The Unnatural Inquirer Part 9

"I've got a better idea," I said.

"Oh, do tell."

I hit the gla.s.s covering the caricature with my fist, and it shattered immediately, jagged pieces falling out of the frame. Bozie stepped quickly backwards, his hands held protectively out before him. I tore the caricature out of the frame, and ripped it up, letting the pieces fall to the floor at my feet. Bozie goggled at me, torn between shock and outrage.

"You...You can't do that!" he managed finally.

"I just did."

"I'll sue!"

I smiled. "Good luck with that."

"I can always draw another one," Bozie said spitefully. "An even better one!"

"If you do," I said, "I will find you."

Bozie couldn't meet my gaze. He looked around him, hoping for help or support, but no-one wanted to know. He sat down at his table again, still not looking at me, and sulked. I went back to Bettie's table, and sat beside her. She patted me on the arm.

"That was very sweet, dear. Though a bit harsh on poor Bozie."

"h.e.l.l," I said. "I saved his life. Suzie would have shot him on sight. She doesn't have my innate courtesy and restraint."

There was a certain amount of coughing around the table, and then everyone went back to their discussion on what the Afterlife Recording might actually contain. The suggestions were many and varied, but eventually boiled down to the following: 1. There was a new rebel angel in Heaven, rebelling against the long silence of millennia to finally broadcast the truth about Humanity. Why we were created, what our true purpose is, and why we are born to suffer.

2. It was a transmission from h.e.l.l, saying that G.o.d is dead and they can prove it. Satan runs our world, tormenting us for his pleasure. Which would explain a lot.

3. An exact date for the final war between Heaven and h.e.l.l. Broadcast now because...it's all about to kick off.

4. There is a Heaven, but it's only for the innocent animals. People just die.

5. There is a Heaven, but no h.e.l.l.

6. There is a h.e.l.l, but no Heaven.

7. It's all bulls.h.i.+t.

There was a lot of nodding and raising of gla.s.ses at that last one. Once the subject of the DVD's contents had been thoroughly exhausted, I took it upon myself to raise the possibility of the Removal Man's involvement. Everyone perked up immediately and tumbled over each other to provide anecdotes and stories they'd come across but had been unable to get printed. Because no-one could prove anything.

"Remember Jonnie Reggae?" said Rick Aday. "Used to headline at the old Sh.e.l.l Beach Club? Rumour has it he vanished right in the middle of his set because the Removal Man was in the audience and decided his material was offensive. Management was livid. They'd booked Jonnie for the whole season."

"He's supposed to have made a house disappear, on Blaiston Street," said Lovett, from the Nightside Observer.

"Actually, no," I said. "That was me."

There was some more awkward coughing before Bettie determinedly got the conversation back on course.

"Remember Bully Boy Bates?" she said brightly. "Used to run a protection racket in the sweat-shop districts? Julien Advent was just getting ready to run an expose on him in the Times, then suddenly didn't need to because Bates and all his cronies had gone missing. Or how about that alien predator, that disguised itself as an ambulance so it could eat the people put into it? That was the Removal Man. Supposedly. He has done some good."

"Yes," said Aday, drawing the word out till it sounded more like no, "but on the other hand, look what he did to the first incarnation of the Caligula Club. You know, that place that caters to all the more extreme forms of s.e.xuality. Lots of people having a good time, according to their lights, all of it adult and consensual...but too much for the Removal Man's puritan tastes. He made the whole Club disappear, along with everyone in it. Just like that! Which is why the current version of the Club has such heavy-duty protections, and it's so hard to get in. Or so they tell me..."

And then the whole place fell suddenly silent as the door crashed open and General Condor entered, along with a dozen heavily armed and armoured body-guards. They made sure the place was secure and only then put their guns away. The General strode forward and looked the place over. He didn't appear especially impressed-by the bar or its customers. He was still wearing his s.p.a.ce Fleet uniform, complete with golden bars on his shoulders and rows of medal ribbons on his chest. He had the look of the old soldier, the calm steady look that said he'd seen a lot of men die, and your death wouldn't bother him in the least.

"John Taylor," he said, his heavy deliberate voice cras.h.i.+ng into the hush. "I want him."

I stood up. "Get in line," I said. "I'm busy."

He looked me over, then surprised me by smiling briefly. If anything, it made him look even more dangerous. "I need to talk to you, Taylor. And you need to listen."

I looked at him, then at the body-guards, and then at the reporters, all staring at us with wide eyes, impressed out of their minds. That settled it. I couldn't let them down. I nodded to the General, who gestured stiffly at a corner booth. The young man and woman sitting in it got the message, and vacated immediately, leaving their drinks behind. The General sat down stiffly in the booth, and I went over to join him. Bettie wanted to come with me, but I was firm. She pouted and stamped her little foot, but she did stay put. I sat down facing the General, and his body-guards moved quickly to form a defensive barrier between the booth and the rest of the bar, their hands resting on the b.u.t.ts of their guns. The reporters turned up their noses at them and ostentatiously went back to their own conversations.

I looked thoughtfully at the General. "I'm not sure I want to hear anything you have to say, General. I'm not the military type, I have problems with authority figures, and I don't play well with others."

"A lot of people don't want to hear what's good for them. The order of things in the Nightside is changing. The Authorities are gone, and someone has to replace them before this whole place tears itself apart fighting over the spoils. I can put the Nightside on the right course, John. Make it a place to be proud of. I have support from many fine and influential people, but I could use you on my side."

"Why me?" I said, genuinely curious.

"Don't be disingenuous." General Condor sighed tiredly and leaned forward across the table. "You've been a force for good in the Nightside. You help people. You've even been known to dispense your own kind of justice when necessary. Help me to save the Nightside from its own excesses."

"You can't force change in the Nightside," I said. Something in me warmed to the General's blunt honesty, if not his cause, so I gave him the truth, and not what he wanted to hear. "The Nightside is what it wants to be. It's fought wars with Heaven and h.e.l.l for the right to go its own way. The best you can do, the best any of us can do, is encourage change for the better, one small step at a time."

"The Nightside has had thousands of years to grow up," said the General. "If it was capable of saving itself, it would have done so by now. It needs a firm hand on the tiller, it needs control and discipline imposed from above, like any military unit that's gone bad. Walker tried, but he was only ever the Authorities' puppy. He can't run things on his own. He must be replaced."

"Good luck with that," I said.

He smiled again. "If I thought it would be easy, I wouldn't be here talking to you."

"He has the Voice," I said.

"It doesn't work on you," said the General.

I raised an eyebrow. "You want me to kiss him on the cheek while I'm there?"

"I want you to do what's right. What's best for everyone."

"Even I don't know what that is," I said. "And I've been looking for it a lot longer than you have."

"If you're not with me, you're against me," General Condor said flatly. "And if you don't choose a side soon, one may be chosen for you."

I smiled. "Good luck with that, too."

He laughed briefly, quietly. "I could have used a man like you on my flags.h.i.+p, John. You won't bend or yield for anyone, will you?"

"Why is this so important to you?" I said, seriously. "You haven't been here long. Why this need to save the Nightside from itself?"

"I have to do something," said the General. "I couldn't save my Fleet. I couldn't save my men. I have to do something..."

He got up from the table, and I stood up with him. He offered me his hand, and I shook it. The General left the Printer's Devil with his body-guards, and I went back to join Bettie Divine.

"Well?" she said, almost bouncing up and down in her seat. "What was that all about?"

"Just politics," I said. "Nightside style. Anything new or useful come up, while I was gone?"

"But John...!"

"Move along," I said.

"You need to talk to the Collector," said Rick Aday.

"Been there, done that," said Bettie.

"Oh." Aday looked crest-fallen for a moment, and then brightened again. "All right, how about the Cardinal? You know, used to run the Vatican's Extremely Forbidden Library. Until they discovered he was sneaking things out for his own private collection. Had to go on the run and ended up here, where he's supposed to have built up a really impressive h.o.a.rd of religious artifacts. He's your man. If anyone's got close to the Afterlife Recording, it'll be the Cardinal."

"Good call," I said. "Bettie, I think we need to pay the Cardinal a visit. It's been a while since I scared the s.h.i.+t out of him, for the good of his soul."

"Ah," said Aday, smiling craftily. "Word is, he's moved, and taken his collection with him. Hardly anyone knows where he is now."

"But you know," said Bettie.

"Of course."

"Oh, please, please, Ricky sweetie, tell us where he is," said Bettie, giving him the full fluttering eye-lashes treatment. "I'll be ever so grateful, I promise."

Aday smirked triumphantly. "And what makes you think I'll just give up a valuable piece of information like that?"

"Because she asked you nicely," I said. "I won't."

Aday gave us the Cardinal's new address, and directions on how to find it. Bettie and I left the Printer's Devil. She waved good-bye and blew kisses in all directions. I didn't. I had my dignity to consider.

SIX.

Heated Emotions from Unexpected Directions

It's hard to maintain a reputation for being grim and mysterious when you're accompanied by a brightly clad young thing, skipping merrily along at your side, holding your hand, and smiling sweetly on one and all. Still, it felt good to have Bettie with me. Her constant enthusiasm and optimism helped relieve a weight and burden I hadn't even realised I was carrying. She made me feel...alive again.

Following Rick Aday's directions, we were heading into one of the more seedy areas of the Nightside, where the narrow streets are lined with scruffy little shops and emporiums, where half the street-lights never work, and most of the neon signs have letters missing. The kind of shop where there's a sale on all the year round, where they specialise in only fairly convincing knock-offs of whatever brand-names are currently fas.h.i.+onable or in demand, where the buyer had better not only beware, but carry a large stick and count his fingers on the way out. Shops that sell tarnished dreams and tacky nightmares, misleading miracles and wondrous devices, most of whose batteries have run down. Bottom feeders, in other words; tourist traps, and home to every cheap and nasty con you can think of. The crowds were just as heavy here, jostling each other off the pavement and shouldering each other out of the way. Everyone loves a bargain.

And then, suddenly, everyone was yelling and running. I stopped and looked quickly around me. I hadn't done anything. The crowds scattered quickly, to reveal Queen Helena striding down the street, staring grimly at me, at the head of her own small army of sycophants, followers, and armed men. I stood my ground, doing my best to appear casual and unconcerned. Bettie stuck close to me, quivering with excitement. Queen Helena finally crashed to a halt right in front of me, fixing me with her cold faraway eyes. She was wrapped from head to toe in thick white furs, parting now as she struck a regal pose, to reveal glimpses of blue-white skin. She looked like someone who had died and then been buried in the permafrost. There was no warmth anywhere in her harsh, regal features, but her eyes blazed with arrogant superiority. She looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to kneel or bow or offer to kiss her hand. So I ignored her completely, concentrating on the colourful figures who'd moved forward out of her army to back her up.

"Take a good look," I said cheerfully to Bettie. "It's not every day you see so many prominent members of the Exiles Club out in public. Mostly, these aristocratic n.o.bodies prefer to skulk inside their very own members-only club, addressing each other by their old t.i.tles because they're the only ones that will. They trade grievances about lost lands and abandoned kingdoms, how n.o.body recognises true quality in this dreadful place, and how you just can't get good servants any more.

"The bald, stooped, and vulturelike figure to Queen Helena's left is Zog, King of the Pixies. Word has it he's been wearing those scabby feathered robes ever since he turned up here thirty years ago, and he hasn't washed them once. Try to avoid standing downwind. Queen Mab herself kicked him out of the Fae Court, for using glamour spells to lie with human women. He always killed them after he'd had his way with them, but Mab didn't care about that. s.e.x outside their race is one of the Fae's greatest taboos. So here he is now, stripped of his glamour, just another rapist and murderer with a t.i.tle that means nothing at all.

"Next to him we have His Alt.i.tude Tobermoret, monarch of all he surveyed in Far Afrique. A dark and distinguished gentleman indeed, in his zebra-hide suit and his lion-claw necklace. Tobermoret used to be War Chief of an entire continent, until his people realised he was starting wars and rebellions just for the fun of it. He did so love sending young men out to die while he sat at his ease in a tent overlooking the battle-field, enjoying the show. I did hear tell his people castrated him before they shoved him through the Timeslip, which is why he's always in such a bad temper.

"On Queen Helena's other side is Prince Xerxes the Murder Monarch. And yes, those really are preserved human eyes and organs and other bits and pieces hanging from all those chains he's got wrapped around him. Though given how much he's gone to seed since he got here, one can't help wis.h.i.+ng he'd wear something else apart from just the chains. He practises necromancy, the magic of murder. Partly because it's traditional where he comes from, but mostly because he gets off on it. Though he's learned to leave the tourists alone ever since Walker had a quiet word with him.

"And finally, next to Xerxes we have King Artur, of Sinister Albion. For every glorious dream, there's a nightmare equivalent, somewhere in the time-streams. For every helping hand, a kick in the face. In Sinister Albion, Merlin Satansp.a.w.n decided to embrace his father's qualities instead of rejecting them, and brought up young Artur in his own awful image. Under their direction, Camelot became a place of blood and horror, where knights in terrible armour feasted on the hearts of good men, and Albion blazed from end to end with burning Wicker Men. The only reason I haven't killed Artur on general principles, is because I've been too busy with other things."

I smiled at Queen Helena. "I think that's it. Have I missed anything important?"

"You do so love the sound of your own voice, Taylor," said Queen Helena. "And you will address me as Your Majesty."

"That'll be the day," I said cheerfully. "What do you want with me, Helena? Or are you just taking the Exiles out for a walk?"

It took her a moment to work out how to answer me. She wasn't used to open defiance, let alone ridicule. "You were seen," she said finally, "talking with the General Condor. You will tell me what you talked about. What you decided. What plans were made. Tell me everything, and I shall make a place for you in my army. Power and riches shall be yours. I could use a man like you, Taylor."

"Ah, what it is to be popular and desired," I said. "The leaders.h.i.+p of the Nightside is up for grabs, and suddenly everyone wants me on their side. Flattering, but...annoying. I'm busy right now, Helena. And I have to say, even if I wasn't...there isn't enough gold in the Nightside to persuade me to work for you, let alone this bunch of t.i.tled sc.u.mbags."

"Why do you say these things to me?" said Queen Helena. "When you know I will kill you for it?"

I shrugged. "I think you bring out the worst in me. There's some s.h.i.+t I simply will not put up with."

Her arms came out from under her robes, bulging tech implants already thrusting up through the blue-white skin. Dull grey gun muzzles orientated on me. Zog raised a withered arm to show off a beaten-copper glove with sharpened claws, buzzing with arcane energies. Tobermoret slammed the end of his long wooden staff on the pavement, and all the runes and sigils carved deep into the wood began to glow with a disquieting light. Xerxes produced a pair of long, curved daggers with serrated edges that looked more like butcher's tools. He grinned at me, showing off dull brown teeth filed to points. And Artur's bleak and brutal battle armour slowly came to life, its metal parts creeping and crawling over him, muttering to themselves in hissing otherworldly voices. Behind his blank steel helmet, his eyes glowed like corpsefires.

And behind Queen Helena and her Exiles, armed and armoured men hefted their various weapons, impatient for the order to attack.

Bettie Divine made quiet whimpering noises and looked like she'd rather be anywhere else than here, but still she held her ground at my side.

I took a sudden deliberate step forward, so I could look Queen Helena right in the eye. "I could have been King of the Nightside if I'd wanted. I didn't. Did you really think I'd bend the knee and bow my head to such as you?"

"I have powerful allies!" said Queen Helena. "I have an army in waiting! I have potent weapons!"

I laughed in her face. "You really think that's going to make a difference? I'm John Taylor."

Queen Helena held my gaze longer than I'd thought she would, but in the end she looked away and stepped back a pace, her tech implants ducking back under her skin. I looked unhurriedly about me, and the Exiles fell back, too, powering down their weapons. Their followers stirred uneasily, looking at each other. Some of them were muttering my name.

Because I was John Taylor; and there was no telling what I might do. It was all I could do to keep from smiling.

And then, just when it was all going so well, Uptown Taffy Lewis came storming up the street from the other direction, at the head of his own small army of bully-boys, body-guards, and enforcers. All of them heavily armed. I turned my back on Queen Helena to face him. Bettie made a sound deep in her throat and stuck so close to me she was practically hiding inside my coat-pocket. Taffy stamped up to me, planted his expensively tailored bulk in front of me, paused a moment to get his breath back after his exertions, and then ignored me to scowl at Queen Helena and the Exiles.

"Why are you talking with these has-beens?" he growled to me. "You know where the real power is in the Nightside. Why didn't you come and talk to me?"

"I don't really want to talk to anyone," I said wistfully. "I keep telling everyone I'm busy right now, but..."

"Whatever they've offered you, I'll double it," said Taffy. "And unlike them, you can be sure I'll deliver. I want you on my side, Taylor, and I always get what I want."

"I suggest you take this up with Helena," I said. "She seems to believe she has exclusive rights to me. And you wouldn't believe some of the nasty things she's been saying about you."