Scene X: A Cold Day in Hell
The 1st Day of the 4th Moon, 1536 P.V.
Behmor’s office, Irkalla
Behmor was having his late afternoon breakfast when the second annoyance of the day presented itself. He had already had a hell of a morning. His lover and business partner, Baal, an ancient demon with attractively huge horns, had awoken in poor form and asked Behmor to remain in their chambers for the rest of the day. The initial request quickly morphed into a sobbing meltdown when Behmor denied Baal’s plea.
Behmor refused Baal’s request citing his heavy workload as the reason. In truth, his refusal had nothing to do with any workload but came down to two problems. The first problem was simple. Baal was clearly in a hysterical mood and had a tendency to escalate such moods by imagining that Behmor was cheating on him.
Behmor often did cheat on Baal with the tributes provided to him in the guise of civil servants. Behmor requested very specific tributes; tall, muscular male thesapiens who could type. Baal invariably learned through office gossip that Behmor was meeting with one tribute or another in the parchment store and he would confront Behmor either first thing in the morning or last thing at night.
The confrontation would inevitably end up causing a screaming match and would conclude with Baal locking himself in the bathroom, and Behmor suffering migraines. This did not stop Behmor’s infidelities, it just made him more determined to avoid any conversations about the matter.
The second problem that forced Behmor out of bed and into his office was one of thirst. Behmor kept his finest whisky hidden in the second drawer of his office desk, the same desk where he pretended to work.
Behmor was bureaucratically a catch; The King of Irkalla, a legal genius and refined in etiquette. In looks, however, he was fairly plain; a short, portly demon with black hair, black facial hair, and fine black silk suits to match his black eyes. His style was not lacking, and his intelligence and quick wit were only sharpened by his penchant for spirits. Not ghostly spirits, but spirits one finds on the top shelf.
Immoless season was always a trying time for Behmor as it excited his uncle Theaten and annoyed his father, Nicolas. As such, Behmor usually found the two at loggerheads and himself inundated with letters of complaint from both, or rather, from Nicolas and Klouthe.
Behmor had been pleasantly surprised with the lack of complaints during the recent season, but that surprise soon shifted into suspicion, then worry, and then alcoholism. He decided, after a few days of solid drinking, and the consequential complaints from Baal, to investigate the odd silence stemming from Corax Asylum, and requested a clandestine audience with Chives.
Chives was oddly loyal to Nicolas forcing Behmor to develop a formula for addressing this issue. He would inform Chives that he was protecting Nicolas from Nicolas. He also allowed the wizened old ghoul to access a few friendly demonesses from the purgatory circle of Irkalla, Mortraxis, for a bit of afternoon fun. Chives’s tongue would loosen almost as quickly as his belt buckle. Behmor liked Chives’ tongue loose, providing it didn’t loosen too much and drop out of his head.
The second annoyance presented itself, not in the minion announcing Chives’s presence, nor in having to tolerate Chives’s company but in Chives’s revelations that raised a whole load of issues that Behmor did not want to hear.
The minion knocked just as Behmor was consuming his third whisky of the morning. He quickly finished his drink and dumped both glass and bottle in the drawer, took out and chewed a mint, slammed the drawer shut, and called,
‘Enter.’
The minion opened the door,
‘Chives, sir!’
‘Send him in!’ Behmor ordered.
Chives made a point of limping and hobbling across the floor, then crunched into the seat opposite Behmor. Behmor did not care about Chives’s disability any more than Nicolas did.
‘You summoned me, sir?’ Chives asked, cracking his neck.
‘Yes, Chives,’ Behmor said, attempting to sit up straight, ‘It has come to my attention that your master has not been himself recently…’
‘No sir, he is most deliriously excited what with the plans and everything.’
‘Plans?’ Behmor asked, then checked himself, ‘Oh yes, the plans. And how are they going?’
Chives smiled and a tooth dropped out onto Behmor’s desk,
‘Some of the Nicolai have been meeting her, Rachnoc, Shiverton and Confusius were with her today, and Archie is tailing her, of course, to make sure no one says anything. Demus and Bigglesworth are eager to pay her a visit. In fact, Demus is beside himself, I have never seen him dance so often. They have all spent time watching her and are pleased with Nicolas’s choice.’
Behmor coughed,
‘Choice?’
‘Yes choice, sir. Of course, Chester has been conditioning her for quite some time now, so the plan should work. As you know, Nicolas has not had much success with women, but he seems quite determined this time. He is even creating legal loopholes to stop himself from killing her.’
Behmor tapped his fingers on the desk,
‘Isn’t that romantic?’
‘It is,’ Chives smirked, ‘She even thinks Ches is her boyfriend.’
Behmor pressed his hands into the arms of the chair and pushed himself up higher, then slid back down,
‘Chives, let’s pretend I am not the King of Irkalla for just one moment. Can we do that?’
Chives looked directly up, one eye slightly popped from the socket, then he returned to staring at Behmor,
‘Yes sir, we can do that.’
‘Good. Now I am going to have a quiet drink, but you never saw anything!’
‘My bones are sealed.’
Behmor opened his drawer, and the glass and bottle were placed back on the desk. He hesitated momentarily, tutted, then took out a second glass and poured both him and Nicolas’s ghoul a whisky. Both raised their glasses, as was common custom in Irkalla, and drank.
‘Now,’ Behmor continued, ‘explain everything to me as if I were a peasant.’
‘Nicolas is happy and planning his special day. The Nicolai are visiting her to approve, and Chester has trained her for a good length of time in preparation. What is to understand?’
‘Preparation for what, exactly?’
‘The final Irkallan contract, you must know, Nicolas says you will conduct the service.’
‘Did he now?’ Behmor sighed.
Behmor opened his top drawer and pulled out a set of darts. Behind him, on the wall, hung a giant portrait of Nicolas and on it, scribbled in silver ink, were the words,
‘Don’t burn this one Behmor, Love Dad!’
Behmor swung on his chair and hurled one dart after another at the painting, then swung back on his chair, picked up his whisky, and faced Chives again,
‘And who exactly does my father think he is marrying now?’ More whisky found its way back into Behmor’s mouth as he spoke.
‘The third Immoless,’ Chives replied nonchalantly.
The whisky darted out of Behmor’s mouth before he could swallow, and in one splatter, soaked Chives. The revelation caused Behmor to choke,
‘He is doing WHAT?’
‘Yes sir, did you not know? He has been in love with her for some time! He likes to follow her around in secret and sit outside of her window.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I said he follows her around. He wasn’t sure at first and thought it was what he called a ‘booty call,’ but when he doesn’t see her, he gets tetchy, so he has spies follow her when he is unavailable, and when he is available, he follows her. The Nicolai follow her too.’ Chives leaned into Behmor, a little too pleased about the matter for Behmor’s liking, ‘He is going to present himself to her soon. He says that she will be so smitten that she shall fall to her knees and call him master. It’s all in his diary and above board.’
Behmor’s lower jaw dropped slightly, and he sat with his mouth open for five minutes considering the matter, before his jaw drifted further to the floor.
‘Sir, are you quite alright?’ Chives asked at length.
‘Oh, peachy,’ Behmor replied, mulling over the facts, ‘so, let me get this straight, Chester is what? Pretending to be the immoless’s boyfriend whilst Nicolas and the Nicolai, and any other joey Nicolas appoints stalk her and condition her in hope that being swarmed by a horde of sex pests will make her want to marry Nicolas???’
‘That is a very basic version, but something like that, yes.’
Behmor took another drink,
‘Does that sound right to you Chives? Ignoring all the administrative and legal issues that will arise, does it sound right? Even by Irkallan standards? To me it sounds creepy and weird.’
Chives shrugged,
‘She seems to like Chester; they have been dating for five years!’
‘WHAT?’ Behmor bellowed so loudly that hellfire exploded outside and the stone walls shuddered, ‘I am going to crucify my father! Why does he have to make my life so bloody miserable?’
Chives did not understand,
‘Don’t you want your father to be happy, sir? You will finally have a mother! Isn’t that nice?’
Behmor shook his head,
‘How did I miss this?’ He stood up and beckoned to Chives, ‘Follow me.’
Behmor did not wait for Chives to keep up. Fury gave him more energy than his stout shape suggested. He left the office in haste, sending Baal who was eavesdropping at the door flying, marched along the sandy corridors of The Annubium and entered another gold door with ‘Ad Sex Speculum’ etched into the paint. Chives followed.
The Ad Sex Speculum was a giant hall shrouded in darkness that housed six enormous mirrors, one for each Immortalis: Theaten and his Evro Kane, Behmor and his Evro Tanis, and Nicolas and his Evro, Chester. Behmor was supposed to watch the mirrors to ensure the safety of all Immortalis. However, since Behmor was allergic to work he had delegated this task, like most other tasks to one of his minions.
The minion that Behmor had lazily left to guard the mirrors and report on any funny business was notably gone. A black throne replaced the old stool that Behmor had parked in front of the mirrors some seven years previously, and on the throne sat a Nicolai wearing a plaid jacket, a frilly white and very filthy chemise, and a gold-rimmed, burgundy, plumed cavalier hat. A scimitar sat in a sheathe loosely attached to a belt that hung from his waist.
The Nicolai waited until the door slammed shut of its own accord and addressed Behmor,
‘You’re job is to watch these mirrors and guard the other Immortalis, Behmor,’ he moaned, ‘and you have not been taking your job seriously.’
Behmor marched in front of the being, who was staring in Theaten’s mirror, watching Theaten beat his favourite tribute, Calista,
‘Where is my minion, Nico?’
‘I believe Bigglesworth fed him to the sharks some five years ago. Sadly, his boss didn’t notice. Nor did anyone else,’ Nicolai-Nico De Sylvane De Corval gloated.
Behmor turned away from him and walked the length of the mirrors.
In the first mirror Behmor saw himself and straightened his silk black cravat. The second mirror showed his own Evro, Tanis, a howling monster, ploughing through the snow of Bratsioca, and roaring for tourists. Theaten continued to beat his tribute with a riding crop in the third,
‘Guess Calista escaped again!’ Behmor muttered more to himself than to Nico. The fourth mirror shared Theaten’s Evro, the wild, masked man of The Varjoleto Forest, Kane. Kane was weaving barbed wire traps with a Nicolai who matched his aesthetic, Nicolai-Beartrap Nic. The only differences between Kane and Baertrap were that Kane wore black and Baertrap navy blue, and Baertrap wore a chain from his ear, and had eyes similar to Nicolas’s eyes only darker.
Nicolas and Archie had created Nicolai-Beartrap Nic to keep Kane company as Theaten was too much of a haughty dick to care about his Evro.
The fifth mirror presented Nicolas. Behmor suspected Nicolas knew he was watching, as Nicolas’s face and upper body took up the whole mirror, blocking out his whereabouts, and he was grinning directly into his speculum, with his chin tucked in and his eyes glowering. Behmor rolled his eyes,
‘Morning Father.’
Nicolas nodded, and Behmor moved to the last mirror.
The last mirror was empty, no reflection, no image, just a shiny surface.
‘Why is Nicolas’s Evro’s mirror empty?’ Behmor asked Nico. Nico shrugged and Behmor decided to address his initial line of investigation, since the Nicolai clearly had every intention to co-operate,
‘Do the Nicolai plan on marrying the third Immoless?’
Nico smiled a nasty smirk but did not speak.
Behmor walked the row of mirrors a few more times. Pacing. Thinking. He then mumbled to himself,
‘This is bad, this bad. You can’t marry the Immoless. This is bad.’
‘On the contrary,’ Nico replied, ‘she is blessed with her future elevation.’
‘Is that so?’ Behmor snorted, ‘And does she know what this elevation entails?’
‘She will,’ Nico grunted, then turned to Chives who had deliberately avoided standing before the mirrors in case Nicolas saw him, prompting Nico to ask,
‘Does Nicolas know that you are here telling tales?’
Chives gulped.
‘I thought not!’ Nico said, leaning forward and twisting his whole body in Chives’s direction, ‘I shall not mention it. After all,’ he switched his gaze to Behmor without moving his body or head, ‘we all have a part to play!’
By the time Behmor returned to his chambers he was quite drunk, and Baal was once again quite tearful over his lover’s alleged infidelities. The immortals, of course, had a history of committing infidelity.
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