Night Fall

  “Ioreth!” yelled the Matriarch. “Get out here! Now!”

  Ioreth quickly appeared in the cubicle doorway. He glanced back at Bettie Divine, hidden from view, and she blew him a kiss and mimed Call me! Ioreth nodded quickly and hurried out to join Magnus and the Matriarch, armouring up as he went.

  “No point in chasing after Julien,” the Matriarch said savagely. “He could be anywhere in the building by now. I’ve already contacted my people and told them to guard the front door.”

  “Bound to be a backdoor,” said Magnus.

  “Gather up some people and guard that as well,” said the Matriarch, and Magnus hurried off. The Matriarch looked around at the Night Times’ staff, and they stared defiantly back. The Matriarch smiled coldly. “Get back to work. You have a Special Edition to put out. I’ll send you an editor to tell you what to put in it.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Down in the lobby, Julien Advent strode quickly over to the receptionist in her cubicle. Despite all his running, he wasn’t even out of breath. He was actually smiling, just a little. He always preferred it when the sparring was over, and everyone’s cards were on the table.

  “Shut down the printing presses, Janet. And tell the printers to sabotage the control systems, so the Droods can’t start the machinery up again. Let the Droods write their propaganda; won’t do them any good if they can’t print it.”

  “Indeed, Mr Julien,” the receptionist said calmly, not even pausing in her knitting of something colourful but shapeless. “And what will you be doing?”

  “Organising the resistance,” said Julien. “I only held off in the hope reason might somehow still prevail . . . You’d think I’d know better by now. Call my chauffeur, Janet, and have her bring the car around to the rear entrance.”

  “Already done, Mr Julien,” said Janet. “The young lady is waiting for you.”

  Julien paused and looked at her. “Will you be all right on your own, Janet? The Droods might treat you roughly, for helping me.”

  Janet smiled, showing her pointed teeth. “Let them try, Mr Julien. Just let them try.”

  * * *

  • • •

  When Julien Advent emerged from the building’s back entrance, a 1930s Rolls Royce was already waiting for him. The chauffeur smiled at him from behind the wheel, cool and elegant in her white leather uniform, complete with peaked cap. Julien got into the back, and the chauffeur started the engine. A handful of armoured Droods came charging around the corner, but the Rolls was already pulling out onto the main road and was swiftly lost in traffic.

  * * *

  • • •

  Eddie and Molly were still on their way to Strangefellows when the Matriarch’s angry voice assaulted Eddie’s ears through his torc. He stopped to listen, while Molly looked at him impatiently.

  “Julien Advent has escaped!” said the Matriarch, in a tone of voice that made it very clear Eddie should not ask questions about that. “Do you have any idea where he might be going?”

  “The Authorities?” said Eddie.

  “Apart from the obvious!”

  “I’ll ask Molly,” said Eddie, diplomatically. “But Julien knows the Nightside better than any of us. If he decides to go to ground, you can bet he’s going to be really hard to find. Why not have the Sarjeant talk to his local agents?”

  “I want Advent found!” said the Matriarch. “No excuses!”

  “Don’t shout at me, Maggie,” Eddie said coldly. “I’m not one of your gung ho bully-boys.”

  There was a pause.

  “I’m sorry, Eddie,” said the Matriarch. Eddie could hear the strain that went into that. “Talk to Molly, see what she thinks.”

  “I’ll get back to you when I know something,” said Eddie.

  He broke the connection and brought Molly up to speed on what had just happened. Although neither of them actually said anything, they were both quietly pleased Julien Advent hadn’t bowed down to outside authority. It was good to know there were some things you could still depend on.

  “We need to find Julien,” said Eddie. “Before the Sarjeant does.”

  “You think he’d kill Julien Advent, just for running?” said Molly.

  “Don’t you?” said Eddie.

  And that was when Shotgun Suzie emerged from a side street, covering them both with her double-barrelled shotgun. She looked very pregnant with her black leather jacket hanging open. Eddie called for his armour, and it shot over him in a moment.

  “That won’t save you,” said Suzie. “You’re not the only one with strange-matter bullets. Your family tried to kill my husband. That’s a good enough reason to kill you on its own, but killing the famous Eddie Drood should inspire others to rise against your family.”

  “Is that the same gun you used to shoot Luther in the back?” said Eddie.

  “Does it matter?” said Suzie.

  Eddie’s thoughts raced. Even his armour couldn’t move him fast enough to dodge a shotgun loaded with strange-matter bullets. And he didn’t have time to draw his Colt Repeater. But . . . why hadn’t Suzie already shot him? She was a bounty-hunter, a professional killer, and mercy was not in her. Maybe there were still things she needed to say to him . . . which meant there was still a chance he could talk his way out of this.

  “You don’t want to kill me,” he said, as calmly as he could. “Or you’d have done it by now.”

  “No,” said Suzie. “I just want you to take your armour off. So I can look you in the eyes when I kill you.”

  Molly turned a cold eye on Suzie. “Get away from my man, bitch.”

  Eddie stirred uncomfortably. “I really don’t think you should call her that, Molly.”

  Molly looked at him. “Why not?”

  “Well . . .” said Eddie. “She’s pregnant.”

  “Your refined sensibilities crop up at the strangest moments,” said Molly. She turned back to Suzie. “Lower your gun.”

  “I wonder what strange-matter bullets will do to a witch,” said Suzie.

  Molly smiled unpleasantly. “Guess.”

  Suzie sighed, and thrust the shotgun into its holster on her back. And then she drew Wulfsbane. Eddie and Molly both fell back as the long sword appeared in Suzie’s hand. There was a new presence in the street, weighing heavily on the long night, something they could feel in their bones and in their souls. As though a raging animal had burst out of its cage. The bitter yellow glow emanating from the long blade grated on their nerves, as though it were poisoning the world just by existing in it.

  “Where the hell did you get that, Suzie?” said Molly. “Put it down. Hell, throw it away. Before it eats you up.”

  “This is Wulfsbane,” said Suzie. She might have been introducing a new friend. “It’s not from around here. And it’s more than a match for Drood armour.”

  “Don’t let that thing touch you, Eddie,” Molly said quickly. “It’s cursed. Give it up, Suzie, while you still can.”

  “Give up a weapon that can scare you and kill a Drood?” said Suzie. “I don’t think so.”

  Molly thrust out a hand, and a bolt of lightning flashed towards Suzie. She hardly seemed to move, but suddenly the long blade was in just the right position to intercept the lightning. The glowing blade soaked up the flaring energies in a moment, and when the night gloom returned, it seemed even darker than before. Eddie drew his Colt Repeater and fired off several shots, using cursed and blessed ammunition, but they all ricocheted harmlessly away from the long, glowing blade. Eddie put away his gun. When in doubt, go with the armour. He grew the long, golden sword out of his hand again and went forward to meet Suzie. She advanced on him, grinning coldly.

  The two swords slammed together, and the bitter yellow blade sheared clean through the golden strange matter. Half of Eddie’s sword fell to clatter on the ground, and he had to throw hims
elf backwards to avoid a sweeping blow that would have taken his head clean off. The tip of Suzie’s sword scored a long thin line across his armoured chest, and smoke rose up from the etched groove, as though the armour had been burned. The fallen part of Eddie’s sword leapt up to rejoin his armour, but Eddie was still retreating. Suzie came after him, sweeping the long blade back and forth before her. And Eddie didn’t have a clue what to do.

  He heard Molly chanting something, in a language he didn’t even recognise, and then a vicious storm wind came blasting down the street. It hit Suzie head-on, blowing her off her feet and sending her tumbling all the way down the empty street. But she never let go of Wulfsbane. Eddie looked at Molly.

  “What the hell is that sword?”

  Molly shook her head grimly. “An Infernal Device. The magic-sword equivalent of a back-pack nuke.”

  “We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” said Eddie.

  “Oh yes,” said Molly.

  “What should we do?”

  “Run!”

  They turned and sprinted out of the side street and back onto the main thoroughfare and kept on running.

  * * *

  • • •

  In Uptown, not that far from Clubland, lay Wu Fang’s Garden of Delights. The gambling-den to beat all gambling-dens, where you could find games of chance to suit even the most jaded of palates. All strictly regulated and entirely honest, of course. And if you believed that, you deserved everything that happened to you at the Garden of Delights.

  Dash Oblivion, father to the legendary Oblivion Brothers, Larry and Tommy and Hadleigh, stood outside the highly elegant establishment and looked it over dubiously. Back in the 1930s, Dash had been a private investigator, the Continental Op, and built a hell of a reputation for himself in those hard and unforgiving times. Standing at his side, as always, was his wife, Shirley den Adel, once known as the Lady Phantasm, a costumed adventurer from the same period. They had their own pulp magazines recounting their adventures, and even a few movie serials, but they dropped out of history in 1946, when they pursued that arch-fiend the Demon Claw into a Timeslip. When they came out the other side, it was in the Nightside in 1977.

  A whip-thin figure in a smart blue blazer and white slacks, Dash was bald-headed and more than a little hunched over, his heavily lined face dominated by a hook-nose and bushy white eyebrows. Dash was in his late eighties now, but his mouth was firm and his gaze was still sharp. He looked like he could still be dangerous, in the right cause. Shirley was a well-preserved lady in her seventies, with a pleasant face and a great mane of snow-white hair. She looked like she would be only too ready to listen to any problem you might have, as long as you weren’t too shocked by her answers. Shirley still carried a gun in a hidden holster on her thigh and a set of brass knuckles in her clutch bag.

  “Do we have to go in there?” growled Dash.

  “We can’t stop the Droods on our own, dear,” said Shirley. Her voice still had a faint European accent. “We need support and assistance, and Brilliant Chang says Wu Fang is the only one he can think of who might be able to take on Droods in their armour.”

  Dash scowled. “Wu Fang . . . He should be dead by now. We should never have let him drink the Dragon’s Blood, back in Forty-One.”

  “Oh hush, dear,” said Shirley. “He was dying, and we needed his help. Just like we do now. Let us hope he still thinks he owes us.”

  Dash snorted loudly. “You really think he’ll give a damn?”

  “The Droods are coming for him too,” said Shirley. “The enemy of our enemy is our ally, if not necessarily our friend.”

  They headed for the front door. Dash let one hand fall naturally to his blazer pocket, where he still carried his favourite snub-nosed revolver. Shirley let her clutch bag fall open. But the Chinese doorman, in an impeccably tailored tuxedo, just bowed politely to them and opened the door with a flourish.

  “Your presence is anticipated, honourable sir and madam. Please to enter.”

  “Cut the crap,” said Dash. “I know a cockney accent when I hear one.”

  The doorman glanced around quickly to make sure no one was in earshot, and shrugged. “All part of the job. The marks expect it. And for the kind of money this place is paying, I’ll sound like Charlie Freaking Chan if that’s what they want.”

  Dash and Shirley strode into the Garden of Delights, doing their best to look like they had the kind of money that entitled them to be there. There was no lobby or hallway, just a marvellous indoor jungle of Far Eastern trees and vegetation. The hanging branches were heavy with greenery, and flowers of almost technicolour hues perfumed the air. Tiny birds fluttered overhead, singing their little hearts out. Dash and Shirley followed the narrow path between the trees, past a tumbling miniature waterfall, and did their best not to look impressed by anything. They finally emerged into a clearing packed with gaming-tables. Poker and roulette, craps and vingt-et-un, and other less sophisticated opportunities to throw your money away.

  Various items of interest had been set out on display among the trees surrounding the clearing: statues and works of art, suits of medieval armour, and a number of Wu Fang’s security people standing still as statues in their trade-mark white tuxedos, watching everything. Because sore losers and bad sports were not tolerated in Wu Fang’s Garden of Delights. There were also a number of intriguing trophies, to catch the eye of the discerning gambler. The severed hand of Wild Bill Hickock, complete with the cards he was holding when he was shot in the back. Aces and eights, forever after to be known as the dead man’s hand. Howard Hughes’ death masque, smiling a disconcerting smile, as though he knew something the viewer didn’t. The ball from the roulette wheel that broke the Bank at Monte Carlo; a pair of chaos dice; and a butterfly kept safely imprisoned under glass to keep it from starting storms. Wu Fang liked to celebrate the forces of chance, in all its many forms.

  Crowds of gamblers swarmed around the various tables, anxious to lose everything they had as quickly as possible. Artificially loud laughter and forced expressions of bonhomie did their best to fool everyone into thinking they were having a good time, while the air was heavy with the scents of sweat and desperation and losing streaks. Dash and Shirley watched from the edge of the clearing until Brilliant Chang emerged from the crush to greet them. His night-dark tuxedo had been carefully tailored to accommodate all the many weapons he carried concealed about his person.

  Dash raised a bushy eyebrow. “You used to be one of Wu Fang’s enforcers. Is it safe for you to be here, after you killed so many of his people?”

  “That was personal,” said Brilliant. “This is business. Wu Fang hasn’t lasted this long without being able to separate the two. I have already spoken to him, and he has agreed to meet with you.”

  Dash nodded slowly. “I wasn’t sure he would. It has been a long time.”

  “And miss a chance to fight alongside my oldest enemies?” said a calm and cultured voice. “How could I refuse?”

  They all turned to face a slim and straight-backed Chinese gentleman in a smart Armani suit. Wu Fang could have been any age, with a handsome aristocratic face and jet-black hair, but something in his stance suggested a certain frailty.

  “Dash and Shirley. How pleasant to see you both, after all these years.”

  “The Demon Claw,” said Dash. “Criminal master-mind, arch-fiend, and the most diabolical mind of your generation. Reduced to running a gambling den and fleecing the suckers, under a name given you by the old movie serials.”

  “Time, see what’s become of me,” said Wu Fang, smiling gently. “You occidentals do so love your descriptive names, and far be it for me to disappoint you. As long as people see the stereotype, they do not see the real me. Is that not why you used the names Continental Op and Lady Phantasm?”

  “It was the times,” said Shirley. “People expected it of us.”

  “My point exactly,” sa
id Wu Fang. “And now, here you are. It is possible you are the only ones left who still remember the Demon Claw. Though I’m told some of my old pulp adventures now sell for ridiculous amounts to collectors. It doesn’t matter. I have reinvented myself. And I make far more money from my Garden of Delights than I ever did as a criminal master-mind and arch-fiend. It’s hard for me to remember why I ever adopted the role . . . But still, there was a war on. We all had to play our part.”

  “We’re at war now,” said Brilliant Chang. “And we have a common enemy in the Droods. They will close you down and burn your Garden, as a perfect example of the kind of thing they won’t tolerate. And you can be sure they haven’t forgotten who you used to be. The Droods have files on everyone. But perhaps the three of you can come up with some way to hold their attention and slow them down, while the Authorities work on a plan to stop them.”

  “What plan?” said Dash.

  “I don’t know,” said Brilliant. “We’re still working on it.”

  Wu Fang considered him thoughtfully. “I have not forgotten the bad blood that lies between us; but as you say, even the most opposed of hearts can find common cause in the face of a mutual enemy. You may leave us now, Brilliant Chang. We shall not be meeting again.”

  Brilliant bowed formally, turned, and walked away. Wu Fang watched him go and shook his head, as though deciding against something after all. He turned his gaze on Dash and Shirley, who moved a little closer together.

  “Come,” said Wu Fang, smiling pleasantly. “Let us retire to my private office, have tea together, and plot the destruction of our enemies.”

  He led Dash and Shirley off the path and through the trees, to a perfectly ordinary-looking door in the middle of the jungle. Wu Fang opened it and waved Dash and Shirley through, into what turned out to be a pleasantly luxurious business office. Wu Fang closed the door behind them and went to sit behind an elegant mahogany desk. Dash and Shirley sat down facing him. A simple silver tea-service was already in place on the desk.