John Connolly - The Infernals aka Hell's Bells

“Well?” said Lucy.

“Well,” said Samuel, “I was rather hoping that you might like to join me at Pete’s for a pie after school on Friday, if you weren’t busy.”

Lucy considered the offer, then smiled regretfully.

“I’m sorry. I’m busy on Friday.”

“Oh,” said Samuel. He bit his lip, and turned away. At least I tried, he thought.

“I’m not busy on Saturday, though…”

“How did it go?” asked Maria, when she encountered Samuel in the corridor later that day.

“She said yes,” said Samuel.

“Oh, good,” said Maria, and walked away, and Samuel thought that she seemed to be troubled by something in her eye.

Life can be difficult. In fact life is often difficult. It’s especially difficult when you’re young and trying to find your place in the great scheme of things, but if it’s any consolation, most people do find that place in the end.

In a basement deep in the headquarters of Spiggit’s Brewery, Chemical Weapons & Industrial Cleaning Products Ltd, Shan and Gath, dressed in pristine white coats, moved intently around a laboratory equipped with the latest in brewing technology. Beside the laboratory were their living quarters, with comfortable beds, seats, a television, and a pinball machine, a game at which Shan in particular was surprisingly adept, when he had the time and inclination to play it, which wasn’t very often. After all, Shan and Gath had discovered one of the secrets of happiness: find something that you would have done anyway as a hobby, and convince someone to pay you good money to do it instead. 42Their days were now spent developing Spiggitt’s new boutique range of beers: Spiggit’s Summer Rain Ale, Spiggit’s Gentle Sunbeam Amber, Spiggit’s Strawberry Sunrise Lager, that kind of thing, beers of subtle fragrance and delicate taste designed for the gentler, more discerning drinker.

Or big girlie men, as Shan and Gath liked to think of them.

They were also responsible for a separate line of beers for those with a more, um, “robust” constitution. These included Spiggit’s Very Peculiar, Spiggit’s Distinctly Unpleasant, and the notorious Spiggit’s Old Detestable, which now came in extra-thick glass bottles with a lock on the cap after the yeast in one batch tried to make a break for freedom. But there was always a place in their fridge, and in their hearts, for Spiggit’s Old Peculiar.

After all, there was no improving on perfect imperfection.

Some days later, in another, much larger, basement area, within sniffing distance of the chimneys of the Spiggit works, a sleek red sports car careened out of control and struck a brick wall with so much force that its rear wheels lifted from the ground as the hood crumpled and pieces of engine, car body, and possibly passenger body as well flew into the air. The back of the car seemed to hang suspended in its death throes, then fell back to the concrete with a bang.

For a time there was only silence.

A creaking noise came from somewhere in the mass of twisted metal. The driver’s door opened or, more correctly, the driver’s door fell off, and a dazed-looking Nurd staggered from the wreckage. Wormwood ran to him and helped him remove his crash helmet and gloves. Nurd gazed up uncertainly at a long window, behind which various engineers, designers, and safety experts sat, their heads craned to catch Nurd’s words. Samuel Johnson stood close to the glass, clearly relieved. No matter how often he watched this happen, he was always glad, and surprised, when his friend survived relatively unscathed.

“Well,” said Nurd at last, “the seat belt works, but you might need to take a look at the brakes…”

As I said, most people, and some demons, find their place in life in the end.

PROFESSOR HILBERT, PROFESSOR STEFAN, Ed, Victor, and the senior Collider scientists were gathered in a meeting room at CERN as the Collider went about its business around them.

“And the boy says that he was dragged to Hell?” said Professor Stefan.

Professor Hillbert nodded. “The return of the Aston Martin, or what’s left of it, seems to support his story.”

“And he was there along with four dwarfs, two policemen, their patrol car, an ice-cream salesman, and an ice-cream van?”

Professor Hillbert nodded again.

“An ice-cream van? You’re sure it was an ice-cream van?”

“A Mr. Happy Whip ice-cream van,” confirmed Professor Hilbert.

“Mr. Happy Whip,” repeated Professor Stefan solemnly, as if this fact were particularly important.

“They didn’t bring any, er…”

“Demons?”

“Yes, demons, they didn’t bring any back, did they?”

“The policemen, Samuel Johnson, and Mr. Dan, Dan the Ice-Cream Man, who is now apparently managing the dwarfs, all confirm the general absence of demons from this world.”

“And the dwarfs?”

“The dwarfs are very unpleasant. In fact, for a time we thought that they were demons,” said Professor Hilbert. “One of them threw a beer bottle at Ed.”

Ed pointed to a large bump on his forehead. “He was nice enough to empty it first, though.”

“Have you examined the boy?” said Professor Stefan.

“His mother wouldn’t let us,” said Professor Hilbert. “She seems to think that we’re partly to blame for his disappearance, since we were the ones who turned on the Collider again. She was quite adamant about that, and used some very strong language to that effect.”

“And the policemen?”

“The policemen wouldn’t let us examine them. They also presented us with the bill for a patrol car, with thirty days to pay.”

“And the dwarfs?”

“We tried to examine them, but it didn’t go well. Suffice it to say that those dwarfs are very unhygienic.”

“But despite all that they say, you claim they weren’t really in Hell?”

“Wherever they were, it wasn’t Hell,” said Professor Hilbert. “Hell doesn’t exist. Where they were was simply another world, another universe. I believe it to be a dark-matter universe. We’re close, Professor, very close. We can’t shut down the Collider, not now. Our understanding of our place in the Multiverse is about to change utterly. The answer to whether or not we are alone in the Multiverse has been answered. Now we are duty bound to explore the nature of the life-forms with which we share it.”

“What do you suggest that we do?”

“Nothing. We say nothing. We do nothing. We ignore the boy and his story. We continue with the experiment.”

“What if they go to the newspapers?”

“They won’t.”

“You seem very certain of that.”

“I am. The mother is frightened enough for her child as things stand. She won’t want the media camped on her doorstep, assuming they believe the boy’s story, and we can make sure they do not. The policemen have been warned by their superiors not to say anything to anyone about what they experienced, and the ice-cream salesman just wants his insurance money. As for the dwarfs, they’re not the most reliable of witnesses.”

Professor Stefan still looked uneasy.

“What are the risks?”

“Five percent. At most.”

“And that five percent contains the threat of invasion, possible consumption by unknown entities, and the potential destruction of the entire planet?”

“Possibly.”

Professor Stefan shrugged. “I can live with that. Anyone for tea?”

Deep in the heart of the Mountain of Despair, the Great Malevolence brooded. The time of his madness had passed. Now his mind was clear again.

“A BOY. A BOY, AND A DEMON.”

The Lord of all Evil spoke as though he could not quite believe his own words. The Watcher stood silently at his feet, awaiting its master’s command. Above it, the great bells, the bells that had pulled its master from his madness, were silent once again. The portal was gone. Mrs. Abernathy was gone. Duke Abigor and his allies were frozen in the Lake of Cocytus, where they would remain for eternity. Only the Great Malevolence prevailed.