Nightside 11 - A Hard Days Knight

in a high-pitched, cheery, and very human voice, like the born salesman he was.
    “Hello, hello, hello there! Welcome to my emporium of Doors! Every destination you ever dreamed of, nowhere too remote or unlikely! Come on in and, oh my God, it’s you again.”
    He stopped dead in his tracks, whiffling his whiskers and staring balefully at Suzie, who glared right back at him. The Doormouse folded his arms across his broad chest and tapped one sandaled foot very quickly.
    “She’s not going to break anything, is she? Only I still remember the last time you two were here, during the Lilith War. I’d have been safer out on the street with the rioting mobs. It’s bad enough you marched in and used one of my best Doors without paying, but the whole shop’s ambience was fatally compromised, just by her being here. Took three exorcists and a feng shui specialist to restore the usual happy House of Doors atmosphere.”
    “We only want to use a Door,” I said soothingly. “We might even pay for this one. Show us what we need, and we’ll be on our way and leave you alone. Won’t that be nice?”
    “She’s growling at me,” said the Doormouse.
    “Yes, well, that’s her being her. Suzie doesn’t do cute and fuzzy. I think it offends her view of the universe on some level. Don’t make any sudden moves, and you’ll be fine. Let’s see the Showroom.”
    The Doormouse sniffed loudly, stuck a very pink tongue out in Suzie’s direction, then he turned sharply and stomped off, leading us deeper inside. The main Showroom was full of Doors, row upon row and rank upon rank, all of them standing alone and upright and apparently unsupported. Made from every kind of wood and metal, glass and crystal, they all bore individual handwritten labels, describing their destinations: Shadows Fall, Carcosa, Haceldama, and Scytha-Pannonia-Transbalkania.
    “A very popular holiday resort, that one,” said the Doormouse, bustling busily along. “If you like it old-fashioned and a little odd.”
    I wasn’t really listening. I’d spotted a familiar face—that general fixer and go-to man, Harry Fabulous, lurking further down the Showroom. He took one look at me and disappeared through a Door. I get that a lot. Still, the guilty flee where no man pursueth, and Harry did a lot of fleeing. Suzie elbowed me discreetly in the ribs, and I pretended I’d been paying attention all along.
    “Lots of Doors in stock,” said the Doormouse, padding along before us. “Lots and lots ... I’m always expanding, always looking for something new and interesting. I still design all the Doors myself, but I do enjoy tracking down the odd rarity. I nearly got my hands on the legendary Apocalypse Door at an auction in Los Angeles; but someone else got their hands on it first. It can be a cut-throat business in the travel industry, sometimes ... Where do you want to go this time, Mr. Taylor; and why do I just know I’m not going to like the answer?”
    “I don’t know,” I said innocently. “Maybe you’re psychic. I need to get to an alternative Earth called Sinister Albion.”
    The Doormouse stopped so abruptly I nearly walked right over him. He turned and looked at me thoughtfully.
    “Oh. There.... Nasty place, by all accounts. But no doubt you know your own interests best. Have you made a will? I have. Very comforting things, wills. So, you want the Alternate Earths Door. This way, this way ...”
    He started off again in a completely different direction, down a long line of standing Doors, until he finally lurched to a halt before a large mahogany door with a complicated brass combination lock inserted right in its centre. The Doormouse patted the gleaming dark wood with one soft paw.
    “Remarkable piece of work, this, Mr. Taylor. Remarkable. This Door can give you access to any alternate history track you can think of and a few most people would be better off not thinking of. All you need is the correct co-ordinates. I should point out that you have to be extremely exact when entering the co-ordinates if you want to get the world you want and not one just a bit like it. Now, Sinister Albion. Are you sure you’re sure about this, Mr. Taylor?”
    “Unfortunately, yes,” I said.
    “Quite so, quite so ... I gather from your companion’s expression that she’s about to start growling again, so I’ll get to the point. I don’t know the exact co-ordinates for Sinister Albion. Don’t know anyone who does. I didn’t even know the awful