“Well, something like that. Is it a deal?”
Henry blew a bubble, half fluff, half gum. “What do I get out of it.”
Nick Lucifer spread his arms expansively.
“The world, my boy, the world! But only for a week. You can be the world’s greatest magician, the world champion skateboarder, whatever you wish. World boyweight boxing champion, brilliant concert pianist, world math wizard, anything at all.”
Henry threw the bubble gum to the ducks. They ignored the sticky lump.
“Okay, give me a pen and I’ll sign your Sole Ownership Form.”
The old gentleman bounded from the bench with surprising agility. He did a handstand and landed in the middle of a clump of bushes.
“Come into my office, young man. This has got to be done properly.”
Henry followed him into the bushes. Suddenly the ground yawned open, revealing a flight of stone steps; from the depths a purply-red light and yellow smoke emanated. Nick Lucifer smiled enticingly at his young friend.
“I’ll bet you’ve never seen anything like this before.”
Henry followed him nonchalantly down the winding stairway. “Of course I have. My Auntie Dollie had one of these in her back garden,” he lied. “Uncle Al had to fill it in, though, ‘cause her poodle kept falling down it.”
Down, down they went, finally descending to a great underground cavern, with crimson flames shooting out of its rocky floor and great billows of yellow sulphur smoke belching from cracks in the walls. From somewhere the sound of a great organ playing fell upon Henry’s astounded ears. He tried hard not to show astonishment and was about to mention that it sounded like his school song when Nick Lucifer silenced him by performing another amazing trick. He stamped his foot down hard and a huge rock table sprang up from the floor. He placed his glass of port upon it and spread the parchment ina businesslike way, pointing to a space at the bottom line.
“Sign right there, young man, but first listen carefully to what I have to say. Take this pen and pierce your fingertip; it must be signed in your own blood. Just a little scratch, it won’t hurt you.”
Henry snorted scornfully.
“You bet it won’t. I’ve had my arm torn off in a car accident and sewed back on with microscope surgery. A scratch with some old pen, huh, that’s nothing.”
Nick Lucifer forgot himself for a moment and looked heavenward for patience. He continued speaking in a somewhat strained voice.
“As I was saying, it won’t hurt, but you must sign your proper name at the bottom of the contract, Henry Mawdsley. Please don’t insult my intelligence by signing Tex Dangerfield. You told me a little untruth there, didn’t you?”
Henry was most indignant.
“Little untruth! I don’t tell little untruths, Mr. Lucifer, I tell whopping good lies. I’m an expert at it. My motto is that I’d rather have a liar than a thief any day.”
Handing Henry the pen, Nick Lucifer clapped him encouragingly on the back. “A boy after my own black heart. Sign and make your wish.”
Henry swallowed rather nervously. “Just one thing, Mr. Lucifer.”
“Yes Henry, what’s that?”
“Well, I’d like a drink of your wine, I feel a bit nervous, y’see.”
“Certainly m’boy, be my guest, drain the glass if you feel like it.”
“No, just a sip, thanks. Oh, there is one other thing.”
Nick Lucifer drummed his long clawlike nails impatiently on the table.
“What is it now, Henry?”
“I don’t like the idea of sticking a pen into myself.”
“Righto! Hold still, sonny, I’ll do it for you.”
Henry grasped the metal-nibbed pen tightly.
“No, no, I’ll do it myself if you don’t mind. But there is one other thing I’m not too happy about.”
Nick Lucifer drummed his cloven feet against the floor in exasperation. Henry artfully concealed his surprise at the sight of them, whilst at the same time thinking it would be rather handy never to wear shoes or socks—the odd hoof trim might prove painful but Nick looked like he was made of stern stuff.
Flames roared high, smoke billowed heavily about them, mingled with tortured moans from somewhere far below. A trickle of smoke wisped from the old man’s left ear. “Tell me, what is it now?”
“Well, it’s the sight of my own blood, or even the thought of someone else watching me stick pens into myself. Look, I’m sorry, but I think we’d better forget the whole thing.”
The sound of Nick Lucifer’s teeth grinding together was like a knife scraping across a polished dinner plate.
“You can’t back out now, boy. Surely you want to be the greatest something or other in the world for a whole week?”
Henry Mawdsley’s eyes were childishly meek.
“Of course I’d like to, Mr. Lucifer. But both you and I would see the pen stick into my skin and warm red blood oozing out; it’d be worse than getting an injection at the hospital. I feel quite faint at the thought of it. You should too.”
Nick Lucifer tried hard to fix a kindly smile on his strained face.
“Listen, Henry, I’ve got an idea. How would it be if I cloaked us both in heavy smoke? That way neither of us would see your blood oozing out. You could call out once you’ve done it. How’s that?”
Henry smiled charmingly. “Thank you, Mr. Lucifer. How good of you.”
Good? The look on Nick Lucifer’s face would have stopped clocks. He drew in his breath and blew out: a thick impenetrable fog of yellow sulphur smoke enveloped them both.
“Come on, come on, get it done, Henry. Now!”
“Yowch! Aahh, that hurt!”
“Is your finger pierced, boy?”
“I’ll say it is! And it hurt like the devil.”
Immediately the smoke cleared to reveal Henry Mawdsley sucking furiously on his forefinger. Nick Lucifer laughed happily.
“Don’t be a big baby. Hurry up now and sign the paper.”
Henry flourished the pen. “I’m prob’ly the best signature writer in all my school, y’know.”
Nick Lucifer drained the port wine and chewed the glass into fragments with temper.
“Yes, yes, get on with it, will you. Get on with it!”
Henry hovered, the pen a fraction away from the parchment.
A long tail burst forth through the back of Nick Lucifer’s overcoat. It lashed back and forth savagely. “Sign, blast you, sign!”
Henry nodded in admiration of the tail trick.
“Oh, righto. Now let me see, what’ll I be? The world’s greatest fiddle player … no. Greatest magician in the world? Hmmm, no. I could always write off to Dad for more tricks—”
Nick Lucifer’s eyes had turned bright red. They popped out like organ stops. “Sign! Sign!”
Henry paused, smiling with satisfaction.
“I know! Could I have people to entirely believe all I say for a week? Y’see, I’m the world’s best liar, like I told you, but it’s hard when people don’t believe me. Mr. Lucifer, can you fix it so that everyone believes every word I say for a week?”
Nick Lucifer was already long past the end of his tether. He grabbed a three-pronged trident out of the air and dashed at Henry, screaming aloud, “Anything! Anything! Sign! Yaaaah!”
Noticing that Mr. Lucifer seemed upset Henry put pen to paper and signed. Hardly had he made his final flourish when the old gent seized the scroll and thrust it deep into his pocket.
“Wait, Mr. Lucifer, it might smudge. Perhaps I’d better blow on it to dry it out for you and make it nice and neat.”
Nick Lucifer was dancing around insanely. Flames and sulphur jets shot high, rocks cracked thunderously, green molten fluid gushed from ragged cracks in the walls, the sound of tortured souls below rose to an anguished wail. Mr. Lucifer did look peculiar.
“Get out of my sight, wretched and damned boy. Out, before I blast you into eternity!”
Remembering his manners, Henry handed the pen back.
“I’ve never been blasted into eternity, though I did stow away on a space shuttle once and nearly got blasted to Neptune—”