The Box of Demons

by Daniel Whelan

  ‘I haven’t got any knees,’ said Djinn.

  ‘Then hover lower,’ said The Opposition. ‘My spine is aeons old and I’m not stretching up. I’m going to dub thee.’

  They knelt, and The Opposition lightly tapped each of them on the shoulders before returning the blade to Crouch. ‘I expect you’ll find the angels in Rhuddlan Castle. The Sixth and Seventh Blasts need to be performed in the World, on sacred ground. Now if you would be so kind as to follow me through to the stables, we can see you mounted.’

  The Opposition nodded at Crouch, who scampered over to a large wooden stable door and pushed it open. A horrible earthy smell wafted into the room, accompanied by the noise of hundreds of different animals.

  ‘Come along,’ said The Opposition as he passed through the door. ‘Not only would the Apocalypse really ruin my dinner plans, this door is allowing in both a draught and the smell of horse manure. I do like to keep this room aligned aromatically.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Augean Stables

  The Opposition coughed, and a rotund, hunchbacked demon with a toad’s head, horns, and one arm hobbled out of a nearby stall. His left horn had been snapped off, and had a jagged edge instead of a point.

  ‘Master Opposition sir, I didn’t think we’d be seeing you today,’ he said. ‘And what’s this? Curse my eyes, if it isn’t Masters Thrichthlor, Ichthor and Mnemnor. It’s been many a day since I’ve clapped eyes on you, sirs, make no mistakes.’

  ‘Unfortunately, our friends have been away too long, Drablow,’ said The Opposition. ‘They don’t quite remember the Underworld, so you’ll have to forgive them if they don’t recognize you. They need to be reacquainted with their old steeds. I was hoping you could help?’

  ‘Don’t remember?’ said Drablow. ‘Don’t remember? Well I never. I tell you now, they haven’t forgotten you. Practically pining away, they are. They’ll be so pleased to see you back.’

  ‘Quite,’ said The Opposition. ‘So where to first?’

  ‘Biochem, I reckons, sir. Simplest route round.’

  Drablow took them through an empty pen and up a small staircase. He stopped outside a heavy white door and punched a code into a nearby keypad. The door opened with a pfft sound, and they went through to a very white, very quiet room. On either side there were large white pens, each protected by a keypad door, and each with a window so that the occupant could be observed from outside. However, each pen they passed was empty. They came to a door about halfway into the room, and Drablow punched a code in.

  ‘This be you, Master Thrichthlor.’

  They entered the pen, and found that it too was empty.

  ‘There appears to be nothing here,’ said Orff.

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that,’ said Drablow, and suddenly Orff was raised off the floor. The air beneath him turned a lilac colour, and for a moment it looked like he was sitting on a cloud. It wobbled, and shifted, and then took on the rough shape of a large hyena.

  ‘Legion here is a colony of a thousand viruses,’ said The Opposition. ‘It can reform to take any shape you desire, depending on circumstance. You will find riding it as gentle as riding air, since that is essentially what you will be doing.’

  ‘How is it?’ said Ben.

  ‘I . . . I don’t know how to say this, but . . . it’s comfortable?’ said Orff. ‘Is this what that word means?’ Legion changed form, becoming an elephant, raising Orff even higher into the air. He made a dry and dusty groaning noise. Ben thought might it have even been a chuckle.

  ‘We should let them get reacquainted. Or acquainted. I’m still not entirely sure how all of that works,’ said The Opposition. ‘Where next?’

  ‘Walk this way,’ said Drablow as he hobbled to the end of the corridor and jerked his way up a metal staircase.

  ‘If I walked like he did,’ said Kartofel, ‘I would never ever say that.’

  The staircase led up to a large trapdoor in the ceiling. Drablow pushed it open with his hump, and they came into a large aviary. It was full of different types of birds, all seemingly content to roost on perches behind the huge chicken-wire enclosures. A few of them bristled as the group walked past, and a goose laid a golden egg, but otherwise they were unhindered. At the far end of the loft, Drablow unhitched a door.

  A giant yellow head with a long sharp beak poked out, and then quickly poked back in again. Drablow turned to Djinn and smiled. ‘That’s a good sign, Master Ichthor sir. Alf has been a little shy these past few millennia, since you been gone.’

  ‘Is that mine?’ said Djinn. ‘He looks big.’

  ‘Oh, he is indeed. But he wouldn’t hurt a soul. Not unless you wanted him to. Shall we go in?’

  Djinn looked nervously at Ben, who nodded. Drablow ducked in through the door, and Djinn followed. Ben lifted it a little higher to allow Orff and The Opposition in, and then entered himself.

  Inside was a huge gannet, so big that if Djinn had weighed as much as he looked like he weighed, the bird would still have had little trouble transporting him. When he saw Djinn, he flapped his wings excitedly.

  ‘Is he going to eat me?’ said Djinn.

  ‘He eats a lot, certainly. You should see the piles of bills,’ sniggered The Opposition. ‘He’s rather fond of duck.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve nothing to fear from Alf, Master Ichthor,’ said Drablow. ‘He’s very excited to see you.’

  ‘It’s OK, Djinn,’ said Ben. ‘You can pet him.’

  Djinn reached out a hand, ready to retract it at any moment. He made contact with Alf’s chest, and smiled. ‘He’s really soft.’

  ‘You can get on,’ said Drablow. ‘He don’t bite. Not demons, anyway.’ Alf sat down, forcing everyone else to take a swift step backwards. Djinn ran his fingers up through Alf’s feathers, floating higher up his body until he was on his back. He threw his arms around the gannet’s neck, and buried his face in his ruff.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ said Djinn.

  ‘Heartwarming,’ said The Opposition. ‘But I was planning on finishing my book before the world ends, so let’s push on. Where next?’

  ‘Unicorn enclosure, I reckons,’ said Drablow.

  ‘Unicorn enclosure?’ said Kartofel. ‘Unicorn enclosure? I hope that’s what you’re giving him. I can’t be seen on a flippin’ unicorn. I’ve got my reputation to think about.’

  Drablow led them through another hatch and down to a secluded area, which Ben guessed was somewhere to the rear of the stables. They passed no more pens, and heard no more noises until they came to a large round area. The words ‘BEE WHERE: UNICORN INNCLOSER PEN’ were daubed on the thick gates in dripping red paint. An impatient stamping of hoofs filled the air, followed by a terrible whinnying. Drablow pressed his remaining shoulder into one of the gates and with some effort pushed it open.

  They quickly learned that actual unicorns bear as much resemblance to their fictional counterparts as the average online profile does to the person creating it. The enclosure was full of creatures with hideous rhino horns growing out of their muzzles, terrible red eyes, lank dead hair and thick carthorse legs. They snorted angrily as they stomped around.

  ‘Woah,’ said Kartofel. ‘Unicorns have had a bad press. Which one’s mine then? The big mean one, I hope, with the sharp teeth.’

  ‘Not quite, no,’ said The Opposition as Drablow made his way to the back of the enclosure. ‘Though Talullah can be something of a handful. Or armful, if you will.’

  Drablow returned holding a long set of reins. The other unicorns immediately stopped, and backed into the edges of the pen. He gave a fierce pull and from out of the shadows trotted the smallest, most placid unicorn you could possibly imagine. It had a long fringe that covered its eyes, and couldn’t have been much taller than Kartofel himself.

  ‘What’s this?’ said Kartofel. ‘Is this some sort of joke?’

  ‘This be Talullah,’ said Drablow. ‘Purebred Shetland Unicorn, last of her kind. Many a day she and ye would rampage round the plains of Gehe
nna, Master Mnemnor. She’s a fiery one all right.’ The hunchback waved his flapping empty sleeve at Kartofel. ‘It’s fair to say she’s missed you something dear. Don’t take kind to anyone else. Getting her saddled was a hell of a chore.’

  ‘The name’s Kartofel, pal. And I don’t want this. I want one of them big ones. I can’t go fighting angels on that.’

  ‘Right you are, Master Mne – Kartofel,’ said Drablow. ‘She’ll be right glum to know it. There won’t be much sleep for any of the others tonight. Walk on, Talullah.’

  Drablow pulled the reins. Talullah reared up on her hind legs, and neighed. Thick black smoke streamed from her nostrils, and a blast of fire belched out of her mouth. She craned her neck forward, chomped off the hunchback’s other arm, and quickly wolfed it down her throat.

  ‘Woah,’ said Kartofel.

  ‘I-I-I told you she was fiery,’ said Drablow, black blood dripping on to the floor.

  Talullah trotted over to Kartofel and nuzzled his head, somehow managing to lick his face. He gave a lopsided grin. She buried her nose under his claws and then threw her head back so that he was flung into the air. He landed squarely in the saddle.

  ‘I’ll take her,’ said Kartofel.

  ‘Y-y-yes, Master Mnemnor,’ said Drablow.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said The Opposition. ‘Did it take you long to grow that arm back?’

  ‘J-j-just a couple of years, sir.’

  ‘I suppose you better report to Doctor Phlegethon, Drablow. I can take it from here.’

  ‘A h-h-hundred thousand thanks, your majesty.’ Drablow hobbled back down the corridor, leaving a spotty trail in his wake. The Opposition led Ben out of the unicorn enclosure, and shut the gates behind them. Ben heard Kartofel saying, ‘Oo’s a good girl then? Oo’s a good girl?’ as they walked round the exterior of the enclosure to a portcullis in the back wall. The Opposition threw a lever, and with a great crunching of gears the iron gate rose.

  ‘This is where we part, for now at least,’ said The Opposition. ‘I have an apocalypse to prepare for. Should you be unsuccessful, of course. You will find your mount tethered outside. The others will join you in due course. Best of luck.’

  Ben stepped through the archway, and the portcullis began its clanging descent behind him.

  He was back outside the walls of Pandemonium. To his left, someway along the wall, he could see the Road of Good Intentions. Stedge was no longer tethered outside the main gates, and in her place was a large four-legged creature. It was nearly as tall as he was, and at least twice as long. It was covered in soft grey fur, and on its back was a red leather saddle. Its head was protected by a matching mask which accentuated its huge black eyes and flat front teeth: there were holes for its whiskers, and long ears flopped down on either side of its head. It did not seem to be very agile: an assumption proved true when it made an odd grunting sound before lumbering to one side, as if trying to ignore him.

  Ben stuck out a hand to stroke the creature, and as soon he touched the fur he knew it was angora. There was something familiar about it, something that he couldn’t quite place, but the more he stroked it the better he felt. It was somehow reassuring.

  ‘You remember Druss, don’t you, Benji?’

  The creature bristled as Ben turned to face his mother. She was a mist, of course, but otherwise she looked just the same. He threw his arms around her, but did not pass through like the mists they had encountered before. Not that she was solid: it was like hugging a cloud.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘Oh Benji, what have you got to be sorry for?’

  ‘I’m sorry we didn’t believe you. About the angels. The Opposition told me,’ he sobbed.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she whispered, her face close to his ear. ‘There were days I didn’t believe it. I was so confused for so long. It’s not easy, living halfway between the imaginary and the real. But then you came, and you cured me, and everything was clear again. It was wonderful.’

  Ben stopped crying, and pulled away from her. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘Then why did you do it? If you were better? Why did you leave?’

  ‘I didn’t. How could I ever leave you?’ She took his face in both hands, and traced the tracks of his tears with her thumbs. The droplets became part of her mist as she touched them. ‘It wasn’t me. It was the angels. They knew you had healed me, and they knew I would warn you, so they came on the night of the flood, and they took me to the roof . . .’

  Ben threw his arms around her and held her tightly. He didn’t ever want to let go. She enveloped him in her mist. His shoulders heaved in sobs, but as she held tighter he felt her reassuring warmth cover him, and his breathing slowed.

  ‘Why don’t you say hello to Druss? Druss always made you happy, didn’t he?’ She guided his hand to Druss’s haunches. The familiar smell of the rabbit filled his nose, and he buried his face in the fur. He was more like a great bear than a rabbit.

  ‘The Opposition said you were going to stop the angels.’

  ‘I’m going to try,’ said Ben. ‘But it’s just me and the demons. I don’t know if that’s enough.’

  ‘A strong heart is enough, and you have the strongest.’ Mary Rose smiled, and planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘Mum and Dad did a good job with you.’ She bit her ghost lip, fighting back tears that could never come. Ben put his arm around her.

  ‘There’s no point getting upset about it,’ she said, pulling away. ‘The others will be here soon.’ She bent down and made a stirrup out of her hands. Ben put his foot into it, and she boosted him on to Druss’s back.

  ‘Be careful,’ she said. ‘Save the world for me, OK?’

  There was a loud cawing noise, and the sound of hoofs on sandstone. A cloud of dust gathered a few hundred metres further along the wall, gaining pace as it moved towards them. Ben coughed, and turned his face away. Three mounted figures rode out of the dust.

  ‘It’s the demons,’ said Ben. He turned back to his mother, but she had already gone, faded into the dusty shroud that surrounded them.

  ‘Wotcha,’ said Kartofel. ‘You ready?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Ben firmly. ‘Are you?’

  ‘Are you joking? I’ve been waiting an eternity for this.’

  ‘Djinn? Orff?’

  ‘I feel . . . well?’ said Orff. ‘Not being in pain comes with a whole new vocabulary, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I’m going to bash them, Ben,’ said Djinn.

  ‘Then let’s go.’ Ben leaned forward and patted Druss’s flanks. ‘OK,’ he whispered. ‘Let’s just try and keep up with the others.’ He was about to dig his heels into Druss’s sides, when the rabbit bolted. Caught unaware, he had just enough time to grasp the pommel as they shot off down the Road of Good Intentions.

  ‘Oi, wait for us,’ yelled Kartofel, but Ben didn’t hear him. They were already too far away.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The Fifth Strident Blast

  Death laughed.

  She had watched with a smile as her gladiators had pursued the demons and their boy, and as their dinosaur madly spun around, desperate to get away, she found she could no longer contain the joy she felt. All the time she had been locked away she had been powerless. Now she was back she felt all the death coursing through her. The other Horsemen were sending her new mists by the millisecond, and she was starting to feel absolute again, as she should.

  Ever since she had returned, the valley had been full of whispers as to what her coming meant. All human death was there, so there were as many opinions as there were spirits. Were there a fifth horseman, one named Rumour, he would have found no better playground than the Afterworld at that precise moment. The mists swirled around, overlapping, passing through each other, making her beautiful frosty fog thicker than ever. All those voices, all those souls, and they all belonged to her.

  And then they were spontaneously silent.

  Death turned to the ridge that the demons had fled over, wondering if perhaps they had been foolish enough t
o return, and saw that instead the mists were all looking in the opposite direction, towards the border with the World. She turned round, and in the distance, high above the slopes, she saw four orange shapes in the sky. Angels. They hovered down to the valley floor, and the mists parted as each set softly down.

  ‘We are seeing a lot of tourists today, aren’t we?’ said Death. ‘I thought you weren’t going to interfere?’

  ‘We said we weren’t going to stop you,’ said the scrawniest of the four. ‘We fully intend to interfere.’

  ‘Forgive him, Lady Death,’ said the angel with the deformed hand. ‘He meant no disrespect.’

  ‘Really? Then assure him that I will mean no disrespect when I have you chased out of my kingdom. My gladiators have just enjoyed some sport. Perhaps I will exercise my Maccabees next.’

  ‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary, my lady.’ The angel with the deformed hand made a deep bow. ‘We have come to aid you in bringing about the Apocalypse. We have come to raise an army.’

  ‘Then you are in the wrong place. There is no army to be had here. Only my mists.’

  ‘They are not yours,’ hissed the scrawny angel. ‘All things were created by the Prime One. All things belong to him.’

  ‘Brother,’ warned the deformed angel.

  ‘We are wasting time,’ said the scrawny one. ‘And I do not care to hear these blasphemies.’

  ‘Then do not listen.’ The deformed angel turned to Death. ‘Apologies, my lady. Allow me to explain. We have come to this place for the souls of the martyrs and the zealots, the faithful and the righteous, to resurrect them in service of the Prime One.’

  The mists erupted in excited chatter. Death’s head swam with the noise and the movement around her, as if the tumult in the fog was clouding her own mind. She raised her arm, expecting instant silence, but it took several minutes for the whispers to quieten. She felt her fists ball involuntarily.

  ‘This is my kingdom, and these mists are mine. It does not suit me to give them to you. I prefer instead to grow stronger as the other Horsemen fill my valley. I do not need your help.’