For Heaven's Eyes Only

by Simon R. Green

  “Could we survive outside the Hall without our armour?” said the Sarjeant.

  “Probably,” said Howard, moving quickly from workstation to workstation, studying display screens over his people’s shoulders. “But I wouldn’t try it. Armour up and stay armoured up until we’re all safely out of here. Ah! Castle, ho! The Hall appears to be calmly floating in this silver void, and roughly half a mile below us is a castle floating in the void! Put it up on the main display screen.”

  The big screen flashed a few times, ghosting in and out as though having trouble doing what it was being asked to do, and then the view cleared to show a massive medieval castle hanging in the silver-grey. It was hard to judge the scale with nothing to compare it to, so a stream of sensor information flowed along the bottom of the screen. The castle was huge, some twenty times larger than Castle Frankenstein, home to the now defunct Immortals. Massive stone walls, huge towers, long crenellated battlements, and everywhere, flags and banners of a familiar black and red, dominated by the swastika. Nazi flags. All of them stiff and still, untroubled by any breeze.

  “I read all the books,” said William, and I jumped a little to find him standing right beside me. “But I never expected . . . You couldn’t build a castle that big on Earth; it would collapse under its own weight. The old conspiracy must have brought all its requirements through a bit at a time, and then assembled them here. But why did they need a castle that big? What was it built to hold, to contain? Or is there something else here, in this void that isn’t a void, that they had to defend themselves against? There was nothing about that in Laurence’s account. . . . And why did they name it Schloss Shreck? Castle Horror?”

  The Sarjeant leaned over the comm systems and called down to the Armourer: “Is Alpha Red Alpha okay? Can you get us home safely? Answer the second question first.”

  “Everything’s fine,” said the Armourer. “As far as I can tell. I did everything the way I was supposed to, and the engine did everything it was supposed to. If not exactly in the manner I expected . . . So do what you have to do, Sarjeant, and then let’s go home again. Because the sooner we’re out of this unnatural place, the better.”

  “Can you get us safely home again?” said the Sarjeant.

  “Ah,” said the Armourer. “Now you’re asking. Technically speaking, yes. Settle for that. I would.”

  “I think we should get out of here as soon as possible, too,” said Howard. “I don’t care if the conditions are as near Earth normal as makes no difference; there’s no telling what long-term exposure could do to us. All my sensors are telling me this is a really bad place to be. I don’t think people are supposed to exist here. I’d almost say the Timeless Moment is straining itself to tolerate our presence. The Hall’s shields are holding steady . . . but the energy drain is enormous, far higher than it should be. Which means we have a deadline, Sarjeant. I’d say we’ve got twelve hours, tops, before the generators go down and the shields fall.”

  “What are your scanners telling us about Schloss Shreck?” said William. “Can you tell if there’s anybody in there?”

  “They’ve got heavy-duty protections of their own,” said Howard. “We’ve no way of telling what’s going on in there. I’m not seeing any signs of force shields, as such. . . . Nothing to stop us from walking right in. But I don’t like it.”

  “Why would they need force shields?” I said. “What is there here that they would need to defend themselves against?”

  “A really interesting question, and one that we should definitely look into somewhen else,” said Molly. “Look at the castle. There’re lights on in some of those windows. Somebody’s home. So let’s go pay them a visit and bash some Satanist heads in.”

  “To the point, as usual,” I said. “Enough talking. We’re going in.”

  “Damn right,” said the Sarjeant-at-Arms.

  Up on the roof of the Hall, the Drood army gathered. Hundreds of golden figures gleaming bright as they scrambled across the slanting tiles, forming groups around gables and cupolas and preparing the flying machines on the landing pads. As more and more of us came up onto the roof, it became increasingly crowded, until it was a wonder we didn’t end up pushing one another off the edges to test the water, like penguins on an ice floe. Molly and I hung off both sides of an outcropping gable, me in my armour and her in her best let’s-go-arse-kicking white dress, looking down at Schloss Shreck, floating in the silver void some distance below. It really was huge, like a medieval city carved in stone and wrapped in Nazi flags and banners. Lighted windows stared back at us like watchful eyes.

  “Good thing they’re down there, and we’re up here,” said Molly, after a while. “We can just drop in on them. Death from above!”

  “They must know we’re here,” I said. “Must know who we are. Must know we’re coming . . .”

  “Good,” said Molly. “Let them panic.”

  “There’s no telling how many of the bastards there are,” I said. “Could be a whole army . . . Could be the army we never got to face at Cathedral Hall.”

  “You have got to stop obsessing over that,” said Molly. “None of it was your fault.”

  “I have unfinished business.”

  “You know more ways to feel guilty about things that you’re not responsible for than anyone I know,” said Molly. “I’ve never felt guilty about anything. You should try it. It’s remarkably liberating.”

  More and more golden figures spilled up onto the roof, emerging from attics and trapdoors and other less official openings, and were quickly harangued into groups by the Sarjeant-at-Arms. I’d never seen so many armoured Droods in one place before, not even when we were defending ourselves against the invading Accelerated Men. A lot of them were carrying weapons, courtesy of the Armourer. Normally the golden armour is all the weapon a Drood needs in the field, but this was different. We were going to war.

  One by one the various flying machines powered up, their cheerful roar and clatter a reassuring presence in the uncanny quiet of the Timeless Moment. There were skeletal autogyros, coughing out black clouds of smoke and steam; carefully preserved Spitfires from the 1940s, with supercharged engines, really nasty guns and their own personal force shields (the Armourer got the idea from some television show); and dozens of different kinds of flying saucers. Not actual alien craft; rather reverse-engineered alien tech made into saucers . . . simply for the fun of it. Some Droods have the strangest hobbies. . . . All of which are encouraged, because you never know when they might lead to something useful.

  The Sarjeant-at-Arms came over to join me, striding across the rising and falling tiles with calm assurance. You can always recognise the Sarjeant in his armour; he’s modified it to look as blunt and businesslike as a golden bullet.

  “The flying machines are ready to go,” he said. “I’ve ordered them to take a first look at the castle, sound out any defences and maybe even try a few strafing runs to put the wind up whoever’s at home. I’d feel happier if I knew how many we were facing; could be anything in there from a skeleton staff to a full army.”

  “Eddie said that,” said Molly.

  “Really?” said the Sarjeant. “Some of me must be rubbing off on you, Eddie.”

  “What a terrible thought,” I said.

  “And a mental image I could really have done without,” said Molly.

  “It doesn’t matter how many there are,” I said. “We’re going in. We have people to rescue, and punishments to hand out. Send in the first wave, Sarjeant.”

  He turned and waved one golden hand at the landing pads, and all the flying machines rose up. The autogyros sprang into the air like startled birds, banking away from the Hall and then plunging down towards the castle. The Spitfires threw themselves off the edge of the roof and curved smoothly round to swoop down on the castle like angry eagles, force shields shimmering and sparking where their edges made contact with the void. The flying saucers rose up in ones and twos, silent and serene, glowing all kinds of colours, some o
f them never meant for human eyes. They dropped down towards the castle like so many gaudy ghosts.

  They all took it in turns to overfly the castle and then buzz it again and again, increasingly close each time, trying to provoke a response. They hit it from every side at once, pulling away only at the last moment, but the castle didn’t react. The lights were still very definitely on in many of the windows, but no force shields sprang up, and no weapons appeared. One Spitfire flew in so close its passing actually rippled one of the Nazi banners hanging down from the battlements. Another Spitfire roared right across the castle roof, opening up with all its guns. A loud series of explosions rocked the castle battlements as bullets chewed up old stone and sent heavy fragments flying . . . but still no response. I looked at the Sarjeant.

  “Give the signal. We’re going in.”

  And I let go of the gable and jumped off the Hall. My armoured legs pushed me out and away, and I dropped into the silver void like a stone, aiming for the castle below. Even inside the protection of my armour, I seemed to feel a chill wind caressing my flesh and shuddering in my bones. Air and light and gravity be damned; there was nothing Earth-like about this place. I plummeted towards the castle, arms and legs stretched out wide, and then I concentrated and great golden wings erupted out of my back. They slowed my fall appreciably, and I soon got the hang of tilting them this way and that to steer me in towards the castle roof. More golden figures appeared beside me as we fell on Schloss Shreck like avenging angels.

  This would never have worked on Earth, of course, but we were all a long way from home.

  Molly swooped in to join me, flying under her own power, her long white dress rippling around her. She was laughing and whooping with glee, her face alive with uncomplicated joy. She always was a great one for being in the moment, and also clearly happy to finally be doing something. She moved in close beside me, grinning widely, and then rolled over onto her back and crossed her legs casually.

  “Show-off,” I said.

  I glanced to my left and to my right. Droods filled the silver void all around me, falling at increasing speed on their various wings. Some had golden support struts like living biplanes, while others had formed actual birds’ wings with sculptured golden feathers. Some hadn’t bothered with wings at all; they streamlined their armour and threw themselves at the castle like projectiles. They were already far ahead of the rest of us, and at the speed they were going it seemed to me there was a good chance they’d punch right through the roof, through the castle and out the other side. I admired their ambition, but I was determined to be more cautious. If only because I couldn’t believe the castle was utterly without defences.

  The flying machines were all over Schloss Shreck now, sweeping back and forth and opening up with every weapon they had, blowing holes in the outer walls and whole chunks off the battlements. They buzzed the castle like angry wasps while the golden Drood army closed inexorably in on its target. We got in really close . . . before gun emplacements opened up the length of every wall, and huge guns with terrible long barrels took aim on us, all of them blasting away in a massive broadside, slamming into the targets laid out before them. They’d been waiting for enough of us to come within range. Droods in their armour were protected; but the flying machines weren’t.

  The autogyros went first, blown out of the void. Their engines exploded in clouds of black smoke and steam, and lovingly maintained fuselages were raked with bullets. Many of them burst into flames. Golden pilots were flung from their doomed craft, clutching helplessly at nothing as they fell into a void without end. They were still alive, but we had no way of reaching them. I wondered how long they’d fall, and how long they’d live. . . .

  The Spitfires banked and rolled at incredible speed, blasting away at the gun emplacements, but they were too few against too many guns. The bullets couldn’t broach the planes’ force shields, so the castle produced guns that fired strange energies that crawled all over the Spitfires, opening up holes in the shields for the guns to fire through. Some exploded, some lost power and some spiralled away into the void like wounded birds. The remaining Spitfires saw there was no point in pressing the fight any longer and turned away, plunging into the void to rescue the fallen. Strictly speaking, they shouldn’t have done that, but family looks after family.

  The energy guns then targeted the flying saucers, and they exploded silently one after another in sudden outbursts of unnatural colours.

  The rest of us fell on Castle Horror, drawing in our wings to add more speed, but bullets and vicious energies still found us, beating against our armoured breasts, unable to break through. We fell like Furies and hit the castle roof like a rain of golden ammunition. Solid stone shattered under the impact of our golden feet, and many of us ploughed right through to whatever lay below. Some manoeuvred sideways at the last moment and swung round to hit the castle walls dead-on. There were huge stone gargoyles and stylised stone eagles everywhere, and they made good handholds. Soon we were swarming all over Schloss Shreck, opening up holes in the roof with our golden fists, scrambling over the walls like golden beetles, ripping guns out of their emplacements and throwing them into the void.

  New weapons fired up through the roof, hitting us with unfamiliar energies. Some were blasted up into the air by the impact; others were knocked off their feet. Droods staggered this way and that as vicious energies crawled all over us, fighting to get in. But our armour held.

  I smashed a hole through the roof until I had an opening big enough to drop through. I jumped down into the dark, and I was inside Schloss Shreck. Molly dropped down beside me. None of the attacks had even come close to touching her. We’d arrived in an attic full of junk, most of which I kicked out of the way as I hurried through it, looking for a way down into the castle proper. I could hear more Droods forcing their way in. Molly grinned at me like a naughty child trespassing somewhere she knew she wasn’t allowed. Behind my mask, I couldn’t help smiling, too. It felt good to be striking back at the enemy at last.

  I found a trapdoor and a ladder that led down into a wide stone corridor, and soon we were moving swiftly along the castle’s upper floor. Solid stone walls, marble floors, all on a big enough scale to make mere humans feel small. A heavy quiet hung over everything like a shroud. Everywhere I looked there was Nazi regalia: huge flags and hanging banners, blocky black swastikas, eagles with grasping clawed feet, even giant portraits of stylised Aryan youth and soldiers from the 1940s. It was like moving through a museum to history’s worst nightmare, a paean of praise to Hitler’s Nazi Germany: the centre for a celebration that never happened. Molly sniffed loudly.

  “Been a while since anyone redecorated here.”

  “Nothing’s changed, because this is when the Satanists were a real power in the world,” I said. “This has all been preserved from when they last had a chance of winning. Satanists have always been strangely sentimental. They love the past because that’s when they were what they think they should be. Do me a favour, Molly. All this Nazi shit is getting on my nerves. Do something destructive about it.”

  “Love to,” said Molly.

  She snapped her fingers, and every single flag and banner burst into flames. The sound of crackling fires was pleasantly loud in the quiet as Molly and I strode cheerfully down the burning corridor.

  We descended through stone galleries, wide passageways and long, curving stairs, until finally we found ourselves in a great open hall. Still no sign of anyone. We moved slowly forward, my golden feet hammering on the marble floor. In the middle of the hall lay a large circular table surrounded by what could only be described as thrones. The walls were hung with idealised portraits of men in medieval armour, in symbolic settings. All of them bore swastikas on their breastplates and shields.

  “Hitler and his inner circle always did have this strange fascination with tales of King Arthur and his knights,” I said. “Surprising, really, given they had absolutely no understanding of chivalry. Der Führer was supposed to have a
layout like this somewhere under the Berchtesgaden . . . like a twisted Camelot. Which would actually be a really cool name for a new indie band.”

  “We need to keep moving,” said Molly. “I can feel Isabella’s presence not too far from here . . . but I’m starting to feel something is terribly wrong.”

  “Then let’s go find her,” I said. “Lead the way, Molly.”

  She turned back the way we’d come, leaving the hall behind us, chose a new direction without hesitation and started down it. She set off at a fierce pace, her face creased with worry, and soon she was running down the corridor, her arms pumping at her sides. Driven on by an urgency only she could feel. I ran alongside her, my armoured feet scarring the marble floor. It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen another Drood since I entered the castle, and I couldn’t even hear any sound of fighting or destruction. I reached out to the Sarjeant-at-Arms through my torc, but couldn’t get an answer. Presumably the castle was jamming our communications. I tried Ethel, but I hadn’t heard a word from her since we entered the Timeless Moment. Presumably she was still back on Earth, haunting the place where the Hall had been, waiting for our return. I wondered how long she’d wait. . . .

  We went down and down, from floor to floor, until we were forced to a sudden stop by two massive solid-steel doors that blocked our way, twenty feet high if they were an inch, and almost as wide. I pulled at one of the doors, and it didn’t budge at all. There were three separate locks, each the size of my head. I grinned behind my mask, placed both golden hands flat against the doors and pushed hard, till my golden fingers sank deep into the steel. And then I pulled. . . . The three locks exploded, one after another, and Molly had to duck behind me to avoid the pieces that flew through the air like shrapnel. The doors surged outwards under my implacable strength, and when I finally had a big enough gap I let go and walked between them into a hall greater than any I’d seen so far, overwhelmingly huge, hundreds of feet long, full of the strangest collection of weapons and machines of war I’d ever seen.