People at the surrounding tables and long wooden benches carefully paid no attention as Suzie and I stripped off and exchanged outfits. Modesty be damned; there was no way in hell I was going to fight my way through the Nightside wearing Suzie’s bra and pants. And judging by the speed with which Suzie disrobed, she had clearly had similar thoughts. We reclaimed our own clothes, dressed quickly, and spent some time checking that all our weapons and devices were where they should be. We didn’t want to have to go back to the Londinium Club and register a complaint. Suddenly and violently and all over the place. But everything was where it should be, and it had to be said, the Club had done an excellent job of cleaning our clothes. There wasn’t a blood-stain to be seen anywhere, and my white trench coat hadn’t looked so dazzlingly clean since I bought it. They’d even polished the metal studs on Suzie’s leather jacket and buffed up all the bullets in her bandoliers. Having thus re-established our dignity, Suzie and I glared around us and strode through the packed tables and benches to the long wooden bar at the rear of the room.
The place was a dump: overcrowded, filthy dirty, and it smelled really bad. There were no windows, no obvious ventilation, and greasy smoke hung on the air like floating vomit. Torches in holders and oil-lamps set in niches in the bare stone walls only just pushed back the general gloom. There was something sticky on the floor, and I didn’t even want to think about what it might be. There weren’t any rats, but that was probably only because the current clientele had eaten them. For once, the bar’s customers seemed mostly human. Rough and nasty, and the dregs of the Earth, most of them looked like being thugs and scumbags would be a definite step up the social ladder. They wore simple filthy tunics and furs that looked as though they’d still been attached to their donor animals as recently as that morning. Everyone was heavily armed and looked ready to use their weapons at a moment’s provocation.
The bar was a raucous place, with half a dozen fights going on and an awful lot of really bad community singing. Someone who’d been dipped in woad from head to toe was tattooing a complicated Druidic design on a barbarian’s back, with a bone needle, a pot of woad, and a small hammer; and the barbarian was being a real wimp about it, to the amusement of his companions. Two unconscious drunks were being very thoroughly rolled by half a dozen whores who looked more scary than sexy. One of them winked at me as I passed, and I had to fight not to flinch. There were a dozen or so hairy types I was pretty sure were werewolves, at least one vampire, and one bunch of particularly brutal types that I wouldn’t have accepted as human without a detailed family tree and a gene test.
“You take me to the nicest places, Taylor,” said Suzie. “I hope all my shots are up to date.”
“I guess this place hasn’t had time to establish its reputation yet,” I said.
“It has nowhere to go but up. I feel like shooting everyone here on general principles.”
“You always do, Suzie.”
“True.”
People actually drew back as we approached the long wooden bar, giving us plenty of room. In a dive like this, that was a real compliment. I slammed the flat of my hand on the bar, to get the bar staff’s attention, and something small, dark, and scuttling ran over the back of my hand. I didn’t scream, but it was a near thing. Someone further down the bar caught the small, dark, scuttling thing, and ate it. A man and a woman were serving behind the bar, handing out wine in cheap pewter mugs and cups. The man was tall for this age, being a good five-foot-seven or -eight, and wore a rough tunic so filthy it was impossible to tell what colour it might have been originally. He had a long pale face, with jet-black hair and a bushy beard, separated by scowling eyes, an aquiline nose with flaring nostrils, and a sulky mouth. The woman with him was barely five feet tall but made up for it with a constant glare of concentrated malevolence that she bestowed on one and all. She had sculpted her dark blonde hair into two jutting horns with liberal use of clay, and she had a face like a bulldog’s arse. Her filthy tunic successfully hid any other feminine charms she might have possessed. Between them, these two poured drinks, handed them out, snatched up the money, and loudly refused to give any change. Every now and again they hit people with large wooden clubs they kept under the bar. It wasn’t always clear why they did so, but in a place like this I had no doubt the victims deserved it, and probably a whole lot more. The man and the woman stubbornly ignored my attempts to get their attention, until Suzie fired her shotgun into the bottles stacked behind the bar; an action that has always been one of her favourite attention-getters. The customers around us moved even further away, some of them remarking loudly on the lateness of the hour and how they really had to be getting home. The man and woman behind the bar slouched reluctantly over to join us. He looked even more sulky; she looked even more venomous.
“I don’t suppose there’s any chance of getting you to pay for the damage?” said the man.
“Not a hope in hell,” I said cheerfully.
He sniffed lugubriously, as though he hadn’t expected anything else. “I’m Marcellus. This is the wife, Livia. We run this place, for our sins. Who are you, and what do you want?”
“I’m John Taylor, and this is Suzie Shooter…”
“Oh, we’ve heard about you,” snapped Livia. “Troublemakers. Outsiders. Barbarians with no respect for the proper ways of doing things.” She sniffed loudly, very much like her husband. “Unfortunately, it seems you are also very powerful and dangerous with it, in nasty and unexpected ways, so we are forced to be polite to you. See, I smile upon you. This is my polite smile.”
It looked more like a rat caught in a trap. I looked at Marcellus. His smile wasn’t much more successful. I got the feeling he didn’t get a lot of practice, with a wife like Livia.
“You should be honoured,” he said gloomily. “She doesn’t smile for just anyone, you know.”
“Shut up, Marcellus, I’m talking.”
“Yes, dear.”
“I suppose you expect a drink on the house?” said Livia, in the tone of voice normally associated with accusing someone of doing rude things with corpses. “Marcellus, two cups of the good stuff.”
“Yes, dear.”
He carefully poured out two quite small measures of red wine, into pewter cups that looked like they’d been beaten into shape by someone who was already drunk. Or at least in a really bad mood. Suzie and I tried the wine, then we both pulled back our lips in the same disgusted expression. I must have tasted worse in my life, but I’d be hard-pressed to say when. It was like vinegar that had been pissed in, only not as pleasant.
“This is the good stuff?” said Suzie.
“Of course,” said Livia. “This is what we drink ourselves.”
That explains a lot, I thought, but for once had the sense not to say it out loud. “You run this bar?” I said.
“Sort of,” said Marcellus. “Some old witch owns the place; we only run it for her. We’re slaves, bound to this bar by law and magic for the rest of our lives. We do a good job because the geas compels us to, but in our few free moments we dream of escape and revenge.”
“And making others suffer, as we have been made to,” said Livia.
“Well yes, that, too, naturally.”
“We weren’t always slaves, you know,” said Livia, with well-rehearsed bitterness. “Oh no! We were respectable people, I’ll have you know. Roman Citizens, in good standing. Wouldn’t have been seen dead in a place like this … But then he got into business troubles…”
She turned the full force of her glare on her husband, who drooped a little more under the pressure of her gaze. “They were strictly transitory difficulties,” he said sullenly. “Cash flow problems. That sort of thing. If I’d been allowed a little more time, I’m sure I could have sorted things out to everyone’s satisfaction…”
“But you couldn’t,” Livia said flatly. “So our creditors had our business shut down and sold us both off as slaves at public auction, to cover our debts.” She actually sniffled a moment, overco
me by the memory. “The humiliation of it! All our friends and neighbours were there, watching. People who’d eaten at our table and made free with our money and influence! Some of them laughed. Some of them even bid!”
“We were lucky to be sold as a set, my dear,” said Marcellus. “As husband and wife. We might have been parted forever.”
“Yes,” said Livia. “There is that. We have never been parted, and never will be.”
“Never,” said Marcellus. They held hands, and while neither of them actually stopped scowling, there was a definite togetherness about them. With anyone else, it might have even been touching.
“Anyway,” said Marcellus, “because we had some experience of running a drinking establishment, from earlier in our lives, we were bought by the owner of this appalling place, who needed staff in a hurry. We were bought by a factor; we’ve never seen the owner in person. If we’d known who it was, and what the bar was, we’d probably have volunteered for the salt mines. This place goes through staff faster than a slave galley. The last husband and wife were killed, cooked, and eaten, on a somewhat rowdy Saturday night. No-one even knows what happened to the pair before that.”
“No-one has ever lasted as long as us,” said Livia, with a certain amount of pride. “Mainly because we don’t take any crap from anyone. You have to be firm, but fair. Firm, and occasionally downright vicious. My husband may not look like much, but he’s a real terror when he’s roused.”
“Ah, but no-one could be more dangerous than you, my dear,” Marcellus said generously. He smiled fondly as he patted her hand. “No-one can slip a purgative or a poison into a wine cup better than you.”
“And no-one cuts a throat more neatly than you, dear Marcellus. He’s like a surgeon, he really is. It’s a joy to watch him work.”
“Who actually owns this bar?” I said, feeling a distinct need to change the subject.
“Some powerful sorceress, of old times,” said Marcellus. “Been around for ages, supposedly. Her name is Lilith.”
“Of course,” I said heavily. “It would have to be.”
“We’ve never met her,” said Livia. “Don’t know anyone who has. A real absentee landlady.”
Suzie looked at me. “Why would Lilith want to own a bar?”
“I’ll ask her,” I said. “After I’ve asked all the other questions on my list.”
“So,” said Marcellus. “What unfortunate but necessary business brings you to this appalling place? What help and or advice can we offer you, so that you’ll go away and stop bothering us?”
“We’re looking for a Being of Power,” I said. “Someone or something with enough magic to send us both back in Time, at least a couple of hundred years. Can you recommend anyone?”
Marcellus and Livia looked at each other. “Well,” Livia said finally, “if that’s what you want… Your best bet would be the Roman gods and goddesses. They’ve all got more power than they know what to do with, and every single one of them is open to prayer, flattery, and bribes.”
“Not really an option,” I said. “We upset Poseidonis really badly.”
Marcellus sniffed loudly. “Don’t let that worry you; the gods don’t like each other much anyway. One big dysfunctional family, with incest and patricide always on the menu. I can name you half a dozen off-hand who’d help you out just to spite Poseidonis.”
“He’s supposed to call himself Neptune these days,” said Livia. “But he’s so dim he keeps forgetting.”
I considered the suggestion. “Can you trust these gods?” I said finally.
“Of course not,” said Marcellus. “They’re gods.”
“Suggest someone else,” said Suzie.
“Well, there is supposed to be this small town somewhere out in the South-West, where you can meet the Earth Mother in person, and petition her for help,” Marcellus said thoughtfully. “But that’s at least a month’s travel, through dangerous territory.”
“Then there’s the Druidic gods,” said Livia. “Technically, it’s death to have any dealings with them, under Roman law, but this is the Nightside, so … How much money have you got?”
“Enough,” I said, hoping it was true.
“The Druid shamans are powerful magic-users,” said Marcellus. “Especially outside the cities, but they’re a vicious bunch, and treacherous with it.”
“We can look after ourselves,” said Suzie.
“What would they want for helping us?” I said.
“An arm and a leg,” said Marcellus. “Possibly literally. Very keen on live sacrifice, when it comes to granting boons, your Druidic gods. Can you think of anyone you wouldn’t much mind handing over to the Druids, for ritual torture and sacrifice?”
“Not yet,” said Suzie.
Livia shrugged. “Most of the gods or beings will want payment in blood or suffering, your soul, or someone else’s.”
“I suppose … there’s always Herne the Hunter,” Marcellus said doubtfully.
“Yes!” I said, slamming my hand down on the bar again, and then wished I hadn’t, as something sticky clung to it as I pulled my hand back again. “Of course, Herne the Hunter! I’d forgotten he was here, in this time.”
“Herne?” said Suzie. “That scruffy godling who hangs around Rats’ Alley with the rest of the homeless?”
“He’s a Power, here and now,” I said. “A Major Power, drawing his strength from the wild forests of old England, and all the creatures that live in it. He was, or more properly will be, Merlin’s teacher. Oh yes … He’s got more than enough power to help us out.”
“If you can convince him,” said Livia.
“I can convince anyone,” said Suzie.
“Where can we find Herne the Hunter?” I said.
“He lives out in the wild woods, far and far from the cities and civilisation of Man,” said Marcellus. “No-one finds him unless he wants to be found, and those that do mostly regret it. But my wife and I have had dealings with Herne and his Court in the past. We can take you right to him.”
“We could,” Livia said quickly. “But what’s in it for us? What will you give us to take you right to Herne the Hunter?”
Suzie and I looked at each other. “What do you want?” I said resignedly.
“Our freedom,” said Marcellus. “Freedom from this awful place, our awful lives, our undeserved slavery.”
“We will do anything, to be free again,” said Livia. “And then we shall have our revenges on all those who scorned and mocked us!”
“Free us from our chains,” said Marcellus. “And we will do anything for you.”
“Anything,” said Livia.
“All right,” I said. “You’ve got a deal. Take us to Herne, and I’ll break you free from whatever geas holds you here.”
Livia sneered at me. “It’s not that simple. The old witch Lilith is powerful; can you stop her sending agents after us, to reclaim her property?”
“She’ll listen to me,” I said. “She’s my mother.”
Marcellus and Livia looked at me blankly for a moment, then they both backed away from me, the same way you’d back away from a snake you’d just realised was poisonous. There was shock in their faces, and fear, and then … something else, but they turned away to mutter urgently to each other before I could figure out what it was. Suzie looked at me thoughtfully.
“I thought we’d agreed it would be a bad idea for this period’s Lilith to find out you were here?”
“Give me a break,” I said quietly. “I’m thinking on my feet here. I can find a way to break their geas; that’s what I do, remember? But I don’t think I trust either of this pair further than I could throw a wet camel, certainly not enough to let them in on all my little secrets, okay?”
Marcellus and Livia approached us again. Their faces were carefully blank, but their body language was decidedly wary.
“We’ll take you to Herne,” said Marcellus. “We’ve decided that if anyone can get us our freedom and our revenge, it’s you. But know this: Herne the
Hunter is not the easiest of gods to deal with. He cares nothing for mortal men and women. He has been known to use them as prey in his hunts. And he hates everything that comes from the cities.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “We have something we can use to buy his help.”
“We do?” said Suzie.
“Knowledge of what the future holds for him,” I said. “If he listens, it’s possible he could change what fate currently holds in store for him. But he probably won’t; gods always think it can’t happen to them. But… I never met a Being yet who could resist knowing the future.”
“Can I point out that Poseidonis didn’t handle this knowledge at all well?”
“Well, yes; but Poseidonis is a dick.”
“And a big one, too,” Suzie said solemnly.
“If you two have quite finished muttering together,” Livia said severely, “may I point out that my husband and I are prevented from leaving this bar until either our replacement shift arrives, or the bar is empty?”
“No problem,” I said. “Suzie?”
And several shotgun blasts and one shrapnel grenade later, the bar was completely empty.
“What do you mean, we have to ride horses?” said Suzie, scowling ominously.
“Herne the Hunter holds his Court in the wild woods,” Marcellus explained patiently. “He never enters the city. So, we have to go to him. And since that involves a lengthy journey, we need horses.”