to catch up.
'Oh, big time,' said Suzie Shooter.
Seven -
Only those personages of extreme power, prestige, or parentage can hope to gain admittance to the oldest private members' club in the world. Just fame, wealth, or knowing the right people won't do it. The Londinium Club was and is extremely exclusive, and the merely heroic or significant need not apply. There are those who say Camelot operated on a pretty similar principle. All I know for sure is that neither establishment would let me in without a fight.
We found the Londinium Club easily enough. It was a large, dignified building in a much more salubrious area of the Nightside. The traffic was quieter, the pedestrians were of a much-better-dressed class, and there wasn't a brothel anywhere in sight. Still a hell of a lot of shit in the street, mind. I stopped before the front door of the Club, and looked the place over. The exterior looked pretty much the
same as the last time I'd seen it, back in my Present. Old, old stone decorated with sexually explicit Roman bas-reliefs, surrounding a large and very solid oak door. And when I say sexually explicit, I'm talking about the kind of images that would have made Caligula blush, and maybe dash for the vomitorium. Suzie regarded the designs calmly, while Tommy started searching his pockets for a paper and pencil, to make notes.
Standing in front of the main entrance was the Doorman, a solid and immovable presence whose function and delight it was to keep out the unworthy. He was protected against any form of attack, by Powers known and unknown, was strong enough to tear a bull in half, and was, supposedly, immortal. Certainly he was still around in my time, large as life and twice as obnoxious. The Doorman was a snob's snob, and he gloried in it. He was currently a short, stocky man in a purple Roman toga, with bare muscular arms folded firmly across an imposing chest. I half expected him to be wearing a sash saying they shall not pass. He stood proudly erect, nose in the air, but his eyes missed nothing. He'd already noticed us.
'I could shoot him,' said Suzie.
'Don't even think it,' I said quickly. 'The Doorman is seriously protected. And besides, we already know you didn't kill him, because I already met him, back in the Present, during my last case.'
'I hate circular reasoning like that,' said Suzie. 'Let's shoot him anyway and see what happens.'
'Let's not,' I said, very firmly. 'This is the kind of place where they have you impaled for being late with your membership dues. For once, our usual tactics of brute force and ignorance will not win the day. We're going to have to talk our way past him.'
'Get to the front, Tommy,' said Suzie. 'You're on.'
'I knew you were going to say that,' said Tommy.
We approached the front door, and the Doorman actually
stepped forward to block our way, one meaty hand held out in warning.
'All right, that's as far as you go. You three are not at all welcome here. Ever. I still remember you from the trouble you caused the last time you were here, some two hundred years ago.'
'Guess where we're going next,' murmured Tommy.
'Shut up,' I hinted.
'We must have made a pretty big impression on the man,' said Suzie.
'You always do, Suzie,' I said generously. I smiled at the Doorman. 'Look, I know we're not actually Members, but we only want to pop in for a moment and maybe ask a few questions. Then we'll be gone and out of your life. Won't that be nice?'
'Members only means Members only,' growled the Doorman. 'Leave now. Or I will be compelled to use force.'
Suzie started to reach for her shotgun. 'No!' I said urgently. 'When I said the Doorman was protected, I meant by everyone who's a Club Member. And that means he can draw on the powers of sorcerers, elves, and minor godlings to stop us.'
'Ah,' said Suzie. 'So shooting him wouldn't work?'
'No.'
'I've got these special grenades ...'
'No!' I turned to Tommy. 'You're up. Mess with the man's head.'
Tommy Oblivion stepped forward, smiling confidently. The Doorman considered him warily.
'We're not from around here, old thing,' Tommy said easily. 'You probably already noticed that. In fact, we're not from this place, or this time. We're from the future. Some sixteen hundred years from now, to be exact. And in that future, my friends and I are Members of your Club.'
'What?' said the Doorman. Whatever he'd been expecting to hear, that clearly wasn't it.
'We are Members, where and when we come from. Which means, technically speaking, we are also Members here and now. Once a Member, always a Member, right?'
The Doorman frowned as he thought about that. Thinking clearly wasn't what he did best. He brightened up as an idea came to him.
'If you're a Member,' he said slowly, 'you know the secret handshake.'
Tommy raised an eyebrow. 'There is no secret handshake, dear fellow. But there is a secret password, which I have written down on this piece of paper.'
He showed the Doorman his empty hand. The Doorman looked at it closely, moving his lips as though reading, then nodded reluctantly and stepped back to let us pass. He was frowning heavily, as though his head hurt. The oak door swung open before us, and I led the way into the lobby beyond. Once the door was safely shut behind us, I looked at Tommy.
'You made him see something that wasn't there.'
'Of course,' said Tommy. 'It's my gift to be convincing. Besides, in some alternate time-line we probably are Members. Or at least, I am.'
I sniffed. 'I still didn't get to do anything.'
'You will, you will,' Suzie said soothingly. 'This place is bound to be packed with all the kinds of people you detest the most. I'm sure you'll find someone worth upsetting in some thoroughly appalling and vindictive way.'
I sniffed again, unconvinced, and looked around the Club lobby. It still had some of the old Roman magnificence I remembered from my last visit, with gleaming tiled walls and marble pillars, but instead of thick carpeting on the floor there were only trampled rushes, strewn here and there in clumps, and the high ceiling had been covered in
thick Druidic designs that looked like they'd been daubed with woad. The only lighting came from oversized oil-lamps, and the perfumed air was hot and flat and a little stale. There was a sense that the Club had declined somewhat from its original glory days in Roman times and had yet to develop its own style. Certainly the Romans would never have put up with this much mess. The rushes on the floor looked like they hadn't been changed in days, and there were smoke and soot streaks on the walls above the oil-lamps. Stains here and there suggested spillages of all kinds.
A servant, or more probably a slave, given the iron collar bolted around his neck, came forward hesitantly to greet us. Something about us clearly upset him because he stopped dead in his tracks, and yelled Security! at the top of his lungs. A panel slammed open in one of the walls, revealing a hidden alcove, from whose dark depths a hideous crone emerged, spitting and cackling. She was clearly some kind of witch, with stray magics sputtering and discharging around her clawed hands. She was a twisted figure in rags and tatters, with a heavy iron chain leading back into the alcove from the slave collar around her scrawny throat. She lurched towards us, her eyes wide with madness and thwarted rage. I could feel the power building around her as she muttered ancient words in a deep guttural voice, and I knew that as soon as she oriented on us, we'd be in deep shit.
So I raised my gift only long enough to find the spell that kept her from breaking her chain and slave collar, and removed it. The collar snapped open, and the chain fell away from her. The witch broke off in mid spell, and lurched to a halt. She kicked tentatively at the chain on the floor, and it rattled helplessly. The witch grinned
