by Ciaran Nagle
'I'm starting to get dewy-eyed.'
'Don't get sarcastic on me, now.'
'I'm not. I just think Heaven has chosen a most unlikely angel for its champion.'
'That's because you don't know what's coming. Heaven has chosen well, Jabez. You're stronger than you think. If Bezejel knew who she was facing in this battle, she'd probably throw in the towel right now.'
Jabez laughed. 'Yeah.' There was a short silence. 'Ok, Luke, I get the point. Moan over. It's time to get down to business.'
'Attaboy.'
'Nancy needs help. And I'm on the case.'
'Actually, the Earth needs help.'
'What?' Jabez was alarmed.
'I've just been asked to tell you. This isn't only about Nancy. It's not just one soul. It seems that Inferno are working on something much, much bigger.'
'Like what?'
'We don't know what it is yet. But Nancy is at the centre of it. Hold on, there's new information just coming in.'
As Luke looked away for a moment, Jabez began to walk. After a few minutes he found a dune with a few tufts of grass and sat down, gently furrowing the sand with his wingtips while he waited.
Luke came back on.
'Jabez I don't know how to tell you this.'
'Try.'
'It looks like the enemy are planning something serious. It could be the biggest assault against humanity since Earth's World War II.' As Jabez stared down at him, Luke paused, searching for the right words to explain what he had to say. Eventually he found them.
'And you're in charge of the defence.'
Husk Tower, Central Pentacurse Region, Inferno
'Who ever said Hell isn't beautiful?' asked Bezejel rhetorically of her mute bodyguards, Gog and Magog. 'That view is intoxicating.'
She took another step up the spiral walkway that wrapped itself around the outside of Husk Tower like a helter skelter. Then she paused for a moment to take in the sights below, clicking her heels together and resting her black gloved hands on the parapet. Gog and Magog, satyrs nearly twice her size, stood back respectfully and waited.
The sky was dark as it always was over Hades. But that just accentuated the fiery colours that glowed upwards from below. All possible shades of red, yellow and brown stirred themselves together in the suffocating heat and spread across the landscape.
There was Festerlode stretching out into the distance, one of the five fingers of Hell. The 'fingers' were hundred mile long promontories that each jutted out beyond the five walls that protected the central Pentacurse region. In the middle of Pentacurse, where most upper caste demons lived, Husk Tower rose up, dominating all.
In-between the five fingers of baked land, where most of Inferno's residents existed, were lakes of lava that boiled and spat. The lakes were not static but flowed under and through the fingers depositing tantalisingly small nuggets of hydrocarbon that occasionally percolated their way through the land crust to the top. There they were seized upon by the starving masses who devoured what they could, quickly, before they were beaten and dispossessed by those surrounding them.
A brown haze hung over Festerlode like a shroud over a corpse. It sparkled in places as flammable concentrations among its noxious gases were superheated from below and burst into momentary incandescence. On its craggy plain a crawling, groping mass of demonry fought and gouged each other over clods of oil or tar that occasionally churned to the surface. Hydrocarbons were the only food that demons could stomach.
Bezejel looked down proudly, silently applauding the survival instinct that inspired every lower caste troll, mawl or gurn to fight so viciously with tooth and claw. It was good. Fighting made folk strong.
The next finger around the dial was Tyrants' Fall and then Miser's Folly with its newly poor, followed by Slothmire and Desoland. Bezejel could see them all as she slowly climbed the Tower.
The long U-shaped slag walkway that followed the coastal contours of Tyrants' Fall was crammed as ever with gawking, pointing demons of all ranks and castes.
They stared at the wretched inmates of the Fall, behind the wire, and drew each other's attention to a famous name here or there that they knew personally.
Bezejel pointed to Tyrants' Fall and turned to her bodyguards. 'See that place, boys? It's a special place. A special place in Hell reserved for warlords, crime kingpins, corrupt leaders, slave traders, feuding kings and dictators. They all brought huge numbers of souls to Inferno. Lucky souls. But now the Leader keeps them in that concentration camp because they might try to band together and take over Inferno. Can you imagine how Hell would decline if any of those arrogant swine became Leader?'
They watched as a group of Fall inmates was led out in chains and tied to pillars in the centre of the walkway. Many Infernals owed their own fate to the actions of these tyrants. Now the crowds gathered around one or other of the chained figures and began to hurl abuse.
One crime boss who had ordered many killings in his community was surrounded by the families of those he had butchered. The abuse was raucous and savage, the faces of the accusers twisted with rage and hate. As the noise increased the attacks became physical. Male and female demons, formerly mothers and fathers who had later fallen into ruin, began to tear at his flesh and stab at his eyes. The ex-crime boss screamed and cried as his bones were cracked and teeth gouged at his privates. His pleas for mercy only intensified the violence. He had shown no mercy to his victims, one demoness shouted, there would be none now for him. They swarmed over him like ants around a captured beetle, slashing and biting.
All along the line it was the same as formerly proud men - and some women - once impregnable and haughty in their government palaces or hiding behind their armed stooges were faced by those they had destroyed. The mayhem and brutality intensified, one group's rage feeding off another's until the very ground shook and the air was riven with screams. Then guards came, beating back the mobs and hauling off the torn and bloodied bodies until the next day when the process would be repeated. For those who had abused their power, the final death of the soul could not come soon enough.
Even Bezejel, a stalwart believer in the value of fighting seemed moved, Gog and Magog noted. Her eyes were wide and her fingers held tight to the edge of the parapet. They shuffled their feet noisily and Gog made a sign to Bezejel reminding her she had an appointment to keep. It would not do to keep the Leader waiting. Not unless she too wanted to find herself in Tyrant's Fall.
Bezejel drew her eyes away from the scenes below and continued her helical ascent. Gog and Magog fell in behind. The mood was now sombre and she walked stiffly. Fear was growing in her eyes. She looked up to see her destination and her previous good humour evaporated further. Husk Tower was not designed to inspire or encourage. Its many windows were constructed to look like hooded eyes, watching the behaviour of Hell's citizens below. Within each window was a far-seeing jager imp, scanning the crowds and gatherings throughout the kingdom for any sign of a plot against Inferno's Leader.
As her gaze lifted to the top her blood chilled. The crown at the top of the tower was a vast, round construction that projected out many metres on every side. Black stone slabs set into the sides of the crown were so angled as to appear like angry frowns.
Bezejel could see the trap doors set into the overhanging floor of the crown, trap doors that were used all too frequently when the Leader found one of his subjects guilty of some minor offence. As she watched, one pair of trap doors flew open with a loud clatter. Nothing came out. Bezejel could see two helmeted sprites on the inside looking down at her sourly. That one was just a test. Maybe a warning.
A troop of demon soldiers led by a sergeant came marching down the walkway. As they rounded the curve their military bearing was perfect, their eyes fixed straight ahead. But the beauty of the siren Bezejel was too much for them and several slowed their pace and fell out of step. Two soldiers collided with each other. Another stumbled and walked into his own spear. Worst of all, the sergeant didn't notice his men's d
isorder, so intent was his stare.
Bezejel reacted in fury. 'Squad. Halt.' The troop came to an undignified stop. Bezejel approached the sergeant like a tempest. Before he could react her slap landed on the side of his face and he span away into the parapet wall. Gog and Magog came up behind Bezejel ready to protect her. There was no need. 'You soldiers are a shambles,' she shouted in a voice that rang with authority. 'Stand to attention.' The demons snapped to. They were all facing different ways. 'I know your unit,' she shouted. 'You're the Tower Guard. Report to your officer and tell him you're for a punishment detail.' Above and around her the eyes in the hooded windows watched in silence. 'When you're on duty you don't lose your concentration. For anything.' The soldiers' faces were rigid. Their terror was absolute.
'Ready. March. Left, right, left, right.' The troop tramped off to Bezejel's command leaving their sergeant behind. Bezejel turned to him. 'Come here and hold out your arms in front of you,' she commanded. As his arms came up, a puzzled expression on his face, Bezejel barked out another order. 'Hold him steady.' Gog and Magog took position to each side of the unfortunate NCO, each with an arm around his chest.
Bezejel grasped his sergeant's stripes and twisted the sleeve towards his face. 'You won't be needing these for a little while, ex-sergeant. Not till you've learned to discipline your men.' She wrenched on the tough leather with such force that the stitching ripped at the shoulder and came away in her hand. Bezejel threw the sleeve on the ground.
'Turn.' As the terrified creature turned his other arm towards her she tore off the second sleeve and threw it behind her.
'Now report to your officer and explain to him how you came to lose your stripes. Go.'
As the soldier marched away, stricken, Bezejel looked up at Gog and Magog. 'An army needs discipline. Total discipline. That's the only way we'll ever beat the angelic host.'
With that, she turned and strode away at a ferocious pace leaving Gog and Magog scrambling to keep up.
As the three of them climbed, other demons with business in the Tower passed them on the way down. All gave them plenty of room. No-one spoke to them.
Bezejel finally reached the top of the spiral walkway and approached the gate of the crown. Huge chain-mailed satyr demons scrutinised her features and checked her for weapons before raising their poleaxes to allow her to pass. Satyrs were the highest male caste in Inferno. They were demons transformed from men, but they had the strength of large beasts.
Gog and Magog were forbidden entry to the crown. Bezejel entered alone. Inside the gate a stone staircase led upwards and outwards to the external ring room. Here a line of newly-arrived beauties from Earth awaited their turn in chains to please the Leader. It would be his pleasure, not theirs. If they failed to please, the trap doors awaited.
They would have to wait a little longer this day for the Leader was keen for his meeting with Bezejel. Unusually keen, for the Leader was accustomed to keep all visitors waiting a long time. On this occasion however, Bezejel was waved through from the external ring by his personal female guard and ushered through two more concentric curved halls into his inner chamber. This was known as the Oven. Not for its heat, but for the searing intensity of the welcome that visitors received there.
She bowed low. Lucifer, Satan, the Devil. He had many names but in Inferno he was known simply as the Leader.
She waited for him to speak first, as protocol demanded.
'Look at me,' he commanded.
Bezejel raised her head and forced herself to meet his burning eyes. As a fallen angel he was still as beautiful as he was terrifying. His magnificent wings were works of art with bright, perfect plumage that shone as if they had their own light. His face was as if carved by an inspired sculptor. From any angle his arch-angelic features inspired awe and devotion.
But it was his eyes that seized the heart and stopped all hope. His stare inspired terror in every one of his subjects. There was no compartment of the mind that he could not inspect at will, scouring it for any trace of rebellion or independence. The Leader demanded complete subjection and his management tool of choice was fear.
Bezejel felt his presence inside her head, forcing her to give up all her recent memories. He inspected every thought, pored over every motivation and viewed every act of hers as though watching it through her eyes. Nothing was left hidden. She was more naked than if she had removed her skin. The Leader could see the inside of her soul as easily as others could see the outside of her garments.
For the few moments while he ransacked her mind, looking for any hidden subterfuge, Bezejel felt complete fear. The doors she had thought locked, he opened. He walked every corridor of her head, emptying the smallest cupboards of put-away ideas and throwing them behind him in disarray. He scanned every shelf of her dreams before ridiculing them with his sneers. All of her thoughts were hauled out, held up, inspected. Her high rank was not sufficient to spare her for an instant if she was found to harbour any ill will to the Leader.
Eventually, he pulled his eyes back and released her. The experience had lasted moments but its intensity was shattering. Bezejel breathed out and sank to her knees exhausted, her mind violated and bruised. While she recovered, the Leader strode the Oven in his fire-stud boots, turning every echoing step into a threat.
'You know that you have been chosen for a very special project, Bezejel.' Bezejel winced. Even ordinary words were like arrows when uttered by him.
'Yes, my Leader.'
'And you have accepted the project.'
'Yes, my Leader.' She had had no choice.
My commanders and I have selected you because of your affinity with the subject. She is a young woman and she is of great interest to us.'
'Yes, my Leader.'
'Left to herself she would do little harm. In fact she has some dangerous, though mild, charitable instincts. But she is ordinary. Uninteresting. Innocuous to the point of banal from the outside. Most observers would dismiss her as inconsequential. A dismal slider on the greasy pole of worldly success.'
Yes, my Leader.'
'But I have not seen her only from the outside, have I?'
'No, my Leader.'
'No my Leader,' he echoed. 'My intelligence agents, such as Colonel Hideki, have alerted me to her unusual make-up.'
'Hideki? The demon officer with the ceremonial sword?'
'Yes. Hideki's sword fetish may be foolish. But his mind is strong. That is why I tolerate him.' The Leader's eyes bore into Bezejel and she knew it was to warn her off questioning his judgement.
'Thank you for your insight,' she said quickly, bowing her head a little. 'I will remember that Colonel Hideki is known to be competent.' She had to change the subject. 'You were instructing me about the woman Nancy, my Leader?'
'Yes. The woman Nancy.' The Leader summoned with his thought a black and chrome Earth globe from a nearby alcove. It flew through the air into his hand and rested there, revolving on its axis as an Earth globe should. He caressed it as though it were a baby. His baby. Then he continued. 'I have looked at Nancy for myself and confirmed the truth of Hideki's suspicions. She is…interesting.'
'Yes my Leader. How may I help my Leader?'
'Stand up Bezejel. I can't talk to you down there.'
Bezejel pushed herself upright, her legs still shaking. The eyes looked inside her mind again, raking over her recent sexual encounters and their violent aftermath, forcing her to watch them again with him.
'I see you still like the slap as much as the tickle,' he concluded as her memory gave up an image of a handsome satyr lying naked and unconscious on her bed-chamber floor. 'Never been one for mercy, myself. I'm glad you seem to agree.'
'Yes, my Leader.'
He released her again and her shoulders sagged.
'How may you help, you ask. Well, since you ask so politely here's how you may help, Bezejel. I want you to command a team. Your mission will be to monitor and encourage this young woman on her journey. She has latent powers for evil that she knows
nothing about. She is on a path to discover these powers and put them to great use.' The Leader was passing behind Bezejel now and he stopped still for a moment, sending her fear levels soaring again.
'She could be one of the greats,' he went on, looking again at the globe spinning in his hand. 'She could lead Earth's nations into corruption and infighting to last a thousand years. The bounty of souls she can bring to Inferno is incalculable. But she needs careful management and she needs to be protected from the other side. They know we are interested in her and they will try to stop us, understand?'
'Yes, my Leader.'
'I am giving you Captain Kodrob and his squad. Kodrob is smart and his team are competent. You may need to involve others as you go, such as Hideki, but I will leave that to you. You are the team Commander.'
'Yes, my Leader.'
'Now go and research the woman and your mission in detail.'
'Yes, my Leader.'
'Do not fail, Bezejel, or you will find out the hard way that Hell hath no fury like mine.' The eyes stabbed her again. A pain like the burn of a lightning bolt ran from the base of her spine up into her head and stunned her with a bright red flash in her eyes.
Bezejel bowed again and ran for the door on jelly legs.
Ealing Travel, London
‘Nance, I’ve got a chap called Martin on the phone for ya,' announced Mel loudly, looking around the office at the other agents. Then she pressed her hand down on the receiver as she whispered, ‘Is that the three blokes who came in yesterday? The cute ones?’
'Oh, were they cute? I didn't really notice,' replied Nancy innocently.
'Yeeeah,' said Mel with a mischievous grin. She started to hand over the phone and then suddenly pulled it back. ‘So, which one did you like best?’
