“The Warriors of the Cross are an extreme, far-right Christian sect,” Eddie said finally, still not looking up from what he was doing. “Widespread, very well funded, and very much into fire and brimstone and Crusades against… well, anything with even the faintest hint of fun about it. This particular branch of the Warriors was planning a full-scale invasion of the Nightside, in search of the Unholy Grail. Big Sergei apparently sold them everything from left-over Tiger Tanks to shoulder-mounted rocket launchers, and more guns and ammunition than the mind can comfortably comprehend, then disappeared sharpish before the shit could hit the fan. Nasty bastards, the Warriors. According to what I’ve found here, they were planning to set the Nightside on fire, then shoot everything that moved until someone handed over the Unholy Grail. But they got lucky. Someone just walked in here and offered to sell them the bloody thing. They, of course, tortured its location out of the poor bastard, then went and got it.
“And then I came here and took it from them. After a certain amount of unpleasantness.
“The Warriors of the Cross have done a lot of really nasty things in the past, and I had been looking for an excuse to make clear how displeased I was with them. It’s extremists like this who give religion a bad name. They were only a small branch, of course, but I like to think I’ve sent a message.”
“A message?” I said.
“Stay out of the Nightside, for starters.” He looked up for the first time, and a smile moved briefly over his pale lips. “Wish I’d known the angels were coming. They’d probably have been even more unpleasant to the Warriors than I was. Not that I like the angels much better.”
Suzie came back to join me, her jacket bulging with accumulated cash. She gave Eddie a hard look. “What did you do with the bodies, Eddie?”
He smiled again, just as briefly. “I sold them. Got a good price, too.”
There are some conversations you know you don’t want to pursue any further. I coughed politely, to draw Eddie’s attention back to me. “You said you knew where we could find the Collector, Eddie. I really do need to see him rather urgently.”
“Ah yes. The great mystery of the Nightside; the location of the Collector’s secret lair. I’ve been there. No doubt you’ve been wondering why he should chose to reveal his greatest secret to the likes of me. Simple really. I didn’t give him any choice. A quick tour of his collection was part of the price I demanded for retrieving the Unholy Grail from the Warriors and handing it over to him.” Eddie laughed softly, a thin ghostly sound, like the wind gusting through dead branches. “I had him over a barrel, and he knew it. He was desperate at the thought of losing out on such a unique item, and I wanted to see his collection. I hadn’t known he possessed the Speaking Gun, until he told me he’d lost it. Nasty weapon. I understand you have it now. If you’re sensible, you’ll get rid of it. The Speaking Gun has never made anyone happy or wealthy or wise. It was made to destroy, and that’s all it does. Anyway, it occurred to me that if the Collector had one such weapon, he might well have others, and I wanted to know what. After all someday he might try to use them against me.”
There were many things I might have said, but I chose not to. “We did try to use the Speaking Gun,” I said. “It wasn’t a success.”
“Bloody thing’s alive,” said Suzie. “And vicious.”
“In which case, I’m amazed you’re still alive,” said Eddie. “Hell, I’m impressed you’re still sane.”
“What was the Collector’s place like?” said Suzie, sticking to the point as always.
“Big,” said Eddie. “Bigger than the human mind can comfortably conceive. Floors and floors of it, packed to saturation point, including a whole load of crates he hasn’t even got around to unpacking yet. He has so much stuff now, even he can’t be sure of everything he’s got. And, of course, he’d die before he brought in any assistance.” Eddie considered for a moment. “I’ll tell you this; he must have been collecting for a lot longer than any of us thought. He has some items you wouldn’t believe…”
“Where is his lair, Eddie?” I said patiently. “And how do we get in?”
Eddie produced a computer card out of nowhere and laid it carefully on the desk before me. It was made of brass and studded with precious gems. “This card is programmed to open all his locks. The Collector shouldn’t know it’s missing yet, but I wouldn’t wait too long before using it.”
“Eddie,” I said, “Where…”
“On the Moon,” said Razor Eddie. “In a series of caverns and tunnels, dug out deep under the Sea of Tranquility. Complete with power, atmosphere, and artificial gravity. I don’t know whether he had it made for him, or simply inherited it… Either way, he’s filled it with all the comforts of home, and all kinds of defense systems, including some he apparently looted from the future. You have to admire the man’s nerve … How you two get to the Moon, and into his lair, is unfortunately your problem. I can’t help. The Collector teleported me there and back. Any questions?”
“Yes,” I said. “Know any good travel agents?”
“Ah, Taylor,” said a calm, familiar voice behind me. “Always ready with an inappropriate quip.”
I took my time turning around. I knew that voice. It was Walker, standing magnificently at ease in the open doorway, as always every inch the cultivated city gent. Suzie had already spun round and was covering him with her shotgun. Walker tipped his bowler hat to her, then to me. He glanced at Razor Eddie, and his mouth made a brief moue of distaste before he looked back at me.
“Well, Taylor, still keeping bad company, I see. You could do so much better for yourself.”
“By working for you, and the Authorities?” I gave him my best cold, menacing smile. “Walker, I wouldn’t piss on the Authorities if they were on fire. They, and you, stand for everything I despise. I have my pride. Not to mention scruples.”
“Yes,” said Walker. “Best not to. I’m afraid I have some bad news for you, Taylor. It seems that the angels have made direct contact with my superiors in the Authorities. Which came as something of a shock, I understand. My superiors were apparently under the impression that they had made themselves unreachable … In any case, the angels have made it very clear that either the Authorities cooperate fully in locating and handing over the Unholy Grail, or the angels will raze the Nightside to the ground. Slaughter every living being, and leave not one stone left standing upon another. Angels aren’t the most subtle of creatures, but then, I suppose they don’t have to be.”
“Which angels are we talking about here?” said Suzie. “The ones from Above, or Below?”
“I don’t know,” said Walker. “Either. Both. Does it really matter? The point is that the Authorities have far too much invested in the Nightside to allow such a threat to their interests, so they have agreed to assist the angels. To be exact, they ordered me to come and get you, Taylor. I will take you in, we’ll all have a nice chat and a cup of tea, and perhaps the good biscuits, and then you will use your special gift to track down and locate the Unholy Grail. And no, you don’t get a choice in the matter. Your presence is required. Don’t scowl, Taylor. You get to save the Nightside from utter annihilation, and put yourself in the Authorities’ good books, for once. Some people would be flattered and grateful. Now come along, dear boy. Time is of the essence.”
“You think we’re going to just let you walk in here and take him?” Suzie’s voice was very flat and very dangerous, and her shotgun didn’t waver an inch, trained on the second button of Walker’s waistcoat. “I’ve never trusted the Authorities before, and I’m not about to start now. The angels already tried to screw with Taylor’s head once, so they could get their hands on the Unholy Grail. This is the Nightside, Walker. We don’t bow down to Heaven or Hell.”
Walker looked at her dispassionately. “I don’t have any orders about you, or Eddie. You’re both free to leave and go your own ways. Unless you choose to interfere with this, in which case I really can’t speak for your safety.”
Th
e tension in the room cranked up a whole other notch. Suzie was grinning unpleasantly, and Eddie was looking at Walker in a disturbingly thoughtful manner. Anyone else would have turned and run, but not Walker. He was the Authorities’ voice, with the power to back it up. There were a lot of stories about Walker, and the things that he’d done, and none of them had a happy ending. I took a step forward, to bring his attention back to me. He smiled charmingly, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Well done, Taylor. I knew I could rely on you to do the right thing, eventually.”
“You assured me earlier that you trusted me to sort this one out,” I said. “You said it would be best for everyone if I got to the Unholy Grail first and put it out of everyone’s reach.”
“Times change,” Walker said calmly. “The wise man bows to the inevitable. I have my orders, and now so do you. Come along, Taylor. I don’t want to have to get testy with you.”
“Do you really want to go one-on-one with me, Walker?” I said, and something in my voice made his eyes narrow. “Maybe we should, just for the hell of it. Haven’t you ever wondered … haven’t you ever wanted to know if either of us is really everything our reputations make us out to be?”
Walker looked at me thoughtfully for a long moment, and I met his gaze unflinchingly. I could feel Suzie poising for action, tense as a coiled spring. And men Walker smiled his charming smile again, and shrugged. “Perhaps another time, Taylor. Are you sure I can’t persuade you to come with me? There are forces at my beck and call that you really don’t want to meet. And surely you wouldn’t want to risk your friends being hurt?”
Suzie sniggered offensively. “Yeah, right. That’ll be the day.”
“Good-bye, Walker,” I said. “I’m sure you can find your own way out.”
Walker shook his head. “You know your father wouldn’t approve of behavior like this, John. He understood about duty and responsibility.”
“You leave my father out of this! What did working for the Authorities ever do for him? And where were you when he needed you? You were supposed to be his friend! Where were you when he married my mother? Perhaps we should talk about my mother. Would you like that?”
“No,” said Walker. “I wouldn’t.”
“No… no-one ever does,” I said, cold and flat and bitter. “Funny, that.”
Razor Eddie stood up behind his desk, and all eyes immediately went to him. He never looked like much, but just then his presence seemed to fill the room. He looked at Walker, and Walker inclined his head slightly, respectfully.
“John doesn’t have to go anywhere he doesn’t want to,” said Razor Eddie, in a voice like a death sentence. “And don’t think you can threaten me, Walker. I have known worse things than Authorities or angels.”
“And I’m just plain mean,” said Shotgun Suzie.
“I have seen the Unholy Grail,” said Razor Eddie. “The Collector wasn’t fit to have it, and neither are you, or the angels. It is a thing that doesn’t belong here, and the only person I trust to get rid of it is Taylor. Go now, John, Suzie. I’ll keep Walker occupied.”
Walker looked at me almost sadly. “You didn’t really think I’d come here alone, did you?”
A gaudily colored blur swept past him and into the office, blasting through the open doorway almost too fast to be seen. Something buffeted me in passing, almost knocking me off my feet, and rushed on to slam into Razor Eddie. The sheer force of the impact lifted him off his feet, smashed him clean through the closed window behind him, and sent him tumbling helplessly through the smoky air to the ground three stories below. Suzie was only just turning round, and trying to bring her gun to bear, when the blur turned and swept back, and a single horribly clawed hand slapped the shotgun out of Suzie’s hand, then whipped back to tear out her guts. The black leather jacket blew apart in an explosion of tatters, and Suzie cried out once, in shock and pain, as her stomach opened up like a great mouth, and her intestines fell out in a rush of blood. She collapsed to her knees, grabbing with shaky hands at the thick purple ropes spilling out of her. More blood gushed out, soaking her lap and legs, and pooling on the floor around her.
It only took a few steps before I was kneeling beside her and holding her in my arms, but it seemed t take forever. I held her shoulders tightly, trying to stop her shaking. Her face was bone white, and already wet with sweat. She rolled her eyes at me and tried to say something, but her mouth was loose and ugly and wouldn’t work properly. There was no fear in her eyes, only something that might have been a terrible resignation. One bloody hand groped around for her shotgun, but it was on the other side of the room. Her other hand was still trying to stuff severed bits of intestines back into her stomach. The stench of blood and guts was almost overwhelming. Suzie was breathing clumsily now, great heaving gasps, as though every breath was an effort.
She was dying, and both of us knew it.
And then the blur came to a sudden halt before me, solidifying into a familiar shape, one I hadn’t seen in years. I should have known; it had to be her. She struck an elegant pose before me and smiled a happy contented smile. She always did like to show off. In one white-gloved hand she held the Speaking Gun’s case, taken from Suzie even as she ripped out her guts. She waggled the case a few times before me, as a trophy, then slipped it casually under one arm.
“A little extra, I think, on top of my exorbitant fee. You don’t object, do you, Walker darling?”
Walker started to say something, then stopped himself.
“Hello, Belle,” I said, in a voice I didn’t recognize. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Oh, years and years, darling. But you know me. Always happy to bump into old friends.”
Belle. Short for La Belle Dame Sans Merci. Tall and elegant, beautiful and sophisticated, supernaturally slender. She had poise and style and vicious charm, and an aristocratic disdain for small-minded things like ethics or morality, good or evil. She was what she was, and delighted in it. Her face had a marvelous bone structure, a broad forehead, purple eyes and a heavy, sulky mouth. Belle was a freelancer—intrigue, murder, theft, and conspiracy, or anything else you might desire, as long as you could pay for it. She’d done it all in her time, and always on her own terms. She drifted from one European capital to another, leaving a trail of broken hearts and broken bodies behind her, and never once looked back. Mostly she stayed out of the Nightside. Said the place was beneath her. I think she just felt happier away from any real competition.
To give her her due, she’d always been ready to take on anyone, anywhere, and she’d never been known to lose. Mainly because Belle had armored herself in trophies taken from her many victims. On her back she wore a werewolf’s pelt, thick and grey and shaggy. She skinned the hide off him herself, and now she wore the pale grey fur all the way down her back, with the emptied head pulled forward over her head like a hood. The skull’s long canines dented her forehead, above her purple eyes. It wasn’t just garment; her magics kept the pelt alive and plugged into her own system. It was her skin now, her fur, and as a result she had a werewolf’s ability to regenerate. Her burnished golden breastplate was made from a dragon’s hide, and it formed utterly impenetrable amour. Her shimmering white elbow-length gloves were in fact a vampire’s lily white skin, flayed from the undead victim by Belle’s own fair hand. On one of her hands, heavy claws pushed through the white glove; claws taken from a ghoul and fused onto her own fingers. The thigh-high leather boots were new. I didn’t know who she’d got them from. Belle’s magics made her various armours a part of her, made her, for all practical purposes, unkillable.
Belle was very much a self-made woman.
Most strikingly, the two halves of her face didn’t match. The left half was a distinctly darker shade than the rest of her body. One victim had got close enough to rip half of Belle’s face away. So after she was dead, Belle took half the victim’s face as a replacement. The new skin was younger, tighter, and a perfect fit.
Belle would go anywhere, an
d do anyone, as long as the check cleared. Or as long as the enemy was a challenge, or had something Belle wanted.
I clutched Suzie to me, cradling her shaking body in my arms. She was trembling violently now, as shock took hold. Blood ran in sudden spurts from her slack mouth, and dripped off her chin. I could almost feel the life going out of her. Part of me wanted to throw myself at Belle and tear her throat out, make her pay for what she’d done. But I couldn’t do that. I had to be smarter, sharper, than that. Belle was armored against all attacks, physical or magical. Or so she thought. My only hope was to keep cool and talk calmly with Belle. Keep her mind occupied, distracted, while I slowly and very surreptitiously focused my gift on her. Do it right, and she’d never even notice. As long as I narrowed my concentration right down, into a single cold needle, I should be able to slip my gift past her mental and magical defenses just long enough to do what I had to do. It was dangerous. If Belle even suspected what I was planning, she’d have my throat out in a second, and to hell with her mission. And even so small a use of my gift would still blaze like a beacon in the night, revealing my presence to those who were always hunting me. So I had to be careful, and focused, and utterly underhanded.
Luckily, I was good at that.
“Been a long time, Belle,” I said, in something very like a normal voice. “What is it, six, seven years since we worked together on that Hellstorm business? I thought we made a good team.”
“Don’t try to appeal to my better nature, darling,” Belle said in her marvelously cool and smoky voice. “You know very well I don’t have one. We made good partners, John, but we were never more than that.”
“I heard the Walking Man got you, stalking you through the catacombs under Paris.”
“Oh he very nearly did, darling, but I’m so very hard to kill. Unlike your little sweetie there. Poor Suzie. Never did know what you saw in her.”
Angels of Light and Darkness Page 12
