Something from the Nightside

"People have been disappearing on Blaiston Street for some time now," Walker said briskly. "It took us a while to realise this, because they were the kind of people no-one misses. The homeless, the beggars, the drunks and drug-users. All the usual street trash. And even after the situation became clear, I saw no reason to become involved. Because, after all, no-one cared. Or at least, no-one who mattered. If anything, the area actually seemed to improve, for a while. By definition, anyone who ends up on Blaiston Street by choice has already opted out of the human race. But just recently ... a number of rather important people have walked into Blaiston Street, and never come out again. So the word has come down from Above for me to investigate."

"Hold everything." I gave Walker my best hard look. "Just what would these rather important people have been doing in a cesspit like Blaiston Street?"

"Quite," said Walker. If my hard look was bothering him, he hid it very well. "None of them had any business being there. Blaiston Street has none of the usual attractions or temptations that might lead a normally sensible person to go slumming. It seems much more likely they were called, or possibly even summoned, there, by forces or individuals unknown. Except... if something that powerful had come into

the Nightside, we should have detected its presence long before now. Unless it's hiding from us. Which, strictly speaking, is supposed to be impossible. So, a mystery. And you know how much I hate mysteries, Taylor. I was considering what to do for the best when I learned you'd reappeared in the Nightside; and then everything just fell into place. I understand you're tracking a runaway."

'This lady's daughter," I said. Walker inclined his head to Joanna again.

"And your gift leads you to believe she's in Blais-ton Street?"

"Yes."

"And you have reason to believe she was called there?"

"Not necessarily against her will."

Walker made a vague dismissive gesture with one elegant hand. "Then you have twelve hours, Taylor, to discover the secrets of Blaiston Street and do whatever is necessary to re-establish the status quo. Should you fail, I will have no choice but to fall back on my original plan, and destroy the whole damned street, and everything in it, now and forever."

"You can't do that!" said Joanna. "Not while my Cathy's still in there!"

"Oh yes he can," I said. "He's done it before. Walker's always been a great admirer of the scorched earth option. And it wouldn't bother him in the least if he had to sacrifice a few innocents along the way.

Walker doesn't believe anyone's innocent. Plus, by involving me he doesn't have to put one of his own people at risk."

"Exactly," said Walker. He rose gracefully to his feet, checking the time on an old-fashioned gold fob watch from his waistcoat pocket. "Twelve hours, Taylor, and not a minute more." He put the watch away and looked at me thoughtfully. "A final warning. Remember... that nothing is ever what it seems, in the Nightside. I'd hate to think you've been away so long that you've forgotten such a basic fact of life here."

He hesitated, and for a moment I thought he might be about to say something more, but then our waitress came trotting back with my freshly laundered trench coat, and the moment passed. Walker smiled tolerantly as the waitress displayed the spotless coat for my approval.

"Very nice, Taylor. Very retro. I must be off now, about my business. So much to do, and so many to be doing it to. Welcome back, Taylor. Don't screw up."

He was already turning away to leave when I stopped him with my voice. "Walker, you were my father's friend."

He looked back at me. "Yes, John, I was."

"Did you ever find out what my mother was?"

"No," he said. "I never did. But if I ever do find her, I'll make her tell me. Before I kill her."

He smiled briefly, touched his fingertips to the

brim of his bowler hat, and left the cafe. No-one actually watched him go, but the general murmur of voices rose significantly once the door was safely shut behind him.

"Just what is it with you and him?" Joanna said finally. "Why did you let him talk to you like that?"

"Walker? Hell, I'd let him shit on my shoes if he wanted to."

"I haven't seen you back down to anyone since we got here," said Joanna. "What makes him so special?"

"Walker's different," I said. "Everyone gives Walker plenty of space. Not for who he is, but for what he represents."

"The Authorities?"

"Got it in one. Some questions are all the scarier for having no answer."

"But who watches the watchmen?" said Joanna. "Who keeps the Authorities honest?"

"We are drifting into decidedly murky philosophical waters," I said. "And we really don't have the time. Finish your nice Coke, and we'll go pay Blais-ton Street a visit."

"About time!" said Joanna. And she gulped down the last of her icy Coke so fast it must have given her a headache.

NINE - A House on Blaiston Street