The Good, the Bad, and the Uncanny (Nightside)

by Simon Green

  “I knew about it,” said Hadleigh. “From when I was the Authorities’ Man. I never approved, even then. I always meant to do something about it. But there was always so much that needed doing ...”

  “Duties and responsibilities,” I said.

  “Yes ... When I was gone, the details of the scheme were passed on to Walker. And the Lilith War presented him with his best opportunity to ... defuse the Lord of Thorns. Break his spirit, make him harmless.”

  “But ... didn’t Walker need the Lord of Thorns’ power, to help him defeat Lilith?” I said.

  “The Authorities feared the Lord of Thorns more,” said Hadleigh. “After all, Lilith only wanted to destroy the Nightside; the Lord of Thorns wanted to change it. That’s Walker for you; always taking the long view. Just as I taught him ...”

  A quiet chill ran through me, as I remembered that, for all his apparent youth, Hadleigh was at least twenty years older than Walker. He looked strong and sharp, in his prime; but I had to wonder what it was he gave up to become the Detective Inspectre. How much of Larry’s older brother was still in there? Was he still human; or was he pretending, for his audience? For his brother? People say many bad things about the Deep School; and a lot of them are true.

  “Long and long ago, the Authorities made a deal with the Street of the Gods,” said Hadleigh. “Those jumped-up poseurs were always scared of the Lord of Thorns because he was the real deal, and they were only pretenders. So the Beings pooled their power, waited for the right opportunity, and channelled it through Walker’s Voice, to shut down the Lord of Thorns’ power, when he went head to head with Lilith. She could never have defeated him otherwise. And so he lost his confidence, and he lost his faith; and without those, he was nothing. He crawled away and ended up here: broken, confused, and no threat to anyone.”

  “What did the Street of the Gods get out of it?” said Larry, practical as ever.

  “They got left alone,” said Hadleigh. “Free to do as they would, as long as they stayed on their Street and didn’t upset the tourists too much.”

  “That’s why you came here,” I said to the Lord of Thorns. “To the one place where prayers are answered. But then ... why did you have to wait for Hadleigh to come and tell you the truth?”

  “Because it was my crisis of faith,” said the Lord of Thorns. The interior of the church was quiet now, the lightning gone, and his presence returned almost to that of a man. “I lost my faith, so I had to find it again. And I did, here, day by day, serving this place and the stricken people who come to it. You have to fall all the way, before you can rise again. Nothing like being in charge of everything and everyone for centuries to make you an arrogant prick.” He laughed quietly at the expression on my face. “I am the Lord of Thorns, but I’m still a man, with a man’s failings. Any judge forgets that at his peril. I found my faith again, long before Hadleigh turned up to tell me what I needed to know.”

  “So why blow your top?” said Larry. “You all but blasted this church off its foundations and slammed it down again facing in a different direction.”

  “Just blowing off some steam.” The Lord of Thorns frowned. “There is justice waiting to be done, and there shall be smiting. I’ve been gone too long. The people I’ve seen here, begging for help, telling of terrible things ... The Nightside was never supposed to be like this! So mean, so cruel, so casually evil...”

  “I know some people who would agree with you on that,” said Hadleigh.

  “Hold it, hold it,” I said. “As I understand it, and I’m perfectly prepared to be told that I don’t ... there’s supposed to be a balance in place these days. You must have heard what happened when the Walking Man tried to lay down the law here. You need to get out and about in the Nightside, Lord, and talk to people, see how things really are, before you start making any decisions. Especially about the smiting.”

  “Or what?” said the Lord of Thorns. “You’ll try and stop me?”

  “I wouldn‘t,” I said. “I still remember how you protected me from Herne the Hunter and saved my life, all those centuries ago. But there are others who would stand up to you. Good people, mostly. Like the new Authorities.”

  The Lord of Thorns looked at me for a long moment, then shook his shaggy head. “Sorry. Can’t say I remember. So many years, so many faces; you know how it is. But you did awaken me from my prison of sleep, so you get a free pass. For now.”

  “How very civilised,” I said. “Can I just ask you: do you know anything about the sword Excalibur?”

  “I saw it once,” said the Lord of Thorns, smiling wistfully. “Golden and glorious, it was. Took my breath away. Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t care about any of this!” Larry said loudly. “All I care about is finding my brother Tommy! And it’s all you ought to be concerned about, Hadleigh!”

  “I turn my back on the family for five minutes,” said Hadleigh, “and now Tommy’s missing, and you’re dead. I can’t hold your hands forever.”

  “Where is Tommy!”

  “Closer than you think,” said Hadleigh.

  I really thought Larry was going to explode into a rage that would put the Lord of Thorns to shame.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Why can’t you speak clearly any more? And what kind of a title is Detective Inspectre anyway?”

  “A very descriptive one,” said Hadleigh.

  “You’re not my brother,” said Larry. “You don’t look like him, talk like him, feel like him. What did those bastards do to you in the Deep School?”

  “They opened my eyes.”

  I butted in, to give Larry time to control his temper. For a dead man who claimed to have hardly any emotions, I thought Larry was doing pretty well. I was beginning to feel like a referee at a boxing match where everyone else has turned out to be heavily armed. I looked at Hadleigh.

  “Why did you come here, now, to tell the Lord of Thorns who did this to him?”

  “I know what I need to know, when I need to know it,” said Hadleigh. “Comes with the job. And I’m here now because I knew you would be. I need to talk to you, too. Everything you know is a lie.”

  “What?”

  “Only kidding. I’ve always wanted to say that to someone. No, what you need to know ... is that a lot of things happening right now, in the Nightside, are the result of long-hidden plots and intrigues finally coming to a head. I’m here because I’m needed here. And ... by the pricking of my thumbs, something morally ambiguous this way comes.”

  We all looked round, following Hadleigh’s gaze, and there, standing in the doorway of the church, was Walker. Calm and composed, smiling easily, as though he hadn’t just murdered his oldest friend. There wasn’t a spot of blood anywhere on his smart city suit, and his old-school tie wasn’t an inch out of place. He might have come from his club, or a board meeting. He let us admire him for a moment, then strolled unhurriedly forward to join us, the steel ferule of his umbrella tapping loudly on the bare stone floor.

  “My ears are burning,” he murmured. “The only thing worse than being talked about is being sniped at by enemies. Don’t you want to hear my side of the story?”

  The Lord of Thorns stabbed a bony finger at him. “Betrayer!”

  Walker ignored him, his calm gaze fixed on Hadleigh, who stared thoughtfully back. Two of the most powerful men in the Nightside stood looking at each other, and I felt like diving for cover. If they decided to go at it, even the Church of St. Jude might not be strong enough to contain the explosion. For all I knew, Walker had a whole army waiting outside to back him up; and I didn’t even want to think what kind of forces Hadleigh Oblivion might be able to call on. And if the Lord of Thorns decided to get involved ... I drifted surreptitiously to one side, so there was nothing between me and the exit.

  “I knew my talking to the Lord of Thorns would bring you here, Walker,” Hadleigh said finally.

  “No-one brings me anywhere,” said Walker. “I just go where I’m needed.”

  “W
e have so much in common,” said Hadleigh.

  “I wouldn’t put money on it,” said Walker.

  “Your time is up, Henry,” said Hadleigh. “Time for you to step down and let others take over.”

  “Not just yet,” Walker murmured. “There are still loose ends to be taken care of first. Like the Lord of Thorns. Yesterday’s man, who can’t seem to understand that he isn’t needed or wanted any more.”

  The Lord of Thorns thrust his wooden staff at Walker, and the temperature inside the church plummeted.

  “You betrayed me! I am the Overseer of the Nightside!”

  “That was then; this is now,” Walker said calmly. “Yours was a simpler office, for a simpler time. We’ve all moved on since then. Things are different now. More complex.”

  “More corrupt!”

  “You see? You don’t understand the Nightside at all. These days, it exists to provide a safe haven for all those people and forces too dangerous to be allowed to run free in the outside world. The old days, the days of the Great Experiment, are gone. It’s all about business now, satisfying needs and appetites, making money by entertaining the tourists. Just one big, very profitable, freak show. And your old-fashioned ideas of what is and is not permissible ... are bad for business.”

  He used his Voice then. The Voice that compels all who hear it and cannot be denied or disobeyed. The blunt force of its power swept through the church, pushing everything else aside, settling over us like a spiritual strait jacket.

  “Be still,” said Walker. “Be calm. Listen to me. You know I have only your best interests at heart.”

  It worked on Larry. It even worked on Hadleigh. They stood still, smiling at Walker with open, empty faces. Ready to do whatever he told them because, for all their unnatural status, they were still men, and Walker’s Voice had power over the living and the dead. It only partly worked on me, because I am my mother’s son; but while I was still struggling to throw it off, the Lord of Thorns laughed mockingly and threw Walker’s Voice back in his face with one sweep of his staff. The power trembling on the air shattered like glass, and Walker actually fell back a step, staring blankly at the Lord of Thorns.

  “Do not seek to command me with our Creator’s Voice, little man! I am closer to Him than you will ever be! Defend yourself, functionary! Or will you claim you tried to rob us of our free will for the greater good?”

  “I told you,” said Walker, pulling the remains of his dignity about him again. “I don’t do Good, or Evil. I support the status quo. I keep the wheels turning, and I keep the natives from getting out of hand. Tell him, John. You’ve seen what I do and why it must be done. Surely you of all people understand that what I do is necessary!”

  The Lord of Thorns looked at me. “Time to choose a side, John Taylor.”

  “Yes,” said Walker. “Whose side are you on?”

  I looked at him. “Anyone’s but yours.”

  “You always have to do things the hard way, don’t you, John?” said Walker.

  He flipped open his gold pocket-watch, and the Timeslip within leapt out, enveloped Walker and me, and swept us away.

  TEN

  And He Took Him Up to a High Place

  When I could see again, I could see everything, laid out before me like a corrupt banquet.

  The whole of the Nightside lay sprawled out below me, its fierce lights blazing against the dark. But this was no vision born of my Sight, no mental soaring in search of answers. This was real; this was here and now. I was standing on top of a mountain, looking down on my world, a cold wind hitting me hard. I knew where I was immediately; I’d been here before. I was on top of Griffin Hill, or at least, what was left of the top of Griffin Hill.

  Once upon a time, and not so very long ago at that, this whole mountain and everything on it had been owned by one man: Jeremiah Griffin. He owned a lot of the Nightside, too, and far too many of the people who lived there. Back then, Griffin Hall had stood at the very top of Griffin Hill, a huge and magnificent mansion, home to the immortal Griffin family. But everything that man had he owed to a deal he made long ago with the Ancient Enemy; and I was there when the Devil rose up out of Hell to claim the Griffin’s soul, and his family, and even his magnificent mansion. The Devil dragged them all down to Hell, and now nothing was left at the top of Griffin Hill but a great hole in the ground, a huge pit full of darkness, falling away further than the human eye could follow.

  I turned my back on the Nightside view and stared thoughtfully down into the pit. The cold wind blew handfuls of dust into my face, from the narrow circle of dead earth that surrounded the huge crater. Nothing else remained. It seemed to me that the whole place was spiritually cold, as though the very essence of life itself had been taken away, torn away, leaving nothing behind.

  The pit itself seemed as though it might fall away forever, nothing but darkness all the way down. Light from the full Moon directly overhead bathed the top of Griffin Hill in a stark blue-white light, but it only penetrated a few feet into the pit, as though the moonlight itself was repulsed by what it found there. The pit’s ragged edge and interior were scorched and blackened, as though exposed to incredible, impossible heat. Someone wanted everyone to remember exactly what had happened to the Griffin.

  I shuddered, and it had nothing to do with the cold wind.

  I looked away, and there was Walker, maintaining a polite distance, smiling easily. The gusting wind barely touched him at all, and I knew that although what was left of Griffin Hill was creeping me out big-time, none of it bothered him in the least. He’d seen far worse in his time, and right now he only had eyes for me. His chosen son, his successor.

  So I deliberately looked away, staring down the long slopes of Griffin Hill, where once a huge and magnificent garden had sprawled, full of amazing and incredible plants and blossoms and trees, some so rare they were the last of their kind, others brought in specially from other worlds and dimensions. The flowers had sung and the bushes walked, and the trees swayed even when no wind blew.

  Now ... it was a dark and corrupt place, touched and changed by the awful thing that had happened so close to it. Tall, distorted growths lashed at the air with curling branches, while things like bunches of twigs lurched up and down narrow trails. There were blossoms the size of houses, thick and pulpy, their diseased colours fluorescent in the night. Great slow waves moved through long green seas, as underneath the surface hidden species went to war. It wasn’t a garden any more.

  “It’s a jungle,” said Walker, following my thoughts. “No-one dares go in any more. The Authorities are talking about sending in armoured squads with flame-throwers, and burning it all down. Before something comes crawling down the mountain ... I’ve always had a fondness for the scorched-earth policy. A shame, though, I suppose ... There are species in there unknown to history or botanical gardens. The Collector would have loved them.”

  “Mark,” I said. “His name was Mark.”

  “Oh no,” said Walker. “He hadn’t been Mark for a long time. Have you been up here since ... ?”

  “No,” I said. “When a case is over, it’s over. I’ve never felt the need to revisit old battle-fields. Besides, I’ve heard stories of strange manifestations. Visions stark and frightful enough to scare off even the Nightside tourists. They might come here to indulge in a little hell, but they don’t want to get too close to the real thing. Still, there are always some who think they’ve seen everything ... and they tell stories, in whispers, of ghost images of Griffin Hall, all its many windows blazing with hell-fire light, while terrible shadows of agonised men and women beat against the inside of the glass, desperate to get out...”

  “Really?” said Walker. “A whole mansion, floating in mid air, over a hole? I don’t think so. There are always stories, John; you should know that. I came up here, just the once, to see for myself. And to make sure nothing was coming back up out of the hole ... It’s a bad place now and probably always will be, but that’s all. No ghosts, no apparitions, no di
stant screams from the Griffins burning in Hell. A really quite spectacular view, though, I think you’ll agree.”

  “You don’t ... feel anything here?” I said.

  He pursed his lips briefly. “A sense of horror, and lingering evil. About what you’d expect.”

  “You must feel right at home, then.”

  He gave me a stern look. “Now, that was just rude. Behave yourself. The Authorities sent the Salvation Army Sisterhood up here, a while back, to run some really heavy-duty exor cisms ; but I can’t honestly say I feel any difference.”

  “There are those,” I said carefully, “who say that if you stay here long enough, the Devil will rise up out of Hell and offer you the same deal he made with the Griffin. All your heart’s desires, in return for your soul. Is that why you’ve brought me up here, Walker? To offer me a deal?”

  He laughed and indicated the whole of the Nightside spread out below us with one sweep of his arm. “All this could be yours, John, if you’ll agree to be me. Take up my role. Keep the peace, whatever it takes.”

  “But what price would I have to pay?” I said, still looking at him rather than the Nightside. “I’d have to do what you do, think like you think, become the kind of man you are. And I think—I’d rather die.”

  “I’ve done this for so long, John,” said Walker. He sounded suddenly tired, and old. “I’ve carried this weight for longer than you’ve been alive. All the things I’ve done, and none of it for me. Never any of it for me! Dying doesn’t bother me; it’ll be good to get a little rest at last. But how could I ever rest, knowing I’d left the Nightside without a steady hand on the tiller? Without a proper successor? And who else is there but you, John, who could take over from me? Who else would you name?”