A Hard Day's Knight (24 page)

“You’re just saying that,” I said, shutting my gift down as thoroughly as I knew how.

“I feel it is my duty to remind you,” the Doormouse said diffidently, “that while my Doors can take you anywhere in the unknown universe, they are all strictly one-way operations. To be blunt: once you’re in Sinister Albion, you’re on your own. I cannot bring you back. And no, I don’t do travel insurance.”

Suzie looked at me. “What about your Portable Timeslip?”

“Only works in this world,” I said. “It operates in Space and Time, not dimensions. It’s a gold watch, not a TARDIS.”

“Wouldn’t work anyway,” said the Doormouse. “Not where you’re going.”

I looked Suzie in the eye. “You heard the mouse. This could be a one-way trip. You don’t have to come with me.”

“Don’t make me slap you in front of a mouse,” said Suzie. “You can’t do this without me, and you know it. Someone’s got to watch your back.”

I nodded. Suzie’s never been very good at the sentimental stuff, but I knew what she meant. There was no way she’d let me go into danger without her, not while she had a say in the matter. I pulled the Door all the way open, and the blood-red light flared up. Suzie and I walked forward into it, into Sinister Albion.

And behind us I could hear the Doormouse crying, “Come back! Come back! You haven’t paid yet ...”

It was dark, even though it was day. The sun burned a sullen crimson through heavy, lowering clouds, turning the sky blood-red. Ashes fell out of the sky as though the clouds were on fire. But it didn’t take me long to work out where the ashes were really coming from. In long rows, all along the distant horizon, stood rank upon rank of giant burning Wicker Men. Huge hollow forms, roughly man-shaped, full of men and women burning alive. I couldn’t really hear them screaming, from so far away; but it felt like I could. The Wicker Men burned like beacons, illuminating Sinister Albion.

The land round us was churned-up mud, for as far as the eye could see. No fields, no crops, no forests, and no rivers. Thick filthy mud, soaked with old and new blood, punctuated here and there with human body parts and all kinds of scattered offal. Some of the mud had been disturbed in more or less straight lines, tracks rather than roads. The air was hot and sweltering, difficult and unpleasant to breathe. Thick with the stench of burning meat, it coated the inside of my mouth with grease and ashes.

Dotted here and there across the rough landscape were huge concrete structures: featureless blocks with no windows and only the one door. Surrounded by long walks of barbed wire, interrupted here and there with signs warning of mine-fields. This was where the workers lived when they weren’t working. I knew that, somehow. This was England as a slaughter-house, as concentration camp. The land Merlin Satanspawn had made, in his father’s image. A place of torture and horror and death for the lucky ones. Sinister Albion. The murdered dream of Camelot.

I could see Camelot from where I was. It stood at the top of a hill, not far away, the only castle in this nightmare place. It was all steel walls and thrusting metal turrets, polished and gleaming, with no windows and only the one door. And I had to wonder if it was as much a prison for its inhabitants as any of the concrete workers’ blocks. There was no stone or marble to the castle, nothing so ... soft, or human. I pointed the castle out to Suzie, and she nodded quickly. Her face was as cold and collected as always, but her eyes were fierce and unforgiving.

“You bring me to the nicest places, John,” she said finally.

“I think that’s Camelot,” I said.

“That ugly thing? I’ve had better-looking bowel movements.”

“You see any other castles round here? I told the Door to bring us straight to Excalibur, and this is apparently as close as it could get. And where else would Stark take the sword?”

“I have been in some real shit holes,” said Suzie. “And this is definitely one of them. Let’s get this done, John. I don’t like it here. I think ... it could be bad for the soul. That something in the nature of this place could rub off on us.”

“Sooner we start, sooner we finish,” I said. “Cheer up. I’m sure you’ll get to kill someone worth killing before this is over.”

“Anywhere else, that would be a good thing,” said Suzie. “But here—I think if I start, I might not be able to stop ...” She met my gaze suddenly. “John, whatever happens here, don’t leave me here, not in this place. Dead or alive, promise me you’ll get me home.”

“Dead or alive,” I said. “Nothing is ever going to part us.”

She nodded once, and we set off through the thick mud, towards the castle on the hill.

We made our way slowly across the dark, uneven country-side, our boots sinking deep into the mud with every step. It took all my strength and determination to keep going, hauling one foot out of the clinging mud with brute strength, only to have it sink in deep again with the next step. On and on, ploughing through the mud with stubborn strength, feeling my stamina leached slowly away by the unending effort. Giant bubbles of carrion-thick gas welled up out of the mud, disturbed by our progress, popping fatly on the already foul air. I cursed the mud and the stench and our slow pace until I ran out of breath and needed all I had to keep going. Suzie struggled on beside me, grimly silent. The oppressive heat left me soaked in sweat, and I had to stop now and again to cough ashes out of my throat. And deep down I knew that none of this had happened by chance. This was a world made to make people miserable, just for the fun of it.

The mud was deeper in some places than others, with never any warning, dropping off suddenly under our feet like giant sucking pits, trying to drag us down. Suzie and I looked after each other and fought our way through. The bottom half of my trench coat was soaked in mud and blood and filth, and Suzie’s black leathers didn’t fare much better. I kept hoping I’d get used to the stench and stop smelling it. But somehow it was always there, clogging up my mouth and throat and lungs. My eyes ran constantly with tears, from something in the air; I could feel them cutting slow runnels through the encrusted mud and ashes on my cheeks and mouth.

We’d barely made it half-way to the castle on the hill when we slowly became aware that we weren’t alone. Suzie stopped and looked sharply round. We moved to stand back-to-back, both of us aware of a threat we could sense but not see. The mud stirred slowly, its surface disturbed by living creatures moving underneath it. The mud was deep here, up to my waist, and things circled slowly round us, leaving long, slow trails in their wakes. Human hands and heads bobbed slowly up through the mud’s surface, rotten and corrupt and partially devoured, brought to the surface by what moved below. I still couldn’t see anything, nothing had broken the surface yet, but I could follow their progress through the deep mud. Suzie followed the wakes with her shotgun and pumped shells into position, the sound loud and carrying on the quiet. She tracked one particularly heavy wake, took careful aim directly ahead, and gave the creature both barrels.

The blast was shockingly loud but almost immediately drowned out by a vicious, angry screaming, as something large and twisted thrashed back and forth just under the surface. Blood spurted up through the mud, which flew spattering in all directions. Something that might have been a clawed hand briefly showed itself, and a set of massive snapping jaws, then they were gone again. Suzie aimed and fired a second time, and the screams shut off abruptly. The thrashing grew still, and the mud settled down again. A great pool of blood spread across the surface of the mud, but there was no sign of the creature itself. Slowly, the other wakes moved away from us, heading off into the mud. Suzie sniffed loudly, and we set off towards the castle again. Suzie has always favoured the direct approach to dealing with problems.

We moved on, ploughing stubbornly through the rotten and corrupt land, heading for two ranks of trees that formed a corridor, leading out of the mud and towards the base of the hill. I was really tired now, fighting the growing ache in my legs and back with every movement, breathing through gritted teeth to try to keep the falling ashes out of my mouth. As we drew closer to the trees, I slowly realised none of them had any leaves. The branches were twisted and gnarled and completely bare. The bark was a dull matte black, split here and there by some internal pressure, with thick red blood leaking out—as though the tree roots had spent so long in this corrupt ground that the trees no longer had sap in them, only blood. And perhaps no longer had any use for leaves in this world that knew nothing of sunlight.

The mud grew steadily more shallow as Suzie and I approached the corridor of trees, and we finally hauled ourselves out onto something very like proper ground. It was hard and flat and deeply cracked, almost volcanic. It felt good to have solid ground under my feet again, and I walked up and down a while for the pleasure of it. Then I spent some time slapping the hell out of my trench coat, trying to dislodge the caked-on filth; but it clung like tar, and I really didn’t want to try to prise it away with my bare hands. I finally gave it up as a job for later, and, hopefully, somebody else. Suzie, typically, hadn’t even bothered. She was looking thoughtfully about her, shotgun held at the ready. I followed her gaze, and quickly made out a whole bunch of creatures lurking in the shadows of the trees. Whatever they were, none of them wanted to get too close to us. They watched silently as Suzie and I moved cautiously through the corridor of trees. A few emerged from the shadows long enough to snarl briefly at us and retreat. They were cowed and broken things, with no spirit. What little I could make out of their forms looked rotten, decaying, malformed. Carrion feeders, not predators.

“First trees we’ve seen,” I said, just to be saying something. “Wonder what happened to the great forests here?”

“Cut down, set fire to,” said Suzie, sweeping her gun slowly back and forth before her. “Probably for the fun of it.”

“You know, you can be really depressing sometimes, Suzie.”

“Just trying to fit in.”

We came at last to the foot of the hill and stopped to lean on each other for a moment, to get our breath back before we tackled the hill. The dusty grey surface had given way to the first real road we’d seen, a dull yellow clay, winding round the hill on its way up to the castle. It wasn’t a yellow brick road, and that that certainly wasn’t an Emerald City, but it would do.

A bare wooden door-frame stood at the side of the road, containing no door, merely thick swirling mists that only existed inside the door-frame. Strange lights came and went in the depths of that thick, churning fog. Flames flickered sullenly all round the wooden door-frame, burning and blackening the wood without consuming it. The fires could have been burning for hours or days or even years. The longer I looked into the churning mists, the more convinced I became there was someone or something in there, looking back at me. And then I heard the sound of horses’ hoofs, drawing steadily nearer, and I backed quickly away from the door-frame. Suzie moved in beside me, covering the mists with her shotgun. The sound of hoofs grew louder, and a whole company of knights in dark armour came thundering out of the mists, right at us. Suzie threw herself one way, and I went the other, as horse after horse emerged from the mists to form a barricade blocking the road up the hill.

The horses were huge: great black beasts snorting and stamping in the ash-filled air. And on their backs, knights in the same black armour that Artur had worn. Armour made of black scales that hissed and seethed and slid slowly over each other. The dark knights carried huge oversized swords and battle-axes, some so large they had to be strapped to the sides of their horses. Their breast-plates bore ancient satanic symbols, burned right into the armour, and they all carried heavy oblong shields, each marked with the sign of the inverted cross.

And at their head, on the biggest, blackest horse of all, a knight in blood-red armour. His crimson helmet bore a pair of stylised horns but no slit for eyes and mouth—just a blank expanse of gleaming metal. The whole of the knight’s armour seemed fused together, made and forged all of one piece, so that even when the great joints moved, there was never any trace of an opening. The armour was a single sealed unit, with no way in or out. Designed, perhaps, to keep something inside from getting out.

I knew who this was, who it had to be. Prince Gaylord the Damned, Nuncio to the Court of Camelot. I wondered if he knew his King was dead. Or, indeed, who had killed him.

Prince Gaylord urged his huge black horse forward until it stopped right in front of me. Suzie was quickly there at my side again, shotgun at the ready. The Prince in scarlet ignored her, the featureless helmet fixed on me. I still hadn’t figured out what I was going to say or do, so I made a point of ignoring him and being only interested in his horse. There was something definitely wrong about it.

The horse’s body was strangely asymmetrical, everything out of shape and out of balance, and its long head was almost a caricature of what a horse’s head should be. Its eyes bulged like a frog’s, and its wide, grinning mouth showed pointed teeth. Thin wisps of smoke curled up from its flared nostrils. And when I looked down, I saw the horse had cloven hoofs, with smoke rising from the ground they trod. A very disturbing horse—if it was a horse.

“I am Prince Gaylord,” the blood-red knight said finally, his voice echoing inside his crimson helmet. It was a smug and very self-satisfied voice, with a hint of mocking evil. As though he had done terrible things and enjoyed every minute of it but didn’t like to boast about it. Effortlessly scary, because it came so naturally. “Welcome ... to Sinister Albion.”

“Ask him if he’s got a small companion called Tattoo,” said Suzie. She sniggered loudly as I shook my head. Her sense of humour emerges at the strangest times.

“You’ll have to excuse Suzie,” I explained, “because she’ll shoot you if you don’t. I am ...”

“Oh, I know who you are, Lilith’s son,” said Prince Gaylord. “I’ve been looking forward to this little chat. We have so much in common.”