A Lust For Lead (23 page)

In the Grande, Nathaniel had just been told the extent of the problem. He stared at the invigilator who had brought him the news, his hands tightening into fists. ‘What do you mean she isn’t there?’
‘She’s gone, sir. The woman must have taken her.’
‘What?’
A bead of sweat formed on the invigilator’s brow as Nathaniel’s look became fiercer. ‘They must have crept out earlier in the night, sir. It looks as if she’s packed her things.’
‘Then find her, damnit! And bring back Chastity. I don’t want her harmed.’
‘Yes, sir!’ The man snapped a clumsy salute and hurried away.
Nathaniel turned to Whisperer as soon as he had left. ‘I am surrounded by incompetents,’ he muttered. ‘I have guards patrolling every inch of this town and two girls are allowed to slip away?’
Whisperer said nothing. He was a silent presence in Nathaniel’s wake as the occultist stormed down the hall. Nathaniel searched in his pockets as he went. ‘Damn it!’ he hissed.
‘She took the key?’ Whisperer asked.
‘She took them all.’
He stopped outside the locked room where the money was stored. The door was still locked and Nathaniel rattled the handle in frustration. He could not understand how things had gone so wrong after all his careful preparation. He stormed back towards his study and, on the way, met the man he had sent to check on Shane’s cell.
‘He’s gone, sir. And the guard’s been killed.’
Nathaniel swore vehemently. With Shane and Chastity both gone, he had no leverage with which to bargain with the Fastest Guns. ‘Where’s Buchanan?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well find him!’
The man glared at Nathaniel insolently but he voiced no argument. He turned on his heels and walked away.
‘Buchanan has gone to kill Shane.’ Whisperer observed.
‘Then we’d better find him first.’ Nathaniel hastened to his study and began rifling through his books. There had to be something that he could use to buy some time.
Whisperer lingered in the doorway. ‘Your men are no match for the Cordites. They will abandon you.’
‘You think I don’t know that?’ He walked to the window and peered out. ‘Damnit, have the wards been lit?’
‘It’s too late. The wards will not offer any protection. Not now.’
‘Well there must be something we can do.’
‘Against the Cordites, nothing.’ Whisperer said flatly.
Nathaniel resumed flipping through his books, refusing to accept that there was not some course of action that could snatch victory from this mess. He looked at page after useless page of magical formulae and circles of conjuration, seeing nothing that looked like it would work. ‘This shouldn’t be happening,’ he raged. ‘You said that they weren’t ready to manifest yet. You told me that they wouldn’t come until Chastity and Ennis fought.’
‘I said many things.’
‘That’s right, you did. And I’m beginning to think that I would have better off listening to Buchanan.’
‘That would have been wise.’
The tone of his voice suddenly made Nathaniel feel very uncomfortable. He turned to face him. ‘What do mean by that?’ he challenged.
Whisperer ran a finger along the top of the sideboard and inspected the dust as if it mattered more to him that Nathaniel’s predicament. ‘Do you remember the first lesson I taught you?’ he asked.
Nathaniel thought back to the day he had first struck a deal with Whisperer, back at James Point.
‘I warned you,’ Whisperer reminded him. ‘That you can never trust what a demon tells you. I told you that from the beginning, so that you would understand our agreement. You should have taken heed of what I said.’
Nathaniel stared at him, dumbfounded. He felt icy fingers crawling down his back. ‘I bound you to me!’ he said fiercely, but Whisperer only laughed.
‘A binding is a contract, Nathaniel, and a contract that is poorly written is not worth the blood you sign it in. I warned you about that as well,’ he added.
‘So this is your doing?’ Nathaniel said, angrily waving a hand at the window to signify the massacre that was taking place in his town.
Whisperer shook his head. ‘No. Ennis escaped from his cell of his own accord. I suspect he persuaded the girl, Madison, to assist him. The Fastest Guns value him too highly to allow him to escape, so they have taken it upon themselves to stop him.’
‘That’s all?’ Nathaniel had never understood why the Fastest Guns – and Buchanan – attached such importance to Shane when he had always thought it was obvious that Chastity was the better fighter.
‘Ennis has a strong will.’ Whisperer explained. ‘He has the power to resist the gun’s allure. If he Descends and becomes a Cordite, he may become the first man to ever do so whilst still alive. All of the others killed themselves in the process. Or each other. A living Cordite would have greater freedom to come and go in this world. He would have more power than any of the others possess. He might even replace Priestley as their leader.’
‘And Priestley accepts this?’
‘Priestley does as his gun commands.’
‘And Chastity?’
Whisperer shrugged. ‘She will only ever be a puppet to them.’
‘But she would have won the tournament!’
‘That has yet to be proven.’ Whisperer reminded him.
Nathaniel slumped, his will gone out of him. ‘So what happens now?’ he asked.
Whisperer regarded him emptily. ‘You came here to bargain with the Cordites,’ he said. ‘You can still try, if that is what you wish.’
‘But they are not bound.’
‘They are as bound as you could ever make them. You may not have the power to force their co-operation, but you may still strike a deal with them if you have the wit. And the courage,’ he added slyly, goading Nathaniel slightly. He gestured towards the door. ‘Shall we?’
Nathaniel did not see that he had any other choice.

They were waiting for him outside the Grande. All seven of them had gathered in a semi-circle facing the porch. The secret inner core of the Fastest Guns: the six triumphant contestants from the first tournament and the unholy messiah himself, Jacob Priestley.
Nathaniel’s courage faltered at the sight of them. Despite that they had been human until only a few years ago, their Descendence had left its mark upon them and they radiated power like the smoke they seemed to sweat.
The bodies of his invigilators lay scattered upon the streets for as far as he could see, the grey mist curling around them, exposing torsos that were shot full holes, heads that had been split open. It was like a battlefield. In the distance, Nathaniel could hear the voices of survivors calling out to one another, re-grouping, trying to find shelter or escape from town.
The Cordites had allowed a temporary ceasefire in which to face him.
Nathaniel could not see their eyes for they wore their hats tipped low, concealing the upper half of their faces in shadow, but he could feel the chill of their gaze. He looked back to Whisperer for support but the ancient sorcerer offered him none. He was on his own.
He took a hesitant step forward and called out to them:
‘I, Nathaniel, created in the image of God, constrain you by the sacred names of God: Tetragrammaton, Adonai, Agla, and Jesus Christ; that the might of Hell be now conquered by the power of–’
‘Do not threaten us in His name.’ Priestley rasped.
‘It is you who has come to our world. We have not come to yours,’ a second Cordite said.
Nathaniel felt his confidence waver. He summoned another passage from the lines he had memorised: ‘By all the things beneath the heavens, I offer you your wayward brother, Shane Ennis, and the girl, Chastity, who is worthy of your kind. I offer this tournament to you in your greatness, and the souls of those who have died. By this offering I invoke you powerfully in the name of those that strike fear and terror in you, that you shall grant me the power that is yours to grant. Grant me the power of eternal life.’
They stared up at him resentfully. Nathaniel could feel the waves of their hatred assailing him like a psychic battering ram.
‘There are none who strike fear and terror in us,’ one said. ‘We will take Ennis for ourselves. He is not yours to offer.’
Another spoke: ‘We will take the girl. You have nothing to offer us.’
Not to be outdone, Nathaniel stepped to the edge of the porch and called out in a powerful voice: ‘By all your princes, kings, lords and superiors–’
Priestley cut him off. ‘Their word is not heard here,’ he said. ‘We have no masters.’
Nathaniel was taken aback. He finally understood what Whisperer had meant when, during the early stages of their preparation, he had warned that the Cordites were a young cacophony of demons, newly formed. At the time, Nathaniel had assumed that he had meant they were weak and easily-exploited; that had been his inference. But that was not the case at all. The fact that the Cordites were young simply meant that Hell’s legions had not yet figured out what to do with them. They were a minor power, as yet unclaimed; and so there was no one a sorcerer could call upon to constrain them to his will.
Nathaniel’s heart sank. With despair, he finally grasped just what a mistake he had made.
The Cordites began to move, the three on either side of Priestley retreating, forming a corridor down which Priestley faced Nathaniel in a stand-off. ‘If you want to join us,’ he said. ‘You will have to prove yourself.’ He beckoned Nathaniel down onto the crossroads.
Nathaniel balked at the idea. ‘But I can’t beat you.’ he said. ‘My bullets can’t hurt you!’
Priestley’s lipless mouth stretched in a grin. ‘That,’ he said in a voice that dripped with sadistic intent. ‘Is not my concern.’
He took his mark on the crossroads and waited for Nathaniel to join him. Nathaniel twisted his neck around and glanced imploringly at Whisperer, who merely shook his head. There was no backing out now.
Nathaniel swallowed nervously. His throat felt painfully dry. He walked down the steps with heavy feet and stepped out to take his place. As he passed between the first two Cordites, one of them hissed at him between its teeth, the sound like steam rising from a hot gun barrel. Nathaniel flinched away from it and the Cordite leered. In all other regards, they were eerily silent. They let him take his place opposite Priestley and Nathaniel kicked the dirt at his feet, levelling it. He shook his hands to try and hide the fact that they were trembling.
He had never been very good with a gun. He could hit a target but he was no gunfighter. He could not draw fast and he could not shoot well. He stood no chance of winning.
Perhaps they just want to test your mettle, he thought hopefully. See if you have the guts to stand-up to them.
But again he was deluding himself, and he knew it this time. The Cordites did not respect courage; they only respected skill.
Nathaniel’s courage deserted him. He turned and ran but had only taken three steps before Priestley’s shot thundered out over the crossroads. It hit him in the knee and Nathaniel fell to the ground, screaming. He rolled over and went to clutch at his wounded leg but one of the other Cordites shot him in the elbow. He howled in agony and rolled onto his back.
The Cordites closed in to surround him. There were seven of them. They each fired a single shot and killed him one piece at a time.

With smoke curling from the barrel of his gun, Jacob Priestley looked up from the Nathaniel’s bullet-riddled corpse and turned to face the Grande. Whisperer stepped slowly down off the porch.
One by one, the Cordites parted before him, giving him leave to do as he pleased with Nathaniel’s body. ‘Take him.’ Priestley said. ‘And the others that we have agreed.’
‘Take them and leave,’ said another.
Whisperer bowed his head to them in thanks. He crouched at Nathaniel’s side and reached out with one hand to brush the air above his chest. In his mind’s ear, he heard Nathaniel’s scream of outrage.
Behind him, Priestley watched with darkly burning eyes. He said nothing and made no signal but the other Cordites sensed his mood and they closed in to surround Whisperer on all sides. This was the moment of betrayal that Whisperer had anticipated. He tightened his grip on Nathaniel’s soul and tore it from his cooling flesh.
‘We had a deal,’ he reminded Priestley.
‘Did you get it in writing?’ the Cordite replied sardonically.
Whisperer reacted at once. Splitting the barrier between worlds with his bare hands, he pulled forth a dozen struggling figures, who were bound to him by ethereal chains. Their bodies were like smoke and he weaved them about himself like a shield.
The Cordites’ guns thundered and the shield was stripped apart, the wraithlike bodies that composed it flying into tatters. But their sacrifice spared Whisperer any lasting harm and he reached again into the space between worlds and yanked out more of the naked, emaciated creatures and set them upon the Cordites like rabid dogs. They charged in ghostly silence and leapt upon the Cordites and tried to strangle them with their chains. Gunfire blazed and the ghostly figures were cut down in seconds, but during that time Whisperer was able to break clear of the melee and escape.
Lowering his smoking gun, Jacob Priestley extended his senses out through the town, feeling for Whisperer’s presence the way a spider feels for vibrations in its web. He could not find him; the soul-monger was somehow able to conceal himself, hiding his aura amongst the surviving invigilators.
‘Kill them all.’ Priestley demanded. ‘Find him.’

Shane ran. Every few steps, he made an abrupt right-angle turn, ran a few more steps, then turned again, trying to keep Buchanan from getting a clear shot at him.
Shots rang out frequently, some of them passing close enough that Madison yelped in panic. A quick glance over his shoulder told Shane that Buchanan was gaining on them.
Shane was out of breath. He held Chastity tightly against his chest but he wasn’t used to sprinting with her extra weight and he knew that he could not keep it up for much longer. Blasting out of the alleyway, he emerged onto West Street and ran straight into the path of a group of invigilators. They were startled to see him but quickly recognised that he was not armed and therefore not a threat to them. Shane and Madison ran between them and sprinted on towards the far side of the street. Behind them, Buchanan let out a wordless bellow and fired off a volley of shots. One of the invigilators was caught in the line of fire and fell as a bullet punched through the side of his head. Startled, the others turned and brought their guns to bear upon Buchanan. They fired and he ducked back into the alley for cover. Their shots blew splinters out of the corner of the wall.
Laughing maliciously to himself, Buchanan emerged again and fired from the hip. Both men carried breach-loading rifles that took time to reload. He shot one but his gun clicked empty before he could shoot the second.
Angry, he closed the distance between them in a loping run and smashed the barrel of his revolver into the invigilator’s teeth. The man dropped to his knees and Buchanan floored him with a devastating kick, then stamped on his neck until he felt the man’s spine break beneath his heel. He spat on the corpse while he broke open his revolver and ejected the spent cartridges.
Shane and Madison had reached the general store on the far side of the street meanwhile, and Buchanan saw them disappear inside.
‘Gotten tired of running, have you Shane?’ Buchanan crooned to himself, reloading fresh bullets into his revolver. ‘Think you can fight me, do you? Well, that’s good.’
He snapped his revolver shut and advanced towards the store.
‘Let’s finish this properly.’