A Blink of the Screen Read Free

‘Expenses’.
    ‘Well, let’s be off,’ said the Devil.
    ‘I didn’t know one could get to Down There along the sewers!’
    ‘Easiest thing there is, old man. Left here.’
    There was no sound but the echoes of their footsteps: Crucible’s suedes and the Devil’s hooves.
    ‘How much further?’
    They had been walking for several hours. Crucible’s feet were damp and he was sneezing.
    ‘We’re there, old man.’
    They had come to the end of the tunnel. Before them stretched a dark valley. In the distance, Crucible could see a giant wall, with a tiny door. Across the valley ran a black river; the air was tainted with sulphur.
    The Devil removed a tarpaulin from a hump by the tunnel mouth.
    ‘May I present Geryon II!’
    Crucible blinked. Geryon II was a Model-T Ford crossed with an Austin 7, tastefully decorated in sulphurous yellow.
    The Devil wrenched at the offside door, which fell off.
    They climbed in. Surprisingly, the car started after only a few swings of the starting handle.
    They chugged across the sulphur plain.
    ‘Nice car.’
    ‘Isn’t it! Forty dragon-power. Built her myself from a few bits and pieces from Earth. Trouble with springing out of the floor near a junk-yard,’ said the Devil, gritting his fangs as they cornered at speed in a cloud of sulphur, ‘is the fact one often surfaces under a pile of old iron.’ He rubbed his head. Crucible noticed that one of his horns was bandaged.
    They skidded to a halt by the river. The car emitted clouds of steam.
    A battered punt was moored by the river. The Devil helped Crucible in and picked up the skulls – pardon me – sculls.
    ‘What happened to what’s-his-name – Charon?’
    ‘We don’t like to talk about it.’
    ‘Oh.’
    Silence, except for the creaking of the oars.
    ‘Of course, you’ll have to replace this by a bridge.’
    ‘Oh, yes.’
    Crucible looked thoughtful.
    ‘A ha’penny for them.’
    ‘I am thinking,’ said Crucible, ‘about the water that is lapping about my ankles.’
    The Devil did not look up.
    ‘Here.’
    He handed Crucible a battered mug, on which the initials ‘B.R.’ were just discernible. And so they continued.
    They stood in front of the gate. Crucible looked up and read the inscription:
    ALL HOPE ABANDON, YE WHO ENTER HERE .
    ‘No good.’
    ‘No?’
    ‘Neon lights.’
    ‘Oh, yes?’
    ‘Red ones.’
    ‘Oh, yes?’
    ‘Flashing.’
    ‘Oh, yes?’
    They entered.
    ‘Down, boy; get off Crucible.’
    Three tongues licked Crucible simultaneously.
    ‘Back to your kennel, boy.’
    Whining, Cerberus slunk off.
    ‘You must excuse him,’ said the Devil, as he picked Crucible up and dusted him down. ‘He has never been the same since he took a lump out of Orpheus’s leg.’
    ‘It didn’t say that in the story.’
    ‘I know. Pity, because the real story was much more – er, interesting. But that’s neither here nor there.’
    Crucible took stock of his surroundings. They appeared to be standing in a hotel lobby. In one wall was a small alcove containing a desk, on which a huge Residents’ book, covered in dust, lay open.
    The Devil opened a small wooden door.
    ‘This way.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘My office.’
    Crucible followed him up the narrow stairway, the boards creaking under his feet.
    The Devil’s office, perched precariously on the walls of Hell, was rather dilapidated. There was a patch of damp in one corner, where the Styx had overflowed, and the paper was peeling off the wooden walls. A rusty stove in the corner glowed red hot. Crucible noticed that the floor seemed to be covered with old newspapers, bills, and recipes for various spells.
    The Devil dropped into a commodious armchair while Crucible sat down in a tortuous cane chair, which all but collapsed under his weight.
    ‘Drink?’ said the Devil.
    ‘Don’t mind if I do,’ said Crucible.
    ‘Very nice drink, this,’ said Crucible. ‘Your own recipe?’
    ‘Yes. Quite simple – two pints bats’ blood, one— I say! You’ve