Something from the Nightside - By Simon R. Green Page 0,3

A name, given to me by the same person who supplied me with your name. He said I'd find my daughter... in the Nightside."

A cold hand clutched at my heart as I sat up straight. I should have known. I should have known

the past never leaves you alone, no matter how far you run from it. I looked her straight in the eye. "What do you know about the Nightside?"

She didn't flinch, but she looked like she wanted to. I can sound dangerous when I have to. She covered her lapse by grinding out her half-finished cigarette in my ash-tray, concentrating on doing the job properly so she wouldn't have to look at me for a while.

"Nothing," she said finally. "Not a damned thing. I'd never heard the name before, and the few of my people who recognised it... wouldn't talk to me about it. When I pressed them, they quit, just walked out on me. Walked away from more money than they'd ever made in their life before, rather than discuss the Nightside. They looked at me as though I was ... sick, just for wanting to discuss it."

"I'm not surprised." My voice was calm again, though still serious, and she looked at me again. I chose my words carefully. "The Nightside is the secret, hidden, dark heart of the city. London's evil twin. It's where the really wild things are. If your daughter's found her way there, she's in real trouble."

"That's why I've come to you," said Joanna. "I understand you operate in the Nightside."

"No. Not for a long time. I ran away, and I vowed I'd never go back. It's a bad place."

She smiled, back on familiar ground again. "I'm

prepared to be very generous, Mr. Taylor. How much do you want?"

I considered the matter. How much, to go back into the Nightside? How much is your soul worth? Your sanity? Your self-respect? But work had been hard to come by for some time now, and I needed the money. There were bad people in this part of London too, and I owed some of them a lot more than was healthy. I considered the matter. Shouldn't be that difficult, finding a teenage runaway. A quick in-and-out job. Probably in and gone before anyone even knew I was there. If I was lucky. I looked at Joanna Barrett and doubled what I had been going to ask her.

"I charge a grand a day, plus expenses."

"That's a lot of money," she said, automatically.

"How much is your daughter worth?"

She nodded briskly, acknowledging the point. She didn't really care what I charged. People like me would always be chump change to people like her.

"Find my daughter, Mr. Taylor. Whatever it takes."

"No problem."

"And bring her back to me."

"If that's what she wants. I won't drag her home against her will. I'm not in the kidnapping business."

It was her turn to lean forward now. Her turn to try and look dangerous. Her gaze was flat and hard, and her words could have been chipped out of ice.

"When you take my money, you do as I say. You

find that spoilt little cow, you drag her out of whatever mess she's got herself into this time, and you bring her home to me. Then, and only then, will you get paid. Is that clear?"

I just sat there and smiled at her, entirely unimpressed. I'd seen a lot scarier than her, in my time. And compared to what was waiting for me back in the Nightside, her anger and implied threats were nothing. Besides, I was her last chance, and both of us knew it. No-one ever comes to me first, and it had nothing to do with what I charge. I have an earned reputation for doing things my own way, for tracking down the truth whatever it takes, and to hell with whoever gets hurt in the process. Including, sometimes, my clients. They always say they want the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, but few of them really mean it. Not when a little white lie can be so much more comforting. But I don't deal in lies. Which is why I've never made the kind of money that would allow me to move in Mrs. Barrett's circles. People only come to me when they've tried absolutely everything else, including prayer and fortune-tellers. There was no-one else left for Joanna Barrett to turn to. She tried to stare me down for a while, and couldn't. She seemed to find that