by Mark Cain
On the desk were small figures made from folded up paper, presumably old work orders. Orson had created a scene. At one corner of the desk stood a giant horned devil. In front of him were a dozen miniature versions. Facing them were what I figured to be small, human forms. They were in various poses: some lying on the ground, some standing with little paper hands covering their mouths, others looking like they were prepared to start running.
Orson was working on some dialogue. “ACCURSED HUMANS!” he shouted in a loud voice. “THIS IS YOUR DAMNATION! YOU WILL ALL BURN!”
The fat man then moved to the opposite side of the desk. He picked up one of the small figures, rocking it back and forth, like a child does a toy soldier when he’s playing war. “Save me! Aaah!”
Then he hurried back to the big devil, who I assumed was Satan. “NOTHING CAN SAVE YOU!”
“Very nice.”
“Huh?” Orson looked up and saw me for the first time. He turned several shades of scarlet and quickly whipped the beret off his head, stuffing it into an inside breast pocket. “Ahem, ah, hi Steve.”
“I didn’t know you went in for origami, or dioramas for that matter.” I walked around the desk. “What are you doing?”
“Well,” he hesitated, “I’m working out a scene for the Hell movie I want to make. You remember, I was telling you about it a little while ago.”
“I remember,” I said, examining the scene with its paper figurines and trying not to smile. I like Orson. Satan would never let him make this movie, but there was no reason for bursting his bubble. “Well, I’m glad those old work orders are good for something.”
Orson sighed in relief then took a cardboard box from off the floor and filled it with his paper figures. In seconds, the desktop was clear. “I was just going to throw them out anyway. The office is getting a little crowded.”
As the two people responsible for fixing almost everything in Hell, we had to choose our work with care. Over ninety percent of work orders we routinely ignored, with almost no repercussions, well, except for the occasional blast of punitive Hellfire, but we were both used to that and paid it little mind. During our long history together, Orson and I had developed good instincts about what really had to get done and what could be left in backlog permanently. Sure, occasionally we’d get shit from Beezy about the unprocessed work orders, but we weren’t all that different from most service departments in Hell. No one could keep up with their workloads; if they could, then it wouldn’t be Hell, now would it?
“Orson,” I said, unceremoniously pulling Bik out of my pocket protector and placing him on the desktop. “I want you to meet someone.”
“Hey! Watch the hair. Do you want me to burn your hand off?” The tiny fellow ran his fingers through his carrot top, making all the hairs stand on end again.
“Sorry. Orson, this is Puck … ”
“BIK.”
“Oops. Right. Bik. Bik is a fire giant.”
“Fire giant?” Orson said in surprise. “He seems a bit sm … ”
“He’ll grow! He’ll grow!” I said hurriedly, as I watched Bik begin to glow. The incident with the hair made me think Bik might have as much of a temper as his grandfather.
“Right.” Bik stopped glowing and looked around the room. “Hey, do you have anything to eat around here?”
Orson was staring in fascination at the little guy “Ah, what do fire giants eat?” he asked as politely as he could. My assistant was not known for being particularly polite. He tended to talk down to people, and by virtue of Bik’s small stature, it was almost impossible not to do that anyway. Still, Orson was making an effort, which I appreciated.
“Got a match?” Bik asked.
I rummaged around in my desk drawer and found a pack. “Yeah.”
“Light one and hand it to me.”
I looked over at Orson, who merely shrugged. I lit the match and gave it to Bik. In his hands, it looked like one of those flaming batons you might see at a show in Vegas. Bik inhaled, sucking the flame into his mouth. “Delicious!”
Well, that would make sense, I thought. Fire demons, or, rather, fire giants, eat fire.
“Got another?”
“Sure,” I said, lighting up a second one. He consumed the flame this time by placing the tip of the match into his mouth. I’d seen a circus performer do that when I was a kid. It looked pretty neat.
“Uh, want another?”
“No, thanks,” Bik said. “I’m on a diet. But you might keep a few packs of matches on you. I need to eat frequently.”
Could be worse, I thought, opening my drawer and grabbing all the matches I could find. At least matchbooks were small, and they fit handily into the pocket that held my keys.
Orson looked at me questioningly, so I filled him in on what was happening, while Bik called his grandfather. He did this by summoning up an oval of flame. Though the fiery disc was tiny, I could just make out the age-ravaged face of Surtr.
“Yeah, Grandpa, we got here fine. … Food’s good, too. … What? … Yes, I promise to keep you informed.”
While Bik talked on his flameophone, or whatever the hell he called it, I finished outlining the situation for Orson. He whistled. “A cold day in Hell. That can’t be good.”
“Apparently it isn’t. And it’s not all that great for Earth either.”
“How so?”
“Remember all those times you said, ‘It will be a cold day in Hell before … ’”
“I go on a diet,” Orson mumbled then opened his eyes wide in comprehension. “You mean … ”
“Apparently, yes. If it gets too cold down here, those things we all said will start coming true. You’ll go on a diet; I’ll serve on a promotion, rank and tenure committee; and Republicans will increase taxes.”
Orson shuddered. “Reality as we know it could be drastically altered throughout Earth, Heaven and Hell.”
I looked at him in surprise. “You think this could even affect Heaven?”
Orson waved his arms at the ceiling. “Absolutely. There have got to be people in Heaven who in life used that expression. It could come back to haunt them.” Orson was silent for a moment then looked over at me. “And what would happen if all Hell froze over?”
“I don’t even want to think about it. Listen, Orson, we’ve got to figure out why this is happening. It could be a mechanical breakdown, though Beezy thinks that’s unlikely, but foul play could be involved. Surtr said something casually, and it got me thinking about someone, a possible suspect.”
“Who?”
I told him.
“That makes sense. So you want to go there?”
I nodded. “Right away. And Orson, I’m sorry, but I’ve enlisted BOOH on this job. We have to travel fast, you see, and … ”
Orson’s mouth went flat, and he began making popping noises with his lips, something he always did when he was upset. “And I have to ride BOOH Air with you.”
I shrugged. “Afraid so. At least you don’t have my fear of heights.”
“Yeah, but it doesn’t sound like much fun.”
“At best, it’s an acquired taste. Come on, Puck.”
“Bik!”
“Sorry. Bik.” I scooped up the fire giant and placed him back in my pocket protector. “Let’s go, Orson.”
“When you got the blood bags, did you … did you see Flo?” I asked, as we walked to the door.
“Only briefly.”
“Was she okay?”
“She was arguing with some demon who wanted to give an enema to someone in the waiting room. We didn’t really get a chance to talk, but she seemed okay. Maybe a little sadder than usual.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know if having Flo sad made me feel better or worse. If she was sad because she missed me, then maybe that was okay. Still, she was such a good person that the thought of her unhappy at all made me sad too. I guess that’s what love does to a body, even an ectoplasmic one like mine. I sighed.
“Don’t worry, Steve,” Orson said, patting me on the
shoulder. “She still cares for you. I know it.”
“I’m not so sure anymore. It’s been months, or what seems like months anyway, since I’ve heard from her. Maybe … ” Suddenly the floor was very interesting to me. Looking at the floor was better than letting Orson see my emotions get the better of me. “Maybe I’ve lost her forever.”
“Humph,” he replied. “I don’t believe it, not for a moment.”
The linoleum was pulling up in one corner. Have to do something about that sometime. Maybe put a stack of old work orders on it. “Well, I do.” With that I fell silent.
We stood that way, not two feet from the door, for an awkward moment. Then Orson thwacked me on the shoulder. “Buck up, me bucko! She’s not the only fish in the sea, you know. Maybe you’ll meet another astonishingly beautiful woman who has the hots for you.”
Despite myself, I chuckled. Sometimes Orson knew just what to say to get me out of a funk. “Hah!” I said, making eye contact with him at last. “It will be a cold day in Hell before that happens! … Erp!”
The room seemed to spin as a wave of nausea swept over me. I staggered and would have fallen to the floor if Orson hadn’t grabbed me. “Steve! Are you okay?”
The vertigo passed as quickly as it had appeared. “I … I think so, but maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Said what?”
“That … that cold day in Hell thing. I feel like something has just changed in my universe.” I looked around the office. Everything looked the same. Like crap. “I guess it was my imagination. Still, I guess we should avoid that particular phrase right now. Careless of me, on today of all days. Let’s go.”
“Right.” Orson held the door for me, which I thought was rather gallant of him. Such niceties were not often encountered down here. “And I still don’t think you’ve lost Flo.”
“Hope not.” I sighed as we headed down the steps. “But whether or not Satan is going to let me have anything to do with her again is another matter.”
He smiled. It was a gentle smile. In a soft voice, he said. “Where there’s life, there’s hope.”
“I’m dead, Orson.”
“You know what I mean.”
I smiled back, but it was more rueful than hopeful. “Yeah. Thanks. Time to fly.”
And we did.
Chapter 6
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa … ”
“DON’T WORRY!” I shouted to a panicked Orson. “YOU’LL GET USED TO IT. I PROMISE!”
I was hanging from BOOH’s left claw, Orson from his right. Since my fat friend outweighed me by more than 200 pounds, BOOH was flying slightly cockeyed. I don’t think the extra weight was a particular problem for the Bat out of Hell. He flew with his normal preternatural swiftness, but he did seem to be just a little off-balanced by the unequal load.
“Weeeeeeeeeee!” screamed a tiny voice from my pocket protector. Though Bik was a little hard to hear over Orson’s screaming and the loud whooshing of the wind, the diminutive fire giant was still having fun on the BOOH Express.
We barreled up the Throat of Hell, reaching the Second Circle in just a few thumps of my rapidly-beating heart. BOOH hung a sharp left, and headed toward the edge of the Circle, just about as far away as possible from the looming stalactite that was Erebus. Soon we were hovering above deep blue waters, one of Hell’s few oceans. As with all seas in the Underworld, the water churned from troubled turbulence.
“Troubled turbulence.” I like that, even though it’s a bit redundant. There’s not nearly enough alliteration in Hell.
We came to a craggy shoreline. BOOH alighted some fifty feet from the water’s edge, near a jumble of rocks and boulders that looked as if they had been tossed there by a giant hand and then forgotten.
I was looking for an inhabitant of a particular rock, an enormous slab of granite that lay stretched out atop the pile of stone. To my surprise, when we found the slab, it was empty. All we saw were some massive iron shackles, unlocked and open.
“Hey!” I shouted. “Is anyone home?”
“Do you mind?” came a voice from behind the rubble. “I’m on my lunch break.”
With BOOH flapping above us, Orson, Bik and I made our way to a depression in the earth just behind the stones. There, sitting on the ground, was a giant, easily as big as Surtr, but with a body perfectly proportioned, a muscled titan of indescribable beauty clad only in a loincloth. His perfect face, which could have been chiseled from marble by a Renaissance master, was framed by ringlets of dark hair.
In front of him was an open lunchbox - I think it had Buffy the Vampire Slayer on it - from which he was extracting a hoagie as big as a weather balloon. He also pulled out a bag of Fritos that must have been bought at Sam’s Club.
“What gives, Prometheus?”
“What do you mean?” he asked, as he took a bite from his sandwich.
I pointed at the slab of granite. “Shackles. Eternal torment, you know?”
Prometheus grabbed his thermos. (I probably don’t need to mention it was as big as a garbage can. You know: big stuff.) As he poured some milk into his cup (size of a planter), he shrugged. “It’s in my contract. I get a fifteen minute break every two hours, a half hour each for breakfast and lunch, and an hour for dinner.”
Orson stroked his beard. “Those are pretty generous terms for one of the damned.”
“I’m not ‘one of the damned,’ Orson, and you know it.”
This was true. Like Sisyphus, Charon, Polyphemus and even Surtr, Prometheus was a carryover from a previous religion. Satan was a born collector. He liked the old stuff, especially characters from defunct mythologies that had iconic storylines attached to them. Like Prometheus. But since he predated Christianity, he wasn’t damned. The titan of Greek myth was simply an employee with very long hours.
I nodded. “Prometheus, I need to talk with you.”
“Sure,” he said between mouthfuls. “What’s up?”
“Hell is getting colder.”
The giant looked genuinely surprised. “Really?” He looked down at his loincloth. “Well that explains the shrinkage, I guess. I thought I was a little underdressed today … even though this is what I wear every day.”
Orson and I sat down on a couple of boulders, while BOOH settled on a very large tree that was nearby. The limb sagged under his weight but held. BOOH hopped up and down a couple of times, gauging the tensile limits of the wood, then, satisfied, dug his claws into the bark, flipped upside down, and wrapped his wings around his body.
I didn’t know bats snored.
There was an excited murmuring from my pocket, and Bik launched into the air, exploding into flame only inches from my face. Reflexively, I pulled back, though the fire giant still managed to singe one of my eyebrows.
Bik flew straight toward Prometheus. The ancient titan smiled and held out his hand. The little guy promptly landed there. He was still burning brightly, but Prometheus didn’t even flinch from the fiery star in his palm.
“Gee, Mr. Prometheus!” Bik enthused. “I’m so excited to meet you!”
“And you would be … ”
“Bik, sir. My grandfather is Surtr. He’s been telling me stories about you since I was just a little spark!”
“Really? How is the old so-and-so? I haven’t seen him in, oh, a thousand years.”
“Very well, sir. A little older and creakier, I imagine, since the last time you met, but,” Bik ended brightly, “we fire giants are built for the long haul. I believe he could still fry bacon with a glance alone.”
The Greek titan chuckled. “No doubt, no doubt. In any event, Mr. Bik, I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Well. Creatures from Greek and Norse mythologies hung out together. Who knew?
“An honor, sir.” Bik bowed to Prometheus then flew over to a nearby rock and settled down.
“Now, Steve,” Prometheus said, between bites of his sandwich. “What do you need?”
I shifted on
my boulder, trying to get comfortable. That was pretty much impossible. Still, it wasn’t much worse than my desk chair back at the office. “Well, Theo … ”
“Why do you call me that?”
I shrugged. “Promtheus, that’s a bit of a mouthful.”
“No it’s not,” the Greek titan disagreed. “This,” he continued, pointing toward his sandwich, “is a mouthful.”
“Steve’s just in the habit of shortening people’s names,” Orson explained.
“Really?” I said, genuinely surprised. “I do that?”
“Of course you do that. You even tried to shorten mine, but I pointed out to you that Sonny wasn’t any shorter than Orson, and I didn’t like being called a bit of pasta.”
“Pasta?” I didn’t remember any of this, but Orson and I had been together for a long time, and it probably happened when I first met him.
“Orzo.”
“Orzo?” I cleared my throat. “I guess that’s pretty stupid.”
“I’d say so,” opined the titan. “Besides, calling me Theo, well, that could apply to a number of people. Theseus, for instance, or Teddy Roosevelt … ”
“Or one of the three chipmunks,” Orson added, a twinkle in his eye.
“Yes. Hey! Are you calling me a chipmunk?”
“No, no. Sorry, Theo … Prometheus. I guess I don’t even know when I’m doing it.” We were off point. “Anyway, like I said, Hell is getting colder, and you, well … ” I trailed off, trying not to state the obvious.
Prometheus snorted. “And I stole some fire once and, what, you think I did it again?”
“No, no,” I said hurriedly. “Nothing like that.” Well, it was exactly like that.
Beezy had specifically told me to do a systems check on the HVAC before I indulged myself in conspiracy theories, but this was too obvious a possibility not to check on first. Besides, if I was right, it would save me and Orson a ton of work.
Prometheus was the only person I knew who had ever stolen fire. A quick conversation with him seemed worthwhile, but I now realized that, with his long hours, being chained to a rock and all, he probably wouldn’t have had time to do something like filch a little flame. “Still, just to rule you out as a suspect, mind if I take a look at your time card?”