Mercury Falls

by Robert Kroese

  “Nice, huh?” said Izbazel, as they strolled toward 666 Lucifer Lane.

  “The oak-ees are evidently well-hidden,” said Perpetiel, tagging along behind.

  “Still, you have to admit he’s improved it.”

  “I don’t know,” said Mercury. “Why bother to live on the Infernal Plane if you’re going to spoil its natural charm?”

  “It’s centrally located,” said Izbazel. “Easy planeport access. And you can’t beat the price.”

  A fork-tailed demon standing in his front yard with hedge clippers eyed them suspiciously.

  Perp waved at the demon. “Soapy water will deter aphids on rose bushes,” he offered.

  “Most of Lucifer’s lieutenants live here,” Izbazel said. “He promised me that faux Tudor over there for killing Karl.”

  “Nice,” said Mercury. “Of course, they’ll nail you on the property taxes.”

  They were stopped at the gate to Lucifer’s house by a massive horned demon.

  “It’s okay, Azrael,” said Izbazel. “He’s expecting us.”

  Azrael patted them down and then escorted them inside.

  The oversized living room of the house was taken up mostly by a semi-circle of flat panel monitors that stretched across the far wall. Sitting in a wheeled leather office chair in the middle of the monitor bank was a tall man wearing a light blue jumpsuit with flared cuffs and trimmed with rhinestones. His unnaturally thick blonde hair stood at least six inches off his head in an impressive pompadour.

  Each monitor was itself split into four screens, each of which was displaying some sort of activity. The screens were too small and distant for them to make out the subjects clearly, but Mercury surmised that they allowed Lucifer to keep up with his machinations across several different planes. Many of them showed settings from Earth – shopping malls, bus stations and the like, and that one… was that the New York Stock Exchange? It was an overwhelming amount of input; Mercury wondered how Lucifer could possibly keep up with it all.

  The tall blond demon spun in his chair to face his visitors. He did not look happy. To be fair, though, it was clear that he had not been truly happy for quite some time. To say that he was disgruntled would have been misleading, as it implied that there was a time within memory that he had been fully gruntled. He had the look of someone who had let what had originally seemed like a really good idea get well out of hand.

  Lucifer appeared to take no notice of Mercury or Perpetiel, focusing all of his rage on Izbazel. “I charged you with one simple task,” he fumed. “Kill the Antichrist. Karl Grissom. He’s a thirty-seven year old man with the brain of a squirrel and the constitution of a seventy-year old. This is a man who was hand-picked from tens of thousands of people for the precise reason that he would be the easiest to kill. The man’s resting heart rate is a hundred and twenty. You could probably give him a heart attack by telling him that professional wrestling isn’t real. And yet you couldn’t kill him with an implosion that wiped out half of Anaheim. How is that even possible?”

  “My partner, Gamaliel –”

  “The one that you hand picked. The one that you assured me was completely under control. That Gamaliel, correct? Do go on.”

  “If I may, Your Luminosity,” interjected Mercury. “It’s clear that Izbazel here is a moron. I don’t think there’s any reason to tap-dance around that issue any longer.”

  Lucifer turned his icy glare to Mercury. “Who the hell are you? Some friend of this fool, I take it.”

  “My name’s Mercury. I’m going to help you get your Antichrist back.”

  “Mercury, eh? You have some gall showing up here with only Mr. Ingrown Horns here to vouch for you. What do you know of the Antichrist?”

  “I know where he is, for starters,” said Mercury. “Which fact, I believe, gives me a leg up on you.”

  Lucifer was not amused. “Listen, Mercury, is it? Tell me, why should I not turn you into a newt, right here and now?”

  Perp chimed in, “Newts lay their eggs one at a time, unlike frogs.”

  Lucifer turned his hateful gaze to the fluttering cherub, and Perp shrank into a corner.

  “Because I’m the only one who knows where the Antichrist is,” explained Mercury. “On the other hand, maybe you have a backup plan I don’t know about. Like putting up signs around town, ‘Have you seen this Antichrist?’ That sort of thing. ‘Five foot eight, two hundred ten pounds, brown hair, brown eyes, enjoys fries with ketchup and answers to the name Karl.’”

  Lucifer’s eyes narrowed. “Who do you work for, Mercury?”

  “I don’t exactly work for anyone,” said Mercury. “But I do represent the Antichrist.”

  “You represent him?”

  “Correct,” said Mercury. “I’m his agent.”

  “The Antichrist doesn’t get an agent,” Lucifer said. “That’s not part of the –”

  “Yes, yes,” said Mercury. “The important thing is that we all work together to find a resolution to our current impasse that is, at worst, only mildly disgruntling to all involved parties. And that’s something that I believe I’m in a position to arrange.”

  “I tire of this,” said Lucifer. “I’m inclined to turn the three of you into newts. Mercury, you have thirty seconds to offer me something of value.”

  “I can get you your Antichrist. He’s being held against his will by the agents of another faction in this conflict.”

  “What faction?”

  “Please,” chided Mercury, “you’re cutting into my thirty seconds.” He went on, “I believe that you’re planning to withdraw from the Apocalypse Accord on the grounds that agents of Heaven unfairly assassinated the Antichrist. Karl being alive and in the hands of a faction outside of your control throws a wrench into your plans. If you cry foul, and then Karl shows up alive and well... or even worse, if this other faction is prepared to produce evidence that you were behind the attempted assassination... well, that could get embarrassing for you. An interplanar commission is appointed to investigate your misdeeds, sanctions are imposed.... Feel free to correct me if you feel like I’ve misrepresented the situation.”

  Lucifer glared at Mercury. “Go on.”

  “I want to get Karl free from his captors. You want to be able to ensure that Karl isn’t going to pop up at some point and ruin your plans. I suggest a compromise. Izzy and I will spring Karl and return him to you. For your part, you’ll let Karl live. You can sequester him comfortably somewhere on one of your less dismal planes, where no one will ever find him. I’m happy because Karl is safe. You’re happy because as far as anyone knows, Karl is dead. Izbazel and I will be sworn to secrecy, and you will guarantee our safety. We’ll write up a contract. Perpetiel, as an official Angelic Witness, will notarize it.”

  “How do I know you can actually deliver Karl?”

  “You don’t. On the other hand, if I couldn’t, I’d have no reason to be here, taking a chance at spending eternity as a newt.”

  “And what is preventing me from just torturing you until you tell me where the Antichrist is?”

  “The constraints of time,” said Mercury. “Heaven is going to start looking into that implosion in Anaheim. The longer you wait to withdraw from the Accord, the more time they have to figure out what really happened. I haven’t told Izbazel where Karl is, so that means you’ll have to torture me to get the information you want. And I once sat through a back-to-back showing of Star Wars episodes one through three. Give it your best shot.”

  “I don’t suppose you are in fact an agent of this third faction yourself?”

  “I’m not,” said Mercury. “Not that it matters. You’re too smart to risk losing Karl to make an example of me. I hope.”

  “I think,” said Lucifer, “that you should tell me who the leader of this faction is, as a gesture of good faith.”

  Mercury shook his head. “You’re free to investigate after the fact, but for now the details remain confidential.”

  “I don’t take kindly to being toyed w
ith, Mercury.”

  “No toying here,” said Mercury. “Just a simple business transaction. Do we have a deal?”

  Lucifer studied him for a long time. Mercury could only hope that Lucifer didn’t know about Christine’s discovery of the portal in her condo. If he did, then he would know that his plan had already been compromised, which left Mercury with no leverage. It also gave Lucifer a pretty good incentive to turn him into a newt – and kill Christine, if he ever got the chance. This last eventuality bothered him more than he would have cared to admit.

  Trying not to think about it, Mercury scanned the monitor bank, his eyes darting from one scene to the next. By chance they alighted on a fish-eye view of a small room that was empty except for a small kitchen table and four chairs. As he watched, the image of a young woman flickered into view in the center of the screen. A sickening sensation came over him as he realized that he knew the identity of the woman: He was witnessing Christine’s arrival through the linoleum portal earlier that day. Evidently this was either a recording or there was a delay getting video from the Mundane Plane.

  Still Lucifer stared at him. Did he have any idea what Mercury was seeing? Neither Izbazel nor Perp made any sign of having noticed. Mercury tried to retain his cool façade, but he was unable to tear his eyes away from Christine standing bewildered in her breakfast nook. Finally she left the screen, and Mercury exhaled a barely perceptible sigh of relief.

  Lucifer continued to stare.

  Christine re-entered the frame, holding what looked like a crystal duck. She slammed the duck-thing down on the floor once, twice, three times. On the last attempt, the duck shattered, and Christine sat there in the middle of the frame, looking like she was trying to figure out if she had another duck somewhere.

  Still Lucifer said nothing.

  “Oh, for the love of all that’s holy,” Mercury finally exclaimed in exasperation, “It’s going to take more than a crystal duck!”

  Lucifer was momentarily taken aback, but this non-sequiter evidently had the effect of pushing him toward a decision.

  “Fine,” said Lucifer. “Write it up. But if you fail, I will turn you into a newt. Perhaps something even worse. Maybe a prawn.”

  Perp spoke up. “Actually, it’s –”

  “And Izbazel is getting turned into some sort of insignificant aquatic animal either way. I cannot tolerate this sort of failure.”

  “No,” said Mercury. “I need Izzy’s help to spring Karl. You can turn us both into newts if we fail.”

  Lucifer sighed. “My hopes for your plan are not aided by your insistence on his involvement. But let it be as you say. Do not fail me.” He waved his hand and turned back to the wall of monitors.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  “Lodi?” said Izbazel. “The Antichrist is in Lodi?”

  “No,” said Mercury. “Well, he could be. I doubt it, though.”

  “So why are we here? Hey, isn’t this...?”

  “Yes,” said Mercury. “This is where you managed to lose a tubby 37-year-old man wearing a black polyester cape and got taken in by a three dollar trick spoon.”

  “I figured it was a trick spoon,” grumbled Izbazel. “But you know how gullible Gamaliel is.”

  Having returned to the planeport, Mercury and Izbazel had charged a temporary portal to Lucifer’s account, and were now back on the Mundane Plane. They walked around to the back of Charlie’s Grill.

  “After you and Gamaliel left, Uzziel found me. I had to leave without the Case of War.”

  “You left the Case of War here?”

  “Had to. I stashed it before I started the snowman.”

  “The snowman?” asked Izbazel, confused.

  “I didn’t tell you? I made a snowman! Well, I made the parts of a snowman. I even managed to find a big round trash can and two bowling balls. You know, for the nose and eyes. Uzziel interrupted me before I could put it together.”

  “You really are like a child, aren’t you, Mercury? The rest of us are plotting Armageddon, and you’re busy making snowmen. You could be making snowmen now if you wanted to. Why do you care so much about Karl?”

  “About Karl? I don’t. I mean, assassination still seems unsportsmanlike to me, but he got himself into this business. I feel a little more responsible for Christine, though. You noticed that I wrote into the contract that Lucifer would not be allowed to harm anyone else we free from captivity along with Karl, right?”

  “So the untouchable, unflappable Mercury has a soft spot – for a mortal, no less,” said Izbazel, relishing the moment. “I thought you had turned into a cynic like me, but it turns out that you’re a romantic.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” said Mercury. “You like to think that you’re in charge of your destiny, but you’re just a typical angel, being pulled about by abstract forces you don’t understand. Sometimes I think these mortals have an advantage over us. The eternal perspective can skew your vision, make you think you see things more clearly than you do. I think being mortal, knowing that you only have a few scant years to figure everything out, helps to crystallize things. Someone like Christine, who really understands what’s at stake… she takes good and evil seriously in a way that I’m not sure you and I can understand.”

  “So after everything you’ve been through,” said Izbazel, “you’re back on the side of Heaven.”

  Mercury laughed, a long, loud laugh that made Izbazel feel queasy inside. “Izzy,” Mercury said, “you just got schooled by that sap Gamaliel, and yet you persist in the illusion that you’ve got the whole Universe figured out. You spent a few hundred years schlepping about for the Mundane Maintenance Corps, tuning interplanar energy receptors or whatever, and you think you’ve earned the right to look down on Heaven. Izzy, do you know what my biggest accomplishment was, in four thousand years on this plane?”

  Izzy said nothing.

  “It was in 1814, at the Battle of Plattsburg, in New York State. The Americans were still at war with the British, despite the fact that some overly optimistic fool had named it the War of 1812. I was assigned to protect a certain Captain Miller, an American. My superiors never told me what was so special about this guy, but I watched over him day and night. The Brits shot so many shells and rockets at that fort, it should have been just a hole in the ground. But miraculously – thanks to me – most of the rockets didn’t explode and none of the thousands of bullets managed to find Captain Miller. After a while, even with interplanar energy at my disposal, I had a hard time keeping up with it all. At one point a bomb got past me and exploded two feet from Miller. I had just enough time to arc the shrapnel around him. Three other men were wounded and one was killed, but Miller was miraculously unscathed. Miller would have been dead five times over in that battle if it weren’t for me.”

  “Okay, so you saved this Captain Miller’s life. What’s your point?”

  “The point is, Miller figured it out. He knew he couldn’t have survived that battle without divine assistance. Up to that point, he had been a Deist – a believer in a distant God who didn’t get involved in human affairs. But after his miraculous survival at the Battle of Plattsburg, he became a die-hard believer. A real Bible-thumper. So far, so good. A job well done, right?

  “But then Miller he gets it into his head that the Second Coming is going to happen on 1843, and he starts spreading the word. It doesn’t happen, of course, so he revises the date. Still nothing. So he stops trying to predict the End, but by now the movement’s got a life of its own. One of his followers declares that the Second Coming will happen on October 22, 1844. Do you know what happened on October 22, 1844, Izzy?”

  Izbazel had to admit that he did not.

  “Nothing,” said Mercury bitterly. “Nothing happened. Thousands of people gathered to experience Christ’s return, thanks to Captain William Miller, and nothing happened. The crowning achievement of my angelic career is what is commonly known as the Great Disappointment. I saved William Miller’s life so that he could spread disillusio
n and hopelessness to tens of thousands of people. That’s my legacy. So don’t you presume to lecture me about which side I should or shouldn’t join.”

  “Yes, well,” said Izbazel, suddenly uncomfortable with this turn in the conversation. “In any case, it’s nice to see that you actually do care about something. I wanted to tell you, by the way…” Izbazel drifted off.

  “What?”

  “Well, I wanted you to know that I realize that you didn’t have to stand up for me back there, with Lucifer. I mean, if you hadn’t insisted that you needed me, I’d be a newt right now.”

  “Oh, but I do need you,” said Mercury.

  “For what?”

  “Well, somebody’s got to dig through all the garbage in that dumpster to get to the attaché case at the bottom.”

  Izbazel regarded the pile of restaurant detritus and grimaced. “Whatever. It’s better than being a newt.”

  “Or a pawn,” added Mercury.

  After several minutes of digging through paper wrappers and partial cheeseburgers in various states of decomposition, Izbazel extracted the silvery case, now smeared in mayonnaise and mustard as well as the blood of a recently deceased Israeli general. He handed it to Mercury. “What’s the plan? You’re going to find them with the case?”

  “If Tiamat is the one behind this,” Mercury said, “then Karl is most likely still on the Mundane Plane, since she’s stuck here, thanks to Lucifer. And their means of escape suggests that they didn’t plan on using a portal to extract him. They would have planned to get out of the area of the stadium quickly.”

  “Maybe an airplane? Or a helicopter?”

  “Too high-profile, especially considering that all eyes are on L.A. right now. They must have escaped by car.”