Beside me on the bar an upturned top hat juddered briefly, then a pale, elegant hand emerged, waggling an empty glass plaintively in request for a refill. The magician had been in there for some time now, and we still hadn't figured out a way to get him out. Damn, that rabbit had been angry. Never do a magic trick with a pookah. Further down the bar, two white-robed Sisters from the Order of Saint Strontium were getting stroppy over glowing Half-Life cocktails, and everyone else was giving them plenty of room. Any other bar would have banned them, but Alex liked having them around to irradiate some of the more elderly bar food.
I leaned patiently on the bar, glad of a chance to do a little quiet thinking. As cases go, the elven client's had been particularly annoying. Chased half-way across the Nightside, attacked from all sides at once, and not a penny richer at the end of it. Just a word of warning, a name out of legend. Excalibur… I supposed I shouldn't be so surprised. Everything turns up in the Nightside eventually. Except… Excalibur never had before. Why now, and where had it been all this time? I was pretty sure the Collector never had it, if only because he'd never have stopped boasting about it. Could the sword's reappearance into history be connected to Merlin Satanspawn's recent final death? Or could it be heading here through a Timeslip, direct from King Arthur's time? The trouble with the Nightside is that it offers so many more possible answers to a question than anywhere else.
Excalibur.
It isn't what you think it is, and it never was.
Sewer Man Jack arrived at the bar beside me, smelling strongly of several different colognes and spotlessly clean. It wasn't his fault that a kind of awful psychic aroma seemed to hang around him anyway; but that's what you get from working in the Nightside's sewers. You wouldn't get me down there on a bet. With all the weird sciences and strange magics fizzing and shaking and detonating all over the place, it's hardly surprising so many failed experiments end up flushed down the sewers. Where they have been known to combine with the wildlife and kick them way, way up the evolutionary ladder. Which sometimes leads to the need for the Sanitary Brigade, with their really big guns and flame-throwers. Operatives like Sewer Man Jack get to earn their combat pay.
Sewer Man Jack's party trick is to blow smoke rings. Only he does it by lighting his farts. And he wonders why he isn't invited to more parties…
"Busy night, John?" he said politely.
"You could say that," I said. "Yourself?"
"Just finished dealing with another would-be Phantom of the Sewers. I blame that Lloyd Webber musical myself. Then there was the giant ants last month. Still, every time you think you've got it bad, someone's always ready to tell you something worse. I was just chatting with the Sonic Assassin, outside the Time Tower. Word is, the Collector has thieved a whole new kind of time-travel device, from some far-future museum; a device that can project his consciousness into any person in the Past, Present, and Future. So now he can track down his precious rarities in complete anonymity. Must be very dispiriting, having everyone shoot at you the moment you show your face…"
"So basically, anyone could be the Collector now," I said. "That is seriously spooky. I just went through something similar with Dr. Fell. You can't trust anyone to be who they claim any more. As if the Nightside wasn't paranoid enough already…"
Sewer Man Jack looked at me interestedly. "You finally had a run-in with Dr. Fell? What happened?"
"I happened-to him," I said.
"You worry me sometimes, John," Sewer Man Jack said sadly, and he moved away.
Alex Morrisey finally drifted my way and poured me a glass of wormwood brandy without waiting to be asked. I looked at it.
"What's wrong now?" said Alex. "It's a clean glass. Because I know you're fussy about things like that."
"Nothing wrong with the drink," I said. "I was just wondering if I'm becoming predictable. Never a good idea, in the Nightside. Start falling into familiar routines, going to the same place, always ordering the same drink, and you can bet good money someone will figure out a way to take advantage."
"Oh, shut up and drink your drink," said Alex. "This bar already has a resident gloomy bugger, and it's me."
Alex was dressed all in black, as usual, in mourning for the way his life had turned out. He also wore a black beret, to hide his spreading bald patch, and designer shades, in the mistaken belief that they made him look cool. Alex was born miserable and hadn't improved with age. He gave short measures, always got your change wrong, and mixed the most distressing cocktails in the world. Wise men avoided the bar snacks. On the other hand, he put up with people and behaviour that wouldn't be tolerated for a moment anywhere else, and viciously enforced a general truce that made Strangefellows one of the few real neutral grounds in the Nightside.
Alex and I go way back. We're friends, sort of. It's complicated.
I pushed the wormwood brandy determinedly to one side. "What else have you got, Alex?"
"A fast-receding hair-line, lower-back pains, and you really don't want to hear about my bowel movements."
"I shall slap you in a moment, and it will hurt. I meant, do you have anything more interesting in the booze department that you might feel like recommending? I'm in the mood for something… different."
"Well, you could try the Valhalla Venom," said Alex. "I got a job lot, cheap, because no-one in the Adventurers Club felt brave enough to try it. So far, everyone here has wimped out, too. I have a feeling it's something to do with the way the bottles sweat blood."
"Pour me a glass," I said. "A big glass, with a lead-lined straw."
Alex raised an eyebrow. "You're in one of your moods again, aren't you? Just sign this release form naming your next of kin while I open the bottle with my special long-handled tongs."
The drink, when it arrived, turned out to be a pale amber liqueur. It didn't seethe or try to eat its way through the glass, so I took a good sip. The liqueur rolled languidly across my tongue, and then hit me between the eyes with a half brick and mugged my taste-buds. It was like drinking a whole summer orchard at once. But after my trip to the Dragon's Mouth this was strictly amateur hour. I took another good sip, and Alex smiled triumphantly out across the crowded bar.
"Look! He's actually drinking it! Pay your bets!"
"It's good," I said. "Vicious, but good. Why not try a glass with me?"
"Because I've got more sense." Alex leaned forward com panionably across the polished bar. "It's coming to something when the most exciting thing in this bar is betting whether or not a new drink will make your head explode. It's been really quiet here lately, and you know how dangerous that can be. There's always something, of course… minor things, like snakes getting into the Real Ale barrels and improving the flavour… And there's no rats in the traps, which mean something's eating them again…"
"How are you and Cathy getting on?" I said casually. "You know, my teenage secretary who is barely half your age, of whom I am inordinately protective?"
"Surprisingly well," said Alex. "I keep waiting for the other thunderbolt to drop. I have a horrid suspicion I might actually be happy when she's around, and I'm not used to happy."
"She is a lot younger than you."
"I know! Half the bands I like had split up before she was even born! And she's never even heard of half the old television shows I watch on DVD. And she will insist on trying to cheer me up."
I had to smile. "I could have told her that was a lost cause."
"I don't know," said Alex. "There's this thing she does in bed…"
"Change the subject right now," I said.
"All right. Have you seen the state of Agatha?" Alex gestured bitterly at his pet vulture, currently perched on top of the old-fashioned cash register, giving everyone the evil eye. "Look at the little slut. Twenty months pregnant, which is going it some for a vulture. God alone knows what she had sex with, or what she'll eventually produce. There's a pool going, if you want to lay some money down…"
And then he broke off and stared out across the bar, his j
aw actually dropping. I turned to look, and winced. There are some people who, when they walk into a room, you know there's going to be trouble. Alex's ex-wife came striding through the packed bar with her usual intimidating attitude of complete self-confidence, not in the least bothered that she'd just entered the kind of place where most angels have more sense than to tread. She was tall, lean, and wore her power business outfit like a suit of armour. She had a hard-boned face that expert, understated make-up entirely failed to soften, under close-cropped platinum blonde hair. People got out of her way without even realising why they were doing it because she so clearly expected it of them. She slammed to a halt at the bar beside me, gave me a quick look over, and sniffed loudly.
"Hello, John. Been a while. You're looking very yourself. But then, you never did have much ambition."
"Hello, Agatha," I said. "Not often you choose to grace us with your presence. What brings you to this low dive, all the way from the great counting-houses of the business sector? Did they give you time off for good behaviour?"
"That'll be the day," she said. "So, still playing at being a private detective?"
"And very successfully," I said. "How about you? Still playing at being a human being?"
She gave me a cold, unblinking glare. "You always did take his side."
"Hey," I said, "I have to drink here. How's your boy toy accountant?"
"Rodney is fine. Doing very well. Up for junior partner, actually. And he's only three years younger than me. How's your psycho gun-nut girl-friend?"
"Fine," I said. "I'll tell Suzie you asked after her."
Agatha's cold, superior smile disappeared, and she turned abruptly away to give her full attention to Alex.
"Hello, Alex. Still determinedly down-market, I see. And still wearing black."
"Only until someone comes up with a darker colour," he said. "What are you doing here, Agatha? I didn't think you liked people from your new life knowing where you came from."
"Into every life a little slumming must fall," said Agatha. "I've brought you your monthly blood money."
She took an envelope from an inner pocket and slapped it on the bar between them. Alex snatched it up.
"Do I need to count it?"
"It's a cheque, Alex. No-one uses cash any more."
"I do. Credit has no place in a bar. Why deliver the alimony in person, Agatha? You've always sent a messenger before."
"Because I heard about you and your latest," said Agatha, smiling sweetly. "A teenager, Alex? You always did like them young and impressionable."
"At least I like them alive!" snapped Alex.
My head came up sharply at that, but neither of them had time for me now. They were glaring at each other so fiercely they were all but incinerating the air between them.
Agatha gave Alex her best superior smile. "Do I really need to remind you of the terms of our agreement? If you choose to marry again, you're on your own, Alex. No more money."
"Typical of you, to think of that first," said Alex. "And you've got a hell of a nerve, criticising me on my choice of lover. You cheated on me with Merlin!"
"Hold everything," I said. I knew better than to get involved, but this was too good to miss. "You had sex with Merlin, Agatha? Our very own dead but not departed enough sorcerer, Merlin Satanspawn? The one who used to be buried under this bar? That is so tacky…"
"You didn't know him like I did," said Agatha. "He was so much more mature than Alex."
"Only in the sense that cheese gets mature if you leave it lying around long enough," said Alex. "The back-stabbing bastard! He possessed my body so he could have sex with you! It took me ages to figure out why I kept waking up in odd places. You cheated on me using my own body!"
"And he was so much better in bed than you," said Agatha.
Women always fight dirty.
Alex started to reach for one of the many unpleasant weapons he kept behind the bar, then stopped himself. "Get out of my bar, Agatha. My life is none of your business any more."
"I'll go where I please! I still have a lot to say to you…"
"No, you don't. Leave. Or I'll show you one of the nastier magic tricks I inherited from Merlin Satanspawn."
Agatha hesitated, then sniffed loudly, turned on her heel, and stalked out of the bar. I looked thoughtfully at Alex. He might have been bluffing, or he might not. Alex looked at me.
"I might have known she'd turn up, after you mentioned meeting her sister Augusta Moon at the Adventurers Club."
"Big woman, Augusta," I said. "Very… hearty."
"She fancies you," said Alex.
"I'd rather stab myself in the eyes with forks."
I retired to a private booth at the back of the bar, with the bottle of Valhalla Venom and a glass, so I could drink and brood in peace. Never get involved in domestic disputes. Whatever you say, you're going to be wrong. One of the many reasons why I don't do divorce work. I could still remember Alex and Agatha when they first got together. We were all a lot younger then. They were so happy, so full of life, so sure of all the great things they were going to do. Their love burned in them like a fire, and I was so jealous, so sure I'd never know anything like it. Agatha and I never really got on, but we pretended for Alex's sake.
When the end came it came quickly, and apparently out of nowhere. Agatha walked out on Alex because he wouldn't, couldn't, leave the bar; and she was determined to get on in the world and make something of herself. She'd never hidden her streak of naked ambition, but it was still a shock when she just disappeared one evening, in pursuit of her dreams. She never looked back. Never contacted any of her old friends. She was going places, and we weren't. I didn't know about the Merlin business; I don't think anyone did. But it wouldn't surprise me if she engineered the whole thing, just to make sure Alex wouldn't try to stop her leaving. Agatha always was the practical one in their relationship.
I really hoped the thing with Alex and Cathy would work out. Even in the Nightside, miracles can happen. Look at me and Suzie Shooter. I sure as hell didn't see that one coming. We were closer than ever now. It still surprised me, sometimes, to wake up and turn over in bed and see Suzie lying there beside me, sleeping happily. I took a long drink of the Valhalla Venom and wondered if that was why I'd been feeling so unsettled. Was I feeling the need to have a proper grown-up life, to go along with my grown-up relationship? Agatha might be right about one thing. Maybe it was time to stop playing at being a private eye and do something that mattered with my life.
Or, it might be time to have another drink and stop thinking so much. Yes; that felt right. I filled my glass to the rim. Larry Oblivion appeared out of nowhere and sat down opposite me without even waiting to be asked. I glared at him, and he stared calmly, coldly, back. You'd think, after all my time in the Nightside, that I'd be used to seeing dead people; but sitting and talking with the risen dead is never easy. Doesn't matter whether it's an old friend like Dead Boy, or a business rival like Larry Oblivion… There's just something about a walking, talking corpse that puts my spiritual teeth on edge.
Larry Oblivion, an average-looking man in an expensive suit, with a pale, washed-out face under flat straw blond hair. He was dead and didn't care who knew it, so he didn't bother to disguise some of the more distressing aspects, like not blinking often enough and breathing only when he needed to talk. He'd been murdered by his own partner and brought back as some kind of zombie; and he was still bitter about it. Larry was probably the best-known private eye in the Nightside, next to me. The Dead Detective. The Post-Mortem Private Eye. He ran his own Investigations Bureau, did a lot of corporate work, and advertised in all the right places. It must kill him that I made more money than he did. I smiled, politely, and offered him my glass of Valhalla Venom. He shook his head curtly.
"I don't drink. I'm dead."
"No need to be obsessive about it," I said. "Dead Boy eats and drinks and…"
"I know what that degenerate does!" said Larry. "Some of us have more dignity."
> "Some of us have more fun," I said. "What do you want, Larry? I have important drinking and brooding against the injustices of the universe to be getting on with."
"I want you to find my missing brother, Tommy. You do remember Tommy, don't you, Taylor? Went missing during the Lilith War, when he was supposed to be under your protection? Still missing after all this time, presumed dead. I don't believe that. I won't believe it. I'd know if he was dead. He's still out there, somewhere, maybe lost, maybe hurt… and you're going to find him for me, with your amazing gift."
"I did what I could to protect him," I said. "There was a lot going on, and in any war… bad things are going to happen. There were crowds; there was fighting. A wall collapsed over Tommy; then… the press of fighting moved us all away." I didn't tell Larry about the half-mad mob that fell on Tommy's half-buried body. I didn't tell him about the screaming. "I went back later, when it was all over, but there was no trace of him anywhere. Why come to me now, Larry, after all this time?"
"Because Hadleigh has decided to get involved."
The name seemed to drop into a sudden silence, and heads rose sharply all around us. Some people got up and left; others just disappeared into thin air. And all through the bar, there was a general feeling of Oh shit…
Everyone in the Nightside knows the history of the three Oblivion brothers. If only because knowledge is so often self-defence. Their father was Dash Oblivion, the famed Confidential Op, private investigator back in the thirties. Their mother was one Shirley den Adel, the Lady Phantasm, a costumed adventurer from the same period. They had their first son, Hadleigh, soon after they were married. Then they went time-travelling in 1946 in pursuit of an escaped war criminal, the Demon Claw. They followed him into a Timeslip, and when they came out again, it was 1973.
The Good,the Bad and the Uncanny n-10 Page 8
