again."
"Hell is shaped around you," I said after a pause.
"Indeed. You are almost too clever for your own good." There was a chill to his voice. It was worth remembering. Along with name 'the father of lies'.
"So what is the price? What is the currency you want it in?"
He smiled. I read that smile. This was what he wanted to hear. "The old woman, of course. Help her cheat. Betray her. For that, you can have the answers."
"Old woman. You mean my grandmother?"
"Vicious old crone. You know she had a slate and a half before she came down here. And she's old. You were in your prime when they shot you."
Age. Age in Hell? I was back to being a scrawny rat of ten. He was lying. Playing me as I wished to play him. There was a reason in this. A reason to our ages. A key. Whether I could use it was another matter. "So why do you want me to betray her? It'll make it easier to do it well if you let me know what I'm trying to do."
The devil shrugged. "Because you were the thread that could just have saved her. This is Hell. Betray her and you can pass. Perhaps get to Purgatory. There is an end to Purgatory."
I understood then. It was about hope. Hope. You always held it out to even worst offender, one who had not even a prayer. They paid the best. He'd given away more than he intended when he'd said our professions were alike. He was offering me a false coin of hope, and he wanted me to destroy it for her. To plunge her still deeper. She was the age that she was -- and I was the age that I was -- because that had been the point at which we both could have turned. The last time for me, and probably for her. Death intervened before it could have happened. Death is the Devil's friend and helper too. But the Great Judge must watch... "Tell me," I said. "I'll drop her in it."
The Devil smiled at me as if I were his favourite son. "The question," he said, relates to the bait for musselcracker. You always wanted to catch one, and never succeeded. The answer - the correct answer -- is musselworm."
Illegal bait. Highly illegal, since getting it involved destroying large piece of mussel-bed. The Devil would advocate it. And it would probably have worked. He went on to explain at length how to collect it, where to collect it and how to avoid being caught, and what to plead if you were. "But you knew that," he said.
I did. But all I said was: "It's a lot to remember."
"Ah. But you have a photographic memory, and this crib-note." He handed it to me. "Put it in your sleeve. Make sure your paper is painstakingly neat. There are marks deducted for untidiness. Now, let us return. I'll make sure you get the opportunity to pass it on." He turned and led me back through a misty vastness, a distance that I was aware was both great and not there at all. He had to lead me back to the desks or I would not have got there. I would rather have stayed in dung pits even if I could have found my way. Never turn your back on the Devil. And we were too alike. He did check I was there, almost constantly. But he looked away too.
Back at my desk, I faced the pad and the question. The Devil had given me the right question... and I realised, the right answer. And the harsh planes of that lined axe-blade of a face from my childhood memories watched me warily. The Devil sauntered away down the endless rows, through the sibilance of scratching pens. I watch him go. There were others I recognised, colleagues and clients, writing... I wondered what they saw or did? Hell, I now realized, was defined by the individual. And the Devil, I knew, was closer than he appeared to be, not a hundred desks away with his back turned, bending over another examinee's work.
"I have the answers for you," I said quietly.
Her glare - how could I have forgotten it - fierce as an eagle, and unblinking as a cat, turned on me. "Don't cheat, Ryan. Don't even think about it, boy."
She'd said that to me
"Hell is shaped around you," I said after a pause.
"Indeed. You are almost too clever for your own good." There was a chill to his voice. It was worth remembering. Along with name 'the father of lies'.
"So what is the price? What is the currency you want it in?"
He smiled. I read that smile. This was what he wanted to hear. "The old woman, of course. Help her cheat. Betray her. For that, you can have the answers."
"Old woman. You mean my grandmother?"
"Vicious old crone. You know she had a slate and a half before she came down here. And she's old. You were in your prime when they shot you."
Age. Age in Hell? I was back to being a scrawny rat of ten. He was lying. Playing me as I wished to play him. There was a reason in this. A reason to our ages. A key. Whether I could use it was another matter. "So why do you want me to betray her? It'll make it easier to do it well if you let me know what I'm trying to do."
The devil shrugged. "Because you were the thread that could just have saved her. This is Hell. Betray her and you can pass. Perhaps get to Purgatory. There is an end to Purgatory."
I understood then. It was about hope. Hope. You always held it out to even worst offender, one who had not even a prayer. They paid the best. He'd given away more than he intended when he'd said our professions were alike. He was offering me a false coin of hope, and he wanted me to destroy it for her. To plunge her still deeper. She was the age that she was -- and I was the age that I was -- because that had been the point at which we both could have turned. The last time for me, and probably for her. Death intervened before it could have happened. Death is the Devil's friend and helper too. But the Great Judge must watch... "Tell me," I said. "I'll drop her in it."
The Devil smiled at me as if I were his favourite son. "The question," he said, relates to the bait for musselcracker. You always wanted to catch one, and never succeeded. The answer - the correct answer -- is musselworm."
Illegal bait. Highly illegal, since getting it involved destroying large piece of mussel-bed. The Devil would advocate it. And it would probably have worked. He went on to explain at length how to collect it, where to collect it and how to avoid being caught, and what to plead if you were. "But you knew that," he said.
I did. But all I said was: "It's a lot to remember."
"Ah. But you have a photographic memory, and this crib-note." He handed it to me. "Put it in your sleeve. Make sure your paper is painstakingly neat. There are marks deducted for untidiness. Now, let us return. I'll make sure you get the opportunity to pass it on." He turned and led me back through a misty vastness, a distance that I was aware was both great and not there at all. He had to lead me back to the desks or I would not have got there. I would rather have stayed in dung pits even if I could have found my way. Never turn your back on the Devil. And we were too alike. He did check I was there, almost constantly. But he looked away too.
Back at my desk, I faced the pad and the question. The Devil had given me the right question... and I realised, the right answer. And the harsh planes of that lined axe-blade of a face from my childhood memories watched me warily. The Devil sauntered away down the endless rows, through the sibilance of scratching pens. I watch him go. There were others I recognised, colleagues and clients, writing... I wondered what they saw or did? Hell, I now realized, was defined by the individual. And the Devil, I knew, was closer than he appeared to be, not a hundred desks away with his back turned, bending over another examinee's work.
"I have the answers for you," I said quietly.
Her glare - how could I have forgotten it - fierce as an eagle, and unblinking as a cat, turned on me. "Don't cheat, Ryan. Don't even think about it, boy."
She'd said that to me
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