The Philosophical Strangler(125)
“Now, then,” it said. “What seems to be the difficulty?”
The mage stepped forward to the table. “We demand passage through the Evil Horizon—with a guarantee of safe return.”
“I see,” muttered the demon-sort-of-thing. It poised the pen over the ledger, preparing to write. “And you are?”
“Zulkeh of Goimr, phy—”
He didn’t even have a chance to finish before the little gaggle of other demon-sorts-of-things started chanting in unison.
“Petition denied! Petition denied!”
The demon-sort-of-thing at the table finished scratching Zulkeh’s name into the ledger and then immediately scratched a line through it. “Absurd,” it muttered. “Even if the saints hadn’t spoken, I would have denied the petition myself.”
The “saints”? I stared at the four demon-sorts-of-things. And noticed, for the first time, that a faint halo flickered over the head of each one. Very faint halos, mind you—and sickly-looking, to boot. But halos, no doubt about it.
My confusion must have shown on my face. Wittgenstein hissed at me: “No private parts, dummy. That’s how you can tell fallen angels from real devils.”
His words made me realize why Hildegard had been so reticent on the matter. I stooped and peered under the table, examining the private parts of the demon-sort-of-thing sitting there. Sure enough. He didn’t have any private parts either.
“You aren’t a demon-sort-of-thing,” I complained. “You’re a fallen angel.”
The fallen angel got a sour look on its face. “Bah!” oathed Zulkeh. “Say better: a plummeted angel. Or, best of all: a diver into the ultimate deeps.”
He cocked his head so far over I thought his pointed wizard’s hat would fall off. Then, after finishing his examination of the fallen angel, pronounced: “Harry, if I am not mistaken. The one mentioned in the Book of Tribulations, verse seventeen. You recall, Ignace? The one who told the Old Geister—”
“That’s not how it happened!” groused the fallen angel. “And I’m not Harry, anyway. He works midnight shift. I’m Jack.”
“Which one?” demanded the mage. “The Jack mentioned in Exasperations II? Or the Jack—”
“Never mind!” snapped the fallen angel. “Just Jack!”
I suspected he was probably the one in Exasperations II, judging from the exasperated way he scratched two more lines through Zulkeh’s name. “Petition denied! And don’t bother protesting, mage! Your reputation is a byword and a hissing. You’re a sinner, sure, but you’ve no intentions at all of giving up your wicked quest. You know it as well as I do.”
“Certainly not!” exclaimed Zulkeh. “The needs of science—”
“Next!” shrilled Jack-the-fallen-angel. “Move aside, Zulkeh! You’re blocking the line.”
Zulkeh might have kept arguing, but Gwendolyn was next and she just picked him up under the armpits and set him off to one side, as easily as a normal woman would have moved a toddler.
“I’m Gwendolyn Greyboar,” she announced, “and I’m also requesting—”
“Petition denied! Petition denied!” chorused the saints.
Jack must have been really exasperated now, because by the time he finished writing in Gwendolyn’s name and crossing it off there was nothing left in the ledger but a huge blob of ink.
“Is this some kind of joke?” he shrilled petulantly. “The second-most-notorious revolutionist in Grotum claiming she’s mending her wicked ways and giving up all riotous agitation ’gainst lawful authority?”
“I said no such thing,” growled Gwendolyn. “But I still want—”
“Step aside! Step aside!”
Well, nobody except Greyboar could have moved Gwendolyn aside by picking her up, and Greyboar—the last faint trace of sanity, here—was still loitering in the rear of the line with me and Hrundig.
Then my heart seized, because Jenny and Angela were pushing their way past Gwendolyn eagerly.
“Us! Us!” they cried. “Jenny and Angela! We wanna go too!”
Jack-the-fallen-angel squinted at them suspiciously. Then, slowly wrote their names into the ledger and swiveled his head to look at the line of saints. The saints, for their part, were studying Angela and Jenny intently.
My heart was frozen, I swear it was. Not beating at all. Then—
“Petition denied! Petition denied!”
I could breathe again. Whatever else happened, my girls weren’t going into that—that thing.
“Why?” demanded Jenny. “Yeah—why?” echoed Angela. In a rush, together: “We swear to mend our wicked ways, honest!”