Nightside 09 - Just Another Judgement Day

everything else are but pale reflections.”
    “Yes,” said Chandra, turning his head abruptly to look at me. “Not just guns, but the Spirits of Guns. Every gun, every sword, maybe every bomb, too. You don’t come here looking for something to protect the innocent or punish the guilty. These are simply instruments of death. Means to murder.”
    “Got it in one,” I said. “Once we get in there, watch yourself. Murder is a sacrament in the Gun Shop, and temptation comes as standard.”
    I headed for the door, and it opened silently before me, without my even having to touch it. The Gun Shop was expecting me. I strode in as though I’d come to condemn the place on Moral Health grounds, and Chandra was right there with me, giving the place his best snotty and entirely unimpressed look. Sharp fluorescent lighting blazed up, revealing a huge emporium containing every killing tool known to man, and a few that wandered in from adjoining dimensions. Like so many churches in the Street of the Gods, the Gun Shop’s interior was much bigger than its exterior. It’s the only way they can fit everything in. The Shop fell away before us, retreating endlessly into the uncomfortably bright light, with lines and lines of simple wooden shelves, stretching away into the distance for further than the merely mortal eye could follow. I never knew there were so many types of weapon.
    And then I blinked, and almost fell back a step, as the Gun Shop’s owner, or manager, or high priest was suddenly right there before me. A respectable-looking middle-aged man in a respectable suit, with a broad square face, retreating hair, and rimless eyeglasses, he looked more like an undertaker than anything else. Which was only appropriate, I suppose. He had that quiet, remorseless calm that comes from dealing with death on a regular basis, and his warm, professional smile didn’t touch his calm dead eyes at all. He nodded briskly to me, then to Chandra. My skin crawled. It was like being noticed by some poisonous snake or spider that might strike at any moment. He was an icon of suffering and slaughter; cold-eyed, cold-hearted, always ready to cut a deal, everything for sale but nothing on credit. And why not? You didn’t come to the Gun Shop for a gun. You came to get yourself an unfair advantage, a weapon so powerful no-one could stand against it.
    “Good to see you at last, Mr. Taylor,” said the storekeeper, in a voice like every salesman you’ve ever heard. The ones who don’t have to try too hard, because everyone wants what they’ve got. “Always knew you’d drop in, eventually. Everyone does, eventually. And Mr. Chandra Singh, renowned monster hunter. How nice. You may call me Mr. Usher, if you wish. What can I do for you?”
    “Are you a god?” said Chandra, honestly curious.
    “Bless you, no, sir,” said Mr. Usher. “Nothing so limited. Gods may come and beings may go, but the Gun Shop goes on forever. I am the human face of this establishment. An extension of the Gun Shop, if you will. Because people find it easier to discuss business with something that looks like people. I am the Gun Shop.”
    “So . . . you’re not really real, then?” Chandra persisted.
    “I’m as real as the Shop is, sir. And the Gun Shop is very real and very old. Many names, but one nature. Ah, sir, the old jokes are still the best. I always find a little humour helps the medicine go down more easily, as it were. I see you have a broken weapon about your person, sir. A most excellent and powerful sword, sadly now in two pieces, its very nature abused and shattered. Such a shame. Would you like me to repair it for you, sir?”
    “No he wouldn’t,” I said quickly. “Tell him, Chandra. He could do it, but the sword would never be the same afterwards. And you really wouldn’t want to pay the price he’d ask.”
    “I am quite capable of making my own decisions,” Chandra said stiffly. “The sword was entrusted to me, and I allowed it to be broken. I have a duty to see it repaired. If it can be repaired.”
    “Oh it can, sir, it really can,” said Mr. Usher. “I know all there is to know about swords.”
    “Including restoring its true nature?” I said.
    “Ah,” said Mr. Usher, reluctantly. “Well, no. You have me there, sir. I deal strictly with the material, not the spiritual.”
    “Then I cannot let you touch this sword,” said Chandra. “I will take it home, to be remade again.”
    “As you wish, sir.” Mr. Usher