Masquerade

"That's disgusting, uncomfortable and unpractical," announced Mazikeen, kicking against the vast skirts, taming her movements.

Their carriage stopped and she looked with envy at Lucifer, who simply got out, gracefully going down the small steps. Herself, she barely fit in the narrow carriage door with all that folds of satin around her, draped over some metal structure, that apparently European women used now to torture themselves with. Lucifer mockingly reached the hand to help her down, but she only bared her teeth at him in an angry snarl, with rapid movement pushed her skirts through the door and heavily landed on the muddy ground, barely keeping her balance.

"I want my armour back," she whined.

"That's the current fashion," replied Lucifer with a shrug. "I am not complaining."

"You are never complaining at the new clothes," snorted the demon. "And now you can at least show off your legs," she pointed at his limbs in the black tights.

"Yes, that's rather becoming, don't you think?" the devil preened, trying to see his reflection in the carriage window, admiring himself clothed in the very exclusive version of Spanish hidalgo outfit. He corrected puffed sleeves of his black jacket and picturesquely draped the cloak over his shoulders. "The collar is, indeed, uncomfortable, I admit, but the general impression… very dashing."

However, his bodyguard demon kept struggling with her clothes. "How am I to fight in it?"

"I believe that in these times women do not do the fighting, my dear," observed obliviously Lucifer. "But you could sew a few daggers into the bodice… or these, whatever it is," he pointed at the draped folds of her dress. "As a matter of fact, there is enough place for a few sets. "

"Really?" Mazikeen calmed down for a moment, running the hand down the padded bodice. Then her face fell down again. "But I cannot sew!"

"Oh, come. Let's meet our sinner," urged her Lucifer, leading her toward the door of the house they came to visit.

From the outside, the building didn't differ from the other houses, it could belong to any rich merchant or nobleman in Sevilla. However, people privy to more… scandalous entertainments taking place in the city knew, that this place hosted special parties, whose participants used to put the masks on their faces at the beginning… and at the end of the party they used to wear nothing more, than the masks.

It definitely wasn't the decent adobe.

"Nice touch, isn't it?" Lucifer observed, pointing at the knocker in the shape of the demon's head. He made the use of it and soon the door opened. "I prefer not to say my name," he said to the butler, handing him a coin. The man only nodded, letting them inside.

The devil didn't care much for anonymity, but he refused to go by a false name and his real one made a special impression. Nowadays, no one in Spain doubted the materiality of his existence and when he introduced himself, people used to cross themselves and run away, or simply faint, which was, in fact, quite amusing, but severely hindered whatever business he wanted to attend to. He had to make use of a small loophole by asking Mazikeen to do tend to the most pressing official matters for him – and she didn't mind using a false name. As the matter of fact, she had about a dozen of them and she used to introduce herself so that he didn't have to lie... and yes, it was perhaps a bit twisted, but he was not going to question the logic of his own rules.

Maze laughed him off about it, of course. The demoness was getting more and more impudent, with each their common excursion, but he almost always took her with himself. Otherwise, who would be able to appreciate his biting wits and clever remarks?

He simply needed an audience.

Once he and Maze fixed the satin masks on their faces, they entered the rooms in which, according to the common opinion, the most sophisticated debauchery in Sevilla was taking place. If that was the truth, Lucifer could only pity the Sevilla's citizens for their lack of imagination.

The rooms were crowded by half-naked bodies, coquettish laughs of women and drunken shouts of men. Wine and some food stood on the tables and, as the most exotic attraction, narghiles.

The cheap brothel on the furthest province of China had more sophistication.

Lucifer shook his head with disappointment and came to the business. It didn't take him long until he spotted the man from the hell's loop. Brash and loud, he didn't cover his face with a mask. He reigned in the middle of the room, raising mocking salutes, surrounded by the few debauched young men, certainly his followers, and the herd of courtesans.

"That's the one," he said, pointing at him to Mazikeen. "Don Juan Tenorio."

"Neat," said the demoness, licking her lips. "Well-built. I want him."

"You will have him," replied Lucifer with distraction. The man was attractive, true. The debauchery and drunkenness didn't impair his condition yet, the open shirt showed athletic muscles. Of course, if Lucifer were to bed him, he would need to have him bathed, a few times, but Mazikeen had no such reservations.

"I want him now," she stated, but before she started to walk toward the young libertine, Lucifer stopped her.

"Not yet, Mazikeen. Today we will only… examine the situation. You need to learn to appreciate the sweet taste of patience," he teased her, seeing her pout. "Now, go. Talk with humans. Gather some gossips. And have fun, if you want. Just not with him."

Himself, Lucifer also mixed into the crowd, searching for something that would get his attention. A few women approached him, trying to pull him into a kiss or encouraging him to sit with them, but he dismissed them with no more than a thought.

Boring, boring, boring. Usually, he was all for meaningless entertainment, but these women were simply working. None of them felt real desire. Besides, this time his thoughts were occupied by the sinner, who was laughing and singing in the middle of the room.

"I see that your pretty companion left you, Senor. Be careful, so that the Trickster of Sevilla wouldn't steal her from you," the voice sounded behind him and Lucifer turned, to see a man sitting in the corner of the room. He looked out of place, sober and not indulging any carnal desires.

"Trickster of Sevilla?"

"Don Juan Tenorio," replied the man, and in his voice sounded the echo of the hatred Lucifer heard in hell when the condemned girl revealed this name. "Trickster of Sevilla is his nickname. Well deserved, for all his iniquity."

"I heard about him," Lucifer sat by the man, with a small gesture sending away another woman, who tried to entice him with her deep décolleté. Her face was twisted in a smile, but her eyes dull and he didn't have to ask to know that all she desired was to leave this place. "He is famous for his contests."

"Yes," the man nodded bitterly. "He is a shameless scoundrel, with no respect to God's commandments or to the women's honour. He… plucks them like the flowers, and then tosses into the mud."

Lucifer, quite untouched, raised his eyebrows: "So I heard. But I also noticed that in these days you got oversensitive at the matter of simple sins of pleasure. What if the flowers didn't want to wither in solitude? Perhaps this man is simply better in reading the desires of the women's hearts and bodies?" he asked ironically.

The man, so far rather friendly, lit with anger: "Watch your tongue, Senor, and show more respect for the fairer gender or I will teach you better manners with my blade."

Lucifer rolled his eyes. Spaniards. Unable to lead the casual conversation for more than five minutes without reaching for this prickly long tools they carried around. Himself, he appreciated the swords as a flashy accessory completing his outfit and even bought a few the most tastefully decorated, but so far never remembered to take one with him.

"Did the Trickster happen to pluck your flower?" he observed casually. "A little sister? Or perhaps your fiancé wasn't as innocent as you hoped? And there is nothing wrong in entertaining the bored wife, as the matter of fact, if it was your wife he seduced, the fault is yours, because…"

He didn't finish, because the man threw himself at him, simultaneously reaching for his sword. Or, at least, that was his intention. Lucifer, as thrifty in his movements as he could so that they wouldn't draw attention, grabbed stranger's hand preventing him for unsheathing the blade, and simultaneously seized his shoulder, holding him in place in a vice force grip.

"Not very honourable, to attack the man who is not carrying any weapon," he observed with an innocent expression, seeing with amusement how the cheeks of the strangers redden with the blush of shame. Ah, Spaniards and their honour. So much fun to play with. "Now, tell me about Don Juan. You must know him. I see that you have a personal grudge against him. But now I command you to be honest. Does he hurt his lovers? Or does he love them?"

The man squirmed, more under the searching sight of the devil than in the strength of his grasp. Finally, he looked straight in his eyes and stopped struggling.

"The man is as full of hate like he is full of filth," he sighed and Lucifer knew, he was speaking from the depths of his heart. "He lies to them promising love and attention and when he… defiles them, he tosses them away like trash. Ask how many times did his servants forces his victims from his doors… how many times did he leave them for the revenge of their families… to bear the shame and anger of their husbands… Once he pulls the name on his list, he cares nothing for the soul he brought to ruin."

"Thank you. That's what I wanted to know," nodded calmly Lucifer and released the man, who slumped against the back of the chair like a spoilt toy. "You came searching for revenge, didn't you?"

"Yes. I lost… someone. And there was nothing I could do. I called him out, but… he was better," the man lowered his head and added quietly. "I follow him hoping to see how God's punishment reaches him."

Lucifer smirked sneeringly: "God is patient. He usually waits till the last breath, hoping that the little wayward lamb would repent and return on its knees to the sheepfold." After a moment of consideration, he added. "I am usually patient too because I don't care. Now, however, the Trickster got my full attention."

"Who are you?..." whispered the man.

"I am sure you know already," Lucifer smiled and allowed just a bit, just a pale golden reflection of hellfire to his eyes. Ignoring the surprised gasp, he leant towards the man with encouraging smile: "Now, I was going to act slowly, just because I like to play with my toys… but perhaps you could persuade me otherwise? Do you want to make a deal with me? To have your revenge served?..."

The Spaniard jumped awkwardly back, crossing himself a few times, his face paled with sudden terror.

"Oh, so boring…" Lucifer grimaced and mocked: "And here I thought you might have blood in your veins, instead of holy water. Well then, if we do not bargain, then off you go," he ordered and the man awkwardly scrambled backwards out of the room, not letting the scared sight from the devil. He turned back only when he found himself in the doors.

On his way out, he almost fell into Mazikeen, who sent him a bemused glance.

"I have names," she said simply, taking the place that the scared Spaniard names.

"Bravo, Mazikeen. Do tell."

The demoness reached for the bottle of wine standing on the nearby table and took a long gulp from it.

"A few months ago your Don Juan killed in a duel some old pious fool named Commendador Gonzalo de Ulloa. The cause of the fight was the commander's daughter, Donna Anna. No one has seen her since weeks and she is assumed to be mourning in the country. Of course, we know better where she is," observed Mazikeen matter-of-factly and Lucifer nodded.

Donna Anna was not resting in the country estate. Donna Anna was trapped for the eternity in the garden with Moorish fountain, watching her father die, sinking in her guilt, over and over again…

"And that poor scrap of a man you scared away from here is Don Ottavio, her former fiancé. He is following our Don Juan like a sad dog, moaning about revenge, but with no results. So far, he only became a kind of laughing stock for others."

"I offered him a helping hand," smirked Lucifer. "Alas, this particular dog is all bark and no bite."

"There's more. Apparently, killing the commander is considered a worse offence than sleeping around. Don Juan had a bad reputation before, but only after this incident, he became an outcast from his family. Now the only places open to him are such like this," she made a move with her head, pointing at the room, "and the only friends – these young ones, who help him to drink away the rest of his gold. Once this is gone, he would have nothing left, but shame. Most probably, he would end his boisterous existence by his own hand in a few months. We can calmly go back wait and sooner than later we would welcome him in our humble place," grinned Mazikeen, but, seeing discontent on Lucifer's face, added, leaning toward him with a lascivious smile: "Or perhaps, if you do not want to wait, I will have a little rendezvous with him. I will see what all this fuss is about. And then," smile disappeared from her face and her expression flickered, as if her left cheek for a moment transformed into some strange, repulsive picture, "then I would help him pass the threshold."

"Mazikeen," Lucifer said warningly.

The demoness cheek regained her previous smoothness, but the hungry expression didn't disappear from her eyes. "I am not forbidden to kill people," she said defiantly.

Another loophole they made use of sometimes.

"Not this time, Mazikeen. I want to look around first."

Mazikeen sighed and nodded. "Of course. I should have known. You are stalling, as usual. You simply want to stay on the Earth a bit longer."

"Hell is boring," Lucifer shrugged his shoulders.

"This place is boring too," stating Mazikeen, standing up. "Never mind, I know better than to argue with you when you set your mind. I am going to search for a… how do they call it? A seamstress? If we are to stay longer, I must do something with this dress."

"Just be careful Mazikeen, women here aren't supposed to walk alone in the streets!" Lucifer called mockingly behind her. "You might, perhaps, get attacked, or something!"

He smirked at her angry huff and furious glance and, once she left, focused again on the Trickster of Sevilla. The man's mood didn't falter. He kept refilling his goblet, but the wine he drank made him only laugh and sing louder. A heavy drinker, if there was one.

Lucifer for a moment required approaching him and making the use of his ability to read the human's hidden desires. One small question and the Trickster's soul would lie bare in front of him…

But where would be the fun in that? No use in getting straight to the main course, if there were so many hors d'oeuvre waiting to be tasted.

So instead, when Don Juan took for a pipe laying on the small table, Lucifer overtook him on his way to the fireplace and reached for the fire-irons, raising a small piece of coal. The coal was cold, but when Lucifer handed it to Don Juan, it became red-hot again, casting ruby reflections on Lucifer's black mask.

"Thank you, Senor," stated the Spaniard and, leaning to lit the pipe, looked curiously at the devil, trying to recognize his features under the mask. "It is a pleasure to see a new face in this good adobe."

"The pleasure," replied quietly Lucifer, "will be mine."

For a moment he looked into the Trickster's eyes. Oh, he was the complicated one.

Dark and cold, under this merry, debauched façade.

A soul truly worth the devil's attention.

"Until that moment enjoy your fiesta, Senor," he said lightly, releasing Don Juan from the spell of his sight and, ignoring his anxious glance, turned back, disappearing in the crowd of guests.

For today, his mission was complete. Satisfied he thought of the entertainments he could enjoy in the meantime. He wasn't picky, everything would do, everything with passion and taste, of course. Music, books, good food. Merchant's stalls or taverns. Even gardens. Without Mazikeen watching him he could admit he liked flowers. The smell of blooms, the taste of fruits… Or, perhaps…

The devil turned his attention to the small female silhouette standing in the threshold. She was not one of the courtesans. Wrapped in something that looked like the servant's cloak, the mask covering half of her face, she literally shivered with excitement, with opened eyes watching the obscene scenes unfolding in front of her eyes.

First time visitor. Sneaked out of the house to this place, to feed her desires.

"Hello, little star," purred Lucifer, coming closer. "What are you doing here?"

The women jumped back, scared of being noticed. She quickly touched the mask on her face, relaxing, after she found it in place. Then she looked at him more cautiously, opening her eyes even wider.

"Do not lie," Lucifer forestalled any story she might have prepared and met her sight. "Just tell me, what is that you desire?"

She sighed, falling into the devil's spell and replied dreamily: "I want to see how the love between man and woman looks like. My family is sending me into the convent next month, before that, I want… I want to know the taste of the forbidden fruit."

Even in the mask, it was obvious, that she was no beauty. Scrawny and small, she couldn't hold the candle to any woman in this room. But the lust, the hunger in her eyes… it was incomparable.

"Right place, right time, mi Alma," sighed Lucifer, reaching for her hand.

The legend says, that Don Juan was once walking in Sevilla, along the shores of Guadalquivir. He wanted to lit a cigar and asked the man, who was walking on the opposite shore, for fire. The man lit Don Juan's cigar reaching his arm, who magically prolonged across the river. It was a devil, keeping track of Don Juan's steps.

My story is situated in the times when cigars were yet not produced in Sevilla. Still, the scene in this chapter is a small bow in the direction of this story.