The Infernals aka Hell's Bells

XXIX

MRS. ABERNATHY’S BASILISK POUNDED across the warm stones, lost in the clouds of steam that had arisen in the aftermath of the recent showers. There was an acrid smell in the air, the stink of flesh, and wood, and vegetation corroded and burned by the falling acid, yet already what passed for life in that place was recovering. Clumps of brown seared weeds became slightly less brown; stunted bushes, blackened and smoking, reassumed their usual dull hue; and assorted small demons who had not been quick enough to escape the downpour began growing back arms, legs, toes, and heads. Some of them even grew an extra limb or two while they were about it, just in case an additional appendage proved useful in the future. From holes in the ground and through gaps in the bushes, they watched Mrs. Abernathy pass, and they saw that her face was alive with triumph, and her eyes shone a deep, cold blue. Not all of them knew who she was, for there were parts of Hell where the Great Malevolence was little more than a rumored presence hidden deep in his mountain fastness, and his dukes and generals and legions could have been figures from old fables for all the impact they had on the existence of these primitive entities. Yet they sensed that this curious figure was immensely powerful, and should probably be avoided if at all possible.

And then she was gone and they instantly forgot about her, for they had more immediate concerns, such as when it might rain acid again, and what to do with that extra head they’d just grown.

Mrs. Abernathy didn’t even notice the movement around her. She sensed the conflict in which the Watcher was engaged far above her head, but she had never been less than certain of its capacity to annihilate any enemy that came within its reach. There had been a moment when she feared the Watcher might drop Samuel Johnson, an eventuality that might have put paid to her hopes of returning to the Great Malevolence’s favor. After all, there wouldn’t have been much to show of the boy if he’d been dropped from thousands of feet onto hard rock. True, his consciousness would have survived, but she wasn’t certain that she could reconstitute a human as easily as a demon, and a mulch of messy blood, bits of bone, and fragments of tissue lacked a certain immediate identifiability. She could, she supposed, have scraped him into a jar, stuck a label on it reading “Samuel Johnson (Most of Him),” and presented it to the Great Malevolence, but it wouldn’t have had quite the same impact as delivering the boy, weeping yet intact, to her master, and sharing in his revenge on the troublesome little human.

But even as Mrs. Abernathy pictured in her mind the details of Samuel Johnson’s impending humiliation, she remained troubled by the intervention of Duke Abigor. Abigor had always resented her position, but she was surprised by how quickly he had moved against her following the failure of the invasion. Some of those who had allied themselves with him, Dukes Guares and Borym among them, had once been her allies, and their betrayal stung her. She entertained herself by running through lists of the various agonies she would order to be visited upon them once she stood again at her master’s left hand, then pushed such pleasant images away, clearing her mind entirely so that she could concentrate on more important matters.

Abigor was risking a great deal by working against her: although she had been banished from the Great Malevolence’s presence, no sentence had been passed upon her and she was still, theoretically at least, commander of his armies. Thus Abigor was technically guilty of treason, although she might have difficulty proving it should the necessity arise, for as yet Abigor had done nothing directly to undermine her position.

Yet if he had laid hands on Samuel Johnson, what would he have done with him? He could have presented him as a gift to the Great Malevolence, just as Mrs. Abernathy planned to do, but he would have experienced some difficulty in explaining how he had managed to drag his captive to Hell. No, Abigor was playing a different game here, the dimensions of which Mrs. Abernathy was only beginning to grasp. The Chancellor, Ozymuth, was on Abigor’s side, and Ozymuth, if the oozing Crudford was to be believed, was intent upon undermining the Great Malevolence by prolonging, and deepening, his grief. It hardly seemed possible, but Abigor was not interested merely in supplanting Mrs. Abernathy. No, he wanted to take the place of the Great Malevolence himself, to become the ruler of Hell in place of its maddened king. And having already enlisted many of the dukes in his scheme, even if they were not yet aware of the full extent of it, he had no choice but to see it through to its end. If he were to abandon it now, and the Great Malevolence were to recover his wits and discover even some small element of the plot-as he most assuredly would, for if Mrs. Abernathy did not tell him, others involved would, if only in the hope of saving themselves from punishment-then Abigor and his co-conspirators could expect to end up frozen for eternity in the Lake of Cocytus, if they were lucky and the Great Malevolence proved to be unexpectedly merciful. Abigor had gone too far to turn back now, and so he would have to gamble everything on the Great Malevolence’s ongoing madness and the defeat of Mrs. Abernathy. Both were linked to Samuel Johnson, for the sight of his enemy presented to him in chains might well bring the Great Malevolence back to his senses, and Abigor’s plot would fall to pieces. But if Samuel Johnson were to be kept from him, then his mourning and lunacy would continue, and Mrs. Abernathy would be doomed.

This was a delicate time. The boy was her captive, and she had to keep him safe from Abigor until she could bring him to the Mountain of Despair. The attack on the Watcher by Abigor’s wraiths was just the beginning. Worse would follow.

As if to confirm her suspicions, the ground before her cracked and a wretched beast, yellow, eyeless, and quivering, emerged from a hole. It was a Burrower, its lower half segmented like a worm’s, its upper half that of a man, with a face resembling that of a rat or a vole. It had the legs of a millipede, except at its fore and rear parts, where powerful webbed claws emerged from its body. It dwelled in the earth, only venturing entirely aboveground when absolutely necessary, and formed a collective consciousness with its fellows, so that knowledge gleaned by one was shared by all. Although blind, Burrowers could identify the presence of other beings aboveground by the vibrations of their footfalls, aided by their excellent sense of taste and smell. Such gifts made them useful spies, and they were loyal to Mrs. Abernathy, for she would sometimes hand over her enemies to them, and they would drag the unfortunate creatures underground and feast on them.

“Mistress, we bring news,” the Burrower said. “There are legions gathering. We hear whispers. They speak of a boy. They intend to besiege your lair, and take him from you. You are to be punished for plotting against the Great Malevolence.”

“Punished?” said Mrs. Abernathy. She could barely believe the impudence of her enemies.

“Yes, mistress. You were tried in your absence by a panel of judges appointed by Duke Abigor, and by unanimous decision found guilty of treason. It is said that you opened a portal between this world and the world of men in the hope of securing the Earth for yourself and creating a kingdom there in opposition to this Kingdom of Fire. You are to be apprehended, and taken to the farthest, deepest reaches of Cocytus, where a place has been prepared for you in the ice.”

Mrs. Abernathy was shaken. They had moved so fast against her.

“How much time do I have?” she asked.

“Little, mistress. Although the forces that oppose you have not yet gathered in full at their place of rendezvous upon the Plains of Desolation, four legions have been sent ahead to secure your palace.”

“Whose legions?”

“Two legions each of Dukes Borym and Peros.”

“And what of my allies? What of my armies of Infernals?”

“They await your command.”

“Instruct them to gather in the shadow of the Forlorn Hills. Send word to those of the dukes who remain uncommitted. Tell them that the boy is in my power, and the time has come for them to choose sides. Loyalty will be rewarded many times over. Betrayal will never be forgiven.”

“Yes, mistress. And what of the legions that approach your lair?”

Mrs. Abernathy thought for a moment.

“Drag them down, and consume them,” she said.

She spurred on her basilisk and it sprang away, leaving the Burrower licking its lips in anticipation of fresh meat.