The Midnight Mayor

glory, the miracle! How dare a stranger spit in another’s face, how dare a stranger strike a woman down, knowing it is cruelty without consequence, how dare you throw your litter into the street and wait for the cleaner to pick it up, how dare you park your car and shrug at the rules, how dare you scream at the policeman, how dare you curse the bus driver, how dare you steal a traffic warden’s hat, how dare you show such contempt? Contempt! Take it for granted, damnation, contempt! Strength in the city, strength in survival, strength in being strong, in being hard, in caring for yourself and none other, a jungle in the city, preserve thyself and let the others burn, how dare you walk down the street and not notice its wonders, how dare you look just at your shoes, how dare you turn your face away, how dare you leave the man to die, how dare you, how dare you?!

“I am a true Alderman.

“Magic is in the strange.

“The cruelty of strangers.

“The kindness of strangers.

“The things that strangers have done, built, made, maintained.

“Beauty in the city.

“I am a true Alderman.

“This city is going to burn.”

* * *

She finished speaking.

We considered.

“Well,” I said finally, “you’ve clearly thought hard about this.”

She said nothing.

“To tell the truth, I’d figured a good part by myself.”

Still nothing.

“You couldn’t have gone to a shrink instead?”

“Weakness,” she replied. “Kemsley was right — you aren’t fit to be Midnight Mayor.”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “I’d kinda sussed that too. But, see, if there’s one thing we’re going to agree on about the nature of the city, it’s this: time has come for a bit of change. How long before Mr Pinner gets here, do you think?”

She shrugged. “He doesn’t move like mortal creatures.”

“Sure. Why not? Hey — if you shoot me, right, do I get any say in who becomes Midnight Mayor? Like — could I make you Midnight Mayor with my dying breath? That’d be a turn-up for the books, wouldn’t it?”

“You wouldn’t know how.”

“I’ve been inaugurated.”

She shrugged, but there was a hint of unease behind it. “So?”

“I saw the dragon.”

“And?”

“I know quite how big the madness is, Anissina. Ms Smith. Whatever. Would you like to meet it? Would you like to look into its eyes until your brain dribbles out of your nose?”

Nothing.

“Scared?”

Nothing.

“Fire and fury,” we sighed. “People say these things as if they were meant to make us feel ashamed. As if a bomb going off were not, secretly, obscenely, immorally, indefinably, beautiful. We are not permitted by the customs of this world to say such things. It is regarded as unhealthy. But it is so. Has been so ever since the first caveman became lost, staring into the firelight. Where is the traffic warden’s hat? Did you destroy it? It would be the smart thing to do.”

Nothing.

“I don’t think you destroyed it. It’s like the Midnight Mayor, yes? A symbol of everything you don’t like about the city. The cruelty of strangers, a kid on a bike steals a stranger’s hat. Not to speculate too deep about your sexual predilections, but I’m just betting you couldn’t destroy it. Where’s Ngwenya’s hat, Anissina? Where did Mo hide her hat?”

“End of the line,” she said.

“Been there, done that. Where’s the hat?”

“It’s nothing personal, sorcerer.”

“I know, you said, you did maths at me you stupid, stupid woman! Where’s Ngwenya’s hat?!”

“You can’t do anything here, not here, not . . .”

“We are the blue electric angels! We were born from the left-over breaths of humanity, by the fears and the thoughts and the ideas and the truths and the lies you poured into the telephone lines. We were created by you, bigger and brighter and more alive than any mortal could aspire to be! Do not think to tell us what we can or cannot do! Where is her hat?!”

The men with the guns wanted to shoot, we could feel them aching for it, see them watch the burning of our eyes, just a twitch away from firing.

“Do it,” we snarled, “and you will have the brand on your hand, Midnight Mayor. Let the city watch, the shadows drag, dream the dreams of the sleeping stones, Midnight fucking Mayor! Protect the city, protect the streets, protect the stones — and nowhere did anyone bother to mention that this tiny little ant scuttling within the heap is a best buddy of this tiny little ant who knows this ant who knows this ant who knows that ant who lives on the other side of town whose family all know these ants who just happen to know another ant who knows our initial scuttler and it’s not strangers, we are not strangers, Anissina! It wasn’t a stranger who stole the traffic warden’s hat; that would be fine, that would be nothing! It was a Londoner. It was one of the family, united because of the streets and the stones and the stories! That’s why the city is going to burn, it was a betrayal! We will kill you before we die, Anissina. Burn and be damned — GIVE ME BACK MY HAT!”

We screamed it, the curse on the city, and as we screamed, we raised our right hand, felt the twin crosses blazing blue-blooded brightness, saw the men with the guns flinch away, and felt something more, felt a stiffness in our skin, glanced at our flesh and saw . . . a darkness settled over it that hadn’t been there before, a clawing, growing darkness spreading out from the palm of our right hand but now wasn’t the time, one by one, and there was something wrong with our eyes, something hot and prickling and

Here they were!

Come on, my little beauties, you know this song . . .

Up came the rats. They tumbled out of every hole in the wall, hair raised on their backs, teeth bared; they spilt from the pipes and the cracked vents in the ceiling, crawled over each other to come through the doors; and they were angry because we were, because their home had been invaded when they hadn’t asked, no invite, no reboot. They spilt around our feet and crawled up the legs of the men with guns, who screamed and,

of course, as frightened men do,

fired.

Something went boom. I couldn’t name where, the blast spread so fast through my skin, tore up the back of my throat and liquidised my knees, a great big rolling cloud of mushroom-shaped fire spreading through my nerves. I went down and backwards because that seemed to be the direction the pain was headed in, and I wasn’t going to argue with the pain. The rats parted beneath me, ran across my arms, my face, my chest, scuttling still in their hundreds out of the walls, bearing down on each of the men, who didn’t have lips left to scream, just fell, black bundles melting under black bodies, the torches going out, the lights going out, everything going out inside the room. I could hear shouting, screaming, gunfire as they shot at the rats, and I could feel the blasts, little fat bodies bursting on the earth as the bullets went in, little yellow eyes dying, little claws twitching, little whiskers flicking through the air, little teeth nibbling and biting into soft, warm, human flesh, sinking in like they were eating raw pink chicken. And there was blood on my hands burning bright blue wriggling bright blue blood