“Thanks,” Paris said to Baldur. “I appreciate you poking a hole in my madness.”
“My pleasure,” Baldur answered.
“What did you say to him?” Absalom asked.
“Many moons ago I dated Artemis, Apollo’s sister. I picked up a lifelong love of crumbled feta cheese and a few ancient Greek phrases from her, including ‘where is the nearest bathroom?’ Paris was so shocked by the out of left field question that I was able to get the bow away from him and pummeled him with the Kevlar vest until I got him calm enough to convince him I wasn’t there to kill him.”
“I’m still dying of thirst,” Fat Boy said. “Can we move on now?”
“Lead on, Belphegor,” Absalom said. “Paris, are you with us?”
“But what of Lucifer?” Paris asked. “I’m abandoning my post and surely that will anger him.”
Baldur answered. “Lucifer has other cuttlefish to fry.”
“I don’t understand.”
“We’ll explain on the way,” Absalom said.
Chapter 77[77]
“It’s like an alcoholic’s wet dream,” Fat Boy said.
The City of the Beermeisters was one gigantic bar. Flashing neon signs advertised a plethora of brands of beer in every possible style from amber to wheat ale and everything in between.
“You could probably spend your entire death here and never taste each one,” Solly mused.
Belphegor said. “Don’t be so sure. Take away all responsibility and realize your previous life was bullshit and there’s nothing beyond current existence and you chug through lots of beer.”
“If I drink a lot of beer, I’ll need chicken wings,” Fat Boy said.
“No chickens in Hell,” Belphegor said.
“Damn, that’s a shame.” Fat Boy rubbed his belly.
They strolled down the street, taking in the garish sites. They paused in front of a place called the Golden Calf.
“Eternally Happy Hour!” a sign shouted. “Lucifer’s Favorite Watering Hole for 500 Years!” and “Try His Unholy Favorite: The Punish The Pope!”
“This looks like the logical place to stop,” Solly said.
Owned and operated by a man named Jethro, the Golden Calf was midway between seamy and run-down. He claimed to be a witness to the original Ten Commandments fiasco where Moses broke them in disgust over the drunken state of the tribe of Israel. “He busted them right over my head,” Jethro guffawed. “I was straddled right on top of the false idol itself, whooping it up with a scantily-clad gal who kept slapping my back and yelling provocative sexual statements. Moses, the sourpuss, was not amused.” Sometimes, depending on the crowd, he also claimed to be the inspiration for Jethro Tull and a co-star of the Beverly Hillbillies. Telling drunks tall tales and getting them to believe them was as easy as the TV Guide crossword puzzle, but Jethro was a true artist in the field of total baloney.
The crowd was not as big as usual. Since Lilith had take control, rumors were flying that she would soon be rounding up everyone that existed beyond the pits and dragging them back for renewed torment and degradation. Quite a few had drifted off to the east, hiding out in the groves among the valleys. Despite that, quite a few hardy souls refused to budge. “I was married five times in real life,” one wag commented, gesturing with his favorite stein. “If the beer won’t ease the pain of multiple marriages, then maybe a pit full of angry bears will.”
Belphegor led them to the wooden bar. The crowd quieted to a hush. A demon in the establishment made them very uncomfortable. Was he a forward scout for an invading division of minions? The barflies looked around for potential weapons.
Belphegor sensed the unease building in the room. When he reached the bar, he pulled himself up on it and stood there surveying the crowd. “Excuse me!” he shouted. “I need to show something to all of you!”
“Jethro still has not grasped the concept for Coyote Ugly-style entertainment,” a disgusted patron griped. “Leave it on!” he shouted.
Belphegor ignored the jab and pull out his credit card. “Drinks on Lilith’s tab!” he yelled. The crowd erupted. Jethro smiled and walked over to them.
“We don’t get many demons in here,” he told Belphegor. “Especially none that spend any Euros. Mostly they just slapped you around and ate all the peanuts.” He looked at the empty bowl in front of Fat Boy. “You sure you ain’t no demon, son?”
“Positive,” Fat Boy said. “But I have a demonic thirst for some wheat ale.” The bartender looked at Jethro, who nodded and slid a frosted glass down the bar. Fat Boy grabbed it expertly by the handle and chugged it. “How can this be Hell,” he asked. “When it feels so much like Heaven.” He motioned for another.
“We’re looking for Lucifer,” Absalom said. “He’s with a crew of rough and tumble Norsemen and Cerberus.”
Jethro laughed. “Lucifer? He’s long gone, fellows. Double-crossed by the Queen Bee.”
“Lucifer’s back,” Belphegor said. “Find him we must.”
“Intriguing,” Jethro said. “But regardless, he’s not been through the city to my knowledge.”
“Would anyone else know?” Absalom asked.
“You could go to the Palace of the Beermeisters,” Jethro suggested. “They know all.”
“Omniscient?” Fat Boy slurred, his intake slowing down as he sloshed through his fourth beer.
“No, but quite often they trade in information. Many of these schmoes have nothing to barter with other than the things they hear. The Beermeisters are nosy bastards that like nothing better than to sit around and gossip like a parlor full of sherry-sloshed grannies. They give people beer credits for scuttlebutt.” Jethro looked reflective. “Some existence, huh? Man the magnificent reduced to rumor mongering for liquor.”
Absalom thanked Jethro while Solly and Paris grabbed Fat Boy by the arms and dragged him out of the bar. “I can still drive,” Fat Boy mumbled. “Help me find my car keys, then help me find the car.” He was passed out by the time they arrived at the Palace.
It wasn’t a palace in the usual since. It was an opulent brewery. The smell of hops, woody and spicy, surrounded them. They stretched Fat Boy out on a bench in front and stood in front of the imposing bright green doors. Well-worn brass knockers in the shape of pull-tabs shone dully in the morning haze. Paris grabbed one and banged it on the wooden door. He waited for a few minutes and did it again, this time harder and longer. The door cracked open and a man peered out. “Who knocked?”
Paris looked at him. The gentleman’s face was deeply furrowed with a hint of mischief tugging at this skinny lips. “I did,” Paris answered.
“Can’t you read?” the man asked. “The notice is right on the front of the door. It’s as plain as the bulbous nose on your face.”
Paris frowned. “My nose is not bulbous and I see the sign. It clearly says ‘Please knock.’”
The man did an exaggerated double take. “That sign is supposed to read ‘Please ring bell.’ This is blowing my whole Wizard of Oz motif.” He stepped from behind the door and smiled broadly, shaking all of their hands. “Thanks for playing along, gentleman. I still relish that role to this day. My name is Frank Morgan.” He took a quick bow. “You can call me Professor Marvel, if you like. It’s much more amusing that way.” He opened the emerald door and escorted them into the gift shop.
“Everything’s 20% off today,” Marvel said to them. “Do you need any Pilsner glasses? I can make you a great deal. One day only!”
“No, thanks,” Absalom said. “What we really need is your help finding someone.”
“Information!” Marvel exclaimed. “You have absolutely come to the right place. The question I have for you is what do you have to exchange for it?”
“Me have big credit,” Belphegor said, flashing his plastic with excitement. “Unlimited line straight from the top.”
“That’s swell and very fine,” Marvel said. “But around here, there’s not a lot of interest in holding any of Lilith’s fiat money. You never know when
she’ll decide to declare all tender null and void and demand that we pay her back for the privilege of using her money.” Belphegor shoulders dropped, his credit card declined.
“We do have a little information about the coming end of the world,” Solly threw in.
“This IS the end of the world,” Marvel said. “In case you haven’t noticed.”
Absalom looked at his companions. They all shook their heads. “Then I guess we have nothing to barter with,” he said to Marvel.
Marvel stroked his chin contemplatively. “Perhaps you could perform a task for the Beermeisters. That may earn you enough credits to get the information.”
“Why can’t you tell us?” an exasperated Baldur asked.
“And undermine our entire system?” Marvel said. “Besides, isn’t it more meaningful when you have to earn it?”
“No,” Baldur answered. “At this point, despite my background of love and beauty, I wouldn’t have a problem just beating the information out of you.”
Marvel took a slight step back.
Absalom put his hand on Baldur’s arm. “We’re just in a hurry,” he said. “The end of the world may not mean much to you in your post-death Off to See the Wizard delusion, but to we the living it does have a bit of importance and we would like to stop it.”
“Harsh,” Marvel said. “Very harsh.” He did one of his patented double takes. “We the living? Some of you are actually not one of the dearly departed? Now that truly is a horse of different color.” He looked them over closely. “There’s really no way to tell, is there? I imagined that a live human body would stick out like a purple horse around here but I see that I am very wrong.” He rolled up his sleeve and compared his bare arm to Solly’s. “Fascinating.”
A bell rang.
Marvel waggled his eyebrows at the group and picked up the red phone that hung from the wall. He listened for a minute. “A shrubbery?” he asked. “Which idiot wants that?” A pause. “Tell him to forget it.” Another pause. “That seems a little more coherent. How many bags? Okay, got it.” He put the phone back on the hook. “We have a proposal for you.”
Absalom listened to it in disbelief. “You’re telling me that in order for the Beermeisters to tell us whether or not they can help us find Lucifer, we have to somehow magically acquire ten bags of pork rinds?”
“They have a hankering,” Marvel said.
“Pork rinds?” Paris asked.
“Chunks of pig skin, deep fried and seasoned,” Solly said.
“And people eat this when there is nothing else available for them to eat?” Paris said. “Starvation situations?”
“I liked them with some hair still attached,” Solly grinned. “More pig-like. Reminds me of better days.”
“Jews can eat pork rinds?” Absalom asked.
“During one of my lapsed periods I went 100% non-kosher,” Solly said. “It was one of the best years of my life.”
“Good thing you got back on the straight and narrow of your faith,” Baldur said. “You may have ended up in Hell otherwise.”
“Where do we find these pork rinds?” Absalom asked in despair. “Did we even get a clue from the mighty Beermeisters?”
Marvel threw up his arms. “I have the directions,” he said. “I will be your spiritual guide, so to speak.”
“Another smartass comedian,” Baldur groaned. “That’s just great.”
They exited out the emerald doors. Fat Boy was stirring on the wood bench, his hands reaching out and grabbing at the air. “Let me touch those, my dear Hilda, or I will turn that horn dog Colonel Hogan over to the Gestapo,” he mumbled.
Absalom shook his shoulder roughly. “Get up. We’re going to find some pork rinds.”
Fat Boy sat up instantly. “Awesome,” he said. “I’ve got the serious munchies.”
They trooped off with Marvel in front, using his cane like a drum major leading a marching band, keeping time with music that only played in the Professor’s head.
Chapter 78[78]
Professor Marvel had a secret.
He wasn’t Frank Morgan.
It was a successful con, and always fooled the Wizard of Oz loving crowd that occasionally came by the Beermeisters Palace. He did it as a lark, and it amused his fellow Beermeisters greatly. They were all huge movie buffs and spent countless hours buffeting each other with movie trivia. Those were some good times. Then Lilith took over and was doing her best to screw it all up.
Marvel tugged on the rope. His human traveling companions seem to be moving along, despite the constant wailing. The mist was so thick he couldn’t see them and he hoped that this living mist wasn’t tricking him somehow. The ground was smooth as glass, shiny and glistening black. He closed his eyes.
He and his four brothers had blinked into existence in a warm, babbling brook. In unison, they had sat up, spluttering and blowing water, looking around. When they laid eyes on each other, they immediately felt the bond of kinship and they joined together in a frenzied babble knee-deep in the running water.
They found solid ground and wandered around, taking in the sights and smells of their newfound existence. They found a long, sandy beach and stood facing the ocean, watching the sun drop over the edge of the world and darkness envelope them. They lay on the sand in the dark and talked through the night.
Eventually, they slept.
When they awoke the next morning, the sun was an enormous red ball of fire, a burning eye. They were still groggy from the unexpected sensation of sleep. Ring broke the silence.
“I dreamt of a woman.”
The other brothers looked at him. “I did as well,” Bird said. “A tall blonde woman.”
“Our mother,” Marvel added. Pinky nodded agreement.
She had spoken simply, smiling and warm. “Deep within each of you,” she said. “A common seed of purpose is sown. You will understand that purpose, but not until circumstances occur that will peel away the questions you have and reveal to you your destinies.” In the dream, she had raised her left hand, bloody stumps instead of fingers. “Someday, we will be reunited. Remember the place of your birth, and help those who ask for your help.”
The brothers had left the beach that day and walked aimlessly, talking about their purpose and what to do with themselves. Millenniums passed until one day they met their first human.
“I am Khasekhemwy,” the man told them. “I have just escaped the Underworld. I was tortured by demons in lakes of fire and taunted for my poor vocabulary, which really hurt since I considered myself a scholar in my previous life.” He looked at the brothers. “Is there anywhere around here where I can get a beer?”
“Beer?” Pinky asked.
And so the first sense of purpose coursed through them. They listened carefully as the Egyptian described the plants needed and the process of heating the mix and fermentation. In time, more humans escaped from the Underworld and many craved strong drink, so they gladly assisted the brothers. When the final product was perfected, it was called Tenenit’s Choice in honor of the Egyptian’s goddess of beer.
“Goddess?” Marvel had asked. “What is that?”
Chapter 79[79]
“How beautiful was she?” Solly asked.
They were trudging up a long, slow incline that led them away from the city of the Beermeisters. They had walked through endless fields of wheat, barley, and hops, the quiet rustling giving them a pleasant bucolic vibe. Fat Boy was chewing on a stalk of wheat. “I’m feeling like a country boy,” he drawled. “Farm living could possibly be the life for me.”
“Backbreaking labor with low pay sounds really good,” Absalom said. “You’ve convinced me.”
“No, dude, you’re missing the point. It makes me realize that I’ve been living in an urban nightmare. Too much information is flying around, feeding the paranoia. The Internet, 24-hour cable news, the crazy guy shrieking on street corners about his missing suspenders.” Fat Boy twirled the wheat stalk with his tongue. “All of this being outdoors is clearing
my mind of those conspiratorial cobwebs. There’s no whole domination schemes on the farm. There’s only cows and chickens and pigs and getting right with the natural order of things.”
“What about crop circles?” Absalom asked.
Fat Boy mulled that over as they reached the peak of the trail. Marvel held up his crane and they stopped.
“This is where we pause,” Marvel said. “In earlier times, you would pray for a moment, but we all know that will not do anyone a darn bit of good. Let’s just take a minute to absorb what we see.”
They looked down the descending slope. A band of heavy grey mist hung shimmering in the air as far as the eye could see. Absalom stared closer at it. Dancing sprites of white-hot light pulsated like radioactive fireflies around the mist, diving in and out as if they were predatory seabirds. Absalom shivered.
“What is it?” he asked Marvel. “It feels like absolute chaos.”
“Out of chaos, comes order,” said Fat Boy. “According to Nietzsche.”
“Paraphrasing Nietzsche pisses me off,” Absalom replied. “According to Ray Nitetzsche.”
“It’s the madness of Lucifer,” Belphegor said. “When Lucifer fell from Heaven, he went mad. His hopes and dreams were smashed and even his wings had been ripped from his body. So he ran. A frantic search for all the things that he had lost. He circled the place repeatedly, each step increasing his insanity. His madness was so deep and so wild that it seeped into the very ground. The mist still rising is the residue of his rage and hurt.”
“Sounds spooky,” Fat Boy said.
“So we must pass through it to reach our goal?” Paris asked.
Marvel nodded. “There is no way around it. Now you see why no one ever wants to go for pork rinds.” He shielded his eyes from the blazing sun and looked across the mist.
“Does anyone know what is going on inside the mist?” Solly asked.
“No one ever makes it back to tell the tale,” Belphegor said.
“Here’s the plan,” Marvel said, opening his satchel and extracting a large coil of rope. “Because our friend Belphegor is a demon, it is believed by the Beermeisters that he will not be affected by the mist. We’ll tie ourselves together like we’re going to climb to the peak of Everest, with Belphegor in the lead, and pass through this obstacle like a Sunday stroll through Main Street USA.”
In The Lap Of The Gods Page 23