The fiery finger of doom seared a path down Agonostis' spine. He hurried down the circular stairway, swearing and snarling. The blazing summons in his hand left no doubt in his mind that he was in deep shit—he just hoped when he got the bad news he knew was coming, he wouldn't find himself literally so.
Eventually he reached the bottom of the stairs and swept through the arched stone doorway into a dimly lit hall whose roof seemed to reach to black infinity. That was the other thing that tipped him off. Lucifer gave promotions in the office. When he met one of his servants in the throne room, the news was invariably foul.
An onyx throne stood at the end of the long room, and the darkly beautiful figure of Agonostis' prince lounged there, waiting. Standing, Lucifer would have towered thirty feet tall. Even seated, he looked down on Agonostis, who, a single rank beneath the Archfiend, stood fifteen feet high himself.
Agonostis always felt his insides knot when facing his master.
"You're late, Agonostis."
"Yes, my lord." There was no way not to be late getting to the throne room—it could only be reached by walking down those steps, and the steps extended—and kept extending—until the petitioner going down to face Lucifer was exactly late enough to put the Archfiend into a fine rage. Hell's architects had designed it that way . . . and Agonostis hoped every one of them got a chance to try the damned steps out, too.
Lucifer was holding the report—Agonostis couldn't help but think of it as The Report.
"Your Fornication numbers have fallen off," the Prince of Evil said in a cold, terrifying voice.
"There's a plague on—sexually transmitted diseases." Agonostis winced at confessing that his problem was one caused by his archrival. But he forged onward. "Fornication fell off during the Black Plague, too. I've kept the losses from becoming too severe by pushing condom distribution in high schools and by making safe sex a big, public topic, and I've made fornication a civil rights issue instead of a moral issue, which I think was very clever of me. Your Evilness, all of this will blow over anyway as soon as my people come up with decent vaccines for the diseases they're dealing with. And it isn't like I'm behind on net—I've managed to offset the losses in fornicators by increasing souls damned by lust. My overall numbers are still up."
"Your Fornication numbers are down. Any idiot should be able to maintain steady growth in that area of damnation; humans have a natural inclination to damn themselves in that direction anyway."
"I'd like to see any idiot try," Agonostis muttered.
"Would you really?" Lucifer smiled slowly, and Agonostis instantly regretted the words. "Well, you'll have the opportunity to do so. I'm demoting you to field operative on a special away mission—meanwhile, Jezerael will be promoted into your old post as Chief Fallen Angel of Lust and Fornication. We'll see if she can do a better job than you."
Agonostis hated field op work. But his ears caught the second half of his new job description and his eyes narrowed. "Away mission? What the hell is an `away mission'?"
Lucifer's smile grew broader. He pulled out a sheet of yellow paper and said, "I just got this off the Hellex. Straight from He Whose Name Shall Not Be Spoken, no less. Let me read it to you—I'm sure you'll find it enlightening."
The Archfiend read:
" `Command from on High
" `By order of the God of Heaven and Earth, Creator of All Things . . .' blah, blah—You know how he loves to tack on the titles when he's sending messages to us—"
" `O fallen angel who is anathema to me, you whose name shall not pass my lips until you have humbled yourself before me—' "
Lucifer grinned. "Nice to know he's still smarting from that first dust-up. I'm looking forward to the next one. In any case—"
" `By my order and on my express command and through the intercession of my daughter, Dayne Teresa Kuttner, you shall send forth out of Hell, under my parole, exactly fifty-eight thousand eight hundred fifty-one fallen angels, devils, demons, and assorted members of the lower orders of Hell's crawling vermin into the state of North Carolina—this number being exactly one one-hundredth of the human population in that state at the instant of my reckoning.
" `Unchained denizens of Hell must obey the following rules:
o They will neither inflict, nor pay to have inflicted, any physical harm on any human.
o They will not parent a child with a human, either with or without the human's consent.
o They will not steal by supernatural means.
o They will not cause any disease or plague, nor will they act as the agents through which any disease or plague is transmitted.
o They will not impersonate a minister, God, or angel of God, or any divine messenger of God.
o They will not cause any virgin births.
o They will not leave the State of North Carolina.
" `The Unchained denizens of Hell may:
o Lie, tempt, deceive, mislead, and otherwise carry out the usual agenda of Hell.
o Impersonate human beings if that is within their nature and capacity.
o Own property, become citizens, hold offices, own and operate legal businesses, marry humans—if the humans are apprised of their true nature beforehand and no intimidation is used—and in all other legal ways approved by the State of North Carolina attempt to achieve a normal life on Earth.
o Enter into binding contracts with human beings—with one of the two following stipulations:
1) The human must be fully apprised of the nature of the contract and the nature of all parties involved in the contract; or,
2) The human must sign the contract with his own blood. (Percentage of blood to inert materials not specified; blood must be less than twenty-four hours old in Earth-sequential time only, as per previous agreements between Heaven and Hell; human must know that blood has been drawn; no blood from blood donorship or other merciful blood collection agencies, or from accidents and injuries may be used.)
" `Repent.'
"Repent," Lucifer muttered again, and cocked an eyebrow at Agonostis. "It is going to be the duty of my away commander to make sure there aren't any repenters." His voice was ominous when he said it. He continued to read:
" `Unchained denizens of Hell must:
o Eat and drink mortal food, or their Earthly bodies will wither and fail, and they will have to pay Heaven for new ones. Heaven will charge a cost-per-body fee plus punitive wastage tax for any Earthly bodies above and beyond the one that will be issued free from Heaven per Hell-soul at the time of exit from Hell—this will be collected by the usual revenue methods. These Heaven-issued Earth-bodies will be indistinguishable from the individual Hellspawn's normal form and will have all the Hellspawn's usual abilities excluding those which would run counter to the above decrees.
o Obtain their sustenance in the normal mortal way—that is, by growing food or paying for it with cash or barter.' "
Agonostis swallowed. "And I am to be one of these Unchained, treading the Earth and seducing humans into damnation while . . . holding down a job?"
Lucifer laughed. It was a harsh and hollow sound. "Oh, I wouldn't think of demoting you as far as that . . . yet. No, no, Agonostis." The Archfiend looked down at Agonostis and his eyes blazed red. "You're going to be in charge. This will be your chance to prove to me that you still have what it takes to make it as a fallen angel in Hell. We haven't had one of the original Fallen busted back to imp since . . . gracious! . . . since that unfortunate incident with Shedhurdzashel and the failed temptation of Billy Graham. You remember that, of course."
Agonostis nodded. He was feeling faint.
"So I'm sure you'll come through for me."
"I'm going to be responsible for fifty-eight thousand Hellspawn . . ." Agonostis swallowed again. His heart felt as if it was lodged in his throat. "On Earth. What sort of tracking facilities will I have?"
"I'll finance a nice central office, and rent space for several satellite offices—and make sure you're supplied with start-up technology—"
"I'll probably rather buy locally," Agonostis said, thinking of Hell's equipment, which was slightly more archaic than Communist Russia's had been, and which was built and tested by equally enthusiastic, inspired workers.
"—technology," Lucifer repeated stiffly, "an adequate staff, some seed capital, and a base starting salary for you and your officers. I'll expect net profits within the fiscal year—we'll run it from October to October for the sake of accounting convenience."
"You mean net profits in souls?"
"I mean net profits in souls and money. We're incurring expenses from Heaven from this—I expect to counterbalance those expenses and make a nice net, too. If you're going to be on site, make it worth my while to have you there."
Agonostis nodded. Keep fifty-eight thousand plus Hellspawn in line with Hell's stinking equipment and God's stinking rules and generate a profit. He'd known this was going to be bad. He hadn't imagined the depths to which bad could sink. "Yes, your Foulness," he said, keeping his eyes on the ground. He sighed deeply and turned to go.
"That isn't all, Agonostis."
Agonostis' skin began to itch—he knew the hives would be coming at any time. "Sir?" he said slowly.
"I want you to give the damnation of one particular mortal your special attention."
Agonostis didn't want to know, but he looked at his lord and master and asked, "Who, sir?"
The Archfiend's grin was especially evil as he said, "Dayne Teresa Kuttner, of course."
Agonostis would have wept if he could have. Those people who could request major favors from God—like the Unchaining of nearly sixty thousand Hellspawn, for example—and get God to answer were not people whose damnation he wanted to hear depended on him. He felt suddenly that he knew how Shedhurdzashel had felt when he'd been commanded to corrupt Billy Graham.
The Malevolent One patted him on the head. "I know how you would loathe being an imp, Agonostis. So don't let me down on this."
"No, Your Loathsomeness." Agonostis was remembering the imp he'd eaten earlier in the day for bringing his daily paperwork to him late. He didn't want to be an imp at all.
"Well, then. You'd best hurry. The rest of the away team is already packing—you're to leave in one hour. I'll expect you to stop by the main office on your way out to pick up a list of your orders and rules and my . . . suggestions. I'll expect you to find ways around God's rules, too."
"How are we to get . . . out?"
Lucifer shrugged. "God is providing the transportation on this. I have no idea what method he intends to use."
Agonostis nodded silently and turned away again, and again Lucifer stopped him. "There's no time limit on the rest of the assignment, but I want Dayne Kuttner's soul in my ledger in thirty days."
Agonostis' shoulders drooped. Thirty days? Without a word, he left the throne room and climbed up the stairs, which stretched evilly on the way back up—simply because he was depressed—and returned to his office, still dragging.
Jezerael, swearing mightily, was throwing things out of Agonostis' desk when he got there. The other fallen angel glared up at him, and without a word, went back to flinging things that didn't belong to her across the cubicle.
Agonostis' spirits lightened. "Heard you got a promotion," he said.
Jezerael's swearing got louder.
"Heard you're going to get Fornication back on line." Agonostis chuckled. "Though with all those awful plagues Earthside, I'll be very interested to see how you do that." He clucked his tongue and shook his head in mock solicitude.
Jezerael threw an obscene gesture and said, "I heard you got a demotion."
Agonostis smiled at her. "Sixty thousand of Hell's finest doing my bidding, a main office and satellite branch offices, and a vacation someplace cool and green—I don't know that I'd call that a demotion."
"The grapevine . . ."
". . . Is full of sour grapes, Jezerael. You know that."
Agonostis picked up his belongings before Jezerael could break any more of them and strolled out of the office looking cheerful. He didn't allow his depression to show again until he was back in his quarters.
Then, however, he dropped into his wing-back chair and buried his head in his hands and muttered to himself.
"Keep all of Hell's little devils in line, Agonostis. Don't let them repent, Agonostis. Make money, Agonostis. Bring me Dayne Kuttner's soul, Agonostis. In one month, Agonostis. And she's going to take one look at me and kneel and clasp her hands and say, `God, get that thing out of here,' and—Bam!—there I'll be. Agonostis the Grease Stain. Maybe I should just spit in Lucifer's face and let him turn me into an imp now."
He had one hour to get ready.
Less than one hour—the steps from Hell had eaten some of that time.
He sat up and stiffened his spine and took a deep breath.
"Agonostis," he told himself, "you've dragged more souls into Hell than any other Hellspawn in existence. You've dragged the mightiest and the purest through the mire, and you had fun doing it." He nodded sharply. "What you told Jezerael wasn't a lie. You've been made commander of your own army—almost sixty thousand strong, and surely the worst Hell has to offer." He grinned. "And you're operating with God's permission."
There was an American phrase that came to mind—shooting fish in a barrel. "That's it," he said. "This is shooting fish in a barrel. And as for Dayne Kuttner—well, Agonostis, you've never had the opportunity to go one-on-one with a single human soul before. Let's see how this woman stands up to the Lord of Lust."
He thought over the rules Lucifer had read to him, and when he considered them, he could think of dozens of ways to stay within the letter of the law while still completely subverting its spirit. Agonostis reached a decision. He stood and materialized himself into the Earthside operations computer room. He faced the mainframe that took up the central portion of the room and said in a loud voice, "Computer, I need a complete file on Dayne Teresa Kuttner and regional maps of the area in North Carolina that she inhabits with all the hot sin-spots marked out. Generate a database of our souls in the area, too, hard copy and disk media—I intend to set up a branch office wherever she lives. Also, I'll need the complete list of the troops assigned to me, and their specialties. Give me those in hard copy and disk, too."
The box hummed ominously, then subsided. The words, GO AWAY, YOU INCOMPETENT BOOB—I'M BUSY, scrolled down the screen.
Agonostis gritted his teeth. He said, "Tell me what I need to know or I'll have you reprogrammed by gargoyles."
The computer flashed a different message. YOU'RE IN HOT WATER WITH THE ARCHFIEND, SHITHEAD. DON'T THREATEN ME.
Agonostis bit the inside of his lip. God was going to suck him out of Hell and dump him somewhere on Earth in a very short time, and he didn't know who, or what, he was up against. "I want those records now."
YOU'LL WAIT UNTIL I FIND THEM.
"I'm not in that much trouble, Computer. Nor was I joking about the gargoyles." Agonostis pressed the palm of his hand against the side of the computer, and ran a short, sharp spike of power through the circuits. "If you try to screw with me, I'll melt your chips and your soul can come back as shit on the soles of the feet of the damned . . . and you can spend a millennia or two working your way up to gargoyle junior grade. Got that?"
The computer grumbled and snarled and growled. GOT IT.
"I thought you might. Give me the list of Unchained right now. Have an imp bring my materials to me in the anteroom in ten minutes, and immediately notify all lieutenants and above who are going to Earth to meet me there at the same time."
A disk and a sheaf of fireproof paper appeared in Agonostis' outstretched hand.
Agonostis dematerialized into a pocket of fast-time, set to exist for nine minutes. He set his own personal time for twenty-four hours, and in that twenty-four hours he set up his battle plans and made assignments and created well-focused disorder out of chaos. The energy drain on his soul required to compress time so fiercely and to hold it for so long was enormous, and he was literally sweating blood by the time he'd completed the plans. But he had them, and they were good.
He appeared in the anteroom to discover his command scurrying in the door and scrambling for seats; the room bustled with activity.
Agonostis cleared his throat, and the throng fell silent.
"All right, you. Hell is taking its business to Earth, and I am in charge. You make a mistake, you'll answer to me—and if you screw up badly enough, I'll make you wish you were still damnedsouls hanging in the Pit. Do . . . you . . . understand?"
"Yes, Lord Agonostis!" they shouted.
Agonostis nodded curtly. "Fine. These are your orders." He outlined the plan he'd worked out in slow-time.