Angels of Light and Darkness

by Simon R. Green

  “You’d kill the son of an old friend?” I said.

  “Of course,” said the Collector. “Why not?”

  He gestured to the waiting robots, and they surged forward in perfect unison. Suzie opened fire with her shotgun, blasting robots as fast as she could work the pump action. The robots shattered under the bullets’ impact, flying apart in showers of steel and brass shrapnel that had us all ducking for cover. Suzie kept firing, grinning fiercely as robots blew apart before her. Either she’d found a whole new kind of ammunition for her gun, or they didn’t build robots to last in the future.

  It helped that the narrow aisles meant the robots could only come at us a few at a time. Suzie and I put our backs to the wall of crates, while the Collector danced back and forth in the background, crying out miserably as some of his crates were inevitably damaged or destroyed by the exploding robots. Suzie pulled grenades from her belt, and lobbed half a dozen where they’d do the most good. Robots and crates blew apart in bowel-churning explosions, and for a while it seemed to be raining machine parts. The Collector cried out for Suzie to stop, and when she didn’t, he ran from crate to crate, prying them open and looking inside, searching for some weapon or device he could use against us. He didn’t seem to be having much luck. Suzie reloaded the shotgun from her bandoliers and went back to blowing robots apart like metal ducks in a shooting gallery. She was grinning widely now, her eyes hot and happy.

  But the robots kept pressing forward, forward, and there didn’t seem to be any end to their numbers. The Collector must have got a job lot. One of them go close enough to take a swipe at me with a clawed hand, and I decided enough was enough. This far from the Nightside, I didn’t have to worry about the angels seizing my soul again. So I opened my third eye, my private eye, and used my gift to locate the automatic shutdown commands in the robots’ minds. I knew they had to be there. The Collector didn’t trust anyone, not even his own creatures. He had to have a way to shut down the robots in case they ever turned against him. I hit the commands I’d found in those clever polymerized cat’s brains, and all the robots froze suddenly in mid motion. A few of them had got worryingly close. Suzie slowly lowered the smoking shotgun, took a deep breath, and turned to look at me.

  “You could have done that at any time, couldn’t you?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  “Then why did you wait so long!”

  “You looked like you were having fun.”

  Suzie considered that for a moment, then smiled and nodded. “You’re right. I was. Thank you, Taylor. You always did know how to show a girl a good time.”

  “All vicious gossip, rumors and lies,” I said. “Collector… Collector? Where are you?”

  We found him not far away, slumped exhausted and weeping over another open crate. Whatever it held was buried in plastic packing pieces. The Collector stirred them miserably with one hand, then looked up at us. He spat at me, but his heart wasn’t in it.

  “Look at what you’ve done … so many lovely things destroyed… It’ll take me weeks just to find out how much I’ve lost. Bullies, both of you. No respect for art, for the treasures of centuries… And I have weapons here! Great weapons, that would stop even you! I have the Horn of Jericho, Grendel’s Bane, even the legendary lost Sword of the Daun. But I can’t find them!”

  “Show us the Unholy Grail,” I said, not unkindly. “The sooner you hand it over, the sooner we’ll be gone.”

  The Collector nodded a few times, sniffing back tears, and finally dug his hands deep into the packing pieces before him.

  “I was packing it away when Merlin grabbed me. It is my greatest prize, but… the dark chalice is too disturbing to have around. The air’s always cold, the shadows have eyes, and I hear voices, whispering… things. Ah. Here.”

  He brought out a small beaten copper bowl, gleaming dully in the subdued lighting. It was dented and dull and not at all impressive. We all looked at it for a long moment, then the Collector offered it to us. I hesitated to touch the thing.

  “That’s it?” said Suzie. “That’s the dark chalice, the Unholy Grail? The cup Judas drank from at the Last Supper? That miserable-looking thing?”

  “What were you expecting?” said the Collector, smiling just a little at one last chance to show off his expertise. “You thought perhaps it would be some great silver chalice, studded with jewels? Romantic medieval claptrap. The Disciples were a bunch of poor fishermen. This is the kind of thing they drank out of.”

  “It’s the real deal,” I said. “I can feel it from here. It’s like every bad thought you ever had, wrapped up in one never-ending nightmare.”

  “Yeah,” said Suzie. “Like it’s poisoning the air, just by existing.”

  The Collector looked at me slyly. “You could keep it for yourself, Taylor. You could. This simple cup is powerful beyond all your wildest fantasies. It could make you rich, worshipped, adored. It can satisfy every dirty little yearning in your soul. It has the answer to every question you ever had. The truth about your past, your enemies… even your mother.”

  I looked at the Unholy Grail, and it was like looking into the heart of temptation. Suzie watched me carefully, but said nothing. She trusted me to do the right thing. And in the end, perhaps it was that trust that gave me the strength to turn away.

  “Put it in a bag, Collector. I wouldn’t dirty my hands by touching it.”

  The Collector pulled an airline carry-on bag out of the packing pieces and stuffed the Unholy Grail into it. He almost seemed relieved. I took the bag and slung the strap over my shoulder.

  “Merlin!” I said, raising my voice. “I know you’re listening. We’ve got it. Bring us home.”

  Merlin’s magic gathered about us, preparing to teleport Suzie and me back to Strangefellows, and the waiting angels. And in the last possible moment, when the Collector was sure the teleport spell had been activated and couldn’t be stopped, he stepped forward and shouted one last vicious hurt.

  “You’re not the only one who can find things, Taylor! There was a time I used to take commissions, in return for help in establishing my collection. I found your father for your mother! I put them together. Everything you are is because of me!”

  I went for his throat with furious hands, but Suzie and I were already fading away. The last thing I heard on the Moon was the Collector laughing, loud and bitterly, as though his heart would break.

  For the Remission of Sin

  Strangefellows sprang into being around us again, and Suzie braced herself for the thick black smoke, but there wasn’t any this time. She looked suspiciously about her, and mere was Merlin, no longer sprawled on his dark iron throne but leaning casually against the long wooden bar, a bottle of the good whiskey in one tattooed hand. He smiled unpleasantly and took a long drink from the bottle. I glanced at the gaping hole in Merlin’s chest, where his heart used to be, half-expecting to see the swallowed whiskey come running out of it. “Welcome back, far travelers,” said Merlin. “I deference to your delicate feelings, I dispensed with the smoke this time. Typical of youngsters today. No respect for tradition. Probably wouldn’t know what to do with a newt’s eye if I slapped it in your hand.”

  I stepped forward, and he stopped talking. “Send us back!” I said, my hands clenched into fists, so angry it was all I could do to get the words out. “Send us back, right now. Better still, grab the Collector again and haul his nasty ass back down here, so I can beat the truth out of him with my bare hands.”

  “Easy, tiger,” said Suzie, moving in close beside me. Her voice was surprisingly gentle. “I’m the violent one in this partnership, remember?”

  “Things change,” I said, not taking my eyes off Merlin. “I want the Collector here, right now. He knows things. Things about my mother, and my father. And I will break his bones one by one, and make him eat every last piece, until he tells me what I need to know.”

  “Wow,” said Suzie. “Hard-core, Taylor.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Merlin, still l
eaning against the bar, entirely unmoved by the raw fury in my voice and eyes. “The Collector has disappeared from his lair under the Moon’s surface, taking his collection with him. I can’t see him anywhere. Which ought to be impossible, but that’s the modern age for you. No doubt I’ll track him down eventually, but that will take time. For a mere mortal, he’s surprisingly elusive.”

  I was so angry and frustrated I could hardly breathe, ready to lash out at anyone, even Merlin. Suzie moved as close to me as she could without actually touching me, calming me with her presence, and slowly the red haze began to lift from my thoughts. It’s always thoughts of family that drive me crazy, and it’s always my friends who bring me back.

  “Let it go, John,” Suzie said calmly, reasonably. “There’ll be other times. He can’t hide from us forever. Not from us.”

  “And now it’s time for me to go,” said Merlin. “You have the somber chalice in that bag. I can feel its awful presence from here. I can’t be this close to it. Too many bad memories … and far too much temptation. I may be dead, but I’m not stupid.”

  “Thanks for your help,” I made myself say, in an almost normal tone. “We’ll meet again, I’m sure.”

  “Oh yes,” said Merlin. “We have unfinished business, your mother and I.”

  And before I could pursue that any further he was gone, disappearing back into his ancient grave somewhere deep under the wine cellar. The arrogant bastard always had to have the last word. Reality flexed and shuddered, and Alex Morrisey was suddenly back among us again, sitting slumped in the middle of the pentacle. He groaned loudly and shook his head slowly. He realized he had a bottle of whiskey in his hand and took a stiff drink. He almost choked getting the stuff down, but he was determined.

  “I should have known he’d get into the good stock,” he said bitterly. “Damn. I hate it when he manifests through me. My head will be full of corrupt Latin and Druidic chants for days.” He shuddered suddenly, unable to continue with his usual façade. He looked at me, and I knew that behind his ubiquitous shades, his eyes were full of betrayal. “You bastard, Taylor. How could you do that to me? I thought we were friends.”

  “We are friends,” I said. “I know that can be difficult, sometimes. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re always sorry, John. But it never stops you screwing up people’s lives.”

  I didn’t say anything, because I couldn’t. He was right. He struggled to his feet. I offered him a hand, but he slapped it aside. Lucy and Betty Coltrane moved quickly in and got him on his feet again, supporting him between them until his legs were firm again. He looked at the airline bag slung over my shoulder and gestured jerkily at it with his whiskey bottle.

  “Is that it? Is that what you risked my sanity and soul for? Get the damned thing out and let me take a look at it. Haven’t I earned the right? I want to see it.”

  “No you don’t,” I said. “It’s vile. Poisonous. Your eyes could rot in your head just from looking at it for too long. It’s dark and it’s evil and it corrupts all who come into contact with it. Just like its original owner.”

  Alex sneered at me. “You always were a frustrate drama queen, Taylor. Show me. I’ve a right to see what I suffered for.”

  I opened the airline bag and took out the copper bowl, holding it carefully by the edges. It was feverishly hot to the touch, and my skin crawled at the contact. It felt as though someone new had entered the bar, someone terribly old and horribly familiar. Part of me wanted to throw the thing away, and part of me wanted to clutch it to my breast and never give it up. Alex leaned forward for a better look, but didn’t try to touch it. Just as well. I wouldn’t have let him.

  “That’s it?” said Alex. “I wouldn’t serve a cheap claret in that.”

  “You’re not going to get the chance,” I said, trying to keep my voice normal. I stuffed the bowl back into the bag, though the effort brought beads of sweat to my brow. “This nasty little thing is going straight to the Vatican, where hopefully they will have the good sense to lock it up somewhere extremely safe, until the End of Time.”

  “If only it was that simple,” said Walker.

  We all looked round sharply as the Authorities’ chief voice in the Nightside came strolling unhurriedly down the metal stairs into the bar. He still looked every inch the city gent out on his lunch break. Calm and sophisticated, and very much the master of the moment. He glanced at the pitch-darkness filling the bar’s shattered windows, but didn’t seem in the least perturbed by it, as though he saw something like it every day. And perhaps he did. This was Walker, after all. Alex scowled at him.

  “Perfect. What the hell are you doing here, Walker? And how did you get in?”

  “I’m here because the angels want me to be here,” said Walker easily, striding across the floor to join us and stopping just short of the pentacle’s salt lines. He glanced at it briefly and looked away, managing to imply that he’d seen much better workmanship in his day. Walker could say a lot with a look and a raised eyebrow. He tipped his bowler hat to us and smiled pleasantly. “The angels contacted the Authorities and made a deal, and the Authorities sent me here to implement it. And while this club’s defenses are more than adequate to keep out the usual riffraff, they’re no barrier to me. I have been empowered by the Authorities to go wherever I have to go, to carry out their wishes. And right now, they want the Unholy Grail. They intend to hand it over to the angels, in return for… certain future considerations. And an end to all violence and destruction in the Nightside, of course.”

  “Which set of angels?” I asked.

  Walker shrugged and smiled charmingly. “Yet to be determined, I believe. Whoever makes the better offer. I understand it could go either way. Still, that isn’t really any of your business, is it? Give me the Unholy Grail, and we can all get on with our lives again.”

  “You know that isn’t going to happen,” I said. “Angels can’t be trusted with the dark chalice, and neither can the Authorities. None of you have Humanity’s best interests at heart. So, do you think you can take it from me, Walker? I don’t see any backup, this time. Are you really ready to go head to head with me?”

  Walker looked at me thoughtfully. “Perhaps. I’d really hate to have to kill you, John. But I do have my orders.”

  Suzie pushed past me suddenly, standing at the edge of the pentacle so she glared right into Walker’s face. “You set your pet on me. Set Belle on me. I could have died.”

  “Even I just have to do what I’m told, sometimes,” said Walker. “However much I might regret the necessity.”

  “Wouldn’t stop you doing it again, though, would it?”

  “No,” said Walker. “My position doesn’t allow me to play favorites.”

  “I ought to shoot you dead where you stand,” said Suzie, in a voice that was cold as ice, cold as death.

  Walker didn’t even flinch. “You’d be dead before you could pull the trigger, Suzie. I told you, I’m protected in ways you can’t even imagine.”

  I moved quickly to stand between them. “Walker,” I said, and something in my voice made him turn immediately to look at me. “There are things we need to talk about. Things you should have told me long ago. The Collector had some very interesting information about the old days, when you and he and my father were such very close friends.”

  “Ah yes,” said Walker. “The Collector. Poor Mark. So many possessions, and none of them enough to make him happy. Haven’t talked to him in years. How is he?”

  “Well down the road to full on crazy,” I said. “But there’s nothing much wrong with his memory. He still remembers finding my mother, and putting her together with my father. If the three of you were as tight as he says, you had to know all about it. So who commissioned him to go out and find my mother, and why? What part did you play in it all? And how come you never told me anything about this before, Walker? What else do you know about my parents that you’ve never seen fit to share with me?”

  By the end I was shouting right into
his face, almost spitting out the words, but he held his ground, and the calm expression on his face never once changed. “I know all kinds of things,” he said finally. “Comes with the territory. I told you all you needed to know. But there are some things I can’t talk about, not even with old friends.”

  “Don’t just think of us as old friends,” said Suzie. “Think of us as old friends with a pump-action shotgun. Tell him what he needs to know, Walker, or we’ll see how good your precious protections really are.”

  He raised a single eyebrow. “The consequences could be very unfortunate.”

  “To hell with consequences,” said Suzie. Her smile was really unpleasant. “When have I ever given a damn for consequences?”

  And perhaps he saw something in her eyes, heard something in her voice. Perhaps he knew Suzie Shooter’s shotgun wasn’t just any shotgun. So he smiled regretfully and used one of his oldest tricks. The Authorities had given him a Voice that could not be denied, by the living or the dead or anything in between. When he spoke in that Voice, gods and monsters alike would bow down to him.

  “Put down the shotgun, Suzie, and step back. Everyone else, stand still.”

  Suzie put down her gun immediately and stepped back from the edge of the pentacle. Nobody else moved. Walker looked at me.

  “John. Give me the bag. Now.”

  But what was in the bag burned against my side like a hot coal, fanning the anger within me, feeding the fury that blazed within me. I could feel the power of the Voice, but it couldn’t get a hold on me. I stood my ground and smiled at Walker, and for the first time his certainty seemed to slip a little.

  “Go to hell, Walker,” I said. “Or better yet, stay right where you are while I come and beat the truth out of you. I’m in a really bad mood, and I could just use someone like you to take it out on. Can you still use the Voice when you’re screaming, Walker?”