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Back Happy Hour In Hell
Chapters (60)
  1. DAW Books Presents
  2. HAPPY HOURINHELL
  3. Copyright page
  4. Contents
  5. Dedication
  6. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  7. prologue
  8. one
  9. two
  10. three
  11. four
  12. five
  13. six
  14. interlude
  15. seven
  16. eight
  17. nine
  18. ten
  19. eleven
  20. twelve
  21. interlude
  22. thirteen
  23. fourteen
  24. interlude
  25. fifteen
  26. sixteen
  27. seventeen
  28. eighteen
  29. nineteen
  30. twenty
  31. twenty-one
  32. interlude
  33. twenty-two
  34. twenty-three
  35. twenty-four
  36. twenty-five
  37. twenty-six
  38. twenty-seven
  39. twenty-eight
  40. twenty-nine
  41. thirty
  42. thirty-one
  43. thirty-two
  44. thirty-three
  45. thirty-four
  46. thirty-five
  47. thirty-six
  48. thirty-seven
  49. thirty-eight
  50. thirty-nine
  51. forty
  52. forty-one
  53. forty-two
  54. forty-three
  55. forty-four
  56. forty-five
  57. forty-six
  58. forty-seven
  59. forty-eight
  60. epilogue

Dis Pater Square is the biggest public space in Pandaemonium, the heart of Hell’s capital city. But just as the center of Paris starts at Notre Dame and stretches along the Champs Élysées to the Arc de Triomphe, so the center of Hell stretched all the way along the Via Dolorosa, the wide, grim avenue where triumphant demon-generals marched. The Circus, otherwise known as the Amphitheater of Commodus, was at the end of the Via Dolorosa, next to Leopold Square. Commodus was one of the worst of the Roman emperors, a murderous psychopath in the vein of Caligula and Nero, but unlike Nero, Commodus had never tried to cheat Hell. In fact, Commodus had a major landmark in Hell named after him instead of a forgotten bridge, so my guess was that Eligor and Caym and the boys weren’t making Emperor Commodus sing opera in front of heckling crowds, either.

It cost two spits to travel by ferry across the steaming expanse of the Bay of Tophet, but it was much faster than walking, and I didn’t want to jam myself into one of the lurching, packed trains. I reached the landing at Leopold Square before the second beacon had even been lit, leaving me the infernal afternoon to reconnoiter. The amphitheater was closed, but a bribe to a guard—who looked like someone had tried to make walrus jerky and failed—got me inside, then a wearying hike up stony steps got me to the top to look around.

Commodus’ amphitheater looked a lot like the famous colosseum in Rome, except longer and about five times bigger. I’m pretty sure you could pack a few hundred thousand people into it, or what passed for people down here. A track extended around the entire length, but there was a separate space at the middle, clearly meant for something like gladiator fights. The sands of the track and the arena were rusty with dried blood.

Down in the lower part of the stands near the center of the amphitheater, a large section was sheltered by roofs of stretched skin, like giant albino pterodactyl wings. Since there was no sun in Hell, I was pretty certain the roof was for privacy for Hell’s most important, and perhaps to protect them from the missiles and saliva of the braver or at least crazier of the less fortunate above and behind them.