The Black Tattoo (47 page)

"Hurry where?" asked Esme.

"That way," said God, jabbing one mauve-gloved finger upward.
 
"And quickly, if you please.
 
As fast as you can."

Esme pursed her lips but did as she was asked.
 
The massive slabs of black rock in the chimney sides began to blur together as she picked up speed.
 
After a few seconds, she turned to look at her companion.

"Is this right?" she enquired.
 
"We keep going like this?"

"No," said God, shaking his head.
 
"Stop a minute.
 
Please.
 
Just stop."

Puzzled, Esme did.
 
Soon they were perfectly still once more, hanging in midair over the yawning chasm below.

"I thought," said God, with elaborate sarcasm, "that you were supposed to be
fast
."

"Sorry?" said Esme.

"You're kin to Khentimentu!" said God, as if he were talking to a moron.
 
"When it comes to speed, in all Hell's long history there's never been a demon to match the Scourge.
 
And here you are," he added, "toddling along like we've got all the time in the universe!"

"You want me to go faster?" Esme asked.
 
"Is that what you're saying?"

"If it's not too much trouble," said God, with a sneer.

For another long moment, Esme just looked at him.
 
Then, "Fine," she said—

—and took off at high speed straightaway.
 
The old man's fingers tightened around hers in an effort not to be left behind.
 
She forged on, blasting her way upward, until noise of the air resistance building up in front of her began to roar in her ears.

"There!" she shouted.
 
"How about that?"

But to her surprise, God was shaking his head again.

Incredulous, Esme slowed to a stop once more, just as—

BAKHOOM!
 
Another great shudder of noise from below rippled the very air around them.
 
When the walls stopped shaking, Esme saw that God was almost incandescent with impatience.

"Didn' t you hear me?" he asked.
 
He gestured round them.
 
"Didn't you hear that?
 
We have places to go!
 
Things to do!
 
And all you do is dawdle!"

"I wouldn't call that dawdling," said Esme.

"Ive known Chinj who could fly faster than you're going," God spat.
 
Then he sighed.
 
"I thought you had a real chance against the Scourge.
 
I thought you might have what it takes."
 
He looked her up and down, then shook his head.
 
"Obviously, I was mistaken."

"Look," said Esme, feeling herself losing patience again.
 
"I don't know what it is you want from me exactly, but I'll tell you:
 
it's not possible to fly any faster than that."

"Oh, great!" said God.
 
"Perfect!
 
Now we're going to get into an argument about what's 'possible'!
 
And what a wonderful time and place for it, I might add!"

Esme stared at him.

"Don't you know anything?" said God.
 
"The Scourge can be faster than
light
.
 
The molecules simply part around it:
 
the very fabric of reality would get out of Khentimentu's way if that were its wish.
 
And here's
you
, arguing with
me
about what's possible."

"Hang on," said Esme.
 
"You're saying I can be as fast as the Scourge?"

"Hallelujah," said God theatrically.
 
"I do believe the penny is starting to drop."

"Faster than light?" echoed Esme.

"And things like walls won't stop you either," said God.
 
"Now, are you going to get a move on or aren't you?"

Esme bit her lip and thought about it.

"All right," she said.
 
"I suppose I could try.
 
But there's just one thing.
 
If I can really be as fast as you say, how will we know where we're going?"

"My dear girl," said God.
 
"You just keep to your side of things; and I'll worry about mine.
 
All right?
 
I just need you to get up to speed."

Esme shrugged.
 
"Okay, then.
 
Let's go."

"And put your back into it this time!" squeaked God.

But suddenly, they were going so fast that the wind whipped the words from his mouth.

Still frowning, Esme took herself up to what she'd considered up till then to be her top speed and stayed there.
 
Words echoed and spun in her head.

The Scourge could move faster than
light
.

There's something a bit special about you.

Strength without limit.
 
Power beyond imagining—

Was it true? she wondered.
 
Was it really true that all along she had only been using a fraction of her potential?
 
Perhaps it was.
 
But if she did let her power out, if she did use her potential, wasn't that... well, dangerous?
 
If her power came from the Scourge, then perhaps she wouldn't be able to control it.
 
Perhaps it might make her evil:
 
perhaps it might mean that the Scourge could control her.
 
Even now, with so much at stake, that was too much of a risk.
 
It was just too dangerous — wasn't it?

But...

A real chance against the Scourge
.

You still think you can defeat me.

You're not human!

Remember your mother.

Esme concentrated.
 
She felt the air resistance on her face like a weight, pressing at her all over, but she forced herself to ignore it.
 
She ignored the strange old man with his hand in hers, she ignored the walls of the great chimney flashing past — she ignored everything, in fact, and turned her attention inward, forcing herself to concentrate only on each moment and the moment that followed it, one at a time.
 
She closed her eyes, feeling the tension of the air, its reluctance to let her pass.

And she let her mind find a way through it.

Suddenly, every molecule in her body began to dance and tremble.
 
It was a little like the sensation she'd felt in the heart chamber, only this time it was stronger.
 
She could feel, inside herself, the power that had waited all her life as it began to wake, uncurl itself, take hold.

Now Esme let that happen.

"Yes!" shrieked God.
 
"Yes!
 
Yes!
"

But Esme didn't hear him.
 
All she could hear was the rushing scream of the air as it grew red-hot — then white-hot — then finally, as it gave up its resistance and let her through.

There was silence.

Black wings closed around them both.

And when Esme opened her eyes, she was somewhere else.

*
       
*
       
*
       
*
       
*

"Not bad!" said God, grinning at her slyly.
 
"Not bad at all.
 
For a beginner."

Esme didn't reply.

"Set us down over there," God suggested, gesturing past the large stone balustrade that had appeared around them.
 
"Go on.
 
Take a moment to get your bearings."

She did as God said, slipping smoothly through the air, over the balustrade, bringing them both to rest, gently, on the cool marble floor that lay beyond it.

Blinking a bit, Esme looked around herself.

"Welcome," God announced, "to the Halls of Ages!
 
The single greatest repository of history in the universe!"

A deep rumble from below them greeted his words, and God suddenly turned rather pale.

"Whatever you've brought me her to see," said Esme, "you'd better show it to me right now."

"Yes," said God, grimacing.
 
"I think you may be right.
 
This way, please."
 
And with that he scuttled away, down one of the vast, arched corridors that led away ahead of them.

Esme sighed, but she set off after him.

THE PLUNGE

Number 2 picked himself up from where he'd landed, brushing nonexistent dust off his uniform with great care, while the other Sons and Jack watched him apprehensively.

"The device," he said finally, snapping his fingers.

Number 9 frowned.
 
"Sir?"

"The
pack
, soldier!" growled Number 2.
 
"Give it to me!
 
On the double!"

"Sir!
 
Yes, sir!" said Number 9.

"Now," said Number 2, when the giant black pack's mysterious weight was settled on his back to his satisfaction, "I want you all to listen to me very carefully."

He looked at his men one at a time, conspicuously ignoring Jack and the Chinj.

"In view of current, uh, circumstances" — he eyed the narrow, moist, pink-walled tunnel they'd appeared in with distaste — "I'm going to pass over what happened just now and pretend that it never took place.
 
But I will say this."
 
He fixed each member of his team with a glittering glance.
 
"If any one of you punks even thinks about pulling a stunt like that again, you'll have me to answer to.
 
And believe me, when I'm done, Hell's gonna look like the teddy bears' picnic.
 
Clear?"

"Sir.
 
Yes, sir," said the other Sons.

"I am ranking officer here," said Number 2, with great emphasis.
 
"I'm in charge.
 
That means no one decides what we're going to do except
me
.
 
Understand?"

"Sir, yes, sir."

Number 2 sighed, turned, and looked at the Chinj, who was now perched on Jack's shoulder.
 
"So, uh, where to next?" he muttered.

"That way," said the Chinj, stifling a smirk and pointing down the tunnel with one wing.
 
"In my opinion," it added politely.

"This way, people!" Number 2 announced loudly, gesturing in the direction the Chinj had just indicated.
 
"Come on, let's move with a purpose."

They set off.

The tunnel was quite narrow, so the group had to walk in single file.

The floor sank slightly with each step, a little — but not quite — like wet sand.
 
Jack, touching one of the walls briefly with one hand, couldn't help noticing that as well as being rather slimy, it was also unnervingly warm to the touch.

"The passage," he whispered to the Chinj.
 
"It's almost like... like it's alive."

"It is," the Chinj replied.

Jack turned to the creature perched on his shoulder and gave it a level look.

"Okay," he said, "you're definitely going to have to explain that one."

"With pleasure."
 
The Chinj cleared its throat.
 
"Over the millennia since the universe began," it announced, "Hell has vastly outgrown its original size.
 
Its foundations, nonetheless, were built on a system of living tissue."

"What living tissue?" asked Jack.
 
"Not..."
 
He thought about it for a moment.
 
"Not the Dragon?"

"That's right," said the Chinj encouragingly.

"So Hell is part of the Dragon?" asked Jack, doing his best.

"A very small part, yes.
 
A bit like a mole, or a ..."
 
The small creature paused, obviously struggling to find the right word.
 
"A growth."

"Wait a second," said Jack.
 
"Are you seriously trying to tell me that the whole of Hell is just, like, a spot on the Dragon's
bum?
"

"I beg your pardon, sir," said the Chinj icily, "but the heartland of the Demon Empire is rather more significant than a — what did you call it?
 
A 'spot.'
 
And as to which part of the Dragon's anatomy Hell is situated upon, why, that's one of the fundamental mysteries of the universe.
 
The greatest Chinj theologians have debated that very point for—"

"But Hell grew out of the Dragon," pressed Jack, interrupting, "and this Dragon is so big that it didn't even notice — right?
 
That's what you believe?"

"It's what I know."

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm part of it too."

"You're what?" said Jack.

The Chinj sighed.
 
"Look," it said.
 
"In your body you've got all sorts of... pathways.
 
You have a nervous system, blood vessels, digestion — right?"

"O-kay," said Jack slowly.

"Well!"
 
The Chinj gestured at the pinkish-red walls around them and at the sloping floor that was becoming increasingly warm and moist and squelchy the further down they progressed.
 
"That's what we've got here!
 
Now, when we first met and I took that sample of your blood, I noticed that it contains a number of specialized cells that ferry essential supplies around your body — oxygen, that sort of thing.
 
Correct?"

"I guess."

"Well, that's what we Chinj do for the Dragon," said the creature.