The Good, the Bad, and the Uncanny

TEN And He Took Him Up to a High Place

When I could see again, I could see everything, laid out before me like a corrupt banquet.

The whole of the Nightside lay sprawled out below me, its fierce lights blazing against the dark. But this was no vision born of my Sight, no mental soaring in search of answers. This was real; this was here and now. I was standing on top of a mountain, looking down on my world, a cold wind hitting me hard. I knew where I was immediately; I’d been here before. I was on top of Griffin Hill, or at least, what was left of the top of Griffin Hill.

Once upon a time, and not so very long ago at that, this whole mountain and everything on it had been owned by one man: Jeremiah Griffin. He owned a lot of the Nightside, too, and far too many of the people who lived there. Back then, Griffin Hall had stood at the very top of Griffin Hill, a huge and magnificent mansion, home to the immortal Griffin family. But everything that man had he owed to a deal he made long ago with the Ancient Enemy; and I was there when the Devil rose up out of Hell to claim the Griffin’s soul, and his family, and even his magnificent mansion. The Devil dragged them all down to Hell, and now nothing was left at the top of Griffin Hill but a great hole in the ground, a huge pit full of darkness, falling away further than the human eye could follow.

I turned my back on the Nightside view and stared thoughtfully down into the pit. The cold wind blew handfuls of dust into my face, from the narrow circle of dead earth that surrounded the huge crater. Nothing else remained. It seemed to me that the whole place was spiritually cold, as though the very essence of life itself had been taken away, torn away, leaving nothing behind.

The pit itself seemed as though it might fall away forever, nothing but darkness all the way down. Light from the full Moon directly overhead bathed the top of Griffin Hill in a stark blue-white light, but it only penetrated a few feet into the pit, as though the moonlight itself was repulsed by what it found there. The pit’s ragged edge and interior were scorched and blackened, as though exposed to incredible, impossible heat. Someone wanted everyone to remember exactly what had happened to the Griffin.

I shuddered, and it had nothing to do with the cold wind.

I looked away, and there was Walker, maintaining a polite distance, smiling easily. The gusting wind barely touched him at all, and I knew that although what was left of Griffin Hill was creeping me out big-time, none of it bothered him in the least. He’d seen far worse in his time, and right now he only had eyes for me. His chosen son, his successor.

So I deliberately looked away, staring down the long slopes of Griffin Hill, where once a huge and magnificent garden had sprawled, full of amazing and incredible plants and blossoms and trees, some so rare they were the last of their kind, others brought in specially from other worlds and dimensions. The flowers had sung and the bushes walked, and the trees swayed even when no wind blew.

Now ... it was a dark and corrupt place, touched and changed by the awful thing that had happened so close to it. Tall, distorted growths lashed at the air with curling branches, while things like bunches of twigs lurched up and down narrow trails. There were blossoms the size of houses, thick and pulpy, their diseased colours fluorescent in the night. Great slow waves moved through long green seas, as underneath the surface hidden species went to war. It wasn’t a garden any more.

“It’s a jungle,” said Walker, following my thoughts. “No-one dares go in any more. The Authorities are talking about sending in armoured squads with flame-throwers, and burning it all down. Before something comes crawling down the mountain ... I’ve always had a fondness for the scorched-earth policy. A shame, though, I suppose ... There are species in there unknown to history or botanical gardens. The Collector would have loved them.”

“Mark,” I said. “His name was Mark.”

“Oh no,” said Walker. “He hadn’t been Mark for a long time. Have you been up here since ... ?”

“No,” I said. “When a case is over, it’s over. I’ve never felt the need to revisit old battle-fields. Besides, I’ve heard stories of strange manifestations. Visions stark and frightful enough to scare off even the Nightside tourists. They might come here to indulge in a little hell, but they don’t want to get too close to the real thing. Still, there are always some who think they’ve seen everything ... and they tell stories, in whispers, of ghost images of Griffin Hall, all its many windows blazing with hell-fire light, while terrible shadows of agonised men and women beat against the inside of the glass, desperate to get out...”

“Really?” said Walker. “A whole mansion, floating in mid air, over a hole? I don’t think so. There are always stories, John; you should know that. I came up here, just the once, to see for myself. And to make sure nothing was coming back up out of the hole ... It’s a bad place now and probably always will be, but that’s all. No ghosts, no apparitions, no distant screams from the Griffins burning in Hell. A really quite spectacular view, though, I think you’ll agree.”

“You don’t ... feel anything here?” I said.

He pursed his lips briefly. “A sense of horror, and lingering evil. About what you’d expect.”

“You must feel right at home, then.”

He gave me a stern look. “Now, that was just rude. Behave yourself. The Authorities sent the Salvation Army Sisterhood up here, a while back, to run some really heavy-duty exor cisms ; but I can’t honestly say I feel any difference.”

“There are those,” I said carefully, “who say that if you stay here long enough, the Devil will rise up out of Hell and offer you the same deal he made with the Griffin. All your heart’s desires, in return for your soul. Is that why you’ve brought me up here, Walker? To offer me a deal?”

He laughed and indicated the whole of the Nightside spread out below us with one sweep of his arm. “All this could be yours, John, if you’ll agree to be me. Take up my role. Keep the peace, whatever it takes.”

“But what price would I have to pay?” I said, still looking at him rather than the Nightside. “I’d have to do what you do, think like you think, become the kind of man you are. And I think—I’d rather die.”

“I’ve done this for so long, John,” said Walker. He sounded suddenly tired, and old. “I’ve carried this weight for longer than you’ve been alive. All the things I’ve done, and none of it for me. Never any of it for me! Dying doesn’t bother me; it’ll be good to get a little rest at last. But how could I ever rest, knowing I’d left the Nightside without a steady hand on the tiller? Without a proper successor? And who else is there but you, John, who could take over from me? Who else would you name?”

“Julien Advent,” I said. “Yes,” said Walker. “A good choice. A good man. The Great Victorian Adventurer, come through Time to be a hero here, too. Yes; I did consider him. But as a part of the new Authorities, he’s too busy making policy to enforce it. And besides, the knight in cold armour has always been a strictly honourable man. He can’t know—the Authorities can’t ever know—what must sometimes be done in their name.”

“All right,” I said. “Let’s go in the opposite direction. How about Razor Eddie, Punk God of the Straight Razor? The most distressing agent for Good the Good ever had? He’s spent most of his life pursuing and punishing the wicked.”

Walker smiled sadly. “The population of the Nightside would plummet.”

“True,” I said.

“I’m dying, John,” said Walker. “I hate to keep reminding you, but time is not on my side. I need your answer. Now.”

“You already know it,” I said. “I don’t want your job. I protect people from people like you. I know what your job leads to. I watched you murder your oldest friend in cold blood!”

“I have always been able to do the hard, unpleasant, necessary things.”

“That’s it? That’s your justification? That it’s not what you do, but why you do it?”

“Exactly! The end justifies the means.”

“Only sometimes,” I said. “And only some ends, and some means. I have always drawn a line I will not cross, no matter what, because to cross that line would mean betraying who I am.”

“And what is that?” said Walker. “An honourable man?”

“Sometimes,” I said. “The difference between you and me ... is that you believe in protecting the System, and I believe in protecting people from the System.”

“People!” said Walker. “Never put your trust in people, John; they’ll always let you down. You have to put your faith in something bigger. Something that will last.”

“The System?” I said. “There is no System, no State; just us. Men and women, struggling to get by, pursuing their own little desires and accomplishments. It’s people who keep the wheels turning, Walker. We don’t all want to rule the world, only the chance to live in peace in our own little part of it.”

“We may all be cogs in the machine,” Walker said calmly. “But some cogs are more important than others. They achieve more, and so they matter more, and they must be protected. Sometimes at the expense of certain minor cogs.”

“Is their pain any less? Their deaths any less final? Do their children suffer and miss them any less?”

“It always comes back to you and your father, doesn’t it, John?”

“You and Mark sacrificed my father, for the sake of your careers!” I said. And my voice sounded cold and vicious, even to me. “You broke him, ruined him, destroyed him. But who was it saved us all, in the Lilith War? You? Mark? No; my father sacrificed himself to save everyone.”

“We all sacrifice for what we believe in,” said Walker. “Will you sacrifice the bitterness of your past? Your blink ered, limiting sentimentality ... for real responsibility? You say you want to protect the people of the Nightside; well, this is your chance. Your chance to stand between the people and the Authorities; to punish the wicked, stamp out corruption, make the world run as it should. Think of all the good you could do, with real power to back you up.”

“Power,” I said. “It always comes down to power. To be able to say, Do what I tell you, Whether I’m right or not. Power tends to corrupt, said a wise man, and absolute power tends to corrupt absolutely. The Nightside is living proof of that. I couldn’t do your job without becoming you, Walker. And for me that would be a fate worse than death.”

“Ah, well,” said Walker. “I had to try. I knew you’d never see sense, but I had to try. You always were far too much like your father. I didn’t want to do this, John, really I didn’t ... But unfortunately for you, I have a backup plan. I always have a backup plan. Do you know what this is?”

He held up a gleaming high-tech circlet for me to see. In the cold moonlight it looked like a crown of thorns, made out of steel and glass and diamonds. The more I looked at it, the more fiercely it blazed, until I had to look away.

“This,” Walker said proudly, “is the time-travel device the Collector acquired recently. Not sure where he found it, some obscure alternate world or future time-line ... but this really is something rather special. It was designed to let you travel in Time without interfering by putting your thoughts inside the head of any individual, at any Time. The perfect observer, of Time Past, Present, and Future. Very noble, I’m sure. But I have a more practical use for it. This is why I had to kill the Collector; so I could get my hands on this device. I knew he’d never give it up voluntarily. This is power, you see. Real power. To step inside anyone’s head and take over. To drive them like cars and make them do or say anything.”

“You didn’t kill Mark because you were afraid to leave him running around loose,” I said. “You killed him because he was in the way.”

“Quite,” said Walker. “I needed you to get me in there, because the Collector didn’t trust me any more. So I told you what you wanted to hear, a simple, plausible story, and off you went like a good little hound on the scent. And all I had to do was follow you.”

“You haven’t a clue where Tommy Oblivion is, have you?” I said.

“Of course not. Why should I care about some minor private eye who never did anything that mattered? Glad he’s gone. I have more important things on my mind. Do pay attention, John! This is the last conversation we’re ever going to have. Because, you see, with this marvellous little device, I don’t need you any more. Or at least, not as such. This device will put me inside your head. Since you wouldn’t agree to take my place, I’ll take yours. I will become you and dispose of you in my old body in this handy bottomless pit. As you, I will then take over my old position and continue my work. I’ll have to kill off all the people who know you well, of course, even the ones I approve of; but it shouldn’t be too difficult. They’ll trust your face and your voice, right up to the point where they realise they shouldn’t have. It won’t be the first innocent blood on my hands, after all. Comes with the job.”

“Yet another reason why I don’t want it,” I said.

Walker advanced slowly on me, holding the device out before him. “You failed the test, John. I gave you every chance. But unfortunately, you’re just not worthy. Far too limited in your thinking and far too sentimental. You’re not what the Nightside needs. I am. I can’t die, John. I’ve far too much left to do.”

He lifted the circlet with both hands, as though to crown himself with it, only to discover at the last moment that he’d forgotten he was still wearing his bowler hat. It was so much a part of his outfit, so much a part of his persona, that he’d honestly forgotten he still had it on. And as he hesitated, I stepped slightly to one side to get the full force of the wind blowing behind me, and threw the handful of pepper I’d sneaked out of my coat pocket into Walker’s face. The wind blasted the vicious stuff into his eyes and up his nose, and he cried out in shock and pain before sneezing convulsively. He staggered backwards, sneezing so hard it shook his whole body, while tears streamed down his face. It was the easiest thing in the world for me to step forward and snatch the circlet out of his hand, then step quickly back out of reach.

Being the tough old bird he was, Walker quickly had control of himself again. He glared at me through puffed-up eyes.

“You bastard, John! You bastard ... You and your damned tricks!”

“Keep it simple,” I said. “You taught me that, remember?”

“You don’t know how to work the device!”

“I don’t want it,” I said, slipping it inside my coat. “Now, after everything I’ve heard, what am I to do with you? You were going to walk around in my body, killing Suzie and Cathy and Alex and Eddie, and everyone else who knew me; to keep yourself safe. You were going to walk up and down the Nightside, with my face and my reputation, dispensing your own idea of justice. Undoing everything I ever achieved and believed in. Could there be any greater betrayal?”

“Oh, grow up, John,” said Walker. He had his old calm back again, but his voice was flat and cold. “I do what needs doing. Always have done. What are you going to do?”

“Well, first, I’m going to try and get this time-travel device back to where it belongs. It’s far too dangerous, and too tempting a thing, to have here.”

“And then? What will you do, John, to the man who always tried to be a father to you?”

“I’ve never had much luck with fathers,” I said. “Probably why I’ve always done my best to go my own way.”

Walker sighed, looked out over the Nightside, then back at me. He smiled briefly. “We always knew it would come to this; didn’t we, John? That eventually one of us would have to kill the other.”

“You always were a closet drama queen, Walker. It doesn’t have to end like this.”

“Yes, it does.”

I thought about it for a while and nodded slowly. “Yes; it does. You crossed the line.”

“Two good men and true, who never could agree to disagree. And here we are, at the end of a very long road, standing on the edge of the pit. How very Nightside. So, what’s it to be? My secret weapons against yours?”

“No,” I said. “For all you’ve done, and for all that you meant to do, I’m going to beat you to death with my bare hands.”

“Excellent,” said Walker. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I moved forward, and Walker came to meet me, drawing his long, narrow sword from where it lay hidden inside his umbrella. He threw the shell away, and I stopped abruptly. Walker smiled widely as he swept the long blade back and forth.

“Did I mention I was captain of the school fencing team? I had this lined with silver, John, just for you. No werewolf blood regenerations for you this time. My enemies stay dead.”

“Good-bye, Walker,” I said.

We went for each other like fighting dogs, as angry and vicious as only two old friends can be. I was young and fast and strong, but he had his blade, and his expertise, and a lifetime’s hard-earned tricks and tactics. He stabbed and cut at me with his sword, and I evaded it, forcing my way closer. Again and again I went for him, and every time he drove me back, with blood streaming from cuts that wouldn’t close. He cut chunks out of my reaching hands, and hacked at my arms when I lifted them to defend my throat or breast. Soon enough my white trench coat was soaked with blood. I was almost too angry to feel the pain, and what I did feel drove me on. I wasn’t fighting for myself, but for Suzie, and for all my friends who would inevitably die at Walker’s hands. At my hands, driven by his will. I thought of Suzie; and the blood and the pain didn’t matter a damn.

We stamped back and forth on the edge of the pit, with me fighting to get to Walker, and him fighting to hold me off. But in the end, I was willing to die to bring him down, and he ... was dying. He stumbled, just briefly, as he mistimed a lunge, and I hit him in the head. His foot turned under him, and he fell suddenly sideways into the pit. He reached out instinctively to me for help, and just as instinctively I lunged forward to grab his hand. But it was too late.

Walker fell into the pit. I knelt at the side, reaching helplessly after him. He didn’t scream, didn’t cry out, and in a moment he was gone. Nothing left but the darkness. I called after him, but there was no reply. He was gone. Swallowed up at last, by the dark.