been stored away in rows and rows of wooden crates, here they were all set out in the open, presented carefully on rows and rows of glass shelving. Jewels and weapons, books and documents, machines and artifacts from all of recorded history. I recognised a few of the bigger items, like the wooden horse of Troy, and a half-burned giant Wicker Man with a dead policeman inside it, under carefully arranged spotlights; but I didn’t have to know what the rest were to know they were important. They all but radiated glamour.
I looked round sharply as the Collector’s security staff arrived, pattering across the bright blue floor towards us. Gleaming humanoid robots from some future Chinese civilisation, graceful and deadly with steel-clawed hands, and stylised cat faces complete with jutting metal whiskers. Their slit-pupilled eyes glowed green. A dozen of the robots moved swiftly to surround us, and I gestured quickly for Bettie to stand still. The robots hadn’t been sent to kill us, or I’d never have heard them coming. Bettie stood firm, glaring about her.
“Call them off, Collector,” I said, in a loud and carrying voice. “Or I’ll turn them into scrap metal.”
“You never did have any respect for other people’s property, Taylor.”
The cat robots fell back silently, to allow the Collector to approach. A pudgy, middle-aged man with a flushed face and beady little eyes, wearing a wraparound Roman toga, white with purple trimmings. There were knife holes and old blood stains on the toga’s front. Lots of them.
“Do you like it?” he said, stopping a respectful distance away. “A new acquisition. The robe the Emperor Caligula was wearing when he was assassinated by his own security people. Partly because he was a monster, but mostly because he embarrassed the hell out of them.” He looked at me, then at Bettie, who I now noticed was wearing a deep burgundy evening gown, with her long dark hair tumbling in ringlets to her shoulders. Her curved horns gleamed dully under the bright lights. The Collector smiled suddenly. “They’ve been feeding that T. rex too much; he’s getting slow and sloppy. I shall have to have words with that little snot Percival. What do you want here, Taylor?”
I looked around, evading the subject for the moment. Some things you need to sneak up on, and ease into. Especially when you’ve known the Collector as long as I have.
“I like what you’ve done with the place,” I said. “Up on the Moon, you had everything packed away in boxes. You thinking of opening up to the public?”
“They wish,” said the Collector. “What’s mine is mine, and not for other eyes. But I had something of an epiphany during the Lilith War; it reminded me of how short life can be, and the necessity for enjoying things while you still can. It’s not enough just to own things, any more; I need to be able to walk amongst them, enjoy them, savour them. And I do. What do you want, Taylor?”
“I need a favour,” I said. “And you do owe me, Mark.”
He looked at me for a long moment, but in the end he looked away first. He seemed suddenly older, and tired.
“How much am I expected to pay for my sins against you?”
I could sense Bettie’s ears pricking up, as she realised we were talking about secret, important things, but I didn’t feel like enlightening her.
“Only you can answer that,” I said. “Just tell me what I need to know, and I’ll leave.”
“I should kill you,” he said, almost casually.
“You could try,” I said, easily.
“This is about the Afterlife Recording, isn’t it? I haven’t got it. Heard about it, of course. The whole damned Nightside is buzzing with news of it, mostly inaccurate, and all the little collectors and speculators are driving themselves crazy running in circles, chasing down every rumour…”
“But not you?” I said.
“I want it. And when I’m good and ready, I’ll go and get it. But right now I’m busy with something…something important. I have yet to be convinced that the Recording is the genuine article. But whether it’s the real deal or not, I will have it, because it’s a unique item, and it belongs here with me, as someone who will appreciate it…What is that woman doing?”
I looked around. Bettie had a small camera in her hands. I reached out and took it away from her.
“Give that back!” she said hotly. “It belongs to the paper! I had to sign for it!”
“Restrain yourself,” I said.