Paul Cornell - London Falling

‘Kensington.’ Sefton used his original accent even as he said it. Why, Ambassador, you’re spoiling your son. He felt immediately embarrassed. He hadn’t used that voice in years.

‘Really?’

‘Nah,’ and there he was again, lying, ‘just having you on, mate.’

‘But you haven’t been out round here before? Right, so, this place is bollocks. Let me give you the tour.’

His name was Joe. They had a couple of pints at a couple of different places. Sefton was too knackered to really care about which pub he was in, but he liked the company. And he was on for whatever the evening brought because — come on, skeletons in a cauldron — he was off duty now, thank you. And he always loved the sort of offhand friendliness you got when you met a bloke like this. I mean, yeah, they were both thinking about a shag, but that was also kind of a doorway to the sort of hanging out with near strangers that Americans did so well, and the British didn’t. Exactly right for him tonight. To be nobody in particular.

‘So what do you do, then?’

‘Stuff.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means I don’t want to get into that.’

Joe got a resigned look on his face that said, fine, keep me at arm’s length, why are we bothering with the social bit if that’s all you’re after? So Sefton put an arm round his shoulder. ‘I mean it’s been a long day and it’s a dull job and I don’t want to talk about it. Sorry.’

‘Okay, taking that onboard. Intense, you are.’

‘Tell me about it.’

It was crowded on the pavements tonight as they wandered along: encountering unlicensed cab offer, Big Issue seller, old man in white gloves, beery students; gay, gay, not sure, gay, straight, straight, straight; hen night, Japanese couple, religious ranter; stall selling something that looked like shite and smelt like toffee. .

And, suddenly, who they all were and what they all wanted hit Sefton like a punch and he wanted to hide hide hide go undercover be someone else quickly before they know you before they get you because you can feel how they might hate you if they saw the real you and if they turned on you with this gaze and this power and his vision went weird and he had to fall back against the window of a Turkish convenience store and the man behind the counter inside started tapping the window saying what are you doing because he was bumping the back of his head regularly against the glass and he was quite conscious thank you absolutely together but he couldn’t stop and Joe was staring at him not yet completely freaked out and the force of it was because there was something nearby. .

He took a breath, closed his eyes.

The fucker must have put something in my beer. Oh God, is this Ketamine or some shit? Is this a sex thing, or was I followed and targeted, and is that the guy whose house I’ve been in? My warrant card’s in my sock. Get to a taxi, show the warrant, go to Paddington Green or somewhere -

But Joe wasn’t looking dangerous; he seemed really worried now. So he didn’t do this. What did this?

Something was approaching. Something was heading towards him, and that was what had sent him slamming back against the window. Because his body was afraid of what was coming. The owner was coming out now. People inside, buying samosas, were looking out at him. Mad guy. But something was coming. That was what had sent him slamming back away from it. He hadn’t realized. Something was coming and this lot were all in danger. Never mind that they were all terrifying, the force of all of them combined that he wanted to hide from. They were all in danger.

The owner of the shop grabbed his shoulder to push him away into the crowd, towards the thing that was coming. Joe started to get in the way, to rail loudly at him: it’s not drugs, look at him, he’s ill-

Sefton pushed himself away from the shop owner, away from the window, with Joe rushing after him. Get away from this thing. If it was only after him, then get it away from them.

And then he realized that it had changed the direction it was coming from.

It was coming straight through the crowd in front of him. It was here!

It walked through the crowd. It walked right through them, their bodies passing through it, mostly, for there was one old man stepping round it. . but enough of that, just look at it — look at this mother, it’s ten feet tall and it’s a plant, it’s like a tree but with a mass of green on top, and are those human arms? That’s a bloke in a costume, no it isn’t, it’s bringing with it-

Smell of park, not just grass, not countryside, park. More than smell. Something got park into my head, beyond the smell. There’s money and servitude and that anger, all that anger, all that anger at doffing your cap and lowering your eyes as the bastards go past and they’re throwing a coin for you and this is you at their houses, Jack in your green Jack after their maids Jack your only day hidden in here Jack get up to all sorts in here, and Sefton thought, Not me mate, I’m like you whatever you are, money thing, servant thing, old lady remembering thing, city remembering thing -

He’d locked up again, his hands shaking in front of him like he was having a fit, and it was rushing at him, aiming to go through him-

A moment of smelling, or seeing, all those things at once, in the many corners of his eyes, as if his eyes were suddenly stars and pricked with corners, and it was all those things at once and terrifying! And so cold, made out of cold-

And it was into the crowd again, part of them again, and it hadn’t been after him at all, and he staggered.

Joe caught him.

‘He still thinks you’re bent,’ said the man whispering in Harry’s ear. ‘All those years you’ve been kissing his arse, and this is how he repays you.’

Quill had stumbled back to his seat, saying, yeah, he had been in the pub a while. He’d been so freaked out he couldn’t deal with it. But he wasn’t about to run out screaming yet. He sat there and listened to what Harry was saying, numbly nodding along, checking out his surroundings all the time. If he was hallucinating, if he’d got something in his bloodstream, perhaps scratched himself on a nail or something inside that house, breathed something in. . but he didn’t feel woozy, apart from the beer, and he knew what beer felt like, so it gave him something to compare this to. Quill gradually became certain that he was in his right mind.

So what was this fucker he couldn’t touch? Who kept on spouting this shit? And Quill was sure now that Harry was hearing it, too, as he could see tiny reactions to it on his face. But it was very subtle. He got the feeling that, even if the man suddenly shouted, Harry wouldn’t have leaped up. This seemed to be something Harry was deeply used to. Quill decided that he’d do what he always did whenever he didn’t understand certain aspects of a situation. He’d plough right on through. Which meant, for a start, not putting up with this any longer.

‘Listen, Harry,’ he said, ‘nobody thinks you’re a bent copper. Nobody . And especially not me, all right?’

Harry looked surprised, they’d been talking about something else. ‘Thought never crossed my mind, Jimmy,’ he said.

‘Oh, look at you, lapping up the scraps from his table,’ said the old man. ‘You’re ten times the copper he’ll ever be. Look at him, playing the role, saying all the right things. He’s just copying his dad. He gets all the attention because he looks right and he sounds right, never mind the fact that you’re more talented. He gets promoted just because of how he acts, not for what he does.’

Quill realized that he’d only just restrained himself from yelling at the strange man, letting out his fear and anger. But that wouldn’t get him anywhere, because this. . this ghost, or whatever it was. . it wasn’t trying to bait him. Its attention was entirely concentrated on Harry.