The Bride Wore Black Leather

never remember or reproduce afterwards. He and his music led us through the streets of San Francisco, like a psychedelic pied piper. Hundreds, thousands strong, our minds blown and expanded by his very presence. We would have followed him anywhere, done anything for him. Lived for him, died for him. Oh yes, I was there, swept up in it all. He was our leader, our prophet, our guru. And all he ever wanted of us was that we should become like him, shine like him. He wanted to raise us all up, into all we’d ever wanted or hoped we could be. A world of turned-on, non-violent superhumans.

“The gentle knights, the lords and ladies of a new Camelot.

“He walked through Haight-Ashbury, and we followed after him, hundreds of thousands strong, singing Hallelujah. He healed the sick with a look, raised up the broken-spirited with just a word, turned on the straights and blasted everyone’s minds into something better. A living god, he walked in sunlight wherever he went, and miracles and wild happenings burst out all around him.

“The local authorities totally freaked out. The cops arrived first, with their uniforms and guns and night- sticks; and the Sun King stopped them in their tracks and stunned them with the truth. Of who they really were, as opposed to who they’d wanted to be. And some of them joined us, and some of them ran away to hide in the shadows, and some of them drew their guns and opened fire. But the Sun King smiled, and their bullets turned into flowers and fell out of the air.

“So they called in reinforcements, and they met us with armoured vans, and bigger guns, and water cannon; but none of them made any difference. The Sun King had no weapons; he was benevolence personified, and the natural world itself rose up to protect him. He . . . made you want to be better, to do better, by example. And through his presence, his example, we were.”

Julien stopped talking, his eyes far-away, lost in the past. I’d never heard him say so much, or speak so eloquently. Or talk about someone else the way most people talked about him. The Great Victorian Adventurer; the crusading editor of the Night Times; the man even his enemies admired.

“What happened?” I said. “What went wrong?”

“He went back to the park,” said Julien Advent. “And he raised up a huge and wonderful White Tower, with nothing more than a wave of his hand. It appeared before us, huge and magical, all complete in a moment, a Tower with no doors or windows. He walked through the wall and disappeared inside the Tower, shutting himself off from the clamour of the world, and his followers, so that he could meditate on what to do next, and commune with the Entities from Beyond. All the people came from far around, in their psychedelic clothes and pretty painted faces, with flowers in their hair and in their hands, and they sat around the Tower in endless ranks, closely packed circles spreading out for as far as the eye could see. All the beautiful people, the flower people, the good and groovy people. And there they sat, talking and singing, waiting patiently. Until the light went out of the day, and night fell over the park, and the White Tower blazed like a beacon. And still they stayed, eating and drinking, laughing and loving, dancing and singing in celebration of what they’d seen and the hope of new wonders to come. For twenty- four hours they waited for the Sun King to come out and lead them to glory.

“And exactly twenty-four hours after he disappeared into the White Tower, the Tower with no doors and no windows . . . after they’d all exhausted themselves and there was no more singing or dancing . . . the Tower disappeared. No-one saw it go. No sound or fury, no great explosions of colour; people looked up, and it wasn’t there any more. No trace to show it had ever been there. Strangely enough, there weren’t any tears or protests, no demands for explanations. Slowly, a few at a time, the people went away. And within a few days, most of them had forgotten about the Sun King, and everyone got on with their lives. The Sun King became another marvellous story from that magical time.”

“You were there,” I said. “You sat and watched, outside the Tower in the park. Didn’t you?”

“Yes. I was there. I knew him, walked with him, saw what he could do. I walked beside him, as he entered the White Tower. It wouldn’t let me in. I can still remember how the white wall felt, under my fingertips. Like cold coral, from the bottom of the sea. I waited, because I believed in him and wanted to see what he would do; but when the Tower vanished and took him with it, I knew it was over.

“Hardly anyone talks about the Sun King now. Perhaps because he promised so much and disappointed so many. So that they wanted, needed, to forget him. There are conspiracy sites that dismiss the whole story as CIA black propaganda. Disinformation, to discredit the counter-culture. But he was real. I was there. And they were right; he was dangerous because he was the best drug ever. A transforming presence, a way to break out of the Reality Trip, and lead a better life. He was the revolution. Or, he could have been.”

“Do you think . . . the authorities of that time were responsible for his disappearance?” I said.

“I don’t know. I always thought he’d be back someday . . . but not like this.”

“I never knew you could speak fluent sixties,” I said.

He smiled, slightly. “I’ve been around a long time, John, and lived more lives than most people realise. A man plays many roles in his time, and I’ve had more time than most . . . You used to be a private investigator; now you’re Walker. Who and what will you be, in ten, twenty, thirty years?”

“Dead, probably,” I said. “I seem to keep picking life-styles and vocations that contain far more threat and danger than is good for me.” I looked at him steadily. “You’re sure he’s back? The Sun King?”

“Oh yes, John. He’s finally returned to us, and he really doesn’t like what we’ve done with the world in his absence. His love and devotion and benevolence are things of the past now, replaced by a righteous rage and fury. Because we, the people, have betrayed the Big Dream of the sixties; sold our hopes and our principles for a mess of pottage. And most of all, we never lived up to the potential he showed us. We can all shine like the sun, said the Sun King. We were supposed to become superhumans, living gods, like him. Haul ourselves up by our own spiritual bootstraps; embrace the mind’s true liberation and make a Paradise on Earth. Imagine his reaction, when he finally walked out of the White Tower and got a good look at the twenty-first century.

“He knew some time had passed, that he’d been gone a while; but he hadn’t realised how long. So he spent some time walking up and down in the world, walking among us as one of us, hiding his light behind a bushel of ordinariness . . . Catching up, looking the new world in the eye and disapproving of most of it. And now his long walk is over; he’s returned from the wilderness, and he has decided to put things right. To wake people up from the nightmare they’re living in and help them make a better world. He can change things simply by thinking about it, backed by the power of the Entities from Beyond. Whatever they actually are. And he’s starting with the Nightside because, as far as he’s concerned, it’s the most representative of everything that’s wrong with the world.”

I had to ask. “How do you know all this, Julien?”

“Because he told me. He rang me up, in my editorial offices in the Night Times, and I knew his voice at once. I could never forget that voice. We talked for ages, bringing each other up to date, then he told me of his plans. He was very eloquent. And really quite cheerful about it. He wanted me to know, so I could tell everyone else. So I could tell the Nightside he was coming. I was to be his John the Baptist, announcing his return and warning of the great change to come. I think he was actually quite shocked when I refused and put the phone down on him. How could I run all that in the Night Times, John? After all the wars and upheavals we’ve been through? There would have been mass panic, and God alone knows how many cases of over-reaction. The Nightside can’t afford another disaster, John. We have to stop him.”

“You and me?” I said. “How the hell are we supposed to do that?”

“I still think . . . If I can find him, and speak to him, I can talk him out of this,” said Julien. “I can help him remember who he used to be: the gentle man, the living god of non-violence. Not this hate-fuelled avatar of revenge.”

“You always did have more faith in people than me,” I said. “Do you really think he can do what he says? Raise the sun here, in the Nightside?”

“The man I remember certainly could,” said Julien. “And who knows what he’s capable of now, after so many years communing with the Entities from Beyond?”

“Whatever they really are,” I said. I looked at the great empty hole. “You believe he did this?”

“I know he did this. He told me he was going to. But it wasn’t until I remembered that my earlier self was there, that I knew why. I think that he thinks he can keep me from interfering by holding my old self, and Juliet, hostage.”

“Is he right?” I said.

“No. He’s been gone too long, and he doesn’t understand the modern world. All he can see is what’s wrong with it and not all the marvellous things we’ve achieved. I don’t entirely disagree with him, that we have lost our