John Connolly - The Infernals aka Hell's Bells

“I expect she’ll be looking for you,” said the Blacksmith.

“I expect so,” said Samuel.

“Well, if she comes this way, I won’t tell her anything. You can rely on me.”

“Thank you,” said Samuel. “But I want to get home, and I don’t know how.”

The last words caught in his throat. His eyes grew warm, but he fought away the tears. The Blacksmith discreetly looked away for a moment and then, once he was sure that Samuel was in control of his emotions, turned his attention back to the boy.

“It seems to me that if Mrs. Abernathy brought you here, then she may have the means of returning you as well.”

“But she won’t do that,” said Samuel. “She wants to kill me.”

“Nevertheless, whatever power she used to drag you here can surely be used to get you back.”

“So I have to face her?”

“You have to find her, or be found by her. After that, you’ll have to use your own cleverness to help you.”

“But I’m just a kid. And she’s a demon.”

“A demon that you’ve defeated once before, and can defeat again.”

“But I had help that time,” said Samuel. “I had help from-”

He almost said Nurd’s name, but he bit his tongue at the last minute. It was one thing to trust the Blacksmith with his secrets, but another thing entirely to trust him with Nurd’s.

“You had help from Nurd,” said the Blacksmith, and Samuel could not conceal his shock.

“How did you know that?”

“Because I’ve helped him too. I’ve seen his vehicle. It broke down, and I helped him and his servant, Wormwood, to repair it. Then they insisted upon disguising the car, so I aided them with that as well. Mind you, they seemed intent upon disguising it as a rock, for reasons I still don’t fully understand, but he’s a strange one, that Nurd. I rather liked him.”

“He’s my friend,” said Samuel. “If he knew I was here, he’d help me.”

“Oh, he knows you’re here,” said the Blacksmith.

“How?”

“He can feel you.” The Blacksmith patted his chest, just where his heart once beat when he lived and perhaps still did, in some strange way. “Can’t you feel him too?”

Samuel closed his eyes, and thought hard. He pictured Nurd in his head, and remembered what they had spoken of in Samuel’s bedroom when Nurd had first appeared to him. He recalled Nurd’s joy at the taste of a jelly bean, and his own surprise that Nurd had never before had anyone whom he could call a friend. He opened his heart to Nurd, and suddenly he had an image of him, an odd, ferretlike creature beside him that could only have been Wormwood, Nurd’s hands gripping the wheel of the Aston Martin that had, until recently, been the proudest possession of Samuel’s dad.

Then the image changed, and he saw Nurd and Wormwood standing beside-

Hang on, was that an ice-cream van?

Samuel called out to Nurd. He called out with his voice, and his heart. He called out with all the hope that he had left, and all his faith in the automobile-loving demon who was his friend.

He called out, and Nurd answered.

NURD, THE FORMER SCOURGE of Five Deities, now reformed, wondered how much bad luck a demon could have. First of all, he’d been banished to the Wasteland with Wormwood, where they had spent a very, very long time getting to know each other and wishing that they hadn’t. It had been aeons of utter monotony, broken only by the capacity of Wormwood’s body to produce the most extraordinary odors, and Nurd amusing himself by hitting Wormwood hard on the head with a scepter in return. Then, in the manner of a great many buses arriving together after you’ve been standing in the rain for hours waiting for just one, Nurd had found himself sent back and forth through a hole in space and time on no fewer than four occasions, causing his body to be stretched and then compressed in a most uncomfortable manner, as well as being crushed by a vacuum cleaner, hit by a truck, dropped down a sewer, and then forced to face the wrath of the armies of Hell by undoing the Great Malevolence’s plan to invade Earth. What was more, he had managed to annoy two policemen, the very same policemen who were now staring at him balefully while surrounded by four hostile-looking dwarfs and a shortsighted ice-cream salesman.

It’s just not fair, thought Nurd. All I wanted was a quiet life, and maybe some candy and an ice cream.

Constable Peel removed his notebook in an officious manner, licked the tip of his pencil, and prepared to write.

“Ready, Sarge,” he said.

“List of charges,” began Sergeant Rowan. “Evading arrest. Leaving the scene of a crime, namely an attack on a house of worship by assorted dead people. Soiling a police vehicle.”

“I never did,” said Nurd.

“You made it smell,” said Sergeant Rowan.

“I fell down a sewer.”

“Nevertheless, our car has never smelled right since. Causes Constable Peel here to feel nauseous on a regular basis.”

“And it makes my uniform pong,” said Constable Peel. “It undermines my authority, having a smelly uniform.”

Nurd was tempted to suggest that the main factor undermining Constable Peel’s authority was Constable Peel himself, but decided against it. He was in enough trouble already.

“What else do we have, Constable?” asked Sergeant Rowan.

“Immigration offenses?” suggested Constable Peel.

“Right you are. Improper entry. Entering Britain without a proper visa. Entering Britain without a passport. Illegal alien, you are.”

“I’m not an alien,” Nurd corrected. “I’m a demon.”

“Don’t nitpick. You were an illegal immigrant.”

“I didn’t immigrate,” said Nurd. “I was sent against my will.”

“You can explain it to the judge,” said Sergeant Rowan. “Now we get on to the really interesting stuff. Damage to private property. Theft of a privately owned vehicle. Driving without a proper license. Driving without insurance. Speeding. Theft of a police vehicle. They’re going to throw away the key for you, Sonny Jim. They’ll put you away for so long that by the time you get out we’ll all be living on other planets.”

Nurd folded his arms. He whistled, scratched his pointy chin, then tapped his fingers against it, all of which served to communicate the following message: Hmm, I’m thinking here, and I seem to have spotted a fatal flaw in all that you’ve just told me.

“Forgive me for pointing this out, officers, but I wasn’t aware that you had jurisdiction in Hell. Biddlecombe: yes. Hell: I think not.”

“Got you there, Sergeant,” said Jolly, sticking his oar in and splashing it about merrily. “Old Moonface is a bit of a jailhouse lawyer.”

“You keep quiet,” said Constable Peel. “You lot are in enough trouble of your own.”

“Oooh,” said Dozy. “Make sure you add ‘stealing ice cream’ to our list of charges. We’ll get life for that.”

“Listen, you,” said Sergeant Rowan, wagging his finger at Nurd and doing his best to ignore the Greek chorus 31of dwarfs, “you have a lot to answer for. You need to come down to the station and explain yourself.”

“You know, I’d actually be happy to do that,” said Nurd. “Unfortunately, I, like you, am stuck here in Hell, and there are more pressing problems to consider.”

“Such as?”

“You’re not the only humans in Hell.”

“What do you mean? Who else is here?”

“Samuel Johnson and his dog.”

Sergeant Rowan frowned. Nurd could almost hear the cogs turning in his brain. Sergeant Rowan had been one of the first on the scene after the portal closed, but he’d never managed to find out the full story. He only knew that Samuel had effectively saved the Earth, aided by an unknown person in a stolen Aston Martin who-