Getting up was hard enough. Walking was harder, and I couldn’t make it happen right away. Baby Bear finally gave me a shove, and I lurched through the door, catching myself in the doorframe so I didn’t go in on my face.
The room was dank and dim, only one tiny oil lamp on the desk for illumination. The thing that sat behind the desk seemed almost human at first glance, eyes, ears, and nose in most of the right places. His facial skin, however, had been peeled down and hung in a fringe around his neck, like a particularly horrible Renaissance ruff. His facial muscles and exposed tissue were white and red, like raw bacon, but his eyes were alert and disturbingly intelligent. He wore the remains of what looked like a fairly modern military uniform. He grinned at me, or at least bared his teeth. Every tooth was black and too big.
“So what are you?” Words like hot fat dripping. “Eat or punish?”
“Neither, great Block, neither!” I had no idea who this wet, red fellow was or what rank he held, but I wasn’t in a position to bluster. One look told me that this was the kind of minor functionary who ruled over his personal corner of Hell like a little tin god. “I am a traveler from the upper reaches—Snakestaff of the Liars Sect.” The Liars supplied Hell’s advocates, my usual opponents in my angelic business. I knew a little about them even before Lameh’s briefing, so I’d chosen them as my cover. “I’m on the Mastema’s business here in the lower levels, but I was attacked.”
“By Polly Parrot and her little crew?” He really thought that was funny. For a moment I had the insane hope he’d choke himself laughing, but then I remembered he was that color of red all the time. “Oh, good. Very good!”
“No, I was attacked by . . . hirelings in the service of my enemies, who were angry that the Mastema favored me with a commission.” I was improvising, but considering that my head felt like it was stuck in an industrial paint mixer, and that I’d just vomited out my brain, I thought I was doing pretty well. “My enemies cornered me in the lifter,” I went on, “but I was able to escape them here, on this level.” I did my best to sound calm and in control. “The ones who sent me will know how I was treated, both there and here.” Appeals to altruism weren’t likely to be my best approach, so I said, “Of course those who get in my way will be punished, but I promise those who help me will be remembered and rewarded.” It was hard to sound authoritative when I could barely stand and felt like a baked turd, but I gave it my best shot.
“Rewarded, rewarded. That has a nice sound.” The Block pushed himself back from his desk a little, which was when I noticed that he was tied to his chair with barbed wire; nothing remained below his ribs but a dangling length of nerves and backbone. Something like a large black slug clung to the end of the Block’s spine, and pulsed wetly as it sucked at it, like a French gourmet hungry for marrow. Every time it swelled I saw little ripples of pain cross the Block’s huge, raw face. It was nice to know he wasn’t having a lot of fun either. “Ah, but you see,” he said, “I have already been rewarded for my loyal service. I have been given the gift of memory, the gift of remembering all the other services I have performed, when I was alive and afterward.” The Block smiled again, although now I could see it was a grin of pain as the thing chewed and sucked at his spine. “What greater reward could I wish than the justice of the Highest and the opportunity to serve here?”
He was playing with me. I could feel it. Did he mean to let me go or keep me? Had he decided yet?
I let go of the doorframe, trying to look casual but mostly swaying. “Of course, great Block, you must have all you want. What could give you more pleasure than doing the Adversary’s sacred work here? Surely not even being transferred to a position of responsibility on a higher level could tempt a servant as loyal as you.” It sounds pretty sharp, but there were a lot of gasps and grunts mixed in as I struggled to stay upright. I was getting used to the insane pressure in my skull, but I sure hadn’t learned to enjoy it.
“Oh, it all sounds very important.” He gave me another one of those flat black grins as a wave of anguish rippled across his beet-red face. “Very important indeed. I’m sure you know important leaders.”
“Niloch, the Commissar of Gravejaw is a personal friend.” I hoped Niloch was too busy being a smoldering ash to ever tell this guy the truth. “And I don’t want to drop names . . . but there’s Eligor the Horseman. The grand duke, you must know him . . .?”
“Eligor?” His mouth tightened. “I am not fortunate enough to know His Grace, of course. But if he is a friend of yours . . .”
“Yes! Old friend. We’re like this.” I held up my hand, the two fingers side by side. “Just the other day he told me, ‘Snakestaff, when you’re back from this errand, you must come and stay with me.’” Which wasn’t altogether a lie—I was pretty certain Eligor would be very happy to put me up if he found out I was in town. It was just that the accommodations weren’t going to be even as nice as this place was.
“You have convinced me.” The Block’s face suddenly went darker, as though something was squeezing it in a huge invisible fist. When the spasm had passed, he said, “Come. Give me your hand.”
Almost twenty years of Earth life had made me a fool. I stuck out my right, just as if I was about to receive a congratulatory handshake and maybe even a small check. Bobby Dollar, Miss Fucking Congeniality. The Block’s thick, all too human hands closed around my wrist and yanked me forward. “There is a toll to pay, of course,” he said. Before I could get my balance he shoved my entire hand into his wide, black-toothed mouth, which felt worse than I can describe. Then he bit down.
I may not have been wearing my own body, and the demon body was obviously not remotely human, but I can tell you that it still hurt like an ungodly motherfucker to have my hand chewed off. Before I knew it I was down on my knees, whimpering and gasping as I tried desperately to stanch the blood pumping from the ragged end of my wrist. Block spit the hand back out. It lay for a moment on his desk like a bloated dead spider, then he lifted it and tore off three of the fingers, each making its own dreadful wet snap.
“Polly!” he shouted. The door opened. The bird-thing stood there.
“Yes, great Block?”
He tossed the fingers out to her as if he was throwing scraps to pets. I heard Bird and Porcupine and Baby Bear fighting over them, but I was in so much pain it seemed unreal. The Block raised the rest of the hand to his mouth and began tearing it apart and eating it in great, appreciative bites, the crimson muscles of his cheeks bulging as he smashed the bones between black molars. When he finished, he wiped most of the blood from his mouth and chin with the back of his meaty, hairy hand, then gave a small belch of appreciation.
“They will put you back on the lifter,” he said. “Remember that I could have taken more, Snakestaff of the Liars Sect. Tell your masters in the far heights that the Block could have sent nothing back but the head, and they still would have known everything they wished to know.” He gripped the edge of his chair with his two strong hands, lifting himself until the barbed wire stopped him. The slug-thing at the end of his ruined spine swung like the clapper of a church bell. I was too busy waiting to die from pain and nausea and fountaining blood to notice very much, but I heard him bellow, “This is my corner of Hell! I rule here! And if the great Black Master himself came to me, I would have my morsel of flesh from him as well. Yes, I would pick my teeth with his tail! Because I am Block the executioner! Block the butcher!”