Drinking Midnight Wine

  “If you keep your mouth shut and your ears open, possibly,” said Gayle. “They’re talking about Jimmy Thunder. He’s the town’s only private eye.”

  “He saw the people murdered,” said Dreamy. “And afterwards, he fought with Angel.”

  “And survived?” said Gayle, raising an eyebrow. “I’m impressed.”

  “Does this have something to do with the destroyed railway station this morning?” said Toby, suddenly making a connection.

  “You see?” said Gayle. “You can keep up, if you try.” She looked round at the Mice. “You understand the way the world turns. Better than I do, at the moment. What can you tell me about the changing weather patterns?”

  All the Mice stirred unhappily, glancing at each other. “But you’re …” said Tidy finally.

  “I’ve been real for a long time,” said Gayle. “By my own choice. Now I’m out of touch with my … full potential. Tell me what you know.”

  “The Serpent is stirring. The Sun is waking up,” Dreamy said flatly. “Veritie and Mysterie are closer than they have been for many centuries. This can’t be a coincidence.”

  “You should lose the human,” Bossy said brusquely. “Focal point or not. There are others who can lead and advise him. If you care for him at all, distance yourself from him. If you are to become your true self again, Lady Gayle, you cannot afford to be distracted by merely human concerns. Let him find his own path. You do him no kindness by taking him where you must go. The human mind is limited, and fragile. Mortal must not love immortal, but even more importantly—”

  “No!” Dreamy said suddenly. Her voice rose, fey and powerful, her eyes blazing. “I have dreamed them together, in a time not far from now. In that time of great need, he will stand between all that lives and great danger. I saw him stand alone, wrapped in light, with the weight of worlds upon his shoulders.”

  There was a long pause, as Dreamy slowly subsided, her gaze turned inwards. Tidy looked apologetically at Toby.

  “I wouldn’t take that too seriously, if I were you. Dreamy does see a lot of things in dreams, but her accuracy rate isn’t all that impressive.”

  “Beast!” Dreamy threw herself on Tidy and the two of them rolled back and forth on the straw, wrestling each other furiously. The other two Mice sighed wearily and moved in to separate them. Gayle gestured to Toby that it was time for them to leave.

  They went to see Jimmy Thunder, the godling.

  Once again Gayle led the way through Bradford-on-Avon, pointing out things of historical interest to an increasingly fascinated Toby. He was a Bradfordian born and bred, had lived most of his life in the small country town, and still Gayle knew all kinds of things that he’d never even suspected. And always there was something in the casual way she said things, in the little details she let drop, that made him more and more sure that these weren’t things she’d learned in books, in libraries. She was telling him things she knew because she’d seen them.

  She knew, for example, that St Margaret’s Street was named after an old leper hospice from mediaeval times, the hospice of the Blessed Saint Margaret. Gayle remembered the place vividly, and they were not happy memories.

  “It was just a place where they put people to die. No doctors, no nurses, no help. The doors were kept locked, and the windows were nailed shut. Food and water were pushed in through a slot, when anyone remembered. Leprosy was considered God’s punishment. So there were no comforts, no treatment, no hope of recovery or escape. Just a prison for the dying, hidden away so people wouldn’t have to see them suffer. Sometimes a healthy wife or husband or child would volunteer to go into the hospice with a loved one, to look after them. Once in, they were never allowed to leave. Leprosy was thought to be God’s will, so compassion was in short supply. Some things never change.”

  Toby looked around at the ordinary houses lining an ordinary street, and tried to see it as Gayle saw it, but wasn’t at all surprised when he couldn’t. His viewpoint, his understanding, was too small, too limited. Too human.

  Mortal must not love immortal …

  They came at last to Jimmy Thunder’s house. Toby was a little surprised when they stopped in front of what appeared to be just another in a long line of characterless semi-detacheds; traditional commuter houses thrown up in lots to meet the needs of newcomers, as Bradford-on-Avon slowly became a dormitory town for the surrounding county. Gayle watched, smiling, as Toby studied the supposed godling’s house with growing perplexity. The front lawn had been replaced by gravel, though here and there tufts of grass and weeds were sprouting defiantly through A single plaster gnome with peeling paint was fishing despondently in a small, murky-looking pond. Toby looked challengingly at Gayle.

  “You’re telling me a god lives here?”

  “A very minor god, but yes. Descended from the Old Norse pantheon, though divorced from the original power by more generations than the human mind can comfortably cope with. He’s a good sort, in his own way. Don’t try to talk religion with him. He can become very short-tempered on the subject, and then you have to start ducking lightning bolts.”

  “Am I allowed to mention that his place looks like a tip?” said Toby “I mean, I’m a man living alone, I understand that a certain amount of appalling mess is expected of us, but this… Mess like this doesn’t just happen. It has to be cultivated.”

  “You should mention it to him,” said Gayle “But I think I’ll stand well back while you do it. Come on. Let’s see if he’s at home.”

  She crunched across the gravel in a straight line, ignoring the path, and Toby followed reluctantly after her. He wasn’t sure he was ready to meet a godling. He certainly wasn’t going to kneel to anyone. Or put money in a collection plate. Gayle stopped before a perfectly ordinary-looking front door, and it took a moment for Toby to realise that the small businesslike brass plaque said God For Hire-Really There was, however, no bell or knocker. Gayle sniffed and glared at the closed door.

  “All right, let’s have no nonsense. You know very well who I am. Open up right now, or I’ll have your poltergeist’s licence revoked.”

  Don’t want to! snapped a voice in Toby’s mind and he jumped despite himself. The voice was sharp and more than a little sulky, but in no way human. It was also utterly silent, outside his head, and presumably Gayle’s. His Divinity was out all last night and I don’t want him disturbed, the voice continued He needs his rest. Gallivanting about at all hours and never making the time for a decent meal. He’ll never make two hundred at this rate. I’ve just got him off to sleep and I won’t have you bothering him. Come back later. Or not at all see if I care.

  “I really don’t have the patience for this,” said Gayle “Open up right now or I’ll do something really distressing to your hinges.”

  Shan’t Bully! “You do know who I am, don’t you?” said Gayle, dangerously.

  Don’t care. Someone’s got to look out for Jimmy’s interests. People are always bothering him. And rarely for any good reason. Be as important and snotty as you want. I can keep you waiting here for ever, if I choose to.

  “Gayle, might I suggest you try the magic word?” Toby said quietly.

  Gayle turned an icy glare on him. “What do you know about magic, or Words of Power?”

  “Watch and learn,” said Toby. He took a step closer to the door, and smiled winningly. “Please let us in. It really is very important, to Mr. Thunder as well as to us. He could be in danger.”

  Well why didn’t you just say so? The door swung open before them. So nice to hear a little common courtesy. Everyone thinks they can push me around, just because I’m a door.

  “You see?” Toby said to Gayle, careful not to sound even a little smug. “All you need is the magic word.”

  “Don’t look so self-satisfied, Toby. It doesn’t suit you. But you’re right, of course. This is why I prefer to stay real. It’s too easy here to forget the things which really matter when everyone else insists on worshipping you. Thank you, door.”

  Yo
u’re welcome! I’ll tell him you’re here. But don’t blame me if he’s in a really crabby mood.

  Gayle and Toby stepped through the doorway and once again Toby was lost for words. The hall stretched away in front of him for what seemed like miles. Floor, walls and ceiling were all fashioned from varying kinds of wood, from the polished dark red of the floor to the great golden-brown walls covered in carved runes and sigils, to the high, raftered ceiling overhead. Toby felt as if he was standing in one of the old Viking longships. He jumped as the door slammed shut behind him and looked at Gayle, who, as always, was taking it all in her stride.

  “You want to explain this?” Toby said hopefully.

  “This is a god’s place,” said Gayle, smiling. “A very minor god, as such things go, but still … This is his territory, and here time and space obey his will. Or to put it another way, space expands to fit his ego. It’s one of the perks of the job. Semi-sentient simulacra for servants is another.”

  “What do you mean, semi-sentient?” said a long mirror on the wall beside them. “I’ll match my IQ against the population average any day of the week, and spot you ten points if they work in television. And ten shekels to an obol I can out-think any of those damned computers Veritie is so proud of. I’ve been serving thunder gods for over twelve centuries now, and I’ve never once cracked or forgotten a message. Now, who are you, what do you want and, most importantly, do you have an appointment?”

  The fact that the mirror talked didn’t upset Toby as much as the fact that it was using his reflection to do it. The effect was frankly unnerving.

  “You know very well who we are and what we want,” said Gayle “Don’t tell me you and the door have any secrets. But just for you, Toby, no, we don’t have an appointment, but please may we see Jimmy anyway? It is a matter of some urgency.”

  “Not a chance in Niffleheim,” said the mirror flatly “You might be able to bluff the poor door, but you won’t get past me that easily. If I let through everyone who thought their case was important, Jimmy would never get a moment’s peace. You’ll have to make an appointment to see him, just like everyone else I have an afternoon free, about three months from now. How would that suit you?

  Gayle looked at Toby “Know any other magic words? Preferably ones with an element of threat and imminent mayhem to them?”

  Toby thought for a moment, and then grinned and produced a thoroughly filthy crumpled grey handkerchief from his trouser pocket. He held it up so the mirror could get a good look at it. His reflection studied the appalling handkerchief with fascinated eyes as things fell out of it.

  “That is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen that wasn’t actually under a curse. Why are you showing it to me?”

  “I want you to study it.”

  “I can hardly take my eyes off it. The last time I saw anything that filthy Hercules had been using it to clean out stables. Tell me it’s a clue, or a piece of evidence. I’d hate to think you kept it about your person by choice.”

  “This grey handkerchief was a white handkerchief when I first put it in my pocket,” said Toby, not without a certain amount of pride “It has been in my pocket for so long that whole colonies of bacteria have grown on it, evolved into sentience, created space travel and left my pocket to go in search of other trouser worlds. This hanky is now so filthy it could make the ebola virus vomit. And unless you agree to call Mr. Thunder right now, I am going to use this hanky to clean your surface. Give it a good rub. All over.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!”

  Toby brought the hanky close to the mirror, which actually shuddered in its silver frame. “Call him,” said Toby, in a deadly serious voice.

  “Never! Never never never! I am his security, sworn to protect him …”

  Toby rubbed his hanky all over the mirror’s surface, putting plenty of elbow grease into it. Streaky marks appeared.

  “All right, all right!” sobbed his reflection in the mirror. “Animal! I’ll call him, I’ll call him!” Toby stepped back, his handkerchief still ostentatiously at the ready. The mirror made loud hacking and spitting noises, and then Toby’s reflection glared venomously at him as it raised its voice in a desperate bellow. “Mr. Thunder! Mr. Thunder! They’re bullying me again!”

  Gayle studied Toby approvingly. “That is a really vicious streak you have there. You’ll go far in Mysterie with an attitude like that. Good to see you’re learning. Nice use of lateral thinking. You’re … you’re not actually going to put that back in your pocket, are you?”

  “Why?” said Toby innocently. “Do you want to borrow it?”

  Gayle snorted, and actually backed away.

  Footsteps sounded, from far away. Steady, purposeful footsteps, growing gradually nearer. Toby’s reflection looked at him spitefully. “See! He’ll be here soon, and then he’ll make you pay for persecuting me. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, waking him up so soon after he’s gone to bed. I just hope he hasn’t caught a chill. Out all hours of the night, not enough sleep and never time for a proper breakfast; it’s no wonder he’s a martyr to the sniffles. And I hate nursing him when he’s ill. All he does is wrap himself in a blanket in a chair by the fire, and yell endlessly for fresh cups of beef tea and more chocolate Hobnobs.”

  “Talk a lot for a mirror, don’t you?” said Toby.

  “You needn’t look so smug, Mr. I’ve-got-a-hanky-and-I’m-not-afraid-to-use-it. I can play dirty too, you know. Here; take a good look at what you’re going to look like in fifty years’ time!”

  Toby’s reflection in the mirror leaned suddenly forward, grinning maliciously. The smile stretched unnaturally as wrinkles spread across his face in quick spurts, like ice cracking on the surface of a pond. His cheekbones rose sharply as his face sank back onto his skull like an ill-fitting mask and his eyes peered darkly from the sunken caverns of their sockets. His hair receded rapidly, till nothing was left but bare mottled skin and a few white strands. His whole posture changed, becoming stooped and tired and thin. But for all the changes, it still looked like him.

  The reflection still wore Toby’s present clothes, making the change even more disturbing. Toby wouldn’t let himself look away. He tried hard to accept the aged image dispassionately, but it felt as though someone had hit him in the heart. Intellectually, he’d always known that how he looked would change as he grew old, but to be faced with such grim evidence of his own mortality and frailty, so bluntly and suddenly, took his breath away. The old, shrunken, broken-looking man before him was a blow to his spirit as well as his pride. No one likes to admit that in the end we all die by inches, gradually losing all the defining visual characteristics that make us us. Toby fought to keep his face calm, and tried hard to come up with something positive, if only to spite the mirror.

  “Ah well,” he said finally. “At least I’ll have lived to reach eighty-three. The way everyone else has been talking, I was beginning to wonder if I’d make it through the afternoon.”

  “No guarantees!” snapped the reflection in the mirror, reverting instantly to its normal appearance. “That was just a maybe. Jimmy! Jimmy! They’re ganging up on me!” The heavy footsteps drew still nearer, but clearly had some way to go. The mirror sighed, and pouted with Toby’s face. ”Look, this could take some time. The Thunder residence is a lot bigger than it needs to be, but then that’s gods for you. The master bedroom’s practically in another time zone. I think you’d better both go through into the parlour, and wait there until he reaches you. It’s the second door on the left. And don’t touch anything! Half the stuff in there’s booby-trapped, and the rest bites. Who’d be a secretary? The hours are murder and the pay sucks. I should have been an oracle, like Mother wanted …”

  The mirror was still muttering darkly to itself about unionising when Gayle and Toby located the second door on the left and let themselves into the parlour with a certain amount of relief: only to discover another long mirror on the wall, talking to itself in the same annoyed voice, but this time using Gayle’s reflection.
In the interests of self-defence, Toby decided to take a careful look at the contents of the room. The parlour was really quite impressive, as thunder gods’ parlours went. The room was easily the size of a banqueting hall, with bare wooden floorboards polished to within an inch of their life, under pelts and furs from a variety of large animals, and solid stone walls covered with great metal shields and many displays of crossed weapons. The swords were all over six feet long, and the great axes looked far too heavy for mortal man to lift without the help of a very supportive truss. The ceiling was so high Toby had to crane his head all the way back to look up at it. Bats of a disturbing size hung upside down from the arching wooden rafters, their eyes shining redly.

  Toby looked across at Gayle, but she was still taking it all in her stride. In fact, she had her arms tightly crossed, and was tapping her foot impatiently with an expression that suggested, thunder god or not, Jimmy Thunder had better have a pretty damned good reason for keeping her waiting. Toby decided he’d had enough of being impressed for one day and wandered over to study a row of glass display cases in the hope of finding something tacky he could sneer at. The cases held a series of unusual exhibits, each complete with a neatly printed card that provided a name, but no other useful information. Toby moved slowly past The Mirror Of The Sea, Thor’s Gauntlets and Surtur’s Tooth, and was no wiser for the experience.

  The first item was a remarkably ordinary-looking, and blessedly silent, hand-mirror, in a battered steel frame. It could have been any age, from any period, and there was nothing obviously of the sea about it, until Toby leaned closer for a better look and thought he heard, faintly and far away, the sound of whales singing in the deep. The sounds were gone almost as soon as he identified them, and didn’t return, no matter how closely he pressed his ear against the glass case. He glanced round to see if Gayle had heard anything, but she was still busy being impatient. Toby straightened up and moved on.

  Thor’s Gauntlets were just a pair of ratty old leather gloves, studded with sigils and runes of black iron, all but falling apart despite much patching and mending. And Surtur’s Tooth … was just a bloody big tooth, about ten inches long, culminating in a jagged broken end, as though it had been ripped right out of the jaw of something sufficiently big that Toby decided he didn’t want to think about it.