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in the head five years ago but had miraculously managed to survive. The wound had left him in a coma for twenty-seven days, after which he had woken and proclaimed himself to be the Fastest Guns’ new holy messiah, spared from death by the bullet’s own mercy. Since then he had amassed a small cult following.
Not all of the contestants were men. A hard-faced brunette sat with her back to the wall. She wore a man’s clothes and had a .44 calibre Forehand and Wadsworth revolver strapped to her thigh. Shane had never seen her before but he knew by her reputation that she could only be the woman they called Vendetta. No other woman alive was more deadly with a gun.
She was not the only woman in the room, although the other was certainly not a contestant. She was a pretty young thing, maybe eighteen years old, with a trim figure and long blonde hair that was black at the roots. She sat on a young man’s lap, himself not more than a year or two her senior and Shane was appalled to find that a man had brought his girlfriend to watch him compete.
The girl was looking at Shane. ‘You never told me Shane Ennis was competing,’ she whispered excitedly.
The boy stopped nuzzling her and looked up. ‘Oh yeah, hey! Whatever.’ He reached his hand around her and gave her arse a squeeze.
At that moment, the butterfly-wing doors swung open and David Sullivan strode in. Everybody looked up at him and there was a moment of reckoning, then it passed and Sullivan stalked to the bar. He paused beside Shane, glared at him hatefully, then snatched up a bottle of beer and found himself a table far from anybody else.
Shane went to find a seat of his own but Buchanan laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. ‘Here’s just fine,’ he said.
The butterfly-wing doors swung open again and this time it was Nathaniel who came in. He was followed by Whisperer and two more of his invigilators who, once inside, took up flanking positions guarding the door.
Nathaniel walked over to the bar and poured himself a drink. He nodded to Buchanan and Shane. ‘Nice to see you here, Mister Ennis. In fact,’ he said, turning to include the rest of the room with a sweep of his arm. ‘It’s good to see all of you here.’
He stepped away from the bar, moving out into the centre of the room where everyone could see him. ‘In this room I see fifteen of this country’s finest gunfighters. I salute you all,’ he said, raising his glass. ‘Welcome to the second tournament of the Fastest Guns.’
Buchanan whooped and began to applaud but he was alone in openly displaying his enthusiasm. The other contestants remained tight-lipped and insular. Nathaniel took his drink with him to the stairs and climbed halfway to the gallery. From up there he towered over everyone in the saloon, imposing his authority on men who normally followed no rule save their own.
‘It has been six years since the last tournament was held,’ he said, his voice rich and flowing. ‘Since then, a new generation of gunfighters has emerged and it is time for the greatest among them – you! – to settle who is truly the best. This time there can be only one winner. For the rest of you there is only death and the anonymity of failure. But for the victor–’ Nathaniel paused, savouring the moment – ‘Lies the greatest of all treasures: immortality! The immortality that will come from being recognised as one of the legendary Fastest Guns.’
Shane glanced around the room and saw that all of the faces staring up at Nathaniel burned with ambition.
‘There are rules.’ Nathaniel said. ‘These men with the rifles whom you are all no doubt familiar with by now are here to see to it that you abide by them. If you do not–’
Every invigilator in the room cranked the lever-action of his rifle in unison, jacking a cartridge into the breach. Nathaniel let that formidable sound echo around the room before he continued: ‘I trust that I make myself clear.’
There was a deadly silence.
Nathaniel