‘Ah,’ said Stiles, ‘wouldn’t it be nice.’
Denny got his face straight and turned to Jamie. ‘I think we’ve established that that is definitely not the case.’
‘Be easier if it was,’ said Stiles. He shrugged. ‘Oh well, what’s next?’
Denny grinned. ‘Want to meet my wife?’
* * *
Tamar’s problems were increasing. Now she was having memories of the future.
‘Not premonitions,’ she tried to explain to Cindy. ‘They feel just like ordinary memories, I think a premonition would be more – vague. More like a possibility, these feel like they’ve already happened.’
‘But you can’t remember the future,’ said Cindy reasonably. ‘It hasn’t happened yet.’
‘How do you know? I tell you, I’m not certain of anything anymore.’
‘Maybe I should summon Hecaté again,’ said Cindy, she was feeling as if she were in over her head.
‘How’s that going to help?’ said Tamar shortly. ‘She said she wasn’t going to tell me any more than she already has.’
‘It might make me feel better,’ said Cindy stubbornly.
‘I am here,’ said Hecaté from behind them. They looked round and saw …
‘Denny!’ squealed Tamar rushing at him.
Stiles looked around the assorted group. His gaze rested on Cindy, who he had not seen before – as far as he knew. She patted her hair. His gaze shifted to Hecaté and stayed there for a while.
‘Well,’ he said, as Tamar released Denny, ‘it looks like the gang’s all here’
PART TWO
And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent called the Devil and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth and his angels were cast out with him.
REV XII. 9
An idol-maker does not worship the gods: he knows what stuff they are made of.
Traditional Chinese Proverb.
~ Chapter Seventeen ~
A year earlier…
Askphrit surveyed his new surroundings with a certain satisfaction, okay so it certainly was not the Ritz, but he had been in worse places. His time in prison had been infinitely worse. Here, at least he had his own room and hot and cold running devils – mostly hot. No, he decided, it was not too bad at all.
And Satan seemed an okay sort of creature. A little lax perhaps. He seemed inclined to treat Askphrit more as a sort of favourite than anything.
He was jaded, Askphrit decided. He had been in this job too long. He did not seem to get any pleasure out of it any more. Security was lax and the torments done by rote, a mere matter of form, with little enthusiasm. Some of the devils, Askphrit had discovered, resented this, and the fact that there was no chance any longer, for promotion for the inventive and enthusiastic devil. There had been no promotions in Hell for an eternity, he was told.
He moved among the employees and inmates of Hell alike. Like a campaigning politician. And he found out more about Hell than Satan ever knew.
He also employed a fiercely resentful Pierce as an extra pair of eyes and ears.
Askphrit had not been surprised to see Pierce arrive shortly after himself.
‘Thought they would get you, without me to keep an eye on you.’ Was the extent of what he had to say about it? He did not bother to ask how it had happened. And he did not tell Peirce what had happened to him. That was the past, and the thing to do now, was assess the future.
It was Askphrit’s nature to look at every place from the point of view of its strategic usefulness. This place, he decided, had possibilities.
* * *
Askphrit assessed his troops. They were a fine bunch of … troops. He had already had the vampire vote of course, being their god. And, naturally, hell was lousy with vampires; it had been a good start. These he had sent out campaigning on his behalf and soon at least half the devils had been behind him. And the inmates were mostly behind him too, since he had promised to abolish story time in favour of more traditional punishments. Which they would be allowed to administer to each other – in certain circumstances – he had vowed that under his rule, the old promotion scheme would be reinstated, which meant that some of the inmates, those who showed promise, would be elevated to imp status and from there, they would have their hooves on the promotion ladder. Considering the type of person, you often found in Hell, this was a popular move. Up the revolution! And up yours Satan, His time was nearly over.
And now it was time. The present government had no idea what had been going on, behind their backs, and now Askphrit was ready to make his move.
He made ready to give his stirring speech.
‘Okay lads,’ he began, then he thought, ‘oh forget it, this bunch of bloodthirsty bastards know what to do.’
He raised a large sabre. ‘Let’s get ’em boys.’ This seemed to have the desired effect. It got a rousing cheer at any rate.
To be fair to Askphrit, he did actually intend to honour most of his promises. How else was he going to persuade them that their next move should be to help him take over the world?
It would be easy with troops like these. They would not have to do very much, just be terrifying, and they were good at that. And then he would finally have all the power that he had always wanted. It was with these pleasant thoughts in his head that Askphrit triumphantly ascended Satan’s throne.
As he looked down at Satan, (who was bound hand and foot, kneeling – there being no other position possible in his current condition) he imagined that it was another face in front of him, one that had tormented him for many years, even when she had not been around. What he would not give to have her under his boot heel.
The minions were waiting.
Askphrit gave the order. ‘Throw him out.’
And the minions responded with glee. They raised Satan above their heads and passed him from claw to claw along the top of the crowd like a triumphant basketball player. Except that triumphant basketball, players are not often poked in sensitive areas with pitchforks as they make their progress.
The demons were jubilant, but Askphrit’s mood had been spoiled by his untimely reminder of his nemesis. In his secret heart, he was forced to acknowledge that, if anyone could spoil his plans, it would be her! Tamar Black – stupid name. She had stopped him before. Even in the face of the seemingly impossible odds that he had been very careful to stack up against her, she always found a way. Well not his time, he decided. This time he was finally in a position to make sure that she would not get the chance. But it would never do to be overconfident. This time he would not underestimate her. And just to be safe, he would fix that sidekick of hers as well, and those other lackeys who hung around with her.
Askphrit did not think in terms of people having friends – people who would do things for you without having to be intimidated into it, people who would do you a favour, as opposed to taking orders. If anyone had tried to explain this concept to him, he probably would not have been able to understand it. Nor did he understand the concept of teamwork. This was probably why he always failed when he went up against Tamar. He did not realise that he was one against six – even with all his minions. They did not count; they only did what he told them to, and it would never have occurred to him to ask them for their advice.
When Peirce came and reported to him that Satan was now ejected Askphrit gave a satisfied sigh. He had done it – stage one complete. He laughed. ‘Good, good,’ he said. ‘Let him “walk the Earth” for a while, the rest will do him good.’
He left the celebrations in full swing, and stalked into the palace, taking Peirce with him. It would, he thought, need extensive renovations to make it fitting for his new status as the ruler of the world. But he must not get ahead of himself. First, there were things to take care of.
He turned to Peirce. ‘Send for the Fates,’ he said settling into what was now, after all, his throne. ‘And bring me a cup of tea.’
* * *
Up on the thirteenth floor, the news was out. Satan h
ad been overthrown, now was the time that had been foreseen from the beginning (they had been overseeing the human world for so long now that they were even beginning to talk like them). The time was at hand (see what I mean?) Anyway, it was the first step. It was time for the program to begin its final run. Time to set up the Apocalypse program.
‘What already?’ said Matlus who had been promoted recently – well about thirteen hundred years ago.
‘Yes,’ said a senior programmer, name of Dylosius. ‘’Tis a bit sooner than we expected, but these things are not always quantifiable, not when you are dealing with – people.’ He gave this word all the contempt he was capable of, and that was a lot. ‘Anyway, it’s right enough. I expect the program just ran a bit faster in places than we expected. Besides, you have to remember, we did edit out a large chunk of the mythological age.’
‘I suppose,’ said Matlus doubtfully. ‘That shouldn’t have made a difference to the time up here,’ he thought. But he decided it would be wiser to say nothing. After all, he was new. And these guys ought to know what they were doing.
That had been a year ago – in human terms – and still no Apocalypse. Matlus was smug. He had been right, in some indefinable way, it was too soon. (He was, by the way, dead wrong about this) He wondered if he ought to mention his doubts about the wisdom of their editing of the mythological age, in the face of what had happened to the box. (He may have had a point about this) but he refrained from making this observation on the basis that in this job, as in so many others, “he who points out the problem, invariably get the blame”. But the possibility remained that the box itself, being a part of the mythological age, may well have been lost somewhere in the deleted files of mythology.
~ Chapter Eighteen ~
Cindy watched Stiles and Hecaté. There was a definite “vibe” (as it was sometimes called) that said to her “married” – with a dash of confusion on his part. But there are many married men who appear confused about how they ended up that way.
Cindy turned her attention to Jamie, giving him an inviting smile; she was rewarded with a confused grin.
The “gang” had split up. Hecaté had left unobtrusively and Tamar, Denny and Stiles had formed the nuclei of the group, leaving Cindy and Jamie on the fringes, listening. They were talking intently together, explaining everything that had happened to them.
Denny told them about the Athame and Tamar told of the underground vampires. Stiles told them about the house and the Hall of Idols.
‘Well,’ said Tamar eventually, ‘at least we can all agree that we probably all know each other. We just don’t know that we know each other.’ She tried this sentence in her head. ‘Well, you know what I mean,’ she added.
‘Except me,’ interrupted Jamie. ‘I’m damn sure that I don’t know any of you. I’m not a part of this.’
‘You’re a part of it now,’ Denny told him.
‘Yes but,’ said Cindy, ‘a part of what? Does anybody have the least idea about what’s going on?’
‘Where’s Hecaté?’ asked Tamar.
‘She’s not going to tell us any more,’ said Cindy.
‘I didn’t mean that,’ lied Tamar, reluctantly realising that this was true.
‘I think we’re stuck, personally,’ said Stiles. ‘I mean look, we can’t remember who we are until the world changes back, and we won’t know how to change the world back until we remember who we are.’
‘I can remember some things,’ said Denny.
‘Me too,’ said Tamar.
‘And so can I,’ said Stiles, but it’s not enough. ‘Take Tamar, was she a Djinn or not? Was it because of her that the world has been changed? Or was it because of one of the other of us? Or all of us? If it was someone else, do we know who did this, but we just can’t remember? Surely, whoever this was aimed at can’t have made such a powerful enemy without knowing it. I think we probably all know who did this, or we would if we could just remember it. And we probably have a good idea why, too. Or we should.’
‘We thought it might have been the Fates,’ said Tamar, who was impressed at Stiles’ neat summary of their situation.
‘Okay,’ said Stiles, ‘but does any of us know how we can find out? Can any of us say how we can go and ask them?’
‘Ask them?’ gasped Cindy.
‘Sure, it’s called interrogating the suspect, or suspects as the case may be.’
‘I wouldn’t know where to begin,’ said Tamar gloomily.
‘Exactly,’ said Stiles.
‘Maybe the answer is in one of those books of yours,’ said Tamar to Denny.
‘What books?’
‘Ah.’
‘The Fates are part of the Underworld,’ volunteered Cindy. ‘But the only way down there is to die.’
‘Any volunteers?’ said Denny with an evil grin.
‘Ah,’ said Tamar, who was beginning to catch on to Stiles way of thinking. ‘There probably is another way. We just can’t remember it.’
‘Right,’ agreed Stiles. ‘Only …’
‘What?’ they all said in unison. Even Jamie leaned over to listen. ‘Well, I’m not good at thinking laterally,’ began Stiles, uncertainly, ‘except where criminals are concerned. But it seems to me, that maybe we’re being a bit too literal, I tend to think in straight lines. A follows B leading to C. But there’s nothing straight about all this, is there? We need to think in loops, d’ya see?’
The blank expressions told him that they, did not, in fact, see.
Stiles cleared his throat. ‘Okay, I’m not good at this, so bear with me. What if we had already found the Fates in the Underworld or wherever, how would we have done that?’
‘By dying,’ said Jamie. There was laughter.
‘Okay,’ said Stiles carefully when their laughter died away. ‘Or?’
There was silence.
‘So, we’re in the underworld, and we’re not dead, how did we get here?’
‘Ooh, I know,’ said Cindy. ‘The river Styx, like Hercules.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Denny, ‘And how did we find that?’
‘Um.’
‘Okay,’ said Stiles, realising this line of enquiry was petering out. ‘How about this? The Fates, right, how did we bring them to us?’
‘We haven’t,’ said Denny, puzzled.
‘Shut up,’ said Tamar. ‘I see what he means. He means if we had, how would we have done that? But go back a bit. How did we discover that the Fates were responsible for this mess?’
‘Now you’re getting it,’ Stiles nodded approvingly.
‘By a process of elimination,’ said Tamar. ‘And now … if we’re sure that it was them, how do we …? Wait, I lost it.’
There was a collective groan from everyone except Stiles. ‘Just keep following your thought through,’ he said encouragingly.
‘No, it’s all wrong,’ she said. ‘It’s like, okay, we keep saying that we’re not who we think we are, but we are. This world is just as real as the other one. They’re both real now. Running side by side maybe, I don’t know. But we know that the other world is still there, because we can remember bits of it. And I even think I saw it once.’
‘I did too,’ said Denny excitedly.
‘Right. And sometimes I feel – different. So, if the other world is still there, how do we get to it?’
‘Through the back of a wardrobe?’ said Denny.
‘Very funny.’
‘Look,’ said Cindy, wearily. ‘It’s a spell. There aren’t two worlds, just two versions of the same world, in our heads. The Fates will have changed history at some crucial point and then altered our memories to fit in with it, so that our lives were totally different from that point on. Why, only the gods know, and they’re not telling. And we have no idea when it happened either, not that it matters. But the problem is in our heads. Tamar was right about one thing. This is the real world. We can’t change that. But our memories, I don’t know, maybe we can get them back somehow.’
‘How?’ said Tamar.
Cindy shrugged. ‘Break the spell,’ she said.
Tamar thought of what Stiles had told them about the Hall of Idols. ‘What would happen, do you think, if the Fates no longer existed?’ she asked.
~ Chapter Nineteen ~
There was a feeling of timelessness in the hall, which was not altogether surprising, since it was one of those places where time does not exist. Tamar had had this thought in the back of her mind ever since Stiles had described it to them.
‘It felt like it had been there forever.’ He had said. ‘But it also felt like it had only just sprung into existence when I walked in. Like it had been waiting, just for me to arrive, before it became real.’
Tamar had already got her head around the idea of there being no time on the astral plane, as Cindy had explained it to her. And she had theorised in her head that this was, no doubt, how the house had moved continents apparently overnight, because it existed on the astral plane, or at least, the inside of it did. This had seemed important to her at the time, but she had not known why.’
Now, as they stood in the hall, courtesy of Denny and the Athame, she realised why.
From here the gods had been destroyed – deleted might be a better word – so that they had never existed at all. This was entirely possible in a place, which existed at all times and at none.
The gods never really existed – everybody agrees on that. The stories about the gods still exist, but the gods themselves were never real. At least not anymore.
A god, or any anthropomorphic personification can only exist as a product of belief, and it needs to be seen, if only in people’s minds, to be believed. Therefore, every deity and other unreal form of life needs an image. For that is all they really are – an image. And the Hall of Idols is where the image is held. A place without time or space, except the space in people’s heads. The gods that had been reduced to dust, had now, never existed at all. It was Stiles, who had first put this idea into her head.
The Day Before Tomorrow Page 9