time or another.”
“I’ve never seen anything like this…”
“Don’t let it get to you. For all the Club’s opulence, you couldn’t spit in the dining-room without being sure of hitting at least one complete scumbag.”
She giggled suddenly and put one hand to her mouth. The footman came to a halt before me and bowed politely. Since I was in the Club, I obviously belonged there. His was not to question why, no matter how much he might want to. He’d bowed to worse, in his time. He managed to imply all this without actually saying a word. It was a remarkable performance. I felt like applauding.
“Walker,” I said.
“In the main dining-room, sir. Dining, with guests. Should I announce you, sir?”
“And spoil the surprise?” I said. “Heaven forfend. You run along. We can look after ourselves.”
The footman backed away at speed, not even waiting for a tip. Which was just as well, really. I headed casually for the main dining area, with Bettie tagging along at my side like an over-excited puppy. No-one challenged us. It’s all about attitude. You can get away with murder if you look like you belong.
I pushed open the dining-room door, stepped inside, then stopped right there, pushing Bettie slightly to one side so that we were concealed from the crowded room by a fortuitously placed potted aspidistra. I hushed her before she could say anything and peered between the leaves. All the tables were full, mostly occupied by large sturdy types in formal suits, eating basic stodgy food because it reminded them of the good old days of school dinners. None of them looked at each other. They were there for peace and quiet, not to socialise.
Walker had to be the exception, of course. He was currently holding court with some of the more august personages jockeying for position to take the place of the recently deceased Authorities. They sat stiffly in stiff-backed chairs, nursing expensive liqueurs and oversized cigars and talking loudly to show they didn’t give a damn who overheard them. They smiled and nodded and were polite enough, and you’d never know they were deadly rivals who’d happily slaughter each other at the first sign of weakness. This was politics, after all, and there were rules of etiquette to follow. Yesterday’s enemy might be tomorrow’s friend, or at least ally.
“Hush,” I said quietly to Bettie. “Watch and listen. You might learn something interesting. You know who those people are, with Walker?”
“Of course,” she said, putting her mouth so close to my ear I could feel her breath on the side of my face. “Walker’s the smart city gent. The older gentleman to his left in the military uniform is General Condor. The revolting specimen to Walker’s right is Uptown Taffy Lewis. And the woman sitting opposite Walker is Queen Helena, ex-Monarch of the Ice Kingdoms.”
“Very good,” I said. “Now let’s see if you read anything more than the gossip columns. What can you tell me about Walker’s guests?”
Bettie smiled, glad of a chance to show off her reporter’s expertise. “General Condor comes from a future time-line. Arrived here through a Timeslip and got stranded in the Nightside when it closed. Word is he used to be in charge of some kind of Space Fleet, star-ships and the like, keeping the peace in some future Empire or Federation. He was leading the troops into battle against some kind of Rebellion, when his flagship came under fire and was blown apart. He only escaped at the last moment in a life-boat.” She laughed briefly. “He doesn’t approve of us. A very upright and moral man, is our General. Since he arrived here he’d made it his business to first support, and then lead, all the right causes. He wants to reform us and save our souls, the poor fool. The Unnatural Inquirer’s been trying to dig up some dirt on him for ages, but unfortunately it seems he really is as worthy and boring as he claims.”
I nodded, looking the General over. Condor was a
“I’ve never seen anything like this…”
“Don’t let it get to you. For all the Club’s opulence, you couldn’t spit in the dining-room without being sure of hitting at least one complete scumbag.”
She giggled suddenly and put one hand to her mouth. The footman came to a halt before me and bowed politely. Since I was in the Club, I obviously belonged there. His was not to question why, no matter how much he might want to. He’d bowed to worse, in his time. He managed to imply all this without actually saying a word. It was a remarkable performance. I felt like applauding.
“Walker,” I said.
“In the main dining-room, sir. Dining, with guests. Should I announce you, sir?”
“And spoil the surprise?” I said. “Heaven forfend. You run along. We can look after ourselves.”
The footman backed away at speed, not even waiting for a tip. Which was just as well, really. I headed casually for the main dining area, with Bettie tagging along at my side like an over-excited puppy. No-one challenged us. It’s all about attitude. You can get away with murder if you look like you belong.
I pushed open the dining-room door, stepped inside, then stopped right there, pushing Bettie slightly to one side so that we were concealed from the crowded room by a fortuitously placed potted aspidistra. I hushed her before she could say anything and peered between the leaves. All the tables were full, mostly occupied by large sturdy types in formal suits, eating basic stodgy food because it reminded them of the good old days of school dinners. None of them looked at each other. They were there for peace and quiet, not to socialise.
Walker had to be the exception, of course. He was currently holding court with some of the more august personages jockeying for position to take the place of the recently deceased Authorities. They sat stiffly in stiff-backed chairs, nursing expensive liqueurs and oversized cigars and talking loudly to show they didn’t give a damn who overheard them. They smiled and nodded and were polite enough, and you’d never know they were deadly rivals who’d happily slaughter each other at the first sign of weakness. This was politics, after all, and there were rules of etiquette to follow. Yesterday’s enemy might be tomorrow’s friend, or at least ally.
“Hush,” I said quietly to Bettie. “Watch and listen. You might learn something interesting. You know who those people are, with Walker?”
“Of course,” she said, putting her mouth so close to my ear I could feel her breath on the side of my face. “Walker’s the smart city gent. The older gentleman to his left in the military uniform is General Condor. The revolting specimen to Walker’s right is Uptown Taffy Lewis. And the woman sitting opposite Walker is Queen Helena, ex-Monarch of the Ice Kingdoms.”
“Very good,” I said. “Now let’s see if you read anything more than the gossip columns. What can you tell me about Walker’s guests?”
Bettie smiled, glad of a chance to show off her reporter’s expertise. “General Condor comes from a future time-line. Arrived here through a Timeslip and got stranded in the Nightside when it closed. Word is he used to be in charge of some kind of Space Fleet, star-ships and the like, keeping the peace in some future Empire or Federation. He was leading the troops into battle against some kind of Rebellion, when his flagship came under fire and was blown apart. He only escaped at the last moment in a life-boat.” She laughed briefly. “He doesn’t approve of us. A very upright and moral man, is our General. Since he arrived here he’d made it his business to first support, and then lead, all the right causes. He wants to reform us and save our souls, the poor fool. The Unnatural Inquirer’s been trying to dig up some dirt on him for ages, but unfortunately it seems he really is as worthy and boring as he claims.”
I nodded, looking the General over. Condor was a
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