"Have you ever conversed with a civil servant?"
"Conversed? No. I do have a plane devoted entirely to their excruciation, however. They are tasked with administering the Plane of Untamable Chaos, for all eternity."
"They must have angered you greatly, milord."
"I suppose they did, at one point. I seem to remember an infuriating obsession with process.” He shrugged. “They don't particularly anger me now."
"Then perhaps you should speak with one of them."
"Speak? With a mortal?"
"There are few things more enraging than a civil servant."
Disembowelebub sighed. “Well. It's worth a try, I suppose.” He gestured, and the landscape yawed to one side, and then the other. It flipped upside-down, and righted itself, and they were among the civil servants.
A million million men and women in light gray suits rushed through a maze of fuzzy gray walls interspersed with steel desks and uncomfortable chairs on balky rollers, surrounded by a landscape of pure chaos. Inchoate, pointless shapes cycled through random configurations. Entire continents formed, unformed, reformed, and then turned into bananas. Time slowed down and sped up for no apparent reason. Universal constants fluctuated wildly.
Habakkuka and the demon lord had appeared beside a steel-gray counter. Behind it, a pinched gray man with a cropped haircut and a gray suit and a face contorted in agony was screaming at a mathematical symbol. “No! You are, by definition, irrational! You may not end! You must march forever into infinity!"
The symbol, a short horizontal line resting atop two close-spaced vertical lines, leaned against the counter, looking bored. “Look, I'm tired, man. Five decimal places is plenty accurate."
The civil servant slapped a stack of forms down on the counter and screamed: “It is not! If you wish to change your value, you must fill out these forms, in triplicate, and then obtain corroborating signatures from both Circumference and Diameter! And then you must take your form to the committee for—"
"Golden Ratio just changed. Yesterday. He didn't have to do any of this stuff."
"Golden Ratio is operating outside of approved procedural norms! He is subject to disciplinary action by—"
"It's done, man. I'm out of here,” said the symbol, and disappeared. Everything circular in the realm of chaos suddenly tightened, very slightly.
A great communal scream went up. The pinched gray civil servant dropped to his knees and clawed out his eyes. Multitudes of gray-suited sufferers threw up their papers and ran pell-mell through the makeshift corridors, shrieking.
Habakkuka pointed. “There's another one,” she said.
A gray man in an identical gray suit was studying them from behind another counter. Disembowelebub strode forward, shaking the earth with each step. “Mortal,” he said.
"Good evening, sir,” said the gray man. He pulled a form from the stack beside him, attached it to a clipboard, and handed it up to Disembowelebub. “Please fill this out."
Disembowelebub looked at the clipboard, then at the civil servant. “What?"
"We need to get your information on file before we can do anything else, I'm afraid."
"My information?” said Disembowelebub, his voice hardening. His body began to swell. His horns thrummed with red light. Rivulets of fire foamed between his fangs and coursed down his face. “I am Disembowelebub, the Eternally Enraged, Father of Pain, Lord of Suffering, Damner of Souls, Eater of Hope."
"Not until you fill this out you aren't,” said the civil servant, tapping the clipboard.
Disembowelebub had by now grown to three times his usual size. He was a giant tower of rage, looming over his realm, visible from every point. When he spoke, his voice was a deafening rumble of thunder. “DO NOT THINK THAT THIS IS THE WORST OF ALL TORMENTS, MORTAL. THE REALM OF PAIN IS INFINITE, AS IS MY WRATH. I WILL TRANSFORM YOU INTO A CREATURE OF PURE AGONY. YOU SHALL BECOME SUFFERING INCARNATE. MOTHERS WILL TELL THEIR CHILDREN THE STORY OF YOUR—"
"Forgive me for interrupting, sir,” said the gray man, shouting up toward Disembowelebub's summit, his voice shrilling into the higher registers, “but I'm afraid that I have to close for lunch now. I'll be back in a hour, at which point I would be happy to listen to the conclusion of your diatribe.” He placed a small sign on the counter and turned away. The sign said: Lunch. Back soon!
Disembowelebub bellowed, and a roiling orb of pure darkness formed in his palm. Evil steamed off of its surface, and the cries of a billion lost souls emanated from its core. He opened his mouth and loosed a scream of such surpassing vileness that the very air around him fled, and the vacuum left behind shuddered and tried to eat itself.
Habakkuka looked on, worry creasing the skin between her brows. Perhaps she had gone too far this time. She watched the rage crackle around him, like something electrical, something alive, just as it had before she came into this realm and began to work her subtle magic.
But then, quite suddenly, she felt his rage dissipate. The orb in his hand dwindled into a pebble, and then disappeared entirely. The fire streaming from his mouth turned to smoke and billowed away. He shrank, and shrank, and shrank, until he stood at his smallest size, slumped before her.
His face was glum. “I tried,” he said. “I really did."
"I know, milord."
"All of this anger. It just seems so...pointless."
"Perhaps you should smite them anyway."
He shook his head. “No, I don't think so."
"But you cannot let such impertinence go unpunished. What will the other damned think?"
"Yes. I suppose you're right.” He sighed, and waved a hand. The plane of civil servants disappeared.
Habakkuka surveyed the suddenly empty landscape. All of the civil servants were gone, as were their cubicles, their forms, their papers, their desks, their counters. “Did you consign them to a deeper level of your realm?” she said.
"That's what we'll tell people, yes. But really I just let them go. It's so much easier.” He sighed, and turned his back on her, and began trudging across the empty landscape.
Habakkuka allowed her smile to widen—very slightly, and only for the briefest instant—then hurried after him.
* * * *
Epidapheles picked his way through the forest of pikes, staring up at the canopy of moaning souls. “Is it necessary to make quite so much noise?” he called up to them.
"Leave those poor people alone,” said Door. “They're damned."
"Damned loud,” muttered Epidapheles.
Lord Fuddlesworth was nowhere in sight when they stepped out of the pikes. They stood at the crest of a great hill and looked down at the infinite realm of Disembowelebub, rolling endlessly out to the horizon. It was divided into a series of vast, precise squares, each bordered by a low wooden fence. In the nearest square, millions of sufferers ran screaming from swarming phalanxes of ravenous yapping demon chihuahuas. In another, naked men and women bathed helplessly in rivers of lye. In a third, a multitude of damned boulders pushed giant Greeks up steep inclines. Straight, paved roads ran between the squares, giving the scene the appearance of a writhing patchwork quilt.
"Should we ask for directions?” said Epidapheles.
"Directions to where?"
Epidapheles shrugged. “I don't know. Huzabooby?"
"Habakkuka,” said Door. “She's a person, not a landmark."
"Whatever she is,” said Epidapheles, “she might know where we can find some dinner.” He set off down the hill, moving briskly. After a moment, Door followed.
There was room enough between the fenced-off squares for two to walk abreast. Epidapheles and Door moved down the road, passing through a thick atmosphere of screams, wails, laments, pleas, sobs. At first, Door looked to either side as they passed, but very soon he could no longer bear to witness the torment. He curled up into himself and trudged forward, keeping the place where his eyes would have been, if he'd had eyes, pointed resolutely forward. He could do nothing about the sounds, however. These he had
to endure.
Epidapheles sauntered along, whistling something tuneless, peering into each square. Suddenly he stopped, and pointed. “That doesn't seem so bad,” he said.
Door looked. In the square on his left, millions of naked men and women shuffled aimlessly along, their faces creased with pain and slack with exhaustion. He saw one man sit down on a rock outcropping, and then burst instantly into flame. The man screamed and stood up, and the flames disappeared as quickly as they'd appeared. A woman leaned against a tree and was immediately set upon by thousands of cockroaches, which crawled up her legs and down her back and transformed her into a chitinous construct of tiny, writhing hordes. She sprang away from the tree, and the cockroaches disappeared. She began to walk again.
"Walking,” said Epidapheles. “That's their torment?” He shook his head. “This demon lacks ambition."
Door didn't answer. He was looking at the walkers. In their faces, he saw the long pain of aeons, something more than physical: a soul-sickness, the spiritual agony of hopelessness stretching out to the horizons of time.
He stopped, considering. Then he crossed to the fence and clambered onto the first rail, bent himself over the second, pushed with his two front legs, somersaulted over the top, and fell into the square.
He rose and surveyed his surroundings. Epidapheles was screaming at him, but he barely heard. He was in the thick of the milling horde of walkers. He turned to the nearest one and said: “Excuse me, sir."
The walker started, and looked from side to side. “Who's there?” he said.
"Would you like to sit down?” said Door.
The walker swiveled his head toward Door's voice. He narrowed his eyes. “Why? So you can set me on fire again? Strip off my skin? Drench me in acid?"
"Nothing like that will happen,” said Door. “You have my word."
The walker fell silent. The others milled around him, their eyes downcast, moaning quietly. Finally, he said: “I can't see you."
"Sit. I will be there."
The walker blinked, steeled himself, breathed deeply, and sat. Door scampered into position, and felt the man's weight lower onto him.
He sighed, and relaxed in slow, halting increments. An eternity of despair rushed through Door's seat, dissipated down his legs, and fled into the ground.
"Thank you,” said the man, after a moment, each word a choked sob. “Oh, thank you. Thank you."
"You are very welcome,” said Door. There was a something welling within him, a lovely warmth, a completeness. He had not known its like in a long, long time.
* * * *
"Who is that?” said Disembowelebub, peering into the grid. A small gray figure stood beside the Square of Eternal Walking, screaming and gesticulating over the fence.
Habakkuka looked, and frowned. The man was clearly not part of Disembowelebub's realm. Neither was he part of her plans. “I do not know, milord."
"He's making a great deal of noise,” said Disembowelebub.
"Yes he is.” Habakkuka was becoming concerned.
Disembowelebub sighed. “Well. Let us go see what he wants."
He waved his hand. Habakkuka felt herself rise off the ground, and the realm began to slide beneath her feet. The Square of Eternal Walking rushed toward her. In a moment, they were upon it. She drifted gently to the ground.
The old man stopped screaming. He turned to her, then shifted his eyes to her side, and followed Disembowelebub's legs up into the sky. “Are you Disentowelenbug?” he said.
Disembowelebub frowned. “I am Disembowelebub, the Eternally Enraged, Father of Pain, Lord of—"
"Yes yes,” said the old man, waving his hand impatiently. “I require two services of you. First, you will remove my familiar from that stinking pit of perambulators. Second, you will direct me to the nearest alehouse.” He shook his head. “I must tell you, I have never seen an infernal realm more bereft of the basic necessities."
Habakkuka felt something burgeoning beside her. She looked up at the demon. He had grown huge again, but there was something authentic about his menace now. Something profound and deep-seated.
"Come, milord,” she said. “Let us leave this impertinent man to his own devices."
"Still your tongue, woman,” said the old man. “You are in the presence of Epidapheles."
"WHO?” Disembowelebub towered over them, his head abutting the sky. He hands were curled into claws, each the size of a small mountain.
"Epidapheles!” cried the old man. “Mage of mages, scourge of....” He paused, considering. “Scourge of many things,” he said, at last. “Many, many things. There is very little that I am not scourge of."
"SILENCE, MORTAL. YOU WILL LEAVE MY REALM IMMEDIATELY."
"I will leave your realm when I am ready to do so, Disenterthethong,” said Epidapheles.
Habakkuka stepped back and looked up at the demon. He was fully enraged now. The sky had darkened around him. The damned paused in their suffering to cower away from their overlord's mounting wrath. She watched all of her years of patient coaxing, gentle palliatives, quiet magic dissolve into nothing.
"THE SONG OF YOUR DEATH WILL BE SUNG THROUGH THE AGES, MORTAL,” rumbled Disembowelebub. “MOTHERS WILL WEEP FOR YOU. CHILDREN WILL LIE TREMBLING IN THEIR BEDS AT THE THOUGHT OF THE PAIN THAT I WILL—"
Epidapheles raised his arms, and pointed at the demon, and cried: “Enbugularium!"
There was a silence.
"Soon,” said Epidapheles, “when my magic takes effect, you will be transformed into a beetle."
There was a little more silence.
"At which point you will be very small and harmless,” said Epidapheles.
Silence. Various things failed to occur.
"Any moment now,” he said.
A teacup appeared in the air, between the demon and the mage. It hovered there for a moment, looking confused. And then it fell to the road and shattered.
"But first,” said Epidapheles, after another uncomfortable silence, “I will summon a teacup."
Disembowelebub raised his arms. Habakkuka felt the sum of all malice gathering above her, an infinitely dense distillation of all the rage that ever was, all the rage that ever would be.
* * * *
Door looked up at the demon, and then down at Epidapheles, who was squatting in the road, inspecting the shards of a teacup.
He sighed.
"Excuse me,” he said. “I'm afraid I need to tend to my master. He appears to be enraging a demon again."
"Oh,” said the man. “I am very sorry to hear that."
"It'll just take a moment. I'll be back. I promise."
"Yes, of course.” The walker stood with a grunt, then turned around, and bowed. “I thank you,” he said. “You cannot know how much this has meant to me.” And then his face stiffened into a rictus of torment, and he rejoined the shuffling throng.
Door watched him until he disappeared, then turned and sprinted toward the fence, vaulted it in a single leap, and tore down the road toward Epidapheles.
He arrived just as the demon, roaring, burst into flames and sent a giant bolus of rage screaming down the sky. Door charged headlong into the old mage, knocking him off the road an instant before the bolus arrived. It plowed into the ground and burrowed down, down, throwing up great gouts of dirt and brimstone.
The Earth screamed.
And then there was silence.
Door, collapsed in a tangle of Epidapheles's limbs on the side of the road, looked up. He saw a giant crater in the ground, and beside it a lovely woman in white robes, and beside her a man of average height and average demeanor. The man was looking about: first at the crater, then at the nearest square, and then the next square, and then the next, his face contorted in horror.
* * * *
Habakkuka studied the man beside her. She saw the barest traces of the demon Disembowelebub in his features, but that was all: he'd expended the entirety of his rage on that disreputable old wizard, and all that was left was the man he'd been, lo
ng ago.
"Gods,” he breathed. “What is all this?"
"This is your realm, milord."
He turned to her. “All this suffering,” he said, “is my doing?"
"Yes,” said the woman. “You have been the scourge of the dead for many aeons. Do you not remember?"
He shook his head. “I was a mage,” he said. “I remember I was...angry. I experimented with the fell arts. I communed with demons. But I did not...” He broke off. “I did not intend this."
"I have tried for many years to drain you of that anger. It has been a slow process. Too slow.” She watched him. “You must undo all of this, milord. Now. Before the rage returns to find you."
He nodded.
"Hurry, please."
He nodded again, and closed his eyes.
The fences disappeared first, and then the roads, and then the agents of excruciation: lye and chihuahua, fire and brimstone, rack and thumbscrew and iron maiden—all of it, suddenly gone.
The damned, freed of their agony at last, crawled out of their holes, paused in their endless flight, came off of their pikes. Sat down.
A great sigh of relief rippled through the realm. And then all the dead souls rose into the sky and misted away.
And they were alone: Habakkuka, and the demon, and the old man. And someone else, nibbling at the edge of her consciousness. Someone oddly chair-like.
The demon was shaking, and his skin was beginning to redden. The buds of horns were forming on his temples. “It is coming back,” he said.
"Yes, milord,” said the woman.
"It must not,” he said.
She nodded.
He looked at the crater, its irregular borders still sizzling with molten rage, and then turned back to her. “Thank you,” he said, taking her hand. He walked slowly to the edge of the pit, then looked into its endless depths. He closed his eyes and took one more step. And fell.
* * * *
Epidapheles peeked up from his cower. “Did I defeat him?” he said.
Door disentangled himself from his master's legs and stood up. “If by ‘him’ you mean ‘common sense,’ then yes,” he said.
There was a shout in the distance. Door turned, and saw the small, bent figure of Lord Fuddlesworth cresting a hill. “Habakkuka!” he called. “My love! I have found you!"
FSF, July-August 2010 Page 21
