The Unnatural Inquirer

FOUR - When Collectors Go Bad

Back in the Nightside proper, I headed for Uptown, that relatively refined area where the better class of establishments and members-only clubs gather together and circle the wagons, to keep out the riff-raff. People like me, and anyone I might know. I had a particular destination in mind, but I didn’t tell Bettie. Some subjects need to be sneaked up on, approached slowly and cautiously, so as not to freak out the easily upset. Bettie clearly thought she’d been around and seen it all, but there are some people and places that would make a snot demon puke, on general principles.

“Where exactly are we going?” said Bettie, looking eagerly about her.

“Well,” I said, “when you’re on the trail of something rare and unique, the place to start is with the Collector. He’s spent the best part of his life in pursuit of the extraordinary and the uncommon, often by disreputable, underhanded, and downright dishonest means. He’s a thief and a grave-robber, a despoiler of archaeological sites, and no museum or private cabinet of curiosities is safe from him. He’s even got his own collection of weird time machines, so he can loot and ransack the Past of all its choicest items. If there’s a gap in history where something important ought to be, you can bet the Collector’s been there. He’s bound to have heard about the Afterlife Recording by now, and, faced with the prospect of such a singular and significant item, you can bet he won’t rest till he’s tracked it down.”

Bettie looked actually awe-struck. “The Collector…Oh, wow. The paper’s been trying to get an interview with him for years. Mind you, half the people you talk to swear he’s nothing more than an urban myth, something historians use to frighten their children. But you know him personally! That is so cool! Has he really got the Holy Grail? The Spear of Destiny? The Maltese Falcon?”

“Given the sheer size of his collection, anything’s possible,” I said. “Except maybe that last one.”

“There are those who say the two of you have a history,” Bettie said guilelessly.

“If you’re fishing in your pocket for your mini tape recorder, forget it,” I said pleasantly. “I lifted it off you before we even left the Unnatural Inquirer offices. I don’t do on the record.”

“Oh, poo,” said Bettie. And then she smiled dazzlingly. “Doesn’t matter. I have a quite remarkable memory. And what I can’t remember, I’ll make up. So, tell me all about the Collector. How did you meet?”

“He was an old friend of my father’s,” I said.

Bettie frowned. “But…some of the stories say he’s your mortal enemy?”

“That, too,” I said. “That’s the Nightside for you.”

“Where’s he based these days?” Bettie said casually.

I grinned. “That really would be a scoop for you, wouldn’t it? Unfortunately, I have no idea, at present. He used to store his collection in a secret base up on the Moon, sunk deep under the Sea of Tranquility, but he moved it after I…dropped in, for a little visit.”

“Couldn’t you have used your gift to find it again?”

“The Collector is seriously protected. By Forces and Powers even I would think twice about messing with.”

“Still…you’ve actually seen his collection! How cool is that? What did you see? What has he got? Did you take any photos?”

I smiled. “I never betray a confidence.”

“But he’s your mortal enemy!”

“Not always,” I said. “It’s…complicated.”

Bettie shrugged easily and slipped her arm through mine. My first impulse was to pull away, but I didn’t. Her arm felt good where it was. I looked at her thoughtfully, but she’d given up on grilling me for the moment and was looking interestedly about her.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this deep into Uptown. You don’t come here unless you are almost obscenely wealthy. I’ll bet there are shops here where a pair of shoes would cost more than my annual salary. Remind me to steal a pair before we leave. Where are we going, exactly?”

“I need to talk to Walker,” I said.

Bettie slammed to a halt, stopping me with her. “The head man himself? Darling, you don’t mess around, do you?”

“If anyone knows where the Collector hangs his hat these days, it’ll be Walker,” I said. “Can we start moving again?”

She nodded stiffly, and we set off at a somewhat slower pace than before.

“But, gosh, I mean…Walker,” said Bettie, giving me her wide-eyed look again. “Our very own polite and civilised and extremely dangerous lord and master? The man who can make people disappear if he doesn’t like the look of them? That Walker? There is a definite limit as to how far I’m prepared to go for this story, and annoying Walker is right there at the top of my list of Things Not To Do.”

“You’ll be fine, as long as you’re with me.” I tried hard to sound calm and confident. “He’ll talk to me. Partly because Walker is another old friend of my father’s. Partly because he’s an old friend of the Collector. But mostly because I shall dazzle him with my charming personality.”

“Maybe I’ll stay outside while you talk to him,” said Bettie.

I grinned at her and noticed abruptly that she wasn’t wearing her polka-dot dress any more. She was now wearing a creamy off-the-shoulder number, very chic, and a pink pill-box hat with a veil. The horns on her forehead peeked demurely out from under the brim of the hat, lifting the veil just a little. I decided not to say anything.

“Is this really such a good idea, sweetie?” Bettie said finally. “I mean, Walker…That man is seriously scary. He’s disappeared at least nine of the Unnatural Inquirer’s reporters because they were getting too close to something he didn’t want known. Or at least discussed. We know it was him, because he sent us personally signed In Deep Condolence cards.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That sounds like Walker.”

“I don’t want to be disappeared, John! It would be very bad for my career. Promise me you’ll protect me. I am too young, too talented, and too utterly gorgeous in a fashionably understated way to be disappeared! It would be a crime against journalism.”

“Relax,” I said. “You’ll be fine. I can handle Walker.”

I don’t like to lie to people, unless I have to, but sometimes you have to say what people want to hear to get them to do what you want them to do. And I had to talk to Walker. He was the only one who might know where the Collector was hiding out these days, who might be willing to tell me. It was always a calculated risk, talking to Walker. In the end, when we finally run out of excuses, one of us is going to kill the other. I’ve always known that. And so has he.

We like each other. We’ve saved each other’s lives. It’s complicated. It’s the Nightside.

“Do you need your gift to find Walker?” Bettie asked, staring distractedly about her as though half-expecting him to suddenly appear out of some door or side alley, just from the mention of his name.

“No,” I said. “I know where he’ll be. Where he always is at this time. Taking tea at his Gentleman’s Club.”

“Walker belongs to a club?” said Bettie. “Result, darling! A definite exclusive! Which club?”

“There is only one club for those of Walker’s exalted position,” I said. “The oldest and most exclusive club in the Nightside. The Londinium Club.”

Bettie looked sharply at me. “But…that was destroyed. During the Lilith War. We published photos. That was where the Authorities were killed. And eaten.”

“Quite right,” I said. “But it’s back. Word is, the Club rebuilt itself. Any building that’s survived everything the Nightside can throw at it for over two thousand years isn’t going to let a little thing like being destroyed in a war slow it down.”

“Oh,” said Bettie. “Do you mind that I’m holding your arm?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t mind.”

The last time I’d seen the Londinium Club, during the height of the Lilith War, it had been one hell of a mess. The magnificent Roman façade had been cracked and holed, smoke-blackened and fire-damaged. The great marble steps leading up to the single massive door had been fouled with blood and shit. And the Club’s legendary Doorman, who had kept out the uninvited and unwelcome for centuries beyond counting, had been torn apart, his severed head impaled on the railings. Inside, it had been even worse.

But now everything seemed back to normal, right down to the fully restored Roman façade. Which I’d always found rather crude, to be honest. There was a new Doorman, however. It seemed the Club could only restore itself, and not those who’d died defending it. Just as well, really. A lot of the Club’s members were no loss to anyone, for all their wealth and power. Anyone rich and powerful enough to belong to the Londinium Club had almost certainly done appalling and unspeakable things to get there. And that very definitely included Walker.

The new Doorman was a tall and elegantly slender fellow dressed in the full finery of Regency fashion. Right down to the heart-shaped beauty mark on his cheek, the poser. He moved deliberately forward to block my way as I started up the steps towards the door. I stopped right in front of him and eased my arm out of Bettie’s so I could give the Doorman my full attention. He looked down his nose at me, and there was a lot of it to look down. His eyes were cold and distant, and his thin smile was carefully calculated to be polite without containing the slightest trace of warmth or welcome. I was sure Bettie was giving him her brightest smile, but the Doorman and I only had eyes for each other.

“I have the name and face of every current Member of the Londinium Club committed to memory, sir,” said the Doorman. He made the sir sound like an insult. “And I believe I am correct in saying that you, sir, and this…person, are not Members in good standing. Therefore, you have no business being here.”

“Wrong,” I said. “I’m here to see Walker.”

“He does not wish to be seen, sir. And particularly not by the likes of you. You may leave now.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Being faced down by a little snot like you would be bad for my reputation. One last chance—go and tell Walker I’m here.”

“Leave,” said the Doorman. “You are not welcome here. You will never be welcome here.”

“Just once, I’d love to do this the easy way,” I said wistfully. “Now step aside, fart face, or I’ll do something amusing to you.”

The Doorman sniffed disdainfully, gestured languidly with one hand, and a shimmering wall of force sprang up between us. I fell back a step, sensing the terrible power running through the field. This was new. The old Doorman had relied on sheer obnoxious personality, of which he had a lot, to keep the riff-raff out. That, and a punch that could concuss a cow. Presumably the Club had decided it needed a more sturdy defence these days. The new Doorman wasn’t actually sneering at me, he wouldn’t lower himself that much; but it felt like he was. And I couldn’t have that.

I stepped forward again, so close to the field I could feel it prickling on my skin, and looked the Doorman right in the eye. He met my gaze coldly, with a supercilious stare. I kept looking at him, and he began to shake, as he realised he couldn’t look away. Beads of sweat popped out all over his face as I held his gaze with mine, and he started to make low, whimpering sounds.

“Drop the screen,” I said. “We’re coming in.”

The screen snapped off. I looked away, and the Doorman collapsed, sitting down suddenly on the steps as though all the strength had gone out of his legs. He actually flinched back as I led Bettie up the steps past him. She looked at me, frowning, as we approached the massive front door of the Londinium Club.

“What the hell did you do to him?”

“I stared him down,” I said.

“That really wasn’t a very nice thing to do, sweetie. He was only doing his job. I’m not sure I want you holding my arm any more.”

“Suit yourself,” I said. “I don’t always have time for nice. Or the inclination.”

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea,” I said.

The huge door swung open before us. Just as well; I’d had something particularly unpleasant and destructive in mind in case it hadn’t. Inside, the main foyer was exactly as I remembered it, intimidatingly large, unbearably stuffy, and smotheringly luxurious. Mosaics and paintings and marble pillars, and a general air of smug exclusivity. The last time I’d been here there’d been blood and bodies everywhere, but you’d never know it now. Wars came and apocalypses went, but the Londinium Club goes on forever.

Some say there are terrible caverns deep beneath the Club, where the oldest Members still gather to worship something ancient and awful. Baphomet, some say, or the King in Yellow, or the Serpent in the Sun. But there are always rumours like that in the Nightside.

A few people passed us, looking very prosperous and important. They studiously ignored me, and Bettie. I caught the eye of a liveried footman, and he came reluctantly over to see what I wanted.

“You’ve been here before,” said Bettie, her voice hushed for once by the sheer presence of the place.

“I’ve been everywhere before,” I said. “Mind you, I’ve also been thrown out of practically everywhere, at one time or another.”

“I’ve never seen anything like this…”

“Don’t let it get to you. For all the Club’s opulence, you couldn’t spit in the dining-room without being sure of hitting at least one complete scumbag.”

She giggled suddenly and put one hand to her mouth. The footman came to a halt before me and bowed politely. Since I was in the Club, I obviously belonged there. His was not to question why, no matter how much he might want to. He’d bowed to worse, in his time. He managed to imply all this without actually saying a word. It was a remarkable performance. I felt like applauding.

“Walker,” I said.

“In the main dining-room, sir. Dining, with guests. Should I announce you, sir?”

“And spoil the surprise?” I said. “Heaven forfend. You run along. We can look after ourselves.”

The footman backed away at speed, not even waiting for a tip. Which was just as well, really. I headed casually for the main dining area, with Bettie tagging along at my side like an over-excited puppy. No-one challenged us. It’s all about attitude. You can get away with murder if you look like you belong.

I pushed open the dining-room door, stepped inside, then stopped right there, pushing Bettie slightly to one side so that we were concealed from the crowded room by a fortuitously placed potted aspidistra. I hushed her before she could say anything and peered between the leaves. All the tables were full, mostly occupied by large sturdy types in formal suits, eating basic stodgy food because it reminded them of the good old days of school dinners. None of them looked at each other. They were there for peace and quiet, not to socialise.

Walker had to be the exception, of course. He was currently holding court with some of the more august personages jockeying for position to take the place of the recently deceased Authorities. They sat stiffly in stiff-backed chairs, nursing expensive liqueurs and oversized cigars and talking loudly to show they didn’t give a damn who overheard them. They smiled and nodded and were polite enough, and you’d never know they were deadly rivals who’d happily slaughter each other at the first sign of weakness. This was politics, after all, and there were rules of etiquette to follow. Yesterday’s enemy might be tomorrow’s friend, or at least ally.

“Hush,” I said quietly to Bettie. “Watch and listen. You might learn something interesting. You know who those people are, with Walker?”

“Of course,” she said, putting her mouth so close to my ear I could feel her breath on the side of my face. “Walker’s the smart city gent. The older gentleman to his left in the military uniform is General Condor. The revolting specimen to Walker’s right is Uptown Taffy Lewis. And the woman sitting opposite Walker is Queen Helena, ex-Monarch of the Ice Kingdoms.”

“Very good,” I said. “Now let’s see if you read anything more than the gossip columns. What can you tell me about Walker’s guests?”

Bettie smiled, glad of a chance to show off her reporter’s expertise. “General Condor comes from a future time-line. Arrived here through a Timeslip and got stranded in the Nightside when it closed. Word is he used to be in charge of some kind of Space Fleet, star-ships and the like, keeping the peace in some future Empire or Federation. He was leading the troops into battle against some kind of Rebellion, when his flagship came under fire and was blown apart. He only escaped at the last moment in a life-boat.” She laughed briefly. “He doesn’t approve of us. A very upright and moral man, is our General. Since he arrived here he’d made it his business to first support, and then lead, all the right causes. He wants to reform us and save our souls, the poor fool. The Unnatural Inquirer’s been trying to dig up some dirt on him for ages, but unfortunately it seems he really is as worthy and boring as he claims.”

I nodded, looking the General over. Condor was a tall, straight-backed military type, in a surprisingly old-fashioned bottle-green uniform, complete with peaked cap. Even sitting down, he looked like he was still at attention. His face was deeply lined, scarred here and there, but his blue eyes were cold and piercing under bushy white eyebrows. He had to be in late middle age, but there didn’t look to be an ounce of give in him.

I’d run into him a few times, here and there. He didn’t approve of me, or people like me, but then it would be hard to find anyone or anything he did approve of in the Nightside. Our free trade in vice and depravity and damnation appalled him. A good man, perhaps, and no doubt brave enough standing on the poop-deck of his star-ship, facing terrible odds; but his stark black-and-white philosophy had no place in the Nightside. On the one hand, he was desperate to return to his own time and his own people, and take up the battle again, but on the other he was realistic enough to know he might never get back. And so he had decided to take on the Nightside, as a challenge. As an evil to be overcome. He now led, or at least represented, all those various interests inside the Nightside who wanted to clean the place up, for their own philosophical, financial, or political reasons.

General Condor liked to talk about redemption, and potential, and all the things we might achieve, if only we could control our darker urges and learn to work together. He couldn’t seem to understand that people only came here to indulge their darker urges. He was a good man, in the wrong place. And the Nightside does so love to break a hero.

“How about the slug in the ill-fitting dress jacket?” I said.

“Easy. Everyone knows Uptown Taffy Lewis,” said Bettie. She made brief retching noises. “He owns most of the prime real estate in the Nightside, now the Griffin is finally dead and gone. He has enormous economic leverage and isn’t shy about using it to get his own way. Word is he can’t get any richer, so now he wants power. He maintains his own private army of bully-boys, enforcers, and leg-breakers, and anyone who speaks out against Taffy tends to find out why terribly quickly. He wants to be the new Griffin, the new king of the castle, and have us all bow down to him. He has pretensions to style and elegance and gentility, but wouldn’t recognise them if he fell over them in the gutter. The man was born a cheap thug, and he’ll never change. The Inquirer’s run any number of exposés on him and said all kinds of nasty things, but he’s rich enough that he doesn’t care. Hateful man. They say he ate his brother.”

“Completely accurate,” I said.

Uptown Taffy Lewis was a large man, in all the wrong ways. The expertly cut suit couldn’t conceal his many rolls of fat, any more than his current polite expression could hide his cold piggy eyes or cruel mouth. Taffy didn’t just want to be big man at the trough, he wanted to keep everyone else out, simply because he could. Own it all, control it all, and have the power to destroy it all. And then use that power to make everyone else beg for the scraps from his table. Probably had a really small penis. Uptown Taffy Lewis wanted the Nightside because it was there.

He’d tried to have me killed on several occasions. I didn’t take it personally. For Taffy, it was always just business.

“And ex-Queen Helena?” I said to Bettie.

“Nasty piece of work, by all accounts.” Bettie curled her perfect upper lip. “Powerful, talented, and dangerous in all sorts of unpleasant ways, though it’s hard to say whether her power derives from science or sorcery. She can kill with a look or a touch, and they say she can enslave a man by whispering his name. The official word is that she arrived here via a Timeslip from some far future time-line, where the sun is going out and the ice covers everything. A cold woman from a cold world. But you can take that with as many grains of salt as you like; people who turn up through Timeslips tell all sorts of tales, and there’s rarely any way of checking. She claims to have been the Queen of the whole world, and she has the way of royalty about her, but…Odd that a Queen should be travelling alone, don’t you think? Anyway, she’s certainly single-minded enough about becoming royalty again, either back in her own time or right here in the Nightside. She has a lot of followers here; people who like to think they know a real monarch when they see one. She’s been selling titles to anyone who can raise the money.”

I nodded. I knew the type. (Ex-)Queen Helena was a disturbing sight. Tall, regal, haughty, and more impressive than God, she sat on her chair as though it was a throne fashioned from the bones of her enemies. She wore thick white furs, a diamond tiara, and her long flat hair was so blonde as to be practically colourless. Her deathly pale skin was tinged with blue, and her face and bare arms were covered with intricate patterns of painted-on circuitry. There were subtle bulges here and there under her skin, suggesting concealed high-tech implants. They raised and lowered themselves, apparently according to her moods.

“Well done, Bettie,” I said. “Very accurate descriptions, nicely succinct and more than usually informed. There are investigative journalists on the Night Times who wouldn’t have been able to tell me that much. You’re not just a pretty face, are you?”

She smiled easily. “I was wondering how long the wide-eyed act would fool you. You don’t get to be one of the Unnatural Inquirer’s top reporters by batting your eyes and simpering at people. Though you’d be surprised how far that can get you, even with important people. Men are such simple, basic creatures, bless them. For the others, it’s amazing how many weak spots and vulnerabilities good research can turn up. I smile, I watch, I listen, I draw conclusions, and I write it all up afterwards. You weren’t fooled by the act for one minute, were you?”

“It’s a good act,” I said, generously. “Now hush and observe Walker at work. See how he influences and manipulates people, without them even realising.”

“Things have got to change,” General Condor was saying heavily. He leaned forward across the table to glare at Walker, who seemed entirely unperturbed. The General’s voice was slow and deliberate, used to giving orders and having them obeyed. He had the air of a man people would follow: bluff, experienced, sure, and certain. A man who knew what he was doing. He jabbed a heavy finger in Walker’s face. “The Nightside can’t continue as it has—a haven for all human depravity and weakness. It’ll tear itself apart with the Griffin and the Authorities gone. The signs are clear for everyone to see, first the angel war, and then the Lilith War…Left to its own devices, the Nightside will inevitably tear itself apart.”

“There have always been wars, and destruction, and changes at the top,” Walker said calmly. “But the Nightside goes on. It has survived for thousands of years, and I see no reason why it shouldn’t continue as it is for thousands more. The world has always had a taste for freak shows.”

General Condor scowled. “That might have been true while the Authorities were running things and supporting the Nightside in the same way a farmer looks after the goose that lays golden eggs; but they’re gone now. Along with their blinkered preoccupation with trade and profit. It’s time for someone to take the longer view and make the Nightside into something better.”

“Nothing wrong with making money,” Uptown Taffy Lewis said immediately. His voice was soft and breathy, his great chest and belly rising and falling as though every breath cost him something. “The Nightside exists to provide people with the pleasures and pursuits they can’t get anywhere else. The things civilised people aren’t supposed to want, but do anyway. And they’ll pay through the nose for it, every time. Keep your rigid morality to yourself, General. We don’t need simpleminded do-gooders coming in from outside and meddling with a system that’s worked fine for thousands of years.”

“The man has a point, General,” said Walker. “It’s hard to argue with success.”

“All the things I’ve seen here,” said the General, “the marvels and wonders, the amazing achievements, the incredible possibilities…If you would only work together instead of cutting each other’s throats over a penny’s profits, the things you could do…The Nightside could become the pinnacle of human civilisation! Instead of the moral cesspit it is now. You could all be gods if you’d only throw off the chains that hold you back!”

“Not everyone wants to be a god,” said Walker. “In fact, I’d say we already have far too many. I’ve been thinking about ordering a cull…Too many Chiefs only confuse the Indians. Wouldn’t you agree, Helena?”

“You may address me as Queen Helena, or Your Majesty,” she said immediately, her voice suitably chilly. The other two looked at her sharply. You didn’t talk that way to Walker if you liked breathing, and having your bones stay where they were. But he nodded thoughtfully to Queen Helena, and she continued.

“People must know their place. For many, it is their nature to be ruled. To have someone ready to make the important decisions for them. I am not a lone voice in this. I speak for others such as I in the Nightside.”

“The Exiles,” said Walker. “All the other kings and queens and emperors who wound up here, via Timeslips or other unfortunate accidents. So many that there seems to be something of a glut of rulers on the market, at the moment.”

“People of power and prestige,” Queen Helena said firmly. “People who do not care for the way things are. The Nightside needs to be taken in hand and ruled by people suited to the task.”

“Would you agree with that, Taffy?” said Walker.

“No-one tells me what to do,” said Uptown Taffy Lewis. He almost sounded amused. “No-one rules the Nightside. Never has, never will. We make our own way. This is the last truly free place left on Earth, where everything and anything is possible. Even the Authorities knew enough to keep their distance. Right, Walker? I represent people, too. I speak for the businesspeople of the Nightside, and we will not stand by and see our rights trampled on.” He glared at Helena, and then at General Condor. “You don’t belong here, either of you. We like the Nightside just the way it is; and neither of you have the support or the power to change anything that matters. I own most of the land the Nightside stands on; my associates own most of the rest. We can bankrupt anyone who doesn’t back us up. And we can raise armies, if necessary, to defend what is ours.”

“I have led armies,” said General Condor. “There’s more to it than giving orders.”

“I have led armies, too,” said Queen Helena. Something in her voice made the others look at her. She smiled coldly. “I did not come here by accident. No arbitrary Timeslip brought me here; I can go home anytime I want. To the ancient and melancholy Ice Kingdoms, where my armies wait for me. It has been a long time since the Armies of the Evening have had a cause worth fighting for. Because we killed everyone else who stood against us, in the long twilight of Earth. I have no wish to be Queen of an empty world. Not when I can bring my armies here and make the Nightside my own.”

General Condor and Uptown Taffy Lewis looked at her, then at each other, and finally at Walker, who smiled easily.

“Why risk your armies, and your life, to secure a city, when you already have a world of your own?”

Queen Helena smiled back at him coldly, her blue-tinged lips drawing back to reveal perfect sharp teeth. “I like it here. It’s warm.”

“Ice melts when the going gets hot,” said Taffy.

“You dare?” Queen Helena stood up, glaring down at them all. Strange metallic shapes surfaced in the blue-white flesh of her arms. Silver-grey barrels targeted Taffy and the General.

“That’s enough!” Walker didn’t stand up. He didn’t need to. He was using the Voice. “Put your weapons away, Helena.”

The Queen of the Evening shook and shuddered, her lips drawing back in a frustrated grimace, as she fought the Voice and failed. The implanted technology sank back into her arms, bluish skin closing seamlessly over it. She snarled furiously at Walker, a fierce, animal sound, then she turned abruptly and stalked away. Servants hurried to get out of her way. General Condor and Uptown Taffy Lewis rose to their feet, bowed stiffly to Walker, and then they left, too, careful to maintain a respectful distance between them. Perhaps they were worried Walker would use the Voice on them. He watched them go thoughtfully, and then turned unhurriedly in his chair and looked right at me.

“I’ll see you now, Taylor.”

I nodded and smiled, and moved unhurriedly forward to join him at his table. Bettie stuck close to my side.

“How did he know we were there?” she whispered.

“He’s Walker,” I said.

Bettie and I sat down in the newly vacated seats, facing Walker. He looked perfectly calm and at ease in his elegant city suit, his public school tie neatly tied in a Windsor knot. He didn’t seem particularly pleased to see me, but then he rarely did.

“Nicely played,” I said. “You set them at each other’s throats without once having to make clear your own position. It’s always good to see a real professional at work.”

Walker smiled briefly and turned his attention to Bettie. “I see we have a representative of the Press with us. And a more charming example than most. I feel I should warn you that recording devices won’t function inside the Club. And I am very definitely not available for an interview. I’ve read some of your work, Miss Divine. You show promise. I’m sure you’ll make a name for yourself once you get a job at a real newspaper.”

Bettie smiled widely, almost overwhelmed that Walker had heard of her and was familiar with her work. I could have told her; Walker knows everyone.

“Looks like the vultures are gathering over the Nightside,” I said. “Would I be right in thinking that people are being encouraged to choose sides? Whether they want to or not?”

“Which side would you be on, Taylor, if push came to shove?” said Walker.

“My side,” I said.

Walker nodded slightly. And perhaps it was only my imagination that he looked a little disappointed in me.

“You’ve heard about the Afterlife Recording?” I said. “Of course you have. It’s gone missing, and I’ve been hired to find it.”

“Then find it quickly,” said Walker. “Before forces from Above or Below decide to get involved. The last time that happened was a disaster for all of us.”

“I wish everyone would stop looking at me like the angel war was all my fault!”

“It was,” said Walker.

“Can I quote you?” said Bettie.

“No,” said Walker. “What do you want from me, Taylor?”

“I want to know where the Collector is hiding out these days,” I said. “If anyone knows anything about the Afterlife Recording, it will be him. That’s if he hasn’t already got his fat sweaty hands on it, of course.”

“Of course,” said Walker. “Mark never could resist the challenge of the chase…Very well. The Collector is currently hiding his collection inside another collection. To be exact, inside the Museum of Unnatural History.”

“An exclusive!” said Bettie, beaming happily.

“Not for long,” said Walker. “He’ll move again once he’s been found. Poor Mark.”

“You know the Collector personally?” said Bettie. “Is that how you know where he’s been hiding?”

“I know where everyone is,” said Walker. “That’s my job.”

“Do you know where the offices of the Unnatural Inquirer are located?”

“Yes.”

“Ah,” said Bettie Divine. “Then I’d better contact the Sub-Editor and tell him to tone down tomorrow’s editorial.”

“I would,” said Walker. He looked back at me. “I can’t speak for what kind of reception you can expect from Mark. The three of us might have worked together to end the Lilith War, but you can’t rely on that to mean anything. His collection is all that really matters to him these days. He’s come a long way from the man I and your father once knew. Don’t turn your back on him.”

I considered the point. “Can I say you sent me?”

Walker shrugged. “If you think it’ll do any good. Find the Recording, John. And then, if you’ve got any sense, destroy it.”

“The Unnatural Inquirer owns exclusive rights to the Afterlife Recording!” Bettie said immediately.

“There is that,” said Walker. “Certainly I couldn’t think of a better way to discredit it.”

Bettie started to say something else, but I took her firmly by the elbow, levered her up out of her chair, nodded quickly to Walker and moved her off towards the door. She made a show of fighting me, but I could tell she was glad of a way to leave Walker without losing face.

“The way you and he talked,” she said, as we walked across the lobby. “You two are close, aren’t you? I never knew that. I don’t think anyone does…There’s a lot going on there that you’re not telling me.”

“Of course,” I said. “I’m protecting you.”

“From what?”

“From never being able to sleep again.”

We left the Londinium Club, and strolled unhurriedly through the sleazy streets of the Nightside. Amber light from the street-lamps was easily shouldered aside by the fierce electric colours of the flashing neon signs, and the grubby pavements were crowded with preoccupied, anxious figures, all intent on their own private dreams and damnations. Sweet sounds and madder music blasted out of the open doors of clubs where the fun never stopped, and you could dance till you dropped. Brazen windows showed off all the latest temptations, barkers boasted of the attractions to be found inside for the discerning patron, and sin went walking openly down the street in the very latest fuck-me shoes.

The traffic roared past, never slowing, never stopping, because it wasn’t there for us.

Visiting the Londinium Club’s dining-room had made me peckish, so I stopped at a concession stand and treated Bettie and me to something wriggling on a stick. The meat was sharp and spicy, and just a bit crunchy.

“Would I regret it if I was to ask exactly what this is that I’m eating?” said Bettie, as we continued down the street.

“Almost certainly,” I said cheerfully.

“Then I won’t ask. Am I supposed to eat the head, too?”

“If you want.”

“But it’s looking at me!”

“Then eat it from the other end.”

“You really know how to show a girl a good time, Taylor.”

We walked a while in silence, chewing thoughtfully.

“I’ve never been to the Museum of Unnatural History,” Bettie said finally. “I always meant to go and take a look at what they’ve got there. I understand they have some really interesting exhibits. But it’s not really me. I don’t do the educational thing.”

“They’ve got a Tyrannosaurus rex,” I said.

Bettie threw away her stick and looked at me. “What, the complete skeleton?”

“No, in a cage.”

Her eyes widened. “Wow; a real T. rex! I wonder what they feed it…”

“People who litter, probably.”

The Museum of Unnatural History is very modern-looking. The French may have a glass pyramid outside the Louvre, but we have a glass tesseract. An expanded cube that exists in four spatial dimensions. A bit hard on the eyes, but a small price to pay for style. The tesseract isn’t merely the entrance to the Museum, it contains the whole thing inside its own very private and secure pocket dimension. The Museum needs a whole dimension to itself, to contain all the wonders and marvels it has accumulated down the years; from the Past, the Present, and any number of Future time-lines.

I walked steadily forward into the glass tesseract, Bettie clinging firmly to my arm again, and almost immediately we were standing in the Museum’s entrance lobby. I say almost immediately; there was a brief sensation of falling, of alien voices howling all around, and a huge eye turning slowly to look in our direction…but you tend to take things like that in your stride in the Nightside. The lobby itself was quaintly and pleasantly old-fashioned. All polished oak and brass and Victorian fittings, marble floors with built-in mosaics, and any number of wire stands packed with books and pamphlets and learned volumes on sale, inspired by the many famous (or currently fashionable) exhibits. Once again the ticket barrier opened itself for me, and Bettie looked at me, impressed.

“This is even better than having an expense account. Did you do something important for the Museum, too?”

“No,” I said. “I think they’re just scared of me.”

The uniformed staff were all Neanderthals—big and muscular, with hairy hands, low brows, and chinless jaws filled with large blocky teeth. The deep-set eyes were kind, but distant. Neanderthals performed all the menial work in the Museum, in return for not being exhibits. They were also in charge of basic security, and rumour had it they were allowed to eat anyone they caught. I asked one to take us to the Director of the Museum, and he hooted softly before beckoning us to follow him. He had a piercing in one ear, and a badge on his lapel saying UNIONISE NOW!

He led us deep into the Museum, and Bettie’s head swung back and forth, trying to take in everything at once. I was almost as bad. The Museum really does have something for everyone. A miniature blue whale, presented in a match-box, to give it some scale. I wondered vaguely how it would taste on toast. More disturbingly, half of one wall was taken up with a Victorian display of stuffed and mounted wee winged fairies, pinned through the abdomen. Only a few inches tall, the fairies were perfectly formed, their stretched-out wings glued in place and showing off all the delicate colours of a soap bubble. They had many-faceted insect eyes, and vicious barbed stingers hung down between their toothpick legs. In the next room there were tall glass jars containing fire-flies and iceflies, mermaids with monkey faces, and a display of alien genitalia through the ages. Bettie got the giggles.

On a somewhat larger scale, one whole room was taken up with a single great diorama featuring the fabled last battle between Man and Elf. The dozens of full-sized figures were very impressive. The Men, in their spiked and greaved armour, looked brave and heroic, while the Fae looked twisted and evil. Which was pretty much the way it was, by all accounts. There was a lot of blood and gore and severed limbs, but I suppose you need that these days to bring in the tourists. Another huge diorama showed a pack of werewolves on the prowl, under a full moon. Each figure showed a different stage of the transformation, from man to wolf. They all looked unnervingly real; but up close there was a definite smell of sawdust and preservatives.

Another group of figures showed a pack of ghouls, teaching a human changeling child how to feed as they did. The Museum of Unnatural History presented such things without comment. History is what it is and not what we would have it be.

There were a fair number of people around, but the place wasn’t what you’d call crowded, despite all the wonders and treasures on display. People don’t tend to come to the Nightside for such intellectual pleasures. And tourism’s been right down since the recent wars. The Museum is said to be heavily subsidised, but I couldn’t tell you who by. Most of the exhibits are donated; the Museum certainly didn’t have the budget to buy them.

The uniformed Neanderthal finally brought us to the Museum’s current pride and joy, the Tyrannosaurus rex. The cage they’d made to hold it was huge, a good three hundred feet in diameter and a hundred feet high. The bars were reinforced steel, but the cage’s interior had been made over into a reconstruction of the T. rex’s time, to make it feel at home. The cage contained a primordial jungle, with vast trees and luxurious vegetation, under a blazing sun. The illusion was perfect. The terrible heat didn’t pass beyond the bars, but a gusting breeze carried out the thick and heavy scents of crushed vegetation, rotting carrion, and even the damp smells of a nearby salt flat. I could even hear the buzzing of oversized flies and other insects. The trees were tall and dark, with drooping serrated leaves, and what ground I could see was mostly mud, stamped flat.

But it was all dominated by the tyrant king himself, Tyrannosaurus rex. It towered above us, almost as tall as the trees, much bigger than I’d expected. It stood very still, half-hidden amongst the shadows of rotting vegetation, watching us through the bars. There was a definite sense of weight and impact about it, as though the ground itself would shake and shudder when it moved. Its scales were a dull grey-green, splashed here and there with the dried blood of recent kills. It panted loudly through its open mouth, revealing jagged teeth like a shark’s. The small gripping arms high up on the chest didn’t seem ridiculous at all, when seen full size. I had no doubt they could tear me apart in a moment. But it was the eyes that troubled me the most; set far back in the ugly wedge-shaped head, they were sharp and knowing…and they hated. They looked right at me, and they knew me. This was no mere animal, no simple savage beast. It knew it was a prisoner, and it knew who was responsible; and it lived for the moment when it would inevitably break free and take a terrible revenge.

“How the hell did they get hold of a T. rex?” said Bettie, her voice unconsciously hushed.

“You should read your own paper more often,” I said. “There was a sudden invasion of dinosaurs through a Timeslip, earlier this year. Some fifty assorted beasts got through, before Walker sent in an emergency squad to shut down the Timeslip. Most of the creatures were killed pretty quickly; the members of the Nightside Gun Club couldn’t believe their luck. They came running with every kind of gun you can think of, and the dinosaurs never stood a chance, poor bastards. The only reason the T. rex survived was because the big-game hunters spent too long squabbling over who had the right to go first. Walker claimed it for the Museum before they started a shooting war over it.”

“How did they get it here?” said Bettie, standing very close to me. “I mean, look at it; that is big. Seriously big. There can’t be that many tranquilliser darts in the world.”

“Walker had one of his pet sorcerers put the thing in stasis while the Museum got its accommodations ready. Then the sorcerer transported it right into its cage. The Japanese have been pouring in to have their photographs taken with it ever since.”

While we were watching the T. rex, and it was watching us, the uniformed Neanderthal had gone off and found the Museum’s Director. He turned out to be one Percival Smythe-Herriot, a tall spindly figure in a shiny suit, with some of his breakfast still staining his waistcoat. He stamped to a halt before me and gave both Bettie and me a brief, professional, and utterly meaningless smile. He didn’t offer to shake hands. He had a lean and hungry look, as though he was always ready to add a new exhibit to his beloved Museum and was already wondering how I would look stuffed, mounted, and put on display.

“John Taylor,” he said, in a voice like someone trying to decide whether snail or octopus would make the least distressing starter. “Oh, yes; I know you. Or of you. Trouble-maker. Or at the very least, someone trouble follows around like a devoted pet. Tell me what it is you want here, so I can help you find it, then escort you quickly to the nearest exit. Before something goes horribly and destructively wrong in my nice and carefully laid-out Museum.”

“Are you going to let him talk to you like that?” said Bettie.

“Yes,” I said. “I find his honesty and grasp of reality quite refreshing.” I gave Percival my own professional smile and was quietly pleased to see him wince a little. “Walker sent me. I need to talk to the Collector.”

“Oh, him. Yes…I’d never have let him in here, but Walker insisted. Part of the price tag for his help in acquiring the T. rex. Beware civil servants bearing gifts…I mean, giving the Collector free access to a museum is like letting a fox with a chain-saw into a hen-house. Thief! Grave-robber! Amateur! All the great historical treasures he’s supposed to have, kept locked away so he can gloat over them in private, when by rights they should be on open display in my Museum! It doesn’t bear thinking about. My doctor told me not to think about it; he said it was bad for my blood pressure. I have to take these little pink pills, and I’m always running out. I’d have the Collector thrown out…if I didn’t think he’d kill me and all my staff and burn down the Museum as he left…So go ahead, talk to him. See if I care. I’m just the Director of this Museum. I can feel one of my heads coming on…”

“Where is the Collector?” I said patiently.

For the first time, Percival gave me a real smile. It wasn’t at all a nice smile, but I had no doubt he meant it.

“Through there,” he said, pointing at the T. rex’s cage. “There’s a door, right in the middle of our artificial jungle. You’ll find the Collector in his lair, on the other side of the door.”

“Oh, joy,” I said.

“Deep joy,” said Bettie, staring in horrified fascination at the jungle in the cage. “The Collector really doesn’t want visitors, does he? Why couldn’t he have settled for a BEWARE OF THE DOG sign like anyone else?”

I looked at Percival. “I don’t suppose…”

“My position is purely administrative,” he said, still smiling his nasty smile. “You’re on your own, Mr. Taylor.”

He turned his back on us and strode away, snapping his fingers for the Neanderthal to follow him. I gave the cage my full attention. I wasn’t sure if I really needed to see the Collector that badly. I moved slowly forward, going right up to the bars of the cage for a better look. Bettie stuck really close beside me. With my face next to the bars, I could feel the savage heat of the jungle. My bare skin smarted just from the feel of it.

The T. rex surged forward, exploding out of its cover, throwing broken vegetation in all directions. It crossed the intervening space in a few seconds, driven forward by its massive legs, and its slavering mouth slammed against the other side of the bars while I was still reacting to its first movement. The bars held, and the T. rex smashed its great head against them again and again, determined to reach me. I stumbled back, Bettie clinging desperately to my arm. The T. rex howled, a deafening roar of hate and frustration. The smell of rotting meat from its mouth was almost overpowering. I backed away some more, and Bettie turned and buried her face in my chest. I put my arms around her and held her. Both of us were shaking.

The T. rex snorted once, threateningly, and then turned its great bulk around and stalked back into the jungle. The ground really did tremble when it moved.

I was still holding Bettie. We were both breathing hard. I could feel her heart beating fast, close to mine. She raised her face to look at me. Her eyes were very big. I could feel her breath on my face. Her scent filled my head. Our faces were very close. It had been a long time since I’d held a woman this close to me.

It felt good.

I pushed her away gently, and immediately we were both two professional people again. I looked at the jungle. I thought I could make out the silhouette of the T. rex, lurking silently, concealed amongst the tall trees.

“Big, isn’t it?” I said. “Fast, too.”

“It smells of meat and murder,” said Bettie. “It smells of death.”

“It’s a killer,” I said.

“How the hell are we going to get past it?”

I looked at her. “You sure you want to try?”

“Hell yes! No oversized iguana is going to intimidate me! Besides, never let anything distract you from following the story. First thing they teach you at the Unnatural Inquirer. Right after how to fill out an expenses claim and next-of-kin forms.” She looked at me consideringly. “You couldn’t just kill it, could you?”

“I think an awful lot of very well-connected people would be exceedingly upset.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“True. But a T. rex is too damned special to kill unless I absolutely have to.”

“So what do we do? Call in some of your more dangerous friends and allies for backup? Shotgun Suzie? Razor Eddie? The Grey Eidolon?”

“No,” I said. “I solve my own problems.”

I studied the artificial jungle, hot and sweaty and stinking under its artificial sun. Flies buzzed hungrily, along with foot-long dragonflies and other less familiar insects. The jungle on its own would be hard enough to take, even without the T. rex. I could see it more clearly now, shifting its weight slowly from one great leg to the other, its long tail twitching restlessly. It stood there, huge and menacing, waiting for me to try something. Waiting for its chance. There was no sign of the Collector’s door; but it couldn’t be far. The cage wasn’t that big…I smiled slowly. The T. rex would know where the door was. It would know it was important. So it would put itself between me and the door. Which meant…My smile widened as I looked at the T. rex’s massive legs, and then at the space between them.

“That is a really unpleasant smile,” said Bettie. “Whatever you’re thinking, please stop it.”

“I have a plan,” I said.

“I’m really not going to like it, am I?”

“How fast can you run?” I said.

“Oh, no,” she said. “You’re not suggesting…”

“Oh, yes I am,” I said.

I marched back to the cage bars, Bettie moving unhappily along with me. The T. rex stepped out into the open, grinning at me with its terrible jaws. The feeding arms high up on the barrel chest clutched spasmodically at the air. I reached into my coat-pocket and took out a flashbang. I gestured for Bettie to cover her eyes and ears, then tossed the flashbang into the cage. The T. rex started forward. I closed my eyes, covered my ears, and turned my head away, and the flashbang exploded, filling the world with a fierce incandescent glare. I could still see it through my clenched-shut eyes. The T. rex screamed like a steam whistle. I turned back, grabbed Bettie’s hand, and we squeezed quickly between the steel bars. Designed to keep the T. rex in, not people out. The T. rex stamped its great feet up and down, swinging its wedge-shaped head back and forth, trying to shake off the pain in its dazzled eyes. And I ran straight at the creature, with Bettie pounding gamely along at my side.

The heat hit me like a blast furnace, and the stench was almost unbearable. The T. rex knew we were coming, but it was too confused to place us. It snapped at the empty air, the heavy jaws slamming together like a man-trap. I headed for the gap between its legs. I think it sensed how close we were, because the great head came sweeping down. Bettie and I ran straight between its wide-set legs and out the other side, hardly having to duck at all. The T. rex’s head smashed into the ground as it missed us.

By the time the T. rex had shaken off its daze and its new headache, and got itself turned around, I’d already found the Collector’s door and got it open. It wasn’t even locked, the smug bastard. I pushed Bettie through and followed her in. I turned to shut the door, and there was the T. rex, shrieking with rage as it lurched towards the door. I blew a raspberry at it, and shut the door in its face.

Inside the Collector’s lair, it was blessedly cool. I took a moment to get my breath back. I wasn’t worried about the door. Any door the Collector trusted to guard his treasures could take care of itself. I looked around, while Bettie got her breathing back under control and cursed me with a whole series of baby swear-words. The Collector’s new domain looked a lot like his old one. It stretched away in all directions, for as far as the eye could follow, and most of it was pretty damned hard on the eye. Walls, floor, and ceiling were all painted in bright primary Technicolor, with gaudy hanging silks to separate one area from another. The Collector’s tastes had been formed in the psychedelic sixties, and he never really got over it.

But whereas his old collection up on the Moon had all been stored away in rows and rows of wooden crates, here they were all set out in the open, presented carefully on rows and rows of glass shelving. Jewels and weapons, books and documents, machines and artifacts from all of recorded history. I recognised a few of the bigger items, like the wooden horse of Troy, and a half-burned giant Wicker Man with a dead policeman inside it, under carefully arranged spotlights; but I didn’t have to know what the rest were to know they were important. They all but radiated glamour.

I looked round sharply as the Collector’s security staff arrived, pattering across the bright blue floor towards us. Gleaming humanoid robots from some future Chinese civilisation, graceful and deadly with steel-clawed hands, and stylised cat faces complete with jutting metal whiskers. Their slit-pupilled eyes glowed green. A dozen of the robots moved swiftly to surround us, and I gestured quickly for Bettie to stand still. The robots hadn’t been sent to kill us, or I’d never have heard them coming. Bettie stood firm, glaring about her.

“Call them off, Collector,” I said, in a loud and carrying voice. “Or I’ll turn them into scrap metal.”

“You never did have any respect for other people’s property, Taylor.”

The cat robots fell back silently, to allow the Collector to approach. A pudgy, middle-aged man with a flushed face and beady little eyes, wearing a wraparound Roman toga, white with purple trimmings. There were knife holes and old blood stains on the toga’s front. Lots of them.

“Do you like it?” he said, stopping a respectful distance away. “A new acquisition. The robe the Emperor Caligula was wearing when he was assassinated by his own security people. Partly because he was a monster, but mostly because he embarrassed the hell out of them.” He looked at me, then at Bettie, who I now noticed was wearing a deep burgundy evening gown, with her long dark hair tumbling in ringlets to her shoulders. Her curved horns gleamed dully under the bright lights. The Collector smiled suddenly. “They’ve been feeding that T. rex too much; he’s getting slow and sloppy. I shall have to have words with that little snot Percival. What do you want here, Taylor?”

I looked around, evading the subject for the moment. Some things you need to sneak up on, and ease into. Especially when you’ve known the Collector as long as I have.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” I said. “Up on the Moon, you had everything packed away in boxes. You thinking of opening up to the public?”

“They wish,” said the Collector. “What’s mine is mine, and not for other eyes. But I had something of an epiphany during the Lilith War; it reminded me of how short life can be, and the necessity for enjoying things while you still can. It’s not enough just to own things, any more; I need to be able to walk amongst them, enjoy them, savour them. And I do. What do you want, Taylor?”

“I need a favour,” I said. “And you do owe me, Mark.”

He looked at me for a long moment, but in the end he looked away first. He seemed suddenly older, and tired.

“How much am I expected to pay for my sins against you?”

I could sense Bettie’s ears pricking up, as she realised we were talking about secret, important things, but I didn’t feel like enlightening her.

“Only you can answer that,” I said. “Just tell me what I need to know, and I’ll leave.”

“I should kill you,” he said, almost casually.

“You could try,” I said, easily.

“This is about the Afterlife Recording, isn’t it? I haven’t got it. Heard about it, of course. The whole damned Nightside is buzzing with news of it, mostly inaccurate, and all the little collectors and speculators are driving themselves crazy running in circles, chasing down every rumour…”

“But not you?” I said.

“I want it. And when I’m good and ready, I’ll go and get it. But right now I’m busy with something…something important. I have yet to be convinced that the Recording is the genuine article. But whether it’s the real deal or not, I will have it, because it’s a unique item, and it belongs here with me, as someone who will appreciate it…What is that woman doing?”

I looked around. Bettie had a small camera in her hands. I reached out and took it away from her.

“Give that back!” she said hotly. “It belongs to the paper! I had to sign for it!”

“Restrain yourself,” I said. “We’re guests here.”

“Oh, but look at all the lovely things he’s got,” said Bettie, pouting in a very winning way. “The world deserves to know what’s here!”

“No they don’t,” said the Collector. He gave me a thoughtful look. “Is she your latest?”

“No,” I said. “I’m still with Suzie.”

“Oh. Nice horns.” He gave me a hard look. “You always were more trouble than you were worth, Taylor. You know how long it took me to regrow my leg after those insects gnawed it off? All because of you? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have my lovely cat robots kill you, stuff you, and put you on display?”

“Because I’m my father’s son.”

“You always did fight dirty, John.” He smiled briefly. “The sins of the father…”

“And the mother,” I said. “And the man who put them together.”

“Walker had sons,” said the Collector. “Charles had you. And I…have my collection. Funny how things turn out. Get out of here, Taylor. I don’t have the Afterlife Recording, and I don’t know who has. Leave. And don’t come looking for me again. I won’t be here.”

He turned and walked away, followed by his cat robots. Bettie looked at me.

“What was that all about?”

“The past,” I said. “And how it always ends up haunting the present. Let’s go.”

“You’re sure he doesn’t have it, hidden away somewhere?”

“He wouldn’t lie to me,” I said.

We headed back to the door. Bettie was still frowning thoughtfully.

“Once we’re back in the artificial jungle, we’ve still got to face one very pissed-off Tyrannosaurus rex. How are we going to get past it this time?”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll think of something.”

And I did.