Nightside 11 - A Hard Days Knight

yearning to be used, demanding to be put to the purpose for which it was intended. And I couldn’t help remembering that terrible old weapon, the Speaking Gun. That evil device had wanted to kill and kill until nothing was left, and hated the fact that it couldn’t do that without its owner’s cooperation. Excalibur didn’t feel anything like the Speaking Gun, but it still needed me to wield it. To help it fulfil its destiny.
    The sword blazed with purpose: of something vitally important that had to be done, that it had been brought back into the world to do. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly; then I picked up the scabbard and slid the sword carefully back into its sheath. It didn’t fight me. I placed the scabbard carefully down on the table again and stepped away from it. The sheer effort of will left me shaking and covered in a cold and clammy sweat. But I am my own man, no-one and nothing else’s.
    “Well?” said Suzie, from the doorway. “Is it destiny?”
    “Oh ... I’d have to give you ninety-five per cent on that, yes. And it wants me.”
    “I could write you a note, say you’re excused destinies.”
    “Why me?” I said, a bit wistfully.
    “Isn’t that what everyone says, when destiny comes calling?”
    “If this turns out to be connected to Merlin, I swear I will find a way to bring him back from the dead, just so I can kick his arse!”
    “Never speak ill of the dead,” Suzie said briskly. “Especially when they aren’t always as departed as they should be.”
    I couldn’t help noticing that she’d backed right out of the kitchen doorway and was now standing in the hall, looking in. Suzie wasn’t scared of anything, but she had a hell of a lot of natural caution and really good survival instincts. I would have liked to walk away and leave the sword, but owning Excalibur is like holding a tiger by the tail. Bad as the situation is, it’s even more dangerous to let go. I had hoped drawing the sword would trigger a recorded message that would tell me what the hell was going on and what I was supposed to do about it; but apparently that was too much to hope for.
    “We need to get this sword out of our house,” said Suzie. “Something that powerful, running wild in the Nightside; who knows what kind of attention it’s going to attract?”
    I looked at the scabbarded sword; but all sense of its presence was gone, vanished the moment I sheathed it. It looked like any other sword now. But Excalibur was the kind of sword men would kill and die for, for any number of reasons. Suzie came warily back into the kitchen.
    “So, does this mean you’re the rightful King of all England now?”
    “No,” I said. “I’m pretty sure that was a one-time-only thing.”
    “Does it mean you’re King of the Nightside, then? Or was the sword sent to you by someone who thinks you should be?”
    “I had the chance,” I said. “And I turned it down. I’m not about to change my mind. As to who sent it: I have a horrible feeling this might be Walker’s last gift to me, taken from the late Collector’s legendary collection.”
    “Hold everything,” said Suzie. “The ‘late’ Collector? He’s finally dead?”
    “Haven’t you been watching the news?”
    “I’ve been busy,” Suzie said defensively. “Aimless lounging round won’t do itself, you know. What happened to the Collector? Who killed him? I take it somebody did finally kill the thieving old scrote?”
    “Walker killed him,” I said. “He walked right up to his oldest friend and stuck a knife between his ribs. I was right there, but there was nothing I could do.”
    “I’ll not shed a tear for the Collector,” said Suzie. “How many times did he try to kill us? All right, he was a colourful rogue, or a treacherous little turd, depending on how you look at it, but I think the whole Nightside will sleep more peacefully, now that he’s gone. You could always rely on the Collector to stir things up, and rarely in a good way. But ... why did Walker finally kill him, after all these years? I thought they were friends again, after working together during the Lilith War?”
    “They were,” I said. “It’s ... complicated. Friendships often are.”
    “Hold everything, part two,” said Suzie. “You said ... Walker’s last gift. Don’t tell me ...”
    “Yes,” I said. “Walker’s dead. I killed him.”
    “Why?” said Suzie. “Okay, dumb question. I can think of a dozen good reasons, without even