The Unnatural Inquirer - By Simon R. Green Page 0,1

Valkyrie in black motor-cycle leathers, with two bandoliers of bullets criss-crossing over her ample bosom, steel-toed boots, and the coldest gaze in the world. The whole left side of her face was covered in ridged scar tissue, sealing shut one eye and twisting up one side of her mouth in a constant caustic smile. She could have had it fixed easily, but she chose not to. She said it was good for business. It did give her a grim, wounded glamour.

Suzie and I are an item. Safe to say neither of us saw that one coming. We love each other, as best we can.

Walker is even more dangerous to be around, though in more subtle and indirect ways. He looks very much like your average city gent; pin-striped suit, bowler hat, calm air of authority. Someone in the City, you might think, or perhaps a Permanent Under-Secretary to some Minister you never heard of. But Walker polices the Nightside, inasmuch as anyone does, or can. In a place where everything is permitted, and sin and temptation are the order of every day, there are still lines that must not be crossed. For those who do, Walker is waiting.

He used to represent the Authorities, those grey faceless men who owned everything that mattered and took a profit from every dirty and dangerous transaction in the Nightside. Walker spoke in their name, with the Voice they gave him that could not be disobeyed, and he could call in the Army or the Church to back him up, as necessary. But since all the Authorities were killed and eaten during the Lilith War, lots of people had been wondering just where Walker drew his authority from these days. He still had his Voice, and his backup, so everyone went along.

But an awful lot of people were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He smiled and nodded at me politely, but I ignored him on principle and gave my full attention to Suzie.

“Hello, sweetie. I haven’t seen you for a few days.”

“I’ve been working,” she said, in her cold, steady voice. “Chasing down a bounty.”

“For Walker?” I said, raising an eyebrow.

She shrugged easily, the butt of the shotgun holstered on her back rising briefly behind her head. “His money is as good as anyone else’s. And you know I need to keep busy. I only really feel alive when it’s death or glory time. You finished with your case?”

“Yes,” I said, glancing reluctantly at Walker.

“Then walk with me, John,” he said. “I could use your assistance on a rather urgent case.”

I went down the steps to join him, taking my time. I’d worked with Walker before, on occasion, though rarely happily. He paid well enough, but he only ever used me for those cases where he didn’t want to risk his own people. The kind of cases where he needed someone potentially deniable and utterly expendable. We strode together through the Nightside, Walker on my left and Suzie on my right, and everyone else made sure to give us plenty of room.

“I hired Suzie because someone big and important had gone missing,” Walker said easily. “And I needed him found, fast. Nothing unusual there. But unfortunately, Suzie has proven entirely unable to locate the target.”

“Not my fault,” Suzie said immediately. “I’ve been through all my usual contacts, and none of them could tell me anything. Even after all the usual bribes and beatings. The man’s just vanished. Jumped into a deep hole and pulled it in after him. I’m not even sure he’s still in the Nightside.”

“Oh, he’s still here,” said Walker. “I’d know if he’d left.”

“Who exactly are we talking about?” I said.

“Max Maxwell,” said Walker. “Ah; I take it from your expression that you have at least heard of him.”

“Who hasn’t?” I said. “Max Maxwell; so big they named him twice. Night-club owner, gang boss, fence, and fixer. Also known as the Voodoo Apostate, though I couldn’t tell you why.”

“The very man,” said Walker. “A well-established, very well-connected individual. He tried to have me killed twice, but I’m not one to bear grudges. Anyway, it would appear dear Max came into possession of something rather special, something he should have had more sense than to get involved with. To be exact, the Aquarius Key.”

“I know the name,” I said, frowning. “Some artifact from the sixties, isn’t it? Back when every Major Player had to have their very own Object of Power to be taken seriously. I’ve never trusted the things. You can