The Bride Wore Black Leather

Larry and Tommy Oblivion might be overcome by the influence again, the moment they left the Library and all its protections. So where could I go next that my enemies couldn’t follow me? And then the answer hit me, and I smiled briefly.
    “You remember the street where we first met?” I said. “Don’t say the name! . . . But you do remember?”
    “Of course,” said Cathy. “How could I forget? It was where you saved my life by rescuing me from something that only looked like a house. Is that really where you want me to meet you, boss? The area hasn’t improved, you know. It’s still where the really wild things live.”
    “No-one goes there who doesn’t have to,” I said. “Hardly anyone I know would think to look for us there; and the poor bastards who live on that street tend not to care about the latest gossip.”
Or would care that I’d killed Julien Advent,
I thought, but didn’t say.
    “And anyone who did go there looking for you would be lucky to get out alive anyway,” Cathy said cheerfully. “I’ll meet you there in half an hour, boss. I take it you’re going to need transport? Thought so. Can you get there in that time? Of course you can; you’re John Taylor, what am I thinking?”
    She cut off the call, and I shut my phone and put it away. How was I going to get to Blaiston Street, right on the other side of the Nightside, without being spotted along the way? I still couldn’t use my Portable Timeslip. The Sun King, or his precious Entities from Beyond, might well track the energy trail and be there waiting for me when I arrived. They might even arrange for all my old friends and enemies to be there, waiting. I shuddered at the thought.
    And . . . I couldn’t walk down the streets, hiding out as just another face in the bustling crowds. My white trench coat made me far too easy to spot. Everyone knew my coat; it was part of my image and my rep. But I couldn’t take it off and dump it. My trench coat contained a great many useful tricks, and powerful defences, that I might still need. More importantly, I couldn’t give it up because . . . it was my coat. Letting it go would be like giving up a vital part of me. I was damned if I would. I’d already lost too much that mattered, to the Sun King.
    I had to get to Blaiston Street, and that meant I needed transport. I couldn’t trust the taxis, or any of the other usual means . . . Hell, I wouldn’t trust them under normal conditions. Usually, there were people I could call on, like Dead Boy and his futuristic car; but he’d already turned against me. There was Ms. Fate, the Nightside’s very own costumed adventurer . . . but her bright pink Fatemobile was even easier to spot than my white trench coat. My enemies would already be keeping an eye on that car, just in case.
    So, when in doubt, cheat. I hurried out of the side alley and down the street, till I came to the nearest underpass. People were already turning to look at me as I clattered down the stone steps and into its concealing gloom. I raised my gift and used it to find one particular underpass, on the other side of the Nightside. And then it was the easiest thing in the world to move myself from one to the other. So that when I reached the bottom of the stone steps, I was walking into a completely different underpass, not far from Blaiston Street.
    The tunnel was a lot darker and dirtier than I was used to, and the smell was pretty bad. Things had died down here, quite recently; but some hadn’t died nearly enough. I moved quickly through the underpass, being very careful where I put my feet. I made a point of breathing through my mouth, though it didn’t help much. Half the overhead lights had been smashed, with malice aforethought, to give the things that lived down there an advantage over those of us passing through. And because some things can only be done in the dark.
    The buskers were an ugly lot, with their battered, stolen, and improvised instruments, all but demanding money with menaces from those who didn’t drop money into their caps quickly enough. Having heard what the buskers considered music, I couldn’t help feeling that all they had to do was threaten to play another song, and we’d all dig deep into our pockets. Heavy dirt and dust stains on the curving stone walls formed into eyeless faces that turned to follow me as I hurried past. Luckily, my reputation was still potent enough to keep them from forming mouths and proclaiming my