"A book from the future?" Parry asked, bemused.
Chronos returned, carrying an ornate volume. "The Collected Edition of the Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley," he announced. "Eighteen-thirty-nine."
"What?" Parry thought he had misheard.
"An English poet, as I understand it. Before my time, of course, and after yours. One of my predecessors may have brought the volume to this house and forgotten it. So it remains, becoming further anachronistic each year. There are some fascinating references I don't pretend to comprehend! But my point is, there is a note in the margin of one of the—ah, here it is! The poem 'Death'—"
"Thanatos?" Parry asked, not liking this. His respect for the Incarnation of Death had been rudely downgraded recently.
"No, I am in error. It is the sonnet 'Ozymandias.' See, here is the note: 'He knows the secret.' I do not know what that can mean, but perhaps it relates." He brought the open book and showed it to Parry.
Parry stared at the page. "The calligraphy!" he exclaimed. "How could the human hand be so precise? Every letter is the same, and tiny!"
"And the pages!" Lilah added, as intrigued. "Tens, hundreds of them, bound together by one side! What scribe managed that?"
Chronos shook his head. "Evidently they had ways, in the nineteenth century. That is after all six hundred years from here. Their magicians must have rare competence. It never occurred to me to wonder about it, before."
The three of them gazed in wonder at the volume for a moment more. Then Parry read the scrawled note, and the poem to which it attached, piecing out the strange lettering in English, not his best language. " 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!' " He looked up. "But nothing beside remains, it says; only bare sand."
Lilah laughed. "All his works had been forgotten! So much for his arrogance! I remember him, but did not realize that anyone else did."
Both Chronos and Parry looked at her, surprised. "You knew Ozymandias?" Parry asked.
"Of course. He was quite a figure in his heyday! I—I explained about that, my Lord."
She had been with even this long-forgotten historical king! Parry was too amazed to be jealous, this time.
"Do you think he might know the secret you require?" Chronos asked. "Surely there was reason to make that note."
"He just might," Lilah said. "He was no scholar himself, but he had pride. He wanted to have the best in everything, so he had a battery of scholars of every discipline, and the finest sorcerers. If there was an important secret to divine, he had the means to divine it."
"But if he died so long ago that all his works have perished and been forgotten, we can hardly ask him," Parry said.
"Oh, there is no problem about that," she said brightly. "He's in Hell now, of course."
Parry exchanged glances with Chronos. Ozymandias was available!
Suddenly Parry was eager to be on his way. "I thank you, Chronos!" he said. "You may have provided me with what I need!"
"I certainly hope so, old friend." Chronos extended his hand, and Parry took it warmly. He knew he would visit this man again; already he liked the Incarnation of Time. Perhaps the two of them were alike in their isolation, so found camaraderie together while the other Incarnations ignored them.
They stepped outside. There were the prior Parry and Lilah approaching. Parry waved, startling his other self. "He'll figure it out," he said, and turned down an alternate path.
Lilah knew where to look for Ozymandias: in the dread Ninth Circle, reserved for traitors. "He gained his power by murdering his kindred," she said. "He usurped the throne, then went on to betray his benefactors, his friends and finally his country, exploiting all its resources for his own aggrandizement. He was an apt ruler, actually, because of his ruthlessness; his empire was the most powerful of those that have been forgotten. I think he angered Fate by his presumption, so she arranged to have his legacy lost after he died. So now he suffers the humiliation of being a nonentity, in addition to the tortures of Hell. It will be nice to see him again."
Not too nice, Parry hoped. Her complete honesty was somewhat wearing at times.
They returned to the lowest level of Hell, which was frozen over, an indication of its timelessness. Now Lilah peered at the faces of the figures frozen under the ice. "Hello, Brutus," she said brightly.
"You knew Brutus—the Roman?" Parry asked, hardly pleased.
"Of course. And Caesar, whom he betrayed. Caesar was really something—every woman's man and every man's woman. I had to change forms back and forth to keep him entertained. I remember the time when I—"
"Never mind," Parry said harshly. Now he was getting a notion where she had learned some of her more exotic sexual techniques. "We're not looking for Caesar."
"And here's Judas," she said. "He was the disciple of Jesus Christ, who—"
"Him, too?" Parry asked, appalled anew.
"Of course. Who do you think corrupted him? Beelzebub was very pleased. He—"
"Enough! Just find Ozymandias!"
"Here he is," she said, stopping over the face of a perpetually sneering man.
Parry peered down. "But he's frozen! How can I talk to him?"
"I can thaw him," she said confidently. "But you may not like the manner of it."
"I don't care about the manner! Just so long as he'll talk to me."
"Remember, he is history's most arrogant man. You will have to approach him appropriately."
"I'll sing him a song," Parry said shortly.
"That would do it," she agreed.
She walked across the ice, her outfit modifying as she moved. It became an ornate dress, with supportive petticoats and a tightly laced bodice. Sparkling earrings appeared, and a shining tiara for her hair. She looked like a princess.
She came to stand directly above Ozymandias, her legs moderately spread. Now Parry realized that the frozen man was gazing up. He appreciated why she had said he would not like this: she was standing so that the ancient King could see up under her dress.
Then she began to dance. She remained in place, moving her body suggestively but traveling no distance. Her hips swiveled, her bosom bounced, her ankles flashed and her long hair swirled about her body. Parry wished he could take her this instant to the nest in the tree trunk.
Ozymandias had a better view. Now Parry saw the eyeballs move, following the play of those legs. The ice had melted in that region!
As the suggestive dance continued, the melting became more evident. The King was heating up, forming a pool around him. No wonder; the same thing was happening, to a lesser degree, elsewhere in the frozen lake. Any man who could get a refractive view of Lilah's dance was responding. It was a dance that could not be denied.
As the ice melted, Lilah had to move to the side, lest she sink in the slush. She did so, but continued to circle the submerged King, lifting her petticoats so that he could still see her legs.
Parry found himself standing in a puddle. His own heat was doing it. What a dance!
Finally the King floated to the surface of the pool formed around him. His head cleared the water.
Now Lilah desisted, her laced bosom heaving prettily. "O King of the Ages," she said. "I have brought one to talk with you."
The King replied in a foreign language, but Parry understood him. Here in Hell, all language was common, no matter what its origin. "After I enjoy thee, luscious handmaiden of my youth!" Ozymandias replied, scrambling out of the pool.
"Yours, my Lord," Lilah called to Parry, stepping back. "Unless you prefer to wait?"
Parry had to laugh. If he waited, he would shortly have the sight of the King having his will of the demoness. He could hardly blame the King for trying, but he did not intend to watch.
He took just a moment to organize his thoughts, then sang, adapting his approach to appeal to the vanity of the King. He was gambling that the arrogance of Ozymandias was greater than his sexual drive, despite the superlative provocation Lilah had provided. He fo
rmed impromptu verses, their meter and rhyme falling into place in the language of the King, though not in his own.
"O King Ozymandias, hark unto me! I come as a supplicant to ask a favor of you. You have a secret I need, that no other will provide. Listen to me, O greatest of Kings!"
Ozymandias paused in his pursuit of the demoness. The flattery of old was registering. "Make it quick, supplicant, for I have pressing business with the temptress of old."
Parry did not attempt to talk normally, knowing that that would not hold the King's attention. Song was his strength and his weapon; it was the only effective tool he had for this occasion.
"Great, King Ozymandias, hark unto me! I have heard that your power was the greatest known. That the mighty looked on your works, and despaired. Surely you alone of mortals can help me. Great King, I know your power extended to knowledge too; That there was no thing you could not know If it was your desire to know. You were the Lord of all lands and all information!"
Ozymandias turned his head to look directly at him, impressed by his accuracy. "Out with it, supplicant!" he snapped. "I have heard not the like of your voice since the Llano! Ask your boon. Perhaps I will grant it."
"Great King, I need to know the secret, The secret of the spell to banish demons. You alone of mortals—"
He was interrupted by the King's laughter. "You ask too much, supplicant! No one can help you there."
Parry realized that he would have to increase the offering. Ozymandias evidently could help him, if he chose. But what was there to give, except the praise he had already expended? He wracked his mind for what would move the King, knowing that his time was very short. Already the ice was reforming, and if Lilah had to dance again to melt it.
Then Lilah was his elbow. "The sonnet," she said.
The sonnet? That had identified Ozymandias, but it would not even be written for several hundred years. What good was that?
"It is the only record of his greatness," she said. Then he understood. That was, indeed, the final appeal.
"Hark unto me, O King of the Ages! Fate conspired against you in your decease. Wiping out the record of your greatness. I can guarantee that your name will be immortalized in poetry—"
That recovered the King's attention. "My reputation restored? Written in literature never to be extinguished?"
Now it was safe to talk naturally. "In a poem that will exist at least through the nineteenth century, perhaps far longer, telling of your memorial and your final words."
Ozymandias considered. "This may be illusion, but better than naught. What power have ye to honor it?"
"I will be the Incarnation of Evil."
The King nodded. "That will do. Very well, I will share with you the secret. But you will not find it easy."
The King himself was not finding it easy. Deprived of Lilah's stimulation, he was sinking back into the thickening pool. "I will do what I must to maintain my power. You understand that sort of thing. Greatest of Kings."
"I do indeed!" Ozymandias was now waist deep. He glanced around, to be sure that no one else was close enough to hear. "The secret, O innocent supplicant, is that there is no secret. No such spell exists; demons cannot be banished by mortals."
"But—"
"That is the truth!" Ozymandias said as his body slid down. "Make of it what you will!" Now only his head was in the air. "Look on my words, ye mighty, and despair!" He disappeared beneath the surface. The last thing to go was his grim grin. He was enjoying the humor of the situation.
Parry stared after him, stunned. He had no doubt that the man had told the truth, and gained sinister pleasure from it. But what a disaster that truth was!
Lilah approached. "He gave you the secret?" she asked.
"He did," Parry agreed ruefully.
"Now you can govern Hell!
"Now I can govern Hell," he agreed ironically. Now he understood why the prior masters of Hell never revealed the secret: it would have destroyed their power. Their power had been based on illusion.
Yet it had worked. They had governed!
If they had done it, so could he! All it required was bluff and deceit. If he could pull that off, in the manner they had, he would survive.
He marched across the ice, toward the office of Asmodeus. Lilah, excited, accompanied him. "Are you going to destroy him, my Lord?"
"That depends," Parry said grimly.
Asmodeus was there. "So thou didst get free, impostor!" he said. "And thou hast the temerity to return here! Well, this time I shall banish thee to a less comfortable region!"
"You do that, fishface," Parry said. "You have no power over Me." He used the self-capitalization consciously, knowing that it was expected of the true Master of Hell.
Asmodeus snapped his fingers. Magic crackled—but Parry was unmoved. "I am the Incarnation of Evil," he said. "You are a subordinate. You cannot banish Me, because I now have the secret. Accept My authority, or I shall demonstrate it on you. I am to be titled Satan, Lord of all these demesnes."
Asmodeus considered. He knew that Parry had interviewed Ozymandias, and that this was a legitimate source. The denizens of Hell would accept its validity. It was evident that Lilah already did. On the other hand, if Parry were denied the power he claimed, he could reveal the secret to all, and no Incarnation of Evil would thereafter be able to exercise proper power. Furthermore, it would be known that all the prior Incarnations, Asmodeus himself included, had been bluffing throughout. Demons only puffed into nonexistence because they were convinced that the Lord of Hell had the power to destroy them. They were the ultimate victims of Hell's greatest illusion.
Parry lifted his hand, his fingers poised to snap. At that snap, Asmodeus would have either to vanish or to demonstrate that the power was invalid. This was the key trial.
"I have a soul, as all Incarnations have," Asmodeus said. "Thou canst not destroy me."
"Granted," Parry said. "But I can destroy all who serve you, and replace them with My own minions. You may know the spell, but you are no longer the Incarnation. I am, and the ultimate power is Mine. Deny it if you will."
And Asmodeus, his bluff called, capitulated. "The ultimate power is Thine, Satan. Leave me mine office, as Thy predecessor did, and I will serve Thee as I did him."
Victory! "Remain," Parry said curtly. "I will reassign officers under your authority, as long as you serve Me well and loyally. Hell shall be revamped along more efficient lines."
"Hell shall be revamped," Asmodeus agreed.
Parry turned his back. "Come wench," he said imperiously to Lilah. He conjured them both to the tree retreat, leaving behind a dissipating ball of fire. The magic was incidental, but the proper flair was not. As Satan, he intended to do things in style.
Chapter 11 - PLAGUE
But as it happened, the revamping of Hell was not readily accomplished. It seemed that Lucifer had let things slide, and the various major figures had developed minor Fiefdoms. Hell was vast in extent, and, despite the superficial arrangement in circles, not well organized. Parry discovered that he was in effect striking at a feather pillow; each piecemeal change he made only resulted in a superficial alteration in an unchanging base. He thought he was making progress, but after some time discovered that he really had not accomplished much. The bureaucracy of Hell balked him in its accommodating way.
"Damn it!" he swore one day in frustration.
"Already done," Lilah murmured. She was at the moment in the guise of Helen of Troy, for his diversion. She was very good at diverting him, and he could not protest because after a day of getting nowhere with Hell he needed it. But he was spending increasing time in such diversion, instead of accomplishing his job. The truth was that even that diversion was becoming jaded. Lilah assumed any of a thousand forms for his pleasure, including those of all the most ravishing women of history, and she did whatever he asked with dispatch. But he knew that it was the same old demoness beneath, and the challenge was absent. He was beginning to get tired of her, though naturally he
would not say this. He was wary of the peril of losing her support.
"Did my predecessors have the same problem?"
"Of course, my Lord Satan," she agreed. "Each of them spent a century or so trying to remake Hell, and another century or so trying to remake the mortal realm, and a minute or so trying to come to terms with God. Then they settled gradually into funks, apart from occasional major projects. That was why Lucifer was so upset with You: You ruined his one significant ploy of the century."
"The scourge," Parry agreed. "I understand his position better now."
"The fact is, the situation seems largely unchanging, and not merely in Hell. Good is eternal. Evil is eternal, and Mortality is eternally fudging between the two. It is inevitably dull."
She was in a position to know. No wonder the Incarnations of Evil eventually became careless; ennui set in, and it might have been almost a relief for them to lose their offices to their successors. Yet he had not fared much better in the mortal world. The other Incarnations, except for Chronos and Nox, opposed him at every turn, seeming to take endless delight in this. As far as he could ascertain, they were not accomplishing more than he was; they were simply stirring their fingers in the pie and leaving it as messed up as before. Probably that was the way they staved off their own ennui. He had no respect for them, but they were canny, and he was unable to embarrass them the way they had him.
Of course he had opportunity when they changed officeholders. He had overlooked it on the first ones, and had not wished to do anything to the new Chronos, who had been his friend throughout his tenure. Then Chronos had been replaced by his predecessor, a thoroughly experienced Incarnation who was also friendly.
"How long have I been in office?" Parry asked suddenly, realizing that time had passed.
"Ninety-five years, my Lord Satan," Lilah answered immediately.
"Ninety-five years!" he repeated, shocked. "It seemed like only a few years!"
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