Snake Eyes

“You’ll have to speak up, spawn of the dark one, or we will be forced to encourage you.” Prattle looked back at his little knot of onlookers and winked as though he’d interrogated many a demon. I sighed in resignation. From my angle, it looked like the demon head was laughing. His face was wrinkled tight, creases at the edges of his mouth and eyes. A few droplets of sulphurous pus trickled from the corners of his eyes; he was laughing so hard he was crying. Prattle had his own opinion. “Observe,” he said, gesturing towards the contorted face, “See how the mere proximity of a holy man strikes pain into the beast. Come now, demon, speak to us.”

Feeling very tired, I put a hand on Prattle’s shoulder and gestured for him to listen to me for a moment. He didn’t look pleased to have his routine interrupted, especially when he had the crowd and the demon eating out of his hand. I whispered as quietly as I could.

“The demon isn’t able to make any sound because it has been separated from its lungs. I’m certain there’s plenty it wants to say to you, but at this stage, it’s not possible. We’ll need to make arrangements.”

Irritated, but knowing I was right, Prattle asked:

“What kind of arrangements?”

Puff

An hour later everything was set up in Prattle’s courtyard. The demon’s head was elevated, propped up between two chairs on top of a table, and we’d managed to stick the sharp end of a large pair of bellows from the forge into its windpipe. Despite placing a sack over the demon’s head during the entire operation and everyone wearing thick leather gauntlets, Cleaver had lost a thumb to the demon’s snapping teeth. Velvet was bandaging his hand as best she could, having sewn the wound closed with gut.

“I’ll never work again,” he was saying. “I can’t do anything with my left hand, not even wan—”

“Never mind about that now, Mr. Cleaver,” said Velvet, cool as you please. “You’ll learn to use your left hand in no time.”

“Truly? You think I will?”

“Of course I do. I know it. You just need to practice. To give yourself some incentive you can start by practising wan—”

“Thank you, Velvet,” I said, “I think he’s got the idea. Now then, who’s going to operate the bellows, Puff or Blini?”

“I’m not doing it,” said Wiggery.

“Nor I,” said Rickett.

“This demon is your property, gentlemen. Remember how I helped you to establish that fact and save you from the hungry masses?”

Neither of them spoke.

“Right, you can take it in turns, then. You first, Puff.”

“Oh, come on, why can’t he go first?”

“Just do it.”

Looking frightened and put out, Puff took up a position behind the demon’s head and took hold of the bellows handles.

“Make sure you don’t knock the head off the chairs when you’re pumping. You have to be firm but gentle.” I wanted to add, ‘just like when you jizjam Mrs. Rickett’, but I held back. We had enough trouble on our hands as it was.

“When should I do it?”

“Just start pumping and don’t stop until we say so.”

With his elbows moving in an out like a slow impersonation of a flapping chicken, Puff Wiggery began to blow air into the demon’s head via the windpipe. The rhythmic sighing was difficult for the demon to deal with at first. Its eyes opened wide with surprise at the snorts of air coming involuntarily down its nose. It opened its mouth and made ‘haa, haa, haa,’ sounds with each pressurised blast from the bellows.

“Living up to your name now, Puff,” shouted Rickett and everyone laughed, their nerves forgotten for a moment.

Prattle stepped in front of the demon head. Because of the table and two chairs, it was higher up than his own head and the height advantage and the sheer size of it made him seem inferior in every way. He showed less confidence than he had earlier.

“Now then, demon, where have you come from and why are you here?”

“Haa, haa, I am from haa, haa, Hell, idiot mortal. Haaaaa, haa.”

Prattle blustered on, dusting over his mortal idiocy.

“What do you want with us? Why have you come to Long Lofting?”

The demon licked its lips, careful not to shred its venom-yellow tongue on its own teeth. The tongue extended further, sharpening to fleshy point and with great control, the demon licked at some irritation near the lobe of its ear. A few stifled gasps came from Long Lofting womenfolk who were brave enough to have squeezed into the priest lodge. I checked Velvet out of the corner of my eye but she seemed impassive, unaffected by the fiendish display of lingual dexterity. The demon might have had a long tongue but it wasn’t educated in the use of it, not like me. I allowed myself a moment of smugness—I, a mere mortal, could out-evil a demon any day of the week.

“There’s haa, haa, no more room in Hell, haa, haa. It’s too crowded.”

“You came here directly from Hell?” I asked.

“I’m asking the questions, Duke,” said Prattle, and turning to the demon head asked. “Well, did you?”

“Haa, directly. Yes. Haa, haaaaa.”

“Why are we asking him that, by the way?” asked Prattle.