‘Actually, I meant how are you going to stop him when you find him, don’t you need Tamar for that?’
‘Actually, no. It was always going to be me that killed him, if I could. That’s what this is for.’ He held up the Athame. The blade looked strangely dull.
Cindy looked sceptical. ‘It’s an impressive weapon, no doubt,’ she said. ‘But it won’t kill a god.’
Denny smiled. ‘Not the blade,’ he told her. ‘What’s on the blade – Harts blood’
Cindy blanched. ‘Does Tamar know you have that?’
‘No.’
‘She’s going to kill you.’
Denny shrugged. ‘Under the circumstances, I think it’s just as well that I do have it, don’t you think?’
Cindy looked dubious.
‘Look, I took some of the blood, in case something like this happened. I think I knew that it might be down to me in the end. Now I have him in the hollow of my hand.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I do say so. My Grandfather died on October nineteenth, 1941 in his back garden during an air raid. I don’t know the exact time, and I don’t know exactly how Askphrit pulled it off. But I know he’ll be there somewhere, and, thanks to this very helpful menu, I know exactly how to get straight there. And since I have the file number, I literally have all the time in the world to get him.’
‘If at first you don’t succeed etc. etc?’
‘Precisely.’ Denny tapped in a long number, double checked it and then looked at Cindy, his finger poised over the “Enter” key. ‘Aren’t you going to wish me luck?’ he asked.
‘You’re really just going to leave me here?’
‘You’ll be safer here,’ he muttered. ‘Trust me.’ He hit the key.
‘Good luck,’ whispered Cindy to the empty air.
~ Chapter Nineteen ~
‘Overtime’s a bitch,’ thought Clive. And Tamar and Denny’s interesting trek through the files of history was causing more overtime than that clerk had ever known. He had picked up on their journeying almost immediately, because he had watched and influenced all their movements closely for many years. He was confident that he was the only clerk to have picked up on what they were doing now. Management would, obviously, be oblivious, and he certainly was not going to tell them.
The worst thing about this overtime was that it was self-imposed and, therefore, unpaid. But he felt that it might be worth it.
At the moment, he was watching Denny.
An old man was creeping up behind him. He was carrying an axe. Clive had a bad feeling about this. He did a quick search and came up with a name for the old man. He groaned; this had the potential to be really, really bad.
The old man struck Denny on the back of the head with the butt of the axe head and gave a cowardly whimper when Denny conspicuously failed to go down like a sack of potatoes, but instead, turned to face the old man with a look of terrible ferocity.
‘What the hell …’ he roared, then he saw the old mans blanched face. He lowered his voice ‘What did you do that for?’ he said in fairly reasonable tones
The old man gathered his courage. ‘Well, what are you up to?’ he demanded, ‘You’re trespassing on my property in the middle of the night. I’ve a right to defend my home and family.’ He glanced suspiciously at Denny taking in his outlandish attire. ‘And my country, for that matter,’ he added.
Denny smothered a smile. It was obvious now; the man thought he was a German spy.
‘Dad?’ both men turned, a skinny young man had appeared from inside the house
Without warning, he fired a shot straight at Denny. With an instinctive dexterity which his best friends would hardly have credited him with a few years ago, Denny spun and threw the Athame into the man’s heart.
The old man gave a cry. ‘John!’
From his place in the shadow of a large oak tree, Askphrit gave a satisfied smile and turned to leave.
And suddenly Denny had a horrible feeling of destiny, but not for long, as the young man drew his last breath and Denny ceased to exist.
He did not really notice though. Since he did not exist, he could not have caused his existence to be erased. And so it was not. Until he did it again, except he could not have, so he did not. This could go on all day, or for the rest of eternity.
* * *
Peirce was lounging against a pillar grinning toothily and enjoying the show. Askphrit predictably, had released him, and Hecaté had, somewhat reluctantly, unfrozen him. It was either that or watch Stiles die. But she was painfully slow at unfreezing the rest of the world and Askphrit was getting impatient and throwing the occasional energy bolt at Stiles to speed up the process.
I cannot go any faster, please leave him alone,’ she pleaded.
‘You shouldn’t be doing it at all,’ admonished Stiles. ‘He’s just going to kill me anyway as soon as you’re finished. And then God knows what he’ll do!’
‘Besides,’ he continued, with a confidence that was completely unjustified in the circumstances. ‘Tamar and Denny will get out of mainframe eventually, whatever this lunatic thinks, and then – well, we’ll just see, won’t we?’ he finished lamely.
Askphrit chuckled. ‘They won’t get out,’ he said. ‘I have taken some rather elaborate precautions to make sure of it. The last time I saw him, he was very effectively cooking his own goose – or rather his own grandfather, I should say.’ He gave an evil laugh.
Stiles shook his head. He did not believe it. Tamar and Denny could get out of anything that this maniac could cook up. He admonished Hecaté again.
Hecaté ignored him and continued muttering spells, pausing only to flinch as this remark earned Stiles another blast.
Peirce grinned again. He did not like Stiles. He did not like anyone much – well he was a vampire.
‘I don’t know what you think you’re grinning about,’ said Stiles. ‘As soon as I get out of this, you’ll be the first to die.’
‘Ha! Big talk for a man in a cage,’ said Peirce. ‘But even supposing you do escape. One, I’m already dead, and two, in case you forgot – you can’t stake me unless you can find my heart, and I don’t even know where it is.’
Peirce had had his heart removed (well it was not as if he was using it) and stored, so he said, in a vault somewhere.
Stiles had indeed forgotten about this, and he shifted uncomfortably. ‘Well, anyway,’ he blustered, ‘you’d be amazed what you can live through.’
‘Not really,’ yawned Peirce. ‘I lived through death didn’t I? After that, nothing much really surprises one.’
Askphrit interrupted mildly. ‘Please, please, enough of this. You will disturb the lovely lady in her meditations. And Peirce, our friend is right, should he escape you will indeed be the first to die, I shall make sure of it, now shut up.’
‘Go on my dear,’ he said to Hecaté. ‘Oh and stop re- freezing time whenever you think I am not paying attention. I am not a fool you know.’
‘What is that word that Tamar is so fond of using to describe you?’ muttered Hecaté, who had indeed been doing this at intervals. ‘Oh yes – Bastard!’
* * *
‘We have to find another way out of mainframe.’ Tamar was saying. ‘We obviously can’t count on the file being opened again from the outside, and for that matter, we don’t even know why it was closed in the first place.’
‘Or the second place,’ said Eugene mournfully.
‘Exactly,’ agreed Tamar. ‘If something’s happened to Denny, I want to know about it. Besides …’
Eugene’s silence was eloquent.
Tamar turned on him fiercely. ‘He wouldn’t have abandoned us here if he could help it,’ she said firmly in a cold voice. ‘You may disabuse yourself of that idea right away. Right, so we need a plan to get out. Any ideas?’
‘What about finding the file for the present, say the day before you froze time. Then we’d just have to wait a bit to catch up with ourselves – oh.’
‘Exactly, it
would cause a paradox. There’d be two of us in the same time. Two of each of us I mean,’ she explained.
‘I know,’ said Eugene affronted. ‘Still, he mused, there’d only be two of us until the other two of us entered mainframe again, then we’d be back to one. Wouldn’t we?’
‘No, there’d be one of us in here and one of us out there. Anyway it’s not practical. Do you have any idea how long it would take us to find the right file? They aren’t named. It’s all a bit hit and miss you see.’
‘Oh, I didn’t know.’
‘On the other hand, I can’t see any other way out unless there’s a way out from central files.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Just what it sounds like. In fact, I think that’s the best idea, but we’ll have to be careful not to get caught. I think they might be looking for me there.’
‘Sounds risky, how do we get in anyway? It must be guarded.’
Tamar held up the pass key. ‘With this.’
‘You stole it?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then I think you’re right, they will be looking for you, are you sure this is a good idea.’
‘Can you think of anything better?’
‘Well, what about the way Denny got out?’
~ Chapter Twenty ~
There cannot be many people who try to get into hell. Out of hell, certainly. Plenty of those, there is after all, only so much Enid Blyton a grown man can take. But trying to get in is pretty rare, though not unheard of. There is a section of society that think that Hell is all wild parties and racy leather underwear. They know nothing of the horrors that really await them. After all, it is supposed to be a punishment.
Tamar had never been to Hell, but she had a pretty shrewd idea of what it was going to be like; it made her nervous in a way that she was entirely unfamiliar with.
If the punishment was fitted to the crime, then what the hell was she in for? An eternity of having her every wish fulfilled? Ugh, horrible. Still, if Denny had managed to get out … Anyway, there was no other way.
Eugene had surprised her; it really was a pretty good idea, one that she herself would never have thought of, being inclined to over-think things. Eugene, on the other hand, apparently took the simple route through life. And sometimes the most obvious solution was the best.
That did not make her any happier about it though.
Eugene himself did not seem all that worried about it. He had, after all, got the most powerful being in the world beside him. Besides, as he said, ‘I never signed no contract with the Devil either. And I certainly ain’t dead.’
Tamar knew that this was oversimplifying matters a bit too much. Hell is full of sinners, not poor fools who signed away their souls for a mess of pottage – whatever that was. Still, if it kept him happy.
The problem now was how to get into Hell. Denny had ended up there by accident, and although Tamar knew how it had happened, she was not sure whether it would work again. Denny had been thrown clear of the filing system and had landed in Hell. She and Eugene might end up anywhere. It seemed a bit hit and miss to her.
The alternative was to find the actual file for Hell, if there was such a thing. Technically, hell was not part of the world.
Where to start looking? – Admitting that central files was out of the question.
Hell is another world, but not an alternate reality, which would just be another version of this world. There are also many different hells, from what she had heard. Denny had been to the Christian Hell. Although all hells surely would lead back to the world, just as all hells are accessible from the world. And suddenly she knew how he had done it.
She grabbed Eugene by the hand and giving him no time to argue, said ‘Close files.’
When she found herself in the nothing between the worlds, she almost panicked. She could almost hear the echo of Denny’s last words when he had been in this place ‘Oh Hell!’ she repeated.
Nothing happened; her voice made no sound. ‘Oh Hell,’ she said again. ‘Hell?’ then she heard a voice from above her head. ‘Not another one; where the Jesus are they all coming from?’
‘Two this time,’ moaned the devil. His Dark Lordship’s going to have an aneurysm.’
‘Not dead?’ asked another one.
‘Not dead. Not on the list. Not supposed to bloody well be here. What are we going to do with them?’
‘Let’s kill them.’
‘It won’t make any difference,’ moaned the first devil. ‘I tell you, they’re not on the list. Alive or dead, we can’t keep them.’
‘I like killing things,’ sulked the other devil.
‘How would you know? You’ve never done it. They’re always dead already when they get to us – well usually.’ He looked irritably at Tamar. ‘No, the only thing to do is to get them out of here as fast as possible and hope that He doesn’t find out.’
Tamar heaved a silent sigh of relief.
‘Come on youse two,’ snarled the devil turning on his heel. ‘This way to the river Styx, keep quiet, keep your heads down and no arguing. I don’t suppose you brought any money with you?’
* * *
‘Agggh!’ Stiles was still suffering stoically. Living proof that lightning can strike more than once in the same place, particularly if it is guided by a very vindictive and pissed off god, who thinks he is being screwed around. Stiles was smoking gently from the ears like the wily coyote after he has just swallowed a stick of dynamite. It is pretty fair guess that he felt like it too.
‘If you do not desist,’ said ‘Hecaté. ‘I will do no more.’
‘Fine,’ said Askphrit. ‘I’ll just kill him then shall I?’
‘Ooh, let me,’ said Peirce.
‘Do so,’ bluffed Hecaté. ‘Then, where will your leverage be?’
Hecaté had forgotten that Askphrit was totally insane. He called her bluff.
* * *
Charon was, predictably, not at all pleased to see them, but after some huffing and puffing, he agreed to let them cross. ‘They’ll have to wait, though,’ he said. ‘I’ve got some incoming to deal with first. They’ll have to keep out of sight, while I bring them across, it could cause unrest that sort of thing, if they see me ferrying people out.’ With that he turned the boat around and Tamar and Eugene were left on the shores of the river Styx shivering in the perpetual fog. The devils who had escorted them left without a word.
‘Could have been worse,’ said Eugene, flapping his arms around him to keep warm, although there was no keeping warm in that place. The cold seemed to be a part of your very soul. ‘It was quite easy in the end,’ he continued, cheerfully. ‘Won’t be long now, before we’re out of here. They seemed quite keen to be rid of us, didn’t they?’
‘Mmm,’ Tamar was thinking about something else. ‘What do you suppose they meant “they’re not on the list?”.’
Eugene shrugged. ‘That we’re not dead yet I suppose.’
‘No, that wasn’t it,’ she said. ‘And after all, why should it matter, this is a place where they keep your immortal soul. Just because most people don’t arrive here until they die, doesn’t mean that it is a necessary pre requisite – apparently. The body isn’t the part of you that stays here anyway. No, it’s something else. Something about – what did you say before? Jurisdiction.’
‘Yes, so what? I mean as long as they let us go, what does it matter?’
‘It matters, I’m sure of it. I’m just not sure why.’
‘Well, perhaps it’s because we aren’t Christians,’ said Eugene. ‘This is the Christian Hell, isn’t it?’
Tamar looked thunderstruck. ‘My God!’ she said. ‘Could it really be that simple?’
They were distracted by the arrival of Charon’s boat looming through the fog. It was a chilling sight now. Filled with hundreds of pallid ghost like figures, seeming to each take up no more space than a breath of air, yet each one a distinct personality, or rather a distinct sin. Eugene grabbed Tamar and pulled her behind a rock. �
��He said we have to keep out of sight.’
They hid, but they watched – could not help but watch, as the crowd disembarked and began a long forlorn procession along the dreary banks of the river up toward the caverns of Hell. Tamar could not tear her gaze from them; they all looked so bewildered and frightened. On each face, was an expression of confused surprise. “This has to be a mistake.” “This is not for me surely?” They tried to cling to one another for comfort, but found that they could not; they had no more substance than smoke. That would change when they reached Hell proper, and it would not be a change for the better. Lost souls indeed. It was horrible. Tamar felt paralysed with an inconsolable pity. What had they done? If they had committed sins as great as her own, she would be surprised. And yet, here they were, and she was to go free. ‘There but for the grace of God,’ she muttered. Except that was wrong, wasn’t it, the wrong way round, it was by the grace of God that these poor souls were condemned. Again, she felt that thought, curling its way around the edges of her mind. This was important in some way. But she could not quite catch hold of the idea that was forming in her brain. Then all rational thought ceased, as her attention was arrested by a familiar face in the procession.
‘Jack?’
~ Chapter Twenty One ~
Denny had, by Clive’s reckoning, erased his own existence and re-existed, seventy five thousand whole times and seemed set to go on until time itself ceased. You had to admire his tenacity.
An hour later (from Clive’s viewpoint) he was not admiring him nearly so much. An hour later still and he was not admiring him at all and was wondering how on earth to stop all this.
He wondered where Denny had gone wrong. Surely he had gone back to the day when his grandfather had died anyway, at the hands of Askphrit, too late to affect the future. He supposed that it did not really matter, but out of curiosity, he checked the dates. Denny turned out to have checked into the file a mere day earlier than his grandfather’s original demise. More than enough time to make a significant difference, a conception is usually achieved in only one night after all. The real question now was, had Askphrit planned it that way? It was a masterly stroke if so. A masterpiece of timing and finesse. Or was it a just a monstrous coincidence?
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