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Chapter 10: Imp and Goliath

The storm was on them, water pouring down in sheets. Tuco thought it must be about midday, but the sky was so dark it might almost have been night. The rain made travel treacherous, as heavy mudslides ran down the mountainsides, and what had once been narrow tracks along the mountain now flooded with torrents of rainwater several inches deep. Even with the woolen garments, he was soaked all the way to his skin, and only the rapid pace of their journey kept him warm enough to keep from shivering. His feet ached in his squelching boots, and he almost felt envious of Walstein, wherever he was now. He ought to feel horrified of what had happened, or ashamed, but he didn't. Instead, he felt a strange sense of satisfaction and peace. Walstein was where he wanted to be; where he was meant to be, somehow. And besides, he and his new herd would certainly not be out in the middle of this storm.

Lightning forked across the sky with a deafening crack, leaving glowing green streaks of fire in Tuco's vision. Ahead of him, Rigby was waving and shouting something. "What?" he called ahead through the roar of the rain, and the clockwork man waved him forward. He stumbled up close enough for Rigby to lean in.

"We'll be struck by lightning if we stay up here. It's too treacherous! We'd better head down into the valley and navigate there." He pointed down through the torrent of grey rain to a narrow gully running between the mountains, filled with a cluster of trees. "Come on!"

Slipping and sliding, and falling to one side several times, he made his way down the side of the mountain. He had already begun to walk stiffly, with a hunch, and his hair had gone white again. Tuco followed after him, and his tail uncoiled from about his waist where it had gone to keep dry, waving and lashing in the rain to help him keep his balance. It was surprisingly effective, and not anything he consciously controlled. If he tottered too much to the right and forward, his tail would yank itself back and to the left, countering him slightly. It felt strange to sense the tug on his spine, to feel the impact of cold rain on skin he'd never had before, and yet it was so natural that he almost didn't question it. It was as though he'd always been meant to have a tail and it had just been tragically absent up until now.

He made his way down the mountainside and under the cover of the trees, finding limited shelter under the broad limbs of a mountain oak, and huddled up, grateful for even partial relief from the driving rain. His tail slipped back under his clothing and looped around his waist again, the tip rubbing gently against his side as if to soothe him.

Rigby leaned against a tree, hunched and haggard, though not panting. Tuco wondered if he even needed breath. "We can continue this way for a while," he said. The rain wasn't quite as loud down in the valley, but he still had to shout a bit to be heard. "At least we're less likely to be struck by lightning."

Tuco nodded. Miserably, he asked, "You're still going to turn me in to the Brothers when we get back?" He thought again of the gleaming edge of Brother Gabriel's sword.

Rigby gave him a hard stare. "My mind has not changed since you recovered from your fainting spell. You have been consorting with devils, Tuco. Walstein may have tormented you, but transforming him into a monster, however you managed that, was an undeniably evil act."

"But I didn't--"

RIgby ignored him. "And you have been branded over and over with signs of the infernal. Your horns and fangs. The absurd power of your body. And now the tail, which I saw grow with my own eyes. There can be no question but that the powers of the Abyss flow through you. The secret is not mine to keep, nor is it yours. You have been corrupted by the powers of the demonic. The clergy must know and respond accordingly."

"But they will kill me."

"You cannot know that. Pray for the mercy of the Almighty, if your tainted blood will yet let you reach out to Him. Now come. We must return to the Abbey before nightfall." Rigby turned and strode out of the cover of the oak and began picking his way through the gully, avoiding the rushing stream that flowed through its deepest tracks.

Tuco followed after, clutching his soaked cloak about his shoulders and sifting through his options. He could hope for the mercy of the Brothers, but they had not proven the merciful sorts. He thought of the many-eyed Brother who had broken the possessed apprentice's arm, and he thought of Brother Gabriel's sword. What would they think when they saw him with returning with a devil's tail and no Walstein, the one apprentice who had most famously tormented him? They'd been sent out as penance, to learn to cooperate, but instead Rigby would testify that he had seen Tuco transform Walstein into an ogre. No, there would be no mercy from the Brothers.

He could try to escape. If he wanted to flee Rigby now, he could almost certainly get away. The clockwork man was winding down, his limbs stiff and bent with age. Tuco could run from him. But then what? He'd be out in the wilderness with only the remaining food in their supplies, and he'd have to go out into the world as a monster, horned and fanged and tailed. He remembered how the man at the mines had stared at him. The expression of fear and mistrust. That would be everyone now. As Pike had told him on the roof of the Abbey, they were done with the world of mankind. Tuco would have to live on his own, stealing food where he could get it, never seeing companionship. Still, better than being executed by frightened Brothers, he supposed.

Or he could lie. As with Brother Gabriel, he could hiss to Rigby that he'd seen nothing, that the transformation of Walstein and all that had happened after had been just a dream. He could invent some tale that Walstein had decided not to return to the Abbey and had run off and left them. Something believable. The lie could work. But Tuco remembered the impact of his panicked falsehood on Brother Gabriel--the look of desolation and confusion on his face, the descent into a kind of madness. That lie might have saved Tuco's life then, but it had twisted everything afterwards, and had damaged a pious man. Brother Gabriel was broken now, in part because of Tuco. And even if Tuco allowed the possibility that Brother Gabriel might have deserved it, just a bit, Rigby certainly did not. Rigby was a good man trying to do the right thing. Tuco couldn't break the mind of a good man, even to save his own skin.

There were no good options. So he kept his head down and trudged after Rigby as the sky grew darker and darker and the wind howled.

The gully widened, and the trees were larger, the bases bigger around than either of them, the great trunks rising into the dark sky, and they had to pick their way around them. Then thunder clapped so loudly that Tuco's ears rang, and at the same time there was a blaze of light that left his vision swimming and useless for a moment. He could taste lightning on the air, and then an odd, burning smell. He looked up, trying to shield his gaze from the burned-in flash that hovered before it, and some shape moved in the darkness above them. Rigby stood just below.

"Rigby, look out!" Tuco shouted, but Rigby only stopped and looked back at him in bleary-eyed confusion.

The great tree trunk fell right on top of him, dashing him to the ground like a ragdoll. The end of the trunk flickered in white fire that hissed in the rain, and its branches bounced up and down against the opposite hill.

"Rigby!" Tuco ran toward him, slipping on the stones in the rain, brambles tearing at his clothes. Rigby's boots protruded from under the trunk. With a bound, Tuco leapt over the tree trunk to the other side. He slid onto his side in the mud and rolled to get to his feet. He panted with exertion; the electric woodsmoke smell reeked on his tongue, which curled into the open air, catching the rain. "Rigby?"

"Tuco," a voice moaned.

He scrabbled through fallen leaves and found Rigby lying pinned under the tree trunk, smashed down into the mud. One heavy limb had come down across his head, trapping it sideways against the ground. He looked very old and very frail. Tuco knelt near his side. "Are you hurt?"

Rigby rolled his exposed eye to Tuco, and there was an odd twitch to the movement. "I do not get... hurt," he said, and there was an odd twanging sound in the pause. "But I can... be damaged. My insides feel wrong. And I fear I cannot remove myself from this... tree." Mud seeped between his lips when he spoke, staining his teeth brown.

"I'll go back to the Abbey and get help," Tuco said. "We'll come back with saws and axes, and get you free. We can repair you. Or something."

"There... is no time." Rigby's eye rolled in its socket in a unnerving circular motion. "I am... winding down. By the time you could return, I will be nonfunctional. Dead."

"But--but we can wind you up again, can't we? Bring you back?"

"I... answered you... falsely before... when you asked this. You could wind me up again, yes, but... in my heart of hearts I know. What you brought back would... be a clockwork man. It would not be me. It... would not... be... Rigby."

"No!" Tuco scrabbled at the stones and the mud, trying to dig them out from beneath Rigby, but the rain washed in more just as quickly as he could pull it out. "No, I can't leave you to die."

The lines of age deepened across Rigby's face with his efforts as he spoke. "Then... don't leave. Stay with me tonight? I don't... want to... die... in the dark... alone. Please?"

Tuco fought back tears. "Of course you won't die here, alone."

"Thank you." Rigby attempted to lift one arm toward him, but couldn't reach, so Tuco took his hand. The flesh was loose and sagging. His white shock of hair had begun to fall out. "It will not... be long... I think."

Tuco stared at him, and something inside him became as clear as the mirrors of the Abbey. "You won't die here at all," he said, and he let go of Rigby's hand and followed the fallen tree trunk up to its base. The embers of its fire were still hissing in the rain.

"What are you... doing?"

"I've always said the demons' changes were gifts. Well, gifts were meant to be used. Get ready. You won't have long, I think. Crawl away as soon as you can."

"What?"

"Hurry!" Tuco shouted, and then he gripped the end of the trunk in both hands and hefted it.

His whole body squeezed as though it was one giant fist, and then the pleasure of power rushed through him, so intense and overwhelming that it blocked out the cold, the rain, and the fear; it flooded his limbs and his eyes and his mind, sending him erect beneath his clothes. His tail snaked down his right leg and squeezed in delight. And then his muscles began to grow. He felt his chest barrel out against his arms, pushing them apart. His shoulders thickened and swelled against his traps. His torso tensed and grew, pushing his clothes open, tearing them as he expanded. His thighs ballooned, pushing the loops of his tail apart before they smashed together, and then the enormous tree trunk began to move. "Hurry!" he shouted again.

As his chest rose, pushing his chin upward, he saw Rigby sliding backward out of the crater of the fallen tree, slithering through the mud, trailing broken legs behind him. And then his neck forced his head upward and directly forward, and he couldn't see Rigby anymore. His shoulders pressed forcefully into his back and traps, pushing them apart so much that he was forced to bend his arms, but his arms wouldn't bend as much because his biceps and forearms had grown into each other. His back swelled so much he felt his balance shift, and he started to fall backward before he caught his weight with his own tail and felt that begin to swell with new lines of muscle.

His thighs were pushing him into a wider and wider stance, and though the weight of the tree trunk now felt insignificant to him, he couldn't keep his grip on it anymore, and so he gave one mighty shrug and sent it falling to the side, away from Rigby. He heard it land with a crash. "Are you okay?" he called. He tried to shift position toward Rigby, but his legs were splayed out too wide to move much, and he couldn't turn his head. He struggled for balance, but his back was continuing to swell, forcing his arms upward. He couldn't move them forward because of the breadth of his chest, and he couldn't move them backward because his shoulders pressed against his traps and his lats. He could barely even bend them. Even trying to wiggle his fingers made his forearms bulge tightly against his biceps. The act of breathing made his entire upper body expand, pressing against his chin. He could barely move. "Rigby?" he called again, frightened.

And then Rigby appeared in his vision, younger, still rotating his head around on his shoulders. The damage to his lower body seemed to have repaired itself, presumably when he'd wound himself up again. Curiosity and pity shone in his eyes. "Oh, Tuco," he said. "What have you done?"

Water ran into Tuco's face. "I couldn't let you die."

Rigby reached down and picked up the cloak that had torn from Tuco's body when he grew. He tried to rearrange the cloth over him, pulling the hood around his horns to shelter his face from the rain. "Someone bound for the Abyss could," he said. "But you couldn't. You... saved me. You... did you know this would happen?"

"I had to take the chance."

"I'm going to go and get you help," Rigby said. "Can you move into a more sheltered spot?"

Tuco tried to move a little, and the bulge of hard muscle pressed into other hard muscle. Neither would give. "I don't think so."

"I could not move you either. You are massive, Tuco. But I will fetch help. We will take you back to the Abbey and take care of you. I promise. I owe you my life." His eyes were serious. "I will never forget that." He squinted up at the darkening sky. The rain was beginning to let up. "Can I do anything to make you more comfortable before I go?"

"I don't think so," Tuco said, wiping water from his face with the flat of his tail. "But please hurry?"

"I will return as soon as I am able. Goodbye, Tuco. The Almighty be with you until my return." And Rigby turned and ran down the track through the gully, leaving Tuco to stand alone in the dark, soaking wet and completely immobile.

In the distance, thunder rolled.

---

Time crawled, and the night grew darker and darker. Tuco shivered under his wet clothes a little, but the cold hadn't sunk in to the bone yet. Water ran down his neck and sides, tickling. His nose itched and he wrinkled it for several minutes, trying to alleviate the sensation before he realized he could curl out his tongue and lick the side of his nose. It left a blessed moment of warmth. Once he'd done that, he thought of using his tail, and then the edges of it were blessedly scraping at his itches and tickles, giving him some relief. He managed to hook the falling rags with his tail as well and clumsily arrange them into something a little warmer. He truly was inhuman now, he thought.

He wondered how long Rigby would take and if he would be able to come tonight. He wondered if wolves or ogres would come by and attack him while he stood there, helpless. Eventually the rain passed and moonlight filtered through the leaves of the trees. It was a full moon, big and bright, and Tuco was grateful that he wouldn't pass the night in pitch black. After a little while, he heard a sound behind him, like someone moving through the leaves. His skin prickled. A person? A predator?

"Hey! Hey!" he shouted, unable to turn and look. Maybe his voice would scare off any overly inquisitive beasts. "Go away!"

The rustling noise continued to come up behind him.

"My friends are coming back!" he shouted. "They'll bring weapons! I have nothing in my bag that would interessst you!" It wasn't true--he had their food provisions and Rigby had left the garnets with him too.

"Traditionally one anticipates a friendlier welcome than that, dear human," someone crooned behind him.

He recognized the voice immediately. "Belphegor," he growled.

"Lord Belphegor, young master Witchywine," the devil cooed. Lurching and swaying atop the cadre of imps, the mirror-black chair carried the limp figure of the Lord of Ease into view. A supercilious smirk twisted the effete creature's lips. "Well, well, well, haven't we found ourselves into a predicament? Thou seest little ones, this is the reason one does not share with the commoners. Give them too much and they soon lack for places to put it."

"What do you want?" Tuco asked through clenched teeth.

"Oh, my poor little mini-titan, what don't I want? I want it all. But mostly, poor creature, I desire thee. I wish to offer thee a position. As mine chair. Weary I have grown of this antiquated and uncomfortable furniture, and my imps are so thoroughly wretched in their attempts to--" He cut off as the struggling creatures lost control of the chair and sent it careening off to the left. "No, no, no, thou'rt not holding me steady, thou'rt--no, lift up the left side higher! Not thy left, my left, thou bumbling-- just stop. Set me down. Set me down. Thou horrible little..." he sighed. "Thou seest? Dreadful. But a strong lad like thou could carry me with no difficulty."

"I cannot exactly move," Tuco pointed out.

"Dear creature, let not that trouble thee. We can resolve so minor an inconvenience. We might grow some nice centipede legs from thy sides so thou can scurry anywhere to thy heart's content--with me atop, of course. Thou'lt serve me well in the Abyss. I shall enjoy my new throne of flesh and sinew."

Tuco tried to slow the pounding of his heart. Could this devil really do that to him? Belzebub wanted to make him some kind of all-devouring slug, and this one intended him as a grotesque palanquin. It didn't seem right. He'd done nothing to earn such a fate. "Why are you doing this?" he asked helplessly.

"Why? Because I can."

"I mean, why go to all this effort? You're fond of ease, aren't you?"

A red fire glowed in the demon's one exposed eye, the only hint of movement as he lay in his chair. "Boy, it is my life's blood."

"But doing all of this can't have been easy. Finding a way out of the Abyss, marshalling all your imps to carry you here, thinking of a curse to put on me, working the magic, and then all the watching and waiting, and then coming back here again to drag me back down... for what?" And Tuco thought of what Pike had said in his room about the effects of sloth. "It's not going to make any difference, is it? It's not going to change anything. You're just denying your nature."

Belphegor's face sagged in sudden uncertainty. "But--but I have reasons for taking thee. Excellent reasons."

"Your own reasons? You want to go to all this effort? And am I worth it? I'm stubborn, you know. I'll argue with you all the time. I'll beg you to let me go, night and day. I'll take you in the wrong direction, or find ways to deceive you. I wouldn't make a good chair."

The devil sent him a cool, knowing look. "Thou say'st these things only to try to escape thine fate."

"Perhaps," Tuco admitted, "but why aren't you trying to escape it? Wouldn't it be easier just to keep things the way they are? Isn't it an awful bother trying to change your life, change your chair? Aren't you terribly, terribly tired?"

And then he thought he saw Lord Belphegor shrink a little in his chair, his emaciated green frame withering a little. "It is an awful lot. The nobility aren't merely expected to dine and recline, thou knowest. We have responsibilities."

"So they can make you do this?" Tuco didn't know who "they" might be--higher peers among the demons, he supposed--but he had caught a note of resentment in Belphegor's tone. "You're the Lord of Ease. How dare they command you not to do what is easiest?"

The devil dwindled a little more, his loose, scaly skin sagging across his narrow chest. "They do not command me. I... I choose. I choose what I want!"

"And what you want is all this... effort?" Tuco asked. "Look at how tired you are. How you've overexerted yourself. You're weary. You don't want this."

There was a dull, feverish light in the devil's one eye. The lid sagged. The one arm that rested across his stomach slid to the side and flopped into the chair with a sound like someone dropping a dead fish. "No. No, of course I don't. I want to do what is... what is easiest..."

Ruin him. Destroy him. The thought was almost a command in Tuco's mind.

"And even thinking about it is an effort, isn't it?"

"Yes." The word was barely vocalized as the devil's head sank lower and lower. His body looked like a sack holding a few sticks now. The flesh hung limply from his face.

"Even breathing is an effort."

"...yes..."

"Because after all, what is the most easy thing to do is..."

There was no fear in the devil's eye. No resistance at all. He breathed out his final word not with effort, but with the release of it, with the surrender of his body's will to hold in breath. "...nothingggg....."

And then his body crumpled inward like paper in a fire, and fell apart into a little pile of grey dust on a mirror-black chair.

There was a moment of windy silence. Then came a shrill chorus of cheers from the scores of imps surrounding the chair. They flung their hands into the air in glee, dancing in mad circles, leaping over each other, some of them wrestling or biting each other in wicked delight, and then all of them scattered, dashing off with squeaking exuberance into the wet, moonlit forest.

And the curse did not end. Tuco did not return to his previous build. He stood there, leaned against a tree, his arms and legs extended out like a star, immobile. He had no way to restore himself at all. His changes were permanent.

---

For a long time he stood, leaning against the tree, half-dozing, his tail automatically catching him any time he felt about to fall, or scratching at itches. He wondered what his life would be like at the Abbey now--surely they would send him home, since he could no longer perform rituals for the Brothers, and his family could ill-afford to care for him, especially now that he ate easily three times as much as he once had. Perhaps with malnutrition and inactivity he'd atrophy enough to be able to move, with time. "I wonder if I'll ever walk again," he sighed out loud.

"I was wondering that too, master!" The shrill voice piped up from somewhere below his vision. "Are we just going to stand here all night?"

Tuco would have jumped out of his skin if he could have moved. "Who said that?" he asked, puzzled.

"It is Hob, master! Hob! Your chief of imps!" There was a sound as of the fluttering of bird wings and a little creature flapped its way up from the forest floor. Tuco recognized it as the imp that had been nearly trampled by its fellows while carrying Belphegor's chair. It had a squashed gargoyle face with short, stubby horns, a compact, muscular body perhaps six inches in height, and it was currently hovering in front him on bobbing flaps of the batlike wings that grew from its back.

Tuco blinked at it. "My chief of imps? I don't have any imps."

The little creature thrust out its chest with pride. "You have Hob, master! Rightfully he serves you now, since you defeated his old master. Even if all the others ran off." He clenched a tiny, clawed fist. "Traitors. You shall make them all pay, Lord Witchywine."

Bemused, Tuco said, "Oh, I am no lord, little creature. Just a common boy from a common village."

The imp's eyes widened and he darted from side to side in the air in evident agitation. "As master says, but... master destroyed Lord Belphegor! That makes master the new Lord! It is part of the immutable laws of the Abyss!" He flapped a little closer, looking anxious. "Are we defying the immutable laws of the Abyss, Lord Witchywine?"

"I--I don't even know them," Tuco stammered. "But don't you have to be a... you know, a devil? To be a Lord of the Abyss?"

Hob tilted his head to one side and flew closer. "Of course! And Lord Witchywine is one of the greatest and most powerful of devils! Admire his strong body, his magnificent black horns, his cruel fangs, his long and supple tail!"

Tuco laughed uneasily. "I may be shaped like a devil, but I am human, I assure you. I have a human soul."

"Hmmm." Hob flitted around him, looking him up and down. "Soul yes, but devil yes, too. Hob can see the hellfire flowing through your veins. So bright! So powerful! Hob sees it better than most because he is most wise and perspicacious of all the imps!"

Tuco took a quiet moment to digest this. "You're saying that I'm a devil."

"Yes, Lord Witchywine."

"Not a demon, but a devil."

"No demon's fire is as bright as yours, master."

"And a Lord of the Abyss."

"With your cunning tongue and tempting ways you drew Lord Belphegor into a doom of his own devising, Lord Witchywine! Truly you are the greater devil! No lesser creature could have seduced him so. Never has Hob seen such a feat! You spoke his own despair into his heart. You tempted him to die and he embraced that temptation utterly! All devils should be in awe of you, master. The other imps were fools not to serve you! They ran away to find other, stronger masters to keep and defend them, but Hob saw your might most clearly and made the wisest choice for his own safety and advancement. It is you, Lord Witchywine."

The warm glow Tuco felt at the praise was washed away by a sudden flood of suspicion. "You're flattering me, aren't you?"

The little imp gaped, baring dozens of needle-sharp fangs. "No, master! It is true that every imp believes his master to be the strongest and greatest among demons or devils. But in Hob's case, it happens to be true."

Ah ha, Tuco thought. A little wryly, he asked, "Well, what can you do? Is there some way you can help me out of this predicament? Can you shrink me back down to a useful size again? Only I fear I cannot move at the moment."

"Alas, Lord Witchywine, but what a demon or devil has changed, none can unchange! It is--"

"Part of the immutable laws of the Abyss?"

"Even so, Lord Witchywine! Oh woe! Oh alas and alack! Bring the sackcloth and ashes for Hob, for he has failed his master so soon!" And the little imp dropped, fluttering, out of Tuco's line of vision. He hit the ground with a bedraggled little splat, and then came the sound of high-pitched sobbing, interspersed with occasional "alases" and "alacks," and the rather dramatic blowing of a nose.

Feeling embarrassed, Tuco asked, "Well, if you can't reverse it, is there anything else you can do?"

There was a long pause with a few sniffles in it. Then Hob flapped back up into view. "Yes! Hob could change his master more! It is a brilliant idea you had, master!"

"Wait, now," Tuco said hastily. "No--no giving me centipede legs or anything, like Belphegor said."

"Never, Lord Witchywine!" Hob flickered a forked tongue into the air. "Hob can taste what his master wishes, and it is freedom, to move about again like he did before. Hob will grant it."

And before Tuco could say anything else, the little imp dove down toward his ankles. Puffs of air draughted against his legs as Hob darted around them, and immediately, Tuco felt an odd, uncomfortable ache in the bones of his legs and feet. "Wait, stop. No changing me yet. What are you doing?"

"Hob cannot stop now! It would hurt Lord Witchywine, and imps cannot harm their masters, no!" The little creature fluttered around and around, past Tuco's knees and up his middle, in widening circles, and the ache moved with him, raw in his thighs. Something was happening; he felt the rough surface of the tree behind him sliding along his back, and with a ripping sound, his cloak tore free again. Wet bark scraped along his back and head, and his field of vision seemed to be rising. The ache crawled up into his spine, and then he felt a series of pops and cracks in his knees and hips. His legs suddenly felt freer, and he could bend them again, a little. He took a few staggering, grateful steps forward, relief flooding through his muscles as they were allowed to move once again.

Beneath his massive chest he felt many more pops and cracks--not unpleasant, but like stretching out his spine or shoulders after a long rest in an uncomfortable position, and then his breaths came more easily. The aching stretch moved up his neck and then his shoulders cracked violently, bones that had felt out of place suddenly settling into their proper positions. His neck lifted and raised from his chest and he turned his head from side to side gratefully, stretching out his shoulders one at a time. Now that he looked, he could see that they were growing apart, and as the ache moved down his arms he watched them lengthen, reeling out more and more, the globes of muscle stretching over longer bones, giving him space to bend them, to move again.

He stretched out his limbs slowly. He hadn't realized how aching and uncomfortable he'd felt until now. He reached up and ran his fingers through his wet hair, wringing it out and pushing it back. He rolled his shoulders and splayed his toes and smoothed the water and bits of fallen leaves and twig from his naked body. He was still bulging with more muscle than he'd ever seen on another human being, but it was spread out enough to allow him relatively comfortable movement again

"Hob pleased his master," Hob said. "Hob can tell."

"You did." Tuco leaned down and picked up the clothes he'd been wearing. They looked sized for a child. "Uh, Hob, just how tall did you make me?"

The imp fidgeted. "Only as much as was necessary to help his master feel comfortable again. Lord Witchywine now stands at seven and one half feet tall."

Tuco froze halfway to picking up the fallen pack. "You made me half again as tall as I was before?" His tail lashed wildly behind him.

"Hob had to! It was the least he could do!"

The imp stopped flying in mid-air again, but this time Tuco caught him in one hand before he dropped to the floor. He felt small and squidgy in Tuco's hand, like holding a little leather bird. "It's all right, Hob. It's... a surprise, is all. I suppose I'm something of a giant now."

"Lord Witchywine is still very small compared to many of the greater devils of hell, like Duke Leviathan or King Behemoth. Even some Lords are larger than he. But size is not power, master, as you well know. You are a strong and powerful Lord, and other devils will surely fear you, especially when they learn how you destroyed Lord Belphegor." Hob sniffed. "He was a bad Lord, and weak. He had barely any subjects at all, besides Belzebub."

"Belzebub?" Tuco said in astonishment. "I know that devil. Er. I, er... I... ate... him."

"You did that, Lord Witchywine? But of course you did, for you are wise and powerful. Belzebub was once a mighty Duke among devils, but he was careless and lazy and forgot to care for his souls. So Prince Sathanus stripped them from him and took his rank away and left him to fend for himself. It is good that you destroyed him. His life was a miserable and useless one."

"But why did they both come after me? And how am I a devil now? And does that mean I'm..." Tuco frowned. "...evil?" He picked up the backpack he'd once been able to wear and tried to shrug it over one shoulder, but it wouldn't fit. Still, it didn't seem at all heavy, so he opted just to carry it in one hand. "We should get back to the Abbey before Rigby sends people out to look for me. But... I'm not sure how to find the way. How are we going to get back?"

"Those are many big questions for a little imp, Lord Witchywine, but Hob will do his best to answer them. Take your leisure, master. Hob will go and have a look around." The little imp fluttered up into the treetops. Tuco waited for a while, and then suddenly there was a screeching sound, followed by a rustle and crashing through the leaves. Something grey and white, about the size of Tuco's hand, dropped to the forest floor with a light thump.

Hob fluttered down a moment later, wiping blood from his wide, fanged mouth with the back of one arm. "An owl thought Hob would make for a delicious snack. Hob had to dispatch it. Sadly, Hob looked around, but saw no Abbey at all. Does Lord Witchywine not know the smell of the place?"

Tuco blinked at him. "I know what it smells like, but I couldn't possibly--" He paused, and let his tongue slide out, just to see if there was any trace of the scent of the Abbey on the air. He couldn't detect it. No sulfur, no soot, no old worked stone or the entrenched, musky odor of men living together for year after year. No feasts filled with butter and fat and meat, no wet lime of washrooms, no crackle of enchanted flames. But he did taste something else on the air: raw metal and wet leather and skin, and beneath that, the lingering hints of Rigby's desire for safety and belonging. "My friend, I think I can taste him." He took a few steps in the direction Rigby had gone and yes, there it was, the scent, trailing through the damp night air like a cloud he could almost see. "I know which way he went. Thank you, Hob."

The little imp wriggled with glee at the praise. Tuco tied the scraps of his clothing around his waist in a sort of loincloth so at least he wouldn't be returning to the Abbey fully naked, and set off in the direction Rigby had gone, following the scent in the air. For a while he kept flicking out his tongue every minute or so to find the direction, but before long he was simply letting it hang out from between parted fangs, nearly to his chin.

Hob fluttered over and settled down to ride on Tuco's shoulder, folding up his batlike wings behind him.

"As for your other questions, Hob has been thinking about them and does not believe he can answer them well. How did you become a devil? Hob does not know. Such a thing has never happened that Hob has ever heard of. But all devils were angels once, and they refused to obey the Almighty without condition, so in His great and terrible wrath, he transformed them into devils and cast them from Paradise into the Abyss. This is the tale the devils tell us, anyway. Perhaps you too angered the Almighty? Did you refuse to obey him without condition?"

"No," Tuco answered, puzzled. "I... don't really know Him, but we're not supposed to, are we? We're just supposed to obey, and avoid the Twelve Temptations, and I've always tried to do that." He followed the scent of Rigby up a hill. His wide thighs still rubbed together and had to roll around each other when he walked, but his stride felt much longer than it had been, and he was able to take great, loping steps. It felt marvelous to have such freedom of movement after a week of feeling bound by his own body.

"Why are you supposed to avoid the Twelve Temptations?" Hob asked.

"Oh, that's easy. The temptations are wicked because they turn mankind's eyes away from the Almighty. They make us think of ourselves and not Him."

"But the Almighty made everything, the devils tell us. Including the temptations. Why would He make all that and then tell you not to look at it?"

"I--I'm not sure," Tuco said, feeling on shakier ground theologically. He strode along the top of a ridge, picking out stones and dips in the moonlight, and focused on not tripping and falling. "I suppose because our hunger for them can become too great."

"But the Almighty made you too," reasoned the little imp, "which means He made your hunger. So He created a world full of temptations and then filled you with desire for them, and then ordered you all not to listen to it. Why would He do that?"

"Look, er, it's the demons and devils that tempt mankind, not the Creator."

"Lord Witchywine is a great and powerful devil, and if he says it, it must be so," Hob agreed. "But the other devils say they don't tempt at all. They just listen to what's in you and try to give it to you."

"It's--that's--that's not how it is," Tuco said, floundering. "Devils tempt humans because they are evil. Humans belong with the Almighty. To wish to be otherwise is wicked. Devils tempt humans away from the Almighty so that they will be cast into the Abyss."

"As you say, master," Hob answered. "But Hob doesn't think he should care much to be with the Almighty if he can have nothing else he desires. Hob has had masters before who demanded Hob love only them. They were cruel and selfish people. Hob would rather be with a master like Lord Witchywine, who will let Hob have nice cakes sometimes, or maybe a little sex." He said this last bit with a very hopeful lilt to his voice. "But Lord Witchywine will wish only to be with the Almighty, yes?"

"To be honest, I can't imagine what being in Paradise would be like. Sometimes the priests talk about how wonderful it will be, full of beauty and gardens with no sickness or suffering, with mansions full of rooms just for us, and people who love us everywhere, but it just seems like... a pleasant morning dream. And then I wonder, aren't all those things temptations too? Is the Almighty trying to tempt us with Paradise?"

"So Lord Witchywine does not wish to be with the Almighty right now?"

Tuco sighed, and scanned the horizon for any signs of the Abbey. The scent of Rigby in the air was fresher, so he hoped they were getting close. "Right now," he said, "I'm just thinking of a nice meal and a warm bed. And seeing my friends again."

"Then Lord Witchywine wishes for something other than the Almighty. So he must be evil too," Hob said with some satisfaction. "And Hob has answered one of the very difficult questions his master has posed to him."

"I suppose," Tuco said, but he only felt more unmoored than before. His understanding of his faith, of angels and demons, Paradise and the Abyss, all seemed to be unraveling. Perhaps this was the seductive power of the devils, dissolving the glue of his faith that held all his answers together.

"The last question Hob can answer more easily. Why would devils be coming after Lord Witchywine? They must want all of his souls."

"You mean my soul. I only have the one."

"Not Lord Witchywine's soul--although maybe that, too. Your souls. Your great wealth of souls in the Abyss that will give you power and sustain you through eternity."

"Oh." Tuco frowned. "I haven't got any souls though."

"You may believe not, master, but Lord Belphegor had many, many souls stored up in the chambers of his demesne. Those souls now belong to you. And surely Belzebub had some as well. Those would be yours. Hob thinks Lord Belphegor would have tried to subjugate you so that he could claim your souls for himself. If he had made you into his chair as he planned, then you would have belonged to him, not as a subject, but as a kadav, a thing with no more will of its own. Then all your souls would belong to him, and he would be more powerful. But Belzebub must have had a great many souls set by for Lord Belphegor to wish to pursue you so. Where would he have gotten so many?"

"And why would Belzebub have come after me to begin with?" Tuco wondered. "I had no souls to interest him, surely."

Hob shook his little head. "Hob cannot think of any reason why. Belzebub was a weak and ineffectual devil, so perhaps he was resorting to taking souls one at a time, from mortals. But such an act would consume more power than it would grant."

"He must not have been very strong," Tuco agreed. "You said a demon's changes cannot be undone, but Belzebub was transforming me into some huge fat creature, a hellslug, he said."

"Another kind of kadav."

"But when I defeated him, the changes went away. Most of them."

Hob mused. "Devils have powerful curses they can use on mortals. But their changes are not permanent until the curse is complete. Lord Belphegor used a curse on you, and made you immobile. Once that happened, his curse was complete and the changes could not be undone. If you should find yourself affected by another curse, Lord Witchywine, and you do not care for its effects, you should be sure and defeat the devil that cursed you before it completes. Thus you can save yourself from its doom."

"All right, so Belzebub's faded not because he was weak, but because his curse didn't finish. But I still don't know why he came after me to begin with." Tuco sighed. "Except it must have been the ritual." He scanned the horizon again and saw, to his relief, the dark outlines of the Abbey against the eastern sky, framed against the dim pale of an approaching dawn. Nearly home.

"Ritual, master?"

Briefly, Tuco explained to Hob what had happened on that terrifying night when Sathanus had appeared. By the time he finished his story, Hob was shaking with excitement, his sharp little claws pricking into Tuco's shoulder.

"But master, this is wondrous! None have seen Prince Sathanus in a month at least! Perhaps then he was destroyed after all!"

"You don't know?"

"Even if Hob could see the ritual performed, such things are a mystery to all demons and devils. Rituals call the deepest rules of the world, master. Rules that no one can break, not even the Almighty. And none understand why they work. Hob cannot know what magics the ritual worked. Perhaps it destroyed Sathanus, perhaps not. Perhaps it took away all his hellfire and put it into you, Lord. And perhaps if so..." Hob sounded very excited. "Perhaps if so, it gave you all of Prince Sathanus's souls."

Tuco reeled a little. "Is that... it sounds like there would be a lot of them."

"Yes, master! So many! Prince Sathanus was one of the wealthiest of all devils! His hoard of souls goes back to the very first humans! Only the Kings of the Abyss have more! Well, and Emperor Lucifer, of course." And in his peripheral vision, Tuco saw Hob lower his head in a gentle bow of respect at that name. It didn't last long, though; Hob leapt from his feet and began fluttering around Tuco's head like a drunken bat. "If Lord Witchywine has been given Prince Sathanus's souls, then it is little wonder that devils are coming after him," he babbled, almost to himself. "They won't know of him right away, of course--not until he falls under their dominion or touches their demesne. But once they do..."

Hob fluttered backward in front of Tuco's face, an earnest expression scrawled across his squashed features. "Master, there is nothing any devil in the Abyss wouldn't do to get those souls. Souls are wealth, they are power, they are an... eternity of life. They continually tried to attack and overthrow Prince Sathanus for his. And they will learn of you. If you have all of Sathanus's souls, then more devils will be coming after you, one by one."

Tuco stopped in his tracks, the terror of such a thought freezing his blood. "More powerful than Belphegor?"

"Certainly, master. Far more powerful. Ancient titans from before the forming of the world. Fallen cherubim, seraphim. Beings that are like gods to you."

In other words, certain doom. Tuco rubbed at his face with one hand, and still felt the constriction of his musculature, the permanent bulkiness of his body making it difficult to touch his own face. And that had been just one devil, a lowly lord. "Then there is nothing I can do."

Hob looked shocked. "Master! Who has taught you to speak of yourself this way? You must be defiant and proud if you are to win. And you will win, because you are a very powerful and wise Lord of the Abyss, with many souls. And the other devils will be expecting you to be weak and foolish and naive, easily taken advantage of." He grinned, his white fangs stretching literally from ear to bat-shaped ear. "But you will have Hob to help you."