"That's my understanding of it," Mack said.
"Fine. So what are you going to do about it?"
"Me? You mean me personally?'
"That's who I'm referring to," Rognir said.
"Why… Nothing, I suppose. There's nothing I can do. And if there were, why should I?"
"Because it's your destiny they're talking about, dummy," Rognir said. "Don't you want a say in it?'
"Of course I do! But who am I to tell people how I should be ruled?" "Who is the one to speak for mankind? Is it Faust?"
Mack shook his head. "Faust thinks he's Mr. Universal, but he's really just a loudmouth magician with a couple of good tricks. People like that are different from the rest of us. I know some of their tricks, but when they talk about the higher aspects of the alchemist's art it leaves me cold." "Quite properly so," Rognir said. "It's all a lot of hot air. There's only digging. That's for us, the dwarves, of course. As for you, why should you let a mug like Faust tell you how you are to be ruled?"
Mack stared at him. "But what can I do?" "For one thing," Rognir said, "you can get angry."
"But I'm not mad at anyone," Mack said. But even as he denied it, he felt the stirrings of a long-suppressed rage. At first he thought he was faking it, as he had faked so many things in his life, and he told himself to calm down, it would go away. But this feeling of rage didn't go away. Instead it grew and spread through his head, until he could feel black anger inflaming his eyeballs, engorging the veins of his neck, threatening to burst out the top of his head. "Well, damn it, it's not right!" he burst out at last. "Nobody should decide the fate of the common man but the common man himself. It's been too long that we've let spirits, and so-called great men like Faust, decide our destinies for us. Now is the time to do something about it!" "Now you're talking," Rognir said.
Mack's shoulders sagged. "But what can I do?"
"It's an interesting question," Rognir said, and turned to the tunnel he had just excavated and walked into it.
Mack stood still in the room and stared for a while at the hole Rognir had disappeared through. He had a great desire to dive into it himself. But of course men don't dive into tunnels like dwarves. Mack crossed the room and opened the door. Outside, the vast, indistinct landscape of Limbo spread out before him. There were hills ahead, but they were nebulous, and seemed to disappear into the clouds, unless those were mist-veiled mountains behind them.
Looking more closely, Mack saw there was the indication of a path. He followed it through swirling white and yellow mists. Presently he came to a crossroads. There was a sign that read road to earth and pointed one way, road to hell another way, the way you've come pointing back the way he had come, and road to heaven as the last direction. Mack made up his mind and started walking.
pointed one way, road to hell another way, the way you've come pointing back the way he had come, and road to heaven as the last direction. Mack made up his mind and started walking.
2 It was a clear day in the part of Limbo reserved for the judgment of mankind's destiny. The sky was fishbelly white, but that was not unusual for the time of year. A few snowflakes had fallen earlier, but no real accumulation was expected. In the distance, the hills of Nothingness were a low blue line on the horizon. It was literally true that on a clear day you could see forever.
Mephistopheles and the Archangel Michael were sitting side by side on a tall pillar recently vacated by Simon Stylites, who had found a better way to mortify his spirit by picking a punishment from the future and forcing himself to watch televised reruns of every game the Tampa Bay Buccaneers had ever played.
Michael hadn't visited Limbo in quite a while, not since he had met with Mephistopheles to set the contest. He was happy to see that nothing much had changed. There was still the same dear old vagueness about where the sky ended and where the land began, the same pleasing ambiguity over the colors of things, the same uncertainty as to shapes. Vagueness! And its concomitant, moral uncertainty!
After a long life of absolutes, there was something refreshing about it.
"Limbo is just the same as it ever was!" Michael said.
"My dear archangel," Mephistopheles said, "if you rein in your passion for paradox for a moment, you can see that there's been a lot of change around here. Don't you notice all the building that's going on?"
"Oh, that, of course," Michael said. "But that's quite ephemeral. Underneath it's the same dear old Limbo." He peered in a westerly direction. "What are they putting up there?"
Mephistopheles looked in the indicated direction. "Didn't you know? That's the new Palace of Justice, where the judgment will be announced."
Michael peered at it. "It seems to be a most noble structure."
"It's certainly large enough," Mephistopheles said. "I understand quite a few guests have been invited from both sides. Even some humans, though that's quite unusual."
"Well, it seems only right," Michael said. "After all, it is their destiny being decided."
"So what?" Mephistopheles snorted. "The forces of Light and Dark never consulted mankind back in the good old days. We just told them the way it was going to be, and they had to like it or lump it."
"Science and rationalism have changed all that," Michael said. "It's what is called progress. A good thing on balance, I believe."
"Of course you believe that," Mephistopheles said. "What else could you say, given your predisposition to affirm?"
"And what else could you say but the contrary?" Michael asked.
"You've got a point there," Mephistopheles admitted. "We're both restricted in our viewpoints."
"Exactly. That's why we have Ananke to do the judging."
"Where is Ananke, by the way?"
"No one has seen her latest incarnation. Necessity has strange ways of conducting herself. And there's no use complaining about it. She just says it's Necessary, and never explains why."
"Who's that coming?" Mephistopheles asked.
Michael looked out across Limbo. Even with perfect vision, it took him a moment to bring into focus something as small as a man on the vast landscape of zilch.
"That's Mack the Club!" Michael said.
Mephistopheles looked. "Are you quite sure? That is the man I've been dealing with during this contest."
"Oh, it's definitely Mack," Michael said. "Is it possible that you made a mistake in Cracow, my dear demon? Has the wrong Faust been performing in your contest?" Mephistopheles looked again, and his lips thinned. His dark eyes seemed to smolder. Glaring at Michael, he said, "I seem to see a fine spiritual hand in all this!"
"You give me too much credit," Michael said.
Mephistopheles looked again. "That's definitely the fellow who's been doing the contest. Are you sure he's not Faust?" "Afraid not. His name is Mack, and he is a common criminal. I'm afraid you picked the wrong man to decide human destiny, my dear Mephistopheles."
"And you have picked the wrong devil if you think you can get away with this?"
Michael smiled but did not reply.
Mephistopheles said, "We'll settle this later. I must get down to the banquet hall. Darkside is catering the refreshments this time." He peered out across Limbo again. "Where is that fellow going?"
"Read the signpost. He is on the road to Heaven," Michael said.
"Really? I didn't know that was the direction to it!"
"It changes from time to time," Michael said.
"But why?"
"We of the forces of Good," Michael said with dignity, "try not to spend too much time asking why."
Mephistopheles shrugged. Together the two great spirits proceeded to the Palace of Justice.
CHAPTER 3
Azzie was strolling through the outer courts of the Palace of Justice when he came across Michelangelo himself. He recognized the painter from pictures he'd seen of him in art books at Demon U. Michelangelo was just putting the finishing touches on a gigantic fresco.