The Neon Court (30 page)

“Lady Neon spoke to Mayor Manswala again, this time agreeing to follow the Midnight Mayor’s policy in all matters relating to Blackout, and to assist in whatever way she could in curbing the threat to the city as a whole. That arrangement formed the foundation of the 1959 treaty between the Court and the Aldermen that is causing us so much concern now; I fear, in the Aldermen’s haste to secure aid against Woods, we may have played diplomatically into Lady Neon’s hands.

“And still the sun did not rise.

“Five days, if you can call night without ending ‘day’, Manswala talked and argued and thought about how best to bring down Woods,
and all that time he grew more out of control. Soon it became almost impossible to hide Woods’s activities from the civil authorities. He flaunted the ineptitude of the people around him, and killed increasingly senior targets – daimyos, Aldermen, Tribal elders – daring one and all to try and bring him down. But this was in many ways the least of the Midnight Mayor’s problems. As the sun continued not to rise, and the city remained cut off from the rest of the world, the people as a whole became affected. Under Blackout’s spell, they lived in a world of body-clock confusion, not sure whether they were supposed to be at work, or at play, or be asleep, or be on the buses or the trains or open the shop or close the shop or any manner of activity. A form of sleepless, wandering delirium seemed to set in, as if the whole city was suffering from jet lag; shelves were not restocked; some parts of the Tube ran while others were shut; water supplies and power became erratic; parents slept while children ran in the street; violence increased and the police didn’t know whether they were on call or not; hospital admissions increased and the doctors on the night shift did not sleep and did not sleep, so that by the fifth day no one dared perform an operation for fear of killing the patient. There were hallucinations and terrors; ordinary people were afraid to leave their homes for fear of the footsteps at the end of the alley, of a thing half seen under the lamp, for Blackout’s magic is the magic of shadows and fear, of reason saying one thing and instinct saying the other. And at the end, everyone just started falling asleep. All across the city, people fell down where they walked, just fell asleep where they sat or where they lay, and could not be woken. Even the magicians, even the ones who knew what was happening, could not do anything but sleep.

“In the face of this, Manswala felt that she had to act, and with an alliance of sorcerers, Aldermen and Court soldiers, went after Woods once more, ready this time with a plan to trap him, hold him, study him, and, they hoped, contain Blackout for ever, which should stand a good chance of succeeding.

“They found him.

“The spell was cast; but they hadn’t had time, and they were too tired and too afraid, and though they fought and fought, they could not contain him. He killed them. Dozens of the most powerful magicians of the time, he killed them all; some quickly, some slowly, but all
dead. Manswala he killed as slowly as he could. They say she stopped screaming long before she died.

“Only a few were left alive, hiding and cowering in the dark away from Woods, eyes closed, frozen with terror.

“Except one.

“The apprentice to a sorceress had followed his teacher into the battle, and watched everything, hidden in a corner. We don’t know how or why this young man, still a teenager at the time, had felt the need to risk his neck for this, but he did. He was more powerful, this apprentice, than any of his peers, a great craftsman of magic in the making, who was eventually to be hailed as one of the greatest sorcerers of the time. He watched Blackout kill his friends, his colleagues, his teacher, watched them all scream and die and, while he watched, he prepared his own plan, and made his own spell. He took the power from the survivors, from the few pitiful remnants of that group, took their magic and their strength, summoned light above his head and, alone in all that blood, stepped out, and faced Blackout, and fought back. The rest ran, or crawled, or did whatever they could to get away, leaving this one apprentice standing his ground, and when the battle was over and the lights had finally gone out, they looked east, and saw the sun rise.

“He had banished it.

“Blackout.

“He had banished Blackout, this sorcerer’s apprentice. After hours of battle in the dark, he had managed to find that weakness in his enemy’s armour and banished Blackout from the city. Woods was dead, his body torn to pieces, just a few bones and scraps of skin left behind, and the sun was rising. But the apprentice gave a warning – Blackout could return, would return. The lights had to be kept burning, the streets had to be kept safe, eyes watching, people waiting, wherever there was a darkness deep enough, there Blackout would be.

“That was another reason why the alliance with the Neon Court was struck. The Midnight Mayor and Lady Neon agreed to maintain a mutual watch on the city streets, and ensure that the lights burnt brightly enough to keep the shadows away.

“And so the city woke and forgot that it had ever been asleep.

“And, I am afraid, others forgot too. Magicians, Aldermen, even
sorcerers, who had at the very last fallen asleep after five days of endless night, woke, not entirely sure what had happened or why their clothes smelt so bad, and, as mankind does, shook their heads and went about their daily business, without trying too hard to contemplate things that might unsettle this convenient pattern. Both the Midnight Mayors who had participated in this battle were dead; the new incumbent hadn’t even been exposed to the case. Things were written down, by what few survivors there were, but Lady Neon was reluctant to keep a record of such bitter defeats, and shortly left the city for palaces in other lands, rather than be reminded of the blood that had stained her doorstep. Those Aldermen that had lived made records, but these were quickly lost in the mass of case notes that make up the history of our organisation, and with Blackout banished, and no sign of his return, the story became a warning, which became a legend, which became a myth, which became forgotten, all in a matter of a few passing generations. Aldermen do not live very long lives, traditionally. Nor, I suspect, did those who had survived long wish to remember. A combination of carelessness, fear, the after-effects of an enchantment and the strong desire to forget and be troubled no more, all affected the records of these events. We thought he was gone; so why should we remember?

“Besides, only one man really knew what had happened the night Woods died, and he almost never talked of it, except to give his one command that the street lights should be kept burning in the night. It was said he had seen too much blood that night, that some part of his soul had died, or been twisted into a form unmentionable. Furthermore, this sorcerer’s apprentice went on to become a sorcerer of incredible power and talent, and his deeds in his middle years were so remarkable that few people bothered to ask or even remembered the way in which his story had begun. However, old age corrupted him, turned his power a darker way, so that by the time he died his name was spoken of with curses by almost all that knew him, and this, alas, only made his previous life’s wisdom and achievements harder to accept.

“I suspect, Mr Mayor, that you can guess the name of this sorcerer.

“He was, after all, your teacher.

“And, of course, your killer.

“And it is you who brought this part of my story to an end, the night that you killed him.

“However, as I am sure you can guess, death is never really the end for a man like Robert Bakker.”

Dees finished speaking.

I looked down at the floor, then up at the ceiling. I said, “Dees? Did you really drag me all this way to tell me that the only guy who knows how to stop Oda is dead?”

“No.”

“No. Didn’t think so.”

“Robert Bakker is dead,” she said. “Be that as it may. He was the only person who managed to stop Blackout, but regrettably he left us with less than coherent details on how he did so.”

“Isn’t that just bloody typical?” I sighed. “You know, if I had a penny for every time prophets forgot to footnote their mystic utterings …”

“And now Blackout is back,” she interrupted.

“Yes. He is, isn’t he? Get to the point.”

She sighed. “Mr Mayor – we have Robert Bakker’s last breath.”

I forced a smile and said, soft as a swollen sea, “You have what?”

“When the allies you made in the Kingsway Telephone Exchange stormed the Tower on the last night of Robert Bakker’s life, we were of course aware. The Aldermen chose not to intervene because Bakker was useful to us in maintaining order in the city. A killer, no doubt, and potentially a liability we ourselves might have had to deal with in the near future. But you solved that problem for us. However, we were uncertain of the outcome of your encounter and deemed it prudent to have observers on the scene.”

“You … knew what was happening?”

“Yes.”

“You …”

“We are the Aldermen,” she said sharply. “Rest assured, if either you or Mr Bakker had threatened the city itself in any significant way, we would have acted. As it was, you seemed set on destroying each other, rather than us. We saw your allies storm the Tower; we saw signs of battle. We saw, in the middle of the night, a build-up of magical forces at the very, very top of the building, a meeting of magics unlike anything the city had seen for nearly fifty years. Are you aware, Mr Swift, that
during your encounter with Mr Bakker, two substations in the central and west London areas shorted out? Are you aware that half a mile of water main had to be replaced under New Oxford Street, and there was a gas leak off Charing Cross Road? No one ever considers the logistics of these things. You two fought; Bakker fell. He was, needless to say, dead at impact, barely worth the coffin he was buried in. But our observers were quick; they saw the value of maintaining some part of this extremely powerful and learned man. So one of our number got a plastic bag, and as Bakker let out his last breath, she tied it around his head, to capture the air from his lungs. We had our people take him to our mortuary, where the breath from his lungs could be contained for posterity. In other words, Mr Mayor, his dying breath; the sum and conclusion of his life captured. I think we all here are aware of the power in such things.”

“And if we had fallen, instead of him? Would you have done us the same service?”

“No,” she replied. “Our observers had no orders to catch your last breath.”

“That’s …”

“We were, however, prepared to extract, examine and document your blood.”

We looked up, eyes flashing, fingers tightening knuckle-white. “You were …”

“Mr Mayor, it is nothing personal. You are a mystical oddity, something unique. It is always worth documenting and recording such things. You are one of us now; I’m sure you understand.”

We stood up, clenching our fists at our sides to contain the anger prickling within them. “We are not, Alderman, nor never shall be, one of you. We are not … some mortician standing by to dissect, we do not … stand by in the face of such things as these.”

“Matthew,” she said, “I am being honest with you.”

I felt cold. My eyes burnt. I said, “So what do you propose?”

She indicated the metal canister on the desk. “Do you know the power of dying breaths?”

“Yeah.”

“We need information.” A pause, then she became the brisk professional again, reciting facts without feeling. “It works best if the individual concerned had a close link to the dead; a sympathy for
magical operations is a bonus – a seer would be ideal but, unfortunately, we have neither seers nor time to find one – having shared blood with the deceased helps. Robert Bakker, I believe, did have a fascination with your blood, did he not?”

I didn’t answer.

“The process manifests in different ways. Sometimes it’s subtle: a simple awareness of that which the deceased may also have known. Sometimes it’s more profound; a weak mind can sometimes be overwhelmed by the presence of the deceased, assume traits, personality aspects, of the dead consciousness. Sometimes it manifests in other ways. It is not something recommended to anyone suffering from mental conditions such as hallucinations, delusions, or violent dreams. The condition is temporary. Possible side effects can include a dry mouth, a sense of impending doom, and, if the deceased died violently, an echo of pain. But it is just an echo. A man’s dying breath doesn’t hold his soul, even if we were to consider that such a thing existed. Just a fragment of what he was.”

She looked at me uncertainly. “You don’t strike me, Mr Mayor,” she added, “as someone for whom a weak will is a problem.”

“No,” we said. “We’re not that.”

Her fingers tap-danced over the edge of the canister. The Aldermen round the room were silent, their eyes fixed on us.

“We wouldn’t be having this discussion if there was an easier way,” she added.

“You do it,” I replied sharply. “Go on. You open the canister, you share Mr Bakker’s last breath. Enjoy having the knowledge, experience, wisdom, and psychopathic murdering tendencies of a dead sorcerer whose shadow grew claws when the sun went down and who went around gutting his friends, rollicking around your brain. We’re not doing this.”

“If I could do it, I would – I trust you believe me when I say that.”

“Your trust is flattering.”

“You shared blood with Bakker. Before he died; you shared blood. That creates a potent link with his last breath almost as good as if you were a seer …”

“I have auditory and visual hallucinations,” I retorted. “There you go. Screw it.”

A reproachful look passed over her face. “Mr Mayor …”

“I do! Ever since I stopped being blind, remember then? I see weird shit.”

“You are the Midnight Mayor of this city, at a time when it’s under attack …”

“A few hours ago you were wanting to diagnose me with post-traumatic stress! You really think getting me to share my brain with the dead echo of the guy that killed me is going to chill me out?”

She sighed, pulled her hand away, shrugged slightly too dramatically. “Very well. It’s entirely your choice. We wouldn’t force you.”