Once Upon a Time in Hell (8 page)

"Good evening," it said, in a voice of thin, expelled air, "best of luck at the tables."

"Oh, you too," I said.

The penis somehow managed to look gracious as it bowed and then turned away, tapping a woman on the shoulder so that it and its following owner could get past. "Over there," said the old man, pointing towards the far corner where I could just about glimpse a tall, brightly-coloured headdress.

Agrat gave the appearance of being a woman in her fifties. She was beautiful, having the sort of pale, gentle radiance you see on old paintings and soap adverts. Beauty that doesn't have to work at it. Her headdress was built from several layers of silk, varying hues of blues and reds.

When she laughed, as she did often, it rustled as if caught by a gentle breeze exposing light blonde hair beneath. She wore a dress that made her look even more like royalty, the fabric seeming to change colour slightly as she moved. Everything she did gave the impression of both power and humility, the sort of person who could burn down your house and you'd find yourself thanking them for it. Terrifying grace. I'd all but fallen in love for the second time that evening.

"You need to join her game," the old man said.

"But I'm no good at cards," I said, trying to keep my mouth as still as possible, no doubt offering up a terrible, false grimace.

"You won't have to be, just do exactly as I tell you and say what I tell you to say. I'll do all the hard work, you just get to translate."

"And who's money they going to take when I lose?"

"I told you before, nobody's interested in money here. We need what she can offer and the only way we'll be able to get it is if we win it from her. Agrat gives nothing away unless she really has to. Let's get some chips."

"Without money?"

"What can money buy you in Hell? The thing people value here is experience, life lived.

Like the ticket seller who took a memory from you for a while. Remember, everyone here is either dead or were never truly alive in the first place: demons, conceptual entities and the such. The more intense the experience the more valuable it is. You can either loan those experiences to people—like the ticket seller—that's a low cost transaction, or you can give them away permanently, which is much more valuable. The buyer gets to savour that experience again and again for as long as they own it."

"So I need to convert my experiences to chips? What sort of experiences?"

"Anything and everything, the most potent memories you have. Just remember that if you lose them they're gone forever. Negative feelings can be valuable, as long as they are rich and unusual. Where we are pleasure comes in many forms. Sometimes there's nothing a low-level punishment demon savours more than being able to experience the fear and pain he dishes out on others. That said, the highest price will always go to the positive emotions as they're easily ex changed and sold on. Who wouldn't enjoy the sensation of true love? Or an amazing meal? Or a rich and satisfying night of sex? The most valuable thing of all is what we call Package Memories, the entire response to a person. The feeling of love and security for a parent, the love for a husband or wife. But if you lose that, every memory of that person is gone forever. It's a large price to pay."

"I guess they're only memories."

"But memories and experience are what make us who we are. If we were a blank slate every day what scope would we have to measure pain or pleasure? Life is relative."

We had arrived at a kiosk on the far side of the room. Inside, narrow eyes shaded by a pale green visor, a young woman counted and stacked chips, setting them in neat rows in the racks in front of her.

"What do you have to offer?" she asked.

"Repeat what I say," said the old man, "A life well lived." "A life well lived." I repeated. The woman nodded at what was clearly nothing more than a formality.

"Give me your hand then," she said and I poked it through the hole in the glass of the kiosk.

"Just the surface," the old man said, "I don't intend to play all night." Then he nodded to wards her, signalling me to repeat his words, which I duly did.

The woman chuckled. "A shy one is it? The old ones soon lose their inhibitions. What do I care for the sticky little secrets, eh? The times you wished someone dead, the dirty little thoughts you conjured up when playing with yourself, the loves never spoken aloud? It's all just dollars and cents to me, honey."

She took my hand and closed those piggy-little eyes of hers. After a moment she shivered slightly and a thin strand of saliva crept out of the corner of her mouth. I was about to snatch my hand back in case she went and dribbled on it when, all of a sudden, a dizziness washed over me and I had to grab on to the side of the kiosk to stop myself falling over.

"You'll be alright," said the old man, carefully standing behind me to offer a little sup port. "Just go with it."

Images flashed through my head, so fast I was barely able to register most of them. Faces of people I'd known, moments in my life. Some were recent: running from giant beetles or the living streets of Wentforth Falls. Others were older: the face of my father in his cups, or the look of sorrow on my mother's face as I told her I planned to travel. I even glimpsed the face of the dancer next door, the momentary love affair that existed in my mind only, maybe it was worth a few cents...

Finally she let go and the dizziness lifted. "Well," she said, "I've known richer. I'll give you a stake of eleven dollars. You'll get your memories back when you cash up."

She handed over the chips and, for a moment, I didn't know what I was supposed to do with them. I felt in a daze, so much of my life stripped away and stored in the vaults here at a riverboat casino in Hell. I was half the man I had been when I came in.

"First time?" she asked, seeing I was struggling. I nodded.

"It'll take you a minute while your brain patches over the gaps. You should remember all the important, recent stuff, any friends you came in here with. All it takes is for you to interact with them a little and the memories fall back in place. Now get out of here, you're holding up the line."

I looked behind me and noticed there were now a couple of other people waiting to do business.

"Thank you," I said, and stepped to one side, bumping into an old man who had been standing too close.

"Sorry," I said, "bit unsteady on my feet."

"Take a minute, son," he said. "I'll come back to you."

I looked at him and his face fell into place. "Oh yes, it's all your fault in the first place, ain't going to forget you in a hurry am I?"

"Imagine not," he pulled me to one side. "Now try and also remember that nobody else can see me, then you'll figure why it is people are looking at you funny."

I looked to my left and saw a little girl, maybe eight or nine, dressed in the prettiest little silk dress. She was staring at me in utter confusion. My heart nearly broke to see her in a place like this. Kids died, sure, it was a fact of life, but you hoped they would find themselves in better circumstances than a riverboat floating on the minced up bodies of the dead.

"Hey little lady," I said, "don't mind me. What's a pretty little thing like you doing here?"

"Choke on my hot shit, whore-master," she replied, and walked off.

"Did you..." I was shaking my head in shock.

"She's no more a little kid than I'm an old fart," he said. "You're going to have to get used to not taking everything at face value. Now let's go and find you a seat at Agrat's table."

I pocketed my chips and followed him back to the far corner where the game of five card stud was coming to the end of a betting round.

"So what is it we're after?" I asked. "Just so I know..."

"Agrat's power is in incantations. We need her to practice one on me."

A hairy-faced beast was clearly losing what little he had left. He looked like a poster I'd once seen for a dog-faced boy at a carnival sideshow, every part of his body covered in thick, greying hair.

"I'm about cleaned out," he admitted, tugging nervously at the hair on his left temple, "I'll go all in."

"That's wonderfully sporting of you," said Agrat, offering him a smile that looked as valuable as the pot. She offered her cards: a flush that spit all over his triple eights. "I hope you one day get to win some of your life back, I'm sure it was very interesting."

"Mainly people kicking me up the ass, I imagine," he said, "if this last half hour's been anything to go by."

He stood up and the old man pushed me towards his empty chair. "Remember to repeat what I say," he reminded me. "Tell her you want to take his place." "Right... erm... Any objection to my sitting in?"

The table looked up at me as if noting a passing buzzard that had just taken a dump on the carpet.

"Try and be a bit more aggressive," the old man said. "You don't get anywhere in cards by acting like an old maid."

"Problem?" I said. "If you'll play with a motherfucker whose face looks like an old hooker's snatch I can't see why you wouldn't play with me?"

"Yeah," said the old man, "maybe not quite that aggressive."

"Fuck you, no tail," said the hairy loser, "this snatch-faced son of a bitch will bite your goddamned head off unless you learn to watch your mouth. I may have lost about ten year's worth of memories tonight but I don't intend to lose my pride as well."

He squared up to me.

The old man sighed and shook his head. "Can't back down now, that would look even worse. Punch him."

I fair crumbled at that suggestion, made all the worse by the fact I couldn't question it, not without everyone thinking I was even more of a lunatic, talking to thin air.

"Punch him," he repeated, "I'll help."

The dog-faced man loomed in close, his breath as thick and fruity as my old mule's farts.

I figured I was in a fight already, nothing I could say was likely to turn the situation around so I might as well just join in with conviction. I punched him in the stomach and it was like hitting an old mattress. It clearly hurt me more than him because he didn't move a muscle.

"In the face, god damn it!" said the old man. My opponent roared and swung his hairy arm back to return my blow. With what probably sounded like a girl's choir tuning up I shouted back and punched him as hard as I could in his eye.

The old man kicked him in the back of his legs and tugged him backwards by the hair on his head.

Everybody sitting at the table looked as surprised as I did to see the thing fall over. A solid kick from the old man kept him there.

"Yeah," I added, thinking I might as well cash-in on this unexpected success, "and stay down you shaggy piece of shit."

"Don't push your luck, damn you," said the old man, "just sit down and mind your tongue next time."

I took the vacated chair before anyone could argue and proceeded to try and make friends with everyone.

"My name's..." I had to think for a moment, uncertain of my own name and with only eleven dollars to show for it. "Elwyn," I continued. "Shall we play some cards?"

"I don't tend to play with ruffians," said Agrat, giving me a disapproving look. "I like to keep better company than that."

I looked around the table. As well as her, I was playing with a baby sporting a pair of jet black bat's wings; what looked like a cross between my grandmother and an over-cooked steak, white curls bobbing over its creased, brown, featureless face and what I would have taken to be a carved wooden statue of an Injun were it not currently taking a sip of its drink, fat arm creaking like a tree branch in a high wind. "I can see that, madame," I replied, "and I can only apologise for speaking so coarsely.

Tell the truth I was bitten by a wolf hound as a child and my tolerance of anything doglike is limited. I guess I spoke out of fear, not thinking of the refined ears that would have to suffer such indignities. If I could take the vulgar comments back I most surely would."

"Not bad," the old man admitted, stood at my shoulder. "I had no idea you knew how to be charming."

Agrat offered a thin smile. "Well, I suppose I might turn a blind eye just this once as you've apologised so sweetly. Now, tell me, are your pockets as rich as your words?"

"Have no fear there my dear lady," I said, fishing my chips out of my pocket. "Eleven fulsome dollars await your attention."

She laughed. "Oh maybe I do like you after all you silly boy. If your memories were only worth that much I can hardly compound the insult by refusing you a place at my side."

"Oh, is that not very good then?" I looked over towards the kiosk. "Maybe she short changed me."

"Or maybe," said the baby with the bats wings, "you just didn't live a very full life."

"Plenty of time to change that," I said but the old man put his hand on my shoulder.

"They think you're dead, remember. And unless you want to cause more fuss than you or I can likely handle, it would be better were it to stay that way."

"Time is gone for you, I think," said the beef-thing in the hairpiece, its meaty skin parting to show a toothless black hole of a mouth. "Life here is a very different thing."

"Which is why we must fill it with games and entertainment," said Agrat. She took hold of my hand. "I take it you haven't played here before?"

"You can tell the truth," said the old man. I shook my head. "My first time here."

"Then you don't know the traditions of the table," she said.

"Here we go..." muttered the baby with the wings. "I just want to play cards but now we have to plough through the stories again."

"It's the rules," said Agrat, "whenever someone new joins the game."

"And never let it be said Agrat doesn't like sticking to the rules," the baby replied, rolling its big eyes.

"No. It would indeed be better were that never said." Agrat stared threateningly at the baby.

"Fine," it sighed.

Agrat returned her attention to me. "Poker is a game of bluff but honour demands each person playing should give a brief account of themselves to the other players before the game commences."

"Right, so you know who you're dealing with."