Black Tattoo, The Page 28

  "All in good time," said the Scourge.

  Far below, the veins on the floor of the chamber were getting bigger — bunching and bulging and knotting together. Before much longer, Esme could see what they were leading to: a plateau, huge and roughly circular, that swelled out of the surrounding meaty red flesh like some bulbous growth or excrescence. As they got closer, Esme began to make out more details.

  Every inch of the plateau's fleshy red surface was covered, it seemed to her, by thousands of tall figures — each one of them apparently identical. Each and every one of them was dressed in flowing robes and floating off the ground. Each and every one of them had conjured a magical globe of light and was holding it, patiently, suspended over their long fingers to show the way.

  Gukumat: all of the army of strange floating figures were Gukumat. As Esme and the Scourge made their final approach to the plateau, the Overminister's multiple bodies parted simultaneously, drifing back with a rustle of silk to for a place for the two of them to land. Trying hard not to boggle too obviously, Esme touched down, only a yard or so away from the boy the Scourge had brought her to see.

  "Charlie," said the Scourge. "How are you?"

  "Oh, hi," said Charlie vaguely. "Yeah, I'm okay. How are you?"

  Charlie was standing in front of a strange hump in the plateau's surface: a thick cylinder about the size of a petrol drum, made of meat. It was gnarled and twisted by the bone structure and blood vessels behind its fleshy exterior: like the plateau and everything else since the tunnel, it looked grown.

  Strangely, Charlie didn't seem to recognize Esme or even know she was there. After answering the Scourge, Charlie's eyes had gone blank: he just stood there, frozen, like a shop-window dummy waiting to be positioned, while the black tattoo writhed listlessly under his skin. Esme frowned.

  "I now have complete control of his mind," the Scourge explained. "He will respond only to the stimuli I choose for him. He can't hear or sense anything other than what I allow him to. Including, of course, you."

  "Nice," said Esme. "How did you manage that?"

  "He wants to become Emperor of Hell," said the Scourge, with a smirk in its voice. "The fool wants it so much that he has abandoned everything from his life before he met me and put himself entirely into my hands. In short," it added, "he trusts me."

  Esme looked at Charlie. She waved a hand in front of his eyes and only succeeded in making herself feel very silly indeed.

  "All right," she said. "Well, what are you going to make him do?"

  "We're going to wake the Dragon," said the Scourge. "This heart chamber, when the Dragon wakes, will be flooded for an instant with its lifeblood. In that instant, the Dragon will unmake what it createde, and the purity of the Void will be complete once more."

  Esme smiled mirthlessly. "That's a Hell of a story."

  "Indeed," the Scourge replied. "It is, nonetheless, true."

  Esme thought for a moment. The air in the chamber was moist and still. She was conscious of the vastness of the space around her and of Gukumat's eyes on her: all of them.

  "Let's say I believe you," she began.

  "I assure you," said the Scourge, "if you don't, then by the time you realize your mistake, it will already be too late."

  "Sure. But this 'waking the Dragon' business," Esme went on slowly. "Can anyone do it, or is it just you?"

  "Only I have the power to awaken the Dragon," said the Scourge, with quiet pride. "It is my greatest gift: the purpose of my life and the cause of my years of exile."

  "But you can't do it alone," Esme pursued. "Can you? You have to have a puppet — some sucker to be your hands and do your dirty work for you. Am I right?"

  "I cannot do it without a willing host body," the Scourge replied. "That is correct."

  Esme thought some more. "Well," she said—

  —and drew her weapon. The pigeon sword whispered through the air and stopped, millimeters from Charlie's throat.

  "What if I just kill him?" she asked.

  There was a pause.

  No one had tried to stop her. Neither the Scourge nor Gukumat had moved in the slightest — and as for Charlie, Esme doubted whether he'd even noticed how close to death he was. Esme kept her blade at his throat. Her eyes became rooted to the rhythmic pulse of the artery in Charlie's neck. She could strike him dead in a heartbeat. But she did not.

  "You can't," said the Scourge gently. "Can you?"

  The point of the blade shook fractionally as, for a second, Esme tried to force herself. Then, slowly, she took the sword away from Charlie's neck.

  "Now you see how weak your humanity has made you," said the Scourge. It turned to the nearest Overminister. "Let us begin."

  At once, Gukumat's voices rose in unison.

  Blood will decide it. Blood will begin it. Seal your intention with blood.

  Charlie blinked, and his eyes came into focus. He was still looking at the Scourge.

  "What happens now?" he whispered.

  Esme shook her head. It was pathetic.

  "You must cut yourself, Charlie," the Scourge explained.

  "You want me to what? "

  "Cut yourself. Let a few drops of your blood fall onto the altar. This will" — it paused — "prove your determination to rule. Your left thumb would be a good place."

  The Scourge made a small gesture, and an ink-black shape hunched out on Charlie's right shoulder: Ashmon scampered down his arm, and by the time the ferret creature reached his hand, it had become a scalpel-like knife. Surprised, Charlie looked down at the knife, then he looked back up at the Scourge.

  "You, er..." he said. "You really want me to...?"

  "Trust me," said the Scourge.

  "Well," said Charlie, "okay."

  He wiped his left thumb on the leg of his black jeans, then brought it up toward the knife. The short, gleaming blade was now just a millimeter or two away from his skin.

  Suddenly, weirdly, Charlie found that he was thinking of his body — falling into the river, dropping away endlessly into the cold and the wet and the dark. Then Charlie thought of his mother, still waiting for him at home. There was an odd feeling in his stomach — something warm and bright — and he realized that a big part of him didn't really want to do this. So, quickly, before he could think too much—

  —he did it anyway.

  The knife was so sharp that it didn't even hurt at first. It was only when he pushed the blade upward, opening the wound, that it started to sting. Charlie bit his lip and held his hand out over the cylinder thing. With a clicking sound that was surprisingly loud in the silence, fat droplets of dark blood fell onto its surface. The droplets began to form a pool.

  Then it started.

  With a sudden gurgling sound, the pool of blood simply vanished, sucked away out of sight. Surprised, Charlie took a step back — or rather, he tried to and found that he couldn't: his feet seemed to have disappeared into the ground.

  There was a strange rustling, whispering, stretching-splitting-crackling sound, as unseen tendrils of flesh and sinew began to grow and thicken all around him. Something big was emerging from the floor behind him, a rearing shape like a shadow made of flesh, molding itself around Charlie's body. When the stuff reached his elbows, caressing him encouragingly, he flinched: but then, as he was gently but firmly pulled back into the chair — the throne of blood and bone that had been prepared for him — he smiled uncertainly. Seated now, his hands resting on great red swelling pillows of sticky meat, he rode the throne upward, grinning like an idiot, and all Esme could do was watch.

  "CHARLIE!" she yelled. "CHARLIE! "

  Of course, Charlie didn't answer. The Scourge took her hand. There was a sensation like huge black wings closing around her.

  Then Esme opened her eyes, and she was somewhere else.

  * * * * *

  She was sitting on the edge of a bed. It was an ordinary single bed, but it looked quite strange to her just then, because apart from the bed there was nothing else in the room e
xcept whiteness — blank, bright, and surrounding — and the Scourge, standing before her.

  "There," it said. "Now, for the first time, I think I see why living things are so strangely attached to their short and pointless little lives."

  Esme just looked at it. "Excuse me?" she asked.

  "I have been waiting for that moment," said the Scourge slowly, "for longer than you can possibly imagine. It has been my one purpose in life, and my lifetime has lasted many thousands of times longer than the longest of humankind."

  "Yes?" Esme managed. "So?"

  "Through years of exile and imprisonment, I have been waiting to finish my task. And now — now, when the end is in sight — I find, to my astonishment, that I am thinking of renouncing it. Do you understand me?"

  "Not really," said Esme. "No."

  "Of course you don't." The Scourge shook its head. "How could you? How could you possibly grasp the enormity of what—"

  "Okay, look," Esme interrupted, pointing at her face. "See? I'm bored now. Why don’t we just fight and get this over with?"

  "Because," said the Scourge, "I think..." It paused.

  "I love you."

  Esme stared at it with wide eyes.

  "What? "

  "You heard me."

  "Yeah, I heard you," Esme spluttered, "but I don't know what the Hell you think you mean. What — what are you talking about?"

  "You are my child!" said the Scourge, with sudden fervor. "Crippled, twisted, stunted by your humanity — but my child, a child of mine nonetheless."

  It stood closer to her, leaning over her.

  "I can help you," it murmured. "I can help you to become whatever it is in you to become. You are unique, my poor one. Since time began, there has been nothing to compare with you. And with me at your side you can—"

  "All right, that's enough," said Esme. She shuddered.

  The Scourge took a step back.

  "I told Felix you could stop me," it said, sounding strangely...hurt all of a sudden, Esme realized. "I didn't lie: here are my terms. If you will agree to stay with me here in Hell, I will stop the ritual. I'll release the boy. I'll abandon the very purpose of my existence, and the Dragon's sleep will remain unbroken."

  Esme just stared.

  "You are my daughter," the Scourge told her. "We belong together. If you can accept that, then the universe will be spared. If not, well..."

  The Scourge shrugged.

  "Think about what I've said. But don't take too long to decide."

  It vanished, and Esme was left in the freezing whiteness, alone.

  THE GATHERING

  This is ridiculous, thought Jack, finally slumping on the sandy floor.

  How the Hell was he supposed to rescue Charlie when he was trapped in a cell?

  Come to that, how the Hell could Jack possibly find Charlie, even if he were able to get out? Thanks to the teleporting properties of the jelly stuff, Jack knew next to nothing about Hell's geography: he wouldn't've known where to begin to look.

  Face it, he thought, if saving the universe was something someone like him was capable of doing, then everyone would be at it. It was as simple — as typical — as that.

  It was at that moment that he heard a soft rumbling and creaking sound. The large stone wall was lifting again.

  Jack sat up. The outside of his cell was in shadow: beyond the wall he could see nothing but darkness. He stood, walked over, and, gingerly, put his head out.

  That was when Shargle grabbed him.

  Thick coils of muscle dropped around him and tightened.

  Jack struggled, but he couldn't move: his arms were crushing against his ribs, and one of Shargle's unspeakable heads was looming toward him, eyes glinting gray-blue in the dark.

  "Hello, fresh meat," said the worm, grinning delightedly. "Remember me?"

  "Of course I remember you, Shargle," said Jack, with exasperated effort. "But what the Hell do you want?"

  "I'll tell you what I want," said Shargle, leaning closer. "I want to see your insides. Yes! Your nasty little innards, squeezing out of you! Fresh meat, you owe me a death!"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "You were promised to us!" whined Shargle's other head, rearing out of the darkness to Jack's left. "You're ours! It said so on the coin!"

  "So?"

  "Everyone's so mean to Shargle," said the first head, pouting.

  "Name-calling!" said the second.

  "Hitting us!"

  "Tying us together!" The heads looked at each other, shuddered in sympathy, then smiled. "But now," both of them chorused, "now, at last, Shargle can be mean to you! "

  Heaven's sake, thought Jack. "Shargle," he began, "this really isn't a good time—"

  "For us," announced Shargle's first head, "any time is a good time."

  "But the universe is about to end!" Jack gasped, doing his best. "The Dragon is about to wake up!"

  For a moment, all four of Shargle's eyes widened in surprise — then scowled.

  "The Dragon," one head snorted. "That old story!"

  "No one believes in the Dragon anymore!"

  "Now beg us for mercy!"

  "Yes, beg." The worm's coils wrenched tighter.

  "Whine! Cringe! Squeal!"

  And now Jack could feel his bones grinding together. Great gouting blue fireworks were going off behind his eyeballs; his head felt ominously tight, like a tube of toothpaste being squeezed without the cap being taken off, and when he tried to breathe all there was was the nauseating stench of the worm. As Shargle's heads leaned toward him, the revolting wet brown holes of his mouths opening wider and wider, Jack's vision seemed to shrink down until he could see nothing else, but then...

  Then, suddenly, there was a burst of light, and a thunderous, echoing voice said,

  CITIZENS OF HELL, YOU ATTENTION PLEASE: THIS IS OVERMINISTER GUKUMAT. YOU ARE SUMMONED, ONE AND ALL, TO AN ANCIENT CEREMONY. PREPARE FOR TRANSPORTATION, EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU, IN THREE—

  There was a rising hum in the air: jelly stuff winked into being and began, instantly, to spread.

  TWO, boomed the voice.

  "EEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAGHlllp!" Shargle shrieked out his frustration from both of his heads but was abruptly cut off as the shimmering substance swallowed him.

  ONE.

  The jelly stuff stiffened, went thick.

  And for a moment, everything was black.

  * * * * *

  Shargle and Jack had been transported together: Jack was still wrapped in the worm's coils. Shargle's grip had loosened — a little, not much — but the weird thing was that Jack couldn't feel the ground. He seemed to be floating.

  "Where are we?" Jack managed. "What's happened?"

  "Jack?" said a voice with a French accent he recognized. "Jack? It is you?"

  "Number Three!" said Jack. "Where are you? Oh, Shargle," he added, struggling in the dark, "for God's sake, why can't you just get off me?"

  "No!" squeaked Shargle nervously. "Shan't! No! Fresh meat can just—"

  ATTENTION, SCUM OF THE GLADIATOR PITS!

  Everyone fell silent.

  You are here, said the voice, not because we wish it but because the ritual demands that all demons in Hell be witness to the Dragon's awakening. You should see your presence here for what it is — an unspeakable honor for ones such as yourselves — and act accordingly.

  "Arse," belched another familiar voice.

  You have been brought into the presence of the most holy and omnipotent DRAGON, Gukumat went on. The Eater of Worlds: Alpha and Omega — the Creator and Destroyer of All. Look on your god, you supplicant scum. Look on your god and TREMBLE!

  "Gah!" said Jack — and everyone else — as the darkness suddenly flooded with light. Jacks' seared retinas took several moments to adjust. But the next thing he said was, "Whoa." The word didn't cover it. No words did. So for a while, Jack just stared.

  Jack and Shargle were being held in a bubblelike field of what was, presumably, magic of some kind. As well a
s Jack and the worm, the bubble was big enough to hold all four Sons of the Scorpion Flail and a large pulsating blob that Jack was able to recognize — to his surprise — as Jagmat. Jagmat, Jack, Shargle, Number 3, Number 2, Number 9 and Number 12 were all floating around in the bubble like snow in a recently shaken snow globe. The Sons looked scared. They had a right to be. But Jack wasn't paying any attention to his companions. The surface of the strange magical bubble thing that was now imprisoning them was transparent: Jack was looking out of the bubble at what was beyond.

  He gaped.

  The bubble was suspended from the ceiling of a gigantic red chamber — so big that Jack wasn't even sure it qualified as a single room. Other bubbles just like it, containing various numbers of unhappy gladiators, were strung around the ceiling in a vast, necklacelike ring.

  Waiting below them, on the floor of the chamber, was what had to be every single demon in Hell. The entire demon population was laid out below Jack in a huge, dark, crawling circle. There were creatures down there that defied description. But he wasn't looking at these either.

  In the center of the chamber was an enormous plateau, made out of the same bulging fleshy red stuff as the ceiling and floor. All across it stood a mass of identical white-robed figures. And in the center of that — at the center of everything — were two who Jack knew well: Charlie, seated on a throne of meat, and the Scourge, standing beside him.

  DEMONS OF HELL! Boomed Gukumat's multitudinous voice. This is a day that has been long in coming! Only once before, since the beginning of Creation — only once, since the most holy Dragon first fell into its ancient slumber — has the whole mass of our people been gathered together as we are in this moment. And WHAT A SIGHT WE ARE!

  The gladiators' bubbles actually shuddered in the air at this; the giant chamber rang with the sound as all the demons on the ground roared their approval.

  SINCE TIME BEGAN, IT IS WE WHO HAVE HAD POWER IN THE UNIVERSE!

  The crowd was in ecstasy.

  IT IS FOR US THAT THE PLANETS TREMBLE IN THEIR ORBITS!

  Delirium. Pandemonium.

  AND IT IS WE, said Gukumat, BY DIVINE RIGHT, WHO WILL BRING ALL CREATION TO AN END!