The Philosophical Strangler by Eric Flint

Trudged past, hopeless, their sinuses swollen,

coughing and hacking, wheezing and sniffling,

Blowing their noses, endlessly groaning.

“And who are these piteous souls?” asked the strangler.

“I note they are ladies of mature age,

their faces filled with care and concern.”

“Not so!” cried young Virge, who suddenly sprang

at one figure slogging by, kicking her

and reviling her with youthful vigor.

“They deserve their fate, each and every one!”

shouted our guide. “These here are the mothers

who made their little children go to school

Even when the poor kids were sick abed!

There! You see that one?” asked wise young Virge,

pointing to a careworn gray-haired woman.

“That’s my mother, the foul rotten creature.

Hey Ma! How’s the weather today? Ha! Ha!

Listen to her sniffle, the poor old cow!”

Sweet, isn’t it?

Sure, taking the Guide’s Route gives you immunity from the perils of the Inferno, even from the CEO himself. But is it worth it? Just to avoid having to battle a million demons and devils and whatnot?

Think so?

Here, then! See if this changes your mind . . .

* * *

And then we started down a fourth abyss,

making our way along the dismal slope

where all the evil of the world is dumped.

Along the slope, strewn about like boulders,

rested a multitude of condemned ones,

shackled to heavy chairs, their mouths agape.

About them, clutching horrible iron

implements of fell and fearsome design,

capered horned devils and barb-tailed imps.

“This place is the doom reserved for dentists,”

explained the wise young Virge. My own dentist,

the swine, moans somewhere here.

“But we cannot tarry, though it tempts me.

We must press on.” And so saying, our guide

Hastened his steps and led us ever down.

* * *

Enough!

Wittgenstein was right. The poetry was that bad. Circle after circle of it. On and on, just like that. A pimply-faced adolescent’s Guide to the Infernal Regions.

We couldn’t do anything about it, either. That was the downside of using Zulkeh’s clever little “alternate route.” Once you go that way, you have to follow what the little snotnose brat who led us called the “Guide’s Rules.”

I whined at Zulkeh, but the wizard confirmed the bad news.

” ‘Tis inescapable, I fear,” he stated gloomily. “On this, Ignace, whatever may be their other points of contention, all the savants agree. I refer you in particular to the universally acknowledged masterwork of the literature, Alighieri Sfondrati-Piccolomini’s Once is Enough! Whomsoever enters the Infernal Regions by utilizing the Guide’s Route must agree to the Guide’s Rules.”

And that’s that. So don’t ask me to describe what we passed through on our way down to meet the CEO of the Infernal Regions. I can’t do it. Not unless you want more of that crap which “the wise young Virge” calls “terser reamer” or something like that.

It doesn’t get any better, either, not until we get past the interview—if you’ll allow me to use the term—with the Chief Evildoer himself. (And, yeah, that came as news to me too. I’d sort of assumed we’d be sneaking past him or something. Turns out if you take the Guide’s Route you can’t. Marvelous, huh? Imagine my reaction at the time! That damned Zulkeh! Never trust a mage!)

Anyway, after what seemed an endless time listening to “the wise young” Snotnose droning on and on, we finally debouched onto the lowest level. It’s not the ninth, by the way—that’s a myth started by that Alighieri fellow in order to get tenure. The truth is, he had no more idea than we did which level it is, but I guess he couldn’t very well put that in his doctoral dissertation. The Infernal Regions don’t follow the same numbering rules which the rest of the universe does. Something to do with Chaos, the way I understand it.

You can imagine my sigh of relief.

Sigh. No dice. Once you buy into the Guide’s Rules you’re stuck with them, even after the Guide himself bows out of the picture. Which “the wise young Virge” did as soon as the CEO loomed into sight. You can say what you want about the Prince of Darkness, but he ain’t all bad. At least he doesn’t tolerate lippy teenagers.