The rain was coming down harder now, leaking into his blindfold, stinging his eyes, and chilling him to the core. Water slapped against the metal siding, sending laser-zap vibrations up and down the length of the boat. The calf's breathing came in ragged gasps and its hooves clanged against the nearby bucket seat. And there was something else...a smell that cut like a dart through the scent of rain and river muck and grass and spring pollen and even the burn of the salt and pepper to his nose. It smelled like someone had lit a match in front of his face. Then it was gone. He gripped the wheel tighter. The hiss of the rain on the surface of the water came in waves now, like an ocean, back and forth, in and out, crescendo and decrescendo. The boat dipped side to side, slapped its edge on the water like clapping wet hands. The calf kicked and flailed, its hooves clanging against the metal rail like a bell and its fearful wails shimmering like a chime. The motor chugged along with a constant drone, a bass line, but popping on every second and fourth beat and the calf hit the seat on the fourth and the rain filled the down stroke on the one and three and it all started coming together like fingers in folded hands . . . duba-DAT-bing-doo duba-duba-DAT-bing duba-DAT-bing-doo duba-duba-DAT-bing...
"Oh, fhi . . ." said Cobalt.
"Uh, CB," came Angelface's voice over the radio. "I think—"
The blast of sulfur hit Cobalt square in the face. His nose hairs dissolved as he let go of the wheel and stumbled back. The boat pitched wildly, banging, pounding. He heard the calf on its feet now, clambering around, somehow loose, mooing pitifully and the rain came down with tropical storm strength, pounding on his head and shoulders like pebbles. Loud cracks and he didn't know . . . were they lightning? Was the boat coming apart? He almost tore off the blindfold but then the boat pitched forward and he fell backward. He flailed about on the floor of the boat, trying to regain his footing in the collecting puddles. Then something slammed into his chest, nailed him to the side of the boat. The calf. It pressed its hooves into his chest, and pain flashed but he didn't scream because the powder mixture was his protection and so he clenched his teeth and his tears blended with the raking rain that seemed to be getting hotter. When had the calf gotten so heavy? Its voice was much deeper too, and no longer afraid but now enraged, hot breath blowing on his face. In the background, the rain sound dipped, staggered, became uneven, raindrops hitting raindrops like a civil war of heavenly water until it was a different sound entirely—a trembling, screaming, vengeful sound of madness that built up and made Cobalt want to scream with it in terror, and all the while the cow pressed down harder and harder.
Then a slap.
A screech.
Silence.
And Cobalt was free.
He ripped the blindfold off and saw an eagle the size of a prop plane carry off the cow. It flew into clear skies streaked with the red of a setting sun. His little boat was no longer in the Allegheny River, but instead in a vast ocean, calm and crystal. The air was humid and the setting sun raked his skin with heat. Nothing else was in sight except a single beach island dotted with one palm tree and a crumbling shack of a house.
He spat out the powder and rinsed his mouth with water. It wasn't salty but he didn't swallow any of it. If he had reached the correct destination, then it seemed best not to take a chance on drinking the waters of Hell.
The motor had stopped at some point. He gave it a few tries, but it wouldn't start so he gave up, took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, unhooked the emergency oar from the side of the boat and began to row. He stood at the bow and worked the wooden oar for hours with deep, smooth strokes, inching his way towards the island. During all that time, the sun never quite set, but lingered fat and red on the horizon, laying its heat on him like dead weight. Sweat trickled down his brow and he was thirsty. He looked at the crystal clear water beneath . . . but, no, he didn't drink it. He pushed himself on and on, his head down, his face pinched with fatigue, and his mouth tasting like a dust pit.
Then there was a quiet scrape on the bottom and the boat jerked to a halt. But Cobalt didn't. He pitched forward over the bow, somersaulted with all the grace of a rag doll, and landed flat on his back in the sand. The landing knocked the wind out of him so he just lay there gasping for air and staring at the blood red sun through teary eyes. So much for the element of surprise. So much for an impressive entrance. He expected the minions of Hell to leap on him immediately. But nothing happened. Once he'd caught his breath he stood up and looked around. Nothing on the island but the palm tree and the wooden shack. No animals, no plants, and no demon spawn.
Not quite sure what else to do, he dusted the sand from his pants and shirt, then walked to the shack. He stood staring at the knotted driftwood door for a full minute before he made up his mind and knocked.
"Who's there?" boomed a voice like molten lava."Uh . . . it's Cobalt Jackson."
There was a long pause. Cobalt shifted his weight uneasily.
"No shit," the voice said at last with something leaning towards a mild amusement that could none the less melt steel. "Hoodoo PI is here?" There was a creaking sound, like someone leaning back in a chair. Then, "It's the fuzz, woman. You better open the door."
The door creaked open.
Cobalt nearly went insane.
The creature that stood before him defied reality. Its limbs twisted and knotted back in on themselves in infinite coils and loops that went nowhere yet stretched from horizon to horizon. Worms and maggots writhed from every orifice, swallowing each other as they were swallowed themselves. The eyes were bottomless pools of diseased and putrid coagulated blood and what might have been a mouth sucked in hope and happiness like a psychic vacuum.
"Oh . . . shit," stammered Cobalt like an idiot. "The Devil!"
"Naw," said a voice from behind the creature. "That's just my wife. Hey, Molderina! Move over and let the man come inside."
The creature shuffled placidly aside to reveal a small, cramped but cozy cabin, complete with potbelly stove, kitchen/dinette, and wrought iron framed bed. Lounging in the corner in a rocking chair next to the stove was the Devil. Extremely tall and incredibly thin, his entire body was shaggy and pitch black except for flickering red eyes and a grin so wide it extended past the boundaries of his face. In his mouth were row upon row of fanged teeth. Flopping to the side of the chair was a strangely lumpy short tail. No, wait. Not a short tail. A long penis.
"Well, come on in, Conjure man. You've come this far, haven't you?"
"Uh . . ." Cobalt shuffled numbly inside, trying not to flinch at the Devil's wife. "Sorry about the mix-up."
"It's alright," waved the Devil. "But ain't she something?"
"She sure is," agreed Cobalt. "Have a seat, Detective," said the Devil. He motioned to a very short stool next to him.
Cobalt looked at it and almost said no thanks he'd rather stand. But he suspected this was probably a test of some kind. How much cool did he have? Well, he'd show that fucking Devil he had all the cool necessary. So he sat down on that little stool and pretended like he didn't mind the Devil leering down on him. He also pretended it was comfortable.
"So," said the Devil, "what brings you to the corporate offices of Hell?"
"Corporate offices?"
"Well, this ain't the customer-facing end of the operation. Trust me, when you die and go through the main gates and all that stuff, it's a whole lot more impressive. This is just where me and my little family hang out when we aren't working hard to corrupt humanity or punish the wicked."
"Your family?"
"Me, Molderina here, and our daughter."
"Daughter?" said Cobalt.
"Yeah, she's just getting off her shift in a minute or two. Now, what brings you to my humble home?"
"Well, uh Devil, now that you mention it, this isn't just a social call . . ."
"It never is," said the Devil and sighed tragically, then his grin returned.
"I'm actually here to collect somebody that I gather is being held here without just cause and against their wil
l."
"Is that so?" said the Devil, not seeming in the slightest bit alarmed or surprised. "Well, Officer Hoodoo"
"Please," said Cobalt. "If you don't like Cobalt, just call me CB."
"Alright, CB," said the Devil. "Now, first off, I have to say that I'm both impressed and disappointed in you."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. See, I'm impressed that you're so bold and brave to confront me head on like this. Direct. To the point. Just the way I like it."
"Oh, yeah?"
"You bet. But I'm a little disappointed because I was always given to understand from various sources that you actually had a brain inside that head."
"Well . . ."
"No, no. There's no point in disagreeing now. Cause regardless, I'm just going to have to kill you. After all, I can't let you go and tell people about me and my family. You'll ruin the surprise for everybody."
"Wait a minute. Isn't there some kind of traditional . . . contest or something?"
"Hmm. A contest. I don't stand much on tradition, but I do love a contest . . ."
Then, as the Devil scratched his chin in contemplation, the front flap of the potbelly stove flipped opened with a clang. A petite female foot emerged, followed by curved calf and delicate little knee, then a sculpted thigh and a perfect ass, a narrow waist, a matching leg, then a sleekly muscled back, an elegant neck, well-kept but wild dreadlocked hair, perky breasts and a face like a wise and naughty angel. And all Cobalt could do was stare stupidly and say, "Lisa Bonet in Hell?!?!??!"
"No," said the Devil. "But interesting choice."
"Huh?"
"She appears as the viewer's ultimate desire."
"Uh . . . oh," said Cobalt. He rubbed the back of his head uncomfortably. "Yeah . . ."
"She's just getting off her shift. CB, meet my daughter, Salome."
In Cobalt's head: Bells. Whistles. Sirens. Alarms.
"Hi," said Salome with a smile like a burst of sunshine after a thunderstorm.
"Huh-huh . . . hi," said Cobalt.
"Good to see you, honey," said the Devil, giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Now, if you'll excuse us . . ."
"Of course," said Salome, once again smiling so that Cobalt simultaneously felt the urge to cry and leap with joy. "I'm just going to get cleaned up." Then she opened the front door and walked out into the sand.
"Now," said the Devil. "Where were we? Ah yes . . . a contest."
"Uh, yeah," said Cobalt. Why the fuck hadn't John told him that his woman was the Devil's daughter? Wait, he already knew the answer to that. Because Cobalt wouldn't have taken the case. His stomach was heavy and his throat was thick as he said, "A contest."
"And if you win, I'll let you live, I'll let you leave, and I'll let you take this poor wronged person, whoever they are, with you."
"Sure," said Cobalt, forcing himself to level out. It was salvage time. He doubted that Salome would even be interested in coming with him but at this point he was just trying to save his own life. "Name it."
"Just a simple thing," said the Devil.
"Uh huh," said Cobalt, his eyes narrowing.
"Just sweep up the dust under the bed," said the Devil.
Cobalt looked at the standard-sized metal frame bed. There was a bed skirt so he couldn't exactly see under it, but how bad could it be? "That's it?"
"With this," the Devil produced a broom the size of a tooth brush.
"Oh," said Cobalt.
"And you only have until sunrise."
"I knew it couldn't be that easy."
"Tell you what, I'll even sweeten the deal, just 'cause it amuses me and, all in all, I think you're pretty cool. You do this, and I will not only give you a Get-Out-Of-Hell free card, I'll give you a back up, so that next time you come back snooping into something you won't have to worry."
"Interesting," said Cobalt. "Assuming I ever need to come back."
The Devil just smiled, then said, "Fair enough?"
"I guess," admitted Cobalt.
"Excellent," said the Devil. "Well, you'd better get started." He turned to Molderina. "You too, dear. You're late for your shift." The shambling, rotting mass of chaos nodded, walked over to the refrigerator. She opened the freezer door and somehow pulled her immense bulk inside and shut the door behind her without the least bit of trouble.
That was when Cobalt began to suspect what he was really in for.
"Well?" said the Devil. "Time's a wasting."
Cobalt took the tiny broom and walked resolutely to the bed. He got on his hands and knees, lifted up the bed skirt, and stuck his head under the bed.
****
And he stood in an empty room the size of a football field fringed in massive curtains. He realized those were probably the bed skirts. All around him, dust lay in heaping piles swirling and eddying like snow drifts. He stared at his toothbrush, then again at the towering drifts. He remembered only now that John had suggested somewhat offhand that he might want to bring a broom. The fucking bastard knew about this too. He could have been a little more explicit. He also could have been straight up with him about the whole thing. In fact, he could have just never knocked on Cobalt's door in the first place.
It was at that point that Cobalt sat his ass down on the dusty ground and abandoned himself to a little hopeless despair.
"Don't cry, Cobalt," said a steamy, lilting voice.
Cobalt jerked his head around. It was Salome. He jumped to his feet and tried with no success to wipe some of the dust from his clothes. "Uh, hey, Salome . . ." he said.
"Why are you crying?" said Salome.
"Truthfully? Because if I don't somehow sweep up all the dust in this place with a goddamn toothbrush in the next four hours, your dad is going to kill me."
"Don't worry," said Salome.
"Oh, why? Is he just putting me on?"
"No, he means it," said Salome. "But here, you sit back down and have a glass of water and rest a bit. I'll take care of this."
"Well, now . . ." said Cobalt. "I don't—"
"Hush. Sit. Drink. Sleep."
And without question or thought, Cobalt did.
****
He awoke suddenly, abruptly, as one who hadn't realized he'd gone to sleep in the first place. He stumbled to his feet in a blind panic for a moment, then looked around. The floor was completely clean and Salome stood before him, radiant as ever except for a small spot of dust in her hair.
"Wow," said Cobalt. "You did it! You—"
"GODDAMN IT, GIRL!!!" came a thunderous voice and a thick cloud of sulfurous smoke appeared beside them.
"Quick!" shouted Salome. "We have to get out of here!" She grabbed Cobalt's wrist and pulled him hard.
****
Cobalt stumbled and nearly ran headlong into the hot stove. He swayed and tried to get his bearings coming from the vast empty space underneath the bed to the cramped, cozy cabin.
"Oh, shit," whispered Salome, all composure gone from her exquisite face. She wrung her hands and looked pleadingly at Cobalt. "Help me."
There was a quirk in Cobalt's nature that responded to a damsel in distress on a sub-cellular level.
"Do you want to get out of Hell?" he demanded.
"I want to go with you!" she said.
Cobalt's eyes flitted around the room until he saw something that seemed promising.
"He's coming!" said Salome.
A black cloud of smoke was pouring out from under the bed skirts now and roaring, "Why, why, why, why, WHY!!!"
"Come on," said Cobalt, took her hand, steeled himself, and jumped at the sink.
"Wait," he heard Salome say, "Not the—"
****
They were in a metal basin fifty yards in diameter. Cobalt skidded and flailed wildly as he tried to gain footing on a surface slick with water and rotting food. In the center of the basin was a massive drain, and disposal blades glinted menacingly from within its dark recesses. As he fought to stay upright, every movement made his shoes slowly slip closer to the drain with a bright sq
ueak.
"We're so screwed," hissed Salome. She didn't seem to be having any trouble with her footing, but her arms were wrapped tightly around her torso, she was shivering violently, and she kept glancing fearfully up into the darkness.
"Is there any other way out of here?" he asked, his legs spread wide to keep from falling.
"Just that way," said Salome, and she pointed to the drain.
Then there was a harsh chuckle. Cobalt looked up and he could see a pair of giant burning red eyes as the Devil gazed down into the sink at them. Then Cobalt heard a soft click, like a light switch being flicked on. The basin began to rumble and Cobalt looked back towards the drain. The disposal blades began to turn faster and faster, until they were a threshing blur.
Then the Devil dissolved into black smoke again and poured into the basin. When he reformed, he had adjusted his size to match their own.
"You can just go ahead and fall to your messy doom, now, Conjure Man," he growled.
"Thanks but I think I'll stay right here," said Cobalt, trying to make it sound like a choice. His legs were burning from the tension required to keep himself in the straddle position. And underneath him, the disposal motor was making the basin vibrate so hard his feet were going numb.
"It's going to be a lot worse on you if you wait for me to get you," said the Devil. "Trying to kidnap my baby girl . . ."
"He didn't kidnap me, Daddy," said Salome. "I wanted to go."
"And you," the Devil turned towards her. "I am gonna make you wish you were mortal just so you could die, that's how bad it's gonna hurt." Then he stepped past Cobalt, his clawed hands reaching for her.
Cobalt took a deep breath, and through clenched teeth said, "I don't think so." Then he grabbed the Devil's massive penis and squeezed as hard as he could.
Jim Baen's Universe Volume 1 Number 3 October 2006 Page 22
