A Hard Day's Knight (2 page)

“This is the Nightside,” I said. “We do things differently here. Somebody wanted to make sure I got it; and this was the best way of sneaking it in, under the radar.”

“Well, if you don’t draw the bloody thing from its scabbard so we can get a look at it, I’m going to,” said Suzie. “That is one of the great legendary swords! How can you not want to try it out for size?”

“Because I don’t want it to bite my hand off! I’m working up to it, okay? This isn’t something you draw and wave round for the fun of it! This is Excalibur we’re taking about. It makes history and gives birth to legends. Everything it does, matters.”

“Are you afraid there might be a geas attached to it?” said Suzie, looking at the sword with a new wariness. “Like the Old Man of the Sea—easy to pick up but a damned sight harder to put down?”

“I think I would have Seen anything like that,” I said carefully. “I think ... we’re back to destiny again. And I have had enough of that in my life. I have been there, done that, and seen my mother banished from reality rather than embrace the destiny she intended for me. I’m my own man; and I won’t give that up, even for Excalibur.”

“We can’t leave it lying there. I was going to start making dinner soon ...”

“I know! I’m thinking ... I’m trying to think of anyone else I could safely hand it over to ... Oh hell. Why is it always me?”

I took a firm hold of the polished-bone hilt, set my other hand on the scabbard, and slowly eased the sword out of its sheath. It came easily, almost eagerly: five, maybe six feet of blade that glowed supernaturally bright in the gloomy kitchen. Suzie made a shocked, almost awed sound, and fell back a step. I held the sword out before me, the hilt fitting perfectly into my hand, and the long, golden blade shone brighter and brighter, free at last after centuries of waiting. I swept the blade slowly back and forth, supporting the whole length of it easily with only one hand, and it all felt so natural, as though I’d been doing it my whole life. The long, golden blade seemed impossibly light, almost weightless, moving easily with my hand as though it belonged there.

I stamped back and forth round the kitchen table, thrusting and cutting, the golden blade leaping this way and that. The longer I held Excalibur, the more I knew how to use it, how to handle it. Without quite meaning to, I ran through an increasingly complex series of attacks and manoeuvres, jumping and pirouetting as I slammed the blade back and forth. Suzie fell back to the kitchen doorway, to give me plenty of room.

“All right, cut it out, I’m impressed!” she said. “Where did you learn to use a sword like that?”

“I didn’t,” I said, forcing myself to stop. I was hardly even breathing hard. “I’ve never handled a sword in my life. Excalibur is making all the moves; I’m just along for the ride.”

“Okay,” said Suzie. “Getting a bit spooky now ...”

“Trust me, you have no idea. Wait a minute ...”

Suzie’s head came up sharply, as she sensed it, too. Without moving or changing in any way, Excalibur was suddenly so much more than it had been. There was a new presence in the room with us, like a third person, uncanny and overwhelming; and it was the sword. Excalibur’s presence beat on the air like a breaking storm, like a great bugle sounding a charge that would never end, a cry to battle, for the soul of Humanity. It dominated my small kitchen—a cry from the past, the deep past, wild and glorious and very dangerous.

Suzie had backed half-way out of the kitchen doorway. I would have liked to join her, but I was still holding the sword. I could feel it coming awake, yearning to be used, demanding to be put to the purpose for which it was intended. And I couldn’t help remembering that terrible old weapon, the Speaking Gun. That evil device had wanted to kill and kill until nothing was left, and hated the fact that it couldn’t do that without its owner’s cooperation. Excalibur didn’t feel anything like the Speaking Gun, but it still needed me to wield it. To help it fulfil its destiny.

The sword blazed with purpose: of something vitally important that had to be done, that it had been brought back into the world to do. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly; then I picked up the scabbard and slid the sword carefully back into its sheath. It didn’t fight me. I placed the scabbard carefully down on the table again and stepped away from it. The sheer effort of will left me shaking and covered in a cold and clammy sweat. But I am my own man, no-one and nothing else’s.

“Well?” said Suzie, from the doorway. “Is it destiny?”

“Oh ... I’d have to give you ninety-five per cent on that, yes. And it wants me.”

“I could write you a note, say you’re excused destinies.”

“Why me?” I said, a bit wistfully.

“Isn’t that what everyone says, when destiny comes calling?”

“If this turns out to be connected to Merlin, I swear I will find a way to bring him back from the dead, just so I can kick his arse!”

“Never speak ill of the dead,” Suzie said briskly. “Especially when they aren’t always as departed as they should be.”

I couldn’t help noticing that she’d backed right out of the kitchen doorway and was now standing in the hall, looking in. Suzie wasn’t scared of anything, but she had a hell of a lot of natural caution and really good survival instincts. I would have liked to walk away and leave the sword, but owning Excalibur is like holding a tiger by the tail. Bad as the situation is, it’s even more dangerous to let go. I had hoped drawing the sword would trigger a recorded message that would tell me what the hell was going on and what I was supposed to do about it; but apparently that was too much to hope for.

“We need to get this sword out of our house,” said Suzie. “Something that powerful, running wild in the Nightside; who knows what kind of attention it’s going to attract?”

I looked at the scabbarded sword; but all sense of its presence was gone, vanished the moment I sheathed it. It looked like any other sword now. But Excalibur was the kind of sword men would kill and die for, for any number of reasons. Suzie came warily back into the kitchen.

“So, does this mean you’re the rightful King of all England now?”

“No,” I said. “I’m pretty sure that was a one-time-only thing.”

“Does it mean you’re King of the Nightside, then? Or was the sword sent to you by someone who thinks you should be?”

“I had the chance,” I said. “And I turned it down. I’m not about to change my mind. As to who sent it: I have a horrible feeling this might be Walker’s last gift to me, taken from the late Collector’s legendary collection.”

“Hold everything,” said Suzie. “The ‘late’ Collector? He’s finally dead?”

“Haven’t you been watching the news?”

“I’ve been busy,” Suzie said defensively. “Aimless lounging round won’t do itself, you know. What happened to the Collector? Who killed him? I take it somebody did finally kill the thieving old scrote?”

“Walker killed him,” I said. “He walked right up to his oldest friend and stuck a knife between his ribs. I was right there, but there was nothing I could do.”

“I’ll not shed a tear for the Collector,” said Suzie. “How many times did he try to kill us? All right, he was a colourful rogue, or a treacherous little turd, depending on how you look at it, but I think the whole Nightside will sleep more peacefully, now that he’s gone. You could always rely on the Collector to stir things up, and rarely in a good way. But ... why did Walker finally kill him, after all these years? I thought they were friends again, after working together during the Lilith War?”

“They were,” I said. “It’s ... complicated. Friendships often are.”

“Hold everything, part two,” said Suzie. “You said ... Walker’s
last
gift. Don’t tell me ...”

“Yes,” I said. “Walker’s dead. I killed him.”

“Why?” said Suzie. “Okay, dumb question. I can think of a dozen good reasons, without even trying.”

“It wasn’t like that,” I said. “He wanted to kill me and take over my life. And he threatened you. I couldn’t have that. So I killed him.”

“The most important man in the Nightside is dead,” said Suzie. “Good.” She put a comforting hand on my arm. “I know you and he were ... close, in some way I never really understood.”

“He was my father’s friend,” I said. “But he was always there when I needed him. He used me for jobs when he needed someone expendable, but he protected me when he could. At the end, when he knew he was dying, he said he wanted to be my father; but I never wanted that. And I don’t want his bloody job, either. Oh yes, the man’s barely been gone a few hours, and already people are queuing up to tell me I have a responsibility to take over his position and be the new Voice of the new Authorities!”

“If you don’t want to do it, don’t do it,” said Suzie. For her, it really was that simple.

“But ... there’s no-one else.”

“That’s my John,” said Suzie, putting her arms round me. Her black leathers creaked loudly. “Always ready to take the weight of the world on his shoulders. And always convinced no-one else can do the job as well as him. Maybe that’s why our mysterious benefactor sent Excalibur to you. Because they know you can be trusted to use it wisely. I’m not sorry Walker’s dead. Or that you killed him. I worked for the man, but I never liked him. He played chess with people and never gave a damn about the pieces he had to sacrifice.”

“I worked for him,” I said. “I respected him, and sometimes I liked him, against my better judgement.”

“Were you and he ever friends?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s complicated.”

“Two of the Nightside’s greatest lights have gone out,” said Suzie. “We shall not see any blaze so brightly again in our lifetime.”

I gave her a stern look. “You’ve been watching the History Channel again.”

She laughed and let go of me. She started towards the table, reached out to grasp the sword’s hilt, then stopped.

“This sword fascinates me,” she said slowly. “It’s one of the greatest weapons in the world. But as much as I want to, I can’t bring myself to touch it. I don’t think it wants me to. As though ... I’m not worthy.”

“Hell with that,” I said immediately, carefully keeping it light. “If I’m worthy, you’re worthy. No, I think it’s just ... we’re back to the destiny thing again. It wants me.”

“So we’re back to the main question,” said Suzie, glaring at the sword with her arms folded firmly across her chest. “Why would anyone send Excalibur to you?”

“I think it’s my turn to feel hurt,” I said. “Are you implying that I am not worthy?”

She snorted briefly. “Don’t start getting ideas above your station.”

“I am, let us not forget, the son of a Biblical Myth.”

“And look how that turned out.”

“Good point,” I said. It was my turn to look thoughtfully at the sword. “Maybe ... I’m supposed to hold on to the sword, guard and protect it, until its rightful owner turns up.”

“You mean Arthur? King Arthur?
The
King Arthur?”

“Why not?” I said reasonably. “We spent enough time in Merlin’s company ... Dead, but definitely not departed enough for my liking. A lot of people believe Arthur is still out there, somewhere, sleeping in state until the day shall come when he will be needed again, to lead us all in the Final Battle. I used to love all those books when I was a kid.”

“This is sounding worse and worse,” said Suzie. “If Excalibur’s turned up, does that mean we’re on the verge of the Final Battle? I’ve already been through the Angel War and the Lilith War. I think I’m entitled to a little rest between Armageddons.”

“I wish everyone would stop talking about those two wars as if they were my fault!”

“Well, they were.”

“Only indirectly!”

“Don’t shout, or I’ll give you a headache,” said Suzie. “Still, it has been a little quiet of late. I could use some exercise. It’s been a while since I killed a whole bunch of people.”

“I’m starting to get a really bad feeling about this,” I said.

Suzie looked at me thoughtfully. “How did the sword feel when you handled it?”

“Light,” I said. “Almost weightless. Good balance.”

“No, John. How did it
feel
...”

I thought about it. “Like it could do anything. Like
I
could do anything. Like nothing in this world could stand against us as long as we fought in a noble cause.”

On an impulse, I picked up the scabbard and slung it over my shoulder. Leather straps appeared out of nowhere, and I pulled them into place, securing the scabbard on my back. My hands moved expertly, knowing exactly what to do. I could feel the weight of the sword, hanging all the way down my back, almost to my heels. I could sense the hilt standing up behind my left shoulder, waiting to be drawn. I could feel Excalibur’s presence, like a shield at my back that no weapon could ever pierce. Like another pair of eyes, watching out for me. I was so taken up with all these new feelings that it took me a moment to notice that Suzie was looking at me very strangely.

“What?” I said.

Suzie walked round me in a tight circle, examining me from all angles. “The moment you strapped that sword into place, it vanished. Gone. Invisible. Are you sure it’s still there?”

“Yes,” I said. “I can feel the weight of it, the pressure of its purpose. And it feels like it’s got my back.”

“You used to feel that way about me,” said Suzie.

“I still do!”

“Shouting again ...”

“I trust you with my life, Suzie. Which is more than I’ll say about Excalibur. I can’t help feeling that this sword has its own agenda.”

“Yes, well, that’s magic swords for you,” said Suzie. “And destiny, for that matter. I suppose it’s too late to mark it RETURN TO SENDER and throw the thing out?”

“Almost certainly,” I said. “It’s no good, Suzie; I’m going to need help with this one. Very specialised help and advice. And there’s only one place I can think of that’s a real authority on all things Arthurian. I’m going to have to leave the Nightside and go back out into London Proper. And talk with the London Knights.”

“You have got to be kidding. Those arrogant, stuck-up, conceited little prigs?”

“Yes,” I said. “That’s the ones.”