Part 12 (1/2)

Dash and s.h.i.+rley looked at each other, and they suddenly seemed older and more frail. Dash's hands closed together on the table before him, and s.h.i.+rley put her hand over them.

”Can't say I approve of what Hadleigh's made of himself,” Dash said finally. ”Detective Inspectre for G.o.d's sake ... We should never have left him alone, all those years. Not our fault, of course, but...”

”He fell in with bad company,” said s.h.i.+rley, glaring at Walker. ”We'd hardly been back a year, before he disappeared. And when he came back ... We don't talk any more. We never see him. He does write us the occasional letter, now and again. But it's not the same.”

”He was our first-born,” said Dash. ”He meant so much to us. We had such hopes for him ...”

”Larry and Tommy came later,” said s.h.i.+rley. ”Good boys, both of them. Nothing like their elder brother. We had hopes for them, too ... but Larry was murdered by his own partner, and we lost Tommy to the Lilith War.”

”Never did like Larry's partner,” said Dash. ”That Mag gie Boniface ... stuck-up little piece. Just because her family was big in voodoo ...”

”I never knew what he saw in her,” said s.h.i.+rley.

Dash grinned suddenly. ”I could make a good guess. She had a balcony you could do Shakespeare from ...”

”Oh, hush, you nasty old man,” said s.h.i.+rley. And they smiled at each other.

”Larry hasn't been the same, since he came back from the dead,” said s.h.i.+rley. ”We try to look after him, as best we can, but he keeps us at a distance. As though we might be bothered because he's dead. The very idea. He's our son.”

”Seen a lot worse than the walking dead,” said Dash, nodding. ”Lot worse.”

”We spent a lot of time and money looking for Tommy,” said s.h.i.+rley. ”After the War was over. But it was chaos everywhere, everything in such a mess ... and there were so many people missing. No-one knew anything. Dash wore himself out, walking up and down the streets, looking for something, some sign ... until finally I made him stop. We did think about hiring you, Mr. Taylor; but we heard you'd already tried your gift, to no effect, so what was the point? So we got used to the idea that our poor Tommy was gone, another victim of that d.a.m.ned War.”

”Larry never gave up on his brother,” said Dash. ”Always was stubborn as a mule, that boy.”

”They were both good boys,” said s.h.i.+rley.

”Good boys,” said Dash.

They sat close together, holding hands, their heads bowed.

”We didn't do so well with our children,” said s.h.i.+rley. ”Larry's dead, Tommy's gone, and Hadleigh ... G.o.d alone knows what Hadleigh is. Three sons, but no grandchildren, and never likely to have any now. Was all that we did for nothing? We saved the world, on at least three occasions. President gave us medals. In private. And all for what? To grow old and see our children lost to us. Don't we deserve something for all we did?”

”We didn't do it for the rewards,” said Dash, squeezing her hand. ”We did it because it needed doing.”

”Duty and responsibility,” said Walker, nodding. ”The only things that matter.”

”Oh, f.u.c.k off, Walker,” said s.h.i.+rley.

I felt like applauding.

After the Londinium Club, Walker and I paid a visit to the Uptown Board of Unnatural Commerce. A big stately building right in the heart of the Nightside business sector. All very solemn, very dignified and businesslike; you could practically smell fresh bank-notes on the rarefied lobby air. Walker took me in and out of various offices, where no expense had been spared, and comfort and ostentatious luxury came as standard. He made a point of introducing me to a whole series of powerful and influential people, who all pretended to be glad to see me. Because if I was with Walker, then I must be a personage worth knowing. They offered me thick, murky sherry, which I declined, and listened to my every casual remark as though each contained the secrets of the world. I smiled and nodded and avoided answering any of their subtly probing questions as to what I was doing with Walker. Let them wonder and worry.

It didn't take me long to work out why Walker wanted me to meet these high city types. These were the people who supplied Walker with private and confidential business information, from the inside. Such as who was on the way up, who was on the way down, and who could be pressured or blackmailed ... All so Walker could keep on top of things and apply corrections when necessary. More than one top business man with a pale and sweaty face eased me to one side to whisper how Walker had destroyed this person or that, or even made them disappear ... because they put their personal financial interests ahead of the Nightside's.

No-one was allowed to threaten the status quo, not while Walker was on the job. No matter how rich and powerful they might think they were.

The Street of the G.o.ds came next. Walker's portable Timeslip was working overtime now, slamming us from one place to another. Walker and I strode down the Street, side by side, and a whole bunch of Beings, Powers, and Other-Dimensional Deities decided to retire to their various churches, lock the doors, and hide under their altars until we were gone. Other Beings and their congregations made a point of coming out into the Street, just to be seen conversing amiably with Walker and me and demonstrate to everyone else that they were on good terms with us. And not in any way afraid of either of us. Walker was very polite, as always, and even allowed a few of the G.o.ds to bless him.

”Doesn't any of this ever go to your head?” I asked him, as we left our admirers behind.

”It's pleasant enough, in its way,” said Walker. ”One of the perks of the job. But it's not real. There isn't one of them that really likes or even respects me. It's the position, and the power that comes with it. They'd bow down to you as quickly if you were in my position.”

”There was a time when people did that,” I said. ”Back when some quarters saw me as a potential King in waiting. Can't say I ever liked it much. They weren't talking to me, just who they thought I might be.”

”You've made people respect you,” said Walker. ”You've put a lot of effort into building your reputation. And unlike many in the Nightside, you really have done most of the awful things you're supposed to have done.”

”A reputation helps keep the flies off,” I said. ”But it's there to protect me, not feed my ego.”

”And it is a useful tool, to make people do what you want them to do.”

”Yes,” I said. ”But...”

And then I stopped, because I didn't know what came next. Walker just smiled. And so we carried on quietly together, for a while.

”Normally, I'd take you to the Exiles Club next,” said Walker. ”Introduce you to all the otherworldly and other-dimensional royalty in exile; thrown up here on the Nightside's sh.o.r.es through Timeslips or dimensional doors, or some other unfortunate celestial accident. All the lost Kings and Queens, Emperors and Divinities ... If only to show you that royalty can be a real pain in the a.r.s.e, just like everyone else. Still, nothing like having a King or Queen bow their head to you to cheer up a dull day. Unfortunately, the Exiles are currently a bit mad at me, ever since I found it necessary to have some of them killed to maintain public order. You remember, John.”

I nodded. I remembered their severed heads set on iron spikes outside the Londinium Club. Queen Helena, Monarch of the Evening in a future twilight Earth. Uptown Taffy Lewis, crime boss, and the sc.u.mbag's sc.u.mbag. And General Condor, a great leader of men from some future s.p.a.cefleet; who made some unfortunate alliances in his quest to do the right thing. Walker never hesitated to deal firmly with anyone who might challenge his authority.

Was he trying to tell me something in his own subtle way? Did he have an iron spike ready for my head if I turned him down?

That was Walker's main strength; he always kept you guessing.

Somewhat to my surprise, our next stop turned out to be Rats' Alley; where the homeless scrabble for thrown-out food or a place to lay their heads. Rats' Alley is a wide, cobbled square and a few narrow tributaries, set behind some of the finest and most upscale restaurants in the Nightside. Here, out of sight of the fine clientele who swan in through the front door, exists a small community of those who have fallen off the edge and can't find their way back. The homeless, the beggars, the lost and the ragged, the damaged and the d.a.m.ned, living in cardboard boxes, lean-to shelters, plastic sheeting, or only layers of clothing and the occasional blanket. Refugees from the world the rest of us take for granted.

I spent some time here, once.

Rats' Alley was a rougher, more dangerous place these days, with the loss of their saint and guardian angel, Sister Morphine. Razor Eddie still slept there as often as not, keeping the vultures at bay, and, of course, they still had Jacqueline Hyde. She came lurching out of the shadows to block our way, wrapped in the grimy tatters of what had once been an expensive coat. Walker and I stopped, to show respect for her territory. Everyone knew Jacqueline's story. This grim, bedraggled figure had once been a debutante and a high flyer, until she made the mistake of experimenting with her grandfather's formula. Now she's one of the Nightside's sadder love stories. Jacqueline is in love with Hyde, and he with her, but they can only ever meet briefly, in the moment of the change.

She snarled at Walker and me, and her body exploded suddenly into muscle and bulk. Hyde stood swaying and growling before us, his huge hands clutching at the air, eager to rend and tear, break bones, and feast on their marrow. He towered over us, his brute face flushed with the hatred he felt for all Mankind. Jacqueline Hyde: two souls in one body, together and separated at the same time.

”Easy,” said Walker. ”Slow and easy, that's the way. You don't want to hurt us, Hyde. It's Walker. You remember Walker.”

If anyone else had tried the calm and reasonable routine, Hyde would have turned him into roadkill. But Walker was using the Voice, in a calm and soothing way, rather than his usual abrupt commands. Hyde's great head swayed slowly back and forth, deep-set eyes blinking confusedly under heavy eye-brow ridges, then he turned away suddenly and was gone, back into the shadows.

”I didn't know you could use your Voice like that,” I said.

”Lot you don't know about me, John,” Walker said cheerfully. ”I could write a book. If I only had the time.”