“I have the name and face of every current Member of the Londinium Club committed to memory, sir,” said the Doorman. He made the sir sound like an insult. “And I believe I am correct in saying that you, sir, and this… person, are not Members in good standing. Therefore, you have no business being here.”
“Wrong,” I said. “I’m here to see Walker.”
“He does not wish to be seen, sir. And particularly not by the likes of you. You may leave now.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Being faced down by a little snot like you would be bad for my reputation. One last chance—go and tell Walker I’m here.”
“Leave,” said the Doorman. “You are not welcome here. You will never be welcome here.”
“Just once, I’d love to do this the easy way,” I said wistfully. “Now step aside, fart face, or I’ll do something amusing to you.”
The Doorman sniffed disdainfully, gestured languidly with one hand, and a shimmering wall of force sprang up between us. I fell back a step, sensing the terrible power running through the field. This was new. The old Doorman had relied on sheer obnoxious personality, of which he had a lot, to keep the riff-raff out. That, and a punch that could concuss a cow. Presumably the Club had decided it needed a more sturdy defence these days. The new Doorman wasn’t actually sneering at me, he wouldn’t lower himself that much; but it felt like he was. And I couldn’t have that.
I stepped forward again, so close to the field I could feel it prickling on my skin, and looked the Doorman right in the eye. He met my gaze coldly, with a supercilious stare. I kept looking at him, and he began to shake, as he realised he couldn’t look away. Beads of sweat popped out all over his face as I held his gaze with mine, and he started to make low, whimpering sounds.
“Drop the screen,” I said. “We’re coming in.”
The screen snapped off. I looked away, and the Doorman collapsed, sitting down suddenly on the steps as though all the strength had gone out of his legs. He actually flinched back as I led Bettie up the steps past him. She looked at me, frowning, as we approached the massive front door of the Londinium Club.
“What the hell did you do to him?”
“I stared him down,” I said.
“That really wasn’t a very nice thing to do, sweetie. He was only doing his job. I’m not sure I want you holding my arm any more.”
“Suit yourself,” I said. “I don’t always have time for nice. Or the inclination.”
“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“You have no idea,” I said.
The huge door swung open before us. Just as well; I’d had something particularly unpleasant and destructive in mind in case it hadn’t. Inside, the main foyer was exactly as I remembered it, intimidatingly large, unbearably stuffy, and smotheringly luxurious. Mosaics and paintings and marble pillars, and a general air of smug exclusivity. The last time I’d been here there’d been blood and bodies everywhere, but you’d never know it now. Wars came and apocalypses went, but the Londinium Club goes on forever.
Some say there are terrible caverns deep beneath the Club, where the oldest Members still gather to worship something ancient and awful. Baphomet, some say, or the King in Yellow, or the Serpent in the Sun. But there are always rumours like that in the Nightside.
A few people passed us, looking very prosperous and important. They studiously ignored me, and Bettie. I caught the eye of a liveried footman, and he came reluctantly over to see what I wanted.
“You’ve been here before,” said Bettie, her voice hushed for once by the sheer presence of the place.
“I’ve been everywhere before,” I said. “Mind you, I’ve also been thrown out of practically everywhere, at one time or another.”
“I’ve never seen anything like this…”
“Don’t let it get to you. For all the Club’s opulence, you couldn’t spit in the dining-room without being sure of hitting at least one complete scumbag.”
She giggled suddenly and put one hand to her mouth. The footman came to a halt before me and bowed politely. Since I was in the Club, I obviously belonged there. His was not to question why, no matter how much he might want to. He’d bowed to worse, in his time. He managed to imply all this without actually saying a word. It was a remarkable performance. I felt like applauding.
“Walker,” I said.
“In the main dining-room, sir. Dining, with guests. Should I announce you, sir?”
“And spoil the surprise?” I said. “Heaven forfend. You run along. We can look after ourselves.”
The footman backed away at speed, not even waiting for a tip. Which was just as well, really. I headed casually for the main dining area, with Bettie tagging along at my side like an over-excited puppy. No-one challenged us. It’s all about attitude. You can get away with murder if you look like you belong.
I pushed open the dining-room door, stepped inside, then stopped right there, pushing Bettie slightly to one side so that we were concealed from the crowded room by a fortuitously placed potted aspidistra. I hushed her before she could say anything and peered between the leaves. All the tables were full, mostly occupied by large sturdy types in formal suits, eating basic stodgy food because it reminded them of the good old days of school dinners. None of them looked at each other. They were there for peace and quiet, not to socialise.
Walker had to be the exception, of course. He was currently holding court with some of the more august personages jockeying for position to take the place of the recently deceased Authorities. They sat stiffly in stiff- backed chairs, nursing expensive liqueurs and oversized cigars and talking loudly to show they didn’t give a damn who overheard them. They smiled and nodded and were polite enough, and you’d never know they were deadly rivals who’d happily slaughter each other at the first sign of weakness. This was politics, after all, and there were rules of etiquette to follow. Yesterday’s enemy might be tomorrow’s friend, or at least ally.
“Hush,” I said quietly to Bettie. “Watch and listen. You might learn something interesting. You know who those people are, with Walker?”
“Of course,” she said, putting her mouth so close to my ear I could feel her breath on the side of my face. “Walker’s the smart city gent. The older gentleman to his left in the military uniform is General Condor. The revolting specimen to Walker’s right is Uptown Taffy Lewis. And the woman sitting opposite Walker is Queen Helena, ex-Monarch of the Ice Kingdoms.”
“Very good,” I said. “Now let’s see if you read anything more than the gossip columns. What can you tell me about Walker’s guests?”
Bettie smiled, glad of a chance to show off her reporter’s expertise. “General Condor comes from a future time-line. Arrived here through a Timeslip and got stranded in the Nightside when it closed. Word is he used to be in charge of some kind of Space Fleet, star-ships and the like, keeping the peace in some future Empire or Federation. He was leading the troops into battle against some kind of Rebellion, when his flagship came under fire and was blown apart. He only escaped at the last moment in a life-boat.” She laughed briefly. “He doesn’t approve of us. A very upright and moral man, is our General. Since he arrived here he’d made it his business to first support, and then lead, all the right causes. He wants to reform us and save our souls, the poor fool. The Unnatural Inquirer’s been trying to dig up some dirt on him for ages, but unfortunately it seems he really is as worthy and boring as he claims.”
I nodded, looking the General over. Condor was a tall, straight-backed military type, in a surprisingly old- fashioned bottle-green uniform, complete with peaked cap. Even sitting down, he looked like he was still at attention. His face was deeply lined, scarred here and there, but his blue eyes were cold and piercing under bushy white eyebrows. He had to be in late middle age, but there didn’t look to be an ounce of give in him.
I’d run into him a few times, here and there. He didn’t approve of me, or people like me, but then it would be hard to find anyone or anything he did approve of in the Nightside. Our free trade in vice and depravity and damnation appalled him. A good man, perhaps, and no doubt brave enough standing on the poop-deck of his star-ship, facing terrible odds; but his stark black-and-white philosophy had no place in the Nightside. On the one hand, he was desperate to return to his own time and his own people, and take up the battle again, but on the other he was realistic enough to know he might never get back. And so he had decided to take on the Nightside, as a challenge. As an evil to be overcome. He now led, or at least represented, all those various interests inside the Nightside who wanted to clean the place up, for their own philosophical, financial, or political reasons.
General Condor liked to talk about redemption, and potential, and all the things we might achieve, if only we could control our darker urges and learn to work together. He couldn’t seem to understand that people only came
