A Long Spoon (2 page)

It was as he embarked on these experiments that he noted that small, odd things were befalling him. As a necromancer of some little infamy, he was not unused to small, odd things befalling him, but these were odd even by his lights.

First had been an attempted murder by crows. He had been making his way back to his house from the nearby village when a parliament of perhaps fifty of the animals had decamped from a stand of ash trees and done their level best to peck him to death. It was only through the intercession of the crow that lived by his own house and that fondly believed itself to be Cabal's pet—it was alone in this belief—that the flock broke off its attack to indulge in a great deal of cawing at one another before repairing back to the ash trees to consider their behaviour. Cabal evolved the impression that its aberrance was confusing even to them. He retired to his house to cast some bacon rinds to his unexpected benefactor, and to dab at his wounds with iodine.

That was odd, but the next incident was extraordinary. Cabal had been running a hot bath and withdrawn to his room to recover a dressing gown. On returning to the bathroom, his sense of smell told him that all was not well, and his stinging eyes only served to reinforce this. He closed the taps and looked with dismay at the disintegrating remains of his loofah floating apart in the bath water. He left the room quickly, coming back only when he was swathed in protective clothing, rubber gauntlets, and an army surplus gasmask. Brief investigation demonstrated that the bath water was no longer anything of the sort, but was now highly acidic. Laboratory testing demonstrated it to be nitric acid of distressingly high molarity.

Cabal was intrigued to know which of the many agencies that would delight in his death would visit such an outrage upon his loofah, and began a process of deductive reasoning. While his list of enemies was extraordinary, they mainly cleaved to a markedly puritan sensitivity with regards to magic. Indeed, it was Cabal's dabbling in magic that had earned their opprobrium in the first place. That, and the grave robbing.

Enemies with magical skills were far fewer, and those capable of penetrating the defensive wards about his home brought the short list down to none at all. Deduction having failed, Cabal was forced to conclude that this was some new enemy, and one of great puissance. He wondered what he might have done to aggravate such a person, and done so recently when the only thing he was currently engaged upon was the hunt for a Chinese sorcerer dead for, as near as dammit, two millennia.

The realisation dropped upon him like a wet mammoth. “Oh,” he had said. “It's like that, is it?”

*   *   *

“So you're saying that this dead Chinese fellow disintegrated your loofah?” said Zarenyia.

“I am,” said Cabal, “and he did so with the intention that I would be scrubbing my back with it at the time. If I hadn't taken a minute to fetch my dressing gown, I would have been in the bath when the water was transmogrified into hot acid.”

“You have to admit, this Luan Da has a bit of style about him.”

“I'm not here to award points for originality,” said Cabal, “I'm trying to find out why he's being so damnably defensive.”

“Mysterious, isn't it? Well, darling, it's interesting enough, but what about the killing?”

“Yes, I was going to ask you about that. Why specifically do you wish to murder? You don't strike me as especially cruel.”

“Oh, I'm not,” she said, seemingly irked at the imputation. “Demons and imps and that lot may go in for the petty sadism, but we devils have more refined tastes.”

“Do you indeed?”

“We do indeed, yes. To be exact, I'm hungry. I can last a long time on a small snack, but a girl likes to have a bit of an indulgent blow out now and then.”

“You intend to … eat them?”

“Not
exactly
,” she replied, and smiled winsomely.

“I cannot promise that there will be opportunities for killing…”

“Awww…”

“
But
 … there is a good likelihood of souls for the devouring, if that's what your intent truly is?”

“Good enough,” said Zarenyia. “I'll trust you. You have an honest face.”

“Oh, splendid,” said Cabal. “I feel so very validated now.”

“Super!” said the devil, impervious to irony. “Now if you'd let me out of this circle…?”

“Not so fast, madam. I shall need your word and bond before that happens.” He produced a notebook and fountain pen from his inside breast pocket, selected a fresh page, and proceeded to write.

Zarenyia wrinkled her nose. “You're not writing up a contract, are you? Oh, how boring. Can't I just say I'll help you, I won't harm you, I won't look for any of those boring loopholes demons are
so
obsessive about, and we can just trot along and have an adventure?”

Cabal's pen paused. He slowly looked up at the devil from beneath the brim of his hat.

“Guide's honour,” she added, raising two fingers together in a benediction of sorts.

“You will forgive me, but one should use a long spoon when one sups with a devil.” He returned his attention to his writing.

The spider devil considered this for a moment, her brow furrowed. “Why?”

The pen paused again. “Why what?”

“Why would you use a long spoon when supping with a devil?”

“It's a metaphor. It simply means one should be cautious.”

“I
know
it's a metaphor, darling. I'm not a complete nincompoop. I don't understand it, though. Why are you feeding the devil?”

Cabal could see he wasn't going to get much peace to write the document and wished he had prepared one earlier. “I'm not feeding the devil, I'm … oh. I hadn't thought of that before.”

“Do your metaphorical elbows not work very well, or something? I just don't see how a long spoon keeps you away from whichever devil you happen to be supping with.”

“I think … perhaps, the idea is that both the devil and the subject are supping from the same pot?”

“
The same pot
?” said Zarenyia in great astonishment. “Would you sup from the same pot as a devil? Really?”

“No,” admitted Cabal, “I wouldn't.”

“I don't think a long spoon's going to help.”

Cabal frowned, then ripped the page from his notebook before tearing it up. “Guide's honour?” he asked, carelessly letting the fragments fall.

Zarenyia raised her index and middle fingers together in the salute of the International Association of Girl Guides and Girl Scouts, a worthy organisation that would doubtless be collectively horrified by its use by such an entity in such a situation. “Guide's honour,” she said solemnly. “Dib, dib, dib.”

Not without misgivings, Cabal walked to the edge of the circle and scrubbed out part of the perimeter with his foot. “I presume now is when you leap out, call me a foolish mortal, and kill me?”

Zarenyia glared at him. “I
dibbed
,” she said in outraged tones.

“My apologies, madam,” said Cabal. “You did indeed dib.” He gestured to the tunnel mouth. “Shall we go?”

*   *   *

The tunnel reverberated to the sound of one gentleman walking in the company of four ladies wearing heels. This was, coincidentally, the sound created by one necromancer walking in the company of a spider devil. The latter paused and sniffed the air.

“Where exactly are we heading, Johannes?” asked Zarenyia, using his forename (calling it his “Christian name” was never going to be accurate, nor wise) lightly and without permission. “I smell…” She inhaled again. “Is that
chaos
?”

Cabal stopped further down the tunnel and looked back at her. “It is. You have acute senses.”

“Well, I am a devil. Certain things…” She regarded him pensively and a little apprehensively. “I am beginning to get the impression that I should have asked a few more questions before agreeing to this expedition. Questions like, why exactly do you want me along, and where are we going?”

Cabal nodded. “Those would have been wise questions to ask.”

“I'm a little impetuous at times. I shall ask them now.”

“I need you as guide and protection, simply that.”

“That's sensible, given that we're entering Hell. Not that I'm so very familiar with the Abyss. That is where we're going, isn't it? Nowhere else smells like that.”

“We are,” said Johannes Cabal, and no more.

“Hell,” said Zarenyia, “is an orderly place. Rules and regulations. Hierarchies and so forth. The Abyss is a pit of chaos. We don't like it very much because of that. Terrible place for a picnic. My point is, your Luan Da simply can't be in there. The chaos would have destroyed him long since.”

“Very true, madam…”

“Please, call me Zarenyia.”

“…if he was exposed to pure chaos for any length of time, his soul would have become attenuated and eventually dispersed. There is, however, one place…”

“No!” Seeing a devil distressed is a rare occurrence. “We can't go there! If Lucifer finds out…”

“I thought you were a free spirit, Madam Zarenyia? The infernal embodiment of footloose and fancy free?”

“That does not give me
carte blanche
to go running around in Lucifer's grandest mistake! It is absolutely forbidden!”

“Is it?” Cabal said it lightly.

“Yes! Well, no, not exactly forbidden, he didn't actually say that, but he dumped it in the Abyss, and his displeasure was very…”

“Hell is an orderly place,” said Cabal. “Rules and regulations. Do any such rules exist to forbid entrance to the Abyss?”

“No! But nobody would be insane enough…”

“Do any regulations declare Pandæmonium off-limits?”

“No. No, they don't.” She smiled suddenly. “Can't really complain then, can he?”

“Assuming he even finds out. I certainly shan't be telling him.”

They strolled along the tunnel a little further in a companionable silence. Then Zarenyia said, “I've never actually been in Pandæmonium, darling. You realise that, don't you? It was dropped into the Abyss before I was even born.”

Cabal frowned. “I shall admit some familiarity would have been useful, but that is a small matter. I am more perplexed at the idea of a devil being born. I had it in my mind that you and your kin are essentially eternal.”

“Oh, no. For the originals, the fallen angels, yes, and there are a lot of them. But the rest of us were spawned from the sins of the world, manifested first as scraps of corrupt souls…”

“Lemures?”

“You can call them that, but it always makes me think of those sweet things with big eyes that live in Madagascar. Lemures, then. And, slowly, we gain form and personality.”

“Then, once, you were human?”

“Once.” She smiled, but her expression was distant. She took a deep breath and smiled a little more naturally. “So, that's us. Turning into rather an educational outing, isn't it? Anyway, onwards. Pandæmonium ho!”

*   *   *

The tunnel wound on, and on, and on. Zarenyia had offered Cabal a ride on her back, but he had declined and marched in an icy silence for some time after that. It was not the first time he had walked to Hell, but previous journeys had involved a more traditional approach through the plane of Limbo, thence to Hell's gatehouse and an argument with the gatekeeper.

This was of no use on this occasion for three reasons. Firstly, going in through the front door would certainly bring him to the attention of Satan and, as mentioned earlier, this was to be avoided. Secondly, the last gatekeeper Cabal had dealt with was apparently still missing after losing quite a muscular argument with Cabal, and so Cabal could not be sure of inveigling his way through in any case. Thirdly, the Abyss was not accessible through the workaday nine rings of Hell architecture. The chaos of the Abyss is dangerous, and Hell is more alert to health and safety than one might appreciate. After all, how can one enjoy an eternity of damnation if one has been torn to wisps and tatters by the action of unbridled chaotic energies?

Thus, the route he had chosen was more in the nature of a maintenance access, should chaos ever need maintenance, which seems unlikely. The tunnel was therefore obscure and untravelled, which suited Cabal very well indeed. It was also, however, unrelenting, and the fourth time Zarenyia offered to carry him, he reluctantly agreed. He was reminded as to the reasons for his previous refusals when the act turned out to be every bit as embarrassing for him as he had expected. The devil lowered herself that he might clamber up behind her, but the curve of her abdomen meant that the only place he might reasonably sit was directly behind her very human forebody, legs splayed out to either side.

“Hold on,” she instructed him.

Cabal did not hold on.

“Whatever is the matter?” she asked.

“Madam,” he replied, “the only handy surface available for ‘holding on' is your torso.”

“Yes?”

“Do you think you could possibly wear more clothes?”

She looked over her shoulder at him, frowning. “Such as? Socks?”

“I was thinking more of the human part of you. Your entire wardrobe seems to consist of no more than a strip of cloth.”

“Do you like it?” she said, misinterpreting him a little wilfully. “I think it's pretty.”

“It's prettiness is not in dispute.”

“It's called a
bandeau
. That's French.”

“Which in no way surprises me.”

Finally, with an expression of stoicism to rival a Spartan, and having pulled his gloves on firmly, he embraced her midriff.

“There,” said Zarenyia, “isn't that nice?”

Cabal made no reply. They set off once again in silence.