The Good, the Bad, and the Uncanny

by Simon R. Green

  I looked about me. Werewolves were swarming all over the Fatemobile, tearing bits off it and pissing on the roof, but the reinforced armoured frame was still keeping them out. One of the tail fins had been bent right over, and long runnels of pink paint had been torn away all down one side. One wolf grabbed at the silver figure on the radiator, then howled miserably as his hand caught fire.

  Ms. Fate was still spinning and kicking and lashing out with the silver shuriken in her hands, but she was getting tired, and the werewolves surrounding her weren’t. Screech danced and pirouetted gracefully through the heart of the mayhem, but for every wolf his elven strength put down, more rose up to take its place. He was strong and he was magical; but he wasn’t silver. Ms. Fate and Lord Screech were fighting well and fiercely, but the odds were stacked against them.

  Which meant, as usual, that it was all down to me.

  People say that werewolves only fear silver, but that’s not strictly true. There’s one thing they fear even more, because it rules their lives. I concentrated again, raised my gift, and reached out to the oversized Moon that hangs over the Nightside. It took me only a moment to find the right ultraviolet frequency in the moonlight and change it subtly; and just like that, the whole damned pack howled and shrieked as the change raged through them, stripping them of tooth and claw and fur ... and suddenly the street was full of naked men and women, running for their lives. Except for those who didn’t react fast enough and got the crap kicked out of them by Ms. Fate and Lord Screech.

  They soon ran out of victims and returned to the car. Ms. Fate wept bitter tears of rage and frustration as she saw what had been done to her beloved Fatemobile.

  “Look what they’ve done to my precious! One door gone, windows smashed, the paint-work ruined ... Bastards! I’ll have their hides for this!”

  “Bad doggies,” I said tiredly, and slid slowly back into my shotgun seat. Ms. Fate and Screech looked at me, then at each other, and got back into the car without saying anything. For all the damage it had taken, the Fatemobile started up the first time, and we roared off down the empty street.

  We caught up with a few fleeing naked figures, and Ms. Fate made a point of swerving to run them down.

  I dozed some more, half dreaming, as the car made its way steadily through half-deserted streets. Apparently our reputation preceded us. I woke up only when we eased to a halt again. I looked around quickly, but the quiet side street was entirely free of Neanderthals, werewolves, or anything else obviously dangerous. Ms. Fate tapped her fingertips thoughtfully on the steering wheel, looking straight ahead. She seemed to be considering something. She turned to look at me, then stopped, and clucked in a motherly way. She produced a tissue from her utility belt and mopped some of the blood from my face.

  “You look like shit, John,” she said. “This isn’t doing you any good. Tell me it’s not as bad as it looks.”

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” I said.

  “Very good! Now try saying it like you mean it. I never knew using your gift screwed you up this badly.”

  “It’s not something I advertise,” I said.

  “Should I call Suzie Shooter?”

  “Don’t you dare! She’d turn this whole area into a blood-bath.” I looked around me. “Where are we, exactly?”

  “I was wondering that,” said Screech, from the back seat. “I am in a bit of a hurry, you know.”

  “If he says, Are we there yet? feel free to hit him with something large and spiky,” I said. “Why have we stopped again?”

  “Because we’ve come to the edge of a different territory,” said Ms. Fate. “This whole area is currently under the rule of a new Mr. Big, name of Dr. Fell. If we try to cross without advance permission, we’ll have to fight our way through his army as well as Walker’s.”

  I scowled, struggling to concentrate. My head was pounding. “I didn’t think there were any Mr. Bigs left, after the Walking Man paid his grand visit to the Boys Club. I thought he wiped them all out.”

  “Not everyone was there that night,” said Ms. Fate. “The few that survived the Walking Man massacre wasted no time in taking over the old territories and expanding their influence. Dr. Fell is still very much alive and running this whole area like his own private kingdom. I’m surprised Walker hasn’t sent someone around to slap him down.”

  “Walker has always believed in dealing with the devil you know,” I said tiredly. “Sometimes literally ... As long as this Dr. Fell sticks to his own territory and doesn’t make waves, Walker will do business with him.” I frowned. “Dr. Fell ... The name rings a bell, but I can’t place him. Was a time I knew all the major scumbags in town ... Talk to me, Ms. Fate. Tell me things.”

  “He wasn’t really anyone, until the Walking Man wiped out most of the competition,” said Ms. Fate. “Just one more freak with a nasty gift and an itch for power. No-one seems to know who or what he was before he came to the Nightside, but since he came to power here, he’s made a name for himself for ruthless efficiency, money laundering on a grand scale, and general weirdness. They say he can See through the eyes of all those who work for him, so he always knows what’s going on throughout his territory. All the lesser scumbags pay tribute to him, to be allowed to operate here. And anyone who passes through has to pay a toll to him personally. Now, I could just put my foot down, drive like the devil, and hope he’s got nothing fast enough to catch us ... but there are stories. And I don’t think me or my lovely car are in any condition to fight a running battle if it all goes wrong. It might be ... expedient just to stroll into his presence, give him the money, and avoid a lot of unpleasantness.”

  “This Dr. Fell worries you,” I said. “What makes him so different?”

  “Dr. Fell is seriously weird,” said Ms. Fate. “Even for the Nightside. I would have taken him down myself, just on general principles ... but there is that whole private-army thing he’s got going. A girl should know her limitations.”

  “I don’t pay tolls,” I said. “Normally. But I think you’ve got the right of it. None of us are in any shape to fight off armies. So, we go in politely, act diplomatically, and see if we can sweet-talk the scumbag. Screech, you’d better stay in the car.”

  “I am deeply hurt by your insinuation,” said the elf. “I can be diplomatic if I have to be. I am an emissary, after all.”

  “All right, you can come in with us,” I said. “But don’t kill anybody. Unless I start something first.”

  “Well, really,” said Screech. “What do you think I am, a barbarian?”

  “No,” I said. “You’re an elf. Which is worse.” I looked at Ms. Fate. “Same to you, only less so. I’ve no doubt we’re going to see some distressing things in Dr. Fell’s court, but patience and dignity at all times. We can always go back and give him a good arse kicking some other time.”

  “I have had ... disagreements with some of Dr. Fell’s people, in the past,” Ms. Fate said carefully. “Really quite vicious and bloody disagreements, on occasion.”

  “Oh, this is going to go really well,” I said.

  We drove a short distance until we came to what was obviously Dr. Fell’s place of power. We all got out of the Fatemobile, and I took a long thoughtful look at it while Ms. Fate activated what was left of the car’s security systems. From the outside, Dr. Fell’s court looked like just another shabby night-club, with boarded-up windows and a really quite understated neon sign—The Penitent. The whole place could have used a lick of paint and quite possibly a tetanus injection. The only signs of life were the bouncers outside the firmly closed front doors, two huge golems in oversized tuxedos. They looked very professional and quite staggeringly dangerous. The only sure way to take down a stone golem is with a road drill.

  The fresh air had revived me, or the werewolf blood in me was kicking in, and I actually felt half-way human as I headed for the club entrance. I was in the mood to spoil someone’s day, and the bouncers would do as well as anyone. Their heads turned slowly in unison, accompa
nied by low, grinding sounds. I nodded to them briskly, and they stared silently back with their empty stone faces.

  “John Taylor and friends, here to speak with Dr. Fell,” I said. “And don’t give me any crap about appointments or I’ll make you targets for every pigeon in the Nightside.”

  “There aren’t any pigeons in the Nightside, John,” said Ms. Fate. “Something eats them.”

  “Yes,” I said patiently, “I knew that, but very probably they didn‘t, until you told them. Now I have to come up with a whole new threat.”

  “Ah,” said Ms. Fate. “Shutting up now.”

  “You’re not on the list,” the stone golems said in unison, in low, grating voices.

  “I rarely am,” I said. “But I think you’ll find Dr. Fell will want to see me anyway.”

  The two blocky heads turned slowly to look at each other; there was a silent conference, then two empty faces ground back to look at me.

  “Go right in,” they said together. “Dr. Fell will have words with you, and your friends.”

  “Wonderful,” Ms. Fate said brightly. “Doesn’t sound at all intimidating.”

  Lord Screech sniffed loudly, stepped forward, and thrust a single long finger deep into the blank stone face of the nearest golem. With a few quick gestures, he etched long, sweeping furrows into the stone, giving the golem a nice happy face. He gave the other golem a sad face, then stepped back to regard his handiwork. He nodded, satisfied.

  “Never take sass from the hired help.”

  “Can’t take you anywhere,” I said.

  “Dr. Fell really isn’t going to like that,” said Ms. Fate.

  “Good,” I said. “Now, when we get in there, stick close to me, don’t pee in the potted plants, and act civilised. If anyone’s going to start anything, it’s going to be me, and I really don’t like to be upstaged.”

  I led the way forward, and the dull grey entrance doors slowly swung open before us. Above the doors, the neon sign had changed to read Suffer for Your Sins. Nice touch, I thought. Beyond the entrance doors lay a sparse and spartan lobby with cracked plaster walls and a grubby wooden floor. On the far side of the lobby was another set of double doors, apparently made of solid brass. I walked right up to them, but they didn’t open on their own. I gave them an experimental push, and they swung slowly backwards, a few inches at a time, their hidden counterweights utterly silent. A bright light flared in the widening gap between, too painful to look at directly. I couldn’t see a thing through it, so I waited for the gap to widen enough, then marched forward with all the confidence in the world. And a complete willingness to look down my nose at anyone who wasn’t actually a member of a major pantheon.

  Ms. Fate strode proudly beside me, like the renowned crime-fighter she was, and Lord Screech ... was Lord Screech.

  The moment we passed through the doors, the light sank back to a bearable level, and Dr. Fell’s curious court was revealed before us. It looked like a circus, seen from the other side. A dark carousel of strange delights and twisted grotesques, candy-coloured clowns with painted-on leers, and malformed supermodels with a strange, wounded glamour. Cold-faced men in smart leisure suits sat stiffly in oversized chairs, surrounded by pretty boys and hard-faced girls in all the more extreme fashions of decades past. All of this was set against a selection of colour schemes that were shockingly bright and almost painfully clashing.

  There was no music, no background entertainment; only a constant buzz of whispered conversation.

  Every face turned to look at us, but though the whispers continued, no-one had anything to say to us. They looked us over with blank, expressionless faces, staring like so many dead people, as though all the life and passion and independence had been beaten or intimidated out of everyone present. Many of them held champagne glasses in their hands, but no-one seemed to be drinking. They all looked like they’d been standing in Dr. Fell’s court forever and might stand there forever more. They weren’t his courtiers, or his acolytes, or even his army; they were his, to do with as he would.

  Here and there, light flared up suddenly in this pair of eyes or that, and I remembered that Dr. Fell was supposed to be able to See through them. So I smiled cheerfully about me, determined to give him a good show. I heard the heavy brass doors close behind me, but I didn’t look back.

  Ms. Fate struck a super-heroine pose at my side, her leather fists resting on her black-clad hips, just above the utility belt. Her dark cloak swirled slowly, dramatically, about her. It was a tribute to her reputation and her sheer presence that she didn’t look in any way camp or amusing. The dried werewolf blood spattered across her leathers probably helped. Lord Screech struck a carelessly elegant pose on my other side, his bored expression suggesting he was slumming just by being there, and everyone present should feel honoured that he had deigned to stop off on his way to somewhere far more interesting. Typical elf, in other words.

  And I ... stood straight and tall in my white trench coat, and let everyone get a good look at me. I was John Taylor, and that should be enough for anyone.

  Dr. Fell’s foot-soldiers bothered me. I’d spotted them right away. Every crime boss and Mr. Big had them; young men with a lean and hungry look, eager to advance in the organisation by demonstrating just how much more vicious and extreme they were than their colleagues. Attack dogs, with good suits that couldn’t quite hide the bulges of holstered guns and other weapons. There were quite a few of them, lined up casually in the crowd between me and their boss. Nothing I hadn’t seen before, and even wiped the floor with on occasion ... but these were different. It was in their eyes ... He was in their eyes.

  Supermodel types moved listlessly through the packed crowd, sporting garish little numbers and strangely styled gowns, offering trays of drinks and nibbles and the very latest chemical delights. They were all pretty as a picture, criss-crossing the room in simple patterns, moving in perfect unison, like flocking birds. They smiled widely, all the time, the only smiles in that place of whispers and staring eyes; but smiles too perfect and unwavering to be real. Sometimes guests would reach out to caress or slap their perfect bodies, and sometimes a girl would be pulled down to sit on someone’s lap, and the smiles looked even more unreal.

  This was Dr. Fell’s carnival court, just so many living dolls for him to play with.

  The man himself sat above them all, on the traditional raised dais, posed stiffly on a chair fashioned from human bones bound together with strips of mummified human muscle and tendon. Supplied, no doubt, by his many deceased victims. In a faded mourning suit, Dr. Fell was a tall, thin presence, with dull grey skin and a hideously mutilated face. Half a dozen naked women stood in a semicircle behind his hideous chair, all of them malformed or abnormal in various unpleasant ways. Missing parts, twisted limbs, gouged-out eyes. You only had to look at them to know they’d been made, not born, that way. They were the way they were because it amused Dr. Fell that they should be. Some of them held knives, some held guns, and some held nasty-looking magical weapons. All of them possessed a strange dark glamour and a dangerous attraction. Dr. Fell’s personal body-guards and assassins.

  I was beginning to remember where I’d heard his name before; and I didn’t think we were going to get on.

  Dr. Fell had burned out his own eyes with a white-hot crucifix. Now his scorched and shrivelled eyelids were sealed together under two great cross-shaped scars. He came to the Nightside as a rogue vicar and gave up his eyes in search of a greater Vision. Whatever he Saw, it changed his allegiance completely. Rumour had it he’d looked into a mirror ... And the man who’d come here to rage against the darkness ended up embracing it. He wore a crown of thorns, pressed down hard onto his forehead, and rivulets of dried blood ran down his sunken cheeks.

  All the time I was considering Dr. Fell, he studied me through the eyes of his people.

  I started forward and an aisle opened up, a narrow passage through the crowd to lead me right to Dr. Fell. Ms. Fate and Lord Screech strode along beside m
e, but Dr. Fell only had eyes for me. A hand reached out from the crowd to tug at Ms. Fate’s cape. She punched the man out without even looking round. He made no sound as he fell, and no-one else showed any reaction. A hunchbacked girl lurched forward into the aisle, blocking our way, and we had to stop or run over her. She was bent almost in two by the gnarled mass that ran the length of her spine, clearly visible thanks to her backless dress. She raised her head as high as she could, to smile at Screech.

  “You’re so beautiful,” she said, in a voice like a little girl’s.

  Screech smiled upon her. “Yes,” he said. “I am. You, however, are not a natural hunchback. This was done to you. Why?”

  “Because it amused Dr. Fell,” she said. “There is no greater purpose, no greater reward. He looks upon us with his divine Sight, and we become what he Sees, what we truly are. He says it is only fitting that our exteriors match our interiors. He lets us be ... what we really are.”

  “Typical human bullshit,” Screech said briskly. “You’re like this because he can’t bear to be the only monster here. And that is not acceptable to me.”