Night Fall

by Simon R. Green

  “There had better be a really good reason as to why I suddenly felt I should be here,” said Gaea.

  Eddie pulled his armoured hands back from John. “Someone has been working with the elf Puck to set the Droods and the Nightside at each other’s throats. And what they’ve done is endangering the whole world.”

  “We can’t get past their protections to find them,” said John. “Do you know who’s working with Puck?”

  “Of course,” said Gaea. “Nothing is hidden from me.”

  “Who is it?” said Eddie.

  “I think . . . This is something you need to do for yourselves,” said Gaea.

  She gestured briefly, and sent John Taylor and Eddie Drood to where they needed to be.

  * * *

  • • •

  They appeared standing on top of Griffin Hill, looking out over the Nightside. The hill stood high and lonely, under the star-speckled sky and the oversized full moon, and the whole of the Nightside lay spread out below them, its lights blazing fiercely against the dark. A cold wind was blowing, spiritually cold, because of what this place was and what had happened here. John glanced behind him at the great hole in the ground: a pit full of darkness, a drop so deep it seemed bottomless. Even the shimmering moonlight couldn’t penetrate far beyond the torn and ragged edges. John and Eddie moved cautiously over to look into the pit, and what they could see of the interior was scorched and blackened by incredible, impossible heat. John made a low, sad sound.

  “This is Griffin Hill, where Griffin Hall once stood till the Hall and everyone inside it was dragged down to Hell by the Devil himself.”

  “Damn,” said Eddie. He peered into the depths of the pit and shuddered, not at all from the cold. “I always knew there was a good reason why my family stayed out of the Nightside. You’re too weird, even for us. So what are we doing here?”

  “Gaea must have sent us here for a reason,” said John. “It can’t be the Griffins; they’re not coming back.”

  “Did anything else happen here?” said Eddie.

  “Yes . . . This was where the previous Walker, Henry, died.”

  “I never did get the full story on that,” said Eddie.

  “It was no one else’s business,” said John.

  “But what does that have to do with anything?” said Eddie.

  John looked at him pityingly. “What do you think? I should have known . . .”

  “Of course you should,” said a calm, cultured, and very familiar voice. “I can’t believe you never even suspected it was me.”

  They both looked around to see Henry, the man who was Walker, standing just a few feet away. Smiling easily, the perfect city gentleman, sharp and stylish and sophisticated, in the finest suit Savile Row had to offer. Right down to the bowler hat and neatly furled umbrella. He was handsome enough, if a little on the heavy side, as befitted a man well into middle age. His smile was cold, and his eyes were colder; and he was in surprisingly good shape for a man who was supposed to have died years ago.

  “I should have known because there was no body,” said John. He looked at Eddie. “Henry and I fought here. He fell into the bottomless pit, and we all assumed he was dead and gone.”

  “What did I always tell you, John?” said Henry. “If there isn’t a body, you can never be sure they’re dead.”

  “Perhaps I just wanted you to be dead,” said John.

  “How hurtful,” murmured Henry.

  “The truth,” said John. “Tell me the truth. I think I deserve it.”

  “I faked my death so you could take over as Walker,” said Henry. “I was never ill, never dying; I was just feeling old and tired and more than ready to put down my burden and retire. The Nightside had changed so much, and I hadn’t. I couldn’t just walk away, not after all the things I’d done as Walker; too many people might come after me. So I worked out a plausible scenario, made you the hero of the hour, and disappeared.”

  “Was that you I saw in the Winter Hall?” said Eddie. “When I was trapped in Limbo?”

  “No,” said Henry. “Though I did hear about it from the person masquerading as me. Puck, of course, hidden behind one of his glamours. He has been so many people in his time. But then, he has been playing a very long game.”

  “And what about you, Henry?” said John. “How long have you been playing a game?”

  “I retired to spend more time with my family and take it easy at last,” said Henry. “Only to find my family didn’t need me. My wife had made her own life, and my two boys . . . were always busy. So I pottered around on my own for a while, trying to find things to do . . . Till I realised I just couldn’t let it go.

  “I always knew the Nightside was a danger to Humanity. I always said I would happily nuke the whole damned freak show, if it were up to me. And the thought of its still persisting, a knife at Humanity’s throat, long after I was gone . . . became intolerable. Unacceptable. So I decided to do something about it while I still could. Of course, I couldn’t do it on my own. I reached out, through some of my old contacts, to the elves who stayed behind after the others left, and through them I found Puck. Who was more than ready for a little murderous mischief. Between us, we planned a war to take down my enemies and his.

  “It turned out that Oberon and Titania knew of many ancient and mysterious Objects of Power, scattered across the world, that they couldn’t be bothered to take with them when they left. And Puck knew all about them. We finally settled on the one we needed, and he went and got it. I think you know it, Eddie. The Soul of Albion.”

  Henry held up a small, polished crystal, hardly bigger than his thumb. It boiled and blazed with unearthly fires, impossibly, heart-stoppingly beautiful, like the Platonic ideal behind every gem or jewel that ever was.

  “You shouldn’t have that,” said Eddie, so angry he could barely get the words out. “No one is supposed to have that!”

  “I hate to admit it,” said John, “but even I can’t keep up with all the Objects of Power and what they do. What’s so special about this one?”

  “It’s supposed to have fallen to Earth thousands of years ago,” said Eddie.

  “Oh, it’s much older than that,” said Henry. “Or so Puck assures me.”

  “The Soul of Albion guarantees the borders of Great Britain,” said Eddie. “It protects us from invasion. As long as it stays where it’s supposed to: under the stones of Stonehenge! You’ve put everyone in this country in danger just by removing it!”

  “I’ll put it back when I don’t need it any more,” said Henry, slipping the crystal into his waistcoat pocket. “Puck stole it, without anyone’s noticing, because that’s what elves do. Since the Soul of Albion is all about boundaries, it was easy enough to pervert its function and use it to expand the Nightside’s boundaries. Exactly what Puck and I needed, to set the ball rolling.

  “We made one small change in the nature of things, and the Droods and the Nightside walked themselves into war. Protesting all the way that none of them wanted it. All so the power of the Nightside would be broken and the Droods fatally weakened. Puck would have the emptied long night for his elves to live in, and I would have a world safe from the horrors of the Nightside and the arrogant authority of the Droods. Isn’t it nice when everyone gets what they want?”

  “But the changes in the boundaries have destabilised the Nightside!” said John. “There won’t be anywhere for the elves to live!”

  “Yes . . .” said Henry, smiling modestly. “I made one small change in the way we used the Soul of Albion, and Puck never even noticed. I didn’t go through all of this just so the Nightside could continue as a threat, under new management. And yes, I know the changes I made in the boundaries also threaten the outside world. I’ll use the Soul of Albion to put everything right once the Nightside has become so damaged the elves won’t want it any more.”

  “Did you know chan
ging the boundaries would destroy the Wulfshead Club and kill everyone in it?” said Eddie.

  “Of course,” said Henry. “I put the predatory house in just the right position to ensure that would happen. I needed to make an impact, you see. I needed what I’d done to be noticed.”

  “Good friends of mine died in the Club!” said John. “People you knew!”

  “Yes, that was regrettable,” said Henry. “But sometimes you can’t make an omelette unless you use a really big hammer.”

  “You killed all those people, just to bring a Drood into the Nightside,” said Eddie. “And you used a predatory house to do it, so you could be sure the Drood would have to use their armour.”

  “I needed an inciting incident,” said Henry. “Something guaranteed to outrage the Nightside. And you performed your function admirably, Eddie.”

  “You stole the Nightside’s copy of the Pacts and Agreements,” John said suddenly. “Because you still had access from when you were Walker.”

  “Exactly!” said Henry. “There was always the chance there might be something in them you could use to defend the Nightside, and I couldn’t have that.”

  “You had Puck interfere with the Hall’s arrival in the Nightside,” said Eddie. “Keeping us well away from the centre, so we’d have to fight our way in. And start your damned war for you.”

  “The devil is always in the details,” Henry said modestly.

  “So many dead because of you and Puck,” said John. “I can understand it from him; he’s an elf, and they live to mess with mankind. But you . . .”

  “I have always been able to do the cold, hard, necessary things, to serve the greater good,” said Henry. “That’s why they made me Walker. It’s why I chose you, John.”

  “I’m nothing like you!” said John.

  “I know,” said Henry. “That’s why I chose you.”

  “Don’t argue with him, John,” said Eddie. “His kind always has an answer for everything.”

  “Not always,” said Henry. “I have to say, I am surprised to see the two of you here. I was convinced I’d covered my tracks quite thoroughly. How did you know to come to Griffin Hill?”

  “My gift for finding things,” said John.

  “Ah, yes,” said Henry. “Your very inconvenient gift.”

  “Enough talk,” said Eddie. “Give me the Soul of Albion, or I’ll take it from you. First to repair what you’ve done to the Nightside boundaries, then to put it back under Stonehenge. I don’t care who you used to be, Henry; I don’t even care that we worked well together once, and were almost friends. I will do whatever’s necessary. And you must know you can’t stop a Drood in his armour.”

  “Especially with me here to help him,” said John. “I never did show you all my tricks, Henry.”

  “Unfortunately . . . the situation is a little more complicated than that,” said Henry.

  The Suzie from the future appeared out of nowhere, standing next to Henry. Still battered and disfigured, and weighed down by long years of surviving against impossible odds. Still old and haggard, with only half a face, but this time the Speaking Gun was attached to her elbow, replacing her missing right forearm. That terrible weapon from prehistory that could uncreate anything. Made from flesh and bone and dark-veined gristle, held together with strips of cartilage and pale skin, living tissues shaped into a killing tool. The Speaking Gun had a hot and sweaty look, and it smelled like a mad dog. John swallowed hard at the sight of it on Suzie’s arm.

  “Who is that?” Eddie said quietly to John. “I mean, I know who she looks like . . .”

  “It’s Suzie,” said John. “From a future timeline.”

  “Your life is almost as complicated as mine,” said Eddie.

  “I warned you, John,” said the future Suzie, in her harsh grating voice. “Soon you and the Droods will go to war with the elves, and what you will do to win that war will destroy everything. Nothing will remain but ruins and monsters. You know that; you’ve seen it. But I came back to give you a chance to do the right thing. Let me kill you now, with this.” She pointed the Speaking Gun at John, and he stood very still. Suzie tried to smile at him with her half a face. “Die now, John, and save everyone. I don’t want to have to lead the life that made me this.”

  Eddie remembered Old Father Time saying that the Nightside could be saved if one good man would just do the right thing. But this was the Nightside, and Eddie didn’t trust anything in it. He focused his Sight through his torc. John started to say something to the future Suzie, and Eddie cut quickly across him.

  “According to my torc, that thing on her arm isn’t the Speaking Gun,” he said flatly. “There’s a power in it, but nothing like what you’d expect from such an infamous weapon.”

  John smiled, as a great many things suddenly became clear to him. “Of course. It’s not real; and neither are you, Suzie. You just couldn’t resist over-playing your hand, could you . . . Puck?”

  Future Suzie disappeared, gone in a moment, to be replaced by the crooked elf. With nothing in his right hand but a glowing dagger. John recognised it as the weapon his future son had tried to kill him with. Puck nodded easily to John.

  “Well, it was worth a try.”

  “That was you in Strangefellows, pretending to be the future Suzie,” said John. “And even before that, you pretended to be my future son. Why? To rattle me, so I wouldn’t be in a proper frame of mind when it came to dealing with what was happening in the Nightside? So you could have your stupid war? That’s how the body disappeared from Strangefellows! You just walked away, hidden behind another glamour.”

  Puck took a bow, as though these were all compliments. He realised he still had the glowing dagger in his hand and slipped it into his belt.

  “Why involve the Droods?” said Eddie. “We went out of our way to help the elves.”

  “You shouldn’t have won that last Big Game against us,” said Puck. “It was my idea, and you shamed me in front of Oberon and Titania.”

  “You petty-minded little shit,” said Eddie.

  “Why did you want the Nightside?” said John. “You had a place of your own beside Oberon and Titania, in Shadows Fall.”

  “I never really had a place with them!” said Puck. He wasn’t smiling any more. “Because I was always Puck, the elf who was not perfect. Forced to play the jester and the fool, to amuse Oberon and Titania . . . So I could at least remain close to the source of power. I should have been King of the elves! My mother was Mab, First Queen of the Fae; but my father was the mortal Tam O’Shanter. Just like in the old stories. And his genes collided with hers to make me the mis-shapen thing I am.

  “I attached myself to Oberon and Titania because they had ambition, and when they overthrew Mab, I rose along with them. Then they got old and decided to retire to Shadows Fall . . . But I wasn’t ready to leave the world. I hadn’t finished playing with you mortals yet. So I decided to make a new kingdom for myself, here in the Nightside. After I’d cleaned out all the trash, of course. And brought down the only family who might have opposed me.” He turned suddenly, to glare at Henry. “But you meddled with the Soul of Albion! You betrayed me! You spoiled everything!”

  “You’re an elf,” said Henry. “You should have seen that one coming.”

  Puck’s hand dropped to the glowing dagger at his belt, then stopped as Henry held up one hand. In it . . . was a simple brass door-knob. He smiled pleasantly.

  “Surrounded by my enemies, with all my plans revealed and endangered, I still have this. The final answer to all our problems.”

  It was quite definitely just a door-knob. But because Henry was who he was, John and Eddie and Puck watched him carefully and waited for him to explain himself.

  “This,” Henry said easily, “is a potential Door. A Door in waiting, if you will. Not actually real till it’s opened. I had the Doormouse make it for me, some tim
e back. As a possible solution to the problem of the Nightside. And then I made him forget all about it, so he wouldn’t know what he’d done and couldn’t warn anyone about it. This is my fall-back position in case all my plans should fail me. You see, this potential Door opens inside the heart of the Sun. If I turn this knob, the Door will open, and from it will issue a heat beyond your imagination. Enough to scorch the whole Nightside clean. How fitting, I thought, that the Sun should bring an end to the long night.”

  “But you’d die too!” said Puck.

  “Which is why I never used it,” said Henry. “I always had some other plan in mind. But now . . . my war is over; John and Eddie are ready to take the Soul of Albion away from me, and I don’t think I care any more. What better way to go out than by taking all my closest friends and enemies with me? All I have to do is open this Door, and the Nightside will be destroyed. And I will have done my duty, one last time.”

  Before any of them could stop him, he turned the door-knob. A great Door of beaten brass appeared hovering beside him and swung open. They all braced themselves for a blast of fire they’d never even feel, but there was nothing inside the open Door but a Light that John and Eddie had already encountered. And out of that Light stepped Charles Taylor, John’s father, and Mark Robinson, who grew up to be the Collector. Henry’s oldest friends. They smiled at him, and he stared blankly back at them, lost for anything to say.

  Charles looked just as he had in the World Beneath. Like John, only younger. Mark looked as he had in his younger days. He had the whole young Elvis thing down pat: a black leather jacket with far too many zips and chains, and a great quiff of greasy black hair. John murmured to Eddie, explaining who everyone was, while Puck snarled at everyone, trying to work out what it all meant.

  “The Doormouse is sharper and stronger than you ever gave him credit for, Henry,” Charles said calmly. “He is a graduate of the Dark Academie, after all. He didn’t make you what you wanted; he made you what you needed. And then just went along with the whole amnesia bit. This is a Destiny Door, made to save the day. To bring me and Mark to you, in your hour of need.”