Simon Green - The Good,the Bad and the Uncanny

"I'll bet a hell of a lot more will celebrate," said the Collector. "Hell. Half of the Nightside will probably throw a party. With streamers and balloons. Besides, no-one will ever know it was me. You and your unpleasant associate will join my collection, as very small portions in a series of very small boxes. Then maybe I'll be able to get some proper sleep at last."

I'd looked everywhere and run out of options. The cat robots had covered every possible escape route, and there were no obvious weapons out on display. None of the usual cursed needles, singing swords, or interstellar blasters. Not even anything heavy enough to pass for a blunt instrument. The robots were all around us now and pressing closer. The Collector didn't allow them weapons, in case they might damage any of his beloved exhibits, but they still had their inhuman strength and wickedly sharp claws.

"Don't suppose you've a gun on you, by any chance?" said Larry.

"I don't like guns," I said. "Besides, most of the time I'm smart enough to avoid getting caught in situations where I might need them. I really thought I had the Collector intimidated… or at the very least, sufficiently guilt-tripped…"

"On the whole, I'd have to say he doesn't look intimidated," said Larry. "And no; I don't have a gun on me either. I've grown far too dependent on my wand since I died."

"Yes," I said. "Tricky."

"Well, don't just stand there; do something! Those robots are getting bloody close! I do not want to spend the rest of my life as kitty litter! I'm dead, not invulnerable."

"I told you that," I said. "And will you please stop hyperventilating? It's really very unattractive in a dead person. Dead Boy never makes a fuss like this when we work together."

"Dead Boy is crazy!"

"There is that, yes… I think we should grab some of the more fragile-looking exhibits, and build a barricade between us and the robots. The Collector won't let them damage anything."

"Are you sure about that?" said Larry.

"I'm betting my life on it."

It didn't take long to drag some of the shelves and display cases into place around us, pushing the more delicate objects to the front. A glass phallus from the Court of Cleo patra, engraved with snake scales; dainty china butterflies from the Court of Versailles, with tiny erotica hand-painted on the wings; and half a dozen paper ghosts from Hiroshima. And sure enough, once the Collector realised what we were doing, he stopped his robots in their tracks rather than have them break anything. Things would always matter more to him than any human emotions, even revenge. He glared at us, and we glared right back at him, and there was no telling where the stalemate might have taken us, if we hadn't been distracted by the sound of deliberate, approaching footsteps. We all looked round sharply, and there was Walker; strolling through the packed shelves and cases, as calm and composed and elegantly dangerous as ever.

The cat robots immediately forgot all about Larry and me and turned as one to focus on Walker. The Collector gestured urgently for them to stand still, and they did. Walker ignored them completely, smiling and nodding to the three of us as though we'd just happened to meet in the street. He walked through the still ranks of robots and finally came to a halt before the Collector. Walker smiled at him warmly.

"Hello, Mark. Been a while, hasn't it?"

The Collector scowled at him. "Don't come the old-chums act with me, Walker. That was a long time ago. We're both different people now. And don't try your Voice, either; it won't work here."

"Never occurred to me that it would," murmured Walker.

"How did you find me?" said the Collector, plaintively. "I put a lot of hard work into choosing this site and hiding it from unfriendly eyes."

"It wasn't difficult," said Walker. "I just followed John."

"I didn't see you!" I said.

"People don't, unless I want them to," said Walker.

"You lied to me," I said. "You used me to find the Collector for you!"

"Needs must, when the Devil's knock knock knocking on your door," said Walker.

The cat robots were still watching Walker with their glowing green eyes, almost visibly straining against the orders that held them motionless. They knew a real threat to their master when they saw one. Walker ignored them all with magnificent disdain. The Collector and Walker stood face-to-face, and when the Collector finally spoke, his voice was quieter, and more human, than I expected.

"It has been a long time, hasn't it, Henry? But with your resources, you could have found me at any time if you'd really wanted to. I've always known that. Why did you stay away so long? We might have been on opposing sides, but that never stopped you with other people. Why did you wait until you were dying to come and see me? Yes, I know; of course I know. All those years we were friends, and I had to hear it from someone else? What were you thinking? Why didn't you come to me the moment you found out? I could have come up with something! I have all of Time to look in!"

"But I am running out of Time," said Walker. "And I couldn't bring myself to trust anything you might find for me. Our relationship has always been… complicated."

"And whose fault is that?" said the Collector. "I had such plans, such dreams, before you swept me along with your damned ambitions!"

Walked nodded slightly, accepting the point. "And what have you made of your life, Mark? All the great things you boasted you were going to do… and you gave it all up to collect toys?"

"What have you done with your life, Henry?" the Collector said angrily. "You wanted to fight the establishment, and instead you became it. You're the Man now; everyone knows that. You've become everything we despised! And for what? To be king of shit heap? Caretaker of a freak show? Errand and bully-boy for the Powers That Be!"

Walker didn't flinch once, even as the Collector spat hot, hateful words at him. He waited politely for the Collector to run down, then spoke calmly and reasonably in return.

"Time changes all things, Mark. You of all people should understand that. And you… have become too dangerous and too unpredictable to be left running around loose, making trouble when I am gone. I did help towards making you the man you are; and that makes you my responsibility."

"I made myself what I am," snapped the Collector. "I don't owe you anything!"

"You never did listen, Mark," murmured Walker, almost sadly. "This isn't about what you owe me."

"You always did have too high an opinion of yourself," said the Collector. "I made myself the greatest Collector in the Nightside, through my own hard work and determination. Despite everything you or anyone else could do to stop me!"

"I should have tried harder," said Walker. "But I always had so much else on my plate, and you were my friend, so… If I'd known you were going to end up like this, I would have done something. I can't help feeling this is all my fault."

"What are you talking about?" said the Collector.

"Oh, wake up, Mark!" snapped Walker. "Look around you! What kind of a life is this for anyone? No family, no children, no friends; just… things?"

"You have family, children, and friends," said the Collector. "Did they make you happy, Henry? Did they make you content? We were never going to be happy, or content, or satisfied. It wasn't in our nature."

"We have come a long way from the idealistic young men we once were," said Walker. "When did we lose our innocence, Mark?"

The Collector laughed harshly. "We didn't lose it, Henry; we threw it away first chance we got. Don't waste my time with nostalgia just because you're dying. Those days, and those people, are long gone."

"No," said Walker. "That was yesterday. And I would give everything I own to have it back."