The Book of Doom

by Barry Hutchison

  There was a sound of breaking glass from over by the front entrance. Someone big and heavy came crashing through the doors before they had a chance to swish all the way open. The monstrous figure landed heavily on its misshapen torso, dragged itself back up on to all four feet, then plunged once more into the club.

  Angelo squashed himself further into the shadows as the sounds of battle rang out through the broken doors of Eyedol. He tried to think about Batman, lurking in the dark just like he was. Batman wouldn’t be scared. Batman wasn’t scared of anything.

  But he wasn’t Batman. And he was terrified.

  “An. Gel. Lo.”

  His name came as a whisper, broken into three syllables by a voice that sounded parchment dry. Angelo froze exactly like Batman wouldn’t.

  “An. Gel. Lo.”

  The voice seemed to come from nowhere in particular. It was just there, loitering around his ears, up to no good.

  “An. Gel. Lo.”

  “Um, h-hello?” he whimpered. “Who... who’s there?”

  “An. Gel. Lo. An. Gel. Lo.”

  “Stop it. I’m w-warning you. I know karate.”

  There was a soft giggle from the darkness. “No, An. Gel. Lo,” said the whispers. “You don’t.”

  And with a rustle, the night snapped shut around him.

  Zac stepped into the corridor and the door blew closed, cutting off what little light there had been. He heard the lock slide into place, and knew that there was no going back.

  He took a moment to replace his lock-picking tools, before he went for another pocket and pulled out a short plastic tube about the size of a marker pen. It gave a krik as he bent it, and a weak green glow spread along the tube’s length.

  The walls on both sides of him blinked in the emerald light. Literally blinked. Hundreds of eyes, each the size of a marble, were embedded into the plaster. They stared at Zac, and Zac stared back. He brought the glow-stick closer to one wall and watched the pupils dilate in response.

  “I can see you, Zac Corgan,” said the voice from along the corridor. “Can you see me?”

  The voice sounded like it was close to laughter. There was an accent to it too. Greek, probably, considering which underworld they’d ended up in.

  Zac stepped away from the wall and peered along the corridor. The green light only extended a metre or two along it, leaving the rest behind a curtain of impenetrable black.

  Watched from both sides by countless tiny eyes, Zac pushed on into the darkness until he came to a smooth metal door set into the back wall of the corridor. It opened with a ding, revealing a windowless metal box. There was a light mounted in the ceiling and a rectangular LCD display built into one of the walls.

  “Going up,” said the voice.

  Zac took a look back along the corridor and found it still in darkness. He could hear the faint clicking sound of ten thousand blinking eyelids, and the distant din of fighting from beyond the door.

  “Hurry, Zac Corgan. I do not have all day.”

  “All right, all right. Keep your hair on,” Zac muttered, then he stepped into the elevator, turned round, and watched the doors slide closed. The number 666 flashed up in red on the display and the lift began to climb, slowly at first, but quickly picking up speed until Zac felt the G-force pressing down on him.

  Just a minute or so later, he experienced a tiny moment of near-weightlessness as the lift came to an abrupt stop. He waited for the doors to open and, after what felt like a very long time, they did.

  He stepped out of the lift and gazed around at the room he had arrived in.

  It took up roughly the same amount of space as the dance floor downstairs had done, but it couldn’t have looked more different. A luxurious red carpet covered the floor. Vast chandeliers hung from the high, domed ceiling, casting a twinkling glow across the antique furniture. Something classical and dreary was being played on a vintage gramophone over in the corner, and the thudding of the dance music downstairs felt like a dim and distant memory.

  “Greetings, Zac Corgan. Welcome to the home of Argus.”

  “Where are you?” Zac asked. He looked over the room. “Show yourself.”

  “I am here, Zac Corgan,” the voice said. Greek. It was definitely Greek. “I am behind you.”

  Zac spun round and saw the lift doors close. There were pillars on either side of the lift, each several times wider than he was. Something about them drew his eye, and it took him just a moment to realise that they weren’t pillars at all. They were legs.

  Slowly – ever so slowly – Zac looked up.

  Angelo’s heart was playing the bongos in his chest. His arms were pinned by his sides and he could now say with absolute certainty that he definitely needed the toilet.

  He was wrapped in a tight cocoon, unable to move, barely able to breathe. He felt as if he were dangling from a great height, being buffeted back and forth on the breeze, and occasionally bumped against something solid and flat. He was absolutely correct in every one of these assumptions.

  It was warm in the cocoon, and as panic tightened round Angelo like a noose, it began to get considerably warmer.

  Zac didn’t believe in giants. Or rather, he hadn’t believed in giants, until now.

  The giant sitting in front of him had changed his mind. He was perched on an enormous throne, into the base of which the elevator doors had been built. He sat forward in the chair, his metre-long fingers gripping the armrests, his shed-sized head lolling down almost to his chest.

  The clothes he wore were musty and thick with dust, giving him the look of a long-neglected museum exhibit. His skin was blotchy and held together with stitches. They criss-crossed his face like a city-centre road map, and Zac would’ve sworn that the thing in the chair was long dead, had it not been for the eyes.

  The eyes were open. And they were staring down at him.

  “Hi,” Zac said. “Almost didn’t see you there.”

  “Hello, Zac Corgan,” said that voice again. The giant on the throne made no movement. “Will you bow before the all-seeing Argus?”

  Zac gave the question all the consideration it deserved. “Doubt it,” he said.

  The voice suddenly brightened. “Good. I cannot stand a kiss-ass!” it cried, and Zac realised it was coming from elsewhere in the room.

  He turned to find a man grinning at him from behind dark-tinted glasses. The man was a little shorter than Zac, but considerably wider. He was bare from the waist up, his bulging belly sagging down over a baggy pair of white shorts that were tied with red bows round his knees.

  His head was bald, but partially covered by a small red fez that he wore at a jaunty angle. The centre of the man’s chest was matted with thick black hair, and his top lip was weighed down by an equally thick, equally black moustache.

  All these things registered just barely at the back of Zac’s mind. The front of his mind, meanwhile, was fully occupied with just one thought: nipples.

  Where the man’s nipples should have been, there were eyes. Zac stared at them. He couldn’t help himself. How could he not stare? After a moment, one of the nipples gave him a cheeky wink.

  “Yiassas!” cried the man. He caught Zac by the upper arms, then leaned in and kissed him on both cheeks before he could pull away. The man smelled of death and olives. “I am Argus Panoptes. You have been looking for me, yes?”

  Zac stepped back. “You’re Argus?” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the seated giant. “Then who’s that?”

  Argus laughed, making his bare belly jiggle like half-set jelly. “This? This is just a statue.”

  “It doesn’t look like a statue.”

  “It is woven from the skin of my enemies’ children,” Argus said. He smiled again, and in that moment Zac was reminded that he was dealing with a demon. There were too many teeth in that mouth, all crammed in together, jostling for space. “Feel it, yes? Touch it.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Please. Please, I insist,” Argus said. “Touch my giant leg.
It bring you luck.”

  “Right, well, if it’ll make you happy,” Zac sighed. He touched the nearest leg. The skin was disturbingly smooth.

  Argus beamed. “Is nice, yes?”

  “Not really my cup of tea,” Zac said. “What about the eyes? I’m guessing they didn’t come from your enemies’ children. Unless, you know, your enemies’ children are huge.”

  “Ah, no, no. The eyes, they belong to me.”

  With a quick flick of his wrist, Argus removed his sunglasses, revealing two dark holes. Zac gazed into the empty sockets, then up at the beach-ball-sized eyeballs in the statue’s face.

  “Those must’ve been a tight fit,” he said.

  Argus laughed again. “Haha! Yes. They are not my actual eyes, of course. Would you care to sit?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Please, I insist. Please.”

  “I’d prefer to stand,” said Zac.

  Argus’s shoulders slumped, then a wry grin crept across his face. He placed his hands on his stomach and folded two rolls of flab together, giving the impression of a mouth.

  “Pwease, Zac,” Argus said, moving the rolls so it looked as if they were talking. “Pwease sit down on our lovely couch.”

  To their credit, even Argus’s nipples got in on the act. They looked imploringly at Zac.

  “Yeah... OK,” Zac said. He pointed at Argus’s belly. “If you promise to stop that.”

  Argus laughed again, then he jigged over to a cream leather sofa that stood off to one side of the room. Zac noticed his shoes for the first time. They were bright red with gold trim, curled up at the toes like a genie in a pantomime.

  The shoes danced on to a leopard-skin rug that was spread on the floor between the couch and a roaring coal fire. The demon jabbed at the coals with a poker while he waited for Zac to sit.

  “I know why you have come to see me, Zac,” he said once Zac had positioned himself on the couch. “I have been following you closely for some time.”

  Zac raised an eyebrow. “You have, have you?”

  “Please, please, do not take it personally,” said Argus, giving the coals a final stab. “I follow everyone closely.”

  He set the poker back on its hook, then turned to face his guest. Zac wished the demon would put the glasses back on, but they were nowhere to be seen, and so he forced himself to stare into the hollow sockets and did his best not to flinch.

  Argus slapped his belly several times. It jiggled hypnotically. “You are seeking the Book of Everything and you have come to ask for my help, yes?”

  Zac didn’t reply.

  “You believe I can provide you with – how you say? – information as to its exact whereabouts.”

  “They’ve built a tenth circle on to Hell. I’ve been told you might know what’s down there.”

  “I bet you have,” Argus exclaimed. He gave a twirl, and Zac saw there was another eye poking out from the demon’s hairy back. “I am the all-seeing Argus, after all.”

  Zac leaned forward slowly, making the leather couch creak. “So what is down there?”

  Argus tapped the side of his nose. “Aha! All in good time, yes? Right now, I see we are about to have company.”

  With a wink of his nipples, Argus turned and gestured towards the elevator doors, just as they opened with a ping.

  HERE WAS A momentary commotion within the elevator, and then Herya was bundled out. The bouncer shoved her forward, then stepped out after her.

  “Here she is, Mr Argus. Like you asked,” he said. “Gimme a shout if she gets out of hand.”

  With a brief nod to his employer, the bouncer stepped back into the lift. Herya glared after him as the doors slid closed.

  “Yeah,” said Herya. “That’s right. You’d better run, if you know what’s good for you.”

  She stood up and dusted herself down, then looked over to Zac and Argus. When she saw the demon, her eyes widened just a fraction.

  “All right?” Zac asked.

  “Yes,” Herya said defensively. “Of course.”

  “Herya of the Valkyries,” Argus said. He spoke her name grandly, as if announcing her arrival at a formal dinner party. “Such a beautiful girl, you no think, Zac? That hair. The wings.” He adjusted his fez and smiled more broadly than ever. “Beautiful girl.”

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot you two know each other,” said Zac.

  Argus laughed as he skipped over to the Valkyrie. “Ah, but if only I had such good fortune,” he said, planting kisses on both of her cheeks. “Today is the first day I have had the pleasure.”

  Zac looked to Herya. “But I thought you said...?”

  “No, I didn’t,” she replied quickly.

  “But you—?”

  She gave him the same look Argus’s nipples had given him just minutes before. “Leave it,” she said, then she added, “please.”

  Zac gave an uncertain nod and leaned back into the couch. Argus took Herya by the elbow and steered her over to join him. “Please, sit. Little Angelo will be joining us...”

  A squirming sack landed with a thud on the floor between them.

  “...now.”

  An enormous man in a small loincloth thudded down on to the carpet from a large hatch in the ceiling. The man straightened up and groaned as his back went click.

  “Ooh, that’s better,” he said. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  The man had one eye set in the centre of his forehead. It blinked slowly as it looked at Zac and Herya.

  Zac stood up. “Who is this?” he demanded.

  “Ah, do not worry, do not fret. This is my assistant, Steropes,” said Argus. “Steropes is a Cyclops, yes? You see the irony? I have many eyes; Steropes has only one!”

  Zac stared up Steropes. Aside from having just one eye, the Cyclops looked much like a man. A large, mean-looking man. With tattoos.

  His hair was clipped short and a rough stubble covered his chin. He was stockily built, with a broad neck and bodybuilder arms. Although he wore no clothes aside from a worryingly small loincloth, his tattoos covered his skin like an all-over rash.

  Despite his appearance, Steropes’s voice was soft and quiet. “Afternoon,” he said. He gave Zac a friendly nod, which the boy felt obliged to return.

  “All right?” Zac asked.

  “Yeah, not bad, not bad,” replied the Cyclops. “Thanks for asking.” As he spoke, he bent and tore open the sack, letting Angelo spill out on to the floor.

  “Wh—?” Angelo spluttered, blinking frantically in the sudden light. He flailed around on his back for a moment, before scrambling to his feet. He screamed when he spotted Steropes – a high-pitched girly screech that made the glass in the chandeliers quiver.

  “Whoa, easy, easy,” soothed the Cyclops. “Sorry about the whispering and the bundling you up in the bag an’ all that. Boss’s orders. Hope you weren’t too traumatised by it all.”

  Angelo screamed again in response.

  “Angelo, Angelo, relax,” Zac said. He stepped closer to the boy, then tried to pull back as Angelo threw his arms round him. Try as he might, though, he couldn’t break the bearhug.

  “Oh, it was horrible,” Angelo gasped. “Just horrible!” Zac could feel the boy’s heart pounding inside his chest. He was uncomfortably warm to the touch, but he was still a few degrees away from being hot. “I thought I was never going to see you again,” Angelo sobbed. “Can you imagine how horrible that would be?”

  Zac hesitated. “Horrible. Yeah.”

  Angelo spotted the Valkyrie and yelped with delight. “Herya!” He detached himself from Zac and hurried over to her, his arms spread wide.

  “Don’t even think about it,” she warned. Angelo faltered to a stop just a few steps away from her, but his smile didn’t fade.

  “You’re alive. We’re all alive!” He raised both hands triumphantly above his head. “Go, Superfriends!”

  There was a moment of embarrassed silence. Angelo lowered his arms again.

  “Nice, nice! Is very ni
ce, yes? Happy reunion,” said Argus. “Please, my apologies for the way you were all brought here. In my line of work I find direct approach is simplest. Besides, I have an image to maintain, yes?”

  Zac looked at the belly, the curly shoes and the tiny fez. “I’m sure you do.”

  Angelo glanced nervously at Zac. “Is that... Is that him?”

  “Argus the all-seeing,” said Argus. He did another twirl. His flabby torso undulated like a lava lamp.

  “Why do they call you that?” asked Angelo.

  Herya answered for him. “Legend says he’s got a hundred eyes.”

  Argus nodded. “Very good! It does say that, doesn’t it? But legend, it is a fool. It knows nothing.”

  “You haven’t got any eyes,” said Angelo, who had no intention of looking at any part of Argus below the neck, thank you very much.

  “Ah, not here, maybe,” conceded the demon, tapping a manicured finger against his temple, “but everywhere else. Downstairs. Outside. All across Hades and all through the other Afterworlds.”

  “Nipples,” blurted Herya. She was staring at them, apparently having just noticed them for the first time.

  “Ah, yes!” Argus said. He puffed up his chest proudly. “You like?”

  Herya faltered. “Not really.”

  Argus grabbed two rolls of flab and made the belly-face again. “Oh, that is not vewy nice,” he said. Then he laughed, spun on the spot, and trotted over to an antique globe that stood just a little away from the fireplace. The lid flipped open and smoke billowed out from within.

  Reaching inside the globe, Argus pulled out a foil-wrapped bundle. “Febab?” he offered. “My own creation. It is kebab meat and the Feta cheese, all wrapped together with chilli sauce.” He gave his belly a rub. “Hot. Spicy. Very nice.”

  “I’m all right,” said Zac. He glanced along the couch to the others. “I think... yeah, we’re all OK for now, thanks.”

  Argus shrugged and dropped the foil bundle back into the concealed barbecue, before closing the lid. “Where was I?”

  “You were telling us you see everything,” Zac prompted. “All the Afterworlds.”