Something from the Nightside

'Crow's feet!' he yelled, in a harsh, strident voice. 'Holy water! Hexes! Wooden stakes and silver bullets! You know you need them! Don't come crying to me if you end up limping home with someone else's spleen instead of your own!'

He broke off as Joanna and I approached. He sniffed the air suspiciously, cocking his great blind head to one side. His fingers worked busily at a rosary made from human fingerbones. He stepped forward suddenly to block our way and stabbed an accusing finger at me.

'John Taylor!' he snapped, almost spitting out the words. 'Damnation's child! Demonspawn and Abomination! Bane of all the Chosen! Avaunt! Avaunt!'

'Hello, Pew,' I said easily. 'Good to bump into you again. Still working the old act, I see. How's business?'

'Oh, not too bad thanks, John.' Pew smiled vaguely in my direction, putting aside his official Voice for the moment. 'My wares are like travel insurance; no-one ever really believes they'll need it, until it's too late. It can't happen to me, they whine. But of course, in the Nightside it can, and it will. Suddenly and violently and usually quite horribly too. I'm saving lives here, if they'd only pay attention, the fools. So; what are you doing back here, John? I thought you had more sense. You know the Nightside isn't good for you.'

'I'm working a case. Don't worry; I won't be stopping.'

'That's what they all say,' growled Pew, shifting his broad shoulders uneasily inside his threadbare

cloak. 'Still, we all do what we have to, I suppose. Who are you looking for this time?'

'Just a runaway. Teenager called Catherine Barrett. Don't suppose the name means anything to you?'

'No. But then, I'm pretty much out of the loop these days, by my own choice. Hard times are coming ... word of advice, boy. I hear things, bad things. Something new has come into the Nightside. And people have been mentioning your name again. Watch your back, boy. If anyone's going to kill you, I'd much rather it was me.'

He turned away abruptly and took up his piercing cry again. There's no-one closer, more like family, than old enemies.

The platform shook, there was a blast of approaching air, and a train roared into the station and slowed to a stop—a long shining silver bullet of a train, with no windows anywhere. The carriages were solid tubes of steel, with only the heavily reinforced doors standing out against their shimmering perfection. The doors hissed open, and people poured in and out. I was ready to take Joanna by the arm again, but it wasn't necessary. She strode into the carriage before her without hesitating, her head held high. I followed her in and sat down beside her.

The carriage was almost empty, for which I was grateful. I've never liked being crowded. All kinds of things can hide in a crowd. The man sitting opposite

us was reading a Russian newspaper with great concentration. The date below the masthead was from a week in the future. Further down the immaculately clean carriage sat a young woman kitted out in full Punk regalia, right down to the multiple face piercings and fierce green mohawk rising up from her shaved head. She was reading an oversized leather-bound Holy Bible. The pages appeared to be blank, but the white on white of her unblinking eyes marked her as a graduate of the Deep School, and I knew that for her and her alone, the pages were full of awful wisdom.

Joanna was looking around the carriage, and I tried to see it through her eyes. The complete lack of windows made it feel more like a cell than a conveyance, and the strong smell of disinfectant reminded me irresistibly of a dentist's surgery. There was no map anywhere. People who took this train knew where they were going.

'Why aren't there any windows?' said Joanna, after a while.

'Because you don't want to see what's outside,' I said. 'We have to travel through strange, harsh, places to reach the Nightside. Dangerous and unnatural places, that would blast the sight from your eyes and the reason from your mind. Or so I'm told. I've never felt like peeking.'

'What about the driver? Doesn't he have to see where he's going?'

'I'm not convinced there is a driver,' I said thoughtfully. 'I don't know anyone who's ever seen one. I think the trains have been running this route for so long now that they're quite capable of running themselves.'

'You mean there's no-one human at the controls?'

'Probably better that way. Humans are so limited.' I smiled at her shocked face. 'Sorry you came yet?'

'No.'

'Don't worry. You will be.'

And that was when something from outside crashed against the side of the carriage opposite us, throwing the Russian to the floor. He carefully gathered up his paper and went to sit further down. The heavy metal wall dented inwards, slowly yielding under the determined assault from outside. The Punk girl didn't look up from her Bible, though she was silently mouthing the words now. The dents in the metal deepened, and one whole section bowed ominously inwards under unimaginable pressure. Joanna sank back in her seat.

'Take it easy,' I said reassuringly. 'It can't get in. The train is protected.'

She looked at me just a little wildly. Culture shock. I'd seen it before. 'Protected?' she said finally.

'Old pacts, agreements; trust me, you really don't

want to know the details. Especially if you've eaten recently.'

Outside the carriage, something roared with thwarted rage. It didn't sound at all human. The sound fell slowly away, retreating down the length of the carriage as the train left it behind. The metal wall unhurriedly resumed its original shape, the dents disappearing one by one. And then something, or a series of somethings, ran along the side of the carriage and up onto the roof. Light, hasty, pitterpattering fast, moving in unison, like so many huge insects. The carriage lights flickered briefly. It sounded like there was a whole crowd of them up on the roof, scuttling back and forth. Voices came floating down to us, shrill and high and mixed together, like the same voice speaking in harmony with itself. There was a faint metallic buzz in the elongated vowel sounds that sent a shiver down my spine. The Brittle Sisters of the Hive were on the prowl again.

'Come out, come out, whatever you are,' said the chorus of a single voice. 'Come out, and play with us. Or let us in, let us in, and we will play with you till you can't stand it anymore. We want to stir our sticky fingers in your gene pool, and sculpt your wombs with our living scalpels ...'

'Make them shut up,' Joanna said tightly. 'I can't stand their voices. It's like they're scratching at my brain, trying to get in.'

I looked at the Russian and the Punk, but they

were resolutely minding their own business. I looked up at the roof of the carriage.

'Go away and stop bothering us,' I said firmly. 'There is nothing for you here, by terms of Treaty and sacrifice.'

'Who dares address us so?' said the many voices in one, almost drowned out by the constant clattering of their taloned feet on the steel roof.

'This is John Taylor,' I said clearly. 'Don't make me have to come up there.'

There was a long pause. They were all very still, until eventually the inhuman chorus said 'Then farewell, sweet prince, and do not forget us when you come into your kingdom.'

A scurrying of insect feet and they were all gone, and the train rocked on its way in silence. The Russian and the Punk looked at me, and then looked quickly away before I could meet their gaze. Joanna was looking at me too. Her gaze was steady, but her voice couldn't quite manage it.

'They knew you. What did they mean?'

'I don't know,' I said. 'I've never known. That's always been my problem. There are a great many mysteries in the Nightside, and much against my will, I'm one of them.'

No-one else had anything to say, all the way to the Nightside.

THREE - Neon Noir

We came up out of the Underground like souls emerging from the underworld, with chattering throngs of people surging endlessly past in both directions. The train was already long gone, hurrying off as though glad to be