Once Upon a Time in Hell

by Guy Adams

  "And I am Brisket," said the meat thing, "and I am the ghost of the slaughterhouse and the kitchen. I am the sharpened cleaver and the fork licked clean."

  Finally our hostess: "I am Agrat and I was a lover to the very first man. He could not satisfy me so I made my own way in life."

  "Lie," said the old man. It took me a moment to decide whether he meant she had been lying or that I should. I plumped for the latter.

  "My name's Elwyn Buckfast and I am the inventor of the self-cleaning prayer book."

  "A valuable invention I'm sure," said Brisket, bursting into a fit of coughing and spitting that I later understood to be laughter.

  "Formalities have been observed," said Agrat, "let's play."

  "Ante up, bitches," said Axionus, tossing a fifty cent chip into the centre of the table. We all followed suit and Agrat began to deal for five card stud.

  I imagine that my story so far has given you little doubt that I had little experience in the world of card games. Thankfully even I could master the rules of the simplest poker variant.

  Each player was first dealt two cards, one face-up. The weakest visible card takes the first bet. After that more cards are dealt, face-up, one for each round of betting until each player has five.

  The area of uncertainty lies in that single face-down card.

  I received a hidden eight of clubs and a visible four of diamonds. Not the most exciting hand in the world. Yes, there was the possibility of a straight but the odds were massively against it. It would all hinge, as five card stud always did, on that hidden eight. The rest of the table looked like this:

  AGRAT: 9♥

  AXIONUS: 6♣

  BRANCHES OF REGRET: 6♥

  BRISKET: 3♠

  It was down to Brisket to open the betting on the first round, which it did at fifty cents.

  Axionus, for all his swagger, folded immediately.

  Branches of Regret called on the bet, pushing his chip into the pot with a single, solid finger.

  "Raise the bet to a dollar," said the old man. Which had most certainly not been my intention but I did as I was told.

  "I'll call," said Agrat, adding her dollar.

  Brisket and Branches of Regret also called so Agrat dealt three more cards.

  AGRAT: 9♥ 5♥

  BRISKET: 3♠ 5♠

  BRANCHES OF REGRET: 6♥ Q♦

  ME: 4♦ 8♥ (8♣)

  If all else failed I had a pair of eights. "Brisket is holding a spade in the hole," said the old man, " aiming for a flush, you don't keep betting if all you've got is a pair of threes, not unless you're a fool and I don't think Brisket is."

  In a wig like that I begged to differ but kept my mouth shut.

  "Agrat can't build a straight flush without the wooden man's six but she's still on track for a straight. Branches must be holding something worth pairing up with the six for him to have called your bet. Branches is not a bluffer. Whatever he's got that Queen could be trouble."

  Agrat led with the betting, choosing to check.

  "No straight then," said the old man, "the card in the hole ain't a heart or she'd put some money up. She was willing to call last time so chances are it's another nine. If so she beats your pair of eights."

  Brisket bet another dollar.

  Branches called.

  "Call," the old man suggested.

  Another card each:

  AGRAT: 9♥ 5♥ 2♣

  BRISKET: 3♠ 5♠ 10♦

  BRANCHES OF REGRET: 6♥ Q♦ 10♥

  ME: 4♦ 8♥ (8♣) 8♠

  "No chance of a straight for Agrat now, best she has is a pair of nines. Brisket's lost her flush with the diamond. Branches is still the mystery but it's probably just a pair of sixes. The hand can be yours, bet high."

  I bet two dollars. "You call two dollars high?" the old man moaned.

  I surely fucking did, I'm not a man made of money and this hand had already cost me over a third of my stake.

  Agrat called.

  "She's bluffing," said the old man, "or throwing money at you, just to see what you're made of."

  Brisket thought about it for a moment, reaching up to scratch at its meaty face with a hand whose nails resembled hooves. Then folded, as did Branches.

  "This is a waste of time," said the old man. "Raise it another couple of dollars."

  I did so. Agrat leaned forward and smiled at me. "Are you going to be fun?" she asked.

  "Or are you going to be careful?"

  "A bit of both I'd imagine."

  She nodded and folded. Leaving me now holding more than twice my original stake money.

  "Who needs a full and interesting life as long as you can find a bit of luck?" she said, looking at my chips. "Now you're almost worth playing with!"

  And play we did, with the old man constantly leading my actions from the rear. The wins were fairly even between us, I lost a few but won a few too and after half an hour or so I was looking at a stake of around thirty dollars. This pleased me, having never experienced the false flush of brilliance that comes with getting your hands on money that wasn't yours in the first place. I'll admit, that feeling was going to my head a little, I wasn't used to being a winner.

  Then the stakes got high and things began to get scary.

  It had come down to me and Agrat, holding four cards each.

  ME: 3♣ 6♣ 9♣ 10♣ (with a 2♣ hidden giving me a flush)

  AGRAT: 5♠ 5♥ 9♦ 9♠

  Which could be a full house or just a two pair. The only way to find out was to brazen the thing out.

  Agrat obviously felt the same way about my four clubs with the result being that neither of us was willing to stop raising the bet.

  Agrat had a great deal more stake money than I did and soon it was a case of my having to go all in if I wanted to stand my ground, which, obviously, I did.

  "We need to get in the dominant position," the old man said, "or we'll never get what we want from her, she has too much capital."

  Which translated as: 'If only you'd been worth more than eleven dollars in the first place.' He wanted Agrat to be in debt to us. It wasn't her money we were after but her skills and if we held her over a barrel then she'd be forced to offer them. It seemed to me, therefore, that we needed to alter the state of play some.

  "I'm wondering," I said, "whether there might be something else we could use as a stake."

  She raised a solitary eyebrow at me. "We are confident aren't we? What do you suggest?"

  "You haven't got anything she wants," the old man said, "not enough anyway."

  I ignored him. "As you know," I said, "I'm kind of new at all this so you'll have to help me along a little. But... what we're staking here are memories and experiences."

  "Yes, the only valuable currency here. Most of us have no life of our own anymore so we take what we can get from others."

  "Life," I agreed, "yes. So what if I told you I wasn't actually dead?" The table erupted in noise at that, not least from the old man. "I told you to keep your mouth shut about that!" he said.

  "He can't be," said Brisket, "mortals can't get this far into the dominion with air still in their lungs."

  "He's a lying little shit," agreed Axionus. "Probably off its head on Buzz!"

  Branches of Regret leaned over, his body creaking. "He is not a liar," he said, "I sensed the truth of his words earlier."

  "And chose not to say anything?" Agrat asked with a smile.

  "They are his cards to play," Branches replied, "and no business of mine."

  "Well," Agrat continued, "how terribly interesting."

  "We should tell the manager," said Brisket, "have him thrown out."

  Agrat held up her hand. "You'll do no such thing. I believe the young man was about to make me an offer and I would very much like to hear it."

  "Well," I said, "it's just this. I'm a young man with a whole life ahead of me. What might my future experiences be worth? I'm still earning aren't I? All of this is just more stake in the kitty."
>
  "It is," she agreed, "and it must be said that any man who has walked into Hell while still alive may well have an interesting life ahead."

  "Exactly."

  "Or... on the other hand, and I think this more likely, he could be dead at any moment and therefore valueless."

  "You don't want to follow this line of reasoning, Elwyn," the old man said, "you've blown it. The only way out now is to fold and hope you get out with your life intact." "Unless of course," Agrat continued, "you would be willing to agree to an infinite exten sion."

  "No," said the old man, grabbing my shoulders.

  "An infinite extension?" I asked.

  "Well," she continued, "if I were to take away the possibility of death then you would continue to accrue value wouldn't you?"

  "You're talking about making me immortal?"

  "On the understanding that, one day, I was able to take the experience I was owed. It goes without saying I would leave it some considerable time. Where would be the sense in cashing you in quickly? Does that appeal?"

  Given the current situation I had to say it did. After all, if I couldn't die then I had a distinct advantage in whatever horrors the future might hold. It would mean I had a good few years ahead where nothing could touch me. This is the kind of wooly thinking, I now realise, that gets mortals in trouble.

  "And what would you be willing to offer in return?" I asked. "If I were to agree to such a massive stake?"

  "What would you like?"

  At which point I really needed the old man to tell me but he stayed silent, moving away from me and standing behind her. He just shook his head.

  I had no choice but to improvise. "Well, as I understand it, you stand to gain a whole life of experiences, that's gold ain't it? It would be the most valuable bet in the room."

  She nodded. "I guess it would at that."

  "So I should really ask for something huge in return." "I suppose you should."

  I thought for a moment. Looking up at the old man, hoping he would open his mouth. 'I'd be open to suggestions!" I joked, trying to give him a nudge. The rest of the players just looked away. It seemed this round of betting had gotten too rich for all of them.

  "How about this?" I asked. "If I win I get to ask for one wish... just one... but it can be anything I want?"

  "That's so human!" she laughed. "Always full of the old myths and stories. I'm not a genie young man."

  "Fine, but that's the stake. A single request of my choosing."

  "But you could ask for my life!" she replied. "Or insist that I was forever enslaved to you! That's too high a stake, even given what you're offering."

  She reached for her cards, turning the corner of the hidden card up to look at it. "It was intriguing and I was tempted by the possibilities but you ask for too much. Wagers must be precise here, young man, they are utterly binding."

  "It's an eight of clubs!" the old man shouted, the most enthusiastic I had ever seen him.

  "She's bluffing!" He looked at me. "You're an impetuous little shit," he said, "but you do have the winning hand."

  "Wait," I could feel I was losing her and, having gone so far, I wasn't willing to back down.

  "A single incantation!" the old man insisted. "Ask her for a single incantation. To be used on an unnamed third party."

  I repeated his words. She stared at me for a moment.

  "A single incantation? That's all?" "Yes."

  "I'm even more intrigued now. I have to know what it is! Very well, the bet is agreed with the rest of the table as witness. Show your hand."

  I did so, revealing my flush.

  She looked at it for a moment, then turned over not the eight of clubs that the old man had seen but instead the nine of hearts.

  "Damn her..." the old man sighed, stepping back, "Elwyn I'm so sorry... it was an eight, I swear to you it was eight."

  "You cheated!" I said and all of a sudden the whole room fell silent.

  "Be careful boy," said Branches of Regret. "You cannot accuse another of cheating unless you have proof. Do you have proof?

  I stared at Agrat and the old man behind her. Slowly he shook his head.

  "No." I admitted.

  "Then take it back," said Agrat, "and quickly, or you'll have worse to contend with than settling your current bet."

  I didn't see that I had much choice. "Fine," I nodded, "I take it back..."

  There was a sense of relief that passed over the whole room and, slowly, people returned to their games.

  "I'll forgive you that outburst," said Agrat, all charm again, "as long as you give me your hand now and settle your debt."

  I looked to the old man who was clearly despairing.

  I gave her my hand and she took it in her own. "The house rules are binding," she said. "This isn't just some mortal gambling den, this is a place in the very fundament of existence, and nothing you do can alter the debts owed. I take what you offered. Your life is now mine, to cash in whenever I see fit." She kissed my hand.

  "And I can assure you it will be many, many centuries from now. I am a very patient woman.

  You have a long, long life ahead of you. I hope it’s filled with things that will one day make my toes curl."

  Interlude Four

  BALLAD OF A GUNMAN

  HENRY JONES WASN'T immediately aware that his circumstances had changed. He had spent the last twenty-four hours slipping in and out of consciousness so frequently that his grip on reality was fragile at best.

  When his mind was clear enough to make the connection, it made him think of a time when he was seventeen, a young man out on the road and getting in trouble. He had fallen in with a crowd of horse bandits. They'd been fascinated by his blindness (and even more so by his skill with a gun despite what would seem obvious limitations) and they had let him travel with them for a short while. He had never been truly included in the gang's business, they were impressed with him, certainly, but they didn't trust him. He had been more a pet than an equal.

  At night they would cheer him on as he shot cactuses in the dark; a performing monkey that would foreshadow his days in the carnival. One night, just for the devilment, one of the gang, a seedy Texan called Bulrode, had spiked him with peyote to see, or so he claimed: “Whether the young buck can shoot ghosts as well as trees.”

  Jones had been lost to the world for hours as the psychoactive coursed through his system. He had shouted and screamed so loudly at the visions that had plagued him that the gang had bound his mouth and he had come close to choking by the time dawn came up and he found himself, once more, in a world he recognised. He had shot Bulrode and ridden the man's horse as far away from the gang as he could.

  Those hours in the care of Clarke were not so different. He remembered the chill of the snow that had turned to heat and anger as he carried Knee High, the only member of his gang of outlaws he could find in that white, terrifying world outside the town of Barbarossa. He had needed the man's eyes, his own ability to sense the world around him lost in the falling curtains of snow that hid his surroundings. He had fought to find his wife, Harmonium, the woman that had always stood by him, despite his moods. He had failed. Like that drug-fuelled night with the horse thieves, time had jumped. One moment he had been in the snow, the next he was lying on his back in a hospital tent. He had wrestled with the doctor, desperate to find out if Harmonium had also been rescued. Then, as the doctor pumped more drugs into his system, he had let go of the world once more, sure of only one thing: his wife was lost to him except in the dreams that followed.

  And those dreams were strange things indeed.

  He was chasing her through a never-ending graveyard, wooden crosses wherever you turned, spinning round and round in rows that stretched beyond the horizon. He knew, in that way you do in dreams, that Harmonium was buried in one of the graves. So he ran through the rows, ear to the ground, listening out for her. He had to find her soon, before the precious air within the walls of her casket was gone.

  The residents of
that impossible graveyard were talkative souls. Some encouraged him, some laughed at him, some had the voices of people he had known in his life.

  "Run boy!" one had shouted, with the voice of his uncle. "Run and never stop running because, when you do, I'll find you!"

  You alr eady did find me, thought Jones, on a sweaty night in T allahassee when I cut your thr oat with the neck of a smashed whisky bottle. The last time his uncle had spoken to him it had been nothing but hot air and bubbles. The grave had fixed that throat up just fine. "Henry!" Harmonium had called, and her voice had been choked with earth and grit.

  "Quickly, god damn you or I'll never see the light!"

  He had ran and ran and ran...

  Sometimes he had woken, aware of the sounds of people around him, moaning and cry ing. The drugs were strong though and the moments of consciousness were brief, snatches of air grasped by a man being pulled from beneath by a strong tide.

  In some of his dreams he could see, the skin of his face fallen away to reveal two perfect eyes. Even they were not good dreams. He had been blind from birth and didn't know what to do with the eyes now he had them, didn't know what the colours and shapes that surrounded him meant. They were hard and sharp and looking at them was like running through a forest where the branches kept hitting you and drawing blood.

  Then he was with Harmonium, the pair of them lying in the long grass outside Serpent's Creek, the smell of sex and the memory of her body, seen in the best way possible, through the tips of his fingers as they moved all over her.

  And then he was stood in the middle of a street.

  This, as he would later appreciate, was the moment he truly woke up. At the time he thought it was just another dream, shuffling along through this empty, unfamiliar town.

  Normally he could sense the physicality of things around him, he could picture them as rough shapes. The way that the sound changed between wide open spaces and narrow streets, the point at which roofs could no longer enclose the brush of his feet in the dust and opened out into the sky. He didn't visualise the buildings as others saw them, he didn't have the context with which to do so, but he knew them for what they were and could navigate between them easily. The same went for people. He would hear their breathing, the clothes shifting on their backs, even their hearts pounding away in their chests on the frequent occasion that they saw him and realised their death might well be close at hand. This town held no such people, not so far at least.