Just Another Judgement Day

THREE Not Really Fitting In at All at the Adventurers Club

I let Suzie finish setting up the house’s defences while Walker and I stood outside in what used to be the garden, not looking at each other. Suzie always likes arming the hidden charges and taking the safeties off the concealed weaponry and contemplating the mayhem and general carnage that will undoubtedly ensue if anyone is dumb enough to try to get into the house while we’re out. One very professional burglar actually made it all the way to our front door once, and the door ate him. The letter-box was spitting out bone fragments for weeks afterwards.

I was still thinking about what Walker had said. You’re my son, in every way that matters. You can’t just drop an emotional bomb-shell like that into the conversation and expect everyone to act all business-like afterwards, as though nothing had happened. Unless you’re Walker, I suppose. That calm, collected, cold-hearted functionary, who only runs the Nightside because he doesn’t trust anyone else to do the job properly. Who always has an agenda, and a secret goal hidden inside every end game. Was he telling the truth this time? With Walker you could never tell, until it was too late. And what did I feel about him, after all these years? He’s always been there, in the background of my life, sometimes helping, sometimes watching, sometimes sending his dogs after me. He’s tried to have me killed on several occasions, but I never took that personally. For Walker, it was always just business.

I respected him. Even admired him on occasion, from a safe distance. But you couldn’t like Walker. He wouldn’t let you. He never let anyone get close enough to see the real him.

Suzie slammed the front door shut and muttered the last few activating Words, then I led us down the safe path, through the mine-field. Walker strode casually along beside me, swinging his furled umbrella like a walking-stick. Typical of the man. You could set fire to his old-school tie, and it still wouldn’t affect his stiff upper lip. Walker was old school all the way, and proud of it. Family means a lot, to people like him. It’s all they’ve got outside duty.

Once we were safely out on the street, Walker drew his gold watch from his waistcoat pocket and looked at me thoughtfully.

“I’m about to share one of my greatest secrets with you, John, Suzie. So do pay attention. I don’t tell them to just anyone. So, basically, Timeslips don’t just happen. Well, actually yes they do, suddenly and violently and all over the place. Bloody things are always popping up exactly where they’re least needed and making trouble for everyone . . . But, there is a reason, a pattern, behind their appearances, and some people have learned to control them. Like Mammon Emporium . . .”

“Like the one we found in Frankenstein’s cellar,” said Suzie, determined not to be left out of things.

“Well, quite,” said Walker. “They learned how to stabilise Timeslips, for their own profit. The old Authorities learned how to control them, for their own purposes. And the old Authorities didn’t just give me my Voice—they also gave me this.” He indicated the gold pocket-watch in his hand. “A Portable Timeslip. A doorway to everywhere, in and out of the Nightside. So that I can be wherever I need to be, whenever I need to be there. And sometimes just a little bit in advance.”

“That explains a lot,” said Suzie.

“I’ll be damned,” I said, staring at the watch. I’d seen it in Walker’s hands a hundred times before and never thought twice about it. Typical of the man, to hide his greatest secret in plain sight.

“I’m only revealing this to you now because we have to get where we’re going without being observed,” said Walker. “I hope I can depend on both of you to be discreet about this?”

“Oh sure,” I said cheerfully. “Right up to the point where I need to blackmail a favour out of you. So, where are we going?”

“Uptown,” said Walker. “Clubland, to be exact. The Adventurers Club. That distinguished home away from home for all the great heroes, gallants, and adventurers who pass through the Nightside. And most of them have, at one time or another.”

“Why not the Londinium Club?” I said. “It’s older, more established, and more exclusive than any other club in the Nightside, and it’s always been the home base of all the real Powers That Be.”

“Precisely,” said Walker. “Far too connected with the old order. The new Authorities intend to make a clean break with all the old ways of doing things and are determined to send a clear message, right from the start. So, the Adventurers Club it is.”

He fiddled with the rolled gold fob on the side of his watch, and the lid flew open, revealing an impenetrable darkness within. A deep, deep dark that seemed to draw my gaze in, till it felt like I was standing on the edge of an abyss and might fall in at any moment. And then the darkness leapt up and out, enveloping us all, and when it fell back again, we were somewhere else.

Uptown is the very best part of the Nightside, where all the very best people go. The most exclusive and exciting night spots, the most expensive bars and restaurants, and all the richest, most famous and powerful and totally up themselves people you could ever hope not to meet. And all the most exclusive, members-only, circle the wagons to keep out the riffraff clubs in Uptown gather together in Clubland. Where distinguished and discreet establishments cater to every need, enthusiasm, and obsession known to man. Some are nearly as old as the Nightside itself, while others deal in fads and fancies that come and go like mayflies. But they all have one thing in common. Membership is by invitation only. Plebs need not apply.

Walker led Suzie and me through the packed streets, and everyone gave way before us. Some because they recognised Walker, some because they recognised me, and quite a few because Suzie always looks dangerous even when she’s just wondering what’s for dinner. Walker nodded easily to famous and powerful faces, and they nodded respectfully back. He was one of them. Suzie and I quite definitely weren’t. They did give us plenty of room. Which on the whole I think I preferred.

I gave my attention to the various clubs we passed along the way—the famous and the infamous, the outrageously exotic and the determinedly obscene. Names you could drop to impress your friends, or infuriate your enemies. Members-only clubs are the ultimate extension of the Old Boys Network, and it is in these very private back rooms that all the real decisions get made. In between the very best drinks and drugs and debauchery, of course. You go to clubs like them to do things behind closed doors that you’d never even think of discussing in polite society, to do the things of which your friends and family would never approve.

Like the Caligula Club, dedicated to exploring the furthest reaches of pleasure and pain, the most extreme forms of sensation. Or Club Dead, exclusively for the mortally challenged. A club for zombies, vampires, mummies, and quite a few of the Frankenstein clan’s creations. (Club motto: We belong dead.) The Blue Parrott exists to cater to the Nightside’s bird-watchers. Oh yes, we have them, too. You’d be surprised at some of the strange species that turn up here, and bird-watchers from all over the world come to the Nightside to observe ancient, rare, and impossible species that can’t be found anywhere else. Everything from the dodo to the pteranodon, the giant roc to the fabled Oozalum bird. But no pigeons . . . There are no pigeons in the Nightside; or at least, not for long. Something eats them.

Then there’s Pagan’s Place, for barbarian warriors who want to better themselves, and right next to that, the Adventurers Club. Older than all the others put together, the original Club was supposedly founded back in the sixth century, and has been a watering hole for heroes between quests ever since. You wouldn’t have thought any real hero would be seen dead in a place like the Nightside, but something about its reputation draws them here, possibly like moths to a flame, and the Adventurers Club is where they gather. Getting in is not easy. In fact, simply getting past the Doorman can be an adventure in itself. I think you have to slay an ogre and rescue a princess just to be allowed to use the rest rooms.

Still, every adventurer with a name or a reputation worth the knowing is supposed to have passed through its doors at one time or another. Why? Perhaps because the Nightside is the single greatest challenge any hero can face, the Mount Everest of challenges, and you can’t call yourself a real hero until you’ve tested yourself against it. I only know about the Club because my sometime friend Julien Advent has been a Member in good standing on two separate occasions. First, when he was the greatest hero and adventurer of the Victorian Age, then again after a Timeslip brought him here in the nineteen sixties. Julien’s a good man and a revered personage; I planned to drop his name at every opportunity and hope some of his respectability rubbed off on me.

I said as much to Suzie, but she just shrugged. She’s never cared about being respectable.

“Julien’s not the oldest Member in the Club, though, is he?” she said.

“Not by a long way. I think that honour goes to Tommy Squarefoot. Of course, he’s a Neanderthal.”

Walker led us right up to the Adventurers Club Doorman, who stood tall and broad and very large before the closed Club doors. He was supposed to be a were sabre-tooth tiger, and given the sheer size of him, I was perfectly prepared to believe it. He stood aside for Walker, because everyone does, but gave first Suzie and then me his best cold, assessing look as we passed. Suzie glared right back at him, and he actually blushed a little and looked away.

“He likes you,” I said solemnly to Suzie.

“Shut up,” said Suzie.

“He likes you. He’s your special Doorman friend.”

“I have a gun.”

“Never knew you when you didn’t.”

“Children, children,” murmured Walker as he led us into the gorgeously appointed lobby. “Try not to show me up . . .”

I decided immediately to piss in the first potted plant I

saw, on general principles, but I got distracted. The interior of the Adventurers Club was as impressive as I’d always thought it would be. The Club proper was all gleaming wood-panelled walls, waxed floors, portraits and chandeliers, and proudly antique furnishings. Familiar faces passed by on every side, or gathered together to chat happily in the luxurious meeting rooms, or consult the leather-bound volumes of Club history in the huge private Library, or just brag to each other in the Club bar about their latest exploits.

Chandra Singh, the monster hunter, and Janissary Jane, the demon killer, were discussing new tracking techniques in the Library. They completely ignored me as I peered in through the open door. Jane was wearing her usual battered combat fatigues, which I knew from personal experience would smell of smoke, blood, and brimstone up close. Because they always did. She’d fought in every major demon war in the last twenty years, in as many different time-lines and dimensions, and while she’d been on as many losing as winning sides, she was a true professional, feared and respected by all who knew her. Especially when she had a few drinks in her.

Chandra Singh was tall, dark-skinned, and distinguished, with a sophisticated style and a truly impressive black beard. He was wearing his usual height-of-the-Raj finery, all splendid silks and satins, topped with a jet-black turban boasting the biggest single diamond I’d ever seen. Chandra hunted monsters in and around the Indian subcontinent, with a passion and enthusiasm unmatched anywhere in the world. His wall of trophies was legendary. He says he does it to protect the innocent and keep them safe, but I think he just likes killing monsters.

Well hell, who doesn’t?

Walker dropped Suzie and me off in the bar while he went upstairs to tell the new Authorities we’d arrived. I didn’t argue. I felt like I could use several large drinks, with an even larger drink for a chaser. The bar itself was almost overpoweringly luxurious, and I was impressed despite myself. No expense had been spared to make the Adventurers Club bar the envy of all lesser mortals, and it openly boasted every comfort known to man. The bar itself was a work of art, in gleaming mahogany and brightly polished glass and crystal, with a whole world of extraordinary potables lined up, just waiting to be ordered by some hero who’d worked up a serious thirst slaughtering everything in sight. Suzie, who had never been impressed by anything in her entire life, marched straight up to the bar, ordered a bottle of Bombay Gin, and put it on Walker’s tab. I drifted in beside her, studied the bottles on display, and ordered an heroic measure of the most expensive brandy I could see. Also on Walker’s tab. Having thus happily attended to the inner man, I put my back to the mahogany bar and took a good look at my fellow imbibers.

A dozen good men and women stood scattered about the oversized bar, in various garb from various times and places, all intent on each other and thoroughly ignoring Suzie and me. So I just as deliberately ignored them, giving my full attention to the various displays and trophies and portraits that adorned the bar. The walls were positively crowded with portraits of old Club Members who’d distinguished themselves down the years. There were Admiral Syn, Salvation Kane, Julien Advent, Owen Deathstalker, in a whole series of clashing styles and periods. And the bar was positively lousy with impressive trophies.

The shadow of a Leopard Man, imprisoned in a great block of transparent lucite. A hollowed-out alien’s skull, put to use as an ash-tray. Something I didn’t recognise from the Black Lagoon, stuffed and mounted, and a severed demon head, unconsumed by ever-burning flames. Several of the Club Members lit their cigars off it. And up on the far wall, proudly presented, the withered and mummified arm of the original Grendel monster. Donated by Beowulf himself, apparently. (I told you the Club dated back to the sixth century.)

Most of the famous faces were quite happy to pretend Suzie and I weren’t there, but two braver adventurers made a point of coming over to say hello. Augusta Moon was a professional trouble-shooter, and a noted dispatcher of problem supernatural menaces. She was also an impressively large middle-aged woman who looked like she should have been running a girls’ finishing school somewhere in the Home Counties. Augusta was large and loud and famous for not giving a damn. She dressed like an old-fashioned maiden aunt, in a battered tweed suit, with a monocle screwed firmly into her left eye. She also carried a stout walking-stick topped with silver, and wasn’t above poking people with it to make her point. Augusta greeted me with a firm handshake, accompanied by her usual bark of a laugh, loud enough to shake the furnishings. She had the good sense just to nod to Suzie, who nodded back. Augusta shrugged cheerfully.

“What the hell are you doing here, John? Thought you had more good taste than to show up in a dump like this. Place has gone severely downhill, since they started letting in people like us. Eh? Eh? Bunch of stiffs for the most part, old thing, haven’t a clue how to have a good time. Had that Charlston Blue Blade in here the other day, really big noise by all accounts, but he damn near fainted away when I pinned him in a corner and inquired about the possibility of a little nookie!”

She laughed again, a loud, uncomplicated, and only faintly threatening sound. “Did you hear about my latest exploit? Jolly good sport, and a nice day out into the bargain. I was down in Cornwall on a walking holiday, just seeing the sights and putting the wind up the locals, when word came of a possible manifestation of the old god Pan. Well! Wasn’t going to let that one by, was I? You mention Pan these days, to your modern high-tech hero, and all they can come up with is the goaty fella with the pipes and the hairy legs and the maiden fixation. No, no, Pan is where we get the word panic from. The spirit of wild and remote places that strike terror into the human heart for no good reason. Well, thought I, just the thing to shake up the old constitution, so I get myself down there and have a good old poke around.

“Didn’t take me long to track down the source. An old village church, not far from Land’s End. Norman architecture mostly, though not in the best of condition. Only thing holding it together was the ivy. Anyway, turned out that back in the day the locals had captured this terrible beastie and imprisoned it in a dimensional trap under the church, to be used as a defence against marauding Norsemen. Except, of course, the bally Vikings never did get that far south, so the beastie was left there and eventually forgotten. You can see the rest coming, can’t you? The trap was finally breaking down, and beastie was flexing his muscles and preparing a break-out. The locals were picking up on the dread thing’s thoughts of escape and revenge, and reacting accordingly, even if they didn’t know why.

“So I broke into the church, kicked the trap apart, and let the beastie out, then slapped the nasty thing down with vim and vigour. Mercy killing really, poor old chap. No place left for olde-worlde monsters, in this day and age.”

“How did you kill it?” I asked, professionally curious.

Her head went right back as she laughed her appalling laugh again. She brandished her walking-stick before me. “Clubbed it to death with this, old thing! Blessed oak and a silver handle, nothing better for beating the brick-dust out of a tall dark nasty!”

Some heroes are more frightening than others. I turned, with a certain amount of relief, to the only other adventurer who was prepared to be seen talking with the likes of me. Sebastian Stargrave, also known as the Fractured Protagonist, who claimed to have been three other Members of the Adventurers Club at different times in his confused time-line. Sebastian was tall and fragile, with an air of defeated nobility. A pale face under stringy jet-black hair, with eyes like coals coughed up out of Hell. He never smiled, and an air of quiet melancholy hung about him like an old tattered cape. He wore shimmering, futuristic golden armour, cut close to the skin, that murmured and whispered to itself, and rose up in a tall, stiff collar behind his head. Sebastian had been back and forth in Time so often, explored so many different timetracks and been so many different people, that he’d quite forgotten who he originally was. I’ve seen five different versions of him discussing the problem at the Hawk’s Wind Bar & Grille, trying to work out where they might have come from originally. He may, or may not, have done many amazing and impressive things, in his time. He was quite certainly crazy as a bagful of badgers, and dangerous with it. I smiled and shook his frail hand, and said pleasant things because everyone does. Sebastian’s been down on his luck for so long he brings out the protective instinct in most of us. Especially Augusta, who was always ready to clap him on the back and offer bluff, well-meant advice. Which is probably why he avoided her as much as he did.

Sebastian started one of his long, wandering quest stories, but none of us had the patience for that, so Augusta butted in and fixed me with a blunt glare through her gold-rimmed monocle.

“So, you and Suzie gal are here to meet the new Authorities, eh? Auditioning, are you?”

“Possibly,” I said. “What do you make of them, Augusta?”

She snorted loudly, polished off the last of her single malt in one good gulp, and shrugged good-naturedly. “Someone’s got to be in charge, I suppose, so why not some of our own, for a change? Doubt they’ll last, though. Far too full of good intentions, and we all know where they lead. And you’ve got to be a little crazy to think you can run a madhouse like this. Eh? What?”

All of a sudden, a new figure appeared out of nowhere, right in front of us, and everyone in the bar fell silent to look at him. He was short and stout, dressed in black from head to toe, with ten alien power rings on his fingers, and I knew him immediately. Bulldog Hammond—burglar, thief, and quite possibly the most useless criminal in the Nightside. He lucked into those powerful alien rings and immediately became convinced he could use them to make himself a criminal mastermind. Unfortunately, the rings didn’t come with an instruction manual, and he was still trying to figure out how to use them properly.

His eyes bulged in his silly face as he looked around and realised he wasn’t where he’d meant to be. He fiddled desperately with his teleport ring but couldn’t make it work again. He bestowed a strained smile on the barful of heroes and adventurers glaring at him, while giving every indication of a man who desperately needed a toilet.

“Ah. Yes. Hello, all! Sorry about this, got the coordinates wrong again. You know how it is I meant to burgle Pagan’s Place next door and this explanation isn’t going at all well is it?”

I had to smile. “You really did pick the wrong club to break into, Bulldog.”

“Oh shit it’s John Taylor. Hi! Yes! Is Suzie with you by any chance oh hell she’s right behind me isn’t she? I really don’t feel very well.”

Augusta Moon glared furiously at him. “I know you, Hammond! Nasty little sneak thief! You stole the Golden Frogs of Samarkand from my little sister Agatha, didn’t you?”

“Who me? What makes you think that was me? They weren’t real gold anyway and I really think I’ll be getting along now.”

“Agatha cried on my shoulder for a week over those bloody frogs!” said Augusta. “Can’t stand her most of the time, but family is family. Come here, you worm, so I can bestow beatings.”

She raised her walking-stick, and Bulldog Hammond whimpered pitifully and grabbed at one of his rings. A force shield sprang up around him, enclosing him inside a cube of shimmering energies. Augusta gave it a good prod with the point of her stick, grunted once, then lifted her stick and whacked the hell out of the energy cube. The shield held, while Bulldog cowered inside and made high-pitched noises of distress. Augusta belaboured the force shield with all her considerable strength, and strange energies discharged on the air as the magic of her stick met the science of the shield. Everyone else watched, entranced. Many were laying bets. Suzie stepped lazily forward, her shotgun in her hands.

“No, Suzie,” I said quickly. “The key word here is ricochets. There’s all kind of delicate and expensive-looking shit in here, and I just know they’d make me pay for any breakages.”

“Getting soft, John,” said Suzie. But she did lower the shotgun.

Bulldog was still trying one ring after another, as the force shield shook and trembled under Augusta’s unceasing assault. And then a series of brightly coloured rays shot out from one ring, piercing the force shield and flying across the room. Everyone threw themselves out of the way, but the rays did no obvious damage to anyone they touched. Instead, they worked their alien magic on all the trophies scattered around the bar. The muscles on Grendel’s severed arm swelled and bulged, and the huge fist hammered against the wall. A suit of armour drew its sword, a tall potted plant lashed about with its sting, a small statue of a demon started playing with itself. Some artefacts exploded, some melted, some disappeared; and some launched open attacks on the Club Members.

A great painting of a strange alien jungle suddenly came alive and formed a window into that world. Terrible shrieks and cries came clearly to us, along with a gusting wind that stank of carrion. And through this newly opened gateway to another world, a whole cloud of ugly flying things burst into the bar; dark, hairy shapes with flapping batwings, glaring eyes, and huge, snapping teeth. They shot back and forth in the confined space, biting fiercely at everything in reach. There was chaos in the bar as everyone defended themselves as best they could.

Suzie Shooter opened fire with casual skill, her shotgun blasting the nasty flappy things out of mid air one after the other, never missing once; but still more and more came flooding through the open doorway. The Club Members fought the flying horrors with all kinds of weapons, and even their bare hands, but the growing numbers came close to overwhelming them. Augusta struck about her with her walking-stick, while loudly singing a psalm, and blood and bat brains flew on the air as she connected again and again. Bulldog cringed inside his force shield crying, “Sorry! Sorry!” I took a pair of chaos dice from my coat pocket and rolled them back and forth in my hand, and just like that the flying horrors couldn’t seem to find me. I glared around. I don’t carry weapons, as such. I don’t usually need them. But I had to do something to stop this, before people started getting hurt. Even the greatest of heroes and adventurers can be brought down by sheer force of numbers.

Janissary Jane and Chandra Singh came rushing in. Jane had an energy gun in each hand, and shot the flying horrors out of the air with deadly speed and skill. Chandra had a long, curved sword, and danced amongst the swarming creatures, cutting them out of mid air with swift graceful strokes that were a work of art. Blood flew on the air as he worked his way into the very centre of the mayhem, grinning broadly all the while.

A batwinged nightmare bigger than all the rest came sweeping in out of nowhere and snapped its jaws shut on Suzie’s shoulder. She didn’t even flinch, but kept on firing. The teeth worked fiercely, gnawing into the black leather. I grabbed the thing with both hands and tore it away from her shoulder. The leather was torn, but I didn’t see any blood. The thing struggled in my hands, its wings flapping fiercely, struggling to turn itself round so it could get at my fingers. I crushed it, my fingers sinking deep into its hairy body. It exploded in blood and bits, and died still trying to bite me.

I threw the bloody mess aside, and only then realised I’d dropped my chaos dice to help Suzie. I wasn’t protected any more. Except by my gift. I sheltered behind Suzie as I concentrated on opening my inner eye. It was the work of a moment to find the energies holding the gateway open. Bulldog had accidentally cancelled them out. Then it was the easiest thing in the world to find the right combination to slam the gateway shut. The opening was immediately only a picture again, and no more creatures came flying through.

The Club Members made short shrift of the remaining flapping things, and the suit of armour and the potted plant, and all the other problems . . . then everything was quiet in the bar again, apart from the muffled curses of heroes and adventurers checking their wounds and trying to get their breath back. The floor was a mess of dead flappy things, with blood and hair and organs pulped into the rich carpet. One by one, we all turned to look at Bulldog Hammond.

He gulped hard and turned off his force shield. He then raised both hands high above his head and turned to me.

“Mr. Taylor, sir! I really would like to surrender now please. Oh yes and very definitely. Haul me off to jail I’ll go quietly please don’t let them kill me.”

“People could have died here,” I said.

“I know and I’m really very very sorry! It’s all their fault for having so many nice and desirable things and for tempting such a weak-spirited soul as me and why is that large woman glaring at me like that?”

“I’ve got bat blood on my best suit!” snapped Augusta, brandishing her walking-stick. Blood and brains dripped off the end. “I know dry-cleaning isn’t going to get it out! Come here and take your medicine, you appalling little man.”

“I don’t think I will if that’s all right with everyone,” said Bulldog.

“The rings, Bulldog,” I said firmly. “Hand them over. You can’t be trusted with them.”

“But without them I won’t be a master criminal any more!”

“You insist on hanging on to them, and you’ll end up as one more bloody mess on the carpet.”

“I see your point,” said Bulldog. And he quickly stripped the rings from his fingers and dropped them on to my waiting open palm. I hefted them thoughtfully, then slipped them into my coat pocket.

“Very good,” I said. “Now go and sit quietly in that corner, and wait here till Walker comes to collect you.”

“You really think we’re going to let that little snot get away with this?” said Augusta.

Several other Club Members made noises of agreement. I looked around me, taking my time. “He’s just a small man who made a big mistake. It’s over. Let it go.”

“Why should we?” said Sebastian Stargrave in his quiet, deadly way.

“Because he’s under my protection,” I said. “Anyone here have a problem with that?”

No-one said anything. And then, one by one, they turned away and set about clearing up the mess. Because while they were all quite definitely heroes and adventurers...I was John Taylor; and you never knew. Bulldog went off to sit in the corner, Suzie put her shotgun away, and I retrieved my chaos dice from the blood-soaked carpet. Augusta Moon and Sebastian Stargrave ostentatiously turned their backs on me and drifted off together. Janissary Jane stood before the jungle painting, studying it thoughtfully. And Chandra Singh came forward, cleaning his long blade with a length of silk.

He nodded easily to me, extremely white teeth flashing in his great black beard. “Good to meet you at last, Mr. Taylor. I know you by reputation, of course, and I am pleased to discover it is not exaggerated.” He turned his smile on Suzie and actually beamed broadly at her. “Miss Suzie, a pleasure to make your acquaintance again.”

And to my surprise, Suzie actually smiled briefly at him. “Chandra. Killed any good monsters recently?”

He laughed, a rich and carefree sound. “I have been to many places in the world, and seen many monstrous things. Some I had no choice but to kill; some I captured to protect innocent lives; and some I photographed and let go. Not every creature is a monster, if you catch my meaning.”

“You two know each other?” I said, trying to keep it casual.

“I watched his back, on a few hunts,” said Suzie. “I was his native guide in the Nightside.”

“Miss Suzie is a most excellent shot,” said Chandra. “We worked well together. And I am hoping that you and I will also be able to work together, Mr. Taylor. You have been summoned here to hunt the Walking Man, am I not correct?”

“Could be,” I said. “How would that concern you? I thought you only hunted monsters.”

Chandra Singh nodded soberly. “Such has been my calling for many years, yes. I am a Sikh, Mr. Taylor, from the Punjab. I am what my people call a khalsa, or holy warrior. I stand against the forces of darkness, in all their forms. Does that perhaps remind you of anyone?”

“The Walking Man,” I said. “Both of you serve your god in violent ways.”

“Exactly, Mr. Taylor. I feel a great need to meet this Walking Man, and talk with him, and discover if he is indeed what they say he is.”

“And if he is?” I said.

Chandra smiled his great smile again. “Then perhaps I shall sit at his feet and learn wisdom. But I think that unlikely. If he has done even some of the things they say he has, he would seem to be as much a servant of the dark as the light. And I will oppose him to my last breath. So, I ask your permission to accompany you and Miss Suzie as you track him down.”

“What do you think, Suzie?” I said.

“He kills monsters,” said Suzie. “Better to have him where we can see him, than maybe sneaking up on us. And I am kind of curious to see what will happen when two holy warriors go head to head.”

“All right,” I said to Chandra. “You’re in. We split the fee three ways, and you’re responsible for your own expenses. Agreed?”

“Most certainly, Mr. Taylor. I shall be very interested to see how you work, close up.”

“If the Walking Man truly is a servant of the Christian God, where does that leave you?” I said, honestly curious.

“God is God,” said Chandra. “Creator of us all. I do not think the Supreme Being cares what name we give him, as long as we talk to him. And listen.”

Walker finally came down to fetch me and Suzie, looked around at the general blood and mess, and gave me a stern look.

“Can’t take you two anywhere.”

“Entirely not my fault,” I said. “See Bulldog Hammond over there, sitting very quietly in the corner?”

“Ah,” said Walker. “I suppose none of this is Suzie’s fault either?”

“Of course not,” I said. “Or there’d be dead bodies piled up all over the place.”

“Good point,” said Walker. “Come with me. The Authorities are waiting.”

“What took you so long?” I said. “I was under the impression they were expecting us.”

“We had things to discuss first,” said Walker. “Like whether the situation really was bad enough to justify hiring you and Shotgun Suzie.”

“Good point,” said Suzie.

Walker nodded respectfully to Chandra Singh. “Always good to see you again, Chandra. Keeping busy?”

“Of course, Mr. Walker. There is never any shortage of monsters in the Nightside.”

They bowed to each other briefly, then Walker led the way upstairs.

“I didn’t know you knew Chandra,” I said to Walker.

“Of course,” he said. “I went to Eton with his father. Splendid chap. First-class geneticist these days, by all accounts.”

The Nightside is full of unexpected connections. Heroes and villains, gods and monsters, we all know each other. Sometimes as friends, sometimes as enemies, sometimes as lovers. Sometimes all three. It’s that kind of place.

I let Walker lead the way up the back stairs, just in case. Only a fool turns his back on Walker. Suzie brought up the rear. And in a small private room at the top of the Club, surrounded by the very best security measures the Adventurers Club had to offer, I finally came face-to-face with my new would-be lords and masters. They sat around a long, polished table, trying to look like people in charge. My breath caught in my throat as I saw their faces, and I thought my heart would stop. I knew them. I had seen them all together before, and not in a good way.

Julien Advent, the legendary Victorian Adventurer, now editor of the Night Times. Jessica Sorrow, the Unbeliever. Annie Abattoir, spy, assassin, and high-class courtesan. Count Video, lord of the binary magics. King of Skin, in all his sleazy glory. And Larry Oblivion, the dead detective. I had seen these people gathered together in one place before, in a future time-line where they had been the last survivors of Humanity, and my Enemies. They sent terrible agents back through Time to try to kill me, before I could bring about the awful devastated future in which they lived. I had gone to great pains to avert that particular time-line, to save their souls and mine, but here they were, gathered together again for the first time.

It had to mean something.

I strolled into the room and gave them all my best unimpressed look, on general principles. Never let them see you’re hurting. And never let them think they’ve got the upper hand, or they’ll walk all over you. Suzie didn’t look impressed either, but then, she never does. Count Video spotted the shotgun holstered on Suzie’s back and stirred uncomfortably.

“Hold everything. I thought we agreed—no weapons at meetings!”

“You want to try to take it away from her, be my guest,” said Annie, amused.

Of course then everyone at the table had to make their views known, and I took the opportunity to gather my shattered thoughts. It didn’t matter whether this particular grouping had any future significance; I had to deal with them here and now. So . . . Julien Advent I knew of old. We’d worked together, on various cases. Julien was a good, honest, and highly moral man, which meant he tended not to approve of me. Or at least, some of my methods. He’s far too good a man for the Nightside. I think he only stays because he’s never been known to back down from a fight. As always, he was dressed in the height of Victorian finery, all stark black-and-white, with the only touch of colour the apricot cravat at his throat, held in place by an ornate silver pin supposedly presented to him by Queen Victoria herself. He looked to be a handsome man of about thirty, and had appeared so for several decades.

Jessica Sorrow’s appearance was altogether more disturbing. Called the Unbeliever because for many years she didn’t believe anything was real except herself, and she believed that so fiercely that if any particular thing or person caught her attention . . . she disbelieved in them until they stopped existing. A very scary and dangerous personage, until I helped defuse her. She still had a powerful presence, a kind of anti-charisma that fascinated and appalled at the same time. Barely five feet tall, she sat curled up in her chair like a feral child, horribly emaciated and corpse pale. Her eyes were very big in her face, her colourless mouth little more than a slit. She wore a battered brown leather jacket and leggings, the jacket hanging open to reveal her bare, sunken chest, to which she tightly hugged the teddy bear I’d found for her. Her old childhood friend, perhaps her only friend, it helped her ground herself in reality. Given the fierce, unsettlingly blank look in her dark eyes, I wouldn’t have put money on her stability, but just the fact that she was there, interacting with other people, was a good sign. She cocked her head suddenly to one side, and looked at me, and knew me. For a moment, her expression was almost human. She smiled briefly. Her eyes didn’t blink nearly often enough.

Annie Abattoir was altogether easier on the eye. A ripe, voluptuous woman in her midforties, Annie was an accomplished seductress and heart-breaker, and many other things beside, most of which could not be discussed in polite company. Six-foot-two, broad-shouldered and imposing, with a sharp sensual face, she wore a ruby red evening gown, cut daringly low at front and back, that went well with her great mane of copper red hair. She was beautiful and sexy and effortlessly charming, and she knew it. She wore long white evening gloves; presumably to disguise how much blood she had on her hands.

Count Video was a Major Player, when he could get his act together, and an old adversary of mine. And a real pain in the arse. Tall and stiff, he wore a stylish suit with little grace and less poise. I could still see the staples and stitches on his neck and face from where he’d had his skin ripped off during the Angel War, then reattached afterwards. The skin also puckered around the odd silicon node, or patch of implanted sorcerous circuitry, which powered his impressive binary magics. Plasma lights sputtered on and off around him, as some drifting thought or impulse rewrote reality on some basic level. He was good-looking enough, in a sulky sort of way, and would probably be dangerous if he ever got around to growing a pair.

King of Skin was more than a man but less than a god. Or possibly the other way round. It was hard to tell. Wrapped in his usual sleazy glamour, people only saw of him what he wanted them to see. He could charm or enchant you with a word or a look, or show you what you feared most. He could make nightmares real and send them chasing through the street after you, or grant you something very like your heart’s desire, though it might look very different in the morning. Except mostly . . . he couldn’t be bothered. A nasty man with nasty tastes and worse habits, King of Skin was also a Major Player, when he chose to be. For today’s meeting, he had chosen to appear as the young Elvis, in Ann-Margret drag.

And, finally, there was Larry Oblivion. The dead detective, the post-mortem private eye. He looked in pretty good shape, for a zombie. Word was he’d been betrayed and murdered by the only woman he ever loved. She brought him back as a zombie, and he killed her for it. Just another love story, in the Nightside. Tall and well built, he wore the very best suit Armani had to offer. He had a colourless, stubborn face under lank, straw-coloured hair, and his icy blue eyes burned with something much worse than life. Up close, I knew he would smell faintly of formaldehyde. He had a good reputation as a private eye. Almost as good as mine.

His brother was missing, presumed dead. Because of me.

And these were the new Authorities—my old Enemies. Did that mean something? Had I escaped one awful destiny, only to see the start of another? Or had I really escaped anything at all? Julien Advent excused himself from the increasingly bad-tempered discussions and came over to join me. Walker made a point of moving politely away, while Suzie made a point of standing firmly at my side, glaring at everyone impartially.

“Good to see you again, John,” Julien said easily. “I know we’re going to achieve great things together.”

Suzie sniffed loudly. We both ignored her.

“You always were the optimist,” I said. “I thought you didn’t approve of me?”

“Mostly I don’t,” said Julien, with his usual frankness. “But on the whole you do more good than harm, in your own disconcerting and quite appalling way.”

“That’s right,” I said. “Smooth-talk me.”

Julien regarded me seriously. “We need you, John. No-one else can do what needs doing.”

He broke off as Jessica Sorrow drifted over to join us, still hugging her teddy bear to her. Even the great Julien Advent got nervous around the Unbeliever. I sensed as much as saw Suzie reaching for her shotgun and shook my head urgently. Jessica stopped right in front of me and fixed me with her dark, bottomless gaze. She was so skinny there was hardly anything of her; in fact, her leather jacket probably weighed more than she did. She smiled briefly, almost shyly, and when she finally spoke, her voice was like a whisper from another room.

“You helped me, John. Or at least, the bear did. I’m so much more together, these days.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” I said.

She looked me over slowly, consideringly. “Something bad happened. Something so bad I had to make myself forget everything, just to be rid of it. I don’t even know if my name really is Jessica. I’m better now. More . . . focussed. Being here, being a part of this, helps.”

“We’re all very pleased to have you here with us, Jessica,” said Julien. And being him, he probably meant it. I had to wonder how the others felt, having the Unbeliever in their midst. Must be like sitting down with an unexploded bomb and wondering if you could hear ticking. I left Julien and Jessica talking and moved over to the long table. They’d run out of things to argue about, for the moment, and were scowling coldly at each other. Until I arrived, then they all switched immediately to glaring at me. I gave them my best cheerful smile.

“Hi, guys. Where’s the buffet?”

“We should never have invited you here,” said Larry Oblivion, his voice remarkably normal for a dead man. He scowled past me at Jessica Sorrow. “We should never have invited her, either. I don’t trust her.”

“Hell, darling, I don’t trust anybody here,” said Annie Abattoir. If a cat could purr with a mouthful of cream while screwing another cat, it would sound like Annie. “But if I can put aside my prejudices, and my quite-justified paranoia where some of you are concerned, to try and make this work, so can you. Oh hush, dead man. We’ve heard it all before. Don’t make me come over there and sit on you.”

“We all bring something to the table,” Julien Advent said firmly, as he and Jessica seated themselves again. “I bring respectability, and the power of the press. Jessica is here to frighten our enemies. Annie has practised her appalling profession for every side there is, and a few she made up specially, and so has important contacts everywhere. Count Video and King of Skin are both Major Players, and command respect. And Larry has built quite a reputation for public service, since his death.”

“Nothing like dying to provide a real wake-up call to the conscience,” said Larry. “Heaven and Hell seem so much closer . . .”

“If you wanted a professional private investigator, why didn’t you ask me?” I said, a bit put out.

“You’ve never been much of a team player, John,” Julien said kindly. “And to be honest, given your . . . family history, no-one in the Nightside is ever going to feel comfortable with you in charge.”

“He has a point,” said Suzie, leaning back lazily against the wall with her arms folded. “I’ll still shoot them all, though, if you like.”

“Maybe later,” I said. I can never tell when she’s joking about things like that. Maybe she can’t either. I indicated Walker, still standing politely off to one side. “What about him? Why isn’t he a part of the new Authorities? He’s got more experience in running the Nightside than all of you put together.”

“They asked me,” Walker said calmly. “I declined. My feelings about the Nightside are no secret, and I have to admit; my recent attempts at imposing some kind of order on the various Beings of the Street of the Gods...didn’t work out too well. I was called in to organise, regulate, and modernise all the various churches, religions, and Beings, but despite my best efforts, things . . . deteriorated quite rapidly. It’s not my fault the make-overs didn’t take. Worshippers can be so literal, and very stubborn. And then the Punk God of the Straight Razor got involved, and it all went to Hell in a hurry.”

“I remember that,” I said. “For a while you couldn’t move in some parts of the Nightside for Beings running out of the Street of the Gods, crying their eyes out.”

“Well, quite,” said Walker. “Either way, I feel I can best serve the interests of the Nightside as a functionary, not a decision-maker.” He smiled briefly. “Unless the new Authorities should prove unworthy or incompetent, in which case I will move in to shut them down.”

“You would, too, wouldn’t you?” I said. “Suddenly and violently and with malice for all.”

“It’s what I do best,” said Walker. “I have always found the possibility of sudden death tends to concentrate the mind wonderfully.”

The new Authorities gave every indication of being united for the first time, as they glared at Walker.

“Let’s get down to business,” I said. “You brought me here because of the Walking Man. Why don’t you people want him here? Would it really be so bad if he were to wipe out some of our more prominent scumbags and generally take out the trash?”

“This Walking Man tends to favour the scorched earth policy,” murmured Walker. “And bad as this place undoubtedly is... there are some things here worth preserving.”

I smiled. “You are mellowing, Walker.”

“Told you,” said Walker. “Terrible, isn’t it?”

“What exactly do we know for sure, about the Walking Man?” I said, looking round the table.

Julien Advent took the lead, as always. “Throughout history, there has always been the legend of the Walking Man. That once in every generation, a man can make a deal with God to become more than a man. He can swear his life to God, and if that man will swear to serve the Light and the Good with all his heart and all his will, forsaking all other paths, such as love or family or personal needs...then that man will become stronger, faster, and more terrible than any other man. He will be invulnerable to all harm, as long as his faith remains true and he walks in Heaven’s path. God’s will in the world, God’s warrior, the wrath of God in the world of men, sent forth to punish the guilty and stamp out evil wherever he finds it. Called the Walking Man because he will walk in straight lines to get where he has to go, and do what he has to do, and no-one will be able to stop him or turn him aside.”

“Some Walking Men have killed kings,” said Walker. “Some have overturned countries and changed the fate of the world. Others have followed more personal paths, clearing the world of evil one death at a time. Some stick to the shadows, some lead armies; and now one has come to the Nightside.”

“If some of them have been so important, why don’t I know their names?” I said.

“You probably do, if you think about it,” said Julien.

“Ah,” I said. “Like that, is it?”

“Mostly,” said Julien. “There have never been that many, down the centuries. Perhaps because no normal man would take such a deal, giving up love and friends and everything that makes life worth living.”

“They’re killers,” said Larry. “Cold-blooded, cold-hearted killers. Judge and jury and executioner. No mercy, no compassion, no pity.”

“And only he gets to decide what’s evil and what isn’t,” said Count Video. “He doesn’t care what the law has to say. He doesn’t have to. He answers to a higher power.”

“No shades of grey for the Walking Man,” said Annie. “Only stark black and white, all the way. You can see why so many people in the Nightside might be feeling a tad nervous, now that he’s here.”

“So as far as he’s concerned, just by being here we’re all guilty,” I said. “I can see why you thought you needed me.” I considered the matter for a while. “What do we know about the current Walking Man?”

“Nothing,” said Larry Oblivion. “Not even his real name. He’s invulnerable to all forms of remote viewing. We’ve tried science and sorcery, seers and oracles, and computers, gone cap in hand begging answers from important personages on all sides, and no-one knows anything. No-one wants to know anything. They’re all afraid of being . . . noticed. All we know for sure is that he’s on his way here. Hell, he could be here right now, walking our streets, and we wouldn’t know it till the bodies started piling up.”

“He punishes the guilty,” Jessica Sorrow said quietly. “And so many here are guilty of something.”

“But . . . if no-one can see him, what makes you so sure he’s coming?” I said.

“Because he told us,” said Annie.

“Sent me a very nice handwritten letter,” said Julien. “In my capacity as editor of the Night Times. Advising us of his purpose and intentions, and that he would be here within twenty-four hours. Which time is almost up. He wanted me to publish his letter, so everyone would know he was on his way and could put their affairs in order before he got here. Very considerate of him, I thought.”

“Yes,” I said. “You would. Are you going to publish his letter?”

“Of course!” said Julien. “It’s news! But... not just yet. We don’t need a panic. Or people taking advantage of the situation to settle old scores. We’re hoping you can . . . do something, before matters get out of hand.”

I looked around the table. “What, exactly, do you want me to do?”

“I would have thought it was obvious,” said Julien. “We want you to find the Walking Man and stop him from bringing death and destruction to the Nightside in general, and us in particular. He was quite clear in his letter that he intends to kill the new Authorities to send a message to the rest of the Nightside.”

“How am I supposed to stop the wrath of God?” I said. Not unreasonably, I felt.

Larry Oblivion smiled. “That’s your gift. We’re confident you’ll . . . find a way.”

I suppose I asked for that. “What’s the fee?” I said.

“One million pounds,” said Julien. “And...we’ll owe you.”

I nodded. “Sounds about right.” I looked from face to face. “You’re all powerful people. And you know even more powerful people. Some of them so powerful they aren’t people at all. So why put your faith in me?”

“Walker recommended you,” said Julien. “And you do have a reputation for winning out against impossible odds.”

“You of all people should know better than to believe everything you read in the papers,” I said. I sighed, heavily. “All right. But let us be very clear about this. What exactly do you mean, when you say you want me to stop him? Do you mean reason with him, overpower him, or kill him?”

“You are authorised to use any and all means necessary,” Julien said carefully.

“Hell, you can try bribing him if you think it’ll do any good,” said Annie. “Do whatever it takes, we’ll clean up the mess afterwards. If you’ve tried being reasonable, and he doesn’t want to know, feel free to stick a gun up his nostrils and blow his bloody head off.”

“Love to,” said Suzie, and we all looked at her.

“I’m still worried about the whole unstoppable, invulnerable, wrath of God bit,” I said.

“This from a man who’s fought angels from Above and Below,” said Larry. “At least, according to him.”

“I know my limits,” I said, matching him stare for stare. “I can find the Walking Man. I can talk to him. I can use all kinds of tricks to confuse and divert him . . . but after that, your guess is as good as mine. We’re in unknown territory here.”

“Scared?” said Count Video.

“Bloody right I’m scared!” I said. “When the angels came here to fight their war over the Unholy Grail, their powers were strictly limited by the nature of the Nightside, and they still killed thousands of people and wrecked the place! And now Walker tells me the Nightside’s nature has changed, and we don’t even have that protection any more. If I had any sense, I’d go home and hide under the bed until this is all over. As it is . . . Look, when we talk about the wrath of God, we should be bearing in mind what happened to Sodom and Gomorrah, two cities destroyed by God for the sinfulness of their inhabitants. And I’ll bet good money they weren’t up to half the stuff that happens here on a regular basis, half price at weekends.”

“He’s still just a man,” said King of Skin. His voice was deep and rich and irredeemably sleazy. “Every man has his weaknesses.”

“I’ll be sure to mention that to him,” I said. “From a safe distance. Come on, I’m good, people, but even I can’t go up against the direct will of God. Just saying that out loud is enough to make me nervous of a plague of boils on my nether regions.”

“You do have a Biblical background,” Julien said carefully. “Your mother was Lilith, first wife to Adam.”

“Yeah, right—the one who rebelled against God’s authority, got kicked out of Eden, went down to Hell and slept with demons, and gave birth to monsters,” I said. “Really don’t plan on mentioning that connection to the Walking Man, thanks all the same.”

“It’s only a parable anyway,” said Suzie, unexpectedly. “A simple way to comprehend a much more complex reality.”

We all looked at her for a moment. Suzie can always surprise you.

“Jessica Sorrow,” I said. “The Unbeliever...It seems to me that you’re the only one here with a strength of belief, or rather unbelief, to match the Walking Man. Maybe if we put the two of you together, you’d . . . equal out.”

“That was then,” said Jessica, fixing me with her deep, dark, unblinking eyes. “I’m much better now.”

There was a certain amount of uncomfortable shifting about in the room, as everyone disagreed vehemently without actually saying anything.

“We’re saving Jessica as our last resort,” said Julien. “Our most dangerous weapon.”

“Damn,” said Suzie. “I thought that was me.”

Julien flashed her a sympathetic smile, then gave me his best grave and concerned look. “It has to be you, John. You’re the only one we can trust to do this.”

“You keep saying that,” I said. “I’m still not convinced.”

“I still don’t get this,” Suzie said stubbornly. “I mean, God’s wrath, fast and strong, yes, get all that. But what does he actually do?”

“Anything he wants,” said Walker. “He’s as strong as he needs to be, and as fast. He can kill with any weapon, or with his bare hands. No door can keep him out, no argument can turn him aside, and nothing in science or magic can protect you from him.”

“Yeah,” said Suzie. “But is he bullet-proof?”

“As long as he walks in Heaven’s path, nothing in this world can touch him,” said Julien.

“Even blessed or cursed bullets, with crosses carved in the end?” said Suzie.

“He wouldn’t even blink,” said Walker.

Suzie smiled suddenly. “Then I guess I’ll have to try harder.”

“I’ve just had a cunning and downright disturbing thought,” I said. “If the nature of the Nightside has changed, could we perhaps contact the Opposition, and have them send one of their agents to take on the Walking Man?”

“Let’s you and him fight,” said Count Video. “I like it.”

“Are you crazy?” said Julien. “Two Walking Men, going head to head in the Nightside? Remember how much damage the angels did? We’re still rebuilding!”

“Well, what about the Street of the Gods?” I said, doggedly. “Isn’t there any Being there who feels strong enough to—”

“Not one,” said Walker. “The whole Street is discussing moving itself out of phase with the Nightside, until this is all over, and it’s safe for them to return.”

“There’s always Razor Eddie,” said Suzie.

There was another silent uncomfortable moment, as everyone considered the implications of that.

“The Punk God of the Straight Razor has always been a very just man, in his own appalling way,” I said finally. “He might decide to go along with the Walking Man. Eddie’s always practised a zero-tolerance policy where the really bad guys are concerned. In a strictly hands-on, blood and brains all over the walls, sort of way.”

“I still say we should defend ourselves!” King of Skin said abruptly. “Each of us is a Power, in our own right. We need to show the Nightside that we are a force to be reckoned with! We don’t need to hide behind the likes of John Taylor. We should go abroad now, in all our awful glory, and grind this Walking Man beneath our feet!”

“No!” Julien Advent said firmly. “This is no time to be proud! We can’t stop him. Not alone, or all together. He is the wrath of God in the world of men. There is no greater Power upon the Earth today! Our only hope is that John can out-think or out-manoeuvre him.”

“We’re doomed . . .” said Count Video.

“Hold everything,” I said. “Are we missing the obvious here? Why not send Walker? He can use his Voice on the Walking Man and command him to leave the Nightside and never come back.”

“Wouldn’t work,” said Walker. “My Voice derives its authority from that original Voice, that said Let there be light. I doubt it would have any effect on one who is a lot closer to the source of that Voice than I will ever be.”

We waited, but that was all he had to say. Trust Walker to give you an answer that left you with more questions than you started with. Another thought occurred to me, and I looked hard at Walker.

“It’s just like old times, this, isn’t it? You recommended me for this job because I’m expendable. If I can stop the Walking Man, fine. If I can’t, you’ll have learned something from the encounter you can use to brief the next poor fool you send after him. You haven’t changed a bit, Walker.”

“I’d go myself if I could,” said Walker. “But I can’t stop him. At least you’ve got a fighting chance. And if he should kill you, John, I will find a way to make him pay.”

“How very reassuring,” I said. “You didn’t have to bother with the emotional manipulation, you know. I would have done this anyway.”

“John, I didn’t—”

“Not now, Walker,” I said. “Not now.”

I fired up my gift, concentrating on my inner eye, opening it wide so that my Sight soared high above the Nightside. Bright lights shone amongst dark buildings, and hot neon blazed like bale-fires in the night that never ends. The streets turned slowly under me as I searched, until I spotted one single spark that shone so much more brightly than all the others. I plunged down, closing in on my target, until finally I found him, the Walking Man, strolling down a main street with laughter on his lips and cold, cold death in his eyes. And then he stopped, and turned, and looked right at me.

“Well hello there! Come and find me, John Taylor. Before I find you.”