The man paused as if wondering whether or not he should answer, then went ahead, possibly thinking it was the quickest way out of the conversation. ‘Someone handed me an object at a signing. They said they hoped it would give me “inspiration”. It gave me a headache and a bunch of terrible visions on the way to the airport. And, as it turned out, every time I visited London. So the inspiration it gave me was mostly to live abroad.’
‘And you got to the Goat…?’
‘When I got used to the idea of London being horrifying, I did a bit of exploring and found a few places. This bar has been relatively friendly, but I worry about the new management.’
‘Have you been further downstairs?’
‘No. But…’ He considered for a moment and was absolutely silent, looking aside as if weighing up a few different possibilities. Quill found himself wanting to interrupt, but was too interested in what the man was about to say. ‘No,’ the man finally said again, as if it was a decision. Then he smiled broadly at Quill. ‘Good to meet you.’
Quill understood he was being politely dismissed. ‘And you. I’ll let you get back to…’ He gestured in the abstract direction of whatever the man had been looking at on his phone. ‘Cheers.’
He headed off, kicking himself for asking a lot of bloody copper interview questions, completely ignoring his own rules, all because he’d run into someone who was, presumably, famous.
He realized there was something else he really should have said. He stopped. He headed back.
The man looked up again at his arrival, the look on his face now a little tired.
‘My wife’s a big fan of yours,’ said Quill.
‘Oh. Thank you.’
‘Okay, bye.’ He headed off again, knowing that for just a moment there he had sounded like Columbo and that his next move should really be to reveal the man’s guilt in some extraordinary crime.
Then he realized again, stopped again. Damn it. He headed back.
This time the man looked up with only a slight raise of his eyebrows. Oh, come on now.
‘Sorry, just checking, your name would in actual fact be…?’
‘Neil Gaiman.’
‘Great. Thanks.’
‘Okay.’
‘Okay. Bye.’ Quill walked quickly off into the crowd again, mentally rolling his eyes at his own gaucheness. When he told the others about it, it would be a tale of him getting loads of juice through his clever undercover teasing out of a conversation.
Something was happening ahead now: raised voices, people moving swiftly away from the doors. He made his way through the crowd to see as two powerfully built forty-something males, balding, pot bellies, facial hair, six foot one or so, marched into the room. They wore black vest-tops, shiny leather trousers and immaculate long black coats that didn’t look like they’d be comfortable in summer. Lots of pockets, possibility of concealed weapons. The Keel brothers, Quill presumed, Barry and Terry. He recognized one of them from the New Age fair, but they hadn’t spoken; he doubted the man had got a good look at him. He let out a breath of relief. Aggro he could handle. Famous people? Not so much.
Barry Keel was looking around the room as if he’d just walked in on an unexpected orgy. ‘What the fuck,’ he said, ‘is going on here?’
* * *
Ross examined the new arrivals. No lieutenants in their wake, no entourage. Nobody in the crowd had stepped forward to answer them. The weird new bloke who’d been hanging around near Sefton was looking alternately angry and almost gleeful, anticipating trouble, scampering about, trying to get the best view. The barmaid had tensed and taken a step back from the bar.
‘You!’ Barry Keel went over to the bloke sitting by the stairs that led downwards. ‘I’ll say to you what I said to the one up there: You gatekeepers still aren’t letting all our customers come down here. Today was the deadline. When are you lot going to get it?’ He looked around, addressing the group in general. ‘This is our place now. We bought it.’ His accent, Ross noted, was a lot more modern London than the ones she’d heard from this crowd. ‘So you lot are going to let paying customers enter, let the cleansing breath of the outside world clean up this outsider culture of yours a bit, and you — ’ he pointed to the barmaid — ‘are going to take the coin of the realm, and stop with all this self-harming sacrifice barter shit. Or I’ll take something else off you, right?’ He made a gesture with his hand that had something showy and kung fu about it, but it was also obviously a genuine threat.
The barmaid stayed where she was, but Ross could see that she was breathing deeply, terrified. ‘I thought I’d have a bit longer,’ she said. ‘But fuck it.’ She raised her voice. ‘You can keep my face,’ she shouted. ‘I’ve been here since before you were born, and I’m not keeping filthy coin in my hand.’ She looked around the group, hoping desperately for support, and Ross could see a few nodding heads. But there were no voices raised in support. This lot didn’t have it in them to stand up for anything. The woman looked suddenly, horribly, alone. Ross looked over to Costain and found that he was making eye contact with her. A tiny shake of the head.
Ross made herself step back from the bar.
Barry was looking at the barmaid with what seemed to be genuine sadness and frustration. ‘You try and make a deal,’ he said, ‘you try and do this nicely.’ He made his sudden gesture again, and this time Ross felt a slam of weight behind it.
The woman screamed. She slapped her palms to her face. She held them there for a moment as the crowd stared at her. Then, as if realizing she wasn’t actually in any pain, she lowered them.
There were spaces where her eyes had been. Ross could see right through her head.
‘I can’t see,’ she said, gently. She put a finger to where her eye had been … and then straight through it.
The Rat King stepped forwards, glaring, and put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Come with me,’ he said. He glowered as he led her towards the stairwell. ‘You had your chance,’ he said bleakly to the rest of the crowd, who were gaping in horror at what had been done to her. ‘Well done. Love your “community”. Turns out it’s not a good idea to crowd surf when there isn’t a safety net.’
Ross glanced back to Costain and was surprised to find that he had stepped behind the bar. As she watched, he stepped back out again, without looking at her. He’d obviously taken a quick look to see if there was anything important back there. She was the only one who’d thought to look in that direction.
‘Wait,’ said the barmaid, ‘the new girl.’ Ross realized she meant her. She looked back and saw that the barmaid had blindly stretched out a hand and the Rat King had paused to let her do this. Ross went to her, let her take her hand. The barmaid, with surprising strength, pulled her close, almost into an embrace that smelt of lavender and mothballs. Keeping hold of Ross’ hand, she quickly felt for her own pocket, concealed somewhere inside her uniform, and shoved something into Ross’ grasp. It was a business card. ‘You followed the traditions,’ she said. ‘You wanted to barter. You deserve something in return. Listen. I got a strong feeling about you and what you were after. Whatever it is, I think it’s going to be there, at the next auction.’
Ross looked at the card. There was just a bare date, and a map that seemed to swirl before her gaze, like a view down through a hole in the middle of the card. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘You stay alive,’ said the barmaid.
Then the Rat King hustled her off and led her carefully down the stairwell. The gatekeeper there stood up, glaring at the Keel brothers, as if daring them to interfere.
* * *
Costain had seen Ross take something from the barmaid. Now he noted which pocket she put it into. Interesting. Then he turned back to observe the Keel brothers. He was in an enclosed space with deadly weapons, and these two were between him and the door; otherwise he’d have already given the signal for everyone to abort.