Charlaine Harris: Must Love Hellhounds

“I suppose all that’s true,” Crick said. For the first time, when he tried to sound cheerful, he failed.

“Belshazzar is angry because of your tardiness and your loss of the ball, and Lucifer is angry because you ran away before he’d finished playing with you.”

“That’s a fair summary,” Crick admitted.

“How’d you get the fee for the witches at the Collective? I’m just curious,” Clovache said. “It’s not my business. But I know they don’t extend credit.” Batanya’s shoulders heaved with silent laughter at the idea.

“Ah, well, I may have lifted a few things from the houses of various nobles in Spauling.”

“A few things? Must have been more like a cartload, to have afforded us.”

“You’ll be interested to know I got a price break as long as I specified the two guards I wanted to hire.”

Both the women became very serious instantly. “Trovis,” hissed Batanya.

“He really has a big hate against you,” Crick said. “When he heard where I needed to go, he jiggered around the duty roster so that your names came up.”

Batanya and Clovache looked at each other. “When we get back,” Clovache said, “we’ll take care of him. This has gone on long enough.”

“Why does he hold such a grudge?” Crick asked. The two turned as one to stare at him. “Oh, ladies, come on! We’re in this together. If I make it back alone, I’ll kill him for you.”

“Good enough,” Clovache said. “My esteemed senior, here, turned him down so forcefully she broke his arm.”

Crick whistled silently. “I take it a plain refusal wouldn’t suffice?”

“He wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Batanya said. “He was waiting in my room when I came home one night. I tried being tactful, which doesn’t come easily to me. I tried being firm. I tried being rude. He persisted. The time came to try force.”

“He broke her nose,” Clovache said to Crick. “He broke her collarbone. But she broke a major bone of his, so she won.”

“He cried,” Batanya said, her lips curving in a slight smile. “But enough of happy reminiscences. We’ve hunkered here long enough. Time to be on the move.”

This time Crick had to brace himself a bit before he stepped out into the larger tunnel. Batanya thought she knew what had made him run before he was ready, during his earlier stay with the king. Maybe he’d lost his nerve, maybe he’d lost his ability to handle the physical tastes of Lucifer, but Batanya was willing to bet he’d lost his tolerance for the tunnels.

She couldn’t deny that she shared a bit of that feeling. In fact, Hell was awful. She took a deep breath of the thick stinking air, and the closed-in feeling began to lay a blanket over her normal brisk spirit. The indirect light wasn’t bright enough to really illuminate the way; it was better than nothing, but its dull consistency added to the gloomy atmosphere. They’d moved out again, but their pace was too slow. Batanya felt that their energy was being sapped by the place.

Batanya realized their mission had to be completed at what speed they could summon. They needed to get out of the tunnels and back home before they grew too tense-or too depressed-to cope. She’d never encountered such a set of circumstances.

“You remember our last mission?” she said suddenly to Clovache.

Clovache was visibly surprised at Batanya’s question. “Of course.”

“That was a very bad situation. The building exploding, our client being completely defenseless and unable to walk. Yet I never despaired, and I never thought we wouldn’t get out of it.”

“Senior, do you have a fever?”

“The tunnels are getting to me and Crick, here. You don’t seem to be as bothered by them. You may have to take over the lead.”

“I don’t mind them. Just say the word, senior.”

“Thanks, junior. I’ll let you know.”

Batanya turned and began to lead the way again. Crick kept possession of the map, using whispers or a pointing finger to give directions. They kept to smaller tunnels so they’d be less likely to meet up with Hell’s denizens. The downside to this stratagem was that when they did meet up with a creature, there was no side tunnel to help them dodge the attack, which came instantly. During an incredibly long journey that seemed to last at least six hours, but actually lasted perhaps two, the Britlingens killed at least ten of Hell’s odder creatures. Only by the narrowest of margins, the three avoided the slow but inexorable progress of two slugs. Batanya’s fingers began to tremble, and she knew the time was approaching when she’d have to hand over leadership to her junior.

But before she had to cede her position, they were captured.

It happened very quickly. They were caught in the worst possible situation, in a long stretch where there weren’t any hidey-holes to duck into. Also, the tunnel was gently curved, so the oncoming enemy was hidden from them until there was no possibility of escape. No change in sound announced their coming. These soldiers were like large dust bunnies. They progressed by rolling silently down the slick floors. At first, Batanya was inclined to laugh, but Crick’s expression told her that they were in big trouble. “Run!” he said hoarsely. “Run!” They reversed, but Batanya, who was now in the rear, was overcome within seconds.

It was like being sucked up in a vacuum cleaner, Batanya thought, as she gagged and choked on the dust and bits of hair and trash that made up the creature’s body. It managed to get strands twisted around her wrists and to lift her off the floor so she had no traction. She began to kick out and throw her body from side to side, but somehow the dust bunny surrounded her with strands and particles of debris that restrained her efficiently.

“Clovache!” she called. “You?”

“Held fast,” came a muffled voice. “Crick?”

There was only a choked series of coughs to indicate Crick’s position.

The ball began rolling down the tunnel, Batanya inside. She rapidly became so dizzy that her priority changed from escaping the creature to not throwing up.

The heat increased as her encompassing, nebulous captor rolled through the passages. Finally, the sense of constriction eased. The wretchedly sick Batanya felt that they’d arrived in a large open space. Then movement blessedly ceased, and all the threads and bits of debris that had snared her simply unknitted. “Oh, shit,” she said, a second before she landed on a stone floor that had never known the passage of a slug.

The impact knocked her breathless for a minute, but the second she could inhale she was on her feet with her short sword drawn. The dustball that had held her rolled away, and for the first time she saw Lucifer’s great hall. It had a high vaulted ceiling and was randomly dotted with stone pillars. There was a throne carved out of the stone; it had been created when the rest of the hall was mined, and it stood in dark splendor by itself in the middle of the vast space. The handsome gentleman standing on its bottom step was wearing a three-piece suit and a neck scarf decorated with a huge ruby stickpin. He was blond. He was smiling.

“I always thought Lucifer would have black hair,” Clovache whispered, as she got up on one knee. She was a yard away, and she had given in to the impulse to vomit. Crick? Batanya looked around for their client, and she found him on the floor behind her. She positioned herself in front of his prone form and got ready to fight.

“Brave but foolish,” said the blond man. “Look.” He pointed behind her, and very cautiously Batanya turned her head. Just in the edges of the light that hung over Lucifer’s head was a host of creatures-demons, more of the quadrupeds, wolf-men, snakemen, dust bunnies, humans. There were at least two hundred of them, and they were all armed in one way or another.