Clive Barker - Weave World

Norris, who was towards the back of the crowd, caught only a glimpse of the figure. He saw nothing of the man's face. But he saw the jacket well enough, and he recognized it on the instant. It was the same garment with which the Salesman had tricked him. How could he ever forget the iridescent fabric? It was Shadwell's jacket. It followed therefore that the wearer was Shadwell.

The sight of the jacket brought back an echo of the humiliations he'd endured at Shadwell's hands. He remembered the kicks and curses; he remembered the contempt. Filled with just fury, he shrugged off the hold of the man at his side, and squirmed his way through the pack of spectators towards the door of Capra's House.

At the front of the crowd he glimpsed the jacket and the man who wore it stepping inside. He made to follow, but a guard at the doorway blocked his path. He was pitched backwards, the throng laughing and applauding his antics, idiots that they were.

‘I know him!' he yelled, as Shadwell disappeared from view. ‘I know him!'

He got to his feet, and ran at the door a second time, veering away at the last moment. The guard took the bait and gave chase, pursuing him into the crowd. Norris' life as a lackey had taught him something of strategy; he avoided the guard's grasp and made a dive for the unprotected doorway, flinging himself over the threshold before his pursuer could bring him down.

‘Shadwell!' he yelled.

In the chamber of Capra's House the Prophet froze in mid-platitude. The words he'd been speaking were all conciliation, all understanding, but even the blindest of the assembly could not have failed to read the flicker of anger in the peace-bringer's eyes as that name was called.

‘Shadwell!'

He turned towards the door. Behind him he heard the Councillors exchange whispered remarks. Then there was a commotion in the passageway outside, the door was flung open, and Norris was standing there, yelling his name.

The horse faltered as it set eyes on the Prophet. Shadwell could see doubt registering. This wasn't the face Norris had expected to see. He might yet escape with his masquerade unchallenged.

‘Shadwell?' he said to Norris. ‘I'm afraid I don't know anybody by that name.' He turned to the Councillors. ‘Do you know the gentleman?' he enquired.

They regarded him with open suspicion, especially an old man at the heart of the gaggle, who hadn't taken his baleful eyes off the Prophet since Shadwell had entered this hovel. Now the canker of doubt had spread, damn it.

The jacket....' said Norris.

‘Who is this man?' the Prophet demanded. ‘Will somebody please have him taken out?' He tried to make a joke of it. ‘I think he's a little mad.'

Nobody moved; nobody except the horse. Norris stepped towards the Prophet, yelling as he came.

‘I know what you did to me!' he said. ‘Don't think I don't. Well I'm going to sue your ass off, Shadwell. Or whoever the hell you are.'

There was a further disturbance at the front door, and Shadwell glanced up to see two of Hobart's finest knocking the guard aside and coming to his aid. He opened his mouth to instruct them he could handle the situation, but before the words were off his lips Norris, his face all fury, flung himself at his enemy.

The Prophet's Elite had strict orders in such circumstances. Nobody, but nobody, was to lay hands on their beloved leader. Without a second's hesitation the two men had their pistols from their holsters, and they shot Norris dead in his tracks.

He fell forward at Shadwell's feet, blood coming from his wounds in bright spurts.

‘Jesus God,' said Shadwell, through gritted teeth.

The echoes of the executioners' shots took longer to die than Norris had. It was as if the walls disbelieved the sound, and were playing it back and forth, back and forth, until they'd verified the transgression. Outside, the crowd had fallen absolutely silent; silent too, the assembly behind him. He could feel their accusing eyes.

That was stupid,' he murmured to the killers. Then his arms outspread, he turned to the councillors.

‘I do apologize for this unfortunate -'

‘You're not welcome here,' one of the number said. ‘You've brought death into Capra's House.'

‘It was a misunderstanding,' he replied softly.

‘No.'

‘I insist you hear me out.'

Again: ‘No.'

Shadwell offered a tiny smile.

‘You call yourselves wise,' he said. ‘Believe me, if that's true then you'll listen to what I've got to say. I didn't come here alone. I've got people—your people, Seerkind - with me. They love me, because I want to see the Fugue prosper, as they do. Now ... I'm prepared to let you share my vision, and the triumph that'll come with it, if you want to. But believe me, I'm going to liberate the Fugue with or without your support. Do I make myself clear?'

‘Get out of here,' said the old man who'd been watching him.

‘Be careful, Messimeris,' one of the others whispered.

‘You don't seem to understand,' Shadwell said. ‘I'm bringing you freedom.'

‘You're not Seerkind,' Messimeris replied. ‘You're a Cuckoo.'

‘What if I am?'

‘You cheated your way in here. You don't hear Capra's voice.'

‘Oh I hear voices,' said Shadwell. ‘I hear them loud and clear. They tell me that the Fugue's defenceless. That its leaders have spent too much time in hiding. That they're weak and frightened.'

He surveyed the faces in front of him, and saw, it had to be admitted, little of the weakness or the fear he spoke of: only a stoicism that would take longer to erode than he had time to waste. He glanced round at the men who'd shot Norris.

‘It seems we have no choice,' he said. The men perfectly understood the signal. They withdrew. Shadwell turned back to the Councillors.

‘We want you to leave,' Messimeris re-stated.

‘Is that your final word?'

‘It is,' said the other.

Shadwell nodded. Seconds ticked by, during which neither side moved a muscle. Then the front door opened again, and the gunmen returned. They had brought four more of the Elite with them, which made up a firing squad of six.

‘I request you, one final time,' said Shadwell, as the squad formed a line to either side of him, ‘don't resist me.'

The Councillors looked more incredulous than afraid. They had lived their lives in this world of wonders, but here before them was an arrogance that finally brought disbelief to their faces. Even when the gunmen raised their weapons they made no move, spoke no protest. Only Messimeris asked:

‘Who is Shadwell?'

‘A salesman I once knew,' said the man in the fine jacket. ‘But he's dead and gone.'

‘No,' said Messimeris. ‘You're Shadwell.'

‘Call me what you like,' said the Prophet. ‘Only bow your heads to me. Bow your heads and all's forgiven.'

Still there was no movement. Shadwell turned to the gunman at his left and claimed the pistol from his hand. He pointed it at Messimeris' heart. The two were standing no more than four yards apart; a blind man could not have failed to kill at that range.

‘I say again: bow your heads.'

At last, a few of the assembly seemed to comprehend the seriousness of their situation, and did as he requested. Most just stared, however, pride, stupidity or plain disbelief keeping them from acquiescence.

Shadwell knew the crisis point was upon him. He either pulled the trigger now, and in so doing bought himself a world, or else he left the salesroom and never looked back. In that instant he remembered standing on a hill-top, the Fugue laid before him. The memory tipped the balance. He shot the man.

The bullet entered Messimeris' chest, but there was no flow of blood; nor did he fall. Shadwell fired again, and a third time for good measure. Each shot hit home, but the man still failed to fall.