The Devil Delivered and Other Tales

by Steven Erikson

  He was rocking back and forth on his stool and I could feel those waves making my stomach gasp like it was drowning.

  “An then me line wen tight an started arunnin through me hands till smoke came out frum atwixt me fingers!” And he put his hand over his pipe and puffed crazily to show me what it must’ve looked like. “Aye, I’d ahooked the biggest thin that lives in the sea. She’s gotta thousand names, that sea snake, an ev’ry man, woman, and child o’ the sea shakes when they ’ear em! Aye, so big she wen right round the whole world, akeepin all that water from aspillin out! So big she has t’bite er own tail so she knows where it is!” And he blew smoke rings that got bigger and bigger as they floated to the roof of the cave.

  “No wonder the sea’s astormin, thinks I,” the Major went on, leaning forward so his face glowed in the fire. “I bin afishin er own backyard! Deprivin er a er own food! But I wuz a fisherman then jus like I am now! An I started apullin on that line wi’ all the strength in me young bones. An sure ’nough, up she comes, slow’n ’eavy, though still I cain’t see er.

  “Thirty-one days and thirty-two nights I’m adraggin up that line, eatin the fish in m’boat wi’ one hand an apullin wi’ t’other! Drinkin me own sweat when I got t’ thirstin! An nineteen times ’roun the world she pulls me in that time, aye, an I seen sights the likes o’ which no one’s ev’ry seen afore!

  “An so there I wuz, on th’thirty-third day and comin fer the twentieth time ’roun the world—an I finally sees er! Right there! Right there unner me boat!” And he points his pipe down and I look, but all I can see is the floor of the cave. “Aye,” the Major chuckled. “That’s all I seen too! Er body’s hard as rock an as fer across as the Kalahari Sea!”

  “But the Kalahari’s a desert in Africa!”

  “Only after we apasst through it,” replied the Major, his eyes gleaming. “She threw up so much water it plumb emptied the bowl! But where wuz I? Oh, aye, I seen er, an all at onct I drop that line and dive inta the sea!”

  I jumped to my feet. “Did you get her?”

  The Major nodded grimly. “Aye, that I did.” He spread his arms wide. “I grabbed er like this, apulled er cross me boat’s thwarts. An she asquirmed and aslithered! But I held tight! An I heered er cryin and a’whimperin, an I realize’t right then an there that I gotta let er go.” He bowed his head. “I gotta let er go.” After a minute he looked up, and his eyes were full of tears. “Y’know why, lad?”

  I shook my head.

  “I coulda took er, right then an there, but I realize’t alla sudden that if I did, the seas’d empty an all th’water’d drain away! So I letter go and I cut me line, right then an there!”

  “Bah!” Grandma Matchie scoffed. “You call that a story? I coulda done better in my sleep!”

  But the Major just leaned back and chuckled, relighting his pipe.

  “An I ain’t gotta go to no North Sea t’find my story, neither, cause it happened right here!” She leaned forward, her elbows on her bony gongly knees that peekered out from under her dress. “Ten thousand years ago, it was, when the buff’lo filled the lakes from shore t’shinin shore! Buff’lo so big they left mountains behind em, if y’know what I mean, Tyke.…”

  I nodded, grinning snuckily.

  “An if anyone ever asks you where the Rockies came from, you tell em ’bout the buff’lo an all the seaweed they et.”

  I nodded again, thinking about how impressed Big Nose would be when I actually knew the right answer to one of her questions.

  “Yessiree, Tyke, those were big buff’lo, an the Indians in these ere parts et their fill a them an made huts outa their skulls, an the buff’lo didn’t mind one bit!

  “But then one day the Indians look up and see alla the buff’lo are gone, an there’s bones everywhere! Fillin the lakes so deep the bones at th’bottom turned right into stone, an if ever someone asks you where Tyndall stone comes from, you tell em ’bout the bones, Tyke, an they’ll know you fer a wise man. An so, the Indians they start gettin worried, cause someone’s et all the buff’lo, an this was way afore Buff’lo Bill’s time, way afore Chris C’lumbus even!

  “Not knowin what else t’do, them Indians turned t’me for help, like they always did back then. Only this time it was more serious than e’er afore. An not only were the buff’lo gone but so was the beaver and the bear and the deer and the mastodons—all gone!” Grandma Matchie paused to smirk at the Major, who was puffing madly on his pipe and studying the walls. “Aye, so I start lookin fer signs, tracks, giant toothpicks with mammoth meat on em, an sure ’nough I pick up a mysterious trail, leadin north inta the backcountry. An I follows it fer days, till I come to this giant log cabin, tweeny stories tall, wi’ bones piled up alla round it and smoke comin from the chimney.”

  “Who lived there?” I demanded.

  “I’m gettin t’that! Some thins you jus can’t rush. So, up I go, right up t’that door and I starts poundin on it. ‘Whoever’s in there better come out if’n know what’s good fer ya!’ I scream. Then I heered these footsteps crossin the floor in there, louder’n all the thunder rolled up in one! An the door opens up—” Grandma Matchie paused to sip delicately at her tea.

  “And? And?”

  She smackled her lips. “An there he be, wi’ me towerin over im! Wasn’t no more’n five feet tall, but wearin the biggest boots I e’er seen!

  “‘Who in hell are you?’ the little man screams. An I says, ‘I’m your doom, little man! Come on outa there, you puny runt!’ Well, he goes all white, then red, an out he stomps, shakin his fists. ‘I was sleepin, damn you!’ shrills the squirt, all indignant like. But I laugh in his face.”

  “How brave!” the Major snickered.

  Ignoring him, Grandma Matchie continued, “This? thinks I, this is the one who et all those buff’lo?”

  “An all those beaver and bear and deer and mastodons too?” I cried uncredulously.

  Grandma Matchie nodded. “Aye, them too? asks I. An I was gettin all ready t’give im the spankin of his life, when he jumps over to the biggest tree I e’er seen an pulls it up by the roots! An he starts swingin it like it was a twig! ‘Nobody wakes me up!’ he roars, an if I didn’t jump outa the way right then I wouldn’t be ere telling this tale t’day! He hit the ground wi that tree so hard it split it right open from horizon to horizon! An if anyone e’er asks you where the Winnipeg River came from, now you know.”

  Boy, no more D’s in Geography for Jock Junior! Not after all this!

  “‘So! It’s threats, is it?’ screams I. ‘I arm-wrassled Satan Himself t’the ground an I can do the same wi you!’ So we grab each other’s wrists and sit down right there an the runt yells: ‘GO!’ an the wrasslin started.” Grandma Matchie sipped more tea. “Tree hundred years we sat there, locked t’gether, neither a us givin an inch! An grass grew up alla round us an snow covered us an birds nested on our heads. An that little man’s cabin rotted away to nothin an all those bones turned to chalk dust and blew away—”

  “An right into Big Nose’s classroom!” I shouted.

  “An right inta Big Nose’s classroom, yep. An then trees growed up alla round us. An that little man couldn’t budge me, an that was jus the way I wanted it—”

  “Hah!” barked the Major.

  “Jus the way I wanted it,” Grandma Matchie repeated. “Cause by now all th’buff’lo had come back, an all th’beaver an bears an deer an mastodons too!”

  “Of course!” I laughed. What a plan!

  “But finally I start gettin turd a the whole thin, an wi the world back t’normal I figured it’s time t’put the little man in his place. So I give it what I need to wrassle his arm t’the ground. Only he’s bin sittin there so long, an strainin so long, that he’s near turned t’stone! So—snap! His arm comes right off at the shoulder, an he didn’t e’en twitch! But it awoked im up anyway, and up he stands, shaking his head.

  “An he says: ‘I ain’t never known anyone who coulda done that t’me! Not even—’” And Grandma Matchie sneer
ed at the Major. “‘—not even when I tied the sea snake’s head to her tail!’”

  “Liar!” screamed the Major, flying to his feet. “That’s not how One Armed Trapper lost his arm at all! Liar!”

  Leapening to her own feet Grandma Matchie clenched her fists and shouted: “I am not a liar! It was me who broke his arm off!”

  “It was me! I did it long afore you!”

  “You did not!”

  “Yes I did!”

  Well, it was obvious to me that this was never going to end, and I was exhausted, so I crawpelled off into a corner, and the shouting and boasting and accusing all jambled together as I fell asleep.

  And next morning it was even worse. There were empty bottles of Canada’s Finest all over the floor of the cave, brolling here and there in the lurzy currents. And Grandma Matchie and the Major weren’t even talking to each other, and they wouldn’t tell me nothing so I never found out who ended up with One Armed Trapper’s arm.

  The three of us packed up camp and started up the trail, going deeper and deeper into the cave. Pretty soon there were steps carved into the rock, going down. So down we went, nobody talking, nobody smiling. I just got sick of it and pushed ahead of them, holding the torch out in front of me.

  The gold specks in the rock got bigger until they stuck out from the walls in nuggets, looking as soft as chewing gum. I remembered seeing some movie about these three guys in some desert who did nothing but try and kill each other over a whole pile of gold, and I remembered how one of them bit into one of the nuggets, so lots of people are fooled into thinking it’s chewing gum. The only other thing I could remember from that movie was this fat guy saying: “Badges, we don’t need to steenking badges!”

  Neither did we, and we didn’t even care about all that gold. Gold? We don’t need no steenking gold!

  Finally I couldn’t take it anymore and I whirled around. “Will you two—?” And there I stopped, glaping. They were holding hands! And they didn’t even pull them away when I saw it!

  “‘Will you two’—what?” Grandma Matchie asked, smiling.

  I tried to say something but the words gaggled in my throat. And after a minute I turned back to the trail, all my delusions shattered. It was awful!

  “Hold up there, Tyke,” Grandma Matchie warned. “We’re gettin close!”

  Up ahead I could see reflected sunlight. Westhawk Lake! Thank gothic! I felt like I was going to die! And they didn’t even look embarrassed! You’d think when someone got that old they’d know better.

  Putting out the torch, we creepered to the edge of the opening. And there were stairs leading almost straight down, disappearing into the blackness. They looked like they went down forever—and even farther.

  “Are we going down?” I asked, peepering over the edge.

  “Yep, but first we gotta make sure there ain’t no demon fish lurkin ’bout.” Grandma Matchie’s eyes narrowed to slits and she glared around. “I don’t see none.”

  “Me neither,” muttered the Major. “It’s a bad sign, if’n you ask me!”

  “Aye…” Grandma Matchie made one last sweep with her eyes then straightened up and squared her shoulders. “Let’s go!”

  She took the lead, then me, and then the Major. Down, down, and down some more, until the darkness turned the water into ink, and still we kept going down. The water went icy cold, then hot, then cold again. And little crayfish swambled around on the steps, wearing fur coats, so we had to watch our feet all the time. And then, slowly but surely, the water grew warmer, and a faint reddish glow seepened up from below, getting brighter and brighter.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Comes from the heart o’ the Earth, lad,” the Major hisspered behind me. “We’re almost there!”

  “Who lives down there?” I whispered back.

  “Shhh!”

  Now, I don’t care how old or how small I am, I don’t take “shhh” for an answer to anything. “Who’s down there!?” I cried, making echoes run off in all directions. The Major swore but Grandma Matchie glared at him.

  “Tyke knows one thin, Major, and now you do too. ‘Shhh’ don’t count. Ever!” And with that she nodded at me. “Problem now is, she’ll know we’re comin, and there ain’t a thin we’re gonna do ’bout it, neither!”

  It wasn’t long afterwards that glowing spots of light swam up towards us. Demon fish, riding the backs of lamp rays, only these weren’t the normal kind of lamp rays at all. They were as long as snakes, glowing from the inside out, and their round mouths had a thousand million seven hundred twenty-one sharp teeth prangled up inside, stickering out everywhere. And the demon fish laughed at us, coming close then darpling away, hounding us all the way until we reached the floor of the lake. Then they raced off ahead of us and soon disappeared into the red gloom.

  “She’ll be waitin,” Grandma Matchie announced grimmerly.

  “Who?”

  Turning to me, she said, “One Armed Trapper’s mom, that’s who. Lunker’s her name, an she’s the biggest pike you e’er seen!”

  “She’s more’n that!” the Major growbled. “She’s the heart o’ the land! An a thousand years ago she ruled us all!”

  “So she’d like t’think!” Grandma Matchie scowlered.

  Glommering at her, the Major jutted out his chin. “You talk now! But I didna heared you back then, did I.”

  “She ain’t ruled nobody who wasn’t ready t’be ruled!” Grandma Matchie snapped. “You ne’er saw me lickin er fins, didja?”

  “I ain’t ne’er once licked those fins!”

  “Hah!”

  And before they could continue we heard rumbling, growing bigger by the second. The Major reached into his pack and pulled out a tiny fishin’ pole with a tinier hook and an even tinier worm hanging limply from it.

  “So!” Grandma Matchie laughed. “Y’think you’re finally good ’nough, now, do ya?” And she laughed again. “But I better tellya, Major, you weren’t that good!” she added, smirkelling.

  The Major’s face went red and he began fiddling with his fishin’ reel, muthering and grummerling.

  Turning to stare off into the distance where all the rumbling and all the red light was coming from, Grandma Matchie frowned and said, “But I got more important problems t’think ’bout. There’s questions that gotta be answered, there is. And a course there’s Ester’s broom to get back!” She faced the Major again. “You don’t go doin nothin stupid afore I’m done, y’hear?”

  “Bahhh!”

  “Let’s get goin!” And with that Grandma Matchie began stramping forward. The floor was flat and warm under my sneakers and seemed to stretch off forever in all directions. Pretty soon we started passing schools of demon fish with big-nosed teachers running about ringing giant brass bells, and we saw older demon fish walking pet lamp rays around on leashes, standing round fire hydrants and mailboxes whenever the lamp rays stopped for a sniff or two, or lifted a short stubby fin while looking off in some other direction.

  But everyone stopped what they were doing to watch us pass, and they laughed and snickered and hisspered to each other, and the lamp rays barked madly and strained at their leashes. And after a while we came to a big door, barred like a cage, and the rumbling came from beyond it.

  Grandma Matchie’s frown deepened. “This weren’t here afore, nosiree. I don’t like it one bit!”

  Even the Major looked worried. “I ain’t bin down ’ere in a thousand years, so it must’ve bin built recently. Freshly painted too! A bad sign, aye!”

  The rumbling stopped suddenly, but the silence was even worse. Grimmerly, Grandma Matchie pushed the doors open and in we walked. In front of us was a huge hall, with a domed ceiling that glittered every color I’d ever seen and then some. And there, at the end of the hall, sat Lunker on her throne—which was carved from a mountain—smiling evilly down on us. Raising a bejeweled fin, she beckoned.

  “Come closer, dearies! Come closer!” And her voice crackled like the crackle when you c
rumple cellophane in the toilet. Just like that. “I’ve been expecting you!”

  Boy was she big. Almost as big as Satan Himself. Wearing a huge purple robe and a glittering crown made out of giant Red Devils. And she had a million thousand seventy-two sticks worth of lipstick smeared round her mouth, and thick splatches of red on her gills, and false eyelashes made from pine boughs, and bright red hair wavering about like a burning volcano. And her teeth were longer even than the sleeves of Dad’s woolen sweater after he’s slipped on spilled chocolate pudding and fallen in the lake.

  “You’re lookin good, Lunker,” Grandma Matchie said, walking into the middle of the room. “As pretty as a picture!”

  Some picture, I was thinking to myself as I followed behind her and the Major.

  “So you’ve finally come back to me, eh Grandma Matchie?” Lunker chackled. “You haven’t been down here since I threw you out of my court two thousand years ago!”

  Grandma Matchie chackled right back. “An it’s bin feelin pretty empty e’er since, I bet!”

  Lunker fluthered her eyelashes and rolled her china-plate eyes at the ceiling. “Yesss,” she drawled, stifling a yawn. “I suppose jesters come in handy—even in this court. Too bad your tongue’s too sharp for your own good, isn’t it, Grandma Matchie?”

  She sunorted in reply then looked around critically. “Well, it hasn’t changed much from in here, I see.” Then she gazed shrewdly at Lunker. “But that cage door’s a new one, ain’t it? Afeared a assassins, mebee?”

  Lunker’s eyes flashed, then dimmed as she let out a long sigh. “Times change, Grandma Matchie.” Turning her head slightly she regarded the Major, who stood there with bent knees, holding his fishin’ pole tightly with both hands in front of him. “Why, Major! What we have there!”

  “Where?” the Major’s voice was high and cracking.

  “Why, in your hands, of course.”

  Looking down, the Major screamed as if he’d been holding a snake and threw the rod down, staring at it in horror.