Weaveworld

II

THE TEMPLE

1

hough Shadwell had a good lead on Cal, the thick air of the Gyre did not conceal him. The Salesman’s jacket stood out like a beacon, and Cal followed it as fast as his jittery limbs would carry him. Though his struggle with the by-blow had left him weak, he was still much the fitter man, and steadily closed the gap between them. More than once he caught Shadwell glancing behind him, his face a smear of anxiety.

After all the chases and crusades, the beasts and the armies, it had come down to the two of them, racing towards a goal beyond the articulation of either. They were equals at last.

Or at least so Cal had thought. It was only when they came in sight of the Temple that the Salesman turned, and stood his ground. Either his fingers, or the air, had clawed his disguise from his face. He was the Prophet no longer. Fragments of the illusion clung to his chin, and around his hair line, but this was recognizably the man Cal had first confronted in that haunted room in Rue Street.

‘Come no further, Mooney,’ he instructed.

He was so breathless the words were barely audible, and the light from the earth made him look sick.

‘I don’t want to shed blood,’ he told Cal. ‘Not here. There arc forces around us that wouldn’t take kindly to that.’

Cal had slopped running. Now, as he listened to Shadwell’s speech, he felt a twitching beneath the soles of his feet. and looked down to see shoots springing up between his toes.

‘Go back. Mooney,’ said Shadwell. ‘My destiny isn’t with you.’

Cal was only half-listening to the Salesman. The sudden growth beneath his feet intrigued him, and he saw now that it spread across the ground, following Shadwell’s footsteps to where he stood. The barren soil had suddenly produced all manner of plant life, which was growing at a phenomenal rate. Shadwell had seen it too, and his voice was hushed as he said:

‘Creation. See that, Mooney? Pure Creation.’

‘We shouldn’t be here,’ said Cal.

Shadwell’s face carried a lunatic grin.

‘You have no place here,’ he said. ‘I grant you that. But I’ve waited all my life for this.’

An ambitious plant burst the earth beneath Cal’s foot, and he stepped aside to let it grow. Shadwell read the movement as an attack. He opened his jacket. For an instant Cal thought he was going to try the old trick, but his solution was far simpler. He pulled a gun from his inside pocket, and pointed it at Cal.

‘Like I said, I don’t want to spill blood. So go back, Mooney. Go on. Go on! Back the way you came or so help me I’ll blow your brains out.’

He meant it; of that Cal had not the least doubt. Raising his hands to chest height, he said:

‘I hear you. I’m going.’

Before he could move however, three things happened in quick succession. First, something flew overhead, its passage almost hidden by the clouds that pressed upon the roof of the Temple. Shadwell looked up, and Cal, taking the chance, ran at the man, reaching to knock the gun from his grip.

The third event was the shot.

It seemed to Cal he saw the bullet break from the barrel on a plume of smoke; saw it cleave the space between the gun and his body. It was slow, as in a nightmare of execution. But he was slower still.

The bullet hit his shoulder, and he was thrown backwards, landing amongst flowers that had not existed thirty seconds before. He saw droplets of his blood rise over his head, as if claimed for the sky. He let the puzzle go. There was only energy enough to hold onto one problem at a time, and he had to make life his priority.

His hand went to the wound, which had shattered his clavicle. He put his palm against the hole to stop the blood coming, as the pain spread down across his body.

Above him, the clouds roiled on, thundering; or was the clamour he heard only in his head? Groaning, he rolled onto his side, to see if he could get a glimpse of what Shadwell was up to. The pain almost blinded him, but he fought to focus on the building up ahead.

Shadwell was entering the Temple. There was no guard at the threshold; just an archway in the brick, through which he was disappearing. Cal inched himself up onto two knees and a hand – the other still clamped to his shoulder – and from there got to his feet, and began to stagger towards the Temple door to claim the Salesman from his victory.