Sharper Than a Serpent's Tooth (30 page)

I forced my gift awake, and it showed me a vision of my returned father. He was doing research in the Prospero and Michael Scott Memorial Library, rooting through the ruins and collecting books from overturned stacks. He piled the books up on a desk, and searched desperately through each volume, looking for… something. I studied him for a while. He didn't look much older than I was. In fact, he looked a lot like me. I took hold of Walker's and the Collector's hands, so they could see him, too.

"Typical Charles," said the Collector, almost wistfully. "He never could abide taking orders from anyone. Including, it would seem, an ex-wife who brought him back from the dead. She should have known he'd go his own way."

"I don't think she knows about him," said Walker. "She's got other things on her mind, just now."

"What's he doing, burying himself in books when the world's coming to and end?" said the Collector.

"Doing what he always does," said Walker. "Research. He's looking for answers."

I looked back at Merlin. "Open a door for me, between here and there. I need to talk to my father."

The dead sorcerer scowled at me. "If I remove my concentration from the bar's defences, even for a moment, Lilith will know what's happening here."

"Let her," I said. "All that matters now is getting these three old friends back together. So they can put right their old wrong."

"God, you sound like your father sometimes," said the Collector. "He could be a right pain in the arse on occasion, too."

Merlin gestured angrily with an unsteady hand, and the Library vision became real as an opening appeared in space, linking the bar with the Library. My father was so immersed in his books he didn't even notice. I stepped carefully through the opening into the Library and coughed meaningfully. My father scrambled up out of his chair and backed away from me, holding a heavy paperweight like a weapon. I slowly raised my hands, to show they were empty.

"Take it easy," I said. "I'm not here to hurt you. I need your help."

Charles Taylor studied me suspiciously, then put the paperweight down on the desk. "You look familiar. Do I know you?"

It hit me harder than I'd expected, to hear my father's voice again after so many years. It made him real again, in a way just the sight of him hadn't. I lowered my hands, and suddenly I didn't know what to say. Too many things I wanted to tell him, needed to tell him, but I couldn't find the words.

"How did you find me here?" he said. "You don't have the look of one of Lilith's creatures. Though I'm sure I've seen you somewhere before… but it doesn't matter. I can't help you. You'll have to leave. I'm very busy."

"You know me," I said. "Though it's been a long time. I'm John. I'm your son, John."

"My God," he said, and he sat down suddenly on his chair, as though all the strength had gone out of his legs. "John… Look at you… All grown-up. You look… a lot like my father. Your grandfather. Of course, you never knew him…"

"You went away," I said. I tried to keep the anger out of my voice, but that only made it sound even colder. "Abandoned me to my Enemies, when I was just a child. You left me alone when I needed you the most. You drank yourself to death rather than raise me. Why?"

Charles sighed heavily. He looked at his books, as though for answers, and then he made himself look back at me. "You have to understand… I'd been betrayed so many times: by friends I thought I could trust, by the woman I believed loved me. Your mother… was my last chance. To be a man again, to be sane again. To do good work, work that mattered. She was my life, my hope, my dreams. I never loved anyone like I loved her. When Pew told me the truth, showed me the hard evidence… I almost killed him. I went looking for her, but she was already gone. Just as well. I don't know what I would have done… And you, John, you'd meant so much to me, and now I was afraid you were a lie, too. Because if I couldn't depend on my wife to be my wife, if she wasn't even human… how could I depend on you to be my son? I was afraid you'd turn out to be a monster, like your mother."

"No," I said. "I'm nothing like my mother."

He smiled, and it was like a hand crushing my heart. I remembered that smile, from long ago, though I'd forgotten it. till that moment.

"I've been reading about you, son. Reports of your old cases, in the Night Times. Quite the adventures, I gather. Helping people who couldn't help themselves, solving mysteries, bringing down the bad guys… I also read some of the editorial pieces, by Julien Advent. The great Victorian Adventurer. He doesn't seem too sure whether he approves of you, but he approves of what you achieved, and that's good enough for me. You've made yourself the hero I always meant to be, but life got in the way…"

"It's not too late," I said. "There is a way you can stop Lilith. Come with me. Two old friends are waiting to greet you."

He got up from his chair and stood before me. We were exactly the same height. Two men of roughly the same age, but with far more than our share of experience.

"There is a way?" he said. "Really?"

"I believe so."

"Then let's do it." He put a hesitant hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry I let you down, son. Sorry… I wasn't strong enough."

"Everyone else let you down," I said. "They all lied to you. Betrayed you. That stops now."

"I read everything they had on you here," said Charles Taylor. "You've done well, in my absence. I'm proud of you, son."

"That's all I ever wanted," I said.

I think he would have hugged me then, but I wasn't ready for that. I still had to be strong. I led the way back through the opening, into the bar, and he came through after me. Merlin immediately shut the opening down. My father looked around him.

"My God, it's Strangefellows! Is this dump still going? Damn, I had some times here…"

"Yes, you did," Walker said dryly. "Though I seem to recall I always ended up having to foot the bill. You were famous in those days for never having your wallet on you."

My father turned round and looked at Walker, then at the Collector. He frowned, clearly uncertain, and then his face broke into a broad grin, and all three of them laughed. It was an open, happy laugh, blowing away all the old hurts and quarrels, and the three men fell on each other, clapping shoulders and backs with loud happy words. It was odd to see Charles Taylor looking so much younger than his contemporaries, but there was no denying how naturally they fit together. As though they belonged together, and always had. Eventually they stood back and studied each other.

"It's good to have you back, Charles," said Walker. "You're looking good. Being dead clearly agreed with you."

"I've missed you, Charles," said the Collector. "I really have. No-one could hold their own in an argument like you. So; what was it like, being dead?"

"I really don't remember," said Charles. "Probably just as well. But look at you… both of you! Henry… what happened? You look so distinguished! And you always swore you'd rather die than be trapped in a suit and tie, like all the other city drones. Are you really part of the Establishment these days?"

"Hell," said the Collector. "He is the Establishment."

"And Mark… Ten out of ten for style, but when did you get so fat?"

"Now don't you start," said the Collector. "Do you like the blazer? I got it from this retired secret agent. I got his weird car, too, while he was looking for his blazer. You have got to see my collection, when all this is over. I've acquired more fabulous, junk and kitsch than any man living!"

"I always knew you had it in you, Mark," my father said solemnly, and all three of them laughed.

"This is a new thing," Merlin said quietly to me. "Unforeseen and unexpected. Who knows what might come of this?"

"You never foresaw what's happening here?" I said.

"I don't think anyone ever foresaw this, boy! So many disparate elements needed, so many unlikely happenstances, to bring these three together again, after so many years. And all because of you, John Taylor."

"So," I said. "We have a chance now?"

"Oh no," said Merlin, turning away. "We're all still going to die, or be destroyed, along with the rest of the Nightside."

"The Babalon Working," said Charles Taylor, and I immediately paid attention again. My father was frowning thoughtfully. "Our greatest achievement, and our greatest crime. Do we really dare start it up again?"

"Do we have time?" said Walker. "Back then, it took us days to get the ritual up and working properly, nearly destroying ourselves in the process. And we were a lot younger and stronger and better prepared, back then."

"We don't need to go through the whole ritual again," the Collector said confidently. "You never did listen when I explained the theory of it, Henry. The magic is still operating in infraspace, because we never shut it down. It's hanging there, suspended at the moment we were interrupted. That's why the door we opened is still ajar. All we have to do is make contact with the magic again."

"And that should be easy enough," said Charles. "We're the only three keys that fit that lock."

"On the other hand," said the Collector, "a lot could go wrong. It's always dangerous, picking up an interrupted magic. We could all be killed."

"Dying would be vastly more pleasant than what Lilith has in store for us," said Walker.

"True," said the Collector. "And I think… I'd like a chance to be the man I used to be, one last time. Let's do it."

In the end, there was no need for any chalk circles, no chanting or invoking of spirits; the three old friends simply closed their eyes and concentrated, and a powerful presence filled the whole bar, beating on the air. There was a feeling of something caught on the edge, struggling to be free, to be finished. And after more than thirty years the three old friends stepped effortlessly back into their old roles, meshing like the parts of a powerful engine that had forgotten just how much it could do. Raw magic sparked and flared on the air around them, and the Babalon Working was up and running again, as though they'd never been away.

But almost immediately another presence forced its way into the bar, slamming through Merlin's defences. A door appeared in a wall where there had never been a door before, a ragged hole in the brickwork like a mouth or a wound, and stretched out beyond it was a narrow corridor, impossibly long. It led off in a direction I couldn't identify, which had nothing to do with left and right, up and down, that my mind couldn't deal with or accept, except simply as Outside. And down that awful corridor, slowly but inexorably, a single figure came walking. It was too far off in that unacceptable distance to see clearly, but I knew who it was, who it had to be. Lilith knew what we were up to, and she was coming to stop us.

Merlin came forward to stand before the corridor, staring down it and blocking the way. He looked… smaller, diminished. He raised his dead grey hands, already spotted with decay, and traced vivid shapes on the air, living sigils that spat and shimmered with discharging energies. He forced old and potent Words out of his ruined mouth, summoning up ancient forces and terrible creatures with the authority of his terrible name, but nothing happened. The Princes of Hell were more afraid of Lilith than they were of him. Merlin tried to open up interspatial trapdoors under Lilith's feet, to drop her into some other, dangerous dimension, that she'd have to fight her way back from…but Lilith just walked right over them, as though they weren't there. And perhaps for her, they weren't. She was Lilith, imprinted on the material world by an effort of her own will, and he was only a dead sorcerer. Step by step she drew nearer, smiling her awful smile, despite everything Merlin could do to stop her, or even slow her down. And, finally, she stepped out into the bar, and the corridor disappeared behind her, the wall just a wall again.

"Hello, Merlin," she said. "What a fuss you made. Anyone would think you weren't glad to see me. And after I went out of my way to find a nice present to bring you." She held up her left hand, and showed him a dark necrotic mass of muscle tissue. He knew what it was immediately, and made a sound as though he'd been hit. Lilith laughed prettily. "Yes, it's your long-lost heart, little sorcerer. That's what I've been doing all these years, since I had to give up being a wife and a mother. I knew I had to find your heart before you did, because you were the only one who might have stood a chance against me. If only you'd been whole. Merlin Satanspawn, born to be the Antichrist, but you didn't have the nerve. By the way, I spoke with your father recently, and he's still really mad at you."

"Give me my heart," said Merlin.

"It was very well hidden," said Lilith. "You wouldn't believe when and where I finally found it."

"What do you want from me?" said Merlin.

"That's more like it," said Lilith, smiling on Merlin like a teacher with a slow pupil. "You can have your heart back, Merlin. All you have to do is bow down to me, kneel at my feet, and vow on your unholy name to worship me all your days."

Merlin laughed abruptly, a flat ugly sound, and Lilith reacted as though he'd spat in her face. "Kneel to you?" said Merlin, and his voice was full of amused contempt. "I only ever knelt to one person. And you're not fit to polish his armour."

Lilith's left hand convulsed, crushing the decaying heart into crimson-and-purple pulp. Merlin cried out once and collapsed, the magic that had sustained him for centuries torn away in a moment. He curled up in a ball on the floor, withering and falling in on himself as the flesh fell away from his old bones. The fires in his eyes went out. Lilith took a bite out of the crushed heart and chewed thoughtfully.

"Tasty," she said. "Now die, fool, and go to the place appointed for you. Your daddy's waiting."

Merlin twitched and shuddered for a few moments more, but finally lay still, little more than a desiccated mummy. But I would swear that just before the end, I heard him say Arthur? So maybe he escaped his fate, after all. I'd like to think so.

Lilith looked unhurriedly about the bar. While I was still thinking what to do to distract her, and keep her from realising what three old acquaintances of hers were up to, Alex produced a pump-action shotgun from behind the bar, and handed it over to Suzie.