The Bride Wore Black Leather (20 page)

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

“I have,” I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Touché.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SEVEN

All Kinds of Miracles

When we finally stepped out of the alcove in the Garden wall and back into the Land of Down and Outs, I was surprised to see a long black limousine already there, waiting for us. It looked more than a little out of place in the kind of area where the words
appalling
and
disgusting
take on whole new and very extreme meanings. I took a quiet look around, but the locals had all disappeared, presumably to sleep off their recent feast. Julien Advent was already opening the back door of the limousine. I stayed right where I was and gave him my very best meaningful cough. Julien looked back and gave me his best urbane smile.

“I called for the car. My stomach has had more than enough of travelling by Portable Timeslip, while many of my nerves are currently on strike for better working conditions. You represent the Authorities now, John, and are fully entitled to all the little perks that go with your new position.”

“Fair enough,” I said. “But this goes on your expense account, not mine.”

Julien smiled briefly. “You’re learning. Now get in, so I can shut the door. We’re letting all the ambience in.”

I slid into the back seat, and Julien followed me in quickly. The door shut itself after him, hardly making a sound. I leaned back in the richly padded seat and let loose a great sigh of pleasure as my muscles were finally able to relax. Julien picked up the interior phone and told the driver where to go. A uniformed chauffeur, of course, though I quickly realised that
chauffeuse
was more correct. A tall and elegant young lady in a white leather uniform, complete with a peaked white leather cap, over a platinum blonde buzz cut. She nodded briefly to Julien, without looking back.

“Sure thing, chief. Buckle up; it’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

A glass partition slid up, separating us from the driver. Presumably because Julien knew there were all sorts of questions I wanted to ask about how she and Julien knew each other. You can never have too much gossip. Julien had already opened up the interior bar, revealing a sparkling area full of crystal decanters. He helped himself to a glass of very good brandy, and I helped myself to a decanter. Julien gave me a reproving look. I grinned at him, and toasted him with the decanter.

“Any snacks in there? Chief?”

“No,” said Julien, very firmly, and he shut the bar quickly before I could go rooting around in it. “But the limousine does come equipped with an ejector seat for those passengers who’ve outstayed their welcome. Don’t say you weren’t warned.”

I drank some really good brandy, straight from the decanter, and Julien winced. I think sometimes I’m a bit too much for his delicate sensibilities. Probably because I don’t possess any. He made a point of not looking in my direction as he picked up the interior phone again and contacted the news desk at the
Night Times
, to catch up with what had been happening in his absence. He listened for a while, then frowned and put the phone on speaker, so I could hear what he was hearing. It appeared that Brilliant Chang had already turned in his piece on what had gone down at the Ball of Forever, and I had come out of it surprisingly well. The voice at the other end of the phone read out some of the choicer bits, managing to sound both shocked and scandalised while enjoying himself immensely. Julien nodded.

“I’m going to have to write a special editorial on the passing of King of Skin when I get back. Doing him justice will be a challenge.”

“Will you be mentioning in passing that one of the co-founders of the new Authorities was actually a major serial killer, who wrapped himself in the living skins of his victims?” I said innocently.

“The
Night Times
stands for the truth,” Julien said stiffly. “Just not all the truth, all the time. In cases like this, it can be better to let the truth come out a bit at a time, so as not to . . . overwhelm people. On the other hand, we can’t hold some things back for fear of being scooped. You did say Bettie Divine was there . . . Damn. I’m going to have to try and balance the good with the bad. King of Skin did do admirable things, in his time. He did help found the new Authorities, and you might remember that he fought alongside us during the Lilith War. A lot of innocent people are only alive today because he put his life on the line to protect them.”

“Innocent?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “In the Nightside?”

“You know what I mean.”

“King of Skin only took on Lilith’s armies because they were destroying his own personal playground,” I said, letting the empty decanter drop onto the floor at my feet. Somebody should have refilled it; I’d only got a few drinks out of the damned thing. I sighed, feeling suddenly tired. Contemplating the endless ambiguities of the Nightside can take a lot out of you. “Just because the enemy of your enemy is your ally, it doesn’t necessarily follow that he’s your friend,” I said.

The voice at the other end of the speaker-phone asked, rather nervously, if he should continue, and Julien told him to get on with it. Possibly I wasn’t the only one who was feeling tired. We listened silently as the voice did its best to hit the high spots of what was happening in the Nightside. Apparently someone had dumped a whole bunch of piranha into a private swimming pool because someone had blackballed their membership bid. No-one had ever seen so many people leave a pool so quickly. They then turned the heating all the way up, broiled the piranha, and ate the lot. There was a metaphor for the Nightside in there somewhere, but I was too tired to work it out. Someone else had opened the wrong kind of book in the H. P. Lovecraft Memorial Library, and now there was a whole new building standing in the same place, the Linda Lovecraft Library of Spiritual Erotica. Explorers in protective suits were currently investigating the new contents. And something really unpleasant had possessed the lady news-reader of the local television station, on air, right in the middle of a broadcast. It had her saying really nasty and untruthful things for some time before anyone noticed. She had to be wrestled out of her seat and dragged off air, all the time speaking in tongues and swivelling her head round and round. Which is a really bad thing to do when you’re projectile vomiting something very like pea green soup. I had to smile. You’d think a Nightside television station would have enough sense to keep an exorcist on staff for emergencies like this. Some savings really are false economies.

On the other hand, apparently that particular news show boasted the highest ratings the station had ever known, and had already been nominated for several awards.

•  •  •

The black limousine moved smoothly out of the bad lands and into the mainstream traffic lanes. The roar of never-ending traffic embraced us immediately though hardly any of it got past the limo’s soundproofing. The usual mixture of unusual vehicles passed by on either side. Ambulances that ran on distilled suffering. Huge articulated trucks with no-one visible in the driver’s seat, carrying unknown goods to unknowable destinations. One of them had a big sign on the back, saying
COMPLAIN ABOUT MY DRIVING. GO ON. I DARE YOU.
And all kinds of cars, from a shocking pink souped-up Model T Ford, to an Edsel with tall, shiny fins and a radioactive back burner, to a 2020 Velociraptor Special, with a motor so powerful it rattled the fillings in my teeth as it shot past.

Most of the traffic had enough sense to give the black limousine plenty of room on the grounds that anything so obviously expensive was bound to have top-of-the-line armaments and protections; but something that only looked like a car moved quickly through the adjoining lanes to ease in alongside us. Up close, it quickly became apparent there was something seriously wrong with the car’s shape and details. All the windows were pure black, including the windscreen, the wheels didn’t turn, and the thing moved in sudden darts and rushes that would have had its passengers ricocheting around the interior. I drew Julien’s attention to whatever it was that was coming our way, but he didn’t seem particularly worried. The car thing lurched in close beside us, our two sides almost touching. The all-black window nearest us disappeared, and dozens of dark green arms ending in hooked and clawed hands shot out to attack our windows. They slammed to a halt against the glass and skittered angrily over it, unable to break or even scratch it.

“Bullet-proof, shatter-proof, waterproof,” said Julien, a bit complacently.

“Make a good watch,” I said, deliberately unimpressed.

The claws and hooks clattered in vain against the heavy glass, then all the arms snapped back into the car thing. The black window reappeared. The car thing cut its power and fell back behind us, taking up a position right on our bumper. Long machine-gun barrels protruded from its dully gleaming grill-work, and the car thing opened fire. Luckily, our rear windows were equally bullet-proof. The limousine hardly rocked at all under the impact. The blonde chauffeuse made an adjustment to something on her dash-board, and flame-throwers opened up from the back of the limousine. The car thing shrieked shrilly as terrible flames washed over it. The featureless exterior scorched and bubbled, charring and blackening like roasted flesh under the extreme heat. The car thing burned fiercely, then exploded. Bits of burning car flesh flew through the air, tumbling end over end, bouncing and splattering off the surrounding traffic.

“James Bond, eat your heart out,” said Julien Advent.

I couldn’t find it in my heart to feel sorry for the car thing. Some predators are too damned nasty for sympathy. The black limousine moved smoothly on through the night traffic, which treated us with a little more respect than before.

•  •  •

It took us a while to reach the Hospice of the Blessed Saint Margaret. The Nightside’s one and only hospital is located right on the outskirts, not far from the Necropolis. So that when things go wrong, they don’t have far to move the body. It also allows the rest of the Nightside population to feel that little bit more secure in case anything should escape. Or anyone. Julien made a series of important phone calls to the editorial desk of the
Night Times
, and I passed the time dozing on the back seat with my mouth open. Eventually, the black limousine eased to a halt, and I opened my eyes to find we were right in the middle of the Hospice car-park. The chauffeuse turned to address Julien, and he lowered the intervening glass panel.

“You want me to wait, chief?”

“No thank you, Gloria,” said Julien. “Hospital car-parks charge a fortune. You take some time off. I’ll call you if I need you.”

“Suits me, chief. Try not to pick up anything nasty in there. I’d hate to have to fumigate the car again.”

“Again?” I said, but Julien already had the back door open and was climbing out. I got out after him, and the moment I was clear, the back door slammed shut, and the limousine pulled quickly away. I hunched my shoulders inside my trench coat against the chill of the night air, and stood beside Julien while we looked the Hospice over from a safe distance. Despite having lived most of my very dangerous life in the Nightside, I’d never actually seen the Hospice before. Julien saw me frowning.

“Something wrong?”

“Don’t like hospitals,” I said bluntly. “They get on my nerves. And don’t even get me started on dentists. On bad days, I need a local anæsthetic, even to make an appointment.”

“Back in my old days, the hospital was where you went to die,” said Julien, reflectively. “In Victorian times, surgeons were butchers, survival rates were frankly terrifying, and we had none of today’s wonder drugs. You had to be tough to survive a Victorian hospital. And don’t even get me started on the Elephant Man.”

The Hospice itself was a huge, bright, white-walled building, sweeping up into the night sky. Searchlights blazed from the roof, to guide in air ambulances, flying carpets and the occasional winged unicorn. They’d had a dragon drop in on the roof once, many years ago, and they’re still talking about it. Still trying to get the last bits of dragon dung out of the guttering, by all accounts. That was one sick dragon. All the windows were mirrored one-way glass, to ensure privacy and keep passers-by from seeing things that might upset them. The Hospice was named after the original Saint Margaret, who founded the place when she passed through the Nightside, many centuries ago.

“She didn’t stay long,” said Julien, when I tried to impress him with my limited knowledge. “We don’t get many saints in the Nightside, as a rule.”

“Gosh,” I said. “Imagine my surprise.”

“But she did hang around long enough to found a much-needed leper Hospice. She ran it herself, tending the lepers with her own hands, until she could find someone brave enough to take over; and then she couldn’t get out of the Nightside fast enough. The lepers didn’t bother her, but she felt contaminated by the general
moral ambience
. Which is fair enough. The Hospice evolved, through various fits and starts, into the Hospice you see before you, the most impressive and experienced of its kind. It deals with supernatural and super-science medical problems, and all the extreme and unnatural cases that inevitably occur in a free-thinking community like ours. It was either this, or fire-bombing whole areas of the Nightside on a regular basis. And don’t think that wasn’t discussed. The Hospice is supported by many good friends and grateful ex-patients, and even more people with a thoughtful eye to the future.”

“You still wouldn’t catch me dead in there,” I said solemnly.

“That joke was old when I was young,” Julien said crushingly.

•  •  •

We walked through the car-park and headed for the main front doors. We’d barely got half-way there before a whole bunch of heavily armed security people emerged suddenly from all sides to cover us. Some wore old military outfits, some wore specially adapted battle armour, and every single one of them kept their weapons trained very seriously on Julien and me. I looked casually around, careful to appear conspicuously unimpressed. All the security people had the same cold, focused, dangerous look. I knew who they were immediately. Who they had to be. A lot of them recognised me, and there was a lot of glancing around to find someone ready to make the first move. I could all but see the buck shifting in mid air. After a certain amount of glancing and muttering, they all carefully chose to point their weapons between me and Julien rather than directly at us.