The Evil Horizon suddenly blanched. Weird, that—seeing a black hole turn white as a ghost, for just a nanosecond. But it did. Word of honor.
“Aye, indeed!” spoke Zulkeh. “Indeed! By the first verse, ye shall begin to wither. By the second—”
The Evil Horizon emitted another sound. Like a huge, distant yelp. An instant later, it made a sound something like a belch. Out popped a wizened old demon-sort-of-thing, clutching a ledger and a quill pen.
“Easy, easy!” squealed the demon-sort-of-thing. “Easy, now! We can straighten all this out in a moment!”
There was another belching sound, and a table came flying out. Along with a stool. Another belch, and out came four more demon-sorts-of-things, even more wizened than the first.
The first demon-sort-of-thing hastily arranged the table and stool and set itself up behind it, ledger open and quill pen in taloned hand. The other four ranged themselves in a row off to one side.
“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—”
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