‘Yeah, but I’ve not been chased by ghost gladiators before either. It’s normally a nice day out, this is.’
‘Kartofel,’ said Ben, ‘get down to the tail and dig your claws in. I’ve got an idea. Neil, how fast can we circle round?’
‘I dunno. Pretty quickly if she puts her mind to it. We’ll have a go, like.’
‘Good. We’re going to try and make some space.’
Neil pulled the reins to the left. Stedge swerved, and her tail flicked round in a wide arc. The mists sprang back, clearing the way and making it easier for Stedge to see.
‘It’s working,’ said Ben. ‘Keep going round until I say, then charge forward, OK?’
‘Right y’are,’ said Neil.
They spun round, forcing the mists further back, until Ben judged that they were facing the right way. He yelled ‘now!’, Neil brought the reins centre, and Stedge pounded up the hill. Before long they reached the top, the thick greys became wispy whites, and they were free to continue on their journey.
The sound of Death’s laughter boomed out from the valley floor, echoing all around. It continued to ring in Ben’s ears long after it died out.
Chapter Twenty-One
‘Abandon Hype, All Ye Who Enter Here’
The mist lifted, and all was clear. Stedge built up speed into what might be called a gallop in anything other than a stegosaurus, and they were away, off down a long straight road that stretched out to the horizon, bordered on either side by vast barren mudflats. Ben did not need to be told that they were on the road to Hell, because it was literally paved with good intentions. Clearly The Adversary had a sense of humour, for he had erected a walk of fame made of hundreds of thousands of sandstone slabs, each one carved with a different message: ‘I WAS ONLY TRYING TO HELP’ read one. ‘I NEVER MEANT TO HURT HER’ was another. ‘IT WAS AN ACCIDENT’ appeared frequently.
Eventually they came to a set of iron gates emblazoned with a giant yin-yang symbol. Above them, in the style of a Hollywood studio lot, was a rainbow-shaped sign that read ‘PANDÆMONIUM’. The walls on either side stretched as far as could be seen in both directions. ‘Going-round-the-back’ did not appear to be an option.
‘Are we nearly there yet?’ said Djinn.
Neil dismounted, and tied Stedge to a nearby stake. He walked up to the gates and raised his paw, but before he could knock the doors swung open with a loud crunching groan. As they filed through, Ben noticed that someone had stuck a laminated sheet of A4 paper to one of the doors. The tape was old and crinkly, and only by some strange alchemy did it manage to hold the sign up at all. It read:
ABANDON HYPE, ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE!
They passed into a wide courtyard, and were greeted by the overpowering stench of incense. The floor was dotted with small pots of burning patchouli oil and joss sticks, and the walkway – a deep-pile black carpet – was lined with large, pungent potted plants with strange jagged leaves. The walls were painted orange, badly, and there were a number of cushions strewn around, all of them embroidered with sequins in psychedelic patterns.
At the end of the carpet was a purple and yellow door with a vintage poster advertising a music festival pinned to it. Neil knocked, and a voice beckoned them in.
The walls of the next room were covered with doors of all shapes and sizes, from the too-small-to-fit-through to the ridiculously unusable, positioned halfway up the wall or diagonally across the ceiling. Sitting in the lotus position at the far end of the room, wearing a yellow smoking jacket and purple silk pyjamas, was a long-haired man with ash-grey skin. His eyes were closed, and he was emitting a low hum. Neil coughed, and the man’s eyes flicked open, revealing the same red irises and white pupils as the angels.
‘Ah, Captain,’ said the man. ‘Welcome back. And you managed to retrieve our friends. Well done.’
Neil bowed, and turned to Ben and the demons, back straight, chest out. ‘May I present His Most Chaotic Majesty, The Opposition,’ he barked. ‘King of the Underworld and All Other Mythical Variants Thereof.’
‘The Opposition?’ said Ben. ‘Not The Adversary?’
The Opposition gave a weary sigh, and rolled his eyes. ‘That’s what the angels insist on calling me. I prefer “The Opposition”. Much more dignified. And much more accurate. I’m very grateful for your assistance, Captain, but I’m sure you have other things to do. Defences to prepare, demons of lesser rank to bawl at, that sort of thing?’
‘Yessir, right you are, sir,’ said Neil, saluting. The Opposition returned it, and the dog-demon exited through a cat flap in the far corner.
‘Now,’ said The Opposition, ‘would you all like some tea? We have so much to discuss.’ He clapped his hands, and Neil reappeared, dressed in a butler’s uniform and carrying a silver platter with four handleless cups and a square teapot on it.
‘How did you get changed so fast?’ said Djinn.
‘Oh, this isn’t Neil,’ said The Opposition, taking a cup. ‘This is Crouch, his brother.’
The butler distributed cups to each of the demons, and then finally to Ben. He placed the tray under his arm, and bowed, but as he turned to leave a snake tail slithered down from under his jacket. It hissed, and tried to strike out at Ben, but was pulled away by the retreating motion of its owner.
‘Please excuse Crouch’s lack of courtesy,’ said The Opposition. ‘He took Squat’s erasure quite hard. I suppose we all did, in our way. He was a very popular little demon. I assume he fought bravely at the Battle of the Orme?’
‘He tried to kill me,’ said Ben.
‘Oh, I rather doubt that. Considering I sent him to protect you.’
‘I find that hard to believe,’ said Ben.
‘Really? Even after he saved you when you tried to throw the Box into the sea? You do realize you could have died? Squat was your guardian demon. He’d been watching over you ever since the Box took you up.’
‘If that’s true, then why didn’t he tell me?’ ‘Oh, anyone with half a brain would have. But that was always Squat’s problem. He only had one third of a brain. You see, he and his brothers weren’t always three. They used to be one, but mealtimes got so tiresome that I was forced to perform a bit of DIY surgery. Now they are three of the most loyal demons in all of Pandemonium, maybe the whole of the Underworld. What do you think of it so far, by the way?’
‘What, Hell?’ said Ben.
‘Ach, “Hell” has such negative connotations. I prefer “the Underworld”, but there you go. Do you like it?’
‘I wasn’t expecting quite so many scatter cushions.’
‘No. No. Why would you? Millennia of propaganda to overcome. It’s not at all easy.’The Opposition ruefully rubbed his hand along the side of his face, lost in reverie. ‘Anyway. Speaking of loyal demons, allow me to welcome you back, Ichthor, Thrichthlor and Mnemnor. My old friends.’
‘Eh?’ said Kartofel.
‘I think he’s talking to us,’ said Orff.
‘You must be round the twist, fella. I have literally been living in a Box for the last Mammon-knows-how-many years,’ said Kartofel. ‘I’ve never been here before.’
‘Ah, classic Mnemnor. Always with a ready quip.’
Kartofel looked up at Ben. ‘Can’t believe we had to go through all those gladiators for this.’
‘What’s going on, Ben?’ said Djinn. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I think there’s been a bit of a mix-up,’ said Ben. ‘These are the demons that have been trapped in the Box.’
‘I know,’ said The Opposition.
‘They’re called Orff, Djinn and Kartofel.’
The Opposition laughed. ‘Really?’
‘Yes,’ said Orff.
‘This isn’t some elaborate Thrichthlor prank?’
‘And which of us, pray tell, is supposed to be Thrichthlor?’
‘You are.’
‘Well, I’ve never been so insulted . . . Pranks! In my condition.’
‘Can this really be true? Friends, do you not remem
ber? Well, this is priceless. I had not expected this. It appears exposure to either the Box or the World has given you all a little amnesia. I suppose it has been rather a long time. Djinn, Kartofel and Orff. Wherever did you get those names? Assuming you’re Djinn, Ichthor, I can see where that might come from. But Orff? That’s just bizarre. And Kartofel? Ha! You are aware that “kartofel” is the word for “potato” in several European languages?’
Djinn giggled.
‘Shut it,’ said Kartofel.
‘No, you shut it,’ said Djinn, still giggling. ‘Spud.’
Kartofel growled.
‘I will explain,’ said The Opposition. ‘But first: this is a vintage green tea, brewed in Ancient China. If I am to tell the whole story of the Box and how you came to be in it, a gentle tea such as this is the perfect accompaniment.’
‘I can’t drink anything,’ said Djinn, glumly. ‘Or eat anything.’
‘Whatever gave you that idea?’ said The Opposition. ‘Maybe that’s true in the World, but not here.’
Djinn tentatively clasped his fingers around the cup, and tried to lift it. He was so surprised when it rose that he clapped his hands together in excitement, and sloshed tea all over Kartofel. Steadying the cup, he drank, turning a dark green colour as he did.
‘You see?’ said The Opposition. ‘And I think I have one of your special straws here somewhere, Mnemnor.’ He reached inside his jacket and produced what looked like a bendy straw, except it was solid shining silver. He popped it in Kartofel’s mug.
Ben drank. It was indeed a lovely tea. The Opposition gestured for them all to sit, and they did, pulling up scatter cushions where necessary. ‘The first thing you need to know about this story is that it is very old. Impossibly, amazingly old. Really, it is the only story ever told: good versus evil, if you want to be coarse about it. I don’t, but if you do, then be my guest. I prefer to say it is a story of night and day. You need one to have the other, and there is plenty to commend either of them. Consider the barn owl, or the bat. To them, is it not daylight that is to be feared? So let us think of things in shades of grey. A kind of grey miasma, which has been around for as long as time itself.
‘Now in this pool of grey, there are various shades, but broadly they can be called Light Greys or Dark Greys. One day, the Light Greys got to thinking that they’d rather not have the Dark Greys living with them, near them, or even around them, and that the best thing would probably be to give the Dark Greys the boot so they could live in a nice clean Light Grey heaven. And so they embarked on a . . . let’s call it a crusade.’ He rolled the word around his mouth, savouring the emphasis. ‘The Light Greys soon found, like every crusader ever since, that those they sought to oppress weren’t going to go down without a fight. And so there was an almighty battle, a Grand War, which lasted until every world was so full of death and war and famine and pestilence that each of those things was made flesh and set about destroying the universe.
‘Now at this point, both sides realized that there was little to gain and too much to lose and so the Head of the Light Greys, who had started the whole thing because he got it into his head that a magic invisible being called the Prime One wanted him to, and the Head of the Dark Greys, a poor unfortunate victim who simply wanted to get on with his existence without worrying what an imaginary sky giant thought, sat down together – it may help you to imagine a tent in the middle of some battlefield somewhere – and they made an alliance. The war against the Horsemen raged for a few aeons more, until all four were captured, and the question of what to do with them arose.
‘Now, bitter old enemies being what they are, namely old and bitter, neither had much trust for the other. So they came up with a foolproof way to avoid the future complete and utter destruction of everything, and that was to create something that could cause the future complete and utter destruction of everything, but only if both sides agreed to use it. And so the Light Greys, because they were good carpenters – I hope I am not being too oblique with my analogies here – carved a Box, and they sent it to the Dark Greys, who were good blacksmiths, to forge clasps and hinges for it. Then they met up in that little tent – a theoretical tent, of course, but let’s for argument’s sake say that it was pitched in what was at the time a tropical paradise on the equator but would eventually become a dreary seaside resort on the North Wales coast – and they left it there.’
‘Wait. You left the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse lying around Llandudno?’ said Kartofel.
‘It seemed like a good compromise at the time. Besides, I didn’t leave it unguarded. Unbeknownst to the other side, I sneaked three of my most trusted and powerful demons inside to act as jailers.’
‘There are other demons in the Box?’ said Djinn.
‘I think he’s talking about us,’ said Orff.
‘You’re crackers,’ said Kartofel. ‘Either that, or you have some seriously weak demons knocking around. These two are the least powerful people I know. And I know Ben.’
‘Thanks, Kartofel.’
‘Jus’ bein’ honest.’
‘Yes, well, how was I to know you’d forget everything? Incidentally, now that you are free of the collars, you might find you have slightly wider parameters when it comes to power. Anyway, an uneasy peace was reached, and the Box was hidden in plain sight, with Mankind. Oh, I forgot. There’s another group stuck in the middle of the Light Greys and the Dark Greys. Let’s call them the Foggy Morning Emulsion Greys, shall we? And so the whole grey miasma went about its business as before. There’s been the odd diplomatic incident every now and again, but generally it’s worked.’
‘Until now,’ said Ben.
‘Yes. Well, that’s down to something no one could have predicted. Over the years, the Box grew a sort of consciousness. It became aware of its own power, and so it reached out to those who could help fulfil its potential. Various religions, cults, sects got their hands on it, and believing it to be a totem or a relic or an ark of whatever heavenly body they were chancing their arms with that century, they worshipped it. Legends built up around it, humans lusted after it, and occasionally some of the more ambitious ones worked out how to use it to their own ends: to win wars, cripple enemies, amass power.’
‘But you said both sides would need to agree to be able to use it,’ said Ben.
‘And what do you think those Foggy Morning Greys are made of exactly? What is Man but Order and Chaos combined? So the Box made its way around the World, causing trouble, changing things, sending out visions of how it could one day be used. Some of the people who received these messages – prophets, artists, priests – wrote them down, and they came to the attention of someone who was prepared to make them happen. Specifically, an angel who thought he could use the Apocalypse to provoke the Prime One into showing himself, since no one in existence had ever seen him. I contend that is because he does not exist. They say it is because he will only show himself when the Worlds end. I will leave you to choose which sounds more likely.
‘Once they had decided on their course of action, they needed a willing human they could manipulate into handling the Box for them. Someone young and vulnerable and alone who would willingly swallow their half-truths, and could easily be overlooked or forgotten.’
Ben’s head sank. ‘Me.’
‘Not you, no. Your mother. Didn’t you ever wonder where you got the Box from? They visited her before you were born, took her to where the Box was hidden, and had her retrieve it. They needed a child to be bound to the Box from birth, for the ritual to work. By the time your mother found out what they wanted it was too late. They filled her head with their light, and put her on the road to the asylum. Didn’t you ever consider that she might have been telling the truth about the angels, once they started meddling?’
‘They told me . . .’ began Ben, before stopping himself. He shook his head. ‘I’ve been so stupid.’
‘Not stupid, no. Just human. There is a difference, though you’d not know it, the number of people who watc
h EastEnders. Try not to blame yourself. They have been planning this a long time.’
Ben closed his eyes. A tear dropped onto his cheek.
‘It’s all right, Ben,’ said Djinn. ‘We’re not going to let them get away with it.’
‘Certainly not,’ said Orff.
‘Now that I can get behind,’ said Kartofel. ‘Although, if everyone had listened to me at the start . . .’
‘Let’s bash them!’ said Djinn, his fists in the air.
A strong sustained trumpet blast rang out, shaking the room. Djinn dashed behind Ben, cowering.
‘W-w-what was that?’
‘The Fifth Strident Blast,’ said The Opposition. ‘The angels are in the Afterworld, marshalling their army of zealots and martyrs. They will sound the trumpet twice more: the Sixth Blast will set off a devastating string of natural disasters on Earth, and the Seventh will bring down the Veil. The Worlds will collapse in on each other. They’ll be expecting their Prime One to show up before that happens though.’
‘We can’t let them do this,’ said Ben. ‘It’s not fair. Can’t you do anything? Send some demons or something?’
‘As it happens, I can, yes. Or rather, I am in the process of doing it. Who better to prevent the next blasts than the four newest knights of the Underworld? Ichthor, Thrichthlor, Mnemnor, and their friend Ben Robson, Keeper of the Box.’
‘What do you expect us to be able to do?’ said Orff. ‘I have terrible trouble with my joints.’
‘I expect you to ride out to stop them, and save all the Worlds. What could be better than that?’
‘Not getting saddle sores?’ mumbled Orff, rubbing his thighs.
‘I’m not going anywhere else on that bloomin’ dinosaur,’ said Kartofel. ‘I had to dig in something rotten to stay on.’
‘No, of course not. I have your old mounts ready for you. And something special for you, Ben. But first, there is the formality of the ceremony.’ He clapped his hands, and Crouch entered with a sword resting on a burgundy cushion. ‘Now, gentlemen, if I could ask you to bend the knee, we can get this started.’
The Box of Demons Page 16
