by Guy Adams
"You know my offer, old friend," said Alonzo, "The governing of the Dominion of Circles, or Hell if you must. I don't think I can put it any clearer."
"You want him to run Hell?" asked Hope Lane.
"Problem with that?" Jones replied with a sneer.
She stared at her fish, a bloated, glistening thing with skin like mercury. "I'm sure you're ideally suited to the job."
"Precisely!" Alonzo said. "That's the thing! You're all perfect for the roles I have in mind for you. A brave new start, learning lessons from the past and forging a better, controlled, future."
"It is rather hard to swallow," I said. "Maybe it's because we're just simple, mortal folk, but I can't say I'm clear on things either. You say you want a new Bible?"
"Yes! The old one is far too conflicted. Full of mixed messages, confusing imagery and contradictions. People don't know what to believe! Should they turn the other cheek or stone those who trespass against them? Are you sinners or are you incapable of sin because you're God's creatures? Does God forgive or does he condemn? Does he tempt or does he not? Is God loving or brutal?"
"Or both?" I suggested.
"Precisely!" Alonzo removed the skin from his fish with once perfect sweep of his knife.
"That's exactly the problem! The damn thing can't even agree how many apostles there were! This is what happens when you let a mortal edit... Especially as a group. Mortals can't handle complexity. They don't deal with nuance. You've proved as much for two thousand years, fighting each other over interpretation, symbology... We need to start again. Clear messages," he looked to Soldier Joe and Jones in turn. "Clear heroes and villains. The sort of thing your lot can handle and work with. Then, perhaps, we can get everything back on an even keel."
"Which begs the question," said Jones, "who the hell are you to be doing such a thing?"
"I'm the last authority," Alonzo sighed, "the one left holding the pieces."
"Well," said Soldier Joe, "I'll ask as everybody else is pussyfooting around it. Where's God?"
Alonzo sighed. "Lost in his own disinterest as usual, I'm afraid. Ever since he created you he has grown more and more obsessed with mortality. He says it's the key to enlightenment if you can believe such a thing! That you can never truly know the point of it all unless you're in a position to lose it. Utter guff, both philosophically and theologically in my opinion. If God doesn't know the meaning of existence then there simply isn't one. But he will have his little games and experiments."
"Games are fun," said the little girl, looking suspiciously at her fish, as if it might come back to life and bite her on the finger. "They're the best." "Oh just eat your food!" Alonzo snapped. "What does it matter about God anyway? You don't usually check for his approval whenever you do anything, which is rather my point. The important thing is: I'm doing what's best."
"I'm sorry," I said, "but that's still not enough for me. You're talking as if we can just wipe out the entire history of a religion and start again!"
"Of course we can. Mortals like to do as they're told. All you have to do is tell them loudly and clearly."
"But what about all the other religions in the world? Hinduism? Buddhism? Islam?"
"They're not my problem. Besides, if we do this right then we'll put a stop to all that too.
Confusion, chaos and disagreements. It's no good. We need one, clear, defined path."
"Free will?"
"Since when did that get you anywhere? Combine the right infrastructure with something suitably attention-grabbing. We'll have the world's attention and from that we can build."
"Attention-grabbing? Like what?"
He waved the question away. "I don't want to talk about that, I take no pleasure in it, but the sacrifice will be all to the good."
Hope was shaking her head. "Sacrifice?"
"Of course, as much as I find it distasteful, there's nothing mortals respond to better than a bit of death."
13.
"SHE'LL BE COMING round the mountain when she comes!" Claremont sang, his voice carrying over the roar of the boiler as he pushed the Land Carriage faster and faster towards Wormwood. "She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes! She'll be coming round the mountain, coming round the mountain, coming round the mountain when she comes!"
In the distance, the beautiful, perfect town grew larger and larger, sat at the centre of a tunnel of dust and smoke kicked up by the Land Carriage as it tore across the open plain.
14.
BILLY, FORSET AND Brother William were gathered behind the door that led to the engine.
"He's locked it," said Billy, kicking at the door in disgust.
"Why would you design the door so it could be locked from the engine side?" asked Brother William.
"I thought it was a good security measure in case we were boarded," admitted Forset with some embarrassment.
"We could try and break it down?" Billy suggested. "Though if there's a better way of warning him we're coming I can't think of it."
"He must know we're coming anyway," said Brother William. "He knows we're onboard.
In fact he's probably wondering what's taking us so long to try something."
"We'll have to cross the roof," said Billy, moving back to the other end of the dining car riage. "Climb up on this side and make our way along."
"At this speed?" Brother William was clearly unimpressed by the thought.
"Unless you have a better idea I can't see another way of getting at him." Billy admitted.
"He's right," said Forset, "and if we're going to do it we need to get on with it." Billy opened the door and they stepped out onto the gangway between the carriages. "I'll go first," he said, looking at Brother William. "Give me a foot up and then pass me my rifle when I'm up there." The novice nodded.
The dust that encircled them made it hard to breathe and almost impossible to see as Billy put his foot in Brother William's cupped hands and launched himself upward. He grabbed the edge of the carriage roof and, pushing against the slipstream of air that roared against him, dragged himself up so he was lying flat on his belly. He slowly revolved his body so he was looking back down at them, keeping one hand gripped tightly on the roof as he reached down for the offered rifle.
Turning back towards the engine, he began to crawl forwards. Following his example, the others climbed up after him.
15.
AS DINNER PARTIES went, I had attended better. A wise man always tries to avoid discussing religion at the dining table, we could hardly avoid it.
"Unbelievable!" Hope shouted. "So your glorious new future is built on the back of murder?"
"I'd hardly call it murder," said Alonzo, refusing to let his temper match hers. "More an unfortunate accident."
"One that you have engineered." I reminded him.
"Slightly encouraged."
"Close enough." He put down his knife and fork, resolutely trying to remain calm. "If there's one thing your history has proven, it's that it takes spilled blood to get your attention. Perhaps you ought to ask yourselves why that is before criticising me."
"Blame God," said Jones. "That usually works for me."
"You'll have to find him first," sighed Alonzo. Then, in a burst of energy he swept his arm across the table and sent a wave of crockery and cutlery flying. Those strange white walls were finally decorated, with the splattered remains of our food.
"Why do you all have to make it so difficult?" he asked. "All I want to do is get things organised. To establish a nice, calm, ordered world rather than the messy, bloody, screaming, filthy, pitiful, desperate... thing you all insist on inhabiting."
He settled back in his chair. "I'm trying to help."
"Alonzo!" a voice shouted, from where we couldn't tell. "Either come out or let me in, I don't intend to stand here for eternity."
"Fine!" he said, jumping to his feet. "Do what you like. Why should I care? I wash my hands of the lot of you."
He began to march out of the hall before turning around
and pointing his finger at the young girl. "And as for you... Grow up! Take some responsibility! I'm sick of tidying up after your messes. Two choices, either take over again or—if you insist on playing at being mortal— do the job properly and have the decency to die!"
With that he stormed out.
We wouldn't see him again.
16.
BILLY INCHED CLOSER and closer to the front of the carriage, his rifle held underneath him.
When he lifted his head he could see Wormwood growing larger before them. He reckoned they had maybe two minutes before it would be too late for him to do anything anyway.
The Land Carriage couldn't brake quickly, nor could it take a steep course correction at this speed. If he wanted to achieve either he would need to do it gradually and that meant he needed to get hold of the controls now.
As he approached the edge of the carriage, he became aware of sound of singing from be low.
"We'll all be singin' hallelujah when she comes! We'll all be singin' hallelujah when she comes! We'll all be singin' hallelujah, singing hallelujah, singing hallelujah when she comes!"
Billy had no mind to sing 'hallelujah' or anything else at the current situation.
He pulled his rifle out from beneath him, the rogue driver had his back to him so if he were quick he could end this in a matter of moments. As he raised the rifle, he noticed his shadow falling across the cabin, Claremont noticed it too.
The man spun around, revolver in hand, still singing his happy refrain as he fired two shots into the edge of the roof.
Billy's face filled with splinters as he instinctively rolled back, trying to get out of range.
He felt his boot connect with Forset behind him and then he was tumbling. The rifle fell from his grip and the wind caught him as he fell over the side.
17.
"YES?" ALONZO ASKED, as if we weren't nothing more than a gang of Bible salesmen. He had appeared to walk right through the plain white wall in front of us, the stone parting like a curtain to let him out, shrinking back the moment he passed. I recognised him of course, from when he had been cock of the walk, talking to everyone after the town had first appeared. He'd lost some of that gloss now, for sure. He looked tired, pissed off and as if he wanted to be anywhere but here.
"Alonzo," said Lucifer, stepping down from his rakh. "I would have words."
"Of course you would," Alonzo answered with a sigh. "And I'd love to catch up normally but it's a trying time and I really don't have the patience for it right now."
"You'll have to find some." Lucifer continued to stare up at the citadel. "It's empty."
"For the most part," Alonzo agreed, "has been for years. These are not good times for the Dominion of Clouds old friend."
"Where did everyone go?"
"Elsewhere... I don't know. Dominion of Circles, the mortal world... there's been no control here for eons." He looked pleadingly at Lucifer. "You know what He was like? He got worse. People despaired. They knew a sinking ship when they saw one. So people left, one by one then great caravans of them."
"But the mortal souls?"
"Few and far between these days. They all seem to end up in the Dominion of Circles, obsessed with their sins and determined to atone. Either that or they don't believe in us at all. It's not like it used to be. Things have got confused. They've got confused. That's why I've been doing all this, trying to pull things together again. You could help?"
"You've been trading in souls with a man called Greaser." Lucifer looked down at the ground. "Pulling in mortals, that right?" Alonzo looked angry now. "I did whatever I had to to keep everything going! You know how it works as well as I do. Thanks to His infinite wisdom we need the temporaries for our power, we need their belief, their stupid, butterfly minds. I had to make allegiances with people I wouldn't normally consort with. I needed power."
"Ain't the way to do it."
"Fine!" Alonzo shouted. "You too, eh? Nobody's willing to get their hands a little dirty in order to fix the problem but me?" His hand dropped to his belt, to his holster. "Then you can all just do as you're told for once!"
The shot rang out before any of us had even seen the gun.
18.
"I'VE GOT YOU!" Forset shouted, his hands digging in to Billy's boot, desperate to maintain their grip. Brother William had a firm hold on Forset's legs, the weight of the two of them enough to compensate for Billy as he hung backwards over the edge of the carriage.
"You've got to stop him!" Billy shouted. "To hell with me! Put that bastard down before we're all done for!"
The whine of the Forset Thunderpack cut through the sound of the Land Carriage as Elisabeth came flying past him. Her hair streaking straight back from her head as she arced down towards the engine and Claremont, revolver in her hand.
Her target had a moment to look shocked at this speeding angel before she put a bullet in him and he toppled back against the controls. Another shot and he slumped forward, hitting the deck.
Elisabeth swerved around, returning for Billy. "Quickly!" she shouted. "I've only got a few more seconds before I have to cut the power."
She grabbed onto him, the pair of them awkwardly upside down to each other like a royal playing card taking flight.
"Let go!" she shouted to her father, pulling back up, the strength of the rockets bringing Billy with her as she gave one last push towards the cabin.
There was little grace in their landing, colliding with the side of the cab. Billy dropping on top of Claremont's body as Elisabeth fought to cut the power on the Thunderpack, as it's terrifying whine threatened to deafen them both.
Billy was straight on his feet, applying the brake. Slowly at first, so the whole vehicle didn't jack knife. Then he reached for the steering column, riding both at the same time, slowing their speed and angling them to the left.
"It's going to be close," he said, straining against the levers, "so close."
Behind them, Forset and Brother William, slowly descended into the cab.
"Oh my dear!" Forset laughed, taking hold of his daughter. "You're a marvel!"
The levers were fighting Billy, desperate to tear out of his grip. He felt like he was wrestling the entire vehicle.
Wormwood towered before them, even as they veered towards its far side.
There was a terrifying crack as the Land Carriage clipped whatever invisible barrier it was that had kept them from entering, the whole train rattling along the curve, threatening to topple but carried forward by its own momentum.
Ahead of them, crowds of people ran for cover, but there was no need. Finally, mercifully, the Land Carriage came to a halt.
19.
ALONZO STUMBLED BACKWARDS, Lucifer's bullet having hit him square in the chest.
His hand twitched once more towards his belt and Lucifer fired again, two shots in quick succession.
"Don't make me do it," the old man said, "you're a powerful man, Alonzo but if anyone can kill you..."
"It's you!" Alonzo spat, dropping to his knees but still digging for his gun.
One last shot. Alonzo toppled sideways, coming to rest like a man in his bed, drawing his knees up for comfort.
Lucifer towered over him. "We were just talking," he said, "it didn't have to come to this.
I just wanted to know."
"You'll figure it all out," said Alonzo. "My aim was true."
"You didn't get off a shot."
Alonzo rolled onto his back, his coat flapping open. There was no gun in his holster.
"You think?" he said.
And from somewhere far away we heard the sound of a gun fire and the world turned on its head.
20.
"BLAME GOD," JONES said again. We had sat in silence for a moment after Alonzo had left, none of us capable of filling the absurd void his conversation had left us with. The concepts he had discussed, the notions he had offered, they were too big for any of us to get our heads around.
"I'm sorry?" I asked him.
"Wh
en I first met Alonzo," Jones continued, "I was working in a freakshow. Living day by day with people gawking at me, pawing at me, treating me like shit."
"I'm sorry," I said, and for all his charmlessness I meant it.
"He told me of a place where you could walk right into Heaven. Stroll on in and chew the fat with God. I told him then that the only things I wanted to say to Him weren't pretty. When you've lived a life like I have you don't pray much. You don't have anything to be grateful for.
"No. That's not true. There was one thing. Harmonium. My wife. The one good thing in my life. She helped me find this place. Always by my side. Then I lost her. And I have to think...
I have to consider... who exactly is to blame for all that? I thought I'd find her here. Dead maybe, but I didn't care about that. I'd die too if that's what it took to be with her again. No problem. But she isn't here. I'm still without her. And I wonder to myself... who's to blame for that?"
"Blame God," said the little girl, pushing her wooden train along the table cloth.
"Exactly," said Jones. "Exactly that. Yes. Blame God." He looked right at her. "Only God's not in his right mind is He? He's playing another game. He's pretending to be one of us. A little, living, breathing mortal. Because He wants to see how we live."
"And how you die," she added, sitting back in her chair, a bored look on her face.
"Yeah," he agreed, "how we die. I'm thinking that might just be the message I always wanted to pass on to God when I met Him." He stood up, pulled out his pistol and pointed it at the little girl. The table erupted in panic.
She turned to look at me. "Told you I didn't have time to learn the piano," she said.
And Henry Jones shot God right in the head.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Guy Adams is a no-good, pen-toting son of a bitch. Responsible for over twenty penny-dreadfuls and scientific romances such as The World House and the Deadbeat series. He has also worked with the Hammer Books Gang creating novelisations of their foul kinematographs and has been known to operate under the alias of John Watson M.D. writing novels featuring that pansy-ass detective Sherlock Holmes. He is wanted in several states and a reward is offered for anyone quick enough to slip a noose around his crooked neck. Further evidence of his crimes can be found on his Wild Western Waystation:
