Читать книгу Selfish Beings - J Morris L - Страница 9

Behind every great Demon-Lord was a long-suffering wife; in Mastema’s case that was Deumos. Stunningly beautiful by Demoness standards, she had long hair, black as pitch, and almond-shaped eyes to match, a noble nose and slight chin. Her porcelain-white, razor-sharp teeth were framed in voluptuous blood-red lips and her figure was svelte, even after eons of marriage and spawning fifteen children, large boys no less. Most of her friends had to shape shift to some degree to maintain their pre-marriage and -childbirth appearance but Deumos was, to their ire, all natural.

She was preparing dinner when she felt the presence of her husband on his return journey. Deumos sighed; even at a distance his anger was apparent and she knew she was in for a long night of complaints about work, the other Lords or both. With the last touches finished, she placed the meal in the oven, poured herself a glass of wine and sat at the table, waiting for her husband to enter and begin his ranting.

Less than halfway through her glass, Mastema stormed in, face contorted with barely suppressed fury. Deumos sat quietly as he put his briefcase away in his den and walked into the dining room, muttering the whole time. She refrained from asking him how his day had been, as she usually did to provoke Mastema when he was in a foul mood. Something seemed different; the rage was palpable and she was eager to see what turn of events had brought about such a level of anger. Deumos listened graciously as he recounted the meeting and his views on being sent to the mortal realm.

Mastema told her he had been listing the various strengths and weaknesses of the other Lords, to see if he could mould something around them, but none had traits that stood out as a solid foundation for a masterful plan. Although an hour had barely passed since the conclusion of the meeting, Mastema wanted the task completed as soon as possible; apparently so he could complete his other work. Deumos took that, correctly, to mean golf.

The wives of the Lords often discussed their husbands’ annoying tendencies to bring work home with them. The story was always the same; when a problem proved too challenging for one of the mighty and powerful Board members their wives were always consulted for advice. No Lord would ask for assistance outright but complaining and snarling until their better half ventured a solution was considered one and the same. The problem, the women had decided, lay in their husbands’ views of themselves and their roles. They thought and acted like hammers but not all problems were nails.

‘I’m tempted not to help you at all,’ said Deumos during a break in his tirade ‘The only reason you are having a problem is your unwillingness to travel to the Mortal realm. You are the smartest of the Demon Lords-’

A self-satisfied smirk crept across Mastema’s face.

‘Wipe that smug look off your face; “smartest” in a group containing the likes of Samael is hardly an accomplishment. As I was saying, you are the smartest of the Demon Lords and if you did away with the condition that someone else had to be seen as the ideal candidate for travel this would not be a problem at all.’

‘I know you, though, Mastema,’ Deumos continued before he could reply. ‘This complaining will not stop until you have a plan and none involving you going to the Mortal realm will be suitable. I should let you batter your head against the wall your stubbornness has built, but in the interests of not having you moping and moaning for the next week I will help you.’

Mastema did his best to turn his scowl into a look of surprise.

‘My dear wife, I was only looking for your comfort and support after a trying day in the office. Do not trouble your pretty head with the challenges of a man’s world. I will, no doubt, think of something.’

As Deumos turned to leave the room, Mastema added quickly, ‘Of course, if you have already thought of a potential solution I wouldn’t want your effort to have been wasted. Your wise counsel is always welcome, my beloved.’

‘Kaarl,’ Deumos replied.

‘What does that worthless waste of my seed have to do with this?’

‘Kaarl has spent his life studying every aspect of the Mortals; he finds them fascinating. You and your fellow Lords are so entrenched in the old ways and that is why you are losing souls. The last time any of you walked amongst the Mortals they thought the Earth was flat and you could sail off the end of it. Humanity has changed and your strategy needs to change with it.’

Mastema considered his wife’s advice for a moment. Whilst it sounded good in principle, the fact that it involved Kaarl, Mastema’s youngest son, was a concern. Kaarl had always been different from his brothers. Not “apples and oranges” different, “apples and I wish you had been a miscarriage” different. Whilst they liked to torture the damned, perfectly normal for young demons, Kaarl preferred to talk to the fallen Mortals. When Kaarl was younger his brothers had a duty roster, so at least one of them was always following him, savagely beating any damned soul he had the inclination to speak to. As the boys grew, they became interested in Demonettes and spent their free time balancing fornication and mayhem. Kaarl spent his time in his room studying.

‘Talk to your son,’ said Deumos. ‘Learn what humanity has become, how their world has changed. With a new awareness of your prey and its environment, perhaps a solution will become more apparent.’

He decided he could at least give it a try. After Kaarl had proven to be the waste of time Mastema knew he was, he could devote the rest of the week to solving his problem in earnest. If he dismissed Deumos’s solution out of hand he would not hear the end of it. He didn’t need to ask whether or not Kaarl was home; the boy was almost always in his room. Mastema did, however, need directions to get there. He had come to realise early in Kaarl’s formative years that the child was destined to be feeble and useless and had pretty much ignored him since then. Kaarl, for his part, did not mind; the boy liked solitude so a father-son relationship in which neither of them ever talked to each other was mutually beneficial.

Mastema followed Deumos’s directions and found himself outside a door in the bowels of the grey stone mansion. He rarely ventured that deep into his own home; the kitchen, dining room, den and master bedroom were all at the front of the building and he had never felt the need to visit any of his offspring or servants. As he reached the door, Mastema noticed a strange noise emanating from the child’s room. When he opened the door, a wall of sound hit him. Kaarl was at his desk, completely absorbed in a book, and Mastema was instantly reminded why he hated the boy.

All Demons had the ability to shape shift; most chose grotesque or powerful forms, beasts of terror that induced fear and exuded ferocity. Kaarl’s preferred form was what a Mortal would call a very attractive young man. Sandy-blond hair, dark brown eyes and classically handsome features. Mastema was tempted to backhand the child then and there but decided it might not be the best way to start a conversation. Especially not if he wanted something. Kaarl finally noticed the presence of someone else in his room and reached out to touch a glass panel on his desk. The sound instantly stopped.

‘What was that noise?’ asked Mastema.

‘It was Tool, ‘Prison Sex’.’

‘I have heard tools being used and prisoners having sex and that sounded like neither.’

‘It’s a Mortal band, Father. They are called Tool and ‘Prison Sex’ is the name of the song.’

‘Do not call me Father,’ Mastema told him. ‘Sir or Your Supreme Ruthlessness will suffice. If that is what Mortals consider music, times have indeed changed. I’ll admit I like it a lot better than what they listened to in my day. It is much more visceral than the lyre or flute.’

‘Why are you here?’ asked Kaarl.

‘This is my house,’ Mastema snarled. ‘I go where I wish. Who are you to question my reasons, boy?’

‘I didn’t mean any offence. It’s just that in the five hundred years since my birth you have spoken to me twice, hit me on countless occasions and never been to visit me. I was just curious, thought maybe you had the wrong room.’

‘Well, unfortunately for both of us, I don’t,’ said Mastema, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. ‘My wife seems to think you may be able to enlighten me on changes that have occurred in the Mortal world since last I was there.’

‘When was that Father?’

‘I told you not to call me that, and by their definition I believe it was around 325 BC, “the good old days”, as we called them.’

Kaarl’s face lit up with youthful enthusiasm when he realised how much had changed in the period his father wanted to know about.

‘I don’t need to know everything,’ said Mastema when he saw the expression. ‘I just want the main developments, to fill in some gaps in my knowledge.’

‘Perhaps if I knew why you needed to know it could help,’ said Kaarl. ‘There have been so many mortal advancements since that time: automobiles, nuclear weapons, space-travel, medical science; the list is almost endless.’

Mastema gave Kaarl a quick rundown of the situation, leaving out Lucifer’s ultimatum and finishing with Deumos’s suggestion that a fresh perspective might help. Kaarl smiled and pointed to the glass panel on his desk that he had used to stop the music.

‘First thing you will want to know about is that, then.’

‘What is it?’ asked Mastema.

‘The Internet,’ said Kaarl. ‘It is a store of almost all of humanity’s knowledge, a way for them to communicate with each other, trade, share information and much more. In fact, on an almost daily basis they are finding new ways to use it.’

‘How did you get it?’

‘One of the Damned I managed to talk to without my brothers interfering was an engineer of sorts. He constructed this terminal for me and a device to be placed in the Mortal realm that would help me to connect. When Vetis last went up I gave her the device and instructions from the engineer. I’ve been online ever since.’

‘Why would he do that for you?’ asked Mastema. Although Perdition was not quite the place humans imagined, it was still rare for one to help another without forceful coercion or something to gain in return.

‘Boredom, I guess,’ said Kaarl. ‘There is only so much drunkenness and debauchery one can partake in before they get restless. I think he wanted a bit of a challenge and allowing data to travel between realms was a major one.’

‘Why would Vetis help you?’

This was more confusing to Mastema than the engineer’s contribution. Vetis was one of the most desirable young demonettes in Hell. She was beautiful, self-centred and uncompromising: all fine traits in a young woman. Many of Kaarl’s brothers had tried to bed her or her twin sister Verin with no success. The girls were strange in their own way but they had a certain charm and mystique beyond the obvious physical. The fact that Kaarl was even on speaking terms with either of them was unfathomable.

‘She is a friend,’ replied Kaarl. ‘She also has a keen interest in the Mortals, particularly their menfolk, so she jumped at the chance to be able to access the Internet from Perdition.’

It was unbelievable that Mastema’s other sons, even Davaal, who was by all measures one of the most eligible bachelors in Perdition, could barely get two words from Vetis or her sister and yet Kaarl was her friend. Mastema decided not to attempt to understand the strange motivations of the younger generation and instead focus on the task at hand.

With no more questions forthcoming, Kaarl began showing Mastema the wonders of the Internet. His father asked to see its most vile and corruptive elements first and Mastema was not disappointed. After only half an hour, Mastema stopped him and stared at the screen. Of all the things one could do with a hedgehog, a garden hose, a bottle of milk and a willing woman, he would never in a million years have come up with a situation like the one he was watching.

‘How much more of this is there?’

‘I would say it’s infinite; more is being added all the time and we haven’t even scratched the surface yet.’

‘And you say Mortals let their children use this?’

‘Yes, they do have ways to stop them looking at such material, though not all of them know how to do so, or care. Some children are so far advanced in its use that even those safeguards amount to nothing.’

Mastema shook his head in wonder.

‘This Internet has almost been doing our job for us; if it hadn’t been invented we’d have had that meeting two decades ago. Show me more.’

Kaarl moved from vulgar pornography to social media. Mastema read in wonder as people bared their souls for the world to see, or made tributes to lost loved ones, only to have others who did not even know them or the departed leave spiteful, hurtful comments. Mastema was truly in awe of some of the despicable things written for the world to see.

‘All of this random hate and malice; some of these people are so close to becoming ours, they don’t even realise it. What does that mean?’ he asked, pointing to a line on the screen of a memorial page.

‘This “lolurmu -’

‘It means “laugh out loud, your mother is dead” ‘

‘Delightful’

‘It is a commonly held belief that what humans say in the relative anonymity of the Internet is mostly at odds with how they act in real life Father.’

Mastema was so pleased with what he had learnt he did not reprimand Kaarl for his familiarity. ‘That is not important, Kaarl; this lack of compassion is under the surface. It seems a good proportion of them are thinking it. All that is needed is to bring this to the surface, make them act like they speak and Perdition is back in business, well and truly.’

Deumos came in with their dinner hours later as Mastema had forgotten all about eating. As Kaarl had continued his crash course in human development using the Internet, he had been absorbed in the possibilities the new world of man presented for gathering souls. His wife gave him an all-knowing smile and left father and son to their work.

As the night progressed, talk turned to other facets of modern-day life and Mastema found a measure of respect for his son. The child was weak and feeble, but he was cunning and knowledgeable and that made up for it a little. Kaarl’s insight into the workings of the contemporary Mortal was remarkable and his understanding of their ways was extensive. Mastema decided that Kaarl and his information would be integral to “his” plan and proceeded to fill the child in on the rest of Abaddon’s announcement. Sans Lucifer’s judgement in person and the familicide that would follow if everyone failed. He was sure the boy wouldn’t respond well to pressure.

‘You mean you’d get to go to the Mortal realm?’ Kaarl asked, unable to mask his excitement and envy at such a prospect.

‘Not necessarily. Abaddon said the best demon for the job, and I doubt if myself or any other Demon Lord could match your knowledge of the Earth as it is today.’

Kaarl’s jaw dropped as the reality of what his father was saying dawned on him. ‘You think they would let me go?’ he asked.

‘If the plan is sound I’m sure I can convince the Board that you are the only logical choice.’

Mastema had seen enough over the evening to be sure his studious son was up to the task of assembling the basis of the proposal. He told him how to set out his ideas and the format that would be required. A little more time spent with Kaarl now meant less editing when he came to put his own name on the work. Mastema knew the boy wanted to visit Earth desperately, and would break his own back to do so. He was more than willing to be the patsy who went up to enact the plan, and that provided a safety net for Mastema. If anything went wrong the boy could take most of the blame.

Mastema found it slightly odd that the cerebral challenge of the task and the chance to go to Earth was more of a motivation to Kaarl than helping to deprive the Hated One of souls. He would have assumed that with the boy’s lack of social status he would be champing at the bit for some acceptance. Any normal Demon would be focusing on reaping the Damned and denying them entry to Heaven rather than seeing it as merely the by-product of solving a problem and the chance to play tourist. Whilst strange, it was not really important, and his son was far from normal. The end result would be the same and that was all that mattered. Confident that his son’s fervour and intelligence would be more than enough to get the task done, Mastema headed back to his own bedroom, contemplating a week of golf whilst the other Lords worked themselves into a stupor.