Unicorn U, page 23
part #3 of Tim Desmond Series
“No? So what is—?” She uttered something very much under her breath. “What?"
“I said my name is Fluffy!” the tormented beast screamed. “And before you say one lousy word, in the language of my land, ‘Fluffy’ means ‘immortal shining spear of light that brings destruction unto her enemies,’ and anyone who makes fun of another’s name dies a sudden, brutal, vicious, bloody death, so you just better not—!”
I missed the rest of what she said. I was laughing so hard that when Cerberus sprang for my throat I almost missed my own slaughter.
23 TACO HELL
“Nice doggie,” I said.
“Grrrr,” said Cerberus. The center head, that is. The one on the right remained noncommittal and the one on the left wore a big, dopey, tongue-lolling, spit-dripping canine grin.
When you are about to have your jugular vein torn out of your throat as easily as a kid zips the peel off a banana, you acquire perspective. Time slows down and you notice details. I always thought Cerberus was just your ordinary three-headed dog the size of a brontosaurus, but as death closed in I had the leisure to observe that he was really just stegosaurus size. What's more, though his body was a lot like that of a brindled Great Dane, each head not only had its own personality but also appeared to belong to a different breed of pup. The neutral, right-side head was a bloodhound’s—handy when you have to track down a fugitive ghost. On the left we had a happy-go-lucky black and white mongrel, but the central head was strictly business and pure pit-bull.
“Help.” It came out of my soon-to-be-ventilated throat as a mousey peep.
Hooves flashed over my head. I heard Goldie—Fluffy, rather— trumpeting like a stag as she reared up to strike at the hellhound. Cerberus’ bloodhound head yawned in her face; the mongrel head lowered, whimpering, but the center head paid no attention to the belligerent unicorn at his flank. Gobbets of foam like cauliflowers dripped from his writhing lips. I could smell the reek of long-dead meat, though it was nowhere near so vile a charnel stench as Set’s remembered scent. I closed my eyes and counted my heartbeats, waiting for the last one.
“Bad dog! Bad dog!” Pebbles pattered down around my face. I opened my eyes to see Mom stooping to gather up another handful. She flung them at the dog’s shoulder and addressed him in her best no-nonsense voice. “Heel, sir! Heel, I say!”
It was the first time I ever saw a pit-bull laugh. The effect was like watching a bright red tunnel to nowhere open up less than a yard from your face. His tongue fell over me like a soggy crimson quilt, and I saw my reflection in one of his fangs.
Mom wasn’t the only one trying to help Fluffy save my bacon. Like a swarm of midges attacking an elephant, all my friends and comrades were doing their part to pull the huge dog’s attention from me. Eleziane stood a ways off making kissy sounds and imploring the pwecious puppie-wuppie to come bye-byes. Faustus was shooting off his magic fires again, though with as little effect as they’d had against the unicorn. I took time out from mourning my own imminent doom to feel sorry for the man—sell your soul for magic lore and it doesn’t work in the clinch? Some bargain! Ben and Mr. Feidelstein had somehow drummed up a spare piece of the old salami and were attempting to lure Cerberus away from me by wigwagging the linty tidbit.
The only one I didn’t see was Neil. Weird. Of all our company, the ex-Rawbone King should be doing the best in a nitty-gritty street fight. He wasn’t the kind to chicken out, so where—? Then I heard a string of curses getting louder and louder and louder, then retreating, then returning. Some of Mom’s pebbles smacked Cerberus’ middle head dead on the nose, making the beast turn up his snout momentarily. This gave me the chance to actually sit up and see that my good buddy Neil had leaped for and caught the monstrous hound’s tail. There he hung, kicking and biting and punching and swearing, as the massive extremity wagged back and forth, giving him a wild ride at the pendulum’s end.
“Now, Tim!” Fluffy’s anguished cry sounded loud in my ears. “Use them now!”
“Use—?”
“The sops, the sops!”
“Huh?” Cerberus had decided Mom’s pebbles were no threat and was bringing his central head back to finish me off.
“In the bag, asshole! In the bag!”
My mind snapped back before Cerberus’ jaws could do the same. The bag? Of course the bag! The bag that the Fury had given me on debarking Charon’s ship. Three stale Danish, three heads on the Pooch from Perdition—what could be fairer? All the old myths I could remember had the heroes who visited Hades bribing Cerberus with sops of bread and honey.
Drugged bread and honey.
“I don’t . . . think . . . this is going to . . . work,” I gasped to Fluffy as I struggled to pry the sticky pastries apart. “These don’t smell . . . like they’ve been soaked ... in anything but . . . sugar.” I got one free and pitched it at the bloodhound head. It snapped it out of the air and acted as if it had done me a favor.
“What do you want them soaked in?” Fluffy countered.
“You know . . . opium . . . laudanum . . . sleeping— come on, get off, you gooey bastard!—sleeping pills.” The second prune Danish released its hold on the third and I launched it at the mongrel head. The black and white mutt gobbled it down and wagged the communal tail so hard that Neil was whiplashed off. “Otherwise what’s gonna stop this son of a bitch from eating the sops first, me second?” I lobbed the last cake right down the pit-bull’s maw.
As if to prove the rightness of my words—big consolation—the three heads swallowed in unison, licked their chops, and brought their collective attention right back to me. A paw as big as an armchair pushed me down. The pit-bull head smiled, cold and ravenous.
Suddenly, the flicker of a different emotion crossed those yellow eyes. It was a dubious look, a fleeting misgiving, the phrase uh-oh translated into body language. The other heads wore similar expressions. The gigantic paw lifted from my chest. It was trembling. The mongrel head began to whine, and the other two look up the pathetic theme. With an abrupt, ear-piercing howl, Cerberus leaped over my supine body and thundered away over the fields of Hades, rump dragging. We could still hear his heart-rending yips, yelps, and ki-yi-yi’s as we passed into the cloudy regions between underworlds.
“Never underestimate the power of a prune Danish,” Fluffy sagely pronounced.
I was glad to be alive, but as with all gratitude, it was a short-lived feeling. Soon it gave way to impatience. We hadn’t gotten any sort of directions for escaping Hades, and as soon as we entered the borderlands we were confronted with a situation that made us all realize how badly we needed them.
“A fork in the road,” said Ben, “should only have two branches. Then a person can at least flip a coin.”
“No good here,” Neil said. “Not unless someone’s got a seven-sided nickel.”
“We don’t have any coins at all, remember?” Mom hadn’t forgotten the hard time we’d gotten boarding Charon’s vessel, even if the rest of us had.
The path before us splayed out into seven distinct subroutes. It looked like a giant’s rake. We went a few yards down each one of the lesser paths, hoping for a clue to tell us which would be our best bet. The leftmost one did seem to be the most distinctive. We only had to go a little ways along its dusty surface before it sloped upward into a cave from which a gust of fresh air blew.
“That must be the path leading to the surface world,” said Faustus. “It seems to be pointing in the right direction, though where on the surface world it emerges, I don't know.”
Ben volunteered to explore the upward route for us. He ducked into the cave only to come out shortly afterwards. “You go about fifty yards up that way and you can’t miss the smell of moussaka, pastitsio, dolmades, retsina, and baklava. If that road doesn’t bring us out in Greece, may these hands lose the ability to slice pastrami thin.”
We tried the far right-hand route. This too led to a cavern. We hadn’t penetrated the rocky tunnel far before we encountered a ghost. Orpheus, you bum, is that you? it demanded querulously. Well, it’s about time you came back, I must say! Now, this time you listen to what you’re told and don’t look back. I don't know why you had to look back in the first place, except you never could do anything right. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you did it on purpose. My mother warned me, and I should have listened. “Never marry a musician, Eurydike,” she said. “They’ll let you down every time." As soon as we get back to the surface, we’re going straight over to Mother’s house and invite her to come live with us. It’s the least we can do. Orpheus, are you listening to me? Orpheus, don’t you dare pretend you’re not there. I can hear you breathing!
We got out of there fast.
That left us with five paths. Neil suggested going straight up the center. We tried it, only to meet with a solid wall of brimstone stench and the yowls of souls in torment. The others held back, but I decided to press on. Honestly, it didn’t sound or smell much worse than the subway at rush hour. A little farther down the road I encountered a man crowned with a laurel wreath and draped in a pumice-colored toga.
What took you so long? he demanded when he saw me, squinting through the murk. I’ve been waiting for ages. Now listen, I’ve got some great ideas you can put in the sequel. First thing we do, we lose the whole idea of calling it “Inferno II”—too tame. And "Divine Comedy, the Next Generation” won’t fly, either. People are going to hear “Comedy” and when they find out Woody Allen, Steve Martin, Robin Williams aren’t in it, they get p.o.’ed and take their business elsewhere. We want a bigger market-share; we’ve got to move with the times, Danny-boy. How about “The Passion Pit" or “The Lusts of Abaddon”? See if we can’t get Beatrice to go along with a little soft-core action, just to spice it up for all those frustrated matrones out there. And ifBea won't play ball, let’s wait a while, sign Kirstie Alley, Julia Roberts, maybe even go for Streep for that part. I checked with the succubus union down in Dis, and they’re willing to stage an orgy for scale, with scales, but when we cut the movie deal I want creative control, just like what I didn’t get with the “Aeneid.” Hey, what can I say, Alighieri? You die, you learn. Now about my agent—
I got out of there faster.
Which left us with four paths yet untried. “We could flip two nickels,” Neil suggested. “If we had them.”
Just then, a breeze came wafting up along one of the two right-hand paths remaining. It was a hot breeze, redolent with burning spices. I sniffed it and my mouth began to water. Visions of nachos danced in my head.
“Do you smell what I smell?” I asked everyone.
Fluffy flared her nostrils. “Mictlan,” she announced. “No other underworld could carry the same aroma. During my exile in Hades, I filled the lonely days by studying the lore of other underworlds. Mictlan is the Aztec afterlife which consists of nine separate Hells, the last of which leads to oblivion.”
“If we want to reach the surface world, I doubt that will be the best way,” Mr. Feidelstein said.
We agreed with him on that and were about to pursue the other right-hand route when a new tang elbowed its way through the succulent scents of green chiles and unsweetened chocolate.
Dead fish.
“Teleri!” I shouted, and broke into a run. The others followed.
It was atop the grandest of all the pyramids in the first Hell of Mictlan that we were reunited with Teleri. The climb was agony on my calves, but the look on her face when we reached the top and called her name made it all worthwhile.
“ Tis a mercy ye found me up here, Tim, an’ no mistake,” my banshee said a little later, passing the tortilla chips and salsa. We were seated around a strange-looking stone table whose top was covered with disquieting dark stains. Eleziane and Neil completed our foursome, with Mom and the others placed at an identical rock buffet ten feet away. We all sat on folding stools upholstered with the pelts of spotted cats. The view we had of Mictlan was breathtaking, the service abominable.
“No mercy,” Fluffy said. “He just followed his nose.” The unicorn burst into horselaughs while Teleri gave her the needle-eye, followed by the cold shoulder.
Eleziane dipped her finger in the salsa, licked it clean, and emitted a rapid-fire series of oo-oo-oo-wasty-hot noises. Neil gazed into the depths of his beer and ignored her. None of the tall, silent, copper-skinned and turquoise-masked attendants at the summit asked for ID. This was therefore his third beer. His spirit wasn’t completely broken, but I could see the stress-cracks forming all over it, brought on by continuous exposure to a chronically ditsy girlfriend. When a man takes to playing tiddley-winks with tortilla chips instead of joining in polite conversation, you know he’s far gone.
“It was luck,” I admitted. “At first, when we were dumped into the underworlds, I never thought to get all of us back together. The best I hoped for was to get out, take care of business with Loki, and force him to rescue everyone. That’s if I could’ve beaten him.” I sighed. My hand was resting on the pouch that held what was left of my shattered wand. The odds of my overcoming Loki and his band had changed drastically since the last time I’d seen Teleri.
“Aye, luck,” she repeated, scooping up a mouthful of salsa and downing it as if it had no more bite than a teaspoon of cottage cheese. “We Irish are famous ones fer that quantity, t’ be sure.” Her smile died. “I’m hopin’ with all me heart that poor Master Runyon’s had a sufficiency o’ luck t' bear him company, wherever he may have landed.”
“Maybe we’ll be able to find him, too,” I suggested.
“How? ’Tis here I’ve bided since th’ time as first I fell into Mictlan. Nine Hells there be, each worse than the next, an’ all th’ reward ye may hope fer at th’ end's t’ be thrust into nothingness.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Fluffy snorted. “That's the official word, anyway.” She stuck her muzzle into Neil’s beer and swilled it down. He didn’t offer one word of protest. The brew tasted like armadillo piss, as he declared at the first swallow, but it was better than nothing. “I don’t trust officials. Not after seeing Queen Kore in action. Or Aesclepius. The minute someone tells you things are the way they are because that’s the way they are, I say ‘screw it.’ It’s all one big excuse. The truth’s more like: Things are the way they are because the way they are is the way that suits the people who says things are the way they are.”
“Huh?” I said.
Neil bopped me in the arm. “Shut up, dickhead; it’s Zen.”
“I say we try,” Fluffy concluded. “What can we lose?”
“One wrong turn and we’re in oblivion? I’d say that’s a pretty high-stakes gamble.” I slipped two fingers into the pouch, but all the shards I touched were cold. We were running low on aces, if we had any left at all, and I wasn’t much of a betting man.
“Nay, the beast’s right.” Teleri stood up, fists on the stone slab. “All I’ve done since falling here has been t’ wait. No more o’ that, say I! Together we are, an’ together we’ll find th’ way t’ save dear Runyon from whatever vile slough as has his own precious self. ” Listening to her, a funny thought struck me. Good. I could use some laughs. “Teleri, you sure do sound mighty hot to get Master Runyon back. Is he that great an agent?”
The banshee blushed. “That’s none o’ yer business, an’ ’tis longer ye’ll live if ye keep yer great crooked nose out o’ other folks’ affairs!” It was as I suspected: Teleri had developed a bit of a tender spot for the luchorpan.
“Okay, okay, we’ll get him back for you.” I stood up too, and announced, “Hey, everyone, we’re hitting the road.”
The attendants said nothing as we left the top of the pyramid and began the steep descent. Their plumed headdresses waved in the breeze as they clcared the tables. Teleri regarded their silent labor with a shudder.
“When first I came here, yon summit seemed th’ perfect haven,” she confided. “Aye, no sooner did I draw near th’ table but they came forth t’ offer me what poor refreshments ye saw.” “The chips and salsa?”
"Aye, an’ th’ beer besides, though ’tis as parlous woeful a tipple as ever passed th’ lips o’ Fey or mortal.”
“You should’ve ordered something else,” I joshed her.
She didn’t take it as a joke. “Didn’t I, just! Oh, mute they be, but didn’t they give me t’ understand as there was tastier victuals available t’ th’ discerning. So I asked fer some, an’ they bowed and used signs t’ tell me as ’twould be a wee wait t' prepare ’em.
In an’ out o’ yon stone hut as stands atop th' pyramid I saw them pass, bearin’ trays laden heavy wi’ delicacies whose aroma was fit t’ draw saliva from a stone. But never what I’d asked fer, never. More o’ that dog-water beer—that they’d fetch in a moment—an’ baskets o’ those com shingles wi’ all th’ red glop as I’d fancy, but never bite nor sup o’ anything more.”
Now I saw why Mictlan was truly one of the better Hells.
We reached the bottom of the pyramid and studied the traffic pattern of the spirits. Most of them were heading in one direction, so we fell into line and went with the flow. From the land of pyramids we entered a region of misty lagoons skirted by jungle-grown paths. The humid air was thick with raucous bird-cries, though we never saw a single flash of plumage. Beyond the lagoons came a sandless desert of parched earth and scrubby cactus. There was no sun, merely a glare overhead.
“I’m thirsty,” Mom said, and the words were no sooner out of her mouth than we saw a tin-roofed shack dispensing the local beer in white waxed paper cups. Any port in a storm, even if we did eat a couple more baskets of tortilla chips with salsa than was really healthy.
