A Blink of the Screen

I?’
    Crucible’s eyes gleamed.
    ‘You may be some smart-alec Dick. Convince me. Go on, convince me!’
    ‘Okay, you asked for it. By the way, that gun in your left-hand pocket would be useless against me.’ The Devil leaned nonchalantly, extending a finger towards Crucible.
    ‘See? You’re a phoney, a low do—’
    Crack!
    A bolt of lightning shot across the room. The end of Crucible’s cigarette glowed.
    ‘I – I – I’m convinced!’
    ‘So glad.’
    Crucible became his old self.
    ‘Let’s get down to business. I take it you want Hell to be exploited in every possible way?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Well, I’m afraid I can’t do much until I have seen the place – from the living point of view, you understand.’
    ‘Quite. Well, I could take you back with me, but that might be a hair-raising experience for you. Tell you what, if you wait at the corner of this street, at – shall we say, eight o’clock this evening? – I could pick you up and we could walk there. Okay?’
    ‘Right.’
    ‘I’ll be seeing you, then. Cheerio!’
    Poomf!
    He was gone. The room was again filled with sulphurous smoke. Crucible opened the windows and then closed them again. If some busybody saw the smoke, he would have a hard time explaining to the Fire Brigade just why there was no fire. He strolled into the kitchen and sat down thoughtfully; he wished he had read more fantasy.
    In wishing the Devil would mind his own business, Crucible was thinking along the same lines as certain other beings. Where they differed was the reason. Crucible opened the fridge and took out a can of beer.
    Having someone running around loose, who knows about things one would prefer to keep to oneself, is dangerous. Crucible’s love of money warred with his love of freedom. He wanted that forty thousand pounds, but he did not want Lucifer running around loose.
    Suddenly, the perfect solution struck him. Of course! Why not! He grabbed his hat, and hurried out to the local church.
    Crucible stood in the pouring rain at the corner of the street. A small stream of water was coursing down his back and flooding his suedes. He looked at his watch. One minute to eight o’clock. He shivered.
    ‘Psst!’
    Crucible looked round.
    ‘Down here.’
    He saw that a man-hole in the middle of the pavement was raised. The Devil poked his head out.
    ‘Come on!’
    ‘Through there?’
    ‘Yes.’
    He edged himself through the narrow hole.
    Splash!
    He would have to put his shoes on ‘Expenses’.
    ‘Well, let’s be off,’ said the Devil.
    ‘I didn’t know one could get to Down There along the sewers!’
    ‘Easiest thing there is, old man. Left here.’
    There was no sound but the echoes of their footsteps: Crucible’s suedes and the Devil’s hooves.
    ‘How much further?’
    They had been walking for several hours. Crucible’s feet were damp and he was sneezing.
    ‘We’re there, old man.’
    They had come to the end of the tunnel. Before them stretched a dark valley. In the distance, Crucible could see a giant wall, with a tiny door. Across the valley ran a black river; the air was tainted with sulphur.
    The Devil removed a tarpaulin from a hump by the tunnel mouth.
    ‘May I present Geryon II!’
    Crucible blinked. Geryon II was a Model-T Ford crossed with an Austin 7, tastefully decorated in sulphurous yellow.
    The Devil wrenched at the offside door, which fell off.
    They climbed in. Surprisingly, the car started after only a few swings of the starting handle.
    They chugged across the sulphur plain.
    ‘Nice car.’
    ‘Isn’t it! Forty dragon-power. Built her myself from a few bits and pieces from Earth. Trouble with springing out of the floor near a junk-yard,’ said the Devil, gritting his fangs as they cornered at speed in a cloud of sulphur, ‘is the fact one often surfaces under a pile of old iron.’ He rubbed his head. Crucible noticed that one of his horns was bandaged.
    They skidded to a halt by the river. The car emitted clouds of steam.
    A battered punt was moored by the river. The Devil helped Crucible in and picked up the skulls – pardon me – sculls.
    ‘What happened to what’s-his-name – Charon?’
    ‘We don’t like to talk about it.’
    ‘Oh.’
    Silence, except for the creaking of the oars.
    ‘Of course, you’ll have to replace this by a bridge.’
    ‘Oh, yes.’
    Crucible looked thoughtful.
    ‘A ha’penny for them.’
    ‘I am thinking,’ said Crucible, ‘about the water that is lapping about my