Must Love Hellhounds

Their luck held for ten frantic minutes. Then they heard the dragging sound of an approaching slug, and there was no handy escape hatch. In fact, there was not an intersecting tunnel opening as far as the eye could see. If there was one around the next bend, they simply couldn’t count on reaching it before they met the oncoming slug.

“Back,” Batanya ordered. Abruptly, they were hurrying as fast retracing their steps as they had been going forward. The first tunnel mouth they spotted also contained an approaching slug; it was so close to issuing forth into their main tunnel that its antennae were waving in their direction. They kept on going, hearing the relentless progress of the larger creature behind them, until they spotted another opening, a much smaller one.

It was like a baby tunnel, but it represented safety at that moment, and they dove into it with all haste. They had to crawl in on their knees. At least it was extensive enough to hold all three of them.

“The slugs don’t seem to be sentient,” Batanya said, keeping her voice low. “That is, I don’t think they’re smart enough to be working for the King of Hell. I think the slugs made the tunnels.”

Crick said, “Lucifer adapted the idea from the slugs. When the surface planet was growing uninhabitable, he began exploring down here; or at least, he sent his creatures and hirelings down here. Many of them died because they underestimated the sheer power of the slugs. The nasty things don’t think much, but they’ve got very strong instincts, and they can attack with surprising speed when they’re angry.”

This was a flood of information. “What makes them angry?” Clovache asked.

“Anything blocking their way,” Crick said.

“What do they eat?”

“Anything blocking their way.” Crick looked apologetic. “They seem to take nutrients from the soil. But when they run over someone, they generally pause on top of them, and suck up everything they can.”

That was much worse than Batanya’s mental image, and she felt quite sick for just a moment. “Then we’d better not get under them,” she said, in the toughest voice she could manage. “Why don’t Lucifer’s warriors clear them out of the tunnels? Surely they’re the ones in the greatest danger?”

“Lucifer needs the slugs too much,” Crick explained. “They do most of the digging for him. Of course, he can’t really direct where the slug tunnels go, but they add to his palace for free. At the same time, the slugs stabilize the tunnels with their secretions. He only has to shore up the occasional roof. Plus, the slugs are good at patrolling the existing passageways. If he loses the odd fighter, he doesn’t really care.”

“You know a lot about this.” In the dim light, Batanya couldn’t read their client’s expression, but she had the impression he flinched.

“Yes,” he said. “I was a prisoner here for quite some time. Lucifer enjoys talking.”

“This is information it might have been good to have before,” Batanya said. “Not so much about your imprisonment, though that’s interesting, of course.” Batanya could be polite when she chose. “This stuff about the slugs… We needed to know that before now.”

“Why don’t you tell us something else we might need to know?” Clovache suggested. “Just in the interest of keeping you alive.” Another slug was coming. They could hear the distinctive dragging sound, inhale the noisome smell. They were stuck here for a few minutes.

“Belshazzar heard from an informant that the conjuring ball was in the private cabinet of the King of Hell,” Crick said. “It was a commission steal. I was hired by Belshazzar partly because I’m good, partly because I owed him a lot of money anyway. But I did succeed in getting the ball, though it was in the darkest corner of the darkest cabinet in Lucifer’s apartment…”

“Less with the colorful and more with the facts,” Batanya said firmly.

Crick was a bit disconcerted to be knocked out of his storytelling groove, but he nodded obligingly. “Actually, it was in a special room off the king’s bedroom. His, ah, toy room, so to speak. Belshazzar was pretty sure I’d get to see that room when Lucifer found out I was actually one of the last of the Harwell Clan.”

Batanya’s eyes widened. Clovache looked bewildered.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“It means our client here has special physical attractions.”

Clovache looked him over, couldn’t see it. She liked her men big and burly. “Like what?”

When Crick just shrugged, Clovache looked at her lieutenant. “What?” she asked.

Batanya said, “Crick here has two penises.”

“Get out of town,” Clovache said. “Really?” She sounded both admiring and intrigued.

Crick nodded, trying to look modest. “There are few of us left. We don’t tend to be model citizens, according to the rules of other societies, so the Harwell Clan has been decimated in the last decade.”

“Is there anyone who doesn’t want to hurt you?” Clovache asked.

“Sure. You two.”