Azzie stamped his foot and sank into the earth. This is a talent that most European and Arabian demons have. Living in the earth is as natural for them as living on the earth is for men. The demons experience earth as something much like water, through which they can swim, though they much prefer to walk in tunnels.
It was cool underground. The lack of light did not prevent Azzie from seeing around him very nicely, in a dim infrared sort of way. And it is rather pleasant underground. There are moles and shrews near the surface, and other creatures glide along the differing densities of the soil.
At last Azzie came out in a large underground cavern. Phosphorescent rocks gave off a dim glow, and he could see, at the far end of the cavern, a solitary dwarf of the north European variety, dressed in a well-made green and red moleskin suit, with tiny jackboots of gecko hide and a little mouse-skin cap on his head.
“Greetings, dwarf,” Azzie said, adjusting his height upward as far as the rocky ceiling allowed so that he could loom over the dwarf impressively.
“Hail, demon,” the dwarf said, sounding not too pleased at stumbling over one. “Out for a stroll, are you?”
“You could say so,” Azzie said. “And what about you?”
“Just passing through these parts,” the dwarf said. “On my way to a reunion in Antibes.”
“Is that a fact?” Azzie asked.
“Yes, it is.”
“Then why were you standing here digging?”
“Me? Digging? Not really.”
“Then what were you doing with that pick in your hand? ”
The dwarf looked down and seemed surprised to find the pick there. “I was just tidying up.” He tried to rake a few rocks together with the pick, but of course, since it was never intended for that purpose, it didn’t do a good job.
“Tidying up the earth?” Azzie said. “What’dye take me for, a moron? Who are you, anyhow?”
“I am Rognir, a member of the Rolfing Dwarveria from Uppsala. Tidying up the earth may seem absurd to you, but it comes naturally to dwarves, who like everything to remain the same.”
“Frankly,” Azzie said, “what you are saying makes no sense to me at all.”
“That’s because I’m nervous,” Rognir said. “As a rule I talk quite sensibly.”
“Then do so now,” Azzie said. “Relax, I mean you no mischief.”
The dwarf nodded but looked unconvinced. He didn’t trust demons, and you couldn’t really blame him. There are many rivalries in the spirit kingdom which are unknown to man, since a Homer or a Virgil wasn’t around when something was going on. The dwarves and the demons had been having quite a tense time of it recently, due to territorial disputes. Demons have always had a claim on the underground, despite their distant birth as fallen creatures of the Light. They love the underground ways of Earth, the deep caverns, bogs, and sinkholes, caves and declivities, the passageways that present vistas of beautiful strangeness to their poetic but gloomy imaginations. The dwarves had their own claim on the underworld, considered themselves children of it, born spontaneously out of the chaotic fiery writhings of the deepermost regions of primal flame. They were romanticizing, of course; the true origin of the dwarves is interesting, but there is no time to go into it here. What is important is the power of imagination, to take an idea and cling to it stubbornly. Thus the dwarves, and their insistence on being free to wander the underground ways as they pleased, without stint or restraint. This wasn’t to the demons’ way of thinking, however. They preferred territories. Demons like to stomp along alone, and other creatures tend to get out of their way. Not so the dwarves, who trooped along in their bands, white whiskers flowing, pickax and spade always ready, pounding and chanting (for they are great chanters), often passing directly through a demon convocation: for demons are always holding meetings on crucial points of doctrine, though their discussions are rarely noted by those who really dispose the power. Be this as it may, they hate being disturbed, and the dwarves had an uncanny power of choosing just the wrong place and time to dig to disturb a demon sitting deep in thought, motionless on a block of basalt, hands to his ears, as we see in some of the family portraits done in stone on the turrets of Notre Dame. The demons feel the dwarves are crowding them. Wars have been started on lesser issues.