“Good question,” I said. “If you ever find out…”
“You’ll read about it in the Unnatural Inquirer.” Bettie smiled cheerfully. “I love the way you talk about these things so casually. I only get to hear about stuff like this at second or third remove, and there’s rarely any proof. You’re right there in the thick of things. Must be such fun…”
“Not always the word I’d use,” I said. “And you are not to quote me. I don’t care what you print, but Walker might. And he’d be more likely to come after you than me.”
“Let him,” Bettie said airily. “The Unnatural Inquirer looks after its own. John, you’re frowning. Why are you frowning? Should we start running?”
“If Pen Donavon had found a way to Listen In and got noticed,” I said slowly, “he might have attracted the attention of Heaven or Hell. Which is rarely a good thing. They might send agents to silence him, and destroy the Recording.”
“Oh, dear,” said Bettie. “Are we talking angels? The Nightside’s still putting itself back together after the last angel war.”
“I wish people would stop looking at me like the angel war was all my fault,” I said.
“Well, it was; wasn’t it?”
“Not as such, no!”
“You can be such a disappointment, sometimes,” said Bettie Divine.
FOUR -
When Collectors Go Bad
Back in the Nightside proper, I headed for Uptown, that relatively refined area where the better class of establishments and members-only clubs gather together and circle the wagons, to keep out the riff-raff. People like me, and anyone I might know. I had a particular destination in mind, but I didn’t tell Bettie. Some subjects need to be sneaked up on, approached slowly and cautiously, so as not to freak out the easily upset. Bettie clearly thought she’d been around and seen it all, but there are some people and places that would make a snot demon puke, on general principles.
“Where exactly are we going?” said Bettie, looking eagerly about her.
“Well,” I said, “when you’re on the trail of something rare and unique, the place to start is with the Collector. He’s spent the best part of his life in pursuit of the extraordinary and the uncommon, often by disreputable, underhanded, and downright dishonest means. He’s a thief and a grave-robber, a despoiler of archaeological sites, and no museum or private cabinet of curiosities is safe from him. He’s even got his own collection of weird time machines, so he can loot and ransack the Past of all its choicest items. If there’s a gap in history where something important ought to be, you can bet the Collector’s been there. He’s bound to have heard about the Afterlife Recording by now, and, faced with the prospect of such a singular and significant item, you can bet he won’t rest till he’s tracked it down.”
Bettie looked actually awe-struck. “The Collector…Oh, wow. The paper’s been trying to get an interview with him for years. Mind you, half the people you talk to swear he’s nothing more than an urban myth, something historians use to frighten their children. But you know him personally! That is so cool! Has he really got the Holy Grail? The Spear of Destiny? The Maltese Falcon?”
“Given the sheer size of his collection, anything’s possible,” I said. “Except maybe that last one.”
“There are those who say the two of you have a history,” Bettie said guilelessly.
“If you’re fishing in your pocket for your mini tape recorder, forget it,” I said pleasantly. “I lifted it off you before we even left the Unnatural Inquirer offices. I don’t do on the record.”
“Oh, poo,” said Bettie. And then she smiled dazzlingly. “Doesn’t matter. I have a quite remarkable memory. And what I can’t remember, I’ll make up. So, tell me all about the Collector. How did you meet?”
“He was an old friend of my father’s,” I said.
Bettie frowned. “But…some of the stories say he’s your mortal enemy?”
“That, too,” I said. “That’s the Nightside for you.”
“Where’s he based these days?” Bettie said casually.
I grinned. “That really would be a scoop for you, wouldn’t it? Unfortunately, I have no idea, at present. He used to store his collection in a secret base up on the Moon, sunk deep under the Sea of Tranquility, but he moved it after I…dropped in, for a little visit.”
“Couldn’t you have used your gift to find it again?”
“The Collector is seriously protected. By Forces and Powers even I would think twice about messing with.”
“Still…you’ve actually seen his collection! How cool is that? What did you see? What has he got? Did you take any photos?”
I smiled. “I never betray a confidence.”
“But he’s your mortal enemy!”
“Not always,” I said. “It’s…complicated.”
Bettie shrugged easily and slipped her arm through mine. My first impulse was to pull away, but I didn’t. Her arm felt good where it was. I looked at her thoughtfully, but she’d given up on grilling me for the moment and was looking interestedly about her.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this deep into Uptown. You don’t come here unless you are almost obscenely wealthy. I’ll bet there are shops here where a pair of shoes would cost more than my annual salary. Remind me to steal a pair before we leave. Where are we going, exactly?”
“I need to talk to Walker,” I said.
Bettie slammed to a halt, stopping me with her. “The head man himself? Darling, you don’t mess around, do you?”
“If anyone knows where the Collector hangs his hat these days, it’ll be Walker,” I said. “Can we start moving again?”
She nodded stiffly, and we set off at a somewhat slower pace than before.
“But, gosh, I mean…Walker,” said Bettie, giving me her wide-eyed look again. “Our very own polite and civilised and extremely dangerous lord and master? The man who can make people disappear if he doesn’t like the look of them? That Walker? There is a definite limit as to how far I’m prepared to go for this story, and annoying Walker is right there at the top of my list of Things Not To Do.”
“You’ll be fine, as long as you’re with me.” I tried hard to sound calm and confident. “He’ll talk to me. Partly because Walker is another old friend of my father’s. Partly because he’s an old friend of the Collector. But mostly because I shall dazzle him with my charming personality.”
“Maybe I’ll stay outside while you talk to him,” said Bettie.
I grinned at her and noticed abruptly that she wasn’t wearing her polka-dot dress any more. She was now wearing a creamy off-the-shoulder number, very chic, and a pink pill-box hat with a veil. The horns on her forehead peeked demurely out from under the brim of the hat, lifting the veil just a little. I decided not to say anything.
“Is this really such a good idea, sweetie?” Bettie said finally. “I mean, Walker…That man is seriously scary. He’s disappeared at least nine of the Unnatural Inquirer’s reporters because they were getting too close to something he didn’t want known. Or at least discussed. We know it was him, because he sent us personally signed In Deep Condolence cards.”
“Yeah,” I said. “That sounds like Walker.”
“I don’t want to be disappeared, John! It would be very bad for my career. Promise me you’ll protect me. I am too young, too talented, and too utterly gorgeous in a fashionably understated way to be disappeared! It would be a crime against journalism.”
“Relax,” I said. “You’ll be fine. I can handle Walker.”
I don’t like to lie to people, unless I have to, but sometimes you have to say what people want to hear to get them to do what you want them to do. And I had to talk to Walker. He was the only one who might know where the Collector was hiding out these days, who might be willing to tell me. It was always a calculated risk, talking to Walker. In the end, when we finally run out of excuses, one of us is going to kill the other. I’ve always known that. And so has he.
We like each other. We’ve saved each other’s lives. It’s complicated. It’s the Nightside.
“Do you need your gift to find Walker?” Bettie asked, staring distractedly about her as though half-expecting him to suddenly appear out of some door or side alley, just from the mention of his name.
“No,” I said. “I know where he’ll be. Where he always is at this time. Taking tea at his Gentleman’s Club.”
“Walker belongs to a club?” said Bettie. “Result, darling! A definite exclusive! Which club?”
“There is only one club for those of Walker’s exalted position,” I said. “The oldest and most exclusive club in the Nightside. The Londinium Club.”
Bettie looked sharply at me. “But…that was destroyed. During the Lilith War. We published photos. That was where the Authorities were killed. And eaten.”
“Quite right,” I said. “But it’s back. Word is, the Club rebuilt itself. Any building that’s survived everything the Nightside can throw at it for over two thousand years isn’t going to let a little thing like being destroyed in a war slow it down.”
“Oh,” said Bettie. “Do you mind that I’m holding your arm?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t mind.”
The last time I’d seen the Londinium Club, during the height of the Lilith War, it had been one hell of a mess. The magnificent Roman façade had been cracked and holed, smoke-blackened and fire-damaged. The great marble steps leading up to the single massive door had been fouled with blood and shit. And the Club’s legendary Doorman, who had kept out the uninvited and unwelcome for centuries beyond counting, had been torn apart, his severed head impaled on the railings. Inside, it had been even worse.
But now everything seemed back to normal, right down to the fully restored Roman façade. Which I’d always found rather crude, to be honest. There was a new Doorman, however. It seemed the Club could only restore itself, and not those who’d died defending it. Just as well, really. A lot of the Club’s members were no loss to anyone, for all their wealth and power. Anyone rich and powerful enough to belong to the Londinium Club had almost certainly done appalling and unspeakable things to get there. And that very definitely included Walker.
The new Doorman was a tall and elegantly slender fellow dressed in the full finery of Regency fashion. Right down to the heart-shaped beauty mark on his cheek, the poser. He moved deliberately forward to block my way as I started up the steps towards the door. I stopped right in front of him and eased my arm out of Bettie’s so I could give the Doorman my full attention. He looked down his nose at me, and there was a lot of it to look down. His eyes were cold and distant, and his thin smile was carefully calculated to be polite without containing the slightest trace of warmth or welcome. I was sure Bettie was giving him her brightest smile, but the Doorman and I only had eyes for each other.
“I have the name and face of every current Member of the Londinium Club committed to memory, sir,” said the Doorman. He made the sir sound like an insult. “And I believe I am correct in saying that you, sir, and this…person, are not Members in good standing. Therefore, you have no business being here.”
“Wrong,” I said. “I’m here to see Walker.”
“He does not wish to be seen, sir. And particularly not by the likes of you. You may leave now.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Being faced down by a little snot like you would be bad for my reputation. One last chance—go and tell Walker I’m here.”
“Leave,” said the Doorman. “You are not welcome here. You will never be welcome here.”
“Just once, I’d love to do this the easy way,” I said wistfully. “Now step aside, fart face, or I’ll do something amusing to you.”
The Doorman sniffed disdainfully, gestured languidly with one hand, and a shimmering wall of force sprang up between us. I fell back a step, sensing the terrible power running through the field. This was new. The old Doorman had relied on sheer obnoxious personality, of which he had a lot, to keep the riff-raff out. That, and a punch that could concuss a cow. Presumably the Club had decided it needed a more sturdy defence these days. The new Doorman wasn’t actually sneering at me, he wouldn’t lower himself that much; but it felt like he was. And I couldn’t have that.
I stepped forward again, so close to the field I could feel it prickling on my skin, and looked the Doorman right in the eye. He met my gaze coldly, with a supercilious stare. I kept looking at him, and he began to shake, as he realised he couldn’t look away. Beads of sweat popped out all over his face as I held his gaze with mine, and he started to make low, whimpering sounds.
“Drop the screen,” I said. “We’re coming in.”
The screen snapped off. I looked away, and the Doorman collapsed, sitting down suddenly on the steps as though all the strength had gone out of his legs. He actually flinched back as I led Bettie up the steps past him. She looked at me, frowning, as we approached the massive front door of the Londinium Club.
“What the hell did you do to him?”
“I stared him down,” I said.
“That really wasn’t a very nice thing to do, sweetie. He was only doing his job. I’m not sure I want you holding my arm any more.”
“Suit yourself,” I said. “I don’t always have time for nice. Or the inclination.”
“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“You have no idea,” I said.
The huge door swung open before us. Just as well; I’d had something particularly unpleasant and destructive in mind in case it hadn’t. Inside, the main foyer was exactly as I remembered it, intimidatingly large, unbearably stuffy, and smotheringly luxurious. Mosaics and paintings and marble pillars, and a general air of smug exclusivity. The last time I’d been here there’d been blood and bodies everywhere, but you’d never know it now. Wars came and apocalypses went, but the Londinium Club goes on forever.
Some say there are terrible caverns deep beneath the Club, where the oldest Members still gather to worship something ancient and awful. Baphomet, some say, or the King in Yellow, or the Serpent in the Sun. But there are always rumours like that in the Nightside.
A few people passed us, looking very prosperous and important. They studiously ignored me, and Bettie. I caught the eye of a liveried footman, and he came reluctantly over to see what I wanted.
“You’ve been here before,” said Bettie, her voice hushed for once by the sheer presence of the place.
“I’ve been everywhere before,” I said. “Mind you, I’ve also been thrown out of practically everywhere, at one time or another.”
“I’ve never seen anything like this…”
“Don’t let it get to you. For all the Club’s opulence, you couldn’t spit in the dining-room without being sure of hitting at least one complete scumbag.”
She giggled suddenly and put one hand to her mouth. The footman came to a halt before me and bowed politely. Since I was in the Club, I obviously belonged there. His was not to question why, no matter how much he might want to. He’d bowed to worse, in his time. He managed to imply all this without actually saying a word. It was a remarkable performance. I felt like applauding.
“Walker,” I said.
“In the main dining-room, sir. Dining, with guests. Should I announce you, sir?”
“And spoil the surprise?” I said. “Heaven forfend. You run along. We can look after ourselves.”
The footman backed away at speed, not even waiting for a tip. Which was just as well, really. I headed casually for the main dining area, with Bettie tagging along at my side like an over-excited puppy. No-one challenged us. It’s all about attitude. You can get away with murder if you look like you belong.
I pushed open the dining-room door, stepped inside, then stopped right there, pushing Bettie slightly to one side so that we were concealed from the crowded room by a fortuitously placed potted aspidistra. I hushed her before she could say anything and peered between the leaves. All the tables were full, mostly occupied by large sturdy types in formal suits, eating basic stodgy food because it reminded them of the good old days of school dinners. None of them looked at each other. They were there for peace and quiet, not to socialise.
Walker had to be the exception, of course. He was currently holding court with some of the more august personages jockeying for position to take the place of the recently deceased Authorities. They sat stiffly in stiff-backed chairs, nursing expensive liqueurs and oversized cigars and talking loudly to show they didn’t give a damn who overheard them. They smiled and nodded and were polite enough, and you’d never know they were deadly rivals who’d happily slaughter each other at the first sign of weakness. This was politics, after all, and there were rules of etiquette to follow. Yesterday’s enemy might be tomorrow’s friend, or at least ally.
“Hush,” I said quietly to Bettie. “Watch and listen. You might learn something interesting. You know who those people are, with Walker?”
“Of course,” she said, putting her mouth so close to my ear I could feel her breath on the side of my face. “Walker’s the smart city gent. The older gentleman to his left in the military uniform is General Condor. The revolting specimen to Walker’s right is Uptown Taffy Lewis. And the woman sitting opposite Walker is Queen Helena, ex-Monarch of the Ice Kingdoms.”
“Very good,” I said. “Now let’s see if you read anything more than the gossip columns. What can you tell me about Walker’s guests?”
Bettie smiled, glad of a chance to show off her reporter’s expertise. “General Condor comes from a future time-line. Arrived here through a Timeslip and got stranded in the Nightside when it closed. Word is he used to be in charge of some kind of Space Fleet, star-ships and the like, keeping the peace in some future Empire or Federation. He was leading the troops into battle against some kind of Rebellion, when his flagship came under fire and was blown apart. He only escaped at the last moment in a life-boat.” She laughed briefly. “He doesn’t approve of us. A very upright and moral man, is our General. Since he arrived here he’d made it his business to first support, and then lead, all the right causes. He wants to reform us and save our souls, the poor fool. The Unnatural Inquirer’s been trying to dig up some dirt on him for ages, but unfortunately it seems he really is as worthy and boring as he claims.”
I nodded, looking the General over. Condor was a tall, straight-backed military type, in a surprisingly old-fashioned bottle-green uniform, complete with peaked cap. Even sitting down, he looked like he was still at attention. His face was deeply lined, scarred here and there, but his blue eyes were cold and piercing under bushy white eyebrows. He had to be in late middle age, but there didn’t look to be an ounce of give in him.
I’d run into him a few times, here and there. He didn’t approve of me, or people like me, but then it would be hard to find anyone or anything he did approve of in the Nightside. Our free trade in vice and depravity and damnation appalled him. A good man, perhaps, and no doubt brave enough standing on the poop-deck of his star-ship, facing terrible odds; but his stark black-and-white philosophy had no place in the Nightside. On the one hand, he was desperate to return to his own time and his own people, and take up the battle again, but on the other he was realistic enough to know he might never get back. And so he had decided to take on the Nightside, as a challenge. As an evil to be overcome. He now led, or at least represented, all those various interests inside the Nightside who wanted to clean the place up, for their own philosophical, financial, or political reasons.
General Condor liked to talk about redemption, and potential, and all the things we might achieve, if only we could control our darker urges and learn to work together. He couldn’t seem to understand that people only came here to indulge their darker urges. He was a good man, in the wrong place. And the Nightside does so love to break a hero.
“How about the slug in the ill-fitting dress jacket?” I said.
“Easy. Everyone knows Uptown Taffy Lewis,” said Bettie. She made brief retching noises. “He owns most of the prime real estate in the Nightside, now the Griffin is finally dead and gone. He has enormous economic leverage and isn’t shy about using it to get his own way. Word is he can’t get any richer, so now he wants power. He maintains his own private army of bully-boys, enforcers, and leg-breakers, and anyone who speaks out against Taffy tends to find out why terribly quickly. He wants to be the new Griffin, the new king of the castle, and have us all bow down to him. He has pretensions to style and elegance and gentility, but wouldn’t recognise them if he fell over them in the gutter. The man was born a cheap thug, and he’ll never change. The Inquirer’s run any number of exposés on him and said all kinds of nasty things, but he’s rich enough that he doesn’t care. Hateful man. They say he ate his brother.”
“Completely accurate,” I said.
Uptown Taffy Lewis was a large man, in all the wrong ways. The expertly cut suit couldn’t conceal his many rolls of fat, any more than his current polite expression could hide his cold piggy eyes or cruel mouth. Taffy didn’t just want to be big man at the trough, he wanted to keep everyone else out, simply because he could. Own it all, control it all, and have the power to destroy it all. And then use that power to make everyone else beg for the scraps from his table. Probably had a really small penis. Uptown Taffy Lewis wanted the Nightside because it was there.
He’d tried to have me killed on several occasions. I didn’t take it personally. For Taffy, it was always just business.
“And ex-Queen Helena?” I said to Bettie.
“Nasty piece of work, by all accounts.” Bettie curled her perfect upper lip. “Powerful, talented, and dangerous in all sorts of unpleasant ways, though it’s hard to say whether her power derives from science or sorcery. She can kill with a look or a touch, and they say she can enslave a man by whispering his name. The official word is that she arrived here via a Timeslip from some far future time-line, where the sun is going out and the ice covers everything. A cold woman from a cold world. But you can take that with as many grains of salt as you like; people who turn up through Timeslips tell all sorts of tales, and there’s rarely any way of checking. She claims to have been the Queen of the whole world, and she has the way of royalty about her, but…Odd that a Queen should be travelling alone, don’t you think? Anyway, she’s certainly single-minded enough about becoming royalty again, either back in her own time or right here in the Nightside. She has a lot of followers here; people who like to think they know a real monarch when they see one. She’s been selling titles to anyone who can raise the money.”
I nodded. I knew the type. (Ex-)Queen Helena was a disturbing sight. Tall, regal, haughty, and more impressive than God, she sat on her chair as though it was a throne fashioned from the bones of her enemies. She wore thick white furs, a diamond tiara, and her long flat hair was so blonde as to be practically colourless. Her deathly pale skin was tinged with blue, and her face and bare arms were covered with intricate patterns of painted-on circuitry. There were subtle bulges here and there under her skin, suggesting concealed high-tech implants. They raised and lowered themselves, apparently according to her moods.
“Well done, Bettie,” I said. “Very accurate descriptions, nicely succinct and more than usually informed. There are investigative journalists on the Night Times who wouldn’t have been able to tell me that much. You’re not just a pretty face, are you?”
She smiled easily. “I was wondering how long the wide-eyed act would fool you. You don’t get to be one of the Unnatural Inquirer’s top reporters by batting your eyes and simpering at people. Though you’d be surprised how far that can get you, even with important people. Men are such simple, basic creatures, bless them. For the others, it’s amazing how many weak spots and vulnerabilities good research can turn up. I smile, I watch, I listen, I draw conclusions, and I write it all up afterwards. You weren’t fooled by the act for one minute, were you?”
“It’s a good act,” I said, generously. “Now hush and observe Walker at work. See how he influences and manipulates people, without them even realising.”
“Things have got to change,” General Condor was saying heavily. He leaned forward across the table to glare at Walker, who seemed entirely unperturbed. The General’s voice was slow and deliberate, used to giving orders and having them obeyed. He had the air of a man people would follow: bluff, experienced, sure, and certain. A man who knew what he was doing. He jabbed a heavy finger in Walker’s face. “The Nightside can’t continue as it has—a haven for all human depravity and weakness. It’ll tear itself apart with the Griffin and the Authorities gone. The signs are clear for everyone to see, first the angel war, and then the Lilith War…Left to its own devices, the Nightside will inevitably tear itself apart.”
“There have always been wars, and destruction, and changes at the top,” Walker said calmly. “But the Nightside goes on. It has survived for thousands of years, and I see no reason why it shouldn’t continue as it is for thousands more. The world has always had a taste for freak shows.”
General Condor scowled. “That might have been true while the Authorities were running things and supporting the Nightside in the same way a farmer looks after the goose that lays golden eggs; but they’re gone now. Along with their blinkered preoccupation with trade and profit. It’s time for someone to take the longer view and make the Nightside into something better.”
“Nothing wrong with making money,” Uptown Taffy Lewis said immediately. His voice was soft and breathy, his great chest and belly rising and falling as though every breath cost him something. “The Nightside exists to provide people with the pleasures and pursuits they can’t get anywhere else. The things civilised people aren’t supposed to want, but do anyway. And they’ll pay through the nose for it, every time. Keep your rigid morality to yourself, General. We don’t need simpleminded do-gooders coming in from outside and meddling with a system that’s worked fine for thousands of years.”
“The man has a point, General,” said Walker. “It’s hard to argue with success.”
“All the things I’ve seen here,” said the General, “the marvels and wonders, the amazing achievements, the incredible possibilities…If you would only work together instead of cutting each other’s throats over a penny’s profits, the things you could do…The Nightside could become the pinnacle of human civilisation! Instead of the moral cesspit it is now. You could all be gods if you’d only throw off the chains that hold you back!”
“Not everyone wants to be a god,” said Walker. “In fact, I’d say we already have far too many. I’ve been thinking about ordering a cull…Too many Chiefs only confuse the Indians. Wouldn’t you agree, Helena?”
“You may address me as Queen Helena, or Your Majesty,” she said immediately, her voice suitably chilly. The other two looked at her sharply. You didn’t talk that way to Walker if you liked breathing, and having your bones stay where they were. But he nodded thoughtfully to Queen Helena, and she continued.
“People must know their place. For many, it is their nature to be ruled. To have someone ready to make the important decisions for them. I am not a lone voice in this. I speak for others such as I in the Nightside.”
“The Exiles,” said Walker. “All the other kings and queens and emperors who wound up here, via Timeslips or other unfortunate accidents. So many that there seems to be something of a glut of rulers on the market, at the moment.”
“People of power and prestige,” Queen Helena said firmly. “People who do not care for the way things are. The Nightside needs to be taken in hand and ruled by people suited to the task.”
“Would you agree with that, Taffy?” said Walker.
“No-one tells me what to do,” said Uptown Taffy Lewis. He almost sounded amused. “No-one rules the Nightside. Never has, never will. We make our own way. This is the last truly free place left on Earth, where everything and anything is possible. Even the Authorities knew enough to keep their distance. Right, Walker? I represent people, too. I speak for the businesspeople of the Nightside, and we will not stand by and see our rights trampled on.” He glared at Helena, and then at General Condor. “You don’t belong here, either of you. We like the Nightside just the way it is; and neither of you have the support or the power to change anything that matters. I own most of the land the Nightside stands on; my associates own most of the rest. We can bankrupt anyone who doesn’t back us up. And we can raise armies, if necessary, to defend what is ours.”
“I have led armies,” said General Condor. “There’s more to it than giving orders.”
“I have led armies, too,” said Queen Helena. Something in her voice made the others look at her. She smiled coldly. “I did not come here by accident. No arbitrary Timeslip brought me here; I can go home anytime I want. To the ancient and melancholy Ice Kingdoms, where my armies wait for me. It has been a long time since the Armies of the Evening have had a cause worth fighting for. Because we killed everyone else who stood against us, in the long twilight of Earth. I have no wish to be Queen of an empty world. Not when I can bring my armies here and make the Nightside my own.”
General Condor and Uptown Taffy Lewis looked at her, then at each other, and finally at Walker, who smiled easily.
