"This is
it?" said Suzie, wrinkling her nose.
"Yes it is, and don't touch anything!"the Collector said severely. "I've shut down the hidden guns, but my robots are still programmed to protect my collection from any and all harm. I may have to allow your presence for a while, but that's as far as I'll go. You're here for one object only, and I will get that for you. Luckily I was only just packing it up when Merlin grabbed me. I can see I'm going to have to upgrade my security again."
"Somehow, I'd always pictured something more impressive," said Suzie. "Don't you ever put any of the good stuff out, so you can play with it?"
The Collector winced. "It's much safer this way. I don't encourage visitors, and for me, owning an item is everything. All right, when I first obtain a piece, I do get a certain satisfaction out of holding it, examining it, enjoying all its many qualities... I do like to examine every detail... close-up..."
"If he starts to drool, I may puke," said Suzie, and I had to nod in agreement.
The Collector scowled at both of us. "But,once the initial thrill is over, I immediately pack it safely away in here. It's the thrill of the chase I really enjoy. That, and the knowledge that I've done my rivals dirt, that I've got my hands on something, and they haven't. I do so love to crow and preen in all the best newsgroups ... And, of course, everything is computer-scanned before it's put into storage, so I can visit it again at my leisure in virtual mode. After all, some of the more delicate items aren't up to too much... handling. And it's so much easier to find an item on a computer menu than try to dig through all this lot looking for one particular item."
That was when the first of the robots made its appearance, and Suzie and I immediately lost all interest in what the Collector was saying. The metal figure came striding down the narrow aisle towards us on impossibly slender legs, a tall and spindly thing of shining steel and brass, its clean lines the very definition of art deco. It advanced on us smoothly, unhurriedly, its every movement impossibly graceful. The robot was vaguely humanoid in shape, though the squarish head had been cast to resemble a stylized cat's features, right down to jutting steel whiskers and glowing slit-pupiled eyes. The long-fingered hands ended in vicious claws. More robots appeared silently out of the many interconnecting aisles, until we were faced by a small army of cat-faced automatons. I thought I could detect a faint humming from them, so high it was only just in the range of my hearing. The seemed to be talking to each other. The Collector smiled on them fondly. Suzie's shotgun moved restlessly back and forth in her hands, seeking a target.
"Relax, Suzie," said the Collector. "They're only looking you over. Getting used to your presence. Strangers make them nervous. I had them programmed that way. Nothing like a spot of paranoia to keep a guard on his toes. I picked this lot up in a particularly good deal from another possible future. They have basic limited AIs, built around polymerized cat's brains. Simple, obedient, and marvelously malicious when they have to be. They do so enjoy a good chase ... and the torture afterwards. The purr-fect protectors for my collection. They built this whole place for me and run it in my absence. Far better than any fallible human guards, and besides, I don't care for company these days. I prefer to be alone, with my things. My lovely things."
"No offence, Collector," said Suzie, "but you are seriously weird, even for the Nightside."
"For someone who wasn't trying to offend, I thought you did awfully well," I said.
"Is all well, master?" said one of the cat-faced robots, in a thrilling female contralto that made Suzie and me look at the Collector in a whole new way.
"All is well," the Collector said grandly. "You may all return to your regular duties. My guests will not be staying long. I'll call if I have need of you."
"As you wish, master," said the robot, then they all turned smoothly on their steel heels and disappeared back into the many narrow aisles of the warehouse. Suzie watched carefully until they were all gone, then turned back to the beaming Collector.
"Do they all have to call you master?"
"Of course."
"Doesn't that get creepy after a while?"
"No. Why should it?"
"Don't go there, Suzie," I said. "We really don't have the time."
The Collector led the way down a narrow aisle that to the untrained eye looked exactly like all the others, and Suzie and I followed after him, pulling faces behind his back. We stuck close; the hundreds of interconnecting passageways made up a maze it would clearly be only too easy to get thoroughly lost in. I let my eyes drift over the many crates and cases we passed; a few were labeled as well as numbered. One label said Antarctic Expedition 1936; Do not open till the Elder Ones return.The exterior of the crate was covered in frost, despite the uncomfortable warmth of the warehouse. A much larger crate was labeled simply Roswell 1947.It had air holes. Something inside the crate was growling, in a thoroughly pissed off way. And one crate standing on its own levitated proudly a few inches off the floor. I don't know what was inside that crate, but it smelled awful. Suzie drew my attention to a smaller box that was juddering fiercely, almost shaking itself apart. I tapped the Collector politely on the shoulder, and indicated the box.
"What the hell have you got in there?"
"Perpetual motion machine," said the Collector. "Can't figure out how to turn the damned thing off."
"You have so much amazing stuff here," I said. "Who do you share it with? Who else gets to see all the marvels and wonders you've acquired?"
"No-one, of course," he said, looking at me as though I was crazy.
"But... doesn't half the fun of collecting lie in showing off your treasures to someone else?"
"No," said the Collector firmly. "It's all to do with ownership. With knowing it's mine, all mine. I do like to rub my rivals' noses in it, now and again; show them proof that I have some hotly contested item that we've all been after. I drive them crazy with jealousy, then laugh in their faces. But in the end it wouldn't matter to me if no-one knew what I had but me. It's enough to know that I've won. That I'm the best."
"That's all this is?" said Suzie. "Whoever dies with the most toys wins?"
The Collector shrugged. "I don't give a damn what happens to any of this stuff once I'm dead and gone. Let it rot, for all I care. I collect because ... it's what I'm good at. The only thing I've ever been good at. And things ... possessions ... can't hurt you. Can't leave you."
For a moment there, he actually looked human, and vulnerable. It didn't suit him.
"Do you want us to keep quiet about the things we've seen here?" I asked.
"Hell no!" he said immediately, all his usual obnoxiousness returning in a moment. "Tell everyone! Drive them mad with curiosity and envy! My problem has always been that I can't prove how big my collection is without bringing people here to see it, and, of course, I can't do that. They'd only betray me and try to steal something. There are people who've spent their whole lives plotting how to get in here..."
"You weren't always the Collector," I said. "I've seen photos of you, with my father, from when you were both younger. What were you ... before this?"
He looked at me, not bothering to hide his surprise. "I thought you knew. I worked for the Authorities, along with Walker and your father. Protecting the Nightside. We were all such friends, in those days. We had such plans, such hopes... but in the end it turned out we all had different plans and different hopes. I retired, before they could fire me, and set up on my own. One day I'll own the whole damned Nightside. And then I'll make them listen to me."
I was so fascinated by what he was saying and its implications that I didn't notice all the robots sneaking up on us. Suzie did. Nothing gets past her. She realized I was mesmerized by the Collector's hints an allusions, and elbowed me firmly in the ribs. I looked up and found we were surrounded by ranks and ranks of the cat-faced robots, standing perfectly still and silent, watching coldly with their glowing cat's eyes. There were hundreds of the damned things. The Collector realized that I'd finally noticed and stopped talking in mid sentence to laugh cheerfully in my face. He was well out of reach, and I had more sense than to try and make a grab for him. The robots looked decidedly ... menacing.
"I had to keep going until enough of my boys arrived," he said, almost giggling with self-satisfaction. "You didn't really think you could see my collection and my home, with all its secrets, and live, did you? To hell with Merlin, and the angels; nothing can touch me here. I'm protected by spells and tech beyond your imagination, and Merlin won't catch me napping twice. The Unholy Grail is my greatest prize, the jewel of my collection, and I won't give it up! I'll never give it up! I'D just stay here, safe on the Moon, until all this nonsense has blown over. And long before then, you'll be in no condition to betray my secrets to anyone. Perhaps I'll have what's left of you stuffed and mounted. Something to brighten up the reception area."
"You'd kill the son of an old friend?" I said.
"Of course," said the Collector. "Why not?"
He gestured to the waiting robots, and they surged forward in perfect unison. Suzie opened fire with her shotgun, blasting robots as fast as she could work the pump action. The robots shattered under the bullets' impact, flying apart in showers of steel and brass shrapnel that had us all ducking for cover. Suzie kept firing, grinning fiercely as robots blew apart before her. Either she'd found a whole new kind of ammunition for her gun, or they didn't build robots to last in the future.
It helped that the narrow aisles meant the robots could only come at us a few at a time. Suzie and I put our backs to the wall of crates, while the Collector danced back and forth in the background, crying out miserably as some of his crates were inevitably damaged or destroyed by the exploding robots. Suzie pulled grenades from her belt, and lobbed half a dozen where they'd do the most good. Robots and crates blew apart in bowel-churning explosions, and for a while it seemed to be raining machine parts. The Collector cried out for Suzie to stop, and when she didn't, he ran from crate to crate, prying them open and looking inside, searching for some weapon or device he could use against us. He didn't seem to be having much luck. Suzie reloaded the shotgun from her bandoliers and went back to blowing robots apart like metal ducks in a shooting gallery. She was grinning widely now, her eyes hot and happy.
But the robots kept pressing forward, forward, and there didn't seem to be any end to their numbers. The Collector must have got a job lot. One of them go close enough to take a swipe at me with a clawed hand, and I decided enough was enough. This far from the Nightside, I didn't have to worry about the angels seizing my soul again. So I opened my third eye, my private eye, and used my gift to locate the automatic shutdown commands in the robots' minds. I knew they had to be there. The Collector didn't trust anyone, not even his own creatures. He had to have a way to shut down the robots in case they ever turned against him. I hit the commands I'd found in those clever polymerized cat's brains, and all the robots froze suddenly in mid motion. A few of them had got worryingly close. Suzie slowly lowered the smoking shotgun, took a deep breath, and turned to look at me.
"You could have done that at any time, couldn't you?"
"Actually, yes."
"Then why did you wait so long!"
"You looked like you were having fun."
Suzie considered that for a moment, then smiled and nodded. "You're right. I was. Thank you, Taylor. You always did know how to show a girl a good time."
"All vicious gossip, rumors and lies," I said. "Collector... Collector? Where are you?"
We found him not far away, slumped exhausted and weeping over another open crate. Whatever it held was buried in plastic packing pieces. The Collector stirred them miserably with one hand, then looked up at us. He spat at me, but his heart wasn't in it.
"Look at what you've done ... so many lovely things destroyed... It'll take me weeks just to find out how much I've lost. Bullies, both of you. No respect for art, for the treasures of centuries... And I have weapons here! Great weapons, that would stop even you! I have the Horn of Jericho, Grendel's Bane, even the legendary lost Sword of the Daun. But I can't find them!"
"Show us the Unholy Grail," I said, not unkindly. "The sooner you hand it over, the sooner we'll be gone."
The Collector nodded a few times, sniffing back tears, and finally dug his hands deep into the packing pieces before him.
"I was packing it away when Merlin grabbed me. It is my greatest prize, but... the dark chalice is too disturbing to have around. The air's always cold, the shadows have eyes, and I hear voices, whispering... things. Ah. Here."
He brought out a small beaten copper bowl, gleaming dully in the subdued lighting. It was dented and dull and not at all impressive. We all looked at it for a long moment, then the Collector offered it to us. I hesitated to touch the thing.
"That's it?"said Suzie. "That'sthe dark chalice, the Unholy Grail? The cup Judas drank from at the Last Supper? That miserable-looking thing?"
"What were you expecting?" said the Collector, smiling just a little at one last chance to show off his expertise. "You thought perhaps it would be some great silver chalice, studded with jewels? Romantic medieval claptrap. The Disciples were a bunch of poor fishermen. This is the kind of thing they drank out of."
"It's the real deal," I said. "I can feel it from here. It's like every bad thought you ever had, wrapped up in one never-ending nightmare."
"Yeah," said Suzie. "Like it's poisoning the air, just by existing."
The Collector looked at me slyly. "You could keep it for yourself, Taylor. You could. This simple cup is powerful beyond all your wildest fantasies. It could make you rich, worshipped, adored. It can satisfy every dirty little yearning in your soul. It has the answer to every question you ever had. The truth about your past, your enemies... even your mother."
I looked at the Unholy Grail, and it was like looking into the heart of temptation. Suzie watched me carefully, but said nothing. She trusted me to do the right thing. And in the end, perhaps it was that trust that gave me the strength to turn away.
"Put it in a bag, Collector. I wouldn't dirty my hands by touching it."
The Collector pulled an airline carry-on bag out of the packing pieces and stuffed the Unholy Grail into it. He almost seemed relieved. I took the bag and slung the strap over my shoulder.
"Merlin!" I said, raising my voice. "I know you're listening. We've got it. Bring us home."
Merlin's magic gathered about us, preparing to teleport Suzie and me back to Strangefellows, and the waiting angels. And in the last possible moment, when the Collector was sure the teleport spell had been activated and couldn't be stopped, he stepped forward and shouted one last vicious hurt.
"You're not the only one who can find things, Taylor! There was a time I used to take commissions, in return for help in establishing my collection. I found your father for your mother! I put them together. Everything you are is because of me!"
I went for his throat with furious hands, but Suzie and I were already fading away. The last thing I heard on the Moon was the Collector laughing, loud and bitterly, as though his heart would break.
Nine
- For the Remission of Sin
"Yes it is, and don't touch anything!"the Collector said severely. "I've shut down the hidden guns, but my robots are still programmed to protect my collection from any and all harm. I may have to allow your presence for a while, but that's as far as I'll go. You're here for one object only, and I will get that for you. Luckily I was only just packing it up when Merlin grabbed me. I can see I'm going to have to upgrade my security again."
"Somehow, I'd always pictured something more impressive," said Suzie. "Don't you ever put any of the good stuff out, so you can play with it?"
The Collector winced. "It's much safer this way. I don't encourage visitors, and for me, owning an item is everything. All right, when I first obtain a piece, I do get a certain satisfaction out of holding it, examining it, enjoying all its many qualities... I do like to examine every detail... close-up..."
"If he starts to drool, I may puke," said Suzie, and I had to nod in agreement.
The Collector scowled at both of us. "But,once the initial thrill is over, I immediately pack it safely away in here. It's the thrill of the chase I really enjoy. That, and the knowledge that I've done my rivals dirt, that I've got my hands on something, and they haven't. I do so love to crow and preen in all the best newsgroups ... And, of course, everything is computer-scanned before it's put into storage, so I can visit it again at my leisure in virtual mode. After all, some of the more delicate items aren't up to too much... handling. And it's so much easier to find an item on a computer menu than try to dig through all this lot looking for one particular item."
That was when the first of the robots made its appearance, and Suzie and I immediately lost all interest in what the Collector was saying. The metal figure came striding down the narrow aisle towards us on impossibly slender legs, a tall and spindly thing of shining steel and brass, its clean lines the very definition of art deco. It advanced on us smoothly, unhurriedly, its every movement impossibly graceful. The robot was vaguely humanoid in shape, though the squarish head had been cast to resemble a stylized cat's features, right down to jutting steel whiskers and glowing slit-pupiled eyes. The long-fingered hands ended in vicious claws. More robots appeared silently out of the many interconnecting aisles, until we were faced by a small army of cat-faced automatons. I thought I could detect a faint humming from them, so high it was only just in the range of my hearing. The seemed to be talking to each other. The Collector smiled on them fondly. Suzie's shotgun moved restlessly back and forth in her hands, seeking a target.
"Relax, Suzie," said the Collector. "They're only looking you over. Getting used to your presence. Strangers make them nervous. I had them programmed that way. Nothing like a spot of paranoia to keep a guard on his toes. I picked this lot up in a particularly good deal from another possible future. They have basic limited AIs, built around polymerized cat's brains. Simple, obedient, and marvelously malicious when they have to be. They do so enjoy a good chase ... and the torture afterwards. The purr-fect protectors for my collection. They built this whole place for me and run it in my absence. Far better than any fallible human guards, and besides, I don't care for company these days. I prefer to be alone, with my things. My lovely things."
"No offence, Collector," said Suzie, "but you are seriously weird, even for the Nightside."
"For someone who wasn't trying to offend, I thought you did awfully well," I said.
"Is all well, master?" said one of the cat-faced robots, in a thrilling female contralto that made Suzie and me look at the Collector in a whole new way.
"All is well," the Collector said grandly. "You may all return to your regular duties. My guests will not be staying long. I'll call if I have need of you."
"As you wish, master," said the robot, then they all turned smoothly on their steel heels and disappeared back into the many narrow aisles of the warehouse. Suzie watched carefully until they were all gone, then turned back to the beaming Collector.
"Do they all have to call you master?"
"Of course."
"Doesn't that get creepy after a while?"
"No. Why should it?"
"Don't go there, Suzie," I said. "We really don't have the time."
The Collector led the way down a narrow aisle that to the untrained eye looked exactly like all the others, and Suzie and I followed after him, pulling faces behind his back. We stuck close; the hundreds of interconnecting passageways made up a maze it would clearly be only too easy to get thoroughly lost in. I let my eyes drift over the many crates and cases we passed; a few were labeled as well as numbered. One label said Antarctic Expedition 1936; Do not open till the Elder Ones return.The exterior of the crate was covered in frost, despite the uncomfortable warmth of the warehouse. A much larger crate was labeled simply Roswell 1947.It had air holes. Something inside the crate was growling, in a thoroughly pissed off way. And one crate standing on its own levitated proudly a few inches off the floor. I don't know what was inside that crate, but it smelled awful. Suzie drew my attention to a smaller box that was juddering fiercely, almost shaking itself apart. I tapped the Collector politely on the shoulder, and indicated the box.
"What the hell have you got in there?"
"Perpetual motion machine," said the Collector. "Can't figure out how to turn the damned thing off."
"You have so much amazing stuff here," I said. "Who do you share it with? Who else gets to see all the marvels and wonders you've acquired?"
"No-one, of course," he said, looking at me as though I was crazy.
"But... doesn't half the fun of collecting lie in showing off your treasures to someone else?"
"No," said the Collector firmly. "It's all to do with ownership. With knowing it's mine, all mine. I do like to rub my rivals' noses in it, now and again; show them proof that I have some hotly contested item that we've all been after. I drive them crazy with jealousy, then laugh in their faces. But in the end it wouldn't matter to me if no-one knew what I had but me. It's enough to know that I've won. That I'm the best."
"That's all this is?" said Suzie. "Whoever dies with the most toys wins?"
The Collector shrugged. "I don't give a damn what happens to any of this stuff once I'm dead and gone. Let it rot, for all I care. I collect because ... it's what I'm good at. The only thing I've ever been good at. And things ... possessions ... can't hurt you. Can't leave you."
For a moment there, he actually looked human, and vulnerable. It didn't suit him.
"Do you want us to keep quiet about the things we've seen here?" I asked.
"Hell no!" he said immediately, all his usual obnoxiousness returning in a moment. "Tell everyone! Drive them mad with curiosity and envy! My problem has always been that I can't prove how big my collection is without bringing people here to see it, and, of course, I can't do that. They'd only betray me and try to steal something. There are people who've spent their whole lives plotting how to get in here..."
"You weren't always the Collector," I said. "I've seen photos of you, with my father, from when you were both younger. What were you ... before this?"
He looked at me, not bothering to hide his surprise. "I thought you knew. I worked for the Authorities, along with Walker and your father. Protecting the Nightside. We were all such friends, in those days. We had such plans, such hopes... but in the end it turned out we all had different plans and different hopes. I retired, before they could fire me, and set up on my own. One day I'll own the whole damned Nightside. And then I'll make them listen to me."
I was so fascinated by what he was saying and its implications that I didn't notice all the robots sneaking up on us. Suzie did. Nothing gets past her. She realized I was mesmerized by the Collector's hints an allusions, and elbowed me firmly in the ribs. I looked up and found we were surrounded by ranks and ranks of the cat-faced robots, standing perfectly still and silent, watching coldly with their glowing cat's eyes. There were hundreds of the damned things. The Collector realized that I'd finally noticed and stopped talking in mid sentence to laugh cheerfully in my face. He was well out of reach, and I had more sense than to try and make a grab for him. The robots looked decidedly ... menacing.
"I had to keep going until enough of my boys arrived," he said, almost giggling with self-satisfaction. "You didn't really think you could see my collection and my home, with all its secrets, and live, did you? To hell with Merlin, and the angels; nothing can touch me here. I'm protected by spells and tech beyond your imagination, and Merlin won't catch me napping twice. The Unholy Grail is my greatest prize, the jewel of my collection, and I won't give it up! I'll never give it up! I'D just stay here, safe on the Moon, until all this nonsense has blown over. And long before then, you'll be in no condition to betray my secrets to anyone. Perhaps I'll have what's left of you stuffed and mounted. Something to brighten up the reception area."
"You'd kill the son of an old friend?" I said.
"Of course," said the Collector. "Why not?"
He gestured to the waiting robots, and they surged forward in perfect unison. Suzie opened fire with her shotgun, blasting robots as fast as she could work the pump action. The robots shattered under the bullets' impact, flying apart in showers of steel and brass shrapnel that had us all ducking for cover. Suzie kept firing, grinning fiercely as robots blew apart before her. Either she'd found a whole new kind of ammunition for her gun, or they didn't build robots to last in the future.
It helped that the narrow aisles meant the robots could only come at us a few at a time. Suzie and I put our backs to the wall of crates, while the Collector danced back and forth in the background, crying out miserably as some of his crates were inevitably damaged or destroyed by the exploding robots. Suzie pulled grenades from her belt, and lobbed half a dozen where they'd do the most good. Robots and crates blew apart in bowel-churning explosions, and for a while it seemed to be raining machine parts. The Collector cried out for Suzie to stop, and when she didn't, he ran from crate to crate, prying them open and looking inside, searching for some weapon or device he could use against us. He didn't seem to be having much luck. Suzie reloaded the shotgun from her bandoliers and went back to blowing robots apart like metal ducks in a shooting gallery. She was grinning widely now, her eyes hot and happy.
But the robots kept pressing forward, forward, and there didn't seem to be any end to their numbers. The Collector must have got a job lot. One of them go close enough to take a swipe at me with a clawed hand, and I decided enough was enough. This far from the Nightside, I didn't have to worry about the angels seizing my soul again. So I opened my third eye, my private eye, and used my gift to locate the automatic shutdown commands in the robots' minds. I knew they had to be there. The Collector didn't trust anyone, not even his own creatures. He had to have a way to shut down the robots in case they ever turned against him. I hit the commands I'd found in those clever polymerized cat's brains, and all the robots froze suddenly in mid motion. A few of them had got worryingly close. Suzie slowly lowered the smoking shotgun, took a deep breath, and turned to look at me.
"You could have done that at any time, couldn't you?"
"Actually, yes."
"Then why did you wait so long!"
"You looked like you were having fun."
Suzie considered that for a moment, then smiled and nodded. "You're right. I was. Thank you, Taylor. You always did know how to show a girl a good time."
"All vicious gossip, rumors and lies," I said. "Collector... Collector? Where are you?"
We found him not far away, slumped exhausted and weeping over another open crate. Whatever it held was buried in plastic packing pieces. The Collector stirred them miserably with one hand, then looked up at us. He spat at me, but his heart wasn't in it.
"Look at what you've done ... so many lovely things destroyed... It'll take me weeks just to find out how much I've lost. Bullies, both of you. No respect for art, for the treasures of centuries... And I have weapons here! Great weapons, that would stop even you! I have the Horn of Jericho, Grendel's Bane, even the legendary lost Sword of the Daun. But I can't find them!"
"Show us the Unholy Grail," I said, not unkindly. "The sooner you hand it over, the sooner we'll be gone."
The Collector nodded a few times, sniffing back tears, and finally dug his hands deep into the packing pieces before him.
"I was packing it away when Merlin grabbed me. It is my greatest prize, but... the dark chalice is too disturbing to have around. The air's always cold, the shadows have eyes, and I hear voices, whispering... things. Ah. Here."
He brought out a small beaten copper bowl, gleaming dully in the subdued lighting. It was dented and dull and not at all impressive. We all looked at it for a long moment, then the Collector offered it to us. I hesitated to touch the thing.
"That's it?"said Suzie. "That'sthe dark chalice, the Unholy Grail? The cup Judas drank from at the Last Supper? That miserable-looking thing?"
"What were you expecting?" said the Collector, smiling just a little at one last chance to show off his expertise. "You thought perhaps it would be some great silver chalice, studded with jewels? Romantic medieval claptrap. The Disciples were a bunch of poor fishermen. This is the kind of thing they drank out of."
"It's the real deal," I said. "I can feel it from here. It's like every bad thought you ever had, wrapped up in one never-ending nightmare."
"Yeah," said Suzie. "Like it's poisoning the air, just by existing."
The Collector looked at me slyly. "You could keep it for yourself, Taylor. You could. This simple cup is powerful beyond all your wildest fantasies. It could make you rich, worshipped, adored. It can satisfy every dirty little yearning in your soul. It has the answer to every question you ever had. The truth about your past, your enemies... even your mother."
I looked at the Unholy Grail, and it was like looking into the heart of temptation. Suzie watched me carefully, but said nothing. She trusted me to do the right thing. And in the end, perhaps it was that trust that gave me the strength to turn away.
"Put it in a bag, Collector. I wouldn't dirty my hands by touching it."
The Collector pulled an airline carry-on bag out of the packing pieces and stuffed the Unholy Grail into it. He almost seemed relieved. I took the bag and slung the strap over my shoulder.
"Merlin!" I said, raising my voice. "I know you're listening. We've got it. Bring us home."
Merlin's magic gathered about us, preparing to teleport Suzie and me back to Strangefellows, and the waiting angels. And in the last possible moment, when the Collector was sure the teleport spell had been activated and couldn't be stopped, he stepped forward and shouted one last vicious hurt.
"You're not the only one who can find things, Taylor! There was a time I used to take commissions, in return for help in establishing my collection. I found your father for your mother! I put them together. Everything you are is because of me!"
I went for his throat with furious hands, but Suzie and I were already fading away. The last thing I heard on the Moon was the Collector laughing, loud and bitterly, as though his heart would break.
Nine
- For the Remission of Sin
Strangefellows sprang into being around us again, and Suzie braced herself for the thick black smoke, but there wasn't any this time. She looked suspiciously about her, and mere was Merlin, no longer sprawled on his dark iron throne but leaning casually against the long wooden bar, a bottle of the good whiskey in one tattooed hand. He smiled unpleasantly and took a long drink from the bottle. I glanced at the gaping hole in Merlin's chest, where his heart used to be, half-expecting to see the swallowed whiskey come running out of it. "Welcome back, far travelers," said Merlin. "I deference to your delicate feelings, I dispensed with the smoke this time. Typical of youngsters today. No respect for tradition. Probably wouldn't know what to do with a newt's eye if I slapped it in your hand."
I stepped forward, and he stopped talking. "Send us back!" I said, my hands clenched into fists, so angry it was all I could do to get the words out. "Send us back, right now. Better still, grab the Collector again and haul his nasty ass back down here, so I can beat the truth out of him with my bare hands."
"Easy, tiger," said Suzie, moving in close beside me. Her voice was surprisingly gentle. "I'm the violent one in this partnership, remember?"
"Things change," I said, not taking my eyes off Merlin. "I want the Collector here, right now. He knows things. Things about my mother, and my father. And I will break his bones one by one, and make him eat every last piece, until he tells me what I need to know."
"Wow," said Suzie. "Hard-core, Taylor."
"I'm sorry," said Merlin, still leaning against the bar, entirely unmoved by the raw fury in my voice and eyes. "The Collector has disappeared from his lair under the Moon's surface, taking his collection with him. I can't see him anywhere. Which ought to be impossible, but that's the modern age for you. No doubt I'll track him down eventually, but that will take time. For a mere mortal, he's surprisingly elusive."
I was so angry and frustrated I could hardly breathe, ready to lash out at anyone, even Merlin. Suzie moved as close to me as she could without actually touching me, calming me with her presence, and slowly the red haze began to lift from my thoughts. It's always thoughts of family that drive me crazy, and it's always my friends who bring me back.
"Let it go, John," Suzie said calmly, reasonably. "There'll be other times. He can't hide from us forever. Not from us."
"And now it's time for me to go," said Merlin. "You have the somber chalice in that bag. I can feel its awful presence from here. I can't be this close to it. Too many bad memories . . . and far too much temptation. I may be dead, but I'm not stupid."
"Thanks for your help," I made myself say, in an almost normal tone. "We'll meet again, I'm sure."
"Oh yes," said Merlin. "We have unfinished business, your mother and I."
And before I could pursue that any further he was gone, disappearing back into his ancient grave somewhere deep under the wine cellar. The arrogant bastard always had to have the last word. Reality flexed and shuddered, and Alex Morrisey was suddenly back among us again, sitting slumped in the middle of the pentacle. He groaned loudly and shook his head slowly. He realized he had a bottle of whiskey in his hand and took a stiff drink. He almost choked getting the stuff down, but he was determined.
"I should have known he'd get into the good stock," he said bitterly. "Damn. I hate it when he manifests through me. My head will be full of corrupt Latin and Druidic chants for days." He shuddered suddenly, unable to continue with his usual facade. He looked at me, and I knew that behind his ubiquitous shades, his eyes were full of betrayal. "You bastard, Taylor. How could you do that to me? I thought we were friends."
"We are friends," I said. "I know that can be difficult, sometimes. I'm sorry."
"You're always sorry, John. But it never stops you screwing up people's lives."
I didn't say anything, because I couldn't. He was right. He struggled to his feet. I offered him a hand, but he slapped it aside. Lucy and Betty Coltrane moved quickly in and got him on his feet again, supporting him between them until his legs were firm again. He looked at the airline bag slung over my shoulder and gestured jerkily at it with his whiskey bottle.
"Is that it? Is that what you risked my sanity and soul for? Get the damned thing out and let me take a look at it. Haven't I earned the right? I want to see it."
"No you don't," I said. "It's vile. Poisonous. Your eyes could rot in your head just from looking at it for too long. It's dark and it's evil and it corrupts all who come into contact with it. Just like its original owner."
Alex sneered at me. "You always were a frustrate drama queen, Taylor. Show me.I've a right to see what I suffered for."
I opened the airline bag and took out the copper bowl, holding it carefully by the edges. It was feverishly hot to the touch, and my skin crawled at the contact. It felt as though someone new had entered the bar, someone terribly old and horribly familiar. Part of me wanted to throw the thing away, and part of me wanted to clutch it to my breast and never give it up. Alex leaned forward for a better look, but didn't try to touch it. Just as well. I wouldn't have let him.
"That'sit?" said Alex. "I wouldn't serve a cheap claret in that."
"You're not going to get the chance," I said, trying to keep my voice normal. I stuffed the bowl back into the bag, though the effort brought beads of sweat to my brow. "This nasty little thing is going straight to the Vatican, where hopefully they will have the good sense to lock it up somewhere extremely safe, until the End of Time."
"If only it was that simple," said Walker.
We all looked round sharply as the Authorities' chief voice in the Nightside came strolling unhurriedly down the metal stairs into the bar. He still looked every inch the city gent out on his lunch break. Calm and sophisticated, and very much the master of the moment. He glanced at the pitch-darkness filling the bar's shattered windows, but didn't seem in the least perturbed by it, as though he saw something like it every day. And perhaps he did. This was Walker, after all. Alex scowled at him.
"Perfect. What the hell are you doing here, Walker? And how did you get in?"
"I'm here because the angels want me to be here," said Walker easily, striding across the floor to join us and stopping just short of the pentacle's salt lines. He glanced at it briefly and looked away, managing to imply that he'd seen much better workmanship in his day. Walker could say a lot with a look and a raised eyebrow. He tipped his bowler hat to us and smiled pleasantly. "The angels contacted the Authorities and made a deal, and the Authorities sent me here to implement it. And while this club's defenses are more than adequate to keep out the usual riffraff, they're no barrier to me. I have been empowered by the Authorities to go wherever I have to go, to carry out their wishes. And right now, they want the Unholy Grail. They intend to hand it over to the angels, in return for... certain future considerations. And an end to all violence and destruction in the Nightside, of course."
"Which set of angels?" I asked.
Walker shrugged and smiled charmingly. "Yet to be determined, I believe. Whoever makes the better offer. I understand it could go either way. Still, that isn't really any of your business, is it? Give me the Unholy Grail, and we can all get on with our lives again."
"You know that isn't going to happen," I said. "Angels can't be trusted with the dark chalice, and neither can the Authorities. None of you have Humanity's best interests at heart. So, do you think you can take it from me, Walker? I don't see any backup, this time. Are you really ready to go head to head with me?"
Walker looked at me thoughtfully. "Perhaps. I'd really hate to have to kill you, John. But I do have my orders."
Suzie pushed past me suddenly, standing at the edge of the pentacle so she glared right into Walker's face. "You set your pet on me. Set Belle on me. I could have died."
"Even I just have to do what I'm told, sometimes," said Walker. "However much I might regret the necessity."
"Wouldn't stop you doing it again, though, would it?"
"No," said Walker. "My position doesn't allow me to play favorites."
"I ought to shoot you dead where you stand," said Suzie, in a voice that was cold as ice, cold as death.
Walker didn't even flinch. "You'd be dead before you could pull the trigger, Suzie. I told you, I'm protected in ways you can't even imagine."
I moved quickly to stand between them. "Walker," I said, and something in my voice made him turn immediately to look at me. "There are things we need to talk about. Things you should have told me long ago. The Collector had some very interesting information about the old days, when you and he and my father were such very close friends."
"Ah yes," said Walker. "The Collector. Poor Mark. So many possessions, and none of them enough to make him happy. Haven't talked to him in years. How is he?"
"Well down the road to full on crazy," I said. "But there's nothing much wrong with his memory. He still remembers finding my mother, and putting her together with my father. If the three of you were as tight as he says, you had to know all about it. So who commissioned him to go out and find my mother, and why? What part did you play in it all? And how come you never told me anything about this before, Walker? What else do you know about my parents that you've never seen fit to share with me?"
By the end I was shouting right into his face, almost spitting out the words, but he held his ground, and the calm expression on his face never once changed. "I know all kinds of things," he said finally. "Comes with the territory. I told you all you needed to know. But there are some things I can't talk about, not even with old friends."
"Don't just think of us as old friends," said Suzie. "Think of us as old friends with a pump-action shotgun. Tell him what he needs to know, Walker, or we'll see how good your precious protections really are."
He raised a single eyebrow. "The consequences could be very unfortunate."
'To hell with consequences," said Suzie. Her smile was really unpleasant. "When have I ever given a damn for consequences?"
And perhaps he saw something in her eyes, heard something in her voice. Perhaps he knew Suzie Shooter's shotgun wasn't just any shotgun. So he smiled regretfully and used one of his oldest tricks. The Authorities had given him a Voice that could not be denied, by the living or the dead or anything in between. When he spoke in that Voice, gods and monsters alike would bow down to him.
"Put down the shotgun, Suzie, and step back. Everyone else, stand still."
Suzie put down her gun immediately and stepped back from the edge of the pentacle. Nobody else moved. Walker looked at me.
"John. Give me the bag. Now."
But what was in the bag burned against my side like a hot coal, fanning the anger within me, feeding the fury that blazed within me. I could feel the power of the Voice, but it couldn't get a hold on me. I stood my ground and smiled at Walker, and for the first time his certainty seemed to slip a little.
"Go to hell, Walker," I said. "Or better yet, stay right where you are while I come and beat the truth out of you. I'm in a really bad mood, and I could just use someone like you to take it out on. Can you still use the Voice when you're screaming, Walker?"
I stepped out of the pentacle, crossing the salt lines, and nothing could touch me. I could feel myself smiling, but it didn't feel like my smile at all. I was ready to do awful things, terrible things. I was going to enjoy doing them. Walker backed away from me.
"Don't do this, John. To attack me is to attack the Authorities. They won't stand for that. You don't want them on your trail, as well as your enemies."
"Hell with you," I said. "Hell with them."
"That isn't you talking, John. It's the Unholy Grail. That's why you're shielded from me. Listen to me, John. You don't know how much I've done to protect you, down the years, using my position in the Authorities."
I stopped advancing on him, though part of me didn't want to. "You protected me, Walker?"
"Of course," he said. "How else do you think you've survived, all these years?"
"Oh, you'd like me to think that, wouldn't you? But I know better. You belong to the Authorities, Walker. Body and soul. And now you're scared, because the Voice they gave you doesn't work on me. Perhaps it's the Grail, perhaps it's something I inherited from my mother or my father. You tell me. Are you ready to talk about my parents now?"
"No," said Walker. "Not now. Not ever."
I sighed, shrugged the airline bag off my shoulder, and let it fall onto the floor. Something cried out, in shock and rage, or maybe that was only in my mind. I stirred the bag with the toe of my shoe, and sneered a it. I'm my own man, now and always. I looked at Walker. "Why is it that everyone seems to know all about my parents except me?"
"The truth is, no-one really knows it all," said Walker. "We're all just guessing, and whistling in the dark."
"You're not getting the Unholy Grail," I said. "I don't trust you."
"Me, or the Authorities?"
"Is there a difference?"
"Now that was cruel, Taylor. Quite unnecessarily cruel."
"You hurt Suzie."
"I know."
"Get out of here," I said. "You've done enough damage for one day."
He looked at me, then at Suzie and the others, still standing rigidly inside the pentacle. He nodded to them, and they all relaxed as the paralysis disappeared. Walker nodded once to me, then turned and walked briskly out of the bar and back up the metal steps. Suzie dived for her shotgun, but by the time she had it leveled he'd already disappeared. She scowled at me, her lower lip pouting in disappointment.
"You let him go? After everything he did? After what he did to me?"
"I couldn't let you kill him, Suzie," I said. "We're supposed to be better than that."
"Well done," said the man called Jude. "I'm really very impressed, Mr. Taylor."
We all looked round sharply, and there was my client, the undercover priest from the Vatican, standing patiently by the bar, waiting for us to notice him. Short and stocky, dark-completed, long, expensive coat. Dark hair, dark beard, kind eyes. Alex glared at him.
"Its getting so just anyone can walk in ... All right, how did youget in here, past two sets of homicidal angels and my supposedly state-of-the-art defenses that I'm beginning to think I wasted a whole bunch of my money on?"
"No-one can prevent me from going where I must," Jude said calmly. "That was decided where all the things that matter are decided. In the Courts of the Holy."
"You aren't just an emissary for the Vatican, are you?" I said.
"No. Though the Vatican doesn't know that. I want to thank you for bringing me the Unholy Grail, Mr. Taylor. You've done me a great service."
"Hey, I helped," said Suzie.
Jude smiled at her. "Then thank you too, Suzie Shooter."
"Look," I said, a bit sharply, "this is all very civilized and pleasant, but whoever the hell you really are, how do you intend to get the Unholy Grail past the supernatural brigades surrounding this place?
They've already destroyed half the Nightside trying to get their hands on it. How can you keep it from them?"
"By making it worthless to them," Jude said simply. "May I have the cup, please?"
I hesitated, but only for a moment. Bottom line, he was the client. I never betray a client. And he had paid me a hell of a lot to find the Unholy Grail for him. I handed him the airline bag, and he reached in and took out the copper bowl. He dropped the bag on the floor and studied his prize, turning it back and forth. It was hard to read the expression on his face, but I thought it might be a kind of tired amusement.
"It's smaller than I remembered. But then, it's a long time since I last held it," he said quietly. "Almost two thousand years." He looked up and smiled at us all. "My name, in those long-ago days, was Judas Iscariot."
I think we all gasped. None of us doubted him. Alex and the Coltranes retreated to the far end of the pentacle. Suzie turned her shotgun on the client. I stood my ground, but I could feel a terrible chill creeping through my bones. Jude. Judas. Of course I should have made the connection ... but you don't expect to encounter two Biblical myths in one day, not even in the Nightside.
'Taylor," Suzie said tightly, "I think there is a distinct possibility that we have screwed up royally."
"Relax," said Jude. "Things aren't as bad as the may appear. Yes, I am that Judas Iscariot who betrayed the Christ to the Romans, and afterwards hanged myself in shame. But the Christ forgave me."
"He forgave you?" I said.
"Of course. That's what he does." Jude smiled down at the cup in his hands, remembering. "He was my friend, as well as my teacher. He found me and cut me down, brought me back from the dead and told me I was forgiven. I knelt at His feet, and said, You must go, but I will stay, until you return.And I've been here, doing penance, ever since. Not because He required it, but because I do. Because I do not forgive me."
"The Wandering Jew," I said softly.
"I've been with the Vatican for years," said Jude. "Under one name or another. Working quietly in the background, doing my best to keep them honest. And now, at long last, I have a chance to purge the last remaining vestige of my ancient sin. Bartender, some wine, if you please."
Outside, the voices in the dark rose in protest. Voices from the light answered them, then the two angelic armies slammed together again, two unimaginable forces continuing a conflict almost as old as Time itself. The whole bar shook, as though in the grip of an earthquake. Jagged cracks opened in the walls, and the dark pulsed at the windows while the light flared in the foyer above. Angelic voices rose, singing battle songs, as they trampled the world beneath their uncaring feet. Jude ignored it all, standing patiently by the bar with his old cup in his hands. Alex looked at me.
"He's your client; you go and get him some wine. I'm not leaving this pentacle."
"It's your bar," I said. "You serve him. I don't think the angels will bother with you now. They sound distinctly preoccupied."
Alex stepped gingerly over the salt lines, and when nothing immediately awful happened to him, he made a run for the bar. He dug at a bottle of house red, pulled the cork, and presented the bottle to Jude with only slightly shaking hands. Jude nodded and held out his cup. Alex poured a measure of wine into it, and Jude made the sign of the cross over it.
"And this... is His blood, shed for us all, for the remission of sins."
He raised the cup to his mouth, and drank. And in that moment, the war between the angels stopped. Everything grew still. The darkness slowly withdrew from the shattered windows, and the light faded away from the top of the stairs. Somewhere, a choir of perfect voices was singing something almost unbearably beautiful in perfect harmony. Jude drank the last of the wine and lowered the cup with a satisfied sigh. The song reached a ringing climax, and faded away. There was the sound of great wings beating, departing, fading away into an unimaginable distance.
"They've gone ..." said Suzie, finally lowering her shotgun.
"They have no business here any more," said Jude. "It's only a cup now. Made pure again, in His name. Blessed, like me."
"So," I said, just a little breathlessly. "What happens now?"
Jude picked up the airline bag and stuffed the cup into it. "I take it back to the Vatican with me, put it on a shelf somewhere, and let it fade into obscurity. Just another old cup, of no particular importance or significance to anyone."
He smiled on us all, like a benediction.
"No charge for the wine," said Alex. "On the house."
Suzie snorted. "Who said the age of miracles was over?"
"You have done all of Humanity a great service," said Jude, bowing slightly to me. "And enabled me to right an old wrong. Thank you. Now I really must be going."
"I hate to spoil the moment," I said. "But..."
"The Vatican will pay the rest of your fee, Mr. Taylor. With a substantial bonus."
"Pleasure doing business with you," I said. "Even if it was a little hard on the Nightside."
He smiled. "I think you'll find the angels of the light have repaired all the damage they caused, an put right as much as they can. They are the good guys, after all, if somewhat limited in their thinking."
"What about all the people who got hurt?" said Suzie.
"The injured will be healed and made whole again. The dead, however, must remain dead. Only one man could ever raise the dead to life again."
Suzie walked across the pentacle lines to approach him. Her shotgun was back in its holster. She stopped directly before him and looked him in the eye.
"Are you ever going to forgive yourself?"
"Perhaps ... When He finally returns, so I can say I am sorry to His face once again."
Suzie nodded slowly. "Sometimes, you have to forgive yourself. So you can move on."
"Yes," said Jude. "And sometimes it was never your fault in the first place."
He leaned forward and kissed her gently. On the brow, not the cheek. And Suzie didn't flinch away.
"Hey, Jude," I said. "Can youtell me the truth about my mother?"
He looked at me. "I'm afraid not. Have faith in yourself, Mr. Taylor. In the end, that's all any of us can do."
He turned and walked away, back up the metal stairs, towards the night. At the last moment, Alex called after him.
"Jude, what was He really like?"
Jude stopped, considered for a moment, and the looked back over his shoulder. "Taller than you'd think."
"God speed you on your way," I said. "But please, don't come back. You guys are just too disturbing. Even for the Nightside."
I stepped forward, and he stopped talking. "Send us back!" I said, my hands clenched into fists, so angry it was all I could do to get the words out. "Send us back, right now. Better still, grab the Collector again and haul his nasty ass back down here, so I can beat the truth out of him with my bare hands."
"Easy, tiger," said Suzie, moving in close beside me. Her voice was surprisingly gentle. "I'm the violent one in this partnership, remember?"
"Things change," I said, not taking my eyes off Merlin. "I want the Collector here, right now. He knows things. Things about my mother, and my father. And I will break his bones one by one, and make him eat every last piece, until he tells me what I need to know."
"Wow," said Suzie. "Hard-core, Taylor."
"I'm sorry," said Merlin, still leaning against the bar, entirely unmoved by the raw fury in my voice and eyes. "The Collector has disappeared from his lair under the Moon's surface, taking his collection with him. I can't see him anywhere. Which ought to be impossible, but that's the modern age for you. No doubt I'll track him down eventually, but that will take time. For a mere mortal, he's surprisingly elusive."
I was so angry and frustrated I could hardly breathe, ready to lash out at anyone, even Merlin. Suzie moved as close to me as she could without actually touching me, calming me with her presence, and slowly the red haze began to lift from my thoughts. It's always thoughts of family that drive me crazy, and it's always my friends who bring me back.
"Let it go, John," Suzie said calmly, reasonably. "There'll be other times. He can't hide from us forever. Not from us."
"And now it's time for me to go," said Merlin. "You have the somber chalice in that bag. I can feel its awful presence from here. I can't be this close to it. Too many bad memories . . . and far too much temptation. I may be dead, but I'm not stupid."
"Thanks for your help," I made myself say, in an almost normal tone. "We'll meet again, I'm sure."
"Oh yes," said Merlin. "We have unfinished business, your mother and I."
And before I could pursue that any further he was gone, disappearing back into his ancient grave somewhere deep under the wine cellar. The arrogant bastard always had to have the last word. Reality flexed and shuddered, and Alex Morrisey was suddenly back among us again, sitting slumped in the middle of the pentacle. He groaned loudly and shook his head slowly. He realized he had a bottle of whiskey in his hand and took a stiff drink. He almost choked getting the stuff down, but he was determined.
"I should have known he'd get into the good stock," he said bitterly. "Damn. I hate it when he manifests through me. My head will be full of corrupt Latin and Druidic chants for days." He shuddered suddenly, unable to continue with his usual facade. He looked at me, and I knew that behind his ubiquitous shades, his eyes were full of betrayal. "You bastard, Taylor. How could you do that to me? I thought we were friends."
"We are friends," I said. "I know that can be difficult, sometimes. I'm sorry."
"You're always sorry, John. But it never stops you screwing up people's lives."
I didn't say anything, because I couldn't. He was right. He struggled to his feet. I offered him a hand, but he slapped it aside. Lucy and Betty Coltrane moved quickly in and got him on his feet again, supporting him between them until his legs were firm again. He looked at the airline bag slung over my shoulder and gestured jerkily at it with his whiskey bottle.
"Is that it? Is that what you risked my sanity and soul for? Get the damned thing out and let me take a look at it. Haven't I earned the right? I want to see it."
"No you don't," I said. "It's vile. Poisonous. Your eyes could rot in your head just from looking at it for too long. It's dark and it's evil and it corrupts all who come into contact with it. Just like its original owner."
Alex sneered at me. "You always were a frustrate drama queen, Taylor. Show me.I've a right to see what I suffered for."
I opened the airline bag and took out the copper bowl, holding it carefully by the edges. It was feverishly hot to the touch, and my skin crawled at the contact. It felt as though someone new had entered the bar, someone terribly old and horribly familiar. Part of me wanted to throw the thing away, and part of me wanted to clutch it to my breast and never give it up. Alex leaned forward for a better look, but didn't try to touch it. Just as well. I wouldn't have let him.
"That'sit?" said Alex. "I wouldn't serve a cheap claret in that."
"You're not going to get the chance," I said, trying to keep my voice normal. I stuffed the bowl back into the bag, though the effort brought beads of sweat to my brow. "This nasty little thing is going straight to the Vatican, where hopefully they will have the good sense to lock it up somewhere extremely safe, until the End of Time."
"If only it was that simple," said Walker.
We all looked round sharply as the Authorities' chief voice in the Nightside came strolling unhurriedly down the metal stairs into the bar. He still looked every inch the city gent out on his lunch break. Calm and sophisticated, and very much the master of the moment. He glanced at the pitch-darkness filling the bar's shattered windows, but didn't seem in the least perturbed by it, as though he saw something like it every day. And perhaps he did. This was Walker, after all. Alex scowled at him.
"Perfect. What the hell are you doing here, Walker? And how did you get in?"
"I'm here because the angels want me to be here," said Walker easily, striding across the floor to join us and stopping just short of the pentacle's salt lines. He glanced at it briefly and looked away, managing to imply that he'd seen much better workmanship in his day. Walker could say a lot with a look and a raised eyebrow. He tipped his bowler hat to us and smiled pleasantly. "The angels contacted the Authorities and made a deal, and the Authorities sent me here to implement it. And while this club's defenses are more than adequate to keep out the usual riffraff, they're no barrier to me. I have been empowered by the Authorities to go wherever I have to go, to carry out their wishes. And right now, they want the Unholy Grail. They intend to hand it over to the angels, in return for... certain future considerations. And an end to all violence and destruction in the Nightside, of course."
"Which set of angels?" I asked.
Walker shrugged and smiled charmingly. "Yet to be determined, I believe. Whoever makes the better offer. I understand it could go either way. Still, that isn't really any of your business, is it? Give me the Unholy Grail, and we can all get on with our lives again."
"You know that isn't going to happen," I said. "Angels can't be trusted with the dark chalice, and neither can the Authorities. None of you have Humanity's best interests at heart. So, do you think you can take it from me, Walker? I don't see any backup, this time. Are you really ready to go head to head with me?"
Walker looked at me thoughtfully. "Perhaps. I'd really hate to have to kill you, John. But I do have my orders."
Suzie pushed past me suddenly, standing at the edge of the pentacle so she glared right into Walker's face. "You set your pet on me. Set Belle on me. I could have died."
"Even I just have to do what I'm told, sometimes," said Walker. "However much I might regret the necessity."
"Wouldn't stop you doing it again, though, would it?"
"No," said Walker. "My position doesn't allow me to play favorites."
"I ought to shoot you dead where you stand," said Suzie, in a voice that was cold as ice, cold as death.
Walker didn't even flinch. "You'd be dead before you could pull the trigger, Suzie. I told you, I'm protected in ways you can't even imagine."
I moved quickly to stand between them. "Walker," I said, and something in my voice made him turn immediately to look at me. "There are things we need to talk about. Things you should have told me long ago. The Collector had some very interesting information about the old days, when you and he and my father were such very close friends."
"Ah yes," said Walker. "The Collector. Poor Mark. So many possessions, and none of them enough to make him happy. Haven't talked to him in years. How is he?"
"Well down the road to full on crazy," I said. "But there's nothing much wrong with his memory. He still remembers finding my mother, and putting her together with my father. If the three of you were as tight as he says, you had to know all about it. So who commissioned him to go out and find my mother, and why? What part did you play in it all? And how come you never told me anything about this before, Walker? What else do you know about my parents that you've never seen fit to share with me?"
By the end I was shouting right into his face, almost spitting out the words, but he held his ground, and the calm expression on his face never once changed. "I know all kinds of things," he said finally. "Comes with the territory. I told you all you needed to know. But there are some things I can't talk about, not even with old friends."
"Don't just think of us as old friends," said Suzie. "Think of us as old friends with a pump-action shotgun. Tell him what he needs to know, Walker, or we'll see how good your precious protections really are."
He raised a single eyebrow. "The consequences could be very unfortunate."
'To hell with consequences," said Suzie. Her smile was really unpleasant. "When have I ever given a damn for consequences?"
And perhaps he saw something in her eyes, heard something in her voice. Perhaps he knew Suzie Shooter's shotgun wasn't just any shotgun. So he smiled regretfully and used one of his oldest tricks. The Authorities had given him a Voice that could not be denied, by the living or the dead or anything in between. When he spoke in that Voice, gods and monsters alike would bow down to him.
"Put down the shotgun, Suzie, and step back. Everyone else, stand still."
Suzie put down her gun immediately and stepped back from the edge of the pentacle. Nobody else moved. Walker looked at me.
"John. Give me the bag. Now."
But what was in the bag burned against my side like a hot coal, fanning the anger within me, feeding the fury that blazed within me. I could feel the power of the Voice, but it couldn't get a hold on me. I stood my ground and smiled at Walker, and for the first time his certainty seemed to slip a little.
"Go to hell, Walker," I said. "Or better yet, stay right where you are while I come and beat the truth out of you. I'm in a really bad mood, and I could just use someone like you to take it out on. Can you still use the Voice when you're screaming, Walker?"
I stepped out of the pentacle, crossing the salt lines, and nothing could touch me. I could feel myself smiling, but it didn't feel like my smile at all. I was ready to do awful things, terrible things. I was going to enjoy doing them. Walker backed away from me.
"Don't do this, John. To attack me is to attack the Authorities. They won't stand for that. You don't want them on your trail, as well as your enemies."
"Hell with you," I said. "Hell with them."
"That isn't you talking, John. It's the Unholy Grail. That's why you're shielded from me. Listen to me, John. You don't know how much I've done to protect you, down the years, using my position in the Authorities."
I stopped advancing on him, though part of me didn't want to. "You protected me, Walker?"
"Of course," he said. "How else do you think you've survived, all these years?"
"Oh, you'd like me to think that, wouldn't you? But I know better. You belong to the Authorities, Walker. Body and soul. And now you're scared, because the Voice they gave you doesn't work on me. Perhaps it's the Grail, perhaps it's something I inherited from my mother or my father. You tell me. Are you ready to talk about my parents now?"
"No," said Walker. "Not now. Not ever."
I sighed, shrugged the airline bag off my shoulder, and let it fall onto the floor. Something cried out, in shock and rage, or maybe that was only in my mind. I stirred the bag with the toe of my shoe, and sneered a it. I'm my own man, now and always. I looked at Walker. "Why is it that everyone seems to know all about my parents except me?"
"The truth is, no-one really knows it all," said Walker. "We're all just guessing, and whistling in the dark."
"You're not getting the Unholy Grail," I said. "I don't trust you."
"Me, or the Authorities?"
"Is there a difference?"
"Now that was cruel, Taylor. Quite unnecessarily cruel."
"You hurt Suzie."
"I know."
"Get out of here," I said. "You've done enough damage for one day."
He looked at me, then at Suzie and the others, still standing rigidly inside the pentacle. He nodded to them, and they all relaxed as the paralysis disappeared. Walker nodded once to me, then turned and walked briskly out of the bar and back up the metal steps. Suzie dived for her shotgun, but by the time she had it leveled he'd already disappeared. She scowled at me, her lower lip pouting in disappointment.
"You let him go? After everything he did? After what he did to me?"
"I couldn't let you kill him, Suzie," I said. "We're supposed to be better than that."
"Well done," said the man called Jude. "I'm really very impressed, Mr. Taylor."
We all looked round sharply, and there was my client, the undercover priest from the Vatican, standing patiently by the bar, waiting for us to notice him. Short and stocky, dark-completed, long, expensive coat. Dark hair, dark beard, kind eyes. Alex glared at him.
"Its getting so just anyone can walk in ... All right, how did youget in here, past two sets of homicidal angels and my supposedly state-of-the-art defenses that I'm beginning to think I wasted a whole bunch of my money on?"
"No-one can prevent me from going where I must," Jude said calmly. "That was decided where all the things that matter are decided. In the Courts of the Holy."
"You aren't just an emissary for the Vatican, are you?" I said.
"No. Though the Vatican doesn't know that. I want to thank you for bringing me the Unholy Grail, Mr. Taylor. You've done me a great service."
"Hey, I helped," said Suzie.
Jude smiled at her. "Then thank you too, Suzie Shooter."
"Look," I said, a bit sharply, "this is all very civilized and pleasant, but whoever the hell you really are, how do you intend to get the Unholy Grail past the supernatural brigades surrounding this place?
They've already destroyed half the Nightside trying to get their hands on it. How can you keep it from them?"
"By making it worthless to them," Jude said simply. "May I have the cup, please?"
I hesitated, but only for a moment. Bottom line, he was the client. I never betray a client. And he had paid me a hell of a lot to find the Unholy Grail for him. I handed him the airline bag, and he reached in and took out the copper bowl. He dropped the bag on the floor and studied his prize, turning it back and forth. It was hard to read the expression on his face, but I thought it might be a kind of tired amusement.
"It's smaller than I remembered. But then, it's a long time since I last held it," he said quietly. "Almost two thousand years." He looked up and smiled at us all. "My name, in those long-ago days, was Judas Iscariot."
I think we all gasped. None of us doubted him. Alex and the Coltranes retreated to the far end of the pentacle. Suzie turned her shotgun on the client. I stood my ground, but I could feel a terrible chill creeping through my bones. Jude. Judas. Of course I should have made the connection ... but you don't expect to encounter two Biblical myths in one day, not even in the Nightside.
'Taylor," Suzie said tightly, "I think there is a distinct possibility that we have screwed up royally."
"Relax," said Jude. "Things aren't as bad as the may appear. Yes, I am that Judas Iscariot who betrayed the Christ to the Romans, and afterwards hanged myself in shame. But the Christ forgave me."
"He forgave you?" I said.
"Of course. That's what he does." Jude smiled down at the cup in his hands, remembering. "He was my friend, as well as my teacher. He found me and cut me down, brought me back from the dead and told me I was forgiven. I knelt at His feet, and said, You must go, but I will stay, until you return.And I've been here, doing penance, ever since. Not because He required it, but because I do. Because I do not forgive me."
"The Wandering Jew," I said softly.
"I've been with the Vatican for years," said Jude. "Under one name or another. Working quietly in the background, doing my best to keep them honest. And now, at long last, I have a chance to purge the last remaining vestige of my ancient sin. Bartender, some wine, if you please."
Outside, the voices in the dark rose in protest. Voices from the light answered them, then the two angelic armies slammed together again, two unimaginable forces continuing a conflict almost as old as Time itself. The whole bar shook, as though in the grip of an earthquake. Jagged cracks opened in the walls, and the dark pulsed at the windows while the light flared in the foyer above. Angelic voices rose, singing battle songs, as they trampled the world beneath their uncaring feet. Jude ignored it all, standing patiently by the bar with his old cup in his hands. Alex looked at me.
"He's your client; you go and get him some wine. I'm not leaving this pentacle."
"It's your bar," I said. "You serve him. I don't think the angels will bother with you now. They sound distinctly preoccupied."
Alex stepped gingerly over the salt lines, and when nothing immediately awful happened to him, he made a run for the bar. He dug at a bottle of house red, pulled the cork, and presented the bottle to Jude with only slightly shaking hands. Jude nodded and held out his cup. Alex poured a measure of wine into it, and Jude made the sign of the cross over it.
"And this... is His blood, shed for us all, for the remission of sins."
He raised the cup to his mouth, and drank. And in that moment, the war between the angels stopped. Everything grew still. The darkness slowly withdrew from the shattered windows, and the light faded away from the top of the stairs. Somewhere, a choir of perfect voices was singing something almost unbearably beautiful in perfect harmony. Jude drank the last of the wine and lowered the cup with a satisfied sigh. The song reached a ringing climax, and faded away. There was the sound of great wings beating, departing, fading away into an unimaginable distance.
"They've gone ..." said Suzie, finally lowering her shotgun.
"They have no business here any more," said Jude. "It's only a cup now. Made pure again, in His name. Blessed, like me."
"So," I said, just a little breathlessly. "What happens now?"
Jude picked up the airline bag and stuffed the cup into it. "I take it back to the Vatican with me, put it on a shelf somewhere, and let it fade into obscurity. Just another old cup, of no particular importance or significance to anyone."
He smiled on us all, like a benediction.
"No charge for the wine," said Alex. "On the house."
Suzie snorted. "Who said the age of miracles was over?"
"You have done all of Humanity a great service," said Jude, bowing slightly to me. "And enabled me to right an old wrong. Thank you. Now I really must be going."
"I hate to spoil the moment," I said. "But..."
"The Vatican will pay the rest of your fee, Mr. Taylor. With a substantial bonus."
"Pleasure doing business with you," I said. "Even if it was a little hard on the Nightside."
He smiled. "I think you'll find the angels of the light have repaired all the damage they caused, an put right as much as they can. They are the good guys, after all, if somewhat limited in their thinking."
"What about all the people who got hurt?" said Suzie.
"The injured will be healed and made whole again. The dead, however, must remain dead. Only one man could ever raise the dead to life again."
Suzie walked across the pentacle lines to approach him. Her shotgun was back in its holster. She stopped directly before him and looked him in the eye.
"Are you ever going to forgive yourself?"
"Perhaps ... When He finally returns, so I can say I am sorry to His face once again."
Suzie nodded slowly. "Sometimes, you have to forgive yourself. So you can move on."
"Yes," said Jude. "And sometimes it was never your fault in the first place."
He leaned forward and kissed her gently. On the brow, not the cheek. And Suzie didn't flinch away.
"Hey, Jude," I said. "Can youtell me the truth about my mother?"
He looked at me. "I'm afraid not. Have faith in yourself, Mr. Taylor. In the end, that's all any of us can do."
He turned and walked away, back up the metal stairs, towards the night. At the last moment, Alex called after him.
"Jude, what was He really like?"
Jude stopped, considered for a moment, and the looked back over his shoulder. "Taller than you'd think."
"God speed you on your way," I said. "But please, don't come back. You guys are just too disturbing. Even for the Nightside."