by Mark Cain
Or rather, someone important I need to see.
Flo nodded and smiled sadly. It was the first smile I’d gotten from her since the bus stop, but it made the fearful claw retreat, and I could breathe again. I picked up Bik and put him in my pocket protector. We bade Florence goodbye then hurried down the stairs.
Orson and I made eye contact as we descended flight after flight. “This looks bad,” he rumbled.
“You said it. Big time.”
Chapter 19
As soon as we stepped outside the hospital, I handed Bik and the box with the lamp to Orson then whistled for BOOH. I waited for what seemed like forever, but was probably no more than thirty seconds, before he showed.
“BOOH!” I yelled, as my gargantuan friend hovered over me. “I need you to get me down to Satan, pronto!”
“Skree!” And we were off.
Like I said earlier, generally when traveling with BOOH, I was pretty comfortable – well, as comfortable as a soul can be when speeding through the air at warp speed. The air would be temperate: not too hot, not too cold. Not now, though. Frigid air – as opposed to Amana or Whirlpool or some other brand - cut through my coveralls as if they were made of cheesecloth.
I’d told BOOH to step on it, but he didn’t seem to be moving as quickly as usual. Was it my imagination, or was he panting a little, as if he were actually exerting himself?
First the temperature of Hell began to drop, then Flo’s lamp went out. Now even BOOH was struggling. A lot more than the Underworld’s HVAC system was failing. It was as if the fabric of Hell itself was unraveling.
And my hands ache, like I have arthritis or something, and arthritis doesn’t even run in my family. Shit.
We needed to get down to Satan as soon as we could, but BOOH didn’t seem able to go any faster. With an effort, I tamped down my impatience.
An exhausted BOOH dropped me on the carpet in Satan’s foyer - he actually dropped me, as if he couldn’t carry me any farther - then the giant bat flew wearily over to his perch near the elevator and plopped down. Even from across the room, I could hear his labored breathing.
Bruce was behind his desk. I greeted him politely.
“Shut up, Minion,” Satan’s secretary snapped irritably. I guess the cold was getting to him too. “What are you doing here anyway? You don’t have an appointment.”
“I know, Bruce, but I really need to see Satan.”
“Impossible! You know that no one can see the Lord of Hell without an appointment.”
I frowned. Time to suck up a bit. Bruce had traded out his cardigan for a ski jacket. Ever the fashion pate, he looked very stylish, so I whipped out a compliment. “Bruce, that’s a beautiful ski jacket you have there.”
The junior demon brightened. “You like it?”
“Yeah,” I nodded, “but if I don’t get some answers from Satan, you’re going to need to trade it in for a parka soon.”
His face turned pale. “But I’d look terrible in a parka!”
“Bruce, this is serious. The temperature is dropping rapidly. It’s already a cold day in Hell. Do you know what that means?”
“Of course I know what it means! I wouldn’t be wearing a ski jacket otherwise.”
“That’s not what I meant it means, I mean, it means a lot more than that.” I slammed my hand down on his desk, startling him. “Perhaps Satan hasn’t explained the metaphysical ramifications of this to you, but let’s just say, if you’ve ever used the expression ‘It’ll be a cold day in Hell’ before, finish that sentence in your head and realize what’s at stake here.”
Bruce’s eyes became as wide as saucers, admittedly saucers with epicanthic folds, but saucers nonetheless. “That means I’d have to make a movie with Ed Wood! Aagh! Have you ever seen ‘Plan 9 from Outer Space?’ Oh the Horror, the Horror!” Bruce buried his head in his hands.
I looked at Bruce, genuinely concerned. He and I had never exactly bonded over the years, but Lucifer’s secretary was clearly distressed. And I had seen ‘Plan 9 from Outer Space’ so knew what was at stake for him. I reached over and patted him on the shoulder. “Buck up, Bruce. It might not be too late. Just get me in to see your boss, and perhaps we can stop all this.”
Bruce kept his eyes covered with one hand, but with the other, he reached to a button on his desk and pressed it. The doors to Satan’s office opened. I hurried inside as they closed behind me.
The Lord of the Underworld’s nexus of power was as hot as ever, and I soon realized why. He was back in dragon mode, wandering back and forth, his seven heads blasting fire in all directions, including my own. I ducked quickly just before he would have fried me extra-crispy.
The head that had done the near-frying stopped breathing fire. “Minion!” it hissed in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“Lord Satan,” I said, groveling my best grovel. “Forgive me for entering uninvited and unannounced, but things are getting very serious out there.”
An enormous red La-Z-Boy materialized in the room. There was a hole in it, right where back and seat met, and Satan inserted his tail in the space before sitting down and kicking back to raise the footrest. A seven-headed dragon in a red La-Z-Boy was something I didn’t see every day, and even jaded old me found it impressive.
“I already know things are getting bad,” said one of the heads, while the other six continued to heat up the room. “And close your mouth, before a fly goes in it.”
I snapped my jaw shut. I doubted a fly could survive in the heat of the room, but I didn’t want to take any chances. In Hell, you’ve gotta be prepared for the worst.
The heat of the office actually felt good to me. The chill that I’d caught flying down with BOOH was gone; this gave me an idea. “Lord Satan, BOOH is really suffering from this cold. Do you think he could join us while we talk?”
“My BOOH is suffering?” the dragon head said, showing genuine concern. As far as I knew, BOOH was about the only creature in existence, or non-existence, that Satan really cared about. BOOH was like a pet cat to him. “BOOHSIE!” he called. “Here boy!”
The doors popped open, and BOOH flew into the room. But not far. His wings gave out the last few feet. He was almost crawling by the time he made it to his master.
“BOOH, precious!” the Devil exclaimed, as he scooped up the bat and cuddled it in his dragon arms.
Now, BOOH is the size of a pteranodon, so this gives you an idea how big Satan was in dragon form. In fact, it hurt my neck just to make eye contact while talking to him.
Not that he was paying any attention to me at the moment; instead, he was rocking BOOH back and forth, cooing to the bat. BOOH began to purr. For some reason, the sight of Satan showing my friend, or anyone for that matter, such affection, touched me deeply.
Satan, or at least one of his heads, looked up at me and glared. “If you tell anyone, I’ll rip your lungs out.”
“Gulp,” I gulped. “Of course not.”
The dragon continued to blast fire out of five heads, sing a lullaby to the bat he was rocking in his arms, and carry on a conversation with me at the same time. Satan’s multitasking skills were impressive.
“Hell is getting colder at a progressively more rapid rate, and I’m not much closer to figuring out the who or the why of it than I was when you first gave me this assignment.” I hated admitting that to Satan - he had no tolerance for failure - but he knew that I knew that, and I was counting on the severity of the problem to get me a bye.
“You’re right,” he grumbled, reading my mind. “Normally I’d fricassee you, but the situation is too grave to waste time on my own personal amusements right now. What else have you observed?”
“Well, there’s BOOH, of course. I figured he was nigh on to indestructible, but look at him.”
“Yes, yes,” the Earl of Hell said impatiently. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
I thought you knew everything that goes on in Hell.
That was a mistake. “Of course I do!” he snapped. �
�Or I do if I put my mind to it.” The dragon looked a little troubled. “Besides, all this cold, well, I’ve got too much to deal with right now to follow everything, so talk!”
“Yes, sir.” I proceeded to tell him about Flo’s lamp.
He nodded thoughtfully. “That makes sense.”
“Not to me … sir. I always thought Flo was basically immune to anything that happens down here.”
The dragon cursed under his breath. “Generally she is, but her lamp isn’t. Besides, what’s going on right now is affecting everyone and everything. Remember the metaphysical ramifications.” Then Satan stopped talking. He looked very thoughtful.
“What?” I asked.
“WHAT? Don’t you mean, ‘What … ?’”
I slapped my forehead. “Sorry, sorry. What SIR? What, sir, are you thinking about?”
“Harrumph. That’s better. It may be a cold day in Hell, but that’s not an excuse to show less than the proper respect.”
“About that cold day in Hell business: is anything, you know, starting to happen topside?”
Seven dragon heads frowned. “Yes. The U.S. Congress has unanimously approved a sensible balance-the-budget bill, and the President has signed it into law.”
I stared dumbfounded at my lord and master. “But that’s impossible! It would be a cold day in Hell before … ” and of course I stopped myself.
“Right,” Satan said. BOOH had fallen asleep in his arms, and the Lord of Hell gently dropped the footstool of his La-Z-Boy and stood. He placed the bat in the chair, summoned an afghan out of thin air, and covered my friend. Then he morphed into his man-in-black persona. With a gesture, he motioned me away from the chair so that our talking wouldn't wake his pet.
“Other things are happening too,” he whispered. “North Korea has renounced communism, and unification talks are underway with South Korea. The United States has given Cuba favored nation status, Parliament has made coffee the official drink of Great Britain, Russia has joined NATO, and Ralph Feenie has asked Bridget Johnson out on a date. She said no, of course, but he did it.”
The Devil removed his sunglasses. His eyes were a dull gray; he looked tired. I wondered how long it had been since he’d slept.
“Not quite fourteen billion years,” he said, answering my unasked question. “I don’t need much sleep.”
“I guess not.” I opined. “All of those things on Earth. They really happened?”
“Yes. And the scientists are saying that they’ll have fusion power perfected in ten years.”
“Incredible!” I said, marveling. “They’ve been saying twenty for as long as I can remember.”
“Indeed,” he said, slipping his sunglasses back on his nose. “Normally, I don’t give a crap about what’s happening on Earth, but I like discord, I like things to go wrong. All this good stuff happening, well, it’s unsavory.”
I nodded. “Even Bruce is worried. He’s afraid he’s going to have to do a kung fu remake of ‘Plan 9 from Outer Space’ with Ed Wood.”
Satan snorted. “Well, that one at least won’t happen. Wood ended up in Heaven.”
“Really?” I said, mildly astonished. “After all those terrible movies he made?”
“Rotten artistic sensibilities don’t usually land you in Hell.”
“Well, they ought to,” I said.
“In that we agree.”
“Boss,” I said quietly, realizing as I said it that he might take that as a sign of disrespect. I called Beezy boss all the time, but not the Earl of Hell. Yet he seemed not to notice. “What happens if ALL HELL FREEZES OVER?”
Satan grimaced. “Well, my poker night would be cancelled, at the very least.”
That sounded like a joke, but it wasn’t. The Lord of Hell and his lieutenants took their weekly poker party very seriously and had often said Hell would freeze over before they cancelled it.
“And even more dramatic things would begin to happen back on Earth. Bridget Johnson would say ‘yes’ to Ralph, and eventually they’d get married and have really ugly babies. Cuba would become the fifty-first state, which would piss off Puerto Rico to no end.” Satan rubbed his chin in thought. “That part sounds pretty good, but the point is that impossible, chaotic things would happen, and it would be chaos that I didn’t devise myself. I’m the epitome of chaos. I AM Chaos, damn it, and I will NOT tolerate chaos to which I haven’t consented!”
Satan began to pace his office. A chair appeared in front of him so he could kick it, then a table, which he crushed beneath his fist. Then he shot a blast of Hellfire at the ceiling.
Boy, was he pissed off.
After the Earl of Hell had given an impressive display of his pique, he turned on me. “And you’ve got nothing?”
I looked around desperately. I didn’t want to be the next target of Satan’s anger. “Well, yes! I have figured out a few things!”
“Then out with them! I’m in a shitty mood, Minion, so give me something.”
Two office chairs appeared nearby, and we sat down. “Okay,” I said, gulping. “I’ve studied the HVAC schematics, and Orson and I have checked out every choke point in the system that I can find. Beezy is right. It’s a simple system, and he built it well. It’s functioning properly.”
“But then why is the cold getting worse? Why are fires winking out all over the underworld?”
Yes, why? I thought, and then a tumbler clicked in my head. I stood up and almost shouted “Eureka,” but Satan’s head jerked up, and I realized I was standing above my lord and master. You weren’t supposed to do that, so I sat back down. “I think,” I said slowly, “I think it’s a fuel problem.”
“Impossible! The supply is inexhaustible!”
“What is it? What fuels the fires of Hell?”
Satan looked speculatively at me. “I’m not sure I should tell you. It’s a company secret. Or, rather, it’s my secret. Beelzebub doesn’t even know.”
“Huh?” I scratched my head like a hayseed staring at the Empire State Building. “How is that possible? He designed the system didn’t he?”
“Yes, all except for one important part. I built the fuel line myself, and no one else in Hell, not even my chief engineer, knows what’s inside it.” Satan was silent for a moment. Then he nodded, as if he’d made some kind of decision. “Let’s see the schematic of the system.”
I pulled the drawing from the inside pocket of my coveralls. Satan caused a drafting table to materialize between us and spread the diagram out on top of it. “I hate to do this, but if you’re right … ” Satan waved his hand over the paper, and a faint green line appeared. It ran from Gates Level all the way down to Level Nine, snaking this way and that in a nonsensical fashion. The distance it needed to travel was only nine miles, but there must have been at least fifty miles of pipe laid.
“Why does the line go in all these screwy directions?”
The Lord of Hell slapped me, making sure in the process to dig the claws that passed for his fingernails into my cheek. I yelped. “Don’t be a moron, Minion. To keep the pipeline out of the view of others, I had to run it through every backwater corner of Hell, hiding it behind mountains, fire pits, you name it. Tell me, stupid, you’ve been all over Hell in your pitiful attempts to fix things. Have you ever noticed this particular pipeline before?”
Satan’s sour mood seemed to have left him. I guess there’s nothing like inflicting “ouch” to cheer a body up. Insults helped too, I supposed. I rubbed my cheek, noting without surprise that there was blood on my hand from where he’d gouged me. “Well, there’re a lot of pipes in Hell going every which a ways, so it’s a little hard to tell, but I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so. Geez. These are the tools you let me have.” Satan looked upward and sighed before returning his attention to me. “Of course you haven’t. I’m the Master of Deception, as well as being the Prince of Lies. Beelzebub himself has never spotted them.”
I wonder why he didn’t put a glamour on them, like Beezy did on his own p
ipes.
“I’ll answer that,” Satan responded, reading my mind, “though usually such a thought would put you in the iron maiden. The simple reason is it’s more fun to hide things in plain sight than to use magic. Besides, the other princes of Hell – especially Beelzebub – wouldn’t have been fooled.”
“If you wanted the pipe to remain hidden, why give me a schematic now?”
“Because I don’t think you can handle this on your own.” Satan frowned. “As much as I dislike interfering in a soul’s eternal punishment, you need a little help.”
He stood, and the chairs disappeared. I landed on my ass then scrambled to my feet. “Thanks. I could use all the … ”
At that moment, I got hit by the usual combination of Hellfire and pie and found myself back on the floor, cursing this time. “Man, I did not see that coming,” I mumbled, wiping the coconut cream from my face. “I didn’t even see you throw it.”
“Oh, I never throw my own pies.”
“No?”
“I have a service.”
“Ah.”
“You have something on your mind.” He put his hand to his brow momentarily and I wondered if the cold were affecting him as well. “Not really,” he said. “I’m just a little busier than usual. Go ahead and ask your question.”
“Well,” I said slowly. “It’s about Flo’s lamp. It’s not connected to Hell’s HVAC system at all, yet I couldn’t light it. And I was having difficulty even lighting a match a while ago.”
Satan folded up the HVAC blueprints and handed them to me. The table summarily disappeared. “But that’s not your real question, is it?”
“No. No sir, I mean.” I was struggling to put in words my ill-formed hypothesis. “When I was talking to Flo, she said her lamp was a symbol of hope for all who saw it. I told her that she herself was the symbol of hope that inspired us. Then Bik said something really interesting.”