Black Tattoo, The

  The rocket hit the demon in the chest, lifting the hapless creature off its feet and carrying it bodily right over the improvised barricade and over the battle raging below, until it vanished from sight.

  "Number Three!" yelled Jack, screaming to make himself heard over the dreadful wave of noise that seemed to assault his ears from every direction.

  The Son didn't hear him.

  Jack thought about yelling again. Then he stopped himself.

  Number 3 couldn't help him. There was no one who could help him. Somehow, his desperate plan had worked, and he was through to the center of the room, alone. There was no telling how long he'd be left that way. He had a job to do, and here was the chance to do it.

  He turned and faced the killing throne.

  * * * * *

  "Oh no," gasped Esme, catching sight of Jack as he started off up the steps. "Oh, God, no — Jack!"

  * * * * *

  The steps were steep: slippery and disgustingly warm to the touch, they pulsed with dreadful life under Jack's bare feet — but he kept going. The vile meaty purple petal things that now surrounded the throne almost refused to move aside for him. He had to dig his fingers into their slimy rough edges and yank at them, hard, before they'd get out of his way. It was like trying to unwrap a giant artichoke: no matter how many of the tonguelike objects he managed to pry away, there always seemed to be another one underneath. The noise of the battle sank to a dull roar behind him, muffled by all the layers. Then, suddenly, the last one parted, and he saw what was waiting for him in the center.

  He didn't recognize Charlie at first. Or rather, he knew it was Charlie, but what sat in the throne as the tentacles caressed and sucked at him looked like a mannequin — a model of Charlie, not the real thing. His face was drawn, his cheeks shrunken. His arms and hands were skin and bones, and his eyes, shut tight, looked like peeled hard-boiled eggs in their sockets.

  Then Charlie opened them and looked at him.

  "Oh, Charlie," said Jack. "You berk..."

  "Jack," croaked Charlie, stretching toward his friend with two fingertips — all he was able to move. "Jack..."

  "Well, okay," said Jack, with a confidence he didn't remotely feel, "let's get you out of this thing at least." And he strode toward the throne. Trying not to flinch too much, he grasped one of the slimy, pinkish-gray tentacle things that was sucking at his friend's arm and yanked it away. The tentacle wriggled and thrashed, its nasty leechlike mouth parts opening and shutting convulsively on thin air. Charlie shuddered.

  "Don't," he said.

  Jack stared at him. "What?"

  "Don't."

  "What the Hell do you mean? Do you want to get out of this mess or what?"

  "The Dragon," croaked Charlie. "It's—"

  But something strange was happening. All over Charlie's body, the sucking writhing tentacle things were letting go, releasing him. Charlie slumped in the throne, unable to move, his blood still dripping listlessly from a hundred different wounds — but the thing that had done this to him was changing, shifting before Jack's eyes.

  Suddenly, it seemed to Jack that the throne — the tongues, the tentacles, everything — was looking at him. It was all pointed in his direction. And then, in a voice from the bottom of a pit... something began to speak.

  "You," it said. The voice was like the Scourge's, only older. Deeper. Stronger.

  "You," it repeated. The voice didn't seem to be coming from any particular place, but Jack heard it with every fiber of his being.

  "You have forced your way into my throne room. You seek to deprive me of my rightful victim. Explain yourself."

  "Er," said Jack. "Um..."

  "Do you wish to stop the awakening?" prompted the voice.

  "Er, well, yeah," said Jack, grabbing at this chance and hardly believing that it was being offered. "Yes, actually," he said, putting more effort into his voice this time. "I want to stop the awakening. Yes."

  "This child has paid for the awakening with his life. The price for preventing it will be the same. Do you, then," it repeated, "offer your life?"

  Jack stared.

  Then he scowled.

  For Heaven's sake! he thought (only he didn't use the word heaven). If this didn't just beat everything. Here he was, with the existence of the universe now — apparently — depending on him. Against all the odds, he had got his chance: he could save Charlie, he could save the day — but of course, it had to hinge on him volunteering to die. How completely, utterly —

  "All right," he said, stepping up. "Okay, I'll do it."

  "Do what?" boomed the voice.

  Jack scowled again. "I'll 'offer my life' or whatever! Come on, let's get on with this!"

  "Then take the boy's place on the throne."

  "Right," said Jack.

  The tentacle things didn't resist him now. They fell away easily. What resisted him was Charlie.

  "No!" said Charlie, plucking weakly at Jack's arms as Jack lifted him out of the throne — and dumped him, none to ceremoniously, on the fleshy red floor.

  "Shut up," said Jack, "and listen to me. You have a job to do, and it's time for you to do it."

  Charlie stared at him, stunned by the strength in Jack's voice. For the first time ever, Jack realized, Charlie was actually taking him seriously.

  Jack sighed.

  "You've got to go out there," he said, gesturing past the purplish, tonguelike layers of the walls, "and you've got to help Esme."

  Still Charlie stared.

  "You've got to do what you first said you were going to do. Remember? You've got to help her defeat the Scourge. You've got to do it," said Jack, staring right back into his eyes. "For me."

  There was another pause.

  "Oh, mate," said Charlie. "I'm so sorry. I—"

  "Save it," said Jack, sitting down on the throne. "Just go. Let me get on with this."

  He closed his eyes, not wanting to look at Charlie anymore. This whole situation was, after all, entirely Charlie's fault.

  To his credit, Charlie didn't try to say anything else. And when Jack opened his eyes, Charlie was gone.

  Right, thought Jack, and waited for the next bit.

  It wasn't long coming.

  * * * * *

  ""Khentimentu the Scourge," said Charlie, from Esme's side, "To roots that bind and thorns that catch I consign you."

  The demon froze. "You!" it said.

  "Hi, Charlie," said Esme.

  "Hi, Esme."

  "Glad you could make it."

  "Don't thank me," said Charlie. "Thank Jack."

  Esme looked at him and nodded slowly. "Well," she said.

  "Let's make sure he didn't waste the effort."

  "Ready when you are."

  "On three, then," said Esme. "One."

  The air in front of Charlie and Esme suddenly wobbled and shook; then a long, glistening, stafflike object was forming between them, stretching across in front of them, under their hands.

  "Charlie?" asked the demon, and for the first time in its long life, it suddenly sounded uncertain. "Charlie, let me explain."

  "Two."

  "You can still be Emperor. I can still give you everything you wanted! Charlie, you'll be sorry !"

  "I already am," said Charlie, then closed his eyes.

  "Three," said Esme. The magical staff was fully formed now: a last gunmetal glint passed down its length, then it was ready for the job it had to do.

  "KHENTIMENTU THE SCOURGE!" said Esme and Charlie both at once, and their combined voice was so loud that all Hell suddenly found that it had stopped what it was doing and now had no choice but to listen to the boy and the half-demon girl and hear what they had to say next.

  The Scourge trembled.

  "TO ROOTS THAT BIND—"

  The words echoed around the heart chamber. The magical staff glowed blinding white.

  "—AND THORNS THAT CATCH—"

  Now the demon was screaming — a terrible sound, a sound like tearing in your head, a maim
ing scream that went on and on.

  "WE CONSIGN YOU!" roared Esme and Charlie at once. "GET YOU HENCE, AND TROUBLE US NO MORE! "

  And with a final, piteous shriek, the liquid darkness that was Khentimentu the Scourge was sucked, helplessly, toward the burning magical staff that Charlie and Esme held in their hands. It swirled around them, a nimbus of pure black, rushing and hurtling and twisting and rippling.

  Then, with a final clap of thunder—

  —it was gone.

  Exhausted, Esme sank to the floor.

  They'd done it! They'd trapped the Scourge in the staff! Now if Esme could only get the demon back to Earth and reimprison it, she would have succeeded at last where Nick had failed. Hardly believing it, she turned to smile at Charlie.

  But he wasn't there.

  * * * * *

  "Been here — ow," Jack said aloud, as the Dragon began to suck out his life. "Done this," he added, doing his best to put a brave face on things — though to be honest, at that moment, he wasn't sure why he was bothering.

  "You are... very strange," said the Dragon suddenly.

  For a moment, Jack was too surprised to speak, but it didn't take him long to recover himself.

  "No," he replied. "I'm normal. It's you who's strange."

  "What... do you mean?"

  "I mean," said Jack, with an effort, "this business of you creating the universe and falling asleep, then waking up and destroying it."

  "Yes?"

  "Well, what kind of a routine is that? If all you were ever going to do was sleep through the whole thing, why bother creating the universe in the first place? It just..." Jack shook his head. "It doesn't make any sense!"

  Suddenly, to Jack's surprise, the sucking sensation stopped. The throne still held him tight: the tentacle things still gripped his arms — but the blood was no longer being leeched out of his body.

  "Your question is a fair one," the Dragon said, considering. "You're about to die, so I shall let you in on a secret."

  Jack held his breath.

  "I have not been asleep."

  "So?" asked Jack, annoyed. "What've you been doing all this time? Pretending?"

  "My slumber was a convenient fiction," said the Dragon smugly. "It was necessary, to preserve the conditions of my experiment."

  "What experiment?" asked Jack.

  "When I created your universe," the Dragon announced, "I also created its nemesis: an immortal being that thrived on the worst in people — a being that, if it were given the chance, would have the power to bring my Creation to an end."

  "The Scourge," said Jack.

  "The central question of my experiment, then, was this," the Dragon went on. "Could the other sentient creatures work together to prevent this catastrophe from occurring? Or would they be so wrapped up in their own concerns that they would allow themselves to be destroyed?"

  "I don't understand," said Jack.

  "That question has now been answered," said the Dragon, regardless. "The Scourge succeeded. The awakening was not prevented." It paused. "You failed."

  Jack thought about this, following through the implications of what he'd just heard.

  It took several seconds, but when he finally got his head round it, he felt an emotion that was so strong he couldn't actually identify it at first.

  "Hang on," he said. "Let me get this straight. This whole thing — the whole history of the universe — was just some kind of... test?"

  The Dragon did not reply.

  "But that's insane!" said Jack, with rising fury. "Are you seriously telling me, after everything that's happened, that it's all been, like, a game for you?"

  "Not a game," the Dragon replied. "An experiment. And now the experiment is over."

  "But — I don’t believe this!" said Jack. "All this effort, all this pain and suffering, and it's just so you can prove some point? "

  "That is correct," said the Dragon simply.

  "Well," said Jack. There was, he found, only one more thing to be said.

  "You SELFISH GIT!"

  "What? " said the Dragon, astonished. "What did you just say?"

  "I think you heard me," said Jack, disgusted. "Well, I've got a question for you too. Where do you get off playing with people's lives like that? What gives you the right? Who," he added, reaching a pitch of righteous rage, "do you think you are?"

  "I am THE DRAGON," roared the Dragon. "I am your Creator. It is an unspeakable, immeasurable honor," it went on, "for an insignificant speck such as yourself to have the opportunity to converse with one such as me. You are here as a penitent, offering your pitiful life in exchange for a stay of execution for your universe. I would think, therefore, that a little respect is—"

  "Hang on," said Jack suddenly. "Say that again."

  "I said," said the Dragon, "I am the Dragon, Your Cr—"

  "No, after that."

  "After what?"

  "After all that crap you just said," said Jack, another ugly thought beginning to occur to him. "What do you mean, my universe?"

  "I'm sorry?" asked the Dragon.

  "You said, 'your universe'," pursued Jack doggedly. "What exactly did you mean by that? Are there others? And come to think of it, what do you mean by 'one such as me'?"

  "You must have misheard me."

  "No," said Jack. "Your voice is pretty loud, and I'm quite sure you distinctly said—"

  "It is not for one such as you to question the utterances of the Dragon!"

  "Just tell me this," said Jack quickly. "If you created us — the universe, everything — then who created you ?"

  "No one!" said the Dragon. "I created myself."

  "Nope. Sorry," said Jack. "I don't believe you." He shook his head, actually smiling to himself now. "Blimey!" he said. "You gods — you're all the same. You must just think we're all stupid!"

  "Wh-what do you mean?"

  "I mean, look at what you do, going around 'creating' things. Why do you do it?"

  "My motivations are like me; infinite and mysterious. A puny mortal could not—"

  "Oh, save it," said Jack. "Please, just give it a rest, will you? If you don't have the guts to tell me yourself, then I'll tell you what I think — all right?"

  "Very well," snorted the Dragon. "Amuse me!"

  Jack took a deep breath.

  "I don't think," he began, "that when you — and people like you — go and start something like this, you do it with some grand master plan in mind. You do it," he said, "because you're bored. That's my guess."

  "Yeah," Jack went on, liking his idea more and more the more he examined it. "You do it because you think it'll be fun. You do it because it might be interesting. You do it," he finished, "because you've got nothing else to do! "

  There was a long silence.

  "Am I right?" asked Jack. "Or what?"

  "That's..." said the Dragon — and paused. "Actually," it conceded, "that's rather acute of you. Intriguing. Go on."

  "Well!" said Jack. "In that case, it follows that you don't actually want my universe to end. Do you? I mean, if that happens, then you'll have to find something else to play with!"

  The Dragon did not answer.

  "In fact, I reckon you'd be pretty pleased if you didn't really have to destroy us. In fact, Jack added, hardly believing in his own audacity, "you don't really want to kill me at all either!"

  There were another few seconds of silence — seconds that felt, to Jack, very long indeed.

  Then Charlie shoved his way into the throne room. Esme appeared beside him.

  "Jack!" they shouted. "Jack! No! " And they set about trying to rescue him.

  Charlie — Jack was surprised (and at the same time kind of pleased) to notice — was crying; his eyes were red and puffy, and guilty tears were pouring down his cheeks. Even Esme looked worried — but she was the first to catch Jack's eye and interpret the few frantic and secretive gestures he could manage, glued as he was to the throne.

  "It's all right, mate! I'm coming! We'll just get you o
ut of—ow! What?" sputtered Charlie, when Esme grabbed him and roughly pulled him a couple of steps back. "What are you—?"

  "Wait," said Esme.

  There was a rumbling from all around them, and a whispering, crackling, rustling sound as the fleshy walls began to shrink back.

  "I have decided," the Dragon's voice announced, "that on this occasion the universe shall be spared. I have also decided" — Jack held his breath — "to allow this boy to live."

  "I like you," it added, in a quieter voice that Jack knew only he could hear. "You're interesting. However, your enquiring nature has made you most impertinent. If your universe had more like you in it, then I might have to destroy it for my own peace of mind. Do I make myself clear?"

  "No problem," said Jack fervently.

  "The Dragon has spoken," said the voice. "Be sure of what you want of me, foolish mortals, before you disturb my ancient slumber again."

  Not wanting to push his luck any further that he had already, Jack kept his mouth shut.

  Then, for a long moment, he thought about it.

  He thought about God, about the god who'd created God, and the god who'd created the god who created God, and so on. He thought about what it all might mean for himself and his life and his place in existence. He thought, in that moment, about the meaning of it all — and wondered, briefly, whether there actually was one. But then the throne released him.

  And then Esme threw her arms around him.

  And suddenly, Jack found that, actually, he didn't really care.

  * * * * *

  "So," said the elder Chinj, much later, "you have fulfilled you promise. You have returned to throw yourself upon our mercy — to prostrate yourself," it added, "before the righteous wrath of the Grand Cabal. I confess, small human, I am surprised."

  "Yeah, well," said Jack. "A promise is a promise."

  "And let me remind you," said the elder Chinj, "and all those here present, of what that promise consisted!"

  "Get on with it! " squeaked a voice from the back row of the flock, to a dangerous chatter of agreement.

  "You have agreed, in accordance with our most holy laws," intoned the elder Chinj, scowling furiously, "to pay for your heinous crimes. You have promised," it added, "to make good your gross violation of our most sacred byways. YOU HAVE SAID," it shrieked, reaching a fever pitch of ferocity, "THAT WE CAN DO WHATEVER WE LIKE WITH YOU!"