“You didn’t see the ghost building?” said Julien. “The Hawk’s Wind?”
“No,” said the naked woman. “Only you and Walker.”
“Thank you,” said Julien. “I want this whole area sealed off. No-one in or out until I tell you otherwise, or the Hawk’s Wind returns.”
“Is that likely?” asked the naked woman.
Julien gave her a hard look. “It’s the Nightside. Who knows anything?”
“Good point,” said the naked woman, and she hurried back to join the other naked people and started shouting at the watching crowd to back the hell off. And they did. Julien looked sharply at me.
“You felt the strength of that light, didn’t you? It could have taken us, along with the Bar. So why didn’t it?”
“Perhaps because we weren’t really there,” I said. “We were walking in the Past, not part of it. So what do we do now?”
“There is a place we could go,” Julien said slowly. “Somewhere that might provide answers. Green Henge.”
“Of course,” I said. “The Nightside’s very own Ring of Standing Stones. Where better to look for an old hippy?”
SIX
The Very Righteous Sisters Meet the Sun King
I have seen many impressive walls, in the Nightside. Everything from the Great Wall of Porcelain China, down by the Desolation Docks, to the Moebius Wall of Murder Mile, which surrounds itself. But the huge stone wall that surrounds the Garden of Green Henge is still one hell of an impressive sight in its own right. My gold watch dropped Julien and me off outside the wall, in one of the shabbier areas of the Nightside. Either the trip was getting easier, or Julien and I were getting used to it, because after a few moments of deep breathing, silent cursing, and carefully not looking at each other, we were both back in command of ourselves and ready for business.
The massive stone wall before us rose some forty to fifty feet into the air, constructed from great stone slabs fitted expertly together, without the need for mortar or cement. Each slab was set so tightly in place, you couldn’t fit a knife blade between them; and given the major magical protections I could sense built into the wall, that would probably be a really bad idea anyway. There was no obvious door, and the wall stretched away in each direction for as far as I could see. As though someone had decided long ago, This far into the Nightside shall ye go, and no further. Where the wall met the ground, old blood stained the stones in a regular pattern, like a bloody tide-mark soaked deep into the stone so long ago that no shade of red remained in the dark stains.
Julien studied the blood-stains thoughtfully. “Is this what happened to the last people who tried to get in, do you think?”
“No,” I said. “This is what’s left from human sacrifices. When they were building the wall, men and women were butchered right here, so their blood and deaths would strengthen the magics protecting the wall and so that their ghosts would remain here, bound to the wall, to hold it up against any forces that tried to bring it down. Old Druidic tradition. Very practical and unpleasant people, the Druids.”
“You’re saying the ghosts are still here?” said Julien.
I looked up and down the wall. “No. No ghosts here. Somebody screwed up.”
Julien sighed quietly. “You can be really spooky sometimes, John. You know that?”
“Only sometimes?” I said. “I must try harder.”
Julien was giving rather more of his attention to the less than salubrious surroundings we’d arrived in. The buildings were dark and decrepit, with boarded-up windows and gaping doorways, and most of the street-lights had been smashed. Dark shadows everywhere; with ragged people lurking in them. A few of the braver ones were already shuffling out into the uncertain light to get a better look at whoever had been foolish enough to venture into their territory. Other things, that might or might not have been human but gave the impression of being just as hungry, moved in the shadows and alleyways.
“It’s times like this make me wish I still carried my old sword-stick,” said Julien. “Couldn’t you have materialised us inside the Garden?”
“Possibly,” I said. “But I didn’t want to upset the Righteous Sisters who run the place. There’s always the chance they’re old school Druids, the kind who would burn you alive in a giant wicker man, or nail your guts to the old oak tree, then chase you round it, as soon as look at you. We’re going to need their cooperation, so I’m being polite. I never used to bother much with that, back when I was only a private investigator, but now that I’m Walker . . . it’s that much harder to do appalling things to people in public and not get noticed. And anyway . . .”
“The wall has protections?” said Julien, keeping a watchful eye on the local wildlife.
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” I said. “You can’t sacrifice this many people in one place and not get something for your trouble. I’m sensing defensive magic here that could tie your insides into square knots and send your balls back up the way they came down. Over and over again. So I think we’re going to be very patient and polite . . . right up to the point where I don’t give a toss any more. There’s supposed to be an alcove here somewhere, with a bell . . .”
“Can’t you use your gift to find it?” said Julien.
I gave him a stern look. “I have a strong feeling the Garden might take that as an affront, or an attempt to break in. Either way, if I upset the wall, you can bet the alcove will disappear itself in a moment.”
“What if we can’t find a way in?” said Julien. “Some of these shabby gentlemen are getting a bit too close for my liking.”
“Follow me,” I said. “Keep your head up; they can smell fear. And don’t get too close to the wall. It might bite.”
We walked casually beside the wall for a while, both of us doing our best to appear confident and dangerous. Julien carried it off rather better than I did, with his great opera cape swirling around him. I’m more used to being sneaky and dangerous. Some of the rougher elements inhabiting the neighbourhood moved along with us, sticking to the shadows and maintaining a safe distance. They moved more like animals than anything human, their eyes gleaming brightly in the varying light. It didn’t take me long to find the alcove, built right into the wall, which I now realised had to be five to six feet thick. What did the original builders fear so much that they had to build a wall like this to keep it out? Or what did they need to keep inside their Garden?
The stone of the alcove was grey and dusty, nothing more than a rough enclosure to hold a single silver bell, hanging from a thick silver chain. The bell was delicately made and shone brightly in the gloom, as though it had been placed there only moments before. The surface of the bell had been deeply inscribed with old Celtic lettering that read, roughly, Ring Me.
“Oh, that is entirely too twee,” said Julien, when I translated it for him. “If a cake turns up that says Eat Me, there will be trouble. Never did like that book.”
I checked the floor of the alcove carefully, for trap-doors and other booby-traps. You can’t be too careful, in the Nightside. I rang the bell sharply, and a clear, crystal sound rang out on the quiet night air, like a single note of grace in a hopeless setting. The local scavengers froze where they were, half out of their protective shadows, their grimy faces full of a strange wonder. The bell rang on and on, an intense but still beautiful sound, and still the scavengers didn’t move. They didn’t experience much in the way of beauty in what was left of their lives. The sound of the bell continued, long after it should have died away, as though it had to travel some unimaginable distance to reach the proper ears. But it finally fell silent, fading and fading away, and the cold, empty silence of the street returned. Julien and I waited for something to happen. The scavengers began to remember who and what they were and emerged from the shadows in larger and larger groups. Ragged men in ragged clothes, with wild, feral eyes and mouths full of broken, pointed teeth. Their clothing was such a mess I couldn’t even tell what it might have been originally. Bare hands and faces were grey with ground-in grime, and they padded on their bare feet as much as walked. These were beyond homeless; denied any of the comforts of civilisation, they had sunk down to brute basic needs and hungers, to the way of the beast.