'I've put word out for them,' I said. 'But last I heard Suzie was still running down an elusive bounty, and Razor Eddie hasn't been seen since doing something really unpleasant in the Street of the Gods. It must have been really appalling, even for him, because for a while you couldn't move outside the Street for gods running around crying their eyes out.'
'Time travel,' the sphere said suddenly, and we both jumped a little. The artificial voice sounded distinctly smug. 'A fascinating subject, with more theories than proven facts. You probably have to be able to think in five dimensions to appreciate it properly. We won't talk about Timeslips, because their very existence makes our head hurt, and we don't even have a head. The only reputable source for controlled travel in Time is the Time Tower. Which is not natural to the Nightside. Old Father Time brought it here from Shadows Fall, just over a hundred years ago, saying only that he thought it would be needed for Something Important.'
'Shadows Fall?' said Cathy, frowning.
'An isolated town in the back of beyond, where legends go to die when the world stops believing in them,' I said. 'A sort of elephants' graveyard for the supernatural. Never been there myself, but apparently it makes the Nightside look positively tame. And boring.'
'I'll bet they have great clubs there,' Cathy said wistfully.
'If we could stick to the subject at hand,' the sphere said loudly. 'We will not discuss Shadows Fall because it makes the head we don't have hurt even worse than Time-slips. Some concepts should be banned, on mental health grounds. Let us discuss Old Father Time. An enigmatic figure. No-one seems too sure exactly what he is. An incarnation, certainly, and immortal; but not a Transient Being. Some say he is the very concept of Time itself, given a human form to interact with the human world. Why this was ever considered necessary, or even a good idea, remains unclear. Humans do enough damage in three dimensions, without giving them access to the fourth. Anyway; the one thing everyone agrees on is that he is extremely powerful and even more dangerous. The only person ever to tell the Authorities to go to Hell on a regular basis and make it stick. You don't argue with someone who can send you back in Time to play with the dinosaurs. Well, not more than once, anyway. Old Father Time is a native of Shadows Fall, and still lives there, but he commutes into the Night-side when he feels like it.
'It takes a lot of power to move someone through Time. All the Nightside's major players working together would have a hard time sending anyone any when with any degree of accuracy. That's if you could get them to work together, which you almost certainly couldn't. So the only way to travel safely through Time is via Old Father Time's good offices, by convincing him that your trip is in everyone's best interests. Lots of luck selling him that one, Taylor. Right; that's it. Anything else we might have to say would only be guesswork. So off you go, run along, and be sure to give Old Father Time our warmest regards before he throws you out on your ear.'
'You know him?' said Cathy.
'Of course. How do you think we got here in the first place?'
I was about to follow that one up with a whole series of probing questions when we were interrupted by a polite knock at my door. Or at least as polite as any knock can be when you have to hammer on solid silver with your fist just to be heard. I looked sharply at Cathy.
'Are we expecting anyone you might have forgotten to tell me about?'
'There's no-one in the diary. Could it be Walker? Last I heard, the Authorities were seriously upset with you.'
'Walker wouldn't bother to knock,' I said, standing up and staring at the closed door. 'If he even thought I was in here, he'd have his people blow that door right off its hinges.'
'Could be a client,' said Cathy. 'They do turn up here, from time to time.'
'All right,' I said. 'You open the door, and I'll stand back here and look impressive.'
'I wish you'd let me keep guns in here,' said Cathy.
She moved warily over to the door and spoke the Word that opened it. Standing outside in the corridor, and looking more than a little lost, was an entirely ordinary-seeming man in a smart suit and tie. He peered hopefully at Cathy, then at me, but didn't look particularly impressed. He was average height, average weight, somewhere in his forties, with thinning dark hair shading into grey. He edged into my office as though expecting to be ordered out at any moment.
'Hello?' he said tentatively. 'I'm looking for a John Taylor. Of Taylor Investigations. Have I come to the right place?'
'Depends,' I said. Never commit yourself to anything until you have to. My visitor didn't seem too obviously dangerous, so I came out from behind my desk to greet him. 'I'm Taylor. What can I do for you?'
'I'm not entirely sure. I think... I need to hire your services, Mr. Taylor.'
'I'm rather busy at the moment,' I said. 'Who sent you to me?'
'Well... that's rather the point. I don't know where this is, or how I got here. I was hoping you could tell me.'
I sighed heavily. I knew a setup when I saw one. I was being made a patsy, I could feel it; but sometimes the only way to deal with cases like this was to walk right into the trap and trust that you're bad enough to kick the crap out of whoever it was behind it.
'Let's start with your name,' I said. 'If only so I know whom to bill.'
'I'm Eamonn Mitchell,' my new client said nervously. He ventured a little further into my office, looking about him dubiously. Cathy gave him her best welcoming smile, and he managed a small smile in return. 'I appear to be lost, Mr. Taylor,' he said abruptly. 'I don't recognise this part of London at all, and ever since I got here ... strange things have been happening. I understand you investigate strange things, so I'm come to you for help. You see ... I'm being haunted. By younger versions of myself.'
I looked at Cathy. 'You see? This is why I never come to the office.'
TWO -
So we sat Eamonn Mitchell down, after I cleared off a chair, and Cathy poured some of her life-saving coffee into him, and bit by bit we got the story out of him. He relaxed a little, once he realised we were prepared to take him seriously, no matter how strange his story seemed. But he still preferred to talk mostly to his coffee mug rather than look either of us in the eye.
'My... hauntings weren't exactly ghosts,' he said. 'They were quite solid, quite real. Except... they were me. Or rather, myself at a younger age. Wearing clothes I used to wear, saying things I used to say, used to believe. And they were angry with me. Shouting and pushing, haranguing me. They said I betrayed them, by not becoming the kind of man they'd intended and expected to become.'
'What kind of person are you, Mr. Mitchell?' I said, to prove I was paying attention.
'Well, I work for a big corporation, here in London. I'm quite successful, I suppose. Good money ... And I'm married, with two wonderful children.' And then nothing would do but to interrupt his story to get out his wallet and produce photos of his wife Andrea, and his two children, Erica and Ronald. They seemed nice enough, good ordinary people just like him. He smiled fondly at the photos, as though they were his only remaining life-line to a world he knew and understood, then reluctantly he put them away again. 'I was coming home from work this evening, on the tube, checking over some last bits of paperwork. I was mentally counting off the stops, as usual, and when it got to my turn I got off the train. Only when I looked around, it wasn't my stop. I'd disembarked at a station I'd never seen before, called Nightside. I turned round to get back on the train, but it was already gone. I hadn't even heard it leave. And the people on the platform with me ...' He shuddered briefly, looking at me with large, frightened eyes. 'Some of them weren't people, Mr. Taylor!'
'I know,' I said reassuringly. 'It's all right, Mr. Mitchell. Tell us everything. We'll believe you. What happened next?'
He drank some more coffee, his lips thinning from the bitterness, but it seemed to brace him. 'I'm ashamed to say I ran. Just pushed and forced my way through the crowd, up out of the station and onto the street. But things were even worse there. Everything was wrong. Twisted. Like walking through a nightmare I couldn't wake up from. The streets were full of strange people, and creatures, and... things I couldn't even identify. I don't think I've ever been more scared in my life.
'I didn't know where I was. Didn't recognise any of the street names. And everywhere I looked there were
