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The bone and cartilage cracked and shattered, the red meat pulped, and the Speaking Gun cried out in agony in all our heads as it died. The Walking Man slowly opened his hand, and the already decaying pieces of the Speaking Gun fell from his hand to spatter on the floor. The Walking Man lifted his foot to crush what remained; but it had already disappeared, every last bit of it. Gone, back to the Gun Shop perhaps, or to wherever else in the world it could do the most harm.
I didn’t need to check inside my coat to know the black case was gone, too.
“Well,” said the Walking Man. “That’s that. Now, back to work.”
“No,” I said, and stepped forward to put myself directly before him, placing my body between him and the new Authorities. I was thinking hard on what the rogue vicar had said—To stop a broken man, heal the man. Julien had been right, too. There had to be a way to reach Adrien Saint. Even after everything he’d done, he was still a man. I had to try reason because I’d run right out of weapons.
“So much justice,” I said, holding his gaze with mine. “So many dead, for the sake of those taken from you. So much blood, and suffering, in payment for the loss of your family. You killed the joy-riders responsible. Did that make you feel any better?”
“Yes,” he said. “Oh yes.”
“Really?” I said. “Then why are you still walking back and forth in the world, punishing the guilty? How many deaths will it take, before you can say enough? How much more of this . . . before you become as bad as they are?”
“I’m not like them. I don’t kill for the pleasure of it, or the profit in it. I only kill those who need killing. When law fails, and justice has become a joke, there is always the Walking Man.”
“You see any justice in this?” I said. “This isn’t about justice, and you know it. You kill because that’s all you can do. Because there’s nothing else left in you. I’ve done my share of killing, in my time—to protect others, and yes, sometimes, to avenge injustice. But every killing, every death, eats away at you a little. Until there’s nothing left but the gun and how good it feels when you use it. How long, Adrien, before you start to seek out your victims, like any other addict eager for his fix?
“Look at the people you’re pla
The Walking Man nodded slowly. “I’m still going to kill them. Because it’s all I can do.”
I moved in even closer, and suddenly both his long-barrelled pistols were in his hands. I was so close now they pressed against my chest. I could feel both barrels, quite distinctly, through the cloth of my coat. I stood very still, my hands open and empty at my sides.
“I’m not going to fight you, Adrien. But I will stand here, weaponless and defenceless, blocking your way. If you strike me down, I’ll just get up again. As many times as it takes. You’re going to have to kill me, to get to my friends. To the people who matter more to the Nightside than I ever will.”
“You’re ready to die for them?” said the Walking Man. He sounded honestly curious.
“No-one’s ever really ready to die,” I said steadily. My mouth was dry, and my heart was hammering in my chest. “But I’m still going to do this. Because it’s necessary. Because it matters. Are you ready to kill an unarmed man in cold blood, just because he’s in your way? A man who’s only trying to do the right thing?”
“Sure,” said the Walking Man.
He raised one gun, and placed the barrel square against my forehead.
“One last chance, John.”
“No,” I said.
He pulled the trigger.
The sound of the hammer falling was the loudest thing I’ve ever heard, but the gun didn’t fire. There were bullets in the chambers, I could see them, but the gun didn’t fire. The Walking Man frowned and pulled the trigger again, and again, but still the pistol wouldn’t fire. He tried the one pressed against my chest, and still nothing. I took a deep breath, stepped back a pace, and slapped both pistols out of the Walking Man’s hands and punched him right in the mouth. He cried out and stumbled backwards, and sat down suddenly. He put his hand to his smashed mouth, and looked in shock at the blood on his fingers.
“You’re only untouchable as long as you walk in Heaven’s path, Adrien,” I said, a bit breathlessly. “And you left that behind when you were ready to murder an i
“I
“For once, yes,” I said. “Give it up, Adrien. It’s over.”
I offered him my hand, and after a moment he reached up to take it. I pulled him back up on to his feet, and steadied him as he got his balance. It had been a long time since he’d felt pain, and shock. He shook his head slowly.
“I’ve been doing this for so long,” he said. “I just got tired. It was easier to act, than to think. Maybe . . . the world needs a new Walking Man. If I could be so wrong about this, I’m no longer fit for the job.”
“Hey,” I said. “No-one ever said you had to do this forever.”
He nodded again, his eyes lost and far-away, and he turned and walked out of the Adventurers Club. No-one felt like going after him. Chandra Singh moved in beside me.
“That . . . was something to see, John Taylor. Did you know he wouldn’t be able to kill you?”
“Of course,” I lied.
EPILOGUE
Sometime later, upstairs at the Adventurers Club:
The Club’s kitchens had put together a superb buffet at short notice, and the new Authorities were all making healthy inroads into the piles of food and drink, in celebration of the fact that they weren’t going to die, after all. Julien Advent was already on his second bottle of pink champagne and was rattling the rafters with an enthusiastic rendition of an old Victorian drinking song, “Dr. Jekyll’s Locum.” An altogether filthy song, but then the Victorians did like their filth, on the quiet. Jessica Sorrow had discovered a wholly splendid dessert, made up of white chocolate mousse layered over milk chocolate mousse layered over a dark chocolate truffle base. With cream. Every now and again, when she thought no-one was looking, Jessica would allow herself a small mouthful.
Count Video and A
Walker and I were there, too, probably because neither of us have ever been able to refuse an offer of free food and drink. Chandra Singh declined. He said he had a duty to return home to India, to see what could be done for his broken sword, but I think he’d simply had enough of the Nightside.
I made a point of sampling a little bit of everything, just in the name of research and broadening my horizons. The Club’s chef had a spectacular reputation. Walker, on the other hand, didn’t touch a thing. Which was unlike him. I studied him thoughtfully as he stood alone on the other side of the room, peering out the only window, lost in his own thoughts. He was holding a folded handkerchief to his nose, which still hadn’t stopped bleeding. I found that worrying. The Walking Man hadn’t hit him that hard.