Drinking Midnight Wine (21 page)

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Authors: Simon R. Green

BOOK: Drinking Midnight Wine
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“Dammit, Jimmy! Give us some warning before you do that. You know teleporting screws up my inner ear.”
“Sorry,” said Jimmy, not all that convincingly. “But some days that mirror gets on my tits something fierce. I’d get rid of her, if only she wasn’t so damned efficient. She pretty much runs the business these days, and don’t think she doesn’t know it. I’ve never been very good at organizational skills. Gods aren’t, mostly.”
Toby took in his new surroundings. The three of them were now sitting in a completely different room. Small, filthy, and cluttered, it looked very much like a garage. Lit by old-fashioned hanging oil lanterns, there were work areas, spare parts, tool benches, and any amount of tools scattered around (on the walls, the floor, the benches, everywhere), and the center space was dominated by a huge, partially dismantled motorbike of some vintage. The whole place smelled of oil and petrol and less pleasant odors. Toby gave Jimmy a hard look.
“Excuse me? How the hell did we get here?”
The thunder godling shrugged easily. “This may not be Valhalla exactly, but it is my place; so space here does what I tell it to. If I say we’re in a different room, then we are. I often come here, when I need to be alone, to do some important thinking. I find working on mechanical problems very soothing. Whatever the problem is, there’s always a straightforward answer, if only you can find it. Probably God felt the same way when he was creating the universe.”
Toby had to raise an eyebrow at that. “You believe in God?”
“Of course,” said Jimmy. “I may be a godling, but I know my place in the scheme of things. Do you like the bike?”
Toby looked it over. Even partially dismantled it was still a huge beast of a machine, all gleaming black and silver. The exposed engine was a lot bigger than some car engines Toby had seen. He didn’t even want to think about how much the damned thing must weigh; certainly he couldn’t have shifted it on his own. Even standing still, the bike reeked of power and speed. Toby didn’t know much about motorbikes, except that they had a wheel at each end and lived for the chance to kill you in horrible and messily disfiguring accidents, but even he was impressed by this monster of a machine. He looked it over in what he hoped was an intelligent way and tried to think of something relevant to say.
“Get a lot of miles to the gallon, do you?”
Jimmy kindly ignored that and ran one hand lovingly over the shiny black frame. “This is a 1936 Brough Superior, the luxury edition. Goes like the wind . . . inhabited by the spirit of a Valkyrie. You should see the speeds she can touch at two hundred feet . . . I once buzzed Concorde out over the Atlantic, but they were too embarrassed to report it. Unfortunately, it’s getting hard to conjure up the parts these days.” He grinned suddenly at Gayle. “I suppose I should apologize about the mess, but hell, I’m a man who lives alone. It’s expected of me.”
“I knew there was a good reason why I always insisted on your place rather than mine,” said Gayle.
Jimmy looked at Toby. “Is this your latest, Gayle? He’s a bit smaller than you usually like them.”
“Hey!” said Toby, not at all sure how to take that. He considered saying
size isn’t everything,
but thought he’d better not.
“He’s a focal point,” said Gayle, not actually answering the question.
“Oh, bloody hell,” said Jimmy, slumping back in his deck chair and looking disgustedly at Toby. “We’ve only just got over the last one. Focal points are more trouble than an earthquake and a volcano put together, and twice as destructive. My life’s complicated enough as it is. . . . Couldn’t we just kill him quietly and hide the body?”
“Don’t think I haven’t considered it,” said Gayle. “Unfortunately, the Waking Beauty says we need him. He just might be Humanity’s Champion.”
“I wonder if it’s too late to go into hiding now and not come out till it’s all over?” Jimmy said plaintively. “I may be a godling, but there are limits to what I should have to put up with. I mean, Hob and Angel I could cope with, probably, but focal points are so . . . arbitrary. I think the Norns invented them just to mess with our heads.”
“I am getting really tired of this reaction,” said Toby, trying hard for dignity. “I didn’t choose to be a focal point. . . .”
“Yes, you did,” said Gayle. “You chose to follow me through the doorway. So this is all your fault.” She looked back at Jimmy. “You seeing anyone these days? I did hear you had some lovesick mortal trailing after you again. . . .”
Jimmy shrugged easily. “You know how it is with mortals; they’re so easily impressed. And they get so upset, just because you don’t call them for a few years. I’m currently in between, at the moment. Women have always tended to drift into my life; usually when it’s most inconvenient. Mortals are like candy: sweet, but of the moment.”
“What happened to the last one?” said Toby.
“Something ate her. It’s all right, though, I avenged her.”
“I’m sure that made all the difference,” said Toby.
“You want some mead?” Jimmy said suddenly, all smiles again. “The new batch is almost ready. I make it myself. Real kick-arse stuff. Cleans out your tubes like you wouldn’t believe.”
“No,”
said Gayle firmly. “Don’t you touch it, Toby. That stuff he makes isn’t alcohol, it’s sudden death in liquid form. Jimmy’s system only handles it because he’s immortal and he can outlive the side effects.”
Jimmy sniffed, pouted, and looked disparagingly at Toby again. “Are you sure he’s important? He doesn’t look like he’s got much in him. Whatever Hob and Angel are up to, I can handle it.”
“Like you handled the Reality Express situation last night?” Gayle said sweetly.
“Ah,” said Jimmy. “You heard about that.”
“Hob and Angel got away, a whole trainload of refugees got barbecued, and the railway station was trashed? Of course I heard! I should think the whole town’s heard by now! Now make nice with Toby. I have a feeling we’re all going to have to work together on this case.”
Jimmy shook his head unhappily. “A focal point . . . The town’s still recovering from the last one, and that was a century ago. Please let me kill him, Gayle. I’ll be ever so humane about it.”
“Hey!” said Toby.
“Toby is under my protection,” Gayle said firmly.
“All right, all right!” Jimmy sighed heavily. “You and your damn strays . . .”
“How come everyone keeps talking about me like I’m not here?” said Toby loudly.
“Wishful thinking,” said Jimmy. He’d gone back to pouting again.
“Play nice, boys,” said Gayle. “And try to concentrate on the matter at hand. If Carys is right, and I hate to admit it, but she usually is, the whole town’s in danger. Let’s start with you, Jimmy. Tell us exactly what happened with the Reality Express last night.”
Jimmy brightened up at that, and launched into his tale with some enthusiasm. It was reasonably accurate, once you discounted the rather obvious boasting and exaggerations. Jimmy wasn’t exactly lying or stretching the truth; he just naturally saw himself in larger-than-life terms, part of the territory when you’re a godling. Toby studied him thoughtfully as he talked, emphasizing things with wide sweeping gestures. It was hard to dislike Jimmy; he was so open about who and what he was, almost childlike, for all his years. In many ways the thunder god was the kind of action hero Toby had always secretly wanted to be: all muscle and bravado and straightforward decisiveness. If only he had a few brains to go with it . . . As the story unfolded, Toby began to frown. Even allowing for Jimmy’s self-centered rendition, Toby couldn’t help feeling that there was something missing from the story, that they were all missing something important. When Jimmy finally wound down, somewhat glossing over the unfortunate events at the end, Toby leaned forward in his chair.
“Why did the Waking Beauty want you to investigate the Reality Express yesterday evening? She must have known it was running before this, and if she’s as good as everyone seems to think she is, she should have known about Hob and Angel’s involvement long ago.”
“Maybe she just wanted confirmation,” said Gayle.
“Maybe.” Toby thought some more, frowning hard. “Now that Hob has murdered his passengers, the odds are the Reality Express won’t be running again for some time to come. Did Carys somehow know this would be your last chance to see it in action? Did she know that involving you would inevitably put an end to it?”
Gayle nodded slowly. “That sounds like Carys. She’d use anyone to further her schemes.”
“Even you and me?” said Toby.
“Good point,” said Gayle.
“All right, how about this?” said Toby. “Follow the logic through. Given that Hob is no longer able to gain power, or whatever else he needs, from Reality Express refugees, where is he going to get it from now? What or who will he turn to? Who’s most at risk?” Toby shook his head. “Sorry, Gayle, but I need you to explain the magic situation here more thoroughly if I’m going to make sense of this.”
“Very well,” said Gayle. “One more time, in words of one syllable or possibly less, especially for the hard of thinking. In Mysterie, everyone is defined by
what
they are. Their role dictates the shape their lives must follow. People can have great power and abilities, but severe restrictions are placed on how they can use them. Only in the real world, in Veritie, are people free to grow, evolve, and even transcend themselves. Veritie is thus the quieter, subtler world, with the greatest prospects for each individual. Refugees flee Mysterie for Veritie on the underground railway because only in the real world can they choose who and what they will be.
“Take Jimmy here, for example. He’s a thunder god because all his ancestors were. He’s managed to adapt his lifestyle a little, by becoming a God For Hire, but that’s only because there’s so much mortal, real, blood in his past. He still has to follow the role laid out for him at birth, to be a warrior.”
“To be fair,” said Jimmy.“I am rather good at it. Usually.”
“The Mice said a lot of people had been coming to Veritie on the Reality Express,” said Gayle, frowning now herself. “Why now? What did they know, or think they knew, that made it so important and so urgent for them to leave Mysterie?”
“Maybe something bad is coming to Mysterie,” said Toby. “Some new threat . . .”
“Maybe,” said Gayle. “Jimmy, you’re the god of stormy weather. Have you noticed the strange weather patterns recently?”
“Of course. Are you saying you don’t know what’s behind them?”
“I’ve been . . . out of touch for a while,” Gayle said defensively. “I’ve buried myself in reality for so long, even my instincts have gone to sleep. But I’m waking up fast.”
“You need to talk with Luna,” Jimmy said firmly. “She can always be relied on to have an overview of the situation. Of course, there’s no guarantee it’ll be a useful overview. . . .”
“Who’s Luna?” said Toby.
“My sister,” said Gayle, grimacing. “We don’t get on. Not least because she’s as crazy as a loon. Sweet, but crazy. But Jimmy’s right. Luna sees things other people don’t. Often strange and disturbing things. The trick is figuring out which if any of them mean anything.”
She got to her feet suddenly, and Toby scrambled to his as fast as he could. It’s not easy getting up out of a deck chair when you’re caught by surprise. Jimmy took his time getting up, just to remind them that this was his place, after all, and then fixed Gayle with a stern gaze.
“You’re getting very involved with this, Gayle. Does this mean you’re coming back? All the way back?”
“I haven’t decided,” said Gayle. “You of all people should understand how desperately I need to stay real; to be free of the demands that Mysterie would seek to put on me.”
“Sure.” Jimmy hesitated for a moment. “Luna sees things that other people miss. Do you think you could ask her if she knows of any Norse goddesses? Anywhere?”
“I’ll ask her,” Gayle said kindly. “But as far as I know, you’re the last of your kind.”
“Ah. I was afraid of that. Every godly line comes to an end, eventually. Only the mortals go on forever.” He looked at Toby. “Hey, you want to know what drives her absolutely wild in bed?”
“Well . . .”
“You keep your mouth shut, Jimmy Thunder,” said Gayle. “And don’t take on any new cases. I may have need of your services yet.”
“Wonderful,” said Jimmy. “Another damned freebie.”
 
Gayle and Toby walked through the Shambles, in the middle of town, a narrow lane between two rows of buildings whose construction went back to the seventeenth century and earlier, though the Shambles itself was a hell of a lot older. There were a lot of people about, doing their weekend shopping or just standing around chatting, enjoying the summer day. All of them stopped to bow their heads to Gayle as she passed. Some even knelt. Gayle smiled graciously, but kept going, making it clear she didn’t want to talk to anyone. No one bowed to Toby, though a few of the older inhabitants crossed themselves or made warding signs against evil.
“Do you know why this place is called the Shambles?” Gayle said conversationally.

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