Drinking Midnight Wine (28 page)

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Authors: Simon R. Green

BOOK: Drinking Midnight Wine
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He headed for an open doorway on the other side of the room without looking back, and Gayle and Toby trailed after him. Gayle was scowling dangerously. Toby leaned close to her.
“If he lays it on any thicker, we’ll end up drowning in it. Can we trust these people?”
“They really can do a lot of what he says they can,” Gayle said quietly. “Whether we get anything useful out of it is open to question. I need you to be brave, Toby.”
Toby was about to ask why, when they passed through the doorway and into the adjoining chamber and he was immediately struck dumb. This new cavern was even bigger, some fifty or sixty feet wide, much of the floor taken up with basic cots, placed side by side in long rows. And on those cots lay still bodies, corpses; men and women with staring eyes and their death wounds still bloody on them. Toby’s gorge rose in his throat as he moved slowly forward, looking quickly from one corpse to another.
We die,
Jensen had said, but that hadn’t prepared Toby for the awful reality. These people had died in a variety of ways, none of them easy or natural. There were bullet holes and stab wounds, blood still pooling and drying around some of the cots. Some had cut wrists or throats. Several had cords pulled tight around their necks. One had a plastic bag over his head. Toby’s head swam sickly, and he felt suddenly faint. Gayle was at his side in a moment, holding him up with firm hands.
“Be brave, Toby. I need you to be strong for me.”
Toby made himself breathe deeply, and his head slowly cleared. He glared furiously at Jensen. “This is sick! What the hell is going on here?”
“I told you,” Jensen said calmly. “People die here and go forth to explore the worlds to come. Only we can’t just stand around waiting for people to die, so we kill them. No faked, technical near-death here; our volunteers go much further than that. They have to, to get the results we need. It can get a bit messy sometimes, I admit, but our resident necromancer is quite capable of repairing all tissue damage. And you have to understand, Toby; nothing happens here that our volunteers don’t agree to in advance. You see, when you die, over and over, when you get used to dying, you get bored with doing it the same old way. The thrill goes out of it. So our people are constantly experimenting with new and more unusual, more violent ways of dying. Some of them have become quite inventive.”
“I told you,” said Gayle. “Bungee jumpers, all looking for the next big kick.”
“You’re crazy,” said Toby, looking with loathing at Jensen. “You’re all bloody crazy.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” said a thick, slurred voice from the far side of the chamber. “Stupid bloody sensation-seekers. I’d have the lot of them committed, put on industrial-strength Prozac and locked up in rubber rooms; but no one ever listens to me.”
They all got something of a shock as a figure that had been lying on a cot at the back sat up slowly, took a long drink from the bottle in its hand, and then lurched to its feet. Toby distinctly heard Jensen sigh heavily as the new figure shuffled across the chamber to join them. As he drew nearer, he turned out to be fat, middle-aged, and shifty-looking, with a great bushy beard and a shiny bald head. He wore an old sweater with fresh food stains on it, over battered khaki shorts that had seen better days. There was a cigar sticking out of one corner of the beard that waggled when he talked or when he took a swig from the dark bottle of rum that never left his hand. He staggered to a halt far too close to the others, sneered at Jensen, leered at Gayle, and sniffed suspiciously at Toby.
“I hate visitors. Who the hell are you, boy?”
“I’m Toby Dexter. Who the hell are you?”
“I’m Trash. Child prodigy, eccentric dancer, and necromancer-in-waiting to the Court of St. James, the bastards. I do all the real work around here. I count them all out, and I count them all back. I hold their hands, mop their fevered brows and help them into nice new jackets that tie up at the back. It’s my magic that makes this appalling proposition possible. Not that you’d know it from the way I get treated around here. It’s a disgrace. I should have been a girl, like Mother wanted.”
Toby looked at Jensen. “You have a sorcerer named
Trash
?”
“Hey!” Trash said indignantly. “I am a necromancer! If you’re going to insult me, at least have the common decency to be accurate. And I like the name. Chose it myself. It’s got style, charisma, it’s . . . me. And for some reason, people never seem to have any trouble remembering it.” He took a good swig from his bottle, blew nasty-smelling cigar smoke into Jensen’s face, and farted loudly. Trash giggled. “Quick, get a match! We’ll catch the next one!”
“You’re drunk!” said Toby.
“Too bloody right I am,” snarled Trash, lurching even closer so that he could glare at Toby more efficiently. “You don’t think I could deal with all this shit sober, do you? Place is full of dead people! And crazy dead people, at that. Depressing situation for a man of my refined sensibilities. And it stinks like an abattoir.”
Toby had been trying very hard not to notice the smell. “Do I take it you’ve never done this yourself?”
“Do I look crazy? Anyone tries to kill me, I’ll send him home crying with his balls in his hands. I am strictly managerial. I’m only here because someone has to look out for these poor bloody psychos.”
“And because we pay you an entirely extortionate amount as a weekly retainer,” said Jensen calmly.
“That does help,” Trash admitted. “Never be a necromancer, Toby Dexter. The hours stink, the conditions are appalling, and you have to deal with complete loony tunes. I was much happier as an undertaker. Till I got found out.” He took another drink and looked expectantly at Gayle. “What are you doing down here, Lady? Come to shut them down at last?”
Gayle had been looking sadly at the dead men and women on their cots. Some of them were quite young. But when she answered Trash, her voice was calm and businesslike. “Everyone has the right to go to Hell in their own way. I don’t interfere. No matter how much I may . . . disagree.” She looked at Jensen. “Do your lives mean so little to you, that you’d risk them so lightly? Are your lives so empty that only death can fascinate you? This is the antithesis of everything I believe in and stand for.”
“Life is not enough,” said Jensen, almost condescendingly. “We don’t accept any limitations to our search for knowledge. Life is only the beginning; death is forever. We want to know where we’re going, if only so we can prepare properly to get the most out of it. Science has always been about pushing back the boundaries. Here, we are taking the first faltering steps into a much larger world. Our volunteers may be doing it mostly for the thrills, but the driving force in the death-walkers has always been a love of knowledge, first and foremost.”
“I don’t like being here,” said Gayle, cutting Jensen off abruptly. “And I don’t like having to ask for favors, but it seems I have no choice.”
“Ask us anything, dear Lady,” Jensen said amiably. “Only too happy to help, to prove our worth.”
“What the hell are we doing here, Gayle?” said Toby. “This place is seriously freaking me out.”
“We’re here to find out what you want to know,” Gayle said sharply. “Namely, what precisely it is that makes you so important. Now be quiet and let me handle things. And don’t question me. I know what I’m doing.” She took a deep breath and turned back to Jensen, who was still smiling his condescending smile. He could tell Gayle was uncomfortable and was being especially friendly and helpful just to rub it in. She wasn’t fooled. “I need to talk to the recently dead, Jensen. To be specific, I have questions for those members of the underground railway who were murdered at the station last night, Nicholas Hob’s victims. I need information from them.”
Jensen shrugged. “Shouldn’t be too difficult. Their spirits won’t have gone far yet.”
He looked at Trash, who belched loudly. “No problem. I’ve got a girl ready to go out. She’s talked to the dead before. Doesn’t freak her. Though I’d be hard-pressed to think of anything that would. She’s a hard case, even for this place. You can piggyback her, she won’t mind. She’s died lots of times. Can’t keep her away. Knows her way round the afterworlds, and never has any trouble finding her way home. We’ll send you off together, and she’ll hold the spirits in place so you can ask your questions.”
“You know I can’t go,” Gayle said flatly. “My nature makes it impossible. It has to be Toby.”
“What?”
Toby spun round to glare at Gayle, who looked steadily back at him. Toby was so angry he could hardly get the words out. “
Me
go? Are you out of your mind? Let one of these crazy bastards kill me, in the hope they’ll be able to bring me back? There is no way in hell I am doing this! Shit! You had this in mind all along, didn’t you?”
“I told you,” said Gayle. “I need you to be brave, Toby.”
“It’s not that dangerous,” said Jensen. “Not these days. All right, we lose a few, now and then, well, more than a few, actually. I think they just don’t want to come back, which is understandable really.”
“Keep that psycho away from me!” Toby glared around him, his hands balled into fists. “I am leaving, right now. Just point me down the right tunnel, and I am out of here.”
“Toby,” said Gayle, and something in her voice chilled him. “Toby, you can’t leave.”
“Want to bet? Just watch how fast I can move when I’m properly motivated.”
“I need you to do this for me. For both of us. You said you’d do anything for me.”
“This isn’t what I had in mind, and you know it! You’re taking advantage of my feelings for you.”
“You said you’d do anything. You said you’d die for me. I need this, Toby. You’re the one who said he loved me.”
“I can’t believe you’re asking me to do this,” said Toby. “This is emotional blackmail.”
“I can’t force you to do anything, Toby. It’s up to you, and how much I mean to you.”
“Come and see our volunteer,” suggested Jensen. “When you see how easy she is about it, I’m sure you’ll feel a lot better.”
“Don’t put money on it,” muttered Toby, but he allowed Jensen to lead them all to the back of the great chamber, where a tall, busty young woman was lying on her back on a cot, listlessly smoking a cigarette. She sat up as they approached and smiled sardonically at them. Her skin was so pale it was almost luminous, especially when set against the basic black she was wearing. She also had long black hair and wore heavy black eye makeup. The only touch of color was in her blue lips. She had a dozen piercings on her face and ears. She was every Goth girl Toby had ever seen, cranked up to the max. She didn’t look healthy. Her bone structure was far too prominent in her face; there were deep hollows under her eyes that the makeup couldn’t conceal, and there was a disturbing languor to her movements. As far as Toby was concerned, she looked half dead already. She offered him a limp, cold hand, and he shook it gingerly in case it might come off in his grasp.
“This is Betty Bones,” said Jensen, smiling approvingly at her. “One of our most enthusiastic death-walkers. She holds the current record for the most deaths and successful returns.”
“Yeah,” muttered Toby. “She looks it.”
“Oh, we’re all very proud of dear Betty. Game for anything, aren’t you, dear?”
“Damn right,” said Betty, in a breathy whisper. “Nothing is too extreme, that’s my motto. I did heroin chic for a while, but this is much sexier. Dying’s better than any orgasm.”
“Sometimes,” said Trash, to no one in particular, “I think I’m the only normal person down here. Which, given my background, is a truly disturbing thought. Lie down, Betty, and I’ll send you on your way in a minute. If you meet Elvis again, ask him where he’s really buried. Toby, you can have the cot next to hers. One size fits all.”
Betty lay back on her cot immediately, smiling as though waiting for a lover. Toby sat reluctantly on the empty cot next to hers and glared at Gayle as she stared impassively down at him.
“I can’t believe you’re asking me to do this.”
“You only think you know me, Toby. I’ve done harsher things than this, in my time, when I’ve had to. And this means a lot to me. You will do it for me, won’t you?”
Toby’s anger ran slowly out of him and was replaced by a tired, bitter acceptance. “Of course I’ll do it. You knew I would before I came here. Women like you have always been able to get what they want from men like me.”
“You attached yourself to me,” Gayle said steadily. “I told you not to. There are good reasons why mortal must not love immortal. But . . . I will be here, all the time you’re gone, and I’ll be waiting for you when you come back.”
“Well, that’s a comfort, I suppose.” Toby took a deep breath, that didn’t calm him nearly as much as he’d hoped it would, and lay back on his cot. The stretched canvas barely gave under his weight, and there was no pillow. He was careful not to look at the cot immediately to his left, already occupied by an especially bloody corpse. Toby’s heart was all but leaping out of his chest and despite his hurried breathing, he couldn’t seem to get enough air. He wanted just to get up and run, but he didn’t, couldn’t. Even if Gayle didn’t love him, to be needed was something. She sat on the edge of the cot beside him and held his right hand in both of hers.

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