A Hard Day's Knight

FIVE Sinister Doings in the Nightside

I left London Proper for the Nightside with a certain sense of relief and emerged from the Underground station into a refreshing dazzle of neon noir, amber street-lights under an endless night sky, and a bustling sea of Humanity driven along by unhealthy appetites and bad intentions. It felt good to be back, to leave the London Knights behind me, with their strict morality and uncomplicated sense of good and evil. And it felt even better to dive back into the usual crowd of gods and monsters, saints and sinners, and all the lost and battered souls who couldn’t hope to survive anywhere else. I was home again, back where I belonged. And the moment I stepped out of the station, there was Suzie Shooter, waiting patiently for me. I went straight to her, and we hugged each other tightly for a long moment. Then Suzie pushed me away, so she could look me over thoroughly.

“No visible wounds. Blood on your coat, but it doesn’t seem to be yours. Kill anyone interesting?”

“No-one you’d know,” I said. “I would have brought you back a present, but the knights didn’t have anything you’d want.”

“The London Knights,” said Suzie, sniffing loudly. “Bunch of stiffs. Do they really wear chastity belts under their armour?”

“I’m relieved to say I never got the chance to find out,” I said. “Suzie ... Tell me you haven’t been waiting here for me all this time?”

She gave her usual sharp bark of laughter. “You wish. I’m your partner, not your nanny. I dropped into the Mammon Emporium and put a little pressure on an oracle in a well to tell me exactly when you’d be back. It didn’t really want to talk to me, but I persuaded it.”

“Tell me you didn’t drop a grenade in.”

“Of course not. That would have attracted attention. I pissed in it.”

I sighed, quietly. “You’re a class act, Suzie.”

She slipped an arm through mine, and we headed off down the street. I was pleased to note that everyone was getting out of my way again. It’s the little things you miss the most.

“Did you visit your old haunts in London Proper?” said Suzie, after a while.

“Yes,” I said. “A lot had changed, but not enough. Never go back.”

“I could have told you that. In fact, I’m pretty sure I did. How did you get on with the London Knights?”

“Hard to tell,” I said. “I think I was doing quite well ... right up to the point where I lost Excalibur.”

Suzie gave me a hard look. “How can anyone lose Excalibur?”

“It wasn’t easy! And I didn’t exactly lose it. More ... had it stolen while I was distracted.”

“Ah,” said Suzie. “That’s more like it. You always were easily distracted. Do you know where the sword is now?”

“Not yet. But I will. I need the right setting, and preparations, before I fire up my gift.”

“And then we’ll go get it,” Suzie said comfortably. “Will I by any chance get to kill a whole bunch of people?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” I said.

We strolled along, under the night sky that never ends, contemplating justice and violence. Wild things rode the night skies, starlight gleaming on their outstretched wings, while dangerous traffic thundered unceasingly up and down; and something foul and fierce went somersaulting over the vehicles, howling and cackling and spitting sparks in all directions. It was good to be back.

“So,” I said, “have you finished dealing with all the suddenly deceased persons who were cluttering up our property when I left?”

“All gone,” she said cheerfully.

“I won’t ask.”

“Best not to. But we’re going to have some really big flowers in the garden this time next year.”

“You hate flowers,” I said, amused.

“All right then, I’ll plant some fruit trees. I’ve always wanted to make my own jam.”

“You are an endless source of surprises to me,” I said solemnly. “Now, let us away to Strangefellows. I need to pick up something I left there with Alex, sometime back. Something I’d really hoped I’d never need to see again.”

And so Suzie and I came to Strangefellows, the oldest bar in the world, and still our favourite watering hole. Quite possibly the sleaziest and most disreputable drinking den in the whole of the Nightside, Strangefellows has the saving grace that no-one there will ever give a damn who or what you were. And most of my enemies are too scared to go in. The perfect place to drink and brood and plan revenges against a manifestly unfair and uncaring world. When Suzie and I clattered down the long, metal stairs into the great stone pit that was the bar proper, the background music was already playing Rick Wakeman’s King Arthur album. Just the bar owner’s little way of letting me know he knew what was going on. Alex Morrisey knows everything, except for when he doesn’t; and then he fakes it so convincingly that the world often changes to accommodate him. Because his gossip is always more entertaining than mere facts could ever be.

It was a pretty usual night, for Strangefellows. An unfrocked hair-stylist with a piercing through her left eye-ball was busy shaving complicated patterns into the thick body fur of a teenage werewolf. The things people will put themselves through to appear fashionable. Over in the large open fireplace, a pleasant fire was burning in a miniature Wicker Man, while a group of young business men in smart City suits, each with one eye missing, toasted bread against the flames before dipping it into a vat of steaming goat’s-cheese fondue. Alex must be trying to drive the bar up-market again. He’d have better luck with a chair and a whip. Two Japanese teenage girl vampires were draining the blood out of a resigned-looking goat through two straws, racing each other to the middle. And a quartet of fuzzy post-nuclear mutants were showing each other strange alien porn on the televisions they had implanted in their stomachs.

At the bar, the owner, bartender, and tall dark pain in the neck, Alex Morrisey, greeted Suzie and me with a sullen nod. Alex was born under a cloud, which surprised the midwife. He was the world’s first clinically depressed toddler, and has only got worse down the years. He only ever wears black, including shades and a beret, mixes the worst martinis in the world, doesn’t wash the glasses nearly often enough, and could gloom for the Olympics. Always check your change with Alex, and never ever try the bar snacks. You never know who they might have been. He glared at his pet vulture, Agatha, still perched menacingly on his old-fashioned till and still extremely pregnant. Alex put out a hand to pet her. The vulture fixed him with a malignant look, and Alex pulled his hand back.

“I’ve lost track of how many months that damned bird has been pregnant,” he said bitterly as he poured me my usual wormwood brandy and handed Suzie her bottle of Gordon’s Gin. “Has to be well over a year now. I think she’s going for the record. Still no idea what the hell she mated with, but it must have been something really brave. Wouldn’t surprise me if she ate him afterwards. Or even during. I’m hoping it wasn’t a phoenix. You can’t get good fire insurance in the Nightside.”

“That’s always been one of the big riddles,” I said. “If the phoenix is always born from the ashes of the previous phoenix, then who fired the first phoenix?”

Suzie stopped sucking at her gin bottle long enough to say “Prometheus,” unexpectedly.

Alex and I looked at her, then at each other, and shrugged pretty much in unison.

“What are you doing here, John?” said Alex. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d decided you were too good for us, now you’re off hobnobbing with the aristocracy. It’ll all end in tears. The London Knights ... Give me a slippery floor and a can-opener, and I could take the lot of them.”

“Pretty sure you couldn’t,” I said. “I’ve seen them fight. To be exact, I saw them take on a whole army of elves and make chutney out of them. And since they’re currently a bit annoyed with me ...”

“He lost Excalibur,” said Suzie.

“I’m getting it back!” I said quickly. “I’m here to use my gift, while you and Suzie run interference and keep the flies off. I can’t afford to be interrupted once I start concentrating.”

“All right,” said Suzie, setting down her half-empty bottle. “Anyone bothers us, I’ll shoot them quietly.”

“I’ll get a bucket and mop,” Alex said resignedly.

“Don’t pop off yet,” I said. “I need to discuss something with you.”

“Let’s start with your bar bill,” said Alex.

“You know I’m good for it. Listen, remember the ... object I left here with you after the Angel War? The thing I asked you to hide for me? And never mention to anyone?”

Alex lowered his sunglasses and studied me over them. “Are things really that serious?”

“Could be,” I said. “I have a strong feeling things could get extremely unpleasant, then a whole lot worse, before they even look like getting better.”

“Situation entirely bloody normal round here,” said Alex. “Hang on while I get my special gloves.”

He reached under the counter and pulled out a pair of woollen mittens, specially knitted for him by the Holy Sisters of Saint Strontium. Guaranteed to protect his hands from anything up to and including the Holy Sisters. Alex went to the back of the bar and very carefully brought down a slender bottle labelled ANGEL’S TEARS, in Alex’s own appalling handwriting. He set the bottle down gently on the bar before us and the liquor inside swelled slowly from side to side, shining with delicate silver light. Angel’s Tears was a particularly vicious and brutal liquor that could not only open the doors of perception inside your mind, but blow the doors right off their hinges. Alex could only keep the liquor in stock for so long, then he had to take it out, bury it in unconsecrated ground, and run like hell. Alex broke the heavy wax seal with extreme care and reached inside the bottle with a pair of delicate silver tongs. And from out of the concealing liquor, he pulled a single long feather.

It glowed faintly with its own light, a pure white feather of indescribable beauty and grace. It looked like the first, original feather, which all other feathers are based on. Alex laid it gently out on the bar counter, then put the bottle away. The feather lay there, utterly perfect, with not a drop of liquor on it. The Angel’s Tears had disguised its presence all this time but hadn’t been able to touch it. Because the feather was the real deal.

“Is that what I think it is?” said Suzie, after a moment.

“Yes,” I said. “A feather from an angel’s wing. I found a downed angel during the War. Brought down by really serious magics, with its wings ripped off and propped up on bricks. So to speak. I found the feather some distance away, in the gutter, and took it away with me. Because I always thought the time would arrive when it would come in handy.”

“All right, it’s very pretty,” Suzie said grudgingly. “But what use is it? What can you do with it, apart from tickle someone to death?”

“According to the reading I’ve done on the subject, an angel’s feather can protect you from spiritual corruption,” I said. “And given that we’re almost certainly going to be dealing with Sinister Albion ...”

“You mean the living Merlin?” said Alex, up to the minute on news as usual and determined not to be left out of the conversation. “Merlin Satanspawn, more powerful than the Merlin we knew and nastier with it? Word is he’s here in the Nightside right now, looking for his missing King Artur.”

“Not just the living Merlin,” I said. “According to the London Knights, we also have to worry about one Prince Gaylord the Damned, Nuncio to the Court of King Artur. He’s here, too.”

“What’s so special about him?” said Suzie.

“I don’t know,” I said. “No-one knows. That’s what’s so worrying.”

“But ... it’s only a feather,” said Suzie.

“No, it isn’t,” I said. “It looks like a feather to our limited human senses because the reality of it is far too big for us to deal with. This came from a messenger of God, His will made manifest in the material world. It’s no more only a feather than an angel is just some guy with wings.”

“First Excalibur, then the London Knights, now an angel’s feather,” said Alex. “Going up in the world, John. Been a long time since anything so obviously good came into the Nightside ... We could probably get good money for this. And I mean serious money ...”

I picked the feather up and tucked it into my inside coat-pocket. My fingers tingled at the brief contact. “There are some things money can’t buy, Alex.”

“I know. That’s what credit is for.”

“What are you going to do with the feather, John?” said Suzie.

“Hang on to it,” I said. “And hope some of its essential goodness rubs off on me.”

“Good luck with that,” said Suzie. “Also, Alex, my bottle is empty.”

“Lot of people are talking about Excalibur,” said Alex as he handed Suzie a fresh bottle. “Mostly trying to figure out how the hell it ended up with you, John.”

“I am not worthy,” I said solemnly. “But, I have a special dispensation.”

Alex paused, thoughtfully. “When I was younger, and still believed I was descended from Arthur Pendragon, instead of Merlin Satanspawn, I used to dream of wielding Excalibur. What did it feel like?”

“Like I could do anything,” I said.

And that was when lightning slammed down into the bar. Huge jagged bolts of blue-white electricity, jumping from ceiling to floor to every metal object in the bar. Sparks jumped and exploded, crackling loudly on the air. I could feel the wild energies tingling on my bare skin, and my hair stood up. The air stank of ozone. The lightning slammed down again and again, filling the bar with brutal, merciless light. Tables and chairs caught fire. The floor suddenly cracked apart, a long, jagged line that ran from one end of the bar to the other, the crack widening and splintering as it tore itself apart. Everyone in the bar was running for the exit. Some were on fire. There was screaming and shouting and all the sounds of pain and horror. I put my back to the bar, and Suzie was right there at my side, shotgun at the ready.

The crack in the floor widened further still, becoming a crevice full of darkness. And up out of that bottomless darkness rose a huge iron throne, its heavy black metal carved and scarred with crawling unquiet runes. And sitting at his ease on that cold iron throne—Merlin Satanspawn of Sinister Albion. The greatest living sorcerer of a realm where evil had triumphed. He smiled on me as the throne came to a halt, hovering over the abyss; and it was not a human smile.

The living Merlin was tall, easily eight feet, and grossly fat from lifetimes of indulging his many appetites. Naked, his skin was flushed, stretched taut with heavy rolls of fat, and covered in ancient Celtic and Druidic tattoos. The designs were hard to make out, stretched and distorted by his huge shape. His face was wide, his arms and legs huge. His eyes were sunk deep into his skull, and his smile showed teeth yellowed with age. There was something in those eyes, and in that smile, that held me where I was like a mouse hypnotised by a snake. The knowledge in that stare, the centuries of experience, the sheer concentrated happy evil ...

Dried blood had caked under his long fingernails, and more was trapped in the heavy lines round his mouth. Goat’s horns curled up from his lowering forehead, and scarlet flames danced up from his eyes, rising and falling as his gaze moved this way and that. They say he has his father’s eyes ... And an inverted pentagram had been branded deep into his bare chest. No-one was going to steal this Merlin’s heart.

Simply sitting there, on his brutal throne, Merlin’s presence was overwhelming. He seemed to curdle the bar’s atmosphere and poison the air by being there. Merlin Satanspawn, the Devil’s only begotten son, the anti-Christ who’d corrupted and destroyed the greatest dream of all, to make his Sinister Albion.

Anyone else would have been helpless under his gaze. But I had an angel’s feather, Suzie had her shotgun, and Alex ... was Alex.

The bar’s muscular bouncers, Betty and Lucy Coltrane, had held their ground when everyone else ran. They stood poised together at the end of the bar, ready for action. They weren’t impressed by the living Merlin any more than they had been by the dead Merlin who used to manifest in Strangefellows. In fact, the Coltranes were famous for not being impressed by anyone. Which came in very handy when it came to chucking-out time. They looked to Alex for instructions, and he gestured urgently for them to stay put. Merlin turned his great head slowly to look at the two muscular young women, then he licked his lips slowly. Betty and Lucy both shuddered suddenly, despite themselves. Merlin raised one fat hand, and a rose appeared in it out of nowhere. He offered it to the two bouncers, and they both turned up their noses. Merlin laughed softly, a flat horrid sound with all the wickedness of the world in it. He brought the rose to his mouth and breathed on it, so it withered and died in a moment.

“Big deal,” said Alex, his voice steady. “I can do that most mornings. Of course, I am not a morning person.”

“Hush,” said Merlin. “Be still. I have come to the Nightside in search of my errant King. Pretty little Artur. He is mine, and I will have him again. I do enjoy this Nightside ... Love what you’ve done with the place. So delightfully uncomplicated, and unhypocritical when it comes to sin and temptation. I really must come again, when I have the time to properly indulge myself. I do like to play though I’m so big I usually break my toys ...”

“We’re not toys,” I said, fighting to keep my voice calm and casual and not in any way impressed. “You may be the big mover and shaker in your world, but we’ve seen better. And you’re not in your world now.”

“But my father is everywhere, in all worlds,” said Merlin. “And where he is, I have power. Do not think I am weak because I am out of my domain.”

He gestured lazily with one plump hand at Lucy Coltrane, and she cried out in pain as her back arched suddenly. Her breath came fast and panicked, her eyes full of horror. Merlin gestured again, and Lucy’s chest split apart in a flurry of blood and broken bone. Her heart ripped itself out of the great wound in her chest and flew across the intervening space to nestle into Merlin’s waiting hand. Lucy collapsed as all the strength went out of her, blood still spurting from the great wound between her breasts and spraying from her slack mouth with her last few gasps for breath. Betty was there to hold Lucy before she hit the floor, but Lucy was already dead, her wide eyes fixed and staring. Betty lowered her slowly to the blood-slick floor and sat there with her, hugging the dead body to her while she cried silent, angry tears. And Merlin Satanspawn brought the still-beating heart to his mouth and ate it greedily, stuffing the pulsing meat into his mouth. And when he was done, and he’d eaten every last bit of it, he licked all the blood from his fingers like a small child with a treat.

I had to physically stop Suzie from giving him both barrels in the face. I grabbed her arm and held it firmly, pitting all my strength against hers. Even her specially made blessed and cursed bullets wouldn’t touch Merlin Satanspawn. And I wasn’t ready to lose my Suzie the way Betty had lost her Lucy. Suzie stopped fighting me abruptly, her furious gaze still fixed on Merlin. She lowered her shotgun and nodded briefly. Not giving up; just waiting for a better chance. Behind me, I could hear Alex breathing heavily. I knew he had all kinds of weapons and protections stashed away, but I hoped he had more sense than to try to use any of them. He and the Coltranes had been together for years, but this was no time for grand gestures. This was a time for cold thought, and plans, and eventually some very cold revenge, when the opportunity presented itself. Merlin smiled on us all.

“That wasn’t a demonstration of power. That was a little something to get your attention. This ... is the demonstration.”

And Lucy Coltrane sat bolt upright in Betty’s arms, drawing in a deep breath of air. The great wound in her chest was gone, her eyes were wide open, and she grabbed on to Betty with desperate hands as she fought to get her breathing back under control again. She had been dead, and now she was alive again; and Merlin Satanspawn chuckled happily.

“I am my father’s son, inflicted on the world to do his will; and I can do anything the Lamb could do.”

(And I remembered Jerusalem Stark saying that his new allies could bring his dead wife back to life. That he’d seen proof ...)

“What are you doing here?” I said to Merlin. “What do you want with us?”

“This place called to me. My magic tells me that this world’s Merlin spent time here.”

“Yes,” said Alex. “He was buried in the cellars under the bar. But he’s dead and gone now. You missed him.”

“Pity,” said the living Merlin. “I would have enjoyed showing him what he could have become. If only he’d had more ambition.” He considered Alex thoughtfully. “You’re of his line, though the blood has been diluted through many generations. I have no descendents ... I kill them all as soon as they appear. I have no use for ... competition. But, there’s some of me in you, boy. I could just eat you up ...”

I moved quickly forward to place myself between Merlin and Alex, doing my best to meet his terrible gaze with my best hard look.

“Your King Artur isn’t here, and none of us have seen him in ages.”

“Oh, I know that,” said Merlin. “He came to this Nightside against my wishes, and he has never returned. And I can’t have that. Can’t have people thinking they can go against my wishes. My magic tells me you have a gift for finding things, and people, John Taylor. I can see your gift, hiding within you. You only think you know what it is. Use that gift for me, find my missing Artur, and you and your friends can live.”

“If I’m to find him,” I said steadily, “I need to know about him. What is Artur doing here? What is he looking for?”

“A toy, a trinket,” said Merlin. “Something I’d already told him would do him no good.”

“Excalibur,” I said. “He wanted Excalibur, didn’t he?”

Merlin looked at me for a long moment, and I could feel my skin crawl, feel my legs shake. My heart was hammering in my chest. He could kill me in a moment, and we both knew it.

“I want my Artur,” said Merlin. “Find him for me. Or you ... are no use to me.”

“Don’t you threaten him,” Suzie said immediately, her shotgun trained on his face again.

Merlin didn’t even look at her. “Or perhaps I’ll turn your little girlfriend inside out and leave her that way, alive and suffering, forever.”

“Did you know I killed this world’s Merlin?” I said, my voice like a slap across his face. “Did you know I tore out his heart and watched him die by inches?”

“You’re telling the truth,” said the living Merlin. “I can tell. How very amusing. Well, well ... Who knew such a small thing as you could kill a Merlin? But after all, he turned away from real power when he defied our father. I don’t have time for this. Someone else will find my missing King for me; and when Artur is back under my wing again ... I think perhaps I’ll destroy this whole stupid Nightside before I go home again.”

He disappeared abruptly, gone in a moment, taking his iron throne with him. I let my breath out in a long gasp and leaned back against the bar for support. My legs were shaking so badly they could hardly support me. It’s not every day you outbluff the Devil’s only begotten son ... Suzie slipped her shotgun into the sheath on her back and took a long drink from her bottle. Her face was cold and calm as always, her hands entirely steady. Alex was busy pouring himself a large drink and spilling most of it. The sense of evil and oppression was gone, but some harsh sense of it still lingered, like a psychic stain. The great jagged crack in the floor wasn’t there any more—if it ever really had been. Sorcerers deal in illusion as often as not. If only because it costs less magic.

Betty got Lucy back onto her feet and led her away. Lucy’s death and rebirth could have been an illusion, too; but I didn’t think so. The reality of it was still clear in Lucy’s face, in her eyes. She was shaking all over, her hands clasped together on her chest where the wound had been. And this from a woman who’d never backed down from anyone, in all the time I’d known her. Betty looked almost as shocked as Lucy. I had to wonder if either of them would ever get over what had happened.

“I will see that smug bastard hauled down off his long throne, trampled underfoot, and fed to the pigs, for what he did to my girls,” said Alex, in a worryingly matter-of-fact voice. I turned to face him.

“Don’t,” I said. “I mean it, Alex. He is way out of your league. Maybe even out of mine. Dead Merlin was dangerous enough; this version is seriously scary. I’m going to have to do a lot of hard thinking and planning, before I’m ready to go after him.”

“But you will go after him?” said Alex.

“Yes,” I said. “He threatened me, and my friends, and no-one gets away with that.”

“He said he was the anti-Christ,” said Suzie.

“Our Merlin rejected his father’s plans for him,” I said. “He could have been the anti-Christ, but he declined the honour. If only because he wouldn’t take orders from anyone. Of course, that was before he met Arthur, and everything changed. The Merlin we just met ... is every inch his father’s son.”

“I’m going to have to get a bigger gun,” said Suzie. “Something heavier, and more ... spiritual.”

“Got to be more useful than an angel’s feather,” Alex said pointedly.

“We’re still here, aren’t we?” I said. “Now, we have work to do, and not a lot of time to do it in. It won’t take Merlin long to find someone who can take him straight to the missing Artur. There’s always someone, in the Nightside. Hell, there are probably already people lining up to sell their souls to him. After speaking to the London Knights, I’m pretty sure Artur came here looking for this world’s Excalibur. His Merlin doesn’t want him to have it because the sword could give Artur power over him. The Lady of the Lake from Sinister Albion wouldn’t give Artur her sword because he wasn’t worthy. So all that’s left to him is to steal some other world’s Excalibur. Which makes him Stark’s best buyer.”

“Who’s this Stark?” said Suzie.

“Rogue London Knight. Currently allied with Queen Mab’s elves. The man who stole Excalibur from me.”

“I hate him already,” said Suzie. “Let me kill him for you.”

“A nice thought, but not until we’ve got the sword back from him,” I said.

“You really think you can find Stark before Merlin does?” said Alex.

“Of course,” I said. “I have a gift; and I know the Nightside better than he ever will.”

“Yes, but ... he’s Merlin!” said Alex. “Alive and in his prime, after fifteen hundred years of practicing his craft! With all the powers of the anti-Christ! He could probably pull the Moon down out of the sky and crash it into the Nightside for laughs! And I’m not sure there’s anyone in the Nightside who could stop him!”

“Do I need to get you a paper bag to breathe into?” I said. “Of course there are people here who could stop him! Off the top of my head, there’s the Lord of Thorns. And Hadleigh Oblivion, the Detective Inspectre. And Jessica Sorrow, the Unbeliever.”

“You really do know some scary people,” said Alex. He made an effort to calm himself. “And there’s the whole Street of the Gods, of course. Sorry. It’s hard to think of anyone else, when that oversized piece of shit is floating right in front of you, larger than life and twice as nasty. Okay, maybe ... there are people here who could slow him down, but I’d still want to be several dimensions away when they tried it.”

“Speed is our best friend here,” I said, trying hard to sound confident and in control. “Get to Stark first and take Excalibur back from him; then Merlin can have his bloody Artur for all I care. Let him take his King home, and we’re rid of two people we’re better off without.”

“What’s to stop Merlin from destroying the whole Nightside before he goes home?” said Suzie.

“I will,” I said. “Once I’ve got Excalibur back.”

“You think you can stop him?” said Alex. “With a magic sword and a feather?”

“Excalibur is a lot more than a sword,” I said patiently. “That’s why Artur wants it. And knowing I’ve got the sword will be enough to stop Merlin coming back again. Now, stand back and prepare to be amazed; it’s finding-things time.”

I concentrated on my gift and sent my mind soaring up and out, shooting up through the bar and rising high into the dark skies above. My mind rose free, no longer held back by the limitations of flesh, and I could See all across the Nightside. The huge Moon glared more brightly than ever though it had no sun to reflect light from. There is no man-in-the-moon face on the Nightside’s Moon; it’s a huge dead silver eye that sees everything and cares for nothing. The stars danced all round me. If I listened really hard, I could hear them singing. I looked down across the brightly lit streets and squares, the flares and smears of gaudy colour as the Nightside spun slowly beneath me. Hot neon blazed, and magics dazzled, but I couldn’t See the sword Excalibur anywhere. Its nature made it invisible to everyone except the man who bore it, rightly or not. And for the moment, that man was Stark. So I looked for him instead.

My gift found him easily, a beacon blazing in the night. My all-Seeing mental eye plummeted down into the Nightside and shot along the streets like an invisible comet, rocketing in and out of streets and side alleys until finally it settled outside one very familiar building. I drifted slowly forward, cautious of protective spells that might set off an alarm, but my gift was more subtle than anything this place had. Soon I was inside, in one particular room; and my Vision showed me two men talking together. Back in the bar, I reached out to Suzie, so she could take my hand and share what I was Seeing. I felt her fingers in mine, and together we watched, and listened.

I knew this place. I’d been in this building before. They called it the Fortress, the one place you could go in the Nightside where no-one would bother you. A place of sanctuary and protection. Originally established by a self-help group of alien abductees, who decided to get together and set up a safe place, with constant electronic surveillance and a whole lot of guns. And a complete willingness to shoot the shit out of anyone or anything that tried to take them anywhere against their will. Let the aliens come again and see what was waiting for them. Over the years, the Fortress had become a refuge for anyone who needed it. Good place for Artur to run to and hide. And a good place for Stark to do business ...

The rogue knight stood tall and proud in a pokey little room, facing a man who had to be Artur. The room had only the most basic furnishings and few comforts; the Fortress runs on a very strict budget. They prefer to spend what money they have in constantly upgrading the surveillance systems and buying bigger guns. It isn’t paranoia if they really are out to get you and shove probes up your behind.

Not really the proper setting for a King in exile, as Artur’s expression seemed to confirm. He was tall and elegant, with a pale, aristocratic face that would have been more than usually handsome, if it hadn’t been for the cold, dark eyes and thin-lipped mouth. He held himself like a King, like a man used to giving orders and having them obeyed; but he also looked dangerous in his own right. Like a man who could do his own killing, as and when he felt it necessary. He was wearing a suit of some dark armour; but I couldn’t See it clearly. Must have its own built-in protections.

Stark looked suspiciously at the surveillance camera set ostentatiously into the room’s ceiling. “Any way of turning that thing off?”

“Apparently not,” said Artur. His voice was smooth and cultured, with an undertone of viciousness. “It’s for my own protection, after all. There’s always someone watching. Anyone tries to attack me, the whole Fortress will turn out to defend me. That is why I came here, after all.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Stark. He sounded surprisingly tired for someone so close to getting everything he wanted. “They won’t recognise me and probably wouldn’t care much if they did. I’ve committed no sins in the Nightside.”

“I never got the chance, unfortunately,” said Artur. “I’d barely joined up with Queen Helena and her Exiles, when Walker sent his assassin to kill us all. A very scary young lady; I was lucky to avoid her. I’ve been hiding out here ever since. If Walker finds me ...”

“Walker’s dead,” said Stark. “You’re safe from him and his people ...”

“They say there’s a new Walker,” said Artur. “A certain John Taylor. Yes, I thought you’d know that name. And the assassin who wiped out all my fellow Exiles is his woman and partner. So pardon me if I feel a little ... unsafe, even here. Let us make our deal, so we can both get what we want.”

“You want Excalibur,” said Stark. “I have it. And it’s yours, in return for Merlin’s raising my wife from the dead.”

“I have to have the sword first,” Artur said patiently. “Merlin won’t do a damned thing for you of his own free will. But owning Excalibur will give me control over Merlin; then I will make him restore your dead wife to you.”

“Is Excalibur really that powerful?” said Stark. “I mean, it’s just a magic sword.”

Artur laughed softly, unpleasantly. “You know better than that, Stark. You’ve been carrying it long enough to know better. It’s made its mark on you. I can see it.”

“I am my own man,” Stark said stubbornly. “No sword tells me what to do.”

“Excalibur is far more than just a sword. You have no idea what it really is. To own the sword, to have control over Excalibur, is to have control over the natural world and everything that lives in it. Merlin may be the most powerful sorcerer my world has ever known, he may even be the anti-Christ he claims to be; but all of that is nothing in the face of Excalibur. Merlin is still a living man, and part of the natural order of things, and Excalibur rules the living.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” said Stark.

“I wish I had your sword,” said Artur.

“You will,” said Stark.

I shut down my gift and dropped back into my body, in the bar. I looked at Suzie.

“The Fortress,” she said. “Could have been worse.”

“We have to get there fast,” I said. “Stark’s ready to make the deal.”

“The Fortress is where we first met, after you came back from London Proper,” said Suzie. “And I was so glad to see you again.”

“You pick the strangest moments to get sentimental,” I said. “But it’s time we were moving. Allow me to show you my new toy.”

I took out Walker’s old gold pocket-watch, opened it, and the Portable Timeslip within whisked us away.

The Timeslip dropped us off right outside the Fortress. Suzie shook her head a little and gave me a hard look but said nothing. She’s never been big on surprises. I put the watch away and looked up and down the street; but there was no-one else about. Most people steer clear of the Fortress, to avoid being shot at. The Fortress is always on the lookout for Men in Black. Suzie and I strolled casually down the street as though we just happened to be out for a walk. The Fortress is a massive square building, with all its doors and windows protected by reinforced steel shutters. Heavy-duty gun emplacements all but crowded each other off the flat roof, pointing up as well as down, and the exterior of the building positively bristled with all the very latest surveillance gear. The word FORTRESS had been painted in large letters all across the front of the building, over and over, in every language known to man and a few only spoken in the Nightside. For all those who have good reason to feel threatened, the Fortress is the last safe place in the Nightside.

These days it stands between two new franchises of utter respectability. On the one side stands The Devil Has Designs, where a satanic mechanic will implant black-magic circuitry into your brain, so you can make better contact with the infernal realms. Some people will believe anything ... And on the other side of the Fortress lies Bonsai Dinosaurs. Genetically modified, miniaturised dinosaurs for people who will buy anything. Their window display consisted of a playpen full of miniature mammoths, chirping cheerfully together, and a large metal cage full of one-foot-high Tyrannosaurus rex, shoving and snapping at each other like vicious puppies. Suzie bent over and tapped on the window to get their attention, making ooh and aww noises.

“We are not getting a pet,” I said firmly. “You know very well you’d never walk it, and I’d end up having to look after it. Besides, you never know how big they’d be when they grow up.”

We moved over to stand before the heavily reinforced steel door that was the only entrance to the Fortress. It was, as always, quite definitely shut. You couldn’t blast through that door with a bazooka, and people have tried. Cameras set all round the door whirred loudly as they turned to focus on Suzie and me. I stepped forward and smiled pleasantly into the main security camera.

“Hi!” I said cheerfully. “You know who we are, and you know what we’ll do if you don’t open up. We are not here to cause trouble, for once; we only want to talk to someone. So be a good chap and let us in before Suzie starts feeling unappreciated and does something unfortunate.”

There was a slight pause, then there was the sound of many locks unlocking and many bolts sliding back. The door swung open before us, and I walked in like I owned the place, Suzie strolling casually along beside me. She hadn’t even drawn her shotgun, which I thought showed considerable restraint. The comfortably appointed lobby was entirely deserted, with only a few overturned chairs to suggest that certain people had vacated the area in a hurry. A single desk clerk stood pale and trembling behind the reception desk.

“Oh God,” he said, staring in horrid fascination at Suzie. “Not you again. The last time you were here, you shot up half the building.”

“I get that a lot,” said Suzie.

“Only because it’s true,” I said. “Last time I was here, you had half the security staff pinned down behind a barricade.”

“That was just business. They shouldn’t take these things personally. I would have been ever so much more destructive if it had been personal.”

“Somehow, knowing that doesn’t help,” said the desk clerk. “I was on duty the last time you were here, and I’m still on pills.”

“We’re here looking for King Artur of Sinister Albion,” I said. “ Tell us what room he’s in, and we’ll go away and stop bothering you. Won’t that be nice?”

“Room 1408,” the clerk said immediately. “Never liked the man. Trouble-maker. Knew it the minute I laid eyes on him. But you must realise ... the Fortress won’t let you walk in and take him. He’s entitled to protection even if he is an aristocratic little turd who never tips. You kick his door in and try to haul him away, and everyone in the place will come running with really big guns in their hands.”

“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.

Suzie was shouting at him, yelling at Stark to get that sword out of my face or she’d blow his head off; but he wasn’t listening. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t shoot while I was in danger, but it was clear Stark’s attention was elsewhere. For all his knightly experience, Stark was holding the blade like an amateur. Because Excalibur wasn’t helping him, as it had helped me. It was fighting him for control, and Stark was losing. It was all he could do to hang on to the sword as it fought and burned him.

And while Stark stood there, fighting a battle inside his head, I stepped quickly to one side, and Suzie lunged forward and slammed the butt of her shotgun into the metal cup protecting Stark’s groin. The metal actually clanged as it dented, and the sound the cup made as it collapsed in on itself made both Artur and me wince. The force of the blow bent Stark suddenly forward, all the breath forced out of his lungs, and tears actually flew from his eyes before the lids squeezed tightly shut. He sank to his knees amidst a clatter of armour, and I neatly snatched Excalibur from his numbed fingers. The long, golden blade blazed up immediately, its supernaturally bright light filling the room, and once again I could feel the weight of the invisible scabbard on my back and the presence of Excalibur in my thoughts again.

King Artur snatched up his sword from the bed, and hit Suzie in the side of the head with his armoured elbow while she still had all her attention focused on Stark. She sat down suddenly on the floor, still clinging grimly to her shotgun; but her head hung down, and her eyes weren’t tracking. I yelled something foul at Artur, and he turned smoothly to face me, sword at the ready. There was nothing magic or special about his blade; it was a big ugly pigsticker, but he clearly knew how to use it. His every move was polished and professional. He feinted once, then swung the sword in a vicious arc that would have taken my head right off if it had connected; but Excalibur leapt up to block it. And the heavy dark blade shattered into a hundred pieces on contact, and Artur was left standing there with only a hilt in his hand. I pressed the tip of Excalibur against his breast-plate, and the dark pieces actually squirmed back out of its way, hissing and squealing. Artur looked down at the golden point pressed against his suddenly bare chest and opened his hand, letting the hilt fall to the floor. He smiled at me cheerfully and sank down on one knee.

“I offer my surrender. I know when I’m beaten.”

“Stay down there,” growled Suzie. “It suits you.”

She forced herself up onto her feet again. A massive bruise was already forming on one side of her face. And while I was looking at her, Stark surged up onto his feet and threw himself forward, moving almost impossibly quickly for a man in full armour. He tried to grab Excalibur from my hand, but even caught off-balance, I still held on to it. The sheer weight of the man in his armour was enough to push me back, and I struggled to hang on to the sword. And while Stark pressed me back, his harshly breathing face thrust into mine, Artur rose up on what he thought was my blind side and stabbed at me with a concealed dagger.

Suzie gave him both barrels in the face. Artur’s head simply disappeared in a red flurry of blood and flesh, bits of splintered bone and grey matter painting the wall behind him. His body sank slowly to the floor, held upright only by his armour, blood jetting from the neck stump. Stark let go of Excalibur and moved quickly to put me between him and Suzie. She grinned nastily as she pumped fresh shells into the chambers.

“Plebs one, aristocracy nil. That’s history for you. Still, Merlin isn’t going to be pleased I’ve killed his nasty little King, is he?”

“Almost certainly not,” I said.

“Good,” said Suzie.

She moved round to get a clear shot at Stark, but he surprised her by holding his ground. His hand fell to the heart at his belt, and Julianne appeared again. Stark yelled at her to embrace Suzie. The ghost looked at Suzie with sad eyes and advanced on her. Suzie gave her both barrels, but even the best blessed and cursed ammunition has no effect on a ghost. The bullets blasted right through Julianne, barely missing Stark and me behind her. The ghost embraced Suzie, who cried out in shock. I lifted Excalibur, to cut at the ghost, and Stark threw himself right through her immaterial form and caught me off-balance again. He hit me in the right biceps with a mailed fist, and my fingers, numbed along with my arm, sprang open, releasing Excalibur. Stark snatched it away from me, and I felt the invisible scabbard leave my back again.

Julianne disappeared the moment Stark took his hand off her heart. Suzie said something really foul and shook herself hard, trying to throw off the supernatural shock. Julianne wasn’t just any ghost. Whatever Stark had done to her to keep her with him had made her more terrible than any ghost had a right to be. It was as though she wore Death itself round her, like a shroud.

Stark was already out the door, Excalibur in his hand. I could hear his metal boots slamming down the corridor. I lurched after him, my arm hanging limp at my side, but by the time I was out the door, he was already in the lift. I watched the doors close on his cold face and went back into the room. Neither Suzie nor I was in any condition to chase after him.

She was sitting on the unmade bed, cradling her shotgun to her like a doll. Her eyes were clear, but her face was deathly pale. I sat down beside her, biting my lip against the pins and needles of returning circulation in my arm. On the floor, Artur’s headless body was no longer wearing armour. Instead, a large pile of dark scales stood quietly to one side, barely moving. Suzie glared at me.

“How can anyone lose Excalibur twice in one day?”

“It’s a gift,” I said.

“Well, try your other gift and track the bastard down.”

I raised my gift and locked on to Stark almost straight away. My inner eye Saw him run out of the Fortress and onto the street, produce a bone charm, and speak several very dangerous Words over it. A dimensional gateway materialised before him, a rip in Space and Time, brutally simple but effective. The rogue knight had a portable Timeslip of his own. Stark stepped into the dimensional gate and disappeared; but he’d barely been gone a moment before Merlin Satanspawn appeared out of nowhere and threw himself into the gateway after Stark. The Timeslip collapsed in on itself and was gone, leaving the street empty again.

I lowered my gift and brought Suzie up to speed. She frowned, thinking.

“So, where has Stark gone?”

“Sinister Albion,” I said. “My gift told me that much. And Merlin went straight through after him. So at least the Nightside is safe, for a while.”

“But we still need Excalibur, to face the elves when they come,” said Suzie. “So we have to go after them. Don’t we?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But Merlin took the Timeslip with him when he left. There’s not a trace of it left. And my Portable Timeslip can’t track his destination without the right co-ordinates. Which is a bit beyond what my gift can do.”

“Are you saying they’ve got away? There’s no way we can go after them?”

I smiled. “This is the Nightside. There’s always a way. Do you by any chance remember the Doormouse?”

“Oh bloody hell,” said Suzie.