Simon Green - A Hard Day's Knight

“How can anyone lose Excalibur twice in one day?”

“It’s a gift,” I said.

“Well, try your other gift and track the bastard down.”

I raised my gift and locked on to Stark almost straight away. My inner eye Saw him run out of the Fortress and onto the street, produce a bone charm, and speak several very dangerous Words over it. A dimensional gateway materialised before him, a rip in Space and Time, brutally simple but effective. The rogue knight had a portable Timeslip of his own. Stark stepped into the dimensional gate and disappeared; but he’d barely been gone a moment before Merlin Satanspawn appeared out of nowhere and threw himself into the gateway after Stark. The Timeslip collapsed in on itself and was gone, leaving the street empty again.

I lowered my gift and brought Suzie up to speed. She frowned, thinking.

“So, where has Stark gone?”

“Sinister Albion,” I said. “My gift told me that much. And Merlin went straight through after him. So at least the Nightside is safe, for a while.”

“But we still need Excalibur, to face the elves when they come,” said Suzie. “So we have to go after them. Don’t we?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But Merlin took the Timeslip with him when he left. There’s not a trace of it left. And my Portable Timeslip can’t track his destination without the right co-ordinates. Which is a bit beyond what my gift can do.”

“Are you saying they’ve got away? There’s no way we can go after them?”

I smiled. “This is the Nightside. There’s always a way. Do you by any chance remember the Doormouse?”

“Oh bloody hell,” said Suzie.

When you absolutely, definitely, have to be somewhere else in a hurry, there’s no substitute for the Doormouse and his excellent establishment, the House of Doors. He can open up a Door to anywhere and anywhen; though, of course, getting back again is strictly your problem. My Portable Timeslip took Suzie and me straight to his street, dropping us off, a little short because the Doormouse has very powerful protections. The old place looked pretty much as I remembered it. Still standing between a vampire theme pub, where the waiters snack on the customers, and a branch of the Bazaar of the Bizarre franchise, this week specialising in Necro-tattooing; where the tattooist uses blood instead of ink. Elf blood, werewolf blood, Frankenstein blood—producing images that don’t just sit there but get right under your skin ...

Suzie and I walked up to the Doormouse’s place, and the frosted-glass doors swung regally open before us, admitting us to an extensive lobby of really quite remarkable style and elegance. Thick carpeting, huge mirrors, antique furnishings, and all the very latest high tech lying casually scattered round the place. Some of it so determinedly futuristic I couldn’t even begin to name it, let alone guess what it was for. The Doormouse is always up to the mark; and, thanks to his Time-travelling capabilities, often more than a bit beyond.

The Doormouse himself came scurrying cheerfully forward to greet us; a six-foot-tall, vaguely humanoid mouse, with dark chocolate-coloured fur under a pristine white lab coat, complete with pocket protector for his colour-coded pens. He had a long muzzle, twitching whiskers, and shrewd, thoughtful eyes. He actually looked quite cute, in an entirely disturbing and unnatural way. He spoke in a high-pitched, cheery, and very human voice, like the born salesman he was.

“Hello, hello, hello there! Welcome to my emporium of Doors! Every destination you ever dreamed of, nowhere too remote or unlikely! Come on in and, oh my God, it’s you again.”

He stopped dead in his tracks, whiffling his whiskers and staring balefully at Suzie, who glared right back at him. The Doormouse folded his arms across his broad chest and tapped one sandaled foot very quickly.

“She’s not going to break anything, is she? Only I still remember the last time you two were here, during the Lilith War. I’d have been safer out on the street with the rioting mobs. It’s bad enough you marched in and used one of my best Doors without paying, but the whole shop’s ambience was fatally compromised, just by her being here. Took three exorcists and a feng shui specialist to restore the usual happy House of Doors atmosphere.”

“We only want to use a Door,” I said soothingly. “We might even pay for this one. Show us what we need, and we’ll be on our way and leave you alone. Won’t that be nice?”

“She’s growling at me,” said the Doormouse.

“Yes, well, that’s her being her. Suzie doesn’t do cute and fuzzy. I think it offends her view of the universe on some level. Don’t make any sudden moves, and you’ll be fine. Let’s see the Showroom.”

The Doormouse sniffed loudly, stuck a very pink tongue out in Suzie’s direction, then he turned sharply and stomped off, leading us deeper inside. The main Showroom was full of Doors, row upon row and rank upon rank, all of them standing alone and upright and apparently unsupported. Made from every kind of wood and metal, glass and crystal, they all bore individual handwritten labels, describing their destinations: Shadows Fall, Carcosa, Haceldama, and Scytha-Pannonia-Transbalkania.

“A very popular holiday resort, that one,” said the Doormouse, bustling busily along. “If you like it old-fashioned and a little odd.”

I wasn’t really listening. I’d spotted a familiar face—that general fixer and go-to man, Harry Fabulous, lurking further down the Showroom. He took one look at me and disappeared through a Door. I get that a lot. Still, the guilty flee where no man pursueth, and Harry did a lot of fleeing. Suzie elbowed me discreetly in the ribs, and I pretended I’d been paying attention all along.

“Lots of Doors in stock,” said the Doormouse, padding along before us. “Lots and lots ... I’m always expanding, always looking for something new and interesting. I still design all the Doors myself, but I do enjoy tracking down the odd rarity. I nearly got my hands on the legendary Apocalypse Door at an auction in Los Angeles; but someone else got their hands on it first. It can be a cut-throat business in the travel industry, sometimes ... Where do you want to go this time, Mr. Taylor; and why do I just know I’m not going to like the answer?”

“I don’t know,” I said innocently. “Maybe you’re psychic. I need to get to an alternative Earth called Sinister Albion.”

The Doormouse stopped so abruptly I nearly walked right over him. He turned and looked at me thoughtfully.

“Oh. There.... Nasty place, by all accounts. But no doubt you know your own interests best. Have you made a will? I have. Very comforting things, wills. So, you want the Alternate Earths Door. This way, this way ...”

He started off again in a completely different direction, down a long line of standing Doors, until he finally lurched to a halt before a large mahogany door with a complicated brass combination lock inserted right in its centre. The Doormouse patted the gleaming dark wood with one soft paw.

“Remarkable piece of work, this, Mr. Taylor. Remarkable. This Door can give you access to any alternate history track you can think of and a few most people would be better off not thinking of. All you need is the correct co-ordinates. I should point out that you have to be extremely exact when entering the co-ordinates if you want to get the world you want and not one just a bit like it. Now, Sinister Albion. Are you sure you’re sure about this, Mr. Taylor?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” I said.

“Quite so, quite so ... I gather from your companion’s expression that she’s about to start growling again, so I’ll get to the point. I don’t know the exact co-ordinates for Sinister Albion. Don’t know anyone who does. I didn’t even know the awful place existed before its inhabitants started showing up in the Nightside: King Artur, Merlin Satanspawn, Prince Gaylord the Damned ... That last one actually turned up here a few days ago. I locked the doors, pulled down all the shutters, hid in the toilets, and pretended I was out until he gave up and went away. I mean, you have to draw the line somewhere. No, if you want to go to Sinister Albion, Mr. Taylor ... you’re going to have to provide the co-ordinates. Of course, they say you can find anything ... Must be a wonderful gift. Very useful. I can never find anything. Can’t even find my spectacles most of the time.”