Great mischief (18 page)

They seemed to be both male and female, and from them came a high random sound of singing. Two or three whistled down and alighted on the ridgepole— a youth whose jaws had a long wolfish angle, a girl in a skirt of snakeskin, translucent and crackling, and an indeterminate creature with one curly horn.

They shrieked to Sinkinda, whose eyes, turned on the moon, glowed cool like an animal s Then they all, Timothy joining in, took hands along the ridgepole and began to repeat a charm; Ab-gab-hur-huz . . . Ab-gab-hur-huz. Timothy repeated it after them, though at first it made him think of the backs of the Encyclopedia in the bookcase at home; but when he had said it often enough it gathered magic. Suddenly the werewolf threw his head back and howled, "I'm for the air!" They all held their arms up. "Ride high!" they cried together, and flinging loose one another's hands, they slid down the steep roof and took off into the dusty moonshine.

Slowly Timothy swung his arms back for the leap-only pride gave him the final push. He shot down the slope, the gentle upturn of the bell-shaped roof lifted him slightly at the edge, a helpful start. When he felt the roof no longer under him he began to flap and kick furiously; the dark trees below rushed at him then swerved away, he found he had banked and was going up again. Little gray creatures darted over and under him and rattled him frightfully; but he saw Sinkinda, maned like a comet, shooting ahead, and he pumped after her for all he was worth.

When he had got used to the rushing noise in his ears he began to notice a sound that seemed to come out of the moon, a vibrato that thrummed all through his body. It lifted him, relaxed his tight muscles, and dissolved his fear. He looked down and saw the town laid out in fiat, subaqueous hues, the rounded treetops soft with sleep pressing against the pale columns and the tiny dark windows. Only the steeples stood up alert from the lightly rocking waters; far sunken chimes hinted at wakefulness there. He could imagine St. Michael's holding its grave nightly colloquy with St. Philip's, giving out as the elder spire the law and the prophets, while St. Philip's answered with a sulky one-eyed stare of its steeple light. The earth voices, the human habitations, fell down as he mounted, and now only the bright light shrilled on the sea, joining the sound of singing in the air.

They were flying high in a great company; and meeting a cloud bank in the west, they dived through like dolphins and came out on a wide floor as if they had changed worlds. The stars, red, yellow, and blue, swung in a circle, making sharp and delicate patterns; he glanced up and found himself looking straight into the eye of the demon star, Algol, trailed by its dark follower. His companions shouted a salutation and began to weave a freakish Maypole dance about their own delegate In the starry host. Timothy lost all sense of direction, but he didn't care now whether the poles kept their places or not. He began to flap in long dignified strokes, trying to fly like a heron; he banked gracefully to the strong puffs of wind and headed up, his legs trailing. A hag swooped by him black as a bat, screeching with laughter, but he didn't allow this discourtesy to shake his self-confidence.

After a while he noticed that the others were forming in a downward spiral, and he tagged along, keeping as close to Sinkinda as his clumsy technique permitted. Gradually they approached the radiant cloudy floor again—"Like miles and miles of puffed muslin," he said, imagining that the simile was his own.

He suddenly thought of Will—little did that old buffalo guess when he recommended a voyage, a change of scene . . . Blissfully they plunged through the clouds, a delicious tingling bathed their limbs. On the nether side all was dark, they went down rapidly, the earth formed in the void, trees and water separated, each taking its own shape. Just above the treetops they flew round three times, making the magic circle, Timothy supposed—and immediately he saw a building among the thick branches, a steep-pitched roof beset with sharp finials and a short wooden belfry. The demons ahead were already settling and entering the high-pointed arch of a double doorway from which came a stream of solemn light.

"Is this a church?" cried Timothy, scandalized, and, thrusting his feet out before him, he backed air hard with his arms.

"Don't be a fool!" Sinkinda swished past him. "Our architects like the ecclesiastical style, too. Stop dawdling now—and keep close to me."

Timothy, morally upset, made a rough landing but kept his feet and followed Sinkinda under the arch, which was edged with elaborately cut wooden trim. They crossed a vaulted porch and entered the great hall from which the light streamed.

What a lofty building, thought Timothy. Like the Crystal Palace, only better. In the hall itself lancet windows of stained glass streamed with light, presumably artificial. The far wall was oval; against it a wide staircase swirled up to a gallery that ran around the hall some thirty feet above their heads. And above this still the shadowy cavity went up and up to the sharp angle of the roof. There a skylight, also of stained glass, was set in, through which the moon shone brightly and shot the hall and stair with jeweled colors.

"Great heavens, but this is a handsome apartment," Timothy whispered to Sinkinda. "The Dev— that is, the Adversary—is a man of superlative taste, I should say."

Sinkinda's eyebrows rounded. "The Adversary? Be careful of your terms, my dear man. From where you stand now, the Adversary is the Other One. Remember everything is relative, and don't make faux pas."

"But what shall I call him?"'

"That depends," said Sinkinda unsatisfactorily, and began to talk to old friends who crowded round to admire her, for all the world like Penny's coterie at the church door.

Words, then, were even more tricky in Hell than at home. Timothy resolved to have as little to do with them as possible and gave his attention to the guests.

The assemblage before him had a brilliant international flavor. Witches from all parts of the world, wizards of the North in pointed hats, dwarfs, giants, hobgoblins from all the islands in Time . . . they milled about the hall, roosted on the balcony rail above, or drifted up and down the staircase while the blue and red gleams shimmered on them as if the skylight itself were moving. Their long predatory fmgernails gave out a faint clashing sound, and as they made the turn of the staircase their eyes shone for a moment with the cold fauna gleam that denied both pity and rational argument.

This noise is deafening, he said to himself, it's like receptions at home—and in answer to his thought a bellboy stood at his elbow with some tufts of cotton wool. Timothy put them in his ears, wondering how much he should tip the fellow. But he had no pocketbook, nor even a pocket, which solved the problem.

At that moment he began to have a queer feeling. A young vampire had slipped up beside him, and some compass needle within him began to jump and run wild. He stood stock-still and looked at her out of one eye like a rooster; then he shuddered with joy, because she had the romantic and sensual beauty that men invent in their dreams. She swung round and faced him and he thought she said. Come with me . . . but perhaps not, since the lissome swaying of her body as she began to move backward made words superfluous. Timothy followed her avidly, yet with nightmare dragging at his feet, for through his bewitchment he saw that her lips were vermilion and her curved nails like clots of blood. He didn't know whether he was angry or relieved when Sinkinda bore down on them, steam coming out of her nostrils, and snatched him bodily away.

The vampire showed fight, and Timothy backed under the staircase until the ladies should settle their differences. They clawed each other swiftly, they threw back their heads and seemed to utter uninhibited screeches, but the cotton in his ears spared him this terrible sound. It was skillfully medicated, he observed, to shut out only offensive noises. I must find out this ingenious formula for the future—if I have a future, he thought.

The fight was proceeding in a manner that offended his sense of sportsmanship, and he took advantage of Sinkinda's preoccupation to stroll off a little and do some sightseeing on his own.

The first and most startling sight to confront him was himself; he stopped short, hypnotized. He was looking into a tall narrow mirror set between two windows and bonneted with rococo gilt. His undershirt and long drawers had collected a coating of soot in his trip up the chimney and had shrunk to fit him tightly like a ballet costume. His skin showed the dark stain he saw on all the others. It relieved him greatly to find that he had not dropped in on this assemblage in plain underwear; indeed, with his black suit, his pale flowing hair, his distinguished angularity, he looked quite fiendish, he thought, and very fine.

He could have spent some time admiring his own appearance but Sinkinda, victrix, came up and appropriated the mirror. She produced a comb from her bosom and fluffed out her touseled bang, she backed off, studying herself with impassioned appraisal, she smoothed and plucked at her filmy skirt of long mauve petals. Advancing again she all but got into the mirror while she repaired from her pomatum jar three or four long gashes made by the vampire's nails. "Have you had a look around? I hope it lives up to your expectations. You earthlings are pretty exacting in your ideas of Hell."

"It's beautiful," said Timothy with honest awe. "So spacious, so rich, so nobly proportioned."

"Of course. It has room for everybody . . . eventually. And now Satan is ready to see you. Come this way."

She led Timothy across the hall to a pair of sliding doors that parted hospitably for them. He found himself in a sort of study with an alcove opening at one side. At a desk against the opposite wall the Archfiend sat, leaning his familiar saturnine face reflectively on his hand; his person, buttoned into a frock coat, was groomed and glossy, his black hair grew in a widow's peak on his low forehead. On the whole, Timothy thought, astounded, he looked very much like a Charlestonian. He rose and civilly held out his hand as they approached.

"Good evening. Dr. Partridge; we are happy to have you with us, I'm sure."

Timothy said, "I am indeed happy to be here, sir," in a rather squeaky tenor.

"You couldn't have come under better auspices, I may say." Satan bowed courteously towards his companion.

Sinkinda, Timothy observed with surprise, lost her superb confidence on coming into the Presence. She smiled at Satan almost coyly, she assumed serpentine poses, she smoldered at him from her covert of hair. But the Master seemed unimpressed by her wiles. "Be seated, I beg of you." He resumed his place in his armchair. "I've heard of your interest in our philosophy and practices; I hope you will feel quite at home here. I am going to be rather busy, but some of my relations will show you about." Timothy murmured his thanks for this exceptional courtesy and Satan went on. "You must see the Library. Our collection is complete, I believe; we have first editions of all the works on magic by the practitioners of the art, including many saints and scientists. I keep the incunabula here." He waved a long rubbery hand sporting a handsome onyx ring toward the alcove lined with shelves of books.

"Timothy is more interested in potions," said Sinkinda. "He has quite a few customers now. I am hoping he will bring you converts, sir." She leaned on the desk and looked at Satan with something akin to doting in her self-possessed features. Timothy felt a pang . , . and yet it won't do, he thought, to be jealous of the Devil. . . .

"Ah?" said Satan. "Well, have a look about. Partridge, you'll find much to interest you. My line of poisons is unsurpassed. For instance, in the alcove here . . ."

Satan rose and went through the arch. After an inquiring glance at Sinkinda, Timothy followed. The alcove contained a terrestrial and a celestial globe and a crystal gazing ball; the book-filled shelves, he saw, were cleverly painted to simulate the grain of oak.

With boyish proprietorship Satan went about touching secret springs in the panels; the sections revolved and showed their reverse sides, which proved to be more shelves filled with jars, bottles, phials, and limbecks. Little pointed arches of dark wood framed the top row—in short, Timothy almost thought his beloved shop had been snatched from the burning and set up here. Satan touched the jars with graceful indifference: "Mandrake, hemlock, wolfsbane—a really pure alkaloid and therefore one of the finest poisons in nature." He moved along to the patent medicine section and, taking down a bottle, offered it to Timothy. "L'Elixir d'Amour—" He sent a sly glance toward Sinkinda. "I believe you sold an imitation in your pharmacy. Here our drugs are unadulterated. But I can show you an even better trick." He picked up a jar and a spatula and began skillfully to compound some unguent. In a few minutes his cuffs and the front of his coat were spattered and dusty.

In these surroundings Satan looked so natural a pharmacist that Timothy gave a startled glance at the man's feet and was relieved to see that while one foot was neatly encased in patent leather the other wore an iron shoe, obviously to correct a deformity.

Unluckily Satan appeared to tire of puddling ointments before he had revealed the exceptional formula. He brushed off his clothes and said, "Look here. Partridge, there are some questions I want to ask you."

They returned to the study and resumed their seats. The heavy desk stood between them like a judgment bar. Timothy began to ooze perspiration; the study, he noticed, was intolerably hot and stuffy. The heat seemed to be coming from an elaborately wrought grille which pierced one wall; through it he saw red flickerings and heard long-drawn dismal cries which his ear plugs only partially muffled. Goose bumps broke out on his arms and neck.

Satan observed his predicament and frowned slightly. He rose, went over to the grille and listened for a moment, then he shouted, "That will do for today-bank the fires!" Turning back, he remarked, "Our heating system is the most effective ever invented, and very cheap to operate," and he courteously placed an embroidered fire screen between Timothy and the grille.

Going behind the desk, he stood for a moment leaning lightly on his knuckles and fixed on Timothy a remarkably fine pair of black eyes. Then, in a voice charged with menace and summoning, he said, "Dr. Partridge, do you believe in God?"