“Hello, Julien,” I said. “Come to see how it all turned out?”
“You killed that man,” said Julien Advent.
“Executed him,” I said.
“In cold blood.”
“You know I don’t do things like that. I’m thinking that the sword executed him and used me to do it. I think the sword is changing me ...”
“Could be,” said Julien, unexpectedly. “There are many stories about Excalibur that didn’t make it into the traditional tales of King Arthur. May I see the sword?”
I drew the blade and held it out before me. Julien looked at it for a long moment, his eyes full of the golden glow of the sword. I would have let him hold it if he’d asked because of who and what he was; but he didn’t.
“No,” he said finally. “I’m not worthy.”
“Hell with that,” I said. “You’re a lot worthier than me, and I’m holding the bloody thing.”
“Put it away,” he said, and I did. He sighed heavily. “It is tempting; but a man should know his limitations. And not test himself. You need to know more about the sword you bear, John; and you can’t learn it here. You’re going to have to leave the Nightside, go out into London Proper, and speak with the London Knights.”
“That was the plan, before I got interrupted,” I said. “The whole replacing-Walker thing will have to wait till I get back.”
I was expecting an argument, but Julien nodded slowly. “I understand. It’s not an easy thing, to bear a legend like Excalibur. The London Knights ... are an interesting group. You could learn a lot from them. And, possibly, they might learn a few things from you. If you don’t kill each other first. I did work with them a few times, back in the day. Though they’ve changed a lot since Victoria sat on the Throne.”
“Could I get a letter of introduction from you?” I said. “Saying, This is a good man, despite everything you may have heard, done a lot of good things, please don’t kill him?”
“Ah,” said Julien. “I have to admit that the knights and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms these days. They don’t approve of me since I took up residence in the Nightside. They think I’ve fallen from the straight and narrow path, and I think they’re a bunch of arrogant, stuck-up prigs. But they do know their stuff. They are the last defenders of Camelot, after all.”
“No offence, Julien,” I said, “but I think I’ll pass on the letter.”
Julien looked at me seriously. “Watch yourself, John. The London Knights have done a lot of good in the world but strictly on their own terms. They see things very much in black and white, and have no time for any of the shades of grey.”
“Then I’ll just have to educate them,” I said cheerfully.
He sighed. “It’s all going to end in tears. I know it.”
THREE
The Memory That Bears the Gun Smoke’s Traces
I might be going back to the real world, but no-one said I had to feel good about it. London Proper never did feel like home to me. Home is where monsters dwell; home is where someone tries to kill you every day; home ... is where you belong. I’ve always known I belong in the shadows, along with all the other shades of grey.
But, in my business you go where the job takes you. So I headed for Whitechapel Underground Rail Station, with Suzie Shooter striding silently along beside me. She stared straight ahead, her face cold and composed and very dangerous, as always, and perhaps only I could recognise how much stress she was under. Suzie’s never been very demonstrative, except when she’s shooting people. It took her a long time to get on speaking terms with her emotions, and she still wasn’t sure what to do with some of them. And now here I was heading off into danger, into a part of my life she’d never known or shared, and I couldn’t let her come with me. I couldn’t, for all kinds of reasons. She wouldn’t lower herself to argue, and she had more pride than to sneak along after me, so she settled for escorting me to the station, to make sure no-one messed with me along the way. I didn’t say anything. How could I? I was always proud to have her walk beside me.
Everyone took one look at her face and gave us even more room than usual.
There are those who say Whitechapel was the first Underground railway station to be built in the Nightside, back in Victorian times, linking us to its duplicate in London Proper. Do I really need to tell you why they chose Whitechapel? The man currently known as Mr. Stab, the immortal uncaught serial killer of Old London Town, stuck a knife deep into the heart of the city, and while the blood was washed away long ago, the psychic wound remains. Back before the Underground, it was all hidden doors and secret gateways, and certain rather unpleasant methods provided by very private members-only clubs. Though there have always been weak spots in London Proper, places where anyone could take a wrong turn, walk down the wrong street, and end up in the night that never ends. Sin always finds a way.
“So,” Suzie said abruptly, still staring straight ahead, “Walker’s dead, and now you’re in charge. Didn’t see that one coming.”
“How about this,” I said, as casually as I could. “You’re going to need something to keep you occupied while I’m away. So I hereby deputise you to keep the peace while I’m gone. You can be Walker till I come back. Be tough but fair, and try not to shoot too many people.”
She turned her cold gaze on me. “You give me the nicest presents, John.”
“You can’t come with me, Suzie.”
“You’re going back into the outside world, the London of guns and gangs and knives in the back. You need me.”
“I’m all grown-up now, Suzie. I can cope. And I know how to fit in; you’ve lost that knack if you ever had it. I need to do my work under the radar, so I won’t be recognised or bothered by any of the outer world’s authorities. Official, or supernatural. Or, indeed, by any of the various enemies from my past who might still wish me ill.”
“You’re trying to reason with me,” said Suzie. “You know I don’t do reasonable.”
“I still know how to fake being normal, Suzie. You don’t.”
“I haven’t been back to the real world since I first found my way here,” said Suzie. “Fifteen years old, on the run from everyone and everything. My dead brother’s blood still wet on my hands. Don’t know why I waited so long ... I should have killed him the first time he forced himself on me. You’re right, John. I wouldn’t know what to do in that world any more. I prefer it here, where I can be the monster I always knew I was.”
I stopped, and she stopped with me. I looked her right in the eye, and held her cold gaze with my own.
“He was the monster, Suzie. You did what people are supposed to do: you killed the monster. Now say good-bye and let me go.”
“If they kill you ... I will go out into London Proper, kill them all, and burn the city down.”
I smiled. “You say the sweetest things, Suzie.”
We hugged each other, right there in the middle of the street, ignoring the people who hurried past. Suzie still had problems with public displays of affection, but again, probably only I could have known that. She kissed me briefly, then turned and strode away. She kept her head up and her back straight, and she didn’t look back once. Her way of being brave. I watched her till she was out of sight, then I entered Whitechapel Station, and descended into the Underground.
The cream-tiled corridors and tunnels were packed with men and women and other things, coming and going, intent on searching out all those pleasures that were bad for them. They didn’t talk to each other and made a point of looking straight ahead, not wanting to be distracted or diverted from their chosen paths. Without quite seeming to, everyone gave me plenty of room to move. Having a good, or more properly bad, reputation does have its benefits. I was going to have to learn how to get results without that where I was going. The John Taylor who’d lived in London Proper five years earlier had been a much smaller man.