Clovenhoof (30 page)

Michael shook the hand of the wizened demon sat in an elaborate wheelchair.

“So you’re the brains of this enterprise?” Michael asked.

Belphegor cackled and pushed a large lever, which made his wheelchair lurch forwards in a noisy and jerky way.

“If I was the brains, I probably wouldn’t have got in the way of the bone-crusher that we used to make the foundations for this place.”

“The foundations are made from bones?” Michael asked.

“The foundations, the walls, even the roof tiles. One of the areas we’ve had to develop most rapidly is the re-use of existing assets. If someone’s a level seven damned, we use them for projects like this. It ensures that they don’t run the risk of accidentally having any fun, and we save a fortune on materials.”

“Can I ask, does your wheelchair run on clockwork?” said Michael.

“What a question! Oh dear me no. Clockwork’s terribly old-fashioned, you know. This is steam-powered. My assistants will add more fuel every few hours.”

Michael suddenly had an idea as to what the fuel might be and walked on in silence.

“We’ve got some exciting new developments for the humble pitchfork over here,” said Belphegor. “It’s a demon’s hardest working asset, and we’re trying to find ways to make them more efficient and durable. Replaceable tips are something that I’m certain will be popular. A demon wants reliable sharpness in his pitchfork. Hah! This one’s fun. Do you want to pick up that pen, sir?”

He indicated to Michael, who picked up the pen.

“It looks very much like any ordinary pen. Now would you click the top please?”

Michael held it at arm’s length as he clicked the top and the pen was somehow transformed into a lightweight pitchfork. He put it down hurriedly.

“Yes, very good. Very…innovative.”

“Now, one of the goals of the Infernal Innovation Programme is to reduce the cost and time taken for quality torment of our clients. We’ve built a number of prototypes, which we’re assessing in the lab. Would you like to see those?”

Michael nodded, not at all sure that he did. They followed Belphegor’s wheelchair as it made its erratic, zigzagging way down a corridor, and emerged onto a gantry that looked across an enormous workshop.

The eye was drawn to the closest apparatus. It had the form of a huge wheel. There were people strapped to the outside of the wheel, their bottoms exposed. Inside the wheel, enthusiastic demons jogged continually, causing it to turn on its axle. As the wheel rotated, demons stationed on platforms around the outside wielded their pitchforks on the exposed bottoms. As they watched, a whistle was blown and the apparatus was stopped.

“What are they doing now?” Michael asked.

“Every fifteen minutes we take assessments of the level of torment. We measure this very scientifically. If we make some minor adjustments, we need to know how they are ultimately impacting the client experience.”

Sure enough, a demon with a clipboard had a brief interchange with each human and circled a value on his sheet.

“What’s that thing over there?” Michael asked, pointing at a large tunnel-like structure.

Belphegor smiled proudly.

“We’re prototyping ways for the Lake of Fire experience to be delivered in a more efficient way. So that is our walk-through fire-wash. Burners on all sides ensure that clients can move through at speeds of up to three miles an hour and still be thoroughly charred.”

“It’ll never replace the real Lake of Fire,” Satan said, “but it will enable the recovery of its delicate ecosystem, in time.”

Michael gave a weak smile.

They said goodbye to Belphegor and moved onto the second floor of the college. There were smaller meeting rooms and classrooms off a long corridor.

“I thought we’d drop in on a performance management meeting.” Satan said, “One of the senior demons, Toadpipe is reviewing Gutterscum. He’s been underperforming. It’s important that they follow the process, so we’ll just sit quietly at the back and observe.”

They entered the room in silence and took chairs at the back. Toadpipe and Gutterscum sat at either side of a table. Both had a copy of the review document. Toadpipe scanned through his copy, checking details. Gutterscum gnawed the corner of his copy, his eyes darting about nervously.

Toadpipe cleared his throat.

“Gutterscum, we’ve met before to talk about your performance, in fact I will record the fact that this is our twentieth meeting.”

He made a note.

“So let’s talk about the targets that you’ve been working towards. The first page of the document that you have there is the agreement that you signed when we set your objectives. You agreed at that time that you accepted the targets we came up with.”

“You said I had to sign it,” Gutterscum mumbled.

“Yes,” said Toadpipe, glancing briefly at Satan and Michael. “I said that we needed to agree and we both had to sign to say so. We set you targets that were challenging but achievable. Let’s take the first one.
Torment to achieve levels of misery of grade five or higher.
I have here the documented evidence that shows that your average level of torment is graded at misery level two.”

“I work in the Pit of Masochists. They don’t get miserable. They
love
being tormented,” Gutterscum complained.

“You have similar working conditions to many other demons,” Toadpipe said.

“But my victims can be really difficult! They try to trick me into giving them extra punishments.”

“Clients, not victims. Remember that you had behavioural training to equip you with the correct language. It’s important to remember that we’re providing a service. Shall we move on to the next measure?
Rate of torment will not drop below twenty clients every hour.
We all know that this is an important measure, as it ensures that there is an optimum period of recovery and anticipation between intense periods of torment. The CIA provided us with lots of research for the optimisation that we’ve implemented. The records here show that your average rate of torment is eighteen clients per hour.”

Gutterscum sighed and looked at the floor.

“Those masochists slow me down. They snatch my pitchfork so that they can stab themselves.”

“We’ve given you lots of support in this area, Gutterscum. We’ve arranged for surprise inspections to observe your techniques. We’ve assigned you a mentor who meets with you twice a day.”

“But that stuff just makes me get further behind.”

“Now, Gutterscum. We’ve been over this in lots of these meetings. If you can’t maintain a positive mental attitude, even after the behavioural training, then it’s hardly surprising that you’re struggling with your targets. I can see no option at this point other than putting you back into basic training here at the college.”

Gutterscum nodded in easy-going acceptance.

“
After
a period of reflection,” said Toadpipe.

Gutterscum’s head snapped up.

“Er, what does that mean?” he asked.

“It means that we’ll be cementing you into the foundations for a hundred years, so that you can think about your continued employment with our organisation.”

Gutterscum’s mouth moved wordlessly for a few moments and then he shrugged.

“Be nice to get away from those masochists.”

Toadpipe stood and shook his hand.

“Good man. Well it’s been nice helping you through your development.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” replied Gutterscum and two larger demons in work boots and hard hats appeared behind him.

Later, walking away from the college, Satan and Michael discussed what they had just observed.

“We’ve found that it’s really helped with efficiency,” Satan said. “Now everybody knows exactly what’s expected of them. We can recognise who’s doing a really good job, and give them more challenging tasks, and then we can weed out those who are just trying to get by with the bare minimum.”

“I’m pleased that it’s proving effective,” Michael said.

“Oh yes,” said Satan, “I will be doing the performance management reviews for Mulciber and Azazel next week.”

“Well, that’s a surprise,” Michael said, turning and facing him. “I wasn’t sure that you’d be quite so ready to apply these principles to your most senior colleagues.”

“Oh I’m a firm believer in leading by example.” To demonstrate this, Satan skewered the buttocks of a newly arrived client who was being used in a tug of war contest between the younger demon students. “Good work there. Pull a bit harder, we’re looking for dislocations.”

He smiled at the powerful effect of his intervention. They put in such efforts that they pulled one of the arms completely off the torso. Satan made a mental note to put them forward for a commendation.

There was a lip-smacking kissy noise that Aunt Molly used to summon her dog. Aunt Molly normally got to do it in the privacy of the flat. Nerys was less happy with having to do it Sutton Park.

“Twinkle!” she called in a high and enticing voice.

She took out her phone and looked at the time. She had been searching for three hours now. Aunt Molly would have already finished listening to the
Archers
omnibus and be wondering where her niece and her dog were.

She phoned Dave.

“Twinkle!” she bellowed while it rang out and went to answer phone for the fifth time.

“Dave,” she spat, “are you even listening to your messages? Get here now!”

Ten minutes later, Dave jogged up to her, red-faced.

“What happened?” he asked.

She indicated the empty lead that she carried.

“Oh,” he said.

“Aunt Molly’s convinced he got out under the fence, but he’s so fat with all the biscuits she gives him that he’s more likely to have bounced over the top. I thought he might have come up here because he likes to chase the squirrels.”

“Have you looked in those bushes?”

She fixed him with a stern gaze.

“Have you ever been called a ‘paedo’?”

“Um.”

“I heard a rustling and went to investigate. The two... amorous teenagers I found were quite rude. I mean, do I look like a paedophile?”

“I wouldn’t know what one –“

“I was mortified. And Aunt Molly will be beside herself.”

“Oh dear,” said Dave. “Poor dear. I can see why you said it’s an emergency.”

“This?” She shook her head at his stupidity. “Oh no, this isn’t the emergency. Here’s something much more pressing.”

She handed him Clovenhoof’s invitation.

“This looks like, um, fun,” said Dave handing it back.

Nerys rolled her eyes.

“Yes, but it’s tonight and I don’t have a date.”

“I’m sure you know lots of men. I mean, when I say lots, I don’t mean –“

“Graham and Mark. They’re both busy. Nice guys. Gentlemen of reduced stature but I don’t hold that against them. They’re apparently working as extras in a film.”

“Yes?”

“I phoned Trevor, I think that’s his name, do you know it might be Stephen. Anyway, I got the impression that he was just making excuses. I think he’s intimidated by strong women to be honest.”

“Really?”

“And I went and spoke with that Doug down at the supermarket. He’s a Libra but I’m not prejudiced. I know he was drawn to me, but I could see that he was fighting it. He’s a very physical man, if you get what I mean. Anyway, he said he’s on shift tonight.” She blew out her cheeks. “There’s nothing for it Dave, you’ll have to come with me.”

“Oh,” said Dave. “Like a date, you mean?”

“No,” Nerys said firmly. “Certainly not.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Off you go now. You need to find something suitable to wear.”

Dave looked down at his outfit.

“What’s wrong with this?”

Nerys didn’t even bother looking. She took a document wallet from her handbag and passed it to him. He flipped through. There were photographs taken from magazines, swatches of cloth, a list of dos and a longer list of don’ts.

“You know my inside leg measurement?” said Dave but Nerys had already moved on, making kissy noises.

7:30 pm

Ben waited for the second hand to reach the twelve and then knocked on the door of flat 2a. Clovenhoof opened the door, grinning enormously. He was wearing a luminous paisley smoking jacket that made Ben squint in pain.

Clovenhoof had pushed the easy chairs out of the way, and had set up a bar on one side of the room. A large table and chairs filled much of the remaining space. Candles burned in the centre of the table. They were the size of church candles although Ben doubted any church had black candles streaked with red.

Blenda came through from the kitchen, drying her hands on a tea towel.

“Ben? Nice to meet you at last.”

Ben, never happy with social situations, was unsure whether to say, ‘thank you’ or ‘nice to meet you too’ or ‘I’ve heard so much about you, Blenda’ and plumped unwisely for, “I’ve heard thank you too.”

“Are you going to be first to sample some of Jeremy’s cocktails? He’s pretty excited about some of them.”

Ben looked at the bar and the array of drinks on the bar.

“Can I just have a cider and black?”

“Have a Pink Leopard, it’s very similar,” said Clovenhoof, upending bottles into a cocktail shaker at great speed. He launched into an ambitious routine of mixing the drink. Ben was impressed with the back-kick, particularly in such a confined space.