“If it all does kick off,” I said solemnly, “be first out the door. Avoid the rush. Those cameras are expensive.”
The man with the camera sniggered loudly. He was so anonymous behind his shoulder-mounted apparatus, I’d almost forgotten he was there. Charlotte glared at him, and he shut up immediately.
“Be sure to get my good side,” I said to the camera-man.
“You find it, chief, and I’ll get it,” he said.
Charlotte ap Owen made a point of turning her back on me and striding away. The camera-man lingered for a moment. “I’m Dave. Don’t mind her. She’s desperate to get out from behind a desk. She’d defenestrate her own granny for a good story. Bit desperate in other ways, too, if you catch my drift, chief. Never let her back you into a corner unless you like it rough and sudden. I’m not really a camera-man, you know.”
I looked at him. “Oh yes?”
“I’m an actor, really. I’m pointing this camera at things till something better comes along. Filling in between acting jobs, you know how it is. Sometimes I pretend I’m actually in some reality show, where I’m pretending to be a camera-man.”
“Does it help?” I said.
“Not really. Hello; she’s coming back. Little Miss Up Herself. Brace yourself; she’s got the light of battle in her contact lenses. She looks like she knows something. Would anyone here have an interest in dropping you right in it, chief?”
“Oh yes,” I said. “Really. You have no idea how many.”
Charlotte ap Owen gestured airily for Dave to start filming, then stuck her microphone in my face again. “This is Charlotte ap Owen, reporting from the legendary Ball of Forever at the MEC. I’m here talking with the very recently appointed Walker, the infamous John Taylor. Mr. Taylor, I’ve been hearing some very interesting things about your connection with one of the most far-reaching disasters to hit the Nightside in recent times, namely, the destruction of the independent power plant, Prometheus Inc. Its sudden and unexpected loss plunged much of the Nightside into chaos and cost many lives. Would you care to comment on your involvement in this catastrophic event?”
I thought for a moment. “No,” I said.
“But you do know something, Mr. Taylor. I have my sources . . .”
“No, you don’t,” I said. “I can say that with complete confidence because I know for a fact there aren’t any sources remaining as to exactly what happened at Prometheus Inc., except me. I’ve no doubt someone here has been telling tales out of school and passing round the gossip, but they don’t know. Only I know. I could tell you what happened, but then I’d have to kill you, too.”
Charlotte opened her perfectly sculpted mouth to ask another question, caught the look in my eye, and thought better of it. She jerked her head at Dave the camera-man, and he stopped filming and trailed after her as she stalked off into the crowd, presumably in search of some less obviously dangerous exclusive. She might try to use the footage she’d already got to embarrass me, but her editor would only spike it. He knew better than to annoy Walker. Or worse still, my Suzie. Who once sent an over-enthusiastic gossip-columnist back to his editor in thirty-seven separate parcels. Gift-wrapped. Owing postage.
I watched Charlotte ap Owen, Bettie Divine, and Brilliant Chang as they made their rounds through the packed crowd of immortals, many of whom were happy to stand and smile for the cameras, but walked away if anyone tried to question them. That wasn’t what they were there for. Some immortals would always primp and preen for the media, and some simply wouldn’t. It was always surprising which dangerous and even infamous names could behave like real drama queens when someone recognised them. I moved off in the opposite direction, doing my best to mingle with the immortals. Most of them avoided my gaze, refusing to be interrupted in their conversations, or actually turned their backs on me. They stopped doing that after I goosed a few of them. It’s always amusing to see who’ll squeal like a little girl when you do that. I smiled and nodded in every direction, and a few familiar faces nodded coolly back. Some were friends, some were enemies, and some were both. It’s like that, in the Nightside.
I found Razor Eddie, Punk God of the Straight Razor, standing alone in a corner, observing the merry-making with a detached gaze. A tall, thin presence in a grubby grey coat, mostly held together by grime and filth. The light seemed a little bit darker where he stood, and the smell was really bad. Living on the streets and sleeping in shop doorways will do that to you. His face was hollowed and haunted, and he studied the immortals at their play with dark, dark eyes. He was holding a bottle of designer water but hadn’t bothered to open it. Flies buzzed around him, dropping dead out of the air when they ventured too close. Don’t ask me how they got in. He attracts them, that’s all.
“Hello, Eddie,” I said. “What’s a disturbing presence like you doing at a party like this? Are you immortal?”
“I’m a god,” said Razor Eddie in his thin, ghostly voice. “That’s even better.”
“Do you have business here?” I said. “Is there someone here who needs killing?”
“Undoubtedly,” said Eddie. “But nothing urgent. I was down on the Street of the Gods, visiting with an old friend. He told me he’d had a glimpse of the Future. Not uncommon, in those parts. Having so many gods, powers, and presences crammed together in one place does something very disturbing to linear Time. Anyway, Dagon told me he’d Seen something really dangerous coming to the Nightside.”
I waited, but that was all he had to say. “Well,” I said, “nothing too scary about that. It’s pretty much business as usual, in the Nightside.”
“Not this time. Dagon said that whatever it is that’s coming, it’s a threat to the Nightside itself. A final end to the longest night in the world.” Eddie looked at me unblinkingly, his lips twitching in what might have been a smile. “He also said he Saw you and me, going head to head, fighting to the death. That’s . . . interesting, isn’t it?”
I shuddered briefly, as though someone had danced on my grave. “There are many different potential futures,” I said carefully. “Nothing Seen is ever inevitable.”
“Yes,” said Razor Eddie. “I know. But it is interesting. I thought you ought to know. Haven’t you ever wondered whether I could take you in a fight?”
“I try very hard not to think about things like that,” I said. “Did your friend happen to mention the outcome of this fight he Saw?”
“No. See you later, John.”
I took the hint and moved away, leaving him to enjoy his corner. Eddie was a friend, sort of. That’s why he warned me. We’d been through a lot together, good and bad. But the Punk God of the Straight Razor went his own way, following his own unknowable purposes. Would he kill me if he thought he had cause? Yes. Razor Eddie was many things, but sentimental wasn’t one of them.
I went back to the buffet tables. I felt very much in need of a little light refreshment. Every immortal makes it a matter of pride to bring a bottle of something special to the Ball of Forever, and some of them have cellars that go back centuries. Vintages laid down when that was still a new thing to do. In fact, I think you have to be immortal to withstand what some of those wines can do to your taste buds. I found Dead Boy trying to get a glass of champagne from one of the French maid waitresses, only to have his dead hand slapped repeatedly away on the grounds that she wasn’t wasting a really impressive vintage on someone who didn’t even have taste buds any more. Dead Boy was good-natured about it.
“Hello, Dead Boy,” I said. “How are you?”
“Still dead,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to make a fuss. I wouldn’t waste good booze on me either. I have no palate. Or if I have, it’s probably riddled with holes.”
I don’t know if even Dead Boy knows exactly how long he’s been dead. He was seventeen when he was mugged and murdered in the Nightside, long ago, for the spare change in his pockets. He made a deal he still won’t talk about to come back from the dead, to avenge his murder; only to discover afterwards that he should have read the small print. He was trapped in his dead body, possessing himself, unable to let go and move on. He’s more or less philosophical about it these days and does his best to live the good life despite being quite definitely deceased.