Part 5 (2/2)
Bettie shrugged easily and slipped her arm through mine. My first impulse was to pull away, but I didn't. Her arm felt good where it was. I looked at her thoughtfully, but she'd given up on grilling me for the moment and was looking interestedly about her.
”I don't think I've ever been this deep into Uptown. You don't come here unless you are almost obscenely wealthy. I'll bet there are shops here where a pair of shoes would cost more than my annual salary. Remind me to steal a pair before we leave. Where are we going, exactly?”
”I need to talk to Walker,” I said.
Bettie slammed to a halt, stopping me with her. ”The head man himself? Darling, you don't mess around, do you?”
”If anyone knows where the Collector hangs his hat these days, it'll be Walker,” I said. ”Can we start moving again?”
She nodded stiffly, and we set off at a somewhat slower pace than before.
”But, gosh, I mean...Walker,” said Bettie, giving me her wide-eyed look again. ”Our very own polite and civilised and extremely dangerous lord and master? The man who can make people disappear if he doesn't like the look of them? That Walker? There is a definite limit as to how far I'm prepared to go for this story, and annoying Walker is right there at the top of my list of Things Not To Do.”
”You'll be fine, as long as you're with me.” I tried hard to sound calm and confident. ”He'll talk to me. Partly because Walker is another old friend of my father's. Partly because he's an old friend of the Collector. But mostly because I shall dazzle him with my charming personality.”
”Maybe I'll stay outside while you talk to him,” said Bettie.
I grinned at her and noticed abruptly that she wasn't wearing her polka-dot dress any more. She was now wearing a creamy off-the-shoulder number, very chic, and a pink pill-box hat with a veil. The horns on her forehead peeked demurely out from under the brim of the hat, lifting the veil just a little. I decided not to say anything.
”Is this really such a good idea, sweetie?” Bettie said finally. ”I mean, Walker...That man is seriously scary. He's disappeared at least nine of the Unnatural Inquirer's reporters because they were getting too close to something he didn't want known. Or at least discussed. We know it was him, because he sent us personally signed In Deep Condolence cards.”
”Yeah,” I said. ”That sounds like Walker.”
”I don't want to be disappeared, John! It would be very bad for my career. Promise me you'll protect me. I am too young, too talented, and too utterly gorgeous in a fas.h.i.+onably understated way to be disappeared! It would be a crime against journalism.”
”Relax,” I said. ”You'll be fine. I can handle Walker.”
I don't like to lie to people, unless I have to, but sometimes you have to say what people want to hear to get them to do what you want them to do. And I had to talk to Walker. He was the only one who might know where the Collector was hiding out these days, who might be willing to tell me. It was always a calculated risk, talking to Walker. In the end, when we finally run out of excuses, one of us is going to kill the other. I've always known that. And so has he.
We like each other. We've saved each other's lives. It's complicated. It's the Nightside.
”Do you need your gift to find Walker?” Bettie asked, staring distractedly about her as though half-expecting him to suddenly appear out of some door or side alley, just from the mention of his name.
”No,” I said. ”I know where he'll be. Where he always is at this time. Taking tea at his Gentleman's Club.”
”Walker belongs to a club?” said Bettie. ”Result, darling! A definite exclusive! Which club?”
”There is only one club for those of Walker's exalted position,” I said. ”The oldest and most exclusive club in the Nightside. The Londinium Club.”
Bettie looked sharply at me. ”But...that was destroyed. During the Lilith War. We published photos. That was where the Authorities were killed. And eaten.”
”Quite right,” I said. ”But it's back. Word is, the Club rebuilt itself. Any building that's survived everything the Nightside can throw at it for over two thousand years isn't going to let a little thing like being destroyed in a war slow it down.”
”Oh,” said Bettie. ”Do you mind that I'm holding your arm?”
”No,” I said. ”I don't mind.”
The last time I'd seen the Londinium Club, during the height of the Lilith War, it had been one h.e.l.l of a mess. The magnificent Roman facade had been cracked and holed, smoke-blackened and fire-damaged. The great marble steps leading up to the single ma.s.sive door had been fouled with blood and s.h.i.+t. And the Club's legendary Doorman, who had kept out the uninvited and unwelcome for centuries beyond counting, had been torn apart, his severed head impaled on the railings. Inside, it had been even worse.
But now everything seemed back to normal, right down to the fully restored Roman facade. Which I'd always found rather crude, to be honest. There was a new Doorman, however. It seemed the Club could only restore itself, and not those who'd died defending it. Just as well, really. A lot of the Club's members were no loss to anyone, for all their wealth and power. Anyone rich and powerful enough to belong to the Londinium Club had almost certainly done appalling and unspeakable things to get there. And that very definitely included Walker.
The new Doorman was a tall and elegantly slender fellow dressed in the full finery of Regency fas.h.i.+on. Right down to the heart-shaped beauty mark on his cheek, the poser. He moved deliberately forward to block my way as I started up the steps towards the door. I stopped right in front of him and eased my arm out of Bettie's so I could give the Doorman my full attention. He looked down his nose at me, and there was a lot of it to look down. His eyes were cold and distant, and his thin smile was carefully calculated to be polite without containing the slightest trace of warmth or welcome. I was sure Bettie was giving him her brightest smile, but the Doorman and I only had eyes for each other.
”I have the name and face of every current Member of the Londinium Club committed to memory, sir,” said the Doorman. He made the sir sound like an insult. ”And I believe I am correct in saying that you, sir, and this...person, are not Members in good standing. Therefore, you have no business being here.”
”Wrong,” I said. ”I'm here to see Walker.”
”He does not wish to be seen, sir. And particularly not by the likes of you. You may leave now.”
”I don't think so,” I said. ”Being faced down by a little snot like you would be bad for my reputation. One last chance-go and tell Walker I'm here.”
”Leave,” said the Doorman. ”You are not welcome here. You will never be welcome here.”
”Just once, I'd love to do this the easy way,” I said wistfully. ”Now step aside, fart face, or I'll do something amusing to you.”
The Doorman sniffed disdainfully, gestured languidly with one hand, and a s.h.i.+mmering wall of force sprang up between us. I fell back a step, sensing the terrible power running through the field. This was new. The old Doorman had relied on sheer obnoxious personality, of which he had a lot, to keep the riff-raff out. That, and a punch that could concuss a cow. Presumably the Club had decided it needed a more st.u.r.dy defence these days. The new Doorman wasn't actually sneering at me, he wouldn't lower himself that much; but it felt like he was. And I couldn't have that.
I stepped forward again, so close to the field I could feel it p.r.i.c.kling on my skin, and looked the Doorman right in the eye. He met my gaze coldly, with a supercilious stare. I kept looking at him, and he began to shake, as he realised he couldn't look away. Beads of sweat popped out all over his face as I held his gaze with mine, and he started to make low, whimpering sounds.
”Drop the screen,” I said. ”We're coming in.”
The screen snapped off. I looked away, and the Doorman collapsed, sitting down suddenly on the steps as though all the strength had gone out of his legs. He actually flinched back as I led Bettie up the steps past him. She looked at me, frowning, as we approached the ma.s.sive front door of the Londinium Club.
”What the h.e.l.l did you do to him?”
”I stared him down,” I said.
”That really wasn't a very nice thing to do, sweetie. He was only doing his job. I'm not sure I want you holding my arm any more.”
”Suit yourself,” I said. ”I don't always have time for nice. Or the inclination.”
”You're full of surprises, aren't you?”
”You have no idea,” I said.
The huge door swung open before us. Just as well; I'd had something particularly unpleasant and destructive in mind in case it hadn't. Inside, the main foyer was exactly as I remembered it, intimidatingly large, unbearably stuffy, and smotheringly luxurious. Mosaics and paintings and marble pillars, and a general air of smug exclusivity. The last time I'd been here there'd been blood and bodies everywhere, but you'd never know it now. Wars came and apocalypses went, but the Londinium Club goes on forever.
Some say there are terrible caverns deep beneath the Club, where the oldest Members still gather to wors.h.i.+p something ancient and awful. Baphomet, some say, or the King in Yellow, or the Serpent in the Sun. But there are always rumours like that in the Nightside.
A few people pa.s.sed us, looking very prosperous and important. They studiously ignored me, and Bettie. I caught the eye of a liveried footman, and he came reluctantly over to see what I wanted.
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