“Where exactly are we going?” said Bettie, looking eagerly about her.
“Well,” I said, “when you’re on the trail of something rare and unique, the place to start is with the Collector. He’s spent the best part of his life in pursuit of the extraordinary and the uncommon, often by disreputable, underhanded, and downright dishonest means. He’s a thief and a grave-robber, a despoiler of archaeological sites, and no museum or private cabinet of curiosities is safe from him. He’s even got his own collection of weird time machines, so he can loot and ransack the Past of all its choicest items. If there’s a gap in history where something important ought to be, you can bet the Collector’s been there. He’s bound to have heard about the Afterlife Recording by now, and, faced with the prospect of such a singular and significant item, you can bet he won’t rest till he’s tracked it down.”
Bettie looked actually awe-struck. “The Collector…Oh, wow. The paper’s been trying to get an interview with him for years. Mind you, half the people you talk to swear he’s nothing more than an urban myth, something historians use to frighten their children. But you know him personally! That is so cool! Has he really got the Holy Grail? The Spear of Destiny? The Maltese Falcon?”
“Given the sheer size of his collection, anything’s possible,” I said. “Except maybe that last one.”
“There are those who say the two of you have a history,” Bettie said guilelessly.
“If you’re fishing in your pocket for your mini tape recorder, forget it,” I said pleasantly. “I lifted it off you before we even left the Unnatural Inquirer offices. I don’t do on the record.”
“Oh, poo,” said Bettie. And then she smiled dazzlingly. “Doesn’t matter. I have a quite remarkable memory. And what I can’t remember, I’ll make up. So, tell me all about the Collector. How did you meet?”
“He was an old friend of my father’s,” I said.
Bettie frowned. “But…some of the stories say he’s your mortal enemy?”
“That, too,” I said. “That’s the Nightside for you.”
“Where’s he based these days?” Bettie said casually.
I grinned. “That really would be a scoop for you, wouldn’t it? Unfortunately, I have no idea, at present. He used to store his collection in a secret base up on the Moon, sunk deep under the Sea of Tranquility, but he moved it after I…dropped in, for a little visit.”
“Couldn’t you have used your gift to find it again?”
“The Collector is seriously protected. By Forces and Powers even I would think twice about messing with.”
“Still…you’ve actually seen his collection! How cool is that? What did you see? What has he got? Did you take any photos?”
I smiled. “I never betray a confidence.”
“But he’s your mortal enemy!”
“Not always,” I said. “It’s…complicated.”
Bettie shrugged easily and slipped her arm through mine. My first impulse was to pull away, but I didn’t. Her arm felt good where it was. I looked at her thoughtfully, but she’d given up on grilling me for the moment and was looking interestedly about her.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this deep into Uptown. You don’t come here unless you are almost obscenely wealthy. I’ll bet there are shops here where a pair of shoes would cost more than my annual salary. Remind me to steal a pair before we leave. Where are we going, exactly?”
“I need to talk to Walker,” I said.
Bettie slammed to a halt, stopping me with her. “The head man himself? Darling, you don’t mess around, do you?”
“If anyone knows where the Collector hangs his hat these days, it’ll be Walker,” I said. “Can we start moving again?”
She nodded stiffly, and we set off at a somewhat slower pace than before.
“But, gosh, I mean…Walker,” said Bettie, giving me her wide-eyed look again. “Our very own polite and civilised and extremely dangerous lord and master? The man who can make people disappear if he doesn’t like the look of them? That Walker? There is a definite limit as to how far I’m prepared to go for this story, and annoying Walker is right there at the top of my list of Things Not To Do.”
“You’ll be fine, as long as you’re with me.” I tried hard to sound calm and confident. “He’ll talk to me. Partly because Walker is another old friend of my father’s. Partly because he’s an old friend of the Collector. But mostly because I shall dazzle him with my charming personality.”
“Maybe I’ll stay outside while you talk to him,” said Bettie.
I grinned at her and noticed abruptly that she wasn’t wearing her polka-dot dress any more. She was now wearing a creamy off-the-shoulder number, very chic, and a pink pill-box hat with a veil. The horns on her forehead peeked demurely out from under the brim of the hat, lifting the veil just a little. I decided not to say anything.
“Is this really such a good idea, sweetie?” Bettie said finally. “I mean, Walker…That man is seriously scary. He’s disappeared at least nine of the Unnatural Inquirer’s reporters because they were getting too close to something he didn’t want known. Or at least discussed. We know it was him, because he sent us personally signed In Deep Condolence cards.”
“Yeah,” I said. “That sounds like Walker.”
“I don’t want to be disappeared, John! It would be very bad for my career. Promise me you’ll protect me. I am too young, too talented, and too utterly gorgeous in a fashionably understated way to be disappeared! It would be a crime against journalism.”
“Relax,” I said. “You’ll be fine. I can handle Walker.”
I don’t like to lie to people, unless I have to, but sometimes you have to say what people want to hear to get them to do what you want them to do. And I had to talk to Walker. He was the only one who might know where the Collector was hiding out these days, who might be willing to tell me. It was always a calculated risk, talking to Walker. In the end, when we finally run out of excuses, one of us is going to kill the other. I’ve always known that. And so has he.
We like each other. We’ve saved each other’s lives. It’s complicated. It’s the Nightside.
“Do you need your gift to find Walker?” Bettie asked, staring distractedly about her as though half-expecting him to suddenly appear out of some door or side alley, just from the mention of his name.
“No,” I said. “I know where he’ll be. Where he always is at this time. Taking tea at his Gentleman’s Club.”
“Walker belongs to a club?” said Bettie. “Result, darling! A definite exclusive! Which club?”
“There is only one club for those of Walker’s exalted position,” I said. “The oldest and most exclusive club in the Nightside. The Londinium Club.”
Bettie looked sharply at me. “But…that was destroyed. During the Lilith War. We published photos. That was where the Authorities were killed. And eaten.”
“Quite right,” I said. “But it’s back. Word is, the Club rebuilt itself. Any building that’s survived everything the Nightside can throw at it for over two thousand years isn’t going to let a little thing like being destroyed in a war slow it down.”
“Oh,” said Bettie. “Do you mind that I’m holding your arm?”
“No,” I said. “I don’t mind.”
The last time I’d seen the Londinium Club, during the height of the Lilith War, it had been one hell of a mess. The magnificent Roman façade had been cracked and holed, smoke-blackened and fire-damaged. The great marble steps leading up to the single massive door had been fouled with blood and shit. And the Club’s legendary Doorman, who had kept out the uninvited and unwelcome for centuries beyond counting, had been torn apart, his severed head impaled on the railings. Inside, it had been even worse.
But now everything seemed back to normal, right down to the fully restored Roman façade. Which I’d always found rather crude, to be honest. There was a new Doorman, however. It seemed the Club could only restore itself, and not those who’d died defending it. Just as well, really. A lot of the Club’s members were no loss to anyone, for all their wealth and power. Anyone rich and powerful enough to belong to the Londinium Club had almost certainly done appalling and unspeakable things to get there. And that very definitely included Walker.