Paths Not Taken

  “Members only means Members only,” growled the Doorman. “Leave now. Or I will be compelled to use force.”

  Suzie started to reach for her shotgun. “No!” I said urgently. “When I said the Doorman was protected, I meant by everyone who’s a Club Member. And that means he can draw on the powers of sorcerers, elves, and minor godlings to stop us.”

  “Ah,” said Suzie. “So shooting him wouldn’t work?”

  “No.”

  “I’ve got these special grenades…”

  “No!” I turned to Tommy. “You’re up. Mess with the man’s head.”

  Tommy Oblivion stepped forward, smiling confidently. The Doorman considered him warily.

  “We’re not from around here, old thing,” Tommy said easily. “You probably already noticed that. In fact, we’re not from this place, or this time. We’re from the future. Some sixteen hundred years from now, to be exact. And in that future, my friends and I are Members of your Club.”

  “What?” said the Doorman. Whatever he’d been expecting to hear, that clearly wasn’t it.

  “We are Members, where and when we come from. Which means, technically speaking, we are also Members here and now. Once a Member, always a Member, right?”

  The Doorman frowned as he thought about that. Thinking clearly wasn’t what he did best. He brightened up as an idea came to him.

  “If you’re a Member,” he said slowly, “you know the secret handshake.”

  Tommy raised an eyebrow. “There is no secret handshake, dear fellow. But there is a secret password, which I have written down on this piece of paper.”

  He showed the Doorman his empty hand. The Doorman looked at it closely, moving his lips as though reading, then nodded reluctantly and stepped back to let us pass. He was frowning heavily, as though his head hurt. The oak door swung open before us, and I led the way into the lobby beyond. Once the door was safely shut behind us, I looked at Tommy.

  “You made him see something that wasn’t there.”

  “Of course,” said Tommy. “It’s my gift to be convincing. Besides, in some alternate time-line we probably are Members. Or at least, I am.”

  I sniffed. “I still didn’t get to do anything.”

  “You will, you will,” Suzie said soothingly. “This place is bound to be packed with all the kinds of people you detest the most. I’m sure you’ll find someone worth upsetting in some thoroughly appalling and vindictive way.”

  I sniffed again, unconvinced, and looked around the Club lobby. It still had some of the old Roman magnificence I remembered from my last visit, with gleaming tiled walls and marble pillars, but instead of thick carpeting on the floor there were only trampled rushes, strewn here and there in clumps, and the high ceiling had been covered in thick Druidic designs that looked like they’d been daubed with woad. The only lighting came from oversized oil-lamps, and the perfumed air was hot and flat and a little stale. There was a sense that the Club had declined somewhat from its original glory days in Roman times and had yet to develop its own style. Certainly the Romans would never have put up with this much mess. The rushes on the floor looked like they hadn’t been changed in days, and there were smoke and soot streaks on the walls above the oil-lamps. Stains here and there suggested spillages of all kinds.

  A servant, or more probably a slave, given the iron collar bolted around his neck, came forward hesitantly to greet us. Something about us clearly upset him because he stopped dead in his tracks, and yelled Security! at the top of his lungs. A panel slammed open in one of the walls, revealing a hidden alcove, from whose dark depths a hideous crone emerged, spitting and cackling. She was clearly some kind of witch, with stray magics sputtering and discharging around her clawed hands. She was a twisted figure in rags and tatters, with a heavy iron chain leading back into the alcove from the slave collar around her scrawny throat. She lurched towards us, her eyes wide with madness and thwarted rage. I could feel the power building around her as she muttered ancient words in a deep guttural voice, and I knew that as soon as she oriented on us, we’d be in deep shit.

  So I raised my gift only long enough to find the spell that kept her from breaking her chain and slave collar, and removed it. The collar snapped open, and the chain fell away from her. The witch broke off in mid spell, and lurched to a halt. She kicked tentatively at the chain on the floor, and it rattled helplessly. The witch grinned slowly, revealing a handful of yellowed teeth, then she turned to look at the slave who’d called her out of the alcove. He turned and ran, but he was a grease spot on the floor before he’d made half a dozen steps.

  The witch raised her clawed hands and howled a ululating shriek of triumph and vengeance long desired. Vicious spells detonated on the air all around her, blasting holes in the walls and floor. Armed men came running from all directions, and the witch turned to face them with vindictive glee on her shrivelled face. Fires started, gale winds blew, and the armed men started exploding, blowing apart in showers of bloody gobbets.

  “Happy now you’ve done something?” said Suzie.

  “Very,” I said.

  Unnoticed in the general chaos, we strolled across the lobby and let ourselves into the dining room. We shut the door firmly behind us, and the din of the pandemonium shut off immediately. No-one looked up as we came in. Whatever the noise was, that was slaves’ business and nothing to do with the Members. Most of them were reclining on couches to eat, in the old Roman style, giving their full attention to excellent food and drink, and good company. And probably paying more for that one meal than most people in the sixth century made in their entire lives.

  Some of the diners still wore the old-fashioned Roman toga, but most wore simple tunics, with or without leather armour and trappings. The majority of the diners were human, but there were also quite a few elves, looking studiedly disdainful of their surroundings even as they gorged themselves on human delicacies, and a handful of gargoyles eating live mice and playing with their food in a quite distressing manner. The diners were being served by male and female slaves, some barely more than children, all of them wearing fixed, empty expressions. They were naked save for the iron collars round their throats, and all of them carried scars and whip marks.

  “Slavery,” said Tommy, his voice full of revulsion. “I knew about it, knew there were slaves even in King Arthur’s time, but I never really … some of them are just kids!”

  “This is the way things were,” I said. “And will be, for centuries after. And get that look out of your eye, Tommy. I only freed that witch to provide a distraction. We start freeing slaves on a grand scale, and you can bet all the Powers here will rise up against us. We can’t change a whole culture. That’s not why we’re here. And besides, we don’t dare make any big changes if we want to return to our own Present, remember?”

  “I remember,” said Tommy. “But I don’t have to like it.”

  There was an edge in his voice, a cold anger that hadn’t been there before. I liked him better for it.

  “Join the club,” I said.

  “I don’t see any sign of Merlin,” said Suzie, all business as usual. “And I’m pretty sure he’d stand out, even in this crowd. Want me to grab somebody and shake some answers out of them?”

  “I think it might be better if I was to ask a few polite questions,” I said. “On the grounds that I have at least heard of diplomacy.”

  A tall, elegant, and distinctly supercilious type was already heading in our direction, threading his way gracefully between the couches, bestowing smiles and sweet nothings on the people he passed. He wore a blindingly white tunic and no iron collar. He came to a halt before me, dismissing Suzie and Tommy with a mere flick of the eyes, and raised a painted eyebrow a carefully calculated fraction of an inch.

  “I am the Steward,” he said. “And you are very definitely not Members. Not ever likely to be. I don’t know how you got in here, but you will have to leave immediately.”

  I smiled at him. “You know all that chaos and destruction that
’s currently going on in your lobby? All the fires and explosions and parts of deceased security people flying through the air? I did that.”

  “Take a couch,” the Steward said resignedly. “I suppose you’ll be wanting something to eat, before security can put together a big enough force to restore order and throw the three of you out of here? Today’s specials are larks’ tongues in aspic and baby mice stuffed with hummingbird tongues.”

  Tommy winced. “Do you have anything that doesn’t involve tongues?”

  “Don’t sit down, Suzie,” I said. “We’re not staying for dinner.”

  “You might not be,” said Suzie. She’d already snatched a breaded drumstick from a nearby diner and was chewing it with a thoughtful look on her face. The diner sensibly decided not to make a fuss.

  “We’re looking for the sorcerer Merlin,” I said to the Steward. “Merlin Satanspawn. He is a Member here, isn’t he?”

  “Only because nobody dared blackball him,” said the Steward, his lip curling. “But even so, he doesn’t dare show his face here any more. Not since the King and most of his knights fell in battle, in the last great contest against the bastard Mordred’s forces; and all because Merlin wasn’t there to support his King. The pretender died, too, his forces scattered, but still the age of Logres is over. Camelot is simply a castle now, with an empty Throne and a broken Table, and the ideals of the Court are already falling apart. The end of an age; and all because one man wasn’t where he should have been. You want Merlin Satanspawn? Try a tavern. Any tavern.”

  There was just enough bitterness in his voice to make him convincing. I gathered Suzie and Tommy up with my eyes and led them back out of the dining room. And as I left I raised my gift, found the spell that held the iron collars around the slaves’ throats, and undid it. The collars sprang open, and the magic that had kept the slaves docile fell away in a moment. Some of the slaves attacked the diners, while others ran for their lives and their freedom. The dining room quickly descended into chaos.

  “You big softie,” said Suzie.

  “There’s some shit I just will not put up with,” I admitted.

  We strolled back through the lobby, most of which was on fire. There was no sign of the witch anywhere, but a great crevice had opened up in the middle of the floor, belching out soot and cinders and smoke that smelled strongly of brimstone. My work here is done, I thought, a little smugly. We nodded cheerfully to the Doorman as we passed him, then stood together in the street wondering where we should try next. God alone knew how many taverns, inns, and hole-in-the-wall drinking dives there were in the sixth-century Nightside, and I really didn’t feel like searching them all. On the other hand, I also didn’t feel like using my gift again. I’d been using it far too often, almost casually, and that was dangerous. Flare up often enough in the dark, and my Enemies would be bound to notice me, no matter how far I was in the Past. From their future vantage point, I was always in the Past.

  “Strangefellows,” I said suddenly. “That’s where Merlin will be. Or whatever the oldest bar in the world is currently called. I remember the Merlin of our time telling me that he often drank there, to get away from the overbearing niceness of Camelot. That’s probably why he chose to be buried in the bar’s cellars, after he was killed. Yes. That’s where we’ll find him.” I looked at Suzie. “You’re frowning. Why are you frowning, Suzie?”

  “Lilith brought us here, right?” said Suzie. “Had to be a reason. Could be because she wanted us to meet with Merlin. He is the leading major player in this Nightside. And if that’s so, do we want to do what she wants us to do?”

  “I’m past caring,” I said. “All this guessing and double-guessing. I want to get this over with and get out of here. I want to witness the creation of the Nightside, so I can get my answers, so I can finally be rid of Lilith’s influence in my life. I want this to be over!”

  “Easy, John, easy,” said Tommy, and it was only then that I realized my voice had risen to a shout.

  “It’ll never be over, John,” said Suzie, as kindly as she could. “You know that.”

  “I can’t believe that,” I said. “I can’t afford to believe that.”

  There was a long pause, then Tommy said, “If we can’t find Merlin here in the Nightside … could we please try Camelot? I’ve always dreamed of visiting that legendary Castle, seeing the famous Round Table, and—”

  “You heard the Steward,” I said, perhaps a little roughly. “It’s a mess there right now. All the heroes are dead, and the dream’s over. We’ll find Merlin in Strangefellows. Where else could such a disgraced man go to drown his sorrows in peace?”

  “All right,” said Tommy, resignedly. “Fire up your gift and point us in the right direction.”

  “There’s an easier way,” I said. I looked back at the Doorman. “The oldest bar in the world. What’s it called, and where is it?”

  He gave me a withering look. “Give me one good reason why I should assist you?”

  “Because,” I said, “if you don’t, my companions and I will hang around here for hours and hours, acting cranky and lowering the tone.”

  “The bar you’re looking for is called Avalon,” said the Doorman. And he provided us with very clear and distinct directions, just to be sure we wouldn’t have to come back and ask him again.

  Chapter Eight

  Sacrifices for the Greater Good

  Not all that surprisingly, the Avalon bar turned out to be situated in a really sleazy area, even for the Nightside. The lighting was bad, the streets were filthy, and so were the people. There were bodies lying everywhere, dead or drunk or demonically possessed, with a fight on every street corner and couples humping in doorways. The sixth century was a particularly unselfconscious age, when it came to sin. I saw one preacher getting a blow job, even as he pontificated on the evils of the Gnostic heresies. No-one bothered us, though. It seemed word of our exploits and notoriously short tempers had got around. Whatever century you’re in, nothing travels faster in the Nightside than gossip and bad news.

  I still couldn’t get used to having to step over lepers, though. Even if they were always very polite about it.

  Avalon itself turned out to be a large and chunky tower constructed entirely of stained and discoloured bones, held together by some unseen but not entirely unfelt force. Just looking at the tower put a chill in my heart, and in my bones. Not least because I’d seen it once before, when it manifested briefly in Strangefellows, during my previous case. Just before everything went to hell, and the future Suzie turned up to kill me. I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at her, and she caught my gaze.

  “What’s wrong, John?” she said quietly. “You’ve been looking at me strangely ever since we started this case. Do you know something I don’t?”

  “Always,” I said, forcing a smile. “But nothing you need to worry about.”

  We headed for the base of the bone tower. It stood out against the night sky like the tomb of a dead god, unnatural and ill-omened. Approaching it felt like stepping down into an open grave. The door was a simple dark opening, with nothing beyond but silence and an impenetrable darkness. Anywhen else I would probably have been worried, but I was more concerned with Suzie. She knew I was hiding something from her, but how could I tell her? What good could it do? And I couldn’t escape the feeling that simply by talking about it aloud, by accepting it, I might make that future more possible, more probable. I strode straight into the dark opening, while guilt twisted in my gut like a living thing, and Suzie and Tommy followed right after me.

  The darkness quickly gave way to a friendly amber glow, the bar itself just a sprawling, smoke-filled room, roughly the same size as the bar back in my time. There were no windows, and the oil-lamps and torches filled the hot sweaty air with a thick, defusing smoke, but the general effect was not unpleasant. Once I was inside, it was clear the bone tower exterior was a glamour, designed to scare off unwanted visitors. I wandered unhurriedly between the packed long wooden tables, and
everyone else ostentatiously minded their own business. Just as in my time, this was not a bar where you went for company and good fellowship.

  Over in one corner, a number of musical instruments were playing themselves, providing basic but pleasant background music.

  The customers were the usual unusual suspects, the men and women wearing a collection of clothing from all kinds of cultures and backgrounds. Anywhere else they would have been fighting each other to the death over religion or customs or plain foreignness, but not in Avalon. Humans stuck together in the face of so many other alternate threats. Three witches in embroidered saris sat huddled together, giggling like nasty children as they animated a number of stick figures and made them dance madly on the tabletop before them. Two seriously ugly Redcap goblins were knife-fighting, while a circle of onlookers cheered them on and laid bets on the outcome. Two lepers were playing knucklebones with their own fingers. Two heretical priests were arm-wrestling each other over the true nature of the Holy Ghost, and spitting obscenities at each other through clenched teeth. And in the middle of the bar-room floor, two smoke ghosts were dancing together sadly and elegantly, their smoke bodies blown apart by every passing breeze, but always re-forming.

  And sitting very much alone in a corner, with his back to two walls, that mighty and renowned sorcerer, Merlin Satanspawn. The greatest magus of this or any other age. Who was born to be the Antichrist but declined the honour. You couldn’t miss him. His sheer presence dominated the whole bar, even sitting there quietly, staring into his drink. Having him around was like sharing the room with a bloody street accident, or a man slowly hanging himself.

  He didn’t look much like the Merlin I knew, the dead man with a ragged hole in his chest where his heart used to be. Who had been buried for centuries in the cellars under Strangefellows but occasionally deigned to manifest through his unhappy descendant, Alex Morrisey. This man was whole and hale and bloody scary with it. He was a big man in an age of small men, easily six feet tall and broad-shouldered, wrapped in a long scarlet robe with golden collar trimmings. Under a thick and tangled mane of bright red hair, stiffened here and there with clay, his face was heavy-boned and almost aggressively ugly. Two fires burned brightly in his eye sockets, leaping crimson flames that licked up past his heavy eyebrows. They say he has his father’s eyes… Most of his face and bare hands were covered with curling Druidic tattoos in dark blue hues. His long, thick fingernails looked a whole lot like claws. And I realised that the Merlin I’d known before had only been a pale shadow of the real thing, this huge and vital man crackling with power and awful presence.