The Infernals (28 page)

“So what’s the plan?” asked Samuel as he clambered out of the cage.

“It’s Mr. Nurd’s,” said Jolly. “And it’s genius.”

He opened the sack and revealed what lay within.

“You can’t be serious,” said Samuel.

But they were.

Duke Abigor raised a hand, and a horn rang out. From behind him came the sound of a thousand arrows being nocked, and a thousand bowstrings being drawn tight.

“On my command!” cried Abigor, then let his hand fall. Instantly the arrows were released, darkening the sky as they hurtled toward the enemy lines.

“Oh, crumbs,” said Constable Peel, peering through the slit in the cloth that covered Dan’s ice-cream van. “That’s a lot of arrows.”

But just as the arrows reached the top of their arc and began to fall, they burst into flames, and a cheer rose up from the
ranks of Mrs. Abernathy’s army. The lady in question was visible upon her mount, her arms raised and smoke and flames pouring from her fingers.

“I’m glad she’s on our side,” said Constable Peel.

“Only until she finds out that we are
not
on her side,” said Sergeant Rowan. “Then she’ll take a very different view.”

Another flight of arrows was unleashed against them, but this time in greater number, and some of them broke through Mrs. Abernathy’s fiery defenses and embedded themselves in the flesh of demons. The demons didn’t seem terribly perturbed about their injuries, though, and for the most part just stared at the arrows in mild annoyance.

“Well, they don’t seem to be doing much harm,” said Constable Peel just as a nearby entity, a hunched being of black fur and bad teeth, tugged at the arrow in its chest and promptly exploded in a shower of flesh and white light.

“On the other hand…”

Abigor ordered his first wave of cavalry to attack, and the skinless horses carried their riders toward Mrs. Abernathy’s army. The cavalry wielded heavy lances with vicious, multibladed tips, and although half of them fell beneath the onslaught of spears, arrows, and complaining rocks that ripped through their ranks, the remainder hit the first line with incredible force, tearing a hole in the shield wall and impaling the soldiers behind before casting the long lances aside and swinging maces and swords to brutal effect.

A second wave of cavalry attacked, followed by the demonic rank and file, led by Duke Abigor and his personal guard. Meanwhile
two legions had commenced a flanking movement, hoping to encircle Mrs. Abernathy’s army entirely. In response, Mrs. Abernathy’s forces unleashed torrents of flame and clouds of arrows while Mrs. Abernathy herself waded into her opponents, the tentacles on her back whipping and writhing, pulling riders from their horses and ripping them apart like bugs. The Gorgons at last revealed their hideous visages, turning to stone those who did not look away in time, while those who did hide their faces found themselves vulnerable to attack. The Cyclopean giants swung their clubs, tossing aside ten soldiers at a time. Dragons on both sides set hair and skin and flesh burning while sirens attacked from above like birds of prey, their outstretched claws impaling themselves in flesh and armor, inflicting awful wounds that turned instantly black as the poison in their talons infected the tissue. The fighting drew closer and closer to where the motorized rock and the disguised ice-cream van stood, hemmed in by the thronging mass of demons anxious to join in the fight.

“Guard the cage!” screamed Mrs. Abernathy, for the discipline of Abigor’s legions was beginning to tell, and she felt the battle turning against her. A second line of demons surrounded the wagon, their blades unsheathed, forming a wall of sharp metal and sharper teeth through which none could penetrate. Only a few noticed that the original guards were more than a little unsteady on their feet, and seemed to be having trouble focusing, but then more arrows began to descend and avoiding impalement took precedence over all else.

There was blood, and screaming, all lit by bolts of lightning from above as Hell tore itself apart.

I
T WAS
D
OZY, NOW
back in the relative safety of the ice-cream van, who noticed it first, just as he finished helping Jolly and Angry back inside after the successful completion of their rescue mission.

“Did you hear that?” he said.

“All I can hear is the noise of battle,” said Constable Peel.

“No, it was something else. Like an echo, but before a sound has been made to cause it.”

Slowly, bells began to toll deep in the heart of the mountain, growing louder and louder. The sound of them was so insistent and so resonant that all who heard them covered their ears in pain. The vibrations caused the ground to tremble. Cracks appeared on the plain. In the Hollow Hills, caves collapsed, and from the icy mountains to the north, great avalanches flowed down and smothered the faces of those unfortunates who broke the surface of Cocytus. The Sea of Unpleasantness was riven by earthquakes beneath its surface, and tsunamis of black water
rose up and broke upon the barren shores. On the battlefield, weapons fell from hands, and horses threw their riders. Ears bled, and teeth were loosened in their gums. Demons cowered, wailing in agony. Over and over the bells sounded, shaking stones from the Mountain of Despair, until the very notion of Hell itself was reduced to a single essence: the awful pealing of the bells, heard only at the times of greatest crisis in that place, that had been silent for so long.

Suddenly, they stopped, and Infernals of all shapes and forms turned their heads in the direction of the Mountain of Despair. Flames flickered deep in its heart as a shape appeared in the doorway. It was the Watcher, now many times taller and broader than before, its red skin glowing as though the creature had recently been forged in the fires within, a being of metal or stone that would slowly cool to gray and black.

“How did it get in?” hissed Brompton to Edgefast as the shadow of the Watcher advanced before them.

“It must have sneaked by,” said Edgefast, trying not to catch Brompton’s eye.

“It’s forty feet tall! What did it do, wear a hat and dark glasses? Some guard you are.”

But all questions about the Watcher, and any amazement that the guards, and the two armies, and Mrs. Abernathy and Duke Abigor might have felt at its altered appearance, faded away as it became clear that another presence was emerging from the mountain, a figure that dwarfed the Watcher just as the Watcher towered above most of the demons arrayed on the field. A fierce stench of sulfur swept across the plain and the light from within
the mountain was lost, the flames hidden by the mass of the approaching creature. All was utter stillness and silence among the assembled armies. Even the dwarfs were quiet, seemingly frozen into muteness and immobility by what they were seeing. In Nurd’s Aston Martin, Boswell buried his muzzle in Samuel’s armpit and closed his eyes in terror, just as his nose twitched at the stink of what was coming, forming a picture of it in his dog brain that he was unable to erase.

So enormous was the Great Malevolence that he had to crouch in order to pass beneath the lintel of the mountain’s door. When he stood erect at last there was a grandeur to the sight, and a sense of awe infected all who witnessed it, for here was not merely the most ancient and ferocious of evils, but the element of Evil itself given form. From this being flowed all that was wrong, all that was foul, all that blighted hope in world upon world, universe upon universe. His crown was formed from spurs of bone that grew from his own skull, jagged and yellow. His great frame was still sheathed in the armor that he had donned in expectation of his crusade upon Earth, etched with the names of every man and woman born and yet to be born, for he hated them all and wanted to remember his fury at each one, the great litany of names constantly being added to as more humans entered the world. And some of those names burned, for there were those who had damned themselves by their actions, and so were destined to join him.

Most of the flesh on the Great Malevolence’s face had long since decayed, leaving a thin layer of brown, leathery skin draped over his bones, broken at his cheeks, so that the muscles
and bone beneath were clearly visible. His teeth were jagged and double-rowed, set in blackened, diseased gums, and a pale pink serpent’s tongue licked at his rotted lips.

But terrible though his face was, it was his eyes that truly chilled, for they were almost human in the depth of their feeling, filled with unbounded rage and a dreadful, poisonous sadness. From where he watched inside Nurd’s car, Samuel understood at last why this being hated men and women so much: he hated them because they were so like himself, because the worst of them was mirrored in him. He was the source of all that was bad in men and women, but he had none of the greatness, and none of the grace, of which human beings were capable, so that only by corrupting them was his own pain diminished, and thus his existence made more tolerable.

Now he stared out over the battlefield, the Watcher poised before him, and as he spoke all trembled in fear.

“WHO HAS DARED TO RAISE OPPOSING ARMIES IN MY REALM? WHO SETS DEMON AGAINST DEMON?”

As if by a prearranged signal the armies separated, putting as much space as possible between themselves and their commanders, so that Mrs. Abernathy and Duke Abigor stood isolated.

“My lord and master,” said Abigor, bowing his head. “It is good to see you restored to us. Without your hand to guide us we have been lost, and we have been betrayed by our own. I have been forced to act to protect this great kingdom against the treason of one who was once beloved of you, this”—he gestured at Mrs. Abernathy with disgust—“polluted personage,
this patchwork woman.” He seemed about to say more, but the Great Malevolence raised a clawed finger and Duke Abigor was silent as his master turned his attention to Mrs. Abernathy.

“DOES ABIGOR LIE?”

“No, my master,” said Mrs. Abernathy. “For we have been lost, and we have been betrayed, but the treason was not mine. Look to the standards: I fight under your banner, but Abigor fights only under his own.”

“Permit me to explain—” Abigor began to say, but his words turned to fat black flies that buzzed against his cheeks and tongue, and Mrs. Abernathy allowed herself a sly grin as her opponent tried to spit out the insects, but with each one that he ejected two more came into being until Abigor’s mouth was filled with them.

“I set out to make amends to you for my failings, and I have done so,” continued Mrs. Abernathy, now that she had silenced Abigor for a time.

“YOUR FAILINGS WERE GREAT. SO TOO MUST BE THE RECOMPENSE.”

“And it is,” said Mrs. Abernathy. “For I have brought you the child who sabotaged all that we had worked for. I have brought you Samuel Johnson!”

She waved to the wagon driver, who urged on his horses, bringing the covered cage to the clearing on the battlefield. Beside her Abigor had found enough power to disperse the flies, and interrupted her.

“She lies, my master! I fight beneath my own banner only because she uses your standard to hide her treason. She has compounded
betrayal with more betrayal. She stole the child from me. It was I who found a way to open the portal, but she took the boy from my castle that she might claim credit for his capture.”

The wagon drew nearer, its prize waiting to be revealed, lightning flashing to reveal the shape inside the cage.

“And where is the portal that you opened, Duke Abigor?” asked Mrs. Abernathy. “Show it to us, that we may marvel at it. Display it for our master, that we may harness its potential for another invasion.”

“It vanished,” spluttered Abigor. “I could not keep it open for long. I could only find time to snatch the boy before it closed again.”

Mrs. Abernathy raised her arms.

“Let me give you proof of his treason, my master,” she said. “For I know the location of the portal. I know, for it lies … within me!”

Her eyes shone a cold blue, and a blue glow filled her mouth. The air around her seemed to swirl, forming a column of dust and ash that caught the light coming from within her, so that she became the center of her own blue world. As she grew taller and taller she was both Mrs. Abernathy and her old, ancient self, the demon Ba’al, its tentacles writhing, its massive head visible beneath Mrs. Abernathy’s stretched skin, like one transparent image overlaid upon another. Her segmented jaws opened wider and wider—ten, twenty, thirty feet in width—revealing a tunnel of dark light with a blue heart.

“Behold, my master!” she cried. “Behold the portal! And behold—Samuel Johnson!”

The wagon master whipped away the black cloth, and the crowd gasped at the figure of Mr. Happy Whip, grinning his plastic grin at the assembled forces of Hell.

And at that moment a rock with four eyes shot from the ranks, followed closely by a cloth-covered wagon adorned with unimpressive horns. The disguises fell away, revealing Dan, Dan the Ice-Cream Man, hunched over the wheel of his beloved van, urged on by Sergeant Rowan, and Constable Peel, and four determined dwarfs; revealing Samuel Johnson in the Aston Martin once owned by his dad, Boswell held tightly in the crook of one arm, the other hand resting on the shoulder of a goggle-eyed Wormwood.

And revealing Nurd: Nurd, no longer Nurd the inept, Nurd the coward; no longer Nurd, the Scourge of Five Deities. No, this was a Nurd transformed. This was Nurd, the Vanquisher of Demons. This was Nurd, the Triumphant.

This was Nurd, the Frankly Terrified.

Before Mrs. Abernathy could react, Nurd had driven the car straight into her mouth, the ice-cream van barely inches behind him. As they disappeared through the portal, the faint strains of “(How Much Is) That Doggie in the Window?” floated from Mrs. Abernathy’s jaws over the great plain.

Even on a battlefield where two massive armies faced each other, and the Devil himself towered over them both seeking an explanation for what was going on, a pair of motorized vehicles driving straight down a demon’s throat, a throat recently transformed into a gateway between universes, still counted as something quite out of the ordinary. Nothing happened for a number
of seconds, apart from the occupants of the two vehicles falling through a wormhole of sorts, with all that entailed, including being stretched to the point of agony and then compressed in a similarly painful manner, but all this was hidden from the denizens of Hell, who continued to stare at Mrs. Abernathy to see how she might respond to this recent turn of events.