Something from the Nightside

murder because they can. And a few of us who won't be beaten down. Fighting our corner, helping those we can, because we must.'

'My hero,' said Joanna, smiling slightly for the first time.

'I'm no hero,' I said, very definitely. 'I just find

things. I'm not here to clean up the Nightside. It's too big, and I'm too small. I'm just one man, using what gifts I have to help my clients, because everyone should have someone to turn to, in time of need.'

'I never met a man I respected,' said Joanna. 'Before now. You could have run and left me. Saved yourself. But you didn't. My hero.'

She raised her mouth to mine, and after a moment, we kissed. She was warm and comforting in my arms, pressing against my body, and for the first time in a long time, I felt alive again. For a time, I was happy. It was like waking up in a foreign country. Afterwards, we sat there on the bloody cobbles for a while, holding each other. And nothing else mattered at all.

SIX - Storming the Fortress

 I hailed a horse and carnage to take us to the Fortress. It was too damned far to walk, especially after that business outside Strangefellows, and I felt in distinct need of a bit of a sit-down. And it was probably a good idea to get my face off the streets for a while. The horse came trotting over, glaring down any traffic that looked like getting in his way. He was a huge brute of a Clydesdale, white as the moon, with broad shoulders and massive silver-hoofed feet, hauling an ornate nineteenth-century hansom carriage, of dark ebony and sandalwood, with solid brass trimmings. The man sitting up top, wrapped in an old leather duster, was carrying a five-foot-long

blunderbuss, its long stock etched with offensive charms and sigils. He looked carefully about him as the horse manoeuvred the carriage in beside Joanna and me, clearly ready to use his huge gun at a moment's notice. Joanna had recovered most of her composure by now, if not all her old arrogance, but she was immediately charmed by the horse. She went immediately over to him, to pat his shoulder and rub his nose. The horse whinnied appreciatively.

'What a wonderful animal,' said Joanna, almost cooing. 'Do you think he'd like some sugar, or a sweetie?'

'No thanks, lady,' said the horse. 'Gives me cavities. And I hate going to the dentist. Wouldn't say no to a carrot, mind, if you had such a thing about your person.'

Joanna blinked a few times, and then looked at me accusingly. 'You do this to me deliberately. Every time I think I'm finally getting my head round the Nightside, you spring something like this on me. I swear, my nerves are sitting in a corner, crying their eyes out.' She looked back at the horse. 'Sorry. No carrots.'

'Then get in the carriage and stop wasting my time,' said the horse. 'Time is money, in this business, and I've got payments to make.'

'Excuse me,' said Joanna, diffidently, 'but am I to understand that this ... is your carriage? You're in charge here?'

'Damn right,' said the horse. 'Why not? I do all the hard work. Out in all weathers, wearing grooves in my shoulders from this bloody harness. And I know every road, route, and resurfaced bypass in the Nightside, plus a whole bunch of short cuts that aren't on anybody's maps. You name it, and I can get you there, and faster than any damned cab.'

'And the ... gentleman up top?' said Joanna.

'Old Henry? He's just there to take the fares, make change, and ride shotgun. No-one messes with us, unless they fancy going home with their lungs in a bucket. Handy things, hands. Once I've paid off the bank, I'm thinking about investing in some cybernetic arms. If only so I can scratch my own damned nose. Now are we going to stand around talking all night, for which I charge extra, or are we actually going somewhere?'

'You know the Fortress?' I said.

'Oh sure. No problem. Though I think I'll drop you off at the end of the block. Never know when those crazies are going to start shooting again.'

Old Henry grunted loudly in agreement and hefted his blunderbuss. I held open the carriage door for Joanna, and she climbed in, somewhat dazed. I got in after her, slammed the door, and we were off. The seats were red leather, and very comfortable. Not a lot of room, but cosy. It was a smooth ride, which argued for some fairly sophisticated springs somewhere down below.

'I don't like cabs,' I said, just to make conversation while Joanna got her mental breath back. 'You never know who they're really working for, or who they're reporting back to. And the drivers always want to talk politics. The few horse and carriage outfits working the Nightside are strictly independent. Horses are stubborn that way. You might have noticed Old Henry doesn't even have any reins; the horse makes all the decisions. Besides, Old Henry probably needs both hands free to handle that massive shooting iron of his.'

'Why does he need a gun?' said Joanna, her voice back to normal.

'Keeps the other traffic at bay. Not everything that looks like a car is a car. And you never know when the trolls are going to take up carjacking again.'

'I feel a distinct need to change the subject,' said Joanna. 'Tell me more about this Suzie Shooter we might be running into at the Fortress. She sounds ... fascinating.'

'Oh, she's all that and more, is Suzie,' I said, smiling. 'She tracks down runaway villains like a hunter on the trail of big game. There's nowhere they can hide that she won't go after them, no protection so overwhelming that she won't go charging right in, guns blazing. Not the most subtle of people, Suzie, but definitely one of the most determined. No job ever turned down, no target ever too dangerous, if the price is right. Suzie's been known to use every kind

of gun known to man, as well as a few she's had made up specially, but mostly she favours the pump-action shotgun. You can usually tell where she's been, because it's on fire. And you can track her down by following the kicked-in doors, scattered screaming and blood splashed up the walls. Her presence can start a fight, or stop one dead. Hell of a woman.'

'Were you ever... close? You said you had a history ...'

'We worked some cases together, but Suzie doesn't let anyone get close. I don't think she knows how. Men have been known to enter her life from time to time, but they usually exit running.'

'Razor Eddie, Shotgun Suzie... you know the most interesting people, John. Don't you know any ordinary people?'

'Ordinary people don't tend to last long, in the Nightside.'

'Is she likely to be a help, or a hindrance?'

'Hard to tell,' I said honestly. 'Suzie's not the easiest of people to work with, especially if you prefer to bring your quarry back alive. Suzie's a killer. She only became a bounty hunter because it provides her with a mostly legal excuse for shooting lots of people.'

'But you like her, don't you? I can hear it in your voice.'

'She's been through a lot. Endured things that would have broken a lesser person. I admire her.'

'Do you trust her?'

I smiled briefly. 'You can't trust anyone here. You should know that by now.'

She nodded. 'Razor Eddie.'

'And he's my friend. Mostly.'

We spent the rest of the ride in silence. We both had a lot to think about. Joanna spent a lot of the time looking out the window. I didn't. I'd seen it all before. The carriage finally lurched to a halt, and the horse yelled back that we'd reached our destination. I got out first, and paid Old Henry, while Joanna got her first look at the Fortress. (I made sure Old Henry got a good tip, one he'd remember. Never know when you might need a ride in a hurry.) The horse waited till Old Henry nodded that everything was okay, and then he set off again. I went over to Joanna, who was still staring at the Fortress. It was worth looking at. Hadn't changed a bit in five years.

The Fortress started out life as a discount warehouse. Stack them high, sell them cheap, and absolutely no refunds. It dealt mostly in weapons, from all times and places, no questions asked, but it made the mistake of