Just Another Judgement Day (26 page)
Read Just Another Judgement Day Online
Authors: Simon R. Green
“You had the right idea,” I said, touched despite myself. “But the wrong weapon.” I turned to Razor Eddie. “To stop a man of God you need a weapon of God. One particular and very nasty weapon.”
Eddie looked at me thoughtfully. “You want a weapon, John? I thought you were above such things.”
“You know what weapon I’m talking about,” I said.
He nodded slowly, reluctantly. “No good will come of this, John.”
“I need the Speaking Gun,” I said, and the Punk God of the Straight Razor shuddered briefly.
“Nasty thing,” he said. “I thought you destroyed it.”
“I did,” I said. “But as with so many other awful things in the Nightside, it’s only ever one step away from a comeback. Any idea where I might find it?”
“You know I know where it is,” said Razor Eddie. “How is it you always know things like that?”
“Because it’s my job,” I said. “Now stop stalling.”
“You’ll find it at the Gun Shop,” said Razor Eddie. “At the place where all weapons are worshipped.”
“Is that where you got your straight razor?” said Chandra.
Razor Eddie looked down at the steel blade shining so brightly in his hand and smiled briefly. “Oh no,” he said. “I went to a far worse place for this.”
“Then the Gun Shop it is,” I said, trying hard to sound like I knew what I was doing.
“Wait,” said Chandra, moving forward to stare me in the eye. “You think you can stop the Walking Man, John Taylor? After I failed so miserably? After seeing him throw down all these false temples and churches? After he beat down the Punk God of the Straight Razor and shot the Unspeakable Abomination in the head? After he broke my blessed sword, a thing not achieved in centuries of trials against evil? What makes a man like you believe he can defeat the Walking Man?”
“You have to have faith,” I said. “And I believe I’m a bigger bastard than the Walking Man will ever be. I’ll find a way to stop him. Because I have to.”
Chandra nodded slowly. “Are you ready to die to protect your friends, John?”
“Not if I can help it,” I said. “I was rather more planning on making him die. That’s why I’m going to the Gun Shop.”
“Want me to come with you?” said Razor Eddie. The straight razor flashed briefly, eagerly, in his hand.
“No,” I said. “They see you coming, they’ll probably lock the doors, slam home the bolts, and hide under the bed until you’ve gone away again. I would.”
“They couldn’t keep me out,” said Razor Eddie.
“True,” I said. “But I think I’m going to need them on my side, for this.”
“Fair enough,” said Razor Eddie. He looked about him. “I think I need to spend a little quality time here, walking up and down the Street of the Gods, carving up the minor Beings and doing terrible things to their gullible followers, just to prove I’ve still got it. Reputations have to be carefully maintained and nurtured, or people will start thinking they can take advantage. Besides, I’m in the mood for a little carnage and mayhem.”
“Never knew you when you weren’t,” I said generously.
“I will go with you to the Gun Shop,” said Chandra Singh. He was standing straight and tall again, his eyes dry and his voice firm. “The game isn’t over yet, and I am not beaten till I say I’m beaten.”
Heroes and holy warriors. They always bounce back faster than you’d think.
So we nodded our good-byes to Razor Eddie and watched him stride off down the Street. People and Beings took one look at what was coming their way and suddenly remembered they were urgently needed somewhere else. I looked at Chandra.
“Are you all right? The Walking Man really did a number on you.”
“I am fine,” he said. “Or at least, I will be. I failed to understand what was really going on here, you see. I thought this was a conflict between the god I serve and that of the Walking Man, to see which was the greater. To determine which was the one true God, and therefore which of us was the true holy warrior. But instead . . . it was a conflict between two men. And in the end, it was my faith that proved to be lacking. I doubted I could beat him, and in that moment, I was lost.”
“You really believe that?” I said.
“I have to believe that,” said Chandra. He looked around him, taking in the ruins and the rubble, the dead and the dying. And the tourists, taking photos of it all. “No true God would approve of this . . . this indiscriminate slaughter. No, everything that happened here is down to the pride and needs of one stubborn man. And if there is one thing in this world you can be sure of, John Taylor, it is that the proud shall always be humbled.”
“Yeah,” I said. “And the Nightside does so love to break a good man.”
I was looking right at him when I said that, but he still didn’t get the point. “So,” he said briskly, “where is this Gun Shop?”
“Right here on the Street of the Gods,” I said. “It isn’t just a Gun Shop, you see.”
“Of course,” said Chandra Singh. “I should have known.”
“The Gun Shop . . . is the Church of the Gun,” I said. “It exists because of all the people who worship weapons. Everything that is worshipped strongly enough and long enough has a place here. People do have an awful lot of faith in weapons, and the more people believe in them, the more power and influence they have in the world. You can find anything in the Gun Shop, anything that kills, from swords to nukes to energy weapons from future time-lines. The Speaking Gun will be there. Because even a terrible thing like that needs somewhere to go that feels like home.”
We walked down the Street of the Gods, and people and other things hurried to get out of our way. Chandra Singh, because so many people had just seen him go head to head with the Walking Man and survive, and me . . . because I was John Taylor, and had done far worse things in my time. And might again. Meanwhile, I did my best to explain to Chandra exactly what the Speaking Gun was and what it could do. He needed to be prepared.
“The Speaking Gun is an old horror,” I said. “And I mean really old. So ancient it was created before the days of History, from the time of Myth and Legend. A gun fashioned from flesh and bone, that breathes and sweats and hates everything that lives. Its power comes from God, indirectly.”
“And that’s why you think it will work against the Walking Man,” said Chandra.
“Exactly. You see . . . in the beginning was the Word, and the universe burst into existence. Or so they say I wasn’t there. But anyway, as a result, the echoes of that Word live on in everything that exists. In their true, secret, descriptive Name. The Speaking Gun can see that Name and say it backwards. Thus . . . Uncreating them. I destroyed the Speaking Gun by forcing it to speak its own true Name backwards, and making it Uncreate itself. Seemed to work well enough, at the time. But the bloody thing still exists in the Past, and in certain future time-lines. And so the Gun Shop will always be able to reach out to it because its very nature links it to every weapon that ever was, is, or will be.”
Chandra Singh shook his head. “Words fail me.”
“Well, quite,” I said.
It didn’t take us long to track down the Gun Shop. I didn’t need to use my gift. Like so many places on the Street of the Gods, the Gun Shop lies in wait for those who need it. Never far, always ready to be of service, always ready to slap a gun in your hand and encourage you to use it. Death And Destruction “R” Us, but don’t come back crying when it all goes horribly wrong.
It wasn’t much to look at, when it finally hove into sight before us. More like a corner shop than a church, which I
suppose was only to be expected. A simple wooden door next to a single glass window, showing off all the wonders to be found inside. I stopped, and looked. I couldn’t help myself. Chandra stood beside me. And in the window of the Gun Shop, weapons showed themselves off like whores. Swords and axes, guns and rifles, energy weapons and shifting shapes that made no sense at all. All of them utterly glamorous and sweetly tempting.
Come inside, find something you like. You know you want to.
I pulled my gaze away from the display and looked at Chandra. “Those aren’t just weapons,” I said. “They’re icons, archetypes, avatars of their kind. The Onlie True Originals, of which everything else are but pale reflections.”
“Yes,” said Chandra, turning his head abruptly to look at me. “Not just guns, but the Spirits of Guns. Every gun, every sword, maybe every bomb, too. You don’t come here looking for something to protect the innocent or punish the guilty. These are simply instruments of death. Means to murder.”
“Got it in one,” I said. “Once we get in there, watch yourself. Murder is a sacrament in the Gun Shop, and temptation comes as standard.”
I headed for the door, and it opened silently before me, without my even having to touch it. The Gun Shop was expecting me. I strode in as though I’d come to condemn the place on Moral Health grounds, and Chandra was right there with me, giving the place his best snotty and entirely unimpressed look. Sharp fluorescent lighting blazed up, revealing a huge emporium containing every killing tool known to man, and a few that wandered in from adjoining dimensions. Like so many churches in the Street of the Gods, the Gun Shop’s interior was much bigger than its exterior. It’s the only way they can fit everything in. The Shop fell away before us, retreating endlessly into the uncomfortably bright light, with lines and lines of simple wooden shelves, stretching away into the distance for further than the merely mortal eye could follow. I never knew there were so many types of weapon.
And then I blinked, and almost fell back a step, as the Gun Shop’s owner, or manager, or high priest was suddenly right there before me. A respectable-looking middle-aged man in a respectable suit, with a broad square face, retreating hair, and rimless eyeglasses, he looked more like an undertaker than anything else. Which was only appropriate, I suppose. He had that quiet, remorseless calm that comes from dealing with death on a regular basis, and his warm, professional smile didn’t touch his calm dead eyes at all. He nodded briskly to me, then to Chandra. My skin crawled. It was like being noticed by some poisonous snake or spider that might strike at any moment. He was an icon of suffering and slaughter; cold-eyed, cold-hearted, always ready to cut a deal, everything for sale but nothing on credit. And why not? You didn’t come to the Gun Shop for a gun. You came to get yourself an unfair advantage, a weapon so powerful no-one could stand against it.
“Good to see you at last, Mr. Taylor,” said the storekeeper, in a voice like every salesman you’ve ever heard. The ones who don’t have to try too hard, because everyone wants what they’ve got. “Always knew you’d drop in, eventually. Everyone does, eventually. And Mr. Chandra Singh, renowned monster hunter. How nice. You may call me Mr. Usher, if you wish. What can I do for you?”
“Are you a god?” said Chandra, honestly curious.
“Bless you, no, sir,” said Mr. Usher. “Nothing so limited. Gods may come and beings may go, but the Gun Shop goes on forever. I am the human face of this establishment. An extension of the Gun Shop, if you will. Because people find it easier to discuss business with something that looks like people. I am the Gun Shop.”
“So . . . you’re not really real, then?” Chandra persisted.
“I’m as real as the Shop is, sir. And the Gun Shop is very real and very old. Many names, but one nature. Ah, sir, the old jokes are still the best. I always find a little humour helps the medicine go down more easily, as it were. I see you have a broken weapon about your person, sir. A most excellent and powerful sword, sadly now in two pieces, its very nature abused and shattered. Such a shame. Would you like me to repair it for you, sir?”
“No he wouldn’t,” I said quickly. “Tell him, Chandra. He could do it, but the sword would never be the same afterwards. And you really wouldn’t want to pay the price he’d ask.”
“I am quite capable of making my own decisions,” Chandra said stiffly. “The sword was entrusted to me, and I allowed it to be broken. I have a duty to see it repaired. If it can be repaired.”
“Oh it can, sir, it really can,” said Mr. Usher. “I know all there is to know about swords.”
“Including restoring its true nature?” I said.
“Ah,” said Mr. Usher, reluctantly. “Well, no. You have me there, sir. I deal strictly with the material, not the spiritual.”
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