The Book of Daniel

by Mat Ridley

  “Yeah, but not anymore. You’re just another ex-human stuck in Purgatory now, remember?”

  “I know, I know. I’m sorry to keep bringing up religion, Dan, but if you really want to see your wife again, and if she’s gone to Heaven, then you need to concentrate on trying to get there too… and the only way you can do that is to get right with God again. God’s forgiveness and mercy are unconditional, Dan, but here’s the trick—you have to ask for them.”

  “All well and good, but there are two problems with that. First, I don’t really feel like I’m the one that should be asking for forgiveness or mercy here; God’s the one that messed up my life and made me the way I am. And second, the only reason I can imagine asking God for anything is purely so that I can get back to Jo, not because I’ve had a change of heart or anything like that. Perhaps if I felt He actually gave a damn about me, I might be a little more inclined to cut Him some slack. If only He… what’s so funny?”

  Thomas eventually managed to get his laughter under control. “I’m sorry, Dan, but you should hear yourself. I mean, the idea of you cutting God a bit of slack… priceless. What do you expect Him to say? ‘I’m sorry, Dan! I forgot that I’m merely the Creator of the entire universe, and that everything is supposed to revolve around you now, instead. Really, I don’t know what I was thinking. Puh-lease forgive me!’” He trailed off into another gale of laughter.

  “Does God really talk in a high-pitched voice like that? I somehow imagined it would be deeper.”

  That was it. Thomas doubled over with laughter, and I couldn’t stop myself from joining in. I didn’t know how many extra years in Purgatory we were racking up between us by being so disrespectful towards the Lord our God, but I don’t think either of us could have stopped even if He had suddenly tapped one of us on the shoulder and cleared His divine throat. It felt great to laugh, to actually share a moment of joy in that Godforsaken place. If God really cared, I felt sure He would understand where we were coming from. If He didn’t, well, then I would have plenty of time to savour my regrets.

  Chapter 12

  Our laughter was brought to an abrupt halt as something suddenly smashed into us from behind. I recovered my balance and turned to face the threat, but saw that instead of a battering ram, it was in fact just a single man, towering over the armour desk, standing with his back to us. Maybe God had been listening to Thomas and me talking after all, and had sent this giant along to break up the party. With a voice as two-fisted as his arrival, he bawled out for someone to come and fix his armour. A space developed around the man as people slowly shuffled away from him, all the while trying not to make it too obvious that that was what they were doing. I, on the other hand, didn’t appreciate being rudely pushed aside, and was just about to say something to this fortress with legs when I felt a restraining hand on my arm.

  “I wouldn’t advise it, Dan. Quite apart from the fact that you’d need to stand on my shoulders to look him in the eye, our friend Jack there has a deservedly bad reputation. He’s as vicious as a rabid dog, and about as trustworthy.”

  “What’s the use of having a brand new body with rapid healing powers if you never put it to any use? I’m not scared of this guy.”

  “It’s your funeral.”

  “It wouldn’t be my first, would it?” I raised my voice towards the big lummox’s back. “Hey! You! Jack!”

  As I associated myself with Jack, his field of repulsion magically spread to me. Even Thomas melted back into what little shadow he could find. Jack gave no indication that he had heard me other than a slight cocking of his head to one side. Just as I was about to call out again, a low, gravelly voice sounded somewhere from deep within.

  “It’s not often anyone goes out of their way to talk to me, Little Man. And that’s just the way I like it. What do ye want?”

  “How about an apology for barging your way through the middle of our conversation?”

  Jack turned around slowly, looking me up and down as if noticing me for the first time, which probably wasn’t far from the truth. Mad eyes peered out at me, burning embers set deep in the thicket of hair that crowned his oddly-shaped head. A freely bleeding cross had been scratched on each of his cheeks, and as I watched, he tore at one of the wounds with a dirty, clawed finger, preventing his body’s superior metabolism from healing it over. My own, recently de-mutilated cheek itched in sympathy. His hand fell back to his side, revealing his mouth, twisted into a half sneer, half grin. “How about I don’t rip off your head and throw it out to the demons instead, and I’ll be sayin’ good day to ye?”

  “I’d like to see you try. But I think the angels might teach you some manners before you got too far, mate.”

  “I ain’t yer mate, and I don’t go in fer manners much, neither. Not much call for either of them round here.” He spat heartily on the floor. His phlegm hissed into steam almost instantaneously. “As fer the angels, they ain’t always gonna protect you from death, not if it’s your time.”

  “I only just got here, so I doubt very much that it’s ‘my time’ yet. Even if it was, I’m not afraid of you. I’ve dealt with bigger, tougher, uglier bastards before.”

  “Bigger, certainly; tougher, perhaps; but uglier? What does that matter? Jack has more important things to worry about than making sure his pretty locks are combed and perfumed. I hope you fight better than you trade insults, New Blood.”

  “Unless you apologise, you’ll find out soon enough.”

  Jack’s face furrowed into an even deeper set of crevasses, and a barrage of wheezes racked his considerable frame. After a moment, I realised that he was laughing. “Heh, ye’re a feisty one, I’ll give you that. I’m not your enemy, sir, and I humbly apologise for any offence I may have caused you and your associate,” he said, holding one hand to his chest and bowing slightly. His voice briefly lost its rough edge, sounding almost refined, and for a moment I wondered if perhaps he was mocking me; but his sincerity was as obvious as the bloody handprint he left on his chest, and I felt somewhat mollified. When he next spoke, it was in his normal voice once again. “I like you. You’ve got balls. Perhaps Old Jack will keep an eye on you, eh, New Blood, keep you safe? Perhaps. Perhaps not. But for now, ye must excuse me, as I have business to attend to…” His voice rose to a shout. “That is, if these lazy sods ever come and fix this poxy tin can of mine!”

  Jack turned back to the counter, and I had the feeling that I had been dismissed. Not to worry, I had gotten the apology I had sought—and had also gained another new friend… or acquaintance… or something. Realising I was unlikely to get much more out of Jack, I walked back over to Thomas, who gave me a queasy grin as I approached.

  “Nice guy,” I said.

  “Yup, he’s certainly one of the more interesting characters here in Purgatory. By the way, congratulations.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because that’s the first time I’ve actually seen Jack apologise to someone, although you’re not the first to ask. The last guy that did, Jack bit his ear off. Grew back, of course.”

  “Obviously I’ve got a winning way with psychos,” I said, trying not to think about my fatal run-in with Sam. “Why does he tear his cheeks up like that?”

  Thomas shrugged. “Who knows? Brother Jack is, or was, quite a religious man, I think. You’ll often hear him muttering or shouting long passages of scripture to himself. I’m not quite sure what kind of religion, though. I’ve heard him calling God ‘Adonai’ on several occasions, but that’s more of a Jewish thing, so what he’s doing scratching crosses into his cheeks is anyone’s guess. Maybe he thinks it helps protect him in battle. Maybe it focuses his mind on what he needs to do to get out of here. Or maybe he’s just a nutter.”

  “I know where I’d put my money.” Thomas winced slightly. “So to speak. Sorry. What else do you know about him?”

  “Nothing. I don’t know if you noticed, but he’s not exactly the sociable type. All I can tell you is that he’s been here for far longer th
an anyone else I can think of, and that everyone knows who he is… and when you think about the size of New Jerusalem, well, that makes him practically a legend.”

  Watching Jack grab a new suit of armour from the desk in front of him and sling it over his shoulder as effortlessly as a summer jacket, I could easily see why he had earned such a reputation. He let out a loud sigh of relief, like a thirsty man who had just emptied a glass of ice cold water. “My thanks, Silvertop. This will do nicely! But these suits of yours never last through my labours, so you’d best be ready with another for when I come back. Work hard! I know I will!”

  Scratching absently but vigorously at one of his cheeks, Jack stormed off towards the exit, leaving a trail of bemused and terrified Purgatorians in his wake. As he reached the door, he turned to face us, the congregation of his mad church, and held aloft his new armour triumphantly. He glared at us all for a moment, and then burst into a brutal rendition of ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’. Still singing, he turned and walked out into the light. There was a slight pause as he reached the end of the verse, and then, only slightly diminished, I heard him strike up again as he went on his way.

  “He knows how to make an exit, that’s for sure.”

  “Oh yes. Come on, let’s get you a suit of armour of your own. Self-mutilation and hymn-singing are optional, of course.”

  We walked over to the armour desk, the two of us occupying the same space that Jack on his own had filled only a few moments earlier. A vague smell of stale sweat haunted the air. The angel standing behind the counter seemed completely unruffled by its encounter with Jack, but then I imagined that it would take a lot to unsettle an angel. Having fought hand to hand with the armies of Hell and being at peace with the Lord of all creation probably meant that you were pretty confident you could handle most situations.

  On the other hand, what kind of existence was it to spend all of eternity like this, as a glorified cloakroom attendant?

  “It’s not all of eternity, Daniel, and one day, you will understand that time spent here helping the lost is an honour, not a burden.”

  I suppose I should have guessed that angels could read minds. “Sorry. No offence meant.”

  “None taken. Do not be afraid. Despite what you might think, we are not here to stand in judgement of you, Daniel, or to report your thoughts back to God. God already knows your mind, and I’ve been called a lot worse than a cloakroom attendant.” The impression of a beatific smile formed in my mind. “Although the description is not entirely inaccurate. Here is your armour.”

  Up close, the suit of armour seemed even more impractical than I had previously supposed. Not only was it heavier than I imagined, but the various protrusions and mechanisms that adorned its outside still appeared very fragile. The angel didn’t need to read my mind to see how dubious I was.

  “Do not worry, Daniel. The suit will serve you well.”

  “So you say. But it doesn’t exactly look like it was built for combat. What happens if something hits my suit and breaks all these gears and things? I’ll be a sitting duck.”

  The angel shrugged. “Don’t get hit.”

  “That’s not very reassuring. Sounds to me like it’s more of a gamble to wear it than to go without.”

  “No-one is forcing you, Daniel. If you want to face the armies of Satan without any armour, then that’s up to you.”

  “But according to what Saint Peter told me, the angels won’t let me die, will they? I mean, if I was beyond salvation, I’d already be a chestnut roasting on an open fire down there,” I said, indicating the gaping pit in the centre of the room. “So all the while there’s hope, won’t they do a better job of protecting me than this thing?”

  “To some extent, you are right. Immediately after you entered Purgatory, there was still hope of salvation for you, as there is for all who arrive here; but you are a slightly different person now than you were then, and becoming more different with each passing second. Such hope may well remain for you now, or tomorrow, or the day after, but there may come a point where you will be deemed beyond redemption, and the angels will cease to protect you. God doesn’t owe you Heaven, Daniel. He will give you a fair chance, more than you probably ever gave Him, but that does not mean you can deliberately abuse this privilege and expect Him to hand you salvation on a plate.”

  I looked at the armour, pondering the angel’s words. I was still highly doubtful of the armour’s effectiveness, but looking around me, I saw that everybody else was wearing theirs. I was reminded of the other army I used to be part of, where everybody also wore the same uniform and kit, and for a good reason. None of that was exactly light, either. I tried to imagine exactly what I was going to be facing once curfew ended. I looked at the scars on Thomas’s suit.

  I picked up the armour.

  Once I had struggled into the suit, it didn’t feel nearly as heavy as it looked. Its machinery whirred as I moved and stretched, barely audible above the background of metallic hammering coming from the Forge’s workers, but rendering any movement I made surprisingly nimble. I unconsciously started to look around for a mirror. Thomas cleared his throat.

  “Very fetching. Now, if you’ve finished admiring yourself, we should make a move. There’s still someone else I’d like you to meet before you’re let out of the city gates.”

  I thanked the angel who had given me the armour, and Thomas and I left the Forge. Stepping out of the sweltering dimness was an enormous relief, but I didn’t have time to savour the feeling. Thomas set off at a brisk pace, and I was quickly overwhelmed by trying to readjust to the transformation that had taken place in the city since I had walked there with Saint Peter. Whereas before the streets had been silent apart from distant cries and the shriek of the Fallen flying overhead, it was now alive with the sounds of humanity. The sheer number of people crammed into New Jerusalem was staggering. Was making peace with God really so hard to get right? I kept wanting to stop and watch those around me, to drink in their conversations, their arguments, their laughter, but Thomas insistently tugged at my arm.

  “Come on, Dan. It’s not far now.”

  As we continued on our way, another peculiarity struck me—nobody around us was speaking anything other than English. I opened my mouth to ask Thomas why this should be, but then remembered one of the Biblical tales that my mother used to read to me, about the Tower of Babel. According to the story, the reason for all the different languages back on Earth was because shortly after the Great Flood, mankind had sought to glorify itself by building a mighty tower. God, of course, was not particularly impressed with this endeavour, and so scattered the people far and wide, making it so that each man could no longer understand the language of his brother. But in Purgatory, there was no longer any need for such separation; if anything, I guessed that God wanted to encourage us to communicate with each other, to talk about our situation, to help one another out. We were all now citizens of one nation again, and our new bodies were obviously equipped with the gift of tongues, of understanding. In many ways, we were better off in Purgatory than we had ever been back on Earth; at least, if you ignored the imminent threat of being overrun by an army of demons and eternal damnation. But then if God was supposed to be merciful…

  “Here we are, Dan. A little taste of home.”

  Thomas’s interruption derailed my train of thought, and the sight before me was bizarre enough that it would be some time before the next one left the station. I had thought that I was becoming accustomed to the strange sights of Purgatory, but evidently there were still more surprises in store.

  We had turned the corner and come face to face with a pub—a proper English village pub complete with mock Tudor beam construction and a signpost swinging calmly in the breeze. Flickering candles burnt low in its windows, and a small puddle of grass sat underneath the building. A couple of metres away from its walls, the familiar red dust of New Jerusalem’s streets took hold once again, and the overall impression I had was that a tornado had dropped the most ina
ppropriate building it could think of right in the middle of Purgatory. None of the pub’s numerous customers seemed particularly fazed by its presence there, spilling out into the street and sitting around makeshift tables cobbled together from the debris of the surrounding buildings. I felt a grin stealing over my face as I read the name on the signpost: ‘The Last Chance’.

  “Pretty impressive, huh? The best part of all is that everything’s free, and you never get a hangover, either. Of course, it’s impossible to get drunk, too, but beggars can’t be choosers. Come on, let’s go and get a drink, and then I want you to meet my friend Harper.”

  “Harper? That’s an unfortunate name for someone stuck in a place like this.”

  “I wouldn’t advise you to mention it, Dan. Harper’s one of those people I talked about earlier, the kind who don’t like to be reminded of the fact that they’re stuck here. I can sort of see her point, too, but I’ll leave it to her to decide if she wants to share the details with you or not. In the meantime, I suggest you tread carefully.”

  We made our way through the crowd, entered the pub and headed over to the bar. As you can probably imagine, there was no shortage of people vying for attention at a bar supplying free drinks, but we eventually managed to catch the attention of one of the angels acting as bar staff. It felt a little surreal asking an angel for a pint, but Thomas just grinned at my bemusement. While we were waiting for our drinks, I quizzed him some more.

  “So, I have to ask. What the hell is a pub doing here in the middle of Purgatory? If we’re supposed to be concentrating on making our peace with God, surely He’d want there to be as few distractions as possible. This strikes me as being a pretty big distraction.”

  “Anywhere there are people, there will be distractions. If not a pub, then we’d only come up with something else instead. It’s human nature. Remember Adam and Eve? If God was to lay down any rules about what was and wasn’t allowed, we’d only go and break them anyway. So God meets us halfway, and provides us with this little spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down.”