Quite suddenly without benefit of dimensional Door, secret Gate, or any obvious means of transportation, a figure was walking across the red plain. Plodding steadily towards the city in a heavy suit of plate steel armour. Resolutely medieval in style, with boots and gauntlets, stylised greaves and main-gauches, and a great blocky steel helmet with a coloured feather sticking up: blue, with purple trimmings. The knight in armour wore a great sword on one hip, and a bloody big axe on the other. It was hard to judge scale at such a distance, but he gave every indication of being a really big fellow. He left a trail of deep footprints behind him, punched into the plain by the sheer weight of his armour.
“Sir Parsifal, representing the London Knights,” said the Armourer. “I recognise the plume. An interesting choice, for a representative.”
“You know him?” said Molly.
“Let’s say, of him,” said the Armourer. “Brave and true, honest as the day is long, arrogant and stuck-up and a real pain in the arse to work with.”
“How can you be so sure, if you haven’t actually met him?” I said.
“Because that sums up all the London Knights,” the Armourer said flatly. “Think they’re so big time, just because they’ve been around almost as long as we have. They’ve been even more insufferable, just lately, ever since King Arthur returned to lead them again. Haven’t got a dragon, though, have you, Parsifal? We’ve got a dragon!”
My gaze was jerked back to the floating viewscreen, as something dark and indistinct came hurtling down through the swirling atmosphere. Sir Parsifal didn’t even pause to look. Even when the something slammed down into the red plain not fifty feet away, hard enough to raise great clouds of red dust. The clouds slowly settled, revealing a single human shape kneeling in the centre of a new crater. He was wearing what looked like some kind of steampunk spacesuit. Without waiting to be asked, the viewscreen obligingly closed in for a better look. The atmosphere suit had clearly been based on an old-fashioned diving suit, complete with a bulbous metal helmet, and weights attached here and there to compensate for the lesser gravity. Modern scuba oxygen cylinders had been strapped on to his back, while his chest boasted a large Union Jack flag. The figure slowly straightened up, got its bearings, and headed purposefully for the great cliff face.
“All right,” said Molly. “I’ll bite. What the hell is that tatty museum piece doing here?”
“That,” said the Armourer, “is almost certainly the representative from the Carnacki Institute. They’ve been around for ages, and they never throw anything away.”
“The Ghost Finders?” I said. “What business have they got at a Summit like this?”
“I have to wonder whether that might be their boss, inside that suit,” said the Armourer. “Catherine Latimer . . . She and Crow Lee were something of an item, back in the day. Her insight on the nature of the Inheritance would be invaluable. But, she’s a bit too old and too fragile to handle a landing like that. Must be one of her field agents. And don’t be so snotty, Eddie! The Institute does valuable work.”
“Okay,” I said. “Now explain the spacesuit.”
“From the original manned moon landing, back in Victorian times,” said the Armourer. “We’re not the only ones with a secret history.”
“You just made that up!” said Molly.
“I wish,” said the Armourer.
The view in the viewscreen shifted suddenly, whipping sideways across the great red plain at staggering speed, and then slammed to a halt to show a Door opening. It looked a lot more modern than ours, while still entirely basic and ordinary. A tall dark figure stepped through it, and the Door immediately slammed shut behind him, and disappeared. The figure looked around, taking his time. Molly and I looked at each other, sighed heavily, and shook our heads regretfully. We knew this one, by reputation. Everyone did.
Dead Boy was seventeen. He’d been seventeen some thirty years now, ever since he was mugged and murdered in the Nightside. And then came back from the dead to avenge his murder. He made a deal with Someone he still won’t talk about, but he should have paid more attention to the small print. Because there was nothing in the compact he made about getting to lie down again afterwards. So now Dead Boy goes on and on, trapped in his body; a returned soul possessing his own corpse.
Tall and adolescent thin, he wore a deep purple greatcoat over black leather trousers, and scuffed calfskin boots. He wore a black rose on his lapel, and a large floppy hat crammed down on dark curly hair. He stood alone on the Mars surface, unprotected and unaffected by the local conditions because he was, after all, dead. He stared about him in an open, touristy way, and then jumped up and down a few times, to test the gravity. He looked like he was giggling. He strode off across the red plain, kicking red dust this way and that with happy abandon.
“Oh, hell,” said the Armourer. “All the people the Nightside Authorities could have sent, and they chose Dead Boy? Why couldn’t they have sent their new Walker, John Taylor?”
“Because he’s on honeymoon,” said Molly. “He married Shotgun Suzie, just recently. I read it in Heat magazine.” I looked at her, and she shrugged self-consciously. “The Nightside edition. I’m a subscriber. Look, do I make comments when you watch Testosterone Gear?”
“I like Top Gear,” I said. “It makes me feel manly.”
“Pay attention, children,” said the Armourer. “Someone else is arriving.”
A bright light flared, out on the Martian plain, and suddenly . . . a four-foot-tall teddy bear was standing there, looking around him with great interest. He was wearing his famous blue tunic and trousers, and his big red scarf. He smiled at everything, and his bright intelligent eyes were full of wonder and delight. Every child’s good friend, and companion in adventure, in the far off Golden Lands. Bruin Bear. From those wonderful stories we all read when we were young. I understand he’s out of fashion and out of print, these days.
Kids today don’t know what they’re missing.
And there at Bruin Bear’s side, his constant friend and companion, the Sea Goat. Tall and angular in his blue-grey trench-coat, human enough in shape, but topped with a large blocky goat’s head, complete with long curving horns. He . . . didn’t look particularly pleased to be on Mars.
Dead Boy went over to join them, and they were soon having a cheerful conversation. The lack of air didn’t seem to bother any of them. Because he was dead, and they were fictional. Bruin Bear and the Sea Goat resided at Shadows Fall these days, a small town in the back of beyond where legends go to die when the world stops believing in them. An elephant’s graveyard for the supernatural.
The Ghost Finder in his antiquated atmosphere suit came over to join them, and patted Bruin Bear fondly on the head. The Bear let him because he was, after all, everyone’s friend. The Sea Goat gave the Ghost Finder a cold unwavering glare that clearly said Don’t even think about it . . . and then they all walked on together, heading for the city in the cliff. None of them made any attempt to catch up with Sir Parsifal.
“Oh, bloody hell,” said the Armourer. “Not Bruin Bear and the Sea Goat . . . I was sure Shadows Fall was going to send Old Father Time. Okay . . . hide everything valuable, including the cutlery; don’t promise the Sea Goat anything; and if he starts any trouble, just hit him over the head with something solid. Don’t worry, you can’t hurt him; he’s fictional.”
And then, finally, the last arrival. A strange contraption appeared out of nowhere, some distance away from the others. A great cage of twisted silver bars, throwing off multicoloured sparks like a fireworks display. The cage shook and shuddered, like it might fly apart at any moment, and then abruptly settled down. The lights blinked off, and there, standing in the middle of the cage, was a tall Asian young lady, looking very formal and intimidating. She held herself like a Royal on a state visit, as though she was slumming just by being there. The silver cage disappeared, leaving her standing alone on the Martian surface, surrounded by a shimmering force shield. She was wearing a pink leather cat-suit, topped with a pink pillbox hat, over neatly trimmed black hair. She strode purposefully forward across the red plain, ignoring the others completely.