“Why do you have white-on-white eyes?” said Eddie.
“To see more clearly.”
“Why doesn’t Hadleigh Oblivion have eyes like yours?” said Roxie.
“Because he’s not just a graduate of the Dark Academie; he’s an instructor.”
Eddie and Roxie decided they’d asked enough questions.
The journey after that was reasonably uneventful. Nothing out of the usual. Something large and heavy tried to smash its way through the carriage wall, but the solid steel held firm, and the dents flattened themselves out again. Whatever was outside howled with rage, a vicious, inhuman sound, then dropped away and was quickly left behind. For a while, something ran back and forth on the carriage roof with soft pitter-patter feet, laughing breathlessly. It stopped abruptly, and its voice sounded inside the carriage, sweet and seductive, like a porn star choking on honey.
“Let me in, let me in. I want to stir my sticky fingers in your flesh and make you over into new and exciting things.”
The young woman finally raised her eyes from her book and addressed the ceiling. “Knock it off. Or I’ll tell Hadleigh about you.”
There was a pause, then the soft footsteps pitter-pattered off in search of easier prey. The young woman went back to her reading. Eddie and Roxie sat back in their seats, feeling just a little outclassed.
* * *
• • •
The train finally slammed to a halt, and the door hissed open onto a platform in the Nightside. Eddie and Roxie disembarked, leaving the young woman on the train with her book. Crowds of people, and some things that were only trying to look like people, and some things that were just things, surged along the platform and shouldered each other aside in their eagerness to get to the escalators first. All kinds came to the Nightside, for all kinds of reasons; and none of them could wait to get started. Eddie and Roxie allowed themselves to be carried along with the tide, up the escalators and out into the long night. And then Eddie stood his ground, ignoring the crush, to get a good look at where he’d come to. There had never been time for sight-seeing on any of his previous brief visits to the Nightside, but given the current circumstances, he felt a definite need to better understand just what he was going to be dealing with. Roxie stood quietly at his side, letting him take all the time he needed.
Wherever Eddie looked, it was all hot neon and cold-eyed predators. Packed crowds hurried up and down the pavements, in desperate pursuit of pleasures that might not have a name but certainly had a price. The street was full of fever-bright colours and impenetrable shadows; shop-windows full of dreams, only a little used; and any number of people more than ready to sell their souls. Or someone else’s.
Phosphorescent fairies went tumbling across the night sky, darting and wheeling and throwing off multi-coloured sparks like living Catherine wheels. Something impossibly huge with wide membranous wings moved slowly across the huge moon, actually blotting it out for a while. And here and there the Awful Folk, vast and misty, went walking through buildings as though they weren’t even there.
Roxie finally took Eddie by the arm and moved him off down the street because she knew that if she didn’t, he’d just keep standing there, finding new things to look at. Eddie let her do it, studying everything with keen fascination while trying not to look like a tourist. He didn’t want to stand out.
All kinds of vehicles surged up and down the road because in the Nightside, the traffic never stops. Everything from sedan chairs carried by indentured poltergeists, to taxis that ran on debased holy water, and ambulances that ran on distilled suffering. Motor-cycle messengers who snorted powdered virgin’s blood to keep them going, and some things that only looked like cars so they could sneak up on slower-moving traffic and eat them. Insanely long, articulated vehicles thundered along, carrying all kinds of goods to all kinds of places. There were no traffic lights and no pedestrian crossings. None of this was news to Eddie; he’d read all the reports, but it was something else entirely to see it with his own eyes. To feel the terrible, relentless vitality of the long night, the desperate needs and ruthless ambitions, the sense that anything was possible here, anything at all. If you had the money to buy it or the guts to go after it.
Eddie peered into shop-windows full of everything that was bad for you: you or someone else. Books full of forbidden knowledge, remaindered and second hand. Drugs and potions so you could play Russian Roulette with your brain chemistry; waters from the spring of eternal youth, still and sparkling; and assorted bottles full of untamed moods and wild imaginations. Everything you ever dreamed of or were afraid to admit you wanted, all of it at unbeatable prices.
Night-clubs that catered to every taste, their doors left open so heavy bass beats or mournful jazz could spill out into the street. Languorous women smiled on every street-corner, while discreet establishments offered sin and temptation and every variation on a good time you could think of. Barkers and shills loudly proclaimed the glories within, promising everything that ever woke you from your sleep in a hot sweat and did everything short of grabbing hold of passers-by and throwing them inside.
So they could be cheated, abused, even killed. There were no protections here, apart from Buyer very much beware.
Eddie ended up striding quickly down the street, staring straight ahead.
“I don’t think I approve of a lot of this,” he said finally.
“This is the Nightside, and no one cares what you think,” Roxie said cheerfully. “Anything goes; and your conscience is your problem.”
“There is no right or wrong here,” said Eddie. “No morality, only endless shades of grey.”
“Now you’re getting it,” said Roxie. “Freedom, real freedom, has to include the right to try anything, even if it’s bad for you. Perhaps particularly then. There are no laws in the long night, no restraints, and no safety nets. Which is why everyone here has never felt so alive. No one runs faster or more happily than the dog who’s finally been let off his leash.”
“People could get hurt,” said Eddie. “People could die.”
“Oh, they do,” said Roxie. “All the time. That’s part of the thrill.”
“We’re never going to agree on this,” said Eddie.
“No reason why we should,” said Roxie. “Oh hell, look who it isn’t.”
Because it was the Nightside, one of the first people they bumped into was someone they already knew. Dead Boy came sauntering down the street towards them, hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his greatcoat, smiling easily. He planted himself right in front of them and fixed them with his dark, feverish eyes.
“The name is Shaman Bond,” Eddie said quickly.
“Of course it is!” said Dead Boy, dropping Eddie a roguish wink. “Hello, Roxie! Killed anyone interesting recently? What are you two doing in the Nightside? Is this something to do with the Drood in his armour I heard about earlier? I did wonder if that might be Eddie Drood. No one else would dare. Don’t worry; I won’t tell anyone.”
“Of course you will,” said Roxie. “You can’t help yourself. Just try not to do it till we’re gone.”
“Oh sure,” said Dead Boy, entirely unoffended. “I know who you are too. Nothing like being dead to help you see the world more clearly. The dead have no illusions. How’s your sister Isabella?”
Roxie glared at him. “Keep your voice down! She’s fine. And she told me to tell you, she only goes out with things that have a pulse.”
“Doesn’t know what she’s missing,” sniggered Dead Boy. “But I was just being polite. I’m in a relationship these days. Have you met my car?”
He gestured expansively at the gleaming, futuristic vehicle hovering next to the pavement because it didn’t have any wheels. The silver sheen was almost painfully bright, and the sleek lines were so fiercely aerodynamic, the car looked like it could drive between raindrops without getting wet.
“I thought the traffic here nev
er stopped?” said Eddie.
“The rules of the road don’t apply to my girl-friend,” Dead Boy said proudly. “She wanted to say hello to you.”
The car shuddered and stretched, the long lines flexing and flowing as the car stood up and took on a human form. She draped an arm across Dead Boy’s shoulders and beamed happily at Eddie. He nodded resignedly as he recognised the tall and buxom sex droid from the Twenty-Third Century. It took more than one orgy to change her name to Silicon Lily. She was smartly turned-out in a classic little black dress, cut just high enough at the back to show off the bar-code and copyright notice on her magnificent left buttock. Her frizzy steel hair sparked with static, her eyes were silver, and she smelled of pure musk. Silicon Lily was a luxury model and wanted everyone to know it.
“Hello, lover,” she said to Eddie in a rich sultry voice. “Been awhile, hasn’t it?”
“Lover?” said Roxie, dangerously.
“Aren’t you glad to see me, darling?” Lily said to Eddie, not even glancing at Roxie.
“Well, darling?” said Roxie. “Are you glad to see her? And aren’t you going to introduce us?”
Eddie thought seriously about running but was pretty sure either of them could tackle him and bring him down before he got half-way down the street. So he sighed inwardly and did the honours. Remembering at the last moment to remind Lily that he was currently Shaman Bond.
“I didn’t know you were a transforming droid, Lily?” he said finally.
“A girl doesn’t tell all her secrets on a first date,” said Lily.
“So there was a date?” said Roxie.
“I’m with Dead Boy now,” said Silicon Lily. “Isn’t he cute?”
“Not the word I would have used,” said Eddie.
“You two have a history?” said Roxie, fixing Eddie with a disturbingly cold gaze.
“Only in the sense that history is a thing of the past,” said Eddie.
Roxie put her arm through his and grinned cheerfully. “You’re so easy to tease. Relax, lover. We’ve all got at least one dubious ex in our past.”
“What are you doing in the Nightside, Shaman?” said Lily. “You do know Walker has put out the hard word on Eddie Drood?”
“Hell of a price on your head,” Dead Boy said cheerfully. “Not necessarily attached to your body. I might be tempted to go after it myself if I cared about money, which mostly I don’t. Once you’re dead, you don’t feel the need for all the usual necessities. It’s very liberating.”
“What about me, lover?” said Silicon Lily. “Aren’t I a necessity?”
“You are a luxury,” said Dead Boy, hugging her to him with a grip that would have damaged anyone normal. “But I couldn’t exist without you.”
“Do you know what’s happened at the Wulfshead?” said Roxie.
“Yes,” said Dead Boy. “Good thing I prefer to drink at Strangefellows.”
He wasn’t really being hard-hearted. It was just that, being dead, he didn’t take death as seriously as everyone else.
“We’re here looking for information on why the Nightside’s boundaries have changed,” said Eddie.
Dead Boy shrugged. “I don’t think anyone knows what’s going on there. Came as a complete surprise to everyone I know. But then, I don’t move in the best-informed circles. Your best bet would be to ask at Strangefellows. They always have the best gossip. People there often know things that haven’t even happened yet. Though to be fair, that’s mostly because they’re the ones planning it. Come with us, we’ll take you.”
“Right!” said Lily. “I feel like stretching my legs.”
She turned back into a car, a process that wasn’t any less disturbing for being seen in reverse. Dead Boy got into the driving seat but didn’t even try to touch the steering wheel. Lily always insisted on driving herself. Dead Boy rooted around inside the glove compartment and came up with a half-full bottle of vodka and a packet of chocolate hob-nobs, and cheerfully indulged himself while Eddie and Roxie got into the back seat. Roxie shot Eddie a sideways glance.
“How does it feel, to be back inside your old girl-friend again?”
Eddie pretended he hadn’t heard.
* * *
• • •
Lily steered her way expertly through the packed traffic, thanks to a carefully calculated mixture of inhumanly fast reflexes and open intimidation. Eddie leaned back in his seat and watched the streets flow by in a smear of multi-coloured neon. So many people, bustling up and down the narrow pavements, so full of life and energy. It had honestly never occurred to Eddie before, that so many people would want to come to the Nightside. Knowing it was dangerous, knowing the odds were stacked against them, but still chasing their dreams. Eddie might not approve of the nature of some of those dreams, but he had to admire the courage it took to pursue them.
A white truck suddenly pulled out in front of the futuristic car and slammed on its brakes, forcing Lily to slow down too. The back of the truck burst open, and long leprous tentacles shot out. Lined with vicious, toothed suckers, the tentacles stretched out to engulf the car and drag her into the crimson maw inside the truck. Eddie sat up straight, but before he could do anything Lily opened up with her dual flame-throwers. Bright yellow flames scorched and blackened the writhing tentacles, which snapped back into the truck’s interior. Lily then opened fire with her front-mounted machine-guns, and the heavy bullets chewed up the crimson insides of the truck. Black blood spurted, and the truck veered back and forth across the road before finally mounting the pavement and ploughing into the front of a night-club that proudly promised zombie strippers: THEY’RE DEAD AND THEY DANCE! The truck had barely come to a halt before scavengers were all over it, intent on reducing it to its most basic components before anyone else could get there. Lily blasted her horn several times in savage satisfaction and drove on.
“My girl-friend is badass!” Dead Boy said proudly.
Roxie leaned in close to Eddie. “If Lily is the car, where do the bullets for the guns come from?”
“Best not to ask,” said Eddie.
* * *
• • •
When the four of them finally descended the metal stairs into Strangefellows, the place was packed and the joint was jumping. Eddie looked around warily as he and Roxie followed Dead Boy and Silicon Lily towards the bar. No one seemed to be paying him or Roxie any particular attention. The bar looked much as he remembered it from the few times he’d been there before: loud and extravagant and clearly not giving a damn for any number of proprieties. The music was deafening, the floor was sticky with things best not thought about, and the air was thick with several kinds of illegal smoke. It smelled like breathing someone’s underwear. And the crowd . . . was a typical Nightside crowd.
Several large and burly men in battered chain-mail sat around a table, drinking hot mead spiked with hemlock. Their grubby white tabards had a red cross on the front, painted in fresh blood. They were St Catherine’s Crusaders, vowed to indulge in every sin and vice, the better to understand and fight them. No wonder they ended up in the Nightside. A number of ghosts had bellied up to the bar, their arms leaving smoky blue trails of ectoplasm on the air every time they lifted a glass to where their mouths used to be. They were drinking the memories of forgotten wines from empty bottles. The bar’s speakers pumped out The Silver Beatles’ Greatest Hits, and the Tribe of the Gay Barbarians was line dancing on the bartop. And Harry Fabulous, your Go To Guy for everything no one else could get you, lurked quietly in a shadowed corner, dealing bootleg experiences, enchanted switch-blades, and exorcism patches for possessed computer software.
Just another night at Strangefellows.
People greeted Dead Boy and Silicon Lily happily enough as they passed. A bit warily in Dead Boy’s case because he had a tendency to get into trouble wherever he went. Mostly because if there wasn’t any, he’d start some. A few faces
here and there nodded easily as they recognised Shaman Bond. No one was ever surprised to see Shaman anywhere.
Rather more people appeared to know Roxie Hazzard. There were any number of raised voices, cheerful salutations, and offers to buy her drinks. Just as many people glowered at her or kept their heads down, hoping not to be noticed. Roxie grinned easily about her and kept going. A warrior woman in a blood-spattered military uniform that smelled strongly of smoke and brimstone reminded Roxie that her dues for the Mercenaries Guild were late again.
Not for the first time, it occurred to Eddie that Molly had a life of her own, away from him.
They reached the bar, and Dead Boy set about getting the drinks in. Brandy for Roxie, a Beck’s for Shaman, a Blue Nun for Lily, and an Angel’s Ruin with a formaldehyde chaser for Dead Boy. A normal enough round of drinks, for Strangefellows. Dead Boy was happy to stand his round, for a change. Apparently he was flush after a recent job, body-guarding a Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse tribute act on their tour of the Nightside.
Alex nodded easily to Roxie as he sorted out the drinks but had to be introduced to Shaman. Alex admitted grudgingly to knowing the name, by reputation. Roxie leaned in close to Eddie.
“You worked with John Taylor on a few cases; as Eddie or Shaman?”
“Only as a Drood,” said Eddie, quietly. “He doesn’t know Eddie and Shaman are the same man.”
“But if he’s seen your face . . .”
“I wore my mask,” said Eddie.
“You worked cases with someone and never even showed them your face?” said Roxie. “Droods . . .”
“Haven’t seen you in here for a while, Roxie,” said Alex, placing a large brandy in front of her.
“I’ve been busy,” said Roxie. “Interdimensional hell-wars won’t fight themselves, you know.”
“And someone hired me to find the Maltese Falcon,” Eddie said smoothly. “The hardest part was finding a cage strong enough to hold it.”
Alex just nodded. He’d heard stranger things. “Didn’t know you two were an item . . .”
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