Black Tattoo, The

by Sam Enthoven

  "Even though she thought you were someone else?"

  "Even though it was a lie," said Felix. "You're still young. You don't underst—"

  "I understand pretty well. That's the weirdest, most disgusting, pathetic—"

  "Call me names, if you like," said Felix. "You'll find it doesn't help. Believe me."

  "But... you released the Scourge!" Esme spluttered. "You betrayed the Brotherhood! For—"

  "Look," said Felix. "You know the phrase 'madly in love'? Have you ever thought about what that means? As long as I got what I wanted, I didn't care what happened! As long as I got," he repeated slowly and sadly, "what I wanted."

  There was another pause. A long one this time.

  "So, all right," said Esme, grimacing. "That's why you let out the Scourge. But that's got nothing to do with me, has it? What did the Scourge mean when it said it was 'too late' for me? That's what I'm asking."

  "And that — I'm afraid — is what I'm telling you."

  "Felix," said Esme, "I'm getting fed up now. Why don't you just tell me what you mean?"

  Felix took a big swig of his brandy and swallowed hard.

  "When I let the demon out," he said heavily, "it didn't make the break for the Fracture straightaway. The Scourge was weak to begin with: weak enough for me to think I could control it. It took over nine months before I found out how wrong I was. What a horrible mistake I'd made."

  "Wait a second," said Esme. "Nine months? Nine months went past between you releasing the Scourge and it...?"

  Then suddenly, she felt a great rushing sound, like black wings closing around her. The world went dark, and all she could hear were voices.

  There's something a bit special about you, said one.

  It's always been too late for her, said another.

  And then, with dreadful inevitability, something inside her clicked and fell into place.

  "No," she said. "No. It can't be."

  "Esme, I was afraid of this," said Felix. "For nearly fifteen years I've been hoping and praying it's not true. But I think..." He bit his lip. "I think the reason the Scourge left me alive is that it wants me to tell you."

  He took a deep breath.

  "What if Raymond wasn't really your father?" he asked. "I mean, think of your powers," he went on, leaning forward on his chair again. "Your flying. Your speed. Esme, I believe you were conceived while I was possessed. What if all your gifts don’t' come from your mother, or — or from me, but from...?"

  But to Esme, his mouth was moving but no sound was coming out. The only thing she could hear were the voices:

  Something a bit special...

  It's too late for her.

  You're not human!

  It's always been too late for her. Just ask Felix.

  A strange pressure seemed to be building in the room: a dreadful focusing, as tremendous forces shifted and stirred.

  "No," said Esme, breathing hard. Then she screamed it aloud. "NO!"

  The voices, the black-wings sensation, and the pressure in the room all suddenly receded — and she could see Felix again, staring up at her, white-faced.

  "You're wrong!" Esme told him. "Okay? You're just wrong, that's all."

  There was silence.

  Sleep, Esme told herself. Suddenly, she had to get some sleep.

  "Look, do you have a spare room?" she asked.

  "Seven of them," said Felix miserably.

  "One without windows," Esme told him. "Sometimes when I have dreams I get... restless."

  "Certainly," said Felix. "Whatever you want. Anything that's in my power to give, it's yours for the asking."

  For another long moment Esme looked down at the little businessman.

  An idea occurred to her.

  "You know," she said, "actually, there is one thing."

  "Yes?"

  "It'll be simple," she told him. "You almost did it before. In fact," she went on, her skin beginning to tingle, "if my mother hadn't stopped you, you'd have done it already, instead of leaving it for the next sucker to do."

  "Sorry?" said Felix. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

  "They say that whoever the Scourge possesses can never really be freed," she told him. "Would you say that's true?"

  "Certainly," said Felix. "In all the years since, there hasn't been a day that's gone by when I haven't felt its influences inside me. And as for the nights..." He shuddered.

  "You're going to help me open the Fracture, Felix," said Esme.

  Watching him gape at her, she smiled.

  "I'm going after them," she told him slowly. "I'm going after the Scourge. To Hell."

  TYPICAL

  Blank.

  There was nothing: no time, no sensation. There wasn't even enough of him to tell that there was no time and no sensation. Not, that is, until—

  WHAM!

  "Can you hear me, small human?" asked a high, elderly voice. "Hello in there? Hello?

  "What," asked Jack, none too politely, "do you want?"

  "I have a couple of questions to ask. Are you ready?"

  Jack said nothing.

  "Splendid," said the voice anyway. "Well, it's like this. Since, as I think you'll agree, your last body was, let's say... somewhat underwhelming, I've decided to create you a new one. Before I begin, it seems only fair to ask if you have any preferences."

  For a long moment, Jack thought about this.

  "Sorry?" he asked finally.

  "Now, I'm going to make some suggestions," said the voice, "and all you have to do is tell me yes or no. All right? Let's start slowly. How about a tail?"

  Jack said nothing.

  "You can't go wrong with a tail," said the voice with sudden enthusiasm. "Extra balance in a fight. Prehensile, if you like. Or with spikes, a poisonous sting — whatever you like!"

  "No," said Jack, with difficulty. "No tail."

  "Claws, then," said the voice. "Retractable. Unbreakable. Good for climbing, hunting, or... him... close work."

  "No," said Jack. "No claws."

  "As you wish," said the voice. "I think we can assume, however, that at the very least you'll be wanting a thicker hide. Hmmm. Bony plates on the shoulders, maybe."

  "No."

  "A thick, horny ridge on the head, strong enough to take a direct hit."

  "No," said Jack firmly. "No horny ridge. No claws. No tail. Nothing! For christ's sake, why can't you just leave me alone? "

  There was an icy pause.

  "Fine," snapped the voice. "See if I care!"

  Then the darkness took him again.

  * * * * *

  "There," said the voice, sometime later.

  Is he awake? Asked another — one Jack remembered from the arena.

  "He can hear us. It'll be a minute or two before he can respond."

  Gladiator Jack, the second voice announced. In accordance with the wishes of his most merciful Eminence the Emperor Ebisu Eller-Kong Hacha'Frav—

  With a soft click, the speech stopped dead.

  "Enough of that for the time being, I think. Just open you eyes, please, and take everything in. Slowly."

  Blearily, Jack did as he was told.

  He was lying on a long, low couch in what appeared to be an ordinary hospital room. Beside him stood what looked, to Jack's eyes, at least, like a man. The man looked old — his cheeks were sunken in, and his beard, though neatly trimmed, was shot with gray. He was wearing a rumpled tweed suit with patches on the elbows, a red woolen tie, and, Jack noticed, a gray woolly V-neck jumper.

  "How do you do?" said the man. "I'm God."

  Jack just looked at him.

  Something of an awkward pause began to develop. The man frowned.

  "You know," he began tetchily, "in most cultures, the polite response to being told someone's name is to reply with your own."

  Jack blinked. "All right," he said, "I'm Jack."

  "Yes," said the man. "I knew that, naturally. But I think it's important to observe the formalities, don't you? I mean, where would
one be, otherwise?"

  Jack blinked a couple more times. It didn't help.

  "Am I... dead?" he managed finally.

  "No. At least, not at the moment. I should've thought that was pretty obvious, to be honest."

  "But you're God," said Jack, doing his best. "The God."

  "Well!" The man's eyes twinkled. "That rather depends, doesn't it?"

  "On what?"

  "On which one of your lot's funny books you happen to prefer."

  Jack stared at him.

  The man made a tsk ing sound. "I should've known this'd be difficult," he said, and sighed again heavily.

  "All right," he began. "If you're talking about belief in one all-powerful being who created the world, blah blah blah, then yes, technically I suppose you could say I'm 'the' God. After all," he explained, "it was me who created you."

  "You... created me," echoed Jack, suddenly finding it hard to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

  "Not you personally," said the man. "Well," he added, "apart from just now. But I was there at the beginning: I caused it, you see."

  "The beginning of what? Caused what? "

  "Your world," said the man, grinning from ear to ear.

  "It was a pet project of mine," he went on, while Jack gaped at him some more. "You know, like planting a tree. You put all the elements in place, all the things an organism needs to grow and flourish, and, well, you sit back and see what happens!"

  "So what happened?" asked Jack.

  "How d'you mean?"

  "Well, assuming I believe you," said Jack.

  "I can assure you," the man broke in, suddenly scowling, "it's never made the slightest difference to me whether you people believe in me or not."

  Jack blinked. He'd clearly hit some kind of nerve there. Whatever. "What happened to you?" he persevered. "Why did you leave? And what are you doing here?" he added, his head beginning to hurt.

  "Here in Hell, you mean?"

  "Well, yeah."

  "My dear child," said the man. "Delighted as I am to be able to have at least a semi decent conversation with one of you at last, I must point out that this moment has been an extortionately long time in coming. As a species you really developed very slowly indeed, and the truth is... well, I got bored."

  "Bored?"

  "Life goes on, you know. I believe even your lot say that. And when the chance at the librarianship came up here, well, I took it. Much more interesting crowd, you see." He shrugged. "I'm sorry, but there it is. Now, how about taking a look at your new body, eh?"

  Jack turned and looked down at the white sheet that came up to his neck. Parts of an earlier conversation about tails, claws, and so forth were coming back to him, and the religious implications of what he had heard suddenly didn't seem all that important anymore.

  "Go on," said the man. "Take a look!"

  Scared of what he might find, Jack yanked off the sheet. And saw—

  "The same," said Jack. "It's the same."

  "Mm." The man smiled a secretive little smile. "Looks that way, doesn't it? But I couldn't resist the idea of making just a couple of improvements. Tweaking you a bit here and there. You're a very old design, after all."

  Jack was about to reply to this, when there was a soft click in his head, then—

  May I remind you, Godfrey, that tampering with or inhibiting my telepathic transmissions is an offense punishable by—

  "What's that?" asked "God." He winked at Jack, startling him. "What's that you say? I'm sorry, Gukumat, you're breaking up!"

  I am not a fool, Godfrey. You would be ill advised to take me for one.

  God just smirked. The voice behind Jack's eyeballs let out an icy sigh.

  Is the gladiator ready to return to his cell?

  "Oh, yes," said God. "Quite ready. But Gukumat, could I ask you, please, not to bother me with things like this again? The Halls of Ages don't run themselves, you know?"

  Gladiator Jack, please be ready for transportation in three.

  From nowhere, instantly, the jelly stuff had reappeared. It was slipping up under Jack's back.

  Two.

  The slime was encasing him, covering his whole body, sliding up over his face.

  One.

  Here we go again, Jack thought.

  Zero.

  And he was in his cell.

  Jack sighed.

  Then, very slowly and carefully, he began to feel himself all over.

  It was a long process, and a strange one. After a while, he concluded that he certainly felt normal enough.

  Finally, Jack settled down on the sandy floor as best he could. He lay curled up on his side, with his arm under his head: just then, that was enough. It had been a long day; he'd apparently come back from the dead, and any place to grab some kip was going to be fine by him.

  Presently, he slept.

  THE PITS

  Jack was woken by a low grinding sound. He looked around and saw that one of the walls of his cell was moving — lifting, slowly and smoothly. The wall didn't stop at the ground, Jack saw: it continued straight down into it for a surprisingly long way. The yellow stone surface rumbled upward for about five seconds, then a gap appeared: a doorway.

  Well, thought Jack, standing up, after what I've had so far, what's the worst that can happen?

  He shuddered and told himself not to be so stupid.

  Outside, across a thin strip of sandy floor, there was another cell, identical to his own — but Jack wasn't thinking about the cells anymore. He was thinking about their occupants: specifically, the coiled, sinewy shape on the floor of the cell that, as he continued to stare, suddenly un coiled itself a little, rose into the air, and looked right back at him.

  "Fresh meat!" it exclaimed in a familiar scratchy voice.

  The creature's face was wide and rubbery, with goggling bloodshot eyes. The rest of it reminded Jack bizarrely, of a picture he'd seen once of the world's longest-ever tapeworm. The color was the same, a smeared mixture of rancid off-white and intestinal brown. Also, though Jack had never actually smelled a tapeworm, this thing was giving a pretty convincing impression of what that might be like — and a tapeworm not too long removed from its natural habitat, at that. Effortlessly, the beast nosed its way into Jack's cell: in a moment, its body had made a complete loop all around him — and still, Jack couldn't help noticing, a disconcerting amount of the rest of the creature's length remained behind it, on the floor of its own cell, its coils piled up, moist and glistening.

  "Hello, fresh meat," it said, leering right in Jack's face — and the dizzying stench that came with the words almost buckled Jack's knees. "MMM-hmmm," it added, obviously liking what it saw. "Nice fresh thing for Shargle!"

  "Shargle!" barked a voice from outside, making Jack and the creature both jump. "Where are you? Get out here!"

  A flash of annoyance crossed the hideous face, and the eyes turned in the direction of the passage outside.

  "Now, Shargle. Or do you want me to tie your heads together again?"

  "No, Inanna!" squeaked a voice from outside. "Not the tying! Not together! Not again!"

  Jack stared. Heads? he thought dimly.

  "I'm warning you, Shargle. My name's coming up, I can feel it, and I won't have my chances ruined just 'cause a long streak of pus like you won't come out of his cell!"

  The worm creature made a furious hissing sound, then with a sudden twisting movement, unwrapped itself from around Jack and backed out through the doorway.

  "And whatever else is in there, you'd better follow him or I'll skewer you myself. Move!"

  Jack obeyed without question. Still reeling from the smell, he stumbled out after Shargle. And his eyes went wide.

  There were several reasons for this.

  First, now that he was outside, he could see that his initial guess about his cell being just a part of something much larger had been dead right. He was surrounded by other doorways, leading to other cells just like his own, stretching to either side as far as his eyes coul
d see.

  Second, he wasn't the only one coming out. Other creatures were too — all gradually forming up outside in the sandy passageway in an enormous and unruly line. He only had time for a quick glance each way, but what he saw was enough to make him feel very nervous indeed.

  Third, well... when he looked up at what was standing in front of him, he couldn't help but stare.

  Whoever she was, she was a good nine feet tall and unmistakably female. Her bulging torso was encased in some sort of black armored corset, a mass of straps, buckles, and — also unmistakably — weapons. She was festooned with swords and knives of every description, all arranged within easy reach of her hands. The hands themselves looked big enough to crush Jack's skull. She was completely bald, with some kind of tribal tattoo on her scalp. She had six silver rings in each ear and a silver spike through her bottom lip. Her arms were bare; muscles like bowling balls twitched and rippled all over her, and, oh yeah, she was blue.

  She was looking at him.

  "Inanna," she boomed.

  "Er, sorry?" said Jack.

  "Name's Inanna," the giant repeated. "And you are...?"

  "Jack."

  "Bit small for this job, aren't you?"

  "Um," said Jack. "Er..." But that was as far as he got. Quietly at first, a strange hissing sound began to fill the air. Somewhere, a long way away, a gong had been struck. Inanna shrugged, turned, and followed the line of monsters, who had begun to shuffle away along the sandy floor of the passage ahead.

  "Move, fresh meat!" hissed Shargle into both his ears at once.

  Flinching, Jack glanced round to find not one but two faces now leering into his.

  Shargle has a head at both ends, thought Jack numbly — and, a moment later, an uncomfortable realization occurred to him as to why the creature's breath was so bad.

  He started walking quickly.

  Supplicants, boomed Gukumat's voice, you have been summoned at the behest of Ebisu Eller-Kong Hacha'Fravashi, God of Rulers, God of the Dead, God of Darkness, God of Gods—

  "Yadda yadda yadda yadda," Jack heard Inanna mutter. "Come on."

  This food you receive now is his gift to you, you penitents and seekers of boons. When you have taken your bowl, you may proceed to the dining hall.