“Let them come,” said Suzie. She smiled, and the desk clerk winced.
“All right,” he said. “That’s it. I am going to go and hide in the toilets until it’s all over.”
We took the elevator to the fourteenth floor. It played the Carpenters’ greatest hits at us until Suzie blew the speakers out. The doors finally opened to reveal an empty floor stretching away before us. No-one there, nothing moving, except for maybe twenty or thirty security cameras, all whirring loudly as they turned to focus on us. I gave them a cheerful wave. Every door in the corridor was solid steel and firmly shut. I’d been half expecting a heavily armed welcoming committee, but for the moment it seemed everyone was waiting for someone else to make the first move. I looked at Suzie.
“Let’s get this done before someone grows a pair and starts the charge. We don’t want a confrontation.”
“You speak for yourself,” said Suzie. “I love a good confrontation.”
“Can’t take you anywhere,” I said. “Come on. Help me look for 1408. Like it would kill them to put up signs ...”
We finally found 1408 right at the end of the corridor, next to the ice machine. Suzie and I eased silently into position outside the door and listened carefully. I could hear voices inside: not quite raised in anger but definitely getting there. I gestured to Suzie, then ducked quickly back out of the way. Suzie kicked the door in with practised violence, and in a moment we were both inside the room, Suzie covering Jerusalem Stark and King Artur with her shotgun. Even though they were both wearing full plate armour, they stood very still. They really shouldn’t have taken their helmets off so they could shout at each other better.
I shut the door behind me. It wouldn’t stay shut after what Suzie had done to it, so I leaned back against it. I smiled easily at Stark and Artur. They didn’t smile back.
“Well?” I said. “Isn’t this nice? Old friends bumping into each other again. You ran away from Castle Inconnu, Stark, just as we were getting to know each other. Oh, this is my better half, Shotgun Suzie, also known as Oh Just Shoot Yourself in the Head and Get It Over With, It’ll Probably Hurt Less.”
“Hi,” said Suzie.
“You may have a shotgun,” Stark said finally. “But I have Excalibur.”
“Bet my weapon fires more bullets,” said Suzie. “You even try and draw that sword, and what’s left of your head will be dripping down that wall behind you.”
“Oh, I like her,” said Artur. “She’s got spunk.”
Suzie looked at me.
“Old-fashioned slang, for someone with guts, courage, knows their own mind.”
“Ah. I thought I must have misunderstood,” said Suzie. “Now shut up, King, or I’ll blow your entitlements off.”
“So delightfully vicious! Nice tits, too.”
“Shut up, Artur,” I said. I gave Stark my full attention. “You have the sword, yes. But have you tried actually drawing Excalibur yet? No, didn’t think you had. Now you bear the sword, you can hear it, feel its influence. You draw Excalibur, and it will force you to do the right thing.”
“I am doing the right thing,” said Stark.
“You’re not worthy to bear Excalibur, and you know it,” I said.
“Neither are you,” said Stark. “I know all about you, John Taylor. It’s a wonder touching the hilt didn’t burn your hand right off after all the things you’ve done. I could still control the sword long enough to kill you.”
“Try,” suggested Suzie.
“Don’t think you intimidate me,” said Stark. “I have fought barrow trolls and dire wolves, gone to war against dark armies and foul invasions.”
“They’re not here,” said Suzie. “I am.”
“I would risk anything, for love,” said Stark.
“Let’s try talking first,” I said. “To see what happens.”
“Oh, do let’s,” said Artur. “I’d really rather not die at the hands of that attractively appalling woman if I don’t have to. I have so many plans and ambitions, so many enemies to terrorise and slaughter when I return home in triumph. Sir Jerusalem, you seem to know these people. Would you be so kind as to introduce us?”
“The man is John Taylor, thug for hire. She is Suzie Shooter, assassin and bounty-hunter. You can’t trust either of them.”
“How very unkind,” I murmured. “I am the new Walker of the Nightside, given charge of keeping the lid on things and keeping situations from getting out of control. Suzie is in charge of whatever brutality and retribution I deem necessary.”
“I thought I detected a hint of bias in Stark’s voice,” said Artur. He looked thoughtfully at Suzie. “So you’re the one who executed my fellow Exiles. And the reason why I’ve been forced to hide out in this dreadfully down-market accommodation.”
“It was only a job,” said Suzie.
“Oh, don’t think I necessarily disagree, dear lady. They were a most unpleasant assortment, for all their airs and graces. Did they by any chance suffer horribly at your hands before you killed them? Do say yes and warm the very cockles of my heart.”
Suzie glanced at me. “Is he flirting with me?”
“In his own horrible way, quite possibly. Leave the dangerous lady alone, Artur; she’s with me.”
“But I am a King,” said Artur. “What woman in her right mind would settle for anything less?”
“I don’t think anyone’s ever accused me of being in my right mind,” said Suzie. “You silver-tongued devil, you.”
Artur smiled easily, apparently entirely unmoved by the threat of the shotgun still steadily menacing him. He did have a certain sleazy charm, born of centuries of courtliness and self-confidence. He was also still wearing his dark armour in his own room, which said something about his paranoia. The armour itself seemed to be made up of polished dark plates that moved slowly all the time, slipping and sliding round and over each other. They seemed almost alive. Somewhere, on the very edge of my hearing, I thought I could hear the faintest of voices, crying out for help. I was almost sure they were coming from the armour. The helmet lay on the unmade bed, next to a sword and a scabbard. The blade had the look of a real sword, a killing tool, made for murder and bloodshed, with nothing ceremonial about it.
“Since we are conversing in such a civilised manner,” I said, “tell me about your world, King Artur. Starting with: why didn’t your Merlin make your Arthur immortal, like him?”
“An intelligent question, my dear sir,” said Artur, smiling a civilised smile that might have convinced anyone else. “Because Merlin was determined he should be the only immortal in his world. He wasn’t prepared to risk anyone’s becoming as powerful as him. He’s never liked the idea of competition.”
“So why not make himself King?” said Suzie.
“Because Kings have to work, dear lady. They have duties and responsibilities. You wouldn’t believe how much paper-work is involved in running a Kingdom. And you have to do all the work yourself. Because if you start delegating, they’ll take over while your attention’s elsewhere. Merlin makes all the big decisions; I’m the one who has to make sure they’re carried out.”
“How did you first learn about the Nightside?” I said.
“Oh, quite by chance, I assure you,” said Artur. “You have to understand, it’s not easy to leave my world. Merlin’s seen to that. No gaoler likes to see his prisoners escape. But then, quite out of the blue, someone from your world turned up in mine. Through something he called a Timeslip. He told me everything he knew about the Nightside until he finally died under questioning; and it did sound such a delightfully decadent place. Merlin was intrigued at the thought of another world to conquer: new challenges, new torments, and all that ... and he soon learned how to open the Timeslip from our side.
“But then ... he hesitated. Perhaps because it had been so long since he faced any real challenge. So I went through first while he was still thinking about it. Partly because the Nightside seemed like exactly the sort of place to find a weapon powerful enough
to control Merlin, but mostly to see if it was as much fun as it sounded. And it is! Oh, the things I’ve done here ... I never dreamed there could be so many new pleasures, so many new sins and temptations!”
“And then you saw your chance to get hold of this world’s Excalibur,” I said. “A chance to control Merlin and be King in fact as well as name.”
“Ah, but that was then, and this is now,” said Artur, smiling cheerfully. “To hell with my world. I want to stay here! I will use the sword to take charge of Merlin, and he will then conquer the Nightside with his power, in my name! He will make me King here, and I shall enjoy all your pleasures, and your people, for as long as they last. Why would I want to go back to Hell, when I can be King of Heaven?”
“Oh bloody hell,” said Suzie. “Another one.”
“What?” said Artur.
“You’re not the first to get drunk on the Nightside’s pleasures,” I said. “And want to grab them all for yourself. We eat would-be conquerors for breakfast and clean our plates with jumped-up dictators. We are bigger and nastier and more dangerous than any of you. So cut the conquering crap and get back to answering questions. Why did someone as powerful as you claim to be need to hang out with Queen Helena and her loser Exiles?”
“Camouflage,” said Artur. “My fellow royalty helped hide me from Merlin. And from any others who might come looking for me. I have many enemies in my world, as befits a man of my station. Merlin isn’t the only one who wants to kill me or drag me home again.”
“Are we,” I said, “by any chance talking about Prince Gaylord?”
“Gaylord the Damned, Nuncio to the Court of Camelot,” said Artur. “Not really a Prince, but he can call himself what he likes; no-one’s going to argue with him.”
“What the hell’s a Nuncio?” said Suzie.
“Messenger, representative, Voice of Camelot,” said Artur. “Basically, it means whatever he wants it to mean. He has authority but no restrictions. Power but no limits. He likes to pretend he serves me, but I think that’s mostly to wind up Merlin.”
“Who is this Prince Gaylord?” I said.
“No-one knows who or what he really is,” said Artur. “Or what’s inside the blood-red armour he never takes off. It is whispered, in certain quarters, that he can’t take it off. That Merlin summoned something up from Hell, then lost control over it. The two of them have spent the last three hundred years in subtle conflict, struggling for control of Camelot. Merlin sent him here to look for me as a means of getting rid of him for a while; and Prince Gaylord agreed, to suit his own purposes. Perhaps he wants Excalibur, too ... And if he were to use the sword to control or even kill Merlin, I think what he would do with Camelot would make it Hell on Earth indeed. He would soak the land in blood, laughing all the while. Merlin likes to boast about being his father’s son. But he’s still a man, with a man’s limitations. There’s nothing in the least human about Prince Gaylord the Damned.”
“Wonderful,” said Suzie. “More complications.”
“After you wiped out all the Exiles—and once again thank you for that, my dear; they really were frightfully boring types—I had to find a better place to hide while I sought out someone who could deliver me Excalibur. The Fortress has served me very well, but I shall be glad to see the back of it. I really am used to better things. Now, let us talk of all the many rewards that can be yours, if you look away long enough for me to make my deal with Sir Jerusalem.”
I turned to look at Stark and gave him my best decent and honourable look. “You can’t really be thinking of giving Excalibur to a man like this.”
“I don’t care,” said Stark.
“He’s lying to you! Merlin can’t bring your dead wife back to life again! Only one man could do that, and He’s long gone.”
“You’re wrong,” said Stark. “Merlin can do it. I’ve seen him do it.”
“Sorcerers deal in illusion,” I said steadily. “It’s what they do. Think about it, Stark; all Merlin could do for you is what any necromancer could—raise up a zombie. A dead body that moves. And maybe, just maybe, he could trap your wife’s soul inside it. Is that what you want for her? Her soul, suffering inside a rotting corpse?”
“I have seen Merlin kill a man, then raise him up again, for the pleasure of it,” said Artur. “Sometimes he kills the man over and over again, so he can keep bringing him back. To prove that no-one can escape from him and to see the suffering in the man’s eyes as he is snatched back out of Heaven’s grasp. Merlin is the anti-Christ, and he can do whatever he wants. Give me the wonderful sword, Stark, and you shall have your wife again.”
“And damn your soul in the process?” I said to Stark.
He surprised me then by thinking about it for a moment. “I already damned my soul when I allied myself with Queen Mab and her elves,” he said finally. “I let them into Castle Inconnu, so they could attack the London Knights and catch them unawares. I let the elves loose upon those who had been my brothers. But the elves died, and the castle still stands, so it was all for nothing. Unless I give Excalibur to this man. I can’t damn my soul any more than it already is. I don’t care, Taylor. I don’t care about anything, any more, except my Julianne. I want her back, and I will ally myself with anyone, do anything, to bring her back. Excalibur is but the latest in a very long line of bargaining tools.”
“Is this what Julianne would want?” I said. “Have you ever asked her if she wants to come back, at such a price? Go on, call her up, right now. Tell her what you’re planning to do, and all the evil that will make possible. Or are you afraid to hear what she’d say?”
“Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for her,” said Stark. “She understands.”
“Prove it,” said Suzie.
Jerusalem Stark looked at her, then at me, and his hand fell to the preserved heart in the spun-silver cage at his belt. He caressed the dark purple heart with his fingertips, and his lips moved in Words best not spoken aloud, and suddenly his dead wife was standing there beside him. The hotel room had gone bitterly cold, all the warmth driven out of it by her presence. Julianne looked almost human, almost alive, for as long as Stark’s fingers made contact with her heart. But you only had to look at her to know she was dead. Her features were clear and distinct, pretty and delicate; but there was a terrible distance in her gaze, and her face held no human expression. Her long white gown was soaked in blood all down the front, with great tears and rents where the blades went in; and the gown moved slowly about her, as though stirred by some unfelt breeze. Even her long, dark hair moved slowly, drifting this way and that, as though she were underwater. She put a hand on Stark’s shoulder, and he shuddered briefly despite himself. Because the dead and the living are not meant to be close.
“I hear everything you say,” said Julianne, in a calm, far-away voice. “I am never far, my love. Don’t do this for me.”
“I have to,” said Stark. “I can’t live without you. It hurts too much. I can’t bear this ...”
“What you are planning would drive us apart forever.”
“I’m doing this for you! For us!”
“No. You’re doing it for yourself. To stop your pain. I understand, my love, I do. But you have to let me go. I want you to live, not damn your soul with forbidden actions. Because if you go to Hell, and I to Heaven, how could we ever be together again?”
She embraced him, pressing her chest against his, resting her head on his shoulder, and he held her back for as long as he could stand it. But in the end he cried out and pushed her away from him, and she faded away and was gone. Jerusalem Stark sat down suddenly on the unmade bed as though all the strength had gone out of him. He bent forward, looking only at the floor, and for a moment I thought he might cry. But he didn’t. When he sat up again his face was as cold as his dead wife’s had been. We all waited, but he had nothing to say.
“So,” I said to Artur, just to be saying something. “What’s your world like?”
“Tasty,” he said immediately. “
So many little treats, so many pleasures for those of refined tastes. If you’re of the top rank, of course. For everyone else, well, I don’t know what they do. Work, I suppose. I don’t care. They’re there to be used. It’s what they’re for. But ... it can get repetitious. Merlin does so love to play out the same old stories, again and again. That’s why I’m Artur, after Arthur. He even made me take a Queen Guinevere, but she didn’t last long. I killed and ate her, after I found she’d slept with half my knights.”
“There,” I said to Stark. “That’s Sinister Albion and its King. You still want to give him Excalibur?”
He stood up abruptly, his armour making loud protesting noises. “You don’t understand. I don’t care. I don’t care about anything except getting my Julianne back.”
“Even after what she said?”
“She will forgive me. She always did.”
I turned my attention to Artur. “Sorry, Your Kingship, but this is now officially over. We can’t let you take Excalibur. Apart from anything else, we’re going to need it to defend us from the elves when they come. And besides, you give me the creeps. I’ll see you get safely home, but after that you’re on your own. And don’t argue, or I’ll have Suzie send you there in a series of small boxes.”
“You should come with me,” said Artur. “You’d fit in really well at Court.”
“Now you’re just being nasty,” I said. I looked at Stark, standing tall and somehow still tragically noble in his armour. “Give me the sword. The world needs it.”
“Let all the worlds die,” said Stark. “What do I care for the world if my love is not in it?”
“Bloody knights,” said Suzie, unexpectedly. “Always said there was something a bit off about all that celibacy and putting their women on pedestals. I always thought it was so they could look up their skirts on the sly. None of you ever know what to do with a real live woman. Stop worshipping her memory and let her go. This is all self-indulgence on your part.”
“You know nothing of love!” shouted Stark. Excalibur was in his hand. It appeared suddenly, the tip of the long blade only inches from my throat. But the golden sword hardly glowed at all, only a pale golden gleam, far short of what it had been. It could have been any magic sword, and a badly fashioned one at that. Faint wisps of steam curled up from inside Stark’s mailed glove, where Excalibur burned his unworthy flesh, even through the metal. Stark grimaced, but his cold gaze never left me.
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