Nightside 10 - The Good the Bad and the Uncanny

who would like nothing better than to see me dead, and the Treaty destroyed, for a whole variety of reasons. These unprincipled villains include certain elves on both sides who want war for personal and political reasons, who can’t or won’t forgive past slights... and then there are all those people who hate elves and would delight in the spectacle of our slaughtering each other. This very definitely includes the Nightside’s current Overseer, Walker; who has set his people to harrying and threatening my progress. Apparently he has decided it is in Humanity’s best interests that the elves remain divided and, preferably, destroy each other. A very ... practical man, your Walker.”
    The elf stopped talking and looked at me. I considered the matter, taking my time. My first impulse was to get up and leave. Well, actually, get up and sprint for the exit. Getting involved with elves is never a good idea, and getting caught between two warring factions struck me as only marginally less dangerous than playing Russian roulette with a fully loaded gun. There’s just no way you can win. And on top of all that ...
    Never trust an elf.
    I’d heard rumours about Queen Mab’s return, and everything Screech had said had a dreadful plausibility to it, but he had to be lying about something, even if only by omission. Because that’s what elves do.
    “Why should I help you?” I said bluntly. “You and your kind have always been the enemies of Humanity. Maybe Walker’s right. Maybe elf killing elf is in our best interests.”
    “What makes you think our war would take place in the Sundered Lands?” said Screech, smiling pleasantly. “No; we’d fight our battles in your world, where the extensive collateral damage wouldn’t bother us in the least.”
    “Good point,” I conceded. “All right; suppose I do take this on. How do you propose to pay me?”
    “Not with any of the usual means of payment,” said Screech. “You wouldn’t trust any of them, and quite rightly.
    “I propose to pay you... with information. I know something you don’t know. Something that you definitely need to know. Because it involves a real and present danger to the whole of the Nightside and because it involves you personally. Something very old and very powerful and quite appallingly terrible has come to the Nightside. You’ll know the name when I say it; though it isn’t what you think it is. Get me safely across the Nightside to the Osterman Gate, and I’ll give you its name. Believe me, John Taylor; you need to find this thing before anyone else does.”
    I looked at him thoughtfully, saying nothing. Never trust an elf...
    “If you wanted to pass unnoticed through the Nightside,” I said, finally, “why come as an elf and draw attention to yourself ? Why not hide your true nature behind a glamour and pass yourself off as just another tourist?”
    “Appear as a human?” said Lord Screech, looking down his nose at me. “I wouldn’t lower myself. I have standards. Do we have a deal, Mr. Taylor?”
    “You’re almost certainly not who you say you are,” I said. “You’re probably not even what you claim to be. And you’re proposing to pay for my services with a secret that may or may not turn out to be of any practical use. Have I left out anything important?”
    “Only that any number of truly unpleasant individuals will quite definitely try to kill the both of us all the way to the Osterman Gate,” the elf said cheerfully. “But then, that situation’s normal for you, isn’t it?”
    “What the hell,” I said. “I’ve got nothing else interesting on at the moment. But if your precious secret turns out to be a crock of shit, I will quite definitely rip both your pointy ears off and use them as can openers.”
    “Oh, it’s a wonderful secret,” said the elf, smiling. “Vitally important and damnably significant. You’re really going to hate it.”
    I got up from the table, and Screech rose to his feet in one long, graceful movement. He was still smiling, which is always a disturbing thing in an elf.
    One of the Hydes from the pit came storming towards us, sweeping tables and chairs and their occupants out of his way with great blows from his muscular, blood-soaked arms. He’d taken a hell of a beating from the other Hyde, but already the old drug was closing his wounds for him. His fierce gaze was fixed on the elf. Carnaby Jones was right behind him, urging him on. And a dozen or so inhabitants of the