The Day Before Tomorrow (11 page)

‘It’s a
real
box, Talbot, get that into your thick head, and we might just be getting somewhere’

The situation was grave.  The Apocalypse was now seriously behind schedule, if it were not sorted out soon, then heads were going to roll.  It would be Bloody Ragnoroc all over again.  The Twilight of the gods had gone completely wrong the first time, and had had to be staged all over again, thanks to young Whatisname, sticking his oar in. – Bloody heroes.  And even then, they had not got all of them in the end.  There were still a few of them hanging around.  And this was far more important than the demise of a few mouldy old gods.  

It was rumoured that up on thirteenth, a young programmer had ventured the opinion: ‘Sod the box, why don’t we just chuck a great big asteroid at them?’ but Crispin did not know if it was true.  If it was, it was a mark of how desperate things were getting up there.  They would never do it, though.  They were the sorts who would always do everything “by the book” as the saying goes. 

‘Pity,’ thought Crispin, ‘it wasn’t a bad idea.’  It would certainly solve
his
problem anyway. 

* * *

‘What’s the big deal with that thing anyway?’  Jamie was curious about Denny’s apparent obsession with what looked to him like an old dagger.  It was a curiosity, he supposed, but not really worth the minute attention that his companion was paying to it, surely? He had woken that morning to discover Denny sat in a patch of melted snow just looking at it.  He was still looking at it now, several hours later. 

Denny reluctantly tore his gaze from his treasure.  ‘I wish I knew,’ he said. 

He said this while holding the Athame and so, quite suddenly, he did know.  At least he knew what it was, and what it was for and the powers it possessed.  But it did not help him in the least to access any memories that he might have had regarding his ownership of it.  He still could not find out what his connection with it was.  He did not need to, he decided.  It was enough to understand that the connection was there, and now he knew …

He stood up. ‘Time to go,’ he said.

* * *

Stiles never remembered afterwards how he had stumbled and slipped in a daze back to the library.  Nor did he remember falling asleep in a large armchair in the library.  It was late morning when he was awakened by the sun streaming through the window, casting pretty patterns on the wall behind him, and, had he known it, on his own unshaven face.  He had been completely incapable of any kind of constructive thought the night before.  But now he felt – what?  Almost normal?  He opened his eyes and looked around the room, and he was almost certain that he was not insane at all.  He was slowly reaching that point of self-delusion that says: ‘It was all a dream’

That was it. He had fallen asleep in this chair, and had a very vivid dream.  He could not possibly have seen what he thought he saw.  Because things like that did not happen.  He must have imagined the whole thing.

He had now talked himself into a state of complete reassurance.  Which was abruptly shattered when he opened the door and found himself in … well, he wasn’t in No’ Wer, anymore.   

* * *

Denny was concentrating on Tamar – with one hand on Jamie’s shoulder – in order to teleport to her, when he heard a sound behind him.  It was a large sound, not a loud sound, but a large sound, which is quite different.  It went “Whump!”  It was the sound of quite a lot of air being displaced.  He looked round.  There, behind him in the clearing, was a house.  And Denny was quite certain that it had not been there before. 

Denny walked all around the house looking at the ground. 

Jamie was puzzled.  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked. 

‘I’m looking for the Wicked Witch of the East,’ said Denny balefully.

It should be clarified at this point that Jamie had had magic explained to him by now (‘Magic’s real, get used to it’) in view of what Denny was planning with the Athame, and he was taking it pretty calmly.  People usually did: well,
in fact, a
person
usually took it well. 
People
tended to get panicky and do stupid things, like tell the newspapers. 

‘Not really?’ said Jamie, he was getting the hang of Denny’s sarcasm too, which was much harder to adjust to.  Denny never used a sarcastic tone when employing sarcasm, but always sounded absolutely sincere.  It was the only really nasty aspect to his character. 

While Denny was around the back of the house, Stiles came warily out of the front, blinking in the bright sunshine.  He wondered where he was. He appeared to be in a large field, not dissimilar to the one the house had stood in before, but definitely not the same, unless he really was going mad.  When he saw Denny coming round the side of the house with his head bent to the ground and an enemy soldier in tow, he descended into an icy calm certainty.  He had indeed lost his mind – seeing things was definite proof.  He seemed to remember reading that somewhere.  So, he was definitely insane.  Good, that was that cleared up then.  He probably was not in a field at all; no doubt, he was in a nice hospital somewhere, with kind nurses and doctors and little blue pills every day to stop him trying to jump off the roof.  Perhaps the war had turned his mind, some horrible atrocity that he had witnessed … or maybe there had not been a war, maybe it was all a part of his madness.  Maybe he had never been a policeman.  Maybe he was not Jack Stiles at all.  There was a kind of tranquility in the idea, which was rudely shattered when Denny spotted him. 

‘Jack?’ he said, in shocked tones.  Then: ‘Oh sorry Captain, I don’t know why I said that.’

‘It’s all right,’ said Stiles.  ‘I’m not a Captain any more anyway. I must say, you’re a very convincing sort of delusion,’ he added.  ‘I didn’t know delusions could talk to you.  What am I saying? Of course, you can.  You did before, didn’t you?  And she did.  Oh boy did
she
talk.  You know who I mean, of course you do.  You’re all of you in my head together, so you must know each other.’

‘Izzee all right?’ asked Jamie in concern. 

‘He’s fine,’ said Denny wryly.  ‘He’s just clutching at straws.  Aren’t you Cap … Jack?’

‘Oh bugger,’ was Stiles elegant response.  ‘I nearly had myself convinced there.’

‘Worth a try,’ said Denny, and added: ‘I know how you feel.  I think I’d rather be nuts at times.’       

‘So,’ Stiles nodded to Jamie, ‘who’s this?’ 

‘Later,’ said Denny.  ‘Watch this.’ He vanished and reappeared.  ‘Cool, hey?’

Stiles snorted his contempt.  ‘That’s nothing!  I made an entire house move from China  to … where are we anyway?’ 

‘Cambridgeshire.  Are you sure, it was you?’

‘No,’ Stiles admitted.  ‘I think it was her.’

‘Who?’

‘Hecaté, I found out her name in …’

Jamie interrupted them.  ‘You guys are crazy,’ he said, looking nervously from one to the other, as if calculating his chances of getting away.  They were not good. 

Denny and Stiles looked at each other and laughed. 

‘Ah,’ said Stiles, ‘wouldn’t it be nice.’

Denny got his face straight and turned to Jamie.  ‘I think we’ve established that that is definitely
not
the case.’

‘Be easier if it was,’ said Stiles.  He shrugged.  ‘Oh well, what’s next?’ 

Denny grinned. ‘Want to meet my wife?’

* * *

Tamar’s problems were increasing.  Now she was having memories of the future. 

‘Not premonitions,’ she tried to explain to Cindy.  ‘They feel just like ordinary memories, I think a premonition would be more – vague. More like a possibility, these feel like they’ve already happened.’

‘But you can’t remember the future,’ said Cindy reasonably.  ‘It hasn’t happened yet.’ 

‘How do
you
know?  I tell you, I’m not certain of
anything
anymore.’

‘Maybe I should summon Hecaté again,’ said Cindy, she was feeling as if she were in over her head. 

‘How’s that going to help?’ said Tamar shortly.  ‘She said she wasn’t going to tell me any more than she already has.’

‘It might make
me
feel better,’ said Cindy stubbornly. 

‘I am here,’ said Hecaté from behind them.  They looked round and saw …

‘Denny!’ squealed Tamar rushing at him. 

Stiles looked around the assorted group.  His gaze rested on Cindy, who he had not seen before – as far as he knew.  She patted her hair.  His gaze shifted to Hecaté and stayed there for a while. 

‘Well,’ he said, as Tamar released Denny, ‘it looks like the gang’s all here’

PART TWO

And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent called the Devil and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth and his angels were cast out with him.

REV XII
.  9

An idol-maker does not worship the gods: he knows what stuff they are made of.

Traditional Chinese Proverb.

~ Chapter Seventeen ~

A year earlier…

A
skphrit surveyed his new surroundings with a certain satisfaction, okay so it certainly was not the Ritz, but he had been in worse places.  His time in prison had been infinitely worse.  Here, at least he had his own room and hot and cold running devils – mostly hot.  No, he decided, it was not too bad at all. 

And Satan seemed an okay sort of creature.  A little lax perhaps.  He seemed inclined to treat Askphrit more as a sort of favourite than anything.

 He was jaded, Askphrit decided. He had been in this job too long.  He did not seem to get any pleasure out of it any more.  Security was lax and the torments done by rote, a mere matter of form, with little enthusiasm.  Some of the devils, Askphrit had discovered, resented this, and the fact that there was no chance any longer, for promotion for the inventive and enthusiastic devil.  There had been no promotions in Hell for an eternity, he was told.

He moved among the employees and inmates of Hell alike. Like a campaigning politician.  And he found out more about Hell than Satan ever knew.

He also employed a fiercely resentful Pierce as an extra pair of eyes and ears.

Askphrit had not been surprised to see Pierce arrive shortly after himself. 

‘Thought they would get you, without me to keep an eye on you.’  Was the extent of what he had to say about it?  He did not bother to ask how it had happened.  And he did not tell Peirce what had happened to him.  That was the past, and the thing to do now, was assess the future.

 It was Askphrit’s nature to look at every place from the point of view of its strategic usefulness.  This place, he decided, had possibilities. 

* * *

Askphrit assessed his troops. They were a fine bunch of … troops.  He had already had the vampire vote of course, being their god.  And, naturally, hell was lousy with vampires; it had been a good start.  These he had sent out campaigning on his behalf and soon at least half the devils had been behind him.  And the inmates were mostly behind him too, since he had promised to abolish story time in favour of more traditional punishments.  Which they would be allowed to administer to each other – in certain circumstances – he had vowed that under his rule, the old promotion scheme would be reinstated, which meant that some of the inmates, those who showed promise, would be elevated to imp status and from there, they would have their hooves on the promotion ladder.  Considering the type of person, you often found in Hell, this was a popular move.  Up the revolution!  And up yours Satan, His time was nearly over. 

 And now it
was
time.  The present government had no idea what had been going on, behind their backs, and now Askphrit was ready to make his move. 

He made ready to give his stirring speech. 

‘Okay lads,’ he began, then he thought, ‘oh forget it, this bunch of bloodthirsty bastards know what to do.’ 

He raised a large sabre.  ‘Let’s get ’em boys.’  This seemed to have the desired effect.  It got a rousing cheer at any rate.    

To be fair to Askphrit, he did actually intend to honour most of his promises.  How else was he going to persuade them that their next move should be to help him take over the world?

It would be easy with troops like these. They would not have to do very much, just be terrifying, and they were
good
at that.  And then he would finally have all the power that he had always wanted.  It was with these pleasant thoughts in his head that Askphrit triumphantly ascended Satan’s throne. 

As he looked down at Satan, (who was bound hand and foot, kneeling – there being no other position possible in his current condition)  he imagined that it was another face in front of him, one that had tormented him for many years, even when she had not been around.  What he would not give to have
her
under his boot heel. 

The minions were waiting.  

Askphrit gave the order. ‘Throw him out.’

And the minions responded with glee. They raised Satan above their heads and passed him from claw to claw along the top of the crowd like a triumphant basketball player.  Except that triumphant basketball, players are not often poked in sensitive areas with pitchforks as they make their progress.

The demons were jubilant, but Askphrit’s mood had been spoiled by his untimely reminder of his nemesis. In his secret heart, he was forced to acknowledge that, if anyone could spoil his plans, it would be her! Tamar Black – stupid name.  She had stopped him before.  Even in the face of the seemingly impossible odds that he had been very careful to stack up against her, she always found a way.  Well not his time, he decided.  This time he was finally in a position to make sure that she would not get the chance.  But it would never do to be overconfident.  This time he would not underestimate her.  And just to be safe, he would fix that sidekick of hers as well, and those other lackeys who hung around with her. 

Askphrit did not think in terms of people having friends – people who would do things for you without having to be intimidated into it, people who would do you a favour, as opposed to taking orders.  If anyone had tried to explain this concept to him, he probably would not have been able to understand it.  Nor did he understand the concept of teamwork.  This was probably why he always failed when he went up against Tamar.  He did not realise that he was one against six – even with all his minions.  They did not count; they only did what he told them to, and it would never have occurred to him to ask them for their advice.