Part 13 (1/2)

”Because of his special gift?” I said. ”The Collector has always had a weakness for unique items.”

”If the Collector is holding Tommy against his will, then we go where he is and take Tommy away from him,” said Larry. ”Whatever it takes.”

”The Collector is a very powerful personage,” I said carefully. ”The only reason he's not a Major Player in the Nightside is because he can't be bothered. He's dedicated his life to acquiring rare and valuable objects. To help him in his search, he mastered sciences and magics and a whole bunch of other disciplines most people have never even heard of. Also, he steals time machines. He's a fanatic, and dangerous with it.”

”I know,” said Larry. ”And I don't care.”

The rain was getting heavier. I moved us under a candy-striped awning to continue our conversation. Being dead, Larry probably didn't care about getting soaked, but I've always been susceptible to chills.

”Look,” I said, ”he isn't in it for the money. His collection is everything to him. So if he has taken to collecting people, you can be sure he won't give Tommy up without a fight.”

”I know,” said Larry. ”And I still don't care. One of the few good things about being dead is that you only have to care about the things you choose to care about. Let him do his worst. He can't hurt me.”

”Maybe not,” I said. ”But he could destroy you. Or make you into one of his exhibits. Or do a hundred other awful things that death could not protect you from.”

Larry thought about it. ”What are his protections like?”

”Top of the range, magical and scientific, and a few things we don't even have a name for. Weapons and defences he's collected from the past, the future, and any number of alternate realities. Plus his own private army of vicious little rococo robots. And let us not forget his latest acquisition, a time-travel device that apparently allows him to jump inside other people's heads and look out through their eyes.”

”Ah,” said Larry. ”Better kill him on sight, then.”

I had to smile at his confidence. ”Better men than you and I have tried and failed. I've managed to outwit him on a few occasions, but only because he's not too tightly wrapped. In his own way he's just as dangerous as his old friend Walker.”

Larry looked at me sharply. ”They know each other? I didn't know that.”

”They started out together,” I said. ”Thick as thieves and twice as tricky. And the fact that Walker is sending us, rather than facing the Collector himself, should tell you something.”

”Why is nothing ever simple?” said Larry, wistfully.

I shrugged. ”It's the Nightside. Everything's complicated here, including the Collector. He wasn't always crazy. He isn't always the villain. For all his many sins, he did help save us all from Lilith during the War.”

”I don't care,” Larry said stubbornly.

”What do you care about?” I said. I was honestly interested in the answer.

He didn't hesitate. ”I care about family, and friends. No-one else. Nothing else. We're going to get Tommy back even if we have to do it over the Collector's dead and lifeless body.”

”I seem to remember you saying something about Heaven and h.e.l.l seeming a lot closer, since you died,” I said. ”Are you really ready to murder a man, before you know the whole story? He could be innocent in this.”

”No-one's innocent in the Nightside,” said Larry. ”Innocent people don't come here. You know the Collector better than me; can you honestly say he hasn't done anything to deserve being killed?”

”No,” I said. ”I can't say that. But that's not a good enough reason to shoot him on sight. Let me try talking to him first.”

”Getting soft, Taylor,” said Larry.

I remembered meeting the Collector in a horrible, devastated future Nightside, the one I was supposed to bring about and had worked so hard to prevent. I remembered the horrible things the Collector did there, and the worse things he was prepared to let happen. I remembered how, long ago, he had found my mother for my father and put them together, and all the terrible things that came out of that. Including me. But I still wasn't ready to see him dead. If only because he'd also been Uncle Mark, when I was a kid.

I used my gift to find the Collector's current lair. He was always on the move, hiding his vast collection in more and more obscure locations, away from enemies and rivals and people like me. My inner eye snapped open as my gift manifested, and I shot up out of my head, my Sight soaring higher and higher into the night, sailing weightlessly in the star-filled skies, looking down at the twisting, turning streets of the Nightside.

So much light for so dark a place.

Street-lights and neon signs, and all the blazing multi-coloured come-ons from a town where sin is always in season. Scientific and magical glows, sputtering and flaring and detonating in the night, as a thousand forbidden experiments ran their inevitable courses. The dazzling streaks and smears of light from cars and trucks and other things as they roared endlessly along the Nightside roads, never slowing, never stopping. Neon illuminations, gleaming defiantly from clubs and bars and emporiums, beckoning on men and women with empty hearts and overburdened wallets. Let a thousand poisoned flowers bloom, pus.h.i.+ng back the dark with their harsh glamour.

I sent my Sight flying over the Nightside, and it turned slowly beneath me, a city within a city, a world within a world. My Sight showed me the world as it really was and not as we would have it. Huge and transparent, their crowned heads sc.r.a.ping against the sky, the colossal Awful Ones went about their unknowable business, striding through solid buildings as though they weren't even there. Long, sleek, bat-winged shapes soared through the chill upper air, flames leaping up from deep-set eyes and wide, fanged mouths. And wee-winged faeries came streaking through the night in s.h.i.+mmering flocks, speeding and darting back and forth in intricate patterns, leaving behind sparkling trails of sheer exuberance.

But no matter where I went or where I looked, I couldn't See the Collector or his lair. I looked up into the frigid glow of the huge oversized Moon that dominated the Nightside sky. The Collector had a base there once, hidden away deep under the Sea of Tranquility; but he hadn't gone back. It isn't easy, to look at the Moon in the Nightside. There is no man in the Moon in that pallid, cratered sphere. It's so big, so overwhelming, the whole thing seems like one great senile face. And if that face had ever known anything worth knowing, it had forgotten it long ago.

A thought occurred to me. Since the sun never has and never will s.h.i.+ne in the Nightside, exactly what light is our oversized and eternally full Moon reflecting? A disturbing thought ... for another day.

I looked down at the Nightside, spread out before me like the most seductive wh.o.r.e in the world. Promising everything and anything, her wide smile and inviting eyes hiding the cold calculation in her heart. The Collector belonged in a place like this, where we all know the price of everything and the value of nothing. The Collector could be richer than anyone if he'd only sell the smallest part of his magnificent collection. He could give up running and hiding and settle down in comfort. But he'd never give up his collection. It was all he had.

The more I looked down, the more I could feel the Collector's presence even if I couldn't See him. He was there, somewhere. I looked down and down, and my Sight plunged suddenly through the packed streets and further on down, into the places below the Nightside. I ignored the World Beneath, and the subterranean galleries, and the worms of the Earth, following a trail I could sense, if not put a name to. My Sight led me on, like a hound hot on a scent. And all at once I knew where the Collector had gone to ground this time.

The many tunnels and platforms and stations of the Underground rail system spread out spiralling before me, an endless series of branching and interconnecting tunnels, twisting and turning through the bedrock, sometimes diving dangerously deep. I could See travellers on their platforms, and trains roaring through their tunnels, blinking on and off as they dropped in and out of other-dimensional short cuts, to take them to places that weren't really places. And there, hidden quietly away in the heart of the system, deep in the insanely complicated mess of new and old stations, was the Collector's new secret lair.

My first clue was heavy-duty magical s.h.i.+elds where there shouldn't have been any. My Sight drifted lightly through the defences, and immediately I Saw signs of life and power and arcane energies emanating from a shut-down station no-one had used in years. There are a great many stations in the Underground that no-one visits any more. Replaced or abandoned, or sealed off and forgotten because they'd become too dangerous, or disturbing. Just like the Collector, to hide his precious collection in a place no-one would want to go. Essentially he now had his own private station, no longer listed on any destinations board, that no-one could get to because they didn't know where to tell the train to stop.

I eased out through his s.h.i.+elds, and shot back up into the light-studded night. I dropped back into my own head and shut down my Sight, carefully re-establis.h.i.+ng my mental s.h.i.+elds. It's never safe to keep an open mind in the Nightside; you never know what might walk in. I told Larry where we had to go to find the Collector and hopefully Tommy. Larry nodded. We were on our way to rescue his long-lost brother, and go face-to-face with one of the most dangerous men in the Nightside, in his own lair, but there wasn't a trace of emotion in the dead man's face or his cold blue eyes. He'd said often enough that the dead only had room for one emotion at a time. And he was still running on vengeance.

We walked through the rain, not speaking to one another, and entered Cheyne Walk Station. We paid Charon his price, acquired our tickets, and went down into the Underground. There was a time they'd let me ride for free, but nothing lasts forever; least of all grat.i.tude in the Nightside. The crowds seemed thicker than ever, pus.h.i.+ng and jostling through the packed tunnels, oblivious to everything but the needs and pressures that drove them. Larry led the way, opening up a path with the impact of his blunt, unfeeling frame, while I wandered along behind, thinking my own thoughts. The air was hot and close, with steam rising from people's damp clothes. There was fresh graffiti on the walls. I don't know where people find the energy. Or the wit. Walker moves Walker moves in in mysterious ways, Don't let them out of the mirrors! Dagon is back, and this time it's personal. mysterious ways, Don't let them out of the mirrors! Dagon is back, and this time it's personal. And, in very neat, educated handwriting: And, in very neat, educated handwriting: If this is consensus reality, some of us are cheating. If this is consensus reality, some of us are cheating.

There were even new T-s.h.i.+rts on sale, courtesy of Harry Fabulous, the Nightside's premiere con man, fixer, and Go To man for everything that's bad for you. He'd set up a stall at the bottom of the escalators and was busy being his usual effervescent, bulls.h.i.+tting self, with a big happy smile for everyone, only slightly undermined by dark, desperate eyes. Harry had undergone a close encounter of the spiritual kind, and it showed. I wasn't surprised to find him in the Underground. Harry never stayed anywhere long because someone was always after him. He might or might not have actually reformed, but there were still any number of old creditors and aggrieved past customers very keen to track him down and have a few words with him.

He was currently wearing a T-s.h.i.+rt that said bluntly, No Questions, No Refunds, No Questions, No Refunds, over a pair of cheap knock-off Levis and even-less-convincing trainers. He was doing everything but sing and dance for his supper, thrusting his bagged T-s.h.i.+rts into people's faces as they pa.s.sed. The display frame at his side boasted s.h.i.+rts with such messages as over a pair of cheap knock-off Levis and even-less-convincing trainers. He was doing everything but sing and dance for his supper, thrusting his bagged T-s.h.i.+rts into people's faces as they pa.s.sed. The display frame at his side boasted s.h.i.+rts with such messages as Go Down Lilith! h.e.l.l Is Other Drivers. The Eyes of Walker Are Upon You, Go Down Lilith! h.e.l.l Is Other Drivers. The Eyes of Walker Are Upon You, And the slightly disturbing And the slightly disturbing Everyone's d.a.m.ned Except Me and My Dog. Everyone's d.a.m.ned Except Me and My Dog. Harry recognised Larry and me as we approached, tensed for a moment as though considering running, then settled for an extra-wide smile and a studied pretence that he was actually glad to see us. Harry recognised Larry and me as we approached, tensed for a moment as though considering running, then settled for an extra-wide smile and a studied pretence that he was actually glad to see us.

”h.e.l.lo, Harry,” I said. ”Keeping busy?”

”Oh, you know how it is, Mr. Taylor,” said Harry, s.h.i.+fting nervously from foot to foot. ”Make a bit here, make a bit there ... All strictly legit, of course, these days. The hereafter seems so much closer than it used to be.”

”Lot of that about,” Larry said solemnly.

”Heard anything about the Collector, Harry?” I said casually.

He tensed again, his eyes blinking rapidly. ”The Collector, Mr. Taylor? Not as such ... But a lot of people have been asking after him just recently. Some of them quite official if you know what I mean.”

”But you didn't tell them anything, did you, Harry?” I said.

”I never tell anyone anything, Mr. Taylor. Bad for business. Speaking of which, can I point out that you are quite definitely scaring off my customers, and I do have a living to make...”

”Be good, Harry,” I said, moving off. ”For goodness' sake.”

Larry and I made our way down, heading for the more dangerous platforms and the more dangerous destinations. The crowds began to thin out. We pa.s.sed a whole new bunch of buskers. A burning man stood stiffly among leaping blue-white flames that blackened and split his flesh but failed to consume him, singing a wistful song of unrequited love. A blind busker sang a torch song in Greek, about his mother. And a shadow blasted onto a wall sang a sad song in j.a.panese. I dropped them all a few coins without getting too close. Larry ignored them.

When we finally got to the deepest platform of all, it was practically empty. Only a couple of knights in dark armour, grim and threatening. They both bore Satanic markings on their breast-plates, daubed in fresh blood. Deep red flames burned behind the eye-slits of their steel helms, following Larry and me as we pa.s.sed. I couldn't help remembering King Artur, of Sinister Albion. A different history, where Merlin Satansp.a.w.n never did reject his father. King Artur was currently missing, presumed killed by Walker. I wondered whether I'd find the dark King in the Collector's lair, part of his new collection ...