“We’re doing fine,” said Suzie. “We’re making progress.”
She let one arm rest casually across my shoulders. And I hope only I could tell what the effort cost her.
“Let us talk about the Walking Man,” I said. Everything else could wait till later, after I’d had more time to think about it. “He’s never come here before. So, why now?”
“In the past, the Nightside’s unique nature kept out all direct agents of Heaven and Hell,” said Walker. “But since Lilith was banished again, it appears a subtle change has come over the Nightside, and many things that were not possible before are cropping up now with regrettable regularity.”
“So all kinds of agents for the Good could be turning up here?” I said.
“Or agents of Evil,” said Suzie.
“Well, quite,” murmured Walker. “As if things weren’t complicated enough . . .”
“Still,” I said, “what’s bringing the Walking Man here
now
?”
“It would appear he disapproves of the new Authorities,” said Walker. “The group whose interests I now represent.”
“That’s why you’re here!” I said. “Because if they’re in danger, so are you!”
Walker smiled and said nothing.
“Who are they?” said Suzie. “These new Authorities? The old bunch were nothing more than faceless businessmen who ran things because they owned most of the Nightside. So, are we talking about their families? The next generation? Meet the new boss, same as the old boss, don’t get screwed again?”
“The inheritors?” said Walker, with something very like a sniff. “They wish. We saw them off. One quick glimpse of what actually goes on here, and they couldn’t sell their holdings fast enough. No . . . Certain personages in the Nightside have come together to represent the main interests in this place. Essentially, the Nightside is now determined to run itself.”
“Who, exactly?” I said. “Who are these brand-new
self-appointed
Authorities? Do I know them?”
“Some of them, certainly,” said Walker. “They all know you. That’s why I’m here.”
“How can you serve people from the Nightside?” I said, honestly curious. “You’ve never made any secret about your feelings for us. You always said the best thing to do would be to nuke the place and wipe out the whole damned freak show once and for all.”
“I’ve mellowed,” said Walker. “Just possibly, these new Authorities can bring about real change, from within. I would like to see that, before I die. Now, come with me and meet the new Authorities. Hear what they have to say; learn what they mean to do. Before the Walking Man tracks them down and kills them all.”
“But what do they want with me and Suzie?” I said.
Walker raised an eyebrow. “I would have thought that was obvious. They want you to use your gift to find the Walking Man, then find a way to stop him. Shall we go?”
THREE
Not Really Fitting In at All at the Adventurers Club
I let Suzie finish setting up the house’s defences while Walker and I stood outside in what used to be the garden, not looking at each other. Suzie always likes arming the hidden charges and taking the safeties off the concealed weaponry and contemplating the mayhem and general carnage that will undoubtedly ensue if anyone is dumb enough to try to get into the house while we’re out. One very professional burglar actually made it all the way to our front door once, and the door ate him. The letter-box was spitting out bone fragments for weeks afterwards.
I was still thinking about what Walker had said.
You’re my son, in every way that matters.
You can’t just drop an emotional bomb-shell like that into the conversation and expect everyone to act all business-like afterwards, as though nothing had happened. Unless you’re Walker, I suppose. That calm, collected, cold-hearted functionary, who only runs the Nightside because he doesn’t trust anyone else to do the job properly. Who always has an agenda, and a secret goal hidden inside every end game. Was he telling the truth this time? With Walker you could never tell, until it was too late. And what did I feel about him, after all these years? He’s always been there, in the background of my life, sometimes helping, sometimes watching, sometimes sending his dogs after me. He’s tried to have me killed on several occasions, but I never took that personally. For Walker, it was always just business.
I respected him. Even admired him on occasion, from a safe distance. But you couldn’t like Walker. He wouldn’t let you. He never let anyone get close enough to see the real him.
Suzie slammed the front door shut and muttered the last few activating Words, then I led us down the safe path, through the mine-field. Walker strode casually along beside me, swinging his furled umbrella like a walking-stick. Typical of the man. You could set fire to his old-school tie, and it still wouldn’t affect his stiff upper lip. Walker was old school all the way, and proud of it. Family means a lot, to people like him. It’s all they’ve got outside duty.
Once we were safely out on the street, Walker drew his gold watch from his waistcoat pocket and looked at me thoughtfully.
“I’m about to share one of my greatest secrets with you, John, Suzie. So do pay attention. I don’t tell them to just anyone. So, basically, Timeslips don’t just happen. Well, actually yes they do, suddenly and violently and all over the place. Bloody things are always popping up exactly where they’re least needed and making trouble for everyone . . . But, there is a reason, a pattern, behind their appearances, and some people have learned to control them. Like Mammon Emporium . . .”
“Like the one we found in Frankenstein’s cellar,” said Suzie, determined not to be left out of things.
“Well, quite,” said Walker. “They learned how to stabilise Timeslips, for their own profit. The old Authorities learned how to control them, for their own purposes. And the old Authorities didn’t just give me my Voice—they also gave me this.” He indicated the gold pocket-watch in his hand. “A Portable Timeslip. A doorway to everywhere, in and out of the Nightside. So that I can be wherever I need to be, whenever I need to be there. And sometimes just a little bit in advance.”
“That explains a lot,” said Suzie.
“I’ll be damned,” I said, staring at the watch. I’d seen it in Walker’s hands a hundred times before and never thought twice about it. Typical of the man, to hide his greatest secret in plain sight.
“I’m only revealing this to you now because we have to get where we’re going without being observed,” said Walker. “I hope I can depend on both of you to be discreet about this?”
“Oh sure,” I said cheerfully. “Right up to the point where I need to blackmail a favour out of you. So, where are we going?”
“Uptown,” said Walker. “Clubland, to be exact. The Adventurers Club. That distinguished home away from home for all the great heroes, gallants, and adventurers who pass through the Nightside. And most of them have, at one time or another.”
“Why not the Londinium Club?” I said. “It’s older, more established, and more exclusive than any other club in the Nightside, and it’s always been the home base of all the real Powers That Be.”
“Precisely,” said Walker. “Far too connected with the old order. The new Authorities intend to make a clean break with all the old ways of doing things and are determined to send a clear message, right from the start. So, the Adventurers Club it is.”
He fiddled with the rolled gold fob on the side of his watch, and the lid flew open, revealing an impenetrable darkness within. A deep, deep dark that seemed to draw my gaze in, till it felt like I was standing on the edge of an abyss and might fall in at any moment. And then the darkness leapt up and out, enveloping us all, and when it fell back again, we were somewhere else.
Uptown is the very best part of the Nightside, where all the very best people go. The most exclusive and exciting night spots, the most expensive bars and restaurants, and all the richest, most famous and powerful and totally up themselves people you could ever hope not to meet. And all the most exclusive, members-only, circle the wagons to keep out the riffraff clubs in Uptown gather together in Clubland. Where distinguished and discreet establishments cater to every need, enthusiasm, and obsession known to man. Some are nearly as old as the Nightside itself, while others deal in fads and fancies that come and go like mayflies. But they all have one thing in common. Membership is by invitation only. Plebs need not apply.
Walker led Suzie and me through the packed streets, and everyone gave way before us. Some because they recognised Walker, some because they recognised me, and quite a few because Suzie always looks dangerous even when she’s just wondering what’s for dinner. Walker nodded easily to famous and powerful faces, and they nodded respectfully back. He was one of them. Suzie and I quite definitely weren’t. They did give us plenty of room. Which on the whole I think I preferred.
I gave my attention to the various clubs we passed along the way—the famous and the infamous, the outrageously exotic and the determinedly obscene. Names you could drop to impress your friends, or infuriate your enemies. Members-only clubs are the ultimate extension of the Old Boys Network, and it is in these very private back rooms that all the real decisions get made. In between the very best drinks and drugs and debauchery, of course. You go to clubs like them to do things behind closed doors that you’d never even think of discussing in polite society, to do the things of which your friends and family would never approve.
Like the Caligula Club, dedicated to exploring the furthest reaches of pleasure and pain, the most extreme forms of sensation. Or Club Dead, exclusively for the mortally challenged. A club for zombies, vampires, mummies, and quite a few of the Frankenstein clan’s creations. (Club motto:
We belong dead.
) The Blue Parrott exists to cater to the Nightside’s bird-watchers. Oh yes, we have them, too. You’d be surprised at some of the strange species that turn up here, and bird-watchers from all over the world come to the Nightside to observe ancient, rare, and impossible species that can’t be found anywhere else. Everything from the dodo to the pteranodon, the giant roc to the fabled Oozalum bird. But no pigeons . . . There are no pigeons in the Nightside; or at least, not for long. Something eats them.
Then there’s Pagan’s Place, for barbarian warriors who want to better themselves, and right next to that, the Adventurers Club. Older than all the others put together, the original Club was supposedly founded back in the sixth century, and has been a watering hole for heroes between quests ever since. You wouldn’t have thought any real hero would be seen dead in a place like the Nightside, but something about its reputation draws them here, possibly like moths to a flame, and the Adventurers Club is where they gather. Getting in is not easy. In fact, simply getting past the Doorman can be an adventure in itself. I think you have to slay an ogre and rescue a princess just to be allowed to use the rest rooms.
Still, every adventurer with a name or a reputation worth the knowing is supposed to have passed through its doors at one time or another. Why? Perhaps because the Nightside is the single greatest challenge any hero can face, the Mount Everest of challenges, and you can’t call yourself a real hero until you’ve tested yourself against it. I only know about the Club because my sometime friend Julien Advent has been a Member in good standing on two separate occasions. First, when he was the greatest hero and adventurer of the Victorian Age, then again after a Timeslip brought him here in the nineteen sixties. Julien’s a good man and a revered personage; I planned to drop his name at every opportunity and hope some of his respectability rubbed off on me.
I said as much to Suzie, but she just shrugged. She’s never cared about being respectable.
“Julien’s not the oldest Member in the Club, though, is he?” she said.
“Not by a long way. I think that honour goes to Tommy Squarefoot. Of course, he’s a Neanderthal.”
Walker led us right up to the Adventurers Club Doorman, who stood tall and broad and very large before the closed Club doors. He was supposed to be a were sabre-tooth tiger, and given the sheer size of him, I was perfectly prepared to believe it. He stood aside for Walker, because everyone does, but gave first Suzie and then me his best cold, assessing look as we passed. Suzie glared right back at him, and he actually blushed a little and looked away.
“He likes you,” I said solemnly to Suzie.
“Shut up,” said Suzie.
“He likes you. He’s your special Doorman friend.”