Drinking Midnight Wine (11 page)
Read Drinking Midnight Wine Online
Authors: Simon R. Green
Toby walked slowly through the lot, his head swiveling back and forth, his arms tucked in close at his sides, so he wouldn’t accidentally touch anything. He had a horrid suspicion that if he did, the car might pop like a soap bubble, and he didn’t think he could cope with that. Toby was beginning to feel very strange. He kept trying to tell himself there must be a convention of rare and unusual cars in town, just for the day, that he’d managed to avoid hearing about . . . but he didn’t think so. Somehow, during the night, while he’d slept, all the rules had been changed. He just knew it. Someone had yanked the rug out from under the world he knew, and he was beginning to have a strong suspicion as to just who that was.
He left the parking lot and crossed the new bridge. (
New
because it had only been constructed in 1962, as opposed to the main town bridge, which was at least thirteenth-century, and maybe older.) Halfway across, Toby heard something splashing loudly in the river down below and automatically looked over the dark railings, only to look quickly away, shocked by something he was sure he couldn’t have seen correctly. It wasn’t the bare flesh, or the bobbing breasts, or the wicked smile on the pointed face; it was the long green gleam of a fish’s tail . . . He refused absolutely to even
think
the
m
-word, but he couldn’t deny what he’d seen. He made himself look back over the railings again. Ducks. Swans. Swirling dark waters. Nothing else. Of course there was nothing else! Toby walked on, looking straight ahead. Behind him, someone was singing a song of great beauty in a warm, breathy contralto. He didn’t look back, even when the bridge was safely far behind him.
New
because it had only been constructed in 1962, as opposed to the main town bridge, which was at least thirteenth-century, and maybe older.) Halfway across, Toby heard something splashing loudly in the river down below and automatically looked over the dark railings, only to look quickly away, shocked by something he was sure he couldn’t have seen correctly. It wasn’t the bare flesh, or the bobbing breasts, or the wicked smile on the pointed face; it was the long green gleam of a fish’s tail . . . He refused absolutely to even
think
the
m
-word, but he couldn’t deny what he’d seen. He made himself look back over the railings again. Ducks. Swans. Swirling dark waters. Nothing else. Of course there was nothing else! Toby walked on, looking straight ahead. Behind him, someone was singing a song of great beauty in a warm, breathy contralto. He didn’t look back, even when the bridge was safely far behind him.
He walked on into Church Street and it seemed to him that there were a lot of people around, even for a Saturday morning. What was more, quite a few of them seemed to be looking at him strangely. Which was odd, because this was, after all, his hometown, he a Bradfordian born and bred, and he was, if nothing else, a familiar face to most people. He checked himself unobtrusively, for spilled food or undone flies, but all seemed to be in order. He lifted his chin a little and stared back, and everyone looked away again.
It occurred to him that he was a bit short of money, so he stopped at the cash machine in the wall outside his bank. But even as he was fumbling in his coat pocket for his cash card and mentally rehearsing his PIN, the cash machine suddenly spoke to him.
“Oh, you needn’t bother with that, dear. It’s only money. How much do you want?”
Toby froze with his hand still in his pocket, and then looked quickly about him. There was no one else anywhere nearby. He looked reluctantly back at the glowing computer screen before him. Instead of the usual green lettering, there were two yellow circles that might have been eyes, and a wide curve for a smile. As he watched, the smile widened, and one of the eyes winked at him. Toby cleared his throat.
“Uh . . . hello?”
“Hello there! Isn’t it a simply super morning?”
“Am I speaking to a machine . . . or something?”
“Oh, something, dear, definitely something. You just tell me how much you need, and I will shower you with largesse.”
“Is this some kind of joke?” said Toby, after a pause. “One of those hidden camera jobs? Because I never thought they were funny, even when I was just watching them.”
“No joke, sweetie,” said the cash machine briskly. “You can have as much as you can carry away, and do you know why? Because I like your face!”
“Maybe I didn’t get up this morning,” Toby said wistfully. “Maybe I’m still in bed, and dreaming all this. It would explain a lot.”
“Oh no, this isn’t The Dreaming. That’s next door but one.”
“And you . . . want to give me money?”
“Of course! Have as much as you want! I’ve got lots!”
And the cash machine sprayed banknotes into the air, tens and twenties shooting out in a great stream of multicolored paper, fluttering to the ground like so many leaves in autumn. Toby stood there gaping. He’d never seen so much money in one place in his life, and there seemed no end to it. He finally grabbed a few handfuls in self-defense, and then decided that this was just too damned weird, and quite likely to get him arrested as well. He stuffed the notes in his pocket without even looking at them and hurried off down the street, not looking back once. Behind him, banknotes slowly gathered in a pile on the pavement as the cash machine sang mournfully to itself.
Toby decided very firmly that he needed a drink. In fact, he quite probably needed several drinks, one after the other, and perhaps a swift slap to the side of the head while he was at it. He hadn’t been so confused since that gorgeous blonde in the wine bar turned out to have a flat male chest under the padded bra. He headed straight for the Dandy Lion, in many ways his second home. He waited agitatedly at the pedestrian crossing, and nearly lost it again when a shocking-pink Rolls-Royce cruised past, and a strangely familiar aristocratic female face looked out of the window and smiled sweetly at him. Toby averted his eyes. Maybe if he just refused to accept all this weirdness, it would go away and bother someone else.
He dived across the road at the first chance he got and hurried into the pub. Once again, everything looked the same, but the place was full of people he didn’t recognize, many of whom stopped talking to stare at him as he paused in the doorway. Toby squared his shoulders and headed determinedly for the bar. This was getting ridiculous. People slowly started talking again as he ordered his usual pint of bitter from the familiar face behind the bar. For once, wonder of wonders, the jukebox was actually playing something worth listening to. But as Toby listened, he felt the strangeness creeping over him again. It was quite definitely a Beatles song, but not one he’d ever heard before. And Toby was a Beatles fanatic. He had everything they’d ever done, including quite a few of the bootlegs. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he realized that this was no early Hamburg tape; this was Lennon and McCartney at the height of their songwriting powers. Singing a song he’d never heard before . . .
His pint arrived. He paid for it automatically and took a good hard drink. And then he stopped, considered, and took another, slower drink. It was good.
Damn,
it was good, the best bitter beer he’d ever tasted. And most especially one hell of a lot better than the stuff he usually drank. Must be a new brand. He was about to ask the barmaid when someone called his name in a sharp, commanding voice.
Damn,
it was good, the best bitter beer he’d ever tasted. And most especially one hell of a lot better than the stuff he usually drank. Must be a new brand. He was about to ask the barmaid when someone called his name in a sharp, commanding voice.
He looked around and there was Carys Galloway, sitting tucked away in her usual corner, underneath the stairs leading up to the restaurant floor. Toby smiled, relief washing over him. It was good to see that some things hadn’t changed, on this most unusual of days. Carys spent more time in the Dandy Lion than he did. She was the foremost gossip of the whole town, a title not easily gained, and if anyone knew why today was acting as if it had got its medication mixed up, it would be Carys Galloway. She knew everything. Or at least, the few things she didn’t know weren’t usually worth the knowing.
Toby hurried over to join her at her usual table, and for the first time ever it occurred to him to wonder about Carys. It seemed as though she had always been around, sitting in her gloomy corner, always ready to lend an ear, to sort out a problem, or just to swap gossip about everyone and everything. There was no malice in Carys. She just liked to know things, and she liked to share what she knew with people she felt she could trust. Always cheerful, always smiling . . . That was it. Toby’s pace slowed as he realized what it was that looked different about Carys this morning. For the first time in all the years Toby had known her, Carys wasn’t smiling. In fact, Toby thought, as he sat gingerly down opposite her, Carys looked very different today.
It was the same familiar face, with its sharp chin and prominent cheekbones, and more than a hint of ethnic gypsy. Dark russet hair fell in thick ringlets to her shoulders and beyond, and her eyes were so dark and huge you felt you could fall into them and drown forever. Her long bony hands, the fingers heavily knuckled, were weighed down with rings of gold and silver set with unfamiliar gems. She had an unconventionally pretty face, that of a woman who could have been anything from her twenties to her forties. She always wore traditional Romany clothes,
gypsy chic,
complete with necklaces and bangles. Quite a romantic figure, usually.
gypsy chic,
complete with necklaces and bangles. Quite a romantic figure, usually.
But today she looked . . . harsher. Brighter. More
intense
. Almost overpoweringly
there,
as though she were the only thing, the only person that mattered in the whole place.
intense
. Almost overpoweringly
there,
as though she were the only thing, the only person that mattered in the whole place.
Toby tried to say something, but his mouth was suddenly dry. Up close, Carys actually looked forbidding; like one of the Fates, the Norns of Scandinavian lore, the wise women who measure out the threads of our lives and cut them off when they reach their end. But as Toby settled himself opposite her, he realized suddenly that the restlessness, the pressure, the need that had driven him from his bed and from his house, was gone. Finally he felt that he was where he was supposed to be. Toby put his pint glass down on the table top with unnecessary force and looked hard at Carys Galloway.
Even though he was quaking inside, because some part of him didn’t want to hear what he knew she was going to tell him.
“All right, Carys; what’s gone on? Why is everything in the town so . . . different? The whole place is like Bradford-on-Crack. And why is everybody looking at me? Am I paranoid, or did the whole damned world change overnight while I was asleep?”
“No,” said Carys, her voice only a little amused. “You aren’t being paranoid.”
“Oh, shit,” said Toby, slumping in his seat. “I could have coped with being paranoid. OK; hit me with it, whatever it is.”
“You have become part of the magical world,” said Carys, her dark eyes holding his. “You have left Veritie and now you are in Mysterie, a place of marvels and wonders, banes and malignancies. You are living in a much larger world now, Toby Dexter, by your own choice, and you must widen your mind to accept it.”
“Is everyone here magical?” said Toby. “Are you?”
“I’m more than magical. I’m older than the town. They call me the Waking Beauty, because I never sleep. Ever.”
“Ah. So . . . am I magical now?”
Carys looked at him hard. “No.”
Toby nodded glumly. “I thought not.”
“But you’re not entirely real anymore, either.” Carys frowned. “You have a foot in both worlds. You could stay human, by returning to Veritie, or you could stay here and become magical. You must make your own choice. But beware; whatever choice you eventually make will have consequences: for you, for everyone. For all the worlds that be. You have become important, you poor bastard! You met someone yesterday, someone of great significance. Because of her, you are now aware of the magical world, and it is becoming aware of you.”
“It was her,” said Toby. “Gayle. I should never have followed her through that door.”
“But you did, and that changed everything. You must pursue Gayle, for your destiny and hers are now irrevocably linked. She won’t like that any more than you, but destiny’s often funny that way. Gayle lives close by. I will give you directions. What happens next is up to you.”
“I don’t believe in destiny,” Toby said flatly.
“Tough. It believes in you.”
“OK,” said Toby. “I’ll go and talk to her. What’s her other name?”
“She is only what she is, whatever name she might be using. Hers is a most singular nature.”
“Ah. Am I supposed to understand any of that?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, what makes her so important?” said Toby, almost desperately. “And what on earth makes you think I might be important? I’ve never mattered much to anyone, not even myself.”
“Self-pity suits you,” said Carys. “But you’ll have to put it aside. It’s too small an emotion for what you are now.”
“What am I?”
Carys leaned forward, fixing Toby with her dark, bottomless gaze. “You are a focal point, Toby Dexter. The patterns of fate surround you. Your role in things has been decided where everything that matters is decided, in the Courts of the Immaterial. And neither you nor anyone else has any say in the matter. The decisions you make in the next few days will be vital, for all of us . . . though I cannot see what or when or why. Which is in itself almost unprecedented. Whatever’s coming must be momentous indeed, if it is hidden even from me.”
“Is this . . . going to be dangerous? For me?”
“Very.”
“And there’s no way out of it?”
Carys leaned back in her chair, her face suddenly guarded. Her bangles made soft, eerie clanking sounds as she crossed her arms. “You could try to walk away from your fate; insist on your humanity, at the cost of everything else. Few things are set in stone. But to walk away from the role chosen for you would mean walking away from Gayle. You could never see her, never speak to her again. Only you can decide how much that matters.”
Toby nodded slowly. “Give me the directions. I’ll go and talk to her. And then I’ll decide . . . what I’ll decide.”
Carys smiled. Gayle turned out to be living almost literally just around the corner from the Dandy Lion. Somehow Toby wasn’t entirely surprised. He got to his feet, looked briefly at his pint glass, and then left it standing on the table. At the thought of meeting Gayle again, his stomach was suddenly full of butterflies. Dancing. With clogs on.
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