Chapters (60)
- DAW Books Presents
- HAPPY HOURINHELL
- Copyright page
- Contents
- Dedication
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- prologue
- one
- two
- three
- four
- five
- six
- interlude
- seven
- eight
- nine
- ten
- eleven
- twelve
- interlude
- thirteen
- fourteen
- interlude
- fifteen
- sixteen
- seventeen
- eighteen
- nineteen
- twenty
- twenty-one
- interlude
- twenty-two
- twenty-three
- twenty-four
- twenty-five
- twenty-six
- twenty-seven
- twenty-eight
- twenty-nine
- thirty
- thirty-one
- thirty-two
- thirty-three
- thirty-four
- thirty-five
- thirty-six
- thirty-seven
- thirty-eight
- thirty-nine
- forty
- forty-one
- forty-two
- forty-three
- forty-four
- forty-five
- forty-six
- forty-seven
- forty-eight
- epilogue
Gee, the kid felt drawn to a credo that said there might be something more to his life than an eternity of pain, hopelessness, and utter misery? I couldn’t imagine why.
The meeting was in one of the huge warehouses that fronted on one of the main Stygian channels. The floor of the warehouse was stacked full of sacks and earthenware jars, but the upper levels were less crowded, and on the highest floor there was a room that suited the Lifters’ purpose. It was empty but for black straw on the floor, and had a big window that opened onto the roof. Remember, kids, if you’re going to start a heretical sect, always make sure you have at least two available exits.
At least three or four dozen of the damned were waiting there, and the way they perked up at Riprash’s arrival told me he was just as important to this little coven of malcontents as he had been to his Lifters group back in Cocytus Landing.
“Here, let me tell you about a fellow I heard of,” Riprash began when the crowd had quieted a little. “I said, listen up, you scum!”
Shushing by ten-foot-tall monstrosity is actually pretty effective. In the new silence, I could hear the faint sounds of work gangs shouting a short distance down the dock, and the screams of the whipped slaves whose hard labor drove the crane that lifted and lowered the cargo. Even after weeks in Hell, it didn’t make for a soothing background.
“There was this fella,” Riprash began. “I got no idea whether he’s here with us or in the Other Place, but when he was alive, he had a big idea. His name was Origen and he lived in Alexandria—”
“I lived in Alexandria,” said one of the larger, louder audience members. “I never knew anybody went by that.”
Riprash shook his big head. “Enough with your yapping, Poilos. You said that about Alexander the Great, too. ‘How could he be so great if I never heard of him?’ Just keep your mouth shut for a change, and you might learn something.” He scowled, something that would have stopped the heart of most living humans. Poilos didn’t curl up and die, but he did stop talking. “Good,” said Riprash. “Now let me get on with it . . .”
Having heard the talk about Origen and his ideas before, I admit I phased out a little. I was still wrestling with Temuel’s connection to these poor damned bastards. It wasn’t like Riprash was starting an open rebellion or anything—rather the contrary, as far as I could tell. Instead of urging his infernal fellows to rise up and overthrow their post-angelic overlords he asked them to imagine a better day that might come at some unimaginably far date in the future. How could that be useful to Heaven?