Hell''s Pawn

  “So what did you do?” John asked.

  “I decided to kill him,” Dante said, causing the audience to gasp. “No! Not Warren.

  Filthy Henry. I figured it was either him or a gaggle of goodwill kids, so the choice wasn’t so hard. I bought some rat poison and put it in Henry’s tea that very day. E ven with his cuppa drowning in milk, he could taste something was wrong. O f course I had been dumb enough to make his tea for him, like I was suddenly his mother. Filthy Henry had a suspicious mind, you see. B efore I could blink he had two of his favorite pistols pointed at me, his eyes all blood and murder. I was a goner! B ut then that li le bit of rat poison hit his stomach, and before you know it, Henry was keeled over and puking up his guts.”

  The audience groaned, Thoth’s magic conjuring the smell of the puke along with the lumpy visual details.

  “All he ever ate was fish and chips,” Dante explained. “Anyway, I ’ve never been handy with a gun, but I figured it was time to learn, so I grabbed the pistols and started pulling the triggers. Nothing happened. They didn’t budge. M ight have been the safety but I didn’t know where that was, and Henry was ge ing to his feet. S o I used them as clubs instead. W orked a treat, really. B efore long, Henry was filthier than he’d even been before.”

  The audience was horrified, except one twisted soul who cheered.

  “After the deed was done, I took what I could from Filthy Henry’s safe and hightailed it back to Dublin. Funny thing is, if I hadn’t saved Warren’s life, I probably would have gone straight to Hell. W ould have saved me a lot of trouble, come to think of it.”

  W ith the story having mercifully reached its conclusion, the chamber full of people began talking, their gestures animated. S eeing them like this, J ohn could not believe they were once nearly comatose.

  “He’s a hero!” one man said emphatically.

  “He could have warned the constable instead of commi ing murder,” an old woman complained. “They could have arrested Filthy Henry.”

  “There was no time!” another insisted.

  W here debates weren’t raging, others were discussing the modern wonders that had been the backdrop of the story. P ubs, cities, and cars: All were concepts that must have seemed like something out of Star Wars to the people of ancient Egypt.

  Thoth led J ohn and his friends from the chamber while his people were distracted.

  He had no need to speak, as his point had been made. The souls that came from Hell would have a captive audience and possibly enjoy celebrity status. After all, no other realm’s citizens had more interesting stories to share. J ohn didn’t know if they would be a good influence, but anything was better than boredom.

  O utside the onyx pyramid, the other E gyptian gods awaited them, along with the steam coach.

  “Ten thousand souls?” Osiris asked.

  R immon turned to J ohn. “M any people in Hell feel the urge to move on as well.

  This could be good for them, but I leave the choice to you.” J ohn nodded. W hy not? Wasn’t this what they were fighting for? Not just to liberate P urgatory, but to return free movement between the realms. W ith the deal finalized and the amount of souls agreed upon, it was time to return to Hell. O nce the coach was airborne, the view outside the window was a sea of animal heads, waving goodbye with human hands. W ith Dante in the driver’s seat, the land of pyramids, sphinxes, and pharaohs was soon far behind them.

  Chapter Eleven

  Asmoday’s office was empty, the only sound the ticking of an antique clock that normally couldn’t be heard over the Archduke’s heavy breathing. J ohn was tense with anticipation. R immon had promised him answers when they returned to Hell, but he couldn’t imagine what form they would take. Truth could be an amazing catalyst for change. O nce a perspective had been altered, there was no return. J ohn was tempted to grab R immon and say he had changed his mind. After all, wasn’t he happy enough?

  He had goals keeping him busy, and he enjoyed the freedom of moving between the realms and exploring. B ut if he stopped himself now, J ohn knew he would no longer be happy. To live in fear of the truth was so much worse than knowing it.

  S o now they stood in an empty office, Asmoday’s absence ominous. I n what initially appeared to be a rebellious gesture, R immon leapt onto the vacant desk and kicked at a snow globe that sheltered a plastic melting snowball beneath its glass surface. The snow globe tipped over, revealing a hinge where it was a ached to the desk. There was an audible click, then the desk rumbled and shook.

  The incubus held out his hand as the desk began descending. “Come.” B y the time J ohn recovered from his surprise, the desk’s surface was even with the floor and sinking further. J ohn jumped for the desk, allowing himself to be more clumsy than necessary so that R immon would catch him. The demon’s stabilizing hands were warm on J ohn’s arms, but flirtatious desires were swept away when J ohn saw what lay below Asmoday’s office.

  This was the Hell that foam-mouthed preachers and maddened B ible-thumpers always promised. The world spiraling out below the desk was all flames and sulfur fumes. The heat waves were so great that they were visible, like wavering ghosts. A geyser of lava erupted just inches from the desk, sending J ohn recoiling. O nly Rimmon’s grip saved John from tumbling over the edge.

  “Take it easy.”

  R immon’s voice was calm, making J ohn feel as though he were a Neanderthal reacting to something as common as city street traffic. He thought up a smart reply, but before the quip could leave his lips, a dark shadow slid over them as something enormous passed above their heads. A moment later, a bloodcurdling scream sounded from the direction it had flown.

  “What was that?” John asked, voice harsh with fear.

  “The flying creature I ’ve never seen before, but the scream came from an escapee,” Rimmon said without emotion. “They usually don’t get this far.”

  “An escapee? From what?”

  “W hatever tortures they were suffering.” The light from the surrounding fires made R immon’s skin appear even redder than usual and cast his face in deep shadows.

  Never had he appeared so demonic. “Keep in mind that these tortures are purely of the sinner’s own design, a manifestation of his or her guilt. S inners create the very scenarios they feel they deserve. O ccasionally one will allow himself to escape, to experience a moment of release before suffering crushing defeat when caught.” A monstrous squawk and a tearing noise came between screams. J ohn felt so repulsed that he moved away from Rimmon.

  “I explained all of this to you when we first met, J ohn, and even showed you a vision.”

  “You did, but that felt like a dream. S eeing it in practice is entirely different. You can’t tell me that person down there wants to be—” He broke off, his imagination filling with gory possibilities.

  R immon sighed. “We could go down there, forcibly drag the sinner onto this desk, and take him up to the surface to freedom, but the second we take our eyes off him, he would be right back down here again. They believe they should be here and so they are.”

  “But the steam coach drivers—”

  “Felt they had earned redemption, had worked off whatever sins they commi ed in life. I promise it isn’t all like this. S ome parts of Hell are drab and boring, people milling around and unable to be with the ones they love. I n other places liars lose the ability to speak or hateful people suffer an unending barrage of ugly truths. E ach of these souls works through the issues they didn’t resolve in life, and none of them remain here forever. They leave be er people, because deep down we all know what is right for ourselves.” R immon frowned. “Then there are the real sinners, the child molesters, murderers, and rapists. They are in a category all their own. They are the ones who suffer in places like this one or worse. The li le sinners, they move on soon enough, but big sinners aren’t so lucky.”

  J ohn swallowed. “B ut you said some of those people don’t feel guilty or ashamed of their crimes.”

  “And they are us
ually happiest here, torturing the souls who feel they deserve it.

  Hell isn’t a perfect system. None of creation is. There is real evil out there on the astral plane, unapologetic and uninterested in games of torture, but we try to contain as much of it as we can here.”

  “Do you guys have Hitler?” John asked, regaining some of his sense of humor.

  “O h, yes.” R immon smiled. “Hitler is a keeper. There’s a whole region dedicated to him and his friends.”

  The desk finally thudded to a stop below the level of the molten pools of lava and eternal blazes. S talagmites glowed with crimson veins, and the floor beneath their feet steamed like freshly laid blacktop. Ahead was a mansion hewn directly out of the surrounding stone. O rnamentation was carved into the exterior, scenes both carnal and violent. The windows were wide and slanted, like angry eyes, each lit by a single violet flame that appeared to follow them as they neared the massive wooden doors.

  W ith an ancient creak, the great doors opened, revealing a corpse dressed smartly in a butler’s uniform. A permanent smile was on its face, the mummified skin having pulled away from the teeth long ago. The lack of eyelids gave the butler a look of constant panic.

  “The master is relaxing in the hot tub,” the deceased creature rasped.

  The butler needn’t have informed them. J ohn barely had time to take in the heavy concrete stairway or the obscene tapestries covering every wall before Asmoday came wobbling into the room.

  “W hat is it?” he spu ered. “Are the other pantheons here early? Did you greet them?”

  Seeing Asmoday naked had never been on John’s wish list, and the steaming yellow chunks that were sliding off his chubby curves certainly didn’t help sell the idea. W hat had the Archduke been bathing in, puke?

  “Nothing to worry about,” Rimmon soothed. “We’re just here for a debriefing.” Asmoday’s three eyes narrowed, the undead butler already shambling toward him with blanket-sized towel that he had conjured up.

  “Then why’d you bring him along?” the Archduke snarled as the towel was stretched around his waist.

  “B ecause, thanks to him, the G reco-R oman pantheon will join us. Asmoday, it’s time we bring J ohn inside, tell him the full details of the situation. I f we don’t, then we stand to lose his support.”

  “We never needed it to begin with,” the Archduke snorted. “There are plenty of—” He hesitated. “—his sort who can get the job done.”

  “Could any of them bring the Egyptians to our side?”

  Asmoday barked one humorless laugh. “O f course not! We’ll all be dust in G od’s nose before those elitist mummies crawl out of their tombs.” R immon raised an eyebrow. “And yet they are poised to join us in ba le. That is, if John chooses to call on them.”

  “Him?” Asmoday pointed a stubby finger at J ohn. “The E gyptians are at his beck and call?”

  “Yes,” R immon lied, “and if we don’t show him some respect, we stand to lose everything they could bring to your war.”

  “I ’ve always considered J ohn a part of our inner circle,” Asmoday oozed without missing a beat. “I just never wanted to burden him with details he would find boring.

  Still, if he insists. Come on in! Mi casa es tu casa, compadres! ” J ohn shook his head ruefully as they were led through the gaudy mansion to an open courtyard devoid of flora. O nly humanoid sculptures were there as decoration, usually in pairs, sometimes in threesomes. The statues were twisted into positions even the Kama S utra had failed to depict, mostly because half were physically impossible if not downright deadly. The hot tub in the center of these statues was filled with a bubbling, thick substance that really did resemble vomit. Asmoday slipped in, inviting them to join him. They declined, which was just as well since his considerable bulk took up the entirety of the tub.

  I nstead they sat on two doggy-style statues that served as benches. R immon went through his debriefing. Asmoday already knew of the success with the G reeks, thanks to a message from Hermes, but his eyes gli ered greedily when he heard the deal made with the E gyptians. He barely blinked at the sum of ten thousand souls, a sure sign that the E gyptians could have asked for more. The only detail R immon left out was the cause of John’s sunburn, although the topic came up in its own way.

  “No sign of Ra, then?” Asmoday asked.

  “He wasn’t with the assembled gods,” Rimmon answered smoothly.

  The grimace on the Archduke’s face was the final piece of the puzzle for J ohn. He could think of only one reason Asmoday would look disappointed instead of happy that a competing pantheon was left without its chief. Now it was only a ma er of getting him to admit it.

  “I know you boys have worked hard,” Asmoday said, rubbing his hands together eagerly, “but there’s one last place I need you to go. We have more than enough generals and majors, but what we lack now are troops.”

  J ohn listened half-heartedly to the details of their next trip, waiting for his chance to speak. Once it came he said, “I’ll go, but first I would like a meeting with Satan.”

  “Satan?” Asmoday floundered.

  “S atan, the Devil, L ucifer, whatever you call him. I need to speak with him before this goes any further. S eeing as how I ’m on the inside now, this shouldn’t be a problem.”

  Asmoday tried to stand and ended up slipping in the sludge, but this didn’t stop him from shouting. “W ho do you think you are? You think the Devil has time for you?

  Do you realize how miniscule and unimportant your existence is to him? You’re nothing! Beneath his notice! Plankton begging for the attention of a shark!”

  “Just one minute? Ten seconds even?”

  “No!”

  John smiled. “How long has he been missing?”

  Asmoday glared accusingly at Rimmon.

  “He didn’t tell me anything.” J ohn stood to draw a ention to himself. “E very pantheon we visited has been without its leader. W hy would Hell be any different?

  How long has he been gone?”

  Asmoday’s look of fury melted into one of misery. “L inear time is for humans, but you could say he’s been gone more than a century in living years.” John nodded. “And did the other leaders disappear at the same time?”

  “I don’t know!” Asmoday wailed. “L ucifer vanishing was a dream come true! For millennia my single ambition was to supplant him. O nce I took his place, I was too busy reveling in my new power to pay a ention to the other realms. O h, it was wonderful, wonderful at first! W hat I didn’t realize is that the previous king had spent a millennia shi ing on his throne, leaving me si ing on nothing more than one giant pile.”

  John grimaced. “Please tell me you mean that metaphorically.”

  “B y the time I had finished binging on power,” Asmoday continued, “the pantheons were all pointing accusatory fingers at each other, most of them aimed at us. They always blame Hell, when everyone knows it’s never the most obvious suspect.”

  “And the real reason you want to wage war on Heaven?” John pressed.

  “L ucifer’s plan,” Asmoday said. “B efore he disappeared, he was secretly organizing this war. He hadn’t told any of us about it, but the plans were left behind when he went. G athering the pantheons together, the strategic advantages they each had, all of it mapped out in careful detail. He knew what he was doing.”

  “Well, that’s no surprise,” John snorted. “That’s what the Devil does, right?”

  “I n fact, it isn’t,” R immon said. “L ucifer had more power in Hell than he ever did as an angel by G od’s side. That G od still had more power never bothered him. L ucifer wasn’t a fool. Second place out of billions was more than enough for him.”

  “B ut he was still scared of something.” Asmoday’s chins wobbled with greater velocity as his panic increased. “W hy else would L ucifer plan a war that repulsively shares the glory with other pantheons? He knew his days were numbered!” J ohn sighed. “Did it ever occur to you that G od may have whisked the Devil
away because of this plan?” The Archduke squirmed uncomfortably, and even though he knew it was cruel, J ohn couldn’t help but continue. “M aybe L ucifer got bored after all those millennia and decided to shake things up, have another go at that celestial throne. G od caught wind of it and decided to deal with him once and for all. And now you are walking in those very same footsteps. Why, any minute now…” Asmoday’s chins ceased quivering and his jaw set in anger. “Then explain the other pantheons, mongrel! W hy would G od run around kidnapping all of their leaders?

  They were even less of a threat than L ucifer! O r do you really think they were all planning the same war?”

  John didn’t, but he liked seeing Asmoday get his back up like this.

  R immon cleared his throat, his instincts as ambassador kicking in. “We believe that even G od may have abdicated his throne. There may have been a coup for power. The M inisters of O rder began appearing seven human centuries ago, around the end of the crusades, and have been growing in prominence ever since. There was a dramatic increase in their numbers around the time of the disappearances. G od has often been silent, but never so much as in the last century.”

  The news hit J ohn like a stone. The idea that even G od had gone missing was incomprehensible. He pictured kidnappers shoving an old, white-bearded man into the trunk of a car. The image was ridiculous, but so was the idea that something could overpower the most powerful deity in all creation. Nothing was greater than G od, right? Unless the issue wasn’t as simple as who was strongest. M aybe the position held the power and not the person. Asmoday had spoken of the great power he received once Lucifer was gone. Had the same happened elsewhere?

  “Does this mean that someone else is the leader of Heaven?” John asked.

  “I t could,” R immon said. “E ven so, we suspect it will take time for the usurper to step into the void of power left by G od. B ut once he does, it will be too late for any of us to act.”

  “We fight now,” Asmoday said, “or we spend the rest of eternity as slaves.”