The Book of Doom

by Barry Hutchison

  “All right, all right,” Zac said. “So what do we do?”

  A curtain gave a sudden swish and a face appeared round the edge of the material. The thing looked almost rat-like, with a long pointed snout and ears that stuck out like perfect triangles from the side of its head.

  The nose crinkled as it looked at the three of them in turn. “Yes?” it demanded in clipped, nasal tones. “Yes? Yes?”

  Herya stepped forward. “Hail, oh dweller of the Nether Lands,” she began, “and Guardian of the Grand Portal.”

  She made a movement with her hands in the air, and Zac realised she was following some sort of official protocol or tradition.

  “We have come to make use of the portal,” she continued, “that we may leave this accursed place and gain passage to the Greek underworld, also known as Hades, also known as Erebus, also known as the Asphodel Meadows, also known as—”

  “Well, you can’t,” sniped the rat-creature. “We’re shut.”

  This took the wind from Herya’s sails. “Shut?”

  “Also known as closed,” sniggered the creature. “Also known as Bugger off, the lot of you.”

  “Shut?” Herya said again. “What do you mean, you’re shut?”

  “I mean we’re shut. Read the sign!” The rat-creature’s eyes gestured left. The others looked and saw a notice fixed to one of the pillars. It read: WE’RE SHUT.

  The face vanished as the curtain swished over again. “Come back tomorrow,” said the thing on the other side. They heard it give a low, sinister chuckle. “Assuming, of course, you can survive that long.”

  From beyond the curtains there was a shimmer of green light. Zac bounded up the three wooden steps at the base of the bandstand and pulled the drapes aside.

  A large wooden hoop stood inside. It was around three metres high and attached to an ornate base. The final flickers of an eerie green glow sizzled across its surface, then the hut fell dark and silent. Aside from the hoop, the place was empty.

  And the rat-creature had gone.

  ABRIEL SAT BEHIND a long walnut desk, writing neatly in the hardback notebook he used as a journal. With a final flourish, he finished the day’s entry, and carefully set the quill pen down on the desktop.

  He blew softly on the ink to dry it, then closed the book and slipped it into a drawer. Finally, he laced his fingers together in front of him and looked towards the door. A moment later it opened and Michael entered.

  “Good afternoon, Michael,” Gabriel said. “What may I do for you?”

  “He’s been asking questions,” Michael barked.

  “Who?”

  “The Metatron; who do you think?” Michael stopped in front of Gabriel’s desk. His entire body was vibrating with barely contained rage. “He’s looking for a progress report.”

  Gabriel leaned back in his leather chair. “Is he? And did you give him one?”

  “Course I didn’t. I’m not an idiot,” Michael spat. “But he knew we’d sent the half-blood down with the human.”

  A flicker of concern crossed Gabriel’s face. “Did he? And how did you respond to that?”

  “I told him he volunteered to show the mortal the way. Told him he was only going as far as the entrance, then he was leaving him to it and coming back up here.”

  Gabriel gave an approving nod. “Quick thinking.”

  “Don’t patronise me,” Michael snarled. “Do you know what the Metatron will do if he realises we’re lying to him?”

  “He won’t,” Gabriel said. “Besides, even if he does, I’ll have the book by then.”

  “We’ll have the book.”

  “Quite. And once we have the book then we will have the knowledge, and when we have the knowledge, we will have the power. And when we have the power –” Gabriel rose to his feet – “we shall be gods.”

  HEY SAT ON the floor, their backs against different pillars, listening to the distant howling of the things in the fog. It wasn’t cold in the hut – no colder than it was outside, anyway – but even Zac felt a shiver travel the length of his spine as a flash of lightning briefly made the curtains glow purple.

  “What time is it?” Angelo asked. “I’ve lost my watch somewhere.”

  Zac looked at the watch Gabriel had given him. “It says twenty-seven,” he said. “So make of that what you like.”

  “It’s local time,” Angelo explained. “The watch adjusts to the right time wherever you are.”

  “Right,” Zac said, then he shrugged. “Well, it’s twenty-seven o’clock, then.”

  Angelo looked around the hut and nodded approvingly. “So now we know what twenty-seven o’clock looks like. How many people can say that?”

  “You should get some sleep,” Zac urged. “Both of you. I’ll stand guard.”

  “I don’t need sleep,” Angelo said. “So I’ll stand guard too.”

  “Nor do I,” Herya said.

  “Great!” cheered Angelo. “All three of us can stay up! It’ll be like a sleepover, but without any sleeping. Just talking for hours and hours and having a laugh.”

  Zac’s heart sank. “Great.”

  “What should we do to pass the time? Oh, I know, let’s play I Spy!”

  “No, let’s not—”

  “I spy with my little eye, something beginning with –” Angelo looked around the cramped hut – “curtains. No! Wait, I mean C. Something beginning with C!”

  “Curtains,” said Herya.

  “Well done. Herya got it. Your turn.”

  “I spy with my little eye—”

  “Seriously?” sighed Zac. “You’re really going along with this?”

  “Well, what else do you suggest?” asked the Valkyrie. She shifted her weight and a flicker of pain crossed her face.

  “You should let me look at that,” Zac said, nodding to the wound on her wing.

  “Forget it, it’s fine.”

  “It might get infected.”

  “It’s fine,” she said.

  “Suit yourself.”

  The Valkyrie’s leather outfit creaked as she shifted again, trying to avoid putting her weight against her wing. “Tell me about this book,” she said. “What’s so important about it?”

  “It’s the Book of Everything,” Angelo said.

  “What’s it about?”

  “Have a guess,” said Zac. “There’s a clue somewhere in the title.”

  “It’s about everything,” gushed Angelo. “Everything that has ever happened, everything that’s going to happen and everything that’s happening right now.”

  Herya thought about this. “So what? Are we in it?”

  Zac shrugged. “Probably.”

  Herya looked pleased. “I’ve always wanted to be in a book.”

  “It’s really dangerous,” Angelo said. “If baddies get their hands on it, then they’ll know everything in the whole world. There’s no saying what they could do then. They could manipulate world leaders into starting a nuclear war, or kill all the good people before they were even born, or, or—”

  “Get the winning lottery numbers?” Zac suggested.

  Angelo’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t even thought of that!”

  “Have you ever seen it?” Zac asked.

  “Just once,” said Angelo.

  “What did you see it as?” said Zac. “Wait, let me guess. A comic book?”

  “Come off it, I’m not that geeky,” Angelo replied.

  “What did it look like, then?”

  “A DVD boxed set of Star Trek: The Next Generation.”

  “That’s not a book.”

  “It doesn’t have to be a book,” Angelo said. “It can look like anything.”

  Zac rested the back of his head against the pillar. “What I don’t understand – and I don’t believe I’m about to say this... Why doesn’t, you know –” he took a deep breath – “like, God, or whoever, just magic it back?”

  “Oh, no,” Angelo said, “he can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “God
quit.”

  Zac stared. “God quit?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What do you mean, God quit? How can God quit?”

  “God can do anything. That’s why He’s God. He got fed up of it all and just jacked it in.”

  Herya gave a hollow laugh. “That’s the trouble with modern gods. No stamina.”

  “Jacked it in?” Zac said. “What do you mean he jacked it in? How can God jack it in?”

  Angelo scratched his head. “It was about a hundred years ago, I think. Maybe a bit less. He decided He’d had enough of Heaven and was going to go and live as a human on Earth instead. People weren’t happy about it, but what can you say? He’s God. You can’t really argue with Him. No one knows where He ended up. No one’s heard from Him in yonks. The Metatron’s in charge now.”

  “The who?”

  “The Metatron. He’s been around from the start, sort of like a spokesman for Heaven. Whenever burning bushes start speaking to people in the Bible, that’s the Metatron talking. He’s the official Voice of God,” Angelo explained. “He also does a very good Shirley Bassey, if you catch him in the right mood.”

  Zac’s head was spinning. Yesterday, he hadn’t believed in God. Any god, for that matter. For a few hours today he had been reluctantly forced to accept that a supreme being might exist after all. And now he was trying to come to terms with the fact that God not only existed, but that he’d taken early retirement.

  Through it all, though, a thought bothered him.

  “So, if God quit, who’s to say he didn’t just take the book with him? That’s what I’d have done if it’s really as dangerous as everyone keeps saying. What if he didn’t want anyone else to have it?”

  “Oh, no, it’s in Hell,” Angelo reminded him. “Gabriel said so.”

  “What if Gabriel’s lying?”

  “Angels can’t lie.”

  “And who told you that?”

  “Gabriel did.”

  Zac nodded slowly. “Funny, I thought you might say that.”

  He leaned back against the pillar again, deep in thought. Maybe Gabriel was telling the truth. Maybe the book really was in Hell. But something about the whole set-up stank, from the way they had threatened his granddad to the way they had teamed him up with the ticking time bomb that was sitting beside him now.

  Gabriel hadn’t lied about Angelo, exactly. He’d never claimed he was half human, but he’d omitted the fact he was half demon, and Zac couldn’t help but wonder what else the archangel had neglected to mention.

  “Why are they sending you?”

  Zac turned to Herya. She was staring at him intently. “If the book is so important, why did they pick you to get it back? You’re just a mortal.”

  “Because I’m good at that sort of thing,” Zac said, suddenly defensive. “I break into places and steal things. That’s what I do and I do it well. Really well. Better than anyone.”

  Angelo shook his head. He made no effort to hide the disappointment in his voice. “That’s terrible. Stealing’s wrong.”

  “Yeah, well,” began Zac. He felt a pang of something in his chest. Was it guilt? That would be a first. But then he’d never discussed his career choice with anyone before. “I steal from private collectors. Gangsters, usually, or worse. Most of the stuff I nick, they’ve already nicked from someone else, so I reckon it balances out.”

  “It doesn’t. Two wrongs don’t make a right,” Angelo said with a sniff.

  Zac opened his mouth, then closed it again. Why was he trying to justify himself to this boy? He did what he did, and that was that.

  “So why did you agree?” Herya asked. “You’re willingly going to walk into Hell. That’s not normal.”

  “I’m not sure about willingly,” said Zac. “From my point of view I didn’t really have much of a choice. They had me killed, told me I was going to Hell anyway. At least this way I’d have a chance of getting back out.”

  “They wouldn’t do that,” Angelo gasped. “No way. They wouldn’t kill anyone.”

  “Yeah, well, they did,” Zac said. “You think I stuffed my own body in that cupboard?”

  Angelo shifted uncomfortably, but didn’t reply.

  “So let me get this straight,” said Herya. “In order to avoid going to Hell, you agreed to go to Hell?”

  “Pretty much,” confirmed Zac. “Also, if the book’s as dangerous as they say it is, someone has to get it back, right? And I’ve got a better chance than most.”

  He got up and walked over to the wooden hoop in the centre of the room. He passed his arm through the space in the middle. Nothing happened. “How long before it starts up again, do you think?”

  “No idea,” replied Herya. “What time is it now?”

  Zac looked at his watch. “Just turned a hundred and nine, apparently,” he said, then he crossed to the furthest pillar from the others and slumped down with his back against it.

  The numbers on the watch flicked over to a hundred and ten.

  It was going to be a very long night.

  AC WAS NOT wrong. Once the Nether Lands had darkened, the night had passed like slow treacle, the hours – or whatever the numbers on the watch represented – oozing lazily towards the dawn.

  When the watch reached the high six hundreds, it reset to zero. The moment the display ticked over to four, green sparkles had illuminated the centre of the wooden hoop. The sparkles began to spin like a giant Catherine wheel until the entire hoop was alive with a shimmering jade glow.

  The three of them stood together watching the swirling light, expecting the rat-creature to step through at any moment. It was a different figure who emerged in the end, though. An old woman with a cheerful cardigan and silvery-blue hair stepped from the portal, supporting herself on a walking stick. When she saw Zac and the others she screamed with fright.

  “Ooh, you near scared the life out of me,” she said, once she had regained her composure. She looked them up and down. “Who are you?”

  “Three travellers, oh dweller of the Nether Lands,” began Herya, but the woman quickly shushed her.

  “We don’t bother with all that these days, dearie,” she said. “Too much effort. It’s all much more relaxed now. Where you headed?”

  The Valkyrie looked a little put out, as if she’d wasted months rehearsing a speech she wasn’t getting a chance to deliver. Which, as it happens, was precisely what she had done.

  “The Greek underworld,” she said. “Also known as—”

  “Yes, yes, Hades, Asphodel Meadows, I know the one.” She waggled her crooked fingers in the vague direction of the portal. Nothing appeared to happen. “There you go, then. That’s you,” she announced.

  Zac eyed the green circle suspiciously. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure, dearie,” said the old woman. “I’ve been doing this for as long as I can remember. Look.”

  She raised her walking stick and pushed the end of it into the glow of the portal. A moment later, she pulled it back. An egg-shaped green blob was clinging to the end of the stick, gnawing furiously on the wood with its jagged teeth.

  As the blob came through the portal, it stopped chewing. It raised its eyes and stared at the old woman. The old woman stared back. Slowly, she popped the stick back through the portal and gave it a flick. When it came back through, the green thing was gone.

  “Let’s try that once more,” she said, then she waggled her fingers again. This time, the light dimmed briefly, then brightened again. “That should be it now,” she said, smiling sheepishly. “What can I say? It’s still early.”

  “Herya, why don’t you take the lead?” Zac suggested. “You know your way around better than we do.”

  “What?” mumbled the Valkyrie. “I mean, yes. Of course. Plus I’m the best fighter, so it’s safest if I go first, so I can protect you from... things.”

  “That’s good of you,” said Zac.

  Herya stepped up to the swirling vortex. She glanced back at the old woman, who
nodded encouragingly. Then, with just the briefest moment’s hesitation, she stepped through the portal and vanished.

  “I’ll go next,” said Angelo, bouncing excitedly from foot to foot.

  “Wait!” yelped the woman. She had a pair of spectacles on a string round her neck. She pulled them on and looked Angelo up and down. “Whatever happened to your clothes, dearie? You’ll catch your death.”

  With a bit of effort she wrestled off her brightly coloured cardigan. It had a rainbow knitted into it, and a picture of a kitten. Zac recoiled when he saw the lump sticking out of the woman’s stomach. He recoiled even further when he realised the lump was a face.

  “Oh, come on,” Zac groaned. “That’s just weird for the sake of it.”

  “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again,” grimaced the extra head. Its rat-like features pulled into a sneer. “Thought you’d be well dead by now.”

  “Oh, don’t mind him,” the woman said. She handed Angelo the cardigan and he slipped it on gratefully. The darker colours – the reds and greens – faded slightly, but they didn’t drain away like the black had in Zac’s room.

  “Thank you,” Angelo said, fastening the cardigan. “It’s very nice.”

  “Think nothing of it, dearie,” the woman smiled. She stepped aside, leaving the way to the portal clear. “Now off you pop to Hades, and thank you for visiting the Nether Lands,” she beamed. “We look forward to welcoming you back soon.”

  Zac’s senses went into shock when he stepped through the portal behind Angelo. The green light filled his head like a flash grenade, blinding him and making his ears ring loudly.

  A wall of cold hit him as he stepped out of the vortex. Dazzled, he stumbled, fell, and landed with a splat in a puddle of foul-smelling mud. He shook his head and blinked several times, until the glare behind his eyelids faded back to black.

  He stood up and wiped away as much of the dark sludge as he could. His vision had cleared, but a piercing shriek still overwhelmed his ears. He’d emerged from the portal beside a wide river. A black, bubbling liquid babbled between its banks. It looked like tar or burned oil, but smelled like sewage. Whatever it was, he had no plans to go swimming in it any time soon.