Nightside 09 - Just Another Judgement Day

control. You can’t keep using land-mines; it upsets the neighbours. Come in, Chandra, you’re just as welcome as John Taylor, and probably more so. I should go easy on the whole monster-killing bit when you meet the vicar, though—not really her thing.”
    “She doesn’t approve of killing monsters?” said Chandra.
    “Well, I don’t give a damn myself,” Sharon said airily. “Carve them all up and make soup out of them, see if I care. But the vicar takes her beliefs very seriously. To her, a monster is only another lost soul that needs saving. The sweet and soppy thing. Come on, come on in both of you, and I’ll take you to meet Tamsy!”
    Sharon Pilkington-Smythe stepped smartly back, encouraging us both to enter with emphatic arm gestures, and Chandra and I allowed ourselves to be ushered in, if only to stop her talking. She slammed the door shut behind us with casual violence, and there was the sound of many heavy-duty locks, chains, and bolts closing by themselves. I can’t honestly say it made me feel any safer. Sharon led the way down an excessively neat and tidy hallway that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a traditional country vicarage, the kind that only seems to exist on the lids of biscuit tins these days. Gleaming linoleum covered the floor, while pretty flowered prints adorned the walls. The light was a pleasant golden glow, warm and comforting. The whole scene couldn’t have seemed more cosy if it tried. I didn’t trust it an inch. Half a dozen puppies scrambled suddenly out of a side doorway, furry little bundles with oversized paws, falling over each other to get to us. And, of course, nothing would do but Chandra had to stop and make a fuss of them. They were still too young for me to guess their breed, and some of them clearly hadn’t had their eyes open long. Chandra knelt and petted them all happily. He held one up before his face, and the puppy wagged its stumpy tail ecstatically. Chandra looked at me.
    “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