by T Hodden
I stepped through the huddle of bears and into the kitchen. The bells stopped chiming. I stared out of the windows at the back of the room. Ginger and Tiger were in the garden on the patio staring in. Behind them an ethereal man with long sharp face who was lost inside long black robes. I opened the back door and stepped outside, Doreen suddenly by my side.
“You two okay?” I asked the bears.
“Yes.” Ginger said. “Er, you have a client.”
I looked past him. “And who are you?”
“I am a demon.” The thing said. “I serve the Lord Scratch Luther, lord of darkness, viscount of misrule, defender of one of the seven realms of Hell.” He put a hand where his heart would have been if he had one. “I am known in this realm as the Taxman.”
“And why are you here?” I asked.
“Because my Lord has been murdered.” The Taxman said. “The House of Prices requires due process to be met. A suspect has been identified and they have named you as their advocate. Their counsel for the defence.”
“Me?” I laughed. “Nobody in hell likes me. The only demon I know is...” The words caught in my throat. “Oh no.”
“Amduscias.” The Taxman hissed. “A vile cretin who should have remained locked away. Believe me, he has no love for you.”
“Then why does he want me?” I asked.
“Because how many people do you think the militant lord general of a damned army know, that will be honest and true? That they could possibly trust to do what is right?” The Taxman smiled. “I understand he is your enemy. I will understand if you refuse. But I know you will not.”
“Why?” I said.
“Because innocent lives are in the balance.” The Taxman said. “The murder is... Complicated. Political. There is a wider issue. And the agreement made for me to be here, to be offering you this chance of employment, hinges on those innocent lives.” He paused for effect. “Amduscias is willing to cede his holdings on this mortal coil. To release them from his debt.”
“And if I refuse?” I asked.
“He will destroy them.” The Taxman seemed ashamed. “I am sorry. I have no wish to blackmail or bully you into this. But we live in interesting times.”
“What do you mean by his holdings?” Doreen asked.
“People.” The Taxman said at last, after a long thought process of clucking his tongue and sucking on his cheek. “Of a sort.” He amended. “The population of Heavens Edge, Texas. Several hundred souls.” He smiled a little. “Refugees such as myself.”
“Refugees from what?” I asked.
“Why, from Hell.” The Taxman whispered. “Demons. In the crudest term. Not one of power or evil. But of anybody born not of the mortal coil.” He met my gaze. “They have done nothing sir. I hope you will not let them suffer because you happen to find them distasteful?”
“This could be a trick.” Doreen warned.
“Odd. I assumed he would be the one to suspect that.” The Taxman muttered. “You can check with your masters in the Grey if you like? Or your Ursine benefactor?” He smiled. “Or you can see for yourself.”
He held out his hand. “Texas is not far compared to the darkness between the stars I have traversed to find you Mister King. The least you could do is see those who rely on you and decide for yourself what you find more distasteful, their continued existence or the defence of an enemy in a court whose death sentence is final.”
“Doreen?” I asked.
“Amduscias deserves to burn.” Doreen growled. She softened the tone. “And even I know demons are things of tricks and darkness. But so are ghosts.” She smiled. “We have no choice.”
“Good. Then it is settled.” The Taxman nodded. “But the bears remain here.”
“Oh yeah.” I said. “That always works.” I swallowed back my fears and held out his hand. There was a shimmer in the air as a magic circle opened around us, and in the blink of an eye we were gone.
*
“I thought I said the bears would remain.” The Taxman said confused, as he looked down at Theodore Edison Bear, who was standing beside us drinking a Pumpkin Latte from a cardboard cup, with milk foam and whipped cream on his nose. He was wearing his favourite shirt and second favourite waistcoat under a warm herringbone patterned jacket with leather patches on the elbows. He gave the Taxman an innocent smile.
“Did something just happen to the garden?” Ted whispered to Doreen through the side of his mouth. “Where did we just go?”
“Texas.” Doreen said. “I'm in America? With cowboys?” She seemed terribly excited.
“Yes.” The Taxman sighed. “Come along we have a long walk.” He nodded for us to follow him. As we started to walk I felt a familiar pain. A twinge of muscles across my head, like my skull was suddenly the wrong size for my skin. Stress my Doctor said, which was a pretty fair symptom of my life. It had been happening on and off for a few months, since the end of summer. I tried to ignore it, but everybody must have seen me grimace. I put a hand to my head and tried to massage the knots aout.
“Is he... fit?” The Taxman asked.
“Fish?” Doreen sounded worried. Her excitement gone. I blinked as the pain passed. She touched me, as gentle as feathers. “Headaches again?”
I nodded. “Just stress.”
“Wonderful.” The Taxman said with a tone that suggested the whole world conspired to make his existence as difficult as possible. “Well that will make this all so very easy.” He adjusted his robes. “There is a six hour time difference between here and London.” He said. “The sun will be setting soon.”
I looked around. We were stood in a dusty plain of sand, scrub and jagged rocks. The kind that always looked like it was in wide-screen technicolour cinemascope while the rest of the world was in black and white. The sun was fat and swollen, already hanging low in a sky that was starting to darken. I turned and looked around. At first I could barely see it, a growth on the horizon, jagged peaks against the sky. So distant they were little more than shadow and points of light.
I smiled. “That it?” I asked.
“Yes.” The Taxman agreed.
“Come on then. Looks like we have a walk.” I put my hands in my pockets, regretted wearing cheap trainers about the house and started to walk. “Let's get this over with shall we?” As I walked Ted hurried to catch up with me. He tugged at my sleeve. When I looked down he whistled something that was almost the theme to a half remembered Western. “No horses.” I warned him. “Horses don't like me.”
He grinned. “Doesn't matter if you are on a horse or not. As long as you follow the rules. Left to right across the screen, bad guys in black hats being chased by good guys in white hats.”
“That is not what we are here for. I have no intention of being in some Wild West Show.” I said.
“I saw one of those.” Doreen squeaked. “Billy the Quickdraw and his Noble Indian Riders. In London. They rode horses and jumped between them, and a man standing on the saddles of two horses, with the reigns in his teeth had a pistol in each hand as he managed to shoot the middle out of a playing card and...” She saw the look Ted had given her. “That is not what you meant?”
“No. But that is incredibly cool!” Ted squeaked.
“Neither of you ever mention that to Ginger.” I said. “He doesn't like listening to warnings about not trying things at home.”
Doreen laughed and held my hands. It was a brave laugh, that was trying to ignore the possibility that we might be walking towards hell. I held her hand, as sometimes I need to be anchored too. As the town swam into view we reached a sign welcoming us to Heaven's Edge, and offering the population. Six hundred and Sixty Four, last time the sign had been painted. I noticed the grass around the sign had died. There was a foot wide band that was yellow and dried while the rest of the scrub was healthy. It lined up with a foot wide band on the road where the black top looked fresh. No dust. No dirt. I took a handful of sand and released it over the curved strip. For a second the dust held the form of runes, then
the wind whipped it away into a formless cloud.
“A magic circle around the whole town?” I asked.
“So people keep on driving and don't stop to look too hard.” The Taxman said. “So they don't notice some of the people here have eyes a little too large, or fingers with too many knuckles, or horns.”
I nodded and stepped into the circle. The magic felt like dry rain on my skin. I held out my hand and helped Doreen join me. In the circle she felt more solid? No. Alive. Her skin felt softer, it twitched with nerves and a pulse flowed in her veins. She smiled at me as we walked into a town draped in lights and lanterns for Christmas. A town with tall timber store fronts on red brick buildings, wooden houses and picket fences. A town that was battered by the wind, faded by the sun and coated in dust. A town showing it's age and frayed on the hems.
A town who had gathered on the small green at the middle of the town to sing carols. I had to blink through the illusion, but I could see the marks they all wore. Some had hints of scales in their flesh, or legs that bent the wrong way. The wrong numbers of teeth or the wrong kinds of eyes. Some had spikes of bone they had to keep covered, or patterns of horns they wrapped scarves over. All of them were singing with gusto. Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.
“They are demons?” Doreen asked.
“Yes.” I said, looking at some children on the edge of the crowd playing tightrope walk on the low wall around a raised flowerbed.
“Like Amduscias?” Doreen asked.
“No.” I looked at the way a mother stooped to help up her child as he wobbled against the edge of the wall. I saw they way they held hands. The way they looked at each other. “No I don't think they are like him.”
“We most certainly are not, young man.” The man who had broken from the crowd to shake my hand was not particularly tall, nor strong or brawny. He wore a pale polo shirt and chinos, with a jacket that made him look like he should be teaching maths. He looked out from behind wire framed glasses. His voice was all home spun wisdom and golly-gee. His light grey hair was swept back over a brow that was always in a slightly confused frown. “He may own us, but he will not own our hearts as my mother used to say.”
“Fisher.” I said, holding out my hand.
“Liberty.” He answered. “Val Liberty. Pleased to meet you. You know the name of... Him. And you can see what were born to be, so how about I tell you what we are?”
“Please.” Doreen said.
“For all intents and purposes we are Americans.” He said. “We are immigrants escaping persecution and brutality in a regime we have no desire to live under.” He saw our blank looks. “We were born in Hell. We are the descendants of the fallen. In some cases hundreds of generations later. We hold no love for the masters of the realm in which we were born.” He said. “And we had hoped we could be free of their influence entirely. But... He found us. He bound us here. He made us wear the marks of our heritage on our skin so we were forever in his service. Or he would...”
“Report you to the authorities?” I asked.
“To an Authority at least.” Liberty sighed. “I was no part of the war against God. I never did no harm to anybody. None of us did. Which is why we are here. Way I see it I may end up back down there one day. But if I have to be, I want it to be for something I earned myself. Not for something I am assumed to be by...”
“By the choices he makes. Having red skin nor horns should be the measure of evil. Having a halo and wings is not the measure of worth. The measure by which the Angel called Mischief should be remembered is not by what he was but by what he did.” I whispered. “Oh Mum. I get the message okay?”
“Sorry?” Val tilted his head.
“So Taxman, what happens if I offer my help?” I said gently.
“Before my Lord was murdered he was working towards a deal with Amduscias. This holding would be released, the chains that bind the refugees broken. In return he would have been freed from his prison and allowed to take his seat in one the Houses of Hell once more.” The Taxman adjusted his collar. “You wonder why we would want these people to have their freedom? Partly because it would deny Amduscias them. Partly because it is the right thing to do for those in our care.” He paused. “And partly because there are many commodities in the real of men that are not available down there. So we would be obliged if there were a route we could trade for them, with out having to go through the Grey King or some other middle man.”
“So they would be free?” Doreen held my hand. “To make their own choice?”
“To be angel or demon, or any of the many shades between.” Val said.
“And if I refuse?” I asked.
“Amduscias would burn this place to the ground to deny it to others. He would happily see these poor wretches dragged back to the slavery of the Great Pit just to know that one enemy lived forever in the misery of knowing he has some of their blood on his hand.” Taxman seethed as he spoke. “I do not expect you to be happy about this Mister King. But I need you to try to understand the necessity.” Taxman gave me a long hard look full of shadows and he suddenly seemed so terribly old. “I need you to understand the greatest gift this could offer us. Me.”
“Mortality?” I whispered.
“Yes.” Taxman said softly. “Mortality. A place we can come to be free. To find an end that our realm does not allow.” He looked up to the setting sun and a sky full of fire and gold. “This would be a good place to die, I think.”
“So, if I help, regardless of if I succeed or not, these people are free?” I asked.
“If you offer Amduscias your service he will allow our treaty to go ahead before the trial begins.” Taxman said. “But... You will have to defend him to the best of your ability. You will be under scrutiny.” He sighed. “And of course, there is every chance he is innocent.”
“Is there?” I asked.
“In the eyes of due process at least.” Taxman corrected.
“Fish.” Doreen spoke gently. “They have children. And I do not think the Great Pit sounds very...er.. Child Friendly?”
I nodded. I knew what I would have to do.
PART ONE: The Dying Days
One
The bears looked at me with nervous wonder on their faces. The Warder of House Of Prices was a tall being that was either entirely encased in leather armour, or more worrying, was made from leather armour. He nodded in silent greeting. We were stood at the entrance of the Gaol, like the rest of the Great House it was formed of dark red stone tunnels carved it seemed into an endless supply of bedrock. The wood of the doors, the tables, cupboards and other fixtures had a peculiar grain that seemed to resemble screaming faces. The airy corridors were on a vast scale, illuminated by a trench in the floor in which a stream of burning oil flowed.
Tiger checked her tour guide to the Other Realms. Ginger held up his camera and snapped a picture or three. Ted was trying to look as though he was not with the others. Gwyn was looking quite excited as though the darkest corners of Hell should be run by the National Trust and Wendy was holding up an icon of The Ancestor Bear for protection.
“I am here to see the prisoner.” I told the Warder. “I am his Advocate.”
The Warder nodded. He waved for us to follow him as the heavy doors lifted on groaning ropes. He stooped as he walked, dragging a long executioners sword behind him so the tip spat sparks on the flagstones. We came to a cell with a thick stone door. He pressed his hand to the stone and it turned smoked, then transparent like glass.
Amduscias stared out at me. The cell, defying any kind of logic or reason seemed to be as vast an ocean beyond the door. In that space he stood, three times the size of a man, not quite humanoid, not quite lion in form. He stared into my soul.
“Ah.” He said. “There you are.” He stood and walked towards the door, pressing a hand to the stone. His vast golden eyes glowed with embers. There was no kindness or mercy in his scarred features. There was little nobility. There was, in abundance, a desire to flay my flesh away. “Fisher King. You
look happy.” That was not, it seemed, a good thing. “Did you ever get over your little ghost?”
“I still see her every day.” I said. “Why me?”
“Why not?” He laughed. “Your skill is proven to me.”
“What were you doing with Heaven's Edge?” I asked. “Why enslave them.”
“It is useful to me. It brings me people like you.” He cocked his head. “And lo, it works.”
“People like me?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Ask the only question that matters now. Do what you came here to do.”
“Did you kill Lord Scratch Luther?” I asked.
“No.” Amduscias growled. “If I had killed that whimpering maggot then I would be ruling this house and I would be free to wage war. I am framed.” He thumped his chest. “I am betrayed.”
“By whom?” I asked.
“I do not know, or they would stand where you now stand.” He spat the words like he was rebuking a child. “I would have them in the Court With Out Lies to confess their guilt.”
“So what happened?” I asked. “Tell me about it.”
“Is that bear trying to photograph me?” Amduscias asked wearily.
“One for the family album.” I said. “A holiday nobody else would have been on.”
“If you wont tell us, how can we defend you?” Ted asked.
“Say that again.” Amduscias hissed.
“Well.” Ted shuffled himself. “If you wont help us, how can we help you?”
“Us.” Amduscias whispered. “We. Now who is counted in 'we'?” He looked at me. “Oh you did not lie when you said you saw her every day did you?” He laughed. “My punishment to you was... A boon?” He laughed. “Well isn't that just tragic. Isn't that just perfect.”
“So tell me.” I said. “What happened?”
“What happened was that I mouldered here in my cell, waiting to see the despair in your eyes. Then a brother of mine, head of a Great House of Hell opened a doorway to my cell here, just like you saw somebody else do in that church. He opened it to deal with me. My own House returned to me for... Well you saw the prize.” He gurgled a laugh. “He longed to see his people free from me.”