A Long Spoon (6 page)

Finally, Cabal gave himself a break from conjuring miscellaneous household goods from chaos, and considered where he was going wrong.

“The power available here is immense,” he said, looking ruefully at the wand. “Luan Da suggested that his power here is absolute and, if he's managed to channel the energies outside effectively, I fear he is correct. Claiming the ability to defeat Satan here may not be an idle boast.”

“These people talk such rot,” said Zarenyia, ignoring him. “They say they offer advice in this magazine column, but all they do is make people's lives more complicated. And as for their attitudes to sex, they talk about it like it's a bad thing.”

“Sex with you
is
a bad thing.”

“Not for me, it isn't. And anyway, I'm a very special case. But this ‘advice,' well, really. What's wrong with being the tiniest bit wanton now and again? What exactly is so sinful about onanism? What actual harm is done by the occasional bit of necrophilia?”

“I suspect you'd find a bit of resistance on at least one of those points.”

She threw the magazine aside and looked disconsolately at Cabal. “Haven't you made
anything
useful, yet? I thought we'd be out of here in a flash. And a puff of smoke. Possibly some streamers.”

Cabal regarded her icily, receiving criticism not being one of his strong suits. “I am working on it.”

“While you're about it, do you think you could whip up a wooden hanger for my sweater? Which is lovely, by the bye, thank you so much. The wire one it came with is playing havoc with the shoulders, though. A soft material like that needs to hang from a lovely, smooth rounded surface. My shoulders, ideally, but that's a problem until we get these manacles off.”

“Madam,” began Cabal, “I have matters of greater import than…” He paused, and looked inquiringly at the sweater where it hung. “Wire, you say?”

Shortly thereafter, the sweater carefully folded at Zarenyia's instruction, and its wire hangar liberated and unwound to form an impromptu lock pick, Cabal grunted with satisfaction as he freed his own wrists from their manacles.

“I like your satisfied grunting,” said Zarenyia dreamily. Cabal ignored her.

*   *   *

Presently, they were freed of their manacles, shackles, and of their cell, the locks being of a uniformly unchallenging design (“It pays to invest in quality,” Cabal had commented as the cell door swung open). Now they stood, resolute, liberated, and—in Zarenyia's case—wearing angora.

“I presume the plan is to quietly run away, now?” She said it with the air of a vain hope.

“You presume incorrectly. Luan Da will continue to badger me with assorted curses until one of them sticks, I have no doubt. No. He must be dealt with.”

“This is the man who feels quite confident that Satan can't hurt him. I think that bears repeating.”

“Yes.” Cabal looked around him, deep in thought. “His defensive wards and barriers are as near impervious as makes no difference. We cannot harm him.” He paused as a thought struck him. “No. We cannot
hurt
him.” He grinned savagely, a sight that had once sent a Hellhound running, yelping for its mother. “Come along, Madame Zarenyia. We have a wizard to defeat.”

*   *   *

The doors of Luan Da's
sanctum santorum
once more crashed open under the impetus of large spider legs. “Hello!” Zarenyia said to the startled sorcerer. “Let's try this again, shall we?”

“Impossible!” cried Luan Da, a silly sort of thing for an immortal eunuch living in Hell's abandoned parliament to say.

“Only highly improbable as it transpires,” said Cabal, walking past the Zarenyia to confront Luan Da. “But if you will insist on living in a boiling cauldron of chaos, you only have yourself to blame for that.”

Luan Da shook off his surprise with a great effort of will. “So, you escaped. It will do you no good. I will simply return you to your confinement. Guards!”

There was no clatter of armed men in response, only the distant groaning of chaos in the eaves.

“Guards!” cried Luan Da once more.

“They're indisposed, darling,” said Zarenyia. “Which is to say, they're dead, but I didn't want to shock you.”

“No matter,” Luan Da, slightly shocked anyway, “my own powers shall doom you!”

“Actually, I was thinking perhaps we could have a little duel,” said Cabal. “My magic against yours.”

Luan Da laughed, and it was as uncharismatic a sound as ever. “You? Your feeble skills are no match for mine, barbarian! Even the Great Devil would…”

“Yes, yes, yes,” said Cabal dismissively. “We've already heard you brag in that manner before. Personally, I doubt you would long survive my first volley.”

“My defences are perfect,” Luan Da said with one of his overly-complicated sneers. “You can cause me no hurt. No man, nor any demon,” and here he pointedly looked at Zarenyia. Cabal heard her mutter “Ooooh…” crossly behind him, “can bring me harm. Your words are empty, fool.”

“Well, then.” Cabal drew his wand. “Prepare to defend yourself.”

Luan Da smirked, which was just as unpleasant an expression as a sneer on that buttery face. With a few short syllables of power, the air around him thickened as wards and barriers to protect him from any conceivable source of violence formed. When he was satisfied that they were in place, he contemptuously waved Cabal to him, an invitation to duel.

Cabal looked at the wand in his hand, hoped he had judged things correctly, aligned his thoughts, and cast a spell at Luan Da.

It was all very disappointing. The tip of the wand illuminated with a mild golden lambency, then fluttered out after a few seconds. Cabal examined the wand once more, pursing his lips. “Hmmm…” he said.

“
Ha!
” shouted Luan Da. “That was your best, was it? Now, prepare for an agony of slow death, you fool!”

Cabal put away his wand and crossed his arms, awaiting certain destruction with polite patience.

“I call upon the powers of the Abyss! I summon the forces that were old when the Earth was formed! I…” Luan Da coughed. “I call upon…” He coughed again. “I…” He touched his throat, plainly concerned.

“Don't worry,” said Cabal. “It's perfectly normal.”

“Impossible…” Luan Da was croaking. “This is impossible. What have you done to me, barbarian?” Around him, the air flexed and the distortions of his defences faded slowly.

“Well, I haven't done you any harm, if that's what you're concerned about. You were quite right. Those were very impressive defences. I certainly couldn't hurt you through them. So instead, I did quite the opposite. Something your defences were never intended to stop.”

“I … feel strange…” Luan Da succumbed to another coughing fit. “What is happening to me?”

“Oh, your throat? That will pass, with time. It's just your voice breaking. It happens to all the boys.”

Luan Da froze. His eyes widened. “No…”

“Yes. I didn't even try to hurt you, Luan Da. I have healed you. You should be grateful. Oh,” Cabal feigned exasperation with himself, “I am so forgetful. Of course, your magic depended on you being a eunuch, didn't it? Silly me. Never mind. I meant well.”

Luan Da looked around frantically, suddenly becoming all too aware of an unfamiliar weight between his legs. “A knife! There must be a knife somewhere! I can…” He stopped, staring wildly at Cabal. “The demon! Where is it?”

Some prickling premonition made him look up.

“Hello, darling,” said Zarenyia as she descended on a silken cable, death in angora. She was not smiling. “Guess what? You really should have apologised when Johannes asked you to.”

*   *   *

The departure from Pandæmonium was leisurely. Cabal observed the first stages of Zarenyia's feeding process out of scientific interest, and made a few notes. Then he smoked a cigarillo, but it seemed that Zarenyia really did intend to drag out Luan Da's quietus to great lengths, so he wandered off to do what he usually did when he found himself in the home of a rival necromancer or sorcerer, which is to say he looted it.

The guards they had fought earlier still hung pathetically from the web above the staircase. Luan Da had made no attempt to rescue them. Perhaps he would have got around to it later, perhaps he wouldn't have. He seemed to have had a very inflexible attitude to failure, and Cabal imagined it was perfectly in character for him to leave the sluggishly writhing bodies up there as a warning to the new intake of guards when he recruited them.

It took several hours, and netted him some useful items, yet Zarenyia was still nowhere near done with Luan Da when he got back. Cabal might have felt some pity for him, but the memory of a loofah prevented even the faintest kindling of sympathy. Instead, Cabal went off to find a bed, and slept for a while. He was awoken by being prodded by a giant spider leg. “Up and at ‘em, sleepy head!” said Zarenyia.

“Luan Da?”

“Luan done.” She smiled a smile that was not in the least part nice. “Grab your kit and we'll be on our way. I'm bored with this place.”

Cabal rose, and noticed a couple of man-sized bulges firmly webbed to the underside of her abdomen. Through the threads at the end of one, the lines and metallic glint of a guard's helmet could just be discerned. “Snacks for the trip,” explained Zarenyia. “If I get peckish.”

*   *   *

The thread she had used to reach Pandæmonium was still in place, and she climbed with astonishing agility along it with Cabal clinging to her back, hugging her around the waist and putting up with a commentary on the glories of angora wool the whole way. At least he had developed the mental skills necessary to avoid making the transit as some variety of fish/human hybrid, which was a relief.

The return journey was otherwise uneventful. Several hours of ascent passed with occasional conversation, and a long period during which Cabal accepted a lift, his dignity less affronted by the offer than on the downward trip.

Finally they were back where they had first met. They looked at the summoning circle, its candles long guttered. Zarenyia said, “Ah, memories. It seems such a long time ago, now.”

“It appears we are at a parting of the ways, Madam Zarenyia,” said Cabal. He seemed awkward and unsure.

“Indeed,” she said. “I've had a lovely time, Johannes. I'm not sure I've ever had such fun.” She regarded him fondly, as one might a stalwart companion, or perhaps an amusing pet. “I'm sorry you didn't find what you were looking for.”

Cabal smiled wanly. “Yes, Luan Da's ‘great secret' was something of a disappointment. Living castrated in chaos isn't really a helpful avenue for me. Still, it was an adventure, to be sure.”

Zarenyia spoke abruptly, the words coming quickly as if she'd just rehearsed them. “I just want you to know, if you ever have need of a devil again in future, think of me, will you? You won't have to muck around with binding rites and all that rigmarole, either. I won't hurt you, Johannes. You're too much fun to hurt. I promise I shan't.” She held up two fingers together in salute. “Dib dib dib.”

“Your dibs are more than good enough for me.” He cleared his throat. “Madam. I am very pleased to have made your acquaintance. Very pleased indeed.”

Zarenyia leaned forward, took off his hat, and kissed him on the forehead before he had time to react. She put the hat back and smiled. “Farewell, Johannes.” She turned and walked back into the circle. As she dissolved into shadows and fancies, returning to the realms from which she had been summoned, he distantly heard her call.

“Don't be a stranger.”

Johannes Cabal wasn't used to being liked, and it left him troubled and uncertain. Parting was such strange sorrow. Finally, he settled his hat more firmly on his head, took up his bag laden with stolen treasures, and left the hidden entrance to Hell known as Kemch, entering into a Wednesday afternoon in a small market town.