“Not my True Name, of course,” Balan said. “Don’t get any ideas.”
He walked slowly around the glyph looking only at Nesha-tari rather than at the writing on the floor, with his hoof chuffing up its spark at every step. The devil’s tail seemed to move independently of his gait, rearing up serpent-like and prodding its bladed head forward, jerking back before the glyph every time.
“That’s cute,” Balan said as he passed behind Nesha-tari. “Not bad workmanship, if a little hurried.”
Nesha-tari stood still until Balan had circumnavigated her and halted in front, still grinning. His mouth seemed to be full of many more teeth than would a human’s.
“You don’t really think that would stop me, do you?” he asked, playfully moving his hoof through the dust just shy of the glyph. “Not if I tried very, very hard to step across?”
“It would slow you down,” Nesha-tari said. “And prevent you from raising any defense.”
Balan’s eyes flared. “Hmm. Violence.”
“If that was what you wanted,” Nesha-tari said. “You would have come without being called.”
“Quite right. At any time I liked.”
“Then what is it that you do want?”
Balan shrugged and held the lapels of his coat in jeweled fingers with black nails.
“Why, just to get a better look at you, my dear,” he said, his voice as silky as his clothes. “Perhaps exchange some pleasantries. Chew the fat, as it were. I must tell you, I have not seen your like before. You are positively scrumptious.”
Nesha-tari turned her head the slightest bit, moving her hair on her shoulders and jutting out her chin.
“Oh, not that,” Balan said. “The package is delightful, in its way, but I am looking a good deal deeper.” The devil gave a broad and knowing smile. “I am looking at all those things you are trying to keep hidden from the world. Do you have any idea how beautiful you truly are, Soul Eater?”
Nesha-tari felt more profoundly naked before the devil than she ever had in her life, and yet it was not an entirely unpleasant sensation.
“May I ask an impertinent question?” Balan politely requested.
“Only if you answer a question of mine in return,” Nesha-tari said. She had never dealt directly with a devil before, but she knew that one never gave a creature such as Balan anything without receiving something in return.
“Very well,” Balan nodded. He narrowed his crimson eyes at Nesha-tari, and she understood that it would not do to lie.
“Just what manner of creature are you?”
“My father was human,” Nesha-tari said. “My mother is a Lamia.”
Balan looked thoughtful. He blinked once, eyes flashing for the moment like red lanterns.
“Lamia,” he said slowly. “A beautiful name for a beautiful beast. I don’t believe we have had one of those in here before.”
“It is my turn, Lord Balan.”
The devil spread his hands and bowed.
“Two nights ago, a Dragon flew over this city. Who was it?”
Balan sighed but kept grinning. “Ah, yes. She does seem to feel the need to announce her presence rather loudly, doesn’t she? That was the one I believe you call Danavod, the Great Black Wyrm.”
That came to Nesha-tari not as a surprise, but as confirmation. “Why is she here?”
“Shall we trade another question for a question?”
“Fine.”
“Then it is my turn to ask.”
Balan folded his arms and looked at Nesha-tari closely. His gray hands were long fingered, and besides the rings he had some sort of small round device on his left wrist, on a jointed metal strap.
“When you kill a man, and consume it,” Balan asked. “Does it bring you joy?”
Joy? Nesha-tari had never thought of it like that. It was necessity. Assuagement. The only thing that dulled the pain of the Hunger, for a while.
“As much as anything ever has,” she said quietly, feeling a sort of disgust with herself. Balan frowned. He shook his head sadly and clucked his tongue.
“All the beauty you could have for the taking. Spoiled by the taint of your father’s monkey blood.”
Nesha-tari ignored his comment. “What is Danavod doing here?”
“I never said she stayed, nor even that she landed,” Balan pointed out.
“I am not going to waste a question asking about that.”
The devil’s grin returned. “Clever, girl. Very well. The Dragon’s pesky little servants alerted her that something is very wrong in this place, or soon could be. She came to see that it is handled, and to give a message.”
“It is already being handled,” Nesha-tari said.
“First hear the message,” Balan said, then intoned formally. “Madame Nesha-tari, servant of the Azure One. Black Danavod, Great Dragon of the Night Sky, sister of your Master, bids you to leave this place. Remove yourself from Vod’Adia, and go on your way in peace.”
Nesha-tari had the sense she had just wasted two questions, but that was not the reason she clenched her teeth as her blue eyes flared.
“Danavod has no authority to give orders to me!”
“I imagine that was why she said ‘bids’ and not ‘tells.’ More like a request, I should say. ‘Would you be so good as to beat feet,’ and all that.”
“I will leave when I am ready,” Nesha-tari said, and Balan bared his teeth.
“Happy to hear it,” he said, and gave a deeper bow before he turned as if to leave.
“Balan, I have more questions,” Nesha-tari said.
“I do not, for the moment,” the devil said without turning around. “You have given me some things to look into, and I may return with more at a later time. For now, there are some other matters to which I must attend. Take care of yourself, daughter of the Lamia.”
With that, Balan stepped around a column, and was gone.
*
Balan reappeared some miles distant, stepping out from around a corner in a long hallway leading to an open courtyard, deep within the palace at the heart of Vod’Adia. The hall was free of dust and gorgeously carpeted in long burgundy rolls with golden frills, and the walls were hung with rich tapestries, canvas paintings, and small statuary on shelves. The devil lord looked around at none of it, and his face was pensive.
“Poltus,” he said, then stopped walking as nothing had happened. Balan sighed.
“Poltus, Poltus, Poltus.”
A little devil about a foot tall winked into being, ochre-colored skin tight around its bones, naked and sexless. Sharp spikes ran down its spine to the tip of its tail, as long again as was its body. Its posture was bent as though it had been working at a very small desk, and it had a quill in one hand. As it started to drop toward the floor the little devil unfurled leathery wings like a bats, and though they did not beat the air it hovered up to the height of Balan’s shoulder.
“Busy?” Balan asked.
“Forgiveness, my Lord,” the creature said. It had a wizened face with a long nose and two small horns. “There is much to be recorded, and most of your minions are in the field.”
Balan resumed walking, and Poltus bobbed along at his side.
“I need some research done,” Balan said. “From the old monkey books.”
“Humans, my Lord.”
Balan stopped again.
“What?”
“Humans, Lord. Monkeys are their genetic predecessors. The humans are the ones who can talk. And make books.”
Balan glared. “Do you know from whence I hail, Poltus? Originally?”
The little devil thought for a moment.
“I do, Lord Balan.”
“Then don’t you think I know the difference between a monkey and a human? I had two years of college, for crying out loud.”
“Yes, Lord,” Poltus nodded. “At what is called a ‘community’ college, if I am not mistaken.”
Balan raised a hand and pointed a finger in Poltus‘s face, but the little devil did not flinch. They had been going back and forth like this for centuries.
“You see, Poltus, it is that kind of smart-ass comment that makes you so popular with the other Spiny Devils. This is why no one wants to have a beer with you after work.”