"So, Argus. The god with a thousand eyes. Sees all, knows all, and no personality to get in the way. Though they do tend to burn out fairly quickly… Still, not to worry; there's never any shortage of replacements. Don't worry, John; he can't hear us. All his senses are focused exclusively on the Nightside. His higher functions have been surgically removed, so they can't interfere with his observations. His mind has been surgically adjusted, so it can interface perfectly with the computers and watch thousands of situations at once, throughout the Nightside, and never once grow bored or distracted. Nothing happens that Argus doesn't know about, and report on, and draw attention to, if it is red-flagged in his programming. Names and faces like yours, John. He always has an eye out for you.
"What do you think of my Secret Headquarters, John? Admit it; you always thought I had some great underground lair, watching over an army of secret informers and secret police, reporting back on everything they see. Well, in a way you're right, but we'll get to that later. Why are you scowling, John?"
I gestured at Argus. "He's not a volunteer, is he?"
"Well, hardly. That would be cruel. Only the really nasty bastards get to undergo the Argus procedure. People who deserve it. Like Basil Carter out there; why waste time and money locking them up? There's Shadow Deep, of course, but that's for the out-and-out monsters like Shock-Headed Peter, who deserve to suffer. Everyone else gets to do useful things for the Nightside, in recompense for their crimes. This particular Argus ran an utterly foul con scheme, ripping babies from living wombs to sell on. Now he performs a useful function and is well provided for. He gets fed and watered and changed on a regular basis, and he'll spend what's left of his time helping to protect the Nightside from people like him. What could be more fitting?"
"You said something about secret police," I said.
"So I did. Well spotted, John. Glad to see you're paying attention. There are hundreds of other criminals, their heads as empty as Argus, walking up and down the Nightside, their minds linked to him through the computers. They've been programmed to look and talk like everyone else, even though there's no-one at home in their heads. They go everywhere and see everything, and no-one ever notices them."
"And these are more pressed men? More criminals being punished?"
"Of course!" said Walker. "Take your poachers and turn them into gamekeepers. A grand old tradition…"
He looked at me for some response, some reaction to what he was saying, but I wasn't ready yet. I gestured at the hundreds of screens covering the walls.
"Ah, yes, those," said Walker. "From here I can talk to everyone in the world." He didn't say it at all grandly, to boast or to preen. It was all just part of the job, to him. "From here I can call on any backup I need, to help me enforce my decisions. I can get armed men from the Church, the Armed Services, the Carnacki Institute, and any number of more specialised organisations. I can talk to the Authorities, the British Government, and places of power all across the world; and there isn't a place on Earth where they won't take my call. Because everyone knows how important the Nightside is, and how dangerous. Of course, only specially trained troops are ever allowed into the Nightside. You couldn't expect ordinary soldiers to cope. I'd say that about the only people I don't talk to are the Droods. They're banned from the Nightside by long agreement. They don't play nice."
He broke off abruptly, as Argus began to rock back and forth in his chair. When he spoke, his voice was rough and harsh, as though he didn't get to use it very often.
"Out of the dark, it's coming. From out of the place that nothing comes from, it's coming. And, oh, it's so bright, so bright! "
Walker moved quickly forward and put his mouth right next to Argus's ear. "What is it? What's coming?"
"So old, so ancient; far older than people think. But it never was what people thought it was. It is mighty and terrible, too… and it shines so brightly it hurts to look at it. The only survivor from a Golden Age; because we were not worthy of it. Now it's back. And God help us all."
He stopped speaking, and nothing Walker could do could make him say anything else. Walker didn't know what Argus was talking about, but I thought I did.
"You said he had no personality left," I said. "But he sounded really scared."
"They can always surprise you," Walker said finally. "I wouldn't worry about it. His condition makes him supersensitive to certain disturbances in the aether. He's only repeating what someone else is saying… I doubt it's anything important. Bad things are always coming to the Nightside. It's what we're here for." He turned his back on Argus, and spread his arms out wide, taking in the whole set-up. "So, John, what do you think of my Secret Headquarters?"
"Typical of you," I said. "That all your influence and power should be derived from the suffering of others."
"They suffer because they deserve to," said Walker. "And through their penance they serve and protect the people they preyed on." He smiled briefly. "One day, all of this could be yours. Or would you shut the system down and become blind to what threatens us? Let the bad guys go unpunished and let everyone else suffer? What would you replace this with? See? Not as simple as you thought, is it, John? I only do what is necessary for the common good. And so could you, John. All this could be yours to command. All the secret lines of influence, control, and power… Tell me you're not tempted."
"Get thee behind me, Walker," I said.
He laughed.
Next he took me to the Londinium Club, that most private and select of clubs, where the elite of the Nightside come together to dine and do business, and discuss the destruction of their enemies. You aren't anyone in the Nightside unless you've been invited to become a member of the oldest club in the world. I am not a member. They wouldn't accept the likes of me on a bet. Though I have been known to barge, trick, and intimidate my way in when I need answers I can't find anywhere else. This has not made me popular with members of the club, but I've learned to live with that. The current Doorman saw me approaching and looked like he wanted to pull up the drawbridge and set fire to the moat; but I was with Walker, and no-one says no to Walker. The Doorman bowed stiffly as we passed, his face utterly impassive; but his body language suggested terrible things were happening inside him.
"You see what it is to have power?" said Walker, as we strolled into the elegant embrace of the club lobby. "You can go anywhere, and they have to smile and bow and let you in. No door is ever closed, and no-one is ever unreachable."
"And you do so enjoy having the world by the throat, don't you, Walker?" I said, and he surprised me by considering the question seriously.
"I try not to," he said finally. "It gets in the way of getting the job done."
Various liveried servants appeared to take Walker's coat. They tried to take mine, but I just looked at them, and they gave up on the idea. The servants concentrated on Walker, smiling and bowing and asking if there was anything at all they could do for him; and as I watched them fawn over him, with their fake smiles and subservient gestures, I had to wonder if this was anything I wanted. Most people refrained from upsetting me because they were afraid of my reputation. They did what I told them because they were afraid of what I might do if they didn't. Was that really any different?