






Simon R Green

The Unnatural Inquirer

In the Nightside, the night never ends. Hidden away in the dark, magical heart of London, dreams go walking in borrowed flesh, and temptation and salvation are always on sale. You can find anything you want in the Nightside; if it doesnt find you first.

Hot neon, dark shadows, more sin than you can shake a credit card at, wild clubs, and madder music. Put on your dancing shoes, and dance till you bleed. The night goes on and on, and the fun never stops. And someone, somewhere, has a bullet with your name on it.

My name is John Taylor. Private eye, lost soul, looking for salvation in the damnedest places. I have a special gift for finding things, but mostly what I find is trouble. Hire me if you want to know the truth. I cant guarantee to deliver justice, or even a happy endingbut when the bodies have stopped dropping and all the comforting illusions have been ripped away, at least youll have the truth to hug to your bruised heart.

Im John Taylor, and this is the Nightside; and this is not a story for anyone who believes everything he reads in the papers.




ONE - The Wrath of the Loa 

One of the many problems with working as a private eye, not counting all the many people who want to kill you, often for perfectly good reasons, is that you have to wait for the work to come to you. And since I refuse to sit around my office, on the grounds that all the high tech my secretary, Cathy, has installed intimidates the hell out of me, I seem to spend most of my time sitting around in bars, waiting for something to happen. Not a bad way to spend your life, all told. But in the end, cases are a lot like buses; you wait around for ages, then three come along at once.

Im a private eye of the old school, right down to the long white trench coat, the less-than-traditional good looks, and the roguish air of mystery that I go to great lengths to maintain. Always keep them guessing. A good, or more properly bad, reputation can protect you from more things than a Kevlar jump-suit. I investigate cases of the weird and uncanny, the sins and problems too dark and too nasty even for the Nightside. I dont do divorce work, and I dont carry a gun. Ive never felt the need.

Id just finished a fairly straightforward case, when trouble came looking for me. Id been called in by the slightly hysterical manager of one of the Nightsides most prominent libraries, the H P Lovecraft Memorial Library. Their proud boast: more forbidden tomes under one roof than anywhere else. Id leafed through some of their proud exhibits in the past and hadnt been impressed. Of course they had the Necronomicon, in forty-eight languages, including Braille, and one of the few unexpurgated texts of The Gospel According to Pontius Pilate. They even had Satans Last Testament, originally tattooed on the inside of the womb of the Fallen Nun of Lourdes. But a lot of it was strictly tourist stuff. The Book of Unpronounceable Cults, Satanism for Dummies, and Coarse Fishing on the River Styx. Nothing there to expand your mind or endanger your soul.

Id been called in because twenty-seven of the Librarys patrons had been discovered wandering through the stacks wide-eyed and mind-wiped. Not a trace of personality or conscious thought left in them. Which was unusually high for a Monday morning, even in the H P Lovecraft Memorial Library. Using my gift, it didnt take me long to discover that a recently acquired treatise had been reading peopleI persuaded the book to put the minds back, mostly in the right bodies, and introduced it to the wonders of the Internet. Which should keep it occupied until the Library could send it somewhere else.

So, happy smiles all round, a wallet full of cash (I dont take cheques or plastic, dont ask for credit, as a refusal might involve a back elbow between the eyes), and all in all I was feeling quite pleased with myselfuntil I left the Library and looked down the steps to find Walker and Suzie Shooter waiting for me at the bottom. Probably two of the most dangerous people in the Nightside.

Suzie Shooter, also known as Shotgun Suzie, and Oh Christ Its Her Run, is the Nightsides leading bounty hunter. Have shotgun and grenades, will travel. A tall blonde Valkyrie in black motor-cycle leathers, with two bandoliers of bullets criss-crossing over her ample bosom, steel-toed boots, and the coldest gaze in the world. The whole left side of her face was covered in ridged scar tissue, sealing shut one eye and twisting up one side of her mouth in a constant caustic smile. She could have had it fixed easily, but she chose not to. She said it was good for business. It did give her a grim, wounded glamour.

Suzie and I are an item. Safe to say neither of us saw that one coming. We love each other, as best we can.

Walker is even more dangerous to be around, though in more subtle and indirect ways. He looks very much like your average city gent; pin-striped suit, bowler hat, calm air of authority. Someone in the City, you might think, or perhaps a Permanent Under-Secretary to some Minister you never heard of. But Walker polices the Nightside, inasmuch as anyone does, or can. In a place where everything is permitted, and sin and temptation are the order of every day, there are still lines that must not be crossed. For those who do, Walker is waiting.

He used to represent the Authorities, those grey faceless men who owned everything that mattered and took a profit from every dirty and dangerous transaction in the Nightside. Walker spoke in their name, with the Voice they gave him that could not be disobeyed, and he could call in the Army or the Church to back him up, as necessary. But since all the Authorities were killed and eaten during the Lilith War, lots of people had been wondering just where Walker drew his authority from these days. He still had his Voice, and his backup, so everyone went along.

But an awful lot of people were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He smiled and nodded at me politely, but I ignored him on principle and gave my full attention to Suzie.

Hello, sweetie. I havent seen you for a few days.

Ive been working, she said, in her cold, steady voice. Chasing down a bounty.

For Walker? I said, raising an eyebrow.

She shrugged easily, the butt of the shotgun holstered on her back rising briefly behind her head. His money is as good as anyone elses. And you know I need to keep busy. I only really feel alive when its death or glory time. You finished with your case?

Yes, I said, glancing reluctantly at Walker.

Then walk with me, John, he said. I could use your assistance on a rather urgent case.

I went down the steps to join him, taking my time. Id worked with Walker before, on occasion, though rarely happily. He paid well enough, but he only ever used me for those cases where he didnt want to risk his own people. The kind of cases where he needed someone potentially deniable and utterly expendable. We strode together through the Nightside, Walker on my left and Suzie on my right, and everyone else made sure to give us plenty of room.

I hired Suzie because someone big and important had gone missing, Walker said easily. And I needed him found, fast. Nothing unusual there. But unfortunately, Suzie has proven entirely unable to locate the target.

Not my fault, Suzie said immediately. Ive been through all my usual contacts, and none of them could tell me anything. Even after all the usual bribes and beatings. The mans just vanished. Jumped into a deep hole and pulled it in after him. Im not even sure hes still in the Nightside.

Oh, hes still here, said Walker. Id know if hed left.

Who exactly are we talking about? I said.

Max Maxwell, said Walker. Ah; I take it from your expression that you have at least heard of him.

Who hasnt? I said. Max Maxwell; so big they named him twice. Night-club owner, gang boss, fence, and fixer. Also known as the Voodoo Apostate, though I couldnt tell you why.

The very man, said Walker. A well-established, very well-connected individual. He tried to have me killed twice, but Im not one to bear grudges. Anyway, it would appear dear Max came into possession of something rather special, something he should have had more sense than to get involved with. To be exact, the Aquarius Key.

I know the name, I said, frowning. Some artifact from the sixties, isnt it? Back when every Major Player had to have their very own Object of Power to be taken seriously. Ive never trusted the things. You can never tell when the cosmic batteries are suddenly going to run out of juice, and youre left standing there with a silly-looking lump of art deco in your hand.

Quite, said Walker. Still, a very useful tool, the Aquarius Key. Part scientific, part magical, it was created to open and close dimensional doors. This was after the Babalon Working fiasco, you understand.

WhyAquarius? I said.

Walker shrugged. It was the Age. Word is, the Collector had it for a time, which was how he was able to start his marvellous collection of rare and fashionable items. Then he lost it in a card game to old blind Pew, and after that the Key went wandering through many hands, causing mischief and mayhem as it went, until finally it ended up in the possession of Max Maxwell. Where it apparently gave him ideas above his station.

And thats how he became the Voodoo Apostate? I said.

Unfortunately, yes, said Walker. Voodoo is, first and foremost, a religion in its own right. Its followers worship a wide pantheon of gods, or loas: Papa Legba, Baron Samedi, Erzulie, and Damballa. These personages can be summoned, or invited, into our world, where they possess willing worshippers. Max made himself Apostate by using the power of the Key to drag the loa into this world, whether they wanted to come or not, then thrust them into his own people. Who could then be commanded to serve him in all kinds of useful ways. Inhumanly strong, utterly unfeeling, and almost impossible to kill, they made formidable shock troops.

I winced. Messing with gods. Always a bad idea.

Always, said Walker. Max used his new shock troops to enlarge his territory, with much slaughter and terror; which brought him to my attention. Inevitably, Max became greedy and overstretched himself, spread his control too thin; and the loa broke loose. Max didnt wait for them to come looking for him. He went on the run, taking the Key with him, and none of my people have been able to find him. So I turned to Suzie, with her excellent reputation for finding people who dont want to be found.

Suzie growled something indistinct. I wouldnt want to be Max Maxwell when she finally got to him. She took a targets attempts to escape capture as a personal insult.

What makes this case so urgent that you need me? I said. Suzie will find him. Eventually.

The loa have come to the Nightside, said Walker. And they are not in a good mood. They have possessed a whole crowd of the very best bounty hunters and are currently rampaging through the Nightside, on the trail of Max Maxwell.

Let them have him, I said. The man is scum. A jumped-up leg-breaker, who used his voodoo to run protection rackets. Pay up, or hed turn you into a zombie. You, or someone in your family. Nasty man. Let the loa tear him apart. The Nightside will smell better when hes gone.

Right, said Suzie. Wait a minute; if the loa have been possessing all the best bounty hunterswhy didnt they choose me? Im the best there is, and Ill shoot the kneecaps off anyone who says otherwise. Why didnt the loa come after me?

They wouldnt dare, I said, gallantly.

Well, there is that, yes, said Suzie. And unlike some, Im always careful to keep my protections up to date. A girl cant be too careful.

I pitied anyone or anything dumb enough to dive into Suzies steel-trap mind, but I wasnt dumb enough to say so out loud. Besides, a new idea had just occurred to me. I looked at Walker.

Max still has the Aquarius Key. And you want me to get it back for you.

I knew youd get there eventually, said Walker. I want you to find Max and take the Key away from him. Then bring it back to me, so I can stow it away somewhere safe and see Max locked safely away in Shadow Deep.

I would have shuddered, but it was never wise to show weakness in front of Walker. Shadow Deep is the worst prison in the world, carved out of the bedrock deep under the Nightside. Its where we put the really bad ones; or at least the ones we cant just execute and be done with, for one reason or another. Forever dark, never a glimmer of light, once theyve sealed you up in your cell, you never leave again. You stay there in your cell, till the day you die. However long it takes.

Might be kinder to just let the loa have him, I said. We could always take the Key off whatevers left of his body afterwards.

No, Walker said immediately. Partly because the loa will cause havoc looking for him. Like most gods, they can be very single-minded when it comes to revenge. Its already become clear they arent following standard bounty hunter etiquette and allowing informers to live after theyve informed. But mostly I want Max back in my hands because the Nightside takes care of its own problems. Cant let outsiders think they can just walk in here and throw their weight around.

He stopped abruptly, and Suzie and I stopped with him. He took an old-fashioned gold repeater watch from his waistcoat-pocket, checked the time, put it away, and gave me a measuring look.

Dont screw this up, John. Im under a lot of pressure to get this done quickly, efficiently, and with no loose ends. Thats why Im handing this case over to you instead of just flooding the Nightside with my own people. If you cant locate Max, and the Key, within the next three hours, Ill have no choice but to unleash my dogs of war, which will make me very unpopular in all sorts of areas. So dont let me down, John, or I shall be sure to blame it all on you.

Suzie looked at him steadily, and give the man credit, Walker didnt flinch.

You come for him, Suzie said coldly, you come for me.

Sooner or later, I come for everyone, said Walker.

Under pressure? I said thoughtfully, and he looked back at me. I grinned right into his calm, collected face. From whom, precisely? Whom do you serve, now the Authorities are all dead and gone?

But he just smiled briefly, nodded to me, and tipped his bowler hat to Suzie, then turned and walked away, disappearing unhurriedly back into the night.

Suzie Shooter and I went to the Spiders Web. A sort of up-market cocktail bar, owned by Max Maxwell ever since he had its previous owner killed, stuffed, mounted, and put on display; it was widely known as his seat of power, where he did business with the poor unfortunates who came before him. By the time we got there, the place had already been very thoroughly trashed. Bits of it were still smouldering. Suzie drew her pump-action shotgun from its rear holster with one easy movement and led the way as we entered through the kicked-in front door.

The lobby was wrecked, with bodies everywhere. None of them had died easily. Blood had soaked into the carpet, splashed up the walls, and even stained the ceiling. Severed hands had been piled up in one corner, and all the heads were missing their faces. Suzie and I moved slowly and cautiously between the bodies, but nothing moved. The furniture looked like it had exploded.

Max Maxwells inner office at the back of the club didnt look much better. No blood or bodies, though, which suggested Max had got out in time. A pack of tarot cards had been left scattered across the top of a huge mahogany desk, which had been cracked casually in half. Thick mats of ivy crawled across all four walls, reportedly part of Maxs early-warning system; but every bit of it was dead, withered away as though blasted by a terrible frost. Here and there, something had gouged deep claw-marks through the ivy and into the wood beneath. The bare floor was covered with cabalistic symbols, a whole series of overlapping defence systems.

A lot of good theyd done.

This man had to be seriously worried to have so many protections in one place, said Suzie.

He had good reason, I said. Gods really dont like it when worshippers start forgetting their place and flexing their muscles.

I fired up my gift, and the world changed around me. I couldnt use my gift to pin down Maxs current location; I need a specific question to get a specific answer. But theres more than one way to find someone who doesnt want to be found. I opened up my inner eye, my third eye, and Saw the world as it really is. Theres a lot going on around us that most people arent aware of, and its probably just as well. If they knew who and what we share this world with, an awful lot of them would probably rip their own heads off rather than see it.

There were things in the office with us, drifting on currents unknown to mortal men, filling the aether like the tiny creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water. And just as ugly. I focused my gift, concentrating on Max Maxwell, and his ghost image appeared before mehis past, imprinted on Time.

Max was just as big as everyone said he was. A giant of a man, huge and looming even in this semi-transparent state. Eight feet tall, and impressively broad across the chest and shoulders, he wore an impeccably cut cream-coloured suit, presumably chosen to contrast with the deep black of his harsh, craggy face. He looked like hed been carved out of stone, a great brooding gargoyle in a Saville Row suit. He was scowling fiercely, his huge dark hands clenched into fists.

He stamped silently around his office, as though looking for something. He didnt seem scared, or even concerned. Simply angry. He unlocked a drawer in his desk and brought out something wrapped in a blood-red cloth. He made a series of signs over the bundle and then unwrapped it, revealing a bulky square contraption made up of dully shining metal pieces joined together in a way that made my eyes hurt to look at it. The Aquarius Key, presumably. It looked like a prototype, something that hadnt had all the bugs hammered out of it yet.

Max weighed the thing thoughtfully in one oversized hand, then looked round sharply, as though hed heard something he didnt like. He gestured grandly with his free hand, and all the cabalistic signs on the floor burst into light. The ivy on the walls writhed and twisted, as though in pain. One by one, the lines on the floor began to gutter and go out. Max headed for the door.

I went after him, Suzie right there at my side. She couldnt see what I was Seeing, but she trusted me.

In as much as she trusted anyone.

We tracked Max Maxwells ghost half-way across the Nightside. I had to fight to concentrate on his past image. When my inner eye is cranked all the way open, I can See all there is to See in the Nightside, and a lot of it the human mind just isnt equipped to deal with. The endlessly full moon hung low in the star-speckled sky, twenty times the size it should have been. Something with vast membranous wings sailed across the face of the moon, almost eclipsing it. The buildings around us blazed with protective signs, magical defences, and shaped curses scrawled across the storefronts like so much spitting and crackling graffiti. A thousand other ghosts stamped and raged and howled silently all around me, memories trapped in repeating loops of Time, like insects in amber.

Dimensional travellers flashed and flared in and out of existence, just passing through on their way to somewhere more interesting. Demons rode the backs of unsuspecting souls, their claws dug deep into back and shoulder muscles, whispering in their hosts ear. You could always tell which ones had been listening; their demons were particularly fat and bloated. Wee winged sprites, pulsing with light, shot up and down the street, fierce as fireworks, buzzing around and above each other in intricate patterns too complex for human eyes. And the Awful Ones, huge and ancient, moved through our streets and buildings as though they werent even there, about their unguessable business.

I kept my head down, focused on Max Maxwell, and Suzie saw to it that no-one bothered me or got in our way. She had her shotgun out and at the ready, and no-one ever doubted that shed use it. Suzie had always been a great believer in the scorched-earth solution for all problems, great and small.

Max led us right through the centre of the Nightside, and out the other side, and I had a bad feeling I knew where he was headed. Bad as the Nightside undoubtedly is, even it has its recognised Bad Places, places you simply dont go if youve got any sense. One of these is Fun Faire. It was supposed to be the Nightsides very first amusement park, for adults. Someones Big Idea; but it never caught on. The people who come to the Nightside arent interested in artificial thrills; not when there are so many of the real thing available on every street corner. Fun Faire was shut down years ago, and the only reason its still taking up valuable space is because the various creditors are still arguing over who owns what. Now, its just a collection of huge rusting rides, great hulking structures left to rot in the cold, uncaring night.

Last Id heard, theyd run through fourteen major league exorcists, merely trying to keep the place quiet.

Max had chosen Fun Faire as his bolt-hole precisely because so many bad things had happened there. So much death and suffering, so much cheerful slaughter and infernal malice, had turned the Fun Faire grounds into one big psychic null spot. The genius loci had become so awful, so soaked in blood and terror, that no-one could See into it. Which made it a really good place to hide out, for as long as you could stand it.

Suzie and I stopped at the amusement park entrance, and stood there, looking in. Maxs ghost image had snapped off the moment he walked through the main archway. I shut down my Sight. The great multi-coloured arch loomed above us, paint peeling and speckled with rust. The old neon letters along the top that had once blazed the words FUN FAIRE! to an unsuspecting public were now cracked and dusty and lifeless. Someone had spray-painted over them ABANDON HOPE ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE. Graveyard humour, but I had to admire their nerve. Beyond the archway it was all dark shapes and darker shadows, the metal bones of old rides standing out in stark silhouettes against the night sky. No lights, anywhere in Fun Faire. Only the uneasy shimmering blue-white glare of the full moon, marking out the paths between the rides. A glowing maze, where the monster wasnt trapped in the centre any more. A slow breeze issued out of the arch, pressing against my face, cold as the grave.

Bad things had happened here, and perhaps were still happening, on some level. You cant kill that many people, spill that much blood, delight in that much suffering and slaughter, and not leave a stain on Time itself.

It all started out so well. The Fun Faire did have its share of unusual, high-risk, high-excitement attractions. Just the thing to tempt the jaded palates of Nightside aesthetes. Or perhaps even the worst of us need to play at being children again, just for a while. So, the Dodgems of Doom could hit Mach 2 and came equipped with mounted machine-guns. The planes on the Tilt-A-Wheel had heat-seeking missiles and ejector seats. The Ghost Train was operated by real ghosts, the Tunnel of Love by a real succubus. The roller coaster guaranteed to rotate you through at last five different spatial dimensions or your money back. And the candy floss came treated with a hundred and one different psychotropic drugs.

But eventually someone noticed that though an awful lot of people were going into Fun Faire, a significant percentage werent coming out again.

And then it all went to Hell.

No-ones too sure what started it. Best guess is someone put a curse on the place, for whatever reason. The first clue that something was severely wrong came when the wooden horses on the Merry-Go-Round became possessed by demons and started eating their riders. The Tilt-A-Wheel speeded itself up and sent its mock planes shooting off into space. They didnt fly far. The roller coaster disappeared into another dimension, taking its passengers with it, and never returned. Distorted reflections burst out of the distorting mirrors and ran amok, killing everyone they could get their hands on.

Screams came out of the Ghost Train, and even worse screams out of the Tunnel of Love. The I-Speak-Your-Weight machines shouted out peoples most terrible inner secrets. The Clown that never stopped laughing escaped from his booth and strode through Fun Faire, ripping off peoples heads and hanging them from his belt. Still laughing. The customers ran for the exit. Some made it out.

The Authorities sealed off Fun Faire, so nothing inside could get out, and soon the whole place was dark and still and silent. No-one volunteered to go in and check for survivors, or bring out the dead. The Nightside isnt big on compassion.

The owners, and then their creditors, turned to priests and exorcists, air strikes and high explosives, and none of it did any good. Fun Faire had become a Bad Place, and most people had enough sense to stay well clear of it. But, this being the Nightside, there were always those brave enough or stupid enough to use it as a hiding place, secure in the knowledge that only the most desperate pursuers would even think of coming in after them.

I looked at Suzie. Fancy a stroll around? Check out all the fun of the fair?

Why not? said Suzie.

We strode through the archway, shoulder to shoulder, into the face of the gusting breeze. It was bitterly cold inside the Faire, and the silence had a flat, oppressive presence. Our footsteps didnt echo at all. The rides and attractions loomed up around us, dark skeletal structures, and the rounded, almost organic shapes of the tattered tents and concession stands. We stuck to the middle of the moonlit paths. The shimmering light couldnt seem to penetrate the shadows. Here and there, things moved, always on the edge of my vision. Perhaps moved by the gusting wind, which seemed to be growing in strength. Suzie glared about her, shotgun at the ready. It might have been the oppressive nature of the place getting to her, or it might not. Suzie always believed in getting her retaliation in first.

We passed an old-fashioned I-Speak-Your-Weight machine, and I stopped and regarded it thoughtfully.

I know a guy who collects these, I said, deliberately casual. Hes trying to teach them to sing the Halleluiah Chorus.

Why? said Suzie.

Im not sure hes thought that far ahead, I admitted.

And then we broke off, as the machine stirred slowly into life before us. Parts moved inside it, grinding against each other, even though neither of us had stepped on it; and the voice-box made a low, groaning sound, as though it was in pain. The flat painted face lit up, sparking fitfully. And in a voice utterly devoid of humanity, or any human feeling, the machine spoke to us.

John Taylor. No father, no mother. No family, no friends, no future. Hated and feared, never loved, or even appreciated. Why dont you just die and get it over with?

Not even close, I said calmly. Youd probably get my weight wrong, too.

Susan Shooter, said the voice. Always the celibate, never the bride. No-one to touch you, ever. Not your breast, or your heart. You miss your brother, even though he sexually abused you as a child. Sometimes you dream of how it felt, when he touched you. No love for you, Susan. Not any kind of love, now or ever.

Suzie raised her shotgun and blew the painted face apart. The machine screamed once, and then was still. Suzie pumped another shell into the magazine. Machines should know their place, she said.

You cant trust anything you hear in Fun Faire, I said carefully. The Devil always lies.

Except when a truth can hurt you more.

He doesnt know you like I do, I said. I love you, Suzie.

Why?

Somebody has to. Theres a man for every woman, and a woman for every man. Just be glad we found each other.

I am, said Suzie. And that was as far as she would go.

She spun round suddenly, her gun trained on one particular shadow. Come out. Come out into the light where I can see you.

Max Maxwell emerged slowly and cautiously, even bigger in life than his ghost image had suggested. He held his huge hands up to show us they were empty, and then he smiled slowly, grey lips pulling back to show grey teeth.

Youre good, Suzie, he said, in a low, deep voice like stones grinding together. No-one else would have known I was there.

No-one sneaks up on me, said Suzie, her shotgun trained unwaveringly on his barrel chest. His cream suit looked somehow off in the moonlight, as though it had gone sour.

I might have known theyd send you two, he said, apparently unmoved by the threat of the shotgun. But Im afraid you got here just a little too late. I didnt come here to hide; this whole place is a sink of other-dimensional energies, and the Aquarius Key has been soaking them up for hours. Soon the Key will be strong enough to open a door into the world of the loa; and then I will go through into that worldand the power stored in the Key will make me their master. A god of gods, lord of the loa.

Really bad idea, Max, I said. Messing with gods on their own territory. Theyll eat your soul, one little bit at a time. What did you think you were doing, bringing them here and humiliating them?

Its wrong that we should be at their beck and call, said Max Maxwell, the Voodoo Apostate. My people have worshipped them for centuries, and still the most we can hope for is that they will deign to ride us as their mounts. This is the Nightside. We have a Street full of gods, and we have taught them to know their place. As I will teach the loa.

He held out one hand towards me, and just like that, the Aquarius Key appeared upon it. The metal box looked like a toy on his huge pale palm. Its steel parts moved slowly against each other, sliding around and above each other, and I tried to look away, but I couldnt. The Key was becoming something actually uncomfortable to look at, as though it was rotating itself through strange, unfamiliar spatial dimensions, in search of the doorway into the world of the loa. It burst open, blossoming like a metal flower, and a wide split opened up in mid air, like a wound in reality.

A great sound filled the air, echoing through the silent forms of Fun Faire, like a cry of outrage. A bright light blasted out of the opening hanging on the air, so sharp and fierce I had to look away, and just like that the spell of the Key was broken. I fell back a pace, raising one arm to shield my watering eyes against the fierce light. The split in the night widened inexorably, sucking the air into itself. It tugged at me, and at Suzie. I grabbed her waist, as much to steady myself as hold her in place, and she was steady as a rock, as always. Suzie grabbed on to the side of the nearest ride, and I held on to Suzie as the pull increased. Max Maxwell stood unaffected, protected by the Aquarius Key, shuddering and twitching on the palm of his hand. The rushing air shrieked as it was pulled into the growing split in the air, along with everything else loose. All kinds of junk flew through the air, tumbling end over end. I was holding Suzie so tightly it must have hurt her, but she never made a sound, and her white-knuckled grip on the ride never faltered. She raised her free hand, aimed the shotgun with one casual movement, and shot the Aquarius Key right out of Maxs hand.

He cried out in rage as much as pain, as his hand exploded in a flurry of flying blood and blown-away fingers. The Key flew undamaged through the air, hit the ground, and rolled away into the shadows. The long split in the air slammed shut, and, just like that, the howling wind died away to nothing. Max fell on all fours, ignoring the blood that still spurted from his maimed hand, scrambling in the shadows for the Key. I let go of Suzies waist, and we walked purposefully forward. Suzie chambered another round, and Max rose suddenly, the Key raised triumphantly in his good hand. He snarled at me, and I leaned forward and threw a handful of black pepper right into his face.

I never travel anywhere without condiments.

The pepper filled Maxs eyes and nose, and he fell backwards, sneezing so hard it shook his whole body, while his eyes screwed shut around streaming tears. He couldnt even hold on to the Aquarius Key, let alone concentrate enough to operate it, and the metal box fell to the ground before him. So I just stooped down and took it away from him. Suzie nodded respectfully to me.

You always did know the best ways to fight dirty.

She kicked Max briskly in the ribs with her steel-toed boot, just enough to take the fight out of him. He grunted once, and then glared up at us from his knees, forcing his watering eyes open. He was squeezing his injured hand with the other so tightly the bleeding had almost stopped. There were no signs of pain or weakness or even defeat in his dark face; only an implacable hatred, while he waited for his chance to come round again. Suzie shoved the barrel of her shotgun into his face.

I get paid the same whether I bring you in dead or alive, she said, her voice cold and calm as always. On the whole, I tend to prefer dead. Less paper-work.

I am not carrying anyone that large out of here, I said firmly. Unless I absolutely have to. So lets all play nice, then we can all walk out.

But Max wasnt listening to either of us. He was staring at something behind me, and even before he said anything, I could feel all the hackles on my neck rising.

Ah, hell, said Max Maxwell. Just when I thought things couldnt get any worse

Suzie and I turned to look, and there standing in rows behind us was a small army of the Nightsides very best bounty hunters. Heavily armed and armoured, they stood unnaturally still, all of them grinning unpleasantly, while their eyes glowed golden in the gloom, like so many candle-flames in the depths of Hell. Their wide grins showed teeth, like hunting dogs whod brought their game to ground at last.

The loa had found us.

Max laughed suddenly, a flat, breathy sound. Protect me, Suzie, Taylor. If you want your bounty money.

I looked at Suzie. Do we really need the money that badly?

Always, said Suzie. It isnt the principle of the thing, its the money. No-one takes a bounty away from me.

Maybe we could split him down the middle, I said.

Tempting, but messy. And I dont share.

I sighed. Things are in a bad way if I have to be the voice of reason

I stepped forward, conspicuously putting myself between the loas hosts and their prey, and they all fixed their glowing unblinking eyes on me.

We know you, John Taylor. It was hard to tell where the voice came from. It could have been any of them, or all of them. It sounded almostamused. We know who and what you are, probably better than you do yourself. But do not presume to stand between us and what is rightfully ours.

And I know you, lords of the loa, I said, keeping my voice reasonably polite and respectful. But this is my world, not yours, and Max is mine. He will be punished severely, I promise you.

Not good enough, said the voice, and the whole possessed army surged forward as one.

Max reared up suddenly, catching me off guard. He snatched the Aquarius Key away from me with his one good hand and twisted it savagely, shouting Words of Power. And all the bounty hunters screamed, as the possessing loa were forced out of them. Dozens of men and women crumpled to the ground, twitching and shuddering and crying hot tears of relief. For a moment, I actually thought the threat was over. I should have known better.

All around me, all the old rides and machinery creaked slowly back into life, wheels turning, machinery stirring, while the wooden Merry-Go-Round horses slowly turned their heads to look at us. The loa had found new hosts. A slow, awful life moved through Fun Faire, burning fiercely inside cold metal and painted wood, and out of the mouths of oversized clowns and Tunnels of Love and Horror came the outraged screams of the defied loa.

Max was hunched over, struggling to manipulate the Aquarius Key with just the one good hand, trying to open a door that would take him away. Suzie clubbed him in the side of his head with the butt of her shotgun, and he hardly felt it. She hit him again, and while he was distracted I moved in and snatched the Key away. Max glared at me, grey lips pulling back to show grey teeth.

I will kill you for this, Taylor. Make you crawl first; make her crawl. Ill let you watch helplessly as I violate your woman. Do her and do her till she bleeds, until her throat rips from screaming. Tear her apart, body and soul. Ill send her to Helland then itll be your turn.

I looked at Suzie. Kneecap him.

She blew off his left kneecap with her shotgun. His leg burst apart, blood spurting, and Max collapsed, crying out in agony as he clutched at his leg. I looked down at him.

Shouldnt have threatened Suzie, Max. No-one messes with me and mine.

I turned my attention back to Fun Faire, coming slowly alive like a great beast stretching after a long sleep. Lights were snapping on all around us, flaring blue and green and pink in the dark. The huge rides creaked and groaned as rusting metal stirred to life again. Suzie moved in beside me, swinging her shotgun back and forth, restless for a target.

John, whats happening?

The loa have possessed the whole damned fairground, I said. All those exorcisms must have left it wide open

Cant we get Max to throw them out again?

Possibly, I said. If he wasnt currently preoccupied with holding his shattered leg together.

It was your idea.

I know, I know!

The dodgem cars came first, smashing through the reinforced sides of their stand and heading straight for us at impossible speed. They hammered through the shadows, their wooden sides already splitting as they struggled to contain the terrible energies that were animating them. Suzie stood her ground and blasted the first car at point-blank range. It exploded in a shower of wooden spikes and splinters, some of which pattered harmlessly against the front of Suzies motorcycle jacket. The rest of the dodgem cars were already upon us, so Suzie and I threw ourselves in opposite directions, out of their way. The cars swung round and over each other to come after us, their garishly painted faces grinning the same grin Id seen on the faces of the possessed bounty hunters. The loa were having fun. The loa were playing with us.

I ran down the moonlit paths between the slowly stirring stands, and the cars came after me, calling out now in terrible voices. I could hear Suzie running, not far away, and yelled for her to intersect with me at the next crossing of the paths. We both arrived at the intersection at the same time, and I grabbed Suzie by the hand and pulled her to the ground. The cars came up on us too fast to stop, and flew right over our heads to slam into each other head-on. There was an explosion of splintered wood and released uncanny energies, and when Suzie and I scrambled to our feet again, their was nothing left of the dodgem cars but gaily painted wreckage.

We need to get back to Max, said Suzie. Shed already pulled her hand out of mine, the moment we were safe. She couldnt bear to be touched for long, even when I was saving her.

Max isnt going anywhere on that leg, I said.

He could crawl, said Suzie.

So back we went, to face the loa again. I sometimes wonder which of us is crazierSuzie for suggesting these things or me for going along with them.

She was right. We found Max at the end of a long bloody trail, crawling for the exit, dragging his useless leg behind him. Wed just caught up with him when the snub-nosed planes came flying down at us from the Tilt-A-Whirl. Theyd broken free of their supporting struts and shot through the air towards us on stubby wooden wings. I just hoped someone had got around to removing the heat-seeking missiles. Suzie shot them out of the air, one by one, just like pigeon shooting. (There are no pigeons in the Nightside, and people like Suzie are the reason why. Sometimes you cant even find a dove to sacrifice when youre in a hurry.) The last plane crashed to the ground not five feet away from us and gave up its ghost. Suzie looked at me as she reloaded her shotgun.

So? Do I win a prize?

Depends, I said. You shoot horses, dont you?

Suzie looked where I was looking and hurried her reloading. The carved wooden horses had dragged themselves free from the Merry-Go-Round and were heading our way. They were big and nasty and brightly coloured in places where paint still clung to the diseased wood. They had snarling rusty teeth in their grinning mouths, the hinged jaws working hungrily. Their eyes gleamed gold, just like the bounty hunters, and they stamped their heavy hoofs deep into the ground. And for all their rusty hinged joints, they moved very much like living things, driven by the wrath of the loa.

The old stories said the horses ate their riders; and right then I believed it.

Now this is what I call a Fun Faire, said Suzie, and she opened fire with her shotgun.

The noise was deafening as she fired shell after shell, but though she hit every horse she aimed at, blowing huge chunks of wood out of them, they just kept coming. Suzie emptied her shotgun in under a minute and swore harshly as she scrambled at the bandoliers over her chest for reloads. The horses were very close now, but she still held her ground. The first wooden head lunged forward, and rusting teeth snapped shut on her black leather sleeve.

Which meant it was down to me, and one last desperate idea. I raised my gift and used it to find the last traces of the old magic that had once run the Faire, when it was still just an amusement park. Some last vestiges of that old innocent magic still remained, untouched by all the prayers and exorcisms, the evil and the horror, and I found it and put it back in touch with the wooden horses.

They stumbled to a halt, one by one, as the old magic stubbornly reinstated the terms of the original compact. And one by one the horses were dragged back to the Merry-Go-Round. They fought it all the way, shaking their heads and stamping their heavy feet, but back they went. And as they stepped backwards up onto the Merry-Go-Round, the old steel poles slammed down again, piercing their wooden bodies through and holding them mercilessly in place.

I looked round at Suzie. Shed finished reloading her shotgun and was standing with one foot in the small of Maxs back, to keep track of him. I nodded to her, and she took her boot away. I knelt down beside Max and helped him roll over onto his back. He was breathing hard, sweat beading all over his face, but he still glared unwaveringly up at me. I showed him the Aquarius Key in my hand.

You know how to operate this, and I dont, I said carefully. Use it and drive the loa out of Fun Faire. Use it for anything else, and Suzie will do to your head what shes already done to your knee.

He glared silently at me, but held out his good hand for the Key. I helped him sit up, then gave him the metal box. Suzie moved quickly forward to press the barrel of her shotgun against the back of his skull. He had to use what was left of his shattered hand in the end, despite the blood and the pain, but he made the Key do what he wanted, and a great cry went up all through Fun Faire as the loa were forced out. I quickly took the Key back again.

John said Suzie. Was this what you meant to happen?

I looked where she was looking. The bounty hunters were back on their feet again, smiling their awful smiles, watching us with their glowing golden eyes. I had to sigh. Sometimes things wouldnt go right even if you bribed St. Peter. I moved forward to confront the bounty hunters, holding up the Aquarius Key so they could all see it. They stood very still, their glowing eyes fixed on me.

When you were forced out of the rides, you were supposed to take the hint and go back where you came from, I said reproachfully.

We wont go, they said, in their creepy single voice. We cant go until we have satisfaction. And if you stand between us and our rightful vengeance, we will be at your back and at your throat for as long as you live.

I considered the problem. I could probably get Max to use the Key to send the loa home; but theyd just come back again, and again, till they got what they wanted. Max had hurt their pride, undermined their status as gods, and posed a threat to their whole religion. Hard to argue with that. It was an intriguing stand-off, and there was no telling which way it might have gone if Walker hadnt arrived. As usual he appeared out of nowhere, strolling casually out of the shadows as though he happened to be passing and thought hed drop in for a chat. He came and stood beside me, and Suzie immediately moved to stand on my other side. Walker smiled easily at the ranks of possessed bounty hunters.

Well, well, the gangs all here. But I think weve had enough fun and games for one night. Max Maxwell is in my custody, and therefore under my protection. I can give you my word that he will be severely punished. I have a nice little cell just waiting for him, in Shadow Deep. And you know what we do to prisoners there.

Not enough. One of the bounty hunters stepped forward to confront Walker. Revenge, to be properly savoured, has to be personal. Has to behands-on.

Not this time, said Walker. This is the Nightside, and we deal with our own problems. Go home.

He used the Voice on them. The Voice that cannot be disobeyed or opposed. It hammered on the air, so loud and forceful that even I winced. But the loa wouldnt budge. Until I raised my voice.

Go home, I said. Or Ill be very upset with you.

Perhaps I was bluffing. Perhaps not. Ill never tell. But it tipped the balance. They might have defied the powerful Walker or the infamous John Taylor, but not both of us at once. The bounty hunters collapsed again as the loa left them, returning at last to their own world. And thatwas that. For now.

I looked at Walker. You do know theyll be back, sometime. We hurt their feelings.

Let them, said Walker. They should have accepted a place on the Street of the Gods, when I offered it to them. Theres no room for independent operators any more.

Like me? I said.

Exactly.

I considered him thoughtfully. Your Voice was impressive as always; but I cant help remembering it was granted to you by the Authorities. Who are all now extremely dead. So who powers your Voice these days?

Walker smiled briefly. Im sure youll find out, John. One of these days. He looked at Max Maxwell. Come with me.

And shattered leg notwithstanding, Max Maxwell rose up and followed Walker out of Fun Faire, limping heavily all the way. The bounty hunters moved off after them, talking rather confusedly amongst themselves. Until only Suzie and I were left. She looked at me with her cold, utterly contained face.

You saved my life, John. Again.

And you saved mine, I said easily. Its what we do. All part of being in a relationship.

I knowits not easy, for you, she said. That close as we are, we still cant beclose. Youve been so patient with me.

She reached out and touched my face gently with her fingertips. I stood very still and let her do it. I could feel the effort it took, for her to do that much. She trailed a fingertip across my lipsthe closest we could come to a kiss. Suzie Shooter, Shotgun Suzie, who took no shit from me, or gods, or anyone in the Nightside, was still mostly helpless in the face of her own inner demons.

I would have killed the brother whod done this to her if she hadnt already killed him years ago.

I love you, Suzie, I said. If you never believe anything else, believe that.

I love you, John. As much as I can.

Thats what matters. Thats all that matters.

No it isnt!

She made herself hug me, holding me tight. Her bandoliers of bracelets pressed against my chest. She was breathing hard, from the effort of what this cost her. Her whole body was stiff and tense. I didnt know whether to put my own arms around her or not, but in the end I held her as gently as I could.

Love you, John, she said, her chin on my shoulder. I couldnt see her face. Die for you. Kill for you. Love you till the world ends.

I know, I said. Its all right. Really.

But we both knew it wasnt.



TWO - Demon Girl Reporter 


Some days they wont even give you a chance to catch your breath. Suzie and I were just walking out of Fun Faire when my mobile phone rang. (The ring tone is the theme from The Twilight Zone. When I find a joke I like, I tend to stick with it.) An unctuous voice murmured in my ear.

You have one phone call and one important message. Which would you like to hear first?

The call, I said determinedly.

Im sorry, said the voice. Im afraid I have been paid to insist you listen to the important message first. Have you ever considered the importance of good Afterlife insurance?

I sighed, hit the exorcism function on the phone, and was gratified to hear the voice howl in pain as it was forced out of my phone. AdmailYoull never convince me it isnt a plot by demons from Hell to make life not worth living. With the admail banished, my call came through clearly. It was my teenage secretary, Cathy, calling from my office. (Id rescued her from a house that ate people, and she adopted me. I didnt get a say in the matter. I let her run my office to keep her out of my hair. Worryingly, shes far better at it than I ever was.)

Got a case for you, boss, she said cheerfully.

Ive just completed two in a row, I said plaintively. I was looking forward to some serious quality time, with a nice hot bath and my rubber ducky. Rubber ducky is my friend.

Oh, youll want to take this one, said Cathy. The offices of the one and only Unnatural Inquirer called. They need your services desperately, not to mention very urgently.

What on earth does that appalling rag want with me? Or have they finally decided to hire someone to try to find their long-missing ethics and good taste?

Rather doubt it, boss. They wouldnt go into details over an open line, but they sounded pretty upset. And the money offered really is very good.

How good? I said immediately.

Really quite staggeringly good, said Cathy. Which means that not only are they pants-wettingly desperate, but there has to be one hell of a catch hidden away in it somewhere. Go on, boss, take the case. Id love to hear what goes on in that place. They have all the best stories; I never miss an issue.

The Unnatural Inquirer is a squalid, scabrous, tabloid disgrace, I said sternly. And the truth is not in it.

Who cares about truth, as long as they have all the latest gossip and embarrassing celebrity photos? Oh please please please

I looked at Suzie. Do you need me to?

Go, she said. I have to claim my bounty money.

She strode off, not looking back. Suzies never been big on good-byes.

All right, I said into the phone. Give me the details.

There arent many. They want you to visit their editorial offices to discuss the matter.

Why cant they come to my office?

Because youre never here. You have to come in soon, boss; I have a pile of paper-work that needs your signature.

Go ahead and forge it for me, I said. Like you did when you acquired those seven extra credit cards in my name.

I said I was sorry!

Where do they want to meet?

Theyll send someone to bring you to them. Employees of the Unnatural Inquirer dont like to be caught out in public. People throw things.

Understandable, I said. Where am I supposed to go, to be met?

Cathy gave me directions to a particular street corner, in a not-too-sleazy area of the Nightside. I knew it: a busy place, with lots of people always passing through. A casual meeting stood a good chance of going unnoticed, lost in the crowd. I said good-bye to Cathy and shut down the phone before she could nag me about the paper-work again. If Id wanted to shuffle papers for a living, Id have shot myself in the head repeatedly.

Didnt take me long to get to the corner of Cheyne Walk and Wine Street, and I lurked as unobtrusively as possible in front of a trepanation franchiseLet Some Light In, Inc. Personally, Ive always felt I needed trepanation like a hole in the head. Still, it made more sense than smart drinks ever did. People and others came and went, carefully minding their own business. Some stood out; a knight in shining armour with a miniature dragon perched on his steel shoulder, hissing at the passers-by; a fluorescent Muse, with Catherine-wheel eyes; and a sulky-looking Suicide Girl with a noose round her neck. But most were just people, familiar faces you wouldnt look twice at, come to the Nightside for the forbidden pleasures, secret knowledge, and terrible satisfactions they couldnt find anywhere else. The Nightside has always been something of a tourist trap.

I dont like standing around in the open. It makes me feel vulnerable, an easy target. When I have to do surveillance, I always take pains to do it from somewhere dark and shadowy. People were starting to recognise me. Most gave me plenty of room; some nudged each other and stared curiously. One couple asked if they could take my photo. I gave them a look, and they hurried away.

To keep myself occupied, I went over what I knew about the Unnatural Inquirer. Id read the odd copy; everyone has. People do like gossip, in the way we always like things that are bad for us. The Nightside has its own newspaper of record; thats the Night Times. The Unnatural Inquirer, on the other hand, has never allowed itself to be inhibited by mere facts. For them, the story is everything.

All the news that can be made to fit.

The Unnatural Inquirer has been around, in various formats, for over a hundred years, despite increasingly violent attempts to shut it down. These days Editorial, Publishing, and Printing all operate out of a separate and very private pocket dimension, hidden away behind layer upon layer of seriously heavy-duty protections. You can get cursed down to the seventh generation just for trying to find it. The papers defences are constantly being upgraded, because they have very powerful enemies. Partly because they print exaggerations, gossip, and outright lies about very important people, and partly because every now and again they tell the truth when no-one else will dare. The paper has no fear and shows no favour.

Only properly accredited staff can even approach the papers offices. Theyre given special dimensional keys, bonded directly to the owners soul, to prevent theft. The offices still get attacked on a daily basis. The paper prints details of every failed assault, just to rub it in. Despite everything the Unnatural Inquirer appears every day, full of things the rich and powerful would rather you didnt know about. There are no delivery trucks any more; they kept getting fire-bombed. New editions of the paper just appear out of nowhere, materialising right next to the news-stands all across the Nightside, direct from the printing presses. No-one ever interferes with the news-sellers; for fear of being lynched on the spot by the papers fanatical audience.

And when youve finished reading the Unnatural Inquirer, just throw it away. It automatically disappears, returning to the printing presses to be recycled for the next edition. Even the Night Times cant match that. No-one has ever wrapped fish and chips in the Unnatural Inquirer.

On the other hand, the Night Timess reporters and staff are on the whole well-known, respected, and admired. The Unnatural Inquirers people are often shot at on sight (especially the paparazzi), though if you survive long enough, you can end up as a (minor) celebrity. Theres a high burn-out rate amongst the staff, but surprisingly there are always more, waiting in the wings to take their place. If you dont have it in you to be someone important or significant, or a celebrity, the next best thing is being someone who knows all about them and can crash all their parties.

Hello, hello, John Taylor! Good to see you again, old thing! Still busy being infamous and enigmatic?

I winced internally even as I turned to face the man whod hailed me so cheerfully. I should have known who theyd send. Harry Fabulous was a fence and a fixer, and the best Go To man in the Nightsidefor all those little and very expensive things that make life worth living. You want to smoke some prime Martian red weed, mainline some Hyde, or score someone elses childhood (innocence always goes down big in the Nightside), then Harry Fabulous is your man, always ready to take your last penny with a big smile and a hearty handshake.

Or at least he used to be. Apparently hed had one of those life-changing experiences in the back room of a members-only club, and now he was more interested in doing Good Deeds. Before it was too late. Theres nothing like a glimpse of Hell to jump-start a mans conscience.

Harry was dressed to kill, as always, looking slick and polished. He wore a long coat whose inside pockets were practically crammed with all sorts of things you might or might not want to spend too much money on. He had a long, thin face, a lean and hungry look, and dark, somewhat haunted, eyes. He smiled easily at me, a very practised smile, and I gave him something very similar in return.

We were both, after all, professionals.

Didnt know you worked for the Unnatural Inquirer, Harry, I said.

Oh, Im just a stringer, he said vaguely. I do get around, and I have been known to hear things, soIve been sent to bring you to their main offices, old thing. Sorry to keep you waiting, but I had to be sure you hadnt been followed.

Harry, I said. Remember who youre talking to.

Oh, quite! Yes, indeed! Just a formality, really.

He fished inside his long coat and produced a very ordinary-looking key. He glanced round briefly, turned to face me to cover his movements, and pushed the key into an invisible lock, apparently floating in mid air between us. The key disappeared even as Harry turned it, and just like that the world seemed to drop away under my feet. There was a brief sensation of falling, and we left the Nightside behind us.

We reappeared in a Reception office that looked just like any other Reception office. Luxurious enough to impress on you how important the operation was, but not comfortable enough to encourage you to stick around any longer than was absolutely necessary. A cool blonde Receptionist sat behind a desk behind a layer of bulletproof glass. Manning the phones, doing maintenance on her fingernails, and dealing with visitors when she absolutely had to. Harry went to take my arm to usher me into the waiting area. I looked at him, and he quickly withdrew the hand. You cant let people like Harry Fabulous get too chummy; they take advantage. I strolled forward, looking curiously about me, and all the bells in the world went off at once.

Its all right! Its all right! yelled Harry, waving his arms and practically jumping up and down on the spot. Its just John Taylor! Hes expected!

The bells shut off, and the Receptionist reappeared from underneath her desk, glaring venomously at Harry. I looked at him.

Security scan, he said quickly. Purely routine. Nothing to worry about. Its supposed to detect dangerous objects, and people, and youset off every alarm they have. I did warn them to dial down the settings while you were hereWould you like me to take your coat?

Wouldnt be wise, I said. I havent fed it recently.

Harry looked at me for some clue as to whether he was supposed to laugh, but I just looked right back at him. Harry swallowed hard, took a step back, and looked at the Receptionist.

Contact Security, theres a dear, and tell them to make an exception for John Taylor.

Make lots of them, I said. Im a very complicated person.

I wont hang around, Harry decided. Im almost sure Im urgently needed somewhere else.

He did the business with the key again and disappeared. Thats Harry Fabulous for you. Always on the go.

The Receptionist and I looked at each other. Somehow I just knew we werent going to get along. She was a small petite platinum blonde with sultry eyes, a mouth made for sin, and a general air of barely suppressed rage and violence. I didnt know whether that was a result of working here, or why they hired her in the first place. She was the first line of defence against anyone who turned up, and I had no doubt she had all kinds of interesting weapons and devices somewhere close at handI decided to be polite, for the moment, and gave her my best professional smile.

My name is John Taylor. The Editor wants to see me.

She sniffed loudly and gave me a pitying smile. Her voice came clearly through the narrow grille in the bulletproof glass. No-one ever sees the Editor. In fact, no-ones seen Mr. du Rois in the flesh for years. Safer that way. Your appointment will be with the Sub-Editor, Scoop Malloy.

Scoop? I said. Was he one of your best reporters?

No; he used to work with animals. Take a seat.

I took a seat. I know when Im outclassed. The long red leather couch was hard and unyielding. There was no-one else waiting in Reception. An assortment of old magazines were laid out on a low table. I leafed through them, but there was nothing particularly interesting. Which Religions cover boasted the start of a new series: We road test ten new gods! The Nightside edition of Guns & Ammo had Suzie Shooter on the cover again. They think she adds a touch of glamour. Whats on in the Nightside was the size of a telephone directory. Its cover boasted 101 Things You Need to Know About Members Only Clubs! Including How to Get In, and How to Get Out Alive Again. I quite like Whats On; its constantly updating itself as people and places change and disappear. Sometimes the page will rewrite itself even as youre reading it. They stopped having an index because it kept whimpering.

I gave up on the magazines, leaned back on the rock-hard sofa, and thought some more about what I knew about the Unnatural Inquirers legendary Editor, Owner, and Publisher, Gaylord du Rois. Everyone was pretty sure that wasnt his real name, but it had been right there at the top of the masthead of every issue for years now, right from the days when the photos were grainy black and white, the type-face was tiny, and they printed the whole thing on toilet paper. Gaylord might be a man, or a woman, or a committee. Might even have been several people in a row. No-one knew for sure, and it wasnt for want of trying to find out. Certainly the aggressive tone of the paper hadnt changed in over a hundred years; it was just as blunt and brash and obnoxious now as it had always been.

I sat more or less patiently on the couch, idly considering the possibilities of redecorating the Reception area with a couple of incendiaries, while a handful of people drifted in and out. Reporters and office functionaries wandered past, caught up in their own business and paying no attention at all to me. Paparazzi teleported in just long enough to drop off their latest snatched photos of celebrities doing things they shouldnt, and then disappeared again. There are cannibal demons on the Street of the Gods less hated and despised than the Unnatural Inquirers paparazzi. Suzie shoots at them on sight, but so far shes only managed to wing a couple. We stopped them hanging about our house by planting disguised man-traps. Nothing like the occasional scream of a wounded paparazzi in the early hours of the morning to help you sleep peacefully.

A few of the paparazzi looked at me thoughtfully but were careful not even to point their cameras in my direction. Its all in the reputation.

Youre sure the Sub-Editor knows Im waiting? I said to the Receptionist. I was told this was urgent.

He knows, she said. Or maybe he doesnt. Embrace the possibilities!

I walked over to her and gave her one of my best hard looks. Ill bet this place would burn up nicely if I put my mind to it.

Go ahead. See if I care. The only time this place gets a makeover is after a good fire. Sometimes they just scrub down the walls.

I gave up. Distract me. Talk to me. Tell me things.

What sort of things?

Well, how big is the papers circulation these days?

She shrugged. Dont think anyone knows for sure. The print runs been rising steadily for thirty years now, and it was huge before that. Sales arent limited to the Nightside, you know. It goes out to all kinds of other worlds and dimensions. Because everyones interested in whats happening in the Nightside. We get letters from all over. We got one from Mars.

Really? What did it say?

No-one knows. It was in Martian.

I decided I didnt want to talk to her any more. I sat down on the couch again and looked at the framed front pages on the walls, showcasing the papers long history.

Elvis Really Is Dead! We Have Proof! Honeymoon Over; Giant Ape Admits Size Isnt Everything! Hitler Burns in Hell! Official! Orson Welles Was Really a Martian! We Have X-Rays! Our Greatest Ever Psychic Channels New Songs from Elvis, John Lennon, Marc Bolan, and Buddy Holly! All Available on a CD You Can Buy Exclusively from the Unnatural Inquirer!

Proof, if proof were needed, that not only is there one born every second, but that they grow up to read the tabloids.

Still, if nothing else, the Unnatural Inquirer had style. It got your attention. For want of anything better to do, I picked up a copy of the latest edition from the low table. The front-page headline was Tribute Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse to Tour Nightside! Over Their Dead Bodies, Says Walker! I leafed through the paper, grimacing as the cheap print came off on my fingers.

Apparently the Holy Order of Saint Strontium had been forcibly evicted from the Street of the Gods after it was discovered that their Church had a radioactive half-life of two million years. Bunch of pussies, said Saint Strontium. He had a lot more to say, but none of the reporters present wanted to hang around long enough to find out whatThere were some intriguing Before and After photos of Jacqueline Hyde, poor soul. Jacqueline and Hyde were in love, but doomed never to meet save for the most fleeting of momentsAnother story insisted that the Moon really was made of green cheese, and that the big black monoliths were just oversized alien crackersAnd right at the bottom of an inner page, in very small type: Old Ones Fail to Rise Yet Again.

Most of the rest of the pages were filled with excited puff pieces about various Nightside celebrities I either hadnt heard of, or didnt give a damn about, including two whole pages given over to photos of young women getting out of limousines and taxis, just so the paparazzi could get a quick photo of their underwear, or lack of it. As far as the Unnatural Inquirer is concerned, taste is something you find in the restaurant guides.

I skipped through to the personal ads and announcements in the back pages; all human life is there, and a whole lot more besides.

Soul-swapping parties; just show up and throw your karma keys into the circle. Bodies for rent. Sex change while you wait. Go deep-sea diving in sunken Rlyeh; no noise-makers allowed. A whole bunch of pyramid schemes, some involving real pyramids. Remote viewing into the bedrooms and bathrooms of the rich and famous; highlights available on VHS or DVD. Time-share schemes, involving real time travel. (Though those tended to be stamped on pretty quick by Old Father Time, especially if they werent cons.) And, of course, a million different drugs from thousands of dimensions; buyer very much beware. The paper felt obliged to add its own warning here; apparently some intelligent plant civilisations had been attempting to stealthily invade our world by selling their seeds and cuttings as drugs. Sort of a Trojan horse invasion

And then, of course, there were the personal messagesLassie come home, or the kid gets it. Boopsie loves Moopsie; Moopsie loves Boopsie? (Oh, I could see tears before bedtime in the offing there) Dagon shall rise again! All donations welcome. Desperately Seeking ElviraMad scientist who digs up graves, steals the bodies, and sews the bits together to create a new living supercreature seeks similarGSOH essential.

The Unnatural Inquirer has the only crossword puzzles that insult you if you take too long at guessing the cluesvery cross word puzzles. And they had to cancel the kakuro because the numbers kept adding up to 666.

I dropped the paper back onto the table, went to wipe my inky fingers on my coat, and then realised thats not a good idea when youre wearing a white trench coat. I took out a handkerchief and rubbed briskly at my fingers. I hadnt realised how much I knew about the paper. The tabloid had insinuated itself into the Nightside so thoroughly that pretty much anything you saw or thought of reminded you of something that had appeared in the Unnatural Inquirer. For a while there was even a rumour going around that the Editor had a precog on staff, who could see just far enough into the future to view the next days edition of the Night Times, so that the Unnatural Inquirer could run all their best stories in advance. I had trouble believing that. First, I knew the Editor of the Night Times, and he wouldnt sit still for something like that for one moment, and second, the Unnatural Inquirer had never been that interested in news stories anyway. Not when theres important gossip and tittle-tattle to spread.

Not that the Unnatural Inquirer gets everything its own way. The Editor once sent a reporter into Rats Alley, where the homeless and down-and-outs gather, to dig up some juicy stories on rich and famous people whod been brought low by misfortune and disaster. Razor Eddie, Punk God of the Straight Razor, and defenders of street people everywhere, rather took exception to such hard-heartedness. He sent the reporter back to the Editor in forty-seven separate parcels. With postage owing.

The Sub-Editor is ready to see you now, said the Receptionist. Hes sending a copy-boy to escort you in.

Does he think Ill get lost? I said.

She smiled coldly. We dont like people wandering around. Personally, I think all visitors should be electronically tagged and stamped with time codes so theyd know exactly when their welcome was wearing out.

The door to the inner offices opened, and out shambled a hunched and scowling adolescent in a grubby T-shirt and jeans. His T-shirt bore the legend FUCK THEM ALL AND LET THE DOCTORS SORT THEM OUT. He flicked his long, lank hair back out of his sullen face, looked me over, grunted once, and gestured for me to follow him inside. I felt like giving him a good slap, on general principles.

Let me guess, I said. Everythings rotten and nothings fair.

Im nineteen! he said, glaring at me dangerously. Nineteen, and still a copy-boy! And Ive got qualificationsIm being held back. You just wait; therell be some changes made around here once they finally see sense and put me in charge

Whats your name? I said.

Im beginning to think its Hey you! Thats all I ever hear in this place. Like it would kill the old farts that work here to remember my name. Which is Jimmy, if you really care, which you probably dont.

And what do you want to be when you grow up? I said kindly.

His glare actually intensified, and veins stood out in his neck. To be a reporter, of course! So I can dig up the secrets of the rich and powerful, and then blackmail them. He looked at me slyly. I could always start with you. Get a good story on the infamous and mysterious John Taylor, and theyd have to give me my own by-line. Go on; tell me something really shocking and sordid about you and Shotgun Suzie. Does she really take the gun to bed with her? Do you sometimes swap clothes? Youd better give me something, or Ill just make up something really juicy and extra nasty anyway. Ill say you said it, and itll be just your word against mine.

I looked at him thoughtfully, and he fell back a step. Jimmy, I said, if I see one word about Suzie or me in this rag with your name on it, I will use my gift to find you. And then Ill send Suzie to you, who will no doubt wish to demonstrate her extreme displeasure. Suddenly and violently and all over the place.

He sniffed dismally. Worth a try. Follow me. Sir.

He led me into the inner offices of the Unnatural Inquirer. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, incense, sweat, and tension. People bustled importantly back and forth around the various reporters, who were all working with furious concentration at their desks, hammering their computer keys like their lives depended on it. They kept calling out to each other, mostly without looking up from what they were doing, demanding information, opinions, and the very latest gossip, like so many ravenous baby birds in a nest. They all sounded cheerful enough, but there was a definite undercurrent of malice and cut-throat competition. The general noise level was appalling, the air was almost unbreathable, and the whole place seethed with talent and ambition.

It was everything Id hoped it would be.

The copy-boy slouched down the main central aisle with me in tow, and everyone ostentatiously ignored me. There was a definite bunker atmosphere to the inner offices; probably because most people really were out to get them, for one reason or another. The industrious men and women of the Unnatural Inquirer drank and smoked like it was their last day on Earth, because it just might be. Their readers might love them, but nobody else did. For the staff here it was always going to be Us versus Them, with everything and everyone fair game. There were always lawsuits, but the Editor & Publisher could afford the very best lawyers and took pride in keeping cases in court forever and a day. The paper might never have won a case, but it had never lost one either, mostly because the paper outspent or outlived the litigants. The Unnatural Inquirer had never once apologised, never printed a retraction, and never paid a penny in compensation. And was proud of it. Which was why the staff had to hide away in a bunker and take out special insurance against assassination attempts.

There was a prominent sign on one wall. YOU DONT HAVE TO BE VICIOUS, PETTY-MINDED, AND MEAN-SPIRITED TO WORK HERE; BUT IT HELPS. Anywhere else, this would have been a joke.

Jimmy the copy-boy finally brought me to the Sub-Editors office, knocked on the door like he was announcing the imminent arrival of the barbarian hordes, and pushed the door open without waiting for a reply. I followed him in, shutting the door carefully behind me, and Scoop Malloy himself stood up from behind his paper-scattered desk to greet me. He was a short, dumpy figure, with a sad face and a prematurely bald head, wearing a pullover with the phrase SMILE WHEN YOU CALL ME THAT embroidered over his chest. He popped a handful of little purple pills from a handy bottle, dry-swallowed them in one, and came out from behind his desk to give me a limp, almost apologetic handshake. I shook his hand gingerly. Partly because I was remembering where his nickname came from, and partly because his hand felt like it might come off in mine.

He glared at the copy-boy. What are you still doing here? Isnt there some important tea you should be making?

Fascist! Jimmy hissed, slamming the door behind him on his way out. Then he opened it again, shouted, Im nineteen! Nineteen! and disappeared again.

Scoop Malloy sighed deeply, sat down behind his desk, and gestured for me to take the visitors chair. Which was, of course, hard and uncomfortable, as visitors chairs always are. I think its supposed to imply youre only there on sufferance.

Pubertys a terrible thing, said Scoop. Particularly for other people. Id fire him if he wasnt someones nephewWish I knew whoseWelcome to the salt mines, Mr. Taylor. Sorry to drag you all the way in here, but you see how it is. The price of freedom of the Press is eternal vigilance and constant access to heavy-duty armaments.

I was given to understand that the matter was urgent, I said. And that the pay would be quite staggeringly good.

Oh, quite, said Scoop. Quite. He looked at me searchingly. I understand youve done some work for Julien Advent, at the Night Times.

On occasion, I said. I approve of Julien.

Scoop smirked unpleasantly. I could tell you some things about him

Dont, I said firmly. First, I wouldnt believe them; and second, if you were to insult my good friend Julien Advent, I would then find it necessary to beat you severely about the head and shoulders. Quite probably until your head came off, after which I would play football with it up and down the inner offices.

I never believed those stories anyway, Scoop said firmly. He leaned forward across his desk, trying hard to look business-like. Mr. Taylor, here at the Unnatural Inquirer we are not in the news business, as such. No. We print stories, entertainment, a moments diversion. We employ a manic depressive to write the Horoscopes; to keep our readers on their toes, we run competitions with really big prizes, like Guess where the next Timeslips going to appear; and were always first with news about what the rich and famous are up to. Even if that news isnt exactly accurate. We print the stories people want to read.

And to Hell with whether theyre true? I said.

Scoop shrugged, smiling his unpleasant smile again. Oh, youd be surprised how close to the truth we get, even if it is by accident.

There was a knock at the door. Scoop looked up with a certain amount of relief that he wouldnt have to face me alone any more. He called for the new arrival to enter, the door opened, and both Scoop and I stood up to greet the newcomer. She was tall and athletic-looking, and drop-dead gorgeous. Long jet-black hair framed a heart-shaped face, with high cheek-bones, sparkling eyes, and one of those old-fashioned pouting rosebud mouths. She wore a smart polka-dot dress, carefully cut to show off as much of her excellent body and magnificent bosom as possible.

She also had two cute little horns curling up from her forehead, poking out of her Bettie-Page-style bangs.

This is one of our most promising young journalists, Scoop said proudly. John Taylor, may I present to you Bettie Divine. And vice versa, of course. Shell be partnering you on this case.

Id been reaching out to shake Betties hand, but immediately withdrew it. I glared at Scoop.

I dont think so. I choose my own partners on cases, people I know can keep up with me and look after themselves. I cant guarantee you results if I have to drag a passenger around with me. No offence, Bettie.

None taken, she said cheerfully in a rich husky voice. But I work for the Unnatural Inquirer. Lets see if you can keep up with me.

She sat on the edge of the Sub-Editors desk, crossing her legs to show off an awful lot of thigh, and leaning back so she could arch her back and point her breasts at me. Good tactics. Good legs. Really good breasts.

Hey, she said, amused. My face is up here.

So it is, I said. What exactly is it you do here, Bettie?

I am a demon girl reporter, darling. And I do mean demon. Daddy was a Rolling Stone, on one of their Nightside tours, Mummy was a slut lust demon groupie. Somebody ought to have known better, but here I am. Large as life, and twice as talented. I really am a first-class journalist, and youre going to need me on this case, darling. So, just lie back and enjoy it.

Shes right, Scoop said heavily. He sat down behind his desk again, and I lowered myself back onto the unwelcoming visitors chair. Scoop laced his fingers together and looked at me steadily. Betties accompanying you is part of the deal, Mr. Taylor. If weve got to spend the kind of money its going to take to get you to do this for us, we are determined to get our moneys worth. And the best way to recoup some of the expense is by running our very own exclusive story of how you did it.

On the case with John Taylor! said Bettie. An intimate account of our time together, traversing the darkest depths of the Nightside! Honestly, sweetie, we wont be able to print copies fast enough. The bouncer might as well be outside throwing them in. No-ones ever had a story like this.

No, I said.

She slid forward off the desk and leaned over me, so close I could feel her breath on my face. Youre going to need me on this case, darling. Really you are. And I can be very helpful.

I stood up, and she retreated a little. Put the brakes on, darling, I said. Im spoken for.

Ah, yes! said Bettie, clapping her dainty little hands together and giving me a knowing look. We know all about that! The infamous John Taylor and the sexy psycho killer Shotgun Suzie! Were already taking odds as to which of you will end up killing the other. Do tell us all about her, John; whats Suzie really like? Is she still sexy when the bedroom door is shut? What do you talk about in those special little moments? Inquiring minds are positively panting to know all the sordid little details!

Let them pant, I said, and something in my voice made her fall back a step. Suzie is a very private, very dangerous person.

Why dont I explain exactly what the case entails, Scoop said quickly. I sat down in my chair again, and Bettie leaned against the side of the desk, facing me, her arms folded under her impressive bosom. I concentrated on Scoop.

There has been a broadcast from the Afterlife, Scoop said bluntly. And the broadcast has been intercepted. It turned up on someones television set, quite out of the blue with no warning; and the possessor of that television set, one Pen Donavon, was sharp enough to record it, and burn it onto a DVD. He then approached us, offering the Afterlife Recording for sale; and we bought exclusive rights to it for one hell of a lot of money.

An intercepted broadcast? I said. From Heaven, or Hell?

Who knows? said Scoop. For that matter, who cares? This is actual information, from the Great Beyond! Our readers will eat this up with spoons.

Am I to understand you havent actually seen whats on this DVD yet? I said.

Not a glimpse, Scoop said cheerfully.

It could be a fake, I said. Or it could be a broadcast from some other world or dimension.

Doesnt matter, said Scoop. We own it. We want it. But unfortunately, Donavon has disappeared. He was on his way to us, with the DVD, in return for the very generous cheque we had waiting, but he never got here. We want you to find it, and him, for us. We have to have that Recording! Weve been trailing it all week, for its appearance in the Sunday edition! If someone else gets their hands on it, and pips us to the postAnd its not just the story; do you have any idea how much we could make selling copies of the DVD?

I was still unconvinced, despite his enthusiasm. This isnt going to be like that transmission from the future that someone taped off their television back in the nineties, is it? Suzie bought a copy of the tape off eBay, and when we played it, it was only a guy in a futuristic outfit, showing his bare arse to the camera and giggling a lot.

Scoop leaned forward over his desk, doing his best to fix me with his watery eyes. The Unnatural Inquirer authorises you to find and recover this Afterlife Recording, and its owner, by any and all means you deem necessary. Bring the DVD to us, preferably with the owner but not necessarily, and the Unnatural Inquirer will pay you one million pounds. In cash, gold, diamonds, or postage stamps; whatever you prefer. Well also pay you a bonus of another fifty thousand pounds, if you will agree to watch the Recording and give us your expert opinion as to whether or not its the real thing. The word is, you are qualified to know.

I nodded, neither confirming nor denying. And if I say its a fake?

Scoop shrugged. Well put it out anyway. We can always spice it up with some specially shot extra footage. We can use the same people weve got working on Liliths diaries.

Wait just a minute! I said. I know for a fact that my mother never left any diaries!

We know! said Scoop. Thats why weve got three of our best people writing them now, in the next room. Theyre going to be big, I can tell you! Not as big as the Afterlife Recording, of course, which will be a license to print moneyNot that wed do that, of course. Not after the last timeYou have to find this DVD for us!

And I go along with you to tell the story of how you tracked it down! said Bettie.

I thought about it. A million pounds was an awful lot of moneyAll right, I said. Partner.

Bettie Divine jumped up and down, and did a little dance of joy, which did very interesting things to her breasts. I looked back at Scoop.

If this Afterlife Recording should turn out to be the real thing, I said, Im not sure anyone should be allowed to see it. Real proof of Heaven or Hell? I dont think were ready for that.

Its the headline thats important, said Scoop. Thats what will sell lots and lots of papers. The DVDcan be fixed, one way or the other. Its the concept were selling.

But if it is real, I said. If it is hard evidence of what happens after we diethe whole Nightside could go crazy.

I know! said Bettie Divine. A real story at last! Who would have thought it! Isnt it simply too wonderful, darling!



THREE - Faith, Hope, and Merchandising 


Bettie and I stepped out of the Unnatural Inquirers offices and shot straight back to the same street corner Id left, appearing abruptly out of nowhere thanks to Betties dimensional key. No-one paid us any attention. People appearing out of nowhere is business as usual in the Nightside. Its when people start disappearing suddenly that everyone tends to start screaming and taking to their heels, and usually with good reason. I realised Bettie was looking at me expectantly, and I sighed inwardly. I knew that look.

I know that look, I said to her sternly. Youve heard all the stories, studied up on the legend, and now you expect me to solve the whole case with one snap of my fingers. Probably while smiling sardonically and saying something wickedly witty and quotable. Sorry, but it doesnt work that way.

Buteveryone knows you have a gift! said Bettie, fixing me with her big dark eyes like a disappointed puppy. You can find anyone, or anything. Cant you?

You of all people should know better than to believe in legends, I said. Reality is always far more complicated. Case in point: yes, I do have a gift for finding things, and people, but I cant just use it to pinpoint the exact location of Pen Donavon or his DVD. I need a specific question to get a specific answer. But with the information Ive got, I should be able to get a rough sense of where to start looking

I concentrated, waking my third eye, my private eye, and the world started to open up and reveal its secrets to meand then I cried out in shock and pain as a sudden harsh pressure shot through my head, slamming my inner eye shut. Some great force from Outside had shut down my gift as quickly and casually as a dog shrugging off a bothersome flea. I swore harshly, and Bettie actually retreated a couple of steps.

Sorry, I said, trying to ease the scowl I could feel darkening my face. Something just happened. It would appear that Someone or Something big and nasty doesnt want me using my gift. Theyve shut me down. I cant See a damned thing.

I didnt know anyone could do that, said Bettie.

Its not something Im keen to advertise, I said. Has to be a Major Player of some kind. I hope its not the Devil again

Again? said Bettie delightedly. Oh, John, you do lead such a fascinating life! Tell me all about it!

Not a chance in Hell, I said. I dont discuss other clients cases. Anyway, its not like Im helpless without my gift. Well have to do this the old-fashioned way: asking questions, following leads, and tracking down clues.

Butif a Major Player is involved, doesnt that mean the Afterlife Recording must be the real deal? said Bettie. Or else, why would they get involved?

Theyre involved for the same reason we are, I said. Because they want to discover whether the Recording is the real deal, or not. Orbecause Someone wants us to think its realNothings ever simple in the Nightside.

And then I stopped and looked thoughtfully at Bettie Divine. There was something subtly different about her. Some small but definite change in her appearance since wed left the Unnatural Inquirer offices. It took me a moment to realise she was now wearing a large floppy hat.

Ah, said Bettie. Youve noticed. The details of my appearance are always changing. Part of my natural glamour, as the daughter of a succubus. Dont let it throw you, dear; Im always the same underneath.

How very reassuring, I said. We need somewhere quiet, to think and talk this throughsomewhere no-one will bother us. Got it. The Hawks Wind Bar and Grille isnt far from here.

I know it! said Bettie, clapping her little hands together delightedly. The spirit of the sixties! Groovy, baby!

Youre like this all the time, arent you? I said.

Of course!

I will make your Editor pay for this

Lot of people say that, said Bettie Divine.

The Hawks Wind Bar & Grille started out as a swinging caf&#233; and social watering hole for all the brightest lights of the 1960s. Everyone who was anyone made the scene at the Hawks Wind, to plot and deal and spread the latest gossip. It was wild and fabulous, and almost too influential for its own good. It burned down in 1970, possibly self-immolation in protest at the splitting up of the Beatles, but it was too loved and revered to stay dead for long. It came back as a ghost, the spirit of a building haunting its own location. Peoples belief keeps it real and solid, and these days it serves as a repository for all that was best of the sixties.

You can get brands of drink and food and music that havent existed for forty years in the rest of the world at the Hawks Wind Bar & Grille, and famous people from the sixties are always dropping in, through various forms of Time travel, and other less straightforward means. Its not for everyone, but then, what is?

I pushed open the Hindu latticed front door and led the way in. Bettie gasped and oohed at the psychedelic patterns on the walls, the rococo Day-Glo neon signs, and the Pop Art posters of Jimi, Che, and Timothy Leary. The air was thick with the scents of jasmine, joss sticks, and what used to be called jazz cigarettes. A complicated steel contraption hissed loudly in one corner as it pumped out several different colours of steam and dispensed brands of coffee with enough caffeine to blow the top of your head clean off. Hawks Wind coffee could wake the dead, or at least keep them dancing for hours. I sat Bettie down at one of the Formica-covered tables and lowered myself cautiously onto the rickety plastic chair.

Revolving coloured lights made pretty patterns across walls daubed in swirls of primary colours, while a juke-box the size of a Tardis pumped out one groovy hit after another, currently the Four Tops Reach Out, Ill Be There. Which has always sounded just a bit sinister to me, for a love song. All around us sat famous faces from the Past, Present, and Futures, most there to just dig the scene. Bettie swivelled back and forth in her chair, trying to take it all in at once.

Dont stare, I said. People will think youre a reporter.

But this is so amazing! said Bettie, all but bouncing up and down in her chair. Ive never been here before. Heard about it, of course, butpeople like me never get to come to places like this. We only get to write about them. Didnt I hear this place had been destroyed?

Oh, yes, I said. Several times. But it always comes back. You cant keep a good ghost down, not when so many people believe in it.

The juke-boxs music changed to Manfred Manns Ha! Ha! Said the Clown. Go-Go girls, wearing only handfuls of glued-on sequins, danced wildly in golden cages suspended from the ceiling. At a nearby table, a collection of secret agents exchanged passwords and cheerful tall tales, while playing ostentatiously casual one-upmanship with their latest gadgetspens and shoes that were communication devices, watches that held strangling wires and lasers, umbrellas that were also sword-sticks. One agent actually blinked on and off as he demonstrated his invisibility bracelet. Not far away, the Travelling Doctor, the Strange Doctor, and the Druid Doctor were deep in conference. Presumably some Cosmic Maguffin had gone missing again. And there were the King and Queen of America, smiling and waving, as they passed through.

A tall and splendid waitress dressed in a collection of pink plastic straps and thigh-high white plastic boots strode over to our table to take our order. Her impressive bust bore a name badge with the initials EV. She leaned forward over the table, the better to show off her amazing cleavage.

Save it for the tourists, Phred, I said kindly. What are you doing working here? The monster-hunting business gone slack?

She shrugged prettily. You know how it is, John. My work is always seasonal, and a girl has to eat. You wait till the trolls start swarming again in the Underground and see how fast they remember my phone number. Now, what can I do you for? Weve got this amazing green tea in from Tibet, though its a bit greasy; or weve got some freshly baked fudge brownies that will not only open your doors of perception, but blow the bloody things right off their hinges.

Just two Cokes, I said firmly.

You want curly-wurly straws with that?

Of course, I said. Its all part of the experience.

Excuse me, said Bettie, but why does he call you Phred, when your initials are EV? What does the EV stand for?

Ex-Virgin, said Phred. And I stand for pretty much anything.

And off she went to get our order, swaying her hips through the packed tables perhaps just a little more than was strictly necessary.

You know the most interesting people, John, said Bettie.

I grinned. Let us concentrate on the matter at hand. What can you tell me about the guy who originally offered to sell you the Afterlife Recording?

All anyone knows is the name, Pen Donavon, said Bettie, frowning prettily as she concentrated. No-one in the offices has ever met him; our only contact has been by phone. He called out of the blue and almost got turned away. We get a lot of crank calls. But he was very insistent, and once we realised he was serious, he got bumped up to Scoop, who in turn passed him on to the Editor, who made the deal for exclusive rights.

For a whole lot of money, I said. Doesnt that strike you as odd, given that no-one ever met Donavon, or even glimpsed what was on the DVD?

We had to pin the rights down before he went somewhere else! Trust me, the paper will make more money out of this story than Donavon will ever see.

Do you at least have his address?

Of course! Bettie said indignantly. Weve already checked; he isnt there. Skipped yesterday, owing two weeks rent.

We need to go there anyway, I said patiently. There may be clues.

Ooh, clues! Bettie said delightedly. Goody! Ive never seen a clue.

She opened up a large leather purse, which I would have sworn she wasnt carrying before, and rummaged around in it for her address book. The purse seemed to be very full and packed with all kinds of interesting things. Bettie caught me looking, and grinned.

Mace spray, with added holy water. Skeleton keys, including some made from real bones. And a couple of smoke grenades, to cover a quick exit. A demon girl reporter has to be prepared for all kinds of things, sweetie.

We went to Pen Donavons place. It wasnt far. Bettie stuck close beside me. She wasnt too keen on appearing in public, given some of the stories shed written. Apparently while celebrities tended to take such things in their stride, their fans could be downright dangerous.

Relax, I said. No-ones going to look at you while Im here.

You do seem to attract a lot of attention, Bettie agreed, peering out from under her large floppy hat, which was now a completely different colour. Its really fascinating, the way people react to your presence. I mean, theres fear, obviously, and even an element of panic; but some people look at you in awe, as though you were a king, or a god. You really have done most of the things people say, havent you?

I shall neither confirm nor deny, I said. Lets just say I get around, and leave it at that.

And you and Shotgun Suzie?

Are off-limits. Dont go there.

She smiled at me dazzlingly. Cant blame a girl for trying, darling.

It turned out Pen Donavon had a small apartment over a pokey little junk shop, one more in a row of shabby, grubby establishments offering the usual dreams and damnations at knocked-down prices. The kind of area where the potential customers scurry along with their heads bowed, so they wont have to make eye contact with anyone. Pen Donavons establishment boasted the grandiose name Objets du Temps Perdu, a literary allusion that was no doubt wasted on most of his clientele. I wasnt entirely sure I got it myself.

Bettie and I peered through the streaky, fly-specked window. It appeared that Donavon specialised in the kind of weird shit that turns up in the Nightside, through the various Timeslips that are always opening and closing. Lost objects and strange artifacts, from other times and dimensions. All the obviously useful, valuable, or powerful things are snapped up the moment they appear; in fact, there are those who make a good living scavenging the Timeslips. (Though they have to be quick on their feet; theres never any telling how long a Timeslip will last, and you dont want to be caught inside it when it disappears.) But a lot of what appears often defies easy description, or analysis, and such things tend to trickle down through the mercantile community, the price dropping at every stage, until it ends up in shops like these. Things too intricate, too futuristic, or just too damned weird to be categorised, even by all the many learned authorities that the Nightside attracts like a dog gets fleas. Great discoveries, and fortunes, have been made in places like this. But not many.

I rubbed the sleeve of my trench coat against the window. It didnt help.

Well, I said. Nothing here to give the Collector any sleepless nights. Only the usual junk and debris from the various time-lines. I wouldnt give you tuppence for any of it.

Wait a minute, said Bettie. You know the Collector? Personally? WowI keep forgetting, you know all the legends of the Nightside. Whats he like?

Vain, obsessive, and very dangerous, I said.

Oh, that is so cool. I never get to meet any legends. I just write about them.

Best way, I said. Theyd only disappoint you in person.

Like you? said Bettie.

Exactly.

The window display did its best to show off odd bits of future technology, most of which might or might not have been entirely complete, along with oddly shaped things that might have been Objects of Power, alien artifacts or relics of lost histories. Carpets that might fly, eggs that might hatch, puzzle-boxes that might open if only you could find the right operating Words. No price tags on anything, of course. Bargaining was everything, in a place like this.

The sign on the door said CLOSED. I tried the door, and it opened easily. No bell rang as we entered. There was no sign of any shop assistant, or customers, and the state of the place suggested there hadnt been any for some time. The gloomy interior was so still and silent you could practically hear the dust falling. I called out, in case anyone might still be skulking somewhere, but no-one answered. My voice sounded flat in the quiet, as though the nature of the place discouraged loud noises. Bettie dubiously studied some of the things set out on glass shelves, wrinkling her perfect nose at some of the more organic specimens, while I went behind the counter to check out the till. It was the old-fashioned type, with heavy brass push keys, and pop-up prices. It opened easily, revealing drawers empty save for a handful of change. Beside the till was a letter spike with piled-up bills. I checked through them quickly; they werent so much bills as final demands, complete with threats and menaces. Clearly the shop had not been doing well.

A man with this kind of economic pressure hanging over him might well see a way out through fabricating an Afterlife Recording, and then lose his nerve when the time came to actually present it to the Unnatural Inquirer.

I found a set of stairs at the back, leading up to the overhead apartment. I insisted on going first, just in case, and Bettie crowded my back all the way up. The bare wooden steps creaked loudly, giving plenty of advance warning, but when we got to the apartment the door was already slightly ajar. I made Bettie stand back and pushed the door open with one hand. The room beyond was silent and empty of life. I stepped inside and stood by the door, looking around thoughtfully. Bettie pushed straight past me and darted round the place, checking all the rooms. No-one was home. Pen Donavons apartment was a dump, with the various sad pieces of his life scattered everywhere. There were no obvious signs that the place had already been searched. It would have been hard to tell.

The furniture was cheap and nasty, the carpet was threadbare, and the single electric light bulb didnt even have a shade. And yet the main room was dominated by a huge wide-screen television, to which had been bolted a whole bunch of assorted unfamiliar technology. The additions stood out awkwardly, with trailing wires and spiky antennae. Some of it looked like future tech, some of it alien. Lights glowed here and there, to no apparent purpose or function. Presumably it had all been brought up from the shop downstairs. I approached the television and knelt before it, careful to maintain a safe distance. Metal and mirrors, crystal and glass, and a few oily shapes that looked disturbingly organic. Up close, the stuff smelledbad. Corrupt.

Bettie produced a camera from her embroidered purse and took a whole bunch of photos. She wanted to photograph me, too, and I let her. I was busy thinking. She finally ended up bending down beside me, sniffing disparagingly.

Isnt this an absolutely awful place? Theres underwear soaking in the bath, and no-ones cleaned up in here for months. Some men shouldnt be allowed to live on their own. You dont even want to know what I found in the toilet. This television is very impressive, though. Have you ever seen anything like it?

No, I said. But then future and alien technology isnt my speciality. This could be genius, or it could be junk.

Could it have enabled the television to look in on a broadcast from the Afterlife?

Who knows? But I wouldnt touch any of it, if I were you. It looksunhealthy.

Trust me, darling. I wouldnt touch that if it offered to buy me champagne.

I straightened up, and she straightened up with me. Her knees didnt creak. I looked round the apartment again. For all the clutter, the room was still basically characterless. No paintings or posters on the walls, no personal touches like photos or prized possessions, nothing to show Donavon had ever thought of this place as home. No; it was more like a place to stay while he was passing through on his way to better things. Once he got his lucky breakI was beginning to get an idea of who Pen Donavon might be, one of those desperate dreamers, always chasing that big break, that lucky find that would make him rich and famous and change his life forever. And maybe, this time he had

I tried my gift again, hoping to pick up a ghost image of Pen Donavons past, so I could follow it as he leftbut once again the force from Outside slammed my inner eye shut the moment it started to open. I grimaced and shook my head slowly, waiting for the pain to settle. I was going to find out who was behind this, then do something about it. Something really nasty and violent.

So, what do we do now? said Bettie, who, despite everything Id said, persisted on looking at me like I had all the answers.

When faced with serious questions of a religious nature, theres only one place to go, I said. And that is the Street of the Gods. If only because they always have the best gossip.

We took the Underground train. There are other ways of getting to the Street of the Gods, but the train is by far the safest. Bettie and I descended into the Underground system and strode through the cream-tiled tunnels covered in the usual graffiti, not all of it in human languages. CTHULHU DOES IT IN HIS SLEEP, was a new addition, along with THE EYES OF WALKER ARE UPON YOU. Bettie went to pay for our tickets, and I stopped her.

Its all right, darling! she said. When you work for the Unnatural Inquirer, we pay for everything!

I dont pay, I said. I gestured at the ticket machine, and it opened obediently to let us pass. I smiled just a little smugly at Bettie. Payment for an old case. One of the trains had gone rogue; people got on and then it wouldnt let them get off again. You could hear the trapped passengers beating helplessly on the walls, screaming for help.

What happened? said Bettie, her eyes wide. What did you do?

I frightened the train, I said. And it let everyone go.

I shall never look at a train in the same way again, said Bettie.

We went down to the platform, giving the various buskers a wide berth. Especially the one singing four part harmonies with himself. Its one thing to drop a few coins in a hat, because the wheel turns for all of us, but it isnt always wise to listen to the music they play. Music really can have charms in the Nightside.

The platform was crowded, as usual. Half a dozen members of the Tribe of Gay Barbarians, standing around looking tough with their leathers and long swords, complete with shaved legs, pierced nipples, and heavy face make-up. A silverback gorilla wore an exquisitely cut formal suit, complete with top hat, cane, and a monocle screwed firmly into one eye. A Grey alien wearing fishnet stockings and suspenders, passing out tracts. And a very polite Chinese demon, sipping hot steaming blood from a thermos. The usual crowd.

The destination board offered the usual possibilities: SHADOWS FALL, HACELDAMA, STREET OF THE GODS. There are other destinations, other possibilities, but you have to go down into the deeper tunnels for those; and not everyone who goes down that far comes back up again.

A train roared in, right on time. A long, silvery bullet, preceded by a blast of approaching air that smelled of other places. The carriages were solid steel tubes, with only the heavily reinforced doors standing out. No windows. To get to its various destinations, the train had to travel through certain intervening dimensions; and none of them were the kinds of places where youd want to see what was outside. The door hissed open, and Bettie and I stepped into the nearest carriage. The seats were green leather, and the steel walls were reassuringly thick and heavy. No-one else wanted to get into our carriage, despite the crowd on the platform.

The trip to the Street of the Gods was mostly uneventful. The few things that attacked us couldnt get in, and the dents in the steel walls had mostly smoothed themselves out again by the time the train pulled into the station. Bettie was still laughing and chattering as we made our way up the elevators to the Street of the Gods. You learn to take such things in your stride in the Nightside.

On the Street of the Gods, you can find a Church to pretty much anything that anyone has ever believed in. They stretched away forever, two long rows of organised worship, where the gods are always at home to callers. Prayers are heard here, and answered, so it pays to be careful what you say. You never know who might be listening. The most important Beings get the best spots, while everyone else fights it out for location in a Darwinian struggle for survival. Sometimes I think the whole Nightside runs on irony.

Most of the Beings on the Street of the Gods didnt want to talk to me. In fact, most of them hid inside their churches behind locked and bolted doors and refused to come out until Id gone. Understandable; they were still rebuilding parts of the Street from the last time Id been here. But there are always some determined to show those watching that they arent afraid of anyone, so a few of the more up-and-coming Beings sauntered casually over to chat with me. A fairly ordinary-looking priest who said he was the newly risen Dagon. Stack! The Magnificient; a more or less humanoid alien who claimed to be slumming it from a higher dimension. And the Elegant Profundity, a guitar-carrying avatar from the Church of Clapton, who was so laid-back he was practically horizontal. The small and shifty God of Lost Things hung around, evasive as always. None of them professed to know anything about a broadcast from the Afterlife, let alone a DVD recording. Most of them were quite intrigued by the thought.

It cant be authentic, said Dagon. I mean, were in the business of faith, not hard evidence. And if there had ever been a broadcast from the Hereafter, wed have heard about it long before this.

And just the idea of recording one is sotacky, Stack! said, folding his four green arms across his sunken chest.

But it could be very good for business, said the Elegant Profundity, strumming a minor chord on his Rickenbacker.

The group went very thoughtful.

Theres money to be made here, said Dagon. Serious money. And theres nothing like business success to bring in bigger congregations. Everyone loves a winner.

Butif this recording should prove real, and accurate, it would provide proof of What Comes After, Stack! said. And the last thing anyone here wants is hard evidence of that. We derive our power from faith and worship. A true and actual Afterlife Recording could drive a lot of us out of business. Besides, most of Humanity isnt ready for the truth.

I regarded him thoughtfully. Are you saying you know What Comes Next?

Stack! squirmed uncomfortably, which given his rather fluid shape was a somewhat disturbing sight. Well, no, not as such. I may be from a higher dimension, but not that high.

You have to have faith, said the Elegant Profundity. Solid evidence of the true nature of Heaven or Hell would only screw up everyones life. Its one thing to suppose, quite another to know.

This whole situation raises more questions than Im comfortable with, I said. What exactly is the DVD a recording of? Have there always been broadcasts from Heaven and Hell, and we never knew? And who were the broadcasts aimed at?

Each other? said Bettie. Maybe they just like tokeep in touch.

But then why has no-one ever intercepted one of these broadcasts before? I said. Why should it suddenly turn up on someones television set, no matter how much works been done to it? And if anyone here so much as mentions moving in a mysterious way, I shall get cranky. Quite seriously and violently cranky.

If there were such communications, on a regular basis, we would know about it, Dagon said firmly. Its our job to provide mysteries and wonder, not grubby little facts.

But what if it is true, Stack! said wistfully. Was this interception of the broadcast a mistake, or deliberate? Are we supposed to know, at last? And who or what is behind it; and what could they hope to gain?

Money, probably, said the Elegant Profundity, and everyone nodded solemnly.

Maybe we should all do our own DVDs, Stack! said. Cant risk falling behindLets face it, you cant have too much publicity.

Sure, said the Elegant Profundity. Ive been releasing CDs on a regular basis ever since I got here. Rock and Roll Heaven wont build itself, you know.

Yes, yes! said Bettie Divine. The Unnatural Inquirer could give away a new DVD every week, with the Sunday edition! Build your own collection!

We dont want the faithful sitting at home in front of their televisions, Dagon said firmly. We want them here, in our Churches.

We already sell religious statues, and reliquaries, and blessed artifacts, Stack! said reasonably. DVDs are the future. For now. Does anyone here know about this Extra Definition thing?

New formats are the invention of the Devil, said the Elegant Profundity. Hes always been big on temptation. But people would pay through the nose for teachings direct from their God! And even second-hand faith is better than none.

Royalty cheques outweigh collection plates any day, Stack! said. I want you all to concentrate on one word: franchise

Oh, come on! said Dagon. Wheres that going to lead, the McChurch? Youll be talking about bringing in image consultants and focus groups next.

Why not? Stack! replied. We have to move with the times. Faith is fine, but wealth lasts longer.

Heretic! said Dagon, and punched Stack! out with a very unpriestly left hook.

I took Bettie firmly by the arm, and we hurried away. Believers were coming running from all directions, eager to join the fray, and you really dont want to get caught in the middle of a religious war on the Street of the Gods. Especially not when the smiting starts. Someone always ends up throwing lightning bolts, and then its bound to escalate. We headed back to the Underground station, discussing what we knew about previous attempts to communicate with the Other Side, so we wouldnt have to listen to the rising sounds of conflict and unpleasantness behind us.

It was already raining frogs.

Surprisingly, Marconi is supposed to be the first man to use technology to try and make contact with the Hereafter, I said. Some sources claim he only invented radio because he was trying to find a way to talk to his dead brother. There are even those who say he succeeded; though reports of what he heard aredisturbing.

Then there are people who approach dying people in hospitals, said Bettie. And persuade them to memorise messages from a bereaved family, to pass on to people already dead. Theres usually money involvedto pay hospital bills or look after the dying persons family. The Unnatural Inquirer paid good money for a dozen messages to Elvis, but we never got a reply. What was that?

Dont look back, I said. Then there are the Death-walkers. A disturbing bunch of action philosophers with a very hands-on approach to the Near Death Experience. They kill themselves, a necromancer holds them on the very brink for a while, and then he brings them back to life. The briefly departed are then questioned on what they saw, and who they spoke to, while they were dead. Ive read some of the transcripts.

And?

Either the dead lie a lot, or they have a really nasty sense of humour.

I once did a piece on people who hear messages on radios trained to dead stations, or tape recorders left running in empty rooms, said Bettie. I listened to a whole bunch of recordings, but I cant say I was convinced. Its all hiss and static, and something that might be voices, if you wanted it badly enough. Its like Rorschach ink-blots, where people see shapes that arent really there. You hear what you want to hear. Was that a Church blowing up?

Its the pillars of salt that worry me, I said. Just keep walking and talking.

Then theres psychic imprinting, said Bettie, staring determinedly straight ahead. You know, when a person stares at a blank piece of film and makes images appear. I did this marvellous piece on a man who could make naughty pictures appear on bathroom tiles, from two rooms away! The paper did a full colour supplement on most of them. You could only get the full set by mail order, under plain cover.

Psychic imprinting is more common than most people like to think, I said. Thats where most ghost images come from. And genius loci, where bad things happening poisons the surroundings, to produce Bad Places. Like Fun Faire.

Wait just a minute, darling, said Bettie. I heard about what just happened there! Was that you?

I simply smiled.

Oh, poo! Youre no fun at all sometimes.

That augmented television set bothers me, I said. Could Pen Donavon have accidentally invented something that allowed him to Listen In, however briefly, on something Humanity was never supposed to know about? Stranger things have happened, and most of them right here in the Nightside. This place has always attracted rogue scientists and very free thinkers, come here in pursuit of the kinds of knowledge and practices that are banned everywhere else, and quite properly, too. Walker has a whole group of his people dedicated to tracking these idiots, then shutting them down, with extreme prejudice if necessary. Unless what theyre doing looks to be unusually interesting, or profitable, in which case their work gets confiscated for the greater good. Which means the scientists get to work exclusively for the Authorities, somewhere very secure, for the rest of their lives.

Except there arent any Authorities, any more, said Bettie. So who do these scientists work for now?

Good question, I said. If you ever find out

Youll 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 theres rarely any proof. Youre right there in the thick of things. Must be such fun

Not always the word Id use, I said. And you are not to quote me. I dont care what you print, but Walker might. And hed be more likely to come after you than me.

Let him, Bettie said airily. The Unnatural Inquirer looks after its own. John, youre 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 Nightsides 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; wasnt 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 didnt 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 shed 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 youre on the trail of something rare and unique, the place to start is with the Collector. Hes spent the best part of his life in pursuit of the extraordinary and the uncommon, often by disreputable, underhanded, and downright dishonest means. Hes a thief and a grave-robber, a despoiler of archaeological sites, and no museum or private cabinet of curiosities is safe from him. Hes even got his own collection of weird time machines, so he can loot and ransack the Past of all its choicest items. If theres a gap in history where something important ought to be, you can bet the Collectors been there. Hes 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 wont rest till hes tracked it down.

Bettie looked actually awe-struck. The CollectorOh, wow. The papers been trying to get an interview with him for years. Mind you, half the people you talk to swear hes 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, anythings possible, I said. Except maybe that last one.

There are those who say the two of you have a history, Bettie said guilelessly.

If youre 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 dont do on the record.

Oh, poo, said Bettie. And then she smiled dazzlingly. Doesnt matter. I have a quite remarkable memory. And what I cant remember, Ill make up. So, tell me all about the Collector. How did you meet?

He was an old friend of my fathers, I said.

Bettie frowned. Butsome of the stories say hes your mortal enemy?

That, too, I said. Thats the Nightside for you.

Wheres he based these days? Bettie said casually.

I grinned. That really would be a scoop for you, wouldnt 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 Idropped in, for a little visit.

Couldnt 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.

Stillyouve 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 hes your mortal enemy!

Not always, I said. Itscomplicated.

Bettie shrugged easily and slipped her arm through mine. My first impulse was to pull away, but I didnt. Her arm felt good where it was. I looked at her thoughtfully, but shed given up on grilling me for the moment and was looking interestedly about her.

I dont think Ive ever been this deep into Uptown. You dont come here unless you are almost obscenely wealthy. Ill 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 dont mess around, do you?

If anyone knows where the Collector hangs his hat these days, itll 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 meanWalker, 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 doesnt like the look of them? That Walker? There is a definite limit as to how far Im prepared to go for this story, and annoying Walker is right there at the top of my list of Things Not To Do.

Youll be fine, as long as youre with me. I tried hard to sound calm and confident. Hell talk to me. Partly because Walker is another old friend of my fathers. Partly because hes an old friend of the Collector. But mostly because I shall dazzle him with my charming personality.

Maybe Ill stay outside while you talk to him, said Bettie.

I grinned at her and noticed abruptly that she wasnt 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, WalkerThat man is seriously scary. Hes disappeared at least nine of the Unnatural Inquirers reporters because they were getting too close to something he didnt 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 dont want to be disappeared, John! It would be very bad for my career. Promise me youll 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. Youll be fine. I can handle Walker.

I dont 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. Ive always known that. And so has he.

We like each other. Weve saved each others lives. Its complicated. Its 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 hell be. Where he always is at this time. Taking tea at his Gentlemans Club.

Walker belongs to a club? said Bettie. Result, darling! A definite exclusive! Which club?

There is only one club for those of Walkers exalted position, I said. The oldest and most exclusive club in the Nightside. The Londinium Club.

Bettie looked sharply at me. Butthat was destroyed. During the Lilith War. We published photos. That was where the Authorities were killed. And eaten.

Quite right, I said. But its back. Word is, the Club rebuilt itself. Any building thats survived everything the Nightside can throw at it for over two thousand years isnt going to let a little thing like being destroyed in a war slow it down.

Oh, said Bettie. Do you mind that Im holding your arm?

No, I said. I dont mind.

The last time Id seen the Londinium Club, during the height of the Lilith War, it had been one hell of a mess. The magnificent Roman fa&#231;ade 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 Clubs 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 fa&#231;ade. Which Id always found rather crude, to be honest. There was a new Doorman, however. It seemed the Club could only restore itself, and not those whod died defending it. Just as well, really. A lot of the Clubs 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 Betties 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 thisperson, are not Members in good standing. Therefore, you have no business being here.

Wrong, I said. Im 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 dont think so, I said. Being faced down by a little snot like you would be bad for my reputation. One last chancego and tell Walker Im here.

Leave, said the Doorman. You are not welcome here. You will never be welcome here.

Just once, Id love to do this the easy way, I said wistfully. Now step aside, fart face, or Ill 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 wasnt actually sneering at me, he wouldnt lower himself that much; but it felt like he was. And I couldnt 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 couldnt 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. Were 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 wasnt a very nice thing to do, sweetie. He was only doing his job. Im not sure I want you holding my arm any more.

Suit yourself, I said. I dont always have time for nice. Or the inclination.

Youre full of surprises, arent you?

You have no idea, I said.

The huge door swung open before us. Just as well; Id had something particularly unpleasant and destructive in mind in case it hadnt. 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 Id been here thered been blood and bodies everywhere, but youd 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.

Youve been here before, said Bettie, her voice hushed for once by the sheer presence of the place.

Ive been everywhere before, I said. Mind you, Ive also been thrown out of practically everywhere, at one time or another.

Ive never seen anything like this

Dont let it get to you. For all the Clubs opulence, you couldnt 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. Hed 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. Its 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 didnt give a damn who overheard them. They smiled and nodded and were polite enough, and youd never know they were deadly rivals whod happily slaughter each other at the first sign of weakness. This was politics, after all, and there were rules of etiquette to follow. Yesterdays enemy might be tomorrows 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. Walkers the smart city gent. The older gentleman to his left in the military uniform is General Condor. The revolting specimen to Walkers 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 lets see if you read anything more than the gossip columns. What can you tell me about Walkers guests?

Bettie smiled, glad of a chance to show off her reporters 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 doesnt approve of us. A very upright and moral man, is our General. Since he arrived here hed 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 Inquirers 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 didnt look to be an ounce of give in him.

Id run into him a few times, here and there. He didnt 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 couldnt 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 isnt shy about using it to get his own way. Word is he cant 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 wouldnt recognise them if he fell over them in the gutter. The man was born a cheap thug, and hell never change. The Inquirers run any number of expos&#233;s on him and said all kinds of nasty things, but hes rich enough that he doesnt 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 couldnt conceal his many rolls of fat, any more than his current polite expression could hide his cold piggy eyes or cruel mouth. Taffy didnt 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.

Hed tried to have me killed on several occasions. I didnt 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 its 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 theres 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, butOdd that a Queen should be travelling alone, dont you think? Anyway, shes 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. Shes 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 wouldnt have been able to tell me that much. Youre not just a pretty face, are you?

She smiled easily. I was wondering how long the wide-eyed act would fool you. You dont get to be one of the Unnatural Inquirers top reporters by batting your eyes and simpering at people. Though youd be surprised how far that can get you, even with important people. Men are such simple, basic creatures, bless them. For the others, its 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 werent fooled by the act for one minute, were you?

Its 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 Generals 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 Walkers face. The Nightside cant continue as it hasa haven for all human depravity and weakness. Itll 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 WarLeft 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 shouldnt 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 theyre gone now. Along with their blinkered preoccupation with trade and profit. Its 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 cant get anywhere else. The things civilised people arent supposed to want, but do anyway. And theyll pay through the nose for it, every time. Keep your rigid morality to yourself, General. We dont need simpleminded do-gooders coming in from outside and meddling with a system thats worked fine for thousands of years.

The man has a point, General, said Walker. Its hard to argue with success.

All the things Ive seen here, said the General, the marvels and wonders, the amazing achievements, the incredible possibilitiesIf you would only work together instead of cutting each others throats over a pennys profits, the things you could doThe Nightside could become the pinnacle of human civilisation! Instead of the moral cesspit it is now. You could all be gods if youd only throw off the chains that hold you back!

Not everyone wants to be a god, said Walker. In fact, Id say we already have far too many. Ive been thinking about ordering a cullToo many Chiefs only confuse the Indians. Wouldnt 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 didnt 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 dont 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 doesnt back us up. And we can raise armies, if necessary, to defend what is ours.

I have led armies, said General Condor. Theres 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.

Why risk your armies, and your life, to secure a city, when you already have a world of your own?

Queen Helena smiled back at him coldly, her blue-tinged lips drawing back to reveal perfect sharp teeth. I like it here. Its warm.

Ice melts when the going gets hot, said Taffy.

You dare? Queen Helena stood up, glaring down at them all. Strange metallic shapes surfaced in the blue-white flesh of her arms. Silver-grey barrels targeted Taffy and the General.

Thats enough! Walker didnt stand up. He didnt need to. He was using the Voice. Put your weapons away, Helena.

The Queen of the Evening shook and shuddered, her lips drawing back in a frustrated grimace, as she fought the Voice and failed. The implanted technology sank back into her arms, bluish skin closing seamlessly over it. She snarled furiously at Walker, a fierce, animal sound, then she turned abruptly and stalked away. Servants hurried to get out of her way. General Condor and Uptown Taffy Lewis rose to their feet, bowed stiffly to Walker, and then they left, too, careful to maintain a respectful distance between them. Perhaps they were worried Walker would use the Voice on them. He watched them go thoughtfully, and then turned unhurriedly in his chair and looked right at me.

Ill see you now, Taylor.

I nodded and smiled, and moved unhurriedly forward to join him at his table. Bettie stuck close to my side.

How did he know we were there? she whispered.

Hes Walker, I said.

Bettie and I sat down in the newly vacated seats, facing Walker. He looked perfectly calm and at ease in his elegant city suit, his public school tie neatly tied in a Windsor knot. He didnt seem particularly pleased to see me, but then he rarely did.

Nicely played, I said. You set them at each others throats without once having to make clear your own position. Its always good to see a real professional at work.

Walker smiled briefly and turned his attention to Bettie. I see we have a representative of the Press with us. And a more charming example than most. I feel I should warn you that recording devices wont function inside the Club. And I am very definitely not available for an interview. Ive read some of your work, Miss Divine. You show promise. Im sure youll make a name for yourself once you get a job at a real newspaper.

Bettie smiled widely, almost overwhelmed that Walker had heard of her and was familiar with her work. I could have told her; Walker knows everyone.

Looks like the vultures are gathering over the Nightside, I said. Would I be right in thinking that people are being encouraged to choose sides? Whether they want to or not?

Which side would you be on, Taylor, if push came to shove? said Walker.

My side, I said.

Walker nodded slightly. And perhaps it was only my imagination that he looked a little disappointed in me.

Youve heard about the Afterlife Recording? I said. Of course you have. Its gone missing, and Ive been hired to find it.

Then find it quickly, said Walker. Before forces from Above or Below decide to get involved. The last time that happened was a disaster for all of us.

I wish everyone would stop looking at me like the angel war was all my fault!

It was, said Walker.

Can I quote you? said Bettie.

No, said Walker. What do you want from me, Taylor?

I want to know where the Collector is hiding out these days, I said. If anyone knows anything about the Afterlife Recording, it will be him. Thats if he hasnt already got his fat sweaty hands on it, of course.

Of course, said Walker. Mark never could resist the challenge of the chaseVery well. The Collector is currently hiding his collection inside another collection. To be exact, inside the Museum of Unnatural History.

An exclusive! said Bettie, beaming happily.

Not for long, said Walker. Hell move again once hes been found. Poor Mark.

You know the Collector personally? said Bettie. Is that how you know where hes been hiding?

I know where everyone is, said Walker. Thats my job.

Do you know where the offices of the Unnatural Inquirer are located?

Yes.

Ah, said Bettie Divine. Then Id better contact the Sub-Editor and tell him to tone down tomorrows editorial.

I would, said Walker. He looked back at me. I cant speak for what kind of reception you can expect from Mark. The three of us might have worked together to end the Lilith War, but you cant rely on that to mean anything. His collection is all that really matters to him these days. Hes come a long way from the man I and your father once knew. Dont turn your back on him.

I considered the point. Can I say you sent me?

Walker shrugged. If you think itll do any good. Find the Recording, John. And then, if youve got any sense, destroy it.

The Unnatural Inquirer owns exclusive rights to the Afterlife Recording! Bettie said immediately.

There is that, said Walker. Certainly I couldnt think of a better way to discredit it.

Bettie started to say something else, but I took her firmly by the elbow, levered her up out of her chair, nodded quickly to Walker and moved her off towards the door. She made a show of fighting me, but I could tell she was glad of a way to leave Walker without losing face.

The way you and he talked, she said, as we walked across the lobby. You two are close, arent you? I never knew that. I dont think anyone doesTheres a lot going on there that youre not telling me.

Of course, I said. Im protecting you.

From what?

From never being able to sleep again.

We left the Londinium Club, and strolled unhurriedly through the sleazy streets of the Nightside. Amber light from the street-lamps was easily shouldered aside by the fierce electric colours of the flashing neon signs, and the grubby pavements were crowded with preoccupied, anxious figures, all intent on their own private dreams and damnations. Sweet sounds and madder music blasted out of the open doors of clubs where the fun never stopped, and you could dance till you dropped. Brazen windows showed off all the latest temptations, barkers boasted of the attractions to be found inside for the discerning patron, and sin went walking openly down the street in the very latest fuck-me shoes.

The traffic roared past, never slowing, never stopping, because it wasnt there for us.

Visiting the Londinium Clubs dining-room had made me peckish, so I stopped at a concession stand and treated Bettie and me to something wriggling on a stick. The meat was sharp and spicy, and just a bit crunchy.

Would I regret it if I was to ask exactly what this is that Im eating? said Bettie, as we continued down the street.

Almost certainly, I said cheerfully.

Then I wont ask. Am I supposed to eat the head, too?

If you want.

But its looking at me!

Then eat it from the other end.

You really know how to show a girl a good time, Taylor.

We walked a while in silence, chewing thoughtfully.

Ive never been to the Museum of Unnatural History, Bettie said finally. I always meant to go and take a look at what theyve got there. I understand they have some really interesting exhibits. But its not really me. I dont do the educational thing.

Theyve got a Tyrannosaurus rex, I said.

Bettie threw away her stick and looked at me. What, the complete skeleton?

No, in a cage.

Her eyes widened. Wow; a real T. rex! I wonder what they feed it

People who litter, probably.

The Museum of Unnatural History is very modern-looking. The French may have a glass pyramid outside the Louvre, but we have a glass tesseract. An expanded cube that exists in four spatial dimensions. A bit hard on the eyes, but a small price to pay for style. The tesseract isnt merely the entrance to the Museum, it contains the whole thing inside its own very private and secure pocket dimension. The Museum needs a whole dimension to itself, to contain all the wonders and marvels it has accumulated down the years; from the Past, the Present, and any number of Future time-lines.

I walked steadily forward into the glass tesseract, Bettie clinging firmly to my arm again, and almost immediately we were standing in the Museums entrance lobby. I say almost immediately; there was a brief sensation of falling, of alien voices howling all around, and a huge eye turning slowly to look in our directionbut you tend to take things like that in your stride in the Nightside. The lobby itself was quaintly and pleasantly old-fashioned. All polished oak and brass and Victorian fittings, marble floors with built-in mosaics, and any number of wire stands packed with books and pamphlets and learned volumes on sale, inspired by the many famous (or currently fashionable) exhibits. Once again the ticket barrier opened itself for me, and Bettie looked at me, impressed.

This is even better than having an expense account. Did you do something important for the Museum, too?

No, I said. I think theyre just scared of me.

The uniformed staff were all Neanderthalsbig and muscular, with hairy hands, low brows, and chinless jaws filled with large blocky teeth. The deep-set eyes were kind, but distant. Neanderthals performed all the menial work in the Museum, in return for not being exhibits. They were also in charge of basic security, and rumour had it they were allowed to eat anyone they caught. I asked one to take us to the Director of the Museum, and he hooted softly before beckoning us to follow him. He had a piercing in one ear, and a badge on his lapel saying UNIONISE NOW!

He led us deep into the Museum, and Betties head swung back and forth, trying to take in everything at once. I was almost as bad. The Museum really does have something for everyone. A miniature blue whale, presented in a match-box, to give it some scale. I wondered vaguely how it would taste on toast. More disturbingly, half of one wall was taken up with a Victorian display of stuffed and mounted wee winged fairies, pinned through the abdomen. Only a few inches tall, the fairies were perfectly formed, their stretched-out wings glued in place and showing off all the delicate colours of a soap bubble. They had many-faceted insect eyes, and vicious barbed stingers hung down between their toothpick legs. In the next room there were tall glass jars containing fire-flies and iceflies, mermaids with monkey faces, and a display of alien genitalia through the ages. Bettie got the giggles.

On a somewhat larger scale, one whole room was taken up with a single great diorama featuring the fabled last battle between Man and Elf. The dozens of full-sized figures were very impressive. The Men, in their spiked and greaved armour, looked brave and heroic, while the Fae looked twisted and evil. Which was pretty much the way it was, by all accounts. There was a lot of blood and gore and severed limbs, but I suppose you need that these days to bring in the tourists. Another huge diorama showed a pack of werewolves on the prowl, under a full moon. Each figure showed a different stage of the transformation, from man to wolf. They all looked unnervingly real; but up close there was a definite smell of sawdust and preservatives.

Another group of figures showed a pack of ghouls, teaching a human changeling child how to feed as they did. The Museum of Unnatural History presented such things without comment. History is what it is and not what we would have it be.

There were a fair number of people around, but the place wasnt what youd call crowded, despite all the wonders and treasures on display. People dont tend to come to the Nightside for such intellectual pleasures. And tourisms been right down since the recent wars. The Museum is said to be heavily subsidised, but I couldnt tell you who by. Most of the exhibits are donated; the Museum certainly didnt have the budget to buy them.

The uniformed Neanderthal finally brought us to the Museums current pride and joy, the Tyrannosaurus rex. The cage theyd made to hold it was huge, a good three hundred feet in diameter and a hundred feet high. The bars were reinforced steel, but the cages interior had been made over into a reconstruction of the T. rexs time, to make it feel at home. The cage contained a primordial jungle, with vast trees and luxurious vegetation, under a blazing sun. The illusion was perfect. The terrible heat didnt pass beyond the bars, but a gusting breeze carried out the thick and heavy scents of crushed vegetation, rotting carrion, and even the damp smells of a nearby salt flat. I could even hear the buzzing of oversized flies and other insects. The trees were tall and dark, with drooping serrated leaves, and what ground I could see was mostly mud, stamped flat.

But it was all dominated by the tyrant king himself, Tyrannosaurus rex. It towered above us, almost as tall as the trees, much bigger than Id expected. It stood very still, half-hidden amongst the shadows of rotting vegetation, watching us through the bars. There was a definite sense of weight and impact about it, as though the ground itself would shake and shudder when it moved. Its scales were a dull grey-green, splashed here and there with the dried blood of recent kills. It panted loudly through its open mouth, revealing jagged teeth like a sharks. The small gripping arms high up on the chest didnt seem ridiculous at all, when seen full size. I had no doubt they could tear me apart in a moment. But it was the eyes that troubled me the most; set far back in the ugly wedge-shaped head, they were sharp and knowingand they hated. They looked right at me, and they knew me. This was no mere animal, no simple savage beast. It knew it was a prisoner, and it knew who was responsible; and it lived for the moment when it would inevitably break free and take a terrible revenge.

How the hell did they get hold of a T. rex? said Bettie, her voice unconsciously hushed.

You should read your own paper more often, I said. There was a sudden invasion of dinosaurs through a Timeslip, earlier this year. Some fifty assorted beasts got through, before Walker sent in an emergency squad to shut down the Timeslip. Most of the creatures were killed pretty quickly; the members of the Nightside Gun Club couldnt believe their luck. They came running with every kind of gun you can think of, and the dinosaurs never stood a chance, poor bastards. The only reason the T. rex survived was because the big-game hunters spent too long squabbling over who had the right to go first. Walker claimed it for the Museum before they started a shooting war over it.

How did they get it here? said Bettie, standing very close to me. I mean, look at it; that is big. Seriously big. There cant be that many tranquilliser darts in the world.

Walker had one of his pet sorcerers put the thing in stasis while the Museum got its accommodations ready. Then the sorcerer transported it right into its cage. The Japanese have been pouring in to have their photographs taken with it ever since.

While we were watching the T. rex, and it was watching us, the uniformed Neanderthal had gone off and found the Museums Director. He turned out to be one Percival Smythe-Herriot, a tall spindly figure in a shiny suit, with some of his breakfast still staining his waistcoat. He stamped to a halt before me and gave both Bettie and me a brief, professional, and utterly meaningless smile. He didnt offer to shake hands. He had a lean and hungry look, as though he was always ready to add a new exhibit to his beloved Museum and was already wondering how I would look stuffed, mounted, and put on display.

John Taylor, he said, in a voice like someone trying to decide whether snail or octopus would make the least distressing starter. Oh, yes; I know you. Or of you. Trouble-maker. Or at the very least, someone trouble follows around like a devoted pet. Tell me what it is you want here, so I can help you find it, then escort you quickly to the nearest exit. Before something goes horribly and destructively wrong in my nice and carefully laid-out Museum.

Are you going to let him talk to you like that? said Bettie.

Yes, I said. I find his honesty and grasp of reality quite refreshing. I gave Percival my own professional smile and was quietly pleased to see him wince a little. Walker sent me. I need to talk to the Collector.

Oh, him. YesId never have let him in here, but Walker insisted. Part of the price tag for his help in acquiring the T. rex. Beware civil servants bearing giftsI mean, giving the Collector free access to a museum is like letting a fox with a chain-saw into a hen-house. Thief! Grave-robber! Amateur! All the great historical treasures hes supposed to have, kept locked away so he can gloat over them in private, when by rights they should be on open display in my Museum! It doesnt bear thinking about. My doctor told me not to think about it; he said it was bad for my blood pressure. I have to take these little pink pills, and Im always running out. Id have the Collector thrown outif I didnt think hed kill me and all my staff and burn down the Museum as he leftSo go ahead, talk to him. See if I care. Im just the Director of this Museum. I can feel one of my heads coming on

Where is the Collector? I said patiently.

For the first time, Percival gave me a real smile. It wasnt at all a nice smile, but I had no doubt he meant it.

Through there, he said, pointing at the T. rexs cage. Theres a door, right in the middle of our artificial jungle. Youll find the Collector in his lair, on the other side of the door.

Oh, joy, I said.

Deep joy, said Bettie, staring in horrified fascination at the jungle in the cage. The Collector really doesnt want visitors, does he? Why couldnt he have settled for a BEWARE OF THE DOG sign like anyone else?

I looked at Percival. I dont suppose

My position is purely administrative, he said, still smiling his nasty smile. Youre on your own, Mr. Taylor.

He turned his back on us and strode away, snapping his fingers for the Neanderthal to follow him. I gave the cage my full attention. I wasnt sure if I really needed to see the Collector that badly. I moved slowly forward, going right up to the bars of the cage for a better look. Bettie stuck really close beside me. With my face next to the bars, I could feel the savage heat of the jungle. My bare skin smarted just from the feel of it.

The T. rex surged forward, exploding out of its cover, throwing broken vegetation in all directions. It crossed the intervening space in a few seconds, driven forward by its massive legs, and its slavering mouth slammed against the other side of the bars while I was still reacting to its first movement. The bars held, and the T. rex smashed its great head against them again and again, determined to reach me. I stumbled back, Bettie clinging desperately to my arm. The T. rex howled, a deafening roar of hate and frustration. The smell of rotting meat from its mouth was almost overpowering. I backed away some more, and Bettie turned and buried her face in my chest. I put my arms around her and held her. Both of us were shaking.

The T. rex snorted once, threateningly, and then turned its great bulk around and stalked back into the jungle. The ground really did tremble when it moved.

I was still holding Bettie. We were both breathing hard. I could feel her heart beating fast, close to mine. She raised her face to look at me. Her eyes were very big. I could feel her breath on my face. Her scent filled my head. Our faces were very close. It had been a long time since Id held a woman this close to me.

It felt good.

I pushed her away gently, and immediately we were both two professional people again. I looked at the jungle. I thought I could make out the silhouette of the T. rex, lurking silently, concealed amongst the tall trees.

Big, isnt it? I said. Fast, too.

It smells of meat and murder, said Bettie. It smells of death.

Its a killer, I said.

How the hell are we going to get past it?

I looked at her. You sure you want to try?

Hell yes! No oversized iguana is going to intimidate me! Besides, never let anything distract you from following the story. First thing they teach you at the Unnatural Inquirer. Right after how to fill out an expenses claim and next-of-kin forms. She looked at me consideringly. You couldnt just kill it, could you?

I think an awful lot of very well-connected people would be exceedingly upset.

Thats never stopped you before.

True. But a T. rex is too damned special to kill unless I absolutely have to.

So what do we do? Call in some of your more dangerous friends and allies for backup? Shotgun Suzie? Razor Eddie? The Grey Eidolon?

No, I said. I solve my own problems.

I studied the artificial jungle, hot and sweaty and stinking under its artificial sun. Flies buzzed hungrily, along with foot-long dragonflies and other less familiar insects. The jungle on its own would be hard enough to take, even without the T. rex. I could see it more clearly now, shifting its weight slowly from one great leg to the other, its long tail twitching restlessly. It stood there, huge and menacing, waiting for me to try something. Waiting for its chance. There was no sign of the Collectors door; but it couldnt be far. The cage wasnt that bigI smiled slowly. The T. rex would know where the door was. It would know it was important. So it would put itself between me and the door. Which meantMy smile widened as I looked at the T. rexs massive legs, and then at the space between them.

That is a really unpleasant smile, said Bettie. Whatever youre thinking, please stop it.

I have a plan, I said.

Im really not going to like it, am I?

How fast can you run? I said.

Oh, no, she said. Youre not suggesting

Oh, yes I am, I said.

I marched back to the cage bars, Bettie moving unhappily along with me. The T. rex stepped out into the open, grinning at me with its terrible jaws. The feeding arms high up on the barrel chest clutched spasmodically at the air. I reached into my coat-pocket and took out a flashbang. I gestured for Bettie to cover her eyes and ears, then tossed the flashbang into the cage. The T. rex started forward. I closed my eyes, covered my ears, and turned my head away, and the flashbang exploded, filling the world with a fierce incandescent glare. I could still see it through my clenched-shut eyes. The T. rex screamed like a steam whistle. I turned back, grabbed Betties hand, and we squeezed quickly between the steel bars. Designed to keep the T. rex in, not people out. The T. rex stamped its great feet up and down, swinging its wedge-shaped head back and forth, trying to shake off the pain in its dazzled eyes. And I ran straight at the creature, with Bettie pounding gamely along at my side.

The heat hit me like a blast furnace, and the stench was almost unbearable. The T. rex knew we were coming, but it was too confused to place us. It snapped at the empty air, the heavy jaws slamming together like a man-trap. I headed for the gap between its legs. I think it sensed how close we were, because the great head came sweeping down. Bettie and I ran straight between its wide-set legs and out the other side, hardly having to duck at all. The T. rexs head smashed into the ground as it missed us.

By the time the T. rex had shaken off its daze and its new headache, and got itself turned around, Id already found the Collectors door and got it open. It wasnt even locked, the smug bastard. I pushed Bettie through and followed her in. I turned to shut the door, and there was the T. rex, shrieking with rage as it lurched towards the door. I blew a raspberry at it, and shut the door in its face.

Inside the Collectors lair, it was blessedly cool. I took a moment to get my breath back. I wasnt worried about the door. Any door the Collector trusted to guard his treasures could take care of itself. I looked around, while Bettie got her breathing back under control and cursed me with a whole series of baby swear-words. The Collectors new domain looked a lot like his old one. It stretched away in all directions, for as far as the eye could follow, and most of it was pretty damned hard on the eye. Walls, floor, and ceiling were all painted in bright primary Technicolor, with gaudy hanging silks to separate one area from another. The Collectors tastes had been formed in the psychedelic sixties, and he never really got over it.

But whereas his old collection up on the Moon had all been stored away in rows and rows of wooden crates, here they were all set out in the open, presented carefully on rows and rows of glass shelving. Jewels and weapons, books and documents, machines and artifacts from all of recorded history. I recognised a few of the bigger items, like the wooden horse of Troy, and a half-burned giant Wicker Man with a dead policeman inside it, under carefully arranged spotlights; but I didnt have to know what the rest were to know they were important. They all but radiated glamour.

I looked round sharply as the Collectors security staff arrived, pattering across the bright blue floor towards us. Gleaming humanoid robots from some future Chinese civilisation, graceful and deadly with steel-clawed hands, and stylised cat faces complete with jutting metal whiskers. Their slit-pupilled eyes glowed green. A dozen of the robots moved swiftly to surround us, and I gestured quickly for Bettie to stand still. The robots hadnt been sent to kill us, or Id never have heard them coming. Bettie stood firm, glaring about her.

Call them off, Collector, I said, in a loud and carrying voice. Or Ill turn them into scrap metal.

You never did have any respect for other peoples property, Taylor.

The cat robots fell back silently, to allow the Collector to approach. A pudgy, middle-aged man with a flushed face and beady little eyes, wearing a wraparound Roman toga, white with purple trimmings. There were knife holes and old blood stains on the togas front. Lots of them.

Do you like it? he said, stopping a respectful distance away. A new acquisition. The robe the Emperor Caligula was wearing when he was assassinated by his own security people. Partly because he was a monster, but mostly because he embarrassed the hell out of them. He looked at me, then at Bettie, who I now noticed was wearing a deep burgundy evening gown, with her long dark hair tumbling in ringlets to her shoulders. Her curved horns gleamed dully under the bright lights. The Collector smiled suddenly. Theyve been feeding that T. rex too much; hes getting slow and sloppy. I shall have to have words with that little snot Percival. What do you want here, Taylor?

I looked around, evading the subject for the moment. Some things you need to sneak up on, and ease into. Especially when youve known the Collector as long as I have.

I like what youve done with the place, I said. Up on the Moon, you had everything packed away in boxes. You thinking of opening up to the public?

They wish, said the Collector. Whats mine is mine, and not for other eyes. But I had something of an epiphany during the Lilith War; it reminded me of how short life can be, and the necessity for enjoying things while you still can. Its not enough just to own things, any more; I need to be able to walk amongst them, enjoy them, savour them. And I do. What do you want, Taylor?

I need a favour, I said. And you do owe me, Mark.

He looked at me for a long moment, but in the end he looked away first. He seemed suddenly older, and tired.

How much am I expected to pay for my sins against you?

I could sense Betties ears pricking up, as she realised we were talking about secret, important things, but I didnt feel like enlightening her.

Only you can answer that, I said. Just tell me what I need to know, and Ill leave.

I should kill you, he said, almost casually.

You could try, I said, easily.

This is about the Afterlife Recording, isnt it? I havent got it. Heard about it, of course. The whole damned Nightside is buzzing with news of it, mostly inaccurate, and all the little collectors and speculators are driving themselves crazy running in circles, chasing down every rumour

But not you? I said.

I want it. And when Im good and ready, Ill go and get it. But right now Im busy with somethingsomething important. I have yet to be convinced that the Recording is the genuine article. But whether its the real deal or not, I will have it, because its a unique item, and it belongs here with me, as someone who will appreciate itWhat is that woman doing?

I looked around. Bettie had a small camera in her hands. I reached out and took it away from her.

Give that back! she said hotly. It belongs to the paper! I had to sign for it!

Restrain yourself, I said. Were guests here.

Oh, but look at all the lovely things hes got, said Bettie, pouting in a very winning way. The world deserves to know whats here!

No they dont, said the Collector. He gave me a thoughtful look. Is she your latest?

No, I said. Im still with Suzie.

Oh. Nice horns. He gave me a hard look. You always were more trouble than you were worth, Taylor. You know how long it took me to regrow my leg after those insects gnawed it off? All because of you? Give me one good reason why I shouldnt have my lovely cat robots kill you, stuff you, and put you on display?

Because Im my fathers son.

You always did fight dirty, John. He smiled briefly. The sins of the father

And the mother, I said. And the man who put them together.

Walker had sons, said the Collector. Charles had you. And Ihave my collection. Funny how things turn out. Get out of here, Taylor. I dont have the Afterlife Recording, and I dont know who has. Leave. And dont come looking for me again. I wont be here.

He turned and walked away, followed by his cat robots. Bettie looked at me.

What was that all about?

The past, I said. And how it always ends up haunting the present. Lets go.

Youre sure he doesnt have it, hidden away somewhere?

He wouldnt lie to me, I said.

We headed back to the door. Bettie was still frowning thoughtfully.

Once were back in the artificial jungle, weve still got to face one very pissed-off Tyrannosaurus rex. How are we going to get past it this time?

Dont worry, I said. Ill think of something.

And I did.



FIVE - The Devils in the Details 


Back out on the Nightside streets again, we still carried the smell of the jungle with us. A harsh and murky mixture of sweat, rotting vegetation, and T. rex musk. It could have been my imagination, but people on the street seemed to be giving me even more room than usual. I felt like buying half a dozen air fresheners and hanging them round my neck. I did my best to rise above the situation, while debating what to do next with the delightful Bettie Divine.

I still dont get it, she said, a bit pettishly. She was holding my arm again. Why isnt the Collector out chasing round the Nightside, trying to grab the Afterlife Recording for himself? He said he wanted it.

He also said he was busy with something, I said. Odd, that; he didnt say what with. Hes never been bashful with me before; usually cant wait to boast about what hes up toStill, hes the Collector. Which means hes always busy with something.

Unlesshes scared of someone else whos after the Recording, said Bettie. You, perhaps?

Id like to think so, but no. It would have to be someone really bad, and really powerful. The Collector is a Major Player in his own right, and he doesnt scare easily.

Walker?

You have a point there, I admitted. I was getting used to walking arm in arm with Bettie. It felt good, natural. Could Walker have been lying to us, to hide the fact he already had the DVD? No, I dont think so. He would have told me if hed had it, if only to put me in my place. And his reasons for wanting me to find it before anyone else sounded pretty good to me.

You mean the angels? said Bettie.

Please, I said. Let us not use the a-word in public.

All right, if it isnt Walker, then who? Razor Eddie?

I shook my head. He might be the Punk God of the Straight Razor, but Eddies never been very interested in religion. In fact, hes pretty much the only god all the other Beings on the Street of the Gods are afraid of.

How about the Lord of Thorns, then?

You have been doing your homework, havent you? No, hes still recovering from the Lilith War and the trauma of finding out hes not who he thought he was.

You know everyone, dont you? Bettie said admiringly. Who did he think he was?

Overseer of the Nightside.

Bettie thought about that. If the Lord of Thorns isnt watching over us, who is?

Good question, I said. Lot of people are still arguing about that.

She gave me a sly, sideways look. Lot of people say you could have been King of the Nightside, if youd wanted.

I smiled. You shouldnt listen to gossip.

Dont be silly, darling! Thats my job!

Damn, I said, as a thought occurred to me.

Youre frowning, John, and I do wish you wouldnt. It usually means youve suddenly thought of something unpleasant, spooky, and probably downright dangerous.

Right on all three counts, I said. There is one man the Collector is afraid of, and quite rightly, too. Anyone with any sense is afraid of the Removal Man.

Bettie pulled her arm out of mine and stopped dead in the street. I stopped with her. She gave me a hard look.

Hold everything, reverse gear, go previous. Are you having fun with me, John? Thinking Ill believe anything simply because its you saying it? The Removal Man is just an urban legend. Isnt he?

Unfortunately, no, I said.

ButI dont know anyone whos seen him, or even claimed to have seen him! The Unnatural Inquirers been offering really quite serious money for a photoNo-ones ever come forward.

Because theyre too scared, I said. You dont mess with the Removal Man; not if you like existing.

Have you ever met him? said Bettie, her voice carefully casual.

No, I said. And I was hoping to keep it that way. I dont think he approves of me. And people and things the Removal Man disapproves of have this unfortunate tendency to disappear without a trace. The Removal Man has made it his personal crusade to wander the Nightside anonymously, removing all the things and people that offend him. Removing, as in making them vanish so completely that even really Major Players have been unable to confirm exactly what it is hes done with them.

He removes people from reality because they offend him? said Bettie.

Pretty much. I started off down the street again, and Bettie came along with me. Not holding my arm. Basically, the Removal Man drops the hammer on people if he considers them to be a threat to the Nightside, or the world in generalor because who or what they are offends his particular moral beliefs. Judge, jury, and executioner, though no-ones ever seen him do it.

LikeJessica Sorrow? said Bettie, frowning.

NoJessica made bits of the world disappear because she didnt believe in them, and her disbelief was stronger than their reality. Very scary lady. Luckily she sleeps a lot of the time. No, the Removal Man chooses what he wants to disappear. No-ones ever been able to bring any of his victims back; and a whole lot of pretty powerful people have triedIve never heard a single guess at his name, or who he used to be before he came here and took on his role. And this in a place that runs on rumours. Hes a mystery, and all the signs are he likes it that way.

You are seriously spooking me out, sweetie, said Bettie. Are you sure hes involved with this?

No; but it sounds right. The Afterlife Recording is exactly the sort of thing that would attract the Removal Mans attention. Rumour has it he only ever reveals his identity to those hes about to remove, and not always then. Theres some evidence he can work close up, or from a distance. Certainly he doesnt give a damn about celebrity, or notoriety, or even reward. He works for his own satisfaction. Its hard to be a shadowy urban legend in a place full of marvels and nightmares, but hes managed it. Im almost jealous.

I did hear one rumour, Bettie said carefully. That he once tried to remove Walkerbut it didnt take.

I shrugged. If it did happen, Walkers never mentioned it. I suppose its possible that Walker secretly approves of the Removal Man. In fact, it wouldnt surprise me if the Removal Man did the occasional job for him, on the quiet, disappearing people that Walker considered a threat to the status quoNoNo, that cant be right.

Why not?

Because Walker would have sent the Removal Man after me long ago.

Bettie laughed and took my arm again. You dont half fancy yourself, John Taylor. Any idea where the Removal Man might have gained his power?

The same way everybody else does, I said. He made a deal with Someone or Something. Makes you wonder what he might have paid in exchangeI suppose it could be the Removal Man, or his patron, whos been interfering with my gift. I really do hope it isnt the Devil again.

I could ask Mummy for you, said Bettie. She still has contacts with the Old Firm.

Think Ill pass, I said.

Bettie shrugged easily. Suit yourself. You know, if we dont get to Pen Donavon before the Removal Man does, we could lose both him and his DVD. And my paper has paid a lot of money for that DVD.

It might not be the Removal Man, I said. I was thinking aloud. Speculating. I could be wrong. I have been before. In fact, this is one time Id really like to be wrong.

He worries you, doesnt he?

Damn right he does.

Tell you what, said Bettie, snuggling up against me and squeezing my arm companionably against her breast. When you want the very latest gossip on anything, ask a reporter. Or better yet, a whole bunch of reporters! Come with me, sweetie; Im taking you to the Printers Devil.

Luckily, the Printers Devil turned out to be a bar where reporters congregated when they were off work; printers devil being old-time slang for a typesetter. The bar catered almost exclusively to journalists, a private place where they could let their hair down amongst their own kind and share the kinds of stories that would never see print. Situated half-way down a gloomy side street, the Printers Devil was an old place, and almost defiantly old-fashioned. It had a black-and-white timbered Tudor front, complete with jutting gables and a hanging sign showing a medieval Devil, complete with scarlet skin, goatee beard, and a pair of horns on his forehead that reminded my very much of Betties, operating a simple printing press. Reporters can be very literal, when theyre off duty.

Bettie breezed through the door like a visiting princess, and I wandered in after her. The interior turned out to be equally old-fashioned, with sawdust on the floor, horse brasses over the bar, and a low ceiling with exposed beams. A dozen different beers on tap, with distressingly twee olde-worlde names, like Langfords Exceedingly Old Speckled Hen. Taste that albumen! A chalked sign offered traditional pub grubchips with everything. And not a modern appliance anywhere in sight, including, thankfully, a juke-box. There was a deafening roar of chatter from the mob of shabby and shifty characters crowded round the tables and filling the booths, and the atmosphere was hot, sweaty, and smoky. There was so much nicotine in the air you could practically chew it. A great clamour of greeting went up as Bettie was recognised, only to die quickly away to a strained silence as they recognised me. Bettie smiled sweetly around her.

Its all right, she said. Hes with me.

The reporters immediately turned their backs on us and resumed their conversations as though nothing had happened. One of their own had vouched for me, and that was all it took. Bettie headed for the crowded bar, and I moved quickly after her. She smiled and waved and shouted the odd cheery greeting at those around her, and everyone smiled and waved and shouted back. Clearly, Bettie was a very popular girl. At the bar, I asked her what she was drinking, and she batted her heavy eye-lashes and asked for a Horny Red Devil. Which turned out to be gin, vodka, and Worcester sauce, with a wormwood-and-brimstone chaser. To each their own. At least it didnt come with a little umbrella in it. I ordered a Coke. A real Coke, and none of that diet nonsense. Bettie looked at me.

Never when Im working, I said solemnly.

Really? Its the other way round with me, darling. I couldnt face this job sober. She smiled happily. I notice the bartender didnt ask you to pay for these drinks. Dont you ever pay for anything?

I pay my way at Strangefellows, I said. The owner is a friend.

Ooh; Strangefellows, sweetie! Yes, Ive heard about that place! There are all kinds of stories about what goes on in Strangefellows!

And most of them are true. It is the oldest pub in the world, after all.

Will you take me there after weve finished with this assignment? Id love to go dancing at Strangefellows. We could relax and get squiffy together. I might even show you my tail.

Well probably end up there, at some point, I said. Most of my cases take me there, eventually.

The bartender slammed our drinks down on the highly polished wooden bar top, then backed away quickly. I didnt care for the man, and I think he could tell. He was one of those stout jolly types, with a red face and a ready smile, always there to make cheerful conversation when all you want is to drink in peace. Probably referred to himself as Mine Host. I gave him a meaningful look, and he retreated to the other end of the bar to polish some glasses that didnt need polishing.

Cant take you anywhere, said Bettie.

Behind the bar hung a giveaway calendar supplied by the Unnatural Inquirer, with a large photo featuring the charms of a very well-developed young lady whose clothes had apparently fallen off. At the bottom of the page was the papers current slogan: ARE YOU GETTING IT REGULARLY? Some rather shrunken-looking meat pies were on display in a glass case, but one look was all it took to convince me I would rather tear my tongue out. A stuffed-and-mounted fox head winked at me, and I snarled back. Animals should know their place. Not a lot further down the bar, an old-fashioned manual typewriter was being operated by the invisible hands of a real ghost writer. Id met it once before, at the Night Times offices, and was tempted to make a remark about spirits not being served here, but rose above it. I leaned over towards the typewriter, and the clacking keys paused.

Any recent news on the whereabouts of the Afterlife Recording?

Words quickly formed on the page, reading Futures cloudy. Ask again later.

I persuaded Bettie to hurry her drink, politely evaded her attempts to chat, bond, or get personal, and finally we moved away from the bar to mingle with the assembled reporters. With Bettie as my native guide, we passed easily from group to group, with me doing my best to be courteous and charming. I neednt have bothered. The reporters only had eyes for Bettie, who was in full flirt modeall squeaky voice, fluttering lashes, and a bit of laying on of hands where necessary. Bettie was currently wearing a smart white blouse with half the buttons undone, over a simple black skirt, fish-net stockings, and high heels. Her horns showed clearly on her forehead, perhaps because she felt safe and at home here.

All the journalists seemed quite willing to talk about the Afterlife Recording; theyd all heard something, or swore they had. No-one wanted to appear out of the loop or left behind in company like this. Unfortunately, most of what they had to tell us turned out to be vague, misleading, or contradictory. Pen Donavon had been seen here, there, and everywhere, and already all sorts of people were offering copies of the DVD for sale. Only to be expected in the Nightside, where people have been known to rip off a new idea while it was still forming in the originators mind. Rumours were already circulating that some people had managed to view what was on the DVD and had immediately Raptured right out of their clothes. Though whether Up or Down remained unconfirmed.

Bettie stopped at a table, and greeted one particular reporter with particular cold venom, along with a stare that would have poisoned a rattlesnake at forty paces. He seemed bright and cheerful enough, in an irredeemably seedy sort of way. He wore a good suit badly, and had a diamond tie-pin big enough to be classed as an offensive weapon.

Arent you going to introduce us? I said innocently to Bettie.

She sniffed loudly. John, darling, this particular gusset stain is Rick Aday, reporter for the Night Times.

Investigative reporter, he corrected her easily, flashing perfect but somewhat yellow teeth in a big smile. He put out a hand for me to shake. I looked at it, and he took it back again. You must have seen my by-line, Mr. Taylor, Ive written lots of stories about you: Rick Aday; Trouble Is My Middle Name.

No it isnt, Bettie said briskly. Its Cedric.

Aday shot her a venomous glare. Better than yours, Delilah.

Lick my scabs!

They used to date, another of the reporters confided quietly to me. I nodded. Id already guessed that.

Ive been hot on the trail of the Afterlife Recording for some time now, Aday said loftily. Pursuing several quite credible leads, actually. Just waiting for a phone call from one of my extremely clued-in informants, then Ill be off to make Mr. Donavon a generous offer for his DVD.

You cant! Bettie snapped immediately. My paper has a legitimate contract with Pen Donavon, granting us exclusive rights to his material!

Aday just grinned at her. Finders keepers, losers read about it in the Night Times.

I suppose alls fair in love and publishing, I said, and Bettie actually hissed at me.

I moved away, to allow Bettie and her old flame to exchange harsh words in private. Id noticed that the nearby wall boasted a whole series of framed cartoons and caricatures of noted Nightside personalities. Good likenesses, if often harsh, exaggerated, and downright cruel. They were all signed with a name I recognised. Bozies work was well-known in the Nightside, appearing in all the best papers and magazines. He excelled at bringing out a subjects worst attributes and qualities, making them seem monstrous and laughable at the same time. Those depicted usually gritted their teeth and smiled as best they could, because you werent anybody in the Nightside unless youd been caricatured by Bozie.

There were rumours that Bozie had been known to accept quite large sums of money to kill a particular creation of his before the public got to see it. No-one mentioned blackmail, of course. Thus are reputations made in the Nightside.

Ive never approved of needless cruelty. You should save it for when its really necessary.

I moved slowly along the wall, checking out the various pen-and-ink creations in their softwood frames. All the usual suspects were there. Walker, of course, looking very sinister with more than a hint of in-breeding. Julien Advent, impossibly noble, complete with halo and stigmata. The Sonic Assassin, in his sixties greatcoat, gnawing on a human thigh-bone while making a rude gesture at the viewer. AndShotgun Suzie. My Suzie. I stopped before the caricature and studied it impassively. Bozie had made her look like a monster. All fetishy black leathers and unfeasibly big breasts, with a face like an axe murderer. Hed exaggerated every detail of her looks to make her seem ugly and crazy. This wasnt just a caricature; it was an assault on her character. It was an insult.

Like it? said a lazy voice at my side. I looked round, and there was the artist himselfthe famous or more properly infamous Bozie. A tall, gangling sort, in scruffy blue jeans and a T-shirt bearing an idealised image of his own face. He had long, floppy hair, dark, intense eyes, and an openly mocking smile. He gestured languidly at Suzies caricature. It is for sale, you know. If you want it?

I had a feeling I knew how this was going to play out, but I went along with it. All right, I said. How much?

Oh, for youLets say a round hundred thousand pounds. He giggled suddenly. A bargain at the price. Or you can leave it here, for all the world to see. Who knows how many papers and magazines might want to run it?

Ive got a better idea, I said.

Oh, do tell.

I hit the glass covering the caricature with my fist, and it shattered immediately, jagged pieces falling out of the frame. Bozie stepped quickly backwards, his hands held protectively out before him. I tore the caricature out of the frame, and ripped it up, letting the pieces fall to the floor at my feet. Bozie goggled at me, torn between shock and outrage.

YouYou cant do that! he managed finally.

I just did.

Ill sue!

I smiled. Good luck with that.

I can always draw another one, Bozie said spitefully. An even better one!

If you do, I said, I will find you.

Bozie couldnt meet my gaze. He looked around him, hoping for help or support, but no-one wanted to know. He sat down at his table again, still not looking at me, and sulked. I went back to Betties table, and sat beside her. She patted me on the arm.

That was very sweet, dear. Though a bit harsh on poor Bozie.

Hell, I said. I saved his life. Suzie would have shot him on sight. She doesnt have my innate courtesy and restraint.

There was a certain amount of coughing around the table, and then everyone went back to their discussion on what the Afterlife Recording might actually contain. The suggestions were many and varied, but eventually boiled down to the following:

1. There was a new rebel angel in Heaven, rebelling against the long silence of millennia to finally broadcast the truth about Humanity. Why we were created, what our true purpose is, and why we are born to suffer.

2. It was a transmission from Hell, saying that God is dead and they can prove it. Satan runs our world, tormenting us for his pleasure. Which would explain a lot.

3. An exact date for the final war between Heaven and Hell. Broadcast now becauseits all about to kick off.

4. There is a Heaven, but its only for the innocent animals. People just die.

5. There is a Heaven, but no Hell.

6. There is a Hell, but no Heaven.

7. Its all bullshit.

There was a lot of nodding and raising of glasses at that last one. Once the subject of the DVDs contents had been thoroughly exhausted, I took it upon myself to raise the possibility of the Removal Mans involvement. Everyone perked up immediately and tumbled over each other to provide anecdotes and stories theyd come across but had been unable to get printed. Because no-one could prove anything.

Remember Jonnie Reggae? said Rick Aday. Used to headline at the old Shell Beach Club? Rumour has it he vanished right in the middle of his set because the Removal Man was in the audience and decided his material was offensive. Management was livid. Theyd booked Jonnie for the whole season.

Hes supposed to have made a house disappear, on Blaiston Street, said Lovett, from the Nightside Observer.

Actually, no, I said. That was me.

There was some more awkward coughing before Bettie determinedly got the conversation back on course.

Remember Bully Boy Bates? she said brightly. Used to run a protection racket in the sweat-shop districts? Julien Advent was just getting ready to run an expos&#233; on him in the Times, then suddenly didnt need to because Bates and all his cronies had gone missing. Or how about that alien predator, that disguised itself as an ambulance so it could eat the people put into it? That was the Removal Man. Supposedly. He has done some good.

Yes, said Aday, drawing the word out till it sounded more like no, but on the other hand, look what he did to the first incarnation of the Caligula Club. You know, that place that caters to all the more extreme forms of sexuality. Lots of people having a good time, according to their lights, all of it adult and consensualbut too much for the Removal Mans puritan tastes. He made the whole Club disappear, along with everyone in it. Just like that! Which is why the current version of the Club has such heavy-duty protections, and its so hard to get in. Or so they tell me

And then the whole place fell suddenly silent as the door crashed open and General Condor entered, along with a dozen heavily armed and armoured body-guards. They made sure the place was secure and only then put their guns away. The General strode forward and looked the place over. He didnt appear especially impressedby the bar or its customers. He was still wearing his Space Fleet uniform, complete with golden bars on his shoulders and rows of medal ribbons on his chest. He had the look of the old soldier, the calm steady look that said hed seen a lot of men die, and your death wouldnt bother him in the least.

John Taylor, he said, his heavy deliberate voice crashing into the hush. I want him.

I stood up. Get in line, I said. Im busy.

He looked me over, then surprised me by smiling briefly. If anything, it made him look even more dangerous. I need to talk to you, Taylor. And you need to listen.

I looked at him, then at the body-guards, and then at the reporters, all staring at us with wide eyes, impressed out of their minds. That settled it. I couldnt let them down. I nodded to the General, who gestured stiffly at a corner booth. The young man and woman sitting in it got the message, and vacated immediately, leaving their drinks behind. The General sat down stiffly in the booth, and I went over to join him. Bettie wanted to come with me, but I was firm. She pouted and stamped her little foot, but she did stay put. I sat down facing the General, and his body-guards moved quickly to form a defensive barrier between the booth and the rest of the bar, their hands resting on the butts of their guns. The reporters turned up their noses at them and ostentatiously went back to their own conversations.

I looked thoughtfully at the General. Im not sure I want to hear anything you have to say, General. Im not the military type, I have problems with authority figures, and I dont play well with others.

A lot of people dont want to hear whats good for them. The order of things in the Nightside is changing. The Authorities are gone, and someone has to replace them before this whole place tears itself apart fighting over the spoils. I can put the Nightside on the right course, John. Make it a place to be proud of. I have support from many fine and influential people, but I could use you on my side.

Why me? I said, genuinely curious.

Dont be disingenuous. General Condor sighed tiredly and leaned forward across the table. Youve been a force for good in the Nightside. You help people. Youve even been known to dispense your own kind of justice when necessary. Help me to save the Nightside from its own excesses.

You cant force change in the Nightside, I said. Something in me warmed to the Generals blunt honesty, if not his cause, so I gave him the truth, and not what he wanted to hear. The Nightside is what it wants to be. Its fought wars with Heaven and Hell for the right to go its own way. The best you can do, the best any of us can do, is encourage change for the better, one small step at a time.

The Nightside has had thousands of years to grow up, said the General. If it was capable of saving itself, it would have done so by now. It needs a firm hand on the tiller, it needs control and discipline imposed from above, like any military unit thats gone bad. Walker tried, but he was only ever the Authorities puppy. He cant run things on his own. He must be replaced.

Good luck with that, I said.

He smiled again. If I thought it would be easy, I wouldnt be here talking to you.

He has the Voice, I said.

It doesnt work on you, said the General.

I raised an eyebrow. You want me to kiss him on the cheek while Im there?

I want you to do whats right. Whats best for everyone.

Even I dont know what that is, I said. And Ive been looking for it a lot longer than you have.

If youre not with me, youre against me, General Condor said flatly. And if you dont choose a side soon, one may be chosen for you.

I smiled. Good luck with that, too.

He laughed briefly, quietly. I could have used a man like you on my flagship, John. You wont bend or yield for anyone, will you?

Why is this so important to you? I said, seriously. You havent been here long. Why this need to save the Nightside from itself?

I have to do something, said the General. I couldnt save my Fleet. I couldnt save my men. I have to do something

He got up from the table, and I stood up with him. He offered me his hand, and I shook it. The General left the Printers Devil with his body-guards, and I went back to join Bettie Divine.

Well? she said, almost bouncing up and down in her seat. What was that all about?

Just politics, I said. Nightside style. Anything new or useful come up, while I was gone?

But John!

Move along, I said.

You need to talk to the Collector, said Rick Aday.

Been there, done that, said Bettie.

Oh. Aday looked crest-fallen for a moment, and then brightened again. All right, how about the Cardinal? You know, used to run the Vaticans Extremely Forbidden Library. Until they discovered he was sneaking things out for his own private collection. Had to go on the run and ended up here, where hes supposed to have built up a really impressive hoard of religious artifacts. Hes your man. If anyones got close to the Afterlife Recording, itll be the Cardinal.

Good call, I said. Bettie, I think we need to pay the Cardinal a visit. Its been a while since I scared the shit out of him, for the good of his soul.

Ah, said Aday, smiling craftily. Word is, hes moved, and taken his collection with him. Hardly anyone knows where he is now.

But you know, said Bettie.

Of course.

Oh, please, please, Ricky sweetie, tell us where he is, said Bettie, giving him the full fluttering eye-lashes treatment. Ill be ever so grateful, I promise.

Aday smirked triumphantly. And what makes you think Ill just give up a valuable piece of information like that?

Because she asked you nicely, I said. I wont.

Aday gave us the Cardinals new address, and directions on how to find it. Bettie and I left the Printers Devil. She waved good-bye and blew kisses in all directions. I didnt. I had my dignity to consider.



SIX - Heated Emotions from Unexpected Directions 


Its hard to maintain a reputation for being grim and mysterious when youre accompanied by a brightly clad young thing, skipping merrily along at your side, holding your hand, and smiling sweetly on one and all. Still, it felt good to have Bettie with me. Her constant enthusiasm and optimism helped relieve a weight and burden I hadnt even realised I was carrying. She made me feelalive again.

Following Rick Adays directions, we were heading into one of the more seedy areas of the Nightside, where the narrow streets are lined with scruffy little shops and emporiums, where half the street-lights never work, and most of the neon signs have letters missing. The kind of shop where theres a sale on all the year round, where they specialise in only fairly convincing knock-offs of whatever brand-names are currently fashionable or in demand, where the buyer had better not only beware, but carry a large stick and count his fingers on the way out. Shops that sell tarnished dreams and tacky nightmares, misleading miracles and wondrous devices, most of whose batteries have run down. Bottom feeders, in other words; tourist traps, and home to every cheap and nasty con you can think of. The crowds were just as heavy here, jostling each other off the pavement and shouldering each other out of the way. Everyone loves a bargain.

And then, suddenly, everyone was yelling and running. I stopped and looked quickly around me. I hadnt done anything. The crowds scattered quickly, to reveal Queen Helena striding down the street, staring grimly at me, at the head of her own small army of sycophants, followers, and armed men. I stood my ground, doing my best to appear casual and unconcerned. Bettie stuck close to me, quivering with excitement. Queen Helena finally crashed to a halt right in front of me, fixing me with her cold faraway eyes. She was wrapped from head to toe in thick white furs, parting now as she struck a regal pose, to reveal glimpses of blue-white skin. She looked like someone who had died and then been buried in the permafrost. There was no warmth anywhere in her harsh, regal features, but her eyes blazed with arrogant superiority. She looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to kneel or bow or offer to kiss her hand. So I ignored her completely, concentrating on the colourful figures whod moved forward out of her army to back her up.

Take a good look, I said cheerfully to Bettie. Its not every day you see so many prominent members of the Exiles Club out in public. Mostly, these aristocratic nobodies prefer to skulk inside their very own members-only club, addressing each other by their old titles because theyre the only ones that will. They trade grievances about lost lands and abandoned kingdoms, how nobody recognises true quality in this dreadful place, and how you just cant get good servants any more.

The bald, stooped, and vulturelike figure to Queen Helenas left is Zog, King of the Pixies. Word has it hes been wearing those scabby feathered robes ever since he turned up here thirty years ago, and he hasnt washed them once. Try to avoid standing downwind. Queen Mab herself kicked him out of the Fae Court, for using glamour spells to lie with human women. He always killed them after hed had his way with them, but Mab didnt care about that. Sex outside their race is one of the Faes greatest taboos. So here he is now, stripped of his glamour, just another rapist and murderer with a title that means nothing at all.

Next to him we have His Altitude Tobermoret, monarch of all he surveyed in Far Afrique. A dark and distinguished gentleman indeed, in his zebra-hide suit and his lion-claw necklace. Tobermoret used to be War Chief of an entire continent, until his people realised he was starting wars and rebellions just for the fun of it. He did so love sending young men out to die while he sat at his ease in a tent overlooking the battle-field, enjoying the show. I did hear tell his people castrated him before they shoved him through the Timeslip, which is why hes always in such a bad temper.

On Queen Helenas other side is Prince Xerxes the Murder Monarch. And yes, those really are preserved human eyes and organs and other bits and pieces hanging from all those chains hes got wrapped around him. Though given how much hes gone to seed since he got here, one cant help wishing hed wear something else apart from just the chains. He practises necromancy, the magic of murder. Partly because its traditional where he comes from, but mostly because he gets off on it. Though hes learned to leave the tourists alone ever since Walker had a quiet word with him.

And finally, next to Xerxes we have King Artur, of Sinister Albion. For every glorious dream, theres a nightmare equivalent, somewhere in the time-streams. For every helping hand, a kick in the face. In Sinister Albion, Merlin Satanspawn decided to embrace his fathers qualities instead of rejecting them, and brought up young Artur in his own awful image. Under their direction, Camelot became a place of blood and horror, where knights in terrible armour feasted on the hearts of good men, and Albion blazed from end to end with burning Wicker Men. The only reason I havent killed Artur on general principles, is because Ive been too busy with other things.

I smiled at Queen Helena. I think thats it. Have I missed anything important?

You do so love the sound of your own voice, Taylor, said Queen Helena. And you will address me as Your Majesty.

Thatll be the day, I said cheerfully. What do you want with me, Helena? Or are you just taking the Exiles out for a walk?

It took her a moment to work out how to answer me. She wasnt used to open defiance, let alone ridicule. You were seen, she said finally, talking with the General Condor. You will tell me what you talked about. What you decided. What plans were made. Tell me everything, and I shall make a place for you in my army. Power and riches shall be yours. I could use a man like you, Taylor.

Ah, what it is to be popular and desired, I said. The leadership of the Nightside is up for grabs, and suddenly everyone wants me on their side. Flattering, butannoying. Im busy right now, Helena. And I have to say, even if I wasntthere isnt enough gold in the Nightside to persuade me to work for you, let alone this bunch of titled scumbags.

Why do you say these things to me? said Queen Helena. When you know I will kill you for it?

I shrugged. I think you bring out the worst in me. Theres some shit I simply will not put up with.

Her arms came out from under her robes, bulging tech implants already thrusting up through the blue-white skin. Dull grey gun muzzles orientated on me. Zog raised a withered arm to show off a beaten-copper glove with sharpened claws, buzzing with arcane energies. Tobermoret slammed the end of his long wooden staff on the pavement, and all the runes and sigils carved deep into the wood began to glow with a disquieting light. Xerxes produced a pair of long, curved daggers with serrated edges that looked more like butchers tools. He grinned at me, showing off dull brown teeth filed to points. And Arturs bleak and brutal battle armour slowly came to life, its metal parts creeping and crawling over him, muttering to themselves in hissing otherworldly voices. Behind his blank steel helmet, his eyes glowed like corpsefires.

And behind Queen Helena and her Exiles, armed and armoured men hefted their various weapons, impatient for the order to attack.

Bettie Divine made quiet whimpering noises and looked like shed rather be anywhere else than here, but still she held her ground at my side.

I took a sudden deliberate step forward, so I could look Queen Helena right in the eye. I could have been King of the Nightside if Id wanted. I didnt. Did you really think Id bend the knee and bow my head to such as you?

I have powerful allies! said Queen Helena. I have an army in waiting! I have potent weapons!

I laughed in her face. You really think thats going to make a difference? Im John Taylor.

Queen Helena held my gaze longer than Id thought she would, but in the end she looked away and stepped back a pace, her tech implants ducking back under her skin. I looked unhurriedly about me, and the Exiles fell back, too, powering down their weapons. Their followers stirred uneasily, looking at each other. Some of them were muttering my name.

Because I was John Taylor; and there was no telling what I might do. It was all I could do to keep from smiling.

And then, just when it was all going so well, Uptown Taffy Lewis came storming up the street from the other direction, at the head of his own small army of bully-boys, body-guards, and enforcers. All of them heavily armed. I turned my back on Queen Helena to face him. Bettie made a sound deep in her throat and stuck so close to me she was practically hiding inside my coat-pocket. Taffy stamped up to me, planted his expensively tailored bulk in front of me, paused a moment to get his breath back after his exertions, and then ignored me to scowl at Queen Helena and the Exiles.

Why are you talking with these has-beens? he growled to me. You know where the real power is in the Nightside. Why didnt you come and talk to me?

I dont really want to talk to anyone, I said wistfully. I keep telling everyone Im busy right now, but

Whatever theyve offered you, Ill double it, said Taffy. And unlike them, you can be sure Ill deliver. I want you on my side, Taylor, and I always get what I want.

I suggest you take this up with Helena, I said. She seems to believe she has exclusive rights to me. And you wouldnt believe some of the nasty things shes been saying about you.

And then all I had to do was step quickly to one side, as Uptown Taffy Lewis lurched forward to confront Queen Helena, screaming insults into her cold and unyielding face. She hissed insults right back at him, then the Exiles got involved with Taffys lieutenants, and suddenly both armies were going for each others throats. I had already retreated to a safe distance, hauling Bettie along with me, and we watched fascinated as open warfare broke out right in front of us. The tourists loved it, watching it all from a safe distance, and even recording it so they could enjoy it again later.

Queen Helena had her implants, the Exiles, and her followers, but Taffy had the numbers. They swarmed all over Queen Helena and her people, dragging them down despite their elite weapons. I saw Zog thrown to the ground and trampled underfoot, and Tobermoret beaten down with his own staff till it broke. Xerxes was cut open with his own daggers. Helena and Artur stood back to back, killing everyone who came within reach until finally the odds were too great; and then the pair of them disappeared in a sudden blaze of light, leaving the two armies to fight it out in the street. The bodies piled up, and blood flowed thickly in the gutters.

Politics is never dull in the Nightside.

I started off down a side street, leaving the violence behind. Bettie trotted along beside me, still staring back over her shoulder.

Is that it? she said. Arent you going to do anything?

Havent I done enough? I said. By the time theyre finished with each other, the two most dangerous armed forces in the Nightside will have wiped each other out. What more do you want?

Well, I thoughtI expected

What?

I dont know! Something moredramatic! Youre the great John Taylor! I thought I was going to see you in action, at last.

Action is overrated, I said. Winning is all that matters. Arent you getting enough good material for your story?

Well, yes, butits not quite what I expected. Youre not what I expected. She looked at me thoughtfully. You faced down Queen Helena and the Exiles, and their army. Told them to go to Hell and damned them to do their worst. And they all backed down. Were you bluffing?

I grinned. Ill never tell.

Bettie laughed out loud. This story is going to make my name! My day on the streets with John Taylor!

She grabbed me by the shoulders, turned me round, and kissed me hard on the lips. It was an impulse moment. A happy thing. Could have meant anything, or nothing. We stood together a moment, and then she pulled back a little and looked at me with wide, questioning eyes. I could have pushed her away. Could have defused the moment, with a smile or a joke. But I didnt. I pulled her to me and kissed her. Because I wanted to. She filled my arms. We kissed the breath out of each other, while our hands moved up and down each others bodies. Finally, we broke off, and looked at each other again. Her face was very close, her hurried breath beating against my face. Her face was flushed, her eyes very bright. My head was full of her perfume, and of her. I could feel her heart racing, so close to mine. I could feel the whole length of her body, pressing insistently against mine.

Well, she said. I didnt expect that. Has it really been such a long time since you kissed anyone? Since you?

I pushed her gently away, and she let me. But her eyes still held mine.

I cant do this, I said. My voice didnt sound like mine. Didnt sound like someone in control of himself.

Its true what they say about Suzie, then, said Bettie. She sounded kind, not judgemental. She cantThe poor dear. And poor you, John. Thats no way to live. You cant have a real relationship with someone if you cant ever touch her.

I love her, I said. She loves me.

Thats not love, said Bettie. Thats one damaged soul clinging to another, for comfort. I could love you, John.

Of course you could, I said. Youre the daughter of a succubus. Love comes easy to you.

No, she said. Just the opposite. I laugh and smile and flutter my eye-lashes because thats whats expected of me. And because it does help, with the job. But thats not me. Or at least, not all of me. I only show that to people I care about. I like you, John. Admire you. I could learn to love you. Could you?

I cant talk about this now, I said.

Youll have to talk about it sometime. And sometimesyou can say things to a stranger that you couldnt say to anyone else.

Youre not a stranger, I said.

Why thank you, John. Thats the nicest thing youve said to me so far.

She moved forward and leaned her head on my shoulder. We held each other gently. No passion, no pressure, only a man and a woman together, and it felt good, so good. It had been a long time since Id held anyone. Since anyone had held me. It was likepart of me had been asleep. Finally, I pushed her away.

We have to go see the Cardinal, I said firmly. Pen Donavon and his damned Recording are still out there, somewhere, and that means people like Taffy and Helena will be looking for it, hoping it will turn out to be something they can use to further their ambitions. I really dont like the way they were willing to flaunt their armies openly in public.

Walker will do something, said Bettie.

Thats what Im afraid of, I said.

Rick Adays directions finally brought us to a pokey little shop called The Pink Cockatoo, a single-windowed front, in the middle of a long terrace of shops, set between a Used Grimoires book-shop, and a Long Pig franchise. The window before us was full of fashionable fetish clothing that seemed to consist mostly of plastic and leather straps. A few corsets and basques, and some high-heeled boots that would have been too big even for me. Incense candles, fluffy handcuffs, and something with spikes that I preferred not to look at too closely. I tried the door, but it was locked. There was a rusty steel intercom set into the wooden frame. I hit the button with my fist and leaned in close.

This is John Taylor, to see the Cardinal. Open up, or Ill huff and Ill puff and Ill blow your door right off its hinges.

This establishment is protected, said a calm, cultured voice. Even from people like the infamous John Taylor. Now go away, or Ill set the hell-hounds on you.

We need to talk, Cardinal.

Convince me.

Ive just been with the Collector, I said. Discussing the missing Afterlife Recording. He didnt have it. Now either you agree to talk to me, or Ill tell him youve got it and exactly where to find you. And you know how much hes always wanted to make your collection part of his own.

Bully, the voice said dispassionately. All right; I suppose youd better come in. Bring the demon floozy with you.

There was the sound of several locks and bolts disengaging, and then the door slowly swung open before us. I marched straight in, followed by Bettie. There might have been booby-traps, trap-doors, or all kinds of unpleasantness ahead, but in the Nightside you cant ever afford to look weak. Confidence is everything. The door shut and locked itself behind us. Not entirely to my surprise, the interior of the shop wasnt at all what its exterior had suggested. For one thing, the interior was a hell of a lot bigger. Its a common enough spell in the Nightside, sticking a large space inside a small one, given that living and business space are both in such short supply. The problem lies with the spell, often laid down in a hurry by dodgy backstreet sorcerers, the kind who deal strictly in cash. All it takes is one mistake in the set-up, one mispronunciation of a vital word; and then the whole spell can collapse at any time without any warning. The interior expands suddenly to its full size, shouldering everything else out of the wayand theyll be pulling body parts out of the rubble that used to be a street for days on end.

The shops interior stretched away before me, warmly lit and widely spacious, with gleaming wood-panelled walls, and a spotless floor. The huge barnlike structure was filled with miles and miles of open glass shelving and stands, showing off hundreds of weird and wonderful treasures. Bettie made excited Ooh! and Aah! noises, and I had to physically prevent her from picking things up to examine them. The Cardinal had said his place was protected, and I believed him. Because if it wasnt seriously protected, the Collector would have cleaned him out by now.

The Cardinal came strolling down the brightly lit central aisle to greet us. A tall and well-proportioned man in his late forties, with a high-boned face, an easy smile, and a hint of mascara round the eyes. He was wearing skintight white slacks, a red shirt open to the navel to show off his shaven chest, and a patterned silk scarf gathered loosely round his neck. He carried a martini in one hand and didnt offer the other to be shaken.

Wow, I said. When the Church defrocked you, they went all the way, didnt they?

The Cardinal smiled easily. The Church has never approved of those of myinclination. Even though we are responsible for most of the glorious works of art adorning their greatest churches and cathedrals. They only put up with me for so long because I was useful, and a respected academic, anddiscreet. None of which did me any good when I was found out, and accusedIts not as if I took anything important, or significant. I simply wanted a few pretty things for my own. Ah, well; at least I dont have to wear those awful robes any more. So drab, and so very draughty round the nether regions.

Excuse me, said Bettie, But why is your shop called The Pink Cockatoo? What has that got to do withwell, anything?

The Cardinals smile widened. My little joke. Its called that because Ive had a cockatoo in my time.

Bettie got the giggles. I gave the Cardinal my best Lets try and stick to the subject look.

Come to take a look at my collection, have you? he said, apparently unmoved by the look. He sipped delicately at his martini, one finger elegantly extended. By all means. Knock yourself out.

I wandered down the shelves, just to be polite. And because I was a bit curious. I kept Bettie close beside me and made sure she maintained a respectful distance from the exhibits at all times. I was sure that the Cardinal believed in You broke it, you paid for it. He wandered along behind us, being obviously patient. I recognised some of the things on the shelves, by reputation if not always by sight. The Cardinal had helpfully labelled them in neat copperplate handwriting. There was a copy of the Gospel According to Mary Magdalene. (With illustrations. And I was pretty sure which kind, too.) Pope Joans robes of office. The rope Judas Iscariot used to hang himself. Half a dozen large canvasses by acknowledged Masters, all unknown to modern art history, depicting frankly pornographic scenes from some of the seamier tales in the Old Testament. Probably private commissions, from aristocratic patrons of the time. A Satanic Bible, bound in black goats skin, with an inverted crucifix stamped in bas-relief on the front cover.

Now thats a very limited edition, said the Cardinal, leaning in close to peer over my shoulder. Belonged to Giles de Rais, the old monster himself, before he met the Maid of Orleans. There are only seventeen copies of that particular edition, in the goats skin.

Why seventeen? said Bettie. Bit of an arbitrary number, isnt it?

I said that, said the Cardinal. When I inquired further, I was told that seventeen is the most you can get out of one goats skin. Makes you wonder whether the last copy had a big floppy ear hanging off the back coverAnd I hate to think what they used for the spine. Ah, Mr. Taylor, I see youve discovered my dice. Im rather proud of those. The very dice the Roman soldiers used as they gambled for the Christs clothes, while he was still on the cross.

Do they have anyspecial properties? I said, moving in close for a better look. They seemed very ordinary, two small wooden cubes, with any colour and all the dots worn away long ago.

No, said the Cardinal. Theyre just dice. Their value, which is incredible, lies in their history.

And whats this? said Bettie, wrinkling her nose as she studied a single, small, very old and apparently very ordinary fish, enclosed in a clear Lucite block.

Ah, that, said the Cardinal. The only surviving example of the fish used to feed the five thousandYou wouldnt believe how much money, political positions, and even sexual favours Ive been offered, by certain extreme epicures, just for a tasteThe philistines.

What brought you here, to the Nightside, Cardinal? said Bettie, doing her best to sound pleasant and casual and not at all like a reporter. The Cardinal wasnt fooled, but he smiled indulgently, and she hurried on. And why collect only Christian artifacts? Are you still a believer, even after everything the Church has done to you?

Of course, said the Cardinal. The Catholic Church is not unlike the Mafia, in some waysonce in, never out. And as for the Nightsidewhy this is Hell, nor am I out of it. Ah, the old jokes are still the best. I damned myself to this appalling haven for the morally intransigent through the sin of greed, of acquisition. I was tempted, and I fell. Sometimes it feels like Im still fallingbut I have my collection to comfort me. He drained the last of his martini, smacked his lips, put the glass down carefully next to a miniature golden calf, and looked at me steadily. Why are you here, Mr. Taylor? What do you want with me? You must know I cant trust you. Not after you worked for the Vatican, finding the Unholy Grail for them.

I worked for a particular individual, I said carefully. Not the Vatican, as such.

You really did find it, didnt you? said the Cardinal, looking at me almost wistfully. I could all but sense his collectors fingers twitching. The Sombre CupWhat was it like?

There arent the words, I said. But dont bother trying to track it down. Its beendefused. Its only a cup now.

Its still history, said the Cardinal.

Bettie stooped suddenly, to pick up an open paperback from a chair. The Da Vinci Code? Are you actually reading this, Cardinal?

Oh, yesI love a good laugh.

Put it down, Bettie, I said. Itll probably turn out to be some exotic misprinting, and hell charge us for getting fingerprints all over it. Cardinal, were here about the Afterlife Recording. I take it you have heard of Pen Donavons DVD?

Of course. ButI have decided Im not interested in pursuing it. I dont want it. Because I know myself. I know it wouldnt be enough for me simply to possess the DVD. Id have to watch itAnd I dont think Im ready to see whats on it.

You think it might test your faith? I said.

Perhaps

Arent you curious? said Bettie.

Of courseBut its one thing to believe, another to know. I do try to hope for the best, but when the Holy Father himself has told you to your face that youre damned for all time, just for being what God made youHope is all I have left. Its not much of a substitute for faith, but even cold comfort is better than none.

I believe God has more mercy than that, I said. I dont think God sweats the small stuff.

Yes, well, said the Cardinal dryly, youd have to believe that, wouldnt you?

If you learn anything, let me know, I said. As long as the Afterlife Recording is out there, loose in the wind, more people will be trying to get their hands on it, for all the wrong reasons. Theres even a chance the Removal Man is interested in it.

All the colour dropped out of the Cardinals face, his brittle amiability replaced by stark terror. He cant come here! He cant! Have you seen him? You could have led him here! To me! No, no, noYou have to leave. Right now. I cant take the risk!

And he pushed both Bettie and me towards the door. He wasnt big enough to budge either of us if we didnt want to be budged, but I didnt see any point in making a scene. He didnt know anything useful. So I let him shove and propel us back to the door and push us through it. Once we were back on the street, the door slammed shut behind us, and a whole series of locks and bolts snapped into place. It seemed the Cardinal believed in traditional ways of protecting himself, too. I adjusted my trench coat. It had been a long time since Id been given the bums rush. And then from behind the door came a scream, loud and piercing, a harsh shrill sound full of abject terror. I beat on the door, and yelled into the intercom, but the scream went on and on and on, long after human lungs should have been unable to sustain it. The pain and horror in the sound was almost unbearable. And then it stopped, abruptly, and that was worse.

The locks and the bolts slowly opened, one at a time, and the door swung inwards. I made Bettie stand behind me and pushed the door all the way open. Beyond it, I could see the huge display room. No sign of anyone, anywhere. No sound at all. I moved slowly, and very cautiously forward, refusing to allow Bettie to hurry me. There was no sign of the Cardinal anywhere. And every single piece of his collection was gone, too. Nothing left but empty shelves, stretching away.

The Removal Man, I said. My voice echoed on the quiet, saying the name over and over again.

Did we lead him here, do you think? said Bettie, her voice hushed. The echo turned her words into disturbing whispers.

No, I said. Id have known if anyone was following us. Im sure Id have known.

Even the Removal Man? Even him?

Especially him, I said.



SEVEN - The Good, the Bad, and the Ungodly 


So, said Bettie Divine, sitting perched on one of the empty wooden shelves with her long legs dangling, what do we do now? I mean, the Removal Man has just removed our last real lead. Though I have to sayI never thought Id get this close to him. The Removal Man is a real urban legend. Even more than you, darling. Were talking about someone who actually does move in mysterious ways! Maybe I should forget this story and concentrate on him. If I could bring in an exclusive interview with the Removal Man

You mean youre giving up on me? I said, more amused than anything.

Bettie shrugged easily. She was now wearing a pale blue cat-suit, with a long silver zip running from collar to crotch. Her hair was bobbed, and her horns peeped out from under a smart peaked cap. Well, I am half demon, darling; you have to expect the odd moment of heartlessness.

If you stick with me, at least theres a reasonable chance youll survive to file your story, I said.

Whod want to hurt a poor sweet defenceless little girlie like me? said Bettie, pouting provocatively. And besides, we half demons are notoriously hard to kill. Thats why the Editor paired me up with you for this story. Which, you have to admit, does seem to have petered out rather. I mean to say, if the Collector doesnt have the Afterlife Recording, and the Cardinal doesnt have it, who does that leave?

There are others, I said. Strange Harald, the junkman. Flotsam Inc.; their motto: We buy and sell anything that isnt actually nailed down and guarded by hell-hounds. And theres always Bishop BeastlyBut admittedly theyre all fairly minor players. Far too small to think they could handle a prize like the Afterlife Recording. Theyd have sold it on immediately; and I would have heard. You know, its always possible Pen Donavon could have realised how much trouble hed let himself in for and destroyed the DVD.

Hed better not have! said Bettie, her eyes flashing dangerously. The paper owns that DVD, no matter whats on it.

I looked at her thoughtfully. If it is realare you curious to see whats on it?

Of course, she said immediately. I want to know. I always want to know.

So youll stick with me? Until we find it?

Of course, darling! Forget about the Removal Man. It was just an impulse. No; were on the trail of something that could shake the whole Nightside if it is real. And you know what that means? I could end up covering a real story at last! Do you know how long Ive dreamed about covering a real story, about something that actually matters? We cant let this end here! Youre the private eye, youre the legendary John Taylor; do something!

Im open to suggestions, I said.

My mobile phone rang. I answered and was immediately assaulted by the acerbic voice of Alex Morrisey, calling from Strangefellows. As always, Alex did not sound at all happy with the world, the universe, and everything.

Taylor, get your arse over here at warp factor ten. A certain Pen Donavon has just turned up in my bar, looking like death warmed over and allowed to congeal. Hes clutching a DVD case like its his last life-line, hyperventilating, and crying his eyes out because he thinks the Removal Man is after him. He appears to be suffering from the sad delusion that you can protect him. He says youre the only person he can trust, which only goes to show he doesnt know you very well. So will you please come and get him because he is scaring off all my customers! Most of whom have understandably decided that they dont want to get caught in the inevitable cross-fire. Did I mention that I am not at all happy about this? You are costing me a whole nights profits!

Put it on my tab, I said. I can cover it; Im on expenses. Sit on Donavon till I get there. No-one talks to him but me.

I put the phone away and smiled at Bettie. Were back in the game. Pen Donavon has turned up at Strangefellows.

Bettie clapped her hands together, kicked her heels, and jumped down from the wooden shelf. I knew youd find him, John! Never doubted you for a moment! And were finally going to Strangefellows! Super cool!

Youll probably be disappointed, I said. Its only a bar.

The oldest bar in the world! Where all the customers are myths and legends, and the fate of the whole world gets decided on a regular basis!

Only sometimes, I said.

Is it far from here?

Right on the other side of town. Fortunately, I know a short cut.

I took out my Strangefellows club membership card. Alex handed out a dozen or so, in a rare generous moment, and hes been trying to get them back ever since. Not that any of us are ever likely to give them up. Theyre far too useful. The card itself isnt much to look at. Just simple embossed pasteboard, with the name of the bar in dark Gothic script, and below that the words You Are Here, in blood-red lettering. I pulled Bettie in close beside me, and she snuggled up companionably. I still wasnt used to that. It had been a long time since Id let anybody get this close to me. This casual. I liked it. I pressed my thumb firmly against the crimson lettering on the card, and it activated at once, throbbing and pulsing with stored energy. It leapt out of my hand to hang on the air before me, turning end over end and crackling with arcane activity. Bright lights flared and sputtered all around it. Alex had paid for the full bells and whistles package. The card expanded suddenly to the size of a door, which opened before us. Together, Bettie and I stepped through into Strangefellows, and the door slammed shut behind us.

I put the card back in my coat-pocket and looked around. The place was unnaturally still and quiet, empty apart from a single drunk sleeping one off, slumped forward across his table. I knew him vaguely. Thallassa, a wizened old sorcerer who claimed to be responsible for the sinking of Atlantis. He said he drank to forget, but it was amazing how many stories he could remember, as long as you were dumb enough to keep buying him drinks. Everyone else had clearly decided that discretion was the better part of running for the hills, and that the combination of Pen Donavon, his DVD, and me in one place was just too dangerous to be around. Even the kind of people who habitually drink at a place like Strangefellows have their limit; and Im often it.

Donavon was easy to spot. He was sitting slumped on a stool at the bar. No-one else could look that miserable, beaten down, and shit scared from the back. He peered round as Bettie and I approached, and almost collapsed off his stool before he recognised me. He was just a small, ordinary-looking man, no-one youd look at twice in the street, clearly in way over his head and going down for the third time. Up close, he looked in pretty bad shape. He was shaking and shivering, his face drawn and ashen, with dark circles under his eyes as though he hadnt slept in days. Perhaps because he didnt dare. He couldnt have been half-way through his twenties, but now he looked twice that. Something had aged him and hadnt been kind about it. He clutched a long, shabby coat around him, as though to keep out a chill only he could feel.

He looked like a man whod seen Hell. Or Heaven.

Alex Morrisey glared at me, and then went back to half-coaxing, half-bullying Donavon into putting aside his brandy glass and trying some freshly made hot soup. Donavon remained unconvinced. He watched, wide-eyed, until Bettie and I were right there with him. Then he sighed deeply, and some of the tension seemed to go out of him. He emptied his glass with a gulp and signalled for another. Alex put aside the soup bowl, sniffed loudly, and reluctantly opened a new bottle.

Alex owns and runs Strangefellows, and possibly as a result, has a mad on for the whole world. He loathes his customers, despises tourists, and never gives the right change on principle. He also had his thirtieth birthday just the other day, which hadnt helped. He always wore black, because, he said, he was in mourning for his sex life. (Gone, but not forgotten.) His permanent scowl had etched a deep notch between his eyebrows, right above the designer shades he always affected. He also wore a snazzy black beret, perched far back on his head to hide his spreading bald patch. I have known clinically depressed lepers with haemorrhoids who smiled more often than Alex Morrisey. Though at least he doesnt have to worry when he sneezes. I leaned against the bar and looked at him reproachfully.

You never made me hot soup, Alex.

He sniffed loudly. My home-made soup is full of things that are good for you, including a few that are downright healthful, all of which would be wasted on a body as ruined and ravaged as yours.

Just because I dont like vegetables

Youre the only man I know who makes the sign of the cross when confronted with broccoli. And dont change the subject! Once again I am left clearing up the mess from one of your cases. Like I dont have enough troubles of my own. Bloody eels have got into the beer barrels again, the pixies have been at the bar snacks, which they will live to regret, the poor fools, and my pet vulture is pregnant! Someones going to pay for this

He broke off as Pen Donavon suddenly reached out and grabbed my arm. There was so little strength left in him it felt like a ghost tugging at my sleeve. His mouth worked for a moment before easing into something like a smile, and there were real tears of gratitude in his eyes.

Thank God youre here, Mr. Taylor. Ive been so afraidTheyre after me. Everyones after me. You have to protect me!

Of course, of course I will, I said soothingly. Youre safe now. No-ones going to get to you here.

Just keep them away, he said pathetically. Keep them all away. I cant thinkIve been running from everyone. Either they want to pressure me into selling the Recording, or they want to kill me and take it. I cant trust anyone any more. I thought Id be safe, once Id made my deal with the Unnatural Inquirer, but I was ambushed on my way there. Ive been running and hiding ever since.

He let go of me and looked back at the full glass of brandy before him. He gulped half of it down in one go, and Alex winced visibly. Must have been the really good stuff, then. I looked at Bettie.

Could someone in your offices have put the word out on Donavon coming in with the DVD?

For a percentage? Wouldnt surprise me. None of us are exactly overpaid at the Inquirer. And our Reception phones are always being tapped. We debug them at the start of every working day, but theres always someone listening in, hoping for an advantage. After all, we hear everything first. Were noted for it.

I should never have recorded the broadcast, said Donavon. He was sitting hunched over his brandy glass, as though afraid someone would snatch it away. It was all a ghastly mistake. I was trying to contact the other side, yes, but I never thoughtMy life hasnt been my own since. And Id certainly never have tried to sell the Recording if Id known it would destroy my whole life.

You saw the broadcast, said Bettie, leaning in close with her best engaging smile. What did you see?

Donavon started shaking again. He tried to speak, and couldnt. He squeezed his eyes shut, and tears ran down his trembling cheeks. Alex sighed heavily and topped up the brandy glass again. He smiled nastily at me.

All these drinks are going on your tab, Taylor.

I smiled right back at him. Do your worst. Expenses, remember?

Well, said Bettie. You will get expenses if we deliver the DVD.

I looked at her. What? What do you mean if? Nothing was ever said about my expenses being conditional!

This is the newspaper game, sweetie. Everythings conditional.

I scowled, and then had to stop because it was upsetting Donavon even more. I moved away down the bar and gestured for Alex to lean in close. You can bet some of your recent customers will be out on the streets now, spilling the beans about who and what can be found in Strangefellows. Which means we can expect unfriendly visitors at any moment. Better lock the doors and slam down the shutters. Where are the Coltranes?

Out the back, doing exactly that, said Alex. I can think for myself, thank you. My defences will keep out all but the most determined; but if anyone does get in, the resulting damage will also be going on your tab. Id insure against you, but apparently youre classed along with Acts of Gods and other unavoidable nuisances.

Call Suzie, I said. I think were going to need her help on this one.

Damn, said Alex. And I just had the place redecorated.

Bettie slipped her arm through mine and turned me round to face her. I hate to sound disappointed, she said, but I am, maybe a bit. I mean, darling, this isnt at all what I expected. It all looks soordinary. Well, ordinary for the Nightside. I was hoping for something moreextreme.

I refrained from pointing out the disembodied hand scuttling up and down the bar top. (Alex accepted it in payment for a bad debt.) The hand was busy polishing the bar top and refilling the snack bowls. Yet another good reason not to eat them, as far as I was concerned. Alex objected on principle to giving away anything, and it showed in his choice of snacks. Does anyone actually eat honeyed locusts any more? The vultures perch was empty, of course, but there were other things to look at. Lightning, crackling inside a bottle. Bit hard on the ship, I thought. A small featureless furry thing, that sat on the bar top purring happily to itself, and occasionally farting. Until the hand grabbed it up and used it as a rag to polish the bar top. A small cuspidor of tanna leaves, with the brand-name Mummys favourite. All nice homey touches.

I want a drink, Bettie announced loudly. I want one of those special drinkies you can only get here. Do you have a Maidens Bloody Ruin? Dragons Breath? Angels Tears?

The first two arent cocktails, I said. And that last one is actually called Angels Urine.

Which was selling quite well, said Alex. Until word got around it wasnt so much a trade name as an accurate description.

Bettie laughed and snuggled cosily up against me. You choose, darling.

Give the lady a wormwood brandy, I said.

Alex gave me a look, and then fished about under the bar for the really good stuff he keeps set aside for special customers.

I do like this place, after all, Bettie decided. Its cosy, and comfortable. Itd probably even have atmosphere if there was anybody else here but us. Ah, sweetie, you take me to the nicest places!

She kissed me. As though it was the most natural thing in the world. Perhaps it was, for other people. I took her in my arms, and her whole body surged forward, pressing against me. When we broke apart, Alex was there, pushing a glass of wormwood brandy towards Bettie. She snatched it up with an excited squeak, sipped the brandy, and made appreciative noises. Alex looked at me. I looked at him. Neither of us mentioned Suzie, but we were both thinking about her.

And then we all looked round sharply at the sound of heavy footsteps in the entrance lobby upstairs. They were heading our way, and they didnt sound like customers. Alex cursed dispassionately.

My defences are telling me that a bunch of combat sorcerers just walked right through them, without even hesitating. Really powerful combat sorcerers.

How can you tell? said Bettie

Because only really powerful combat sorcerers could get through this bars defences, I said.

Thirteen very dangerous men came clattering down the metal stairs into the bar proper, making a hell of a racket in the process. They moved smoothly, in close formation, and spread out at the bottom of the steps to cut us off from all the exits. They stood tall and proud, radiating professionalism and confidence. They were all dressed in black leather cowboy outfits, complete with Stetsons, chaps, boots, and silver spurs. Surprisingly, and a bit worryingly, they werent wearing holsters. They all possessed various charms, amulets, fetishes, and grisgris, displayed openly around their necks or on their chests for all to see, and despair. These were major league power sources, for strength and speed, transformations and elemental commands. A bit generic but no less dangerous for that.

They all looked to be big men and in their prime. They all had that lazy arrogance that comes from having beaten down anyone and anything that ever dared to stand against them. You dont get to be a combat sorcerer without killing an awful lot of people in the process. There was an ideogram tattooed on all their foreheads, right over the third eye, showing their Clan affiliation. Combat sorcerers are too dangerous to be allowed to run around unsupervised. You either joined a Clan, or they joined together to wipe you out. This particular bunch belonged to Clan Buckaroo.

Their leader stepped forward to face me. He was a good head taller than me, broad in the shoulders and narrow in the waist. Probably ate his vegetables every day, and did a hundred and fifty sit-ups before breakfast. He had three different charms hanging from rolled silver chains around his neck and an amulet round his waist I didnt like to look at. This cowboy was packing some serious firepower. He fixed me with his cold blue eyes and started to say something that would only have been an insult or a demand, and I wasnt in the mood for either; so I got my retaliation in first.

Those are seriously tacky outfits, I said. What are you planning to do, line dance us to death?

The leader hesitated. This wasnt going according to plan. He wasnt used to defiance, let alone open ridicule. He squared his shoulders and tried again.

We are Clan Buckaroo. We work for Kid Cthulhu. And youve got something we want.

Like what? I asked. Fashion sense?

The leaders hand dropped to where his holster should have been. The twelve other combat sorcerers all did the same. Some suddenly had guns of light in their hands, sparking and shimmering. Like the ghosts of guns steeped in slaughter. And a few, including the leader, just pointed their index fingers at me, like a child miming a gun. I looked at the leader and raised an eyebrow.

Conceptual guns, he said. Creations of the mind, powered by murder magic. They never miss, they never run out of ammunition, they can punch a hole through anything; and they kill whatever they hit. Allow me to demonstrate.

He pointed his finger at the bottles ranked behind the bar. I grabbed Bettie and Donavon and dragged them out of the way. One by one the bottles exploded, showering glass fragments and hissing liquids all over the bar. Alex stood his ground and didnt move an inch, even as liquors soaked his shirt, and flying glass cut his cheek. The leader raised his finger to his lips and blew away imaginary smoke. The disembodied hand flipped him the finger, and then disappeared under the bar. The watching cowboys were all grinning broadly. Alex glared right back at them.

You neednt be so smug. You only got the stuff I keep for tourists. The good stuff can look after itself.

The leader looked at him for a moment. Hed used his favourite trick, and no-one was looking the least bit intimidated. He stuck out his chin and tried again.

Ive come for the Afterlife Recording.

Dont worry, dear, said Bettie. Im sure you were just a bit over-excited.

I stepped forward, putting myself between her and the leader. I looked him square in the eye. You dont want to be here, I said. These arent the people youre looking for.

I held his gaze with mine, and he stood very still. Behind him, the other combat sorcerers stirred restlessly. And then the leader smiled coldly right back at me.

Ive heard about your evil eye, Taylor. Wont work on any of us. Were protected.

He was right. I couldnt stare him down, couldnt even reach him. While I was still working out what to do next, Bettie stepped past me and put herself between me and the leader.

Trevor! she said. I thought it was you, sweetie! Didnt recognise you at first, all tricked out in the Village People outfit. You never told me you were a combat sorcerer.

The other cowboys looked at their leader, and I could practically see them mouthing the word Trevor? at each other. The leader glared at Bettie.

That is my old name, he said harshly. I dont use it any more. My name is Ace now, Bettie, leader of Clan Buckaroo. I havent gone bythat other name in ages.

You were Trevor when I knew you, Bettie said briskly. I did wonder why you insisted on wearing those black boots and spurs to bed, but I thought you were being kinky. Even though you went all bashful when I got out the fluffy handcuffs. What are you doing here, sweetie, dressed up as Black Bart and leading this bunch of overdressed thugs?

The moneys good, said Ace.

It would have to be, said Bettie.

Dont get in the way, said Ace, giving her his best fierce glare. Were here to do a job, and were going to do it. I cant cut you any slack just because we used to be an item.

You and he were an item? I said to Bettie.

She shrugged. He didnt last long.

There was some quiet sniggering from the other combat sorcerers that died quickly away as Ace glared around him.

What exactly are you here for? I said. Maybe theres room for negotiation.

We want Donavon, and we want the Afterlife Recording, said Ace, fixing me with his cold stare again. No negotiations, no discussion. We work for Kid Cthulhu, and he wants sole ownership of the Recording.

Now wait just a minute! Bettie strode forward to glare right into Aces face, and he was so startled he actually fell back a pace. The Unnatural Inquirer has already purchased exclusive rights to all the material on that DVD! We have a binding contract! We own it!

Not any more you dont, said Ace. Possession is everything, in the Nightside.

Kid Cthulhu Alex said thoughtfully. Thought Id heard something about his having cash liquidity problems with his undersea-farming interests. And, of course, the bottoms dropped right out of the calamari market. He must be thinking he can make enough money out of the Afterlife Recording to bail him out. So to speak.

You cant have the Afterlife Recording! Bettie said firmly to Ace. We got there first.

Ace looked at the cowboy next to him. If she speaks again, kill her.

Betties mouth opened wide, outraged, and I clapped a hand across it and hauled her back. Ace didnt look like he was kidding to me. Thirteen combat sorcerers in one room can do pretty much whatever they feel like doing. But, on the other hand, I had a reputation to maintainSo I looked Alex in the eye and gave him my best disapproving stare.

Now that was just plain rude, I said. And if you threaten to kill meI will smite the lot of you. Right here and now.

There was a pause, and the thirteen combat sorcerers looked at me uncertainly. With anyone else, theyd have dismissed it immediately as just talk. But I was John Taylor

Bettie Divine is under my protection, I said. Along with everyone else in this bar. Very definitely including Pen Donavon. So you can all get your redneck wannabe big bad selves out of here, before I decide to do something quite appallingly nasty to you.

The combat sorcerers looked at each other, and then at their leader. Their magical guns or fingers were all pointing at the floor. And then Ace smiled at me and laughed softly, and just like that the mood was broken.

Never make a threat you cant back up, he said.

Ace pointed his conceptual gun at the drunk sorcerer, still out cold despite all the drama going on around him. A tired old man, who might or might not have done a terrible thing in his younger days. Ace shot him three times, his pointed finger unwavering even as the invisible bullets punched large bloody holes in the sleeping man. Thallassas body jumped and jerked under the impact of the bullets, but he never made a sound. He just lay where he was, slumped across his table, as the blood ran out of him. Murdered, for no reason he would ever know. Ace laughed briefly and turned back to me.

Boys, he said, kill everyone in this place except for Pen Donavon. He smiled at Bettie. Sorry, sweetie. Just business. You know how it is.

You little shit, Bettie said defiantly. And I do mean little, Trevor. Ive had more fun with a toothpick.

Women always fight dirty.

Ace pointed his finger at her. Shut up and die, will you?

Not in my bar, said Alex. He produced a pump-action shotgun from under the bar, and when Ace turned to look, Alex shot him in the face. Ace was thrown backwards, blasted right off his feet, crashing into the cowboys behind him, who made shocked, startled noises. Alex worked the pump action, and all the combat sorcerers stood very still.

Wow, I said. Hard core, Alex.

He shrugged modestly. Suzie left this behind, one night. Always thought it would come in handy one day. I loaded it with silver bullets, dipped in holy water, and blessed by a wandering god. I could shoot the head off a golem with this. And if golems had other things, I could shoot them off, too.

You know, said Bettie, I think Id be rather more impressed if Trevor wasnt getting up again.

We looked round. Ace was already back on his feet, apparently entirely unaffected. Apart from the really pissed-off look on his face.

Oh, shit, said Alex, putting down the shotgun. Guys, youre on your own. If you want me, Ill be hiding behind the bar, whimpering and wetting myself.

Really? said Bettie, not bothering to hide her disappointment in him.

Hell no, said Alex. This is my bar! Its bad enough that the whole world conspires against me, messes with my beer and puts my vulture up the duff, without having a bunch of refugees from an S&M march walking in here like they own the place. And Thallassa hadnt even paid for his drinks yet, you bastards! You owe me money! He vaulted over the bar, holding a glowing cricket bat. Merlin made this for me, sometime back. For when you really, absolutely have to take out the trash.

Alex, I said. This isnt like you. Its an improvement, but it isnt like you.

My new girl-friends upstairs, said Alex. Probably watching on the monitors. You know how it is when youve got a new girl. You end up doing all kinds of stupid things.

Yes, I said. I know how it is.

Is that it? said Ace, smiling. A glow-in-the-dark cricket bat?

No, said Alex. Oh, girls!

And Alexs two large, muscular, body-building bouncers, Betty and Lucy Coltrane, came charging in from the back of the bar and threw themselves at the startled combat sorcerers. They ploughed right into the group before the cowboys even had time to react, knocking them arse over tit and kicking them while they were down, in the fine old tradition of bouncers everywhere. Alex hit the group a moment later, swinging his cricket bat with both hands as though it were a long sword. He smashed faces and broke bones, and the cowboys fell back, crying out in shock and distress. None of them had prepared for an irate bartender armed with a weapon enchanted by Merlin Satanspawn. The glowing cricket bat smashed through their magical defences like they werent even there. Tougher magical shields flared up here and there, as some of the combat sorcerers got their act together enough to ward off the Coltranes, but the girls just dodged around the shields to get at those cowboys who werent protected. Shrill cries of pain and anguish filled the air.

I said Aces name, and when he turned to look at me I threw a handful of pepper into his face. An attack so basic and physical his magical shields couldnt do a thing to prevent it. He howled piteously, scrabbling at his tearing eyes with both hands. I kicked him in the nuts, and he folded up and fell to the floor. Top-rank combat sorcerer, my arse. Try having assassins at your throat and at your back ever since you were a small child and see what that does to your survival skills.

Some of the combat sorcerers got past their shock and surprise and charged up their amulets and charms. They fired spells in all directions, and everyone ducked for cover. I looked around for Pen Donavon, just in time to see him diving behind the bar. Best place for him. Then I had to throw myself to one side as an energy bolt seared through the air where Id been a moment before. It hit the long wooden bar and cracked it from end to end. I winced. I knew I was going to end up paying for that. Betty and Lucy Coltrane were ducking and dodging, avoiding fireballs and transformation spells and conceptual bullets from all directions at once. They were fast on their feet for their size, but they couldnt protect themselves and press the fight at the same time.

Sparks flew from Alexs cricket bat as he clubbed his way through the cowboys before him. They blasted him with destructive spells at point-blank range, but the magic Merlin had built into the bat reflected the spells right back at their source. As a result, lightning bolts flashed back and forth across the bar, bouncing off magical shields and doing extensive damage to the bars fixtures and fittings. Magical bullets ricocheted, punching holes in the walls and ceiling. And two rather surprised-looking toads blinked at each other from piles of cowboy clothes before reappearing as themselves again.

Meanwhile, I had my own problem. Ace was getting up again. I picked up a handy chair and hit him over the head with it. Im a great one for tradition. But the chair didnt break, and Ace didnt go down. So much for Hollywood. I dropped the chair and looked around for something else to hit him with. Preferably something with big jaggedy edges. I saw one of the combat sorcerers grab Bettie by the arm and pull her to him. I think he intended to use her as a human shield, or as a way to get to me. He really should have known better. He pointed his shimmering gun at her, and she smiled dazzlingly at him. He hesitated, and was lost. He stood where he was, unmoving, fascinated. Betties mother was a lust demon, and had passed on some of her deadly glamour to her daughter. Bettie held the cowboys eyes with hers, fished in her bag, brought out her Mace, and let him have it. He fell to the floor, writhing and howling, and clawing at his eyes with both hands.

And to think Id been a bit worried that she might not fit in with my friends.

While I was distracted, Ace hit me with a transformation spell. I cried out in shock as the spell crawled all over me, cramping my muscles and coursing through my neural system. Pain bent me in two, and sweat dripped from my face. I could feel my skin stretching and distorting, trying to find a new shape. Discharging energies spat and crackled around me, but for all its power, the spell couldnt find a foothold in me. Slowly, I straightened up again, fighting back the effects of the spell, throwing it off through sheer force of will. I smiled slowly at Ace, a cold and nasty deaths-head grin, and he fell back a pace as the last of his spell fell away from me, defeated.

So, he said harshly. Its true. Youre not human. That spell would have worked on any man.

A man might have shown you mercy, I said. But were beyond that now.

He thrust his conceptual gun in my face. I grabbed his pointing finger and broke it. And while he was distracted by the pain, I reached automatically for my gift, to find some weakness in his defencesand it was there, just waiting to be used. I didnt waste any time wondering why. I simply fired up my gift, reached out with my mind, and found the operating spells controlling the combat sorcerers magical items. And then it was the easiest thing in the world to tear away all the items controls and restraints and let the amulets and charms and fetishes release all their power at once.

I could have fixed it so they would discharge harmlessly, but I didnt feel like being merciful.

The magical items exploded like grenades, blowing their owners apart. Thirteen cowboys cried out in shock and pain and horror as their power sources punched holes through their chests, tore off their arms, or blew their heads apart. It was all over in a few moments, and then there were thirteen dead combat sorcerers lying on the bar-room floor, in slowly spreading pools of blood and gore. Alex lowered his glowing cricket bat, breathing hard. Betty and Lucy Coltrane looked around, kicked the bodies nearest them just in case, and then high-fived each other.

Bettie Divine looked at me, shock and horror in her face.

John; what have you done?

He said Kill them all.

That doesnt mean you had to kill all of them!

Yes it did, I said. I have a reputation to maintain.

What? 

They threatened me, and my friends, and they killed a poor drunk sorcerer. They broke my first rule. Thou shalt not mess with me and mine. I just sent a message to Kid Cthulhu and all his kind.

You killed thirteen men to make a point? Bettie was staring at me as though shed never seen me before, and perhaps she hadnt. Not this me.

They would have killed you, I said.

Yes. They would have. But youre supposed to be better than that.

I am, I said. Sometimes.

She wasnt even looking at me any more. She knelt beside what was left of the man called Ace. Hed carried three magical charms, and theyd torn him apart as they detonated. The amulet had blown his hand right off his wrist. His head was still pretty much intact. He looked more surprised than anything. Bettie cupped his face with one hand.

We were close, once. When we were both a lot younger. He wasnt always like this. We had dreams, of all the wonderful things we were going to do. And I became a reporter for a tabloid, and he ended up as a cowboy. He wasnt bad, not when I knew him. He liked silly comedies, and happy endings, and he held me on bad days and told me he believed in me. And yes, I know, he would have killed me if you hadnt stopped me. That doesnt change anything.

Did you love him? I said.

Of course I loved him. The man he was then. But I dont think hed been that man for some time. She stared down at the dead face, into his staring eyes. She tried to close the eyelids, but they wouldnt stay closed. Bettie made a sound, and sat back on her heels. I thought Id be stronger than this. Harder, more cynical. The things Ive seen, and donethe death of someone who used to be a friend, long ago, shouldnt affect me like this. I didnt think I could still hurt like this.

You get used to it, I said. And immediately knew it was the wrong thing to say. Bettie, youve got nothing to feel bad about. This is all down to me.

Yes, she said. It is.

She got up, all calm and composed again, and walked straight past me to the bar. She picked up her drink and took a dainty sip. She didnt look at me once. And I knew shed never look at me the same way again, after seeing what I could do, what I would do, when pushed to the wall.

I will always do whatever is necessary, to protect my friends, whether they approve or not.

Alex helped Betty and Lucy Coltrane loot the bodies of anything worth the having, and then directed them to haul the bodies out back and dump them in the alley outside. Where the Nightsides various scavengers would quickly dispose of them. Theres not a lot of room for sentiment in the Nightside. I would have helped, but I was busy thinking. Why had control of my gift been returned to me, after being blocked twice already? Presumably, whoever had been interfering with my gift just didnt need to any more. Because they were watching over me and knew Id located Pen Donavon.

Still musing, I wandered back to the bar. Alex had finally persuaded Donavon to come out from behind it, and he was emerging slowly, bit by bit, staring with horrified eyes at all the carnage and destruction.

Theyll always be coming after me, wont they? he said sadly. Its never going to be over. Im never going to get my life back. It wasnt much, but it was mine, and it was safe.

Youll be safe again once we get you and the Afterlife Recording back to the Unnatural Inquirers offices, Bettie said briskly. Youll have the papers full resources behind you. No-one will dare touch you.

And once youve handed over the DVD, no-one will have any reason to go after you, I said.

They might expect me to intercept another broadcast, said Donavon.

Weve seen your television, I said. Smash it. End of problem.

Well never make it to the papers offices, said Donavon. Theyll be lining up to get at me, all along the way.

John will find a way, Alex said firmly. Its what he does. When he isnt busy trashing my bar.

He doesnt have his gift any more, said Bettie. Hes been neutered.

Actually, no, I said. Ive got it back, now Ive caught up with Donavon. Tell me, Pen, what made you think to come here, looking for me?

I got a phone call, said Donavon. It said Id be safe at Strangefellows. That John Taylor could protect me. I knew your name, of course. And the bars reputation.

Who called you? I said.

Dont know. Identity withheld. I didnt recognise the voice. But I was desperate, so

Alex looked at me. Kid Cthulhu?

Maybe, I said. Or maybe theres another player in this game. Someone powerful enough to shut down my gift until it didnt matter any more. And just maybe, someone who wanted me to find Donavon, eventuallyThe rules of this game seem to be changing. I wonder why.

Id better track down Suzie, said Alex.

She might have her phone turned off if shes busy. You know Suzies only really happy when shes working. If you can find her, tell her I need her the moment shes free. Ive got a feeling this case is going to get seriously ugly.

Got it, said Alex. He turned away to root through the mess at the back of the bar, searching through the debris for his phone.

Bettie was looking at me now, her expression hard to read. I looked patiently back, waiting for her to make the first move.

Is that what you and Suzie have in common? she said finally. The thing that holds you together? That youre both killers?

Its not that simple, I said.

Ive never understood what you see in Shotgun Suzie. Shes a monster. She lives to kill. How can you stay with someone like that?

No-one else has shared what weve shared, I said. Seen the things weve seen, done the things weve had to do. Theres no-one else we could talk to, no-one else whod understand.

I want to understand, said Bettie. She moved slowly forward, almost in spite of herself, then suddenly she was in my arms again, her face pressed against my shoulder. I held her lightly, not wanting to scare her off. She buried her face in my shoulder, so she wouldnt have to look me in the eye. Oh, JohnYou killed to protect me. I know that. I know it was necessary. Butyou dont have to be like this. Socold. I could warm you. She finally looked up at me. Our eyes met, and she didnt flinch. She put her face up, and I kissed her. Because I wanted to. After a while, she stepped back, and I quickly let her go. She managed a small smile.

Let me take you away from all this, John. Living in an insane world is bound to make you crazy. And living with a crazy woman

Shes not crazy, I said. Just troubled.

Of course, John.

Suzie and I need each other.

No you dont! Sweetie, you really dont. You need a normal, healthy relationship. I could make you happy, John, in all the ways that matter.

How can I trust you? I said. Youre a lust demons daughter.

Well, said Bettie, no-ones perfect.

We both laughed. Sometimesits the little moments, the shared moments, that matter the most.

Alex came back, scowling as he looked from me to Bettie, and back again. Suzie isnt answering her phone. But Ive put the word out. Someone will bump into her. What do we do now?

I think its way past time we sat down and watched this bloody DVD and see whats on it, I said. Youve got a player upstairs, havent you, Alex?

Well, yes, but like I said Ive got my new girl-friend up there

If you think its going to be too much for her, send her home, I said. Im not going one step further with this case without knowing exactly what it is Im risking life and limb for.

Do you really think we should? said Bettie. I mean, look what watching it did to poor Pen.

We all looked at Pen Donavon, back on his stool again, drinking brandy like mothers milk. He felt our gaze on him and looked round. He sighed and handed me an unlabelled DVD in a jewel case.

Watch it, if you must, he said. I thinkits supposed to be seen. But I couldnt bear to see it again.

You dont have to, I said. Stay here. The Coltranes will look after you.

But even as Alex and Bettie and I headed for the back stairs that led up to Alexs private apartment, I had to wonder what seeing the Afterlife Recording would do to us. And whether I really wanted to know the truth.



EIGHT - One Mans Hell 


Getting into Alex Morriseys private apartment is never easy. He guards his privacy like a dragon with his hoard, and there are many pitfalls waiting for the unwary. I think a very specialised burglar got in once; and something ate him. First, you have to go up a set of back stairs that arent even there unless Alex wants them to be. Then you have to pass through a series of major league protections and defences, not unlike air-locks; you can feel them opening ahead of you, then closing behind you. Any one of these traps-in-waiting would quite cheerfully kill you if given the chance, in swift, nasty, and often downright appalling ways, if Alex happened to change his mind about you at any point. I have known gang lords crime dens that were easier to get into; and they often have their own pet demons under contract. I wouldnt even try getting into Alexs apartment without his permission unless I was armed with a tactical nuke wrapped in rabbits feet.

But it wasnt until Alex let us into his apartment that I was really shocked. The living-room was so clean and tidy I barely recognised it. All his old junk was gone, including the charity shop furniture and his collection of frankly disturbing porcelain statuettes in pornographic poses. Replaced by comfortable furnishings and pleasant decorative touches. His books, CDs, and DVDs no longer lay scattered across all available surfaces or stacked in tottering piles against the walls; now they were all set out neatly on brand-new designer shelving. Probably in alphabetical order, too. It was actually possible now to walk across Alexs living-room without having to kick things out of the way, and his carpet didnt crunch when you trod on it.

In the end, it was the cushions on the sofa that gave it away. Men who live on their own dont have cushions. They just dont. Its a guy thing.

I looked accusingly at Alex. Youve let a woman move in with you, havent you? Dont you ever learn?

I didnt say anything, Alex said haughtily, because I knew you wouldnt approve. Besides, youre in no position to throw stones. You live with a psychopathic gun nut.

There was a noise from the next room. A small tic appeared briefly in Alexs face. I looked at him sternly. What was that?

Just the vulture, Alex said quickly. Morning sickness.

A sudden horrible thought struck me. You havent let your ex-wife move back in, have you?

I would rather projectile vomit my own intestines, said Alex, with great dignity.

Sorry, I said.

I should think so, too.

Wait a minute. Downstairs in the bar, you said your new girl-friend was up here. So where is she? Why is she hiding from me? And why do I just know that Im really not going to like the answers to any of these questions?

Oh, hell, said Alex. He looked back at the other room. Youd better come in, Cathy.

And while I was standing there, struck dumb with shock, my teenage secretary, Cathy, came in from the next room. She smiled at me brightly, but I was still too stunned to respond. She was wearing a smart and sophisticated little outfit, and surprisingly understated make-up. I barely recognised her. Normally she favoured colours so fashionable they made your eye-balls bleed.

This is your new girl-friend? I said finally. Cathy? My Cathy? My teenage secretary? Shes almost half your age!

I know! said Alex. She took one look at my music collection and turned up her nose! Called it dad rockBut; she came into the bar one night with a message from you, and, well, we happened to get talking, andwe clicked. Next thing I know were a couple, and shes moved in with me. Neither of us said anything to you because we knew youd blow your stack.

I am lost for words, I said.

Bet that doesnt last, said Cathy.

I glared at her. I did not rescue you from a house that tried to eat you, take you in, and make you my secretary, just so you could get involved with a disreputable character like Alex Morrisey!

I thought Alex was your friend? said Bettie, who I felt was enjoying the situation entirely too much.

He is. Mostly. Its because I know him so well that Im worried! Alex has even worse luck with women than I do.

I resent that! said Alex.

I notice youre not denying it, I said.

Cathy stood close beside Alex, holding his arm protectively. It reminded me of the way Bettie had been holding my arm recently. Cathy looked me square in the eye, her jaw set in a familiar and very determined manner.

I am eighteen now, going on nineteen. Im not the frightened little girl you rescued any more. Hell, Ive been running your office for the last few years and kept all the paper-work in order, which is more than you ever did. I am old enough to run my own life and to be responsible for my own actions. Just like you always taught me. Go after what really matters to you, you said. And I did. Alex and I might not be the mostorthodox of couples; but then, neither are you and Suzie.

I smiled briefly. Well. My little girl is all grown-up. All right, Cathy. Youre clearly off your head and displaying quite appalling taste, but you have the right to make your own mistakes. I looked at Alex. We will talk about this later.

Oh, joy, said Alex.

Quite, I said. Now, show me how that fiendishly complicated-looking remote control works.

Alex picked up something big enough to land the space shuttle from a distance, turned on his television, dimmed the lights, and showed me how to work the DVD player.

That button is for the surround sound, the toggle is for the volume. Dont touch that one; it turns on the sprinkler system. And stay away from that one because it operates the vibrating bed. Dont look at me like that.

Whats this big red button for? said Bettie, sitting beside me on the sofa before the television.

Do not touch the big red button, said Alex. That is only to be used in the event of alien invasion, or if someone not a million miles from here starts another bloody angel war.

I did not

Right, said Alex. Thats it. You two enjoy the show, Cathy and I will be down in the bar.

Dont you want to see whats on the DVD? said Bettie.

I would rather stab myself in the eyes with knives, said Alex. Come along, Cathy.

But I want to watch it! said Cathy.

No, you dont, Alex said firmly. Wait until Johns test-driven it; then, if its safe, we can have a peep at it.

So Im your guinea-pig now? I said, amused despite myself.

Hey, said Alex. What are friends for?

If you do get Raptured, said Cathy, can I have your trench coat?

Alex hustled her out, leaving Bettie and me alone with the television and the Afterlife Recording. The disc looked quite remarkably ordinary, almost innocent, as I took it out of its case. I handled it gingerly, half-afraid the thing might try to bite me, or even burst into flames once exposed to the open air; but it was only a DVD. I slipped it into the machine, hit PLAY, and Bettie and I settled back to watch.

There was no menu, no introduction. It was a recording of an unexpected transmission, with the beginning missing. It just started, and the television screen showed a view into Hell. There were buildings, or more properly structures, great looming things, like impossibly huge cancers. The walls were scarlet meat traced with purple veins, sick and decaying. Suppurating holes that might have been windows showed people trapped inside, plugged into the breathing sweating architecture, sometimes sunk deep in cancerous flesh; and all of them were screaming in agony.

The structures were packed too close together, their malign presence like a concentration camp of the soul. Through the narrow streets ran an endless stream of naked sinners, burned and bleeding, sobbing and shrieking as horned demons drove them on. The sinners who fell or lagged behind were dragged down and torn apart by the demons. Only to rise again, made whole, so they could be driven on again, forever. Bodies hung from lamp-posts, still kicking and struggling, as demons tugged their intestines from great rips in their bellies.

The sky was on fire, spreading a blood-red light across the terrible scene. Huge bat-winged shapes circled overhead. And from far off in the distance, vast and terrible, came the laughter of the Devil, savouring the horrors of Hell.

I hit the PAUSE button, leaned back on the sofa, and looked at Bettie. Its a fake. Thats not Hell.

Are you sure? said Bettie. And then her eyes widened, and she actually leaned back a little from me. Do you know? Are the stories true, that youve really been to Hell, and returned?

Of course not, I said. Only one man ever returned from the Houses of Pain, and he was the Son of God. No; you can tell that isnt the real thing from looking at the sinners. They all have the same face, see? Pen Donavons face.

Bettie leaned in close for a better look. Youre right! All the faces are the same! Even the demons, just exaggerated versions of Pens features. But what does this mean, John? If this isnt a recording of the Afterlife, what is it?

I hit the STOP button and turned off the television. Its psychic imprinting, I said. We discussed this, remember? What we were looking at was one mans personal vision of Hell. All of Pen Donavons fears and nightmares appeared on his television set, leaking out of his subconscious, and when he tried to record what he saw, he psychically imprinted his own vision onto the DVD. Poor bastard. He believes he belongs in Hell; though probably only he could tell us why.

So there never was any transmission from Beyond? said Bettie.

No. All that junk Donavon bolted onto his television set was just junk, after all.

I removed the DVD from the player and slipped it back into its case. Such a small thing, to have caused so much trouble.

It doesnt matter, Bettie said cheerfully. It looks good enough to pass. Fake or no, the paper can still make decent money off it. Actually, its even better that its not the real thing; now we dont have to worry about upsetting anyone Upstairs. It looks impressive enough, and thats all the punters will care about. So what do we do now, John? Take the DVD back to the Unnatural Inquirer offices, along with poor Pen? We can keep him safe there, until the DVDs appeared, then we can leak the news that its not the real thing after all, and everyone will leave him alone.

Its not going to be that simple, I said reluctantly. That might have worked, right up to the point where I killed all Kid Cthulhus combat sorcerers over it. No-one will believe Id go to so much trouble unless there was some truth to the story.

Ah, said Bettie. Then, what are we going to do?

Good question, I said. Im not entirely sure. We need to play this exactly right

I thought for a while, pacing up and down, rejecting one idea after another, while Bettie watched, fascinated. And finally, I got it. A very crafty and downright sneaky way out of this mess. I took out my mobile phone and called Kid Cthulhu, on his very private number.

Hi, Kid, I said cheerfully. This is John Taylor. How are the barnacles?

How did you get this number? said Kid Cthulhu. As always, he sounded like someone drowning in his own vomit.

I find things, remember? I know everyones private number. Or at least, everyone who matters. You should be flattered you made the list. Now, I dont want a war with you. Ive got the DVD of the Afterlife Recording right here in my hand, and Im willing to sell it to you for a merely extortionate price.

You killed all my combat sorcerers, didnt you?

Try not to dwell on the negative aspects, Kid; we can still do business. How about I come over to your place, and we discuss it?

Youre not coming anywhere near my place, said Kid Cthulhu. Ive just had it redecorated. How about The Witchs Tit? Down on Beltane Street? Lap dancers and the like. Very classy.

Sounds it, I said. Okay, meet you there in an hour.

Why the rush?

Because the Removal Man is on my trail, and I want to be rid of the damned DVD before he catches up with me. You know hes already taken out the Cardinal over this? Once the DVD is yours, hell be your problem.

One hour, said Kid Cthulhu. And dont bring Shotgun Suzie with you or the deals off.

Such a fuss, over one little tentacle, I said. If shed wanted you dead, youd be dead.

Have you seen whats on the DVD? said Kid Cthulhu.

Of course not, I said. And yes; I guarantee there are no other copies. Youre buying exclusive rights to the Afterlife Recording.

One hour, said Kid Cthulhu.

The line went dead. I put the phone away, smiling. These gang bosses all think theyre so smart.

Right, I said to Bettie. Lets go meet Captain Sushi.

Its bound to be a trap, said Bettie. Shed had her head right next to mine, so she could listen in on the call.

Of course its a trap, I said. Kid Cthulhu owns The Witchs Tit. But since we know its a trap going in, we can be ready to take advantage of it. What matters is setting things up so everyone will believe Kid Cthulhu has the Afterlife Recording.

Wait a minute, said Bettie. You cant just give it to him, John. My paper

Relax, I said. At exactly the right moment, you will distract him, and I will swap this DVD for one I will happen to have hidden about my person. Something from Alexs collection; he wont even know its gone till its too late. Kid Cthulhu will be bound to make a fuss about getting the DVD from me, and the news will be all over the Nightside by the time he actually works up the nerve to watch what hes bought. By which time we will have delivered the real thing to your papers offices, where it will be safe. Until you give it away with this Sundays edition. And Kid Cthulhuwill learn the cost of messing with me and mine.

Hell kill you, said Bettie.

He can join the queue.

I took an unlabelled disc from Alexs private collection of elf porn, slipped it into an inside pocket, and smiled again. The day I couldnt work a simple bait and switch like this, Id retire.

Theres a lot more to being a private eye than most people realise.

We went back down into the bar. I didnt need Alexs help to leave his apartment though I could still feel his defences, like so many spiders webs, trailing lightly against my face as I went down the stairs. Pen Donavon was still sitting slumped on his bar-stool, staring into his brandy glass. Alex was behind the bar, scowling at Donavon as he opened yet another bottle of the good brandy. For a tired, scared, and totally out-of-his-mind man on the run, Donavon could really put it away. I suppose when you believe youre going to Hell anyway, little things like hangovers and liver failure dont bother you any more.

Cathy was behind the bar with Alex, poking the meat pies with a stick to see if they needed replacing yet. Lucy and Betty Coltrane were still clearing up the general mess. Everyone turned to look as Bettie and I appeared from the back stairs.

Well? said Alex. How was it? What was it? Ive got a first-rate exorcist on speed dial, if you need him.

Everyone relax, I said. Its a fake.

Pen Donavons head came up. What?

I started to explain, as kindly as I could, about psychic imprinting and guilt, but I could tell he wasnt listening. And I stopped as I realised the bar was getting darker. The light became suffused with red, as though stained with fresh blood, sinking into a deep crimson glow. Tables and chairs suddenly exploded into flames and burned fiercely, unconsumed. The Coltranes backed quickly away, and joined the rest of us at the bar. The walls slumped slowly inwards, swollen and inflamed, their fleshy texture studded with sweating tumours. A huge eye opened in the ceiling, staring down at us in cold judgement. The floor became soft and uncertain beneath my feet, heaving like the slow swell of the sea. Deep dark shadows were forming all around us, slowly closing in.

Its him, isnt it? said Bettie, gripping my arm with both hands. Its Pen. Hes imprinting his vision of Hell right here, with us.

Looks like it, I said. Only this doesnt look or feel like any illusion. I wouldnt go so far as to say its real, as such, but it could be real enough to kill us.

How is he doing this? said Alex. This bar has defences and protections laid down by Merlin himself!

Yes, I said. Where is the power coming from to let him do something like this?

I fired up my gift, and looked at Pen Donavon through my third eye, my private eye. And I found the hidden source of his unnatural power. I could See the thing, inside his body, tucked away under the sternum and over the heart. It must have come to his little shop as just another piece of interdimensional flotsam and jetsam; and he probably hadnt realised how powerful it was until he accidentally activated it. Probably hadnt even realised it was alive until it forced its way inside him. Now it was attached to him, a part of him, with long tendrils reaching into his heart and gut and brain. A mystical parasite, living off him while feeding him power in return.

I couldnt tear it out of him without killing him in the process. And I didnt want to kill Pen Donavon, even after all the trouble hed caused. None of this was really his fault. I doubt hed had a free and uninfluenced thought of his own since the parasite took up residence inside him.

Demons emerged from the shadows around us. Hunched and horned, with scarlet skin; medieval devils all with distorted versions of Donavons face. They smiled to show their jagged teeth and flexed their clawed hands hungrily. Alex had his cricket bat out again. Cathy had the shotgun. Betty and Lucy Coltrane stood back-to-back, ready to take on all comers. Bettie looked at me. I looked at Pen Donavon.

Why Hell? I said bluntly. Why are you so convinced of your own damnation? What could a small and insignificant little man like you have possibly done that could be so bad that all you ever think about is Hell?

For a long moment I thought he wasnt going to answer me. The demons were getting very close. And then he sighed deeply, staring into his glass.

I had a dog, he said. Called him Prince. He was a good dog. Had him for years. Then I got married. She never took to Prince. Just wasnt a dog person. We all got along well enoughuntil the marriage hit problems. We started arguing over small things and worked our way up. She said she was going to leave me. I still loved her. Begged her to stay; said Id do anything. She said I had to prove my love for her. Get rid of the dog. I loved my dog, but she was my wife. So I said Id give Prince up. Find him a good home somewhere else. But no, that wasnt good enough. She said I had to prove she was more important to me than the dog, by killing him.

Have Prince put down. Or shed leave me. My choice, she said.

I killed my dog. Took him to the vets, said good-bye, held his paw while the vet gave him the injection. Took my dog home. Buried him.

And she left me anyway. Prince was my dog. He was the best dog in the world. And I killed him. He looked slowly round the bar, at the Hell hed made. Slow tears were running down his cheeks. I deserve this. All of it.

The fires blazed up all around us. My bare skin smarted painfully from the heat. The air was thick with the stench of blood and brimstone. The demons were almost within reach. In his need to be punished, to make atonement for his sin, Pen Donavon had brought Hell to Earth; or something close enough to do the job. He could burn up the whole bar and everyone in itbut the parasite inside him would make sure he survived. To go on suffering. Suddenly I knew what the parasite fed on.

I got angry then. I could kill Donavon, rip the parasite right out of him. But he didnt deserve that. Not when there was a better way. Im John Taylor, and I find things. Things, and people, and just sometimes, a way out of Hell for those who need it.

I raised my gift and forced my inner eye all the way open, making it look in a direction I normally had sense enough to avoid. I concentrated, drawing on every resource I had, and I Saw beyond this world and into the Next. I found who I was looking for and called his name; and he came. A great door opened up in the middle of the bar, spilling a bright and brilliant light into the crimson glare, forcing it back. All the demons stopped and looked round, as a great mongrel dog with a shaggy head and drooping ears bounded out of the door and into the bar. He went straight for the demons nearest Donavon, and tore right through them, gripping them with his powerful jaws and shaking them back and forth like a terrier with a rat. The demons cried out miserably, and fell apart. Donavon looked at the dog, and his whole face lit up in amazed disbelief.

Prince? 

Typical, said the dog, spitting out a bit of demon, then trotting over to push his great shaggy head into Donavons lap. Cant turn my back on you for five minutes.

Im so sorry, Prince. Im so sorry. Donavon could hardly get the words out. He bent over and hugged the dog round the neck.

Its all right, said the dog. Humans cant think for shit when theyre in heat. It was her fault, not yours. You were just weak; she was the bad one.

Do you forgive me, Prince?

Of course; thats what dogs do. Another good reason why all dogs go to Heaven. Now come along with me, Pen. Its time to go.

Donavon looked at the wonderful light falling out of the door in the middle of the bar. Butyoure dead, Prince.

Yes. And so are you. Youve been dead ever since that parasite ate its way into you. Dont you remember? No; I suppose it wont let you. Either way, its only the parasites energies that have been keeping you going, so it could feed on your pain and fear. The dog paused. You know, theres nothing like being dead for increasing your vocabulary. Ive been so much more articulate since I crossed over. Anyone got a biscuit? No? Come with me, Pen. Heaven awaits.

Will we be together, Prince?

Of course, Pen. Forever and ever and ever.

There was a bright flash of light, and when it faded the bar was back to normal again. The Hell that Pen Donavon had made was gone, and so was the door full of light. His dead body slumped slowly forward and fell off the stool, hitting the floor. It heaved suddenly, jerked this way and that by loud cracking and tearing sounds, and then the parasite appeared from under the body. It scuttled across the floor like a huge beetle, until I stepped forward and stamped down hard. It crunched satisfyingly under my boot, and was still.

Gone straight to Hell, where it belonged.



NINE - Entrances and Exits 


So, back to Uptown we went. It had been a long time since Id been involved with a case that involved so much walking, and I was getting pretty damned tired of it. If Id wanted to spend so much time tramping back and forth in the Nightside, wearing out good shoe leather and guaranteeing severe lower back pain for later, Id have had my head examined. And to add insult to injury, a fog had come up, ghosting the Nightside in shades of pearl and grey. Fog is always a bad sign; it means the barriers between the worlds are wearing thin. You can never tell what might appear out of the mists or disappear into them.

The Witchs Tit aspired to dreams of class and opulence, but it was really just another titty bar with a theme. A campy mixture of Goth come-ons and Halloween kitsch, where the girls danced naked, apart from tall witchs hats, and did obscene things with their broomsticks. The club was situated right on the very edge of Uptown, as though the other establishments were ashamed of it, and quite probably they were. The Witchs Tit was the only legitimate business Kid Cthulhu owned and certainly the only one he took a personal interest in.

Why? Well, heres a hint: word has it hes not a leg man.

The club itself looked cheap and tacky from the outside, all sleazy neon and seedy photos of girls who probably didnt even work there, but that wasnt what concerned me. There was no barker outside, singing the praises of the girls and cajoling passers-by to come on in and take a look. And when I cautiously pushed the door open and looked inside, there werent any bouncers either, or any traces of security. Kid Cthulhu wasnt known for leaving his assets undefended, especially during an important meet like this. Had to be a trap of some kind. So I walked in, smiling cheerfully, with Bettie bouncing happily along at my side in a black leather outfit with chains and studs, and a perky little dog collar round her throat.

The club had been fitted out with all the usual Halloween motifsblack walls, witchs cauldrons, and grinning pumpkin-heads. The lighting was comfortably dim and inviting, save for half a dozen spotlights that stabbed down onto the raised stage at the back of the club, picking out the dancers steel poles. But still; no girls, no customers, no bar staff. Kid Cthulhu had cleared the place out, just for me. The phrase no witnesses was whispering in the back of my head. I led Bettie through the empty tables and out into the open space before the stage, our footsteps loud and carrying in the quiet. Half a dozen human skeletons had been hung from stretchy elastic, bobbing gently at the edge of the open space, perhaps disturbed by our approach. At first I thought they were another example of the Halloween d&#233;cor, but something made me stop and take a closer look. They were all real skeletons, the bones held together by copper wire. Some of the longer bones showed teeth-marks.

A new spotlight stabbed down from overhead, revealing Kid Cthulhu sitting on a huge reinforced chair, right in the centre of the open space. He looked like a man, but he wasnt. Not any more. You could tell. You could see it, feel it. There was a taint in the man, all the way through. He had been touched, and changed, by something from Outside. Kid Cthulhu was a large man, he had to be, to contain everything that was in him now. He was naked, his skin stretched taut and swollen, as though pushed out by pressures from within. He was supposed to be about my age, but his face was so puffed out no trace of human character remained in it. He sat slumped in his oversized chair, like King Glutton on his throne. His bare skin gleamed dully in the mercilessly revealing spotlight, colourless as a fishs belly, while his eyes were all black, like a sharks.

They say he broke mens bones with his bare hands. They say he ate the flesh of men, breaking open the bones to get at the marrow. They said there was something growing within him, or perhaps through him, from Outside. And right then, I believed every word they said.

Hey, KC, I said cheerfully. Wheres the Sunshine Band?

He studied me coldly with his flat black eyes. John TaylorYour name is bile and ashes in my mouth. Your presence here is an affront to me. Your continued existence an unbearable insult. You killed my combat sorcerers. My boys. My lovely boys.

You have changed, I said. You never should have gone on that deep-sea voyage. Or at the very least, you should have thrown back what you caught.

You defy me, said Kid Cthulhu. No-one does that any more. I shall enjoy killing you.

His voice was harsh and laboured, forced out word by word, with a distinct gurgle in it, as though he were speaking underwater. He sounding like a drowning man, venting his spite on the man whod pushed him in.

I thought we were here to do business, I said. I have the Afterlife Recording right here with me.

I dont care about that any more, said Kid Cthulhu. Money doesnt matter to me. I have money. All that matters now is the satisfying of my various appetites and the destruction of my enemies. I will see you broken, suffering, and dead, John Taylor. And your pretty little companion. Perhaps Ill make you watch as I tear her guts out, and eat them as she dies, screaming.

Oh, ick, said Bettie. Nasty man

Kid Cthulhu rose suddenly up from his throne, a man twice the size a man should be, forcing his great bulk up onto its feet through sheer strength of will. His joints were buried deep under swollen flesh, and unnaturally distended genitals showed under the great swell of his belly.

Double ick, said Bettie. With a side order of not even for a million pounds.

Kid Cthulhu strode toward us, slowly and deliberately, each step shaking the floor, his deep-set eyes fixed on me. His purple pouting mouth parted to reveal jagged sharp teeth. His huge puffy hands opened to reveal claws. Someone that size shouldnt have been able to move unaided, let alone have such an air of strength and deadly purpose. I was still thinking what to do when Bettie stepped smartly forward, opened her purse, took out her Mace spray, and let Kid Cthulhu have it, right in the face.

Nasty fat man, she said calmly. And you smell.

Kid Cthulhu stopped before her, surprised, but showing no hurt at all from a faceful of Mace laced with holy water. His all-black eyes barely blinked as the Mace ran down his distended cheeks like so many viscous tears. He lashed out suddenly, one huge arm swinging round impossibly quickly, and the impact knocked Bettie off her feet and sent her flying. She crashed through a table, hit the floor hard, rolled over a few times, and lay still; and it was all over before I could even move a muscle. I called out to her, but she didnt answer. And then Kid Cthulhu turned his head and looked at me.

He was between me and Bettie, so I couldnt get to her. I backed away slowly, thinking fast. I hadnt planned for this. Id heard he was going through changes, but I still thought of him as just another gang boss. Someone I could make a deal with. The Nightside runs on deals. But all this Kid Cthulhu wanted was me, preferably in large meaty chunks. I dont normally care to get involved with hand-to-hand combat, partly because its coarse and vulgar and beneath my dignity, but mostly because Ive never been that good at it. Ive always preferred to talk or threaten or bluff my way out of trouble. But I didnt think that was going to work here.

I stopped, stood my ground, and stared him right in the eye. Sometimes the oldest tricks are the best. But for the second time that day, I found myself faced with someone I couldnt stare down. His flat black eyes stared right back at me, untouched and unmoved. I couldnt reach him. I wasnt even sure there was anything human left in him to reach. So I grabbed the nearest chair and threw it at him. It bounced off, without leaving a single mark on his veiny, distended skin.

Then he was coming right at me, a huge mass of colourless flesh like something youd find at the bottom of the sea, driven on by some unnatural energy. Id beaten so many threats in my time, faced down and defeated so many Major Players, gods, and monstersIt had never occurred to me that I might be killed by some oversized, implacable gang boss.

As he crashed forward, the floor shaking with every tread, I somehow found the time to notice that his flesh seemed to move more slowly than the rest of him, sliding across his deep-sunk bones like an afterthought, as though it wasnt properly connected any more. What little humanity he had left in him was sliding away. I glanced behind me. I could have run. I was pretty sure I could beat him to the exit. But that would have meant leaving Bettie behind, abandoned to Kid Cthulhus inhuman appetites. Hed said hed do terrible things to her, and I believed him. So I stepped forward, braced myself, and punched him right in his protruding belly. His impetus drove him forward onto my fist, and it sank deep into his gut. He didnt even make a sound. The cold, cold flesh closed around my hand, sucking it in. I had to use all my strength to pull it free again. Just the touch of his flesh was enough to set my teeth on edge.

A huge arm came swinging round out of nowhere and hit me like a club. I managed to get a shoulder round in time to take the worst of the impact, but the flesh seemed to just keep coming and slammed into the side of my face. The strength went out of my legs, and I hit the floor hard, driving the breath from my lungs. My left shoulder blazed with pain, and I could barely move my left arm. The whole left side of my face ached fiercely. There was blood in my mouth, and I spat it out. I sensed as much as saw Kid Cthulhu looming over me, and I rolled to one side as his great fist came slamming down like a pile-driver, cracking and splintering the floor where Id been lying. I got my legs under me and forced myself back up onto my feet again. I didnt feel too steady, and I was breathing hard. Kid Cthulhu wasnt.

I backed away. My left eye was puffing shut, and it felt like my nose might be broken. I checked my teeth with my tongue. I didnt seem to have lost any, this time. I hate it when that happens. There was more blood in my mouth. Probably a cut on the inside of my cheek. I spat the blood in Kid Cthulhus direction, but his flat dark eyes never wavered.

I couldnt fight a man like this. I had to be smarter than that.

I backed away some more, glancing round to make sure I was leading Kid Cthulhu away from Bettie, and then made myself concentrate past the pain. I called up my gift, and looked at Kid Cthulhu with my inner eye. If I couldnt fight the man, maybe I could fight what was inside him. I used my gift to find the taint, the inhuman corruption deep within his flesh, the thing from Outside that was slowly suffusing his human form. And having found it, it was the easiest thing in the world to rip the taint right out of him.

Kid Cthulhu screamed; and for the first time, he sounded human. He fell to his knees, no longer able to sustain his massive weight once the taint from Outside was gone. He fell forward onto his face, his flesh moving in great ripples of fat. And beside him stood the taint, a horrid twisting shape that made no sense at all in only three spatial dimensions. It howled its fury, in a voice I heard more with my mind than my ears. It didnt belong in this world, stripped of the host it had been transforming into something suitable to birth its new form. I wondered briefly what that might have been. Nothing like Kid Cthulhu, certainly. It hurt just to look at the taint. Like a colour too vile for our spectrum, a shape like a living Rorschach blot that suggested only nightmares. Its very presence in this world was like fingernails scraping down the blackboard of my soul.

It came after me, moving in ways unknown in my comfortable, three-dimensional world. I ran for the raised stage at the back of the club, and it followed. It moved more like energy than anything physical, and that gave me an idea. Up on the stage, I backed slowly away. A bolt of vivid energy snapped out, and I had to throw myself to one side to avoid it. The taint came after me, rising and falling in the air. My back slammed up against a steel dancers pole. The taint fired another energy bolt. I ducked to one side, and the energy bolt hit the steel pole. The taint screamed as its energy grounded through the pole, discharging into the earth below, its howl rising and rising till it seemed to fill my head, and then the sound broke off as the taint disappeared, gone.

Now that I was out of danger, my arm and my shoulder and my face all hurt worse than ever, but I made myself get down from the stage and go over to where Bettie was still lying sprawled on the floor. As I approached, she raised her head a little, looked at me, then sat up easily.

Is it over? she said brightly. I thought Id better keep my head down, and not get in your way. And then she saw the state of my face and scrambled to her feet. Oh, John, sweetie, youre hurt! What did he do to you?

She produced a clean white handkerchief from somewhere, licked it briefly with a pointed tongue, and dabbed cautiously at my face, wiping the blood away. It hurt, but I let her do it. My left eye was puffed shut, but at least Id stopped spitting blood.

Looks worse than it is, I said, trying to convince myself as much as Bettie.

Hush, she said. Stand still. My hero.

When shed finished, she looked at the bloody handkerchief, pulled a face, and tucked it up one black leather sleeve. I looked thoughtfully at Kid Cthulhu, still lying where hed fallen like a beached whale. I walked slowly over to him, Bettie trotting at my side. She managed to make it clear she was there to be leaned on, if necessary, but was considerate enough not to say it out loud. I stood over Kid Cthulhu, and he rolled his flat black eyes up in his stretched face to look at me.

Kill you, Taylor. Kill you for this. Kill you, and all your friends, and everyone you know. I have people. Ill send them after you, and Ill never stop, never. Never!

I believe you, I said. And I raised my foot and stamped down hard, right on the back of his fat neck. I felt as much as heard his neck break under my foot, and as easily as that the life went out of him. I stepped back. Bettie looked at me, horrified.

You killed him. Just like that. How could you?

Because it was necessary, I said You heard him.

ButI never thought of you as a cold-blooded killerYoure supposed to be better than that!

Mostly I am, I said. But no-one threatens me and mine.

I dont know you at all, do I? Bettie said slowly, looking at me steadily.

Im justwho I have to be, I said.

And then we both looked round sharply. Someone new was there in the club with us, though I hadnt heard him come in. He was standing on the raised stage, in a spotlight of his own, waiting patiently to be noticed. A tall and slender man with dark coffee-coloured skin, wearing a smartly cut pale grey suit, with an apricot cravat at his throat. He might have been any age, but there was an air of experience and quiet authority about him. As though he had so much power he didnt need to put on a show. His head was shaven, gleaming in the spotlight. His eyes were kind, his smile pleasant; and I didnt trust him an inch.

You did well, in dealing with Kid Cthulhu, he said finally, in a rich, smooth and cultured voice. A very unpleasant fellow, destined to become something even more unpleasant. I would have taken care of him myself, in time, but you did a good job, Mr. Taylor.

And you are? I said. Though I have a horrible suspicion I already know.

I am the Removal Man. An honourable calling, in a dishonourable world. And I am here for the Afterlife Recording.

Of course you are, I said. Its been that sort of a day. How did you know I was bringing it here?

Mr. Taylor, the Removal Man said reproachfully, I know what I need to know. Its part of my function. Now be a good chap and hand over the DVD, and we can get through this without anyunpleasantness. It must be removed; its far too great a temptation for all concerned.

The Unnatural Inquirer owns exclusive rights to the Afterlife Recording, said Bettie automatically, though I could tell she was getting tired of having to tell people that.

I do not recognise the Law, or its bindings, the Removal Man said easily. I answer to a higher calling. Just hand over the DVD, Mr. Taylor, and Ill be on my way. This doesnt have to end badly. You must admit that the Nightside will be better off without the Recording. Look how much trouble its already caused.

You dont need to do anything, I said. I was trying very hard to sound casual and reasonable, like him. Its not easy talking to someone who can probably make you disappear off the face of the Earth just by thinking about it. I added the probably as a sop to my pride, but I really didnt want to get into a pissing contest with the Removal Man. I had the uneasy feeling that his legend might be a little bit more real than mine. Ive seen whats on the DVD, and its nothing you need be concerned about. Its a fake, the psychic imprinting of a disturbed mind.

Youve seen it? said the Removal Man, raising one elegant eyebrow. Oh, dear. How very unfortunate. Now I have to take care of you as well.

ButIve seen it, too! said Bettie. Its nothing! Its a fake!

The Removal Man shook his shaven head sadly, still smiling his kind smile. Yes, well, you would say that, wouldnt you?

You cant just make us disappear! Bettie said defiantly. I work for the Unnatural Inquirer! I have the full resources of the paper behind me. And this is John Taylor! You know who his friends are. You really want Razor Eddie or Dead Boy coming after you? And anyway, what makes you so sure youre always right? What makes you infallible? What gives you the right to judge the whole world and everyone in it?

Ah, he said, smugly. The secret origin of the Removal Man; is that what you want, little miss demon girl reporter? Yes, I know who you are, Miss Divine. I know who everyone is. Very well, then; I sold my soul to God. In return for power over the Earth and everything in it. Not God himself, as such, one of his representatives. But the deal is just as real. I am here to pass judgement on the wicked; and I do. Because someone has to. Im changing the Nightside for the better; one thing, one person, one soul at a time. You mustnt worry, Miss Divine. It wont hurt a bit. Though really, gentlemen should go first. Isnt that right, Mr. Taylor?

Bettie moved immediately to put herself between me and the Removal Man. You cant! I wont let you! Hes a good man, in his way. And hes done more for the Nightside than you ever have!

Stand aside, said the Removal Man. Mr. Taylor goes first, because he is the most dangerous. And please, no more protestations. I really have heard them all before.

Bettie was still searching for something to say, when I took her by the arm and moved her gently but firmly to one side. I dont hide behind anyone, I said to the Removal Man. I dont need to, you arrogant, self-righteous little prig.

Mr. Taylor

What did you have to kill the Cardinal for? I liked him. He was no threat to anyone.

He betrayed his faith, said the Removal Man. He was a thief. And an abomination.

Ive scraped more appealing things than you off the bottom of my shoe, I said.

I raised my gift again and Saw right through the Removal Man. It wasnt difficult to find out who hed really made his deal with and show him the truth. Not God. Not God at all. I showed the Removal Man whod really been pulling his strings all this time, and he screamed like a soul newly damned to Hell. He staggered back and forth on the raised stage, shaking his head in denial, even as he cried out in shock and loathing. Until finally, unable to face who and what he really was, he turned his power on himself and disappeared.

And that was the end of the Removal Man.

I hadnt wanted to destroy him. He really had done a lot of good in his time, along with the bad and the questionable. But no-ones more vulnerable than those who believe theyre better than everyone else. His whole existence had been based on a lie. Hed been betrayed, and I knew who by. Id Seen him. I looked into the shadows at the back of the raised stage.

All right, you can come out now. Come on out, Mr. Gaylord du Rois, Editor of the one and only Unnatural Inquirer.

Betties gasp was so shocked it came out as little more than a muffled squeak as Gaylord du Rois stepped forward into the light to stare calmly down at both of us.

Well done, Mr. Taylor. You really are almost as good as people say you are.

Du Rois was a tall, elderly gentleman, dressed in the very best Edwardian finery. His back was straight, his head held high, and there wasnt a trace of weakness or frailty in him, for all his obvious age. His face was a mass of wrinkles, and his bare head was undecorated save for liver spots and a few fly-away hairs. His deep-set cold grey eyes hardly blinked at all, and his mouth was a wet slash of colourless lips. His hands were withered claws, but they still looked like they could do a lot of damage. He burned with a harsh and unforgiving energy, determined and defiant, as though he could hold back death through sheer force of will. He nodded at the spot where the Removal Man had disappeared himself.

Damned fool. Always was inflexible. He really did think hed been given his power by God himself, to indulge his prejudices and paranoias. I suppose learning I was his puppet master, and had been all along, was just too much to bear. Such a come-down from God. It doesnt matter. Id have had to replace him soon anyway. He was having delusions of independence. Still, I can always find another fool.

I dont understand, said Bettie. Youre the Editor? Youve always been the Editor? Andthe Removal Man was your creature all along? Why?

Dear Bettie, du Rois said indulgently. Always a reporter, always asking the right questions. Yes, my dear, I am your Editor and always have been. The Inquirer is mine, and mine alone, and has been for over a hundred years. And in that time I have created many Removal Men to serve my needs. They dont tend to last long. Such small, blinkered, black-and-white attitudes dont tend to survive long when faced with the ever-shifting greys of the Nightside. They burn out. But theres always someone who thinks they know better than everyone else, just itching for a chance to remake the world in their own limited image

Why create them? I said. I dont see why the Editor of the Unnatural Inquirer should give much of a damn about the morality of the Nightside.

Quite right, Mr. Taylor. I dont give a damn. Except for when it makes good copy. Reporting and condemning the sins and shames of the Nightside has filled the pages of my paper for generations. But one lifetime wasnt enough for me. I wanted more. There was still so much left to see, and know, and do. So I found a way. You can always find a way in the Nightside, even if some of them arent very nice. When one of my Removal Men removes a thing, or a person, all their potential energy, from all the things they might have done, is left up for grabs; and it all comes to me. Those energies have kept me going long after I should have left this world, and made me very powerful indeed.

Youre the one who shut down my gift! I said.

Yes, du Rois said calmly. It was necessary to neuter you, so you wouldnt find Pen Donavon too quickly. I needed time for rumours about the Afterlife Recording to spread, and grow, and fascinate the minds of my readers. Bringing you in guaranteed that people would pay attention. After all, if you were involved, it must be important. By the time my Sunday edition comes out, with my giveaway DVD, people will be fighting for copies of my paper. And all because of you

Sales? I said. This has all been about sales?

Of course. I dont think you appreciate exactly how much money I stand to make out of this, Mr. Taylor.

Why are you here? Bettie said suddenly. Why reveal the truth about yourself now, to us?

Du Rois smiled on her almost fondly. Still asking the right questions, Bettie, like the fine reporter you are. A pity youll never get to write this story. Sorry, my dear, but I am here to protect my interests, and my papers. And your story, of the truth behind the Afterlife Recording, can never be allowed to see print. I report the news; I have no wish to be part of it.

You want the DVD? I said. I took it out of my coat-pocket and threw it at him. Have it. Damn things just a fake anyway.

He made no attempt to catch the disc, letting it fall to clatter on the stage before him. Real or fake, it doesnt matter. I can still sell it, thanks to your involvement. You really have been very helpful to me, Mr. Taylor, spreading the story and stirring up interest, but thats all over now. I have my story. And since every story needs a good endingwhat better way to convince everyone of the DVDs importance than that you should be killed, acquiring it for me? Nothing like a famous corpse to add spice to a story. He looked at Bettie. Im afraid you have to die, too, my dear. Cant have anyone hanging around to contradict the story Im going to sell people.

ButIm one of your people! said Bettie. I work for the Inquirer!

I have lots of reporters. I can always get more. Now hush, dear. Your voice really is very wearingDont move, Mr. Taylor. Ive already taken the precaution of shutting down your gift again, just in case you were thinking of using it on me. And you dont have anything else powerful enough to stop me.

Want to bet? I said. And I took out of my coat-pocket the Aquarius Key. I activated the small metal box, and it opened up, unfolding and blossoming like a steel flower. A great rip appeared in reality, right in front of Gaylord du Rois. He only had time to scream once before the void swallowed him, then he was gone. I hung on grimly to Bettie as the void pulled us forward, then I shut the Aquarius Key down again, and that was that.

It was suddenly very quiet in the empty club. Bettie looked at me with huge eyes.

I really should have handed the Key over to Walker, after that nasty business at Fun Faire, I said. But I had a feeling it might come in handy.

Youve had that all along? said Bettie. Why didnt you use it before?

I shrugged. I didnt need it before.

She hit me.



EPILOGUE 

I phoned Walker and arranged to meet him at the Londinium Club. Now that Id used the Aquarius Key, Walker was bound to know I had it. And hed want it. I could have hung on to the Key if Id been ready to make a big thing out of it, but I wasnt. The Aquarius Key gave me the creeps. Some things you know are bad news for all concerned. Theyre just tootempting. So back to the Londinium Club Bettie and I went. Plenty of time yet to take the damned DVD to the offices of the Unnatural Inquirer. Where Scoop Malloy would have to decide what to do with it, and the news that his paper no longer had an Editor.

But how would Walker know youve got the Key? said Bettie, skipping merrily along beside me. She was back in her polka-dot dress and big floppy hat look.

Walker knows everything, I said. Or at least, everything he needs to know.

I still cant get over my Editor being the Bad Guy in all this. I wonder wholl replace him at the Inquirer?

Scoop Malloy?

Oh, please! I dont think so! Bettie pulled a disparaging face that still somehow managed to look attractive on her. Scoops only Sub-Editor material, and he knows it. No; the new owner will have to bring in someone new, from outside. But you know what? I dont care! Because for the first time in my career I have a real story to write! The truth behind Gaylord du Rois, the Removal Men, and the Afterlife Recording. Real newswhich means Im a real reporter at last! Right?

I dont see why not, I said. The Inquirer might make you the new Editor on the strength of it.

Oh, poo! Im not wasting a real story on the Inquirer! Bettie said indignantly. Far too good for them. No; Im going to sell it to Julien Advent at the Night Times; in return for a job on his paper. A real reporter on a real newspaper! Im going up in the world! Mummy will be so pleased

What about your other story? I said. A day in the company of the infamous John Taylor?

Bettie smiled and hooked her arm familiarly through mine. Let someone else write it.

We came at last to the Londinium Club, and Bettie and I stopped at the foot of the steps to stare at the black iron railings surrounding the club. Impaled on the iron spikes were three recently severed heads. Queen Helena, Uptown Taffy Lewis, and General Condor. Helena looked as though she was still screaming. Taffy looked sullen. And the Generalhad a look of sad resignation, as though hed known all along it would come to this. Im sure enough people warned him. The Nightside does so love to break a hero.

Admiring the display? said Walker, unhurriedly descending the steps to join us. It makes a statement, I think.

Your work? I asked.

I ordered it done, said Walker. They disturbed the peace of the Nightside and threatened to plunge it into civil war. So I did what I had to.

And not at all because they challenged your authority, I said.

Walker just smiled.

Butwhy kill the General? said Bettie, staring fascinated at the impaled heads. I mean, he was one of the good guys. Wasnt he?

Theres no-one more dangerous to the status quo, I said. Right, Walker?

He put out a hand to me. You have something for me, I believe?

I handed over the Aquarius Key. Walker hefted it on the palm of his hand. You didnt really think youd be allowed to keep something as powerful as this, did you, John?

I shrugged. Be grateful. I could have given it to the Collector.

He nodded to me, tipped his bowler hat to Bettie, and went back into his Club. Leaving his handiwork behind him, pour discourager les autres.

You could have kept that Key, said Bettie. Hes not powerful enough to make you do anything you dont want to.

Maybe, I said. Maybe not. All depends on where hes getting his power from these daysBut anyway, Im not ready to go head to head with him, not just yet. Certainly not over a glorified magical waste disposal. Were still on the same side. I think.

Even after this? said Bettie, gesturing fiercely at the severed heads. Look at them! Killed by one of his pet assassins, just because they threatened his position! You liked the General. I could tell.

Walkers done worse, in his time, I said. And so have I.

Bettie took both my hands in hers and made me face her, her eyes holding mine. Youre better than you think, John. Better than you allow yourself to believe. I know youve donequestionable things. Ive seen some of them. But youre not the cold-blooded killer your legend makes you out to be.

Bettie

Youre the way you are because of her! Because of Suzie Shooter, Shotgun Suzie! She wants you to be a killer, just like her. Because thats the only way youll ever have something in common instead of what everyone else has. You dont have to be like her, John. I can show you a better life.

Bettie, dont

Hush, John. Hush. Listen to me. I love you. I want to be with you, want you to be with me. You cant throw your life away on Suzie Shooter, simply because you feel sorry for her. Shes cold, brokenshe can never be a real woman to you. Not like I can. How can you have a real relationship with someone when you cant even touch her? I could make you so happy, John. We could have a home, a life, a sex life.

She moved in close, still holding on tight to my hands, her face so close to mine now I could feel the breath from her words on my mouth.

I can be any kind of woman you want, John. Every dream you ever had. Im exactly the right kind of woman for you, one foot in Heaven, one foot in Hell. Come with me, John. You know you want to.

Yes, I said. I want to. But thats not enough.

What else is there? I can help you! You dont have to be a killer, dont have to be so coldWith my help you could be a better person, a real hero!

But thats not me, I said. And never was. I am what I have to be, to get things done; and that includes the bad as well as the good. Suzie understands that. Shes always understood me. She accepts me, all of me. Ive never had to explain myself to her. Shes my friend, my partner, my love. I love her, and she loves me as best she can. And she cares about the real me, not the legend you still insist on seeing when you look at me. I want you, Bettie. But I dont need you, not the way I need Suzie.

Butwhy?

Perhaps becausemonsters belong together, I said.

I looked at her until she let go of my hands. She was breathing hard.

Hello, John, said a cold, steady voice above us. Is that girl bothering you?

Not any more, I said. Hello, Suzie.

She was standing at the top of the steps leading down from the Londinium Club, a tall blonde Valkyrie in black motorcycle leathers, one hand tucked into the bandoliers of bullets criss-crossing her chest. She came unhurriedly down to join us. Bettie looked at her, and then at me, and then tossed her head angrily.

You deserve each other! I never want to see you again, John Taylor!

She strode away, her high heels clacking loudly on the pavement, her head held high. She didnt look back once.

Nice horns, said Suzie. Did I miss something?

Not really, I said. You finished work now?

Yes. Just picked up my payment from Walker. A little private work. Suzie looked at the three severed heads. Didnt take me long.

I looked at her, and then at the heads. I could have said something, but I didnt.

Come on, Suzie, I said. Lets go home.

Its the Nightside.





