"This had better not be who I think it is."

"John, dear boy, this is Walker. You need to stop what you're doing and go home, right now. This is none of your business."

"He's my client," I said. I didn't know how Walker knew I was involved with the putative Lord Screech; but then, Walker knows everything. I think that's actually part of his job description. Along with keeping the peace and enforcing the status quo in the Nightside by any and all means necessary. Either way, he should have known better than to give me orders.

"You can get other clients," Walker said reasonably. "Walk away, John. I've already signed the elf's death warrant. I'd hate to have to sign another."

That was Walker for you. He might or might not hate to do it; but he'd do it. Walker was all about getting the job done.

"You know I never let a client down," I said.

"Of course, dear boy. I'm only keeping you talking so my people can pinpoint your current location… John? What are you doing back at the Dragon's Mouth?"

There was something in his voice. It might have been concern; but you can never be sure with Walker.

"I'm fine," I said. "The client chose the meeting place."

"Typical elf. He knew what it meant to you. Yet another reason why you shouldn't trust him. I know you pride yourself on being loyal to your clients, John, but he won't be loyal to you. He can't. He's an elf."

"The principle still stands," I said. "I don't have many, so I have to stick with what I've got. We're off on a little road trip, Walker, off to see the worlds. Try and keep up."

"This is no joke, John. I've been forced to take on some really serious people, to see this through."

"Send the best you've got," I said. "And I'll send them home crying for their mothers."

Walker sighed into my ear, like a parent disappointed by a stubborn child. "You've been listening to the elf, haven't you, John? You know you can't trust anything an elf says. I am the only one who knows what's really going on here."

"Doesn't matter," I said. "If he's on the opposite side to you, I must be doing the right thing."

"All these years of butting heads," said Walker. "And you haven't learned a damned thing."

The phone went dead. I looked at it for a moment, to see if anyone else felt like calling and sticking their oar in, then I put the phone away. Of course I knew Lord Screech couldn't be trusted. He was an elf. But I'd given him my word, and my word was good. I looked up and down the street. Ms. Fate had better get a move on. Walker hadn't been joking about pinpointing my position through my phone.

There wasn't anywhere handy I could use as a shelter. The clubs and bars in this part of town were so down-market, the bouncers were outside chucking them in, and they forced you to order your drinks at gunpoint. And there was no way I was going back into the Dragon's Mouth.

"Is there any particular reason why you're ignoring me?" said Lord Screech.

"Because I'll get lied to less that way," I said, not looking at the elf. "I know all I need to know."

"Walker was quite right. Never trust anything an elf tells you. We always lie-except when a truth can hurt you more. Or when the truth can be made to serve our best interests over yours. I don't care about you, or Walker, or any other human, except where you can help or hinder my mission."

I didn't ask how he knew it was Walker on the phone.

"If you're trying to be disarming, it isn't working," I said. "And don't even try to be charming. I've got protections against that."

"Why are you helping me, John Taylor? When you know you should know better?"

I looked at him for the first time. "Because I'm intrigued. And not by the terrible secret you've offered as payment, whatever it may or may not turn out to be. I've spent my whole life dealing with terrible secrets. No, what intrigues me is why a high-and-mighty elf lord should endanger himself by coming to the Nightside, then beg help from a human. Even one as special as me. So I'll go along with you, do my best to get you to where you need to be… and no doubt your true purpose will become clear along the way."

"I wouldn't put money on it," the elf said cheerfully.

Perhaps fortunately, we were interrupted at that point by the approaching roar of a powerful engine. We both looked round and stepped back a little as the Fatemobile surged out of the traffic and slammed to a halt right in front of us. On every side, hardened sinners on their way to infamous dens of iniquity stopped, to get a better look at the Fatemobile. A good twelve feet long and almost as wide, Ms. Fate's crime-fighting motor car was a magnificent machine, with low, powerful lines in a retro sixties style, complete with tall rear fins, a prominent afterburner, and acres and acres of gleaming chrome. It was a shocking fluorescent pink from bonnet to bumper, and had big fluffy wheels. In fact, it wasn't so much pink as PINK! And instead of the usual silver winged victory figure on the front radiator, the Fatemobile boasted a silver wee-winged faerie in a basque and suspenders.

Ms. Fate might have heard of taste, but only as something other people had. Boring people.

"I like it!" said Lord Screech.

"You would," I said.

The heavy driver's door swung open with a puff of compressed air, and Ms. Fate emerged from her car via a single elegant movement I couldn't have copied without throwing my whole back out. Tall and leanly muscular, Ms. Fate wore a black leather super-heroine outfit, cut tightly to show off her long legs and false bosoms. Heavy boots and gauntlets, and a proud horned cowl. Her green eyes shone brightly through polarised eye-slits, and her mouth was a brilliant red. Her utility belt was a bright yellow, presumably so she could find it in the dark. She crashed to a halt before me and struck a pose that was only slightly self-mocking.

"And here I am, to save the day! Ms. Fate, at your service, rogues, villains, and creatures of the night a speciality. Ask me about my special rates for criminal conspiracies. How are you, John?"

"All the better for seeing you," I said. "Where's your cape? I always think you look so more authentic with your cape."

"In the back seat. I have to take it off when I'm driving; I find it restricts my movements too much."

Ms. Fate is the real deal. A genuine old-school super-heroine who just happens to be played by a man.

"We really do need to get a move on," I said. "Walker's people are already on their way here. So fire up the Pink Pan ther mobile, stomp on the pedal, and it's everything forward and trust in the Lord all the way to the Osterman Gate. Stop for nothing and no-one, and I hope all your car's armaments are loaded for bear because we're going to need them."

"You know how to sweet-talk a girl," said Ms. Fate. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your elven friend?"

"This is Lord Screech," I said. "Only he probably isn't. Think of him less as my client and more as cargo to be transported. I'd lock him in the boot if I could trust him out of my sight that long."

"Well," said Ms. Fate, smiling challengingly at Screech. "An elf. How… exotic."

The elf lord gave her a formal bow, with all the trimmings. "Delighted to meet you. You're a man."

"Not when I'm on duty," said Ms. Fate. "Is my secret identity going to be a problem?"

"Not at all," said Screech, smiling easily. "Like all my kind, I delight in all forms of deceit and disguise, and glory in the joys of transformation. We've never understood this human preoccupation with normality. Where's the fun in that?"

"Definitely time to be going," I said. "When an elf starts making sense…"

Ms. Fate laughed and snapped her fingers at the Fatemobile. All the doors swung open. Ms. Fate headed for the driving seat. I looked at Screech.

"You want to do rock, scissors, paper to see who rides shotgun?"