She stopped abruptly and pushed back one sleeve to reveal a chunky bracelet of some shimmering metal, studded with read-outs and controls. She punched in a quick series of numbers, and next thing I knew we were all standing in a surprisingly comfortable-looking office. Benway gave us another of her quick smiles, sat down behind the desk, and waved for Julien and me to sit down on the visitors’ chairs.
“Teleport bracelet,” she said briskly. “Fell off the back of a Timeslip, from some future or other. It’s the only way I can be everywhere I need to be, in this place. Won’t work anywhere near Ward 12A because of the bracelet’s built-in protections. Sit! Sit!”
We sat. Her chair looked to be a lot more comfortable than ours. I made a point of looking round her office rather than waiting to be talked at. Let her wait for a bit. The office was all very neat, very business-like. All the usual comforts and luxuries. But not a single framed photo anywhere, of family or friends or loved ones. Not even a framed diploma on the wall behind the desk.
Benway caught my gaze or read my mind. “No memories of the past here, Mr. Taylor. Some of us can’t afford to look back. I don’t do nostalgia.”
“Is that why you aren’t ever pleased to see an old friend like me?” said Julien.
“I see you all the time, at Hospice committee meetings.”
“And you always choose a chair at the other end of the table, and you never say a word to me that you don’t have to.”
“You know very well why I stay away from you,” Benway said sharply. “Because I got old; and you didn’t. Look at me. I’m an old woman. Should have retired by now. Would have, if I could find anyone half-way decent to replace me. And you . . . you don’t look a day older than the day I first met you, back in 1967. How do you think that makes me feel?”
“Emily . . .”
“No, Julien. Dr. Benway; as far as you’re concerned. Now and always.” She paused, looking at him thoughtfully. “I saw Juliet, the other day.”
“Did you?” said Julien. “Did she ask after me?”
“No.”
Benway gave me her full attention, studying me with a cold, professional gaze. “I know you by reputation, Mr. Taylor. I’ve read many accounts of your various . . . adventures. I have to say I’m surprised we haven’t seen you in here before now.”
“Well, keep it to yourself,” I said. “But I have some diluted werewolf blood in me. Not nearly enough to trigger the change, but more than enough to give me a seriously souped-up healing factor.”
Julien sat up straight in his chair and looked at me accusingly. “You never told me that! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want to see it turning up in the Night Times,” I said. “The best advantages are the ones your enemies don’t know exist.”
“You could have trusted me,” said Julien, a little put-out.
“Two men can keep a secret,” I said. “If one of them is dead. Unless he’s Dead Boy, of course, then you’re screwed.”
“But . . . when did this happen?” said Julien.
“Hell of a party,” I said solemnly. “You should have been there.”
“Why are you both here?” said Dr. Benway, loudly and forcefully. “Did you know something was going to happen in Ward 12A?”
“No,” said Julien. “Good thing we were here, though. Wasn’t it?”
“All right, I get it, hold the moral blackmail,” said Benway. “I owe you. But why did you need to talk to me so urgently?”
“It’s the Sun King,” said Julien. “He’s back. Here, in the Nightside.”
Dr. Benway sat very still in her chair. She looked like she’d been hit. All the colour dropped out of her face. She wasn’t even looking at Julien and me any more, her eyes far-away, remembering yesterday.
“Would you like a glass of water?” said Julien.
“No,” said Benway. “I’d like a glass of gin.”
She leaned over, breathing heavily, and rummaged around in a desk drawer before coming up with a bottle of Gordon’s Dry Gin and one glass. She poured herself a healthy measure, knocked it back in several quick sips, and immediately poured herself another. She didn’t offer any to us. Colour blazed in her cheeks, and her hands were very steady. She put the bottle and glass to one side though still in easy reach if she decided she wanted some more; and then she glared at Julien, ignoring me.
“You knew he was back; and you didn’t even warn me?”
“I’ve only known for a few hours,” Julien said steadily. “And John and I have only just met him, in the Garden of Green Henge. We came straight here.”
Benway considered this. “How . . . What was he like?”
“He looked the same,” said Julien. “But he was . . . different. Changed. Still immensely powerful, though.”
“Why has he come here? To the Nightside?”
“To destroy it,” I said flatly, tired of being left out of the conversation. “He thinks he can make the sun rise here and put an end to the night.”
Benway smiled briefly. “He always did think big; even when he was still just my Harry.”
“So you were Princess Starshine,” I said.
She winced. “Not for a long time! That . . . was somebody else.” She looked at the bottle and the empty glass. She started to reach out, then pulled her hand back again. She looked at Julien. “Did he ask after me?”
“No,” said Julien.
“But you think he’s coming here, to see me?”
“It seems likely,” said Julien. “For him, the Summer of Love is still recent history. And who else does he know here who might still remember him fondly? I have to ask, Emily; back when you were Princess Starshine, you had power of your own, briefly. Do you still . . .”
“Of course not! Do you think I’d let my patients suffer if I still had the power to help them? No . . . He took all that with him, when he went away. When he walked into the White Tower and left me behind.” She paused. “I can’t even remember what it felt like, to be . . . that other person, now. Most of my memories of that time have faded . . . More like a story that someone told to me, long ago. When I was young . . .”
Her phone rang suddenly, and we all jumped. Benway answered it quickly, listened for a while, and swore, briefly and dispassionately. She slammed the phone down, then fired up the computer screen on her desk. She looked at the scene before her and beckoned for both of us to come round the desk and join her. We were already up and moving. We peered over her shoulder, to see what she was looking at. The monitor screen showed a view of the Hospice lobby, and there he was, the Sun King, standing there in his Coat of Vivid Colours, looking happily around him at everyone else while everyone else looked at him. Patients who’d only returned from the previous crisis looked him over suspiciously while security people came hurrying forward from all sides. Because they could all feel the sheer power radiating off him. But once the security people had him surrounded, they didn’t know what to do. They stood there, helpless in the face of something so much bigger than them. They couldn’t even find the strength to point their guns at him.
The Sun King looked around him, taking his time, taking it all in, the patients and the security people and the new place he’d come to. He shook his head slowly, frowning. And then he clapped his hands, once; and every man, woman, and child in the lobby was completely cured of whatever ailed them. Illness was banished, fading organs were repaired, injuries put right. The lame walked, and the blind could see, and each and every person had an apple in their hand. The lobby was suddenly full of whoops and cheers, tears and laughter and celebration. Patients danced with each other, and the security people lowered their guns, smiling foolishly. And the Sun King stood there, in the middle of it all, enjoying every moment of it.