Simon Green - The Bride Wore Black Leather

I walked back through the stacks, which seemed to edge back from me a little. Behind me, I could hear Larry and Tommy arguing.

“Can you shift your end?” said Larry.

“What do you think? You’re nearer the edge than I am, you must have some leverage,” said Tommy.

“I’m deceased, not a contortionist. Look, one of us is going to have to use all his strength and worry about the damage afterwards.”

“Good idea,” said Tommy. “Doesn’t matter if you take any damage, so you first.”

“Just because I’m dead . . .”

“Come, let us reason together . . .”

“Don’t you dare!”

Getting out of the Library wasn’t a problem; deciding what to do next took rather more time. I hid in the darker shadows of the Library’s side alley and ran through my various options. It didn’t take long. I needed to talk to someone I could trust. Normally, this would have been Suzie, but . . . I thrust my hands deep into my coat pockets and frowned so hard it hurt my forehead. Who was there left, who hadn’t been poisoned against me or influenced by the Sun King? Who was there left, that I could depend on? I took a deep breath, mentally crossed my fingers, took out my mobile phone and hit speed dial for Cathy.

I used her emergency mobile number, the very private phone I gave her, in case she needed help after a particularly boisterous party. I didn’t see how anyone could listen in on my phone, after all the money I’d invested in top-of-the-line security, but I wasn’t feeling at all trusting any more. Cathy took her own sweet time picking up, and I was actually beginning to wonder if she was deliberately holding out so someone could track my position, when she finally answered my call.

“Boss? I’ve been waiting for you to call me, but I was expecting it to come through the office phone. I left this one tucked away in the bottom of my bag, for emergencies. I’m on my own here, in the office, packing up. The hen party broke up when the news about Julien Advent reached us. Suzie’s out somewhere, looking for you.”

“Yes,” I said. “I know.”

“Are you all right? Are you hurt? Every time someone rings me with the story, the details are different.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “I . . .”

“Where are you? I’ll come and get you.”

“Cathy,” I said. “You don’t believe I murdered Julien Advent, do you?”

“Of course not! How long have we known each other? I know bullshit when I hear it, boss. You never killed anyone without good cause. Hell, I’m more vicious than you. Particularly when I’ve had a few . . .”

I hadn’t realised how tense I was, until Cathy said she still believed in me. I felt my whole body slowly relax as her familiar rush of words washed over me. If Cathy had turned on me, like Suzie, I think I would have given up . . . “Meet me . . .” I said, then stopped to think again. I couldn’t bring her here because I couldn’t afford to hang around anywhere near the Library. A mob could catch up with me at any time, or Larry and Tommy Oblivion might be overcome by the influence again, the moment they left the Library and all its protections. So where could I go next that my enemies couldn’t follow me? And then the answer hit me, and I smiled briefly.

“You remember the street where we first met?” I said. “Don’t say the name! . . . But you do remember?”

“Of course,” said Cathy. “How could I forget? It was where you saved my life by rescuing me from something that only looked like a house. Is that really where you want me to meet you, boss? The area hasn’t improved, you know. It’s still where the really wild things live.”

“No-one goes there who doesn’t have to,” I said. “Hardly anyone I know would think to look for us there; and the poor bastards who live on that street tend not to care about the latest gossip.” Or would care that I’d killed Julien Advent, I thought, but didn’t say.

“And anyone who did go there looking for you would be lucky to get out alive anyway,” Cathy said cheerfully. “I’ll meet you there in half an hour, boss. I take it you’re going to need transport? Thought so. Can you get there in that time? Of course you can; you’re John Taylor, what am I thinking?”

She cut off the call, and I shut my phone and put it away. How was I going to get to Blaiston Street, right on the other side of the Nightside, without being spotted along the way? I still couldn’t use my Portable Timeslip. The Sun King, or his precious Entities from Beyond, might well track the energy trail and be there waiting for me when I arrived. They might even arrange for all my old friends and enemies to be there, waiting. I shuddered at the thought.

And . . . I couldn’t walk down the streets, hiding out as just another face in the bustling crowds. My white trench coat made me far too easy to spot. Everyone knew my coat; it was part of my image and my rep. But I couldn’t take it off and dump it. My trench coat contained a great many useful tricks, and powerful defences, that I might still need. More importantly, I couldn’t give it up because . . . it was my coat. Letting it go would be like giving up a vital part of me. I was damned if I would. I’d already lost too much that mattered, to the Sun King.

I had to get to Blaiston Street, and that meant I needed transport. I couldn’t trust the taxis, or any of the other usual means . . . Hell, I wouldn’t trust them under normal conditions. Usually, there were people I could call on, like Dead Boy and his futuristic car; but he’d already turned against me. There was Ms. Fate, the Nightside’s very own costumed adventurer . . . but her bright pink Fatemobile was even easier to spot than my white trench coat. My enemies would already be keeping an eye on that car, just in case.

So, when in doubt, cheat. I hurried out of the side alley and down the street, till I came to the nearest underpass. People were already turning to look at me as I clattered down the stone steps and into its concealing gloom. I raised my gift and used it to find one particular underpass, on the other side of the Nightside. And then it was the easiest thing in the world to move myself from one to the other. So that when I reached the bottom of the stone steps, I was walking into a completely different underpass, not far from Blaiston Street.

The tunnel was a lot darker and dirtier than I was used to, and the smell was pretty bad. Things had died down here, quite recently; but some hadn’t died nearly enough. I moved quickly through the underpass, being very careful where I put my feet. I made a point of breathing through my mouth, though it didn’t help much. Half the overhead lights had been smashed, with malice aforethought, to give the things that lived down there an advantage over those of us passing through. And because some things can only be done in the dark.

The buskers were an ugly lot, with their battered, stolen, and improvised instruments, all but demanding money with menaces from those who didn’t drop money into their caps quickly enough. Having heard what the buskers considered music, I couldn’t help feeling that all they had to do was threaten to play another song, and we’d all dig deep into our pockets. Heavy dirt and dust stains on the curving stone walls formed into eyeless faces that turned to follow me as I hurried past. Luckily, my reputation was still potent enough to keep them from forming mouths and proclaiming my name.

I kept up a steady pace, staring straight ahead, not pausing for anyone or anything. Animals can smell fear. And weakness. So I strode right on, giving every indication of being ready to walk right over anything or anyone who didn’t get out of my way fast enough. The other people in the underpass went out of their way to be polite and give me plenty of room; but a shadow of a man with no man to cast it rose suddenly up before me to block my way.