Nightside 08 - The Unnatural Inquirer

wearing those scabby feathered robes ever since he turned up here thirty years ago, and he hasn’t washed them once. Try to avoid standing downwind. Queen Mab herself kicked him out of the Fae Court, for using glamour spells to lie with human women. He always killed them after he’d had his way with them, but Mab didn’t care about that. Sex outside their race is one of the Fae’s greatest taboos. So here he is now, stripped of his glamour, just another rapist and murderer with a title that means nothing at all.
    “Next to him we have His Altitude Tobermoret, monarch of all he surveyed in Far Afrique. A dark and distinguished gentleman indeed, in his zebra-hide suit and his lion-claw necklace. Tobermoret used to be War Chief of an entire continent, until his people realised he was starting wars and rebellions just for the fun of it. He did so love sending young men out to die while he sat at his ease in a tent overlooking the battle-field, enjoying the show. I did hear tell his people castrated him before they shoved him through the Timeslip, which is why he’s always in such a bad temper.
    “On Queen Helena’s other side is Prince Xerxes the Murder Monarch. And yes, those really are preserved human eyes and organs and other bits and pieces hanging from all those chains he’s got wrapped around him. Though given how much he’s gone to seed since he got here, one can’t help wishing he’d wear something else apart from just the chains. He practises necromancy, the magic of murder. Partly because it’s traditional where he comes from, but mostly because he gets off on it. Though he’s learned to leave the tourists alone ever since Walker had a quiet word with him.
    “And finally, next to Xerxes we have King Artur, of Sinister Albion. For every glorious dream, there’s a nightmare equivalent, somewhere in the time-streams. For every helping hand, a kick in the face. In Sinister Albion, Merlin Satanspawn decided to embrace his father’s qualities instead of rejecting them, and brought up young Artur in his own awful image. Under their direction, Camelot became a place of blood and horror, where knights in terrible armour feasted on the hearts of good men, and Albion blazed from end to end with burning Wicker Men. The only reason I haven’t killed Artur on general principles, is because I’ve been too busy with other things.”
    I smiled at Queen Helena. “I think that’s it. Have I missed anything important?”
    “You do so love the sound of your own voice, Taylor,” said Queen Helena. “And you will address me as Your Majesty.”
    “That’ll be the day,” I said cheerfully. “What do you want with me, Helena? Or are you just taking the Exiles out for a walk?”
    It took her a moment to work out how to answer me. She wasn’t used to open defiance, let alone ridicule. “You were seen,” she said finally, “talking with the General Condor. You will tell me what you talked about. What you decided. What plans were made. Tell me everything, and I shall make a place for you in my army. Power and riches shall be yours. I could use a man like you, Taylor.”
    “Ah, what it is to be popular and desired,” I said. “The leadership of the Nightside is up for grabs, and suddenly everyone wants me on their side. Flattering, but…annoying. I’m busy right now, Helena. And I have to say, even if I wasn’t…there isn’t enough gold in the Nightside to persuade me to work for you, let alone this bunch of titled scumbags.”
    “Why do you say these things to me?” said Queen Helena. “When you know I will kill you for it?”
    I shrugged. “I think you bring out the worst in me. There’s some shit I simply will not put up with.”
    Her arms came out from under her robes, bulging tech implants already thrusting up through the blue-white skin. Dull grey gun muzzles orientated on me. Zog raised a withered arm to show off a beaten-copper glove with sharpened claws, buzzing with arcane energies. Tobermoret slammed the end of his long wooden staff on the pavement, and all the runes and sigils carved deep into the wood began to glow with a disquieting light. Xerxes produced a pair of long, curved daggers with serrated edges that looked more like butcher’s tools. He grinned at me, showing off dull brown teeth filed to points. And Artur’s bleak and brutal battle armour slowly came to life, its metal parts creeping and crawling over him, muttering to themselves in hissing otherworldly voices. Behind