“Isn’t that dangerous?” said Chandra.
“Oh no,” said Tamsin. “Not while I’ve got Sharon.”
Sharon wriggled happily on the arm of the chair, and the vicar patted her arm companionably.
“She’s my partner. All gals together, ever since school. Inseparable, really, though I often fear Sharon hasn’t got a truly Christian bone in her entire delightful body. Have you, dear?”
“I’ll believe whatever you believe, Tamsy,” Sharon said doughtily. “And Heaven help anyone who tries to hurt you while I’m around, that’s what I say.”
“Sharon is my body-guard,” Tamsin said fondly. “She is so much more than she seems.”
She’d have to be,
I thought, but had the good sense not to say so out loud.
“I bear the word of the Lord to those who need it most,” said the vicar. “I listen, offer advice and comfort where I can, and if I can lead just one sinner back into the light, then my time here will have been well spent. Though of course I hope to save rather more than that. Still, I am a missionary, not a crusader. The way of the sword is not mine.”
“It is mine,” said Sharon. “Though I don’t usually limit myself to a sword.”
“Not much like your predecessor, then,” I said. “Pew always saw himself as a holy terrorist, fighting the good fight by any and all means necessary.”
“Dear Pew,” said Tamsin. “He is sorely missed.”
“He was my teacher, for a time,” I said. “Before he decided I was an abomination.”
“I know,” said Tamsin. “I’ve read his diaries from that period. He had great hopes for you, for a time.”
I raised an eyebrow despite myself. “I didn’t know Pew left any diaries.”
“Oh yes. Fascinating reading. He wrote quite a lot about you. Before he gave away his eyes, in return for knowledge. About you. Do have another biscuit, John, that’s what they’re there for.”
“I don’t have time for distractions,” I said bluntly. “What can you tell me about the Walking Man?”
Tamsin and Sharon shared a look. “We heard he was here, at last,” said Tamsin. “It’s said . . . he talks directly with God, who talks directly with him.” She looked directly at Chandra. “I understand you are a khalsa, Mr. Singh. A holy warrior. What brings you here, to the Nightside? At this time in particular? Did you know the Walking Man was going to be here?”
“Like you, I go where I am needed,” said Chandra. “My life is a holy quest, for purpose and meaning, in the service of my god.”
“Have you ever tried looking for your god on the Street of the Gods?” said Tamsin.
“No,” said Chandra. “Have you?”
They both laughed, politely. A new subtle tension had entered the Vicarage parlour. It was getting in the way, so I intervened.
“The Beings on the Street of the Gods aren’t gods at all, strictly speaking,” I said. “Some of them are other-dimensional travellers, some are psychonauts from higher dimensions, some are aliens or icons or manifestations of abstract concepts. You get all sorts in the Nightside. Many of the older Beings are descendants of my mother Lilith, from when she went down to Hell and lay down with demons, and gave birth to monstrous Powers and Dominations. It’s probably a lot more complicated than that, but there’s a limit to how much weird shit the human mind can cope with.”
“So...some of these Beings are related to you?” said Chandra.
“Only very indirectly,” I said. “We’re not close. Like so many other relationships in the Nightside, it’s complicated.”
“There is only one Supreme Being,” said Tamsin.
“Yes,” said Chandra. “There is.”
“And the one true God has one true nature.”
“Yes,” said Chandra. “I would agree with that.”
“But your god and mine are very different,” said Tamsin. “I preach love and understanding and living peaceably with one another; and you follow the way of violence. We can’t both be right. Is that why you came here to the Nightside, to see the Walking Man in action . . . and test your faith against his? Because if he really is what he says he is, a man touched directly by the Supreme Being, then what does that make you?”
“A searcher after truth,” said Chandra. “In my travels, I have met many who claimed to hear the Voice of God instructing them to do things, and most of them had to take a lot of medication. Few of them were in any way worthy of the God they claimed to worship. You said it yourself—yours is the way of love and peace. John and I have seen the Walking Man at his work, and it seems to me that if he serves any Lord at all, it is the Lord of Darkness.”
“God moves in mysterious way,” said Tamsin, implacably.
“So does Walker,” I said. “But I’ve never felt like worshipping him. Save the religious debates for another time. The Walking Man—do you know of any way to stop him, or turn him aside?”
“No,” said Tamsin. “No-one can. That’s the point.”
“We did a lot of reading up on the Walking Man, once we heard he was here, didn’t we, sweetie?” said Sharon. “Pretty disturbing stuff, actually. Real Old Testament retribution, eye for an eye and all that. Give him the jawbone of an ass and stand well back.”
“We don’t know anything for sure about the Walking Man,” said Tamsin. “I was hoping he’d come to see me, so I could . . . reason with him. But I have no authority over him, or any control over his actions. He will do what he will do. He answers to God, not the Church. To be honest, I always thought he was just a myth, a story they tell in seminaries as an example of faith getting out of hand. But myths have a way of coming true in the Nightside, don’t they, Lilith’s son?”
“If I can’t find a way to stop him, he’s going to destroy the Nightside and everyone in it,” I said, as harshly as I could. “Including you and Sharon and all those poor sinners you were hoping to save. Isn’t there any help or advice you can offer?”
Tamsin thought for a long moment. “Only a certain kind of man becomes a Walking Man. Broken men, their lives destroyed by great tragedy and loss. Men with nothing left to lose . . . seeking redemption, by enforcing justice on a world that seems to have none. Heal them, and they often don’t feel the need to be the Walking Man any more. In fact, certain very old texts seem to suggest that the office of the Walking Man only exists to give the most desperate of men a chance to heal themselves and return to a state of grace.” She looked at me, not smiling at all. “In another time, and in another place, I think you might have become a Walking Man, John Taylor.
“My only advice...is to go to church. The only real church in the Nightside, St. Jude’s. A place where prayers are heard, and answered. If you’re really serious about wanting the truth . . . go and talk to the Walking Man’s Boss. But remember, John, the only thing worse than asking questions of God . . . is getting them answered.”
Chandra leaned forward suddenly. “There is a place here, where a man can talk directly with his God?”
“Yes,” said Tamsin. “You should go, Mr. Singh. Ask your questions, and see who answers you.”
“Yes,” said Chandra. “That should prove most interesting.”
Tamsin turned to Sharon. “Mr. Taylor’s coat should be clean by now, dear. Go and get it for him, would you?”
“Oh sure, sweetie! Won’t be a moment!”
She bounced up off the chair’s arm and hurried out the door. It seemed it was time to leave, so I got up. Chandra made a point of finishing his tea first and making appreciative noises, then he got up, too. Sharon came bustling back in with my coat. It was, of course, spotless. I put it back on, and said good-bye politely to the rogue vicar. Chandra was even more polite. Sharon led us back down the cosy hallway to the front door. I glanced covertly at Chandra. Tamsin MacReady had been pushing him pretty strongly about whose god was biggest, but it didn’t seem to have ruffled his composure. If there’s one thing I’ve come to be sure of, in all my years of walking up and down in the Nightside, it’s that while there are always answers to be found if you know where to look... they inevitably only lead to more questions.
Sharon opened the front door for us, and Chandra and I stepped back out into the night. I looked back to say good night, and Sharon smiled at me through the closing gap. And for a moment I caught a glimpse of her hidden self, the vicar’s body-guard—a quick flash of huge teeth and ragged claws and something hideously vile and vicious. Just a glimpse, then it was gone, and Sharon Pilkington-Smythe smiled good-bye as the door closed. I wondered whether Tamsin MacReady knew. I thought she probably did. I looked at Chandra.
“Did you see that?”
“See what?”
“Never mind.”
I took a moment to check my trench coat thoroughly, in case Sharon had planted any listening or tracking things, or some other little surprise. You can never be too careful with the truly righteous—their faith allows them to justify all kinds of underhanded behaviour. I found half a dozen small silver crucifixes, scattered through various pockets. They didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary, but I discarded them anyway, just in case. What is the world coming to, when you can’t even trust a rogue vicar and her demon lover?
A movement further down the street caught my attention, and I looked round sharply. Out of the shadows, walking calmly and serenely in the night, came Annie Abattoir, large as life and twice as glamorous. She was wearing a rich purple evening gown, complete with elbow-length gloves, high heels, and enough jewellery to fill a pawnbroker’s. Not that anyone would bother her, of course, even here. She was Annie Abattoir. She strode up to me, and I nodded respectfully.
“Hello, Annie. Seduced and killed anyone interesting recently?”
“No-one you’d know,” said Annie.
“What is a high-class courtesan, experienced assassin, and truly dangerous individual such as yourself doing in this low-rent area?”
“I’m here to visit the rogue vicar.”
I raised an eyebrow, and Annie looked at me witheringly.
“What’s the matter?” she said. “Can’t a mother visit her own daughter?”
She knocked on the Vicarage door. Sharon opened it and let her in. I looked thoughtfully at the door as it closed. I never knew Annie had any family. I thought she killed them all. So, the most vicious assassin in the Nightside had a vicar for a daughter. Made you wonder which of them was the black sheep . . .
Chandra Singh and I walked from the Vicarage to St. Jude’s. It wasn’t far. The church’s actual location had become somewhat elusive, ever since the Lilith War, and is seldom to be found in the same place twice. You have to need to find it really badly, then there it is, right in front of you. Or not. It’s not supposed to be easy to find. Either way, St. Jude’s has always preferred the darkest and most out-of-the-way locations in the Nightside. I must have wanted to find the church really badly, because after only a few minutes walking, it loomed up before me, in a setting I was pretty sure it had never patronised before.
St. Jude’s is the one real church in the Nightside, and it wouldn’t be seen dead anywhere near the Street of the Gods. A simple cold stone structure that almost certainly predates Christianity itself, it has no trappings, no rituals, and no services. You don’t come to St. Jude’s for prayer or contemplation or comfort. It’s a place to go when you’ve tried everywhere else. A place where prayers are heard and paid attention to. A church where you can talk to your god directly, and be pretty damned sure of an answer. St. Jude’s deals in truth, and justice, which is why most people have the good sense to steer clear of it.
And only the truly desperate would ever use it for sanctuary.
Which is why it really shouldn’t have surprised me to find one particular person already there, kneeling before the crude but functional altar, lit by the light of hundreds of candles. I knew him, and stopped just inside the doorway. Chandra stopped beside me, and looked dubiously at the old man in his torn and tattered robe.
“That,” I said quietly, “is the Lord of Thorns. Once, and for a long time, the most powerful man in the Nightside. Overseer and Court of Last Resort, very powerful and very scary, he believed God had put him here to be the Nightside’s protector. Until Lilith came, and slapped him aside like he was nothing. He’s been trying to figure out his true role and purpose ever since. Be warned, Chandra. The Nightside does so love to break a hero.”