Dead Men's s Boots

Then I let the rhythm-blade unfold like the spokes of an umbrella inside the demon’s rancid, pulpy heart.

Moloch stiffened suddenly and turned to stare at me in wide-eyed astonishment.

‘Three – three most useless thingsã usene in the world,’ I croaked, forcing the sounds out of my lacerated throat. I could taste the blood that came with them.

‘Castor-’ he muttered, unbelieving, uncomprehending.

‘A nun’s tits – the pope’s balls – and a round of applause for the band.

The blimp exploded with a wet, flaccid, whimpering belch. Moloch’s chest exploded too, where the tentacles were routed through it: ribs showed like jagged teeth through his ruined flesh. His human form toppled over like a tree and fell full-length on the floor, unmoving, a greenish-black stain spreading lazily out from underneath it.

It felt like an impossible task to get back on my feet, but I knew I had to try. The gunfire, the wanton destruction wrought by the bulldozer and the screams of the dying wouldn’t have gone unnoticed: after all, this wasn’t Kilburn.

Juliet was a mess. I knew – rationally – that any damage she survived she could repair: this body was just something that she wore when she was in town. All the same, it hurt to look at her, and my hands shook as I picked her up.

‘I’m going to have to carry you,’ I told her. ‘I know your back’s broken, but I can’t think of any other way of doing this. I hope it doesn’t hurt too much.’

Finding the last remnants of the strength she’d lent to me, I carried her to the door, down the hallway and out into the chill night air.

This wasn’t over yet. There was still one more man I had to visit tonight: visit, and maybe kill. Again.

The wind was as strong as ever: and now at last the rain began to fall, with perfect timing, like the tears of two hundred funerals saved up and shed at once.

25

The big advantage of Juliet’s Maserati was its acceleration: it had warp engines as well as impulse power.