to be got, he’ll get them. But I can’t help feeling . . . there won’t be anything left behind for him to find. This was a professional hit. Someone put a lot of time and effort into planning it . . .”

William slammed his book shut, and spun round to smile cheerfully at me. “It’s really quite fun, having everyone as paranoid as me, for as change.”

“William,” said Rafe. “The Matriarch is dead. Murdered.”

“Never liked her,” William said briskly. “She never liked me. She was a real cow when she was younger, and age did not mellow her. Oh, I’ll stand up to see her avenged; she’s family. But I’m too old, too talented, and too crazy to bother with crocodile tears.”

“Molly’s dead too,” I said.

William looked at me. “Who?”

“Molly! Molly Metcalf! She used to come and visit you, while you were in the madhouse! You met her dozens of times; you must remember her!”

The Librarian’s lower lip trembled, and he looked down at his hands, crestfallen. “I’m sorry, Eddie. I try not to remember anything about that place.”

“Did they treat you badly?” said Rafe.

“It’s more like . . . it worried me, how much at home I felt. Like I belonged there . . . Far more than I ever did here. I’ll think about Molly, Eddie. I’m sure she’ll come back to me . . . What did you come here looking for? No one ever comes down here just to see me, for which I am inordinately grateful. So, what do you want? All the knowledge in the world is on these shelves, somewhere. Try me. My thoughts are clear, even if my memory isn’t what it was. If it ever was . . . Who can tell? I like butterscotch.”

“I need to know about the Immortals,” I said. “And the Apocalypse Door.”

“The Immortals are just a legend!” said Rafe. “Everyone knows that. There are a number of technically immortal individuals out there, or at least, very long-lived . . . but you’re probably already familiar with most of those. Mr. Stab, of course. The Djinn Jeanie. The Griffin . . .”

“No, he died just recently, in the Nightside,” said William. “And his appalling wife. I got a letter from the chap who runs the Nightside . . . Walker! That’s the fellow! Yes. Apparently Satan turned up personally, just to drag the Griffins down into the Pit. Well, that’s the Nightside for you. Terrible place. I don’t know why we don’t just go in there in force, and Do Something about it.”

“I said that,” I said. “It seems there’s an old and very binding pact: no Droods allowed in the Nightside.”

“Really?” said Rafe. “And what do we get out of it?”

“I did ask the Matriarch,” I said. “And she made a point of changing the subject.” I looked at William. “Why would Walker be writing letters to you? Do you and he know each other?”

“Who can say?” said William. “Immortals . . . There’s the Lord of Thorns, Old Father Time, Jimmy Thunder God For Hire, the Regent of Shadows . . .”

“We don’t talk about him!” Rafe said immediately.

“Well pardon me for breathing,” William said testily. “Even when my mind was working perfectly, I never could be bothered remembering who was In and who was Out. The important thing is, there are any number of individual immortals running around, making nuisances of themselves, and always have been. Not all of them human, of course. I once met a Lamia in Liverpool . . .” William grinned nastily. “Big teeth . . .”

“But never a family of Immortals,” said Rafe. “Not organised, like us . . .”

William frowned suddenly. “There are at present two hundred and seventeen books missing from the Old Library, not including folios, bound manuscripts and collected letters. No doubt more absences will make themselves known. With no Index to consult, we can only deduce what these titles might have been from gaps on the shelves, and references in other books. It’s always possible some of these books were removed because they contained information on the Immortals. Or the Apocalypse Door. Lots of people have been bothering me about that Door, just recently.”

“Interesting items have turned up in Alexander King’s secret files, removed from Place Gloria,” said Rafe. “The Independent Agent hoarded all kinds of secret knowledge and lost information. We’ve uncovered strange and wonderful stuff, including a whole crate of books from alternate Earths, where history had taken very different turns. One was written in Martian. With very unpleasant illustrations. New material is turning up all the time, in truck loads. They just dump it here, once a week, and leave it for us to sort out. As if we didn’t have enough on our plate already. Just identifying, sorting and indexing the Old Library’s contents is taking us forever.”

“And the Matriarch won’t allow us any extra help, because so much of the material is sensitive,” said William, disparagingly. “Silly cow. If you can’t trust a Drood, who can you trust?”

“The Matriarch is dead, William,” said Rafe.

“Oh all right, I’ll have a word with her later. You know, I’m almost sure I saw something about the Apocalypse Door just recently . . .”

He tottered away and started rummaging through an old tea chest full of papers.

“How is he?” I said quietly to Rafe. “Really?”

“Not good,” Rafe admitted. “Better some days than others. He still has a brilliant mind, when it’s working. But there’s no doubt all those years in the madhouse put their mark upon him.”

“And there’s no telling how much damage the Heart did to his mind, before he fled the Hall.” I frowned. “I think we need to put up the money and hire a major-league telepath, and have them dig around inside his head.”

“I have suggested that, on more than one occasion, but the Matriarch was always very firm,” said Rafe. “She wouldn’t allow it. Apparently William knows far too much about this family, too many dirty little secrets. Things no outsider can be allowed to know. Even if William can’t remember them. We do have a few telepaths in the family . . .”

“You have got to be kidding,” I said. “I wouldn’t trust that bunch to guess my weight. I certainly wouldn’t let them trample around inside a mind that’s been messed about with as much as William’s has . . . They might never get out again. The Armourer did say he’d come up with some kind of mind-scanning device . . . but his methods aren’t exactly subtle, either.”

“You just have to give William some time,” said Rafe. “He’ll recover, eventually.”

“What can you tell me about the rogue Drood known as Tiger Tim?” I said, deliberately changing the subject. “His name came up in connection with the LA auction and, surprisingly, with Doctor Delirium.”

William looked up suddenly from his tea chest. “Now there’s a name from the past! Timothy Drood . . . Yes. Nasty little man. Nice enough when you had something he wanted, but it was always him first and everyone else second. What we used to call a bad seed, in my young days. I can’t believe someone hasn’t killed him yet, if only on general principles . . . He was hiding out somewhere in South America, last I heard. Peru?”

“He’s moved, since then,” said Rafe. “Just ahead of being kicked out, as usual. He’s holed up deep in the Amazon rain forest these days.”

“The same area as Doctor Delirium,” I said.

“Well yes, technically,” said Rafe. “But the Amazon rain forest does cover a hell of a lot of ground. They’re not exactly neighbours.”

“Doctor Delirium and Tiger Tim,” said William. “The team-up you never expected! The horror, the horror . . .” He got the giggles, waved a careless hand and turned back to his tea chest. He grabbed something, studied it closely, and then straightened up waving a dusty file triumphantly. “Here it is! Knew it was somewhere near the top . . . The Shudder File. Carefully annotated in the Independent Agent’s own handwriting. And according to this Post-it note on the cover, from the Drood cleanup team, Alexander King kept this particular file inside a locked box, inside a wall safe. So it must be worth looking at . . .” He opened the file and leafed quickly through it. “Yes . . . Oh, this is bad and nasty stuff, all right. A lot of supernatural and super-science weapons and devices, all of them banned by any number of international treaties. The Speaking Gun, The Ubershreck Device, Mephisto’s Minuet . . . All the kind of thing no one in their right mind would want to mess with.”

“Did Alexander King actually possess these things?” I said, reaching for the file. Walker pulled it away, glaring at me as I held my hands up in surrender. “I just meant,” I said, “that if some of these things are still lying around Place Gloria, we need to warn the people working there.”

“Oh no,” said William. “This is more of a wants list—items he was interested in acquiring. If only so other people couldn’t use them against him. Ah! Yes, here we are! The Apocalypse Door!”

“What does it say?” I said, trying to peer over his shoulder. He hurried around the other side of the chest, so I couldn’t.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute, I’m ˚ reading!” he said testily. “Hmmm. Not a lot, actually. It’s not just another hell gate, however. A hell gate is just a rather dramatic name for a dimensional door that allows limited travel between the various planes of existence. The Apocalypse Door . . . is far more than that. Oh yes. It opens the Gates of Hell, and lets out all that may be found there. The Dukes of Hell, all the major and minor demons, all of the fallen and all of the damned, from the very beginnings of Time. To do what they will upon the Earth. Even Satan himself will come forth, the ancient Enemy, to trample the cities of man beneath his cloven hooves . . .”

“Hell on Earth,” I said. “Forever, and ever, and ever . . .”

“How is that even possible?” said Rafe, snatching the file out of William’s hands, and studying it himself. “How could any material being release those imprisoned by God?”

“A disturbing thought, I’ll grant you,” said William, sneaking up on Rafe and grabbing the file back again. He pulled a face at Rafe. “No one knows how old the Apocalypse Door is, but it says here . . . that the Door was possibly created by one Nicholas Hobb, the Serpent’s Son. Oh, we are definitely into legend here, rather than history. According to these handwritten notes . . . the Door has been passed back and forth for centuries, from one careful owner to another, its true nature largely forgotten. Most of its owners thought of it as little more than a curiosity, a charming fake, or just a conversation piece. The last known owner was . . . the Collector! I did hear he was dead; maybe that’s how the Door came up for auction in Los Angeles.”

“I don’t think the Really Old Curiosity Shoppe people realised just how important the Door was,” I said, just to show I was keeping up. “If they had, they’d have held a separate auction just for the Door, under much heavier security.”

“Now this really is interesting!” said William, sitting precariously on the edge of the tea chest. “It’s not just enough to own the Door, you see. Oh no! You need very specific and powerful magics to open it. Or it’s just a door. There’s nothing here, unfortunately, as to what those items might be . . . but I’m guessing they’d be very hard to come by. Don’t look at me like that! I’m just curious!”

“Magic isn’t really Doctor Delirium’s area of expertise,” I said.

“No,” said Rafe. “But I did hear something about Tiger Tim breaking into the Infernal Museum in Vienna last year, and making off with a whole bunch of rare and restricted grimoires . . .”

“It’s all coming together, isn’t it?” I said. “And not in a good way. Presumably, Doctor Delirium will threaten to open the Door, unless all the governments of the world give him . . . well, everything he asks for. And he could ask for anything, because who would dare say no?”

“What if the world calls his bluff?” said Rafe. “How can it profit the Doctor, or Tiger Tim, to actually open the Apocalypse Door?”

“Indeed,” said William, dropping the file carelessly back into the tea chest. “There’s absolutely nothing in there about closing the Door again, or compelling the damned to go back through it into Hell again.” He sniffed loudly. “Bit of a design fault there, if you ask me. Unless the Door’s designer was having a bit of a down day. I get those.”

“And if Doctor Delirium is pissed off enough at being laughed at and not taken seriously all these years . . .” I said. “Oh, we have got to get the Door back from him, before he does something silly that we’ll all regret.”

“Would Tiger Tim really let Doctor Delirium open the Door?” said Rafe. “I mean, he may be rogue, but he’s still a Drood. Would he really allow the end of the world?”

“Probably,” I said. “When we go bad, we go all the way.”

“And Timothy was always so much more than just a rogue,” said William. “I remember him, though I really wish I didn’t. Not actually a sociopath, as such, but a long way down that road. When he set his mind to something, he wouldn’t let anyone or anything get in his way. He tried to force the Armourer to open the Armageddon Codex for him once, so he could make off with the forbidden weapons. Half killed the old boy in the process. If Timothy hadn’t been interrupted and driven out . . . He has no reason to love this family, or the world, or anything but himself.”

“Janissary Jane once told me about a dimension where demons ran loose in the material plane,” I said. “Hell got out, and slaughtered everything in its path, destroying civilisation after civilisation. Jumping from planet to planet, leaving worlds burning like cinders in the dark, and suns screaming as they died. Jane and the people she was with ended up having to destroy everything, to stop the demons. They used the Deplorable End, and wiped out a whole universe.”

“Isn’t that what you used?” Rafe said carefully. “To destroy the Hungry Gods?”

“Yes,” I said. “And I don’t have another one.”

“I’m not sure whether I feel relieved or not,” said Rafe.

William looked around abruptly, his eyes darting, listening to something only he could hear. The tension in his face and body was written so clearly it raised all the hackles on my neck. I glared around me into the golden glow, but nothing moved among the stacks, and the shadows seemed entirely still and empty.

“It’s here,” whispered William, standing very still. “I just catch glimpses of it, sometimes, out of the corner of my eyes. I can feel its presence, like a pressure on my soul. Feel it watching me . . . I think it wants to tell me something. Something I don’t want to know . . .”

I looked at Rafe, but he just shook his head helplessly.

And then we all looked round, at the sound of approaching footsteps. Perfectly normal, human footsteps, making no attempt to hide themselves. We all relaxed, though not entirely, when Harry Drood appeared at the end of the stacks, accompanied by his partner, the half human, half demon hellspawn, Roger Morningstar. Harry smiled smugly at us, as though he’d done something clever. Roger’s smile was rather more disturbing.

The hellspawn was tall, ˚ slender, but powerfully built, looking entirely at home in an expensive Armani suit. He had an unnaturally pale face, dark hair, thin lips, and a gaze you didn’t like to meet for more than a few seconds. Roger was an infernal creature, and it showed. He strolled towards us, following Harry, moving with almost inhuman grace, like a predator that had escaped from the zoo, and had absolutely no intention of ever going back.

I knew up close he would smell of sulphur and blood and sour milk, like all hellspawn. And as he sauntered along between the stacks to join us, he left dark scorch marks behind him on the wooden floor. (Though I couldn’t help noticing that the burn marks quickly disappeared, as though the floor was healing itself. There’s a lot about the Old Library we don’t understand yet.) Rafe scowled at Roger and Harry with equal disapproval.

“We really are going to have to install some better security. And just possibly some flashing lights, warning sirens, and a whole bunch of concealed mantraps. It’s getting so just anyone can walk in here these days.”

Harry ignored him, and nodded briefly to me. “Thought I’d find you hiding out down here, Eddie.”

I ignored him, to glare at Roger. “What are you doing here, Morningstar? I thought you were safely abroad, on some terribly important mission that kept you well away from the rest of us?”

“Harry contacted me,” said Roger, in a voice that chilled the blood without even trying. “He told me about the Matriarch, and the witch. So I made a swift return, via the infernal underground. To support my dear Harry, in the hour of his family’s need.”

He didn’t say anything about being sorry for my loss, for Molly, and the Matriarch. He knew no one would have believed him.

“I am down here because I don’t want to be found,” I said. “There’s important work to be done and I don’t wish to be . . . distracted.”

“I know. Roger and I have been listening,” murmured Harry.

“Fascinating stuff,” said Roger.

I met his gaze squarely, just to show I could. “You’re one of Hell’s creatures, Roger. What do you know about the Apocalypse Door?”

“Not a thing,” said Roger. “Can’t help you, Eddie.”

“Are you, by any chance, getting ready to run out on the family again, Eddie?” said Harry.

“And leave you in charge again?” I said. “I don’t think so. Not after the balls-up you made of things the last time I stepped out for a moment. I’m not abandoning my family; I’m just preparing to do my duty as a field agent. I have a history with Doctor Delirium, and that makes me the most suited agent to track him down and step on him hard, before he does something silly with the Apocalypse Door. How do you feel about the Door, Roger? Looking forward to seeing old friends again?”

“Now who’s being silly?” said Roger. “I like the world just as it is. So many opportunities for pleasure . . . people are such easy prey. And I do so enjoy being better than everyone else. I don’t see the need for any competition.”

“Droods have had dealings with the Inferno before,” said William, quite offhandedly. “And the Courts of the Holy, of course.”

We all looked at him, struck silent. He blinked a few times, and smiled uncertainly.

“We have pacts, with Heaven and Hell?” I said, trying to keep the shock out of my voice.

“Of course,” said William. “You have to work with all sorts, in this job. And be prepared to talk to absolutely anybody. Goes with the territory. This family has long-standing pacts with the Nightside, Shadows Fall . . . aliens, elves, etc. . . .”

“Etc.?” I said.

“Oh yes,” said William, chuckling in a quiet, unnerving way.

“Very definitely etc. This family is responsible for a lot more than most people realise, and contains secret departments within secret departments. Like those Russian dolls, you know . . . All to deal with the things that no one else wants to admit exist.”

“First I’ve heard of this,” ˚ said Rafe. “You mean . . . there are special agents out there, apart from the regular field agents?”

William sat down suddenly, as though all the strength had gone out of his legs. He looked older, and very tired. “The more I remember about this family, the less I like it. Discovering the true nature of the Heart, and the price we paid for our original armour, weren’t the only things that broke me. Yes, there are undercover agents, out there in the world . . . doing secret, necessary, unpleasant things, in the name of the family.”

“Hold on,” I said. “I actually ran this family for a while, and no one ever told me about this!”

“There was a war on,” said William. “You didn’t need to know. Only the Matriarch knows everything. The keeper of secrets. She carries the burden of knowledge, so the rest of us don’t have to, for the good of the family.”

“And perhaps,” said Harry, “for plausible deniability, should any of this ever blow up in our face.”

“Who are these other agents?” said Rafe.

“If I ever knew, I’ve forgotten,” said William. “Perhaps . . . I made myself forget.”

I looked at Harry. “I have to go after the Apocalypse Door. The whole world, all of Humanity, is in danger. I need you to do something while I’m gone.”

“Do tell,” murmured Harry. “I live to serve.”

I looked from him to Roger, and then back again. “The family needs to send someone down into the Pit, as an emissary, to negotiate on our behalf. So that if Doctor Delirium should try to open the Door, Hell will keep it shut from the other side. And there’s only one person here suited to that task.”

“You want to send Roger down into the Inferno?” said Harry. “Are you crazy?”

“Why would the fallen and the damned choose to remain in Hell?” said Roger.

“Find something else they want, and ˚ offer them that,” I said. “Bargain. Hell does so love to make a deal.”

“And the Enemy might not want to start an Apocalypse he isn’t sure he’s ready to win,” said Rafe. “If Hell rises up, Heaven will come down. In a full-out war, timing can be everything.”

“Good point,” said Roger. “Very well, I’ll go. It’s been a while . . . but I do know a few people I can talk to.”

“People?” said Rafe.

Roger smiled unpleasantly. “You know I don’t like to name-drop.”

“Hold it, hold it!” said Harry. “I don’t like the sound of any of this. What if they don’t let you out again? This is Hell we’re talking about, the afterlife, not some road trip to a holiday dimension!”

“My body won’t be going anywhere, Harry,” Roger said patiently. “Just my spirit. My body will remain here, in the Hall, properly guarded. I have done this before, you know. In fact, I’m quite in the mood to pay a visit to the old homestead. I’ve done far too many . . . good things, since I joined up with this family. I feel the need to . . . rededicate myself. It’s not easy being a half-breed; you get drawn in so many directions . . .”

“If you’re going, I’m going with you,” said Harry.

“No you’re not,” Roger said immediately. He took both of Harry’s hands in his, and looked at his partner firmly. “You can’t go where I must go. You’re only human. You wouldn’t get out again. I need you here, to stand guard over my body while I’m gone. Protect me, from my enemies.” He didn’t look at me. He didn’t have to. “Listen to me, Harry. The Hall is a dangerous place, these days. Who else can I trust, but you?”

Harry glared at me. “This is just your way of keeping me out of circulation, while you’re gone!”

“No,” I said. “Just a useful side effect.” I paused, as a thought struck me. “Should we send an emissary Above, as well? To the Court of the Holy, on the shimmering plains? Just to let them know what’s going on?”

“I think we can be pretty sure they already know,” said Rafe. “Comes with the territory . . .”

“The last thing we need is for this to escalate,” said William. “Or we’ll be hip deep in angels and smiting. You know what they did in the Nightside; the poor bastards are still rebuilding. Angels are even more hardcore than Droods.”