If at Faust You Don`t Succeed

CHAPTER 2

Meanwhile, in another part of the universe, a soppy, dismal evening had come down over west Downtown Hell. Big black birds squawked disconsolately as they flew overhead to no-one-knew-where. The squalid streets were wet, the garbage cans were overflowing, and there were cries of torment from the boarded-up windows of the tenements on either side, where spirits newly released from the Pit lived in perpetual peonage. The only cheerful spot was Maladroit's Ichor Club, in the middle of the block. Inside the club, all was lively, fast, trendy—the good side of Hell.

In that Ichor Club, in a private booth off to one side, sat Azzie Elbub. He had a date that evening with Etta Giber, a young lady who had been elected Miss Sycophant of the year 1122 at her witches' coven, and had received as her prize a date with a top-drawer, upwardly mobile young demon of handsome aspect. She had been a little surprised when she got Azzie, because she hadn't been prepared for an orange-headed, fox-faced demon, but had adjusted quickly with the adaptability that had won her the sycophant contest. Azzie had set up the scheme several years back, as a surefire way of getting dates with Earth girls.

It was a moment to be tucked away in the memory file that holds sleazy acquisitions. The lights were low.

A discreet spotlight lit up Miss Sycophant's creamy decolletage. The jukebox was playing "Earth Angel," because in Hell they get all the hits sooner or later, though never on time. Everything was perfect. But somehow Azzie couldn't get into the spirit of fun.

In Hell, fun is a religion, but Azzie was in a rebellious mood. He had serious work to do. He had to decide how to ensure his own best position in the contest between Light and Dark, and that necessitated doing something about Faust.

Faust was proving very difficult to tempt. Azzie had had no luck so far. He wondered if he was offering the right things. But after you come up with fame, riches, and Helen of Troy, what else is there?

Faust was a difficult customer, there could be no doubt about that. Spiritually, he was a wild man. There was no telling what he would do next. In actual fact, the forces of Dark were better off not having him in the contest. Faust might not be a good man, but he was a long way from being bad. Whereas Mack, his stand-in, was altogether simpler and so could be expected to produce a more predictable and hence satisfactory result.

"Listen," he said to Miss Sycophant, "it's been fun and I've really enjoyed meeting you. But I have to be going now. Don't worry, the bill's paid for."

And so saying he set out at once, stepping into a handy conjuring booth that the club had put aside for those fastidious members who didn't like to conjure in public. He directed himself toward the past of the Earth, because he had gotten somewhat ahead of himself. The spell kicked in and years flipped backwards like leaves off a calendar in some future age when such things exist. Moving faster than the speed of recollection, Azzie saw the panorama of time coiling back on itself, swallowing its own tail. Old men grew young, volcanoes receded and returned to their caps, icebergs flowed north and south, and the race of man shrank and dwindled.

At last he passed entirely out of human territory and came into the lands of legend that Homer and others had caused to come into being. There was Lethe ahead, and then the great cavern of Avernus was in sight, and he streaked into it, following its winding and turning as it descended into the depths of Hell and joined up with the Styx. It was like traveling through the intestines of a snake. The whole thing was lit in pale and ghastly colors by towering phosphorescent crags, and sometimes Azzie could see men standing on those rocks, heroic naked men draped in sheets like refugees from a Dore etching. But now he was at the place he had conjured himself to, where the territory of Hell began.

Azzie turned and flew over the Styx itself, until finally he came upon Charon's houseboat, nestled close to the muddy bank. In the back of the craft, Faust and Helen sat and watched the black rippling water and made small talk.

Azzie swooped down and made a neat landing on the houseboat. The boat barely rocked when he set down, so lightly did he step, though Charon did look up to see who had alighted on his boat. Azzie paid him no mind.

"How now!" Azzie cried. "Dr. Faust! Good day to you!"

"Hail to thee, foul spirit," Faust said. "What brings you to these parts?"

"I just thought I'd look you up." Azzie sat down on a folding chair that was propped against the rail.

"How are things going?"

"Well enough," Faust said. "Charon is not so easy to get along with, but I think I have convinced him enough so that he will cooperate with me."

"Convince Charon? How did you manage to do that?"

"I pointed out to him that I was giving him an opportunity to be in on the very beginning of a brave new myth."

"What myth is that?" Azzie asked.

"Why, it is the story of the great meeting between Faust and Charon; of how, with Charon's cooperation, Faust traveled to places unheard-of before, bringing with him the beautiful Helen."

Azzie ignored her. He said to Faust, "I've got another proposition for you."

"I told you before. I will not obey you."

"That's not what I'm asking," Azzie said. "Look. The game for the rulership of the Millennium is running.

This guy Mack is doing it, playing your role. It's not the way I would have done it, but that's what's happened. He's already gone through two episodes. Whether he did well or badly is beside the point.

What's done is done, and there's nothing either you or I can do about it. So I say, let it alone. Stop trying to take over Mack's part. Drop out of the drama. And I'll make it worth your while, Doctor."

"How do you propose to do that?"

"I'm going to pick a period in history that's just tailor-made for your talents. You will be rich, and acclaimed by everyone."

"Is it just me doing this?" Faust asked. "Or will I have a suitable consort along with me?"

There was Faust, bargaining again! Azzie said, "All this will be with Helen at your side, for she goes along with the bargain. Johann, you'll be the envy of all mankind. And you'll be rich, Doctor, rich beyond even your dreams of wealth."

"With your talent for trickery," Faust said, "you'll give me all that but have me brainstruck or paralyzed so that I can't enjoy it. I know your way, demon!"

"You think I would do something like that?" Azzie said. "I may be evil, but I'm not bad. But I'll tell you what, to make it all even better, I'll throw in the full rejuvenation treatment. It'll make you look, feel, be, a new man, intellectually and physically. You'll have many many years of vigorous life ahead of you. And it will be good, Doctor, oh, my, it will be so good!"

So much did Azzie get carried away with his selling job that he kissed his hand in a florid gesture that was not his typical style. But Faust was unmoved.

"No," Faust said, "I'm sorry, I understand your feelings. But I just can't do it."

"But why not?" Azzie wailed.

"It would not be Faustian, you see. I know you have to think about your contest. But I have to think about the greatness of Faust, and, if there's any time left over, to think about the future of mankind in general. I'm sorry, foul fiend, but I cannot oblige you."

"Well, it was worth a try," Azzie said. "What will you do now?"

"I propose to take my rightful place in the contest. I don't know if I have time to get to Florence. But after that, the next act is to begin in London. I have already proposed to Charon that he take me there. It would be a pleasant change for him, to spend a day boating on the Thames."

Charon had been listening. Now he shuffled over, and, laughing his uncanny laugh, said, "Yes, Faust, it was agreed upon, but only on condition that you give me a Traveling Spell that will provide the motive power to take us there. The ship of the dead doesn't run through space and time on oars alone, you know."

Spell. My own is considerably depleted. Do you think you could spare me a spell recharge? Or better yet, give me a whole new Traveling Spell and Charon and I will be on our way."

"Certainly," Azzie said, and took a small spell out of his pouch, surreptitiously tore away the defective—don't use label the Board of Spell Standards had given to it, and handed it to Faust. "Best of luck," he said, and then conjured himself away.

He was very pleased with himself. He didn't have to worry about Faust. The fellow was going to neutralize himself, with a little help from a sly, fox-faced, spell-giving, egg-sucking demon.