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The train finally reached the end of the line, and slowed to a halt at Slaughter Towen. The carriage doors slid open, and Larry and I didn't move from our seats. The train huffed and puffed for a bit, waiting for us to make up our minds, and finally I stood up and addressed the blank steel wall that separated us from the driver's cab. There was no driver, of course. No human driver could stand the strain. In the Nightside, the trains run themselves, and very efficiently, too. The trains are perfectly safe. As long as you're careful to avoid the mating season.
"Hello, train," I said cheerfully. "This is John Taylor. And I want to go to the next station. The station no-one goes to any more. I want to go to Lud's Gate."
The train powered down. The carriage stopped vibrating, the lights dimmed, and the engine was ominously silent. The train was sulking.
"Take us to Lud's Gate," I said, "or I will find out when your holidays are and have them all cancelled."
There was a long pause, then the train powered up again. The lights blazed, the carriage doors slammed shut, and the engine made a series of rude noises before engaging. The train set off, and I smiled a bit as I sat down again. Larry looked at me.
"You fight really dirty, don't you?"
"You just have to know how to talk to them," I said solemnly.
The train ran smoothly through the dark, not turning at all; heading in a remorseless straight line for Lud's Gate. Once, something outside in the dark ran its fingernails along the side of our carriage, a soft scraping sound that made all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Larry stared straight ahead, as though he hadn't heard anything; and perhaps he hadn't. There are some things only the living can hear because warnings are wasted on the dead. We travelled on for ages, the air growing steadily colder. Frost appeared on the inside of the carriage, forming harsh abstract faces on the i
The train suddenly screeched to a halt, rocking Larry and me back and forth in our seats. The carriage doors jerked open, a few inches at a time, splinters of ice falling from the frozen metal frame. I got to my feet and moved over to the doors, standing well back as I looked out. Larry got up and stood behind me. Outside, on the platform, the lights were a corrupt yellow glow, more organic than electric, like something from the sick-room. Dust and cobwebs everywhere, and deep dark shadows. Hot sweaty air gusted in through the open carriage doors, heavy with the stench of dying things. The frost on the doors melted and ran away. Larry moved forward to leave the carriage, but I stopped him with a raised hand. There was no-one out there on the platform, no obvious threat, but still I felt uneasy. Someone was watching.
Larry stirred impatiently, and I made myself step out of the carriage and onto the platform. Sweltering hot air hit me like a slap in the face. Larry was at my side, glaring about him. The frost on his dead face quickly melted, ru
Thick mats of vine and ivy covered the station walls, stirring slowly when I looked at them, agitating in long green tremors beside me as I walked slowly down the platform. Fierce bright eyes peered out of the heavy greenery. Black flowers thrust up through the platform floor, turning slowly to watch as Larry and I passed them by. One of them hissed at Larry, and he deliberately stepped on it, crushing it under his heel.
"Plants should know their place," he said loudly.
His voice didn't echo at all in the quiet. The silence was so deep and long-established it seemed to swallow up all new noises, including our footsteps. It was like walking through a painting of a place rather than the place itself. Larry stopped abruptly and glared about him.
"Is this supposed to scare me?" he said loudly. "I'm dead! My house is spookier than this!"
"Way too much information," I murmured. "And so much for the element of surprise."
"Leave it out," said Larry. "This place is deader than I am. Whatever happened here, it's over. We missed it. This… is just the mess it left behind. I want the Collector. Where is he?"
"He must know we're here by now," I said. "But it's a big station. The entrance to his lair could be concealed anywhere. And I really don't feel like wandering around… Lud's Gate had a really bad reputation back in the day, before the old Authorities sent a squad in to shut it down."
"Hadleigh led that squad," said Larry. "Back when he was the Man… Didn't you know?"
"No," I said. "But the Nightside does so love its little coincidences."
"Couldn't you…?"
"No, I couldn't," I said quickly. "The Collector knows me of old. The number of times I've casually wandered into his secret hideouts and made a complete nuisance of myself, he's bound to have set up booby-traps, keyed to my gift."
"That's right," said Larry. "You and he go way back. What's he like?"
"Crazy, spiteful, and vindictive, and dangerous with it," I said. "He's lots of other things, too, as the mood takes him, but those are the ones to bear in mind."
"I meant," said Larry, "what's he like as a person?"
I thought about it. "I'm not sure how much of a person is left any more. He didn't always use to be like this. He had a name once, a position, friends, and a life. But one by one he gave them all up to pursue his obsessions. And now he's just the Collector."
"So how do we find him?"
"We won't have to," I said. "He'll find us."
We both looked round sharply as a spotlight stabbed down out of nowhere, a brilliant shimmering pillar of light filling one of the exit arches, clear and sharp against the rotten corrupt light of the platform. And in that spotlight, glaring at me: the Collector. A barely medium-height man, badly overweight, wrapped in a simple white Roman tunic. His face was red and sweaty, his piggy eyes were fixed solely on me, and his podgy hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.
"John Taylor," he said heavily. "Once again you come knock knock knocking at my door. How did I end up with you as my personal cross to bear? It's not as if I shot an albatross. And which part of secret lair do you find so hard to comprehend? If I wanted visitors, I'd advertise. And who the hell's that?"
"That's Larry Oblivion," I said. "You'll have to excuse his ma
The Collector looked Larry over and shrugged. "I've already got a zombie. And a lich. I used to have a mummy, but the damn thing fell apart when I tried to steam-clean its bandages. What do you want this time, Taylor? Whatever it is, you can't have it. I'm very busy right now."
"What's with the new outfit?" I said cu
"Oh, this old thing?" said the Collector. "It is rather fine, isn't it? This is the very tunic Pontius Pilate was wearing when he washed his hands. Would you believe I found it tossed away in a laundry basket? If people can't be trusted to look after things, they shouldn't be allowed to have them." He scowled suddenly as he realised he'd allowed himself to be distracted. "Why can't you just leave me alone, Taylor? What did I ever do to you?"
"You know what you did," I said, and he looked away, not meeting my gaze.
"That was a long time ago," he said. "How many times must a man pay for his sins? There ought to be a statute of limitations on guilt." He glared at me sullenly. "You can't keep on dropping in on me, whenever you feel like it! If I wanted company, I'd put a personal ad in the Inquirer! Oh hell, tell me what you want this time, and let's get on with it. I'd keep guard dogs, but they pee on the exhibits."