The Good, the Bad, and the Uncanny

by Simon R. Green

  “You want me to arrange your funeral?” I said. “Or just try to keep people from pissing on your grave?”

  “I want you to take over my position when I’m gone,” said Walker. “I want you to be the new representative of the new Authorities. Because there’s no-one else I can trust to do the job properly.”

  You think you’ve heard everything, then the universe rears up and slaps you round the head.

  “What?”

  “I said ...”

  “I know what you said! Are you crazy? I don’t want the job!”

  “Best kind of person for a job like this,” said Walker. “And who more fitting than the son of my oldest friend?”

  “Oh please,” I said. “Emotional blackmail will get you nowhere.”

  “Always worth a try,” said Walker. “Look, we just went head to head over the elf, while a whole bunch of your people did their very best to terminate me with extreme prejudice. When you’re not trying to have me arrested or stepped on, you’re hiring me to investigate cases that will almost certainly get me killed. Now, call me paranoid if you like, but I’m starting to detect a pattern here. So why would you want someone like me, someone you’ve tried to run out of the Nightside on more than one occasion, to take over your job?”

  “I need a man with strong convictions,” said Walker. “A man who won’t fold when the game gets serious. A man who won’t take any shit from the bad guys. You remind me a lot of myself when I was younger.”

  “Now you’re just being nasty,” I said.

  “I have some time left,” said Walker. “Enough to teach you the things you need to know. Including how to avoid my mistakes.”

  “You mean how to avoid becoming you?” I shook my head firmly. “I don’t want anything to do with this. You know I’ve always had problems with authority figures. Why would I want to be one? Why pick on me?”

  “Doesn’t every father want his son to follow in his footsteps ; only do it better?”

  “I am not your son!”

  “Who has shaped your life more than I? Who helped make you what you are? I am responsible for you, John, in every way that matters.”

  “Only in the sense that I’m determined to be nothing like you,” I said. “I know a bad example when I see one.”

  “ ‘How sharper than a serpent’s tooth,’ ” murmured Walker. “Come with me, John. Come walk with me through the Nightside and see it as I see it. My portable Timeslip can take us anywhere in a moment. We can take in the whole Nightside in a single night. Watch me work. See what I have to do, to maintain the peace and keep the lid on things. There’s a lot to my job that no-one ever knows but I.”

  “I don’t want your job. I have a job, and I’m bloody good at it.”

  Walker considered me thoughtfully. “You always say you want to help people. How better than by mediating between them and the Authorities? By using their power to protect the little people from those who would prey on them? How many more people could you help, from a position of power?”

  “Get thee behind me, Satan,” I said, and he actually chuckled.

  I thought about it. Despite all my best instincts, a lot of what he said made sense in a seductive kind of way. The things I could do, with the Authorities behind me ... A lot of the people I couldn’t touch, because of their power and connections, would suddenly become ... touchable. I’ve always believed that one man, in the right place, can make a difference ...

  “If,” I said, “just for the sake of argument ... If I was to take over your position, I wouldn’t be the Authorities’ lap-dog. I’d go my own way, follow my own conscience ...”

  “That’s why I chose you,” said Walker.

  “Is there really nothing I can do to help you?” I said. “This is the Nightside. There must be something...”

  “If there was something to be done, I’d be doing it,” Walker said calmly. “Would you really try to help me, John? After all the times I’ve tried to have you arrested or killed?”

  “Of course,” I said. “You’re my father’s oldest friend. And ... for good or bad, you’ve always been a part of my life. Always there ... always looking out for me, one way or another. There were so many things I wanted to say to my father, before he died. You always think there’ll be time enough ... until there isn’t. Now here I am, wondering what I should say to you. My oldest enemy, my oldest friend. Part of me thinks I should have killed you years ago: for all the people you’ve trampled underfoot, for all the lives you’ve destroyed, all in the name of maintaining your precious status quo.”

  “You’re not a killer,” said Walker.

  “I have killed. When I had to. But I try not to. It would make me too much like you.”

  “So you’re admitting we have some things in common?”

  I showed him my teeth in a smile. “Don’t say that like it’s a good thing.”

  “I’m not ashamed of anything I’ve done,” said Walker.

  “But are you proud of anything?”

  “I’m proud of you. One of my better long-term projects.”

  “Do you have any idea how creepy that sounds?”

  “I have kept the peace in the Nightside for thirty years and more,” said Walker. “I’ve stopped the Nightside from tearing itself apart, kept it from spilling over its boundaries into the vulnerable everyday world, and even managed a little justice along the way. That’s the best you can hope for, in my position.”

  “When I look back through my life,” I said, “I can see times when you could have killed me, and didn‘t, when anyone else in your position would have. You didn’t because I’m the son of your oldest friend, the man you betrayed and hounded to his death. You can’t kill me, Walker. I’m your conscience.”

  “You keep on thinking that,” said Walker. “If it makes you feel more secure.”

  “What if I told you to take your job and shove it?” I said. “Would you have me killed then?”

  “I am many things,” said Walker. “But not petty. I’d simply move on to my next choice.”

  I had to raise an eyebrow at that. “You have someone else in mind?”

  “Of course.”

  I waited, but he had nothing more to say. I nodded, slowly. “I’ll have to think about this.”

  “There isn’t much time,” said Walker. “I don’t have much time. But you think about it, John. I’ll see you again.”

  And he vanished from his chair, gone, just like that. Didn’t even use his portable Timeslip. Trust Walker always to have another trick up his sleeve.

  I did genuinely consider his offer. Though there had to be a lot more to it than he was saying. Walker wasn’t the kind to go gently into that long night. He had to be planning something. But what if he wasn’t? What if he was just a man, dying too soon, desperate to put some things in order while there was still time? Experience suggested very strongly that he was setting me up for something, but what if the offer really was genuine? Who else would I want for the job if I was in Walker’s position? Someone’s got to do it ... and it was very tempting.

  I always thought Walker would kill me someday, or I’d kill him. But things never turn out the way you expect, in the Nightside.

  I thought of all the things I could finally put right, with the Authorities’ power to back me up. All the bad guys I could take down and put out of business ... Yes. It was tempting. But could that be the first step down the road of power corrupting? The road that led to the devastated future Nightside I’d seen in the Timeslip? The world where I was responsible for the death of all Humanity ... I thought I’d avoided that future; but Time does so love to play its little tricks.

  The smell hit me first. That familiar, bad smell, of someone who lay down with garbage and dead things and didn’t give a damn. I looked up resignedly and sure enough, there was Razor Eddie sitting opposite me. The Punk God of the Straight Razor, his very own smelly and disturbing self. A painfully thin presence wrapped in an oversized grey coat held together with accumulated filth and gr
ease, Eddie looked terrible; but then, he always did. The same gaunt face, close-cropped hair and fever-bright eyes. He was nursing a bottle of designer water, while flies buzzed dolefully around him. The ones that got too close fell out of the air dead. When he spoke, his voice was low and dry and ghostly.

  “There’s something in the air, John.”

  “I had noticed,” I said. “You should hang some of those little pine trees around your neck. So, how are you doing, Eddie? Still sleeping with the homeless and begging for spare change?”

  “I don’t have to beg,” he said solemnly. “As soon as people see who I am, they throw money at me and run.”

  Razor Eddie is the only god I know who sleeps in doorways and eats food out of Dumpsters as a form of penance. He has a lot to do penance for.

  “What do you want, Eddie?” I said, tiredly. “Seems like everybody wants something from me today.”

  “You’re getting too chummy with Walker,” said Razor Eddie. “If you’re not one of us, you’re one of them.”

  “I’m not with anybody,” I said. “Except Suzie. I go my own way. You know that.”

  “You’ve been close to the new Authorities ever since they appeared.”

  “Is that so bad? They’re saying all the right things.”

  “The only way to stay uncorrupted by power is to turn your back on it. You should know that. Don’t let Walker convince you of the rightness of his path. Don’t be fooled into thinking you could take his power and not be touched by it. Not be changed by it. The Nightside does so love to break a hero. You can’t save the Nightside, John. You can’t redeem the Nightside. It doesn’t need saving or redeeming. It serves a purpose, just as it is. Or I’d have torn it all down long ago.”

  “Hasn’t stopped you killing a whole bunch of people,” I said carefully. “Often in inventively ghastly ways.”

  “There are always those who go too far. Bad people, who need killing. I’ll always be there, for them. But look what that kind of life has done to me. Honour can be a harsh mistress. You have a chance for a real life, with Suzie. How do you think she’ll feel when she hears about you sitting down with Walker?”

  “Tell me, Eddie,” I said. “Why have you never gone after Walker? You’ve always hated him and everything he stands for. Is it the Voice?”

  He smiled slightly, his pale lips hardly moving. “I can move faster than he can speak. No. I never touched him because ... someone has to be in charge, and better the devil you know. Walker may be a bastard, but he’s an even-handed bastard. He doesn’t take sides, so we can all hate him evenly.”

  “But, could you take him?” I said.

  Razor Eddie thought about it. “Maybe. Walker has his secrets; but then, don’t we all?”

  I decided to change the subject. “So what have you been up to lately, Eddie? Killed anyone interesting?”

  “No. I’ve been ... travelling.” Razor Eddie stirred uneasily in his seat. “Ever since Merlin Satanspawn finally passed on, I’ve felt ... restless. Disturbed. As though waiting for the storm to break. I’ve being spending time down in the subterranean ways, listening and learning. There are rumours in dark places, whispers in the shadows ... People, and others, have talked to me when they wouldn’t talk to anyone else. And definitely not to Walker.”

  “You trust them to tell you the truth?” I said.

  “Of course,” said Razor Eddie. “I’m a god.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  “I first heard the name on the Street of the Gods, passed from hand to hand and mouth to mouth like an isotope too hot to handle. I heard it again in the Moon Pool, and among the Openers of the Way. Something is coming to the Nightside, John, something very old and very powerful, enough to scare even me. It could change everything.”

  I leaned forward, caught up in his intensity. “How do you mean, ‘change’?”

  “Something that could save or damn us all.” He smiled briefly. “Whether we like it or not. Which rather begs the question: what could be powerful enough to enforce its will upon the whole Nightside and make it stick?”

  “My mother is gone,” I said steadily. “And she won’t be coming back.”

  “Well, that’s good to know. But I wasn’t thinking of her. This is a legend that made itself true, an artefact that can rewrite history. A weapon that could sweep the stars out of the sky.”

  “Does it have a name?” I said.

  “Oh yes. And it’s a name you’ll know. But don’t be fooled by the glamour. The stories were rewritten many times, to disguise just how terrible it is.”

  “Say the name,” I said.

  “Excalibur,” whispered Razor Eddie, Punk God of the Straight Razor.

  He got up and left before I could say anything, and I wasn’t sure what I would have said anyway. Twice now someone had dropped that name, and not in a good way. I brushed dead flies off the table-top, and thought about it. Could this be the real thing, lost for centuries, come back out of legend and into history again, its time come round at last? How had Puck known about Excalibur? Was there some connection between that ancient sword and the most ancient of races? Supposedly, the great sword could only be wielded by the true King of England, or by the truly pure in heart; which ruled me out on both counts. In fact, I’d be hard-pressed to name anyone in the Nightside who came even close. So why was it coming here? Had someone summoned it? Or stolen it? Could it be a larger-than-usual piece of celestial flotsam and jetsam, washing up in the Nightside from God knows where ... Or could its presence here answer some kind of purpose? Or destiny? Destiny can be a real bastard, in the Nightside.

  It could save or damn us all ...

  My concentration was interrupted by the tinkling sound of “Tubular Bells,” and I got out my mobile phone and answered it, glad to be interrupted. I hadn’t liked where my thoughts were taking me ...

  “Hi. It’s Suzie. The whole Mother Shipton business was a waste of time. She was warned, and the whole place was empty by the time I got here. Thing is, I’m almost sure the warning came from Walker. Like he wanted me out here, out of the way.”

  “Could be,” I said. “Walker came to see me. He’s up to something.”

  “I’m coming straight back,” said Suzie. “Don’t agree to anything, and above all don’t sign anything until I’ve looked at it first.”

  “I did survive for years without you, you know.”

  “Beats the hell out of me how. See you soon. My love.”

  And she was gone. Suzie never was one for small talk. I put the phone away. Like a lot of people in the Nightside, I can’t help wondering where the satellites are. Or even if there are satellites. I keep hoping someone will hire me to find out.

  And then the three witches appeared, advancing on my booth. Bent-over hags in shapeless shrouds, with warts and hooked noses and evil eyes. They gathered before me, cackling hideously, then bowed deeply.

  “Hail!”

  “Hail!”

  “Hail!”

  “All hail John Taylor, who shall be King hereafter!”

  I glared at them. “Alex put you up to this, didn’t he?”

  SIX

  Crime Scene Investigators

  I travelled to Cheyne Walk on the Underground. After all the more than usually crazy weirdness of my day so far, I felt in need of the ordinary everyday weirdness of the Tube system. From the moment I descended the crowded stairs into the packed station, everything seemed reassuringly normal. The buskers were out in force, singing for their supper with more enthusiasm than talent. A wide-eyed gentleman with multiple personality disorder was doing three-part harmonies with himselves, in a rocking rendition of “My Guy.” A malfunctioning android in a monk’s robe was blasting out Gregorian chants interspersed with quick bursts of hot Gospel soul. And a soft ghost sang a sad song in a language no-one recognised, from a world no-one remembered any more. I dropped a little spare change on all of them. Because you never know. All it ever takes is one really bad day, and we can all fall off the edge.
>
  The tunnels and platforms seemed more than usually crowded, with people—and others—from here, there, and everywhere. All of them full of a restless nervous energy, desperate to get to wherever they were going, as though afraid it might not be there when they arrived. No-one was talking to anyone else, and the crowded conditions led to a certain amount of elbowing and shoving and barging aside, the sort of behaviour that really wasn’t safe in the Nightside.

  Everyone gave me plenty of room, though. I’m John Taylor.

  I leaned against a platform wall and waited for my train, aimlessly studying the posters on the wall opposite. They stirred and changed in subtle ways, advertising movies that could only be seen in certain very private clubs. Weird images that came and went like scenes from disturbed dreams.

  A tall diva in all-white leathers led a shaved chupacabra past me on a leash. A clone boy band with seven identical faces slouched arrogantly after her. A dead surfer with rotting jammies came to stand beside me, leaning patiently on the coffin lid he was using as a board. (Though God alone knew where he thought he was going to find a decent wave in the Nightside.) City gents in smart city suits stood close together in their proud little cliques, discussing ritual sacrifice and the Financial Times shares index. There were also plenty of the usual creatures trying to pass themselves off as human, with varying degrees of success. No-one ever says anything to them. It’s the thought that counts.

  A few yards away a group of mimes beat up a pickpocket with their invisible mallets.

  Just another day in the Nightside.

  By the time the train got me to Cheyne Walk, I was so relaxed I almost dozed off on my seat, and my head came up with a jerk as the train slammed into the station. I made my way up through the tunnels, swept along with the hurrying crowds, and finally emerged onto the street. The air was hot and sweaty, and a gusting wind blew lighter pieces of garbage this way and that. There are no street-cleaners in the Nightside ; because there’s always something around that’ll eat anything. I strolled down the street, taking my time, looking the place over. It hadn’t been that long since the Lilith War, but you’d never have known there’d ever been any fighting or destruction here. It had all been repaired, rebuilt, renewed. Old shops and businesses destroyed by fire and explosion and the madness of rioting mobs had been replaced by bright new establishments; like a carnival built on a neglected graveyard.