CHAPTER VI

Power In Submission

"Stay on all fours," hisses Bean.

"Why?" snaps Pendergast. "I'm already wearing these chains." He sniffs the links. "That smell like used diapers and old fish!"

"You're supposed to be the soul I'm torturing," Bean tries to keep her voice low. "So act tortured!"

They walk down a nondescript city street that floats, flips upside down, and turns direction at random times. However, they still manage to keep a straight trajectory.

"You know," notes Pendergast. "There was a time when I thought this scenario would have been fun."

"Really?" Bean replies sarcastically. "I never would have guessed."

"Hey, it's not like I would have been a bad catch!"

"No," concedes Bean. "But you were my dad's hand of discipline too often for me to be, in any way, interested."

"Touché, my lady."

They fall into silence for a minute, Pendergast distracted by the hot gravel burning his hands and knees.

"If I were a demon," muses Bean. "Who just died, where would I be sent to?"

"The processing plant?" suggests Pendergast.

"No," says Bean. "He died before you did, technically, so he would have been there already. Plus he's a demon who's been to Heaven. I'm guessing whoever's in charge here would have put him somewhere...different."

"Somewhere different," Pendergast thought for a minute. "If I had a knight defect, then return, where would I have sent him? I suppose I would have cast him in the dungeon, then put him on trial for treason."

"Ouch, way harsh!"

"You don't take a lifelong vow of loyalty," Pendergast explains with some passion. "Then run away and expect to come back without consequences! Then every soldier in the army would only appear in battle as they felt like it! A kingdom that hopes to win wars needs hard, iron-clad assurance from its army."

"That's a good point," says Bean. "But we're in Hell. This whole place is technically a dungeon!"

"For humans, sure, but what about demons? Where are demons sent when they disobey?"

The two stop and look around, as if the sidewalk that now carried them across an abyss would somehow show them exactly where the demon jail was.

Pendergast stands up and stretches his back.

"Get back down," growls Bean. "You're going to blow our cover!"

"My back hurts," protests Pendergast.

"You're in Hell, everything's supposed to hurt."

Bean notices a tall demon nearby, on a similarly hovering chunk of pavement. It looks at Bean and Pendergast, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

The cat-suited princess kicks the knight in rags, right in the back of his knee.

"Ow! What was that-"

"Don't talk back to me," shouts Bean, kicking him again. "Human, uh, peon! Yeah, you human peon! Get back on the ground, like a dog. Like the dog you are! Yeah, I know that hurts!"

She slaps and kicks Pendergast until he kneels down again. The watching demon chuckles and, when their sidewalks descend back to the ground, walks away.

"Sorry," Bean whispers quickly. "But we have to be convincing."

"I get that." Pendergast still winces and rubs his inside knee. "Ow."

Bean looks up, and sees the spires of Alva's castle. If Alva really is Alva, and not the devil himself in a human form, Bean thought to herself.

Suddenly she gasps. "The castle," she cries. "If demons need to be punished, they would go to the castle! Right to-right to Alva and Mom."

"Alva?" asks Pendergast. "Who's Alva?"

"Ruler of Steamland, and Hell."

"Is that whom Dagmar tried to get you to marry?"

"How did you know about that?" asks Bean.

"Luci checked on you a lot up in Heaven," says Pendergast. "That's how we knew you were in trouble."

"Oh, Luci," Bean stares at the castle. "We have to get him out!"

Pendergast nods. "We'll have to search without Queen Dagmar or this King Alva noticing us."

"We should start with the lower levels," says Bean. "It's worth a try!"

"Is it, though?" questions Pendergast. "Is it really?"

Bean gives the chain around his neck a sharp tug. Pendergast falls forward, choking.

"Onward!" cries Bean, as their sidewalk turns upside-down and flips around to soar in the opposite direction.

Amalthea sleeps with Pendergast's dagger in her hand, next to her heart, as always. This night, however, it wakes her with a burning cinge.

"Ouch!"

She wakes up and drops the knife to the ground, not wanting it to burn her flower-bed. The pain lingers in her hand. However, her chest feels cool and unaffected.

"Huh?"

Tentatively, Amalthea lays a finger on the dagger. Both of her hands burn, as well as her knees.

"Ow! What is going on?"

The blue stone on her forehead starts to glow; Amalthea's chief element has always given her the answers she needed. Quickly, she snatches up the dagger and runs to the river.

The burns are now accompanied by sharp blows on the back of her knees, almost forcing Amalthea to crawl to the water. She drops the dagger in, and a vision appears on the surface:

Pendergast, chained, crawling before a hideous demon. A black cat's body with a dismal human face, bulging eyes and teeth, focusing on the intense cruelty it inflicted.

Amalthea gasps.

"He's in Hell?" Her shouting spooks the owls and awakens the squirrels. "How? I did everything right!"

"What is this racket?"

Deme, the nymph goddess, rises from her place of slumber, her natural cloak of algae clinging to her shoulders.

Amalthea frowns and jabs an accusing finger at her. "You rotted the sage, didn't you?"

"What are you on about?" admonishes Deme. "It's the middle of the night!"

"You rotted the sage!" Amalthea steps closer. "For Pendergast's funeral! That's why he's in Hell!"

"I did no such thing," denies Deme bluntly. "Don't be stupid."

"It's just like you, to be that petty!"

"I'm a goddess, nothing I do is petty."

"EVERYTHING you do is petty!"

"SILENCE!"

The entire forest obeys. Even the brooks stop babbling.

"To sabotage a magic funeral," Deme explains calmly, albeit annoyed. "Is to put a curse on one's soul. Because damning a mortal's spirit is to cut out a slice of your own, to make up for the metaphysical presence that should have been. Does that make sense?"

"I suppose," Amalthea sighs, shifting her feet. "Then, how is he in Hell?"

"I don't know, child," Deme puts her arms around her upset daughter. "He could have annoyed the sky god and made him petty. You know how we are." She taps Amalthea's cheek, sealing in the passive-aggressiveness of her statement. "Now, go the hell to sleep."

Frowning, Amalthea bends to grab the dagger. But instead of pulling it out of the water, she twists it further in, planting the blade into the sand.

"What are you doing?" asks her mother.

The nymph princess doesn't answer, but whispers some incantations. The dagger starts to glow, as do Amalthea's head stones, one by one.

"Stop," demands Deme. "Stop that at once! You can't protect him, he is out of your reach."

The gem at the top of the dagger pops, breaking into tiny shards. Brilliant amethyst points stay still, suspended in the water. Then they shoot down the river at once, as if with a purpose.

Amalthea leans back and smiles. "Now he'll be fine."

"Impossible!"

Deme rushes to the dagger, plunges her hands in the water, and wrestles to pull it out. It stays steadfast in the wet, breaking sand as if forged directly into it. Even using her powers to try and move the dirt, all the other earth around the dagger responds, instead of the grains of sand holding it down.

After a while, Deme gives up.

"Fine," she cries, throwing her hands up in the air. "Be stubborn! It's only going to drain your magic, every day that he's dead. Which will be for the rest of your life! Congratulations."

"Thank you Mother," trills Amalthea. She heads back to her tree. "Good night."

Alva and Dagmar sit in the royal dining room of Hell's palace. Rather than sit far apart at either end, they sit across from each other beside the head of the table. It was narrow enough for them to caress each other's hands, while playing footsie underneath.

In front of them, standing in divots made within the table, stand two sub-demons. The top of their heads sliced open, both Dagmar and Alva are dining on their brains with tiny silver spoons.

Alva kisses the inside of Dagmar's wrist passionately. She tenses, then giggles.

"Darling," she coos. "After dinner."

"I have a meeting after dinner," whines Alva, stroking her arm seductively.

"Then after the meeting," she counters.

Alva grasps her arm and bits her inside wrist. Dagmar cries out in sudden pleasure, dropping her spoon.

"Now," he growls.

They reach over the table and kiss, clutching at each other's hair, tongues writhing in each other's mouths.

"Blech!" cries Luci. He sits on a shelf nearby, stuffed in a jar, facing the table. There are two jars on his right and five on his left, all stuffed with apprehensive demons.

The couple stop kissing, obviously annoyed. Alva points to the shelf. "Why not just eat him now?" he asks. "Learn what he knows."

"In due time," says Dagmar. "Some memories need to surface. I feel like he hasn't gotten quite there yet. Needs to feel more desperation, let the emotions ferment. Then the visions will be even clearer."

"Whatever you say," dismisses Alva. He climbs onto the table and kisses Dagmar down her neck and collarbone.

She joins him in between their dinner and the centerpiece, then leans back, wrapping her legs around him. He pulls down her corset and covers her nipples with his lips and fingers, the other hand burrowing inside her gown.

Dagmar starts, then laughs. "Oh, yes, yes, right there…"

On the shelf, Luci closes his eyes. "Gah," he gags. "This is worse than the brain eating!"

"Spreak for yourself," says the immediate demon on his right. "This is a great view!"

"Are you serious?" snaps Luci in disbelief, speaking loudly over the clattering of dishes. "She's going to eat our brains, dude!"

"Yeah, well," the demon shrugs, watching more clothing fall. "I wasn't using that thing anyway."

"Clearly." Luci turns to the demon on the other side of him. "So, uh," he grasps for anything to say to hide the sounds of wood shaking and villains panting. "How'd you end up here?"

"Fell in love with a lost soul."

"Ouch," says Luci.

"Yeah," sighs the demon. "Turns out love is a crime in Hell. Who knew?"

"Everyone," replies Luci. "What's happening in front of us is a perfect example."

"I don't know, man," the lovestruck demon doesn't try to speak over the pleasurable screaming. "They're both pretty sexy."

Luci groans. "Is everyone on this shelf a moron? Or am I just lucky?"

"I agree with you," calls a demon from the table. Their brain is half-eaten and their face keeps getting hit by the heavily rocking table.

"Great," Luci rolls his eyes sarcastically. "Thanks."

The couple gives out one final, orgasmic cry, before slumping beside each other to catch their breath.

A tiny beep suddenly shrills. Alva pulls out his pocket watch.

"I have to go," he says, disappointedly. He kisses Dagmar fiercely, pulling his pants back up and closed. "I'll be back in a few hours." He swirls his tongue about her mouth, then returns to his half-eaten brain. He sprinkles salt on the rest and slurps it up, before rushing out the door.

Dagmar gets down from the table and adjusts her gown. "You lessen the effects when you spice it like that," she calls out to him.

"But it's the only way I can get it down," Alva replies over his shoulder. "Love you."

"Love you too," responds Dagmar automatically.

He shuts the door behind him. Dagmar sits back down and resumes eating her sub-demon's brain. Slowly, deliberately, savoring it.

She takes a moment to turn and address Luci. "The more things I do that remind you of Teabeanie, the wider your channels will open to me."

Her spoon slips in the finite space between two frontal lobe coils. She deliberately loosens one, then slurps it up like a noodle. A splash of brain fluid wets her nose, making her giggle.

Dagmar dabs her face with a napkin, then turns around again. "I have a feeling such memories will be most delectable. I can't wait."

The gurney bearing Zog descends back to the lab floor. The machine hums, then shuts off.

Chazzz unhitches the king's restraints. "So," he asks. "How do you feel?"

"Sore," replies Zog. "Just, sore. The euphoria isn't there."

"Not there?" pipes in Dr. Zeek. "Then you have moved on to Phase Two."

"Phase Two?" Zog looks back and forth between them, confused. "What do you mean, Phase Two?"

"The true start of your treatment," explains the doctor. "The euphoria is only there for about a week or so. Then you start feeling pain. Oh, so much pain. That's how we know it's working."

"Wait," says Zog. "Back up. Since when did this process have phases in numbers?"

"There's three, actually," answers Chazzz. "The first one has the euphoria, the second one is pain and constant agony, especially in your head. And the third one only happens sometimes, but most of the time."

"And, what is that?"

"Madness!" cries Dr. Zeek. He breaks out in raucous, uncontrollable laughter, followed by random ticks of movement and clicking sounds.

Once he calms down, Zeek clears his throat and explains, "We only stay in Phase Two for two weeks. Then we lessen the shock treatment, until you're able to carry on the rest of your therapy without it."

"Which is, when?"

"When all your hair falls out," responds Dr. Zeek liltingly. "That's how we know!"

"Breakfast time!" Chazzz bats the back of Zog's knees with a wooden board, then climbs on his back after the king falls into a crawling position.

Once again, the nurse is ready to dig in with his spurs. "Giddy up!"