Drinking Midnight Wine (19 page)

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Authors: Simon R. Green

BOOK: Drinking Midnight Wine
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“The only thing we miss is the sixties,” said Dreamy. “Even the real world seemed magical then. The sixties was the last time people dreamed they were awake.”
Toby looked at Gayle. “Am I supposed to understand that?”
“Not yet,” said Gayle. “You’ve got a lot of waking up to do yourself yet.” She turned back to the Mice. “Talk to me, honored friends, of Hob’s return and of his connection with Angel. I have been asleep myself, for a long time, and I have missed much.”
“Hob,” said Dreamy, in a faraway voice. “Was it he who brought the plague to Bradford-on-Avon, in 1752?”
“The Serpent’s Son has sunk himself in Blackacre,” said Tidy.
“Bad place,” said Bossy, his tail lashing restlessly. “Dead a long time, but now enlivened by the Hob’s presence.”
“He must be very lonely,” said Sweetie. “He is the only one of his kind. Even one such as Angel could never really hope to understand him.”
“He is evil,” Bossy said flatly. “He is death and destruction and the passing of all good things.”
“But what choice has he ever had?” said Sweetie. “He is what he was made to be. His father’s weapon and instrument in the worlds of men. Abandoned by his violated mother, forever dominated by his absent father. It’s easy to love the lovable. To love one’s enemy is harder.”
“Hob wouldn’t know love if you injected him with it,” said Tidy. “He is a predator, and everyone else is prey.”
“But now he has Angel,” Sweetie said stubbornly. “Another outcast, thrust into a world that can never understand her. Perhaps they will be good for each other.”
“You always were a helpless romantic, even when we were all still human,” said Bossy crushingly. “All those two have in common is that they’re both monsters.” He looked at Toby. “As Mice, we’re linked more closely than most to the natural world. We
feel
changes, in Veritie and in Mysterie. With Hob and Angel in residence, Blackacre has become a stain upon nature. An open sore, oozing corruption . . .”
“The point,” Tidy said heavily, “is that ever since Hob thrust Blackacre out of Veritie and into Mysterie, nothing natural can get anywhere near it, in either world. Birds and beasts and insects all avoid the area. To cross into that dark territory now is to imperil your soul. Hob has put his stamp on the burned land.”
“There are dead men in the dead woods,” said Dreamy. “Raised up by the Hob’s power. Death surrounds him, drawn to him. People died at his hand, at the railway station last night. I saw them die in my dreams, heard them cry for help that never came. So sad.”
Gayle frowned. “The Reality Express. I heard it running last night.”
“The thunder godling was there, too,” said Dreamy. “You should talk with him. It is his business to find the answers to questions.”
“Excuse me,” said Toby, just a little desperately. “But am I ever going to understand any of this?”
“If you keep your mouth shut and your ears open, possibly,” said Gayle. “They’re talking about Jimmy Thunder. He’s the town’s only private eye.”
“He saw the people murdered,” said Dreamy. “And afterwards, he fought with Angel.”
“And survived?” said Gayle, raising an eyebrow. “I’m impressed.”
“Does this have something to do with the destroyed railway station this morning?” said Toby, suddenly making a connection.
“You see?” said Gayle. “You can keep up, if you try.” She looked round at the Mice. “You understand the way the world turns. Better than I do, at the moment. What can you tell me about the changing weather patterns?”
All the Mice stirred unhappily, glancing at each other. “But you’re . . . ,” said Tidy finally.
“I’ve been real for a long time,” said Gayle. “By my own choice. Now I’m out of touch with my . . . full potential. Tell me what you know.”
“The Serpent is stirring. The Sun is waking up,” Dreamy said flatly. “Veritie and Mysterie are closer than they have been for many centuries. This can’t be a coincidence.”
“You should lose the human,” Bossy said brusquely. “Focal point or not. There are others who can lead and advise him. If you care for him at all, distance yourself from him. If you are to become your true self again, Lady Gayle, you cannot afford to be distracted by merely human concerns. Let him find his own path. You do him no kindness by taking him where you must go. The human mind is limited, and fragile. Mortal must not love immortal, but even more important—”
“No!” Dreamy said suddenly. Her voice rose, fey and powerful, her eyes blazing. “I have dreamed them together, in a time not far from now. In that time of great need, he will stand between all that lives and great danger. I saw him stand alone, wrapped in light, with the weight of worlds upon his shoulders.”
There was a long pause, as Dreamy slowly subsided, her gaze turned inward. Tidy looked apologetically at Toby.
“I wouldn’t take that too seriously, if I were you. Dreamy does see a lot of things in dreams, but her accuracy rate isn’t all that impressive.”
“Beast!”
Dreamy threw herself on Tidy and the two of them rolled back and forth on the straw, wrestling each other furiously. The other two Mice sighed wearily and moved in to separate them. Gayle gestured to Toby that it was time for them to leave.
 
They went to see Jimmy Thunder, the godling.
Once again Gayle led the way through Bradford-on-Avon, pointing out things of historical interest to an increasingly fascinated Toby. He was a Bradfordian born and bred, had lived most of his life in the small country town, and still Gayle knew all kinds of things that he’d never even suspected. And always there was something in the casual way she said things, in the little details she let drop, that made him more and more sure that these weren’t things she’d learned in books, in libraries. She was telling him things she knew because she’d seen them.
She knew, for example, that St. Margaret’s Street was named after an old leper hospice from medieval times, the hospice of the Blessed Saint Margaret. Gayle remembered the place vividly, and they were not happy memories.
“It was just a place where they put people to die. No doctors, no nurses, no help. The doors were kept locked, and the windows were nailed shut. Food and water were pushed in through a slot, when anyone remembered. Leprosy was considered God’s punishment. So there were no comforts, no treatment, no hope of recovery or escape. Just a prison for the dying, hidden away so people wouldn’t have to see them suffer. Sometimes a healthy wife or husband or child would volunteer to go into the hospice with a loved one, to look after them. Once in, they were never allowed to leave. Leprosy was thought to be God’s will, so compassion was in short supply. Some things never change.”
Toby looked around at the ordinary houses lining an ordinary street, and tried to see it as Gayle saw it, but wasn’t at all surprised when he couldn’t. His viewpoint, his understanding, was too small, too limited. Too human.
Mortal must not love immortal
. . . .
They came at last to Jimmy Thunder’s house. Toby was a little surprised when they stopped in front of what appeared to be just another in a long line of characterless semi-detacheds; traditional commuter houses thrown up in lots to meet the needs of newcomers, as Bradford-on-Avon slowly became a dormitory town for the surrounding county. Gayle watched, smiling, as Toby studied the supposed godling’s house with growing perplexity. The front lawn had been replaced by gravel, though here and there tufts of grass and weeds were sprouting defiantly through. A single plaster gnome with peeling paint was fishing despondently in a small, murky-looking pond. Toby looked challengingly at Gayle.
“You’re telling me a god lives here?”
“A very minor god, but yes. Descended from the Old Norse pantheon, though divorced from the original power by more generations than the human mind can comfortably cope with. He’s a good sort, in his own way. Don’t try to talk religion with him. He can become very short-tempered on the subject, and then you have to start ducking lightning bolts.”
“Am I allowed to mention that his place looks like a dump?” said Toby. “I mean, I’m a man living alone, I understand that a certain amount of appalling mess is expected of us, but this . . . Mess like this doesn’t just happen. It has to be cultivated.”
“You should mention it to him,” said Gayle. “But I think I’ll stand well back while you do it. Come on. Let’s see if he’s at home.”
She crunched across the gravel in a straight line, ignoring the path, and Toby followed reluctantly after her. He wasn’t sure he was ready to meet a godling. He certainly wasn’t going to kneel to anyone. Or put money in a collection plate. Gayle stopped before a perfectly ordinary-looking front door, and it took a moment for Toby to realize that the small businesslike brass plaque said GOD FOR HIRE. REALLY. There was, however, no bell or knocker. Gayle sniffed and glared at the closed door.
“All right; let’s have no nonsense. You know very well who I am. Open up right now, or I’ll have your poltergeist’s licence revoked.”
Don’t want to!
snapped a voice in Toby’s mind and he jumped despite himself. The voice was sharp and more than a little sulky, but in no way human. It was also utterly silent, outside his head, and presumably Gayle’s.
His Divinity was out all last night, and I don’t want him disturbed,
the voice continued.
He needs his rest. Gallivanting about at all hours, and never making the time for a decent meal. He’ll never make two hundred at this rate. I’ve just got him off to sleep, and I won’t have you bothering him. Come back later. Or not at all; see if I care.
“I really don’t have the patience for this,” said Gayle. “Open up right now, or I’ll do something really distressing to your hinges.”
Shan’t! Bully!
“You do know who I am, don’t you?” said Gayle dangerously.
Don’t care. Someone’s got to look out for Jimmy’s interests. People are always bothering him. And rarely for any good reason. Be as important and snotty as you want. I can keep you waiting here forever, if I choose to.
“Gayle, might I suggest you try the magic word?” Toby said quietly.
Gayle turned an icy glare on him. “What do you know about magic, or Words of Power?”
“Watch and learn,” said Toby. He took a step closer to the door and smiled winningly. “Please let us in. It really is very important, to Mr. Thunder as well as to us. He could be in danger.”
Well, why didn’t you just say so?
The door swung open before them.
So nice to hear a little common courtesy. Everyone thinks they can push me around, just because I’m a door.
“You see?” Toby said to Gayle, careful not to sound even a little smug. “All you need is the magic word.”
“Don’t look so self-satisfied, Toby. It doesn’t suit you. But you’re right, of course. This is why I prefer to stay real. It’s too easy here to forget the things which really matter when everyone else insists on worshiping you. Thank you, door.”
You’re welcome! I’ll tell him you’re here. But don’t blame me if he’s in a really crabby mood.
Gayle and Toby stepped through the doorway and once again Toby was lost for words. The hall stretched away in front of him for what seemed like miles. Floor, walls, and ceiling were all fashioned from varying kinds of wood, from the polished dark red of the floor to the great golden-brown walls covered in carved runes and sigils, to the high, raftered ceiling overhead. Toby felt as if he were standing in one of the old Viking long ships. He jumped as the door slammed shut behind him and looked at Gayle, who, as always, was taking it all in her stride.
“You want to explain this?” Toby said hopefully.
“This is a god’s place,” said Gayle, smiling. “A very minor god, as such things go, but still . . . This is his territory, and here time and space obey his will. Or to put it another way, space expands to fit his ego. It’s one of the perks of the job. Semi-sentient simulacra for servants is another.”
“What do you mean,
semi
-sentient?” said a long mirror on the wall beside them. “I’ll match my IQ against the population average any day of the week, and spot you ten points if they work in television. And ten shekels to an obol I can outthink any of those damned computers Veritie is so proud of. I’ve been serving thunder gods for over twelve centuries now, and I’ve never once cracked or forgotten a message. Now, who are you, what do you want, and, most important, do you have an appointment?”
The fact that the mirror talked didn’t upset Toby as much as the fact that it was using his reflection to do it. The effect was frankly unnerving.
“You know very well who we are and what we want,” said Gayle. “Don’t tell me you and the door have any secrets. But just for you, Toby; no, we don’t have an appointment, but
please
may we see Jimmy anyway? It is a matter of some urgency.”
“Not a chance in Niffleheim,” said the mirror flatly. “You might be able to bluff the poor door, but you won’t get past me that easily. If I let through everyone who thought their case was important, Jimmy would never get a moment’s peace. You’ll have to make an appointment to see him, just like everyone else. I have an afternoon free, about three months from now. How would that suit you?”

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