by Ray Russell
• • •
“If I am the devil, as you say they say, then why do I not over-whelm you with my infernal magic? Why do I grovel here at your feet, sick and stiff with love?”
“Perhaps it entertains you, my Dark Prince. Here: Kiss.”
“No. I want your lips.”
“Oh? You grow presumptuous. Perhaps you would rather leave.”
“No . . . no . . .”
“That’s better. I may yet grant you a promotion.”
“Ah! my love! Then—”
“Oh, sit down. Not what you call my ‘favor.’ Just a little promotion. Though I don’t know if you deserve even that. You want everything but you give nothing.”
“Anything. Anything.”
“What a large word! But perhaps you could indeed give me anything . . .”
“Anything.”
“But they say you demand fearful things in return. I would suffer torment without end, through eternity . . . Ah, I see you do not deny this. I do believe you are the devil.”
“I’ll give you anything you desire. You have but to ask.”
“I am young. Men tell me—and so does my mirror—that I am beautiful, a delight from head to toe. Do you want all this?”
“Yes! Yes!”
“Then make this beauty never fade. Make it withstand the onslaught of time and violence. Make me—no matter what may befall—live forever.”
“Forever . . .”
“Haha! I’ve got you haven’t I? If I never die, then what of that eternal torment? Do you grant me this boon, Evil One?”
“I cannot.”
“Wonderful! Oh, what an actor you are! I begin to admire you! Other men, impersonating the Adversary, would have said Yes. But you . . . how clever you are.”
“I cannot grant that.”
“Stop—I’m weak with laughing! This game amuses me so much! It lends such spice to this dalliance! I would play it to the end. Satan, look here: you really cannot grant my wish, even if I give you in return—all this?”
“Tormentress!”
“All this, my demon? In return for that one thing I desire? All this?”
“The Powers of Night will swirl and seethe, but—yes, yes, anything!”
“Ah! You disarming rogue, come take these lips, come take it all!”
• • •
“You said he was the devil and now I am inclined to believe you. The treacherous whelp! To bed my own wife in my own castle!”
“My lord, how can you think that I—”
“Silence! Stupid goose, do you still dissemble? He left without a word, under cover of night. Why? And your brooch—the brooch of my mother!—was found in his empty room; in your bedchamber, one of his black gloves. Wretched woman!”
“Indeed, indeed I am wretched . . .”
“Tears will avail you nothing. You must be humbled and you will be humbled. Give thanks that I am not my father. He would have left you crammed naked in this little cage until your mind rotted and your body after it. But I am no tyrant. All night long, without your supper, you will shiver and squirm down here in repentence, but in the morning I will release you. I hope with sincerity you will have learned your lesson by then. Now I am going. In a few hours, you will probably start screaming to be let out. Save your breath. I will not be able to hear you. Think on your sins! Repent!”
• • •
“They said he was the devil, but I place no stock in such talk. All I know is that he came to me directly from the old Count’s castle where he had been overseer or something, and gave me complete plans for the storming of the battlements: information about the placement of the cannon, the least securely barricaded doors, the weakest walls, measurements, location of rooms, the exact strength of the castle guard and a schedule of its watch . . . everything I needed. My forces had been on a one-hour alert for months. I attacked that very night. Thanks to my informant, the battle was over before dawn.”
“You are to be congratulated, Duke. And where is he now?”
“Gone. Vanished. I paid him handsomely, and just between the two of us, Baron, I was beginning to make plans for his disposal. A dangerous man to have near one. But the rascal was smart. He disappeared soon after my victory.”
“And that head on the pike up there, with the gray beard fluttering in the wind—it belonged to the late Count?”
“Yes. To this end may all enemies of my family come.”
“I’ll drink to that. And what disposition was made of the old fool’s wife?”
“The Countess? Ah. That is the only sourness in my triumph. I’d have enjoyed invading that pretty body before severing it from its pretty head. But she must have been warned. We searched and searched the castle that night. She was nowhere to be seen. She had escaped. Well . . . wherever she may be, I hope she gets wind of what I’m doing to her husband’s castle.”
“Razing it, aren’t you?”
“Down to its foundation blocks—leaving only enough to identify it—and building on that foundation an edifice of solid stone that will be a monument to its downfall and to my victory. Forever.”
“Where do you suppose the Countess is now?”
“The devil only knows. May the wench scream in torment for eternity.”