Simon Green - A Hard Day's Knight

“You are,” said Julien. “The soulbomber says he’s waiting for you to come and talk with him. Refuses to talk to anyone else and says he’ll blow himself up if anyone tries to move him. We sent in specially trained negotiators, but he threatened to detonate immediately if they weren’t removed. Apparently, he became quite hysterical when they didn’t leave fast enough. We said we’d send for you, and he quietened down a bit. Now he’s sitting there, right in the middle of the mall, sweating heavily and singing sad songs. We’ve evacuated the Emporium. Wasn’t easy. Hell hath no fury like a shopper cheated out of a bargain.”

“Was there a sale on?”

Julien glared at me pityingly. “There’s always a sale on at the Mammon Emporium. The shop owners didn’t want to go, either, and leave their businesses unprotected; apparently their insurance doesn’t cover soulbombers. Though I would have thought they were the exact opposite of an Act of God. Anyway, the place is quite empty now. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, and you’d bloody well better, is to go in there, talk to the crazy person, and stop him.”

“Stop him what?”

“Stop him anything!”

I thought about it. “Am I empowered to negotiate? What can I offer him?”

“Not a damned thing,” Julien said firmly. “We don’t give in to blackmail. We can’t afford to, or everyone in the Nightside would be trying their luck. Of course, feel free to offer him anything you can think of, as long as it’s clearly understood we won’t deliver on anything you promise. How convincing a liar are you? Actually, no, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. It’s up to you, John; talk him down or take him down, by any means you deem necessary. But you have to understand: the soulbomber isn’t the real problem.”

“Of course not,” I said. “That would be far too simple.”

“If the soulbomber should detonate, he could destroy some or all of the hundreds of dimensional gateways inside the Emporium, the doors to other Earths, other realities, from which most of the businesses get their stock. Which would seem bad enough, but there are levels of appallingness here. The explosions could just destroy the gateways, effectively shutting off the doors. The cost of replacing them would be almost unimaginable; the Emporium might very well go out of business, with all kinds of nasty economic repercussions. Let us contemplate the idea of falling dominoes for a moment, then move on.

“That’s actually the best option we could hope for if he goes off bang. We could survive that. However, the destructive energies generated by an exploded soul could be enough to blast right through the gateways and cause untold death and destruction on the other sides. The occupants of those other dimensions might well become so enraged that they would invade the Nightside, looking for revenge and compensation. Probably both. Hundreds of armies, from hundreds of dimensions ... The Angel War and the Lilith War were bad enough ...”

“They weren’t my fault!”

“Yes, they were! Everything’s your fault until proven otherwise.”

“You haven’t finished, have you?” I said. “You’re saving the best for last. I can tell. What else could go wrong?”

“The destruction of hundreds of dimensional gateways might be enough to fracture reality and blast open other doors. The kind that lead to places we like to think of as Outside our reality. The kind of door we’ve done everything but barricade and nail shut from this side. You know the kind of dimensions I’m talking about, John. Where Things from Outside have been waiting for millennia, just for a chance to force their way in and destroy every living thing in creation. Do I really need to say the Names?”

“Better not,” I said. “You never know what might be listening. So any or all of these things could happen if the soulbomber detonates? Wonderful. Terrific. The gift that keeps on giving ... Let’s hope he’s only feeling a bit depressed and will respond to a nice hug and some ice-cream. Okay, obvious question. Who stands to profit from something like this? You said yourself, it isn’t an insurance scam.”

“I have people working behind the scenes,” said Julien, “asking those very questions in all kinds of persuasive ways. Never underestimate the Nightside’s ability to profit from even the greatest disaster or atrocity. There has to be somebody behind this. It’s not a cheap or an easy thing, to turn a man into a soulbomb. Even if you’ve got a willing fool to work on, ready to sacrifice his entire existence for ... what? Money? A cause? Revenge? There has to be some plan, some hidden purpose, at the back of this. A pay-off big enough to make the risk acceptable.”

“You know, the soulbomber did ask for me by name,” I said. “This could all be a trap designed to lure me in.”

“It isn’t always about you, John,” Julien said patiently.

“Maybe not,” I said. “But it’s the safest way to bet.”

“They wouldn’t blow up the entire Mammon Emporium, and risk fracturing reality, just to get at you!”

“They might. Depends on who ‘they’ are. Now I have to go in—if only to find out what the hell’s going on and who I’ve upset this time. Tell me everything you’ve done so far, so I won’t repeat anything.”

Julien shrugged. “About what you’d expect. I sent in every professional specialist at my disposal: bomb squad, negotiators, priests, witches, CSI ... and one of the most experienced and expensive whores in the Nightside, on the chance she might be able to ... distract him from his purpose and give him a new interest in life. Didn’t work. Apparently he blushed a shade of red not normally seen in nature and threatened to blow himself up right there and then if she didn’t put all her clothes back on and go away.”

I made a mental note to check the mall’s CCTV footage later. If there was a later.

“No matter what we say or offer, he just keeps repeating that he’ll only talk to you. John, we really can’t afford to lose the Emporium. There’s a lot of money at stake here, not to mention a massive loss of prestige and tourists. You wouldn’t believe how much tax money the Emporium dumps into our economy every year. We’re getting a lot of hard talk from the various business owners to Do Something, along with all kinds of nasty and inventive threats of what they’ll do if it all goes horribly wrong.”

“So,” I said, “no pressure, then. Don’t let the mall get destroyed; don’t let the dimensional gates get destroyed; don’t let the Outsiders force their way into our reality and destroy everything that lives. How the hell am I supposed to talk some sense into someone crazy enough to allow himself to be made into a soulbomb?”

Julien grinned. “I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

“You can go off people, you know,” I said.

The Mammon Emporium is not only the biggest mall in the Nightside, but quite possibly in the world. Opinion is divided over how many floors there are because some of them aren’t always there, some only appear on special occasions, and they’re always adding more. And yes, the mall is much bigger on the inside than it is on the outside. Such spells come as standard in the Nightside, or we’d never fit everything in. Because of the mall’s size, you don’t need a map to get round; you need a spirit guide and a compass. The Mammon Emporium specialises in brand-names, franchises, and weird alternatives from any number of different Earths. Just the thing for the Nightside, where tastes and palates tend to grow jaded really quickly; for people who’ve seen it all, done it all, and produced their own T-shirts to boast about it afterwards.

The Portable Timeslip dropped me off right on the edge of the large crowd that had gathered outside the Emporium. Shoppers who’d been ejected from the mall, much against their will; shop owners mopping the sweat from their brows as they commiserated with each other over loss of trade; and a whole bunch of interested onlookers, quite ready to risk a massive explosion if only for the chance to see something new. There’s nothing so popular in the Nightside as a free show. Vendors and street traders already had their stalls up, selling commemorative T-shirts, hastily improvised souvenirs, protective amulets of dubious efficiency, and something wriggling on a stick. (Very tasty! Get them while they’re hot!)