Nightside 11 - A Hard Days Knight by Simon R. Green Read Free Book Online

stake here, not to mention a massive loss of prestige and tourists. You wouldn’t believe how much tax money the Emporium dumps into our economy every year. We’re getting a lot of hard talk from the various business owners to Do Something, along with all kinds of nasty and inventive threats of what they’ll do if it all goes horribly wrong.”
    “So,” I said, “no pressure, then. Don’t let the mall get destroyed; don’t let the dimensional gates get destroyed; don’t let the Outsiders force their way into our reality and destroy everything that lives. How the hell am I supposed to talk some sense into someone crazy enough to allow himself to be made into a soulbomb?”
    Julien grinned. “I’m sure you’ll find a way.”
    “You can go off people, you know,” I said.

    The Mammon Emporium is not only the biggest mall in the Nightside, but quite possibly in the world. Opinion is divided over how many floors there are because some of them aren’t always there, some only appear on special occasions, and they’re always adding more. And yes, the mall is much bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. Such spells come as standard in the Nightside, or we’d never fit everything in. Because of the mall’s size, you don’t need a map to get round; you need a spirit guide and a compass. The Mammon Emporium specialises in brand-names, franchises, and weird alternatives from any number of different Earths. Just the thing for the Nightside, where tastes and palates tend to grow jaded really quickly; for people who’ve seen it all, done it all, and produced their own T-shirts to boast about it afterwards.
    The Portable Timeslip dropped me off right on the edge of the large crowd that had gathered outside the Emporium. Shoppers who’d been ejected from the mall, much against their will; shop owners mopping the sweat from their brows as they commiserated with each other over loss of trade; and a whole bunch of interested onlookers, quite ready to risk a massive explosion if only for the chance to see something new. There’s nothing so popular in the Nightside as a free show. Vendors and street traders already had their stalls up, selling commemorative T-shirts, hastily improvised souvenirs, protective amulets of dubious efficiency, and something wriggling on a stick. (Very tasty! Get them while they’re hot!)
    I took a few moments to get my head back together before walking calmly and confidently into the crowd. This much I had learned from Walker: look like you know what you’re doing, and everyone else will assume that you do. That said, some people in the crowd looked pleased to see me, some didn’t, and some took one look at me and started running. Oh ye of little faith.
    Half a dozen business owners advanced on me, shoulder to shoulder, and everyone else fell back to give them room. You could tell who they were immediately from their superior tailoring and sense of entitlement. I gave them a thoughtful look, and they all crashed to a halt a respectful distance short of me. The crew drew back even further to let us talk, but not so far they couldn’t eavesdrop. There was a lot of glancing at each other amongst the shop owners and a certain amount of pushing and shoving as they tried to agree on a spokesman. None of them wanted to give way to any of the others, but none of them was too keen on talking to the infamous John Taylor. I let them get on with it while I looked them over. They didn’t need to identify themselves; I knew who they were. Their names and faces were all over the glossy magazines and the giveaways, trying to persuade me to buy something I knew for a fact I didn’t need, at twice the price I wouldn’t have paid anyway.
    Raymond Orbison, a long drink of cold water in baggy white slacks and T-shirt, supplied musical recordings from other Earths, where music and people had taken surprisingly different directions. Where Marianne Faithfull was the lead singer in the Rolling Stones; Dolly