Deal With The Devil (Circles In Hell Book 3) by Mark Cain

Author:Mark Cain [Cain, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Perdition Press
Published: 2015-08-31T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

Orson got off the floor. His face was a mask of fear. “Is that what you were thinking?”

I gave a bobblehead nod, as my friend placed his bruised butt carefully on his stool. “I didn’t know anyone down here but Satan had that power. I’ve sometimes thought Beezy could do it, but he’s never given me irrefutable evidence. Azazel just did.”

“Do you,” Orson began, then swallowed hard. “Do you think Azazel is as powerful as Satan himself?”

I shrugged. “Dunno, but he seems to be one of the strongest devils I’ve ever encountered. He must be. He’s not even afraid of the princes of Hell, or at least, so it seems.”

We sat quietly for a few minutes, nursing our fears. Finally, Orson got to his feet and stepped to the supply closet. He pulled out two lengths of thick rope and some pulleys. “Let’s go. Better to work than to worry.”

“Right,” I agreed, getting out of my chair and heading for the door.

The Escalator deposited us near the sulfur mine. As far as we could tell, there was no activity at all, no hand carts coming out of the wide entrance to the mine, no damned humans scurrying like so many ants around the place, no demons in hard hats riding the miners. It was very curious. Every other time I’d been here, the mine was bustling with activity.

“Odd,” Orson commented.

“Yeah, it is. If we had more time, I’d make up some excuse to go inside and see what’s going on.”

“At least it explains why Karnaj and his buddies could spend so much time enjoying the pleasures of the Palace.”

There was a river beside the mine, where barges normally floated, waiting to be filled to the brim with some of the output of the mine for carting off to one of the main sulfur distribution centers about ten miles downstream. Like the mine, the docks were abandoned. We looked at each other and shrugged then made our way to the bridge a few hundred yards beyond the loading area. Once across the bridge, we continued upstream along a road that paralleled the water.

Our destination was about a mile away, a compact but bustling walled metropolis with the ironic name of Sloth City. All humans who spent a life of indolence were sent there upon death. At the entrance to the city, they were issued heavy medallions, made of lead, hanging on leaden chains. These were placed around their necks. All the medallions were the same, round in shape, and with the pseudo-word “tuit” stamped into the metal. On Earth, all of them put off or completely neglected life’s tasks, forever saying they would eventually get “around to it.” Well, now they each had one, and their procrastination was at an end.

As we reached the gate, a demon stopped us, while his fellow brought out two round tuits. Orson pointed to himself and simply said, “Pride,” which was the cardinal sin my friend committed in life. “Ditto,” I added, pointing to my own chest.

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