Nightside 10 - The Good the Bad and the Uncanny

calling and sticking their oar in, then I put the phone away. Of course I knew Lord Screech couldn’t be trusted. He was an elf. But I’d given him my word, and my word was good. I looked up and down the street. Ms. Fate had better get a move on. Walker hadn’t been joking about pinpointing my position through my phone.
    There wasn’t anywhere handy I could use as a shelter. The clubs and bars in this part of town were so down-market, the bouncers were outside chucking them in, and they forced you to order your drinks at gunpoint. And there was no way I was going back into the Dragon’s Mouth.
    “Is there any particular reason why you’re ignoring me?” said Lord Screech.
    “Because I’ll get lied to less that way,” I said, not looking at the elf. “I know all I need to know.”
    “Walker was quite right. Never trust anything an elf tells you. We always lie—except when a truth can hurt you more. Or when the truth can be made to serve our best interests over yours. I don’t care about you, or Walker, or any other human, except where you can help or hinder my mission.”
    I didn’t ask how he knew it was Walker on the phone.
    “If you’re trying to be disarming, it isn’t working,” I said. “And don’t even try to be charming. I’ve got protections against that.”
    “Why are you helping me, John Taylor? When you know you should know better?”
    I looked at him for the first time. “Because I’m intrigued. And not by the terrible secret you’ve offered as payment, whatever it may or may not turn out to be. I’ve spent my whole life dealing with terrible secrets. No, what intrigues me is why a high-and-mighty elf lord should endanger himself by coming to the Nightside, then beg help from a human. Even one as special as me. So I’ll go along with you, do my best to get you to where you need to be ... and no doubt your true purpose will become clear along the way.”
    “I wouldn’t put money on it,” the elf said cheerfully.
    Perhaps fortunately, we were interrupted at that point by the approaching roar of a powerful engine. We both looked round and stepped back a little as the Fatemobile surged out of the traffic and slammed to a halt right in front of us. On every side, hardened sinners on their way to infamous dens of iniquity stopped, to get a better look at the Fatemobile. A good twelve feet long and almost as wide, Ms. Fate’s crime-fighting motor car was a magnificent machine, with low, powerful lines in a retro sixties style, complete with tall rear fins, a prominent afterburner, and acres and acres of gleaming chrome. It was a shocking fluorescent pink from bonnet to bumper, and had big fluffy wheels. In fact, it wasn’t so much pink as PINK! And instead of the usual silver winged victory figure on the front radiator, the Fatemobile boasted a silver wee-winged faerie in a basque and suspenders.
    Ms. Fate might have heard of taste, but only as something other people had. Boring people.
    “I like it!” said Lord Screech.
    “You would,” I said.
    The heavy driver’s door swung open with a puff of compressed air, and Ms. Fate emerged from her car via a single elegant movement I couldn’t have copied without throwing my whole back out. Tall and leanly muscular, Ms. Fate wore a black leather super-heroine outfit, cut tightly to show off her long legs and false bosoms. Heavy boots and gauntlets, and a proud horned cowl. Her green eyes shone brightly through polarised eye-slits, and her mouth was a brilliant red. Her utility belt was a bright yellow, presumably so she could find it in the dark. She crashed to a halt before me and struck a pose that was only slightly self-mocking.
    “And here I am, to save the day! Ms. Fate, at your service, rogues, villains, and creatures of the night a speciality. Ask me about my special rates for criminal conspiracies. How are you, John?”
    “All the better for seeing you,” I said. “Where’s your cape? I always think you look so more authentic with your cape.”
    “In the back seat. I have to take it off when I’m driving; I find it restricts my movements too much.”
    Ms. Fate is the real deal. A genuine old-school super-heroine who just happens to be played by a man.
    “We really do need to get a move on,” I said. “Walker’s people are already on their way here. So fire up the Pink Pan ther mobile, stomp on the pedal, and it’s everything forward and trust in the Lord all the way to the Osterman Gate. Stop for nothing and