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"I made myself what I am," snapped the Collector. "I don't owe you anything!"
"You never did listen, Mark," murmured Walker, almost sadly. "This isn't about what you owe me."
"You always did have too high an opinion of yourself," said the Collector. "I made myself the greatest Collector in the Nightside, through my own hard work and determination. Despite everything you or anyone else could do to stop me!"
"I should have tried harder," said Walker. "But I always had so much else on my plate, and you were my friend, so… If I'd known you were going to end up like this, I would have done something. I can't help feeling this is all my fault."
"What are you talking about?" said the Collector.
"Oh, wake up, Mark!" snapped Walker. "Look around you! What kind of a life is this for anyone? No family, no children, no friends; just… things?"
"You have family, children, and friends," said the Collector. "Did they make you happy, Henry? Did they make you content? We were never going to be happy, or content, or satisfied. It wasn't in our nature."
"We have come a long way from the idealistic young men we once were," said Walker. "When did we lose our i
The Collector laughed harshly. "We didn't lose it, Henry; we threw it away first chance we got. Don't waste my time with nostalgia just because you're dying. Those days, and those people, are long gone."
"No," said Walker. "That was yesterday. And I would give everything I own to have it back."
"What do you want here?" said the Collector. "I'm busy."
"I came to say good-bye," said Walker.
He was standing right in front of his old friend, smiling kindly, holding the Collector's eyes with his, when the knife he'd concealed in his left hand slammed between the Collector's ribs. The cat robots started forward, and Walker's other hand opened to reveal his gold pocket-watch. It snapped open, and the Timeslip inside snatched up every one of the cat robots and whisked them away, all in a moment.
The Collector cried out once as the knife went in, sounding as much surprised as anything. He grabbed Walker with both arms, pulling him close. Walker let go of the knife, and held him, too. The Collector's legs buckled, blood pouring thickly down his side, staining the old Roman tunic. Walker lowered the Collector slowly to the ground. The Collector tried to say something, and blood ran from his mouth. Walker snapped his gold watch shut and tucked it back into his waistcoat pocket. He never once took his gaze off the Collector's dying face. He knelt down and helped the Collector to lie back on the floor, in a spreading pool of blood. The Roman tunic was soaked with gore now. The Collector clutched at Walker with weakening hands, looking confused.
"It's all right, Mark," said Walker, quietly, tenderly. "I'm here, Mark."
"Henry…?"
"It's all right. I'm here. I'll stay with you."
Walker looked at me. "You can go now. I don't need you any more. Leave me here with my friend."
Larry didn't want to go, but I hustled him out. In his current mood, Walker was capable of anything. I only looked back once, to see Walker kneeling beside his dying friend, holding one of the Collector's hands in both of his, saying good-bye. One dying man to another.
NINE
Old Truths Come Home to Roost In the Nightside, it always pays to expect the worst; but the old girl can still surprise you. Back on Lud's Gate platform, I reached out with my gift to find a train that could take us back to the city, and was pleasantly amazed to find one already waiting for us, right outside the station. It was the same train we'd arrived in, scared to stay but hanging around anyway, in case we might need it. I was genuinely touched and made a point of sending profuse mental apologies for my previous bad ma
The gleaming steel bullet slammed back into Lud's Gate Station, the carriage doors opened long enough for Larry and I to climb aboard. Then the doors slammed shut, and the train shot out of the station at full speed. Something dark and dripping raised itself from the receding platform, but I didn't look back. Larry and I sprawled tiredly on our seats, staring at nothing in particular.
It's not every day you see a legend murdered in cold blood.
"What about Walker?" Larry said finally.
"He can find his own way home," I said.
"Not what I meant," said Larry. "I meant: what are we going to do about Walker?"
"Nothing," I said. "You can't do anything about him. He's… Walker."
"Is he? The Walker I remember from before I died might have been a ruthless bastard, but he made a point of never getting his own hands soiled. Someone else always did his dirty work for him. And usually with at least the appearance of law or justice to back him up. He didn't just stick knives into people he thought he couldn't trust."
"Yes," I said. "He murdered his oldest friend, right in front of us. As though… he doesn't give a damn any more."
"Did he ever?" said Larry.
"Oh yes," I said. "Walker was always a stickler for the rules and regulations, even if he did make most of them up himself."
"He can't expect us to keep quiet about this?"
"No. He's counting on us to tell everyone. He wants people to know. When a man knows for sure that his time is ru
"So I did hear right?" said Larry. "The great and mighty Walker is dying."
"Yes. And that makes him more dangerous than he ever was before. There's nothing left to hold him back."
"I had no warning," said Larry. "Before I was killed. There are a lot of things I would have liked to do… Things I could have said, things I could have put right… I mean, I'm still here, still around, still taking care of business… But there are some things only the living can do and have it mean anything."
I waited, but that was all he had to say. We were, after all, professionals, only partners on a case, not friends. But perhaps there are some things you can only say to a stranger.
"Anyway," Larry said finally, "the important thing is that Walker lied. We have to start hunting for Tommy all over again."
"Looks like it," I said. "And I haven't the faintest idea where we should look next. No clues, no sightings, no suspects to threaten or intimidate… We could try some of the augurs or farseers. I know a wishing well that often comes through…"
"Hell with them," Larry said firmly. "They'll charge an arm and a leg for a rhyming couplet that will only make sense seven years from now or when it's too late to do any good."
"Sometimes… things, and people just vanish," I said. "It's the Nightside."
Larry glared at me. "You're not suggesting we give up, are you?"
"No," I said. "But I'm being realistic. If my gift can't find Tommy, he must really be lost."
"He's not dead!"
"No, I'd know if he was dead." I wasn't actually sure of that until I said it, but it made sense. My gift would have found a body. "We could try the Street of the Gods. A lot of the Beings there claim to be all-knowing."
"Why would they talk to us?" said Larry.
I gri
"It's nice to have friends," Larry said solemnly.
We sat in silence for a while as the train roared through darkness and dark places.
"What do you suppose will happen to the collection?" Larry said finally. "It did look… very impressive. Will Walker put it up for auction, do you suppose?"
"No," I said. "I don't think so. Walker can get sentimental over the strangest things. I think he'll leave it where it is: all the treasures and curios, and the body of the man who collected them. Let it all remain lost, in a far place, and become its own legend. The Collector would have liked that."