The page boy laid down a card. “Too late,” he intoned. His voice did not sound boyish.
Jamin struck a wizardly posture, hands poised to cast a spell.
Linda said, “Jamin, I’m warning you. Make one move and you’re dead meat. I mean it.”
“I have great powers now,” Jamin said, trembling.
“Not without him,” Linda said, pointing to the page.
“Vasagaroth, please!”
The page calmly laid another card down. “No can do, Jamin. The pipeline just went dry.”
Gene sidestepped toward the table. “What’s your story, kid? Who put you up to this?”
“Screw off, asshole,” the boy said over his shoulder.
“Whoa, are
The page spat at Gene’s feet. “I said screw off.”
“Gene, easy,” Linda said.
“Just who is this little pustule?” Gene demanded.
“Why don’t you challenge him and find out?” Jamin said, grinning slyly.
“Any way you want to play it, human,” Vasagaroth said casually.
“Both of you are coming with me,” Gene said.
“And where might we be going?” Jamin asked pleasantly.
“To the Donjon, to await the King’s disposition of your case. C’mon, let’s go. That means you, punk- breath.”
Gene laid a hand on the page’s shoulder. The boy’s arm came around sharply and knocked Gene’s away. He stood.
“Time for the masquerade to end,” he said.
Gene stepped back, sensing what was about to happen. And it did.
The page boy’s skin turned gray, then white, and began to puff up horribly, as if pushed out from something growing inside. A hairline crack appeared along the boy’s cheek. As it widened, it revealed a glowing red surface underneath.
Gene and Linda had witnessed this process before, but it was no less startling in reprise. The boy’s skin fell away in limp shards to reveal the luminous demon-body hiding within. Inexplicably the thing grew as it shed its bogus human form. When the last of the camouflage had fallen away, the crown of the creature’s horned head topped off at no less than seven and a half feet. A long, curious sword then came into being in its left hand.
Its voice shook the rafters. “Human, you will die horribly!”
Gene swallowed hard. “Tell me how it can be fun.”
The demon lunged and nearly decapitated Gene with one stroke. Gene backed off, happening to catch a glimpse of Jamin’s gloating grin.
The demon charged, chasing Gene around the room. Gene backed up against a love seat and fell over it, scrambled up, and backstepped. The demon kicked the piece of furniture out of the way and advanced, sword whistling as it swung.
“My magic doesn’t work on him!” Linda shouted.
“Speed me up!” Gene begged.
“Something’s wrong. Jamin’s blocking!”
“Exactly right, little hussy.” Jamin said. “Now let’s see how your champion swordsman does against the Hosts of Hell.”
Thirty-eight
Central Bureaucracy — Ministry of Pain
“You are holding my sister here,” he told the demon clerk behind the counter. “I want her.”
The clerk was a gnarled, hunched-over creature with cadaverous gray skin that looked like wet rubber. Suppurating yellow sores afflicted one side of its bald head.
It looked up with pained, bloodshot eyes. “Your name?”
“You know my name.”
“I must have your name, sir, to complete the proper forms.” The creature brought forth a thick sheaf of official-looking papers.
He materialized a broadsword, swung, and struck the thing’s head from its body. A fountain of pink goo erupted from the neck as the carcass fell beneath the countertop.
Almost immediately another clerk hobbled out from behind a partition. The creature looked a perfect match for the one who had just been granted early retirement.
The thing smiled at him. “And how may I help you, sir?”
His shoulders slumped. “I wish to see your superior.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but my superior will be in a meeting for the rest of the day.”
“Then I wish to speak to his superior.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No, I do
“Very sorry to say that the deputy minister is out of town. Is there anything I can do?”
“Yes. As the saying goes, take me to your leader.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I wish to speak to the controlling entity, the central mind.”
“Ah. That is a very tall order, sir.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes, indeed, sir. You’ll have to make an appointment.”
Incarnadine’s blade swished round again. This time, blue ichor flowed from the truncated neck.
A third clerk stepped out from behind the partition.
“I’m afraid you have the wrong department, sir,” it said. “Go down this hall, turn right, follow the corridor, and it’s the third door on your right. However, they might be out to lunch at the moment. Now, if you prefer to put your request in writing …”
The thing babbled on, its voice dwindling as he stalked away.
The walls were not straight here. There wasn’t a right angle in the place. The corridor twisted and bent. Every so often he passed another counter with another blandly smiling clerk behind it. The place was dim and stifling, and silence choked the air like a miasmal fog.
He was hours in the place. There seemed no end to it. He knew Ferne’s location, but could not get there. He gave up and got new bearings. Finding stairs, he began a descent of miles. Progressively darkening gloom enveloped him. Eyes like glowing coals monitored his progress, peering out from the crannied walls. The character of the place changed, became cavelike. Following a downward-spiraling tunnel, he increased his pace to a jog. The tunnel leveled out, debouching into an immense chamber. In the middle of the floor was a deep pit which emitted a pulsating light.
He walked to the edge, looked down, and beheld the mind-shattering creature that dwelled therein.
[Finally we meet, human.]
The voice was a whispering in his mind.
He nodded. “Finally.”
[You find it painful to behold me as I really am.]
“Somewhat, I must admit. My apologies.”
[None needed. Can your mind contain that which I am?]
“I am not sure,” he answered. “Your nature is rather … exotic.”
[Indeed. And to me, it is you who are strange.]
“No doubt. In any event, your end is at hand.”
[So be it.]
