The Infernals aka Hell's Bells

XII

JOLLY WAS JUST WAKING up when Dozy got back to the van.

“’S’matter,” said Jolly, rubbing his forehead in a pained manner. “What did we hit?”

From the back of the van Dozy heard assorted mutters, yawns, and unpleasant bodily noises as Angry and Mumbles emerged from the land of Nod.

“Listen to me carefully,” said Dozy. “Precisely which exit did you take from the motorway?”

“Huh? The Biddlecombe exit. I mean, we agreed.”

“And that’s what the sign said? Biddlecombe?”

“Yes, Biddlecombe.”

“It didn’t say, like, ‘Hell,’ by any chance, did it?”

Jolly looked at him suspiciously, and sniffed Dozy’s breath. “Have you been drinking already? You know, it’s all very well having one or ten to help you sleep, but at least wait until you’ve had your cornflakes before you start knocking them back in the morning. You’ll have a liver like the sole of a shoe, mark my words.”

“I haven’t been drinking,” said Dozy. “Something is very, very wrong.” And he pointed through the front windscreen at the great expanse of pale dunes that stretched before them.

Jolly stared at the vista for a moment before climbing from the van, Dozy, Angry, and Mumbles close behind. Jolly pursed his lips and did a full circuit of the van, looking hopefully for some sign of a church spire, or a pub.

“Nah, that can’t be right,” said Jolly. “We must have taken a wrong turning somewhere.”

“Where, Purgatory?” said Dozy. “We’re in Hell.”

“It’s not that bad,” said Angry. “It’s a trifle toasty, I’ll admit, but don’t let’s get carried away here.” He knelt, picked up a handful of fine sand, and watched it slip through his fingers. Mumbles did the same.

“Look, we must be near the sea,” said Angry. “It’s sand.”

“No, it’s not,” said Dozy.

“’Course it is. What else would it be?”

“Smesand,” said Mumbles, lifting a handful of grains to his nose and sniffing them warily.

“That’s right,” said Dozy. “It doesn’t smell like sand. That’s because it’s not sand.”

“What is it, then?” asked Jolly.

Dozy crooked a finger at them in a follow-me gesture, and they did.

The four dwarfs lay on the side of one of the dunes, their heads peeping over the top, and watched as the imps fed bones into the sides of their workbenches.

“They’re bones,” said Angry. “We’re lying on bits of bone. Quite comfortable, actually. Who’d have thought it?”

“Whose bones are they?” said Jolly.

“Dunno,” said Dozy. “That bloke over there seems to be in charge, but I don’t think he knows either.”

They regarded A. Bodkin curiously. He was talking on an old black rotary dial telephone.

“He’s a nutjob,” said Jolly. “That phone doesn’t have a wire attached to it.”

“I don’t think that matters,” said Dozy. “I get the feeling that normal rules don’t apply here.”

They continued to watch A. Bodkin, who was becoming quite animated. Although they couldn’t hear clearly all of what he was saying, it was apparent that he was troubled by Dozy’s unexpected appearance beside his desk, and the fact that Dozy did not appear to be dead.

“So he’s a demon,” said Angry.

“Yes,” said Dozy.

“And all that lot are demons too.”

“Imps, apparently, but I think it amounts to the same thing.”

“Then this is Hell.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“How did we end up in Hell? What have we ever done to anyone?”

There was silence as the other three dwarfs gave Angry’s brain a chance to catch up with his mouth.

“Ohhhhhh,” said Angry as all the reasons why they might justifiably be in Hell came flooding back like rubbish at high tide. He shrugged his shoulders. “Fair enough, I suppose. I don’t remember dying, though. I thought that was supposed to be part of the deal.”

“Maybe it’s like Jolly said,” offered Dozy. “We might have hit something and died in the crash.”

“But I don’t think we did hit anything,” said Jolly. “The van seemed fine. More to the point, I feel fine. If I was dead, I’m sure I’d be feeling poorly. And I’d probably smell a bit. Well, a bit more.”

“So we’re not dead, then,” said Angry. “And if we’re not dead, this can’t be Hell.”

“I don’t know,” said Dozy. “A. Bodkin over there seemed very sure.”

“He was probably just pulling your leg,” said Angry. “He looks like the kind of bloke who’d think something like that was funny.”

Suddenly, a great pillar of pale fire appeared beside A. Bodkin’s desk, stretching from the sands right up to the black clouds above. Its appearance was so unexpected that even the little demons at their desks briefly stopped converting bones to dust in order to watch what was happening.

A woman’s face appeared in the flames, her eyes twin orbs of the brightest blue.

“She looks familiar,” said Jolly. “I’ve seen her somewhere before.”

“She was on the front page of his newspaper,” said Dozy. “Something about being in trouble.”

“But I didn’t see his newspaper,” said Jolly.

“Shhh,” said Angry. “I want to hear.”

As it turned out, hearing what the woman had to say wasn’t going to be a problem. Her voice, when it emerged, sounded like thunder. It was so loud that it hurt the dwarfs’ ears.

“BODKIN,” said the woman. “WHAT HAVE YOU FOUND?”

“Here, turn it down, love,” said Jolly. “The chap’s only standing next to you.”

A. Bodkin looked confused. “Mrs. Abernathy,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

“I’M SURE THAT YOU WEREN’T,” said Mrs. Abernathy. “NEVERTHELESS, HEARING FROM ME YOU ARE. YOU REPORTED AN INTERLOPER. WAS IT A BOY? TELL ME.”

“To be honest, much as I’d love to help you, I’m not sure that I can answer your question. This really needs to go through official channels.”

Mrs. Abernathy’s face darkened. Her lips peeled back, exposing teeth that began to grow longer and sharper as the dwarfs watched. Her face swelled, and she was at once both a woman and a monster, although it was still the woman that appeared the more terrifying of the two.

“Oops, said the wrong thing there, mate,” said Jolly. “He’ll be telling her it’s men’s business next, and that she shouldn’t worry her pretty little head about it.”

“Nah, he couldn’t be that stupid,” said Angry.

“Mrs. Abernathy,” said A. Bodkin. “I really must insist: this is a matter for the Senior Council of Demons. Er, that is, the council of demons that are, um, entirely fixed in their concept of, um, demonality in the nonfemale sense.”

“I take it back,” said Angry. “He is that stupid.”

But A. Bodkin, having decided to put his foot in his mouth, was now determined to eat it, possibly with an order of socks on the side. “You must understand that since your, ahem, transformation and subsequent, ah, fall from favor, senior management has informed us that you are no longer to be included in the decision-making process.” A. Bodkin smiled his most patronizing smile, which was very patronizing indeed. “I’m sure that you have far more important matters to attend to,” he continued, “such as-”

“And he’s going for broke,” said Angry.

“Oh dear,” said Jolly, shielding his eyes with his hands. “I can hardly bear to watch.”

“-beautifying yourself, for example,” continued A. Bodkin, “or making something pretty for-”

The precise purpose of the something pretty in question was lost in a torrent of white-hot fire that shot from Mrs. Abernathy’s mouth and engulfed the unfortunate A. Bodkin, consuming him entirely and leaving only a pair of smoking black boots in his place.

The pillar of fire moved, turning to face the ranks of seated demons.

“NOW, WOULD ANYBODY ELSE LIKE TO SUGGEST THAT I MIND MY OWN BUSINESS?” said Mrs. Abernathy.

Thousands of heads shook simultaneously.

“WOULD SOMEONE PREFER TO TELL ME IF A BOY WAS SEEN HERE, A BOY WITH A DOG?”

Two rows from the front, one of the imps raised a hand.

“YES?”

“Please, miss, it was the size of a boy, miss, but it wasn’t a boy, miss,” said the demon.

“Ooh, tattle tale,” said Dozy. “If he didn’t have all his pals behind him, I’d deck him for that.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?”

“It was a little man, miss. Mr. Bodkin didn’t think he was dead, miss, so he reported him, miss.”

“AND THIS LITTLE MAN WAS ALONE?”

“Yes, miss. Far as Mr. Bodkin could tell, miss.”

“VERY GOOD. WHAT’S YOUR NAME?”

“I don’t have a name, miss. I’m just a demon imp, third class, miss.”

“WELL, CONSIDER YOURSELF PROMOTED. FROM NOW ON, YOU MAY CALL YOURSELF B. BODKIN. THE DESK IS YOURS.”

“Oh, thank you very much, miss. I’ll be a very good B. Bodkin, miss, mark my words.”

The imp rose from its workbench and trotted up to the main desk as the pillar of fire narrowed and then disappeared entirely. It slipped its feet into A. Bodkin’s smoking boots. Slowly it began to increase in height, and its appearance started to change. Within seconds, it bore a startling resemblance to the original A. Bodkin, right down to the nasty little beard and the superior manner.

“Right, back to work, you lot,” said B. Bodkin. “The show is over.”

He settled himself into his new seat, put his feet on the desk, and picked up the newspaper. With a collective shrug of resignation, the rest of the imps returned to the grinding, carrying, and recording of bits of bone.

“Did you see that?” said Angry. “What this place needs is a good workers’ revolution.”

“You can organize the masses another time,” said Jolly as the dwarfs slid down the dune and headed for their van. “We need to find a way to get home. I remember now where I saw that woman. It was back in Biddlecombe. She appeared on my windscreen, and then there was a blue flash, and next thing I knew we were here.” He paused, and scratched his chin. “And there was a boy with a dachshund.”

He looked back in the direction from which they had come, as though expecting to see that pillar of flame rising high above them and that dreadful woman’s voice asking about a boy and his dog. Slowly, Jolly began shuffling pieces of the puzzle around in his brain.

“I wonder,” he said. “I wonder, I wonder, I wonder…”