“No. The potion’s only part of it.”
“Good. It’s terrible.” He rose slightly and caught sight of himself in the mirror behind the bar. He was a huge man with a jowly ruddy face and a very noticeable mole square on his nose. He was peculiarly long and hunched like a gargoyle. He waved to himself, laughing at the experience of the strange arm in the glass moving with his own muscular forearm.
“Sit down,” Nick hissed. “And stop waving at yourself, you great horse. Have you forgotten everything I taught you?”
“I didn’t forget how to avoid getting savagely beaten by a group of undead.”
Nick grunted in mild annoyance. “There was a brick involved. Let me hit you with a brick and see how it works for you.”
Simon continued to look at himself in the reflection. “Could you have made me any uglier? Was a leper beyond your ability?”
“Just shut it.” Nick continued to study the shifting crowd. “You get to be Satanically handsome all your days. A bit of plainness won’t kill you. Lets you know how the other half lives.”
“I don’t see Tommy.” Simon took unobtrusive glances about the room. Then he found himself staring again in the mirror. “I hear he used to have a talking monkey.”
“He did. Nice enough. Utterly filthy. Just remember, keep quiet. I’ll do the talking. Me and Tommy were mates once. And it’s very important this be handled with subtlety and grace.” Nick suddenly sprang to his feet and waved his arm. “Oy! Tommy! Over here, mate!”
A heavyset man at the far end of the bar turned to peer through the crowd. He looked to be about sixty years old and wore a very old-fashioned summer suit from a generation ago. Old magicians, among their greater failings, had difficulty keeping up with fashion. He narrowed his eyes in the dim room, then pulled back his head in surprised recognition. He grabbed his glass of beer and came over.
“Tommy!” Nick stood and shook the man’s hand vigorously. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“I’m always here. I used to see you here all the time.”
“I know.” Nick pointed at Simon. “This is my best mate, Sim … uh … Mac … Clydesdale.”
“MacClydesdale?” Tommy repeated.
“Um. Aye.” Simon pushed out a chair with his foot, trying to cover his mix of anger and amusement that they had forgotten to craft a name for his new persona. “It’s Scottish.”
“Sounds fake.” Tommy creaked into the seat.
Simon stayed quiet and regarded Nick cheerfully for the timely clever response.
Nick leaned close to Tommy with a finger over his lips. “Shhh. You know how it is with names.”
“Oh right.” Tommy winked. “Where’s the bloke you used to come in with? That dandy.”
Nick made an annoyed growl in his throat. “You mean Archer?”
“Yes. That’s the name.” Tommy noted the scowl on Nick’s face. “What became of him? He seemed a right poser.”
Simon shifted grumpily in his chair.
“I gave him the boot,” Nick snarled. “He was so full of himself. Got intolerable.” He tapped his glass against Tommy’s with a refreshed smile. “So what’s new with you, mate?”
“Nothing much.”
The table went silent. A minute passed. The fat man drank and wiped his mouth. Simon raised smug eyebrows, enjoying Nick’s perturbed face as the man drummed his fingers on the table and took a long breath. Simon crossed his arms like a spectator.
“So,” Nick began again, “that was some coronation the other day, eh?”
Tommy shrugged and drank his beer.
Nick rested on his elbow and exhaled. “I remember you being a bit more chatty.”
Tommy gave a direct stare. “I remember you not being marked for death by Ash.”
Nick tilted his head in surprise. “You know about that, do you?”
“Of course. I could make a lot of money if I let certain people know where you are.”
Nick grew cold and hard. His voice was quiet. “You needing money that bad, mate?”
“No.” The fat man turned, his voice quavering a bit.
“Good. Let’s get to it. I’m looking for Ferghus O’Malley.”
“Are you?” Tommy’s eyes shot to Simon, then back to Nick. “What’ve I to do with that?”
“I need cover from the other side. But I haven’t seen Ferghus in years. Not since the Fire. I’m not sure how he’d take to me. I’d appreciate a word to him. You two were always close.”
Tommy chuckled without mirth. “Oh yes, the Fire. He went away after that. And you walked.”
“I had nothing to do with it.”
“Sure, Nick. You never have nothing to do with anything. Not sure he sees it that way.”
“Look, I’m not coming empty-handed. I’m bearing a gift.” Nick leaned close and lowered his voice. “Tell him they’re moving the Stone of Scone.”
Tommy paused midsip. He swallowed nervously. “What’s that to me?”