“This is Shotgun Suzie,” said John.
“Fair enough,” said the Governor. He smiled at her briefly. “I always thought I’d see you down here one day.”
* * *
• • •
They all put their night-vision goggles on, left the office, and followed a golem through the narrow stone tunnels. They passed a great many doors, all firmly shut. The Governor banged on a few with his fist and called out, just in case, but there was never any response. John thought about a life spent in the dark cells and shuddered.
“They say Sam Warren used to be a first-rate detective,” the Governor said chattily. “Till they talked about retiring him. He’s supposed to have killed a werewolf, a minor Greek godling, a farseer, an immortal, and a chat-show radio host. I don’t know why that last one apart from the obvious. Ms Fate identified Sam Warren as the murderer and brought him down, and he’s been here ever since.”
They finally stopped before one particular door, and the Governor gestured to the golem. It laid its rough clay hands on the door and tore it away from the cell. There was a loud rending of breaking wood, and broken nails flew through the air. An appalling stench wafted out of the cell, enough to make all of them turn their heads away: an accumulation of human filth. John braced himself and stepped forward to peer into a cell that couldn’t have been more than eight foot square. An old man sat huddled in the far corner, wrapped in the foul and ragged remains of the clothes he’d been wearing when he was nailed into his cell. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything. John threw him a pair of night-vision goggles, and the old man jumped as they fell into his lap.
“Put the goggles on,” said John. “The good news is, you’re being released. The bad news is, you have to fight Droods. But even that has to be better than this.”
Sam Warren slowly put the goggles on and looked at John. He rose cautiously to his feet and stumbled forward. Out in the corridor, he looked around him. At the first new thing he’d seen in years.
“How long was I in there?” he said finally. His voice was rough from disuse.
“Not quite nine years,” said the Governor.
Sam shook his head slowly. “Is that all . . .”
“I’m the new Walker,” said John. “You agree to fight the Droods who’ve invaded the Nightside, and you get to walk out of here. Any problems with that?”
“No,” said Sam. “I didn’t go mad in the dark. Though I came close, several times. I’ll fight your war for you, Walker. How many Droods are we talking about?”
“All of them,” said Suzie.
Sam surprised them then with a smile. “No wonder you needed me. Who else is being released?”
“There is only one other surviving prisoner,” said the Governor. “Your neighbour, Shock Headed Peter.”
“No!” Sam said immediately. “You can’t let him out! Not after everything he did. Not after all the trouble I went through to find him and drag him down here. Don’t you know how dangerous he is?”
“That’s why we want him,” said John. “A lot of Droods will take a lot of killing.”
The Governor had the golem rip the door off the next cell. They braced themselves for the smell, but there was just dry, stale air. The Governor peered into the cell and made a low, surprised sound. The others quickly moved in beside him. The cell was empty, apart from a small pile of clothes on the floor.
“He can’t have escaped!” said the Governor. “It’s not possible!”
“He didn’t,” said Sam. “He just couldn’t take it any more and turned his power on himself. All the years I spent, convinced he’d find some way of getting to me . . . and he was never there at all.”
“But then . . . who’s been eating all his meals?” said the Governor.
“That’s Shock Headed Peter for you,” said Sam. “Determined to be a mystery, to the last. Well, good riddance to the man. Let’s get out of here.”
* * *
• • •
Back on the streets of the Nightside, the Governor shed more happy tears. He was so pleased to see the neon-lit streets after so long away, he ran back and forth, touching buildings and kissing street-lamps as though to make sure they were real. Finally he shook everybody’s hand and went dancing off down the street, singing happily.
“Let’s just hope he doesn’t run into a Drood,” said John. He turned to Sam Warren, who shrugged.
“I don’t know how much use I’m going to be, even with my stolen abilities . . . But I know my duty. I was a detective, you know. The first real detective in the Nightside. I lost my way for a while . . . But I know a second chance when I see one. Point me at the nearest Droods, and I’ll show them how dangerous a real lawman can be.”
There was the roar of a powerful engine, and a long, low-slung impressively styled car came racing down the street and screeched to a halt in front of them. It was the shocking-pink Fatemobile, with Ms Fate herself behind the wheel. She shut down the mighty engine, pushed up the door, and emerged from the Fatemobile to stand before them. Ms Fate, the Nightside’s very own costumed adventurer. A man who dressed up as a super-heroine to fight crime. She looked very impressive in her black leather outfit, complete with cowl and cape. It didn’t look like a costume on her; it looked like work-clothes. She even had a utility belt strapped around her narrow waist, packed full of useful items. Though the high heels on the boots were a bit much.
“Hello, Sam,” she said, in her low, smoky voice. “I heard you were being released to fight the Droods. I thought I should be here since I was the one who put you away. I always respected the work you did as a detective . . . and I could use a partner when I go to face the Droods. What do you say, Sam?”
“I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have at my side,” said Sam. “Old friend, old enemy.”
Ms Fate climbed back into the Fatemobile, and Sam got in beside her. John and Suzie walked off and left them to it. They hadn’t got far when John’s phone rang. He took it out and glared at it.
“It’s getting so I wince every time the damn thing rings. Yes! Hello! What do you want?”
“You need to get back to Strangefellows right now,” said Alex. “You would not believe what’s happening here.”
* * *
• • •
Sam peered out his side-window as the Fatemobile roared through the long night. He knew how bad he must smell, but Ms Fate hadn’t said anything. He wasn’t used to making conversation after so long in a cell on his own, but he thought he should say something.
“I can’t believe how empty the streets are. What happened to all the traffic?”
“The Droods happened,” said Ms Fate, slamming through the gears in an expert racing shift. “They’ve killed a lot of people.”
Sam shook his head slowly. “What brought the whole Drood family to the Nightside?”
Ms Fate filled him in as best she could. Sam sat and thought for a while.
“How did John Taylor end up as Walker?” he said finally.
Ms Fate smiled. “The long night is still full of mysteries, Sam.”
“Then let’s start with you,” said Sam. “If we’re to be partners. Your secret identity came as something of a surprise to me. Who are you really?”
“I have no secret identity,” Ms Fate said steadily. “The whole point of the Nightside is that you can live your dream full time. I am Ms Fate, now and forever.”
“Even when you take off the mask?”
“What makes you think it comes off?”
“All right, how did you become Ms Fate?”
“Shirley den Adel took me under her wing and trained me. She used to be a costumed adventurer, the Lady Phantasm. She helped me understand the importance of being true to the role. But even so . . . Even after everything I’ve done as Ms Fate, I still sometimes wonder if I’m the real thing. A real hero. But now we’re going to fi
ght Droods, and I don’t suppose it gets any realer than that.” She glanced across at Sam. “I have to ask: How is it you’re not batshit crazy after all those years in solitude?”
“My powers helped,” said Sam. “Particularly the one I took from the farseer. I could see occasional visions of the Nightside, in my cell.”
“What other powers do you have?”
“Strength, speed, some healing. Nothing else took. Let’s hope that’s enough. How far to the nearest Droods?”
“According to the television news team broadcasting live, not far at all,” said Ms Fate.
She brought the Fatemobile roaring around a corner and stamped on the brakes. A small group of Nightsiders were fighting desperately against a much larger company of Droods, with improvised incendiaries. Liquid flames slid down the golden armour without making any impression. Ms Fate and Sam Warren got out of the car.
One Drood stopped when he saw the Fatemobile. He ordered his people to stay where they were and headed straight for Ms Fate and Sam Warren. He lowered his armour as he got closer, revealing the Sarjeant-at-Arms.
“Hello, Cedric,” said Ms Fate. “Been awhile since we last had a drink together in Strangefellows.”
“You don’t need to get mixed up in this,” said the Sarjeant. “We’re not here for people like you.”
“This is my home,” said Ms Fate. “I belong here. When did the Droods decide to just kill anyone who didn’t agree with them?”
The Sarjeant didn’t answer her, staring at Sam. “Who’s your smelly companion?”
“This is Detective Sam Warren,” said Ms Fate. “He’s the law in the Nightside.”
“I thought that was you,” said the Sarjeant.
“No, I’m justice. Tell your people to stand down, Cedric.”
“Not going to happen,” said the Sarjeant. “I know my duty.”
“So do I,” said Sam.
Ms Fate fixed the Sarjeant with her coldest glare. “You’re killing people! I thought a Drood’s duty was to protect Humanity!”
“We are,” said the Sarjeant. “We’re protecting Humanity from the Nightside.”
“People don’t stop being people just because they live in the Nightside,” said Ms Fate.
“But they stop acting like people,” said the Sarjeant. “We have learned, at our cost, not to trust anyone here.”
“Typical Drood,” said Sam. “Always convinced you know what’s best for everyone else.”
“Drive away,” the Sarjeant said to Ms Fate. “If you stay, I can’t guarantee your safety.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” said Ms Fate. “This is my home. And you should not have come here.”
She kicked the Sarjeant in the groin, so hard he couldn’t even make a sound. He bent right over, and Ms Fate punched him in the head with her weighted leather glove, so hard just the sound of it made Sam wince. The Sarjeant dropped to the ground. The rest of the Droods came charging forward. Ms Fate produced a handful of shuriken from her utility belt. She threw the razor-edged throwing stars with uncanny aim, and they sliced through Drood armour to bury themselves in the flesh beneath. Droods cried out in shock and pain, as the armour healed around the throwing stars and held them in place, sunk deep in arm and leg muscles. The Droods staggered to a halt, trying to tear the shuriken free.
“What the hell are those things?” said Sam. “I didn’t think anything could get through Drood armour.”
“Strange matter, courtesy of the Gun Shoppes of Usher,” said Ms Fate. “Unfortunately, they only had a few in stock, and I just used them all up. But they also had these.”
She produced two golden fighting sticks from her boots.
“The last strange matter in the shop. Keep an eye on the Sarjeant, Sam, while I go and pound some sense into Drood heads.”
She marched right into the midst of the Droods, and struck viciously about her. Her speed and fighting skills made her a match for anything a Drood could do, and her fighting sticks slammed into the side of one golden head after another, dropping Droods to the ground like they’d been struck by lightning. She danced among the Droods, evading their outstretched hands and flashing swords and ducking the occasional gun.
But after a while she started to grow tired because she was only a costumed adventurer and not a real super-heroine. The Droods crowded in around her, denying her room to manoeuvre, then clubbed her to the ground with brutal golden fists. She went down fighting, until one set of spiked golden knuckles ripped half her cowl away, and another slammed into the exposed side of her face. She dropped to the ground, hardly moving, and a Drood rammed his sword right through her.
Sam Warren was already running forward at incredible speed and was in and among the Droods before they knew what was happening. He quickly discovered he wasn’t strong enough to break Drood armour, so he settled for picking them up and throwing them down the street. They landed heavily and took their time getting to their feet again. Sam picked up one Drood and used him to club down another, and the two clashing armours sounded like a bell tolling at a funeral. Armoured fists and swords hit Sam from every side as he raged among the Droods, and even his healing ability couldn’t cope with all the damage he was taking. He slowed down, despite himself, but fought on doggedly.
The Droods finally fought him to a halt as he stood over the fallen body of his partner, refusing to be moved. Because she had been a real hero at the end, and he wanted to be one too, for her. He struck out with all his strength, sending Droods staggering this way and that, but they always came back. They beat him viciously from all sides with their spiked fists. Bones broke and shattered, and blood splashed onto the ground, but still he wouldn’t fall. The Droods stopped abruptly and fell back. Sam stood swaying, his face pulped, one eye ruined.
“What’s the matter, you bastards?” he said thickly. “Haven’t you got the guts to finish off one old lawman?”
The Sarjeant-at-Arms stepped forward and shot him twice in the head. Sam Warren fell to the ground, dying as the hero he always should have been.
The Sarjeant stood over the two dead bodies for a while, thinking his own thoughts, then turned abruptly and pointed at Charlotte ap Owen and her cameraman Dave, who’d broadcast it all live to the Nightside.
“They were warned,” said the Sarjeant. “Kill them.”
The Droods advanced on Charlotte and Dave. The cameraman didn’t lower his camera.
“We could run,” he said.
“Keep filming,” Charlotte said steadily. “Show the people what’s happening. That’s our job.”
“It is?” said Dave.
“That’s what Julien Advent said, and I’m not going to argue with him.”
“They’d only catch us if we did run,” said Dave. “So why not? Hey, boss, sorry now you never slept with me while you had the chance?”
“No,” said Charlotte. “Not even a little bit.”
After they were dead, the Droods smashed their camera.
* * *
• • •
Eddie and Molly went hurrying through the streets, on their way to St Jude’s. Hearing that the ancient church was to be seized by the Droods, or destroyed if necessary, had been a step too far for Eddie. When they finally reached St Jude’s, they were surprised and a little relieved to discover that somehow they’d got there first. Eddie and Molly looked the church over. The squat, solid shape looked as strong and steadfast as ever.
“I can’t let my family do this,” said Eddie. “I’ve heard stories about St Jude’s all my life. It’s important. It matters.”
“It’s one of the few places in the Nightside that really is everything people say it is,” said Molly.
“This whole invasion has gone seriously off mission,” said Eddie. “If I make a stand here, maybe I can make my family stop and think about what they’re doing . . .”
“They won’
t stop,” said Molly.
“Then I’ll stop them,” said Eddie. “By force, if necessary.”
“Are you sure about this?” Molly asked. “I mean, obviously I’m all for it, but the last time you went up against your entire family, you almost got killed.”
Eddie smiled briefly. “That’s happened so often I’m getting used to it.”
“Just like old times!” said Molly. “You and me against the Droods.”
“Someone has to save the family from itself,” said Eddie.
“And who better than you?” said a familiar voice.
Charles and Emily, Eddie’s father and mother, stepped out of the shadows at the side of the church. Eddie laughed out loud and hugged them both, then his parents made a point of hugging Molly too. Just to make it clear that as far as they were concerned, she was family. A middle-aged man in a rumpled sports jacket and grey slacks, Charles was completely bald but boasted a heavy salt-and-pepper beard. He had the look of a man who could fix things, one way or another. Emily was a cool and poised middle-aged lady in a cream silk dress and a Panama hat crammed down on her long grey hair.
“We heard what was happening,” said Charles. “The Department of Uncanny has been forbidden to interfere, by the highest levels of Government; so we decided we’d use some of our vacation time to pay a visit to the Nightside. Isn’t that right, dear?”
“Of course, dear,” said Emily. “Just tourists, that’s us. Here to help.”
“Help who?” said Eddie.
“You, of course,” said Emily.
“Even if it means taking on the whole Drood family?” said Molly.
Emily smiled. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Just like old times,” Charles said happily.
“I said that!” said Molly.
“I know,” said Charles. “I heard you.”
* * *
• • •
Eddie led the way into St Jude’s. The only truly neutral place in the Nightside was now a refuge for the spiritually wounded. People with shattered nerves, who’d seen their homes and businesses destroyed, who’d lost loved ones, or who simply had nowhere else left to go. They sat huddled together on the rough wooden pews, shaking and shuddering and comforting each other as best they could. Because no one else was going to do it. St Jude’s was there to give you something to lean on, to help you find your strength, not tell you everything was going to be all right.