Something From the Nightside

by Simon R. Green

  The carriage was almost empty, for which I was grateful. I’ve never liked being crowded. All kinds of things can hide in a crowd. The man sitting opposite us was reading a Russian newspaper with great concentration. The date below the masthead was from a week in the future. Further down the immaculately clean carriage sat a young woman kitted out in full Punk regalia, right down to the multiple face piercings and fierce green mohawk rising up from her shaved head. She was reading an oversized leather-bound Holy Bible. The pages appeared to be blank, but the white on white of her unblinking eyes marked her as a graduate of the Deep School, and I knew that for her and her alone, the pages were full of awful wisdom.

  Joanna was looking around the carriage, and I tried to see it through her eyes. The complete lack of windows made it feel more like a cell than a conveyance, and the strong smell of disinfectant reminded me irresistibly of a dentist’s surgery. There was no map anywhere. People who took this train knew where they were going.

  “Why aren’t there any windows?” said Joanna, after a while.

  “Because you don’t want to see what’s outside,” I said. “We have to travel through strange, harsh, places to reach the Nightside. Dangerous and unnatural places, that would blast the sight from your eyes and the reason from your mind. Or so I’m told. I’ve never felt like peeking.”

  “What about the driver? Doesn’t he have to see where he’s going?”

  “I’m not convinced there is a driver,” I said thoughtfully. “I don’t know anyone who’s ever seen one. I think the trains have been running this route for so long now that they’re quite capable of running themselves.”

  “You mean there’s no-one human at the controls?”

  “Probably better that way. Humans are so limited.” I smiled at her shocked face. “Sorry you came yet?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t worry. You will be.”

  And that was when something from outside crashed against the side of the carriage opposite us, throwing the Russian to the floor. He carefully gathered up his paper and went to sit further down. The heavy metal wall dented inwards, slowly yielding under the determined assault from outside. The Punk girl didn’t look up from her Bible, though she was silently mouthing the words now. The dents in the metal deepened, and one whole section bowed ominously inwards under unimaginable pressure. Joanna sank back in her seat.

  “Take it easy,” I said reassuringly. “It can’t get in. The train is protected.”

  She looked at me just a little wildly. Culture shock. I’d seen it before. “Protected?” she said finally.

  “Old pacts, agreements; trust me, you really don’t want to know the details. Especially if you’ve eaten recently.”

  Outside the carriage, something roared with thwarted rage. It didn’t sound at all human. The sound fell slowly away, retreating down the length of the carriage as the train left it behind. The metal wall unhurriedly resumed its original shape, the dents disappearing one by one. And then something, or a series of somethings, ran along the side of the carriage and up onto the roof. Light, hasty, pitterpattering fast, moving in unison, like so many huge insects. The carriage lights flickered briefly. It sounded like there was a whole crowd of them up on the roof, scuttling back and forth. Voices came floating down to us, shrill and high and mixed together, like the same voice speaking in harmony with itself. There was a faint metallic buzz in the elongated vowel sounds that sent a shiver down my spine. The Brittle Sisters of the Hive were on the prowl again.

  “Come out, come out, whatever you are,” said the chorus of a single voice. “Come out, and play with us. Or let us in, let us in, and we will play with you till you can’t stand it anymore. We want to stir our sticky fingers in your gene pool, and sculpt your wombs with our living scalpels…”

  “Make them shut up,” Joanna said tightly. “I can’t stand their voices. It’s like they’re scratching at my brain, trying to get in.”

  I looked at the Russian and the Punk, but they were resolutely minding their own business. I looked up at the roof of the carriage.

  “Go away and stop bothering us,” I said firmly. “There is nothing for you here, by terms of Treaty and sacrifice.”

  “Who dares address us so?” said the many voices in one, almost drowned out by the constant clattering of their taloned feet on the steel roof.

  “This is John Taylor,” I said clearly. “Don’t make me have to come up there.”

  There was a long pause. They were all very still, until eventually the inhuman chorus said “Then farewell, sweet prince, and do not forget us when you come into your kingdom.”

  A scurrying of insect feet and they were all gone, and the train rocked on its way in silence. The Russian and the Punk looked at me, and then looked quickly away before I could meet their gaze. Joanna was looking at me too. Her gaze was steady, but her voice couldn’t quite manage it.

  “They knew you. What did they mean?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve never known. That’s always been my problem. There are a great many mysteries in the Nightside, and much against my will, I’m one of them.”

  No-one else had anything to say, all the way to the Nightside.

  Neon Noir

  We came up out of the Underground like souls emerging from the underworld, with chattering throngs of people surging endlessly past in both directions. The train was already long gone, hurrying off as though glad to be leaving. The slow-moving escalators were packed with new travellers and supplicants, all carefully not looking at each other. No-one wanted to draw attention to themselves until they’d got their bearings. The few cold-eyed souls who looked openly about them were the predators and chickenhawks, picking out their prey for later. No-one looked openly at me, but there were a hell of a lot of sidelong glances, and not a few whispers. So much for a quiet visit. The only thing that moves faster than the speed of light is gossip in the Nightside.

  Still, the crowd was much as I remembered. Boys, girls, and a few others, all looking for a good time. Business as usual on the dark side of the city. Up on the street, they spilled out of the train station, sniffing freedom and opportunities on the crisp air, and scattered into the endless night, hot on the trail of their own salvations and damnations. Joanna stumbled to a halt inside a dozen paces; wide-eyed, shell-shocked, transfixed by the wonders and strangeness of a whole new world.

  This vibrant new city was almost overpoweringly alive; all fever-bright colours and jet-black shadows, welcoming and embracing, frightening and intimidating, seductive and hateful, all at once. Bright neon gleamed everywhere, sharp and gaudy, shiny as shop-soiled tinsel; an endless come-on to suckers and victims and all the lonely souls. Enticing signs beckoned the unwary into all kinds of clubs, promising dark delights and unfamiliar pleasures, drinking and dancing with strangers in smoke-filled rooms, the thrill that never ends, life in the fast lane with no crash barriers anywhere. Sex licked its lips and cocked a hip. It was all dangerous as Hell and twice as much fun.

  Damn, it was good to be back.

  People surged up and down the street, in all their many variations, from the unnatural to the unlikely, all of them intent on their own pursuits, while the roar of traffic never stopped. Every vehicle moved at great speed, stopping for nothing, in stark and noisy contrast to the packed city streets of everyday London, where the general speed of traffic hasn’t changed much in centuries; thanks to the appalling congestion it still averages out at around ten miles an hour. No matter how important you think you are. Though at least these days the streets stink of petrol fumes rather than horse shit.

  You can’t step in petrol fumes.

  Many of the sleek and gleaming vehicles darting through the Nightside had to be new to Joanna; shapes and sizes and even concepts that had never known the light of day; some of them powered from sources best not thought about too much, if you wanted to sleep at night. Taxis that ran on debased holy water, limousines that ran on fresh blood, ambulances that ran on distilled sufferin
g. You can turn a profit from anything, in the Nightside. I had to take Joanna by the arm as she drifted unrealisingly too close to the edge of the pavement.

  “Careful!” I said loudly in her ear. “Some of those things aren’t really cars. And some of them are hungry.”

  But she wasn’t listening to me. She’d looked up at the sky, and her upturned face was full of wonder and awe. I smiled, and looked up too. Deep deep black, the sky, falling away forever, blazing with the light of thousands and thousands of stars, far more than you’d ever seen above any earthly city, dominated by a full moon a dozen times larger than the poor pallid thing Joanna was used to seeing. I’ve never been sure whether the moon really is bigger in the Nightside, or whether it’s just closer. Maybe someday someone with serious money will hire me to find out.

  I looked back at Joanna, but she was still clearly struggling to find her equilibrium, so I just stood there and looked mildly about me. It had been five years, after all. But it all seemed much as I remembered it. The same quietly desperate people, hurrying down the same rain-slicked streets, heading eagerly into the same old honey traps. Or perhaps I was just being cynical. There were wonders and marvels to be found in the Nightside, sights and glories to be savoured and clutched to your heart forever; you just had to look that little bit harder to find them, that was all. The Nightside is really just like any other major city, only amplified, intensified, like the city streets we walk in dreams and nightmares.

  There was a kiosk beside the station entrance selling racks of shrink-wrapped T-shirts. I studied some of the legends on the shirtfronts. Good boys go to Heaven, bad boys go to the Nightside. My mother took thalidomine, and all I got was this lousy hammer toe. And the perennial Michael Jackson died for our sins. I snorted quietly. The usual tourist stuff.

  Joanna turned suddenly to look at me, her mouth snapping shut as though she’d only just realised it was hanging open.

  “Welcome to the Nightside,” I said, smiling. “Abandon all taste, ye who enter here.”

  “It’s night,” she said numbly. “What happened to the rest of the day? It was only just starting to get dark when we left.”

  “I told you; it’s always night here. People come here for the things they can’t find anywhere else; and a lot of those things can only thrive in the dark.”

  She shook her head slowly. “We’re really not in Kansas any more, are we? Guess I’ll just have to try and keep an open mind.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” I said solemnly. “You never know what might walk in.”

  She gave me a hard look. “I can never tell when you’re joking.”

  “Neither can I sometimes, in the Nightside. It’s that kind of place. Life, death and reality are all flexible concepts here.”

  A street gang came whooping and hollering down the street towards us, shouldering people out of their way, and playfully pushing some out into the road to dodge the traffic, which didn’t even bother with horns, let alone slowing down. The gang members laughed and elbowed each other and drank heavily from bottles they passed back and forth between them. They were loud and obnoxious and loving every minute of it, and the threat of sudden violence hung about them like bad body odour. There were thirteen of them, wearing polished leathers and hanging chains, with bright tribal colours on their faces. Their teeth came to sharp points, and they wore strap-on devil’s horns on their foreheads. They came roaring and swaggering down the street, swearing nastily at anyone who didn’t get out of their way fast enough and looking eagerly round for some trouble to get into. Preferably the kind where someone got hurt.

  And then one of them spotted Joanna, recognising her immediately as a newcomer. Easy target, money on the hoof, and a woman as well. He clued in his brothers, and they surged forward, moving with a purpose. I stepped forward, out of the shadows, and put myself between them and Joanna. The gang lurched to a sudden halt, and I could hear my name on their lips. Their hands were quickly full of knives, long slender blades gleaming sullenly in the neon light. I smiled at the gang, and some of them started backing away. I let my smile widen, and the gang turned abruptly and walked away. Mostly, I felt relieved. I hadn’t been sure whether I was bluffing or not.

  “Thank you,” said Joanna, her voice quite steady. “I was concerned there, for a moment. Who were they?”

  “Demons.”

  “Is that the name of their gang?”

  “No, they’re demons, playing at being a street gang. Probably out on day release. We get all sorts here.”

  She thought about that. “They were frightened of you.”

  “Yes.”

  “What makes you so special, here?”

  I had to smile. “Damned if I know. Let’s just say I have something of a reputation in the Nightside. Or at least, I used to. Be interesting to see how much currency my name still has here, in some of the places we’re going to have to visit.”

  Joanna looked around her. “Shouldn’t we alert the police, or something? Those … demons might attack someone else.”

  “There are no police operating in the Nightside,” I explained patiently. “Not many laws, either. Anything goes here; that’s part of the attraction. There are … Authorities. Those with power to punish serious transgressors. Pray we don’t run into them.”

  Joanna took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “All right; I can handle this. I came here to find my daughter, and I can cope with anything if it helps me retrieve her. You said you had a gift for finding people. Show me.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Why did I just know you were going to say that?”

  I met her accusing gaze steadily, choosing my words with more than usual care. “I have a gift. Call it magic, or esp, or whatever current buzzword you feel most comfortable with. I can use that gift to track down missing people or objects, things that are hidden from normal view and normal investigative procedures. It only works here in the Nightside, where the laws of reality aren’t as strictly nailed down as they might be. But I have to be very careful how and where and when I use it. I have enemies here. Bad people. Using my gift is like shining a bright light in a dark place. It attracts attention. My enemies can follow the light to find me. And kill me.”

  “Who are these enemies?” said Joanna, and for the first time there was something like concern in her cool blue eyes. “Why are they so keen to kill you? What did you do? And why is a man who can scare off demons so frightened by these people?”

  “They are many, and I am one. They’ve been after me for as long as I can remember. It started when I was still a child. They once burned down a whole city block, trying to get to me. Over the years they’ve killed a lot of people who were close to me. It’s a wonder I have any friends left. They aren’t always out there… sometimes I think they’re afraid of me. Either way, I’ve never been able to find out who they are, or why they want me dead so badly. I’m safe in the mundane world. They can’t track me there. But this is their territory as well as mine. I only agreed to take on this case because it seemed so simple and straightforward. With just a little bit of luck, we should be able to track down your daughter, put the two of you together for a little heart-to-heart, and then get the hell out of here. Without anyone who matters knowing I’m here. Now hush, and let me concentrate. The briefer I can keep this, the better.” I concentrated, reaching deep down inside myself, and my gift unfolded like a flower, blossoming up to fill my mind, then spilling out onto the night. My third eye opened wide, my private eye, and suddenly I could See. And there she was, right before me; Cathy Barrett’s after-image, glowing and shimmering on the night. The ghost she left behind, stamped on Time by her presence; a semi-transparent wraith drawn in pastel shades. Passing pedestrians walked around and through her without seeing her. I concentrated on her image, rewinding the past, watching closely as Cathy emerged again from the Underground station entrance and looked around her, dazed and delighted at the new world she’d found. She was wearing Salvation Army cast-offs, bu
t she looked happy and healthy enough. Cathy looked around suddenly, as though someone had called her name. She smiled then, a wide happy smile that transformed her face. She looked radiant, delighted, as though she’d found an old dear Mend in an unexpected place. She started off down the street, hurrying towards… something. Something I couldn’t See or sense, but it pulled her to it with a single-minded, implacable purpose, like a moth drawn to a blow-torch.

  I replayed the image from the beginning, watching again as the ghost from the past came tripping out of the station entrance. Cathy’s imprint was still too clear and uncorrupted to be more than a few weeks old at most. The impressions I was getting from the image puzzled me. Unlike most runaways Cathy hadn’t come into the Nightside looking to hide from someone, or forget some past pain. She’d come here with a purpose, looking for some specific thing or person. Something or someone here had called her. I frowned, and opened up my mind just a crack further, but there was nothing unusual beating on the night air. no siren call strong enough to summon people from the safety of the mundane world.

  Unless the caller was shielded from me. Which was a worrying thought. There’s not much that can hide from me. when I put my mind to it. I’m John Taylor, damn it. I find things. Whether they want to be found or not.

  Unless … I was dealing with one of the Major Powers.

  I braced myself and pushed my mind all the way open. The hidden world snapped into focus all around me. Old paths of power criss-crossed each other, cutting unnoticed through the material world, burning so brightly I had to look away. Ghosts stamped and howled, going through their endless paces over and over, trapped in moments of Time like insects caught in amber. Wispy insubstantial giants strode slowly through the city, not deigning to look down on all the tiny mortals beneath them. The Faerie and the Transient Beings and the Awful Folk went about their various mysterious businesses, and none of them so much as looked at me. And still there was no trace anywhere of whatever had called so beguilingly to Cathy Barrett.