“No!” said Chandra Singh. “Don’t you dare!”
I was back on my feet again, and so was he. And if he hadn’t spoken out, I would have. But when Chandra advanced steadily on the Walking Man, I stayed right where I was and let him do it. I was still observing the Walking Man, seeing what he could do, and making up my mind as to what I was going to have to do. So I let Chandra Singh take his shot, to see what would happen. I can be a real cold-blooded bastard when I have to.
Chandra stood protectively over the fallen Razor Eddie, and stuck his face right into the Walking Man’s. Chandra was clearly steaming mad, but his face and his gaze had never looked so cold. The Walking Man met Chandra’s gaze calmly and didn’t budge an inch. One holy warrior facing off against another. This was what Chandra had wanted all along, whether he’d admitted it to himself or not. Why he insisted on sticking with me. To end up here, in this place and at this moment, for a chance to test his faith and his god and his standing, against the legendary Walking Man.
He stepped quite deliberately over the unconscious Razor Eddie, putting himself between the fallen god and further violence, openly defying the Walking Man to do anything about it. He didn’t draw his sword, made no move to attack or defend; but stood there, confident in his faith and the righteousness of his cause.
“Go ahead,” he said steadily to the Walking Man. “Shoot me. Kill a good man. Just because you can.”
“A good man?” said the Walking Man, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what you are, Chandra Singh? After all those creatures you killed, merely for the sin of being . . . different?”
“You’ll have to do better than that,” said Chandra, entirely unmoved. “I have only ever acted to save lives. Can you say the same?”
“Yes,” said the Walking Man.
“Too much faith can blind a man,” said Chandra. “Especially to his own faults. I admit, I came here for selfish reasons. I wanted to test myself, my skills, my faith, against yours. To prove once and for all that I was your equal, if not more, in everything that mattered. But now that I have seen you at your bloody work, your murderous function . . . I see I have a duty here. You have to be stopped. You’re out-of-control. What you are doing . . . is not God’s work. He may have his wrath, but He tempers it with mercy and compassion.”
“Mercy,” said the Walking Man. “Compassion. Sorry, not my department.”
“Then I must represent it,” said Chandra. “Even with the blood of so many unfortunate creatures on my hands. Because someone has to. John Taylor was right. There is still some hope left in the Nightside, and not everyone here deserves to die.”
“If you stand against me,” said the Walking Man, quite casually, “you stand against God’s plan. God’s will.”
“This is your will,” said Chandra. “Your need to punish the guilty and avenge your lost family. How many deaths will it take, Mr. Saint, how many murders, to put your soul at rest?”
“Only one way to find out,” said the Walking Man.
They didn’t just throw themselves at each other. They were both professionals, after all, with many years of experience in what they did, and they knew enough about each other to respect each other’s skills. So the Walking Man didn’t go for his guns, and Chandra Singh didn’t draw his sword. Not just yet.
“I am the wrath of God,” the Walking Man said finally.
“No,” said Chandra. “You’re only another monster.”
He drew his sword with inhuman speed, and thrust the blade straight for the Walking Man’s heart. It all happened in the space of a single breath, all of Chandra’s strength and speed compressed into a single deadly strike, planned and launched while he was still speaking, to catch the Walking Man off-balance. But that was never going to happen. The Walking Man hardly seemed to move, but one hand came out of nowhere to grab the long, shining blade and stop it dead in its track. The two men stood face-to-face for a long moment, straining almost imperceptibly, Chandra to push the blade forward, the Walking Man to hold it where it was. Until finally the sword blade snapped, broken clean in half by the two immovable forces working upon it. Chandra staggered and almost fell. The Walking Man opened his hand, and the broken half of the blade fall to the ground. His hand wasn’t even bleeding. Chandra breathed harshly, swaying as though he’d been hit, but he didn’t drop his broken sword, and he still stood before Razor Eddie, protecting him. The Walking Man smiled on Chandra, almost kindly.
“Nice try. But you’re only a khalsa, a holy warrior, whereas I am so much more. I made a deal with God Himself.” He looked at me for the first time. “Always get it in writing, eh, John?”
“You’ll have to kill me to get to Eddie,” said Chandra.
“Kill you, Chandra?” said the Walking Man. “I’m not here to kill men like you. You’re a good man. Unfortunately for you, and everyone else here, I’ve gone far beyond that.” He looked at me again. “Are you going to try and stop me, John Taylor?”
“You really think you’re ready to throw down with me?” I said. “I may not be holy, but I’m sneaky as hell. I move in really mysterious ways, and I guarantee you’ll never see it coming.”
I met his gaze easily, holding my breath . . . and he shrugged abruptly and turned away from Chandra and Eddie.
“I’m wasting my time here,” he said. “I’ve allowed myself to become distracted. I came to this godforsaken place to kill your precious new upstart Authorities before they can organise the Nightside into a real threat to the outside world. I can always come back here, after I’ve killed them. So, stop me if you can, John.”
He turned his back and strolled away. I let him go. I was thinking furiously. He hadn’t realised I was bluffing. And that...was interesting. Chandra Singh knelt beside the unconscious Razor Eddie, hugging his broken sword to his chest. He was crying.
EIGHT
There Is Always a Price to Be Paid
The crowd was already dispersing. Money was reluctantly changing hands, as many bets were settled. I was frankly amazed that anyone had been ready to bet on Chandra Singh and me against the legendary Walking Man. But then, the Nightside has always had a weakness for the long odds. Chandra was still on his knees, still hugging what was left of his broken sword to his chest, still sobbing quietly. And I stood there and did some hard thinking.
I’d seen the Walking Man in action, seen how implacable and relentless he could be. I’d tried reasoning with him. I hadn’t expected that to work, but I had to try. And I’d stood back and let Chandra have his run at it, just in case one man of faith could bring down another. Now it was up to me to take the detestable, necessary, and maybe even evil step that was all that was left.
When all else fails, you can always damn yourself with a necessary evil, for the greater good.
Meanwhile, all around us the shot-up, blasted, and downright-ruined churches and temples were already starting to rebuild themselves. Cracked stonework came together again, splintered marble smoothed itself over, and vast edifices rose unmarked from their own graves, given shape and substance again by the unrelenting faith of their congregations. Those faithful whose certainties had taken a severe kicking from seeing the Walking Man in action were already looking for Something new to follow, leaving their smashed-up churches to rot in the rubble. And people passing on the Street only paused to spit on the remains of the Temple of the Unspeakable Abomination. Some of the more up-and-coming Beings were already squaring off to see who would take over the more valuable positions on the Street. There’d be lightning strikes and plagues of boils and general massed smiting going on soon, and I planned to be somewhere else when it happened.