Hex and the City

by Simon R. Green

  “Do you think that knowing will release you from this bar?” I said slowly. “Free you to be fully dead and gone, at last?”

  Merlin laughed, though there was precious little humour in the rough, raw sound. “No, boy. No-one holds me here but me. I wait for the return of my heart, and my full power, and then…Then, there shall be a reckoning!”

  (Short version. The witch Nimue stole his heart, then lost it. Everyone knew that much. And that a whole lot of Merlin’s power departed with the heart. Absolutely no-one wanted to find the heart, or reunite it with its owner. No-one was that stupid. Merlin was dangerous enough as he was.)

  “The true nature of the Nightside’s birth is tied in with the identity of your lost mother,” said Merlin, almost casually. “That’s one of the few things that everyone agrees on. Though strangely no-one can identify a definite source for that knowledge. Don’t ask me who your mother is, or might be. She is one of the very few beings I’ve never been able to See with my mind, sleeping or awake. There was a moment, some years before you were born, when the whole Nightside looked up, startled, as Something utterly unexpected flared brightly in everyone’s consciousness. Something Old and terribly powerful had been reborn into the material world, and the balance of everything changed, forever. The moment passed almost immediately, the new arrival shielding itself from everyone’s eyes. Which should, of course, have been impossible. Just the first of many worrying signs and portents…Your mother was, and presumably still is, at the very least a Power and a Domination.

  “My own best guess is that your mother is, or was briefly in the past, that most powerful witch Morgan La Fae. The only one powerful enough to oppose me during Arthur’s reign. A strange creature; powerful, yes, and undeniably beautiful, but I cannot say I ever understood her mind. I always suspected she was much more than she ever admitted, to me or to Arthur. And I never did believe that sob story she spun for Arthur, about being his half-sister. She only said that to get close to him; he always had a weakness for those he considered family. That’s what comes of being raised as an orphan. She used Arthur to produce a son, Mordred, then used that son to bring down Camelot. I have to wonder whether your mother might have produced you to bring down the Nightside. Oh yes; I know what you experienced in that Timeslip. The terrible future you saw. Everything destroyed and everyone dead, at your hands. Quite a few Powers have seen that future in visions, down the years.”

  “I thought you were supposed to have killed Morgan La Fae?” I said, hoping to change the subject.

  “I did my best,” Merlin said dryly. “But I was never sure…She always said she’d be back. Mind you, Arthur said the same thing, and I’m still waiting.”

  “So you’re not just hanging around here for the return of your heart,” I said.

  Merlin nodded slowly, acknowledging the point. “Arthur…was special. I made him possible, plotting with Uther Pendragon, back when I was still playing Kingmaker. But Arthur turned out to be so much more than anyone ever thought or intended him to be. He made himself special. He was the best of us all. The only man I ever followed. I dreamed a great dream for him, and he made it come true. A single great land, founded on Reason and Compassion, sweeping aside all the old madnesses. The holy Realm of Logres, burning so very brightly in a Dark Age.”

  He paused, his chin resting on one hand, remembering. “I could have been much more than I was. I was supposed to be the Antichrist, the Devil’s only son born of mortal woman; but I declined the honour. I was wise, even as a child, and I determined that I would follow my own path and no other’s. I killed all the members of the coven that conspired to bring me into being, and all those who came afterwards, to ensure my freedom. My mother was already dead—some nameless witch who did not survive my birthing. Apparently I tore her apart, clawing my way out of her, impatient to be born.”

  “What about your…father?” I said.

  “We don’t talk. I kept myself busy for years, amusing myself with building up Kings and countries, and then destroying them. And then I met Arthur, and that changed everything. He shamed me, for the shallowness of my vision. I loved him. He was my father, my son, my light in the endless dark. I knew that Hell was real, but he made me believe that Heaven was, too. I gave him my life. I would have died for him, but…I always knew I couldn’t save him without making him over into something he would have abhorred. He proved his dream worthy by dying in defence of it. He and Mordred met on the battlefield and died in each other’s arms, neither ever really understanding what had brought them to that bloody place. I was elsewhere, killing Morgan La Fae. Afterwards, with Arthur and Camelot gone, I didn’t much care about anything any more. It was almost a relief when dear, treacherous Nimue came along and found me. She really was magnificent, boy.”

  I decided it was time to change the subject again. There’s nothing worse than a centuries-old corpse getting maudlin. “What do you know about the Nightside’s beginnings?”

  Merlin stirred on his iron throne, his face cold and considering once again. “When I was young, I learned from the Powers that came before me. They taught me that the Nightside was originally created, by forces unknown, to be the one place on earth free from the control of Heaven or Hell. The only truly free place. That’s why I’ve been able to remain here so long, despite my…diabolical beginnings. But that’s really all I know for sure. You need to speak to Powers older than I. One of my old teachers is still to be found here in the Nightside, though I understand he is no longer what he once was. Herne the Hunter, the free spirit of the wild places, leader of the Wild Hunt. The untamed savage. The force that drove the great green dream of Old England, when the forests were still huge, dark and primal places.”

  “Where do I find him?” I said.

  “Good question. I haven’t spoken with him in a thousand years. The spirit of the wild woods is apparently much diminished, these days. The encroachment of cities, and civilisation, the felling of the forests, all served to reduce his powers, and I dare say he is now merely a figment of the Power I knew. But he knew many things in the old days, secrets he did not choose to share with me, and it may be that you can convince him to tell you what you need to know. Use your precious gift, boy. Find Herne the Hunter. If you dare.”

  “Anything else you want to say to me?” I said. “Before you go.”

  He grinned nastily. “You know…I could make you use your gift to find my heart for me.”

  “You could try. But even if you could make me find it, you must know I’d destroy the heart before I ever turned it over to you.”

  Merlin nodded his great head slowly. “Yes. You would, wouldn’t you.”

  He stood up, and his throne vanished. He looked around the transformed bar wistfully, then sank slowly into his pentacle, dropping back down into his grave in the cellars. The glowing lines of the pentacle blinked out one by one, and as the last line vanished Alex Morrisey reappeared, lying curled up in a foetal ball on the floor. I looked quickly around. The bar was back to normal again, the fog and the oak and the wicker face gone, the present replacing the remembered past. The Time Winds no longer blew. I let out a long slow breath. It’s not easy talking with a Power that can wipe you out with a passing impulse. But luckily, that’s what I do for a living, as often as not. I helped Alex to sit up and set his back against the restored mahogany bar. He was shaking, fighting back tears, as much from anger as shock.

  “You never told me, Merlin,” he said bitterly. “All these years, and you never told any of us. I’m not a Pendragon after all. Not a descendant of a great and holy King. Just another of Merlin’s damned spawn. I’m never going to be free of this bar…”

  I sympathised, but had the good sense not to say so aloud. Alex has never been comfortable with expressions of friendship or support. They got in the way of his well-rehearsed self-pity. He finally lurched back onto his feet unassisted, a long streak of misery in basic black, even down to the beret he only wore to cover his spreading bald patch. He’d put aside shoc
k and anger in favour of a good sulk. He knew where he was with a sulk. I could see he was about to launch into one of his rants, so I pointed out his two bouncers, regaining consciousness where the oak tree had been, and encouraged him to help me revive them, to take his mind off things. He did so, grudgingly. Good staff were hard to find.

  Lucy and Betty Coltrane were basically unharmed, but mad as hell. It seemed Merlin had possessed Alex without warning, made him call me, then manifested fully and changed the whole bar without so much as a by your leave. The customers all fled. When Lucy and Betty protested, Merlin slapped them down. I think they were mostly embarrassed at how easily he’d taken them out. They were big, muscular body-building girls, used to defending themselves against all comers, and in Strangefellows that covered a lot of ground. Alex and I dusted them down, in a respectful sort of way, and set them to clearing up the overturned tables and chairs. Alex and I retired to the bar proper.

  “I have a horrible feeling I’m allergic to mistletoe,” said Lucy, scratching madly at one arm.

  “You’re always being allergic to something,” said Betty. “It’s all in the mind.”

  “I think we could do with a recuperative brandy,” said Alex, moving to his usual place behind the bar.

  I raised an eyebrow. “On the house?”

  Alex scowled. “Just this once.”

  While Alex busied himself pouring out two surprisingly good brandies, I filled him in on everything that had been said in his absence. He grunted here and there, but didn’t seem particularly surprised by any of it. It took a lot to surprise Alex. I considered him thoughtfully.

  “How do you know you’re really one of Merlin’s line? Usually when you’re replaced, you’re completely gone.”

  “He made me know,” said Alex. “He wanted me to know.”

  Yet again I decided it was time to change the subject. I used my Club Membership Card to contact my new companions, back in the Library. The card made itself into a door, and opened an aperture between the bar and the Research Section. Sinner peered curiously through the new opening.

  “That’s a good trick,” he said mildly. “I didn’t think anything could get past the Library’s defences.”

  “This is powered by Merlin’s magic,” I said. “There aren’t many places that can keep him out.”

  Sinner raised an eyebrow. “You do move in high circles, John.”

  Pretty Poison squeezed in beside him. “Oh look, Sidney darling; it’s a bar! Do let’s go through. I’m positively dying for a little drinkie.”

  “Probably a good idea,” said Sinner. “Madman’s been wandering through the Religious Studies section going No, no, that’s all wrong, and some of the books have started disappearing. Or rewriting themselves. I have a distinct feeling the Library is not going to be pleased.”

  “Come on through,” I said.

  Sinner and Pretty Poison stepped through, then we coaxed Madman into ambling through after them. He had a dangerously preoccupied look in his eyes. I shut the door down and put the Membership Card away. Alex sniffed loudly from behind the bar.

  “I never meant for my Cards to be used by freeloaders. I shall have to set up a new vetting system, preferably one involving scalpels and hacksaws and absolutely no anaesthetics.” He studied my new companions, and as usual was not impressed. I was actually a little relieved. Such an open display of spleen showed that Alex was feeling better and getting back to normal again. Anytime now he’d be back to giving short measures and screwing up your change. He glared openly at Madman.

  “You—I know you. Stay away from the bar, in case you change all the vintages. Or sweeten the beer. Or start my bar snacks evolving again. In fact, stay away from everything. Just stand where you are, don’t move, don’t even breathe. I swear, John, you lower the tone of the place every time you invite your friends to join you.”

  “Madman will be good,” I promised. “Won’t you, Madman?”

  “Who knows?” said Madman. “Who can tell?”

  “This is Sinner,” I said quickly to Alex. “And this is his ghoul-friend, Pretty Poison.”

  Alex gave them his best scowl. “Oh God; it’s the Nightside’s very own answer to Love Story. The infernal Odd Couple. The ultimate sucker and fall guy, and the real girl-friend from Hell. And why does she look so much like my ex-wife?”

  “Let’s not go there,” I said. “Listen up, people. I’ve just had a short but nevertheless disturbing chat with Merlin, and he says I need to talk with one of the Old Folk, Herne the Hunter. Do any of you have an idea as to where he might be found? Apparently he’s dropped out of sight in recent times, and I’d really prefer not to use my gift this early in the case, unless I absolutely have to.”

  “Of course,” said Sinner. “You don’t wish to attract the attention of your infamous unidentified enemies. You see, I do keep up with things. You’re almost as much a legend in the Nightside as I am, these days. I know something of Herne the Hunter. There’s a lot about him in the Library, most of it contradictory. But the reports all seem to agree that he’s come down in the world and is no longer the Power of old. It may be that he has gone to Shadows Fall.”

  “Where’s that?” said Madman, passing briefly through one of his lucid phases.

  “It’s the elephants’ graveyard of the supernatural,” said Alex, always glad of a chance to show off his knowledge of trivia. “It’s where legends go to die when the world stops believing in them. A bit bucolic, by all accounts, but very restful. If you’re inclined that way, which personally I’m not. Why is Madman’s sound track suddenly playing Dolly Parton? I know; don’t ask. But I don’t think Herne’s left the Nightside yet. I’m almost sure I was reading something about him recently…”

  He reached down beneath the bar and hauled up a pile of old magazines. He sorted quickly through them, finally producing a copy of the Nightside’s very own scurrilous and scabrous gossip tabloid, the Unnatural Inquirer. (All the stories the Night Times is too uneasy to print.) Alex thumbed quickly through the glossy pages, while I studied the headlines on the front cover. MADONNA IN BED WITH RAZOR EDDIE’S LOVE CHILD! PHOTOS! WE HAVE PHOTOS! And beneath that: MADONNA TO DUET WITH NIGHTINGALE! TICKETS! WE HAVE TICKETS! And right down at the bottom, in fairly small print: END OF WORLD NIGH. AGAIN.

  Alex was muttering to himself as he tried to find the right page. “The Walking Man, we pay for sightings…DNA proves Royal Family are descended from lizards…Well, we all knew that…Ah, here we are. It’s in their How Are the Mighty Fallen section. Apparently Herne the Hunter has been reduced to a street person, and has been seen begging for food and small change.”

  “Where?” I said. I wasn’t all that surprised. A lot of the homeless and street people in the Nightside used to be Someone, once upon a time. Karma has teeth here, and the wheel turns for all of us.

  “Says here he moves around a lot,” said Alex, dropping the tabloid onto the bar. He gave me a meaningful look, and I sighed.

  I reached inside my mind, concentrating in a way I could never explain to anyone, and powered up my gift. I could find anything, or anyone, if I just looked hard enough. My third eye opened deep in my mind, my private eye, and suddenly I could See all the Nightside at once, vast and full of life and death, like a playground wrapped in poison ivy, like the best present in the world studded with rusty nails. The neon-lit streets and squares flashed by beneath my searching gaze, giving me glimpses of Beings and creatures that are normally, thankfully, hidden from most people. There are many layers and levels to the Nightside, not all of them suitable for human comprehension. I hurried on, narrowing in on my target, until finally I saw a single ragged figure, mostly hidden inside a cardboard box already sodden from the falling rain. One gnarled hand protruded from the box, mutely requesting charity. People walked by without making eye contact. A great head covered by a grubby blanket slowly emerged from the box, turning slowly to look in my direction. Great jutting antlers protruded from under the blanket. Even in his fallen state, it s
eemed Herne could still tell when he was being watched.

  And then my Sight snapped off abruptly, and I was thrust back into the bar again. I’d fixed Herne’s position, but I had no time to think about him. My enemies had found me. When I use my gift I burn so very brightly, like a beacon in the night, and they had followed the light right to me. A dozen of the Harrowing, my enemies’ attack dogs, appeared out of nowhere into the bar and formed a circle around me. The terrible deathless creatures my enemies had been sending to kill me for so very long, nightmares given shape and form. My nightmares.

  They were human in shape, but not in nature. They wore plain suits with slouch hats, the brims pulled low to shadow their faces so they could walk unnoticed in the world of men when they chose. But here, so close to their prey, they did not bother to hide what they were. They had no faces. There was just a blank expanse of skin on the front of their heads, featureless from chin to brow. They had no eyes, but they could see me. No ears, but they could hear. No mouth or nose, but they didn’t need to breathe or speak. They were fast and strong, and they never tired. I’d known them to chase and track me for miles, for hours, tearing people limb from limb just for getting in their way.

  They stood unnaturally still in their circle around me, and there was no way out. The Harrowing ignored everyone else in the bar, and one by one they lifted long slender hands to show me the vicious hypodermic needles that protruded from their fingers. Drops of a dark green liquid formed at the needle tips. It wasn’t enough just to kill me any more; they wanted to drag me back to wherever they came from, so they could take their time about it.

  I’d been running from them off and on all my life. And I’d never known why.

  My heart was hammering painfully fast in my chest, and my hands were shaking. I was breathing hard, and there was cold sweat on my face. I couldn’t fight them. Their bodies were inhumanly strong, soft and yielding. You couldn’t hurt them, break them, stop them, or even slow them down. I knew. I’d tried. They just kept on coming. I’d only ever been able to outrun them. I looked wildly at Alex.