Limbo 56 - Mike Morris (if you give a mouse a cookie read aloud TXT) 📗

undone.” He hauled out a mallet from under the belt. “In fact, it’s not even any good as iron any more.” He set the metal on the ground. “It’s useless to Demons and Terrorists alike.” He swung the mallet and it crashed down on the rusty metal, shattering it into a hundred shards. “Useless,” he said again. “Help yourself. I’m going to get some sleep.”


Chapter 25 – The Election
Jasper and Gladys and Arthur huddled in the corner of the bar, sipping beer that tasted a little bit like beer and ham and eggs that tasted a little bit like ham and eggs. The barrels were regularly replenished, and the small refrigerator behind the bar was never empty, and even the customers were less morose than usual. Gladys yawned as he told her for the hundredth time that in the early days the beer and the food were tasteless, the ancient icebox was a rusty container for stale bread, and the customers were murderous. “Yes, I’ve made some big improvements,” he said expansively and inaccurately. Only Gladys had been able to conjure a wisp of taste from Purgatorial comestibles, and an occasional trace of gaiety from the undead inhabitants, and Arthur’s improvements had all proved temporary.

“True,” Jasper answered, surprising him. “You have done a marvelous job here in spite of all obstacles.” Arthur looked at him suspiciously and Gladys for once was speechless. “I mean it,” Jasper said warmly. “I know we’ve had our differences, but if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here, dining with good friends.” His expansive wave took in the entire dingy pub with its faded wallpaper and yawning barmaid. “I owe you my support and allegiance,” he told Arthur. “And I owe you too, dear,” he said, turning a dazzling smile on Gladys, causing her to blush a little and Arthur to feel a brief flash of jealousy.

They were waiting for Gladys to go on shift, and Jasper managed to heap a few more praises on Arthur, and Arthur, in rare good mood managed accept the praise and ignore the warning glances that Gladys shot at him.

“Real nice woman you have there,” Jasper told him when Gladys was firmly ensconced behind the bar. “I’ll be honest, I’ve tried to cut you out, but you are the only man here that she’s interested in.”

“True,” Arthur answered, carried away on a swell of good feeling.

“Yes, things have finally begun to look up for you,” Jasper continued smoothly. “It’s a pity about this problem you’ve had with the complaints.”

“Yes,” Arthur answered absently, still floating on a sea of goodwill and beer. “What?” he demanded as his boat crashed and sank. “What’s this about complaints?”

“I’ve been calling your attention to the complaints for weeks,” Jasper said, round-eyed. “Haven’t you been listening?”

“What, when,” Arthur demanded.

“I’m talking about the complaints at the foundry. The demands for shorter hours, rest periods. Then there was the request for a cafeteria that you completely ignored.”

“This is Limbo, not a health spa,” Arthur roared. “Anyway,” he said, calming down, “these complaints have been going on for years – decades even.”

“Yes, you’re probably right,” Jasper said soothingly. “Folks here are supposed to complain. I know that you’re very popular with everyone.” He stretched. “It’s just a tiny minority, maybe even just one person.”

“No, everyone complains, Arthur said judiciously. They’re supposed to be unhappy here.” He thought about it. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if they weren’t mostly unhappy. I’m more likely to get into trouble for being too soft.”

“True,” Jasper agreed, “but there are some vicious rumors circulating about you up there, and I don’t think you should ignore them. My sources are impeccable.”

“I don’t care what the men are saying,” Arthur told him. “They won’t believe vicious lies, and there’s nothing they can do anyway.”

“Ah, I didn’t say ‘out there’, I said ‘up there’,” Jasper murmured.

“Oh.” Arthur felt as if Jasper had punched him in the stomach.

“Somebody,” Jasper told him, “has a direct line to the Angels.”

“There’s nobody but me who talks to the Angels,” Arthur said hotly, “and you,” he looked suspiciously at Jasper.

“I never talk to the Angels,” Jasper protested looking aggrieved. “Why would they listen to me? Besides,” he added, “if I wanted to make trouble for you in the council, I’d call on the Devils. I still have a lot of contacts down there,” and he pointed to the grimy carpet. “Look,” he said. “Things are not as bad as they seem. I have an idea that will get you tenure for a deathtime, or possibly a quick promotion.”

“I’ve been bitten by your ideas,” Arthur began.

Jasper sighed. “I don’t know why you treat me this way. I’m throwing you a lifeline – no, I’m giving you a luxury yacht for the rest of your deathtime. See here, you can contact our Angel representative, find out some more details, and we’ll meet at my place in, say, an hour.” He stood up and handed Arthur some scrip. “Why don’t you get us a couple of bottles of the hard stuff?” He lowered his voice. “I wouldn’t mention to Gladys just yet about losing your job. We don’t want to worry her.”

A couple of hours later Arthur faced Jasper in the quite luxurious rooms where the demon held court. “Lies, terrible lies,” he was shouting. “They’re all set to banish me down there.” Jasper’s carpet was a lot thicker than the one in the pub, but there was no doubt where the thin man was pointing. “They say my workers are lining up to go to Hell because I treat them so badly. They say I’ve smuggled in some thugs from Hades to terrify everyone. They say I’m worse than Saddam.” He frowned. “Who is Saddam?”

“After your time,” Jasper murmured. He had been listening to Arthur’s rant for almost an hour now, but finally the booze was starting to slow the thin man down. “Sit down.” he said, “and let me explain what we are going to do.”

Arthur sat down in the comfortable armchair and looked rather blearily at Jasper. “Have another drink,” the Demon said soothingly, “and then I will explain all.”

Arthur calmed down and looked around, astonished that Jasper’s rooms were amazingly comfortable for Limbo; the little devil had somehow acquired furniture that, if not brand-new, was streets ahead of the rickety chairs and beds that most inhabitants, including Arthur, had to endure. Old bare boards hid under a decent carpet, drapes and pictures covered the vomit-green walls, and the place was spotless. In a prominent place on the table stood a solid gold ashtray, obtained during an escapade that Arthur remembered well.

“Have a cigar,” Jasper said.

Arthur shook his head. “I don’t know where those things are coming from, but I don’t smoke ‘em.” He looked around the room again. “Where do you get all this stuff?”

“I know several ex-dictators,” Jasper said cryptically. “Go on, try it. You can almost taste these things.”

Arthur placed the large cigar in his mouth and Jasper lit it with a gold cigarette lighter. “Came with the solid gold ashtray,” he said, seeing Arthur’s expression. “Take a good pull; see if you can taste anything.” He shoved the astray towards Arthur.

Arthur inhaled deeply, and sure enough, deep down in his being there flickered the ghost of a feeling, a vanishing taste of something that was like his ancient memory of live cigarettes, but richer, oilier. He took another puff and suddenly felt dizzy. He wondered if Jasper could see his discomfort. The little Devil was puffing contentedly, apparently noticing nothing.

“So, we hold an election for Governor,” Jasper said. “You will be elected with an overwhelming majority and even the Angels will have to admit that you are doing a good job.”

Arthur started to protest. Overcome with a bout of coughing, he could only wheeze while Jasper outlined his plan.

“No-one is going to stand against you,” Jasper said. “Not once we explain the perils of Governorship. We explain to everyone that the Governor is constantly on a knife-edge; that he is constantly in danger of being banished to the Netherworld, that the Angels deny him even the modest pleasures of Limbo, the pleasure of congenial company, the taste of good ale around a warm fire.”

“Wait,” Arthur wheezed before Jasper became totally carried away with his own rhetoric.

“People will believe anything,” Jasper replied airily. “They will vote for any moron, so long as he lies with confidence. The bigger the lie, the more the sheep believe.”

There was a lot more like this. Arthur struggled against a vast nausea and let the demon talk. They, or rather Jasper, laid out plans for the election. “Declare election day as a holiday,” Jasper urged. “You can always make ‘em work double shifts for a while, after you’re elected.” Arthur agreed groggily.

The next day, he came to on his pallet, only mildly sick. Looking at his meager belongings, he panicked as he recalled the conversation of the night before in Jasper’s comfortable rooms. He went over the details as he remembered them and began to feel better. Despite his distrust for Jasper, he could see no flaw in the demon’s argument. He had been tricked into the Governorship of this miserable Limbo, and the job did nothing but get harder, and the harder it got the more chance there was of his falling into the Pit. On the way to the ‘Two Puddings’ he began to see the advantages of a strong mandate. One, there was less chance of his mysterious enemies undermining him and tipping him into the Pit. Two, he could scare his subjects into supporting him, and three; he would smell good with the Angels. For once Jasper seemed to have come up trumps.

He was almost jaunty when he reached the pub. Jasper was already there, sitting in the usual dark corner. “I’ve had some election posters printed,” he said.

“Good,” Arthur told him, smoothing a poster on the grimy table.

“Vote for Governor in the first and only democratic election in any Limbo ever,” the poster screamed. Side by side, smooth and smiling facing stern and thin, were pictured two candidates. “What are you doing,” Arthur yelled. “You can’t run against me.”

“Don’t you see,” Jasper said, pained. “We can’t have it look like a rigged election. You think the Angels will stand for that. We make it look like a real contest. Only you and I know that you can’t lose.” He chuckled. “Who the hell is going to vote for the Demon Jasper?”

Arthur thought about it. He wasn’t popular, but he was the non-Devil that they all knew, while Jasper was the real Devil that they didn’t know. “You’re right,” he said reluctantly. No one liked the Devil, not even Arthur. Even with all the tricks that Jasper could pull out of his sleeve, there was no way that he could be elected. A few of the women might vote for him, but anyone with a full complement of fingers and toes could count the raggedy female population of Limbo56.

Over the next few days, Arthur thought about the election, unable to completely dispel his misgivings, but unable to sniff out diabolical trickery. Certainly, Jasper was doing no electioneering to make himself more popular, and in his lazy demon way was lolling around in his quarters which were being decorated by some angry drafted ironworkers.