Simon Green - Just Another Judgement Day

“Would you like one, John?”

“Thanks,” I said. “But I’ve already eaten.”

Chandra gave me a disapproving look and put his puppy down. Sharon herded them all back through the side door with brisk efficiency, then closed the door firmly. She looked at me reproachfully, and I stared right back at her. Actually, I’m quite fond of dogs, but I had a reputation to maintain.

Sharon led us down the hallway and ushered us into a nice comfortable parlour, which contained everything you’d expect to find in a cosy vicarage parlour, but rarely do outside of a Jane Austen novel. Bright and open, with flowered wallpaper, tasteful prints on the walls, and the usual mixture of rough-and-ready furniture. The big surprise was the huge bay-window, which opened out on to a view of wide-open fields and low stone walls. Bright sunlight flooded in through the open window, beyond which I could hear a church-bell ringing in the distance. I didn’t ask Sharon what was going on there because she so obviously wanted me to. So I nodded, and smiled, and said nothing. I can be really mean-spirited sometimes. The door opposite opened, and in came the current rogue vicar, Tamsin MacReady. She’d just been baking her own bread. I could tell, because she brought the smell in with her. How homey can you get?

The rogue vicar was a tiny little thing, barely five feet tall and slender with it. She looked like a strong breeze would blow her away, but there was something about her, a strength, a gravitas, that suggested hidden depths. Which was only to be expected. Delicate blossoms don’t last long in the badlands. Tamsin had sharply defined features, softened by kind eyes and a winning smile, with frizzy blonde hair held in place by a cheap plastic headband. She wore a simple grey suit, with a white vicar’s collar. She extended a hand for me to shake, and it was hardly bigger than a child’s. I shook it carefully, and so did Chandra, then we all sat down in the surprisingly comfortable chairs.

“Well,” the vicar said sweetly. “How nice. Two such important men, come all the way here to visit me. John Taylor and Chandra Singh. Monster, and monster hunter. What can I do for two such vaunted figures?”

“Just looking for a little advice,” I said. “So you’re the new rogue vicar, Tamsin?”

“I have that honour,” she said. “I am Pew’s replacement. Sharon, sweetie, there’s blood all down the front of Mr. Taylor’s coat. Be a dear and see to it, would you?”

And, of course, everything had to stop while I stood up and took off my coat, and handed it over to Sharon to be cleaned. She accepted the coat with a brisk, flashing smile, held it carefully between finger and thumb, and darted out of the room. I sat down again. I could have warned her about the coat’s built-in defences, but I had a feeling Sharon could look after herself. Just as the coat could. And, in fact, Sharon was back almost immediately, without the coat, clearly not wanting to be left out of anything. She settled herself on the arm of the vicar’s chair, one arm draped across Tamsin’s shoulders.

Tamsin MacReady made a big deal out of serving us all tea and biscuits, from a silver tray that I would have sworn wasn’t there on the table a moment ago. The tea service was delicate bone china, and I handled the cup carefully with my little finger extended, to show I wasn’t a complete barbarian. Chandra insisted on pouring the tea, putting the milk in first and frowning at me when I added more than one teaspoon of sugar. I waited patiently until everyone was settled again, then addressed the vicar while Chandra chomped happily on a mouthful of biscuits.

“Why are you here, vicar?” I said bluntly. I was finding pretending to be civilised very wearing, especially when the clock was ticking its way down to another massacre.

“People need me,” said Tamsin, quite equably. “I choose to live here, amongst the lowest and worst of human kind, because they need me the most. People tend to forget that our Lord came down to earth to live among sinners because they needed him most. And since most of them can’t or won’t come to me, I must go out amongst them.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” said Chandra.

“Oh no,” said Tamsin. “Not while I’ve got Sharon.”

Sharon wriggled happily on the arm of the chair, and the vicar patted her arm companionably.

“She’s my partner. All gals together, ever since school. Inseparable, really, though I often fear Sharon hasn’t got a truly Christian bone in her entire delightful body. Have you, dear?”

“I’ll believe whatever you believe, Tamsy,” Sharon said doughtily. “And Heaven help anyone who tries to hurt you while I’m around, that’s what I say.”

“Sharon is my body-guard,” Tamsin said fondly. “She is so much more than she seems.”

She’d have to be, I thought, but had the good sense not to say so out loud.

“I bear the word of the Lord to those who need it most,” said the vicar. “I listen, offer advice and comfort where I can, and if I can lead just one sinner back into the light, then my time here will have been well spent. Though of course I hope to save rather more than that. Still, I am a missionary, not a crusader. The way of the sword is not mine.”

“It is mine,” said Sharon. “Though I don’t usually limit myself to a sword.”

“Not much like your predecessor, then,” I said. “Pew always saw himself as a holy terrorist, fighting the good fight by any and all means necessary.”

“Dear Pew,” said Tamsin. “He is sorely missed.”

“He was my teacher, for a time,” I said. “Before he decided I was an abomination.”

“I know,” said Tamsin. “I’ve read his diaries from that period. He had great hopes for you, for a time.”

I raised an eyebrow despite myself. “I didn’t know Pew left any diaries.”

“Oh yes. Fascinating reading. He wrote quite a lot about you. Before he gave away his eyes, in return for knowledge. About you. Do have another biscuit, John, that’s what they’re there for.”

“I don’t have time for distractions,” I said bluntly. “What can you tell me about the Walking Man?”

Tamsin and Sharon shared a look. “We heard he was here, at last,” said Tamsin. “It’s said . . . he talks directly with God, who talks directly with him.” She looked directly at Chandra. “I understand you are a khalsa, Mr. Singh. A holy warrior. What brings you here, to the Nightside? At this time in particular? Did you know the Walking Man was going to be here?”

“Like you, I go where I am needed,” said Chandra. “My life is a holy quest, for purpose and meaning, in the service of my god.”

“Have you ever tried looking for your god on the Street of the Gods?” said Tamsin.

“No,” said Chandra. “Have you?”

They both laughed, politely. A new subtle tension had entered the Vicarage parlour. It was getting in the way, so I intervened.

“The Beings on the Street of the Gods aren’t gods at all, strictly speaking,” I said. “Some of them are other-dimensional travellers, some are psychonauts from higher dimensions, some are aliens or icons or manifestations of abstract concepts. You get all sorts in the Nightside. Many of the older Beings are descendants of my mother Lilith, from when she went down to Hell and lay down with demons, and gave birth to monstrous Powers and Dominations. It’s probably a lot more complicated than that, but there’s a limit to how much weird shit the human mind can cope with.”

“So...some of these Beings are related to you?” said Chandra.

“Only very indirectly,” I said. “We’re not close. Like so many other relationships in the Nightside, it’s complicated.”

“There is only one Supreme Being,” said Tamsin.