Simon Green: The Good,the Bad and the Uncanny

I shuddered, and it had nothing to do with the cold wind.

I looked away, and there was Walker, maintaining a polite distance, smiling easily. The gusting wind barely touched him at all, and I knew that although what was left of Griffin Hill was creeping me out big-time, none of it bothered him in the least. He'd seen far worse in his time, and right now he only had eyes for me. His chosen son, his successor.

So I deliberately looked away, staring down the long slopes of Griffin Hill, where once a huge and magnificent garden had sprawled, full of amazing and incredible plants and blossoms and trees, some so rare they were the last of their kind, others brought in specially from other worlds and dimensions. The flowers had sung and the bushes walked, and the trees swayed even when no wind blew.

Now… it was a dark and corrupt place, touched and changed by the awful thing that had happened so close to it. Tall, distorted growths lashed at the air with curling branches, while things like bunches of twigs lurched up and down narrow trails. There were blossoms the size of houses, thick and pulpy, their diseased colours fluorescent in the night. Great slow waves moved through long green seas, as underneath the surface hidden species went to war. It wasn't a garden any more.

"It's a jungle," said Walker, following my thoughts. "No-one dares go in any more. The Authorities are talking about sending in armoured squads with flame-throwers, and burning it all down. Before something comes crawling down the mountain… I've always had a fondness for the scorched-earth policy. A shame, though, I suppose… There are species in there unknown to history or botanical gardens. The Collector would have loved them."

"Mark," I said. "His name was Mark."

"Oh no," said Walker. "He hadn't been Mark for a long time. Have you been up here since…?"

"No," I said. "When a case is over, it's over. I've never felt the need to revisit old battle-fields. Besides, I've heard stories of strange manifestations. Visions stark and frightful enough to scare off even the Nightside tourists. They might come here to indulge in a little hell, but they don't want to get too close to the real thing. Still, there are always some who think they've seen everything… and they tell stories, in whispers, of ghost images of Griffin Hall, all its many windows blazing with hell-fire light, while terrible shadows of agonised men and women beat against the inside of the glass, desperate to get out…"

"Really?" said Walker. "A whole mansion, floating in mid air, over a hole? I don't think so. There are always stories, John; you should know that. I came up here, just the once, to see for myself. And to make sure nothing was coming back up out of the hole… It's a bad place now and probably always will be, but that's all. No ghosts, no apparitions, no distant screams from the Griffins burning in Hell. A really quite spectacular view, though, I think you'll agree."

"You don't… feel anything here?" I said.

He pursed his lips briefly. "A sense of horror, and lingering evil. About what you'd expect."

"You must feel right at home, then."

He gave me a stern look. "Now, that was just rude. Behave yourself. The Authorities sent the Salvation Army Sisterhood up here, a while back, to run some really heavy-duty exor cisms; but I can't honestly say I feel any difference."

"There are those," I said carefully, "who say that if you stay here long enough, the Devil will rise up out of Hell and offer you the same deal he made with the Griffin. All your heart's desires, in return for your soul. Is that why you've brought me up here, Walker? To offer me a deal?"

He laughed and indicated the whole of the Nightside spread out below us with one sweep of his arm. "All this could be yours, John, if you'll agree to be me. Take up my role. Keep the peace, whatever it takes."

"But what price would I have to pay?" I said, still looking at him rather than the Nightside. "I'd have to do what you do, think like you think, become the kind of man you are. And I think-I'd rather die."

"I've done this for so long, John," said Walker. He sounded suddenly tired, and old. "I've carried this weight for longer than you've been alive. All the things I've done, and none of it for me. Never any of it for me! Dying doesn't bother me; it'll be good to get a little rest at last. But how could I ever rest, knowing I'd left the Nightside without a steady hand on the tiller? Without a proper successor? And who else is there but you, John, who could take over from me? Who else would you name?"

"Julien Advent," I said. "Yes," said Walker. "A good choice. A good man. The Great Victorian Adventurer, come through Time to be a hero here, too. Yes; I did consider him. But as a part of the new Authorities, he's too busy making policy to enforce it. And besides, the knight in cold armour has always been a strictly honourable man. He can't know-the Authorities can't ever know-what must sometimes be done in their name."

"All right," I said. "Let's go in the opposite direction. How about Razor Eddie, Punk God of the Straight Razor? The most distressing agent for Good the Good ever had? He's spent most of his life pursuing and punishing the wicked."

Walker smiled sadly. "The population of the Nightside would plummet."

"True," I said.

"I'm dying, John," said Walker. "I hate to keep reminding you, but time is not on my side. I need your answer. Now."

"You already know it," I said. "I don't want your job. I protect people from people like you. I know what your job leads to. I watched you murder your oldest friend in cold blood!"

"I have always been able to do the hard, unpleasant, necessary things."

"That's it? That's your justification? That it's not what you do, but why you do it?"

"Exactly! The end justifies the means."

"Only sometimes," I said. "And only some ends, and some means. I have always drawn a line I will not cross, no matter what, because to cross that line would mean betraying who I am."

"And what is that?" said Walker. "An honourable man?"

"Sometimes," I said. "The difference between you and me… is that you believe in protecting the System, and I believe in protecting people from the System."

"People!" said Walker. "Never put your trust in people, John; they'll always let you down. You have to put your faith in something bigger. Something that will last."

"The System?" I said. "There is no System, no State; just us. Men and women, struggling to get by, pursuing their own little desires and accomplishments. It's people who keep the wheels turning, Walker. We don't all want to rule the world, only the chance to live in peace in our own little part of it."

"We may all be cogs in the machine," Walker said calmly. "But some cogs are more important than others. They achieve more, and so they matter more, and they must be protected. Sometimes at the expense of certain minor cogs."

"Is their pain any less? Their deaths any less final? Do their children suffer and miss them any less?"

"It always comes back to you and your father, doesn't it, John?"

"You and Mark sacrificed my father, for the sake of your careers!" I said. And my voice sounded cold and vicious, even to me. "You broke him, ruined him, destroyed him. But who was it saved us all, in the Lilith War? You? Mark? No; my father sacrificed himself to save everyone."

"We all sacrifice for what we believe in," said Walker. "Will you sacrifice the bitterness of your past? Your blink ered, limiting sentimentality… for real responsibility? You say you want to protect the people of the Nightside; well, this is your chance. Your chance to stand between the people and the Authorities; to punish the wicked, stamp out corruption, make the world run as it should. Think of all the good you could do, with real power to back you up."