The Good, The Bad, And The Uncanny Part 9

She stood before me in all her terrible glory. The h.e.l.lgate lay in ruins on the wall behind her, incinerated by her pa.s.sage through it, nothing now but small pieces of cooked meat pinned to the wall. The gate was closed, its victim released. That was something. Queen Mab fixed me with her fierce gaze, and I couldn't have moved to save my life. She was eight feet tall, slender, graceful, overbearingly regal. Horribly abhuman and utterly evil. Her presence filled the cavern, and I knelt to her. I still like to think I had no choice.

"This place was once dedicated to me," she said, and her voice was calm and casual, like a cat playing with a mouse. "Nice to know I haven't been completely forgotten. And I have been brought back by a human through the sacrifice of an elf. Love the irony. You can keep the wand, for now. Never let it be said Queen Mab failed to reward her servant. But now I'm back, and must be about my business."

She laughed, and I wanted to vomit.

"Ah, the things I'll do, now I'm back."

I never told anyone, Who could I tell? Who would believe it wasn't my fault?

FIVE.

Everybody's Talking at Me.

I listened to Larry's story without interrupting, then offered him my gla.s.s of Valhalla Venom again. He all but grabbed it out of my hand and knocked the stuff back in several large gulps. There are times when a stiff drink isn't just traditional ; it's a psychological necessity. The vicious liquor didn't seem to affect Larry at all; presumably being dead helped. We both sat silently for a while, each of us considering our own thoughts. A lot of Larry's story had struck home with me. I knew how it felt to be trampled on and used by greater powers.

"I could have stopped her," Larry said finally. "I could have stopped Queen Mab coming through if I'd been willing to die to do it. But I wasn't."

"You can't be sure of that."

"I never will, now. Through my weakness, or at best my hesitation, I let one of the old monsters back into the world. And now I'm dead, Heaven and h.e.l.l seem a lot closer. I can't just lie down and let go; I don't dare. My only hope is atonement ; and for now that means finding Tommy. Are you in?"

I thought about it. Several things in his story had struck me forcefully. There were an awful lot of elves in the Nightside recently. Far more than usual. And then there were the Arthurian elements; did Polly Perkins pick them at random to lure Larry in? Or could they be linked to Puck's warning about Excalibur? Something was going on. But then, this is the Nightside. Something's always going on.

To unravel a mess, pull on any strand. So Tommy it was.

"I'll help you find out what happened to Tommy," I said. "But all I can offer is the truth. Don't blame me if you don't like what I find."

"That's what I always say to my clients," said Larry. "Only I usually put it a little more tactfully."

We managed a small smile for each other. We were never going to be close; but we could work together.

Then the whole bar went quiet. Conversations ceased, laughter and tears died away, and the piped music stopped so fast it briefly went into reverse. Heads turned and craned, and not a few lowered themselves and hoped not to be noticed. The whole bar seemed to be holding its breath because Walker had arrived.

He hadn't bothered with his usual slow descent of the metal steps, to let everyone know he was coming and make a grand entrance. He simply appeared suddenly out of nowhere, standing right there in the middle of the bar, leaning casually on his furled umbrella, smiling easily about him. Most of the clientele avoided meeting his eyes, not wanting to draw attention to themselves. Because if Walker was on the scene, it meant someone was in trouble; and given that Walker moves in more mysterious ways than half the Beings on the Street of the G.o.ds, it might just be you. Walker was infamous for knowing things he shouldn't and doing something horribly punitive about it-pour discourager les autres.

And whatever he does, no-one ever protests. Because he's Walker.

But there's always one, isn't there? Someone always has to learn the hard way. In this case, it was one of Black Betty's overmuscled goons. She always had half a dozen or so on a leash in case she met a customer. This particular goon decided he was going to impress his mistress, so he stepped forward to face Walker, flexing his steroid-abused muscles in what he clearly thought was a threatening way. Walker considered him thoughtfully. A wise man would have taken the hint and run, but not the goon.

"You're upsetting my mistress, little man," said the goon. "Disappear."

Walker smiled, just a little. "s.h.i.t yourself." "s.h.i.t yourself."

He used the Voice, which commands everyone who hears it, and the goon made a sudden low sound of distress. Quickly accompanied by other, less pleasant sounds. Black Betty pulled a face and dropped his leash. The goon turned away from Walker, slowly and carefully, and trudged miserably off to the toilets. People he pa.s.sed by wished he hadn't. The bar as a whole decided the safest thing to do was act as if Walker wasn't there. Heads turned away, conversations resumed, and the piped music returned. I noticed the bar's muscular bouncers, Betty and Lucy Coltrane, lurking in the background, ready to give their all at a moment's notice; but Alex had more sense. He gave Walker his best glare, then busied himself polishing some gla.s.ses that didn't need polishing.

Walker looked unhurriedly about him, taking his time. No-one was fooled by his calm exterior. Walker was always dangerous, even when he was being polite. Perhaps especially then. And, of course, in the end he spotted me, walked over to my booth, and smiled charmingly.

"h.e.l.lo, John. Can I have a word? It is rather urgent."

"You've got a nerve," I said. "Just a few hours ago you were doing your best to have me killed."

"It's what I do," said Walker. "Nothing personal, John. You should know that by now."

"I've already taken a case," I said. "Find someone else to do your dirty work."

"This isn't about work. This is personal."

I sighed. Clearly I wasn't going to get rid of Walker until I'd listened to what he had to say. I looked at Larry, spreading my hands in a What can you do? What can you do? gesture. gesture.

"You go on ahead. I'll join up with you outside the Cheyne Walk Underground Station, as soon as I can. That's the last place I saw Tommy alive."

Larry nodded and rose to his feet, then looked at Walker challengingly. "I'm Larry Oblivion. Do you have anything to say to me?"

Walker looked at him thoughtfully. "No, I don't think so. Not for the moment."

"Don't think you can intimidate me, Walker. I'm dead."

Walker smiled. "You, of all people, should know that death isn't the worst thing that can happen. When I want you, I'll come for you."

Larry turned his back on Walker and strode out of the bar, his back straight and his head held high. And perhaps only Walker and I knew he was running away. Which is often the best way to deal with Walker. Just head for the nearest horizon the moment you spot him. I gestured resignedly to the empty seat, and Walker sat down opposite me, his every movement elegance and grace personified. He stood his umbrella on end beside his chair, took off his bowler hat and placed it carefully on the table before him, and casually adjusted his old-school tie. In anyone else these would have been mere habitual gestures; but Walker was quietly reminding me where his authority came from. Walker wasn't part of the System; he was the System.

"Would you care for a drink?" I said, gesturing at the Valhalla Venom with malice aforethought.

Walker studied the bottle without touching it and raised an eyebrow briefly. "Ah, yes ... I wondered what had become of that. The steward at my club tried to persuade me to try some, but I had more sense. That stuff could eat holes in your kirlian aura. But you go right ahead, John. Don't let me put you off."

I pushed the bottle and gla.s.s to one side. "What do you want, Walker?"

He sighed slightly, as though disappointed by my lack of subtlety. "I understand you've learned my little secret, John. Yes; it's true. I'm dying. And no, there's nothing that can be done. We all die of something. All that's left to me is to make arrangements for what will happen afterwards."

"You want me to arrange your funeral?" I said. "Or just try to keep people from p.i.s.sing on your grave?"

"I want you to take over my position when I'm gone," said Walker. "I want you to be the new representative of the new Authorities. Because there's no-one else I can trust to do the job properly."

You think you've heard everything, then the universe rears up and slaps you round the head.

"What?"

"I said ..."

"I know what you said! Are you crazy? I don't want the job!"

"Best kind of person for a job like this," said Walker. "And who more fitting than the son of my oldest friend?"

"Oh please," I said. "Emotional blackmail will get you nowhere."

"Always worth a try," said Walker. "Look, we just went head to head over the elf, while a whole bunch of your people did their very best to terminate me with extreme prejudice. When you're not trying to have me arrested or stepped on, you're hiring me to investigate cases that will almost certainly get me killed. Now, call me paranoid if you like, but I'm starting to detect a pattern here. So why would you want someone like me, someone you've tried to run out of the Nightside on more than one occasion, to take over your job?"

"I need a man with strong convictions," said Walker. "A man who won't fold when the game gets serious. A man who won't take any s.h.i.t from the bad guys. You remind me a lot of myself when I was younger."

"Now you're just being nasty," I said.

"I have some time left," said Walker. "Enough to teach you the things you need to know. Including how to avoid my mistakes."

"You mean how to avoid becoming you?" I shook my head firmly. "I don't want anything to do with this. You know I've always had problems with authority figures. Why would I want to be one? Why pick on me?"

"Doesn't every father want his son to follow in his footsteps ; only do it better?"

"I am not your son!"

"Who has shaped your life more than I? Who helped make you what you are? I am responsible for you, John, in every way that matters."

"Only in the sense that I'm determined to be nothing like you," I said. "I know a bad example when I see one."

" 'How sharper than a serpent's tooth,' " murmured Walker. "Come with me, John. Come walk with me through the Nightside and see it as I see it. My portable Timeslip can take us anywhere in a moment. We can take in the whole Nightside in a single night. Watch me work. See what I have to do, to maintain the peace and keep the lid on things. There's a lot to my job that no-one ever knows but I."

"I don't want your job. I have a job, and I'm b.l.o.o.d.y good at it."

Walker considered me thoughtfully. "You always say you want to help people. How better than by mediating between them and the Authorities? By using their power to protect the little people from those who would prey on them? How many more people could you help, from a position of power?"

"Get thee behind me, Satan," I said, and he actually chuckled.

I thought about it. Despite all my best instincts, a lot of what he said made sense in a seductive kind of way. The things I could do, with the Authorities behind me ... A lot of the people I couldn't touch, because of their power and connections, would suddenly become ... touchable. I've always believed that one man, in the right place, can make a difference ...

"If," I said, "just for the sake of argument ... If I was to take over your position, I wouldn't be the Authorities' lap-dog. I'd go my own way, follow my own conscience ..."

"That's why I chose you," said Walker.

"Is there really nothing I can do to help you?" I said. "This is the Nightside. There must be something..."

"If there was something to be done, I'd be doing it," Walker said calmly. "Would you really try to help me, John? After all the times I've tried to have you arrested or killed?"

"Of course," I said. "You're my father's oldest friend. And ... for good or bad, you've always been a part of my life. Always there ... always looking out for me, one way or another. There were so many things I wanted to say to my father, before he died. You always think there'll be time enough ... until there isn't. Now here I am, wondering what I should say to you. My oldest enemy, my oldest friend. Part of me thinks I should have killed you years ago: for all the people you've trampled underfoot, for all the lives you've destroyed, all in the name of maintaining your precious status quo."

"You're not a killer," said Walker.

"I have killed. When I had to. But I try not to. It would make me too much like you."

"So you're admitting we have some things in common?"

I showed him my teeth in a smile. "Don't say that like it's a good thing."

"I'm not ashamed of anything I've done," said Walker.

"But are you proud of anything?"

"I'm proud of you. One of my better long-term projects."

"Do you have any idea how creepy that sounds?"

"I have kept the peace in the Nightside for thirty years and more," said Walker. "I've stopped the Nightside from tearing itself apart, kept it from spilling over its boundaries into the vulnerable everyday world, and even managed a little justice along the way. That's the best you can hope for, in my position."

"When I look back through my life," I said, "I can see times when you could have killed me, and didn't, when anyone else in your position would have. You didn't because I'm the son of your oldest friend, the man you betrayed and hounded to his death. You can't kill me, Walker. I'm your conscience."

"You keep on thinking that," said Walker. "If it makes you feel more secure."

"What if I told you to take your job and shove it?" I said. "Would you have me killed then?"

"I am many things," said Walker. "But not petty. I'd simply move on to my next choice."

I had to raise an eyebrow at that. "You have someone else in mind?"

"Of course."

I waited, but he had nothing more to say. I nodded, slowly. "I'll have to think about this."

"There isn't much time," said Walker. "I don't have much time. But you think about it, John. I'll see you again."

And he vanished from his chair, gone, just like that. Didn't even use his portable Timeslip. Trust Walker always to have another trick up his sleeve.

I did genuinely consider his offer. Though there had to be a lot more to it than he was saying. Walker wasn't the kind to go gently into that long night. He had to be planning something. But what if he wasn't? What if he was just a man, dying too soon, desperate to put some things in order while there was still time? Experience suggested very strongly that he was setting me up for something, but what if the offer really was genuine? Who else would I want for the job if I was in Walker's position? Someone's got to do it ... and it was very tempting.

I always thought Walker would kill me someday, or I'd kill him. But things never turn out the way you expect, in the Nightside.

I thought of all the things I could finally put right, with the Authorities' power to back me up. All the bad guys I could take down and put out of business ... Yes. It was tempting. But could that be the first step down the road of power corrupting? The road that led to the devastated future Nightside I'd seen in the Timeslip? The world where I was responsible for the death of all Humanity ... I thought I'd avoided that future; but Time does so love to play its little tricks.

The smell hit me first. That familiar, bad smell, of someone who lay down with garbage and dead things and didn't give a d.a.m.n. I looked up resignedly and sure enough, there was Razor Eddie sitting opposite me. The Punk G.o.d of the Straight Razor, his very own smelly and disturbing self. A painfully thin presence wrapped in an oversized grey coat held together with acc.u.mulated filth and grease, Eddie looked terrible; but then, he always did. The same gaunt face, close-cropped hair and fever-bright eyes. He was nursing a bottle of designer water, while flies buzzed dolefully around him. The ones that got too close fell out of the air dead. When he spoke, his voice was low and dry and ghostly.

"There's something in the air, John."

"I had noticed," I said. "You should hang some of those little pine trees around your neck. So, how are you doing, Eddie? Still sleeping with the homeless and begging for spare change?"

"I don't have to beg," he said solemnly. "As soon as people see who I am, they throw money at me and run."

Razor Eddie is the only G.o.d I know who sleeps in doorways and eats food out of Dumpsters as a form of penance. He has a lot to do penance for.

"What do you want, Eddie?" I said, tiredly. "Seems like everybody wants something from me today."

"You're getting too chummy with Walker," said Razor Eddie. "If you're not one of us, you're one of them."

"I'm not with anybody," I said. "Except Suzie. I go my own way. You know that."

"You've been close to the new Authorities ever since they appeared."