by Hugh Macnab
tentatively. 'Has he?’
‘Of course not.' she said. 'In which case,' before any objection could be raised. ‘By the power invested in me by the Creator and the First-Creator, I hereby grant you decision making authority over all matters affecting the existence and welfare of the White-light, Purgatory, Heaven and all those who exist therein.’
‘Is that it?’ asked Im.
‘Can we just start now?’ asked Um. ‘Can we?’
‘Why not put your new powers to the test, and get us back to Wilderment?’ suggested Shylock.
‘But, you forget, the only one who has the ability to do that will not risk infection from your impure souls. Even if it was he who started your journey back in Wilderment. This isn’t Wilderment and different rules apply here,’ reminded Agatha, who had remained quiet throughout the previous debate. ‘However, in the spirit of what you are trying to achieve, I do have a suggestion. We could try the previous First-Creator!’
The Princess of Darkness
The sudden surrounding material world confused them at first, not realising how well they had adapted to being appearance-free in the white light. Their transitional difficulties were not helped by the odd postures and positions in which they appeared relative to their surroundings. The Elements was suspended upside down in mid-air, Permission was sitting on a treetop and Shylock was under-water.
Slowly, as their minds adapted yet again, the Elements righted himself, Permission drifted down to the ground, and Shylock joined them – dripping wet, complaining. ‘Just my luck.’
‘I can dry you off in next to no time, if you wish?’ offered a female voice from over Shylock’s shoulder.
Turning, he immediately recognised the speaker as one of his former school teachers. ‘Miss. Torrid?’ he gasped in surprise.
‘I told you, boy. You’ll never come to any good. Look where you’ve ended up,’ she said, indicating their surroundings with a wave of her arms. ‘Welcome to Purgatory, my domain.’
‘Your domain?’ Shylock asked, still confused.
‘Yes. I’m no longer Miss Torrid, but the Princess of Darkness,’ she smiled, wickedly. ‘And I rule all you see before you, and much more beyond. Now, Shylock I know, but you two are?'
Shylock introduces his travelling companions as they began to look around properly for the first time, not knowing what to make of everything they saw. They were close to a busy multi-level traffic intersection where all modes of transportation appeared to be catered for. Camel, pony, carriage, automobile, jet-shuttle, even thought-travel routes were indicated. A large white cactus-like plant commanded one corner of the intersection, and upon it were hung an uncountable number of signposts. Shylock read a few of them out loud. ‘Free Beach, Magic Kingdom, Arcade, Mr. Whippy…’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Permission. ‘If this is purgatory, why are there so many fun-places here?’
‘Oh, they’re not here,’ the Princess laughed. ‘They are where they always have been. When I receive dark-soul-matter, I sort everything into two categories. Re-usable, and beyond-redemption. Those beyond-redemption I place in black bags and leave them at the cross-roads for collection by Hell’s Angels. The re-usable souls, I need positively motivated to be bad.’
‘So you let them re-enter life somewhere interesting?’ asked Shylock.
‘Oh, much better than that,’ replied the Princess. ‘The signpost you see indicates all the positively-good places which exist, and I let my black-souls choose where they will create their mischief. They are so much more destructive when they get to choose. Isn’t that wonderfully clever?’
‘Absolutely wonderful,’ muttered the Elements, cynically.
‘So, now, what am I supposed to do with you three?’ asked the Princess. ‘You obviously haven’t been cleansed, therefore I assume you are either here by mistake, or with a specific purpose in mind?’
‘Quite correct,’ agreed Shylock. ‘The latter is the case. You see, Aunt Agatha sent us. We’re here to ask for your help.’
‘Why do I feel this is going to be complicated?’ the Princess murmured, shrugging and tugging her cape over one shoulder. ‘Why don’t we go somewhere more comfortable, and you can tell me all about it while you dry out?’
Without waiting for agreement, the Princess twitched her nose and their surroundings changed instantly. ‘Good trick, hmmm?’ she laughed, knowing that Shylock had noticed her nose twitch. ‘Television shows on Earth are so creative. I learned all kinds of useful things in my time there. So much more useful than elsewhere.’
Following their hostess’s lead, each sat themselves under a large umbrella, with rain pattering on top, running down the sides in rivulets and splashing onto the ground below.
As wet as it was outside, Shylock noted that indeed he was now quite dry as promised. The umbrella support was unusually thick, and Shylock’s curious gaze followed the sturdy trunk-like stalk up until he recognised the familiar underside of the canopy. ‘A mushroom!’ he exclaimed aloud.
‘Hey!!’ replied a voice, angrily. ‘Watch who you’re calling names!’
‘S..sorry,’ replied Shylock. ‘I didn’t mean to offend anyone.’
‘Well, you did!’ answered the voice, somewhat placated. ‘For your information, I’m a Toadstool. A highly poisonous – and therefore dangerous – fungus. So I wouldn’t mess with me, if I were you!’
The Princess laughed. ‘Oh, don’t pay any attention to him. He’s just upset because I make him stand in the rain all the time.’
‘Where are we?’ asked Permission.
‘Nowhere in particular,’ replied the Princess. ‘This is just somewhere cool I slip into when I wish to relax. It’s a lot more comfortable than the rest of my husband’s place. Far too hot for me out there, but then, everyone to their own, don’t you agree?’
‘Yes,’ said Permission. ‘And our own, is here or in Wilderment?’
‘WILDERMENT!’ roared a new voice. ‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!’
The visitors visibly shrank in fright at the sound of the sudden angry voice booming from all around them.
‘YOU’LL RUIN EVERYTHING!!’ the angry voice thundered.
‘Now, now Dear,’ interrupted the Princess, calmly. ‘Instead of flying off the handle, why don’t you come in and listen to what our unusual visitors have to say. I’ll turn off the rain and you can join us.’ So saying, she twitched her nose a second time, and not only did the rain instantly cease, but there were no residual drips from the canopy edge, or surviving puddles either. ‘Come on Darling. Come in and sit down.’
Shylock and his companions couldn’t help the astonishment showing on their faces when they saw the Princess’s husband. He had apparently also chosen to take a human form, as had his wife. He was male, approximately sixty years of age, bald, rather short and slightly chubby, wearing small - delicately framed - bifocals. In one hand he carried a rolled up newspaper and in the other what looked like a miniature megaphone. He entered, nodding to each of them in turn, and took a seat beside his wife.
‘That’s better Darling. Now we can listen in comfort. I’m sure our guests have a fascinating tale to tell us. Better than anything we can get from the rental-store, I’ll bet,’ said the Princess.
‘Hurmph. Anything would be better than the multi-media-store’s same old holograms!’ commented her husband, fumbling underneath his chair. ‘Where’s that infernal knob? Ah! Got it,’ he smiled, as his chair burst into flames. ‘That’s better.’
‘You’ll have to excuse him,’ said the Princess. ‘It probably looks a little melodramatic to you, but he does enjoy his home comforts, and he really works too much and doesn’t relax enough, so I humour him.’
Not knowing what to say, Shylock and the others remained silent as the Devil burned.
‘So,’ the Princess continued. ‘Tell us your tale.’
The three companions looked at each other until Shylock cleared his throat and was just about to start when the Devil interrupted, fidgeting in his chair. ‘Infuriatin
g thing,’ he cursed. ‘I’d send it to Hell and Damnation if it wasn’t already there!’
The chair was clearly malfunctioning. Some of the flames were still fine, but others had either extinguished themselves or had reduced themselves to a peep, and as the Devil hit the arms of the chair, instead of improving - more and more flames shrank and disappeared.
‘Perhaps I can be of some assistance?’ suggested the Elements. ‘Would you mind if I take a look?’
‘No! Not at all, feel free,’ replied the Devil, happily getting up from his chair and encouraging the Elements to do whatever he could.
‘I do wish you wouldn’t use that phrase,’ scolded the Princess. ‘You know how it upsets me so.’
Curious, about the Princess’s remark, Shylock asked which phrase she meant.
‘Feel free,’ said the Princess.
‘You know Bb!’ Shylock said suddenly, almost shouting the words.
‘Bb? Why, of course we do,’ replied the Princess, smiling her recognition.
‘Who do you think got me my chair? said the Devil. ‘But I tell you, when I find him, I’m going to claim my life-time guarantee.’ Then, raising the small megaphone to his lips, he added. ‘HIS LIFE_TIME!’
‘But, how did Bb sell you a chair? Has he been here?’ asked Shylock.
‘No, no. Of course not,’ said the Devil. ‘We bought it here,’ he explained, unfolding the rolled up newspaper he had in his hand and passing it to Shylock.
Shylock looked at the top of the front page. ‘Bb’s