ACTUALLY, “sky” isn’t the right word for it. On the rare occasion one looks upward in Hell, the only thing that meets the eye is a dark, cold emptiness—a starless, hopeless, endless reach of blank desperation. That is, unless your view is obstructed by an army of winged devils, which happened to be the case just then. For my part, however, I was looking straight ahead, trying to extricate my sword from the pelvis of a horned devil who had endeavored to punch a hole in my shield with his head. But now he too was looking upward, and I was looking at him, so for me, the first indication that there was someone in the air above came in the form of a turd, which landed directly in the face of my enemy.
In retrospect, I have to wonder at the excellent marksmanship. The notorious seagulls of Pilos were never so accurate. The devil had just enough time to breathe a wretched sigh before an enormous confusion of wings and claws fell on him. One moment he was standing before me; the next he was a flat and bloody pulp, upon which rested a massively muscular and very angry-looking beast. Evidently, his sudden arrival was some sort of signal to the others of his kind, for all about us, like great fleshy hailstones, devils dropped from the sky.
Thud.
Thud.
Ka-thump.
The bridge shook under our feet as the sky rained devils. One after another, they fell to earth like shot birds. They made no attempt at a landing in the conventional sense. They simply folded their wings and plummeted to the ground, oblivious to what lay beneath. More than one of the skinny devils was flattened as it ran for cover.
If I’d thought the creature I’d been fighting earlier was ugly, the thing before me now was a whole new class of hideous. It had the same pitch-black skin and shining silver eyes, but its arms and legs were covered with thick, pale hair, and its horns were broken off, forming two jagged bulges on its forehead. It had a broad, low brow, surmounted by a pointed skull, no real nose to speak of, and a wide, fleshy set of lips through which two long, crooked tusks protruded like a pair of yellow fingers.
Of course, it all happened so quickly that my mind had no time to register any of this at first. All I knew was that my enemy had tripled in size. I had already raised my sword to deal a second blow, and it came down reflexively on the devil’s shoulder. His skin was thick as tanned leather, and my blade made little more than a nick, but his reaction was thunderous. He howled, and his long red tongue waggled about in his mouth. He stretched his jaws so wide, I thought his face would split, and howled for so long, I had time to notice the little vermin that scurried about between his teeth.
When he finished bawling, he coughed, licked his lips, and spoke. “What be that for?” he shouted, and knocked the sword from my hand. His long tusks rubbed against his face when he talked, giving him a strange sort of lisp that turned every s into a slurred amalgam of spittle and speech. “Well?” he asked, rubbing his shoulder and leaning his face into mine. “ ’Splain yousef.”
“I . . . um . . . what?”
“Why you hitting me wif tat ting? Look at me shoulder.” He picked at the cut with one thick, yellow fingernail and snarled.
“I’m . . . sorry. I think.”
“Huh,” grunted the devil. “Everybody say tey sorry down here, and nobody be meaning it. Here I be try to rescue you, and you be treat me like a devil from Hell.” There was some appreciative laughter from the others. “I tought you be Greeks. I tought you knows how to be good guest. Make you wonder why te Big One don’t just trow you all down here to begin wif. Sons of Adam,” he added with a snort. “Big waste of time, if you be asking me.”
“Good for a laugh, though, if you be having someting sharp nearby,” added one of the others.
“Yeh,” added a third, doing a little jump in the air and knocking the ground with his knuckles. As an afterthought, he grabbed one of the cowering horned devils and pulled its head off.
I decided it would be wise to start over in the formal language of Achaean courtesy. “Lord of the Dark River, Black-Winged Bearer of the Hooked Spear, we come to you as guests and unhappy suppliants—”
The winged devil belched loud and scratched himself. “Listen here, meat sack. You not glad to be here and we don’t be want you here, so shuts you up. Me be Rotrump. Me brothers and me be knowt as te Malebranche.” There was a cheer from the others, and a few more of the skinny devils lost their heads. “Tis be our valley. Tis be our bridge.”
“Rotrump!” a voice called from behind. A tall horned devil, whip in hand, strode forward, stepping gingerly over the twitching body of a headless comrade. (I noticed with horror that it was struggling to relocate its skull, which lay nearby.) His voice was high and exceedingly nasal, as though he were speaking through a tube. “These humans escaped from our ring. We are simply here to retrieve them.”
“Not my business!” thundered the devil. “Tis be my valley. Tis be my bridge. Tese be my souls, Scrawnrump. You bad luck if you be lose some of you own. Te Chief be having someting to say about it . . . no no no no no. You know te rules. We don’t suppose to be leaving our valleys. No exceptions, say Te Chief. In fact, maybe me be telling him you be breaking te rules.”
The skinny devil shut his mouth but seemed reluctant to leave.
“You be goin’ now,” admonished Rotrump, as though scolding a child. A few of his fellows took some menacing steps forward, fondling their hooked spears.
“You go play wif you friends. We be having work to do.”
The tall devil glared at him. “We shall have words about this, Rotrump.”
“Ooh. Words. Yeh. Plenty words. Come back later. I be sending one of me boys for you.”
Rotrump watched approvingly as the thin devils collected themselves and their heads and slunk away. “Me be having more smarts tan some folk tink,” he said, with the wink of a silver eye.
When the last of the horned devils had passed beyond the summit of the bridge, he continued, “Now ten. We be especting you.”
“Expecting you” is not a phrase one hopes to hear in the Underworld, so I thanked him for the welcome and muttered something about how much we’d like to stay but were just passing through.
“Me hope so,” answered the devil, squatting in place and signaling his cronies over with a jerk of his head. “Te word be slipping down from me sisters in te Wood of te Suicide, and me do no be liking what me hear.” He paused for a moment, grimaced, and passed wind. His fellows nodded approvingly. “See, Rumor has it tere may be having a truce between Centaur and Harpy. Tey be talk of an alliance—even peace. We be not liking tis.”
Ajax looked at me questioningly, and I shrugged. “Sir,” I said, “I am as surprised by this news as you are. When I left them, the Harpies and Centaurs were fighting. I have no idea how it happened, but I’m sure I am not responsible.”
“Well, it be only Rumor,” he added, “but Rumor do fly down here.”
“Yeh, he a nasty little bugger,” added a devil to his left, lumbering forward a step. “He be no fun. Not much smart. Not much joke. And he be a terrible liar. But he got te good wings.”
“If you be want te news round here,” added a third, “you be asking him.”
Rotrump snorted loudly, and the others fell silent. “Me friends here be rude, but tey be true,” he continued. “Rumor has it you was helping a Harpy. Rumor has it you be give her some medicines and make her all good. And tis be got te Harpies talking. And it be got te Centaurs talking. And we no need te talking down here in Hell!”
“I’m—”
“Shut up! I be talking!” He looked hard at me, and I lowered my eyes. The other devils shuffled their enormous feet and looked sidelong at one another with their hairy eyebrows raised. “You be talking. Tey be talking. Te Harpies be talking. Pretty soon, everybody be talking each oter. Nest you know we got te peace and te harmony all over Hell. And nobody be wanting tat. Belief you me.”
The other devils nodded and knocked their knuckles on the ground.
“Now what you be having to say for yousef?”
I looked at my friends, but they seemed as baffled as I. “We are on a mission,” I said, trying to sound authoritative, “from an immortal whom we call the Parthenos.”
There was no reaction from Rotrump, but I noticed his cronies were suddenly interested. It gave me confidence.
“The Parthenos herself commands it,” I continued in a louder voice, and this time, I could see Rotrump cringe at the name. “She herself, the Parthenos, has ordered us to make our way to the lowest ring of Hell. Do not stand in our way. So commands . . . the Parthenos.”
“You be speaking a strong name, Son of Adam,” answered the devil. He had the look of a beaten bully in his eyes. “Maybe you no be speaking like tat if you knowt her.”
His silver eyes passed from me to Ajax to Diomedes and back again.
“We help you pass tru,” he said at last, settling back on his haunches. “Dogscratch! Fatworm! Scumwalk! You be following tese men till tey be reaching top of te next bridge. Make sure tey be going te whole way. We don’t want tem be coming back.”
Three devils trundled forward, rolling their eyes. The one named Fatworm gave him a salute that was less than military.
“Knotbeard. Swinetoof. You go too. Swinetoof, you in charge.”
These responded with even less enthusiasm, if such were possible.
“Goot,” said Rotrump. He looked about and nodded. “Te job be well done. Now don’t come back.” He turned his back on us, lumbered over to the edge of the bridge, sounded a short trumpet call with his posterior, and stepped off. His fellows did likewise, leaving us alone with our five escorts and a phenomenal stench.
“I guess now we know how he got his name,” coughed Diomedes as we collected our gear.
“Enough talk,” grunted Swinetooth, poking Diomedes with the butt of his spear.
“Tis one be no like tem oters,” said Knotbeard, squinting at Ajax. “Let me see what’s inside.” He advanced toward Ajax, holding out his hook. Ajax raised his spear.
Swinetooth intervened. “No,” he said, swatting Knotbeard on the head with the back of his hand. “You hear te boss. He say we be making sure tey leave, and tat what we be doing. We be taking ’em to te next bridge.”
“Yeh,” added one of the others. (Whether this was Dogscratcher or Scumwalker I could not say.) “We take tem to te nest bridge—te whole way. He. He. He.” He did a clumsy little dance and beat his spear on the ground.
Swinetooth gave him a swat as well. “Moof!” he shouted, and off we set—five devils and three men. If Proteus was nearby, he remained hidden.