I jumped from file to file, my stomach muscles tensing painfully as I took in the sheer size and scale of the operation. These people wanted to rule the world, and they were going about its slow and certain corruption with cold, focused precision. It soon became clear that there had been a lot of comings and goings from Lightbringer House recently. Really important people, familiar names and faces from politics and big business and a dozen other spheres of influence, were in the building right now, discussing . . . something. There was no specific information in the computer about this, only a sealed file name: “the Great Sacrifice.” And a whole bunch of serious new security measures that had been placed throughout the building to keep this meeting secure and very private. Molly leaned forward suddenly, pointing at the screen.
“There! What was that? Go back, go back. . . . Yes! The big meeting is being held in the main boardroom, directly down the hall from here! And given the sheer number of high-level Devil-worshipping scumbags attending, I think it behooves us to go and take a look and listen in.”
“And possibly slaughter the whole lot of them, on general principle,” said Isabella.
“Given the sheer amount of magical and technological weaponry that’s been installed, specifically to keep people like us out, I don’t think we can afford to start anything,” I said firmly. “We need to discover exactly what’s going on, and then concentrate on getting that information out of this building and into the hands of those who can best decide what to do about it.”
Isabella looked at Molly. “Is he always this stuffy?”
“A lot of the time, yes,” said Molly. “It’s one of his more endearing qualities.”
“Let us go look in on this meeting,” I said resignedly. “But nobody is to start anything until we’ve found out what this Great Sacrifice is all about.”
I retracted the golden strange matter into my torc and shut the computer down. Molly quickly removed her interventions, and when we went to leave the office there was no sign the computer had ever been tampered with. I’m a great believer in not leaving any traces behind; you never know when they might turn up again to bite your arse. Isabella eased the office door open a crack, looked out and then nodded quickly. We moved out into the corridor, shut the door carefully behind us and strode down the corridor towards the boardroom as though we had every right to be there.
I’d half imagined the Satanists’ building would be all dark shadows and gothic gloom, but the corridor was as anonymously banal as the office. The lights were almost painfully bright, the carpet was a dull grey and the walls were bare. There were a few people about, presumably too low-level to be allowed into the big meeting: regular-looking businesspeople in neat suits, going about their business and paying us no attention at all. First thing a field agent learns: Act like you belong somewhere, and most people will assume you do. Simple confidence will take you farther than even the best fake documents. But even so, it was a bit odd that no one paid any attention to Isabella’s crimson biker leathers and my torn and bloodstained shirt. Presumably Satanists were used to seeing strange things on a regular basis.
And . . . there was something about these ordinary, everyday businesspeople, as though they weren’t necessarily people at all. But maybe something else, pretending to be people.
In fact, the whole corridor was making me feel distinctly uneasy. It was all too bright and cheerful, with not one thing out of place. More like a film set than somewhere people actually lived and worked. Even as I strode along, nodding and smiling to the men and women who nodded and smiled at me, something was making all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. My flesh crawled. There was a growing sense of threat and menace, unfocused but very real, and very near, as though something might jump out at me at any moment. Walking down that corridor towards the boardroom felt like walking along a tightrope knowing someone was right behind you, waiting for a chance to push you off. Or like walking across a series of trapdoors, any one of which might drop open at any moment, letting you plummet into some awful trap, or perhaps letting you fall and fall forever. . . . My problem is I’ve got far too good an imagination. Well, one of my problems . . .
Still, even my torc was tingling uncomfortably, as though trying to warn me of some imminent danger. The closer I got to the boardroom and the people waiting in it, the more worried I became that not only was I in danger from the building’s many weapons and protections, but I was heading into an area of actual spiritual danger.
I murmured as much to Molly, who nodded vigorously. “Yeah, something about this place is creeping me out big-time, too. Which is weird; it’s usually the other way round. This is a bad place, Eddie. I don’t think these Satanists are using the name for shock value. I think they’re playing this for real. I’d raise my Sight and take a proper look at what’s going on here, but I’m pretty sure it would set off every alarm in the building.”
“Took you long enough to work that out,” said Isabella. “I felt that the moment I got here, which is why I was reduced to checking out papers that happened to be lying around. This is a bad place full of bad people with bad intentions. Can we take that for granted and move on?”
If Isabella was feeling the same sense of threat and danger I was, it didn’t seem to be bothering her much. She led the way right to the closed door of the main boardroom. There were no guards, or at least no obvious ones. I tried the handle on the off chance, but the door was locked.
“Don’t try to force it,” Molly said quickly.
“I know,” I said. “Alarms. I have done this secret-agent thing before, you know. It bothers me there aren’t any guards.”
“They must think their defences are so good they don’t need human guards,” said Isabella. “Either that, or the real guards are invisible and waiting to pounce on us.”
“Really wish you hadn’t said that,” said Molly, looking quickly about her. “I feel naked without my Sight.”
There was a single sign, saying MEETING. ONE P.M. START. NO ADMITTANCE AFTER THE MEETING HAS BEGUN.
“One p.m.,” said Molly. “The thirteenth hour. Satanists are always big on tradition. Probably because their greatest victories are all in the past.”
“We have to get in there,” said Isabella. “Find out what this is all about. I hate not knowing things! Eddie, can you use that golden-finger trick on the lock?”
“Almost certainly,” I said. “But again, I’m guessing the presence of strange matter this close to the movers and shakers would set off every alarm there is. I think we’re better off doing this low-tech.”
I produced a single golden brown skeleton key from my pocket, made from real human bone by the Armourer. (I didn’t ask whose bone. One learns not to ask questions like that around the Armourer.) Molly and Isabella moved quickly to cover me while I worked on the lock, blocking the view of anyone who might happen by. Though this end of the corridor was disturbingly quiet and empty. The skeleton key had the lock open in a moment, and I tucked it away again before carefully turning the handle. Isabella glared at me.
“I want one of those! It’s not fair. You Droods have all the best toys.” I gestured for her to be quiet, and then eased the door open a few inches. I waited, braced for any alarm or attack, but nothing happened. I peered through the narrow gap. The main boardroom was big enough to pass for a meeting hall, and was packed from wall to wall with rows of chairs, every single one of them occupied by rich and powerful and famous people. Names and faces you’d know, along with a whole bunch only people like me are supposed to know about. They were all staring with rapt attention at the man standing on the raised dais before them, commanding the room with fierce authority. Everyone there seemed absolutely fascinated by what they were hearing, hanging on his every word. But there was also something about them that suggested they were scared—either of the man on the dais or of what he was saying. What could he be suggesting? What could be so extreme that it could frighten even hardened Satanists? I pushed the door open a little more, and when no one reacted I squeezed through the gap and stood at the back of the hall, behind the rows of chairs. Molly and Isabella moved quickly in after me, leaving the door ajar, just in case. We stood very still, hardly breathing, but no one looked back. All their attention was fixed on the man on the dais.