Black Tattoo, The

  "And?"

  "Naturally, Charlie will be so obsessed with his own little preoccupations that he won't have the wit to understand what is being offered. With — I assure you — only the slightest nudges from me, he will answer the Dragon's question in exactly the way I want him to. Then, at last, the awakening will be unstoppable."

  "By mistake? " said Esme, incredulous. "You're saying that Charlie's going to cause the destruction of the universe by mistake? "

  "You could call it a mistake on his part, perhaps," said the Scourge. "There will, I promise, be no mistake on mine."

  "So," it added, after a moment, "what do you say?"

  There was a pause.

  "Let me get this straight," said Esme. "If I agree to what you said, then you're going to stop all this?"

  Abruptly, every single one of the Gukumats seemed to stiffen.

  "You're going to abandon the idea of waking the Dragon," Esme went on, "and never even think about ending the universe again, ever. Right?"

  "That was my offer," the Scourge replied.

  A ripple of consternation spread through the ranks of Gukumats.

  My lord! the Overminister began. I—!

  "I don't believe you," said Esme.

  There was another pause.

  "What?" said the Scourge.

  "It's quite simple," Esme began. "If I really believed that taking up your offer — that acting" — she wrinkled her nose — "as your 'daughter' was actually going to stop you from doing what you're doing, then believe me, I'd agree like a shot."

  She smiled fiercely.

  "I'm not going to lie to you: I wouldn't like it. In fact, the idea of having to call you 'Daddy' is just about the single most repulsive thing I can think of. But if it was really a straight choice between that and letting you kill everyone, then repulsive or not, there'd be no contest, obviously. However," she added, continuing to stare at the Scourge, trying to gauge what effect her words were having (its liquid-black face remained smooth and impassive, just as it always did), "that's not really the situation here — is it?"

  No one answered.

  "You know," said Esme, taking her time, "there's one thing about this that makes me very angry indeed."

  Neither Gukumat nor the Scourge spoke.

  "It's not the blackmail," said Esme, "the 'love me or else!' thing — though to be sure that certainly is pretty irritating."

  "It's not even," she added, "the fact you've murdered my family and put a blight on my entire life."

  "It's the fact," she went on, the cold, tight sensation in her chest brightening, hardening, "that you've asked me to trust you afterwards."

  She glared at the demon.

  "Do you really expect me to believe anything you say, after all you've done?" she asked. "Do you really expect me to believe that you can keep a promise, after the lies you've told and the lives you've ruined?"

  "I gave you my word—" said the Scourge.

  "Yeah, and maybe you even believed it," said Esme. "But the point is, I don't. And if you thought I was going to, you're obviously a lot stupider than I imagined."

  "You reject my offer, then?" asked the Scourge.

  "You're damn right I reject your offer."

  Esme's hard brown hands lifted fractionally from her sides. Her amber eyes glittered as she faced her enemy, and the Gukumats around her all backed away — away from the girl and the way that she smiled.

  "No tricks," said Esme. "No more lies. You and me are going to fight this out to the finish. Right now."

  THE GRAND CABAL

  Jack came to, or thought he did — it was so dark it was hard to tell — to the sound of voices.

  "Didn't even get a shot off," said one.

  "Twelve," began Number 3 wearily.

  "Hello?" croaked Jack.

  "Jack!" said Number 3, relieved. "You all right over there?"

  "Um, yes, I think so." In actual fact, Jack wasn't at all sure. He could wriggle his fingers and toes, but everything else seemed to be stuck. Even turning his head was apparently impossible: he pushed, quite hard in fact, but the only result was a soft, resinous creaking sound from whatever held him. His whole body was throbbing, as if a great weight were pressing on it.

  "Well? What the Hell is this place, kid?" burst out Number 2, to Jack's annoyance. "Just where the Hell are we now?"

  "Where the Hell do you think?" said Jack grimly. "We're in Hell."

  "But what's going to happen to us? Why's it so dark?"

  "Because in Hell," muttered Jack, "no matter how bad things get, you know they can always get worse."

  "Listen to the smallest of you!" said an unfamiliar voice suddenly. "He shows wisdom! It's a pity that he didn't show this wisdom earlier — before you all committed the crimes that will result in your death!"

  There was an answering chittering sound that came from all around them: a sound, Jack realized, like laughter.

  "Bring lights for the soup-suckers!" said the voice. "It's time for them to see who they've offended!"

  There was a soft flump; then there was light. The cave they were in was not big by Hell's standards, perhaps fifty or sixty feet high — but Jack and the Sons were stuck to the ceiling. Directly below them was another pool of mysterious liquid, this one pale and frothy looking, the color of sour milk. Ranged around the pool, clinging to the floor and walls of the cave staring up at them with a million shiny black bush-baby eyes that glinted in the light, were more Chinj than Jack could ever have guessed existed. The ranks of leathery-winged bodies stretched as far as Jack's eyes could see.

  "Gluttons!" screeched the voice. "Soup-slurpers! Vulgarians! See the grisly fate that awaits you — you and all who trespass in the sacred byways of the Chinj!"

  Jack looked for where the voice was coming from: its origin wasn't hard to find. On the far shore of the frothy sour-milk stuff, three long steps had been cut roughly into the sheer black walls of the cave. At the center of the top step, flanked by a squadron of fierce and, with their graying fur, oddly venerable-looking bat creatures, stood a lone, pale figure.

  This elder Chinj was almost white with age. Its wings were ragged, peppered with holes. The fur all over its body had fallen out in places, and great ugly patches of its gray and wrinkled skin had been left exposed to the elements. Its ears, by contrast, were crested with large and luxuriant snow-white tufts of hair, growing straight out of the tips as well as, Jack noticed, from the insides. A thick milky cataract dulled one of the Chinj's eyes, but the other blazed up at them with a hatred that was astonishing to see.

  "You who have feasted on our holy works!" the Chinj shrieked. "You who have suckled at our treats! You, who've grown fat on the fruits of our toils and yet now have violated our most sacred trust!"

  There was a chorus of angry squeaks from the rest of the flock.

  "Gruel gobblers!" howled the elder Chinj. "Chunder-munchers! Let the trials," it screamed, "commence!"

  It was at this point, unfortunately, that Number 2 burst out laughing. Soon, the walls of the cave were ringing with it — hard, brash gales of laughter that were made all the more ugly by the obvious edge of hysteria to them.

  To Jack's surprise, the elder Chinj just waited until the laughter died away.

  "You find us amusing?" it asked quietly.

  Number 2 made a snorting sound in his nose. "What is all this?" he said.

  The elder Chinj's stare did not waver. "I'm quite certain that you don't need reminding," it said. "But just for the record, I will state your crime. You were caught trespassing in the nursery pits, where none but the Chinj may go."

  "And this means what to me, exactly?" said Number 2.

  "There is but one penalty for this offense," said the elder Chinj, drawing itself up to its full height, which, it had to be said, wasn't very high. "Death," it announced.

  The word spread around the cave like an echo, carried by the squeaking voices from a million furry throats.

  "Death!" the flock chanted in time: "Death! De
ath!" — and now it was Number 2's turn to wait until the noise died down.

  "Cut us loose, short stuff," said Number 2. "Don't mess with us: you might get stepped on."

  Number 12, glued in place beside him, guffawed loudly. Jack gritted his teeth.

  "Yes," said the elder Chinj, with dignity. "I will cut you loose. I think first, however, it's time for a little demonstration of who, exactly, is 'messing' with who." It turned to the squadron of thickset Chinj standing on the step below it. "Start with the one to the noisy one's left," it said, indicating Number 12 with a skeletal front paw.

  As one, the squadron leaped into the air. In seconds the creatures were swarming all over him, until it seemed the Son had simply vanished under a mass of leathery bodies — but then, suddenly, and with an eerie precision, the Chinj stopped what they were doing and flapped back down to their places on the steps. In another moment, an excited barely maintained silence had returned to the cave.

  Jack waited, holding his breath.

  "Are you ready, soup-sucker?" asked the elder Chinj quietly. "Are you ready now for your death?"

  "You know what?" Number 12 asked back, with a smug glance at his colleagues. "I've had just about enough of this. Why don't you just cut me loose and—"

  There was a soft ripping noise, and before Jack knew what had happened, Number 12 had fallen into the pool.

  There was a long moment, then the hapless Son bobbed to the surface, coughing and spluttering. Whatever the milky stuff was, he was covered in it from head to foot. Thick curds of it clung to him all over: he looked like he'd been sprayed with cottage cheese.

  Quietly at first, the Chinj were chanting again: a single word, getting louder all the time. "Death," they said. "Death. Death. Death. Death. DEATH! DEATH! DEATH! "

  Number 12 was looking down at his hands, frowning at something. The white stuff that covered him was beginning to take on a strange, pinkish quality. The pink turned to soft red as it started to happen.

  Jack's eyes went wide.

  No, he thought.

  Oh, God. Yes! It was true!

  Suddenly, unstoppably, Number 12 was being dissolved.

  With horrible speed, his hands seemed to melt — to shrink and then vanish into fat pinkish-red droplets that fell to the surface of the frothing, milky pool. Now his whole body was disappearing, and the skin on his skull was sizzling away to reveal the raw, wet bone underneath. As Jack stared down, unable to look away from the hideous spectacle, Number 12 helplessly turned his now-empty eye sockets upward at Number 2.

  His lipless jaws had just hung open to scream when he sank from sight.

  The chanting of the Chinj broke down into a feverish chorus of cackling and cheering. All that remained of Number 12 was a spreading, pinkish stain. In another moment that too had gone, and the elder Chinj raised a front paw for silence.

  Jack gaped.

  "You see?" crowed the chief Chinj, once relative silence had returned to the cave. "You see who you have offended?"

  "Wh-what?" stuttered Number 2. "What have you done with my man?"

  "You have blundered," said the elder Chinj, "into the belly of the beast. You and your comrades will be made useful for perhaps the first time in your guzzling little lives: you shall be broken down!" it announced, hopping from one long three-toed foot to the other. "You shall be dissolved in the holy juices of the Dragon! Your bodies shall be among the first to become fuel for the Awakening — an unmerited honor for the likes of you, I might add! So, prepare yourself, soup-sucker!" it finished, leering toothlessly. "You're next!"

  The flock was already all over Number 2. He'd all but disappeared under a blur of leathery black bodies, but his screams were still as clear as anything.

  "Wait!" he screeched. "God! No! For the love of Christ, please, wait! "

  Smiling broadly, the old bat creature made a signal with one wizened forepaw. Instantly, the flock drew back.

  "This isn't..." began Number 2, then tried again. "This isn't right!"

  "'Not right'?" scoffed the elder Chinj, its eyes bulging. "Are you in our sacred chambers or not?"

  "But we didn't know about the — the sacred places," Number 2 wailed. "It wasn't our idea to come here!"

  Er, hang on, thought Jack.

  "Really," said the elder Chinj. "Then whose was it, may I ask?"

  "Number Two," hissed Jack. "Shut up!"

  "We were led here!" said Number 2, his voice reaching a sort of ecstasy of whining. "We were led here by a Chinj! "

  The word echoed around the cave. Bat creature looked at bat creature in stunned dismay, dismay that turned to outrage, outrage that echoed from a million furry throats in a rising, chattering tide.

  "Who," managed the elder Chinj, its forepaws actually quivering with fury. "Who did this?"

  "Me," said a voice from the far end of the cave. "I did it," said Jack's Chinj.

  The whole room went instantly quiet.

  The elder Chinj turned. Its good eye took on a laserlike intensity that would have reduced even a full-size demon to jelly. However, Jack's Chinj stood firm, meeting its ruler's gaze with a look that managed to be defiant yet respectful at the same time.

  "What is your designation, young Chinj?" asked the eldest bat creature grimly.

  Jack's Chinj stood to attention. "Second division, third under-Chinj, rating B-thirty-seven-stroke-six! Sir!" it recited, then bowed deeply.

  "Chinj B-thirty-seven-stroke-six," said the elder Chinj, acknowledging the bow with a curt nod, "you have been accused of leading these creatures into our most sacred places. This constitutes high treason, the most heinous crime it is within the power of our people to commit. I will ask again — and I want you to think carefully before you answer. Did you lead them here? "

  The silence and tension in the room were palpable: the air was thick with them — or maybe it was the smell that was all that was left of Number 12; Jack didn't really want to think about which.

  "I want to tell you why," said the Chinj.

  In the tension-filled hush the elder Chinj looked around the cave. "Go on," it said.

  "I did this," said Jack's Chinj. "I broke the most important rule of our people because I believed it was the right thing to do." It paused. "Every Chinj here knows what I'm talking about. You've all, every one of you, known it for ages."

  "Reach your point, young Chinj," cautioned the elder, "Our patience grows thin."

  "The Dragon is about to awake," said Jack's Chinj.

  A small murmur spread through the flock at its words — though what sort of emotion the reaction represented it was impossible at the moment for Jack to tell.

  "As you say," said the elder Chinj carefully. "We know this. What's your point?"

  "My point, Sire," said Jack's Chinj, "is that this cannot be allowed to happen."

  The murmur rose to a rumble of dissent, and Jack's Chinj had to struggle to make itself heard.

  "I brought these people her because I believe they can stop the awakening! We should help them, not kill them!" These last words were lost under a sudden tumult of squeaking and flapping from the flock.

  "QUIET!" roared the elder Chinj. I MUST HAVE QUIET! "

  It thumped its stick on the platform until the hubbub died down a little.

  "You astonish me, young Chinj," it said. "You seem to forget: we are the Dragon. It lives through us. Its wakening and final triumph should be our ultimate goal! I mean..." The elder Chinj looked incredulously around at its flock. "Don't the rest of you want the Dragon to wake up?"

  Jack was working out what all the fuss was about. While it was true that some of the Chinj supported the elder, it was obvious that an equal number of the creatures weren't at all so certain. Squabbles were breaking out all over the cave, and the air was filled with anxious screeching and cackling as the flock began to fight.

  "Listen to me!" shouted Jack's Chinj. "If the Dragon wakes, it'll mean the end of everything. The end of the demons! The end of the universe! The end of us! "

&nbs
p; "This is heresy!" roared the elder Chinj. "All our lives we have suffered the indignity of serving the demons! Now at last the time of judgment is at hand! We shall take our rightful places at the cornerstone of Creation and plunge gladly into the Great Void from whence we came!"

  "I don't want the Great Void," snapped Jack's Chinj, to a dangerous chatter of agreement from the flock. "I like being alive!"

  "You call what we do life? " replied the elder. "All we do is feed the soup-suckers!"

  "I like being alive!" repeated Jack's Chinj stubbornly. "The Dragon's awakening can't be allowed!"

  "It is right! It is fate! It is how the universe was ordained!"

  "RUBBISH!" screamed Jack's Chinj.

  Anything further in this exchange was drowned out utterly as the whole of the gigantic flock of bat creatures finally flew into confusion.

  In all this, it seemed, Jack and the rest of the Sons had been temporarily forgotten.

  Quickly, Jack tried his bonds — not too hard, obviously. He was still stuck fast. So were the three remaining Sons. All the men were doing was staring helplessly. The Sons were going to be no use at all. So, of course, it was down to Jack. Typical.

  He took a deep breath, then shouted at the top of his lungs.

  "HEY!"

  He was bigger than the Chinj. He was definitely noisier. A good third of the flock suddenly stopped arguing and looked up at him. The others were still at it, so he tried again. "HEY! HEY, YOU! HEY! "

  The noise died down a bit more. Now even the elder Chinj was looking in his direction.

  "Listen," said Jack. "I've got a proposition for you."

  * * * * *

  "I don't believe this," said Number 9, Later. He and Number 3 were making an inventory of whatever equipment had survived their journey.

  Number 3 didn't answer. After a last vain attempt to clear the black slime out of the barrel of of one the last two rocket launchers the team had brought with them, he tossed it aside with a scowl.

  "I don't believe that kid!" said Number 9. "Where'd he learn to bargain like that? I mean, that was beautiful! Number Two gets left here with the pack, so Project Justice is still game on — and it's all down to Jack! Who'd've guessed it?"