The Unnatural Inquirer (17 page)

“I worked for a particular individual,” I said carefully. “Not the Vatican, as such.”

“You really did find it, didn’t you?” said the Cardinal, looking at me almost wistfully. I could all but sense his collector’s fingers twitching. “The Sombre Cup…What was it like?”

“There aren’t the words,” I said. “But don’t bother trying to track it down. It’s been…defused. It’s only a cup now.”

“It’s still history,” said the Cardinal.

Bettie stooped suddenly, to pick up an open paperback from a chair. “The Da Vinci Code? Are you actually reading this, Cardinal?”

“Oh, yes…I love a good laugh.”

“Put it down, Bettie,” I said. “It’ll probably turn out to be some exotic misprinting, and he’ll charge us for getting fingerprints all over it. Cardinal, we’re here about the Afterlife Recording. I take it you have heard of Pen Donavon’s DVD?”

“Of course. But…I have decided I’m not interested in pursuing it. I don’t want it. Because I know myself. I know it wouldn’t be enough for me simply to possess the DVD. I’d have to watch it…And I don’t think I’m ready to see what’s on it.”

“You think it might test your faith?” I said.

“Perhaps…”

“Aren’t you curious?” said Bettie.

“Of course…But it’s one thing to believe, another to know. I do try to hope for the best, but when the Holy Father himself has told you to your face that you’re damned for all time, just for being what God made you…Hope is all I have left. It’s not much of a substitute for faith, but even cold comfort is better than none.”

“I believe God has more mercy than that,” I said. “I don’t think God sweats the small stuff.”

“Yes, well,” said the Cardinal dryly, “you’d have to believe that, wouldn’t you?”

“If you learn anything, let me know,” I said. “As long as the Afterlife Recording is out there, loose in the wind, more people will be trying to get their hands on it, for all the wrong reasons. There’s even a chance the Removal Man is interested in it.”

All the colour dropped out of the Cardinal’s face, his brittle amiability replaced by stark terror. “He can’t come here! He can’t! Have you seen him? You could have led him here! To me! No, no, no…You have to leave. Right now. I can’t take the risk!”

And he pushed both Bettie and me towards the door. He wasn’t big enough to budge either of us if we didn’t want to be budged, but I didn’t see any point in making a scene. He didn’t know anything useful. So I let him shove and propel us back to the door and push us through it. Once we were back on the street, the door slammed shut behind us, and a whole series of locks and bolts snapped into place. It seemed the Cardinal believed in traditional ways of protecting himself, too. I adjusted my trench coat. It had been a long time since I’d been given the bum’s rush. And then from behind the door came a scream, loud and piercing, a harsh shrill sound full of abject terror. I beat on the door, and yelled into the intercom, but the scream went on and on and on, long after human lungs should have been unable to sustain it. The pain and horror in the sound was almost unbearable. And then it stopped, abruptly, and that was worse.

The locks and the bolts slowly opened, one at a time, and the door swung inwards. I made Bettie stand behind me and pushed the door all the way open. Beyond it, I could see the huge display room. No sign of anyone, anywhere. No sound at all. I moved slowly, and very cautiously forward, refusing to allow Bettie to hurry me. There was no sign of the Cardinal anywhere. And every single piece of his collection was gone, too. Nothing left but empty shelves, stretching away.

“The Removal Man,” I said. My voice echoed on the quiet, saying the name over and over again.

“Did we lead him here, do you think?” said Bettie, her voice hushed. The echo turned her words into disturbing whispers.

“No,” I said. “I’d have known if anyone was following us. I’m sure I’d have known.”

“Even the Removal Man? Even him?”

“Especially him,” I said.

SEVEN

The Good, the Bad, and the Ungodly

“S
o,” said Bettie Divine, sitting perched on one of the empty wooden shelves with her long legs dangling, “what do we do now? I mean, the Removal Man has just removed our last real lead. Though I have to say…I never thought I’d get this close to him. The Removal Man is a real urban legend. Even more than you, darling. We’re talking about someone who actually does move in mysterious ways! Maybe I should forget this story and concentrate on him. If I could bring in an exclusive interview with the Removal Man…”

“You mean you’re giving up on me?” I said, more amused than anything.

Bettie shrugged easily. She was now wearing a pale blue cat-suit, with a long silver zip running from collar to crotch. Her hair was bobbed, and her horns peeped out from under a smart peaked cap. “Well, I am half demon, darling; you have to expect the odd moment of heartlessness.”

“If you stick with me, at least there’s a reasonable chance you’ll survive to file your story,” I said.

“Who’d want to hurt a poor sweet defenceless little girlie like me?” said Bettie, pouting provocatively. “And besides, we half demons are notoriously hard to kill. That’s why the Editor paired me up with you for this story. Which, you have to admit, does seem to have petered out rather. I mean to say, if the Collector doesn’t have the Afterlife Recording, and the Cardinal doesn’t have it, who does that leave?”

“There are others,” I said. “Strange Harald, the junkman. Flotsam Inc.; their motto: We buy and sell anything that isn’t actually nailed down and guarded by hell-hounds. And there’s always Bishop Beastly…But admittedly they’re all fairly minor players. Far too small to think they could handle a prize like the Afterlife Recording. They’d have sold it on immediately; and I would have heard. You know, it’s always possible Pen Donavon could have realised how much trouble he’d let himself in for and destroyed the DVD.”

“He’d better not have!” said Bettie, her eyes flashing dangerously. “The paper owns that DVD, no matter what’s on it.”

I looked at her thoughtfully. “If it is real…are you curious to see what’s on it?”

“Of course,” she said immediately. “I want to know. I always want to know.”

“So you’ll stick with me? Until we find it?”

“Of course, darling! Forget about the Removal Man. It was just an impulse. No; we’re on the trail of something that could shake the whole Nightside if it is real. And you know what that means? I could end up covering a real story at last! Do you know how long I’ve dreamed about covering a real story, about something that actually matters? We can’t let this end here! You’re the private eye, you’re the legendary John Taylor; do something!”

“I’m open to suggestions,” I said.

My mobile phone rang. I answered and was immediately assaulted by the acerbic voice of Alex Morrisey, calling from Strangefellows. As always, Alex did not sound at all happy with the world, the universe, and everything.

“Taylor, get your arse over here at warp factor ten. A certain Pen Donavon has just turned up in my bar, looking like death warmed over and allowed to congeal. He’s clutching a DVD case like it’s his last life-line, hyperventilating, and crying his eyes out because he thinks the Removal Man is after him. He appears to be suffering from the sad delusion that you can protect him. He says you’re the only person he can trust, which only goes to show he doesn’t know you very well. So will you please come and get him because he is scaring off all my customers! Most of whom have understandably decided that they don’t want to get caught in the inevitable cross-fire. Did I mention that I am not at all happy about this? You are costing me a whole night’s profits!”

“Put it on my tab,” I said. “I can cover it; I’m on expenses. Sit on Donavon till I get there. No-one talks to him but me.”

I put the phone away and smiled at Bettie. “We’re back in the game. Pen Donavon has turned up at Strangefellows.”

Bettie clapped her hands together, kicked her heels, and jumped down from the wooden shelf. “I knew you’d find him, John! Never doubted you for a moment! And we’re finally going to Strangefellows! Super cool!”

“You’ll probably be disappointed,” I said. “It’s only a bar.”

“The oldest bar in the world! Where all the customers are myths and legends, and the fate of the whole world gets decided on a regular basis!”

“Only sometimes,” I said.

“Is it far from here?”

“Right on the other side of town. Fortunately, I know a short cut.”

I took out my Strangefellows club membership card. Alex handed out a dozen or so, in a rare generous moment, and he’s been trying to get them back ever since. Not that any of us are ever likely to give them up. They’re far too useful. The card itself isn’t much to look at. Just simple embossed pasteboard, with the name of the bar in dark Gothic script, and below that the words You Are Here, in blood-red lettering. I pulled Bettie in close beside me, and she snuggled up companionably. I still wasn’t used to that. It had been a long time since I’d let anybody get this close to me. This casual. I liked it. I pressed my thumb firmly against the crimson lettering on the card, and it activated at once, throbbing and pulsing with stored energy. It leapt out of my hand to hang on the air before me, turning end over end and crackling with arcane activity. Bright lights flared and sputtered all around it. Alex had paid for the full bells and whistles package. The card expanded suddenly to the size of a door, which opened before us. Together, Bettie and I stepped through into Strangefellows, and the door slammed shut behind us.

I put the card back in my coat-pocket and looked around. The place was unnaturally still and quiet, empty apart from a single drunk sleeping one off, slumped forward across his table. I knew him vaguely. Thallassa, a wizened old sorcerer who claimed to be responsible for the sinking of Atlantis. He said he drank to forget, but it was amazing how many stories he could remember, as long as you were dumb enough to keep buying him drinks. Everyone else had clearly decided that discretion was the better part of running for the hills, and that the combination of Pen Donavon, his DVD, and me in one place was just too dangerous to be around. Even the kind of people who habitually drink at a place like Strangefellows have their limit; and I’m often it.

Donavon was easy to spot. He was sitting slumped on a stool at the bar. No-one else could look that miserable, beaten down, and shit scared from the back. He peered round as Bettie and I approached, and almost collapsed off his stool before he recognised me. He was just a small, ordinary-looking man, no-one you’d look at twice in the street, clearly in way over his head and going down for the third time. Up close, he looked in pretty bad shape. He was shaking and shivering, his face drawn and ashen, with dark circles under his eyes as though he hadn’t slept in days. Perhaps because he didn’t dare. He couldn’t have been half-way through his twenties, but now he looked twice that. Something had aged him and hadn’t been kind about it. He clutched a long, shabby coat around him, as though to keep out a chill only he could feel.

He looked like a man who’d seen Hell. Or Heaven.

Alex Morrisey glared at me, and then went back to half-coaxing, half-bullying Donavon into putting aside his brandy glass and trying some freshly made hot soup. Donavon remained unconvinced. He watched, wide-eyed, until Bettie and I were right there with him. Then he sighed deeply, and some of the tension seemed to go out of him. He emptied his glass with a gulp and signalled for another. Alex put aside the soup bowl, sniffed loudly, and reluctantly opened a new bottle.

Alex owns and runs Strangefellows, and possibly as a result, has a mad on for the whole world. He loathes his customers, despises tourists, and never gives the right change on principle. He also had his thirtieth birthday just the other day, which hadn’t helped. He always wore black, because, he said, he was in mourning for his sex life. (Gone, but not forgotten.) His permanent scowl had etched a deep notch between his eyebrows, right above the designer shades he always affected. He also wore a snazzy black beret, perched far back on his head to hide his spreading bald patch. I have known clinically depressed lepers with haemorrhoids who smiled more often than Alex Morrisey. Though at least he doesn’t have to worry when he sneezes. I leaned against the bar and looked at him reproachfully.

“You never made me hot soup, Alex.”

He sniffed loudly. “My home-made soup is full of things that are good for you, including a few that are downright healthful, all of which would be wasted on a body as ruined and ravaged as yours.”

“Just because I don’t like vegetables…”

“You’re the only man I know who makes the sign of the cross when confronted with broccoli. And don’t change the subject! Once again I am left clearing up the mess from one of your cases. Like I don’t have enough troubles of my own. Bloody eels have got into the beer barrels again, the pixies have been at the bar snacks, which they will live to regret, the poor fools, and my pet vulture is pregnant! Someone’s going to pay for this…”

He broke off as Pen Donavon suddenly reached out and grabbed my arm. There was so little strength left in him it felt like a ghost tugging at my sleeve. His mouth worked for a moment before easing into something like a smile, and there were real tears of gratitude in his eyes.

“Thank God you’re here, Mr. Taylor. I’ve been so afraid…They’re after me. Everyone’s after me. You have to protect me!”

“Of course, of course I will,” I said soothingly. “You’re safe now. No-one’s going to get to you here.”

“Just keep them away,” he said pathetically. “Keep them all away. I can’t think…I’ve been running from everyone. Either they want to pressure me into selling the Recording, or they want to kill me and take it. I can’t trust anyone any more. I thought I’d be safe, once I’d made my deal with the Unnatural Inquirer, but I was ambushed on my way there. I’ve been running and hiding ever since.”

He let go of me and looked back at the full glass of brandy before him. He gulped half of it down in one go, and Alex winced visibly. Must have been the really good stuff, then. I looked at Bettie.