The Bride Wore Black Leather

SIX The Very Righteous Sisters Meet the Sun King

I have seen many impressive walls, in the Nightside. Everything from the Great Wall of Porcelain China, down by the Desolation Docks, to the Moebius Wall of Murder Mile, which surrounds itself. But the huge stone wall that surrounds the Garden of Green Henge is still one hell of an impressive sight in its own right. My gold watch dropped Julien and me off outside the wall, in one of the shabbier areas of the Nightside. Either the trip was getting easier, or Julien and I were getting used to it, because after a few moments of deep breathing, silent cursing, and carefully not looking at each other, we were both back in command of ourselves and ready for business.

The massive stone wall before us rose some forty to fifty feet into the air, constructed from great stone slabs fitted expertly together, without the need for mortar or cement. Each slab was set so tightly in place, you couldn’t fit a knife blade between them; and given the major magical protections I could sense built into the wall, that would probably be a really bad idea anyway. There was no obvious door, and the wall stretched away in each direction for as far as I could see. As though someone had decided long ago, This far into the Nightside shall ye go, and no further. Where the wall met the ground, old blood stained the stones in a regular pattern, like a bloody tide-mark soaked deep into the stone so long ago that no shade of red remained in the dark stains.

Julien studied the blood-stains thoughtfully. “Is this what happened to the last people who tried to get in, do you think?”

“No,” I said. “This is what’s left from human sacrifices. When they were building the wall, men and women were butchered right here, so their blood and deaths would strengthen the magics protecting the wall and so that their ghosts would remain here, bound to the wall, to hold it up against any forces that tried to bring it down. Old Druidic tradition. Very practical and unpleasant people, the Druids.”

“You’re saying the ghosts are still here?” said Julien.

I looked up and down the wall. “No. No ghosts here. Somebody screwed up.”

Julien sighed quietly. “You can be really spooky sometimes, John. You know that?”

“Only sometimes?” I said. “I must try harder.”

Julien was giving rather more of his attention to the less than salubrious surroundings we’d arrived in. The buildings were dark and decrepit, with boarded-up windows and gaping doorways, and most of the street-lights had been smashed. Dark shadows everywhere; with ragged people lurking in them. A few of the braver ones were already shuffling out into the uncertain light to get a better look at whoever had been foolish enough to venture into their territory. Other things, that might or might not have been human but gave the impression of being just as hungry, moved in the shadows and alleyways.

“It’s times like this make me wish I still carried my old sword-stick,” said Julien. “Couldn’t you have materialised us inside the Garden?”

“Possibly,” I said. “But I didn’t want to upset the Righteous Sisters who run the place. There’s always the chance they’re old school Druids, the kind who would burn you alive in a giant wicker man, or nail your guts to the old oak tree, then chase you round it, as soon as look at you. We’re going to need their cooperation, so I’m being polite. I never used to bother much with that, back when I was only a private investigator, but now that I’m Walker . . . it’s that much harder to do appalling things to people in public and not get noticed. And anyway . . .”

“The wall has protections?” said Julien, keeping a watchful eye on the local wildlife.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” I said. “You can’t sacrifice this many people in one place and not get something for your trouble. I’m sensing defensive magic here that could tie your insides into square knots and send your balls back up the way they came down. Over and over again. So I think we’re going to be very patient and polite . . . right up to the point where I don’t give a toss any more. There’s supposed to be an alcove here somewhere, with a bell . . .”

“Can’t you use your gift to find it?” said Julien.

I gave him a stern look. “I have a strong feeling the Garden might take that as an affront, or an attempt to break in. Either way, if I upset the wall, you can bet the alcove will disappear itself in a moment.”

“What if we can’t find a way in?” said Julien. “Some of these shabby gentlemen are getting a bit too close for my liking.”

“Follow me,” I said. “Keep your head up; they can smell fear. And don’t get too close to the wall. It might bite.”

We walked casually beside the wall for a while, both of us doing our best to appear confident and dangerous. Julien carried it off rather better than I did, with his great opera cape swirling around him. I’m more used to being sneaky and dangerous. Some of the rougher elements inhabiting the neighbourhood moved along with us, sticking to the shadows and maintaining a safe distance. They moved more like animals than anything human, their eyes gleaming brightly in the varying light. It didn’t take me long to find the alcove, built right into the wall, which I now realised had to be five to six feet thick. What did the original builders fear so much that they had to build a wall like this to keep it out? Or what did they need to keep inside their Garden?

The stone of the alcove was grey and dusty, nothing more than a rough enclosure to hold a single silver bell, hanging from a thick silver chain. The bell was delicately made and shone brightly in the gloom, as though it had been placed there only moments before. The surface of the bell had been deeply inscribed with old Celtic lettering that read, roughly, Ring Me.

“Oh, that is entirely too twee,” said Julien, when I translated it for him. “If a cake turns up that says Eat Me, there will be trouble. Never did like that book.”

I checked the floor of the alcove carefully, for trap-doors and other booby-traps. You can’t be too careful, in the Nightside. I rang the bell sharply, and a clear, crystal sound rang out on the quiet night air, like a single note of grace in a hopeless setting. The local scavengers froze where they were, half out of their protective shadows, their grimy faces full of a strange wonder. The bell rang on and on, an intense but still beautiful sound, and still the scavengers didn’t move. They didn’t experience much in the way of beauty in what was left of their lives. The sound of the bell continued, long after it should have died away, as though it had to travel some unimaginable distance to reach the proper ears. But it finally fell silent, fading and fading away, and the cold, empty silence of the street returned. Julien and I waited for something to happen. The scavengers began to remember who and what they were and emerged from the shadows in larger and larger groups. Ragged men in ragged clothes, with wild, feral eyes and mouths full of broken, pointed teeth. Their clothing was such a mess I couldn’t even tell what it might have been originally. Bare hands and faces were grey with ground-in grime, and they padded on their bare feet as much as walked. These were beyond homeless; denied any of the comforts of civilisation, they had sunk down to brute basic needs and hungers, to the way of the beast.

“They say that in London, you’re never more than ten feet from a rat,” Julien observed carelessly. “In the Nightside, it would be more true to say that you’re never more than ten feet away from murder and sudden mayhem. I really don’t like the look of these unruly individuals. If a door doesn’t open in this wall very soon, it may become necessary for us to show these unfortunates exactly which of us is in charge here.”

“I think they already know that,” I said. “Given how many of them there are. Oh, look, they’ve moved to both sides of the street now, to surround us. How very ingenious of them. I suppose I could use my gift to find a hidden fault in this wall, and make a door . . . but there’s no telling how the wall’s protections would react to that. We might end up caught between a hard place and a very angry rock. Can’t you do something to scare them off? Go on, scold them in your posh voice. Nothing like an aristocratic tone to put the lower orders in their place.”

“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, John,” said Julien. “Oscar told me that, at one of Whistler’s parties. I suppose I could tell them all about the overheads of running a daily newspaper. God knows that scares the crap out of me, every quarter. But I really don’t see why I should have to do the scary thing. You’re John Taylor! And Walker! You scare them off.”

I looked around. The scavengers were getting very close now, on every side, and growing steadily bolder as their numbers increased. Some had knives, some had broken bottles, some had chair legs and other improvised blunt instruments. They wanted our warm clothes and anything of value we had, and after they were finished taking that, they’d kill and eat us. Hopefully in that order. Nothing goes to waste in a place like this. When you fall off the edge in the Nightside, you fall all the way. I thought for a moment, considering my options, and I reached out with my gift and found the nearest over-priced restaurant. (Which you are also never very far from, wherever you go in the Nightside.) I gathered up all the food in the restaurant, made a connection with where I was, and it was the easiest thing in the world to bring all the food to me. (Simply a reverse variation on the magic I use to make things disappear.) (I’d been working on it.) Food rained down out of the night sky, hot and steaming and succulent. It hit the ground with a series of soft slaps, and lay there temptingly, while more and more of it fell from nowhere. For a moment the scavengers just stood where they were, watching with wide and unbelieving eyes. It had been a long time since they’d been anywhere near proper food. And then they rushed forward, forgetting all about Julien and me, and fell on the growing piles of food. They didn’t even have to fight over it; there was more than enough for everyone.

Julien looked at me. “All right . . . First, how the hell did you do that? And second, since when did you become altruistic?”

“First,” I said, “I am known for my useful little tricks. And second, I have been down and out in my time and know what it is to be hungry. And lost, and desperate. There was a time I looked a lot like them, and you would have walked right past me in the street, carefully not making eye contact. Always put a penny in the blind man’s hat, Julien, because the wheel always turns, and it turns for you as for anyone else.”

“You never cease to amaze me, John,” said Julien. “But this is no time to be getting soft.”

“Not going to happen,” I said. I turned away from him to study the alcove carefully. “Tell me about the Garden of Green Henge. You know more about the history of this place than I do. You know everything about the Nightside’s history.”

“No-one knows everything about the Nightside,” said Julien. “But Green Henge has always been an interest of mine . . . Yes. Well . . . Of course the Nightside would have its own Stonehenge, its very own Circle of Sacred Standing Stones. The Nightside has pretty much one of everything from all of recorded human history. And a whole lot of things it shouldn’t have, that got edited out of history, or written over. Palimpsests cover a multitude of sins. Except this particular item is a fake. A folly. It was constructed back in Victorian times, as part of the fashion. Society was very big on fake but picturesque ruins, back then, expertly designed to look dark and Gothic and battered by the weather, as though they were ready to fall apart or fall down at any moment.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” I said.

“It was a fad,” Julien said patiently. “It didn’t have to make sense. It was the fashion, to have half a barn or a decrepit old water-wheel in your back garden, or to have an exact copy of some famous house or monument, so you could visit it without having to track half-way across the countryside. And the Nightside has never been a stranger to strange fads and fancies. Remember the craze for Pet Rocks?”

“Ah yes,” I said. “Just the things—for people with rocks in their heads.”

“How about the pet alien fad, from the eighties? You were nobody then, if you didn’t have your very own pet BEM, to parade through the park on a leash and make do tricks . . . to the admiring or at the very least envious gazes of all. I remember a whole bunch of complaints about that, from the various Alien embassies in the Nightside.”

“There aren’t any Alien embassies in the Nightside,” I said.

“Not any more, there aren’t. Apparently just because something is small, green, and cute doesn’t mean it isn’t some race’s Most Honoured Ambassador, who got a collar snapped round his neck when he was out taking a stroll. It also turned out that a lot of the little beggars were actually alien sociology students, observing Humanity. They decided the collars and leashes meant we were all serious S&M freaks, and called for their Home Bases to mount an Intervention, on moral-health grounds. The previous Walker put an end to that by taking them to the Pit night-club and showing them what real S&M looks like. Never heard another word from them, after that. They’re probably still holed up in their other-dimensional universities, writing very deep psychological papers about us. And don’t even get me started on the Great Tamaguchi Rebellion . . .”

“The things you know,” I said, admiringly.

“Mind full of trivia,” he said, grandly.

We broke off and looked around sharply as loud cracking and groaning noises filled the alcove, and one whole section of it opened inwards, forming a doorway into darkness. We both leaned in close for a better look, but there was no sign of any Garden beyond; only an impenetrable blackness.

“Are you sure you couldn’t have found that?” said Julien.

“What?” I said. “And miss out on your fascinating and enlightening briefing? You know you love to lecture people.”

“I do, don’t I?” said Julien.

A Druidic Sister stepped abruptly out of the darkness to stand before us, resplendent in pristine white robes and wearing a crown of plaited mistletoe. She was a tall, powerfully built woman, with a calm, serene face. She projected a natural grace and spirituality, and smiled benevolently on us.

“I am Sister Dorethea, of the Very Righteous Sisters of the Holy Druids, and I welcome you both to the Garden of Green Henge. Oh bloody hell, it’s John Taylor.”

She scowled at me balefully while Julien did his best to hide a smile.

“You must get that a lot, John.”

“You have no idea,” I said. “Yes, Sister; I am John Taylor, the newly appointed Walker. And this is . . .”

“Oh, I know who he is,” said Sister Dorethea, losing her scowl to smile at Julien Advent. “The Great Victorian Adventurer is known to all of us here and is always welcome to enter the Garden of Green Henge. But you, Taylor, your reputation precedes you. You only get to come in on sufferance because you’re with him. So watch your manners, don’t go straying from the path, and don’t touch anything.”

I nodded. I always let people set their own restrictions, if only so I can have the fun of breaking them.

“Are you real Druids?” I said innocently. “I mean, if the Stones are fake . . .”

She gave me a full-on look of withering scorn. “The Stones are not fake. They are all real menhirs, transported from the south-west of England, from the small town of Avebury. Apparently because they had so many, it was felt they could spare some. The Circles may be . . . more recent, but the Stones are in every way real, and we venerate them as such. The Garden is a sacred site. So watch yourself, Taylor.”

“Do you do souvenirs?” I asked.

She turned away from me with magnificent disdain and introduced herself to Julien Advent, who was, of course, perfectly charming and polite. I never really got the hang of either of those. I took the opportunity to study Sister Dorethea’s face, that being all there was of her that wasn’t covered by voluminous robes. She had the look of a lady of a certain age, where all the children have left home but haven’t got around to providing grandchildren yet. Leaving the lady in question with a big gap in her life that she had to fill with something. Good causes usually suffice, but out-of-the-way religions and beliefs often come a close second. If there isn’t a local swingers’ club. And, of course, the Nightside is no stranger to those with too much time on their hands, and is always happy to provide unusual opportunities. Very Righteous Sisters my arse.

Didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous, though.

Julien soon had Sister Dorethea smiling and cooing, and she led him through the darkness at the rear of the alcove. I hurried after them, not wanting to be left behind or left out of anything. I plunged into the dark and almost immediately stumbled to a halt again as the darkness was replaced by the silver-grey of a late evening in the countryside. I also heard the alcove closing itself very firmly behind me. Though whether to keep the scavengers out, or Julien and me in, remained to be seen. I looked cautiously about me. I was standing on a wide-open moor, in the twilight of the evening. Night had only just begun to fall here, though the full moon shone brightly overhead, fully as oversized as it was everywhere else in the Nightside. I glanced behind me, and of course the great wall was gone. Open and empty, the moorland stretched away unbroken for miles.

We were in a pocket dimension, a small reality enclosed within a greater one, maintained by the magics built into the surrounding wall. There are a great many worlds within worlds, in the Nightside. It’s the only way we can fit everything in. The moor stretched away before me, all the way to a far-off horizon. And I had to wonder why they needed so much space, to hold a Circle of Standing Stones. A cold wind blew, in sudden chilly gusts, wuthering in the quiet twilight. Not all that far-away stood a massive hedgerow maze, maybe half a mile across, with the rows a good ten to twelve feet high. I’d heard of this maze. Green Henge was set right at the heart and centre of the maze, hidden from view by the tall green walls. Only the Very Righteous Sisters knew all the secrets of the maze, and so controlled access to the Stones.

Sister Dorethea led us forward at a brisk, imperious pace. The ground was covered with scrubby grass and dry moss, which crunched loudly under our feet. As we drew closer, I could make out more Very Righteous Sisters, moving unhurriedly in and out of the various entrances to the maze, quietly going about their business like so many white-clad bees tending their hive. None of them so much as glanced in our direction. I couldn’t help noticing that there were only women present, not a single man to be seen anywhere.

“I couldn’t help noticing . . .” I said to Sister Dorethea.

“Yes, yes, I know; we’re all women here, whereas the original Druids famously didn’t allow women to be priests. According to the few records that survive from that time, mostly written down by the Romans, who didn’t approve of the Druids anyway. But that was then, and this is now. Green Henge may have started out as a folly, but years of veneration have made the Standing Stones sacred again, and the Sisterhood is entirely real if not actually entirely authentic. We’ve been in charge here for ages, because no-one else could be bothered with the time and devotion necessary to ensure the upkeep of the Stones, and Green Henge.”

“So if they want to be wrong, let them,” murmured Julien.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was wondering why there aren’t any men here.”

“Because they get in the way!” snapped Sister Dorethea. “They are a distraction! We have all given up much to become Sisters to the Stones. We are all of us pure and pristine, and we have every intention of remaining that way.”

She stuck her nose in the air and headed straight for the maze. So Julien and I quite naturally slowed our pace, to show we weren’t going to be hurried.

“Shouldn’t a garden have, well, flowers and stuff?” I said. “All I can see is moorland, and not even a trace of heather.”

“I can hear you!” said Sister Dorethea, not lowering herself to look back. “The moor was designed to be this way. No distractions, remember? It is we, the Sisterhood, who grow here, through our service to the Stones. This is a Garden of Stone, where we beat ourselves against the hard surfaces every day to purify ourselves, that we might flourish and blossom and bloom. Spiritually speaking.”

“Right,” I said. “You go, Sister. Spiritually speaking. But I still have to ask, What is Green Henge for? Exactly? What does it do?”

“It weeds out the unworthy,” Sister Dorethea said sternly. “And encourages proper growth. You’ll see. Only the pure of intent can pass through the maze, to reach the Circle of Standing Stones and the glory of Green Henge.”

“That’s it?” said Julien, after a while.

“Isn’t that enough?” countered the Sister. “Beware the Ring of Stones and bow down to Green Henge. They are powerful, and significant beyond your mere mortal understanding.”

I looked at Julien. “This place may have started out as a folly, but it isn’t any more. If enough people believe in a thing, it becomes real. Especially in the Nightside. Green Henge might have been created here to someone’s fashionable scheme, but it’s become the real deal. Still not too clear on the Druid connection, though . . . Do you still practise human sacrifice here, Sister Dorethea?”

“Of course not!” she said though she didn’t sound nearly shocked enough for my liking. “We’re not that kind of Druid!”

I was still considering pressing the matter, as to exactly what kind of Druid she was, when Dorethea finally brought us to the entrance of the hedgerow maze. No sign, no map, nothing but a dark opening. The heavy green hedge walls towered above us, stretching away on every side. The maze was frankly huge, and gave every indication of being big enough to contain half a dozen Henges. The hedge walls were composed of some unfamiliar dark green vegetation, with flat serrated leaves and heavy bone yellow thorns. The passage between the walls was barely wide enough to allow Julien and me to walk through side by side. The only light was shimmering moonlight, grey and blue-white, and there were far too many deep, dark shadows for my liking. I turned to Sister Dorethea, expecting her to lead us in, but she stepped back and waved for Julien and me to go on in, bestowing on us a decidedly knowing smile. I stood my ground.

“How long is it going to take us to get to the centre, to the Stones? We haven’t got all night.”

“It takes as long as it takes,” said Sister Dorethea. “The way depends on you.”

I looked at Julien. “We can’t even be sure he’s in there.”

“Perhaps,” said Julien. “But I think we’ll learn something interesting in Green Henge, nonetheless.”

I looked at the entrance to the maze. “You really want to do this?”

“We have to, John. This is our path to the Sun King.”

I glared at him suspiciously. “There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”

“There’s a lot I’m not telling you. But I need you to trust me on this, John.”

And all I could do was shrug because he was Julien Advent, the Great Victorian Adventurer, and if I couldn’t trust him . . . I couldn’t trust anyone.

“Only those of the correct spiritual frame of mind can hope to navigate the maze successfully,” said Sister Dorethea. “Only the pure of intent will obtain access to the Stones, and Green Henge.”

“Yes, well, you would say that, wouldn’t you?” I said. “Come on, Julien. Catch you later, Druid.”

I strode forward into the maze, and Julien was immediately right there at my side. I can’t say I’ve ever felt safer with Julien beside me because he doesn’t do safe; but I’ve always felt more confident. Julien’s a good man to have at your side or your back, because you know you can depend on him to fight to the last drop of his blood; or, more usually, his enemy’s. I suppose that’s why we’ve so rarely partnered up. Not only because he so loudly disapproves of me, and my methods, but because I’ve always felt the junior partner. Julien Advent is the kind of man I always wanted to be and knew I never could be. Because he was a genuine hero, and I’m not. I’m just a man who gets things done.

We took a left and a right and a left inside the maze, and, immediately, I was hopelessly lost. Hadn’t got a clue where I was, or where I was going, or even where the entrance was. When I looked back, all I could see were hedgerows, exactly like those in front of me. I’ve never been any good at mazes. Or crossword puzzles. I’ve never liked games where you can’t bend the rules when you’re losing. But when I hesitated, Julien immediately took over the lead, making his choices confidently, as though he was following some trail only he could see.

“I worked my way through any number of mazes, back when Victoria was on the Throne,” Julien said calmly. “They all follow the same basic pattern. I think they were only fashionable so young ladies could get lost in them and cry pitifully to be rescued by brave young men. Not a good place to canoodle, though; you never knew who might come round a corner. But this . . . is not a usual maze.”

And he stopped dead in his tracks, looking from one way to another, unable to choose.

“I can . . . feel the centre of the Maze,” he said slowly. “I could point to it. But I can’t seem to go any further. The choices don’t make sense any more. It’s like looking at a map and finding all the symbols have suddenly taken on new and unfamiliar meanings. It’s like something else is required of me, other than logic. A very uncomfortable feeling. How does the maze feel to you, John?”

I shrugged uncomfortably. I did feel something, but it wasn’t anything I could put my finger on. “It’s only a maze. First rule of the Nightside: when you’re playing a game, and the rules say you’re losing, change the rules.

“You’re going to cheat, aren’t you?” said Julien resignedly.

“Of course,” I said. “It’s what I do best.”

I raised my gift, enough to add strength and power to my Sight, and immediately I could sense the exact location of Green Henge. And, more importantly, how to get to it. I plunged forward, darting through one row to another with complete confidence. Julien had to hurry to keep up with me. It was invigorating, racing through the hedgerows with defiant ease, while Green Henge called to me like a great voice in the night. It wasn’t just a Circle of Stones, it was a place of power, and Destiny. It was a place where things happened, things that mattered. And the moment I realised that, I slammed the brakes on and came to a sudden halt. Julien stopped with me and looked quickly around.

“What is it? Did you hear something? I thought I heard something . . .”

“No,” I said. “It’s Green Henge. This was never a folly, Julien. The man who brought the Stones here may have thought so, but the Stones were using him. To transport them to a new place, where they could draw on new energies, to become a greater power than they ever were before. And you knew this, didn’t you?”

“I suspected it,” said Julien. “How do you know all this, John?”

I scowled. “Just being in the maze, I can feel things. But you knew before we ever came in here.”

“I told you Green Henge was an interest of mine. I’ve done research. The Circle of Standing Stones is a meeting place. It draws important and significant people to it, when the time is right. The Sun King will be there, John. Trust me.”

“I do,” I said. “You know I do, damn you.” I looked slowly about me. “Hold everything. Did you say you heard something?”

“Yes,” said Julien. “And I’m pretty sure I heard it again.”

“We’re not alone in here,” I said. “Something else is in the maze with us.”

“The Sisters?” said Julien, looking around vaguely.

“No,” I said, looking quickly this way and that but seeing only more hedgerows and shadows. “Whatever’s in here with us, it’s not human.”

Both our heads snapped round sharply, as a slow rustle of movement ran through the hedge wall on one side of us, then the other. Julien and I moved immediately to stand back-to-back. My hands had already clenched instinctively into fists. We stood, waiting, listening, ready for an attack from any side . . . but it never came. Nothing emerged from any of the hedgerows. The full moon surrounded us with its shimmering blue-white light, and none of the shadows moved. The maze was deathly silent.

“It’s still out there,” murmured Julien. “I can feel it . . . It’s close. Watching us.”

“Yes,” I said, quietly. “I think . . . it’s hunting us. But my gift can’t find it, and my Sight can’t detect it.”

“Can you still find the way to the centre?”

“Yes. The way’s so clear it’s like a straight path to me.”

“Then we should press on,” said Julien. “Get to the centre and Green Henge.”

“You think we’ll be safe there?”

“Probably not. But that’s where the answers are. That’s where we’ll find the Sun King.”

“Still not telling me everything, Julien . . .”

I headed forward into the maze again, taking lefts and rights without even thinking about it. Julien strode along beside me, frowning with deep concentration. Thinking about whatever it was that he wasn’t ready to tell me yet. I made myself stick to a steady pace. Whatever was after us might attack if it thought we were fleeing. I could hear movement in the adjoining rows, soft, padding footsteps, drawing nearer, then falling away as I constantly changed direction. And there was a feeling on the air, on the clear, quiet air; of something powerful and very patient, following a ritual as old as Time itself. The maze wasn’t simply a maze. It was a testing ground, a proving ground . . . Only the pure of intent will reach Green Henge . . . I stopped when I saw the first body. It was human once, but that was a long time ago. It hung suspended, half-in and half-out of the hedge wall. So withered and desiccated, every drop of moisture sucked out of it, that I couldn’t even tell whether I was looking at a man or a woman. No clothing, no possessions, nothing to identify the body. One mummified hand thrust out of the dark greenery as though begging for help that never came. The face was a dry mask: no eyes, lips drawn all the way back from the dusty teeth. Thorns from the hedge were thrust deep into the body from all sides, holding it in place.

“There’s nothing we can do,” Julien said quietly.

“They left him here,” I said slowly. “The Sisters. The Very Righteous Sisters . . . They had to know he was here, but they left his body in the hedge. As punishment, or an example, or a warning . . . Because if he wasn’t worthy, he wasn’t worth bothering about. It isn’t right!”

“She,” said Julien.

“What?”

“This was a woman,” said Julien. “Look at the hip-bones. We have to go on, John. We can’t do anything for her.”

“I know. We have work to do. Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.”

Julien surprised me by clapping me on the shoulder approvingly. “You have a good heart, John. I don’t care what anyone says.”

I made myself smile. “It’s usually you saying it, in one of your editorials.”

“You sell papers, John, I’ve never denied it.”

“Then how come I never see any royalties?”

I didn’t actually feel better but managed to fake it for Julien. We moved on. Heading for Green Henge. Where somebody had better be waiting with some bloody good answers.

We passed more bodies along the way. Always dried-out pitiful things, mummified, hanging half-in and half-out of the hedge walls. It didn’t look like a good way to die. The faces were always the worst part, teeth showing clearly in wide-stretched mouths. As though they’d all died screaming. A cold, dangerous anger burned within me. We don’t do sacrifices. We’re not that kind of Druid. I wasn’t sure I believed that any more. If I ever had. I might not be able to help these people, but I could still avenge them. I caught Julien looking at me worriedly and realised I was scowling fiercely, my hands still clenched into fists. I made myself relax, a little.

“Is there any chance these bodies are fakes?” I said roughly. “Maybe . . . seeded through the maze; atmosphere for the tourists?”

“No,” said Julien. “I would have heard. I think these people died trying to get to the centre of the maze. Or trying to get out of it.”

“Because they weren’t in the right spiritual frame of mind?” I said. My voice sounded ugly, even to me.

“Perhaps. There is something at work in this maze, John. I can feel it. And not only whatever it is that’s still following us.” He stopped abruptly, so I had to stop with him. “I keep hearing noises, footsteps, and what might be breathing, but I haven’t even caught a glimpse . . . And after all these years of living in the Nightside, I am really hard to sneak up on.”

“Same here,” I said. “It keeps moving in on us, then falling back. As though . . .”

“As though it wants to get to us, but it can’t!” said Julien. “As though something is preventing it, holding it back!”

“Any idea what?” I said. “I’d really like to know. I’d feel ever so much more comfortable.”

Julien shook his head. “How far are we, from Green Henge?”

“Almost there,” I said.

“Is your gift telling you that? Is it telling you anything else about the maze?”

I frowned, despite myself. “There’s a power here, inside the maze. Nowhere near the same level as Green Henge, but still . . . definitely a power. Set here long ago, for a purpose . . . To weed out the unworthy; isn’t that what Sister Dorethea said? But whatever it is, it feels vague to me, uncertain. I can’t seem to get a handle on it.”

“Wonderful,” said Julian. “Marvellous. Terrific. I really must make a mental note to load myself down with any number of powerful weapons and devices the next time I agree to accompany you on a case.”

“You came looking for me, remember?” I said.

“So I did. I must be getting old.”

We pressed on, and only half a dozen turnings later we were suddenly out of the hedgerow maze, or more properly, into the great opening at its centre. A huge open space, bigger even than the size of the maze had suggested. Someone was playing tricks with Space again. But what really took my breath away was the Standing Stones. Not one Circle, but many. Dozens and dozens of rows, of circles of menhirs, spreading out for as far as the eye could see. Great slabs of ancient Stone, twenty or thirty feet high, hundreds of prehistoric menhirs, and all of them covered in a thick layer of living greenery. Not the spiky grey-green vegetation of the hedge walls; this greenery was a brilliant emerald, bursting with life and health, radiating the wild verdant energy of Green Henge.

Julien and I stood close together, feeling very small in the face of such a huge thing. A presence, as well as a power.

“No wonder the Sisters call it a Garden,” I said finally. “But why did they allow the Stones to become so overgrown? Or was it always like this, from the beginning?”

“Not that I ever heard,” said Julien. “Is it a Druid thing?”

“Not that I ever heard,” I said.

“This . . . wasn’t simply allowed to happen,” Julien said slowly. “This is why the Stones allowed themselves to be transported here. To become . . . Green Henge.”

I looked back the way we’d come. The shadowy hedgerows were still and silent; and if anything in there was still watching us, it kept itself to itself. I shrugged quickly and strode forward into the Circles of Standing Stones. Julien moved along with me, staring openly about him like a tourist. I had more pride though the sheer presence of the Stones beat on the still air like a silent endless heartbeat, demanding respect. I gave each Stone plenty of room as I passed, looking carefully straight ahead. The full moon seemed to fill half the sky overhead, shining directly down on the Stones, bathing them in a shimmering blue-white glare. A light so intense, I could feel it tingling on my bare face and hands.

We seemed to walk for ages, through one Circle of Stones to another, but eventually we reached the centre, and stopped. A single long Stone lay on its side, on the ground, in the exact centre of all the Circles. No greenery touched it, its dull grey surface pitted and pock-marked. Half-buried in the dark earth by its own weight. My first thought was Sacrificial Stone, but there were none of the dark blood-stains on it that I’d seen on the outer wall. Julien smiled broadly, his face full of a simple awe.

“Can you feel that, John?”

Of course I could. There was the maze, and there was Green Henge, and then . . . there was something else. Something equally as powerful, perhaps even more so, but very young, as opposed to the ancient presence around us. Suddenly the glowing moonlight was gone, blasted aside by a burst of brilliant sunshine, as the Sun King came striding out of the Stones to join us. The whole of Green Henge was bathed in golden sunlight, rich and glorious, perhaps for the first time in centuries. The greenery surrounding the Standing Stones seemed to writhe and twist in ecstasy, expanding under the pressure of the sun’s warmth. A great choir of voices rang out, filling the evening air, surrounding the Sun King as he walked towards us, an angelic choir singing Hallelujahs. And the Sun King came to a halt, to stand before Julien and me, his presence beating on the air like an endless roll of thunder . . . prophesying the storm to come.

“Too loud, man!” said Julien. “Turn it down! I can hardly hear myself think!”

At once, the angelic chorus shut off, and the slow silence of the evening returned to Green Henge.

“Hello, Julien,” said the Sun King in a warm, pleasant voice. “It’s been a while. Miss me?”

“You know I did,” said Julien. “What’s with the new music? When did you go religious? What happened to the rock and roll?”

“That was then, this is now,” said the Sun King. He smiled easily on Julien, and on me; and even I was impressed by the sheer grace and spirituality blazing off this man. Whatever else he was, whatever else he might have become during his long absence, I had no doubt at all that the Sun King was the real deal.

He was dressed in his Coat of Vivid Colours, a long, linen coat blazing with psychedelic colours and patterns. It reminded me irresistibly of the interior of the Hawk’s Wind Bar & Grille. Underneath that he wore only a pair of faded blue jeans. His chest was bare, and so were his feet. He had a great mane of jet-black hair, falling half-way down his back, and a broad, square face with a prominent nose and a wide, smiling mouth. He wore tinted John Lennon granny glasses, pushed well down on his nose so he could peer over them with gleaming dark eyes. He opened his arms suddenly to Julien, and the two men stepped forward and embraced each other fiercely, with much back-slapping and loud, happy cries. I stayed back, feeling a bit left out. This was two legends meeting, after too long apart. I felt like a footnote. The two old friends rocked back and forth together, saying each other’s name over and over, and finally they stepped back, looked each other over at arm’s length, and gazed into each other’s face.

“You haven’t changed a bit, Julien,” said the Sun King. “All these years, and you still look exactly the same as I remembered you.”

“I could say the same of you,” said Julien, grinning broadly. “I waited for you, you know.”

“Of course you did,” said the Sun King. “I wouldn’t have expected anything else.”

Julien slowly stopped smiling. He let go of the Sun King and stepped back. “You look the same; but you’ve changed. The man I remember never once gave me any cause to fear what he might do.”

The Sun King shrugged easily. “I never meant to be away so long. I never meant . . . that you should all have to wait so long. For my return. Time passed differently inside the Tower, while I communed with the Entities. They had so much to teach me . . . But Julien, I have to ask. What the hell happened? To the Dream, to everything we believed in? Why did it all fall apart without me? I was only ever the messenger, not the message! I was expecting all of you to take up where I left off and carry on. To make the new and glorious world we promised ourselves.”

“You were the Miracle Man,” Julien said steadily. “When you left, you took the miracles with you. There was never anyone else like you. We fought our battles, day by day, inch by inch, and we did achieve many of the things we believed in. If not always in the ways we expected. But day by day, and inch by inch, the world wore us down.

“The miracles were never the point!” snapped the Sun King. He wasn’t smiling any more. He didn’t even try to hide his anger, but he made himself nod respectfully to Julien. “When I came back, you were the first one I thought of. Took me a while to track you down—in the Nightside, of all places. You always said you’d never come back here after the light you found in San Francisco. But here we both are. I knew you’d want to see me, so I put all this in your head. So you’d come here. And here I am. You are still my oldest and dearest friend, Julien; even if neither of us is who we were when we first met. Even if it appears . . . we no longer care about the same things.”

“You’ve been messing with my mind?” said Julien. His voice would have made anyone else beware.

“I always did,” the Sun King said complacently. “I changed the way people thought just by being near them. You saw me do it; but you never gave a damn as long as I was changing minds you disapproved of. You still believe you can talk me out of what I intend to do, don’t you? But be honest, Julien. This world you live in, this brave new modern world, this marvellous scientific twenty-first century . . . Is it the future we hoped for, the world we wanted to make? Where have all the beautiful people gone?”

“You were supposed to come back and save the world, not destroy it,” said Julien.

“Save, destroy; it’s all in the way you look at it,” said the Sun King.

“What happened to you?” said Julien, his voice rising despite himself.

“What happened to you?” said the Sun King. “The Great Victorian Adventurer? I was so proud to have you as my friend, back in good old San Fran. The hero of one age, who became the hero of another. Who gave up God and Empire for something better, something finer. We walked in glory through the streets of Haight-Ashbury, Julien. Walk with me now, through the streets of the Nightside. It can be like it used to be, when we were young and had the world at our feet.”

“I can’t,” said Julien Advent. “You’re not the man I remember.”

“I haven’t changed,” said the Sun King. “Not really. You only think I have because you’ve got old, inside. Look at you, Mr. Suit and Tie man. You wear that cloak like you’re ashamed of it. I still wear my colours, proudly nailed to my mast.”

“You would have loved the New Romantics,” I said, to remind them I was still there. And then wished I hadn’t as the Sun King turned his tinted glasses and fierce gaze in my direction. Having the Sun King look right at you was like being punched in the head by a spotlight. His presence was overwhelming; you couldn’t think of anything or anyone else. So I deliberately looked away and made a big deal of adjusting my white trench coat, so it fell comfortably about me.

“I know you,” said the Sun King, smiling. “John Taylor. The good man in a bad world. The cold knight in tarnished armour, doing good in dangerous ways. You should support me and what I intend to do.”

I made myself glare right back at him and matched his smile with my best unsettling grin. “Not a hope in hell. This is my home. My people.”

“What people?” said the Sun King. “All I see are broken men with shop-soiled souls, and women selling everything they have, just to get by. I see false gods and pathetic monsters, sin and corruption and blood in the gutters. This is where the lost souls come to hide, because no-one else will have them.”

“You think I don’t know that?” I said. “You think Julien doesn’t? We’re here because we’re needed. Because not all the world’s troubles can be solved with simple, unrelenting concepts like Good and Evil, Law and Chaos, Light and Dark. The world needs us to see outside the box.”

But the Sun King wasn’t listening. He shrugged and looked away. “If you’re not part of the solution, John Taylor, you’re part of the problem.”

I almost collapsed when he looked away, from the relief of not having to fight off his overwhelming presence. The Sun King didn’t notice, all his attention focused on Julien.

“You betrayed the Dream, Julien. Gave up being an adventurer to work in an office. Mr. Nine to Five. Like all the other spineless drones.”

“I woke up,” Julien said steadily. “I stopped indulging myself, playing hero for the applause of the crowds, and changed tactics. So I could achieve more.”

“You got old!” said the Sun King. “Work from within, to change the system? That was a specious argument, even in my day. You can’t work within the system without supporting the system; and whatever small changes you do achieve will inevitably be cancelled out by everyone else.”

“I wanted to change the Nightside in useful ways!” Julien said stubbornly. “Ways that would last!”

“And have you? All these years you’ve been trying to save and redeem the Nightside, and what have you actually achieved? What’s really changed?”

“I am part of the new Authorities,” said Julien. “The old order is dead and gone, and their way of doing things. Your way only worked because of you! And you weren’t there any more. I had to find a new, practical way. And I did.”

“Dreams aren’t supposed to be practical,” said the Sun King. “All these years you wasted your life, Julien. The Nightside is the way it is because it likes it that way. And because vested interests make a lot of money out of keeping it that way. From squeezing dirty profits out of all the sad, pathetic losers who come here, to do the things they wouldn’t be allowed to do anywhere else. How can you defeat that? It’s only night here so people can hide what they’re doing.”

“It’s not as simple as that,” said Julien.

“Yes, well, you would say that, wouldn’t you?” said the Sun King. “I don’t see any of the things you say you see here.”

“Doesn’t mean they aren’t there,” I said.

I was confused by the Sun King. He was everything Julien had said, and more, and yet . . . there was something off about him. A living god, but with strangely limited perspective. He could only see what he wanted to see, only think in terms of the man he used to be, forty-odd years ago. It was as though he wanted to be a good man . . . if only he could remember how. If only he could concentrate.

I’m not sure he really heard what we were saying. There was something . . . out of focus about him, for all his blazing presence. I have met living gods, and men who were so much more than human; and none of them had ever seemed as dangerous as this man because he gave every impression of being someone who might sweep the whole world away with a gesture, in a moment, on a whim. Because he couldn’t think of anything better to do.

“I’m going to bring it all down,” the Sun King said to Julien Advent. “And there’s nothing you can do to stop me. Let the sun shine in . . .”

So I put up my hand, like a child in class, and that got his attention. “I have a question, oh great and living god. Who are the Entities from Beyond, exactly? What do they call themselves when they’re at home? Only, I’ve had all kinds of contacts with all kinds of other-dimensional entities, and I never heard of them before. Why are you the only one they’ve contacted? Or should that be abducted? Why didn’t they tell you that you’d be spending years communing with them? What were you talking about, all that time? And what, exactly, do they want in return for all the power they’ve given you?”

The Sun King surprised me then by smiling easily, completely unfazed by my questions. “I approve of you, John Taylor, I really do. Never afraid to ask the awkward questions. Never afraid to put your life on the line to get at the truth. And I approve of your adopted role. The private eye is a respected icon, a modern archetype, protecting those who can’t protect themselves. You’re living your dream. But like Julien, I have to ask, what have you actually achieved?”

“Are you kidding me?” I said. “I’ve saved people who needed saving! I’ve saved the entire Nightside, and the whole damned planet, on more than one occasion! You should have done your homework. I’m not a private investigator any more. I’m the new Walker.”

The Sun King shook his head sadly. “Just like Julien. You gave up the Dream, to become the Man. Sold your soul, for power.”

“Isn’t that what you’ve done?” I said. “And I notice you still haven’t answered any of my questions. What price did you pay to become the Sun King?”

“I can’t answer your questions because you couldn’t possibly understand what I’ve been through,” said the Sun King. “Your mind is too small, too limited. Too human. Power, prices, answers . . . these are all human obsessions.”

“Because they matter,” I said.

“If we’re human, what are you?” said Julien. “The man I remember was still a man, for all his miracles, and the Dream he pursued was a human Dream.”

“What I could do then was nothing compared to what I can do now,” said the Sun King. “See what I can do . . .”

He clapped his hands sharply, and the sun blazing overhead grew suddenly in size, half filling the sky. The sky turned a bright blue, so pure a colour it was painful to look at. The sun was fierce and furnace-hot, and my bare face and hands smarted under the impact. What had been a cool and quiet evening in the Nightside was gone, suppressed, replaced by an almost unbearable desert heat. Air shimmered all around us with heat haze. The greenery surrounding the Standing Stones shuddered with new life, as though suddenly woken from long seasons of sleep. The hedgerow maze rocked this way and that, as though under attack. Flowers blossomed all along the hedge walls, bursting out of the dark green. Thick pulpy petals opened everywhere, in flaming colours the same shades as the Sun King’s Coat of Vivid Colours. The flowers unfolded over and over again, while the hedgerows writhed and convulsed as though in pain. Great swellings of moss and fungi erupted out of the dry ground, pulsing like living brains. The air was thick with the scent of all kinds of flowers, filling my head with over-ripe perfumes. Dusty pollen swirled on the air; and the whole Garden pulsed with the beat of living things. But even I could tell these were hothouse flowers, forced into shapes and sizes against their will and against nature. The Sun King put his head back and laughed; and I had to wonder where all the grace and spirituality had gone.

Suddenly the Very Righteous Sisters of the Holy Druids appeared, standing silently among the Standing Stones. Hundreds and hundreds of them, stiff and stern in their pristine white robes, surrounding us in all the Circles of Stones, their cold gaze focused on the Sun King. He stopped laughing and looked unhurriedly about him. If the sheer number of Druids opposing him impressed him at all, he did a really good job of hiding it.

“How did you get in, Sun King?” The Sisters spoke in unison, hundreds of voices blended into one authoritative voice. “The only way to approach the Sacred Stones is by proving your worth, through the rigours of the Maze.”

“That’s how people do it,” the Sun King said easily. “But I’m not people any more. Haven’t been for a long time. I can be anywhere I need to be. I don’t need to pass any stupid tests.”

“Tests?” said Julien, glancing back at the Maze. “Did we . . . ?”

“Of course you did,” said the Sun King. “You proved yourself worthy long ago.” He paused, and looked at me. “Not sure how you made it through, though. Must be more to you than meets the eye.”

I had to smile at that. “You have no idea.” I looked at the Sisters, and when I spoke, I could hear the anger in my voice. “The bodies we found, along the way. Did the Maze kill them?”

“Yes,” said the Sisters, in their single unrelenting voice. “They were not worthy. They came to the Stones with impure thoughts and purposes. They proved themselves a danger to Green Henge, so they were not allowed through. Sun King, you should not be here. You do not venerate the Sacred Stones.”

“Of course not,” said the Sun King. “They’re nothing but stones.”

He clapped his hands again, and the hedgerows in the maze buckled and twisted, erupting into new growth, losing all their carefully sculpted meaning. The dark green walls swayed this way and that, as though under the pressure of some unseen storm though there wasn’t a breath of movement in the furnace-hot air. And the greenery surrounding the Standing Stones constricted suddenly, crushing and cracking the ancient menhirs within.

“Let new life replace old stone!” said the Sun King, happily. “Let’s have a little fun, in this solemn old place! You’re not Druids, Sisters. They knew how to party.”

The Very Righteous Sisters ignored him, singing in harmony, a great choir replacing the single voice. Hundreds and hundreds of women, singing a song that was old when civilisation was new. Their song rose on the air, filling the Garden of Green Henge; and the Stones remembered. One by one, the Stones reasserted their ancient presence, and the greenery surrounding the menhirs fell still again. The maze grew still again as the hedge walls resumed their shape and significance. The flowers slowly wasted away, thick pulpy petals shrivelling up, then dropping like multi-coloured confetti to the walkways of the maze. Moss and fungi growths ceased to pulsate and sank back into the ground. The Sisters’ song rose triumphantly, as sunshine and heat vanished, replaced by cool evening air. The sky was dark, and the oversized moon was back. The Garden of Green Henge was back, as though it had never been away.

The song broke off, and a familiar quiet filling the evening again. The Very Righteous Sisters of the Holy Druids stood still and silent among the Circles of Standing Stones. And the Sun King looked slowly about him, his face cold.

“Do you really think you can stand against me?”

“We serve the Stones,” said the Sisters, in their great voice. “It is the Stones who oppose you.”

“Shall I tell the Walker and the Adventurer exactly what it is that lives in the Maze and weeds out the unworthy?”

There was a pause . . . and then the Sisters said, “Shall we let it loose upon you?”

“Give it your best shot,” said the Sun King.

There was a familiar rustling movement in the hedgerows, and Julien and I looked back at the Maze. The sounds grew closer, and from out of the Maze stalked a dark grey thing, seven or eight feet tall, made of grey-green vegetation and bone-white thorns. Shaped like a man, it walked like a man though there was nothing of Humanity in it. The murders in the maze were carried out by a manifestation of the maze, given shape and purpose, and a warrant to kill anyone the maze judged unworthy. The hedge thing stood still, the wrath of a green world, the protector of the Garden of Green Henge.

“That . . . is what was following us?” said Julien.

“That is what would have killed you if you’d failed the Sisters’ entirely arbitrary sense of what is right and proper,” said the Sun King. “It would have sucked the life out of you, then impaled what was left on the thorns of the hedge walls. The Very Righteous Sisters may like to think of themselves as a new kind of Druid; but the fruit never falls far from the tree. What you’re looking at is the hedge walking. It still wants to kill you. Because you don’t venerate the Stones. Can’t you feel it? Your basic goodness is all that’s kept it at bay, Julien. But the Sisters could still let that thing run loose, to kill anyone they disapprove of.”

The hedge thing was looking at Julien and me, and I could tell it didn’t like us. But it liked the Sun King even less. It swayed slightly on its thorny feet, as though readying itself for an order to attack. And I was pretty sure if it did, it wouldn’t stop with the Sun King.

“Plants should know their place,” the Sun King said firmly. He snapped his fingers, and a great blast of sunlight stabbed down out of nowhere, pinning the hedge thing to the spot. The light and heat were so intense that Julien and I had to throw up our arms to shields our eyes, even as we staggered backwards. The sunlight engulfed the hedge thing in a moment, and it burst into vicious flames that consumed it from the inside out. Fire and smoke rose into the evening air. The hedge thing waved its green arms, and the flames danced hungrily. I thought I heard the thing scream, and some cold place in my heart approved. The beam of sunlight snapped off. And when I was finally able to see clearly again, there was nothing left of the hedge thing but a blackened, smoking mess on the ground and a heavy scent, like burning leaves.

And the Sun King was gone.

“He hasn’t changed,” said Julien. “He still has to have the last word.”

“So,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “That . . . was the Sun King. I thought he’d be taller.”

“You weren’t seeing him at his best,” said Julien. “There was something . . . off, about him.”

“Yes,” I said. “I felt that. What did the Entities from Beyond do to him, during those long years they had him all to themselves, in the White Tower?”

“And why wouldn’t he tell us their real name?” said Julien. “Perhaps because . . . we might recognise it?”

“This is what you wouldn’t tell me,” I said sternly. “That the Sun King had been putting things in your head. Telling you to come here, so he could talk to you. And you didn’t want me to know that, because . . .”

“Because it would have given you the wrong impression,” said Julien. “I wanted you to see him as he really was.”

“I have,” I said.

Julien sighed tiredly. “As a demonstration of power, what he did here was pretty impressive.”

“Until the Righteous Sisters turned up and kicked his psychedelic arse.”

We looked around, but they were gone, too. Green Henge stood silent and alone, as before, and the maze was very still.

“They would have let that thing kill us,” I said. “Like it did all the other poor bastards in the maze. I’ve half a mind to burn the bloody thing down before we leave.”

“But you won’t,” said Julien. “Because that’s the kind of thing the Sun King would do.”

“Don’t mess with my head,” I said. “Because that’s the kind of thing the Sun King would do.”

“Touché.”

“Threeché.” I raised my voice. “I know you’re still listening, Sisters! I want all those bodies removed from the maze! And no more hedge things! Or I will come back and find a way to really mess things up around here.”

There was no reply, but I had no doubt they’d heard me. I looked at Julien, and he was smiling again.

“And that . . . is why I wanted you as Walker.”

I shrugged. “There’s some shit I just won’t put up with.”

“Exactly.” And then Julien frowned, considering. “The Sisters only stopped the Sun King because they had the backing of the Stones. And because he didn’t really care. I’m not sure even the Stones could have stood against him if he’d thought they were a real threat. He was having fun, showing off his power. He wiped out the hedge thing with a thought, and he did bring sunlight to the Nightside; for a while. No-one has ever done that before.”

“But as a demonstration of getting his own way . . . not so much,” I said. “If the Very Righteous Sisters could slap him down, even for a moment, I have to wonder what will happen when he goes head to head with something nasty from the Street of the Gods.”

“I saw him work miracles, back in the sixties,” said Julien. “I can’t believe he’s grown weaker since then.”

“Not weaker,” I said. “Not as such. But didn’t he seem to you . . . as though he couldn’t quite get his act together?”

“As though he always had something else on his mind! Yes! He never had any doubts, any second thoughts, back in San Francisco.”

“Okay,” I said. “Where do you think he’s gone now?”

“I don’t know. He hasn’t put anything in my head if that’s what you’re thinking. Can’t you find him, with your gift?”

“No,” I said. “I already tried. I can’t even look in his direction. It’s like staring into the sun. The light blinds me.” I felt suddenly tired, so I sat down on the flat stone in the middle of the Circle, taking the weight off my feet. After a moment’s hesitation, Julien joined me.

“I don’t think the Sisters will approve of this casual disrespect,” he said.

“They can blow it out their ears,” I said. “Starting with Sister Dorethea. I don’t approve of them. Look, you know the Sun King best. Where would he go next, in the Nightside?”

Julien shook his head. “He’s beyond me, John. He always was. I only knew to come here because he told me. And if he could get inside my head that easily, he already knows everything I might plan to do against him.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” I said quickly. “Just because he has access to your thoughts doesn’t mean he has access to your mind. Or your soul. Come on, Julien, give it your best guess. Where should we go next?”

“He really wasn’t the man I remembered,” Julien said slowly. “His wisdom is gone, never mind his common sense, and his old easy confidence has been replaced by arrogance. You must have noticed: he was happy to talk, but he didn’t want to listen. That wasn’t like the old him at all. He always had time for everyone, back in Haight-Ashbury. He used to preach; now he boasts. He felt . . . wrong, as though he was acting like he thought the Sun King should. Like a bad copy of his previous self. What did the Entities from Beyond do to him, for all those years? Mental contact with them made Harry Webb into a living god. But years of close communion with the Entities . . .”

“Have made him into a real prick,” I said.

Julien actually winced. “I do wish you’d avoid such vulgar language, John. You are Walker now.”

“Stick to the point,” I said, not unkindly. “I think the Entities spent all those years programming him, impressing their true purpose on him. Whatever that might be. So that when they finally released him back into the world . . . he’d follow their Dream instead of his.”

“I don’t know,” said Julien. “Maybe. Perhaps . . .”

“Should we try the Street of the Gods?” I said. “There’s got to be a whole bunch of Entities and beings on the Street who could give him a good run for his money.”

But Julien was already shaking his head firmly. “The Sun King was always so much more than a living god, even back then. Damned if I know what he is now. Do we really want to start a god war in the Nightside? Particularly when we can’t be sure of the outcome?”

“All right,” I said. “Should we go to the other real place of god power in the Nightside? St. Jude’s?”

“You really want to bring the Lord of Thorns into this? There’d be smiting everywhere and nowhere safe to hide.”

“All right, all right! You think of something! Where would the Sun King want to go next, in the Nightside? Who does he know here, apart from you?”

“Ah . . . There was someone,” Julien said slowly. “Someone he knew, back in our Haight-Ashbury days. A woman . . .”

“Of course!” I said. “There’s always a woman! Who is she?”

“She was the Goldberry to his Tom Bombadil,” said Julien. “His first real love and his first true passion, back in the Summer of Love. She was called Princess Starshine then, when she walked alongside the Sun King. She had power, too, briefly, from being so close to him. But when the time came, the Sun King didn’t take his Princess Starshine into the White Tower with him. He left her outside, with the others. After the Tower vanished, she waited and waited for it to reappear. She was the last to give up hope and the last to leave.”

“And she’s here, now, in the Nightside?”

“Has been for years. She’s a doctor, at the Hospice of the Blessed Saint Margaret. I know that because the Night Times helps raise funds to keep it going. No National Health Service here, unfortunately. If the Sun King knows she’s there, I think he’d go there. For old times’ sake. If . . . there’s anything left of the man I remember.”

“If you want to bring a man down, go through the woman he loves,” I said, rubbing my hands together happily. “Good thinking, Julien.”

“I used to be such a good man, once,” he said sadly.

“So did the Sun King,” I said. “And look where that got him.”