The Book of Doom - By Barry Hutchison Page 0,8

look in.

“The streets,” said Zac, as they passed another palace. “They’re proper streets. They’re not wispy like at the gate.”

“Ah, yes, the cloud effects. That’s just for the tourists,” Gabriel said. “Costs us a fortune in dry ice, but then where would we be if we didn’t keep up appearances?” He gave Zac’s black clothing a very deliberate glance. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

There was a soft knock on the other side of the dividing screen, and the vehicle began to slow. Michael peered out through one of the side windows for a moment, before announcing, “We’re here.”

The car whispered to a stop and the doors opened automatically. “We’re where?” Zac asked.

“See for yourself,” suggested Gabriel.

Zac stepped out of the car and found himself outside an enormous, sprawling citadel. He’d thought the other buildings they’d passed had been palaces, but compared to this place they were little more than shacks.

A thousand white pillars stood by the smooth walls, each one carved to resemble a giant kneeling angel with wings fully unfurled. They all had their hands raised, supporting the overhang of a domed roof that was made up of intertwining bands of gold and platinum.

Light seemed to emanate from within the dome, bright enough to make a dull ache throb at the back of Zac’s eyeballs.

There was sound too. It wasn’t quite music; it was something more, or something less. Like the music that existed before music. A prototype version of music that bypassed the ears and launched a full-scale assault on the emotional centre of the brain instead.

Zac didn’t notice Gabriel step out of the car behind him. He didn’t even pull away when the angel’s hand patted him on the shoulder.

“Nice, isn’t it?”

“Not really my cup of tea,” Zac said, pulling himself together. “What is it?”

“This? This is the house that God built,” said Gabriel. He stepped past the boy and gestured towards the building’s ornate front door. “Shall we step inside?”

Zac sat at one end of a long narrow table in a long narrow room. The table was made of dark wood, polished to a mirror-like shine. There were twelve leather office-style chairs positioned round it, evenly spaced. Filing cabinets and bookshelves lined one of the room’s shorter walls. Over in the corner stood a water cooler. Every few minutes, it gave a loud glug and bubbles rose lazily inside the bottle.

Compared to the outside of the building, this room was relatively dull. There were windows, but Gabriel had closed the blinds as soon as they’d entered. A pot plant stood by the largest window, five completely different types of flower blooming from its stalks. Zac didn’t recognise any of them.

At the far end of the table, directly opposite Zac, Gabriel lowered himself into one of the leather chairs. He leaned forward, his elbows on the tabletop, his fingers steepled in front of his mouth, his blue eyes sparkling.

Michael had been right behind Zac as they’d entered the room, but he hadn’t followed the others in. There were only the two of them there now – the boy and the angel.

“Well?” said Zac. “You wanted to talk. I’m listening.”

Gabriel waited a few moments before speaking. “We’ve misplaced something,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “We would like you to help get it back.”

“Why me?”

“Because we believe your unique talents and your... past exploits make you the perfect choice for the job. We need someone fast. Someone who can think on their feet and who is not afraid to fight dirty, should the need arise.”

“Then why not send the Monk? He beat me.”

“Alas, the Monk is well known to those who have taken the item. He would not, I fear, last two minutes.”

“Why?” Zac asked. “Where is it?”

“Hell,” Gabriel said. His chair creaked as he leaned back, not taking his eyes off Zac. He was watching for some kind of reaction, Zac knew. A look of shock, or fear, or something. But Zac wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction.

“Right. And what was taken?”

One of Gabriel’s eyebrows rose a few millimetres in surprise. “Did you hear what I said?”

“It’s in Hell, yeah. I heard. What was taken?”

“A book.”

“What book?”

“It is a book with many names,” the angel said. “Down there they call it the Book of Doom. Up here we prefer the Book of Everything.”

“Sounds like a children’s encyclopedia,” Zac said.

“Oh, I assure you, it isn’t. The Book of Everything tells us... well, it tells us everything. Every shift of every grain of sand. Every movement of every cloud. Every