Victoria nearly fell back into her coffin with a gasp. "Barkis!" she whispered.

"Yes." That portly individual, if it were at all possible, had raised his chin still more higher than he

normally would have. "Welcome, Victoria, to the Land of the Dead. Does it please you?"

Victoria looked about her. Never before had she been in the Ball and Socket Joint, and as she gazed at the unhappy faces which simply returned her horrified stare she wondered if it had been so awfully grim when Victor had been there.

"Is it always so—quiet?" she said.

"Well, no...only since I took over."

Victoria shot Lord Barkis a venomous glance as she rose from her coffin. "Well," she said after a pause, "why am I here? I'm not dead, that's for sure—why, I would have been if you'd left me in that coffin, for the air was so inadequate in there."

"I am sorry about that," Lord Barkis reassured her. "But you are right, my dear." He stroked his chin. "You are not dead, as am I. Let me tell you a secret," he said, grasping her arm. "After I died, my afterlife was not going to be particularly pleasant, was it? Not after all that I had done to that wretched Emily and your wimpy little fiancée..."

"Ha! And what you nearly did to me!" Victoria snapped, somewhat angered by Barkis's use of the term "wimpy little fiancée."

"Yes, yes," Barkis said absently, "but, my dear, listen to this! During the few weeks of torture which I was forced to endure, I managed to gain the favor of those who sought to harm me..."

"What? Theirs?" Victoria glanced briefly at the sorrowful countenances which still gazed bleakly at her.

"Ho, no!" Barkis laughed. "When I came down here, I was sent to another town—don't look so shocked, Victoria, that expression isn't at all pleasant—and there I managed to find these persons."

Victoria's heart pounded as she looked out the pub's open door. Outside, an army of cloaked figures stood silent and motionless, watching her. One of them had its hand on the pub's door; it was a grotesque hand, gray and rotting, with long, broken nails which seemed to be unnaturally sharp. Victoria turned away swiftly.

"Why have you brought me here?" she said, badly frightened. "Let me go back!"

Barkis's smile was one of pure enjoyment. "No," he returned, "for I will have my revenge on you and—what was that fool's name—Victor. It is a pity that Emily is already dead..." he sighed deeply and shrugged. "Otherwise, what might I do? I have a fertile imagination, one which will come up with the worst tortures imaginable for those whom I consider my foes. But perhaps even her lifeless state shall not stop me from punishing her..."

"All you want, then," Victoria said, her voice trembling with anger, "is petty revenge!"

"No," Barkis said with a smile. "You underestimate me, my dear. I want the world."

"How will you..."

"It's only a matter of time now. I have already sent some of my—men—after your Van Dort brat. And when they find him..." he shivered with anticipation, "...ah, I have it all planned! He will be bound hand and foot, my dear Victoria; perhaps these poor fellows—" he gestured towards the cloaked spectators, "—will keep him for themselves a week or two. When they finally bring him to me, after having some fun of their own—oh, poor things, they have so little cheer in their lives—I'm sure he will be the loveliest sight in this wretched place."

Victoria was frozen for an instant. Finally she cried in her horror, "You are the villain who...invented these portals, are you not? Those things that will let you move from place to place, causing havoc wherever you..."

"Well, I didn't invent them." Barkis chuckled to himself for a good while. "I—I more was awarded with them when I summoned...oh, you must see him! Victoria..." he said gleefully, leading her despite her struggling to the pub's door, "...what do you think of this slimy young wretch? He calls himself Detrikzin; a pretty name for such a monster, don't you agree?"