The Black Tattoo

  Strangely, on this line, the riotous applause from Hell's assembled population seemed to die down a little.

  "Jack?" asked Number 2 suddenly. His face was pale, his eyes were bright, and his voice was high and tight sounding. "Could you possibly tell us what's going on out there, please?"

  "Quiet," said Jack.

  For too long, Gukumat went on, the universe has been allowed to continue, filling the Great Darkness with it chatter and its noise. For too long we, the true guardians of Creation, have allowed it to wallow in its trivial and pointless pursuits. My brothers, said the voice, it is time to bring history to a close. It is time to awaken the Great Swallower and let darkness reign supreme once more! It is TIME, the voice screamed, reaching a pitch of feverish intensity, FOR A RETURN TO THE PURITY OF THE VOID!

  On uttering this, Gukumat raised every single one of his sticklike arms, ready to greet the rapturous thunder of acclaim that the Overminister was naturally expecting.

  He didn’t get it. Instead, the vast crowd murmured and blustered in confusion.

  Gukumat's thousands of hands dropped to his thousands of sides. His thousands of shining robes flashed white as he turned his backs on the crowd — and bowed once, inward, low.

  My demon brethren, he said, there is one here who will explain what you are about to witness much better than I ever could. It is, therefore, my peculiar honor to present to you your one true Emperor. The Voice of the Void, whose breath is the wind and whose rage makes all worlds tremble. The Lord of Crossing-Places, King of All Tears, and the Suzerain Absolute of the Dominions of Hell. Demons, I give you—

  "Get on with it!" belched Jagmat.

  —KHENTIMENTU THE SCOURGE!!!

  Breaking scuffles on the ground suddenly became good-size riots: the crowds of demons were jostling for position trying to get a look at what was going on.

  Helpless, Jack just watched.

  * * * * *

  "But what about me?" whined Charlie suddenly.

  The Scourge had been just about to speak. Now, distracted, it turned to look at the boy on the red throne. Charlie was scowling and tugging, weakly but insistently, at the demon's liquid-black arm.

  "Hey!" said Charlie. "Aren't you listening? What about me? I mean — I'm going to be the Emperor, right? Not you."

  "We're coming to you, Charlie," said the Scourge soothingly. "In fact, I was just about to mention you."

  "No tricks," said Charlie. "I'm going to be Emperor. I am! Right? You promised."

  "Indeed I did, Charlie," said the Scourge, resting a cool, liquid hand on the boy's cheek. "Indeed I did."

  Charlie felt a soft pressure in his brain — a pushing sensation so slight that he barely noticed it.

  And instantly his ears rang with an echoing storm of noise.

  It was the crowd!

  And they were chanting something! A rhythmic chant, two simple syllables, making the vast room reverberate as they repeated them again and again. What were they saying? It was hard to make it out. It wasn't — was it? Yes!

  CHAR-LEE! they roared. CHAR-LEE! CHAR-LEE! CHAR-LEE!

  "Your true Emperor, who will lead all Hell into a new era of peace and prosperity!" said the Scourge, the chant already collapsing into a surge of delirious noise. "CHARLIE FARNSWORTH!"

  And the crowd went wild!

  Charlie smiled, tears coming to his eyes and running down his face. He raised an arm, acknowledging the wave of respect, admiration, and, yes, love that was coming at him then, a wave that threatened to lift him up and sweep him away on a tide of unspeakable happiness. They loved him! They really loved him! And what was even better, of course, the best thing of all, was that they'd always love him — forever and ever! Unlike, say, his dad for instance (he grimaced), the demons would never leave or decide they preferred someone else. They would never get tired or fed up or sad or change in any way whatsoever: they would love him unconditionally, forever. And Charlie and the demons would be happy together! Safe and happy until the end of time! Safe and happy and—

  The Scourge looked at the boy on the throne. Charlie's eyes were open, but they were glazed, their attention turned inward, lost in the trivial yet apparently necessary delusion that had taken perhaps two seconds to construct and position in the child's primitive mind.

  You don't deserve the universe, thought the Scourge, disgusted. None of you do.

  It turned to face the assembled masses.

  "My fellow demons," it said. "the time has come."

  * * * * *

  "Shargle, get off me!" said Jack for what felt like the millionth time as he continued to struggle in the worm's quivering coils.

  "The Dragon!" shrieked one head.

  "It's real!" shrieked another. "The Scourge'll wake it up! We're doomed!"

  "Shargle, give it a rest, will yer?" bellowed Jagmat, rippling a frill of his blancmangelike body to propel himself through the magic-charged air toward Jack.

  "Whotsyerface!" he boomed, dealing the still-trussed Jack a blow on the shoulder with a burly pink pseudopod that setn him careening helplessly into the magic bubble's wall. The wall bulged, fizzed, but — luckily, in view of the vertiginous drop onto the waiting horde below — held.

  "Jagmat," Jack managed. "Hi."

  "Ain't that your friend down there?" Jagmat remarked, pointing at the distant figure of Charlie with a tentacle.

  "Yeah," said Jack. "I'm afraid so."

  "Him'n the Scourge ain't gonna do what I fink they're gonna do, are they?" Jagmat asked. His tone was light, but Jack could hear the seriousness underlying the question.

  "Yeah," said Jack. "I think they are."

  "Well, holy crap!" belched Jagmat, swelling up and turning pale. "We're in some trouble here and no mistake!"

  But Jack didn't reply. He was distracted. At the top of the bubble something weird — as in, even more weird — was happening. A strange black spot had materialized in the air. For a moment, Jack thought he was imagining it, but the spot was getting bigger — until suddenly, before Jack's astonished eyes, a face had appeared: a tiny face, just hanging there.

  It was the Chinj.

  "There you are, sir!" it said. Its dainty features creased into a delicate grimace. "Erm, I'll be right with you."

  For a moment, the extraordinary spectacle outside the bubble was forgotten. Jack, Jagmat, Sharle, Number 3, and the rest of the Sons all just stared as the strange hole in the air suddenly widened to a kind of doorway.

  Beyond the doorway was darkness: it clearly led to somewhere else. And it was big enough for a person to get through easily.

  With a flutter of its black wings, the Chinj emerged into the bubble with them.

  "What?" began Jack, his head beginning to hurt. "How did you—?"

  "I'm afraid explanations will have to wait, sir," said the Chinj firmly. "Suffice it to say, I had help. Now..." It gestured behind itself. "This mini-Fracture will take us to a secure location in the Dragon's lymphatic system."

  "Sorry?" said Jack.

  "We should be far enough away for Gukumat not to be able to find us. However," the Chinj pursued grimly, "this Fracture is, I'm afraid, only temporary. If you wish to escape from your imprisonment here, you need to come with me. Right," it added, "now."

  "Where're you going?" To Jack's surprise, it was one of Shargle's heads that had spoken.

  The Chinj frowned. "It's no concern of yours, gladiator," it said primly. "But Jack and I are going to the Parliament."

  "Parliament?" echoed Jack.

  "It's our only hope," the Chinj announced. "We must speak with the Grand Cabal."

  "No!" shrieked Shargle, unwinding his coils from round Jack at last and propelling himself to the furthest side of the bubble. "Not the Cabal! Not the Parliament! Not that!"

  "I 'ate to admit it," belched Jagmat quietly, "but the worm's got a point: fink I'd rather take my chances with the Dragon."

  "There's no time to argue," said the Chinj, turning to Jack. "Sir, if you want to help Miss Esme — if you
want to stand any chance of preventing the Scourge from awakening the Dragon — then you simply must come with me this instant. I promise you," the Chinj added quietly, looking deep into Jack's eyes. "There's no other way."

  "All right," said Jack. He turned to look at the Sons.

  Even with his previous experience of Hell, Jack was finding the current situation alarming enough; the effect it was having on the Sons was clearly nothing short of catastrophic. The four grown men were floating and tangling and clinging helplessly to one another, a confused huddle of limbs, military equipment, and miserable scared faces.

  "Come on," Jack told them. "Let's go."

  "I am with you," said Number 3 after a moment, detaching himself and swimming over toward him through the magic-charged air.

  "No way! " Number 2 spluttered, staring after him. "No way! There's no possibility on Earth that I'm following a kid and a..." Words failed him. "A thing into who-knows-what just because they say so. We're all staying here to, uh, assess the situation." He recovered himself. "That's an order."

  "Sir," began Number 3, "with respect, we are not 'on Earth' any longer." He gestured outside the bubble, at the scene below. "We are out of our depth here: far out of our depth. Jack and his friend seem to know what zey are doing. I believe we should—"

  "Three, I forbid you to follow them." Number 2 crossed his arms. "That's final."

  "Look," said Jack, with sudden fury. "I don't know what you people have come here for. It's obviously some big secret, since you haven't told me what it is. Frankly, I couldn't care less. But I'll tell you why I'm here." He paused. "I'm here to help my friends and — it sounds like — save the universe. And I could do with a little help. Now, are you coming with me or what? Because if you're not, then you can just get stuffed!'

  Get stuffed? echoed Jack's brain jeeringly. It was typical, really, just typical that he hadn't even managed to swear properly. Still, he'd said his piece: it was up to them now.

  "Hell, I'll go," said Number 12, with a nervous glance at Shargle and Jagmat. "Anywhere's got to be better than here — right?"

  "Roger that," said Number 9.

  The Chinj was looking at the portal, the edges of which were vibrating and quivering ominously. "Sir," it said warningly.

  "Just coming," said Jack.

  "Well, I'm not!" said Number 2. "And you can't make me! There's no way you can— AAAGH!"

  Number 12 and Number 9 had grabbed his shoulders roughly and thrown him. Helplessly, he slid through the magic-charged air. The Chinj fluttered daintily aside as Number 2 approached the mini-Fracture and plunged through it before he could stop himself.

  The other Sons followed. Then Jack. Then the Chinj.

  "Nutters," belched Jagmat.

  But they'd vanished.

  BLACK WINGS

  For a long time Esme sat where the Scourge had left her, staring into whiteness, alone.

  Then, a strange dark spot materialized in the air. The spot widened — and a small old man appeared.

  The man was wearing a rumpled tweed suit with patches on the elbows and a large leather flying cap with big earflaps. He also wore fingerless gloves made out of purple wool, and he was rubbing his hands vigorously, producing an odd soft scrunching sound in the silence of the weird white room.

  "I can't stand this place," he said, looking around.

  "Sorry?" asked Esme.

  "This place," snapped the man, who clearly hated repeating himself. "I can't stand it! Why the Scourge insists on taking people here, I simply can't imagine." He paused, looking nervously from side to side. "It's definitely gone. Hasn't it?"

  "What's gone?"

  "The Scourge?"

  "Oh. Yes. Yes, it's gone."

  "Well, that's something, at any rate. Oooh, it's cold in here." The man went back to rubbing his hands for another moment or two. Then, suddenly, as if noticing her for the first time, he looked up at Esme. "How do you do?" he said, beaming delightedly. "I'm God."

  Esme's eyes narrowed. "Hi," she said carefully.

  "I've been meaning to speak to you for quite a while, actually," said God. "I've helped your friend, and now it's your turn, but... well, it's much too cold for me in here." He gestured behind him at the extraordinary hole in the air, which was now wide enough for them both to pass through. "Why don't we step into my office," he asked, "as it were?"

  Esme looked at him.

  "I'm sorry," she said, feeling very strange, "but really, I have to stay here."

  God's hand fell to his sides. "Don't tell me," he said. "You've got to save the universe."

  "Well, yeah," said Esme, surprised.

  "Well, believe me," said God, "you certainly won't be able to do that alone, so please, why don't you stop wasting my time and — unkh! "

  He made the last noise because Esme's hand was suddenly around his throat. Pulling God toward her easily, Esme showed him she was serious for a moment: his eyes bugged outward and his little arms flapped in the air in a very satisfactory manner. Then she relaxed her grip enough to let him breathe.

  "You know," she said, "I'm not feeling very patient or polite right now. If fact, I'm not in a good mood at all. So how about you just tell me what you want?"

  "It's not what I want," said God, with obvious difficulty. "It's what you want. What I can offer you."

  "And what's that?"

  "Knowledge," said God.

  Esme just looked at him.

  "I'm the archivist here," God explained. "I have records of everything that has happened — and I do mean everything — since time began. If there's anything you want to know — anything at all — then I can help you!"

  Esme frowned. "You can tell me how to beat the Scourge?"

  "Maybe."

  "Maybe's no use to me."

  "Maybe's all I've got," snapped God.

  Esme stared at him, surprised again: he was annoyed at her, she realized, not because she had him by the throat but because she'd disrespected his job and what he knew.

  "All right," she said, and released him.

  "Thank you," said God. "Now, shall we?" He held out a hand.

  Esme took it uncertainly, and they stepped through the hole in the air, out into whatever was beyond.

  * * * * *

  Esme blinked: the whiteness of the strange room had vanished, and it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. They were hovering, she realized, in midair, in the center of a tall, chimneylike structure. The chimney was very wide, and its walls were made of huge slabs of black rock, fitted one on top of the other. High above, Esme saw a tiny pinprick of gray light. Darkness yawned below her feet.

  "We are now," God announced proudly, "in the central shaft of the palace. It stretches all the way from the Needle, at its summit, right down to the Dragon's heart — a distance of some seventy thousand—"

  BOOM! He was interrupted by a sudden deep burst of noise coming up from somewhere below them. A jarring series of rippling shock waves shook the rocks, massive as they were, in their places.

  "Ah," said God, as loose dust and soot fell pattering around them. "Oh dear."

  "You want to tell me what that was?" asked Esme.

  "It's the Dragon," said God, as if it was obvious. "The Dragon's juices have been released, and they are now eating away at the foundations of the palace. Soon all Hell — and all its inhabitants — will be digested, converted into raw energy so that the Great Swallower can wake itself up. The Scourge must be further along with the ritual than I thought. We'd better hurry."

  "Hurry where?" asked Esme.

  "That way," said God, jabbing one mauve-gloved finger upward. "And quickly, if you please. As fast as you can."

  Esme pursed her lips but did as she was asked. The massive slabs of black rock in the chimney sides began to blur together as she picked up speed. After a few seconds, she turned to look at her companion.

  "Is this right?" she enquired. "We keep going like this?"

  "No," said God, shaking his head. "Stop a minute. Please. Just
stop."

  Puzzled, Esme did. Soon they were perfectly still once more, hanging in midair over the yawning chasm below.

  "I thought," said God, with elaborate sarcasm, "that you were supposed to be fast."

  "Sorry?" said Esme.

  "You're kin to Khentimentu!" said God, as if he were talking to a moron. "When it comes to speed, in all Hell's long history there's never been a demon to match the Scourge. And here you are," he added, "toddling along like we've got all the time in the universe!"

  "You want me to go faster?" Esme asked. "Is that what you're saying?"

  "If it's not too much trouble," said God, with a sneer.

  For another long moment, Esme just looked at him. Then, "Fine," she said—

  —and took off at high speed straightaway. The old man's fingers tightened around hers in an effort not to be left behind. She forged on, blasting her way upward, until noise of the air resistance building up in front of her began to roar in her ears.

  "There!" she shouted. "How about that?"

  But to her surprise, God was shaking his head again.

  Incredulous, Esme slowed to a stop once more, just as—

  BAKHOOM! Another great shudder of noise from below rippled the very air around them. When the walls stopped shaking, Esme saw that God was almost incandescent with impatience.

  "Didn' t you hear me?" he asked. He gestured round them. "Didn't you hear that? We have places to go! Things to do! And all you do is dawdle!"

  "I wouldn't call that dawdling," said Esme.

  "Ive known Chinj who could fly faster than you're going," God spat. Then he sighed. "I thought you had a real chance against the Scourge. I thought you might have what it takes." He looked her up and down, then shook his head. "Obviously, I was mistaken."

  "Look," said Esme, feeling herself losing patience again. "I don't know what it is you want from me exactly, but I'll tell you: it's not possible to fly any faster than that."

  "Oh, great!" said God. "Perfect! Now we're going to get into an argument about what's 'possible'! And what a wonderful time and place for it, I might add!"

  Esme stared at him.

  "Don't you know anything?" said God. "The Scourge can be faster than light. The molecules simply part around it: the very fabric of reality would get out of Khentimentu's way if that were its wish. And here's you, arguing with me about what's possible."