Kingston Raine and the Bank of Limbo

When one of Life’s most despicable businessmen is found murdered in Limbo all suspicions point to Hell. When Satan assures Death that such a thing is impossible within either realm they settle on a truce by hiring an outside investigator: Kingston Raine.

As soon as Kingston and his friends take the job they realise that they are being spied upon by a secret organisation working within the Bank of Limbo, and that this group routinely assists the rich and corrupt in Life. What troubles Kingston is that the bank is not at all concerned about being run by blackmailers and murderers, instead they seem to be focussed on how Kingston and his friends can benefit them and their diabolical schemes.

Now he and his friends stand in immortal peril.

“What kind of idiot listens to a recommendation from Satan?”

KINGSTON RAINE

“You think that’s bad? I owe him a favour.”

JOANNA YORK

“Bring me an aromatherapist!”

LUCIFER

Contents

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIV

Acknowledgements

More in the Series

I

The Limbo presidential elections were in full swing and the current president, Death, was set to win yet again. The closest rival was known to only a tenth of one percent of the voters. He had only put his name forward on a dare, never realising that once registered he was legally expected to do his best to win. Death clobbered him in every speech, leaving the unfortunate candidate shaken, queasy, and rethinking the choices that caused him such untold public humiliation. The poor guy tried to withdraw his name on every occasion but Death insisted the public was entitled to a fair election. After all, Death couldn’t run unopposed so soon after defeating a near overthrowing of his government.

The revolution on everyone’s mind had been a narrow miss for Death and had plunged the entire realm of Limbo into chaos. The people were beginning to wonder if the pressures of the job had finally gotten the better of their president. Even more disturbing was his blatant misuse of power, where he managed to kill Kingston Raine, a fictional character, and bring him into Limbo. Such things were supposed to be impossible and still it baffled Death on how he made it happen.

Worse still, Kingston promptly escaped from reality and led the bounty hunters of Limbo on a chase through Fiction. He blundered his way through Macbeth, joined forces with Little John before Robin Hood had a chance to save Sherwood Forest, was chased through Dracula and Don Quixote by forces from the afterlife, and helped to overthrow the Limbo revolution by trapping the usurping leader in Dante’s Inferno.

As a result of the whole fiasco, Death was eager to maintain some sense of order or he risked the realm and his company, Death Inc., falling into chaos once again. Unfortunately, bringing such order back into being meant that Death was forever swamped with reports and status updates, queries and suggestions, inquiries and investigations, and a long list of escaped revolutionaries who were no doubt plotting a second coup d’etat.

Michelle, his secretary, knocked on the office door and found her boss slumped over his desk with his forehead resting on top of a carefully worded and badly smudged election speech. “Sir?”

“Go … away,” mumbled Death, without looking up.

Michelle gave her boss a sympathetic smile and lowered her voice. “You have a meeting with The Chronicle in ten minutes and the reporter is already here. You need your game face on.”

“We’re going to postpone the election,” mumbled Death.

“Of course,” said Michelle. “But first I’ll show the reporter in and you can explain your lack of enthusiasm.”

Death lifted his head off his desk and stared at his secretary. She was avoiding saying the reporter’s name, which was not a good sign. Death squinted in suspicion. “It’s not Lomac Simpson, is it?”

Michelle grimaced. “Kevin Van Heuten.”

Death twitched involuntarily and groaned. “Give me a minute.”

Michelle closed the office door. Death stood and flexed his arms, rubbed his face, then did his best to get his mind whirring back into action. He slipped on his pin stripe jacket and fixed his tie, then ran a hand over his smooth, bald head. He was barrel chested and looked like a man in his late thirties from an unknown mixed heritage. He could change his appearance at will to look and sound like anyone who had ever lived or died, but he preferred this look because it was low maintenance and he didn’t like shopping for a whole new wardrobe whenever he changed his physique.

Death headed towards the solid oak doors and stared through them, shifting his focus so he could see the bloated man sitting near Michelle. Death groaned at the thought of meeting Van Heuten and had specifically requested Lomac Simpson. He now realised that was a stupid move, since Simpson was known to be a lot more agreeable during an interview and Van Heuten only wrote to a pre-determined agenda. Death had ignored Van Heuten for weeks. Instead of getting it out of the way it had built to point where he may have to play nice to the shallowest reporter in the realm.

Death waited until he saw Van Heuten fidget with the wait. The reporter was dressed in a faded cream shirt that was far too old to still be considered respectable. There were yellowed patches under his arm pits and even his knee length socks were mismatched. One was navy blue the other was dark green. Death saw Van Heuten wrestle with scratching his nose or leaving it alone. Then came the perfect moment. Van Heuten had his finger up one nostril and Death swung open the door.

“Kevin. Please come in.”

Van Heuten dropped his hand quickly to his lap and knew he had been caught. He stood, tried to smile at Michelle, but she gave him a disgusted look and held out a box of tissues. Van Heuten paused, realising the trap, and he did his best to shake it off. “No need. It was only my eye.”

Death waited by the door and Van Heuten walked in. The reporter was again surprised by the lavish office Death had for himself and he wished his apartment above the newspaper was this big. At the far end of the rectangular room was Death’s desk, supporting what looked like a metric tonne of paper work. There was a tall leather chair facing two seats opposite the desk. The walls were lined with volumes of books from the floor to the ceiling. Near to the front door was an L-shape sofa which Death waved Van Heuten to. Next door was the boardroom of Death Inc., most recently the site of the negotiations between the competing unions and lawyers, which had been the foothold in trying to overthrow Death’s rule.

“Thank you for seeing me,” said Van Heuten, as he took his seat on the plush brown sofa. “As you know The Chronicle is one of the leading newspapers in Limbo and our readership has been steadily increasing over the years.”

“Tick tock, Kevin,” said Death, unbuttoning his jacket while taking a seat.

Van Heuten allowed himself a quick smile, relishing the moment of not being liked at all and yet influential enough that Death had to put up with him. He carried with him a thick clipboard stuffed with stapled pages and a dictaphone.

“That won’t work in here,” said Death, eyeing the small device.

“I remember,” said Van Heuten. He pocketed the small machine. “Like old times, then? Speed writing with a pen and paper.” He laid his notes on the coffee table and knew Death was reading over them from where he sat. “Ooo, was there a coffee on offer?”

“I don’t think so,” grunted Death.

“Oh. It’s just I saw Michelle coming back with a fresh espresso.”

“Then that would be for her.”

“Ah,” said Van Heuten. He continued shuffling his pages around and paused at one of the bundles. He wanted to catch Death looking surprised or outraged, but he was met with a perfect poker face as Death stared his opponent down.

“Go ahead and tell me about it,” said Death.

“Oh, you mean the report from the financial sector?” asked Van Heuten, feigning surprise.

Death held his stare on the balding reporter and broke the silence by repeating himself. “Go ahead and tell me about it.”

Van Heuten tried to regain his nerves, which had failed him just seconds before when he remembered that he was speaking to the most powerful creature in the entire realm. He flashed back to every conversation starter he had prepared along the walk from his office, yet Death had jumped ahead, causing him to stumble over his words. “I uh, have a report from the financial sector,” said Van Heuten.

Death stared blankly at the reporter. “You don’t say.”

Van Heuten handed it across. Death flicked through the sheets and read over each page in under a second. Van Heuten clicked the top of his pen and held it over his writing pad. “As you can see, something weird has been happening with the Bank of Limbo.”

Death pretended to read through the pages slowly, allowing Van Heuten to feel the awkwardness of the moment.

“Death?”

“You haven’t asked me a question.”

Van Heuten read over the top line of his notes. “There have been a number of excessively large loans withdrawn from the bank in recent years. A lot of them happen whenever a high profile recently departed arrived in Limbo. If I had to guess I would say someone on behalf of the bank is trying to bribe the sorters into giving the rich and famous a better deal in Hell.”

Death shook his head. “I am not the general master of the bank. I don’t know the ins and outs of everyday accounting practises.”

“Well, what about the rich and famous being treated to a better deal than the rest of us mere mortals?”

“I’m sure if you did your research you would find that even a saint and sinner are treated equally in Limbo. When they get to Hell they can choose to do whatever they like.”

Van Heuten flicked the page over, then smiled to himself. He knew this one would make Death squirm. “Three days ago the body of a recently departed was found flayed and dead in Limbo, when he had been sent off to Hell six days before that. Do you know who allowed him back into Limbo?”

“No, I do not,” said Death, rolling his eyes back to the reporter.

“It seems to be the first time anyone has been found dead within Limbo. What steps are being done to investigate and apprehend the persons responsible?”

“As something of a professional you should know that I am unable to disclose details of an ongoing investigation.”

Van Heuten leaned back into the sofa and relished the momentary insult. “Then perhaps you can tell me what steps are being done to keep the public safe and informed.”

“The public has no need to be worried,” said Death, falling back into a well rehearsed speech. “This was an isolated instance-”

“Some are suggesting the murder is a consequence of the revolutionaries that are still at large.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of your suggestions, Kevin, and I do read your dribble. It’s poorly written, lacking in grammar, and reads more like a whiny blog than actual journalism. Whatever revolutionaries are still at large will be caught and given a fair trial.”

Van Heuten scribbled the last sentence down in his pad. “Some even say that Kingston Raine is behind the murder, as per orders of a secret government movement to silence anyone outspoken.”

Death sighed and shook his head. “Kevin, your readers are smart enough to realise that a man who arrived in Limbo nine days ago had nothing to do with Kingston Raine, who was last in Limbo thirty three days ago. The flayed gentleman certainly did not have anything to do with an illegal uprising that was foiled also thirty three days ago, since he was most certainly alive at the time and definitely not in Limbo.”

Van Heuten glanced to the next topic on his list. “You have an election coming up.

“Yes and I look forward to seeing your fair and yet slightly biased take on my winning.”

“Some have noted that your closest opponent, Manuel Hands, has been offered a performance coach from this very office.”

“If you’re going to have someone run for president, it’s nice if they can speak coherently and not look like a deer in headlights.”

“Perhaps the public want a deer in headlights,” said Van Heuten, scribbling furiously.

“Then by all means you can find a deer and scare the poor thing half to death with all the headlights in Limbo, but it would be ineligible to run since it’s a deer.”

“Deers aren’t all that common in Limbo,” said Van Heuten.

“The plural is deer, and I’d go so far as to say there has never been a single one at any time in Limbo. A couple of cats, a few dogs, but those are random occurrences.”

“Random occurrences, like someone being flayed?”

“Exactly,” said Death. “I’m sure the poor gentleman was flayed in Hell and his body was left here in some sort of transportation mishap. I have a meeting with the Satan office soon so maybe he can clarify a few standing issues.”

“The gentleman was actually quite rich,” piped Van Heuten.

Death cocked his head to one side and leaned forward. “And?”

“Well, you said he was a poor gentleman, but he was a billionaire in Life.”

Death rolled his eyes. “Yes, the sort of billionaire who found his way into Hell rather quickly.”

“I heard he tried to bribe some of the officials in Limbo to amend his history. There seems to be a habit of that. Do you keep a track of their well being when they arrive at their destination?”

Death shook his head and let out a long sigh. “No, it is of no concern to me. This realm is for sorting. What happens to them in Hell is no longer any of my business.”

“And what about in Heaven?”

Death waved his hand in dismissal. “It is of equal unimportance in my life.” He glanced towards the large office doors and smiled. “If you have an issue with the well being of the souls heading South then maybe you should take it up with the Satan office.

Van Heuten shook his head. “I think he has too much influence within Limbo as it is.”

The large office doors boomed open and a tall, powerful gentleman with spiked hair in a full black suit while wearing a power red tie glanced over Death and stared at Van Heuten. The energy in his eyes burned with immortal rage and the stare alone could have incinerated Van Heuten. “You. Out.”

The gentleman flared his eyes and in an instant Van Heuten felt his soul cower as the nightmarish stare of Satan sent every last sense screaming for his mummy.

Michelle huffed by the side of the door. “I’m sorry, he insisted.”

“Of course he did,” mumbled Death. He stood, looked over the sweat covered and terrified reporter, and Death held out his hand to help Van Heuten to his feet. “We should call it there for the day and continue some other time.”

“Uh … sure … okay …” Van Heuten made the mistake of glancing to Satan again.

Satan’s eyes again roared with flames. “Get out.”

Van Heuten grabbed his papers and stumbled towards the door, brushing against Satan’s perfect black suit while he felt the ire of Lucifer stare into the back of his head. Van Heuten hobbled towards the exit, terrified of running like a six year old and equally terrified to still being in view of Death’s office.

Death smiled to his secretary. “Michelle, if you could help our reporter friend out, I’d appreciate it.”

“Of course.” Michelle closed the door on Death and Satan.

The flames in Satan’s eyes faded away and he gave Death a polite nod. “You’re welcome.”

Death arched his eyebrow. “That was hardly necessary.”

“Most things are hardly necessary, Grim. You’re looking well.”

“So do you actually,” said Death, as he looked over the immaculate outfit Satan was wearing.

“Yeah, well, some of my underlings started to think it was casual Tuesday all the time and so now I need to dress the part. Plus, I had to remember if I could still tie a full Windsor knot.”

Death peered at Satan’s tie. “That’s a half Windsor.”

“Ah! It used to be. I had Mr Windsor himself declare that he had made an egregious error, so this is actually the full Windsor.”

“This was a recent declaration, I presume?”

“Oh, very recent,” said Satan. He looked over his shoulder and jabbed a thumb towards the door. “So who was that little twerp and when will I have him in my custody?”

Death shrugged and headed towards his desk. “Just a reporter covering the election.”

“Ah, so I’ll have him sooner than he expects?”

“If you say so. Scotch?”

“Sure.” Satan walked to one of the chairs facing Death’s desk and took a seat, then lifted his feet onto the desk and leaned back with his hands across his stomach. “So, election time again. I hear you’re doing well in the polls.”

Death sighed and shook his head. “Are these the polls that say my popularity is at a twelve percent approval rating?”

“No, I was reading the ones where you’re going to win ninety nine percent of the votes, so well done on your landslide victory.”

“Cheers,” said Death. He poured two hefty tumblers of scotch and handed one over to Satan.

“So, what on Earth has possessed you to hold an election so soon after the Limbo Troubles?”

“I’m trying to avoid another riot,” Death said, taking a seat behind his desk.

“Was there a first riot?”

“No.”

“So ‘another’ is just you being cute?”

“Life and Limbo go on, Luc. The people like a routine and when this whole mess is done then hopefully they’ll forget that a whole lot of lawyers tried to overthrow the government.”

Satan took a gulp of scotch. “Of course. That covers the realm and allows you to remain as the president. But what about being the CEO of Death Incorporated? That’s a whole other mess which you allowed to happen during your re-election. How did that shareholder meeting go?”

Death groaned and sunk into his chair.

“Shareholders getting a bit antsy, are they?” Satan asked, giving his old friend a grin while taking another sip.

Death waved his hand and felt the tiredness of a thousand years crash around him in an instant. “Only enough to keep my eyeballs falling out with a hundred new inquests and inquiries a day.”

“Oh yeah? Hey, do you remember what I did in my last general election?” Satan asked.

Death rolled his eyes. “No, what did you do in your last -”

“I never had one,” said Satan, leaning forward. “And neither should you. You don’t need a presidential election, you don’t need to answer to your shareholders. Although, as a minority shareholder, you should at least answer some of my calls from time to time. There are only so many interesting people in Hell that are worthy of my attention. I’m convinced you’re keeping all of the good ones up here and sending me nothing but the dregs of society. Now, unless you want to do me a favour and arrange an accident on Earth …”

Death gave a quick shake of his head. “No.”

“A couple of teen heart throbs would do nicely.”

“No,” said Death.

“Maybe I’ll send Ezekiel along to provoke that into happening.”

“Don’t you dare,” said Death, scowling at his friend.

Satan tipped the tumbler down his throat and swallowed the last of the drink. “Another?”

“Not me for.”

“Well, I better. I have a jam session with a death metal group. They promised to worship me. They better not wimp out like the last lot.”

Death smiled at his friend. “And you need to be drunk for that?”

“I need to fit in,” Satan said, with a shrug.

Death passed the bottle over and Satan rested it on top of a stack of reports.

“I heard there was another Kingston sighting,” said Satan.

“Oh yeah? Been reading some of our newspapers, have you?”

“I hear things. Apparently you’re hiding him here in Limbo.”

Death nodded. “I heard that as well, even from Michelle.”

“She likes him,” said Satan, giving Death a childish grin.

“Unfortunately, yeah. But he’s preoccupied in Europe.”

Satan cocked his head to one side. “Real Europe?"

“Fake Europe, the one from his book.”

“Ah.” Satan craned his head around the office. “Did he take your scythe as well?”

“No, that’s locked away. Can’t be too careful with that lying around for anyone to misuse.”

“Your own fault for letting him teleport away with it like that.”

Death furrowed his eyebrows and glared at his old friend. “I was distracted at the time.”

“You’re very good at being distracted.”

“It keeps me looking youthful.”

“Makes you look confused,” said Satan. “Though, to be fair, I probably had the same look when I read your request this morning.”

“Ah, finally, we’re done with the small talk and onto the important business for the day.”

“Don’t try to be cute, it’s not a good look for you,” said Satan.

“So this billionaire who was found flayed and murdered,” said Death, leaning forward and pulling the right report out from under a stack of inquiries. “I thought we had an understanding.”

Satan dropped his legs off the desk and leaned forward. “We did. I don’t know what to tell you.”

“He’s supposed to be in Hell and somewhat alive,” said Death.

“I agree,” said Satan, raising his eyebrows in defence. “I even had Edmonds look around to try and locate him, in case we had something of a mistaken identity, but no. We couldn’t find him.”

“I don’t suppose he was killed in Hell?”

Satan shrugged. “If that happens they are usually resurrected near the harbour.”

“Usually?”

“Well, once in a while one of them is resurrected in a florist and that one is a puzzler, I can tell you. It’s been happening for thousands of years and I still can’t figure out why. In a few places you are resurrected where you actually die, which does get a little unpleasant. Volcanoes and such.”

“This guy wasn’t resurrected,” Death said, shaking his head.

Satan shrugged again. “Then he wasn’t killed in Hell. Maybe you should have your people look into that because it didn’t come from my end.”

“My people did look into it. As strange as it sounds, they’re not used to dead people in Limbo. Dead, dead. Walking dead is fine, like Michelle out there. But an actual corpse has a way of freaking them out. Murdering someone so that they actually stay dead is supposed to be another impossibility in our realms.”

Satan had to stifle a snort. “We’ve been having a lot of impossibilities pop up lately, haven’t we? Perhaps you should call off the election until this mess is sorted out.”

Death shook his head. “No, I’m hoping to use it as a platform for my success.”

“Bad move,” said Satan. “You should never rest an entire campaign on the hopeful outcome of a murder investigation. Or, you know, just don’t have an election.”

“It’s the aura of maintaining civilisation. Elections are pointless in governing the realm, but necessary to prevent riots and anarchy.”

“If you say so,” said Satan. He rolled his eyes and poured himself another drink.

“Besides, it’s a nice thing to do.”

Satan dropped his mouth open and feigned a terrible offence. “Am I not nice?”

“You have your reasons,” said Death.

“So, you’re saying I’m a dick on purpose?”

“You’re very sweet to Michelle.”

Satan shrugged. “She runs a tight office. I appreciate that. And she thinks I can read her mind, so that’s always a treat.”

Death nodded towards the door. “Speak of the devil.”

There was a knock on the door and Michelle peered inside with a grave look across her face. Both Death and Satan looked her over and knew something was amiss. Satan craned his head around the chair and saw a short man in a trench coat with thick glasses waiting in the outer office. Next to him was a taller but skinnier man, younger, wearing the same outfit and looking around in a mixture of wonder and frayed nerves.

“Hmm,” said Satan.

Michelle came in, handed a report to Death, and left just as quietly.

“Oh, that can’t be good,” said Satan, looking back to Death.

“It’s not,” said Death as he read through the file.

“You know, I heard a fantastic story about Kingston having dinner at the Chinese place the other night, the one on Svarog.”

“Uh huh?” Death dropped the file onto the desk.

“The head waiter is convinced he was there,” said Satan. “He’s hiding here, isn’t he?”

“No, he’s not.”

“Come on, bring him out. Or one of his friends. Who was the Spanish chica, the ditzy one?”

“She isn’t ditzy.”

Satan peered over to see what had caught Death’s attention. “If she isn’t ditzy then what’s in that file?”

“Some business I have to take care of.”

“You have a staff of eight hundred thousand, I’m sure you can delegate.” Satan peered over the desk. “Except, that looks like a soon-to-be-departed file.”

“It is,” said Death, with a grim nod.

“No doubt double checked with seers, psychics, and scouts?”

“A trouble maker is about to die,” said Death.

Satan clapped his hands together. “Excellent! Another arrival for me to enjoy.”

“That’s for Janice in Sorting to approve.”

Satan smiled at Death. “You need a couple of scouts to check on this guy?”

“The scouts? No. They’re looking into any connection between Hell and our flayed billionaire. And I’m sure you’re hiding something.” Death folded over the cover of the report, dropped it onto his desk, and gave a polite nod to his old friend. “Give my best to the death metal group.”

Satan reeled around in surprise. “You’re kicking me out?”

“Sure am. I have work to do.”

The last thing Rickland Carson remembered seeing was his London hotel room swarming over in darkness as his body tumbled backwards. He distinctly remembered kicking over the room service trolley to alert someone to his situation, yet no one came. He felt the last pinch from his lungs as he tried to free the piece of crab stuck in his throat, then the darkness was complete.

He was then met with an unusual sensation. He was light headed, floating in a dreamlike world while pulled along by someone in a black hood and robe carrying a wooden scythe. Rickland touched down on the ground and felt his senses return to him. All of a sudden he could breathe, could think clearly, and he quickly tried to splutter the crab out of his throat and found there was nothing there blocking his throat at all.

He was then startled by the marble surroundings of a giant foyer. Up high were the golden words ‘Welcome to Limbo.’ Under that was a sign in red reading ‘Please be kind to all staff.’ Under that was another sign. ‘Especially to your retrieval agent.’

The man in the black robe held onto Rickland and pulled him through the large doorway, passing two huge marble winged lions. Rickland stumbled into an area the size of an airplane hanger, full of offices, cubicles, seats, and people. Black wisps of smoke shot through the air from one location to another, carrying messages and voice mail across the giant facility. A hundred people were escorted by their own grim reapers and a thousand more people were waiting in seats, or in lines, whimpering and looking around nervously, wishing that someone would wake them up from this nightmare.

Rickland had been caught in the final moment of his life better than most of those around him. While the majority were the elderly in nighties and pyjamas, with some wearing an emergency robe loaned to them for delicate reasons, Rickland had been fully dressed while eating his lunch. He wore a white suit made by the dedicated Dmitri which was fitted to hide a slight bulge in his stomach. Completing the ensemble was a salmon coloured shirt and teal cravat. His blonde hair hung over his face and was kept silky smooth with only the finest of hair products. His fingernails were manicured that morning and he kept a pocket full of wet wipes for his hands within his jacket pocket. Had he known he was going outdoors or meeting anyone in such a vulgar location he would have made sure to bring his brown leather gloves, but those were lying on the vanity unit in his hotel suite.

Just as Rickland finally processed the information overload he realised he was still being dragged forward by a stranger. “Ack! Let go of me!”

“We’re almost there,” said the grim reaper.

“I’m using this suit for later!”

Rickland’s grim reaper stopped in front of one cubicle and he peered inside. “Morning Janice. Got another one. Rickland Carson.”

Janice looked over her glasses and studied Rickland carefully. “How was he?”

“This one was a singer. Mostly Sinatra. Got half the words wrong but at least it broke the run of bad luck I had this morning. Seventy one criers and screamers in a row. Can you imagine?”

Janice didn’t look the least bit impressed. “Yeah. I can imagine. I had to deal with seventy one criers and screamers myself, in conversation.” The grim reaper reached for the bowl of wrapped chocolates and Janice shot her hand out with the reflexes of a ninja, slapping him away. “Mr Carson, have a seat.”

The grim reaper nudged Rickland to the chair and drifted away to find his next assignment. As he glided away he said hello to every attractive sorting agent he passed.

Rickland stared at the chair and raised his nose as though something foul had just crawled up his nostrils.

“Have a seat, Mr Carson.”

Rickland looked as though he was about to regurgitate some of his lunch. “I think I would prefer to stand.”

Janice shrugged and pulled the bowl of chocolates closer to her, then began unwrapping one of them slowly. She looked over Rickland’s file with nothing but boredom. “Fifty two. That’s unfortunate. Death by crab. Hotel room. A career as a literary critic I see. Some university lecturing. No spouse. One surviving child.”

Rickland’s eyes shot up. “What?”

“One child.”

Rickland shook his head. “That’s impossible.”

Janice gave him another bored look and plonked the chocolate into her mouth and began sucking in the strawberry centre. Rickland stared in disgust and held his eyes shut. “Says here you cheated on an exam once in primary school.”

Rickland’s eyes shot open again. “What? That’s in there?”

“Everything’s in here, Mr Carson, I’m just choosing what to read. I don’t suppose Danny explained any of this to you?”

Rickland looked around. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”

“Your retrieval agent.”

“You mean the drugging kidnapper in the hood and cloak?”

Janice gave Rickland another bored nod. “Yes, and around here that particular one is called Danny. I’m guessing by the stunned look on your face means he did not explain everything to you, and yet Danny will insist he told you and you were too light headed to remember. So let me ask you something: are you nice to animals?”

Rickland snapped his head back. “I don’t have time for this. I appreciate a joke once in a while but I do not have a sense of humour about being kidnapped. I will show myself out.”

Janice looked back to the file and quickly nodded. “Ah, I misread this. I thought you were passive aggressive but prone to doing what you were told. It turns out you’re assertive. I’ll just underline the part that says ‘annoyingly’ and that should speed up our level of communication.”

Rickland pulled his shoulders back, his mind coming into full force now. There was no way he was going to let this stupid woman get the better of him. “I have an important meeting in ten minutes with my lawyer and unless you release me now I -”

“Thank you Mr Carson, our meeting is done,” said Janice. “If you could wait on one of the seats just out there someone will be along shortly to escort you out. We apologise for the inconvenience. If you would like to fill in a survey regarding our performance you may find a box of small pencils within the seating area. I hope you have an agreeable day.”

Rickland stared with contempt and immediately hated everything about this woman. She had no dress sense and no manners to speak of. The way she munched on a chocolate was disgusting, especially for someone her size. Now she was booting him off to someone else. “When my lawyer hears of this …”

“Your lawyer will have his own issues to worry about when that day comes,” said Janice. She dumped the file into her outbox.

Then, something in the air seemed to change. Janice felt it, even Rickland felt it. A silence fell over the cubicles. Janice’s eyes darted to one side and felt stricken when she saw the mighty boss of Death Inc. stop at her cubicle and peer inside. Even the power of it was enough to force Rickland into the seat as he looked on in awe.

“Janice, it is a delight to see you,” said Death, as he beamed with a smile.

Janice’s jaw dropped open, revealing the half eaten chocolate still in her mouth. She was quite sure she had never met Death before, or even seen him in person, and yet he knew her name.

Death turned to Rickland. “Rickland.” Death’s smile started to fade as he glanced from Rickland to the chair, to Rickland again and back to the chair, and finally back to Rickland. “Did no one ever tell you it is impolite to remain seated while introducing yourself?”

Rickland squinted at Death’s face and then dropped his eyes towards Death’s open hand. “I’m afraid I don’t shake hands.”

“Oh?” Death glanced at Janice, who quickly scrambled to find that detail in Rickland’s file. “Rickland, I’m here to escort you away.”

Janice looked up quickly. “Sir, I’m sorry, I’ve already called someone in.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand,” said Death. He pulled Rickland by the arm and felt the man squirm as he was being manhandled onto his feet and led away. Death held out a hand to take the file and Janice handed it over. “I like what you’ve done with your hair. Are those new highlights?”

Janice’s almost choked on the last remains of her snack. “I had them done yesterday.”

“It looks good. Thanks for all your hard work.”

As they walked away, all eyes turned on Death and the man next to him. A thousand stories of gossip were building in an instant and no one could understand why Death would escort one of the recently departed to his destination, not unless it was a publicity stunt for his election campaign.

“I don’t like these people staring at me,” said Rickland.

“That’s quite an ego you have there, isn’t it?” said Death. “Don’t worry, I’m just here to hurry things along, we can’t have any missteps in the production line, can we?”

“I beg your pardon?” Rickland stopped walking and fixed his suit from that awful chair. “I think I will find my own way out.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” said Death. “Normally I would teleport us to the entrance, but it’s not that far away and it’ll be good for people to know exactly where you went in case they ever tracked you down.” They turned down one row of cubicles and headed towards another large doorway, this one with ‘Destinations’ written overhead.

“People know where I am,” said Rickland, through gritted teeth. “They’ll find me.”

“They sure will.”

“And you’ll have to answer for wasting my time,” said Rickland.

“Ricky …”

“Rickland.”

“Ricky …”

“It’s Rickland, you bald headed know-it-all, and when my lawyer finds out about this he will have you tied up for the rest of your life in …” Rickland’s voice trailed off and he was left standing absolutely still and silent.

Death glanced through the doorway and saw what had caught his guest’s stare. He rolled his eyes when he saw Satan standing there in a full Devil appearance, complete with curled horns, red skin and a goatee. He was still dressed in his black suit with his power red tie. His eyes locked onto Rickland’s.

Death sighed at his friend. “Really?”

Satan shrugged. “Well, something has inspired you to get your hands dirty doing the work of a minimum wage bagger and dragger, someone who only needs to walk people a hundred metres from there to here. Hardly befitting a CEO. I was curious to see what you were up to.”

Death glanced over his shoulder and walked with Rickland up to Satan and made sure no one could overhear them. “I’m just doing this one.”

“That’s my understanding as well,” said Satan, beaming with a curious smile. “But why?”

Death knew he wasn’t going to get very far and looked to Rickland. “Mr Carson, this is Satan. Satan, this is Mr Carson.”

“I don’t care,” said Satan. He looked back to Death. “Why are you doing this job?”

Death sighed and turned to Rickland. “Ricky, I think the Kingston Raine series written by Don Keaton are some of the finest examples of writing every produced.”

Rickland recoiled in disgust. “Then you are a bigger idiot than I thought. And my name is not Ricky. It never has been, it never will be, and I will never answer to anything other than my actual name. Don Keaton is an idiot and his untalented dribble could only be served to the lowest of classes with no discernible taste.”

Satan sneered. “There’s a room full of beginner violinists, you know? I could send you there.” He flared his eyes again and smiled as Rickland quickly looked away.

“I have nothing to say,” mumbled Rickland.

“Actually, Rickland here has many things to say,” said Death. “For the last few years he has criticised Don Keaton and Kingston Raine at every opportunity.”

“I see,” said Satan, nodding in delight. “And since Kingston is currently something of a mystery or a hero in Limbo, you think that Mr Scandal Norrick’s timely death is, what, suspicious?”

“That’s not my name,” came the quiet voice.

“And yet you knew I was talking about you,” said Satan.

Death sighed. “The last article by Kevin Van Heuten outlined an oppressive regime change and stated that the first thing to go will be critics and opposing points of view. I just thought I would get this over and done with without causing a fuss.”

Satan arched an eyebrow. “You’re following your paranoid concerns based on some half-wit reporter in a realm where very little of interest happens?”

“No, I’m following the advice of a psychic.”

Satan for once looked impressed. “No kidding? What did this psychic suggest?”

“That when Rickland Carson dies it would be best to get him sorted out of Limbo as soon as possible.”

“Huh. Now that is interesting. Very interesting.” Satan held his hands together in a low steeple and tapped his fingertips together. “Well then, given the circumstances …” Satan pulled his shoulders back and stared at Rickland. “Mr Carson, you are hereby refused entry into Hell.”

Rickland gasped, presumably in relief, but also in the horror that everything around him might actually be real. And, he could smell the scotch on Satan’s breath.

“Knock it off Luc,” said Death. “We both know he’s been sorted into Hell. It’s now in his file.”

“What have I ever done to deserve Hell?” said Rickland.

“You gave Susie Briggs head lice once,” said Death.

“What!?”

“Luc, let him in.”

“No,” said Satan, smiling in delight. “My psychics warned me about him as well. And besides, it might be better to have him linger around to show that you are not taking Van Heuten’s tales of caution to heart.”

“It could provoke a complication,” said Death. “My psychic says to get rid of him quickly.”

“And mine says to not let him into Hell under any circumstance.”

Death glared at his friend. “So, what? Heaven?”

Satan stood up straighter and fired back a menacing look. “Don’t you even think about it.”

“I might have to if you don’t let him in,” said Death.

“He’s already been sorted. It’s too late.”

Death glared back. “I could have a quick word with someone from North.”

Satan’s eyes flared again. “Then I will close off all access to Hell. Limbo would be impossibly over crowded by the end of the day.”

Death sighed and raised his hands in defence. “All right, all right, let’s back down from the threats and see what we can do about it.”

“Okay. But this guy could be useful here,” said Satan. “Of course, by looking at him I know I’m wrong …” Satan waited to see if Rickland retorted. The critic did not, leaving Satan to roll his head in bewilderment. “Seriously? Okay, how about this: if he’s here then that might attract a lot of sympathisers who think that Kingston helped to overthrow the revolution. They come out, listen to this guy harp on about how stupid the whole Kingston Raine series is, some nut jobs start to agree with him, and it will pull them all out of hiding. Then bam! You have all of the revolutionaries listening to this guy at the same time and you can clean it all up in one swift action. Easy, right?”

Death shook his head. “Problematic, I’d say.”

Satan shrugged. “Oh well. Either way, my psychics and seers told me not to let him in.”

“They did not,” glared Death.

“They did. The specific word they used was ‘trouble.’”

Death scoffed. “I can’t have another person stuck in Limbo so soon after the last time.”

It was Rickland’s turn to mumble a pithy retort. “I always heard it was better to reign in Hell than serve in Limbo."

Satan turned slowly and stared Rickland down. “What was that?”

“I mean … clearly … Heaven?”

Satan’s eyes went wide with rage and then narrowed again for a calculating look, destined to cause Rickland untold misery in the near future. “Flay him.”

Death cocked his head to one side and shot his friend an intrigued look. “You know that billionaire was flayed.”

Satan didn’t take his eyes off Rickland. “So I heard.”

“Perhaps you can tell me what you had to do with it.”

II

Death slammed his office door and reeled around on Satan. “Explain.”

“Say please.”

“No. And take that ridiculous appearance off.”

Satan shifted from the red skin and curled horns and returned to his usual, human-like appearance. “I have my own seers and psychics and intuition. A little ennui as well. They’re all telling me not to let Rickland Carson into Hell.”

Death glared at his friend and held his teeth too close together for comfort. “Did your ennui say why?”

“Of course. He’s the cause of a lot of trouble,” said Satan. “Which should come as no surprise to you since you have your own report saying that he’s a trouble maker, so I’m trying to do the best I can for my realm.”

“At the expense of mine,” said Death.

Satan shrugged. “Perhaps your devil friend is trying to help you man up. I don’t want to use the ‘sour puss’ speech again, but this election has put you into something of a bad mood.”

“The election is important.”

“No, it’s really not. No one cares who wins, you’ll still be in charge. And then you’ll be head deep in shareholder meetings and another election, this time for the company as CEO. Really, I’m starting to think you like being miserable.”

Death gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes on Satan, squinting at him. “I am not miserable.”

“Look, if you want, I can go back and have my psychics look at this Rickland guy again and find out what’s so special about him. I mean, a critic of Don Keaton is quite a rarity, I imagine. It’s just that I can’t help but think you’re hiding something from me,” said Satan. He shot a curious look at Death and smirked at the reaction.

“I’m hiding something from you? You wanted to flay Rickland right in front of me.”

“Ah, not quite. I wanted him flayed, sure, but that’s because he hurt my feelings.”

“You don’t have feelings!” shouted Death.

Satan mocked offence again. “You know, you say these things and then wonder why I’ve developed some trust issues.”

“Give me a break,” said Death.

Satan waved his hand in dismissal. “Fair enough. But look, you and I haven’t had much of an opportunity to hang out. I’m still convinced you’re hiding Kingston around here, somewhere. Maybe even that woman he rescued.” Satan grinned and primed his suit as though ready to meet her.

Death gave Satan a weary look, until it finally dawned on him. “Oh no …”

“What?”

Death groaned and shook his head. “She’s fictional.”

Satan shrugged. “Can’t a guy be optimistic?”

“You’ve never met her.”

“I know, but I read all about her in those books,” said Satan.

Death cocked his head to one side and stared at Satan, trying his best to keep his jaw from falling open. “Do you have a crush on Joanna York?”

Satan feigned another round of defence and held his hands up to clear the air. “I just want to know where you’re hiding them, that’s all. From the amount of times you’re changing the topic I’d say you’re the one who has a crush on her.”

“They’ve been returned to their own story,” said Death.

“And yet they were seen in the Limbo Parklands just the other day. My sources are quite accurate.”

“You’re sources need their heads examined.”

“You have quite a lot of surprising things happening in Limbo, especially for a region where nothing remotely interesting is supposed to happen. You have people dying when they should already be dead, you have celebrity sightings when they apparently aren’t there … if I didn’t know any better I’d say Limbo was haunted.” Satan smiled at his friend and saw a moment of second guessing. “Look, if we just have a few drinks you can convince me that Kingston isn’t in Limbo and you might even have a chance at figuring out what my other sources have been telling me.”

Death arched an eyebrow. “About the flayed billionaire?”

“Well, I don’t have much about that, since he wasn’t killed or flayed in Hell.”

“Do you know who did it?” Death asked.

“No,” said Satan.

“Do you know what he was doing just before he died?”

“No.”

“Do you care that he’s dead again?”

“Not in the slightest,” said Satan. “But come on. Drinks. It’ll be fun.” Satan fixed his tie and made himself look as presentable as possible. “What do you think, eldridge knot or full windsor?”

Death inhaled a short breath of concern. “Are you dressed like that because of Kingston’s girlfriend?”

Satan shot out a loud exhale. “Please. I like to look my best when I can.”

Death sighed. “Fine, fine, we’ll do drinks.”

“Excellent. Where to?”

Death cocked his head to one side and was puzzled for a moment. “I was thinking here.”

“What? No. Who would see me in my suit? Do you know how difficult it is getting a suit like this dry cleaned in Hell? In that climate? What’s the point in dressing up if I can’t even show off?”

Death rolled his eyes and felt a groan coming on. “So, your idea of ‘drinks’ is going out and meeting people while looking as debonair as possible?”

Satan gave a sharp nod. “Yes. And in neutral territory, if it’s not too much trouble. So, not in Hell, not in Limbo.”

At that point, Death did groan. He walked over to his desk, flicked on his intercom, and buzzed Michelle.

“Yes, sir?”

“Michelle, I’m heading out with the Satan office.”

“And your appointments?”

“And send in Angela the seer. Thank you.”

Satan smiled at his friend. “You should be nicer to Michelle.”

“Oh please, she has me wrapped around her finger.” Death headed towards the bookshelf and waved his hand over one row of books, unlocking the vault. The bookshelf split apart, revealing a curved ivory scythe held on an enchanted stand. It was this very scythe that backfired just a month before and brought Kingston out of his fictional world and into reality. It was also the same scythe that Kingston used to escape from reality and teleport from one story to the next. Death was still a little uncertain about why it would do that and he continued to blame Satan in some small part for a hefty dose of mischief.

“So, where to?” asked Satan.

“I was thinking Italy,” said Death.

“Ah! Excellent. I recently had a run in with a woman from Naples. Apparently her pizzas were legendary.”

“Florence.”

Satan paused and stared back at Death. “You know very well I hate Florence.”

Kingston Raine sat in an outdoor café in Florence, his eyes glazed over while staring at the newspaper, listening to the bustle of tourists and locals walking by in a mix of every language under the sun. He was onto his third cappuccino and second bagel, and had moved only once in the last two hours. That was just to stretch his legs to stop his arse from falling asleep. He must have read the same article in the newspaper a dozen times in the last month, covering the same story while rearranging the order of words. The big news of the moment was the toppling of the Bridgeworks Corporation, with its headquarters in Munich. The CEO and board of directors had all fled Germany, though some had been caught in the most stupid of places. One of the executives was hiding out in Thailand and called the embassy to complain about the state of his hotel when the management refused to upgrade his suite. He was promptly identified as being responsible for embezzling forty million euros from small companies around the world. Another executive was caught at a petrol station when his credit card spiked an alert. Another was hiding in his cabin, living off tinned food. He forgot his car had been fitted with a GPS tracker. The entire Bridgeworks empire came crashing down as all of their secrets were exposed in one mammoth moment, courtesy of Kingston Raine.

He knew Florence should have been a dream come true. The weather was perfect, the food was glorious, but man alive was he bored. The problem around Bridgeworks was that it was entirely fictional, meaning Kingston’s triumphant defeating of the company was limited to one specific book currently stored in a vault behind Death’s bookshelf. For the other millions of copies of book six in the series, Kingston escaped from the Bridgeworks assassins and left his girlfriend Joanna York behind, setting up a cliff hanger to open book seven. While Kingston knew that he had technically won, it felt like a hollow victory. Worse still was realising that his whole life was just a ploy to entertain readers for a couple of hours late at night, which didn’t fill him with quite the same sense of accomplishment as dodging bullets and rescuing the damsel in distress.

Then again, having to explain to Joanna that they were both fictional was just as exhausting as running for his life. He had managed to save her before any lasting damage could be done to their relationship, only then he had to introduce Little John from Robin Hood and Catalina from Don Quixote. His chaotic adventure snowballed from there. As far fetched as that sounded to Joanna, she did her best at coming to terms with her own existential crisis, mostly by completely ignoring it.

Kingston finished his cappuccino and glanced up and down the street, hoping for Joanna to return, but there was still no sign of her. An half an hour later he retreated back to the hotel.

John and Catalina were standing in front of the large window of their two bedroom hotel suite, looking over Florence below. John liked being high up and looking down on the people, a view he had never really experienced growing up in Sherwood Forest, unless he climbed up a tree. Now all he had to do was use an elevator and find a window. Even for a man who was seven feet tall, being this high was a thrill. Even Catalina adored the view. She couldn’t get over seeing so many people in different coloured clothing walking around in one of the most enchanting cities in the world. She and John turned at the sound of the door opening.

“Hey guys,” said Kingston.

“No luck finding Joanna?” Catalina asked.

“Nada.”

John puffed out his chest. “I’m sure she’ll show up.”

“I don’t know, she’s walked off before,” said Kingston. “She has a couple of apartments hidden around Europe so who knows where she could go to.”

“She wouldn’t just leave like that,” said John.

Kingston shrugged. “She might.”

“No, you should listen to John,” said Catalina. “The way you two are together, yes you might get on each other’s nerves once in a while, but you two are more Latin than you realise. There is a lot of passion there.” She then shrugged and put her hands on her hips. “Not today, of course. You English need to get over your secretive issues and just talk, talk, talk. Not very sexy, but the job gets done.”

Kingston was about to raise an interesting point when Catalina continued. “You know when I was a little girl, there was man down the street who loved this maid and everyday he brought her flowers and sang to her in the street. She loved the attention and always thanked him, then one day the locals decided they were perfect together and they got married. Ay, it was a glorious day. And you know what? They both died of a broken heart.”

John spun around to Catalina. “What? Why on earth are you telling him that?”

“Because they never talked to each other!” said Catalina. “He sang and gave flowers, but they never had anything to say, it was all superficial beauty, which faded away quicker than they realised. Everyone thought they were so madly in love but the passion died and they were both stuck with each other and broken hearted.” She pointed at Kingston and held a firm look on her face, one that he remembered seeing from his own mother, usually followed by her saying ‘You’re going to apologise.’ Catalina now looked the same. “You need to talk to her.”

Kingston thought it over quickly, but even after a month together he still hadn’t figured out what to say to her. The door clicked open and Joanna stepped inside, surprising Kingston, John, and Catalina. From one look on their faces she knew they had been talking about her. She was twenty nine, tall and athletic from years of yoga and kick boxing, and her brown hair curled halfway down her back. In her hand was a coffee-stained newspaper with the crossword nearly complete. She smiled weakly at the trio. “Did you miss me?”

“More than you realise,” said Kingston. He noticed she was wearing her pearl earrings again, which she had removed earlier and swore to throw them into the street as she stormed off. That she was wearing them again gave Kingston some kind of hope. “So look, tonight I was thinking, you and me, we could have some quality time together, you know? Just kick back and relax a little.”

Joanna looked from Kingston to Catalina and John, with the pair of them nodding her along. “Huh?”

“It’s dawned on me that maybe I don’t talk to you enough.”

Joanna leaned back in surprise. “You don’t talk enough? Kingston, you’ve spent the last month doing nothing but talking. Everyday is yap, yap, yap. You’ve told me almost everything you’ve ever done and …” She glanced over Catalina and John and she shook her head. “Thank you for saving my life. I’m going to lie down.” She walked off to her bedroom and closed the door behind her.

Kingston spun to face Catalina and John and he shook both fists at them.

“What? This is better,” said Catalina. “Now you know what’s irritating her.”

Kingston was so furious he wanted to storm off as quietly as possible, but there was only his bedroom, which was now occupied by Joanna, or John and Catalina’s room, which was a mess as John was still getting used to these whimsical devices known as hangers. Kingston collapsed onto the sofa and threw his hands over his eyes. “Romeo and Juliet never had these problems,” he mumbled, then remembered they were teenagers and far from the maturity of adults.

“Get her flowers,” said John.

“No, they remind her too much of funerals and cheating loved ones,” said Kingston. “What she really needs is a night of pyjamas and hot chips, dipped in mashed potato and gravy.” Kingston checked his watch and glanced over to his bedroom door. “Okay, screw it. My lady needs chips, my lady is getting chips.”

“Good boy,” said Catalina. She and John turned back to the window while Kingston checked online for the best chipperia in town. John glanced down to the street where he had just spent the last twenty minutes watching Kingston pretend to read a newspaper.

Out of the corner of Kingston’s eye he saw John pull his shoulders back and lean closer towards the window.

“Uh …”

Kingston looked over and was again cautious of jumping to any conclusions. John had a habit of pointing out every police officer walking by in case they all had to run for it. Just because Bridgeworks had crumbled it didn’t mean the gang were completely out of harm’s way. Then Kingston noticed Catalina, who was a lot more casual about John’s quirks, until he saw that even she was on her tiptoes.

“Déu meu,” Catalina said.

Kingston stood and came up to the window. “Problem?”

Both John and Catalina turned and faced Kingston, their faces drained of colour and their mouths hanging open. Kingston leaned towards the window and instantly jumped back. Then he looked again and realised he had not been mistaken at all, and obviously neither had John or Catalina.

Satan was staring up at them while Death looked over the restaurant they were about to head into. He carried with him his giant white scythe and didn’t seem to notice what Satan was doing. Satan quickly looked back to Death and nodded towards the restaurant before the pair disappeared inside.

“They found us,” mumbled John.

“Are they going to take us back?” asked Catalina.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure everything’s fine,” said Kingston.

“I doubt that,” said John. “Aren’t we supposed to be in your fictional world?”

“We are. Bridgeworks is all over the news and doesn’t exist in real life,” said Kingston.

“Then why would they come here?” said John. “Maybe they figured out how to take Catalina back to Don Quixote.”

“I have to warn Joanna,” said Catalina, and she hurried to the other room.

“No, wait,” said Kingston. “Just wait. John, you and I can go down there and see what’s going on.”

“And leave Catalina?” John asked.

“It’ll be safer,” said Kingston.

“I don’t want to leave John,” said Catalina.

“And I don’t want to leave her,” said John.

“Okay, don’t worry, no need to sound too alarmed …”

“We should tell Joanna,” said Catalina.

“No, come on. John, are you ready to say hello to Death and Satan? They helped us out before, maybe they’re here to say hello.”

John winced as he spoke. “I’d prefer not to trust Satan. I think it’s a wise policy.”

“I’m getting Joanna,” said Catalina.

“No, wait a second …” But it was too late. Catalina knocked on the bedroom door and peered inside. “Oh boy.”

There are some phrases in life that instantly cause a panic. Certainly, “Death and Satan are outside and know we’re here,” is one of them. At first Joanna was sure it was an elaborate ruse to get her back to her old self. That was until she saw the scared looks on Catalina and John’s faces and realised those were signs of concern. Then real fear kicked in and she was sure it was her last day on Earth.

Worse still, Joanna had already climbed into her pyjama bottoms. “I have nothing to wear!”

“Pick the best thing you have,” said Kingston.

“You’re not helping!”

“Like hell I’m not,” said Kingston. He marched over to the wardrobe and pulled out one of Joanna’s business suits. “This. Put this on.”

Joanna stared at Kingston as though he had made the greatest fashion faux pas’ the world had ever seen. “I wear that for work!”

“And you look good in it. You’re also going to need your best game face on, so chop chop!”

Joanna dropped her voice and found a curious side to her coming back into play. “You’re panicking.”

“And you’re stalling. Put this on.”

Joanna cracked a grin at Kingston, revelling in the first burst of adrenaline they’d had all month. She changed her outfit. “I’m guessing you’re going with a suit and tie?”

“It works for James Bond, it works for me.”

Meanwhile, John had to settle for an unironed shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his massive biceps. Catalina wore a white summer gown with a silver necklace and thick bracelets. Kingston then checked the time.

“Okay, it’s taken us half an hour to get ready. We’re all ready, aren’t we?”

Catalina quickly ran to the bathroom.

Kingston had little else to do but fiddle with his cuff links. “It’s okay, it’s all okay. They are both fans of me, I think. We didn’t steal anything. John, did we steal anything?”

“I hope not.”

Kingston looked over to Joanna. “Joanna, honey, I’m sorry for anything I’ve ever said that pissed you off.”

Joanna dropped her jaw open and whacked the side of his arm.

“Hey!”

“You’re supposed to be calm under pressure and only now are you apologising?”

“Well … I never thought it was all that serious before.”

“We’ve been shot at before!”

“Which is hardly the time to be apologising for past grievances, is it?”

Joanna cocked her head to one side. “You’re not usually like this.”

“Neither are you.”

She clicked her fingers and pointed at Kingston. “You’ve gone stir crazy from being cooped up in here for the past month.”

“Well I’ve never had to hide for this long with nothing to do,” said Kingston. “By the way, I love you.”

“I know. I love you too.” She smiled and leaned in for a kiss. “Don’t you dare let them kill me or I will hate you.”

Kingston caught himself before he made a promise he actually had no control over. He glanced back out the window and worked through every escape route he knew, then he quietly said goodbye to this world as he risked spending the rest of his existence in Limbo.

Kingston held his breath as he led the group into the restaurant. He could easily pick out Death and Satan within the crowd as they were now roaring drunk and already onto their main course. The maître-d’ met Kingston, John, Joanna, and Catalina at the door. “Good afternoon. Table for four?”

“They’re with us!” shouted Satan, pointing wildly at their table.

“We are?” asked John.

Joanna was sure her life would flash before her eyes the moment she saw the living Grim Reaper, but it never came. Instead she felt her boyfriend getting pushing her forward.

“Let’s get this done with,” said Kingston.

Joanna glanced over her shoulder. “Did you set this up while I was getting changed?”

Satan groaned loudly from the table. “Aw, I could’ve seen them getting changed.”

Four pairs of shoulders stiffened in an instant.

“Right this way ladies and gentlemen,” said the maître-d’. He led them through the rows of tables to the six person table and sat them down next to Death and Satan.

“Kingston! John!” roared Satan. His eyes quickly fell upon Joanna. “Hello there,” he said, getting to his feet. “You may call me Luc, all my friends do. Who might you be?”

“Cut it out,” said Death. “You know who she is.”

Joanna glanced from person to person. “I’d still like an introduction.”

“I’m Death,” slurred Death, leaning far into Joanna. “You’ve met my friend Satan, right? Good. Wine for everyone. My shout.”

John’s eyes opened up. “Your shout?”

“He’s paying,” whispered Kingston.

“Ah!” cried John. “Then keep them coming and don’t skimp on the … what did we call it?” he asked, leaning over to Catalina. “Brandy? Sherry?”

“Sherry.”

“Sherry it is!”

“My dear, it is a pleasure to meet you,” said Satan, taking Joanna’s hand. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Joanna.”

A deep smile crossed his face. “Ah, Joanna. I like your perfume.”

“Thank you,” said Joanna. “The love of my life gave it to me on our anniversary.”

Satan smirked at Kingston. “No, he didn’t. And you bringing up an anniversary was code for you refusing any offer we make you.”

Joanna stiffened. Kingston leaned forward to squeeze one of her thighs with his hand. “He’s read our books, he knows our codes,” Kingston said.

Joanna gritted her teeth and looked towards Kingston. “Is there anything else you should warn me about?”

Death leaned over to Joanna again. “That’s Satan. The real Satan. And he’s going to behave himself.”

“You may call me Luc,” said Satan.

“You really shouldn’t,” whispered Death. He looked over to Catalina. “How do you do?”

“Fine,” said Catalina, while trying her best not to appear terrified.

“You know, John refused to return to his own story because that would mean leaving you behind,” said Death.

“It’s true,” said John.

Satan leaned over to Death. “You better hope that’s actually Catalina there, and not someone else that John has picked up.”

Catalina glared at Satan and dug her fingernails into the palm of her hands. Kingston looked across to Joanna and knew she was out of her element. Even so, she was trying to blend in as best as possible. She smiled politely at Satan. Kingston knew she was running through some conversation topics to throw the Devil off course to let her regain control, but she was distracted when Death kept peering at her with half drunk eyes and a slight smile.

“So, how have you all been?” asked Death. “Still alive, I see.”

“We’re doing well,” said Kingston. “The weather has been a joy, the hotel is a dream, and everyday I get to read more of my accomplishments. The downside is learning that I’ve spent the last few years chasing a lot of idiots. All this time I thought they were criminal masterminds pulling at a hundred strings in various interconnecting webs of mystery and intrigue. But no. They bring their phones on their great escape and leave the GPS active. Then they hurl abuse at the motel staff for not being up to their five star expectations. That does sully the experience somewhat.”

Satan looked over with admiration. “Well done, and too bad. That said, I must say that Death surprised me here. I heard you lot were hiding out in Limbo. Then he brings me here to prove that my sources have been wrong this whole time. I’ve never liked Florence much, it’s too idealistic. Now, Paris is where you should go,” he said, clicking his fingers.

Joanna reeled back when she realised that Satan was even using some of her mannerisms.

“I think Florence is fine,” said Death.

“But then again, this isn’t the real Florence, is it?” said Satan.

Kingston caught the waiter as he poured a round of wine for everyone. “How much have they had?”

“They’re each onto their second bottle of wine,” said the waiter. His eyes flicked over to a bottle of scotch that Satan was finishing up. “And I didn’t see that before.”

John’s eyes were again wide with interest. “Is that sherry?”

“Nope,” slurred Satan. “Scotch. Here.” He pushed the bottle into John’s hands and John stuck his nose over the opening. He then took a sip and glanced to Catalina.

“Go ahead,” she said. John poured some into a spare glass.

“So you found us,” said Kingston.

“That was all him,” said Satan, pointing to Death.

“Well, it was my seer who found you, but I brought us here."

Satan slumped his elbows onto the table and leaned forward. “And how have you lot been?”

“Well,” said Kingston. He was sure that he had just covered this topic of conversation. “Just laying low. As you do.” His mind raced through the last month of midnight strolls, building several houses of cards, and trying to work on his dance moves with Joanna in one of Florence’s finest clubs.

“Laying low, eh? Good thinking,” said Satan. “Reigniting the romance, I bet.” He winked at Joanna and saw Kingston’s face drop towards suspicion. “Ah, don’t be like that.”

“Yes, don’t be like that,” said Death, as he slapped the back of his hand against Satan’s shoulder.

“I’m just making conversation,” said Satan. “Here, why don’t you tell them about the flayed billionaire, they’ll like that one.”

John and Kingston leaned forward. John was waiting to hear the joke of the flayed billionaire while Kingston was sure he had misheard what Satan just said.

“Now is not the time,” said Death.

John sat back, disappointed.

“Would anyone care for something to start you off with?” asked the waiter.

“Lots of water,” said Joanna.

“Plus some wine and sherry,” said Satan. “And keep them coming.”

John glanced over his menu and leaned towards Kingston. “What’s a chef’s special?”

“Ah,” said the waiter. “Today the special is the braised beef in a plum wine sauce. I highly recommend it.”

John didn’t look so sure. “Will I like it?”

“Oh yes, it comes highly recommended.”

“Huh. And it’s special?”

“Oh yes. It goes very well with the wine you have ordered.”

John shrugged. “Well then …”

“Anti pasto!” bellowed Satan. “And more wine and sherry!”

“And water,” said Joanna.

“Very good.” The waiter headed off to the kitchen to place their orders and Kingston caught Death and Satan looking at him.

“So here we are,” said Kingston, realising that he was about to spend the next few hours listening to two drunk immortals with the power to tear his life apart. It wasn’t the most comfortable situation Kingston had ever dealt with. He kept counting off the number of escape routes and he was sure Joanna was doing the same.

“How are you lot holding up?” Satan asked.

Kingston withheld a groan as he was sure this was the third time Satan had asked the same question.

“You haven’t been in Limbo lately, have you?”

“Eh, no,” said Kingston. “We’re still fine, though. What, may I ask, brings you two to Florence?”

Satan and Death shared a look.

“Well, you’re kinda famous,” said Satan.

John perked up. “What about me? They’ve made a few movies about me and none of him. Am I famous?”

“It’s true,” said Catalina.

Satan nodded. “You are quite famous yes, but for different reasons.”

“Am I famous?” asked Joanna, looking hesitant.

“You … are mysterious,” said Satan.

“That’s not really what I asked.”

“Well, these two made it into Limbo, and elsewhere, and you didn’t, but they were all determined to rescue you, as I’m sure you’re aware of, since you’re now here and were presumably rescued, right?”

“I hit a man with a fence,” said John, nodding bravely.

“Oh, I miss doing that,” said Satan, leaning back into his chair and looking up to the ceiling. “We should go fencing some time.”

“Really?” asked John. He saw Kingston, Catalina, and Joanna quickly shake their heads at him.

Death raised his hands and gathered their attention. “The reason why we’re here is to prove that you four are not in Limbo. Luc, you see them all sitting here?”

“Yes, yes, you were right,” Satan said, waving his hands about.

“How exactly am I famous in Limbo?” Kingston asked.

“You defeated the revolution!” cried Satan.

The table fell quiet and all eyes turned to a very surprised Kingston. “I defeated a revolution?”

“Hell yes. Everyone in Limbo knows how you defeated Eve and overthrew her entire command structure.”

“I’m pretty sure you two did that,” said Kingston.

“Oh, we certainly helped,” said Satan. “But you were the one who lured her into Dante’s Inferno.”

“Didn’t you suggest it to her in the first place?” asked Kingston.

“Yes, but she wouldn’t have had a reason to go there if it wasn’t for you. She was so consumed with capturing you that she let her guard down. All of the lawyers saw how much of a pain you were to the usurping government. When that fell apart they all talked about how you were instrumental in its downfall. Now, because Grim here isn’t one for cashing in on his own success, you have inherited quite a lot of praise for your efforts. Congratulations.”

Kingston shook his head apologetically. “I’m not sure if that was really me or just a coincidence.”

“Oh don’t be modest,” said Satan.

“My main concern was rescuing Joanna.” He felt Joanna’s hand slide under the table, take his hand, and she gave him a gentle squeeze to say ‘thank you’.

“And I can see why,” said Satan. He winked at Joanna again. The surprise caused her to twirl her wine glass between her fingers as a way of focussing her attention elsewhere. “But in the process of rescuing the fair Miss York you caused the downfall of the revolution … I said that already, didn’t I? Anyway, you helped get what’s her face stuck in Dante’s Inferno, so naturally all of Limbo knows about you and now you are something of a mysterious celebrity. There are sightings of you every day, articles written in the newspapers, even some fan fiction. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” said Death. “Sightings every day, endless questions about where you are, travellers from every realm wanting to meet you.”

Joanna saw Kingston hold himself a little too stiffly and she knew he wasn’t comfortable with the sudden burst of fame. He had taken to staring at the cutlery across the table and Joanna knew that was a signal for help. Against her best judgement she leaned forward and tried to push herself into the conversation. “You said something about a flayed billionaire?”

John leaned forward again, eager to hear the joke. “Yes, tell us.”

“Oh boy,” said Death. He sunk the last of his wine and helped himself to another bottle.

“You can tell this one,” said Satan.

“It doesn’t concern them,” said Death.

“Yet we have a captive audience and it might be beneficial to tell them. If you tell them I might be able to fill in some of the blanks.”

“I know what you’re trying to do.”

“I doubt that,” said Satan, leaning back with a smile.

“I’ve taken note of your careful choice of words, how much drunker you seem to be when I’ve seen you stand perfectly still and not even mumble after drinking a bottle of scotch, so you’re not fooling anyone.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Satan, with half of his attention fixed on Death’s ear.

Death arched an eyebrow at Satan and gave him a moment to recant. When that moment passed Death looked over to Joanna in a calculating move. “You know …”

“What are you doing?” said Satan quickly.

“I’m just telling Joanna about the crush you have on her.”

“Oh, come on!”

The table went wide eyed and everyone looked over to Joanna.

“Déu meu!” said Catalina. “El Diablo has a crush on Joanna?”

“I do not, it’s the first time I’ve met her!”

Joanna smiled and felt a resurgence in pride and control. She gently tapped her fingers on top of Satan’s hand. “That’s very sweet of you. I like your suit.”

“Why thank you,” said Satan. “It’s Hungarian.”

Kingston looked over to John and intercepted the thought processes going on in John’s mind. “That’s a location, not a style.”

“Oh,” said John. “Where is Hungarian?”

“You’ve seen it on the map called Hungary.”

John gave Kingston a quizzical look. “Riiight. That led to the conversation about Turkey, the Ottomans, and the Byzantine Empire?”

“Exactly.”

Satan hiccoughed from the other side of the table. “You know, I had a hand in naming Istanbul. I never liked the name Constantinople, so I had them change it.”

The waiter returned to take their order and Kingston saw the look of intrigue in Joanna’s eyes, that two of the most powerful creatures in all of existence were actually paying attention to her. Kingston quickly ordered the braised rabbit in a red wine sauce. He saw Joanna smile with his choice of dinner, as she remembered it was what he ordered the first time he told her he loved her, in a small Italian restaurant in Monaco. Kingston’s pulse nearly exploded when Joanna chose the roasted duck, echoing her order from the same evening all those years ago. They shared a quick look and a non-verbal I love you.

Joanna looked back to Death and Satan and felt her intrigue rise again. “You were talking about something involving a billionaire that has nothing to do with us.”

“Right,” said Death. “He was murdered in Hell.”

“No he wasn’t,” said Satan.

“People get murdered in Hell all the time,” said Death.

“And they are resurrected again. He was murdered in Limbo.”

Death looked back to his audience. “So, this is our problem. It’s really got nothing to do with you, yet my friend here seems to think you lot should be involved somehow.”

“No I don’t,” said Satan.

“It’s what you’ve been insinuating all day. You used the word ‘flay’ with Don Keaton’s critic, knowing I would pick up on that and link it to you, Hell, and the billionaire. Then you got us to meet Kingston and his friends. You’ve been trying to get me to think that this was all my idea. You’re not as subtle as you used to be.”

“I was only curious to meet her.” Then Satan realised what he had just said and he quickly added: “Them. I was only curious to meet them.”

Joanna arched an eyebrow and glanced down at her cleavage. “Really?”

“No! Kingston, you, John, and Catalina!”

“Ay,” mumbled Catalina, terrified that Satan knew who she was.

Death groaned and shook his head. “Anyway, I have people investigating the murder already.”

“And I’m sure they’re doing a fantastic job, right? You have everything covered? But what about the Bank of Limbo?”

“The … what?” said Death, cocking his head to one side.

Kingston leaned forward. “There’s a Bank of Limbo?”

“Of course,” said Satan. “Who else would handle the payroll?”

“Hang on,” said Death, looking back to Satan. “What do you know of this thing with the bank?”

Satan smiled. “I know that you’ve had a couple of scouts investigating it for some time and they haven’t gotten anywhere.”

Kingston and Joanna gave a slight tilt of their heads at the same time, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Ay, for the love of …” mumbled Catalina, realising the pair were losing themselves to Satan’s intrigue.

Death glared at Satan. “You know about that?”

Satan nodded. “I have my sources.”

“I’d like to meet your sources.”

“By all means,” said Satan. “You can find them in and around my office, should you ever wish to visit.”

“Perhaps you could send them to me.”

“That might be considered a conflict of interest.”

“You’re investigating your own bank?” asked Kingston.

Death shrugged. “Yes. And none of my scouts can find anything wrong with it.”

“So what’s the problem?”

Death rolled his eyes and stared at Satan. “You can remember this, and how badly you handled it all, okay?”

Satan glanced to Joanna and saw a slight smile creep across her face. He knew she had worked it out already. Satan looked to Kingston and saw that he had also figured out that Satan had played Death quite well.

Death looked over at the pair and shook his head. “Oh that’s hardly fair!”

“I don’t understand,” said John.

“Me neither,” said Catalina.

Joanna looked around the table. “No bank is perfect. No company is perfect. There’s always someone taking a short cut. And from what you three have told me about the scouts, they can teleport, see through walls, and see into the past. They are the go-to investigators. So, if they can’t find even a single flaw then that means there is something very wrong and either the scouts are in on it and covering it up, or the bank has some way to block the scouts from seeing the truth. Or so I’m guessing.”

Satan smiled at the table and finally nodded at Death. “That’s my understanding as well. And you see, that’s why this lot should look into the bank.”

“They aren’t even residents of Limbo,” said Death.

“Hang on, who said anything about us going to Limbo?” asked Catalina. “I don’t know about you but I like Florence.”

“What if Death promised to return you here once you’re done?” Satan asked.

Catalina glared at Satan. “This Florence or real Florence?”

“This one.”

“And what about my home town in Don Quixote?”

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves again,” said Death.

Catalina spun around to John. “John, going to Limbo is one step closer to going to Hell.”

Satan grunted. “I think you would find Hell can be quite agreeable.”

“John, please don’t let us go to Limbo,” Catalina said.

“You’re there right now,” said Satan.

All eyes turned to Satan and he gave them a quick nod.

“Unless I’m mistaken.”

Death sighed. “It’s true. I think. You four are currently hiding in a book in my vault in Limbo. Even though you think you are in Florence, you are actually still in Limbo. A realm within a realm.”

Catalina gasped and covered her face with her hands. John put his arm around her and pulled her into a tight hug. “It’s okay, bella.”

Kingston and Joanna also shared an awkward look, realising just how close to the afterlife they were.

“Don’t worry, you’ll all be fine,” said Satan.

The table still remained very quiet and Death grumbled at Satan. “Look what you’ve done.”

“I know what I did. And I know you think it’s a good idea.”

“Yeah, I should’ve seen this before. Satan put the idea in my head, got me drunk enough to be stupid, and this has happened in front of people who have made a career of investigating corrupt companies with heavy banking ties.”

“And it has nothing to do with a flayed billionaire. Or so I hope,” said Satan.

Kingston couldn’t believe he was about to proceed with the conversation, but the words seemed to slip out without his control. “Just how bad are you expecting this banking problem to be?”

“Couldn’t begin to tell you,” said Death. “But I do know people often die greedy and wake up greedier, realising that they have nothing tangible in the next world, so they get a little desperate and crazy. But those problems are limited entirely to South. Those within Limbo are a little more reasonable and have some kind of security, being employed and all.”

“And it’ll give you something to do,” mumbled Satan.

Kingston knew Joanna was thinking the same thing as him, that they had gone stir crazy in a hotel for a month with nothing to look forward to except for more hiding. Then again, this still meant going to Limbo, where flayed bodies could be found at any minute.

“How many people work for the bank?” asked Joanna.

“Two hundred and nineteen,” said Death.

“Supposedly,” said Satan.

“Who runs it?” Kingston asked.

“Coren Haro, the general master.”

“In name only,” said Satan.

“What makes you say that?” asked Joanna.

“Because he’s as boring as they come. Dull, ordinary, meticulous …”

“A perfect banker,” said Death, with a satisfied nod.

“You don’t become a boss by being ordinary.”

“He offers stability.”

“And yet something strange and mysterious is happening with the bank and no one seems to know what is going on,” said Satan.

“He’s right,” said Joanna. “Bosses need to be visionaries and take a chance once in a while. It sounds like this Coren Haro guy is, at best, middle management.”

Satan leaned forward and gave Joanna his full attention. “How are you at infiltrating corporations?”

“Careful,” said Death. “Answering that might backfire on you.”

Joanna smiled back. “I am excellent, particularly in Human Resources.”

Satan looked over to Kingston. “And you? There have been six books written about you where all you do is break into buildings, dupe the bad guys, and uncover secrets. Isn’t this exactly what you’re supposed to be doing with your life, instead of waiting around in hotels with nothing to do?”

Kingston and Joanna smiled at each other and felt a fire build up in their passion again. “Are you offering us a job, on behalf of Death?” Kingston asked. He saw John slump into his chair and look around the restaurant. “What I mean is, are you offering the four of us a job?”

John looked back to Kingston and smiled, raising himself again with a hopeful grin.

“No …” whimpered Catalina.

Satan looked back to Death. “I think you should.”

“Yes, I know what you think,” said Death. He sighed and looked over the four misfits. “I don’t think you’re suitable.”

“I agree,” said Kingston.

“You don’t know the banking system of Limbo,” said Death.

“That’s fair.”

“You’re too famous to go undercover.”

“I am, these three aren’t.”

“You’ll stick out like four amateurs.”

“Sometimes being underestimated is a winning strategy,” said Kingston.

“You have a habit of running away,” said Death.

“But I was instrumental in overthrowing a revolution, apparently.”

Death leaned in closer to Kingston. “I’m sure you could have found a way back into Limbo but you chose to stay here.”

Joanna cocked her head and held onto that for later.

“Joanna, please …” mumbled Catalina.

Satan flicked his eyes from one person to the next. “Or you could stay in Florence for the rest of your lives.” He focussed on Joanna in particular. “I mean, you and Kingston are highly detailed obsessive workaholics. You’ve made a fortune and had years to get away from it all and retire, yet you kept going back to breaking down the corporate world. I’m willing to bet the last five weeks of sitting on your pretty little ass has been unbearable. Am I right?”

Joanna held onto her smile for as long as she could. “There’s more to me than just working my arse off.”

Satan grinned. “It’s hard to believe that Kingston is the more laid back of you two.” He finished his drink, slammed the glass down, and stared at John. “You there! Drinking competition. Ready?”

“Ready!” cried John.

“Stop, stop,” said Catalina. “When the Devil challenges you to a drinking competition …”

“Babe, he’s already toasted. I can take him,” said John.

“He does stand a reasonable chance,” said Satan.

“All the men in Italy couldn’t drink him under the table,” said Death holding up a hand of caution.

Satan slammed his glass against the table. “Are you going to let an Italian beat you at drinking, John?”

“Never!”

“Then we shall start by celebrating Kingston taking the job!” roared Satan as he raised his glass.

“Kingston and Joanna,” glared Joanna.

“And John!” cried John.

Catalina raised her glass with a good deal of resignation. “I’m not making a deal with the Devil.”

“Only with Death,” said Satan. “And it will get you closer to your home town in Don Quixote. I might even be able to find your author and have him retell all of your better moments.”

Catalina smiled feebly and knew she was only humouring Satan. “I won’t leave John,” she said.

Satan smiled at John. “You hold onto that one. She’s counting on you.”

“I will,” said John. He gave Catalina the biggest hug he could manage while still sitting next to her.

Kingston looked over his friends and smiled, but from the weary eyes of Catalina and Joanna he knew they had all just been played by Satan. Worse still was knowing that John and Catalina were already in over their heads. It troubled Kingston that he and Joanna were desperate to put their cabin fever induced problems behind them and have a new challenge ready to explore.

Kingston whispered to Joanna. “Are you sure about this?”

“Not at all.”

“A little terrified?”

“That’s somewhat of an understatement.”

Satan chuckled at them. “You’ll be fine.”

Kingston looked back to Death. “And what happens after we deal with the bank?”

Satan leaned in quickly. “There is a situation with a flayed billionaire, you know.”

“Yeah,” mumbled John. “What happened there?”

“Pretty much that he’s a dead Greek guy and no one knows who did it, how they did it, or why.”

“Did he deserve it?” asked Catalina.

Death and Satan both nodded at the same time. “Given how he ran his life, he most definitely deserved it,” said Death.

III

Rickland Carson had filled out three survey forms blasting the service of Death Inc. and its employees. Janice had told him fifteen times already to take a seat and that she would be with him in a just a moment, but she honestly didn’t know what to do with him now that he was stuck in Limbo. Rickland spent his time shouting at her and threatening everyone in sight with his army of lawyers. After he grew tired of that he wasted an hour trying to find the exit, at which point defeat took over and he slumped to one side in a chair, dishevelled and almost whimpering.

It was when Rickland was in his most pathetic state did the fates seem to intervene. A middle aged man in a tacky, cheap suit approached Rickland and smiled at the sight of the greatest of Don Keaton’s critics. The middle aged man had fierce brown eyes that locked onto Rickland and never let them go. He had short brown hair cut in the style of an executive push. He didn’t even hold out his hand to shake the mess of a man.

“Mr Carson? I’m sorry to keep you waiting. At long last we can offer you some assistance. If you could come with me please.”

“I don’t want to go to Hell,” mumbled Rickland.

“Few do. If you could come this way.”

“I don’t want to go with anyone.”

The man in the cheap suit smiled benevolently and sat down next to Rickland. “I think we’ve gotten off to the wrong start here. I’m not with Sorting. Or Retrievals. I don’t even work in this building and I’m certainly not here to escort you to Hell. My pay grade is much higher than something so trivial. You have been refused entry by Satan himself. That has me intrigued.”

“You’re sitting too close to me,” said Rickland. “I’ll wait for Janice.” He then caught sight of the gentleman’s hands and saw that they were manicured. They even looked better than Rickland’s own hands. The suit, though, was still dirt cheap.

“Janice has pawned you off to me. Now, since you can’t legally leave Limbo, we have found a job for you to do in the mean time.”

Rickland turned his nose as though he had just smelled the foulest of stenches. “What? I’m not doing any job.”

The middle aged man simply smiled and gave Rickland a sympathetic nod. “Mr Carson, this is not a retirement party or a life living on the shore while struggling students bring you cocktails with little umbrellas in them. This is the afterlife where everyone pulls their own weight. But I will tell you a little something that might hold your interest.” The gentleman looked around and kept his voice low. “Last month, Don Keaton was here.”

Rickland jolted back and instantly went red. Then he regained his composure and shook his head. “Nonsense. I would have been asked to write something poetic if he had died.”

The gentleman smiled, showing Rickland a perfect set of white teeth. “Nevertheless, Keaton was brought to Limbo and to Hell itself. He was then refused entry into Hell. That was a rare situation indeed and you know yourself that he is still alive and obviously was brought back to Life.” The gentleman dramatically looked around again to make sure no one could overhear them, then he leaned in closer to Rickland. “I can find a way for you to get back to Life.”

Rickland snorted. “Oh yeah? How?”

The gentleman’s eyes smoothed into a devilish grin and his baritone voice became more refined and commanding. “By working for me.”

Rickland rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“I’m serious,” said the gentleman. “You’ll get to travel across the realms. You’ll be well paid. These people here,” the gentleman rolled his hand through the air, “the ones working the grind, sorting people like you, getting shouted at by people like you, earning no respect from people like you; they earn nothing. I’ve read your file. You would hate every minute of working here. These people love the Kingston books and talk about them all the time, about how a seventh story is in the works and how magnificent Don Keaton really is, when you and I both know he’s a putz.”

Rickland snorted again and nodded, while he agreed with everything the gentleman said.

“The man is an idiot and something of a fraud, taking liberally from other stories and passing it off as his own.”

“Exactly,” said Rickland, nodding with quiet pleasure.

The gentleman leaned in closely, keeping his eyes fixed on Rickland’s. “I was inspired by your most recent article where you labelled Keaton as a hack. I thought, ‘Now here is a man who is not afraid to speak his own mind against those who believe they are too high and mighty to walk among the rest of us.’ Unfortunately you haven’t had much success in that department. Now he’s become the darling child of Death and Satan and will be treated favourably. He will have a glorious existence no matter where he goes, with fans around every corner. And what will you have? Nothing. You’ll be crawling around looking for the scraps of food and half drunk bottles of festering water. That’s what awaits you if you are sorted into Hell. Or, you could come and work for me. You’ll be paid ten times what these people earn and best of all you’ll have a greater influence when your friends die and are sorted. You can decide where they go and how they are treated. Think about that, Mr Carson. You will be instrumental in deciding the fate of everyone you know. Even everyone you dislike. We both know that desperate people will offer favours and bribes, trying to do what’s best for them. And what’s best for them greatly benefits you, especially if you can set your own terms.” The gentleman saw the glint in Rickland’s eye, glazing over while he imagined everyone he knew, all of the snobs and high flyers, everyone having to beg him for the ultimate favour.

“I wouldn’t offer you this job if I thought you couldn’t do it,” said the gentleman. “I know you would excel in this role. We can start you on a contract for one month and see how you like it. You can meet the people who’ve been working there for years, decades even. You’re free to ask them all about the secrets, and the ups and downs of working here. I know you will find no better job. It is perfect for you. Or you could end up like these people,” said the gentleman, pointing to the crowd of sorters.

Rickland looked around the badly dressed crowd, listened to the constant chatter and drone from the thousands of cubicles. It felt like a dentist’s drill driving into his skull. Working there was the epitome of failure and he knew it. “What kind of job would I be doing?”

“You’ll be working on behalf of the Bank of Limbo through a private division.”

“And … what would I be doing?”

“Celebrity assistance, Mr Carson. You know the high class world better than us. You can help us prepare them for the afterlife. I daresay you resent being treated like an ordinary pleb.”

Rickland gave a sharp exhale.

“You will help the rich and famous and they will reward you, some better than others but they will all be grateful. And when you are done and wish to retire you will have all the celebrities at your disposal, ready to reclaim every last favour they promised you.”

There was that glint in Rickland’s eye again. It was almost impossible to say no. Yet, his senses tingled, telling him that something was amiss. This banker was speaking with the authority of a senior executive, telling him about the vast wealth he could earn. And yet …

The gentleman looked over his suit and smiled. “This is camouflage, Mr Carson. I can’t come in here wearing a top of the line outfit and wander around freely. If you want to blend in with the plebs, you have to dress like a pleb. But I assure you, I’m telling the truth. You are free to see for yourself. Tomorrow you can start work. According to my sources a Broadway diva is on her way. She’ll need you to look out for her.”

In an instant Rickland saw the full potential and an uncontrolled smile spread across his features.

The gentleman stood. “Your future is with the Bank of Limbo, but they won’t let you out of this building unless I am with you. Let’s go.” The gentleman started walking towards the exit.

Rickland bounded after him. “I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”

“Sarrack,” said the gentleman. “And once we leave the building you will address me as ‘sir.’ The only requirement of this job is that you are able to keep a secret. Do we understand each other?”

Rickland blinked a couple of times and wondered what had happened to the kind and sympathetic salesman offering him a job. He couldn’t process just how quickly Sarrack had changed into a boss. Rickland mumbled a ‘yes’ and had his last glimpse of the sorting department of Death Inc.

With a gentle pop, Death returned to Limbo with Kingston, John, Joanna, Catalina, and Satan. Catalina had not been the least bit impressed when Satan insisted on holding her hand during the trip so that no one got lost while they teleported, nor was she impressed when he winked at Joanna just as they left Florence. They arrived in the private foyer used only by the CEO of Death Inc., or by his chef, the delightful Donato della Morte. The teleportation room was oval and covered entirely in granite, with no single piece of decoration to be seen. The only thing breaking up the monotony was the thick wooden doorway along one side of the room.

“My phone!” cried Joanna, as she padded herself down. She realised in an instant that it was sitting in her hotel room, now a million miles away.

“First words in Limbo are always amusing,” said Satan. “I’ll be off. With any luck that death metal group will be arriving stupidly late. My ladies, it was a pleasure to meet you.” Satan held back a burp, burst into flames, and disappeared to Hell.

“Our things,” mumbled Joanna, now thinking of their many suitcases left behind in Florence.

“Yeah, this is pretty much what I was wearing when I first landed in Limbo,” said Kingston.

“We’ll get you set up with something,” said Death. He swung his scythe around and walked off towards the doors, which peeled back automatically. Kingston and the others followed him through the vaulted corridor with jade marble frescos built into the walls and a Tuscan polished floor with a long red carpet on top.

“Wow,” mumbled Joanna.

Death turned and smiled at her. “This particular corridor was designed by Heinrich Bluon. The frescos show the greatest moments of all the previous presidents of the realm.”

Catalina noticed that none featured Death. In fact, all of the people looked terrified, burning at stakes or tormented by a hundred little devils. The row of frescos stretched off into the distance.

“Are these you in disguise?” Joanna asked.

Death shook his head. “I gave Heinrich free rein over what he designed. I have a feeling he was influenced a little by our devilled friend. But it’s nice to remember that I am replaceable. It keeps me from getting too complacent.”

John stumbled along and held one hand against the wall to help steady his balance. Back in the restaurant he was sober enough to fell fine, but the moment he stood up he felt the entire wine list make itself known in an instant. Now he was seeing double. Kingston had drunk just a glass of wine, while Catalina and Joanna stuck to water.

“Ahm okah,” mumbled John.

“You saw this before?” Joanna asked, whispering to Kingston.

“Not this part,” he said, but he recognised the architecture. Even though he had been to Limbo and Death Inc. several times, he had been confined to just a few specific locations - Death’s office and dining room, the dungeons, and a couple of alleys outside. He wondered how large the city state of Limbo had to be to house eight hundred thousand employees plus all of the recently departed souls who came through.

There must be at least a thousand apartment buildings, he thought, then doubled it to include where everyone worked. Maybe forty five buildings wide, forty five buildings long.

Kingston held back a whistle in surprise and knew the area would have to be the size of a spacious city. He thought back to when the human population must have been just a few hundred thousand. He suspected Death did all the work himself back then, wandering through the ether to gather the soul of the recently departed, then delivering them personally to North or South. It still impressed Kingston that Death was the one being tying the four realms together - Heaven, Hell, Limbo, and Life. Kingston thought it must have been hard for such an autocratic individual to start delegating as the population grew beyond his capabilities. He wondered if Death ever missed being the only one there.

Death winked at Kingston, causing Kingston to second guess everything he was thinking.

No secrets from Death, he reminded himself, then he wondered about just how powerful these bankers must be if Death himself couldn’t figure out what was going on.

Hang on, if Fiction is now another plane of existence, who presides over that?

“So, we’re now in another plane of existence?” Joanna asked.

“Yes,” said Death. “I would ask for your first impression, but I guess you’ve only seen one room and a corridor.”

“Has there been any trouble with the former revolution?” Kingston asked.

“Not that I know of.”

“They’d be running scared,” said Catalina, as quietly as she could.

Kingston nodded and felt a smirk brewing, then he realised that he was responsible for their sudden change of fortune. “They don’t have it in for me, do they?”

“They might,” said Death. “But don’t worry, they can’t exactly kill you.”

“Can’t exactly kill me?”

“Not exactly, no.”

They turned a corner and passed a pair of stone grim reaper statues covered in long robes concealing their faces. Kingston knew the statues of Limbo were sentient, and these two were the guards to Death’s office. If an intruder came along the statues could quickly swing their stone scythes into place and block the corridor. Kingston wasn’t sure how much farther they could go, whether the statues were fixed to that one spot of if they could chase down an opponent. Joanna gasped as she saw the statues turn to follow her. Catalina quickly held onto John’s arm to guide her.

Death led them around the corner to the outer office leading into his office. Kingston then recognised the brunette woman sitting at the desk with an espresso by her side. Michelle glanced up and did a full double take as she saw who accompanied her boss. There was a moment of impossibility across her face as she locked eyes onto Kingston again. Then she caught sight of Little John and Catalina. At last her attention fell onto the tall brunette. Joanna walked with Kingston by her side, and Michelle first thought that she was far too attractive to work undercover, since every man in the building would notice her and every woman working there would no doubt hate her. Still, Michelle remembered that Don Keaton had based Joanna on a real person, so maybe he hadn’t embellished too much. Michelle then noticed that Joanna even had a small mole just under her right ear which she covered with long silver earrings, then she remembered learning that from the Kingston series, so of course Joanna had a mole under her ear.

Michelle rose to her feet. “Kingston?”

Death nodded. “They’re assisting with an investigation. Could you rustle up the latest files and reports on the Bank of Limbo?”

“The … bank …?” Michelle mumbled.

“That’s right,” said Death. He gave her another nod.

Michelle looked back to Kingston and she immediately giggled with glee.

Death rolled his eyes and looked back to his guests. “She’s usually quite professional.” He headed towards his office.

“Why does she look familiar?” asked Joanna.

“She helped to rescue you,” said Kingston.

“So that wasn’t a hallucination?”

“No. I told you at least three times in Florence that Death’s secretary helped to free you.”

“My God children, just get over it,” mumbled Catalina. Then she jolted up and turned in surprise. “That was supposed to be in Catalan.” She tried again. “My, what a lovely donkey you have.” She looked up, her eyes wide and fearful. “My God … what’s happened?”

“There’s only one language in Limbo,” said Kingston. “No secrets from Death and all that.”

Joanna cocked her head to one side and tried her German. “Good afternoon, which way is the …” Her eyes lit up when she realised Kingston was telling the truth.

“Let’s not all practise,” said Kingston. “We have work to do.”

“Yes,” said Death. “Perhaps you would all like to continue in the board room? We should keep you out of the public’s eye for as long as possible.” Death pushed the doors open and held them in place as Kingston, Joanna, John, and Catalina stepped into his office. “I’m sure Michelle will be with you in a moment. Have a seat and make yourselves comfortable. If you’ll excuse me, I have a presidential election to win.” He returned to his desk and Kingston guided the others to the side room that had only recently seen a revolution rise and fall within its walls.

A few minutes later Michelle brought in an espresso for Kingston, John, and Joanna, and a glass of water for Catalina, who was still aggressively dismissing the virtues of coffee. She even threw her hands across her face and proclaimed, “My God, the Devil is winning every hand!”

Michelle returned with a couple of files and a map of Limbo. Joanna could tell Kingston was quickly trying to count everything in sight but it was too much for him. “Eight hundred thousand people, you say?”

“Yes, all living here,” said Michelle.

The map was huge, covering half of the grand table. The number of buildings stretched for several kilometres in every direction with central boulevards and parklands spread out. There was no public transport system.

“Do people walk everywhere?” Kingston asked.

“Mostly,” said Michelle. “You can teleport if you’ve reached a level six pay grade, or if you have union benefits, but even so it gets boring and you walk to the corner store just to stretch your legs.”

“How many pay grades are there?” Joanna asked.

“Eleven.” Michelle circled the map. “One is the highest, eleven is entry level. The main buildings for sorting are here. This is us here in the middle with the Limbo Pavilion stretching along here. Pay grades eleven to seven usually live and work around here, so they don’t have far to walk. And they can use the teleport circles, though there never seem to be enough of those around. It might take them fifteen minutes to get to and from work, so it’s not that bad. The higher grades live farther away, but they can teleport freely so that’s the benefit there. Their apartments are also more spacious. The eleven’s are pretty cramped together. It’s not exactly housing commission, but it is fairly basic.”

Michelle looked around at the four eager faces, all waiting to hear her say it. “Yes, I’m a pay grade one.”

John whistled. Joanna cocked her head to one side, thinking it was highly unusual for a secretary to be at the top of the pecking order, then she remembered that Michelle was probably the second most influential person in the realm.

“So, you earn the same as Death?” Catalina asked.

“Death works for free.”

All at once, the four new arrivals stared at each other. “Huh?”

“For free?”

“Why?”

Michelle shrugged. “Technically, no one really needs to earn any money here. The pay system is in place to make the transition from Life to Limbo a little less problematic. It gives people a goal to work for. There are two jobs in Limbo that are unpaid, the president of Limbo and the CEO of Death Incorporated.”

“He works two unpaid jobs?” Catalina said. “My God.” She wished she had said that in Catalan and spontaneously swore, thinking that would also be in Catalan. She balled her fists up and shook her head. “It’s like I can’t say anything any more.”

“Death found that if the two highest jobs in Limbo were unpaid then no one would really try to go for them, since there seems to be little benefit. It turns out people are not all that altruistic. Besides, he has a couple of warehouses full of stuff, so it’s not like he needs to buy the newest of sofas when he has thousands in storage.”

Kingston looked over the map. “He has warehouses? Where?”

“Come on,” said Michelle, rolling her eyes. “You really want to go and find all the stuff that Death has hidden away?”

Kingston looked around the other faces and then nodded. “Yes! I want to know what kind of crap Death keeps lying around!”

“I can hear you, you know?” said Death from the other room.

Kingston quickly lowered his voice. “It’s just … that kind of thing is interesting.”

“Well, it’s not on the map,” said Michelle. “Back to the bank. It’s eight blocks from the main building of Death Incorporated, right here. There is a teleport circle just in front of it. As you can see it’s a long, thin rectangle. The entrance is on the thin side here, on Upper Styx Avenue. I guess they were designing it with a Greek influence because it’s white and lined with columns.”

“Two hundred and nineteen people work there?” Kingston asked.

“Officially, yes.”

“Unofficially?”

“No idea, but it is supposed to be two hundred and nineteen. There might be some link between large loans and the arrival of celebrities, so keep an eye out for that.”

Kingston looked over the report on the table. “That’s not mentioned here, is it?”

“No, it was discovered by an incompetent reporter,” Michelle said, gritting her teeth.

“So it could be fake?”

“I would love it to be fake, but if it’s true it might give you a good starting point,” Michelle said.

“There’s only one bank, isn’t there?” Kingston asked.

“That’s right.”

“And what exactly does it do?” Kingston knew it was a vague question and only Joanna was nodding next to him, thinking it over as well. “I mean, I’ve been told it handles the payroll, but is it also a vault? What about safe deposit boxes? How does the bank make money? Does it deal in loans and mortgages? Does it bet on any kind of financial system?”

“Yes to all of those,” said Michelle. “I’m not an expert but I do read the reports when they come through. And, when I was starting out I got a loan to buy an apartment on the west side near the Great Ponds. Most things are paid for by debit. You just scan your ID card and okay the receipt and it’s yours. There’s very little cash in the realm, most of the money is theoretical. Everyone with a job in Limbo is an employee of Death Inc., so there should be a lot less greed within the bank and it should present a fair appearance to everyone. It does bet on a financial system, but that financial system is within Hell and Limbo has almost no influence on it, so it’s supposed to be a purely observational betting system and it doesn’t make much money. You have to understand that people work here not really for the financial reward, but for the quality of life, so to speak. The raises are automatic, you just have to work here for long enough and meet enough performance targets.”

“How long have you been here?” Joanna asked.

“Eight hundred years,” said Michelle.

Joanna’s jaw dropped open. “Wow!”

“My God,” said Catalina. She balled her fists up again.

“And I’m only twenty,” mumbled John.

Michelle shrugged. “It can be fun. I’ve worked my way up doing almost every job.”

“Ever think of being president?” asked Kingston, with a wink.

Michelle shuddered. “No, no, no, no, no. Never.”

“Who’s vice president?” asked Joanna.

“Aw, that’s cute,” said Michelle. “We don’t have one.”

“Really? What if the current president is killed?”

Michelle shook her head. “People don’t die in Limbo.”

“Wasn’t a billionaire flayed in Limbo?” Joanna asked.

“No, he could not have been killed in Limbo. He was killed in Hell. If something happens and you’re killed in Limbo, you’re resurrected immediately. And if you kill someone you are sentenced immediately and get sent to Hell. It takes about an hour. Since most people know who killed them you’d have to be very creative to get away with it. If that’s the case Death just sends in the scouts and tracks down the killer or poisoner or whoever. I hear there’s a special room in Hell just for murderers of Limbo residents, full of nails and chalkboards.” She smiled when Joanna shuddered. “There’s also a room of dentists drills.” She had another opportunity to smile.

“I imagine killing Death is also pretty difficult,” said Kingston.

“Theoretically impossible,” said Michelle. “He’s one of the Eternals.”

John tried to stand up but the alcohol was still too much of a challenge. “Hang on there, just … woah.” He fell back into his chair.

“Easy baby,” said Catalina.

“Thanks love. So, is that what we’re up against? Another Eternal? Another usurper?”

“I don’t think so. There is definitely something happening at the bank, more so than just sloppy paperwork and accidental theft. It’s deliberate and whoever is doing it is very good at covering their tracks. We don’t even know what is wrong. No money goes missing, none of the vaults are broken into, but every so often someone comes along and asks about any ongoing investigations into the bank. Then when we have a look we find that it has a near perfect record.”

Kingston nodded. “I guess you’re only looking for theft, so as long as no one is stealing anything they can get away with whatever else they have going on the side.”

“Pretty much,” said Michelle.

John thought it over as carefully as he could. “So there’s some kind of magic hoodwinking everyone, right?” He then cocked his head to one side. “You know, ‘hoodwinked’ sounds a lot better in Sherwood English than what we’re speaking right now.”

“That kind of thing isn’t easy,” said Michelle.

Kingston stared at the map and pointed to one of the buildings. “This says there’s an apothecary right here.”

“An apotha what?” John asked.

“That’s more like a hospital,” said Michelle.

“But there’s a hospital right next door,” said Joanna, pointing to the map.

“The apothecary is in charge of brews and potions.” Michelle glanced up to the ceiling and thought about how she phrased it. “That sounds a little outdated. Your equivalent would be a chemist or a pharmacy. It’s where you go if you need something for an upset stomach or a headache.”

“Right,” said Kingston. “But here people can teleport, some can see through walls, hear over great distances, see into the past, there are dragons …”

Joanna snapped her attention around. “I want to see a dragon!”

“No, that sounds scary,” said Catalina. “They’re bigger than you expect, right?”

Joanna almost squealed in excitement. “I hope so. I was never a unicorn girl, I always wanted to see a dragon.”

“There’s a couple in the visitor’s entrance, but they’re on rotation,” said Michelle. “Right now we have winged lions. They’re all just statues.”

Joanna turned excitedly to Kingston and dropped into a whisper. “Can we go there?”

“Getting back to the point …” said Kingston, “there are statues that come to life. There’s a lot of magic here. I imagine a bank isn’t going to be easy to investigate.”

“Of course it is,” said Michelle. “You two broke into the most sophisticated security system in book four, didn’t you?”

“I think our author allowed that to happen,” said Kingston. “This is more of a real world situation with long term consequences.”

Michelle smiled at Kingston. “Well, as long as there are people to talk to you shouldn’t have a problem. People are the weak link. You’re good with them, aren’t you?”

“Do these people have magic powers?” Kingston asked.

“Yes, but a lot of them are idiots,” said Michelle, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling. “Trust me, have you ever tried dating someone from a bank?”

“Yes,” said Joanna.

Kingston nodded. “Idiots, huh? I can work with that.”

“You know, this whole thing could be just a distraction,” said Joanna. “Someone is making the bank just a little too mysterious and drawing our attention that way, while we’re missing something else in another area.”

Michelle shrugged. “Then hopefully you’ll uncover who’s doing the mysterious banking voodoo thing and they will lead us directly to whatever it is they are covering up.”

“There is that possibility, yes,” said Joanna, nodding slowly and wishing she had said that herself.

“How many people die a day?” John asked.

“Ay, please …” mumbled Catalina.

“I was just curious.”

“A quarter of a million people,” said Michelle. “We have files on all of them. I remember being a sorter. Normally you don’t cover your home region in case you bump into someone you once knew … that gets a little awkward. One of the reapers got turned around and led descendants of my town to me by accident. Food poisoning.”

“That’s horrible!” cried Catalina.

“It was seven hundred years ago so I’m okay now,” said Michelle, smiling weakly. “The hard part was realising that none of my own descendants had even heard of me.”

“All this death,” mumbled Catalina. “Why would anyone want to work here?”

“Babe, ssshhhh,” said John.

Kingston saw a look of pleading in John’s eyes and quickly turned to face the group. “Right, game plan time. We need to see this bank for ourselves and explore the surrounding area. Now, four people going in at once might look like we’re casing the place for a robbery … Michelle, does the bank ever get robbed?”

Michelle folded her arms over. “You remember when I mentioned that part about finding a murderer within an hour and they get sent to Hell? That wasn’t a figure of speech. We really are that efficient.”

“Okay, so no robbing the bank?”

“No robbing anything because the courts are quick to get rid of the problem and Satan’s policy is ‘the more the merrier.’”

Catalina winced and shrunk back into her chair. John did his best to comfort her but he also looked to Kingston and Joanna to help move things away from Hell and the miseries within.

Kingston clapped his hands together and started pointing. “So we’ll go in pairs, walk inside, learn the names of each of the employees, get their files if we can, find out what they do on their down time.”

Michelle arched an eyebrow at them. “You really think you’ll be able to leave the building?”

Kingston cocked his head to one side. “Does the bank have a ‘you can never leave’ policy?”

“She’s talking about this building, honey,” said Joanna, tapping him gently on the hand.

Michelle finally smiled at Joanna and looked over Kingston as though he was a baby deer. “You kinda jumped ahead to the game plan speech. You’re first going to have to become residents of Limbo. You’ll need ID cards, an orientation meeting for new arrivals, and a place to live, because Death is not going to put you up in his board room. You’ll also, funnily enough, need a bank account, which you’ll get to set up in person. The good news is you’ll be starting out on a pay grade of eleven.”

“That’s good?” Joanna asked.

“It’s good that I told you about it before so that your expectations were not excessively high.”

Catalina raised her hand. “Can I say something?”

Kingston felt the hesitation building and wished he could tell Catalina to stay quiet, but he couldn’t risk the backlash. “Shoot.”

“I don’t want to go snooping around a bank.”

“How about snooping around people?”

“Ay, how crazy. No. I was glad to help you and John try to rescue Joanna. That was a story of passion and integrity. But this is just looking around a building where people keep their money. You think there’s a problem there because no one can find a problem. It’s stupid. I think we’ve been tricked by Death and the Devil and they have us here doing their bidding. If Death really is so powerful then why can’t he go and handle it?”

Everyone looked around and leaned towards the door leading into Death’s office. He was typically quiet at that moment, leading Catalina to roll her eyes. “I know he heard that.”

Joanna gave Catalina a sideways hug. “Kingston and I are great at corporate espionage. Death is great at … uh …”

“Presiding over Limbo,” said Kingston.

“Exactly!” said Joanna. “This is our area of expertise, not his.”

Michelle smiled at the group. “I’ll get you a couple of newspapers to read through so you can catch up on what’s been happening. I’ll then see what we can do about housing you for the night and then putting you into orientation for tomorrow.”

“Do we really need orientation?” Kingston asked. “I mean, we’re trying to be incognito here.”

“You’re going to need to know everything you can about Limbo in order to be incognito, right? Last time we found you in half an hour because you clearly did not belong here.” Michelle left and closed the board room doors behind her.

“Half an hour?” Joanna asked.

“I got caught in a tailor’s,” said Kingston. “The statue turned to look at me and kinda freaked me out.”

“Yes, they freak me out too,” said Catalina. She shuddered when she remembered the stone grim reapers watching her.

IV

Orientation turned out to be far more taxing than Kingston could have guessed. Since Death still wanted to keep Kingston’s presence in Limbo a secret and not allow the situation to become a celebrity frenzy, he sectioned off one corner of Inhuman Resources and announced that this was where Kingston and the others would be living, working, and studying for the time being. An elderly gentleman, last alive in 1916, was brought in to help Kingston and the others settle into Limbo. His name was Pablo and he used to train orientation instructors. He wore a faded brown cardigan and moved around with the help of a walking stick. He seemed to wince whenever he sat down and needed to ask John for some help whenever he got out of his chair. Still, he was the best private tutor Death had for the time being, because he could never remember anyone’s names. John was ‘Tall One’, Catalina was ‘Miss’, Joanna was ‘Well’ and Kingston was ‘Eh.’ A typical Pablo opening round of communication seemed to be:

“Tall One, can you tell me the name of the executive building of Limbo?”

“Miss, where could one find the form A1-17 for Correcting a Mis-Sorting?”

“Well, that was a good question. You might find the answer in your pamphlet there.”

“Eh … perhaps we can stay on topic?”

He was still baffled by each of their questions and answers. He always forgot who asked what, and he swore one of them hadn’t even heard of a typewriter. Even writing down their former next of kin became a hassle, forcing Pablo to insist that he was only following the manual. He didn’t like the whispers of “Just make it up” coming from the foursome and lost a lot of time querying their stories, making sure Tall One and Miss were honest when their next of kin seemed to be Richard of Lionheartshire and Felipe Doscaras.

Pablo came around to collect their paperwork and paused when John raised his hand. “Yes?”

“In this name part …”

“Yes, your name. Please write it clearly.”

“And whatever I write becomes my official name, yeah?”

“Yes, so it’s very important to write it clearly, otherwise you may find yourself -”

John quickly interrupted Pablo, saving him from a particularly long story. “So I can change my name, right?”

Catalina gasped. “My love, no …”

Pablo scratched his head. “You want to change your name?”

“Well, ‘Little’ was always a nickname. It began with my grandfather. He was Little Senior, my dad was Little Junior, and I was just Little. Except I was also John. So since this is a time for establishing new precedents I’m interested in John Nottingham.”

Kingston glanced over. “Really? Why?”

“Because no one wants to be called Little John,” said Little John.

“I mean, why Nottingham and not Sherwood?”

John shrugged. “It sounds better.”

“But Little John is famous,” said Catalina.

“And I will still be Little John,” said Little John. “But only to my friends. To everyone else I will be John Nottingham. Can I add a second last name, like ‘Extraordinaire’? For special occasions?”

“Ay,” groaned Catalina.

Pablo gave them all a weak nod. “You can, but -”

“No,” said Catalina. Then she pointed at Pablo. “No.” To John: “No.” And finally to Kingston, which she added with a glare. “No.”

Pablo shrugged. “You may write whatever you like, just as long as you do so clearly.”

John beamed with a smile and filled in his details with the finest of penmanship.

“I still love you, Little John,” said Catalina.

“I know, babe.”

Joanna smiled at the duelling couple and looked back to Pablo. “So this pay grade thing. How does that work?”

Pablo glanced over his notes. “Money, yes. Well, it’s a bit of an archaic system. There are gold coins, see. And then there are silver coins. You follow? Then there are copper.”

“And how much goes into each?”

“Ten,” said Pablo. “We went metric at the start of the 1800s. Prices haven’t exactly changed over the last century, so an eleven would earn one gold piece a day. Every grade they climbed in pay they earn an extra silver piece.”

“So a one would earn two gold and one silver a day?”

“I don’t quite have the numbers in front of me, but it’s something like that,” mumbled Pablo. “When you get a raise, it’s in copper.”

“So how come some people work in bars and restaurants and not for Death?” Catalina asked.

Pablo sighed and ran one hand across the top of his head. “Well, Miss, at the end of your contract with Limbo you can set up your own business, or guild, or union, and recruit from there.”

He was used to the questions coming out of order, but the one thing Pablo hated most of all was being interrupted by Michelle when he was in the middle of a particularly riveting story of a work place situation gone awry. Michelle seemed to come by three times a day to take his students away for yet another important meeting.

“But my dear, there is no more important meeting than this one!” Pablo cried.

“I know, but this won’t take a minute,” Michelle always said. She brought Kingston and the group up to speed on what the previous investigations into the bank had unearthed. Which was almost nothing. Still, that required three meetings a day.

Their improvised accommodation wasn’t all that inspiring either. There were a thousand empty offices in Inhuman Resources and Kingston was pretty sure he could fire off a cannon in every direction and no one else would hear it. Michelle had brought in some furniture but it was still very strange trying to maintain a high level of privacy with a long corridor running through their hideout. Kingston and Joanna shared one room that was big enough for just one double bed and some lamps. To the left of the bedroom was an office used as their closet, to the right was a small sitting area with a pair of sofas. John and Catalina had the same arrangement down the corridor. It was awkward at night whispering to each other in bed, knowing that there was just a flimsy door maintaining their privacy. Even walking past the deserted offices was creepy enough. It reminded Kingston of the time when he and Joanna were hiding out in a nearly deserted hotel and how ghostly that felt.

There was a kitchenette with a sign reading ‘Your mother’s dead so please wash your own cups after every use’. There was a unisex bathroom with sixteen stalls, where John spent a good deal of time trying to figure out which one should be his. There was a shower alcove around the corner which Joanna found was so large it reminded her of every nightmare as a kid of standing in front of a school assembly while naked.

There was a lot to take in and even more to study. While Kingston and Joanna were in their element, learning from books and reports, and understanding what might be useful and what could be discarded, Catalina didn’t hold up as well as she hoped for. She had never studied before and didn’t understand how Kingston and Joanna could do it so quietly. John didn’t look all that bothered about the volume of learning material and it irritated Catalina to no end that he understood what she said aloud better than she did, since Catalina studied by speaking to herself, and John studied by listening to his girlfriend as she tried to simplify it all so that she could make some sense of what she was saying. After being quiet for half an hour John merely recited it back to Catalina and she was sure that he understood it all from the beginning.

One morning John stood along the corridor and watched with some sense of wonder as four desks were delivered to four offices. He was in his bathrobe with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth and a cup of toothpasty water he used to dunk with every now and then. He was utterly baffled by the meaning of the four desks. Then Michelle came along with four desk plaques, each with their names on it. John instantly turned into a gleeful thirteen year old boy with responsibilities.

“I get my own office?”

“You sure do.”

“You mean … really … my own office?”

“Yes John, this one is yours.”

“Ohmigodthisisthebestthingthatseverhappenedtome! Catalina! Look! I have an office!”

Pablo was still coaching them for a career in Inhuman Resources, even though Michelle told them that was simply a cover story. The paperwork was immense. They spent six days working through various forms and security questions, emergency details and breaking down their rights and privileges as residents of Limbo. Unfortunately, there was a Residency Test coming up and if anyone scored less than eighty percent they would be immediately sorted into Hell. It was exactly that sort of reminder from Pablo that Catalina hated.

“I assure you,” said Michelle, “no one is getting sorted into Hell.”

“But if anyone fails the test …”

“None of you are in the system,” said Michelle, while trying to be as sympathetic as possible. “You were never alive. You can’t be sorted into Hell.”

“Ay, for the love of … that’s not a good answer!” shouted Catalina.

“None of you can be sorted into Hell,” said Michelle, as clearly as she could.

“Exactly! None of us can afford to be sorted into Hell and that’s exactly what’s in our future!” cried Catalina. “No, no, I can’t do this. I want to go back to Florence. Or to my home town in Catalonia. You take me back.”

“I can’t. I -”

Catalina’s eyes flared and she stamped her heels on the ground. “Take me back!”

“Catalina, babe? Everything okay?” John asked, as he came out of his office.

“No, not everything is okay. Hell is just around the corner and by this time next week there is a good chance you and I will never see each other again, because I have no hope of passing that exam and every chance of being booted off to Hell.” She reeled around onto Michelle. “You said there was a room of nails and chalkboards?”

Michelle hesitated for a little too long. “That’s just a rumour.”

“John? My love? I want to go home.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?” John asked. “A back rub?”

“No! I want to go home! I want to see my mama again. I am this close to Hell and my God I need to leave. Take me back!”

Michelle returned with Death five minutes later. The corner of Inhuman Resources was far too quiet as Kingston, Joanna, and John stood in their own doorways, watching Death and Michelle walk towards them. Death looked through the door and shifted his focus to see Catalina inside. “Oh dear,” he said. He tapped on the door. “Catalina? It’s Death.”

“Ay, my God,” mumbled Catalina.

Death opted not to open the door and thus his smile was wasted on the nervous Catalan. Still, he hoped his tone would make her realise that he was, in fact, being kind. “I was thinking today would be a good time to explore the streets of Limbo, see the shops, try a few restaurants, visit the spa.” He hoped that last offer would entice Catalina to open the door. He then looked around at Joanna, perplexed that Catalina shrugged it off.

“What’s a spa?” Joanna whispered. She shooed her hands forward to get Death to explain.

Death turned in surprise. “Ah! A spa is a relaxing place where you get massaged. You can spend the day in a warm bath and everything is all about you. I’ve already booked you in. You’ll like it. Then, you and John can have a romantic dinner together. Just the two of you. I’ll have my chef make anything you want. Anything. From all of history. What’s your favourite food?” He looked inside the office and knew Catalina was warming up to that idea, but she remained quiet. Death looked over to John for help.

“Her mother’s dumplings,” John whispered. He followed that with a sincere nod.

Death arched an eyebrow at John and sighed. “Your mother’s dumplings.” He saw Catalina sit up and start to look around. “My chef is fantastic. Can make anything. I hope. When you have a chance to walk outside you’ll see that being here is a fairly decent place. There are no accidental sortings, no mishaps, you are safer here than you were anywhere else. I only hire the best people for Limbo. They are all lovely to talk to. You will make friends easily. You can share stories, listen to people from all over the world, have a few drinks, and dine with chefs from every era.”

Catalina crept up to the door and spoke through the solid wood. “How does he know how to make my mother’s dumplings?”

Death paused and thought that one through. “Did you ever see her make them?”

“I helped her once,” said Catalina. “A long time ago.”

Death closed his eyes and focussed through the door. “Can you remember what she was wearing that day?”

Catalina pressed one hand up against the door then leaned in and smiled. “A white skirt and white top with a sash around her waist. The windows were open and Carlos was looking in and talking to her while she was cooking. I had to get her this and that and put it back exactly where I found it. She -”

“Got it,” said Death, with a beaming smile. “Four cups of flour, two cups of milk, four eggs, a dollop of butter, chicken … easy. He’ll be able to whip those up when you come back from the spa.”

Catalina sniffed, then stepped back in surprise. The promise of home cooked dumplings was surely impossible, and yet everything around her was already ludicrous. “Really?”

Death looked around at Michelle and Joanna. “It’s segregated and she’ll need a friend.”

“I’m busy,” said Michelle.

“I know.”

Joanna sighed. “Okay, fine, I’ll go and unstress a Spanish girl.”

“And you can start the day with some shopping,” said Death.

“We just came from Florence,” said Joanna. “We’ve seen all the fancy shops we could possibly handle. Isn’t there a place where we could just get, I don’t know, jeans and a t-shirt?”

“I like what you’re wearing,” said Kingston, looking over Joanna’s business suit.

Joanna waved her hand in dismissal. “I’ve been dressed ready to die at any minute. Now that I’m here I want to be comfortable.”

“We have everything,” said Death. “And you can take your friend to the spa and the both of you will be pampered to such a point of relaxation that it will wash away every ache you had since the day you were born.”

Catalina opened the door. Her face was red and streaked with wiped away tears. “You’ll come with me?” she asked Joanna.

Joanna did her best to look sincere and quickly forced a smile. “Of course. It’ll be fun, won’t it?”

Death clapped his hands together. “Wonderful. If you two would like to wait just outside my office I can have one of the spa attendants come and get you.”

Catalina glanced up to John’s eyes and quickly looked away. “I’m sorry for freaking out.”

“I’ve done much worse,” he said. He gave her a quick hug, then watched his girlfriend follow Death, Michelle, and Joanna along the corridor. When it was all clear John turned to Kingston. “You know, she wasn’t this bad when we were alone in Austria after getting kicked off a train. We didn’t have any papers with us and not much money, but she still had a smile.”

“Yeah …” mumbled Kingston. “I kinda dragged you all out of your own worlds and into mine.” He sighed and looked away. He felt a punch in his chest as he knew he had to offer John a way out, knowing that he and Catalina were in over their heads, but he hoped like hell John would refuse. “Listen, if you two actually want to leave, that’s okay. I know this is more along the lines of what Joanna and I actually do for a living …”

John held his hand up to silence Kingston. “You know what? I always wanted to see the city. Not just something small like Nottingham, but something incredible. Since I met you not only have I seen London, Constantinople, Munich, and Florence … I’ve also travelled back and forth in time. But the absolute best thing was falling for Catalina. I wake up at four in the morning and give her a squeeze. I see her smile and go straight back to sleep. She wasn’t happy where she was. She told me she kept dreaming of a fancy foreigner who would take her away on an adventure. Then I appeared in a suit with a magnificent accent.” John allowed himself a moment of pompous pleasure.

Kingston found himself holding back a laugh at John’s expression. “So maybe reality isn’t what she expected?”

John shrugged. “You can’t have an adventure if everything is exactly as you expected. I myself had never seen a Chinese person before. I had no idea someone like that even existed. I think Catalina is just overloaded on all of the weirdness.”

Kingston smiled. “Culture shock.”

“That’s the one,” said John. “As soon as she’s outside she’ll see it’s all perfectly normal with shops and people and what have you.”

“Good,” said Kingston. Now that he had broken through to whatever was bothering Catalina it was time to check on John. “How are you holding up?”

John shrugged again. “I miss my friends and family.”

Kingston did his best to remain reassuring, though that one hit him hard as well. “I guess I’m lucky then. You guys are my friends and family.”

John shrugged and didn’t seem so sure about that.

“Seriously,” said Kingston. “I got three emails of congratulations from distant friends as soon as Bridgeworks collapsed. I’ve met them all just five or six times in my life. Joanna heard from forty people, mostly from disgruntled former employees. They all assumed we had done it together and they wanted to know when she and I would finally get married, or settle down, or what our next mission in life was to be. So …” Kingston glanced off to the side and shook his head. “Where was I going with that?”

John blurted out a laugh. “I have no idea. You wanted to settle down? Retire, even?”

Kingston sighed. “I don’t know. Five weeks in a hotel room knowing that people are out there looking for revenge …”

“But we won, didn’t we?” said John. “Not just that, but the whole revolution in Limbo thing as well.”

“Yeah, but you and I were almost trapped in Hell, which left Catalina and Joanna wondering if they would ever see us again. There was a very good chance that we were never going to make it out of there.”

John glanced down and dropped his tone. “Oh. I didn’t think that was it at all.”

“What’d you think it was?”

“Nothing,” mumbled John. He gave a non-committal shrug. “I just thought Catalina was afraid of you.”

“What?” spluttered Kingston. “Afraid of me? How on Earth did you get that idea?”

John shook his head again and raised his hands in defence. “I didn’t mean that.”

“I think you did,” nodded Kingston.

“I misspoke.”

“John?”

“I have to study in my office. Good day.” John quickly closed the door and scurried around his desk.

Kingston knocked on the door. “John? If you could explain that last thing?”

“Can’t!” cried John. “Studying!”

“Johhhhn?”

“I have an exam to pass and a girlfriend to cheer up!”

Baffled by the sudden revelation, Kingston walked away with his eyes wide open and realised that he would have to wait several hours before anyone was able to tell him the truth. He wandered along the seemingly endless corridor so he could find somewhere quiet. It mystified him that John understood Catalina so well when he should have had no basis of knowing anything about Spanish women. Then again they did spend all their time together, talking and reliving old stories from their past. Kingston was surprised that a woodsman and a bar maid had so much to talk about, especially since they were both so young with limited life experience. Kingston wondered if that was some of the problems he faced with Joanna. She got to see Catalina and John in the joys of a young and vibrant relationship, whereas Kingston and Joanna were long past that and their conversation skills had suffered since he told her that they were both fictional.

There was certainly no going back to their old lives. Not for any of them. And it was all because of Kingston. He wandered about for an hour, found an empty office at the far end of Inhuman Resources, and sat on the floor hoping that life in Limbo would be kind to them.

He burst into laughter as he realised that idea was hilariously naive, as his and Joanna’s lives careened from one disaster to another.

A few hours later, Kingston walked past Michelle’s desk and found John pacing back and forth with his fingers gently tapping together. He looked like a high schooler waiting for his date to arrive for the big dance, terrified of meeting her parents while he was expected to make small talk with the extended family. There was also a fair amount of swearing coming from the kitchen. Michelle winced as another round of abuse echoed through the walls.

“Fresh four hundred year old Catalan flour … what? What the hell is that? Four eggs from Uncle Marcos’ chickens … oh come on!” There was a slam of measuring cups and metallic bowls hitting the ground as Donato struggled to follow the imprecise recipe.

“I heard he can make anything,” said Kingston.

Michelle winced again. “There’s a difference between, say, sweet and sour pork and my mother’s sweet and sour pork. She never made that, but you get the idea.” Michelle cocked her head to one side and quizzed Kingston. “Do you get the idea?”

“Yeah,” said Kingston. He gave Michelle a smile. “I was thinking about requesting the best chips with mashed potato and gravy. Now I’m not so sure.”

“Hmm, try that right now and he might throw a knife at you,” said Michelle.

“Then I can impress Pablo with my CA-1 medical review form!”

Michelle’s mouth fell open in surprise. “That’s actually correct. And it shouldn’t have even been brought up until your last day of orientation.”

Kingston smirked at Michelle. “Well, my life may be spiralling out of control but I can still whip out a surprise every now and then.” He looked around and saw John dance a quick side step, going over everything he learned from Catalina about dancing while in Italy. He knew it had been one of the highlights of her day whenever they danced, and he was doing his best to improve his salsa skills.

“I told him he can have a seat,” Michelle said.

“Ah, he would, but then he would want to take off his pants,” said Kingston.

Michelle shook her head. “Huh?”

Kingston nodded philosophically. “It’s so they don’t get creased when he sits down. It’s something he learned in Italy and he’s been overly paranoid about creasing anything on purpose, unless he’s already worn it and then he has no problem with leaving his clothes on the floor. It’s either that or he doesn’t want to be caught pantsless in front of an attractive woman when his girlfriend comes around the corner.”

Michelle shot Kingston a wry smile. “Who’s the attractive woman?”

Kingston winked at her and looked over her desk. “Is that today’s newspaper?”

“It is. You’re not in it.”

“Damn it,” said Kingston.

“I think Death would be mortified if you even made it into the last page.” She smiled at Kingston and swivelled gently in her chair.

Kingston peered at her suspiciously. “Whaaaaat?”

“It’s been a while since someone flirted with me,” said Michelle.

“Jeez, keep it together Michelle, we’re supposed to be professionals!”

John looked over. “What’s going on?”

“Apparently Michelle has a crush on me,” said Kingston.

“I do not!”

“Satan said you did.”

Michelle’s jaw dropped open. “Ohhhh, I will wring his neck!”

Kingston leaned in closer. “So it’s true?”

“You … what? You mean …”

“It’s okay, you’re only human,” said Kingston.

Michelle scoffed and turned away.

“Besides, we were trapped together for three days. Plenty of time for Stockholm Syndrome to kick in.”

“Are you quite done?” Michelle asked.

Kingston looked away, smiled to himself, and turned back to Michelle. “I could only imagine the horror you would go through if I was actually Satan in disguise and that we’ve been flirting together.”

Michelle grinned and leaned over her desk. “I can tell when a mortal is nervously waiting for his girlfriend to return.”

Kingston tempted fate and dropped into his best impersonation of Satan’s accent. “Michelle, my dear, you have no idea.”

She arched one eyebrow at Kingston and nodded. “That was pretty good.”

“Thank you. I kinda learned the hard way not to do that in the shower in front of Joanna.”

Michelle did her best to hold back a laugh. “You kinda learned?”

“Well when you discover these rare talents you feel yourself trying to practice them as often as possible.”

“And you thought impersonating Satan would be a good idea while you and Joanna were in the shower?”

“It was a …”

“Slight error in judgement?”

“Something like that,” said Kingston.

“Oh good. We’ve only hired you to investigate one of the most powerful institutions in the afterlife and you’re prone to making slight errors of judgement.” Michelle leaned in towards Kingston and dropped her voice to a whisper. “So what happened with you and Joanna after we rescued her?”

Kingston gave her a feeble shrug. “We’ve gone through several existential crises since then and it sucked the life out of us.”

Michelle rolled her eyes at Kingston. “Sweetie, that kind of thing happens to everyone who comes through here, and again when they are sorted into Hell when they believed they had done nothing wrong in their lives.”

“Yeah, though realising that you are fictional and that nothing you’ve done actually matters? That one takes it out of you.”

“Perhaps realising that what you did in Life doesn’t mean anything is also cause for some serious heart break. Plus, you kinda cheated by reading your books. You took the easy way out.”

“I got tired of them always trying to kill us,” said Kingston. “Besides, it’s not canon. You’ll have your gripping resolution in book seven. No doubt it’ll be called Kingston Raine and the Fall of the Shanghai Werewolf, or something stupid like that.”

Michelle glanced at the display sitting on her desk and looked around to John. “They’re back.”

John came to a complete halt and brushed himself down quickly.

“You have a couple of minutes until they actually come around the corner, so you can relax sweetie.”

“Oh,” said John.

There was another outburst from the kitchen and Michelle hurried off to quieten it down by first making it noisier. “Donato! It’s not hard! You have all of the ingredients here!”

“No! I don’t!”

“You have a full chef’s apothecary to get the perfect taste!”

“How am I supposed to know if these are the exact ingredients she is used to having? What’s it even supposed to taste like? I can give her my dumplings, no problem, but how am I supposed to give her her mum’s when I can’t even go to North or South to ask her?”

“Just make it happen!” shouted Michelle. She came back to her desk, calm and composed, just as Joanna and Catalina walked around the corner. Their eyes were droopy and there was a dreamy smile on each of their faces. They were also wearing jeans and t-shirts, and it looked as though their clothes had been warmed just before the girls put them on.

“Babe!” cried John, who suddenly felt very over dressed in his three piece suit.

“My love,” mumbled Catalina. She carried a deep grin and far away eyes that would linger for hours.

“Are you okay?”

“Ahhhhh yeeeeesss. Ay, what a day. Did you miss me?”

John snorted a laugh. “Yeah, I missed you.” He leaned in and squeezed her tightly.

“What did you miss about me?” grinned Catalina.

John thought it over quickly and liked that they were back to silly flirting. “I missed your hair.”

“My hair …” said Catalina, dreamily and half asleep.

“And your eyes.”

“My eyes …”

Kingston walked over to Joanna and saw the same look in her. “How was it?”

Joanna gawked a stupid laugh. “They know their stuff, that’s for sure. We spent hours just lying there. Catalina told me this, I told her that, it was all very good. I told them all about your oily T-zone and they told me to get you a facial rub, or something. They told me but I forgot. I should lie down.”

The chef, Donato della Morte, appeared in the doorway and looked over to John and Catalina. “Sir, ma’am, the entrées will be ready shortly and the main course will be the finest Donato della Morte has ever prepared. Would you like to come and have a seat?”

Catalina breathed in and smelled what was coming from the kitchen. Her eyes went wide and she started to tear up. In an instant her senses brought her back home and she was surrounded by her family. “Mama,” she mumbled.

“You see?” said John. “This place is fantastic.”

Catalina was almost lifted off her feet. “That smell …”

“Trust in John and everything will go well. I even helped.”

“You did?”

“Yes. I picked out your favourite flowers. Yellow gerberas.”

“You did!?”

John gave her a dignified nod. “I did.”

“Awww. I love you my love.”

John squeezed Catalina. “I love you too. Shall we eat?”

“Yes please.”

They stumbled into Death’s private dining room. Catalina gasped at the sight of two hundred gerberas in the room and started tearing up again.

Still standing next to Michelle’s desk, Kingston couldn’t help but feel a moment of pride for John and Catalina. They were working on their difficulties and it was sweet seeing them as new lovers in a vibrant alien world.

“Kingston?” Joanna asked.

Kingston turned and hoped the romance would carry through Joanna as well. “Yes?”

“It was a good day.”

Later that night, while Joanna slept, Kingston picked up the stack of newspapers from Michelle’s desk and went to catch up on his general knowledge. The newspaper wasn’t all that large and had no advertising. There was a separate paper, The Advertiser, which reminded everyone where all of the shops were, but there were never any discounts and no going out of business sales.

There was one section covering the political landscape with the tiniest of paragraphs dedicated to Death’s only opponent in the election - Manuel Hands. Kingston had to look through three more newspapers just to find the guy’s name, since the polls were listed as ‘Death - 99.9% / Other - 0.1%’ and even then there was a margin of error of +/- 0.5%.

The greater story in the newspaper was about the flayed man found lying in Navi Lane just off Uka Pacha Way. Most people had the opinion that one death out of two hundred billion souls for the first time in history was tolerable. They also thought he had been trying to escape Hell and he was flayed as a natural consequence of breaking through the barriers of the realms.

Kingston heard John walking carefully along the corridor. He looked out from his office and saw his friend carrying Catalina in his arms. She was fast asleep after their meal. Kingston hurried out to help open John’s bedroom door. John gave him a nod of thanks and carried Catalina inside.

“How’d it go?” whispered Kingston.

“Best dinner ever,” John said. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Kingston knew the next few days were going to be ridiculously busy, full of studying and listening to Pablo drone on and on about workplace situations and B4-A1-19 forms. But at least Kingston was confident of passing the residency exam.

V

Pablo stared at the results of the four exams. “I’m a little … I mean … a very good job from all of you.”

Kingston smiled with the confidence of having never failed an exam in his life. “We passed?”

Pablo scratched his head. “Yes, and uh … perhaps you could hand the papers back, eh?”

Kingston took the exams and glanced over the names and results. Catalina scored ninety seven percent. Joanna scored ninety four. John scored ninety three. Kingston scored eighty one. In an instant Kingston shuffled through his exam paper to see where he went wrong. “Eighty one? Eighty one!”

“Well done,” said John.

“How did I get the lowest?” Kingston asked.

“Kingston honey,” mumbled Joanna.

Kingston looked around and realised that Death, or at least Michelle, must have tampered with all of the exams to produce those specific results and make it look like no one had cheated. Still, Kingston had studied enough to score one hundred and fifteen percent, the theoretical limit if he included the optional questions, which he had.

“I suppose this concludes our session,” said Pablo. “No remedial courses for any of you. I have your ID passes now.” Pablo stuffed his hand into his jacket pocket and clumsily pulled out four cards, sorted them out and stared at the names with mild panic. “I’ll just leave them on the desk here and you can collect them, okay?”

“That’s it?” Kingston asked.

“That’s it,” Pablo said. “Best of luck then.”

“What about our bank accounts?”

“Oh, ah, just take your ID passes with you and wait in line.”

“Which line?” Kingston asked.

“The one in the bank.”

“Is there only one line?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t been there in a while,” said Pablo, edging towards the door with his walking stick.

“What’s the best way there?”

“Eh, I suppose you could ask someone for directions. I really must get back to work now. It was a pleasure meeting you all.”

“Farewell Pablo!” called out John.

“Yes, Tall One, farewell.” Pablo slid out of the room and wandered through the thousand empty offices of Inhuman Resources towards his exit.

Kingston spun around to face the others. “Eighty one percent!”

“You passed, honey. We all did. And Catalina did the best.”

Catalina was still staring at the results, then she hurried through the pages to double check that it was still correct. That prompted Kingston to do the same. He found several areas where his real answer had been rewritten to something less perfect. Catalina, though, looked up with a dumbfounded expression on her face.

“I actually got ninety seven percent,” she mumbled.

“Babe, I’m proud of you!” said John.

Joanna looked through Catalina’s exam and checked it over as well. “She did. These are all of her answers.”

Kingston sighed and dropped his paper onto the table. He didn’t know what Michelle or Death were playing at and why he deserved the lowest score. He had a reputation to protect, after all.

“I’m done!” shouted Catalina. “I passed and I’m done!”

“Hazzah!” cried John, and he threw his arms around her.

Catalina, likewise, dove in to kiss him. “Promise me no more exams, okay? Promise!”

Michelle came around the corner and smiled at them all. “Congratulations.”

“Yeah, thanks,” said Kingston. “Hey, quick question. Why did I only score an eighty one?”

“Perhaps you should focus on the more important task of actually investigating the bank,” said Michelle.

“Yeah, I think I would be better suited if I wasn’t distracted …”

“How lovely. I have message from Death. ‘Go and investigate the bank.’ End of message.” Michelle smiled and went back to her desk.

John clapped his hands together. “Celebration?”

“Hell yeah!” said Joanna. “Where to?”

“We’re supposed to remain hidden,” mumbled Kingston.

Joanna rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah, like you ever remain hidden.”

“I am as incognito as they come!”

“No, whoever is the mastermind behind the bank is as incognito as they come because they’ve eluded even the slightest hint of suspicion. You end up being the centre of attention no matter where you go. So let’s celebrate!”

Their festivities were cut short when Michelle delivered a box of paperwork to Kingston’s office. She dumped several more boxes laden with reports in the corridor.

“Ha. There,” sighed Michelle.

“What’s all this?” Kingston asked.

“General operations of the bank,” said Michelle. “You may want to read through them and figure out what’s wrong.”

Kingston stared at the mountain of paperwork and it nearly froze his mind. There had to be thousands of pages in just one box. He counted … sixteen, sixteen boxes! “One more question.”

“Yes?”

“Death has read everything you have here?”

“He has,” said Michelle.

“And he didn’t find anything wrong?”

“He did not.”

“Right,” said Kingston.

Michelle smiled back at him. “But you lot know how to find things that are unusual, don’t you?”

Catalina saw the pile of paperwork as well and closed her eyes, mumbled to herself for the heavens to give her patience in this ordeal. She felt the mountain of studying begin all over again.

Kingston clapped his hands together. “We need disguises and false IDs.” His first port of call was to check with Joanna. “Who are you going as? The countess? The executive?”

“The executive will be better, more generic,” said Joanna.

“Nope,” said Michelle, shaking her head. “No secrets from Death. You’re either doing this as yourselves or you’re not doing this at all.”

Kingston leaned back and gave her an odd look. “That’s quite a handicap, there. We’re used to infiltrating. Disguises, charades, masquerades.”

Michelle rolled her eyes. “You’re going to be here for potentially another thousand years. These people know how to find a fraud and get them sent to Hell.”

“A thousand years?” Joanna mumbled. She turned pale.

“I’m not going in with nothing prepared,” said Kingston.

“Then be careful,” said Michelle. “People here have read about you and they know your stories. You are the most famous person in Limbo, aside from Death. You won’t be able to slip through the crowd like you used to. You have to work on that angle because it’s the only thing you will have going for you. They’re going to figure you out very quickly.”

Joanna cocked her head to one side and squinted at Michelle. “How quickly?”

“We have seers, psychics, and scouts. We have letters that find you instantly. And half of the population are currently reading your books because of what Kingston did during the uprising.”

Joanna turned and glared at Kingston. All of their tricks were now useless. All of their inner monologues were open for the public to read and read again. Every fear they had was well known and all of their insecurities could be picked at.

“I’m going to have to read these books,” said Joanna.

“Don’t,” said Kingston. “It’ll mess with your mind.”

Joanna still glared at him, knowing full well that he had read every secret she held from him and there was no way she could resist knowing what Kingston had learned from the series. It had been pointed out to her many times in her life that she and Kingston were the same soul split in two, which was unfair on so many levels. She was going to find a copy of those books and level the playing field.

Michelle felt the tension in the corridor rise and decided to ease it back a little. “Besides, all you’re doing is opening a bank account. I’ll leave you to it, then!” Michelle turned and walked away.

“My God,” mumbled Catalina, shaking her head and wishing she could walk away as well.

John wondered if he should step into his office until everything blew over. Instead, he smacked his lips and wished he wasn’t about to ask the question, but he felt compelled to do so anyway. “You know how you two took down Bridgeworks?”

“Yeah?”

“How old was that company?”

“It had been around for sixty years,” said Kingston.

“And the CEO and bad guys had been there for …?”

“The CEO had been there for twenty five years and was among the longest serving in the company. He was certainly the longest senior executive,” said Kingston. Then he saw John’s point. “Ah.”

“Yeah,” mumbled John. “This bank is probably a thousand years old and I wouldn’t be surprised if the executives have all been here for over a hundred years already. That’s a lot of long term secrets to sort through.”

The files on the bank and employees were forty thousand pages long. Even at their best, Kingston and Joanna couldn’t read through everything in less than two hundred days. Nor would they remember enough to make any use out of it. The foursome stared at the mountain of paperwork and jumped when Kingston clapped his hands together.

“Right. All of the employee details, accounts and numbers to me, including incomes and salaries, and any financial motive … over here. Social groups, personal notes, permission slips to date a colleague … over to Joanna.”

John glanced from Kingston to Joanna. “Makes sense. He takes the work life, she takes the social.”

“That’s because they prefer to hang out with me,” said Joanna, smiling from ear to ear.

Kingston rolled his head at his girlfriend. “We’re investigating a bank, honey.”

“No, we are investigating bankers.”

Catalina grinned at Kingston. “She’s got you there.”

“I’ll bet you anything the motive is financial,” said Kingston.

Joanna nodded. “And I bet we’ll find out more in ten minutes of talking to someone when they’re hanging out with friends than in a month of chit chatting in some executive dining room.”

Kingston arched an eyebrow at Joanna. “In just ten minutes?”

“Yeah. And when I’m right you can buy me dinner.”

Kingston reached out and shook Joanna’s hand. “Done. But when you lose, and you will, remember that I still love you.”

“I’ll try,” said Joanna. She winked at her boyfriend.

Catalina looked from Kingston to Joanna and back again. “You two are very strange.”

The paperwork was unending. They were forced to create a third pile which was dedicated to Vasili Georgiadis, the flayed billionaire. They hoped some of the information would be connected to the Bank of Limbo. So far all they had was a profile on his life.

It turned out, Georgiadis had led a conservative’s nightmare and wet dream all at once. His company built ships. He gave generously to conservative foundations, conservative charities, and was an opponent of almost every liberal movement known to man. He never gave a single interview in his life, was never jailed for tax evasion, and he spent enough money on personal security that it immediately shot up a red flag for Kingston and Joanna. Several exposés in his career had put Georgiadis in the firing line of liberals for his conservative extremism. When the tales of drug-fuelled orgies on his yachts surfaced with photos of the bloated magnate the conservatives started to distance themselves for all of the bad PR that Georgiadis brought with himself. He fathered sixteen children and denied the existence of twelve of them. He even tried to have a gag order placed on the women who fell pregnant so that his reputation wouldn’t be tarnished. He had crews of sunken treasure hunters roam the Caribbean and Mediterranean with no scruples about usurping a protected site if that meant his scuba divers could get to lost treasures before the rightful claimer got there. He spent his life in and out of lawsuits. Georgiadis was exactly the sort of man Kingston and Joanna would have loved to bring down, though his love of guns and security would have kept Kingston and Joanna at a cautious distance.

Long after John and Catalina went to bed, Kingston and Joanna were left staring into the mass of reports. “This guy is far more interesting than the bank,” said Kingston.

Joanna nodded but she still felt her stomach flip a few times. “You know what he did to just about every woman he met? And to the mothers of his own children?”

“I know. Compared to the boring old fart that is the general master of the Bank of Limbo, this guy is fascinating. Can you imagine just how many people would be over joyed to see him in Hell? They got their wish and, even sweeter, he was one of the few to find a way to be executed.” Kingston started to space out. “Of course, if he was killed in Hell then he probably has no connection at all to the Bank of Limbo.”

Joanna held back a yawn and stared at her watch. “Is that really the time?”

“Yeah,” said Kingston. “But this is the realm that doesn’t sleep, so don’t be surprised if people are wide awake at oh-three-hundred.”

“The realm might not sleep, but its people do,” said Joanna. She closed her folder and looked sleepily back to Kingston. “Good night Mr Eighty One.”

Kingston scowled at her. “They fudged my results.”

“Yes, yes, that must be it.” She dumped the file on her desk and stretched, stifled a yawn, and blew out a long breath.

Kingston knew that manoeuvre. Something was on her mind and Kingston would have to wait until she was ready. So, he closed his file and lingered until Joanna opened her eyes.

She did so, looked back to Kingston, sighed, and started playing with her nails. “You know, there’s no way Catalina and John are able to go back to their own worlds. Not after everything they’ve seen.”

“I know,” said Kingston, giving his girlfriend a simple nod.

“But I could go back to Europe and travel, investigate more people like this Georgiadis creep, and live out the rest of my life as though nothing had changed.”

Kingston felt his chest almost snap when he heard those words. He was sure it was true because he feared hearing it so much. “Would it make you happy to go back?”

Joanna shrugged. “I can’t believe I got so bored of that hotel in Florence that I was willing to come to Limbo, of all places. And it’s smaller here than that fictional world of ours. Leaving all of that for just a little of this.”

“Could you deceive yourself into living there again?”

Joanna gave another shrug. “I could if you were there.”

Kingston saw Joanna’s eyes start to tear up and he saw her force them into retreat. He had worked through this argument a hundred times, always with a different outcome, and so far none of his hopeful plans had come true. He gambled on one of the more painful realities of their lives. “Aside from me, can you name one single friend you had in our world?”

“Penny,” Joanna said automatically.

“One who wasn’t killed when you were twenty three to give your character some back story and drive?”

“Screw you,” snapped Joanna. “I saw that happen.”

“I know,” Kingston said quickly.

“And I heard her final words.” Joanna realised what she had just said and she sunk lower into her chair as a deflated look took her completely. “You know what they were, don’t you?”

Kingston nodded.

“You read Penny’s final words to me?”

Kingston gave her another nod.

Joanna scowled at Kingston and was on the verge of tears again, only this time there was anger behind them. “That was private. I promised myself I would never tell anyone what she said.”

“And half of the population in Limbo has read them,” said Kingston, though he wished he hadn’t said that.

Joanna snapped back to attention and crossed her legs. “Then I’m not going to have every last secret known to everyone I see here. I can go back to Fiction where my thoughts remain private.”

After several icy moments, Kingston finally found the moment to speak. “I can’t imagine my life with anyone else. But I don’t think I could delude myself into accepting Don Keaton’s reality.”

“Things won’t work as well for you here,” said Joanna. “There won’t be any deus ex machinas handed to you. You won’t be dealing with idiotic goons you can out think, out drink, and out fight. And you would end up being so bored here that you would do something stupid just to entertain yourself.”

Kingston didn’t have much of a counter argument to that one. “If I talk to Death he would take us back whenever we want. So there is a way out of here.”

“And if you get sucked into Hell while investigating this mess?”

“Then you’ll come and rescue me. Look, I know us. We don’t do well without something to do. We’re not the type who can sit around playing Scrabble all day and watch the sunset. But at the same time we hate being lied to and we always work to uncover the truth. So that puts us neither in Limbo or in our own universe. Now that I’ve got you I’m not going to give you up so easily. Even if one of us gets sucked into Hell we will find each other.”

“It’s Hell. Chances are you won’t be able to find me.”

“And yet last month I did exactly that, without any of Don Keaton’s deus ex machinas. I found you drugged up, hallucinating, and thrilled to see me. You should give this Limbo thing a chance.”

VI

The following day came and it was time to explore Limbo properly to get their bearings. Kingston took Joanna out and relived his first few minutes in the realm, trying to remember which alley he landed in after getting yanked out of Kingston Raine and the Curse of the Shanghai Werewolf. He still remembered feeling the colossal headache and disorientation, sure that he was still in Munich, then puzzled by everything around him being different.

Just about every building in the realm was shaped like a giant golden brown cube with a curved roof, all with a heavy art deco influence. The boulevards were long and wide with stretches of grass, ponds, and water features running throughout. Every few hundred metres was a statue of a great philosopher or artist from the past who could talk and think for themselves. Even though Kingston had seen them move, turn their heads and gesture about, he had never seen them actually walk around freely. Around them, the buildings were lined up in a grid-like pattern. There were rows of small shops and stores with different signage on the front, catering to every need of a typical city that had yet to fall under the influence of mass department stores and large corporations. Above the shops were offices and apartments.

Kingston led Joanna through Limbo until he found an area that felt familiar. “Here was where a letter popped out of thin air and landed right at my feet.”

“Your first correspondence with Michelle?” Joanna asked, arching an eyebrow.

“On behalf of Death,” said Kingston, trying to nudge her away from her cheeky side.

“And you charismatically accepted his every wish?”

“No, I hurried along one street and tried to blend in.”

“Uh huh. And how long did that last?” Joanna asked.

Kingston shrugged. “The guy figured me out the second I walked through the door. There was no fooling him.”

“Which way?”

Kingston pointed to the tailor’s. “Over there. I was still getting chased by letters popping out of thin air, then a book almost slammed into me.”

“Aw, poor baby.”

“It almost took my toes off!”

“There, there,” Joanna said, as she patted Kingston gently on the side of his chin. She looked over to the tailor’s, Romacki’s, and saw that it was open. “Can we go in?”

“No way. That guy will probably remember me and I’m kinda famous, you know. Now, after leaving there gracefully -”

“Gracefully, yes,” Joanna said, bobbing her head.

“I went that way towards the statue of Galileo, or Darwin, but Death caught me.”

Joanna had a whirlwind of ideas pop through her head, trying to figure out what she would have done if confronted by the Grim Reaper in a similar situation. “And you didn’t run?”

“I was quite sure that he could catch me,” said Kingston. “From there we went straight to his office.”

“By teleport?”

“Yeah. And that’s pretty much all I saw, except for a few days later when I was arrested and thrown into the dungeons, which were surprisingly easy to escape from.”

“Really? I thought that was you being a smart arse.”

“No, they really are easy to escape from,” said Kingston. “The only real problem is where would you go after that? People can find you within seconds here, then you might get booted off to Hell, so there is a big incentive in staying where you are.”

Joanna dropped her head down so that she could peer at Kingston almost through her eyebrows.

“What?”

“I was thinking you looked a little concerned.”

Kingston shrugged. “It’s quite the operation we’re running here. All of four people, two of whom have never done this before. ‘Concerned’ is not the word. Maybe ‘terrified’ … no, that’s a little unmanly. ‘Bemused.’ There we go. Let’s go with ‘bemused.’”

Kingston looked around and desperately wanted to check the map to see which way he was supposed to go next, but he was reluctant to appear like a tourist. He wondered how John and Catalina were doing, wandering around on their own. He was sure they would be okay, since they had survived a month in Florence without much hassle. John stood seven feet tall and had the arms and shoulders of a career woodsman, so people were wary of sparking his aggression. Catalina more than made up for her shorter stature with a fiery temper if she met someone she was sure she would never meet again, hurling insults at them in Catalan until they grew so frustrated that they gave up bothering her. Kingston was hoping she would keep her voice down on her first day wandering around Limbo, but he knew it was a defence mechanism of hers and there was a chance of it flaring if she tried to haggle with a store vendor.

Aside from the perpetual dark sky with no stars and no moon, Limbo felt like a very clean and well behaved business campus. The sky was filled with swirls of red like an aurora which still captured Kingston’s imagination. There were rows of white trees moving in some kind of breeze that felt hauntingly beautiful, and the temperature was always pleasantly warm.

The whole realm was active around the clock with people going to work and coming back home at strange hours. To prevent end of day fatigue affecting the whole company three times a day, the shifts were staggered by two hours. Everyone worked eight hours a day, so while there was a midnight to 6 a.m. shift, there was also a 2 a.m. to 10 a.m. shift, 4 a.m. to noon, 6 a.m. to 2 p.m., and so on. It helped to keep the momentum on high and stopped everything from grinding to a halt at lunch time.

Joanna watched the people walk about and she felt drawn to studying them. It was curious to see the walking dead move about as though they were still alive. They were all mostly dressed for work and there were two speeds - either hurrying to the office or casually walking home. Joanna recognised the familiar look of men with their ties loosened and the women walking in sneakers while carrying their high heels in their bags. Some of the residents were walking home in pairs, gossiping away, while a few seemed to be strolling around on their time off, carrying their shopping or going out on a date.

Then Joanna saw something that seemed almost alien: safety. There was no traffic to worry about aside from one or two rickshaws, no pedestrian crossings, no buskers or homeless people asking for change. Everything was quiet and peaceful. These people were no longer afraid of dying, of growing old and missing the prime of their lives. Joanna felt a few ideas flutter into her mind as she realised that, if she stayed, she would literally have all the time in the world to do everything she ever dreamed of, whether it was writing a book, staging a musical or an opera, or learn to paint.

Kingston checked the time and knew they had to meet up with John and Catalina soon. They had all come up with a plan to stake out the bank and get as much information as possible. They would split up, Joanna with Catalina, and Kingston with John. That way there was an expert in each pair and a fresh set of eyes to go with them. The foursome had practised all morning in various shops and stores, counting the employees, the desks, seeing if everyone was smiling, if they were secretive or pushy, and watching how they acted when they didn’t realise they were being studied.

To Joanna’s surprise, John and Catalina were very good picking out unusual details. Catalina had spent the last few years working in an inn, dealing with disgruntled customers and was quick to judge their mood and mannerisms; if they took care of themselves and of others, if they were confident or miserable, if they were a mean drunk or a chatty one. She was also able to disarm most of the men with a simple wink to break through their defences. When that failed she wasn’t afraid to punch someone until they apologised.

John had his own methods. He knew most people instantly thought ‘Holy crap, you’re tall,’ when they saw him. He played that to his advantage and saw if they shrunk away or raised themselves up to speak to him. He also had his theories on people’s character based on their hair colour. He was now having to second guess that all the time when he discovered people could dye their hair thanks to living in the future. One talent of his was narrowing in on anyone untrustworthy, since they would either be glaring at John or trying to get away from him as quickly as possible.

Kingston guided Joanna through the long streets and boulevards and found John and Catalina walking arm in arm, as though coming home from a first date.

“Good evening!” said John.

“You two have a good time?” Kingston asked.

“Oh yes. We saw the biggest fountain ever. Huge. Huger than huge. The size of a building. No coins in there, though. Nor fish. I wanted to see some fish.”

Catalina looked over to the long rectangular building nearby and did her best to smile, but it was clearly forced. “So that’s it?”

“Yep,” said Kingston, glancing to the side. “That’s the bank.”

Just like Michelle had described, it was heavily influenced by Greek architecture. There was a row of white grooved columns spanning the front of the façade with hundreds more lining the sides. The roof was curved and it was one of the few buildings that wasn’t a uniform art deco brown. Instead it was the colour of ivory. Kingston assumed it allowed everyone to remember where the bank was located. He also assumed the architect insisted on grandeur, and hated the thought of fitting in with the surrounding styles.

Catalina looked around for the teleportation circle and saw a few people arriving and then head up the mighty stairs before passing through the front door.

“Huh,” said John. “It’s always weird seeing people pop out of thin air.”

“You can’t teleport in and out of the bank,” said Kingston.

“That would probably protect the vaults,” said Joanna.

Catalina stared at the people popping in and out of reality and knew she had never expected to see that while growing up as a little girl. “And it’s safe to walk on that thing?”

“Oh yes,” said Kingston. “But we’re supposed to avoid walking through it in case we bump into someone.”

John chuckled to himself at the thought of that.

“Okay,” said Joanna, rising up on her tiptoes to get a better look at the front of the bank. “So we all have our stories?” She looked to John first.

“Yup. I’m John, from England.”

“The simpler the better,” said Kingston.

“And I’m from Spain,” said Catalina. “I hope I can remember that. And we met each other at orientation and we don’t know many other people.”

Joanna shook her head. “I’ve never gone as myself.”

“You’ll be fine,” said Kingston.

Joanna looked around the boulevard, waiting for inspiration to strike, and finally she shrugged. “I suppose the world is about to meet Joanna York.”

“Ay, me too,” said Catalina.

“Good luck babe,” said John. He leaned in and gave Catalina a kiss then tapped her behind.

“Thanks my love.”

Kingston smiled at Joanna. “Feels good to be starting a new assignment, doesn’t it?”

Joanna smiled as best she could. “Of course. But if I’m kidnapped and held hostage again because of this -”

“Then it’ll probably be your own fault for getting caught,” said Kingston. He gave her a smirk.

“We’ll come and rescue you,” said John, as he puffed out his chest and drew attention to himself. “People seem to think twice about fighting me when I throw an unbreakable fence at them.”

“Ay, and if she and I are surrounded and our stories fall apart, Joanna can always kiss me.”

Both Kingston and John turned to face Catalina and were wide eyed in an instant.

“What?” said Joanna.

“If the time is right,” said Catalina. She nodded sincerely at the three stunned faces and looked towards to the bank.

John had to force his jaw closed as he looked from Catalina to Joanna and back again. “Uh, is that time likely to be today?”

“Just remember to rescue both of us,” said Catalina. “There’s only so long a kiss like that will distract them.” She smiled at Joanna and took her by the arm. “We’ll be back! You can practise on each other if you like.”

Kingston and John stared at each other.

“Practise?” John asked.

“Our stories,” said Kingston as he watched Catalina drag Joanna towards the bank.

“Oh. Good. Because I was thinking …”

“You were thinking of practising our cover stories,” said Kingston.

John quickly nodded. “Yes I was.”

“Good.”

They watched their girlfriends walk away and skirt around the teleportation circle. It was a little peculiar to be working on an assignment with Joanna again. Kingston reminded himself that when they first met they had been rivals trying to steal the same information while trying to get the other person caught in one hell of an annoying game of cat and mouse. When he read all about it in the first Kingston Raine book he realised Don Keaton had written it to be a thriller full of intrigue and sexual tension. That had been a year of Kingston’s life and it had left him ragged and wishing he could have found a quick and easy way out of Joanna’s traps.

“How long are we supposed to wait?” John asked.

“Until they come back,” said Kingston. “In the mean time we watch the crowd, see what they’re doing, see if they’re smiling or miserable … that kind of thing.”

“That guy looks shifty,” said John, pointing towards the bank.

Kingston rolled his eyes at John. “That blonde guy?”

“Yeah. You can never trust someone with blonde hair, especially a guy.”

“I think you need to give people a little more credit than that.”

“He looks as though he hates his outfit. That’s shifty, isn’t it?”

“Well, keep an eye on him and maybe he’ll lead us to whatever weirdness is happening,” said Kingston, while keeping more of an eye on Joanna as she headed inside the bank. John, though, remained focussed on Rickland Carson.

It took twenty minutes, which was longer than John expected and far shorter than Kingston predicted. Joanna and Catalina both came back with their shoulders stiff, gritting their teeth, and even from a distance it was clear they were both in a foul mood.

“They didn’t figure you out, did they?” Kingston asked.

“No,” said Joanna. “I mean, maybe. I don’t think so. They might have seers or something like that, but get this: no women.”

“Children of whores,” muttered Catalina. She unclenched her fists and clenched them back again.

Joanna started nodding. “I know! Can you believe it? No women. At all. Not a single one.”

Kingston and John turned to each other with the same lost expression.

“Babe?”

“Joanna, honey, we’re going to need a little more than some righteous indignation,” said Kingston.

Joanna tried to shake the last half an hour out of her body as though she was exorcising a demon, then she tried her best to get back into work mode. “Right. Sorry. Catalina picked up on it first, I was too busy counting the particulars. No women work in the bank. And before you jump in and try to correct me, I asked the clerk that served me. I had noticed that none of the tellers were women and the clerk didn’t know anything about that, as though this was the first time he really thought about it. Then the clerk next to mine leaned over and said women don’t really apply to work in the bank.”

Kingston decided to play that one safe, considering he was pretty sure John would not stop him from being pummelled by both Joanna and Catalina. “You think it’s just a passive discrimination thing? Hire men over women?”

“Yes. I’m betting not a single one of the tellers was alive prior to the 1960s. Pffft.”

“I wanted to punch one of them,” said Catalina.

Joanna sighed and tried to let it go. “Anyway, there is a long walkway into the bank. There are old school high benches for the men to look down on you. They stretch along the side. Some people were using typewriters, some were using quills. There are offices lining the side of the walls. Each office had a typewriter on a desk, each desk was facing the front of the bank and not the office door. There are names and business titles on each door. There are three queues down the middle, each with a big board hanging from the ceiling guiding you to where you want to be. There’s one for ‘New Residents’, ‘Exiting Residents’, and the longest is ‘Speak to a Teller.’ The first two lines are pretty short. The clerk I spoke to said only three or four new residents come in a day. Exiting Residents are those who are leaving Limbo for good. The clerks were pleasant, working as per usual. There’s no great conspiracy that they’re hiding which is probably because they are low level employees. They have name plates and the two clerks we spoke to both said ‘Hello, my name is Gunter,’ or ‘Craig’, and ‘how can I help you today?’ Polite, not too casual. We had to fill in a couple of forms which were quick and easy to do. We wrote down our names, our ID numbers, our pay grade level, and a secret password. By then it didn’t really matter about keeping our cover, because they scanned our ID cards straight away. So, I went with what I told Pablo.”

“They didn’t ask for an address?” Kingston asked.

“No. And no contact details. Gunter told me that if they need to contact me the letters will find me. I didn’t see any obvious security.”

“Statues?”

“No, no statues.”

“Interesting,” said Kingston.

“Why? I thought they would deter people from robbing the place,” said Joanna.

“The statues work for Death. The last thing someone wants while trying to keep a secret from Death is to work under the careful eye of the statues. But that might help us.”

“There is much more going on in the rest of the building. Oh, like everything else, the ceiling is huge, so don’t let that throw you like an amateur. You could get fighter planes doing acrobatics in that place, and there’s supposed to be another couple of floors above that, at least from the extra height we can see here. Along the side, though, there are a couple of entrances. But if you’ve noticed the lack of vehicles in Limbo then I’m guessing there isn’t a lot of physical cash that gets moved around. Like Michelle said, it’s probably just theoretical money, all on debit.”

Catalina nodded. “Ay. My clerk, the one who couldn’t keep his eyes on mine, said people get paid everyday.”

Kingston arched an eyebrow. “Everyday?”

“See? Another thing Pablo never told us about.”

John shook his head. “Is that strange?”

“It’s actually ideal,” said Kingston. “Very rare. But I guess they’re not really trying to keep any money for themselves.”

“Yeah, Catalina then asked something interesting,” said Joanna.

“Ay. I asked ‘What happens if you get sick and miss a day of work?’ They laughed and said we should go to that place I can’t say.”

John looked at Catalina nervously. “Hell?”

“Ay! God, no. Not that one.”

“The apothecary,” said Joanna. “If you’re so sick you can’t move you go to the apothecary - I don’t know how you get there if you can’t move, that was just the way Craig explained it - and you get better and turn up to work. But people don’t really get sick, they said, which is another thing Pablo didn’t tell us about. They might get injured, but not really sick. They knew we were newbies from the get go.”

“All right, so we have nothing really weird, everything is big and efficient, sexist, no statues …”

“None that we saw,” said Joanna.

“What were they wearing?”

“Everything was the same.”

“Ay, so much the same. How can you people wear the same thing every day and still wear a smile? It’s crazy.”

Kingston cocked his head to one side. “You people?”

“Bankers! Office people!”

“The outfits looked Edwardian English,” said Joanna. “Every detail we saw was the same. Maybe it’s different with another rank, but the men all wore three piece suits. The suits were black, the waist coats were a deep, faded maroon, almost like rust. The shirts were white and looked handmade, no factory mass production here. The bowties were the same rust colour. The shoes were black and well shined. New, too. It made me feel like my grandpa was heading out to the theatre. No rings. No jewellery.”

“The beards, though, were different,” said Catalina, still scowling. Now, though, she added a shudder as one bizarre contortion of a moustache had gotten the better of her.

Joanna nodded and did her best not to give off a similar shudder. “Yes, it seemed as though everyone in there could grow any kind of facial hair they wanted, and most tried to go for the eccentric. The clean shaven were very rare.”

John had a puzzled look suddenly cross his face and he looked around at everyone walking by as though trying to confirm something. “You know what? I don’t want to sound strange or anything, but were most of the people working there young looking? Or, at least, they didn’t die of old age?”

“Yes!” cried Catalina, snapping her fingers and pointing at John. “I did see that.”

Kingston looked around the boulevard and realised John was right. “Now that I think about it, Pablo was the most geriatric person I’ve seen here.”

“I know,” said John. “Even last time when we were surrounded by the younger looking lawyers, I just thought that was because lawyers all died young or were killed before they reached old age.”

Joanna smiled at that and nodded towards Kingston. “You’ve been teaching him well.”

Kingston smirked. “Yeah, well, Death has his choice of employees, I guess it’s easier employing younger people than the elderly. Did you see anything else?”

“Not from what I saw,” said Joanna. “If something is going on behind the scenes that no one in the rest of Limbo reports on, then we’re not likely to find out what it is just by walking through the front of the building. But good luck, maybe you and your Don Keaton heightened senses will pick up on something.”

“Let’s hope so,” said Kingston. “John, ready?”

John puffed his chest out and nearly bellowed. “Ready!”

Kingston and John headed off towards the bank. Something in the back of Kingston’s mind was ticking over, working through everything Joanna had said. As he got closer he pushed all of that aside and focussed on picking out the little details; the distance from the teleport circle in front of the bank (forty two paces), the number of stairs leading to the front doors (twenty), the number of people loitering around the front (two), the number of people going into the bank (six) and those coming out (four and one employee).

“He’s gone,” muttered John, as he scanned the horizon with steely eyes.

Kingston looked around as well. “The blonde shifty guy?”

“Yeah.”

“He wasn’t wearing a bank uniform, was he?”

“No, but he clearly hated his clothes.”

Kingston shrugged it off. “I’m guessing he was a customer then. And if he teleported away then we can’t follow him.”

They climbed the stairs and passed through the colossal doors into the Bank of Limbo. Despite Joanna warning him not to be too surprised by the height of the ceiling and the grand scale of it all, Kingston and John were both stunned by what they saw. Their eyes rose up to the curved ceiling which gently swarmed with dark brown marble swirls against a golden brown background that rippled like water. Kingston saw a few people looking at him and he realised he had blown any advantage he had and was caught out as a newbie. He rolled his shoulders back into action and saw the New Residents line in the distance.

“The roof is moving,” John mumbled, staring with his jaw hanging open.

“Yeah, I saw.”

“The roof … is moving,” John said again.

Yep, they had been pegged right away as newbies. Kingston cursed himself for knowing that he should be a professional at this and he had committed the first of many mistakes. “Come on, we’re still here to do a job.”

The inside was long and narrow. Like Joanna said, there were old fashioned wooden offices up against the walls with several of them occupied by middle aged men sporting outrageous beards and moustaches. Some of the workers were pacing around their offices reading over their paperwork, some were sitting with customers or subordinates, some were typing at a typewriter while a couple still used a quill or a fountain pen. There was a walkway in front of the offices and then a raised platform with high desks for the clerks to work from while looking over the entering customers. It reminded Kingston of a raised airport check in counter, if everything was made from worn, polished oak. There was a raised walkway for customers to gain access to the clerks, five steps high with a rail to stop them from falling into the centre of the bank. Kingston looked around and was surprised to find a lack of seats. It made him wonder if the bank intentionally wanted to stop people from lingering. He took another quick look around and couldn’t find any statues or busts, which did strike him as unusual.

The New Residents line was empty, as was the Exiting Residents. The clerks were all occupied with customers from the other line which seemed to be two hundred people long. Kingston was amused to see a lowly clerk walking up and down the line with a tray of cheese, biscuits, and tea for the waiting customers. Kingston was also amused to see that the first quarter of customers still waiting in line were holding their legs together and doing the need-to-use-the-bathroom dance. The second quarter looked uncomfortable and refused the tea and biscuits, while the last half were helping themselves liberally to all the free food and drink they could handle.

Kingston and John waited in the New Residents line. They could see the name plates of Gunter and Craig just in front of them. The two gentlemen glanced up to the new arrivals and could tell right away that Kingston and John had never set foot in that bank before. John craned his head around to look at the ceiling again and Kingston used a bored look to try and act as though he had seen it all before.

“Next please,” said Gunter, who sported giant, bushy mutton chops running to his neck, leaving his usual goatee area completely shaved. “Hello, my name is Gunter, how may I help you today?”

Kingston stepped forward and produced his ID pass. “I’m a new resident …”

“Ah, welcome to Limbo,” said Gunter with a nod and polite smile. He reached to his side and pulled out a form and a spare pen. “Your name please, ID number, and signature here. You’ll need to think of a password as well.”

Kingston picked up the pen and wondered just what would happen when everyone realised that he was the very same Kingston from the Kingston Raine books. Gunter saw Kingston hesitate and he spied him carefully. Even Craig became distracted and looked at Kingston and the giant standing behind him. The two men glanced at each other with a knowing smile and looked back to Kingston as he reluctantly filled out his own name. Like Joanna, it was the first time he had ever used his real name. Kingston handed back the form and laid the pen neatly on top of the paperwork.

“So, do I have to fill in my address?” Kingston asked.

“Oh no, sir, that won’t be necessary,” said Gunter, taking the form. He glanced over the name and fed it into a machine. A smile crept over his face and a moment later a small card popped out. “You are familiar with debit cards, Mr Raine?”

“I am, yes.”

“Good. Everyday this gets filled with your salary, so be careful what you buy in the first few days. There is a little starting cash on the card already to cover your days in orientation. It takes a little getting used to. How did you go on your residency exam?”

“I passed,” said Kingston. He felt the sting of his result once again.

“One hundred percent?” Gunter asked.

Kingston looked Gunter carefully in the eye and knew there was something about what he asked that seemed loaded, as though it was a security question that he was in risk of failing. “Eighty one.”

“Oh. Well, at least you passed, that’s the important thing.”

Kingston noted that Gunter now seemed satisfied and also a little superior. All in one go Kingston felt as though his reputation had plummeted. He glanced over his shoulder at the long line of people waiting for a teller and realised that quite a few of them were taking an unusual interest in him. There were whispers running through the line as well and more and more got a look at the mysterious Kingston Raine for the first time.

Gunter nodded towards Craig. “I told you. That was the same Joanna York.”

“That’s really him,” muttered one of the customers.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure, that’s him right there!”

Kingston looked back to Gunter and tried to shake off the hundreds of people now gawking at him. He realised he was beginning to sweat under his arms and he had to count to himself in order to distract his nerves from betraying him. He tapped the bank card on the counter. “So this is ready to go?”

“Yes, Mr Raine. You can use it at any location in the realm. And, may I just say it is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Likewise,” said Craig, beaming at Kingston with a large smile. “I’ve read all your stories.”

“Me too,” said Gunter.

Kingston grinned at them, but he still felt like a fraud. Then, in the corner of his eye, he noticed someone in a fine suit paying close attention to the tellers. Kingston took a gamble. “Do you want to hear something that no one else knows about? Not even Death?”

“Yes!” whispered Gunter. Craig leaned over as far as he could to listen in.

“Wait, before I do, you’ve read all of the books?”

“I have,” said Craig.

“I’m halfway through the Curse of the Shanghai Werewolf,” said Gunter.

“Oh, then I shouldn’t spoil the ending for you,” said Kingston.

“No! Please, come on! Everyone’s already told me about it. Please?”

“I don’t know, it’s just that I met with Don Keaton and he told me how he wanted to end to book seven, so it’s a major spoiler.”

Gunter and Craig smiled in baited anticipation. “Please?”

Gunter and Craig both froze to attention as they heard someone stop behind them. A tall gentleman in a fine suit with day old stubble came and stood between them. “Gentlemen, this is not a coffee house gossip session, there is time later on …” His eyes glanced up to Kingston and a puzzled expression crossed his face. He then looked down to the paperwork Gunter had in front of him and a dawning realisation became all too apparent. “Kingston Raine?”

“Yes,” said Kingston, as happily and confident as he could. Judging by the non uniform and high style of this man’s outfit Kingston knew this was a senior member of the bank. He would likely know of any wrong doings within these walls. As such, Kingston decided it was best to befriend such a person and charm him as much as possible. He was also grateful that Gunter and Craig had forced their boss to come over and introduce himself.

The tall gentleman gave a slight and dignified nod. “Well it’s a delight to meet you. You are the single strangest thing to have ever happened in Limbo and if it wasn’t for you, chaos might have ruled supreme over the realm.”

“I did what I could,” smiled Kingston. “And I’m sorry if I distracted your two tellers. They’ve been nothing but professional.”

The gentleman glanced up to the giant behind Kingston.

“I …” John quickly trailed off, desperate to say that he helped, then remembered his cover story. “… met him in orientation.”

“How inspiring,” said the gentleman. Kingston had the impression that this man was choosing his words carefully while in front of his subordinates. Kingston was quite sure he would be a lot more personable behind closed doors and he was doing his best to contain his intrigue in front of the lowly workers.

Kingston glanced around to everyone in the whole bank watching him. “I seem to have drawn a crowd.”

“Well, yes, there have been rumoured sightings of you over the past month.”

Kingston feigned surprise. “Oh really?”

“I didn’t think that could be possible until you actually stepped foot into the bank. It’s usually the first port of call for new arrivals.”

“Certainly true for me,” said Kingston. “I’m afraid those stories might have been a little exaggerated. I’ve only just come from orientation.”

“Is that so?” said the gentleman. His eyes glanced down to the paperwork sitting beside Gunter. “Ah yes. You passed your residency exam. You did well?”

Kingston gave them a diplomatic nod. “I did very well.”

“Wonderful. Wonderful indeed. And have they assigned you a department yet?”

“I was looking at Inhuman Resources,” said Kingston.

The gentleman turned his head slightly in a grimace. “An odd choice, I would think.”

“There’s a lot of departments and a lot of jobs. I haven’t had time to look through them all and get myself ready.” Kingston gave himself a quick smile and a calculated look away. “Unless, of course, there’s an opening in the bank?”

The gentleman raised his eyebrows. “Well, I suppose if you speak to your career counsellor we can get you on the waiting list. I started as a clerk in the inter realm mail room myself, so believe me, I appreciate starting where you can just to get your feet on the ground. Anyway, I’m sorry if I’ve held you up. I really should let Gunter get back to it. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr Raine.”

“Likewise, Mr …” said Kingston.

But the gentleman was gone. He walked away and gave a slight turn of his head as though wondering if he should steal another glance at Limbo’s newest celebrity, then he thought the better of it and headed back towards his office.

Kingston leaned in towards Gunter. “Who was that?”

“Coren Haro, Mr Raine, the general master of the Bank of Limbo,” whispered Gunter.

Kingston eyed Coren up as carefully as he could, taking in every last detail before he disappeared from sight. “You don’t say. And he always comes around at this time?”

“Oh yes, Mr Raine. He likes to make regular trips to see the customers. It’s important to keep an eye on customer satisfaction.”

“Hence the tea, I presume?”

“Oh yes, the tea was a very good idea.”

Kingston smiled at Gunter. “There’s no bathroom here is there?”

“I’m afraid not. You might have luck in the restaurant across the street. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

“No, no I don’t think so,” said Kingston. He looked over to John and caught him squinting off in the distance.

“It’s him again,” said John.

Kingston looked over and saw the blonde man in the awkward suit far back in one of the offices. “Wonderful. John, I think you’re up now.”

John stepped forward and smiled at Gunter.

“Hello, my name is Gunter, how may I help you today?”

“New resident,” mumbled John, while trying to keep an eye on the blonde man in the back.

Kingston too paid that man some attention, especially since this was the second time John’s senses had picked him out. At first Kingston was willing to dismiss it as John’s bias against blonde men, then Kingston saw one of the clerks whispering to the blonde man and nod towards the front of the bank. The blonde gentleman looked over to Kingston and locked eyes with him, with an instant look of impossibility across his face, then loathing. Rickland Carson saw for himself the look of wonder on everyone’s faces as Kingston strolled by, and it burned every fibre of his soul.

Kingston looked away as though disinterested while pretending to wait for John. There was something about that blonde man that didn’t sit right with Kingston. At first Kingston wondered if he had met him before. It was hard to know. Maybe he had been a part of the revolution that Kingston had disrupted. Kingston thought it made sense if that man was now unemployed and disgruntled. On the bright side, Kingston had just acquired a target to work on. For once he started to appreciate the advantages his celebrity status could do for him.

“You didn’t ask about the billionaire?” John whispered.

“No need,” said Kingston. “Someone as tiresome as Coren Haro has no idea what’s going on. Craig and Gunter were too eager to meet me. None of them are afraid of being caught because they’ve done nothing wrong that warrants being caught.”

VII

Kingston and John wandered back to Joanna and Catalina as casually as they good, but the girls could tell from their expressions that things had not gone according to plan.

“They recognised you, didn’t they?” Joanna asked.

“They did, yeah,” said Kingston. “You too, you know.”

Joanna winced. “An hour into it and we’ve already exposed ourselves.”

“We met the boss though,” said John. “I didn’t really care for him, but he is better than the blonde squirrelly guy, that’s for sure.”

“Squirrelly guy?” Catalina asked.

“You met the boss?” asked Joanna.

“He came over,” said Kingston. “He’s read our books.”

“Your books,” said Joanna.

“You’re in them too. Anyway, we were recognised. Everyone in the bank saw us and knew who we were.”

Joanna looked behind them at the people exiting the bank. The onlookers stood at the doorway searching every direction and instantly caught sight of John and Kingston. “We’ve been spotted,” said Joanna.

Kingston didn’t even need to look over his shoulder. “Everyone split up, meet back at the office when you can. Go.” Kingston wandered off nonchalantly and tried to find refuge in Hammocks For You, run by a short woman continually calling up to her husband who insisted he was still taking the day off and his plans hadn’t changed. Kingston didn’t last long in the store as someone came in from the bank looking to shake Kingston’s hand. As Kingston tried to exit, a thin man came in and invited Kingston out to dinner, which Kingston was cautious about refusing until he discovered that the guy worked in counselling and thus was not going to be of any use in regards to the bank, so Kingston politely declined. Then a three hundred and fifty year old woman bounded up, asking Kingston for a date and that he really should meet all of her friends. She clamped her hand on top of his and started walking away with him slowly, heading towards the teleportation circle. They were attracting a large crowd now and the official Kingston sightings built into a frenzy.

“Unhand him!” bellowed John, stepping out from one of the alleys. The old woman with Kingston at her mercy gasped at the sight of John bounding towards them, cutting a path through the startled onlookers. “Kingston! I’m coming!”

Kingston looked back to the woman sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I really must dash, but it was interesting meeting you.” He yanked his hand away and caught John just in time before anyone was barrelled over. “Let’s just walk away casually, you know?”

“They’re going to follow us,” said John.

“There’s little we can do about that.”

“Back to that place with the big shower and sign over the sink?” John asked, referring to Inhuman Resources.

“Ah,” said Kingston, realising that everyone in Limbo was about to figure out where they lived. “No problem, we work there.” Kingston cleared his voice and made it clear that he wanted to be overheard. “Back to work we go, John. Come on.”

It took two hours to return to Inhuman Resources. Catalina and Joanna were pacing around the kitchenette, irritated by Kingston and John’s delay. At last the two men came in and looked as though they had seen enough for one day.

“We’re not going to be able to do this secretly,” said Kingston. He began rinsing out an old mug and turned the tea towel over in his hands. “It appears I was previously seen by a hundred people who remember me clearly.”

“You met a hundred people?” Joanna asked.

“No, but certain events led to me being the centre of attention for a few minutes and now people are spreading copies of the bounty hunter picture of me. So I’m a celebrity, I guess.” He threw the tea towel down onto the kitchen counter with enough force to rattle the loose spoons waiting to be washed. “I think I’m out. I’ll have to tell Death that I can’t investigate the bank like I’m used to.”

“You’re not out,” said Joanna. “You just have to use that pretty little, and sometimes exceptionally dumb, head of yours. People like to seem important, right? Usually more important than they actually are? Well, play to that. Go and meet them, ask them what they do. They will fawn over you and tell you all about this guy and that guy, who’s a good employee and who isn’t, who’s keeping a secret that everyone knows and who … well, you get the idea.”

John slapped Kingston on the shoulder. “See? Told you she’d agree with me.”

“Yeah,” mumbled Kingston.

Joanna looked to John. “Huh? I’m agreeing with you?”

John cocked an eyebrow at her. “Don’t look so surprised.”

“I’m not surprised,” said Joanna, as she reeled back with her eyes wide open.

Catalina tapped Joanna on the shoulder. “Joanna, you’re surprised, just like you were surprised when he beat you on the residency exam.”

“I … no, I didn’t mean it like that, only … well, you did do very well.” Joanna looked from person to person with pleading eyes, hoping that someone would come to her rescue. She finally looked back to John and tried to start over. “So, I agree with you?”

“Yes,” said John. “During the walk I kept telling Kingston to ask these people about where they worked. Fifty of them came up to ask him out to dinner and I thought he should go.”

“Yeah, fifty dinners? Come on,” said Kingston.

“You don’t have to go to all of them, maybe just a few,” said John.

“All right, so I go to three dinners a day. How long can I do that and ask all of these probing questions about secrets and gossip, knowing full well that they’re going to relay everything we talked about to everyone else … how long until someone at the bank gets suspicious?”

“I’d say three days,” said Joanna. “No one is that much of a social butterfly.”

“Ooo!” said Catalina, now sparkling with energy. “We can have a party. A welcome Kingston party. Instead of fifty dinners we can have just one big one.”

John snapped his fingers together and smiled at his girlfriend. “I like it.”

Kingston rolled his eyes. “I’m going to feel like a piÑata.”

Catalina glared at Kingston’s eye roll. “You want to feel like a real piÑata? Go work in an inn where the only two things ordered are more wine and more of me.”

“I think I would like to work there,” said John, dreamily.

“Thank you, my love, but no you wouldn’t.”

“A party might be the best way,” said Joanna. “We could all mingle, work the crowd at the same time.”

“You know, I much prefer my usual way of staying out of sight,” said Kingston.

“Which isn’t available to you right now,” said Joanna. “So come on, you’re the one hired by Death to do this, so stop backing out whenever it becomes too difficult.”

Kingston sighed and threw his hands up in defence. “All right, we’ll leave the giant party on the table. How do we ensure a lot of bankers will join us?”

“What’s the phrase?” Catalina asked. “We crash? Or the other one, the airplane one.”

“Hijack,” said Joanna. “We hijack a banker’s party, or somewhere that the senior bankers will attend, like a gallery or a restaurant, and we invite ourselves over.”

Catalina smiled at the sound of that. “And to know where they’ll be, you’ll first need to talk to people, keep an ear out.”

“How did you get into Bridgeworks?” John asked.

Joanna sighed. “He stole the information from me.”

John reeled around on Kingston and nearly laughed. “Really?”

“Only a little,” said Kingston. “I was investigating them before Joanna came along. Then I engineered her capture by their goons and I laughed when I heard their interrogation.”

John’s eyebrows nearly shot through the ceiling. “You laughed when they were torturing her?”

“What? No, nothing like that. I laughed at how she treated them. She turned them around within half an hour. She was a smartarse and I kinda fell in love. She conned them all into releasing her. But it did allow me an opportunity to offer my services to the company so I could track her down.” Kingston shot off a romantic smile, at which point Joanna rolled her eyes.

“I knew you were after me,” she said. “I didn’t screw up and those goons wouldn’t have caught me unless some other thief had been setting a trap for me.”

“Which you fell for,” said Kingston.

“I was flushing you out,” said Joanna, while glaring.

“And somehow we teamed up.”

Catalina shook her head and sighed. “Ay, with all of this trust between you two it’s no wonder you’re at constant war.”

“So I guess you’ll be doing this the old fashioned way: working for the bastards,” said Joanna.

John knotted his eyebrows as he tried to piece together what Joanna must have been joking about. Then he had the sinking suspicion that it wasn’t a joke at all. “You’re going to work with the bad guys?”

“We don’t know they’re bad yet,” said Joanna.

“They don’t hire women,” said Catalina. “Very suspicious.”

Kingston shook his head. “They’ve read all of our books and know how I operate.” An idea then sprung to mind and he turned to John. “John, how’s your handwriting?”

John shrugged. “My uncle trained me as a scribe when I was little. I sat next to the river and copied out stories and rhymes until my hand cramped up. Why?”

“Have you ever written a résumé?”

“What’s that?” John looked to Catalina who only offered a shake of the head with a puzzled look.

Joanna glanced over to Kingston and shook her head. “I don’t know if John is suitable to work at a bank.”

“Why not?” said Kingston. “There are plenty of positions available. Teller, floor man, door man, security, sales. John? What kind of job would you like at the bank?”

There was a sizeable moment of distress in John’s eyes as he looked around for help. “I’m not doing this alone, am I?”

Kingston shook his head. “Oh no. It seems like I’ll be doing it too, hopefully. Besides, I could use a good man on the inside.”

“Um … not that I’m not grateful for the boost in confidence, however terrifying that is, but are you sure you have the right person to work in a bank? I know nothing about them.”

Kingston smiled and shook his head. “Joanna, do you remember your final days of Cambridge?”

Joanna gave Kingston a look as though he had skipped over two pages at once. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

“Do you remember feeling on top of the world and were about to hit the work force with everything you had learned?”

Joanna sighed and looked away. “Yeah. I remember.”

“And then you realised you knew nothing?”

“Hey, I knew more than nothing.”

“Right, but you probably learned more in your first week of actual work than in the four years at university, right?”

Joanna smiled coyly at Kingston. “Two and a half. And I graduated when I was eighteen.”

Kingston gave her a dignified nod. “So you told me.”

“Is that good?” John whispered.

“Very good,” said Joanna. “It’s about as fast as you can do it.”

Kingston started to reel her in. “And you graduated top of your class, if I remember correctly?”

Joanna glared at him. “I don’t like where you’re going with this.”

“Of course. John? She cheated.”

“Guh. Why do I tell you things?” Joanna said. “You were supposed to be good at keeping a secret, not belittling your girlfriend in front of her friends.”

“Duly noted. John? How would you like to cheat on whatever exams you get and land a job, where you’ll get all the training you need and you’ll realise that you are perfectly qualified right now to work at any bank.”

John looked to Catalina for support.

“It’s your decision,” she mumbled.

John recognised that tone and knew he was edging closer to ruin with Catalina, but if Kingston needed him then it really was his decision. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” mumbled Catalina.

John thought it through, bobbing his head and building to a crescendo where he managed to convince himself that it was one of the greatest suggestions ever presented in mankind. “Well, then, yes! Yes! I will work for a bank.”

“Ay, my God,” mumbled Catalina, raising her hand to her face.

“That’s okay, isn’t it babe?”

“Fine. I guess. But you …” she pointed at Kingston and stepped forward. “You are responsible. If anything happens to my John you will have to answer to me, and there won’t be just one case of someone being flayed in Limbo, there’ll be two!”

“Honey, please? Have a seat.”

“If my John ends up in Hell …”

“Honey?”

“If he ends up in trouble, you are rescuing him.”

“I understand,” said Kingston.

“So do I,” glared Catalina.

There was an uncomfortable silence in the air as Catalina stepped back and took her seat, her eyes looking over Kingston and waiting for him to falter.

“Do I need to cheat on exams for university?” John asked.

“No, we’ll just give it to you,” said Kingston.

“Give it to me?”

“Yes. We’ll lie. I’m sure it’s hard for them to call the university of wherever and get your academic records.”

“Oh. What job are you going for?”

“Consultant,” smiled Kingston. “If that’s available.”

“That one,” said John. “That’s the one I want to do.”

Kingston did his best to stifle a wince. “I don’t know if that is the best fit for you. If we can have two inside sources in two different departments it will better our chances.”

“Is there a position where I can chop down a tree? I’m pretty good with an axe.”

Joanna cocked her head to one side and stared at Kingston. “A bank axe man?”

“You never know,” said John, falling quiet.

“Joanna, you know how you can train anyone to do a job, all it takes is a little patience?” Kingston asked.

Joanna sighed and raised her hands up. “John, I’m sorry if I offended you.”

“I’ll be okay,” mumbled John.

“Ay, my God,” said Catalina, cowering in her seat with her hand over her face.

“We just need to get him the proper training for an interview, right?” said Kingston. “So what are typical questions?”

“Tell me about yourself,” said Joanna.

“Tell me of a time you resolved some conflict,” said Kingston, working through the obvious.

“Ooo, I can answer that one,” said John. “There was a good time I resolved some conflict.”

“You shouldn’t mention throwing a fence at someone,” said Kingston.

“But that conflict was resolved!”

“Yes, but we’re trying to tone it down.”

“Hang on,” said John. “From what I’ve seen your job involves watching people go in and out of buildings, stealing things, running away, allowing me to punch people for loose change, and then getting your friends to help rescue you.”

Kingston thought it over and nodded. “Maybe you’d be good at debt collecting.”

Joanna cocked an eyebrow. “Is that one of the available jobs?”

“What’s debt collecting?” Catalina asked.

“When someone can’t pay their bills the debt collector goes and gets the money from that person,” said Kingston. He then saw both John and Catalina stare at each other, awaiting for a better explanation.

“So … they don’t have money …” said John.

“And someone goes to get the money they don’t have …” said Catalina.

John then snapped his fingers together and his eyes lit up. “I get it! The debt collector works for the people. When they can’t pay their bills he goes to the bank and asks for money and gives it to the people so they can pay.”

“Not quite,” said Joanna.

“No?”

“No. The debt collector works for the bank, not for the people. If you can’t pay a bill he will take something of yours, like your sofa or a TV.”

John looked over the room and shook his head. “That sounds like a thief.”

“The people know it’s happening.”

“Well, people often know when they’ve been robbed, it still doesn’t make it right,” said John.

Joanna looked over to Kingston. “There’s another problem with hiring John. Limbo has a full record of qualifications and they’re going to know that he was never alive.”

“We can fake that,” said Kingston. “We’ll give him a master’s degree in woodsmanship and field craft.”

“Really?” said John, his eyes lighting up again.

“And that qualifies him to be a banker?” Joanna asked.

“It’s the best we have so far.”

“Okay, so John’s highest level of qualification is a master’s degree in woodsmanship and field craft.”

“From the University of Nottingham,” said Kingston.

“John, what skills can you bring to a bank?” Joanna asked.

“I’m good with an axe,” he said, with a powerful nod.

“Right. Have you ever worked in an office?”

“Yes,” said John.

“Not including the office you’ve been given in Limbo.”

“Oh. Uh …” he turned to Kingston. “Have I?”

“Pablo gave him all the training he needs to work in an office when we all arrived. And working in a Limbo office is better experience than most of the recently departed. It’s like learning a new operating system on your computer. If it’s your very first computer you have no pre-conceived ideas about how it should work, but if you’re onto your twentieth system them you know it’s never going to work as well as the one you just had because you had spent years setting it up to work the way you want it to work. John has just one system to learn. He’ll be perfect.”

Michelle listened to their ideas with a mix of intrigue and hesitation. Finally she looked at Kingston as though he had lost his mind. “Do you know how long the contract is for if you work for the bank?”

“Uh, no?”

“A hundred years.”

“A hundred years?!” cried John.

“We won’t be working there for that long,” said Kingston.

“If you go through with this you will,” said Michelle. “And it’s not as simple as being directly assigned to the bank, there’s a screening process to go through. Entry level assignments anywhere else in the realm are fine, we can pull a few strings and get you in, but ever since Coren Haro took over as the general master he’s been very particular about the type of people he hires.”

“Apparently that also includes no women,” said Joanna.

“He prefers to hire people with prior banking experience,” said Michelle.

“I have that,” said Kingston. He nudged John on the arm.

“Me too,” said John.

“As do I,” glared Joanna.

“So what happens if I just show up, pretending I work there?” Kingston asked.

“Like in the Return of the Shanghai Werewolf?” Michelle asked, appearing a lot happier now. She raised herself up in her seat and beamed with a smile.

“Yes, only with less people trying to kill me by the end.”

“I think I better read these books,” mumbled Catalina. She looked at John with an ounce of trepidation.

John started to rock back and forth. His eyebrows were pushed together and he looked to be deep in thought. “I don’t know if this is going to work or not, but could we get one of them seer people or psychics and convince them that we’re going to work in the bank, that way when the bank people hear it they will want to hire us?”

Michelle shook her head and raised her hands, describing everything with as many gestures as possible. “It’s difficult to get a psychic to say anything coherent, let alone get them to say something you need them to say. And a seer sees mostly the present, so …” her hands fell silent and her mind started ticking over, working through the problem as though she was on the verge of figuring it out.

“Maybe start a rumour that we’re going to work there?” Kingston asked. “When enough people hear it they’ll decide to hire us.”

“Wait,” said Michelle, still deep in thought. She looked to the ceiling and raised her fingers to her chin, then she tapped them together as she moved from ‘is it possible?’ to ‘could that happen?’ to ‘that might actually work.’

John glanced around nervously. “Is she okay?”

“Ssshh, my love,” said Catalina.

Michelle sat up again and leaned forward. Her hands were giddy and unable to stop themselves from dancing on their own while the rest of her tried to remain as still and in control as possible. “There is one way you can convince the bank that a psychic, or even a seer, says that you are going to work there.”

“Great!” said Kingston. “Let’s do it!”

“Wait,” said Joanna. “Let’s hear Michelle out and then see if it’s going to be more trouble than it’s worth.”

Michelle felt all of their eyes staring at her, waiting for her masterful revelation. In an instant she realised that it all depended on someone else okaying her idea. “We’ll need an Eternal to disguise themselves as one of the psychics. That way they can proclaim that Kingston and John will soon be working in the bank. Then, you guys work there and the psychic will appear as right.”

Kingston glanced around the faces of his friends and knew exactly what Michelle was saying. Death and Satan were two of the Eternals who could shift their appearance to look like anyone they had ever come into contact with. They could hide their aura as well and walk around incognito. Kingston, though, was quite sure that Catalina would never allow Satan to help them get a job in the bank, nor would she want to put the idea into Satan’s head that he could disguise himself as a psychic and then proclaim ‘John and Catalina will spend the rest of their unlives in Hell!’

Kingston looked over Michelle. “Would this be difficult to arrange?”

“I don’t know. And it doesn’t work on everyone, or all the time. Death once pretended to be me to tell reporters that he was busy and couldn’t be seen. That became awkward.”

“Why?”

“I had started dating one of the reporters at the time. He was one of the only guys regularly coming in and he was always sweet to me.”

“Oh boy,” said Kingston, raising his eyebrows in pre-emptive horror.

“Yeah, Barry leaned in for a kiss. The next ten seconds traumatised him so much that his hair went white and he couldn’t look me in the eye ever again. Not one of my finest moments in dating history.”

“I hope Death apologised,” said Joanna.

“Well …” She looked around at the foursome and realised she may have revealed a little more of her personal life than she cared for. “I’ll talk to Death and see what I can do. But be prepared to act fast. You’ll need your ID on you at all times, résumés, application forms …”

“Application forms?” Kingston asked.

“Yes, work history, cover letter, two referees or guidance counsellor reports from Inhuman Resources … huh, that one might actually be easy,” said Michelle.

“We’ll have that all ready,” said Kingston.

“Good, because you might need that within the hour.”

“Uh … an hour?”

“You said you would have that all ready, did you not?” Michelle asked.

“Yes, but it takes time to work on a perfect résumé.”

“Then cheat!” said Michelle. “Find someone else’s résumé, someone who works in the bank, and do what they did, only better. Really, do I have to think of everything?”

“Quick question,” said Kingston. “Why did you change my residency exam to an eighty one?”

Michelle sighed and rolled her hand in the air. “Because Coren Haro scored an eighty two on his exam. If you go through the employees of the bank you will find that they only have between an eighty and an eighty one. No one has equalled or bettered his score.”

“Ah,” said Kingston. “Yes, that does make sense.”

“But I scored higher than that,” said John.

“Yes, but honestly I wasn’t expecting you to go and work for the bank. I just thought it was a good idea to keep your options open. Frankly, Kingston does have a habit of going to work for the corporation he’s investigating. It’s in every single book.”

Kingston narrowed his eyes and thought it through. He didn’t like being that predictable. He also thought it was unfair, as ‘in every single book’ was spread out over several years in his life. Then he was grateful that Michelle didn’t mention his wooing of every secretary he could find, since they usually knew secrets they shouldn’t.

Michelle glanced at Kingston as though she knew what he was thinking and saw him wink at her. “I’ll book an appointment with Lady Catharty. She’s a psychic at the bank. Then we’ll figure out the rest when we get there. You should go and get yourselves ready.”

Rickland Carson sat quietly in Cleaver Hall, a one room club for the executives working for Sarrack. It was the only location where members were permitted to talk freely about business, as the room was open to anyone listening in it meant that no secrets could be kept private. The walls were lined in mahogany, the high back leather chairs sat beside small, circular tables, and a great chandelier hung from the ceiling, providing perpetual candle light. The room was far from large and could accommodate only twenty people at a time. It was also located behind a book binding shop and few people would ever have noticed that it was the hiding place of a secret society within Limbo. An extra security feature was the inability to teleport directly into the room, but since members were free to teleport once they were in the rear of the book binder’s, few people would have ever noticed the goings on within the small building.

Rickland read through the previous editions of the Limbo newspapers, dating back to the start of the uprising three months ago. He paid close attention to the aftermath of the near revolution when Kingston Raine’s name started to appear in the news. Still, the mystery of how Kingston appeared in Limbo, and even why, remained unanswered. Sitting on the table next to Rickland was a closed envelope that he had brought with him.

A small bell rang within the hall, alerting the occupants (of which there were only three) that the door was about to open, thus allowing them enough time to stop talking and maintain a level of privacy which could be resumed once the door was closed. If a second bell rang, it was a call to scramble.

The door swung open and Sarrack stepped inside. He took a quick look around the room and knew the schedule enough to recognise who should be there and who shouldn’t. He gave a polite nod to the two other gentlemen sitting in the corner, closed the door behind himself, then he headed over to Rickland. Rickland folded the newspaper over and laid it in his lap then reached for the envelope to his side.

Sarrack unbuttoned his jacket and sat in the chair next to his newest employee. “I take it we had a celebrity visitor who’s out of the ordinary?”

“Yes, sir,” said Rickland. “Kingston Raine came by the bank today. I have a list of all recent residents to Limbo, dating back to when Kingston first arrived. Four names are linked. Kingston and a tall gentleman by the name of John Nottingham arrived together and each opened new accounts. Joanna York and Catalina Rivera also came in just ten minutes before Kingston and his friend. Joanna York is the girlfriend of Kingston Raine. They came in pairs. The four of them are connected.” Rickland handed across the envelope, detailing all of the information he had just recited, and he waited while Sarrack read through Rickland’s research.

Sarrack raised his eyes and furrowed his brow. “He scored an eighty one on his residency?”

That caused Rickland to furrow his eyebrows. “He should have scored a hundred percent. He’s a known cheat, and a perfectionist, someone who pretends to be smarter than he actually is.”

“An eighty one means that he’s lining up a job at the bank,” said Sarrack. Then he added: “And a perfect score is a hundred and fifteen percent.”

Rickland cocked his head to one side and again thought of how peculiar Limbo could be. “A hundred and fifteen percent? Is that possible?”

“To a few of us,” said Sarrack, giving Rickland a wry smile.

“I haven’t sat the exam yet,” said Rickland, looking back down at his lap.

“That’s because you haven’t applied to be a resident. You’re just without status, which benefits me greatly. Scoring either an eighty or an eighty one is remarkably difficult. It would ensure his doom for years to come if he wanted any other job aside from the bank.”

“Why would Kingston Raine want to work there?” Rickland asked. Then he thought he answered his own question. From the little he had read of the series, Kingston investigated corporations by working within them. It became an addictive rush to rise through the ranks and make a name for himself. The bank was the only high standing organisation in the realm that would be familiar to Kingston. He supposed that even fictional characters had their own paranoid doubts about starting in a new line of work.

Sarrack ignored Rickland’s question and turned to face him. “How would you handle this situation?”

Rickland raised his eyebrows in surprise and leaned back in his chair. “Me? I suppose I would … hmm,” he dropped his attention to his lap again and wondered what kind of benefit Kingston could provide to Sarrack’s organisation. Then, something in the back of his mind clicked. “I suppose he is a unique … celebrity …” Rickland shuddered at the word. “If people all over Limbo are eager to meet him then he could be a good public relations angle. It provides a few stories that the recently departed might be interested to hear, though I don’t know how many of them have even bothered with the series. It is, after all, crassly written.”

Sarrack squinted and took in Rickland’s answer. Clearly, Rickland hadn’t discovered the connection between the flayed billionaire, the bank, and Kingston’s arrival, which Sarrack found pleasing. If he had, the first words out of his mouth would have been: “Kingston Raine is investigating us.”

It was also clear that Rickland hadn’t read the entire series, which was a failing on his part as a critic. Now that Mr Raine was a threat, Sarrack knew he had to learn all he could on his opponent. He handed the paperwork back to Rickland and rose from his seat.

“You didn’t want to keep this?” Rickland asked, momentarily offended that his hard work had been tossed back at him. Then he wished he hadn’t sounded so childlike.

Sarrack simply smiled at him and tapped his own temple. “Kingston Raine, John Nottingham, Joanna York, Catalina Rivera. Scores of eighty one, ninety three, ninety four, and ninety seven. Thank you, Rickland. You’ve been a great help today.” Sarrack turned and headed for the door, leaving Rickland to feel deflated.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, Rickland now had to wear a suit that caused him to blend in like everyone else. Just once he wished he could have his old white suit again, even if all he was able to do was strut around his apartment while looking dignified. Wearing a black suit was so … ordinary. He went back to his newspaper and tried to see if there was any mention of John Nottingham or the others. So far, only Kingston’s name had been mentioned. He stared off into space and tried to figure out what was going on in Sarrack’s mind. Then he wondered how one hundred and fifteen percent on an exam was even possible.

VIII

Kingston waited outside Office Four of the bank. There were no seats for anyone to loiter on and only a narrow corridor to stand in. There was the distant tapping of typewriters, scratching of pens and quills, and thumping from doors and cupboards being closed. Still, Kingston barely saw anyone and had been left to stand in front of Office Four by a clerk, who then knocked on the door, poked his head inside, and said that Kingston Raine had arrived. The clerk then left and Kingston had his first real taste of being left to wait patiently while the mysterious man inside that office decided what to do.

At long last the door opened. A well dressed executive with charisma rivalling Kingston’s stepped out to shake hands with Limbo’s newest celebrity.

He scored more than an eighty one, was Kingston’s first impression.

“Mr Raine, how good to meet you. My name is Sarrack. Won’t you come in?”

“Thank you Sarrack,” said Kingston, with a smile, as he passed through the doorway. The office was a modest room, no doubt uniform to the rest of the rooms in the building, judging by the similar distance between each door. There was a desk facing the front of the building with one side pushed up against the wall, allowing just enough space for Sarrack to walk around to take his seat. The window beside him was covered by a fine white curtain to diffuse the view from outside, even though the view was mostly darkness.

Sarrack was dressed exceptionally well. His suit was of the finest quality and his shoes were perfectly shined. The suit fitted him so well that Kingston knew that this man was at the top of his game and had a great eye for detail. Judging by Coren Haro’s appearance when he stumbled upon Kingston waiting in line in the bank, Haro clearly lagged behind Sarrack’s style. Even Sarrack’s mannerisms were more elegant and powerful than Haro’s. In an instant it felt as though Haro was the figure head of the bank, while Sarrack actually ran the place.

The two men sat down and eyed each other with a sceptical smile, both trying to figure the other man out. Kingston was sure his bravura was earning him some kind of appeal, yet he knew Sarrack was only going to hire him based on a quirk of reality.

“So, Mr Raine, I see you have applied for a position in the loss prevention department within the bank. I must say it is most unusual for any recently departed to jump straight into such a high rank without first working your way up.”

Kingston gave a slight nod and fired off his prepared answer. “I have found myself in an unusual situation. For the last month I’ve been left without a goal in life, realising that my previous direction was counter productive. But Death reached out to me, offered me a chance, and after some soul searching I decided to see what I could do to better myself. I don’t know if you’ve read any of the Kingston Raine books. First may I say that I’m not trying to gloat or cash in on any celebrity status I might have acquired, but they do read as quite a résumé for the whole realm to see. All of my faults and strengths are there and it’s quite clear that I’m a corporate thinker, I specialise in banking and finances, especially in financial security. As soon as I heard about the job opening within the bank I knew it was better than working in any of the other positions the realm offered me. I’m not exactly an entry level person.”

Sarrack tapped both of his index fingers together in front of his lips and studied Kingston carefully. “We didn’t advertise a position being available. We usually hire from within.”

“I was surprised to hear about the interview as well. It is good to see that my qualities are recognised in a positive manner.”

“Well, it’s not such an open and shut case, I’m afraid, despite what our psychics tell me about your employment here.” He left another pause to see Kingston fight for the position.

Kingston took one look at Sarrack and knew he had to gamble. “You didn’t like the books, did you?”

Sarrack gave a slight shake of his head. “I’m not really into industrial espionage.”

“I didn’t like them either,” said Kingston, offering a shrug.

Sarrack looked puzzled for a moment, but it did earn a small smile. “You didn’t?”

“No,” sighed Kingston. “Don Keaton is fine with story and his dialogue is acceptable, but it’s the characters that really let him down. They’re all two dimensional. I mean, every single corporate person in those books is a corrupt, cheating, lying, narcissist who treat their secretaries like crap. I read them and I was embarrassed that this was my entry into the world and that’s how everyone sees me. I even met Don Keaton a month ago and didn’t think much of him either.”

Sarrack arched an eyebrow and leaned forward slightly. “You met Don Keaton?”

“Yeah, I probably shouldn’t have told you that. It technically didn’t happen.”

“Oh, it did happen, Mr Raine. There’s a lot in the realm that … well …”

Kingston allowed himself a quiet victory as he knew Sarrack had momentarily dropped his defences. At the very least he knew that Sarrack was warming up to him.

“Tell me, how did you react to that situation?” Sarrack asked.

“With Don? It was baffling, especially when he accepted that he wasn’t in charge anymore. For a guy who spent the last few years shaping me, making me do exactly what he wanted, the moment he actually met me I was the one in control.”

“I heard you were in the dungeons,” said Sarrack.

“I was, yes. With Michelle as well, Death’s secretary.”

Sarrack sat up quickly when he heard that. “That Michelle was in the dungeons? With you?”

“Yes,” said Kingston, pleased that Sarrack was at least lapping it up. “For several days we were together. Turns out she was a big fan of mine. It’s amusing that she didn’t care much for Don either. She knows her stuff, I can tell you. She’s much smarter than she lets on. I think it was one of her fantasies that she and I run off together.”

Sarrack cracked another smile. “I see. That is quite an unusual background when applying to be an executive of the bank.”

“Well, full disclosure. She got me a job in Inhuman Resources just down the corridor from her. Nice little office but there’s nothing to do.”

Sarrack raised his hands together and tapped his index fingers once again in front of his lips. “And you managed to overthrow a coup that was trying to overthrow Death.”

Kingston winced. “I think I ruined every chance of keeping a quiet life with that one.”

“Tell me, how did you overthrow such an event?”

Kingston smiled his most award winning of smiles and leaned forward. “The lawyers in charge of the coup were blinded by rules and regulations. They looked to how the law was written and tried to bend it as far as they could and expected the public to accept their interpretation of the law, which they did not. The public were not as interested in the precise nature of the rules as the lawyers hoped for.” Kingston raised one finger up to make his point. “The lawyers’ failing was in human interaction. Legal or not, people will look out for themselves and for their friends. The same is true in the corporate world. You’ll find that most underlings in a company will remain in that position for far longer than their career prospects should dictate, simply because of the friends they’ve made among their co-workers. The lawyers knew how the population should act. They knew what was in the population’s best interests. But they didn’t know how people would act. They couldn’t figure out how to deal with that discrepancy. And because I was an unknown beast in their equation they spent more time chasing me than trying to engage with the public to win them over. As for defeating Eve, their Eternal boss, the one who stood as an actual threat to Death, she was so infuriated with me ruining her plans that she chased me back into my own Kingston Raine series. She thought she could trap me and she failed. Now she’s stuck there with no hope of ever escaping.”

The end of Kingston’s story was a lie. He had in fact been rescued by Death and Satan after Eve pulled him into Dante’s Inferno. Eve had been left in the lowest circle of Hell under the watchful eye of Dante’s Devil. But, Kingston was in no mood to risk Eve’s return, so he kept her actual finale as imprecise as possible.

Sarrack leaned back in his chair and nodded as he listened to Kingston’s explanation. “Yes, people are a tricky bunch. I must say you have won me over. I know it’s common for former thieves to be hired to safe guard the institutions they robbed, so really, can we trust you?”

Kingston smirked and had the answer to that one locked and loaded. “Death is one of my referees, if it helps.”

“It does,” said Sarrack. “The area you’re looking at is in loss prevention.”

“Yes. That’s right up my alley.”

Sarrack glanced over the paperwork and began nodding to himself. “I’ll have to pass on the final decision to Mr Haro.”

Kingston broke into a smile. “That sounds like I have the job.”

“Sounds like it, yes,” said Sarrack. “We trust our psychics.” The look on Sarrack’s face was full of warmth and life, but Kingston knew Sarrack was lying through his teeth. “I’m glad you recognise human interaction is the most important detail in dealing with a crisis and life in general. Too many people forget that. There will be a formal introduction with the general master, of course. He will make the final decision as to which applicant is best suited to the job. I will pass on my recommendation to him and I hope to see you working here soon.”

Half an hour later, Kingston high fived John and wished him luck. Soon enough, John was in front of Sarrack quietly running through all of his answers he had rehearsed with Kingston, Joanna, and Catalina. Sarrack looked over John’s cover letter, résumé, and references in great detail, taking longer than was necessary but giving John plenty of time sweat it out. Sarrack swivelled his chair back towards John, briefly lowered the paperwork and saw John sit up slightly. Sarrack swivelled back, raised the papers again and watched John out of the corner of his eye.

“It says under your skills list that you are good with an axe,” Sarrack said, still facing away from John.

“Oh yes. Very good.”

“You can chop a tree down?”

“Easily. I can fall a two foot wide oak in a dozen hits.”

“Really? Most impressive. Most impressive indeed.”

“Thank you,” said John.

“We don’t have a lot of trees in the bank, though,” said Sarrack.

John felt his nerves start to get the better of him. He knew Kingston was no doubt going to shout at him for blowing the interview but John was sure he didn’t stand a chance anyway. “I did notice a lack of trees along the way so one solution might be to construct an atrium and have an assortment of trees in there to create a more relaxing area to work in.”

“Yes, that is one solution,” said Sarrack, still looking away. “They do create an obstructed view of the employees, though.”

John leaned back and realised that he may have said too much. He felt an urge to scratch his neck to relieve some of the tension his collar was giving him, then he remembered Joanna’s instructions. Don’t scratch, don’t itch, show that you are calm at all times, and no matter what you do don’t babble.

“Your handwriting is very good,” said Sarrack.

“Thank you.”

“Much better than some of the tellers we have working for us. And your Inhuman Resources profile speak highly of you. They say you were able to resolve a conflict in your previous line of work by discussing things in an intelligent and open manner.”

“Yes,” said John, focussing on the augmented story he had worked on with Kingston.

“Tell me about it,” said Sarrack, swivelling around to face John with a sceptical look across his face.

John felt his palms start to sweat. “Well, an executive of the company and I were soon to travel to Turkey on a business meeting but we had misplaced a gift we were presenting to this company that we were hoping to do business with. I met with a member of customer relations who might be able to help us. Xin, from China. I required his help in locating a misplaced lamp, a speciality item. I knew he could help us. I also knew he didn’t want to help us. I used the sandwich method on him.” John then realised he made no sense at all and that only compounded his anxiety.

Sarrack stared blankly at his interviewee.

John felt his babbling start to get the better of him but he couldn’t help himself. “I complimented Xin on the latest task he was doing, then mentioned something that he could work on to improve the running of his department, and then complimented him again. I explained the situation we were facing, a misplaced lamp which was a gift that the executive I was travelling with, which was required in order to look presentable to the board of directors we wanted to work with. I was able to turn Xin around and he became most hopeful, gave us full access to his department and even sent an errand boy to come and assist us. We found the lamp just in time and were able to board our train and we made it in time to our meeting in Turkey.” Internally, John screamed at his inability to form a coherent story in front of his new boss.

Sarrack looked to one side and then back to John. “You took a train to Turkey?”

“Yes. The gentleman I was travelling with preferred trains over airplanes. He said it was a more romantic way to travel and less cramped. It gave him time to read and prepare himself.”

“Hmm,” said Sarrack. He returned to reading over the paperwork again. The room was silent for two whole minutes as Sarrack glanced over a final note on his desk, the one from the psychic telling him that he was about to hire Kingston and John. “I’m afraid all of our positions are occupied at the moment. Perhaps if something opens up in the future we can arrange another interview with you again.”

John felt a burst of desperation and knew he had to act now. He ran through everything he had prepared and couldn’t find anything that would help him in this situation aside from one last plea. “I heard Mr Haro was quite taken with me,” John said.

“Well, yes. I will have to meet with him later on. Right now we don’t have an opening that you are suitable for.”

“I scored very high on my residency exam!” John blurted, then realised immediately that it was a mistake.

Sarrack raised an eyebrow and flipped back through the paperwork. “Ninety three? That’s not a number Mr Haro is acceptable with, I’m afraid.”

“Uh … there was another time I resolved some conflict,” John said, feeling his pulse shoot through the roof. “I once threw a fence at someone and knocked them out.”

Sarrack snorted in astonishment and quickly recomposed himself. “You threw …”

“A fence. Yes. A big one. Very heavy.”

Sarrack cocked his head to one side and felt a bewildered smile cross his face. “And this resolved your conflict?”

“It sure did,” said John. “The man wasn’t letting me through. As soon as I got rid of the fence and the man the situation resolved itself.”

Sarrack’s jaw dropped open, half in shock, half utterly amused by John’s answer. “Yes, I can see how that might work out for you, at least.”

John saw Sarrack smiling and knew he had to go for it, even if his senses were screaming at him to stop and just run out of the bank as fast as he could. “And I resolved another situation as well. I was being swarmed by lots of people, devils and serpents, all trying to take me down and I wasn’t having any of that!” John started doing the actions and swung his fists around. “I punched one of them out of the way, then another … a whole army of men came at me, bounding across the jagged rocks with the screams from Hell but I kept my wits! Even in the worst place imaginable I kept my senses and knocked one man down, then another, clearing a path through the chaos, because I had a job to do and by Richard I wasn’t going to let anyone stop me.” John started huffing as the adrenaline kicked in and he realised his fists were going red from all of the slaps and open punches he had used to demonstrate.

But that was it, John knew he had blown the interview. There was no way a banking executive would ever hire a brute of a man now. John settled down and leaned back into his seat quietly. “I may have gotten a little carried away there. I apologise. I just thought it was a good story. That time has passed now and I am looking for the quieter life.”

Sarrack was frozen, staring at John and trying to figure this man out. He glanced back to the note from Mr Haro, that a psychic had determined that John Nottingham would work for the bank, even though Mr Haro would never have allowed a man like John to ever join, especially with such a high result on the residency exam. And yet the psychic knew otherwise.

Sarrack looked over the giant sitting in front of him and wondered if there was a place for him after all. “Tell me, this barrage of action you just spoke of …”

“I’m sorry, I got a little carried away with that,” mumbled John.

“I know. You said this took place in Hell?”

John sighed and realised he had said too much. “Yes. Hell. But it wasn’t really as bad as people think, like some think that I was going to be lost down there forever and never find my way out, but I did. Clearly. I was in control of the whole situation.”

“And how many people were you fighting?”

“Eighty? Maybe a hundred? It wasn’t that easy to see, being as dark as it was. But, whenever they came at me I hit them and they stayed down.”

“Interesting,” said Sarrack, nodding to himself. “You opted not to say that you had experience in Hell on your résumé.”

John locked his fingers together to stop them from shaking on their own and he leaned forward. “Well, truth be told, I wrote the résumé to get a job in a bank and I didn’t think punching people in Hell would have helped.”

“Actually, it might help after all,” said Sarrack. He stacked the papers on top of each other and pushed the edges neatly together. “We don’t have any positions available in the executive branch. We might be able to put you somewhere else.”

“Really?” asked John. He knew Kingston would never believe this. Nor did he believe it himself. “After what I just said?”

“You’ve shown yourself capable of acting under pressure. I understand most people, when they go to Hell, crumble immediately. But you didn’t. That’s a hefty amount of character you have there.”

John started nodding his head in approval. “Well, I’ve always thought so.”

Sarrack smiled at John. “And your experiences in Hell could be quite valuable. So few people here have any such experience. From time to time we need to interact with Hell and the people living there. Let me make a call and speak to someone. With their approval I think we might be able to get you a job here.”

“Really?” John instantly beamed with a smile, leaped forward and threw his hand out to shake Sarrack’s. “Oh, thank you. Thank you very much. I really appreciate that.”

“That’s fine, easy … that’s quite a grip you have there.”

“Oh, sorry,” said John. He retracted his hand and stood upright.

“Like I said, let me make a call and see what we can do. From now on, though, you can address me as ‘sir.’”

“Oh. Yes, sir. Will do, sir.”

“And everyone else in the bank.”

“As ‘sir’, sir?”

“Exactly. I see some potential in you, Mr Nottingham. I hope you will do me proud.”

“Oh yes, sir. I will make you very proud indeed. Thank you very much sir.”

“Of course,” said Sarrack. “If you would wait outside my office, I will bring someone in and if they approve we can get you a job.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” John kept smiling and bobbing his head as he backed out of the room. He was careful to follow Joanna’s advice by not turning his back on Sarrack as he left, wanting to maintain a good impression, so he turned at the last minute and smiled. “Sir.”

John gently closed the door behind him and stood out in the corridor in a full grin. He looked from side to side, saw it was all clear, and threw a fist in the air.

“I did it!”

He danced a little jig and turned on the spot. He couldn’t wait to tell Catalina, Kingston, and Joanna. He ran over everything he had just said and knew his instincts were right when he went over his real story instead of coming up with a fake one, or at least an augmented one. He knew Kingston was far better at lying, since he had made it a professional trait of his, but John was sure his own passion and exuberance in the story telling was what set him apart. He knew he would soon be celebrating with his friends and he felt like cheering once again.

A few minutes later a short, thin, elderly man in a red blazer shuffled along the corridor, staring at the ground and muttering to himself. He didn’t even see John waiting there, still smiling.

“Hello,” said John.

The elderly man stopped muttering instantly and looked up as though he had been caught. Clearly he wasn’t used to seeing someone so tall, as his eyes first locked onto John’s chest, then up to his face. The elderly man waved a hand of nonchalance and glanced up at Sarrack’s office door. He knocked three times with a lengthy pause between each knock. The door opened and Sarrack welcomed him inside.

John was still giddy with energy. He saw another man walk by and he offered another “Hello,” then quickly remembered to add “sir,” to the end. The man looked at John and shook his head as though John had drunk far too much caffeine that day.

Sarrack and the elderly man were gone for only two minutes before they returned. Sarrack wore a dignified smile while the elderly man looked as though he barely knew where he was. “Mr Nottingham, you have the job.”

“All right!” cried John. “Thank you, sir. I will make you proud.”

“This is Simon. Simon? Mr John Nottingham.”

“Hello sir,” said John.

“Eh,” said Simon.

“Simon here will be your direct supervisor. He will show you around, get you organised, and you are to follow his instructions exactly. Welcome aboard.”

“Thank you sir!” said John again.

Simon sighed and shuffled along the corridor back to where he came from. “Follow me,” he said, almost out of ear shot from John.

John looked over his shoulder and smiled repeatedly at Sarrack, who stood in front of his office watching John and Simon leave until they were completely out of sight. A few turns later, Simon led John down a flight of stairs, then down another, until they were in the basement.

“So, sir …” said John, trying to start up the conversation.

“Simon.”

“I think I’m supposed to call you ‘sir.’”

“No. Everyone else is sir. My name is Simon.”

John wasn’t so sure about disobeying protocol on his first day. “Can I call you Sir Simon?”

Simon groaned. “If you must.” He led John through the corridors and into a large waiting room. There was a large counter like a nurse’s station in a hospital. Facing that were two sofas pushed against the wall. Simon led John through to one of the adjoining rooms full of high cupboards. “What size are you?”

“Seven feet tall,” said John.

Simon started going through the cupboards one by one, rummaging through an assortment of black pants and red blazers, checking the tags along the neck and holding them up.

“So, Sir Simon. Who else are we working with?”

“Well, on this shift there’s Shaugnassy, and Kevinson, and Cartwright, and Whistlethwaite, and Berkins. They’re all working right now,” said Simon. “And sometimes Snowflake.”

“Snowflake?”

“Snowflake. He comes and goes.” The farther along the cupboards he got the more often he pulled out a jacket and held up towards John, squinting with one eye and sticking his tongue out, gauging if it would fit or not. At last he got to the final cupboard and seemed to give up completely. “Try this one. Maybe it’ll fit.”

John took off his jacket and tried on the red blazer. It was snug, especially around his biceps. It was also a couple of inches too short and rode up his wrists.

“Guess we’ll have to get one ordered for you,” said Simon.

“I like it,” said John. “So just you and me right now?”

“That’s right. And Snowflake.”

“And Snowflake, of course,” said John, looking around and trying to get his bearings. Now that he thought about it, he had no idea how to get back to the surface. The twisting corridors and number of stairs had left him utterly disorientated.

“You have your own sleeping arrangements, or will you be living here?” Simon asked, squinting up high at John.

“Uh … I have my own place.”

“Good. Good. Doesn’t make much financial sense having your own place, but that’s still good.”

John looked around and wondered if Simon actually lived down here.

“Follow me,” said Simon. He went back into the reception area and stopped next to the counter. “Wait here.”

“Yes, Sir Simon.”

Simon groaned and shuffled around the corner to a set of filing cabinets. He pulled out one drawer, rummaged through with his slow fingers reading over the name tags, then he pulled out a single piece of paper followed by a stack of pages eighteen sheets thick. Simon shuffled forward and held it all out to John. “Well it’s all pretty straight forward, see? Right now we’ll fill out your SLA with your KPIs and assign you your EIN. When that is filed away we can commence your OJT, so follow me carefully, you follow?”

John bobbed his head with no idea what Simon was talking about. “Absolutely.”

“Good. Your pay should be in your account EOD but they will still post you a CD in your pigeon hole FDM.”

“Pigeon hole. Okay,” said John. He started to fear the idea of pigeons being in his hole.

“We’ll get you one of those. They say if you ever lose your ID it’s PBD. We haven’t seen too many of that lately, not since the unions told them they couldn’t do that. By EOD management would like to see the whole place scrubbed TTB ASAP or you’ll be docked your SPS, so you never want that, no.”

John hoped that if he just repeated the information back to Simon he could remember enough to ask Kingston for an explanation. “Don’t want a dock or SBS, gotcha.”

“But as long as you’re here SOD and don’t take any ELTs you should be good.” Simon clicked a pen and pushed it into John’s hand. “Here’s your SLA with the usual BS with your ROP and TAC. I have to go to see Snowflake.” Simon shuffled off, leaving John to stare hopelessly at the eighteen pages of pages in ultra fine print.

John waited until Simon was out of earshot and stared at the ceiling in utter defeat. “When I fill in my ABC and QPA I’ll RTB a PLD and XQZ.” He sighed and returned to the employee contract. He was lost after just the first sentence and started clicking the pen over in his hand.

“Uh, Sir Simon?”

There was no answer. John scratched his head and wished someone else was here to help explain, even this Snowflake person. Since he had never heard of the name Snowflake before he guessed it may have just been an imaginary friend Simon had created to keep himself from going mad. Clearly, Simon had failed.

“Hello?” John called out again.

“It’s all on the sheet.”

“All on the sheet, okay,” John mumbled, then ruffled through the pages until he could find his SBS NEG THC or whatever it was that Simon had babbled on about. “Ah! There it is,” said John, finally coming to a list of abbreviations. Now all he had to do was remember exactly what Simon had said.

“Okay, KPI. Key performance indicator. Right. SLA. Service level agreement.” John checked the first page again and was glad to see ‘SLA’ written on the top. “Okay, this is my service level agreement. Good. EOD. End of day. TTB. Top to bottom.”

Everything was quickly going over John’s head and he knew he would need Kingston and Joanna to help explain it to him. He felt the desperate urge to scratch his neck again and ease his collar. The undersized blazer wasn’t helping his blood pressure either.

“Top to bottom, top to bottom. What top to bottom?” John decided he would go and find Simon and help get some clarification. “Sir Simon? Please?”

“Have you read through everything already?” Simon called, still hiding behind one corner.

“Uh, not quite.”

“Everything’s on the sheet.”

“Right. Uh, this top to bottom …”

“TTB.”

“TTB, right. What’s it referring to?”

Everything fell quiet as John stood in the doorway, looking in and trying to find Simon. Simon eventually leaned out from another doorway and stared at John. “It’s referring to the bank.”

“The bank! Excellent. Well, that does make much more sense. Uh, in what way are we top to bottoming the bank?”

“Well, we start with the windows. On every first even day we do the inside windows of every even office. On the second even day we do the outside of the even offices. On the first odd day we do the inside of the windows of every odd office, and so on. It’s all very straight forward. Then we do the floors, the carpets, the desks, wipe down the pillars, the doors, the door handles, the steps, the banners, the flags, the dining room, the executive dining room, the board dining room, the bathrooms, and so on.”

John paused, staring at Simon suspiciously, waiting for him to spring the surprise on him that it was all a joke. Somewhere in the back of John’s mind he was scrambling to go over everything Sarrack had said and he knew there had to have been some kind of mistake. “And this is what Sir Sarrack asked me to do?” John asked.

Simon nodded. “He said you were my new janitor.”

John felt another moment of despair strike his core. “Janitor. Right. What’s that?”

Simon rolled his eyes. “Oh boy. We’ll be starting right at the beginning with you, won’t we?” He went back inside his office, leaving John hoping like Hell he wasn’t being asked to do what he thought he was being asked to do.

Simon called out from his office. “You just fill that in and we’ll get you to a tailor’s ASAP. Let me know when you’re done.”

John looked back and saw a white fluffball of a cat sitting in the doorway, staring up at John. It swished its tail back and forth. “I take it you’re Snowflake?”

Snowflake stared back at John.

“Great,” said John. “My boss has lost his mind.”

IX

John stumbled back into Inhuman Resources later that evening with a distant look in his eyes.

“Ay! My God! What happened to you?” cried Catalina, as she raced forward and threw her arms around John’s sizeable chest.

“Janitor …” mumbled John.

“What?” asked Catalina, pulling herself back. “What did they do to you? Who is this janitor? Did janitor do something to you?”

“They offered me a job …” mumbled John.

Catalina cocked her head back in surprise then beamed with a smile. “Ay! Well done! Oh come here my love, I’m so proud of you!” She pulled John’s face down towards her and began duck kissing incessantly. “I knew you could do it!”

John pulled back, gasping for air, but he was still distant.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m a janitor,” he said.

“Well done!”

“I’m supposed to clean the entire bank.”

Catalina looked away, confused, then returned to her boyfriend. “No, that’s a cleaner.”

“Apparently a janitor is also a cleaner.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Catalina. “Why would a janitor be a cleaner when a cleaner is a cleaner? It’s obvious a janitor would janit.”

“A janitor also repairs, or so I was told,” said John.

Catalina became suspicious. “So … you’re doing two jobs?”

“Yes.”

“For one amount of money?”

“Yes.”

Catalina rolled her eyes and walked away. “Ay, for the love of … they tricked you, you know that?”

“Well there’s no need to say it like that,” said John. He followed Catalina back to the kitchenette.

Kingston reeled around the corner, saw John, and clapped his hands together. “Hey! How’d it go?”

“I’m a janitor,” mumbled John.

Kingston’s eyes lit up as though it was the greatest answer John could have given him. “Seriously? You got a job?”

“Yeah, but not as a … apparently I have to clean the whole bank.”

“That’s fantastic!” cried Kingston. “No, really it is! Do you know how easy it is to get secrets out of cleaning staff and disgruntled employees? Very! And these people are so under estimated that the upper brass don’t even bother keeping a secret around them. If they do it is very obvious. They usually cup their hands over the phone and go all quiet, eye balling the janitor until they leave. That’s how you know someone is up to no good.”

John cocked his head to one side. “What’s upper brass?”

“The executives. John, this is great news.”

“I don’t know, it sounds kinda hard,” he mumbled.

“Is it harder than chopping down a tree?”

“One tree compared to a whole bank?”

“Fair point,” said Kingston. “But seriously, you’ll have access to the whole building and very few people have that opportunity.”

“Simon is a little weird,” John said.

“Who’s that?”

“I think he’s my boss. He shuffles around a lot and he’s quiet. He also talked about snowballs and snowflakes. I don’t think he’s all there,” John said, tapping the side of his head. “I did see a cat there. Very strange. And I have a list of ETAs and BSTs, or something like that. I don’t understand my contract.”

“Let’s have a look,” said Kingston. Then when he saw the list of acronyms he let out a long whistle. “Yeah, that’s rough.”

“My job?” John asked.

“No, understanding all of this mumbo jumbo. Don’t worry, we’ll get you up to speed on these KPIs and WIPs.”

Joanna came around the corner and saw the crowd standing in the kitchenette. “Hey, how’d it go?”

“He got a job!” cried Kingston.

“Really? Hey, that’s awesome!”

“Yeah,” mumbled John. “As a janitor.”

“No way! That’s great!”

John squinted and turned from Joanna to Kingston. “You two keep saying that. Is this great because I have a job, or is the actual job as great as you seem to think it is?”

Kingston and Joanna both spoke at the same time and stumbled over each other.

John held his hand up to quieten them down and pointed to Kingston. “I’ve heard your explanation already. So, Joanna, why am I great as a janitor?”

An electric snap ripped through the air, causing Kingston, John, Joanna, and Catalina to jump and spin around. There was a burst of bright flames and a rush of smoke which jumped through the air and dived on top of some invisible object. Appearing out of thin air was a man with black hair and a long dark coat, wrestling and punching someone unseen.

Catalina yelped and stepped back in shock. John stepped in front of her with one arm holding her back in case anyone came to hurt them. Joanna stepped behind Kingston while Kingston braced himself to get everyone out of there as quickly as possible. He had seen this before and knew this was a bounty hunter chasing after him.

“Ack! Gerroff!”

“NO!”

The man in black, still simmering with soot and smoke, kept walloping his fist down below him, striking the invisible man until, at last, the invisible man became visible. He laid there, unconscious, while the man in black puffed and heaved, staggered to his feet and looked around at Kingston and the others. He held out one hand. “Something to tie him up with, please?”

Kingston looked around quickly, not seeing anything obvious, then, remembering one of the scenes from Kingston Raine and Revenge of the Shanghai Werewolf, he removed his tie and handed it over to the strange man.

“Thanks,” said the man in black, still out of breath. “If someone could hold him down in case he wakes up?” He looked over to John. “You there, you’ll be perfect. Just hold his hands. Maybe his legs as well, they seem to have a mind of their own, nailed me in the jaw he did just a moment ago.” He opened his mouth out wide in a stretch and winced at the pain. He looked nothing like what any of the others had seen before. He had pointed ears and unusually long fingers. His skin was pebbled with acne scars, burn scars, scrapes and scratches. Now there was a red mark along his jaw from the fight.

Kingston noticed the man also had yellow eyes. He remembered seeing him the last time he was in Limbo. He cocked his head to one side while he ran through a mental list of everyone he knew in Limbo. “Ezekiel?”

Ezekiel turned to Kingston and, by his standards, he was lost for words. “You remember me? Well I must say I’m flattered, I am. It’s not every day a celebrity such as your fine self would take note of a gentleman like yours truly. I am most humbled.”

Kingston arched an eyebrow at him suspiciously. “You gave Don Keaton a heart attack.”

“Ah,” said Ezekiel. He dropped his gaze to the floor. “I hoped he wouldn’t have said anything about that. That was a little embarrassing, that was. Not exactly myself or my usual charismatic way, so if we could brush over that I’d greatly appreciate it.”

“Kingston?” said Joanna. “What’s going on?”

The formerly invisible man groaned. Ezekiel looked down to him, then quickly looked over to John. “Big fella, if you could, just help me with this guy and I can take him with me and …” he stared at the tie in his hand. “You don’t have anything on you that you don’t really need again, do you?”

Kingston narrowed his eyes on their intruder. “I like that tie.”

“Oh. Well …”

Kingston glanced down and saw singe marks and soot around Ezekiel’s fingers. In an instant, Kingston knew his tie was ruined. “I really, really liked that tie.”

“I might be able to get it repaired, but honestly, big fella? Need your help here before this slimy one tries to escape and he’ll go straight back to the bank to report on you lot. Can’t have that, no sirs. And ma’am’s.” He smiled and nodded to Joanna and Catalina.

Kingston sighed. “John, if you could give him a hand.”

John stepped forward and in two large strides he was over the somewhat unconscious man. He held his wrists together while Ezekiel wrapped Kingston’s tie around his prisoner, binding his hands tightly.

“There,” said the man, finishing by holding onto his prisoner’s arm. “Look, he’ll wake up any minute now and I don’t know how much he overheard or what he’s supposed to do with what he overheard, so I’ll just keep a hand on him which should do the trick. He can try to teleport all he wants but it won’t get him very far, you know? And it’s good to see you gentlemen again. Heard about your overthrowing of the nasty revolution, I did, and now you’re quite the talk of the town. I thought I’d be scraping the lichen off every rock in Hell before I got to come back here again, and yet his Benevolence came to me and said I was better suited to this than anyone else and I got the gig! Ain’t that a kick?”

Kingston sighed and looked to his friends. “Ezekiel is possibly why we’re all here.”

Catalina glared at Ezekiel as though he was most vile of enemies she had ever seen. “What?”

Ezekiel’s good attitude dropped in an instant. “Well, let’s not say things like that, it’s really not my fault, I was only following orders.”

“Uh huh?” said Kingston. He turned to Joanna, John, and Catalina. “The way Don and Michelle told me, Ezekiel surprised Don in his apartment, asked him to hurry up and finish the last Kingston Raine book because Satan was a fan.”

Catalina threw her hands in the air and turned away. “Ay, for the love of …”

“And because he needed leverage over Michelle.”

“That was taken a little out of context, you know?” said Ezekiel. “Just to clarify, none of this was ever supposed to have happened, so let’s not go and blame poor Ezekiel for anything. I mean, things got bad very quickly and I did my best in an impossible situation.”

“The surprise of it all gave Don a heart attack,” said Kingston. “But instead of Death getting to him first, Ezekiel here kidnapped Don and took him to Satan.”

Catalina groaned again and stood as far away from Ezekiel as she could get.

“It wasn’t kidnapping, I rescued him,” said Ezekiel. “And he lived, didn’t he? So all’s fair and good in the world again.”

Kingston rolled his eyes and returned to his friends. “So Michelle thinks that Ezekiel’s misdemeanour there may have sparked a shift in reality, thus bringing me to life, in a manner of speaking.”

“Well, when you put it like that …” mumbled Ezekiel.

Joanna glared at the intruder. “And now he’s standing here on Satan’s orders, I presume?”

“Yes,” said Ezekiel, looking excited again. “See, he has faith in me and has glossed over some of issues in the past, since that worked out well for him and Death. Otherwise Death may have been overthrown and that mess would have been horrendously difficult to fix, I can tell you.”

Kingston pointed at the regaining conscious man. “So who’s that?”

“Ah, well, this here is a spy for the Bank of Limbo, yes, sir.” Ezekiel smiled at the foursome, pleased with his report.

“And … you’re a spy for Satan?” Kingston asked.

“Not as such, no. See, my master has a vested interest in the wheelings and dealings of Limbo and there is an issue with a certain flayed individual that he and Death disagree on. Me? I couldn’t begin to tell you what happened there, no clue at all, but I do know that recently deceased billionaires don’t get flayed for no good reason just any day of the week, no sirs. And ma’am’s.” He smiled then winked at Joanna and Catalina.

“Ay, God help me.”

“Woah, easy on the language there. I have to report back to Satan exactly what happened here, word for word, so if you could see it in yourselves to go easy on anything that might tick off my master I would appreciate that. And he can tell when I’m lying. But he’s a nice boss, a wonderful boss, so many gracious qualities. But if we could all agree to keep this event to ourselves and avoid telling Michelle or Death, that might be best for all those involved.”

“I might need to tell Michelle,” said Kingston.

Ezekiel looked from one person to the next and now had big puppy dog eyes with a look of concern. “Is there any chance you four could just keep this one a secret?”

“You were spying on us,” said Kingston.

“No, no, I was looking out for you. And good thing too, because I caught this guy snooping on you.”

“Looking out for us?” Kingston asked. He glanced down to the man who was starting to stir again.

“Yes. Look, there isn’t much that goes on in Limbo that my master doesn’t find out about … I probably shouldn’t have said that … but he obviously knew that you four were hired by Death to investigate the bank and he also knew that eventually the bank would investigate you four. The easiest way to do that is through a good for nothing bounty hunter.” Ezekiel nudged his prisoner with his foot. There was a quick struggle as the prisoner tried to break free. “Oh no you don’t!” cried Ezekiel. In a flash of smoke and soot the prisoner fell to the ground, again unconscious. “Lucky I held onto him. See? He tried to teleport out of here. He can’t now. Unconscious again. So yes, I was sent to watch over you and help you out when necessary, like now. Obviously the bank wanted to spy on you, given that you were investigating them.”

“They know that?” Kingston asked, his eyes going wide.

“Well, I don’t know. I think their usual procedure is to investigate everyone who works for them. I’m betting that you four are certainly suspicious in their eyes, coming and going from the bank so often in just a couple of days. Obviously this proves that something nefarious is going on there, don’t you agree? If they’re this paranoid to send someone invisible to watch over you then there is something big going on. So I came to your rescue.”

“So you’ve been standing around, invisible, watching and listening to everything we’ve been doing?” Joanna asked. She crossed her arms and felt a shudder of cold run through her body.

Ezekiel shied away from glares of everyone around him and he tried his best to remain focussed. “I can keep secrets, you know?”

“Except for a word by word recitation to Satan,” said Joanna.

“But to everyone else? Absolute secrecy.”

“Oh good God,” mumbled Catalina.

“Easy on the language, please, my boss is a little sensitive on these matters,” said Ezekiel.

Catalina glared at him and a burst of fire ran through her eyes. “God God God God God God God -”

“Please stop!”

“God God God!”

Even John glared at Ezekiel, raising himself to tower over the little man. John flexed his fists.

“Look, it’s my job,” said Ezekiel. “And it paid off! See?” He nudged the bounty hunter again.

“Have you been following us everywhere?” Joanna asked.

Ezekiel snorted. “Of course not. I mean, come on, there are four of you and only one of me. How could I possibly follow you all at the same time?” He glanced across each person and smiled awkwardly. “Well, best of luck in getting to the bottom of this!”

“Wait,” said Kingston, freezing Ezekiel to the spot.

“But I really must be going. You shouldn’t have even seen me.”

“I have some questions for your invisible friend there.”

Ezekiel glanced to the unconscious man and then back to Kingston. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I have questions and unless they’re answered then I’m going straight to Michelle, and to Death, and even to Satan. I’ll let them all know what you’ve been up to. It’s either that or cooperate.”

Ezekiel hesitated for a moment, torn between the several options bouncing through his head and weighing up the odds of successfully leaving without anyone stopping him. “It’s just he’s a little unconscious right now.”

Kingston lazily glanced to John. “John? You’re closest to Ezekiel.”

“Right,” said John, nodding in recognition of his orders. He flexed his hands again. Ezekiel looked up at the mighty John and winced. John pointed one of his huge, thick fingers at Ezekiel and with all seriousness said: “You … are a good person for watching out for us like that. But if you leave we will think that you are very rude.” He smiled when he saw Ezekiel swallow nervously, so John finished it up. “And you are far too smart to be rude.” John gave a discreet nod to show that he had finished.

Ezekiel looked from one person to the next and seemed to be imitating a goldfish gasping for air. “What did he just do?”

“That was the sandwich method,” said John. “It instils disappointment in your actions. Particularly in the middle thing I just talked about, how you would be very rude. Very rude indeed.”

“Oh,” said Ezekiel, sighing with relief. “For a moment there I thought you were going to clobber me or something.”

“John, tell Ezekiel about that time you threw a fence at someone,” said Kingston.

“Gladly. Ezekiel? Last month I threw a fence at someone. A huge, roaring black fence. It weighed more than a car. I ripped it off the brick walls as though it weighed nothing more than two full grown men and I hurled it across an alley into someone who wouldn’t cooperate. I found him to be very rude as well.” John glanced to the nearest room. “Now, I’m only three paces away from a desk, but I’m pretty sure I could hit anyone who was trying to escape.” John tapped one of his large fingers against the wall, allowing Ezekiel to hear the thumps as though they were the drums of war ready for another glorious day of battle.

Ezekiel’s eyes followed John’s hands around and he looked over his prisoner, carefully deciding what to do. At last he gulped and looked up to Kingston. “I might be able to wake him up.”

“Good,” said Kingston. He looked around to John, Joanna, and Catalina. “Any suggestions on what to ask him?”

“Who he’s working for and what illegal activity is going on in the bank,” said Joanna.

“That pretty much sums me up,” said John.

Kingston found the small Spanish girl hiding in the back. “Catalina? You’ve been a little quiet today.”

“I don’t want him to see me,” said Catalina.

Kingston turned to Ezekiel. “Is he going to remember this?”

“Maybe. I might be able to blank his memory but that will require taking him to Hell and …” Ezekiel leaned in and sniffed the man’s clothes. “Huh, would you look at that. All this time I thought that was me.”

“We should also ask about Georgiadis,” said Joanna.

Kingston, though, was still focussed on Ezekiel and some kind of discovery the devil had made. “What is it?”

“He smells like sulphur,” said Ezekiel, then his face dropped and he released his grip in an instant. “Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no.” He looked up nervously at the four people staring at him and he started shaking. “I think this guy works in Hell.”

Kingston shrugged. “And?”

“I may have punched out the wrong person,” said Ezekiel. “That will certainly make blanking his mind all the more necessary, but I don’t know who will be willing to do that. Oh boy, this is going to cost me.”

“So let’s ask him,” said Kingston.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea anymore,” said Ezekiel. “I should really go.”

“Wake him up and ask him,” said Kingston, glaring at Ezekiel. “Or else John will show you what he can do with other people’s thumbs.”

John nodded towards Ezekiel, breaking the devil’s confidence in two. “Very well,” mumbled Ezekiel. He dropped to one knee, reached out to his prisoner’s forehead, and held his hand there. The prisoner groaned and was barely able to open his eyes. He looked at John’s giant shoes next to his face, to Kingston’s shins, and tried to lazily pull back from Ezekiel’s grasp, but he had no strength in him at all. “Ask away,” said Ezekiel.

Kingston crouched down in front of their prisoner and cocked his head to one side. He had only been through one drug induced confession in his life but Kingston was sure this was all but the same. “What’s your name?”

“Veli Strova,” mumbled the prisoner.

“Veli Strova huh? Who do you work for?”

“The Bank,” mumbled Veli.

“The Bank of Limbo?”

“The Bank,” he mumbled again.

“Who ordered you to spy on us?” Kingston asked.

“The letter.”

“Who signed the letter?”

“No one.”

“All right, what did the letter say?”

Veli could still barely open his eyes and his speech was slurred as though he was unaware of even having a conversation. Nevertheless, he pulled his head back and recited what he could. “‘To: Agent Strova. Report on subjects Kingston Raine, employee number E7103, and John Nottingham, employee number J240312.’”

“Who do you deliver your reports to?” Kingston asked.

“I write them, they are sent.”

Kingston sighed. He’d had worse interrogations, but this was still frustrating. “Did you travel to Limbo to report on Kingston Raine?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re from Hell?”

“Yes.”

Kingston glanced up to Ezekiel. “Is there a Bank of Hell?”

“Several,” said Ezekiel. “We have quite a big population, you know? More than a hundred billion, or so the latest figures suggest.”

Kingston looked back to Veli. “There was recently a billionaire flayed. Vasili Georgiadis. Do you know who he is?”

“I know his name,” said Veli.

“Do you know where he died?”

“No.”

“Do you know why he died?”

“No.”

“Do you know who ordered him to be killed?”

“No.”

“Who has the power to have someone flayed like that?”

Veli rolled his eyes back and went into automatic mode again. “Satan, the devils, the apothecaries, Death, the Eternals …”

“Who do you think did it?”

“The Bank,” mumbled Veli.

“Of Hell?”

Veli remained unresponsive on that one.

Kingston thought it over and knew there was an obvious connection there. “Tell me, does the Bank of Limbo have a partnership with anyone in Hell?”

“Yes,” said Veli.

“Now we’re getting somewhere. Who?”

“Kanter, Sloane, and Wells Incorporated.”

“And who’s that?”

“The Nobles of Montague,” mumbled Veli.

Kingston rolled his eyes and knew these answers were taking him around and around in circles. He looked up to Ezekiel. “Is he going to be any more useful than this?”

“I really don’t know what to say,” said Ezekiel. He tightened his grip around Veli’s arm.

John stepped forward. “Would it help if I do the thumb thing?”

“I’m doing all I can!” said Ezekiel.

John pointed to Veli. “What if I do the thumb thing on him?”

“He’s barely aware of what’s going on right now,” said Ezekiel.

“The Nobles of Montague,” repeated Joanna. She grabbed a pen and scribbled that down.

“Ring a bell?” Kingston asked.

“Not at all, but there must be a connection to all of this nonsense somewhere inside his mind.”

Veli started groaning and moving his head around, trying to regain his senses. Ezekiel doubled his grip and another charge of power went into Veli. “I can’t hold onto him for long.”

“All right,” said Kingston, clapping his hands together. “Veli? What service does Kanter, Sloane, and Wells Incorporated provide?”

“Security of reputation upon death,” Veli mumbled.

Kingston cocked his head to one side and looked puzzled. “Really?”

John shook his head, trying to work that all out. “Does he mean Death? The guy down the corridor?”

Kingston looked to Ezekiel. “Do you know anything about this?”

“Nothing,” said Ezekiel, shaking his head.

“Okay. Veli? How do they secure a reputation upon death?”

Veli let out a long, deep breath. Then with a quick shudder he jerked back and regained his senses. “Hey! What are you doing?”

“Uh oh,” said Ezekiel, grabbing Veli around his shoulders and trying to hold on. “He’s trying to leave!”

“Well knock him out again!” said Kingston.

“LET GO OF ME!” Veli shouted. He squinted his eyes, tried to teleport out of there but was obviously blocked from leaving. He jerked around and shook himself free from Ezekiel’s grasp.

“Help!” shouted Ezekiel.

“John?”

WHAM!

John’s fist slammed down on top of Veli’s head and in an instant the struggle was over. Veli slumped over and was out cold. Ezekiel gasped and looked up. “You almost hit me!”

“Yes, I almost did,” said John, nodding politely.

“Well … that was uncalled for!”

“You asked for help and help was provided,” said John.

“Ezekiel?” said Kingston. “What happened with Veli?”

Ezekiel gasped and spluttered, looking from John to Kingston to Veli and back again. “He, uh, well I’m not a hundred percent on this, just a theory right now, but he has been charged with keeping a secret. And because I had a hold of him he was about to break that secret, so the enchantment woke him up.”

Joanna scribbled that down. “So we were close?”

“I should say so,” said Ezekiel. “But it’s fairly common. You’ve all signed NDAs, right?”

John groaned at yet another acronym and shook his head.

“I haven’t,” said Kingston.

“Oh, well you probably will,” said Ezekiel. “Just about everyone signs a Non-Disclosure Agreement, especially when dealing with Hell. You literally won’t be able to reveal a secret. If you try then, well, you saw what happened when Veli tried to. I’m willing to bet that right now someone in Kanter, Sloane, and Wells is aware that one of their guys was just revived and that security was breached. I have to go and get that sorted out or else you lot will be in severe trouble. Veli needs to report back to his boss that you lot are normal and nothing suspicious is taking place.” Ezekiel tried to pull the unconscious Veli into his arms but he didn’t have the strength. “Can someone lift him up for me?”

John sighed, swung one mighty arm down and scooped Veli up and lowered him onto Ezekiel’s shoulder.

“Uff,” mumbled Ezekiel. “I have to go. I can’t teleport in here so I have a good couple of minutes of running along corridors until I get outside. Hopefully we won’t see each other again.” Ezekiel spun himself around and headed out the door, slipped invisible but he could still be heard as his heavy footsteps bounced along the corridor.

Kingston stared at John, Joanna, and Catalina, dumbfounded by what had just happened. Joanna looked up from her notes. “I think I got everything.”

Catalina shook her head. “I didn’t understand half of that.”

Kingston raised one hand to his chin and thought it over. “An agent within Hell, but not directed by Satan, as far as we know, came to spy on John and myself. He works for the bank. Not obviously the Bank of Limbo or the Bank of Hell. Perhaps there is an independent company called ‘The Bank’, which given Veli’s penchant for talking in circles wouldn’t be that surprising.”

“But they spy on every new employee,” said Joanna.

“Yeah, and Ezekiel saved our asses on that one,” said Kingston.

“He was very strange,” said John. “Did anyone else see his long fingers? They were longer than mine. You should never trust anyone with unusually long fingers.”

“And now we have a name,” said Kingston. “Kanter, Sloane, and Wells Incorporated. And the Nobles of Montague. They’re connected to the Bank of Limbo, know about Georgiadis, and deal with reputations after someone’s demise.”

“I’m guessing Georgiadis failed to have his reputation protected,” said Joanna.

“And I met an executive in the bank who must have scored higher than Coren Haro,” said Kingston. “He was on par with me. Sarrack.”

John cocked his head to one side and stared off towards the ceiling. “He wasn’t going to give me a job until I mentioned I had some fighting experience in Hell.”

Kingston arched an eyebrow at that one. “You told him that?”

John shrugged. “I was desperate. And it worked.”

“Is that story why he’s a janitor?” Catalina asked, scowling.

“It’s what got him a job,” said Kingston. “So, Sarrack clearly has more going on than his boss knows about, is interested in people going down to Hell, and is likely to be the person who, if he didn’t hire Veli, then he certainly told the people who did.”

“But Sarrack is in Limbo and Veli is from Hell,” said John.

“Be careful,” Catalina said. “If someone invisible like Ezekiel can kidnap another invisible person and take him down to Hell, then …” She started to tear up. “I’d hate to lose you.” She wrapped her arms around John and he gave her a big hug.

“I’ll write up a quick report to give to Michelle,” said Kingston. “And if she decides we’ve done enough then she can pull us off the assignment.”

“Do we know how Georgiadis was flayed?” Joanna asked. “Because I think Death will keep us going until we have a definitive answer.”

Kingston shrugged. “I’m pretty sure the man responsible in Limbo is Sarrack. He just has that aura about him.” said Kingston. He gave Joanna a wink.

“An aura? Really? You’re seeing auras now?” Joanna asked.

“Not exactly,” said Kingston. “I have to write this up.” He returned to his office and began his update to Michelle.

Joanna, meanwhile, went off to learn about bounty hunters between the realms. She also tried to track down a complete set of the Kingston Raine series.

X

Kingston headed into the bank at a quarter to eight in the morning, though it could have been midnight for all he knew, since the sky was perpetually dark. Limbo operated on Greenwich Mean Time, so ‘in the morning’ was just a figure of speech. ‘The weekend’ was another foreign concept as most residents had rostered days off just once a fortnight. It ensured that only the most dedicated of employees were willing to work in Limbo while the lazy were ushered to Hell.

Kingston was prepped and primed for his first day on the job and was shown straight away to Sarrack’s office. Sarrack gave Kingston a courteous smile but did not shake his hand. “Mr Raine, glad to see you again.”

“Likewise, Sarrack,” said Kingston, matching Sarrack’s bravura and giving the man a slight nod.

Sarrack had a slight turning of his lips as though his smile had soured for a moment. “Now that I’m your supervisor, you can address me as ‘sir.’”

Kingston feigned confusion and looked away for a moment, going through his mental filing cabinet of everything he had learned since the interview. “I don’t recall that in the employee handbook.”

Sarrack kept his posture steady but his smile faded completely. “You’re not off to the best starts of employment.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ve just been a stickler for following procedure as it is written,” said Kingston. He knew in an instant that Sarrack adored his upper class status and that Kingston would forever be regarded as beneath him. That suited Kingston just fine, since he had dealt with men in the past who had delusions of nobility. He was well aware that their power was wholly imaginary.

At that moment, a tall, gangly man walked down the corridor with a large, bushy beard. It seemed as though a stiff breeze would knock him over at any moment, as half of his body weight was made up in facial hair alone.

“This is Billingsly,” said Sarrack. “He will show you to your office.”

Kingston held out his hand for the tall man. “Kingston Raine, nice to meet you.”

“Billingsly Junior,” said the tall man, shaking Kingston’s hand and looking as though he had no idea who Kingston actually was.

“Junior, eh? Does your father work here as well?”

“He does,” said Billingsly. He offered no further information.

Kingston glanced back towards Sarrack. “You know, I’ve noticed a lot of the names here are unusually English.”

Sarrack gave the slightest of glares, then returned to being graciously dignified. “We’re not all English, but thank you for the compliment.”

“Any time,” said Kingston. He turned back to the man who was to show him around. “Billingsly, right? The name destined to be a banker.”

Billingsly stared back at Kingston without the slightest hint of emotion. If anything, Kingston was sure that Billingsly had burnt out long ago and was effectively a zombie in the corporate world. Kingston usually latched onto them during his investigations because they were sloppy with security and would be so relieved to have someone show them some interest that they would spill every secret they had. But then Kingston remembered that almost everyone in Limbo had likely read his books and this tactic of his was well known. He then wondered if Billingsly was actually burnt out or if he was one of Sarrack’s lackeys playing a role.

“You can show him to his office,” said Sarrack. He closed his office door on them.

“This way,” grumbled Billingsly.

Kingston followed his guide along the old corridor and glanced into every office he could find, keeping a mental note of the office numbers, name plates on desks, and any distinguishing features he could see of the occupants. So far he had seven winners with moles, glasses, large noses, short statue, or were unusually robust in girth, and he was able to put their names in line with what he knew about their positions. He had stayed up late into the night practising with Joanna every employee name he could find, as well as their appointed job title.

After several twists and turns, Kingston ended up in office eighty seven. There was a blank name plate on the desk and it was set up the same as Sarrack’s, with the desk facing the front of the building and the side pushed against the wall. The shelves were full of books and folders, Kingston had an in-tray and out-tray already full of paperwork, and there were contracts and forms laid out on the desk awaiting his signature.

“Here you are,” said Billingsly.

Kingston nodded at the redundant statement and again wondered if Billingsly was burnt out or just a patsy. When Kingston turned around to ask Billingsly a question about lunch time and where the bathroom was, Billingsly had left. Kingston glanced along the corridor and saw his guide wander slowly away, confirming to Kingston that he was, indeed, well past his enthusiastic prime.

A patsy would have stayed and listened to all of my questions, Kingston thought. He decided to keep his door open so that someone would come along and tell him what to do and where everything was. Kingston then checked his watch and saw that it was one minute before his shift officially started. He sat down at his desk, felt the squeak in his chair and leaned back into the green leather. The chair was adequate but seemed to breathe whenever he leaned into it, as though it was giving a slight gasp at the sudden weight. Kingston looked over the rest of his desk, rummaged through the drawers, and looked at his quill and fountain pen with some trepidation. He had last used a fountain pen in a couple of classes in Eton and hated every moment of it. He was much better off with a computer, or a regular pen at the very least. This one required being dipped in a bottle of ink.

That’s one way to increase productivity, Kingston told himself. He thought back to what he knew about Coren Haro and realised there was little chance of implementing such a radical change.

His contract sat in front of him and was thirty five pages long. It listed his rights as an employee and gave a set of key performance indicators to be met and rules to be followed. It also listed the various penalties and reprimands that were possible. The most serious was merely being fired. He was also curious to see that his contract was indeed going to last for a hundred years. Pay rises were every twenty five years and would increase by four copper pieces. Still, Kingston would be earning one and a half gold pieces a day. An average new suit cost five and a half gold pieces, a one bedroom apartment could be rented for four silver pieces a day, and a meal at a reasonable restaurant would set someone back a minimum of three silver. He knew that John was at the lowest of pay grades, earning just one gold piece a day. Overall, it kept everyone in Limbo on a similar rate of pay, which jarred with Kingston’s world of corporate banking, where executives were expected to make a hundred times that of what a janitor would earn.

By nine o’clock no one had come to see how he was. By ten o’clock Kingston had gone through the books and folders in his office to see what everything was. The books were mostly procedures and training manuals. By eleven o’clock Kingston had grown bored and decided to walk around and meet people. At five past eleven he found the executive’s dining room and caught sight of a bar stacked with the finest of vodka, whiskey, and wine. There were also twenty executives who were drunk out of their minds and laughing hysterically at each other.

John’s first day was met with equal peculiarity. He headed into the basement and was met by a silent reception, along with room after room of emptiness. He noticed a little bell on the top of the counter like the one he had seen in the reception of the hotel in Florence, so he tapped it once and let out a sharp ding. He heard a chair creak and groan. A moment later Simon shuffled around the corner.

“Sir Simon? John Nottingham, reporting for work,” John said, pulling his shoulders back and standing proud.

Simon nodded and looked down to a stack of paperwork on the counter. “This here is your SWP and SOP. You’ll have to review it before you can start.”

John looked over the title page and was relieved to see the acronyms spelled out as Standard Work Practises and Safe Operating Procedures. “SWP and SOP. SWP and SOP. Okay. Got it.”

“Good,” said Simon. “That will prevent most of the accidents and injuries at work. It has been meticulously put together. You will be working with mops and buckets, wet floors, liquids and potential poisons, and idiots. All very hazardous. Once you’re done with the SWP and SOP we have your TAC of employment.”

John looked over the next bundle of pages and saw Terms and Conditions written at the top of the page. He quickly recited the acronym back to himself.

“These will include your KPIs. You need to keep a record of your activities in the ledger, because the executives like to spring surprise visits on us from time to time and you will need to reference your ledger at a moment’s notice, so best to keep it in your locker.”

“Of course,” said John, looking around frantically for what KPI stood for, or even where his locker might be.

“So you’ll be working the envious shift, it seems,” said Simon. “Very prestigious, yes.” Simon shuffled to the rear wall and looked over a large sheet of paper that had been typed up, scribbled upon, coloured, stained, burnt in the bottom corner, crumpled several times, and it peeled away from old age.

Simon checked the schedule and muttered to himself. “Yes, it’s the daylight shift, so to speak. Working with Shaugnassy, that will be fine. Kevinson, I see problems, since he is quite short. Cartwright mumbles. Whistlethwaite ain’t too bad, and Berkins …” Simon scratched his head. “Which one is he again?” Simon glanced up to the ceiling, lost in thought, then he counted off the names on his fingers. “Shaugnassy fine, Kevinson short, Cartwright mumbles, Whistlethwaite not too bad, Berkins … Berkins … hmm.” Simon glanced around the room as though John didn’t hear any of that. He caught sight of a fluffy white cat sitting on top of the sofa and nodded to himself. “Well yes, I suppose.”

Simon then glanced back to John. “Yes, you’ll be working with the finest of janitors we employ. Since no one likes windows, we’ll get you doing windows first. I’m sure once the next new guy comes along we’ll get to bump you up to floors, hmm?”

John grimaced at the thought but smiled anyway. “Sounds like a plan, Sir Simon.”

“Good. But don’t get too ahead of yourself. New recruits are few and far between. Consider yourself lucky.”

“I … do,” said John, cautiously.

“That’s the spirit. And because you’re tall they’ll probably get you to change some light bulbs here and there. Now, you might be tall, but always use a ladder, okay?”

Considering the ceiling was eighteen feet high in just the basement, John thought using a ladder was a wise idea.

“If you follow me, we’ll find you a locker.”

Simon shuffled around the corner and John followed. It was awkward to walk at such a slow pace, considering that Simon was unusually short and walked as though his shoes were at risk of falling off his feet if he lifted them too far off the ground. John was used to covering whole acres in just a couple of strides. They reached the employee’s area of the janitor’s lounge and faced a row of lockers.

“Here we go. Do you have a favourite number?” Simon asked.

“Yes,” said John, with a sharp nod.

“Good.” Simon pulled open the first locker on the corner. “This will be yours.”

John peered inside. It was long and wide, roughly the size of a coffin. On the left hand side were some shelves. On the right was a small bar from which John could hang some clothes. “What’s it for?” John asked.

“Spare uniforms, mostly,” said Simon. “We’ll get you fitted soon enough.”

John glanced around the room and imagined sharing a room with the other janitors. He wondered what they were like and what they enjoyed talking about. He couldn’t help but feel a little nervous about meeting so many new people all at once. He wanted to see what was inside all of their lockers, but he thought the better of opening them up to find out in case that was considered rude.

“Any questions?”

“A few.”

“Hold them to the end, if you could. They will probably be answered in the manual.” Simon smacked his lips and looked over his shoulder. “Now then, where’s ma tea?”

John wasn’t sure what any of that meant so he smiled politely and gave it his best. “Who’s Matee?”

Simon peered at John, now utterly confused and trying to figure out what the tall guy was saying. “You what?”

“Matee,” John said again.

Simon tilted his head to one side and peered inquisitively at John. “You have ma tea?”

John hung his head for a moment and retraced the mental steps that had led to this point in confusion. Somehow they were having two different conversations with the same words. John was sure he was the only one trying to make the effort to understand someone else. “I don’t have Matee, no.”

“Ah, you should have said so. One of the finer employee benefits, yes, yes. Just help yourself in the kitchen.”

John was still struggling to figure out what the strange little man was talking about. “Just help myself to Matee?”

“They prefer it during our designated breaks, but I see no harm in having a cuppa here and there. Keeps the blood warm.” Simon sighed with pleasure, as though just the thought of caffeine was enough to brighten his day.

John found a pen attached to a long piece of string hanging by the wall. Using his SWP he quickly scribbled down some notes to ask Kingston about later, such as matee, and cuppa.

“Now then, once you’re done reading all of that, we’ll get you in front of the manual. Very important. But before you do, you must understand the most important thing, the single most important thing that will help you above all else in this place is to ask yourself: ‘What would Snowflake do?’”

John nodded to show that he was listening. Simon stopped speaking as though they had reached the natural conclusion to the conversation. At this point John cocked his head to one side and hoped Simon would elaborate on his answer. “Snowflake?”

Simon nodded slowly. “That’s the spirit.”

“I should ask myself: ‘What would Snowflake do?’”

“If you’re ever lost as to what to do, ask yourself exactly that,” said Simon. He then tapped John on the side of the arm. “Welcome aboard.” Simon smiled, turned, and shuffled away.

John’s brain was starting to hurt as though it was playing tricks on him. “We’re talking about Snowflake the cat, right?”

“The very same,” said Simon, calling out over his shoulder. He turned a corner and headed into the kitchen.

John looked around the room, wondering what was supposed to happen now, and if his boss was ever going to return and teach him how to actually be a janitor.

Kingston, meanwhile, was enjoying his third cocktail of the morning and sharing stories with all of the big wigs in the executive dining room. He had met fourteen of the bosses, all of whom seemed interested to meet him, or at least feigned politeness when he introduced himself. Kingston’s favourite executive was Harold Kantz. Kantz’s accent was an odd mix of English and African. He had a bushy handle bar moustache and a large belly. Kingston immediately pictured the man as an ex-pat African big game hunter. His cheeks were red from drunkenness and he seemed to be the centre of attention of the six men surrounding him. He took a swig from his tumbler, winced, and squinted at Kingston.

“Mr Raine. If I may be so bold. Have you, in fact, ever heard of the Indian rope trick?”

Kingston’s mind flashed to the image of a boy climbing a rope that was suspended in thin air. He wasn’t sure if this was the usual first day joking and ripping on the newbie, especially since the other men in the circle seemed interested in Kingston’s reaction. “I can’t say that I have,” said Kingston.

All of the men looked eagerly back to Kantz, who lit up with animated gestures. “Ah! Most wonderful thing. A little boy climbs up a rope, hanging in the air by magic. He gets to the top and vanishes. Poof! Gone. Well shit, now his parents are out looking for him, they have no idea where he is, and the thing with most kinds of vanishing is that you don’t come back. It’s a great way of stamping out curiosity in young boys.” Kantz nodded to signal the end of the story. He took another sip from his glass.

All of the men in the circle nodded at the wisdom from Kantz. Kingston found himself smiling at their reactions. “Did he ever come back?” Kingston asked.

Kantz looked bewildered for a moment, as though the end of his story explained everything and that there was no need for follow up questions. “The little boy? Who knows?”

Kingston wondered for a moment if he was being deliberately set up, or if Kantz simply came from a uniquely different era of humour. Or he’s just an idiot, Kingston thought.

“Hang onto that one,” said Kantz. “It might help you in a tight spot, that one.”

Kingston thought back to his list of executives and knew Kantz was in office sixty, but he couldn’t remember what the man actually did. From the looks of things, all he did was drink and tell stories.

Kingston caught sight of a familiar face. Mr Pompous entered the executive dining and looked as though he was perpetually indignant. He also seemed very stiff in his suit. Kingston was sure it was because this gentleman was used to the finer things in life and the cheap wool jacket wasn’t to his liking. The gentleman glanced over the faces of the crowd and was startled to see Kingston staring back at him. The gentleman quickly looked to see who Kingston was talking to and headed over.

“Ah! Rickland!” Kantz cried.

“Mr Kantz,” acknowledge Rickland.

Kantz turned to Kingston. “Have you met Rickland yet?”

“Can’t say that I have. Kingston Raine.” He held out his hand.

Rickland gritted his teeth and shook hands with Kingston. “Rickland Carson.” He then removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands clean.

“Rickland here is our liaison to the library. And a well read fellow, I believe.”

Kingston arched an eyebrow at that one. “The bank needs a liaison with the library?”

“From time to time,” said Rickland. “Mr Kantz, I was hoping to get your signature on a couple of request forms.”

“Ah, just pop them in my inbox and I’ll get to them shortly.”

“I did. Several days ago. Is there any chance I can get your signature before lunch?”

Kantz pulled out his pocket watch. He needed a moment for his eyes adjust to the blurry hands. “I say that is entirely possible.”

“Thank you,” said Rickland. He turned to Kingston and his eyes fell over his fine suit. “So, Mr Raine, what is it you do here?”

“Loss prevention,” said Kingston, smirking as though it was the highest of aspirations for any executive. He could see that he intimidated Rickland and John would be pleased to hear about that. Kingston also noticed that Rickland did, in fact, have a squirrely disposition. His nose twitched and flared quite often.

John locked onto this guy straight away, Kingston reminded himself. He wondered if he should do the same.

Rickland stared back and said little else.

Kingston looked back to Kantz. “Sorry, Harold, I forgot what you do here.”

“My team runs the vaults,” said Kantz. He pulled his shoulders back to give himself some extra height. “A bank is nothing if it is not a secure facility.”

Kingston tried to connect Kantz’s job with Rickland’s. No doubt both buildings had vaults, but beyond that it was a mystery. “Has there ever been a break in?” Kingston asked.

“Ha! You do come from a different plane altogether. No, there has never been a break in. Not that it is impossible, but rather, if you have a history of breaking and entering then you are likely to be sorted into Hell. So, Limbo is left with only the good apples, if you follow. And it’s not like you can get away if you do break into the vaults. The moment you leave the bank you would be swarmed by psychics, seers, and scouts. They would have you in no time.”

Kingston glanced over to Rickland and wondered if he had just stumbled onto a link. If whatever was in a vault in the bank was officially moved to a vault in the library, via Kantz’s signature, then it would go undetected as an official break in. Kingston was equally sure that the security in the library would be far weaker than at the bank. Or so he presumed. He made a mental note to get someone to research the library later on.

Rickland looked from Kingston to Kantz. “Well, I won’t keep you any longer. If I could have those signatures soon, please.”

“Of course,” said Kantz.

Rickland left the executive dining room, providing Kingston with a pretty good idea of the man’s temperament.

“Has he been here long?” Kingston asked.

“I think so. Everyone I’ve talked to tell me that he’s been here since Curtis.”

“Who’s Curtis?”

“Our liaison with the opera house.”

Kingston held back a laugh and arched an eyebrow. “The bank requires a liaison with the opera house as well?”

“Oh, we have liaisons with all of the official organisations,” said Kantz, nodding happily.

“But why with the opera house?”

“Because we’re the bank,” said Kantz. “Everyone links to us. Can you imagine the insanity if the library and opera house tried to do business without us? It would be preposterous. So everyone does business with us, and we do business with them. It keeps the flow rather harmonised. Perhaps I should get you into a few meetings, seeing as how you’re involved in loss prevention and all.”

“I would appreciate that,” said Kingston.

“Wait … what are your hours?”

“Eight to sixteen hundred,” said Kingston.

“Oh, bad luck,” said Kantz. “The seniors of each division meet between eighteen and twenty hundred.”

“I could stay behind for those meetings,” said Kingston. “It would also give me a chance to meet the rest of the seniors.”

“It would be frowned upon. You have your hours and Mr Haro expects that you meet them perfectly. If you are still here four hours after your shift ended it doesn’t look good.”

“I thought it would show promise,” said Kingston, giving Kantz a strained look.

“No, it shows incompetence. If it takes you twelve hours to do an eight hour job then something is seriously wrong.”

Kingston wondered how often Kantz did any job, but he didn’t vocalise that.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be up for review soon enough. That’s the time when you can change your schedule.”

“When’s my review?” Kingston asked.

“In twenty five years,” said Kantz.

“Of course it is,” said Kingston. He realised the need for a good deal of drinking in this place. He considered asking Kantz if there had ever been an executive by the name of Kanter, Sloane, Wells, or even Montague. Kingston had gone over the names of every employee and didn’t find a single hit.

Kantz took Kingston’s far away expression as first day jitters. “Don’t worry. You have the enviable schedule. Free from all of the seniors looking over you … well, except for Haro and Sarrack. And the seniors are utter bores. They come up with all of these strategies and objectives, then they hand them to the executives who follow their hours to write up. And then we find a way of letting the seniors know that the executives before us must have made a few errors in translation because the strategies we have don’t actually make any sense. But, should you wish to research the duties of your job you have your bookshelf at your disposal.”

“The bookshelf that is two hundred books thick?”

“That’s the one. Everything you need is in there. I’d suggest reading the newer tomes first but it’s not entirely necessary. No one here expects you to be perfect at your job in the beginning. You need to ease into it. The easing takes some time.”

“Like twenty five years?” Kingston asked.

Kantz winked. “Exactly, my boy.”

XI

Kingston stumbled back into Inhuman Resources and found Joanna sitting in her office.

“Hello!” Kingston cried.

Joanna looked up, sniffed the air, and peered at her boyfriend. “Just how drunk are you?”

“Not at all. Which is not to say that I wasn’t drunk earlier. Which I was. But now? Totally fine.”

“Uh huh. Did you bring John back with you?”

“I did,” said Kingston, giving Joanna a dignified nod.

John leaned in, looking sullen and dejected. “Hello.”

“Aw, what happened?”

“I’m a janitor,” John mumbled.

“But that was expected,” said Joanna.

“I have to ask a cat what to do,” John said.

Joanna shook her head in confusion. “Is that a euphemism?”

“No, he’s an actual cat called Snowflake,” said John. “I should go and say hello to Catalina.”

“Oh, hey, congratulations on your first day of work!” said Joanna.

“Whoo,” said John. He walked off.

Joanna looked over to Kingston and broke into a whisper. “Just how bad was it?”

“It’s only the shock of signing a hundred year contract to sweep floors,” said Kingston. “He’ll get over it.”

“He’ll get over it if he can get out of it,” said Joanna. “So, did John’s workload inspire your drinking?”

“No, there’s an executive dining room. Apparently no one works a full day, they just stand around drinking.”

Joanna rolled her eyes at Kingston. “Right. So while you two have been off in the chauvinistic world of banking, Catalina and I started exploring Limbo.”

“This is starting to sound like window shopping.”

“We were getting the lay of the land,” said Joanna. “About ten percent of the residents here work for independent shops or businesses. The other ninety percent work in some capacity for Death Inc. We started by exploring the shops near the bank, trying to get any gossip.”

“And?”

“So far, not much,” said Joanna. “But instead of going stir crazy in this place by never leaving, Cat and I will spend two hours a day mingling with the locals.”

“That seems like more your style,” said Kingston.

“It does,” said Joanna. “We’ve also been looking into Vasili Georgiadis.”

Kingston nodded in approval. At this point Joanna consulted her notes. Kingston followed her inside and took a seat in front of her desk. “And what have you learned?”

“We also did some research on the bank. That first, because it’s what we were actually hired to look into. It was formerly established in 1413. It existed beforehand in various different forms, but like city states it was unified under a charismatic Italian. He’s no longer around. I understand there are paintings of him in the bank.”

“What happened to him?” Kingston asked.

“He grew bored of running just one bank so Satan offered him a job of establishing The Bank of Satan. He took it.”

Kingston thought it through. “So, he would be our prime suspect in everything that’s wrong with the bank?”

“It’s unlikely. Our lovely Italian was very Catholic, very strict, and incorruptible. Before his arrival in Limbo there were various loan sharks, vaults, and institutions which would be recognised as the precursor to a bank. Those were mostly established by bounty hunters. They too are no longer around. The earliest dates back to …” Joanna leaned over her notes and squinted. “742 of the Green Era. I’m still trying to work out where that fits on the Gregorian calendar. There are notes here that payment was made in shells and strips of carved bone, so I’m guessing it was a long way back.”

Kingston tried to process all of the new information. “The bank was founded by bounty hunters. I guess that makes sense.”

“Yeah. The first couple of executives were former bounty hunters. No general master of the bank was ever a former bounty hunter, though, which is telling. The building itself was begun in 1463 and completed in 1510, renovated in 1525, then renovated another twenty three times until Coren Haro came to be the general master, where he oversaw the final run of renovations in his first two years. Every ten years in the last century the bank makes an extraordinary amount of money through loans and exposure to the vaults. It’s been nine years since the last one, so I suppose we’re due for another blast of wealth coming in soon.”

“What happens every ten years?” Kingston asked.

“Hell and Limbo have a giant gambling session and everyone here goes nuts.”

“Huh.”

“But that’s not for another year. That’s most of the background I have on the bank. I can go further, and will, but it was day one and I was more interested in Georgiadis’ time in Limbo.”

Kingston smiled and could see Joanna was bursting to tell him all of the gossip she had learned. “And?”

Joanna picked up a second notepad and flipped to the front page. She then caught sight of Kingston smirking at her. “What?”

“I’m just waiting,” said Kingston. “Waiting and eager. Eagerly waiting to hear about your day.”

Joanna locked her jaw to the side and studied Kingston for a moment, trying to figure out what he was playing at. “You’re sure you’re not drunk?”

“Very sure.”

“Because you’re eyeing me up.”

Kingston grinned at her. “It’s because you’re impossibly sexy when you’re in research mode.”

Joanna rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath. “Men.” She went back to her notes on Georgiadis. “Officially, he spent two days in Limbo, which is rare. Not unheard of, but rare. For the common man they’d be sorted within a couple of hours. For people of substance and wealth they would be sorted by the end of the day. For real celebrities there are obviously delays as everyone wants to meet them and get a little bit of fame into their lives. So, in that regard, Georgiadis fit quite well within ‘normal’, except he was still a nasty piece of work and should have been sorted almost immediately, given that he was a high profile arsehole.”

“So how did he spend his two days in Limbo?” Kingston asked.

Joanna smiled with the hope to savour this moment for as long as she could. “He went to the library.”

Kingston shrugged it off. “The bank and library are connected, seeing as they are official organisations. I met the liaison between the bank and the library today. Rickland Carson.”

Joanna glared at Kingston for a moment. “It took me three hours to piece together Georgiadis’ final moments here and you …” She sighed and closed her notebook. “No, that’s fair. I mean, it’s not fair, but it is. You were in the thick of things and I was staring at books and newspapers.”

“I still have no idea what Georgiadis did in the library.”

“Well, now that you’re saying they’re connected, I’m sure he didn’t spend as much time there as the official story says.”

“I agree. It’s purely conjecture, but if the library has a vault, and the bank has a vault, and one was founded by teleporting and unscrupulous bounty hunters only to be renovated many times in its history, then I’d take a stab in the dark and say that there could be a few secrets linking the two.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Joanna. “There was a formal investigation into Georgiadis’ two days in Limbo when he was found dead. It gives a list of names, like his grim reaper, his sorter, where he stayed … that sort of thing. It was essentially a list of people to contact, not an itinerary of what he got up to. But the main details are: he died in Vienna on the seventeenth of February. He arrived into Limbo on the same day. On the nineteenth he was officially sent to Hell. On the twenty fifth he was found flayed, in Limbo, on Navi Lane, off Uka Pacha Way, between an apothecary and a furniture repair shop.”

“What happened to his body after he was found?” Kingston asked.

Joanna paused, allowing her mouth to fall open as she searched through everything she knew about the case. Finally, she sat forward, realising that she was stumped. “Huh. You know, I don’t think there’s any record of that.”

“I’m guessing that, since he was sorted into Hell, his body went back to Hell.”

“Makes sense,” said Joanna. “But now that I think about it, how do you even identify a flayed body?”

“Probably through a seer. They could look at someone and know their name. Or Death took one look at him and knew. But either way, it shows that our report is lacking quite a few details.”

“I’ll hassle Michelle about it tomorrow,” said Joanna.

For Kingston’s second day he decided to realign his priorities. He wasn’t there to work, he was there to investigate the death of Georgiadis. And investigate the bank. But Georgiadis was more interesting. He arrived to his office on time, made his presence known in the executive dining room by sharing a drink and quick snack, then he headed down to the basement to see John.

John was busy staring down a white fluffy cat when Kingston came around the corner. John leaped up and held his hand against his chest. “I thought you were one of the executives coming to check up on me.”

“Nah. Well, yeah, but you’re not in trouble.” Kingston looked around the empty janitorial area and caught sight of the cat. “Huh. You know, I heard animals were rare in Limbo. Isn’t it almost exclusively human.”

“And statues,” said John.

“Oh. Yeah. But …”

“I get what you’re saying.” John stared at Snowflake and thought it over. Perhaps Simon’s ‘What would Snowflake do?’ had some clout to it after all. If Snowflake was so significant that he made it to Limbo then maybe the ball of fluff had a few tricks at his disposal.

Kingston strained his neck around and tried to peer into every open door. “It’s very quiet down here.”

“Everyone else is at work. Simon, though, is around the corner.”

“They must work like ninjas, because I didn’t pass a single janitor on my way here.” Kingston then thought that over. “You know, I didn’t even see one yesterday.”

“Well, you did spend all afternoon in the dining room.”

“There is that. How are you getting along? Enjoying work?”

John looked around to make sure that no one could over him. For a moment he spied Snowflake suspiciously, wondering if the cat could understand human speech. John then pulled Kingston off to the side and dropped into a whisper. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t really started yet. I’m doing something called OJT.”

“On the job training?” Kingston asked.

“That’s the one. Apparently it means that I get dropped into the deep end, though I’m not quite sure what they mean by that.”

“The deep end of a pool. It really means: you’re going to need to learn fast.”

“Right,” said John, bobbing his head as he learned the meaning to a new expression. “We have a phrase like that in Nottingham. You better be able to do that faster than a running horse. It’s in case one of the soldiers sees you and gives chase, you better finish up what you’re doing and run like the clappers. But I did find something interesting this morning.” John led Kingston over to the main reception area. Behind it held a table with several large pages sprawled over the surface. They were blueprints for the bank. “Simon was telling me that when Mr Haro began as the general master there were no blueprints for the bank. So he commissioned them to be done. And, there they are, so that the janitors can work in a particular section and leave no corner untouched. There are floors upon floors of vaults, all underground. Simon tells me that they are mostly empty, because no one really has that much wealth here. Death is the richest person here. That’s because he owns everything. Simon thinks the next richest person might actually be Michelle.”

Kingston arched an eyebrow at that and was impressed. Then again, she had worked in Limbo for eight hundred years so she must have amassed quite a number of automatic raises. Then, that begged to be asked, what did she spend the money on? Kingston smirked when he realised that Michelle was probably earning twice as much as Haro, and she was a secretary while he was the general master of the only bank in town. Kingston had the suspicion that Michelle was a secretary in name only, and that she wielded far more authority in the realm than Haro could ever hope for.

John clicked his fingers in front of Kingston’s face.

“Sorry,” said Kingston, snapping back to attention.

“You drifted off there for a moment. Your eyes looked fuzzy. Now, as I was saying before I bored you with rich people, there are lots of vaults. The top floor hold the largest. They are supposed to be twenty by twenty feet. The next floor down, the vaults decrease to fifteen by fifteen. Then ten by ten. Then ten by five. Then, at last, we have something that Simon calls ‘shoebox vaults.’” John peered at Kingston for an explanation.

Kingston held his hands out to signify the size of a shoebox.

“Ah. Well, that would make sense. There are lots of those, stacked one on top of the other. They are all numbered. Unfortunately, none of the numbers are in order. Simon says this was because the first unions in the bank decreed the vaults to be unnumbered, because if any old dolt could find his way around then there would be no need for a vaultier. There are vaultiers, by the way. People who guide you to your vault and keep a record of those details. A vaultier needs to be able to find their way around without embarrassing themselves, so they need to know where every vault is off the top of their head. There are two thousand seven hundred and six of the largest vaults. There are four times that of the ten by tens. I have no idea how the vaultiers do anything else other than study the numbers on the vaults, because it does my head in trying to figure out how any of them do their job.”

“So there’s a good deal of secrecy in regards to the location of the vaults,” Kingston said.

John shrugged. “They just don’t want anyone else to be able to do their job. But you know what? Simon is sure that he has a full army of janitors working day and night but I haven’t seen anyone else since I got here.”

“Huh,” said Kingston, with a spark in his eye. “Do you have their names?”

John pulled out a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it over. “Thought you were going to ask. It’s made me wonder how many people actually work here.”

“It’s a bank. No one actually works here, unless they can be seen by customers. But I’ll have a look into these names and see if anything has happened to them.”

A meow came from the other room and it caught Kingston by surprise. “Snowflake?”

“Snowflake,” said John. “I have no idea what he does down here, but he’s here nevertheless. I’ve been thinking about introducing him to Catalina to see if that will cheer her up.”

“I don’t suppose you have a sixth sense about the trouble that’s going on down here?”

John shrugged. “So far, nothing. Although you of all people, a sixth sense? That’s preposterous. There are at least twenty five of them. Pressure, heat, needing to go to the bathroom, even the passing of time. If you lose any of those you are in just as bad a situation as if you went blind. Well, maybe not pressure, but the others? Definitely.”

Kingston paused, thought it over, and nodded towards John. “You got this from Sherwood Forest?”

“Nah, there were a stack of books in the bathroom in Florence,” said John. “I was troubled to hear about the Reformation, Henry VIII, and the Spanish Armada. Catalina’s country and my country have often been at war.”

“Yeah, but we like them now.”

“Good to know,” said John. There was another meow. John ducked into the kitchen, scooped Snowflake into his hands, and brought him out to see Kingston. “Here you go.”

Kingston held his hands up in defence. “Ah, no. I’m wearing a suit and that’s a white cat.”

John glanced from Kingston’s jacket to the cat. “So?”

“Cats shed a lot of hair.”

“They shed less hair than humans,” said John. “And have you seen the floor after the girls have a shower? They leave behind so much hair that I’m sure you could build a yunith out of it.”

Kingston cocked his head to one side. “What’s a yunith?”

It was John’s turn to lean back in surprise. “A yunith. You know, the hairy things.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” said Kingston.

“You’re seriously telling me you don’t know what a yunith is?” John asked. “What kind of stories did you grow up on?”

“Uh … different stories, I guess,” said Kingston.

John rolled his eyes. “You’re missing out. A yunith is a hairy giant that lives in the trees and mountains. It walks like a man but is an animal. There are various stories about how they exist, like they are the monsters of misty mountains, or they were men who were punished by a wizard and turned into a hideous form. Sometimes they come down and steal kids who wander outside when they’re supposed to be in bed.”

“Gotcha,” said Kingston. “Anyway, I’m not holding the cat. But I do have something for you to test.”

John perked up when he heard that.

“You said Simon is a little odd?” Kingston asked.

“Sure is. Keeps talking about ma tea, and Snowflake, and a bicky, and then sometimes a sarnie. I finally found someone who makes less sense than my cousin Ethel.”

Kingston pulled out an official envelope with a seal holding it together. “Give him this. Tell him that Kantz, one of the executives, gave it to you to give to Simon. If Simon asks, be sure to tell him you think Kantz has spent the whole day in the executive dining room drinking. It’s the truth, so that should be pretty solid if anyone queries you.”

John sniffed the envelope. “What’s inside?”

“A request for someone to carry several boxes worth of old janitor files from your bookshelves and cabinets. Take them to the outgoing vault for the library so that the files may be processed and copied. While there, wherever there may be, you are to take the last copied files and carry them to the bank’s vault that stores whatever files we have on hand. Make sure you get Simon’s signature. Keep this set of instructions as well so that no one insists on carrying the boxes around themselves. You’re going to find out where the library and bank vaults are. Get their numbers, do you best to remember how to find them. And, also, have a look at the files from February, because that’s when Georgiadis came and went.”

John went wide eyed with surprise. “There are thousands of mismatched vaults down here.”

“I’m not expecting any miracles, just some good fortune. And, feel free to ask Simon if this is at all common. And what else usually happens. Also, where do we normally store our old documents? That sort of thing. Be eager about learning as much as you can because it will make you a better employee.”

“Got it,” said John, though his nerves betrayed him.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to keep Kantz busy for the next few hours.” Kingston nodded a ‘good luck’ to John and headed back upstairs.

Joanna sat at her desk reading over the extended history of the bank. She had added a pile of books about the library and opera house to see if there were any devious similarities. She was startled by a knock at the door, and doubly startled when a short man wearing a trench coat and thick bombardier goggles peered inside.

“Miss York?” the short man asked.

Joanna quickly closed over her notebook and hid it from view. “Yes?” Then she realised that she had seen him before. “I’ve met you, haven’t I?”

The short man smiled and took a deep bow. “Lord Henry Biggins. We met in Munich last month. It was a brief meeting, but I’m glad to see that I made an impression.”

“I thought I hallucinated you,” said Joanna.

Biggins bobbed his head politely. “May I come in?”

“Sure,” said Joanna. She stood and came around to the front of the desk, hoping to shield her research from Biggins’ eyes.

Biggins stepped inside and was followed by a younger, taller man dressed in a similar outfit. “This is Junior Lord Harvest, my apprentice.”

Harvest took a deep bow. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” He then stood up as stiffly as he could, as if standing to attention.

Biggins rolled his eyes at Harvest. “I have come at the request of Miss Michelle. You are investigating Vasili Georgiadis. Perhaps we can help.”

“Oh. Uh … sure,” said Joanna, though she was still reluctant to reveal her notes. “If I write up a list of questions will that help you boys out?”

“It might, but we … I have a good memory,” said Biggins. Then, without taking his eyes off Joanna, he murmured to his apprentice. “Harvest? We’re not at a royal show. Go easy on your shoulders.”

Harvest relaxed a moment, but he had to look away from Joanna to stop himself from blushing.

“Now then, those questions,” said Biggins.

“Right,” said Joanna. “I’d like to know what happened to his body once it was discovered he had been flayed. Where did his body end up? In Limbo or in Hell? Who made the ID? How did they make it? Were his clothes nearby? Did he have a bag with him? How long had he been in Limbo before he was found? That covers that section of questions. The next is for when he first arrived. Did he demand to speak to anyone when he got here? If yes, who? Did he go into the Bank of Limbo? Did he go to any vault? Did he open up a bank account? Who did he spend time with? And, finally, how do you think he died after coming to Limbo. Further final question: who do you think did it?”

“I’ll look into it,” said Biggins, with a happy nod.

“Thank you.” Joanna then shot Harvest a cheeky look and winked at him. “Your apprentice is rather cute.”

Harvest spluttered and went bright red. Biggins rolled his eyes and groaned. “I’ll be listening to that for another week, you know?”

“You’re cute as well,” said Joanna.

Biggins snapped back in surprise and stood a little taller. It took a moment for the compliment to settle, then he gave her a polite smile. “Yes I am, aren’t I?” He then tapped Harvest on the arm. “Let’s go. You can tell me how we’re going to look into everything she asked.”

“Did you hear what she said?” Harvest whispered.

“Yes, I was standing two feet from her when she asked all of her questions,” said Biggins. They headed down the corridor and disappeared from earshot.

It gave Joanna a little more time to gather her notes and focus on the important details. She pushed aside everything relating to the bank and dove back into the life and death of Georgiadis. She scribbled down every question she asked Biggins and tried to come up with her own answers to see how close she got. She didn’t expect Georgiadis to be fully clothed or hold any useful information on his person when he was found dead, but she was sure that he demanded to speak to someone when he realised where he was. It seemed as though Georgiadis came into Limbo prepared for the afterlife.

Two hours later, Biggins and Harvest returned. Biggins tapped Harvest on the back and gave his apprentice a nod. Harvest took a step forward and nervously adjusted the goggles on his forehead, then he held his hands behind his back as tightly as he could.

“Ma’am, we have answers to your questions. Referring to Vasili Georgiadis, died seventeenth of February of this year. Where did his body end up? A tent was erected over his corpse while a team of two scouts, two psychics, and two seers, conducted a thorough investigation. There were no clothes, no bags, and no ID. He had been in Limbo for three hours before he was discovered by Muwali Iba, the owner of the furniture repair shop. Death arrived after one hour, listened to the verdict on the ID, and also concluded that the gentleman was indeed Vasili Georgiadis. The body was then moved to the dungeons within Death Inc. The Satan office was called. An agent by the name of Jax came to ID the body as well. This caused a stink. A second agent by the name of Bunt arrived and, like Jax, disagreed about the ID of the body. A third agent, by the name of Ezekiel, arrived, and admitted that he saw both sides of the argument. The Dark Lord Satan then arrived with his entourage of ten seers, ten psychics, and an aromatherapist. Satan and Death had a disagreement about who should take Mr Georgiadis. It was determined that the body should be moved to Hell because that was supposed to be his final resting place. The body was buried in a corner of the Black Forest by ten accountants. The site has remained watched and guarded ever since by a group of ten guards who remain camped in the area. None of them have left the site since they were posted there. No one has gone to the site since they were posted there. Our best assumption is that the body of Vasili Georgiadis is still there.”

Harvest drew in another deep breath. “As for when Mr Georgiadis arrived for the first time. He demanded to speak to ‘the man in charge’ and ‘whoever runs this shithole.’ He didn’t give any name, although he did repeat several times, ‘I am Vasili Georgiadis!’ It took seven attempts to do his sorting review, as Mr I Am Vasili Georgiadis either stormed off before they were done, or his sorter, Melinda Tierds, screamed at him to shut up. She did hit him over the head several times with a book. Unfortunately, Mr Georgiadis slapped her back. He called her some unfortunate names. He was then gagged, bagged, and tagged for his seventh attempt. Miss Tierds was ready to proceed in a calmer manner. A celebrity or VIP review often takes no more than thirty minutes. The final review of Mr Georgiadis took six hours. We believe that Miss Tierds was deliberately speaking as slowly as she could to extend the time and make Mr Georgiadis suffer.”

Joanna liked the sound of Melinda. She also liked how riled up Biggins got as Harvest recited the events. She saw Biggins almost growl when it got to the point where Georgiadis slapped Melinda.

Harvest continued. “After that, did Mr Georgiadis go to the Bank of Limbo? No. He spent most of his time in the library. Did he go to any vault? Yes. In the library. He was shown around by the junior chief librarian and he looked over some old manuscripts. Upstairs he did a fair amount of writing and he met with several workers of the library. Their meetings were dull. Mr Georgiadis kept asking for the man in charge. He was denied on every occasion. It looked as though he was told not to leave the library, as he kept looking at the front door as though he wished he could leave. But he stayed there and read over some of Life’s newspapers. He read up on his own death and swore at every name mentioned in any article related to him. Did he open up a bank account? No.”

Harvest took in another deep breath. “Finally, how do we think he died? I think deaths are more common in Hell than people let on. It’s Hell, after all. I think he was poisoned by an apothecary.”

Biggins stepped forward. “I think he grabbed onto an agent, or someone of a similar ability, who was teleporting from Hell to Limbo. You may have seen that if you’re coming from Hell you tend to teleport while wreathed in flames. If Mr Georgiadis was an unwelcomed guest during the teleport then it is possible that the flames flayed him and the process of teleporting killed him. But that’s the first time we’ve ever heard of it happening.”

Joanna thought it over and knew that both men were experts here, but neither of them had anything more than a guess. She would have to dig further to find the actual answer. “So he spent a lot of time in the library …”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How big is it?”

“The main building stands at one thousand metres by two hundred. It is twelve storeys high. The complex holds almost six hundred million works.”

Joanna’s jaw dropped open. “Six hundred million?”

“Yes, ma’am! Spread across several locations, obviously. It is one of the few locations in Limbo where books can remain in their original text. You can read The Art of War in Chinese, or the Canterbury Tales in Old English. Also, if there are any post departed notes or updates, where the work was revised by the author after his death, then those are available as well.”

Biggins cleared his throat and Harvest fell quiet again.

“Wow!” spluttered Joanna. “Do I need a library card, or something?”

“Your regular ID card will do just fine, ma’am,” said Harvest.

“Well, thank you, gentlemen. You’ve been a tremendous help.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Harvest. He took a deep bow.

“It’s our pleasure,” said Biggins. He then grunted at Harvest.

“Oh, uh … do you have anything else for us?”

Joanna cocked her head to one side. “You mean like a tip?”

Biggins’ and Harvest’s both shot open as wide as they could. “No, no, no,” said Biggins.

“I meant: a job,” said Harvest. “No tip, ma’am. But, any other assignment you wish us to look into?”

“Oh. No, not yet. I might later on.”

“Very well. Then … until the next time.”

“Take care,” said Joanna.

Biggins and Harvest stepped away. As they headed along the corridor, Biggins was heard chastising Harvest. “You have to be clearer, boy. You can’t go around sounding like you’re expecting financial reward on top of your salary. Clarity, boy.”

“Sorry, Lord Biggins.”

Joanna smiled to herself and quickly wrote down everything Harvest had told her. She was impressed by the detail they were able to go through in just a two hour investigation, and it did cause her considerable shame as she realised that she and Kingston had been at it for several days and hadn’t even scratched the surface.

She looked over her questions and guesses. She wasn’t surprised to find that she was completely wrong on every theory she had. She would tell Kingston and the others later on. For now, she was going to read up on Georgiadis and see if anything fell into place. Then, if possible, she would talk to Melinda Tierds, Georgiadis’ sorter, and bring her some cake.

Catalina came in with her notepad and rubbed her eyes. “I’ve just spent five hours trying to go through every Kanter, Sloane, Wells, Noble, and Montague that has come through Limbo. If I find out that these names don’t actually mean anything I’m going to scream.”

Joanna gave Catalina a sympathetic smile. “How far did you get?”

Catalina groaned and shook her head. “Nothing yet.”

Joanna decided to not mention using Biggins and Harvest as a short cut, in case Catalina did actually scream in frustration. “I think it’s time we hit the streets and ask people directly.”

XII

Joanna checked over her notes and looked up to Muira’s Apothecary. “Ready?” she asked Catalina.

“Ready.”

They headed inside and were surprised to see just how long and narrow the building was. The shelves were so close together that even the most hardy of shopper would feel claustrophobic. Joanna glanced around and noticed that none of the jars or boxes were labelled. It also looked like the left half of the store was completely empty, while the right was about to burst from an excess of supply.

“Hello?” Joanna called out.

A woman with red hair and overladen with rings and necklaces peered around from one of the shelves. She held a box in her hands and had been busy restocking the far end of her shop. She perked up at the sight of Joanna and Catalina, dumped her box on one shelf, and hurried forward.

“Yes! Hello! Welcome to my apothecary,” she said in a raspy voice.

Joanna went straight into her super energetic mode to match the slender woman in front of her. “Muira, I take it?”

“Yes! What can I interest you in? A little perfume? Some sass?”

Joanna titled her head to one side. “You sell sass?”

“I sell sass!”

“Isn’t that more of a personality thing?”

“I could offer you a wake up potion that has a three in one component to it. It wakes you up, you feel incredible, and the world starts to work in your favour.”

“That sounds like coffee,” said Joanna.

“Yes. So with that in mind, I can sell sass.”

Catalina glanced over to Joanna. “What are we talking about?”

“Uh … yes, okay, let’s have a look at some sass,” said Joanna, now that curiosity had taken her over.

“Are you two just making up words?” asked Catalina.

Muira beamed at Catalina. “Maybe you would like a shawl.”

“If you say a sassy shawl …”

“No, it would just bring out your eyes.”

“Bring my eyes out to where?” asked Catalina.

Muira paused for a moment, then hurried down one of the aisles. “Let me show you what I mean!”

Catalina turned to Joanna and whispered. “I don’t think I want to buy anything from here.”

“Me neither,” said Joanna. “But let’s just get her going for a moment so we can ask about Georgiadis.”

Muira returned and bounded up to Joanna and Catalina with untold enthusiasm. “There! See, here is your shawl, it’s green for the lady. Very nice. Only one silver.”

Catalina looked it over. “What does it do?”

“You wear it,” said Muira. She draped it over Catalina’s shoulders.

“Okay …” said Catalina. She glanced around the shop. “Is there a mirror or something nearby?”

Muira looked away, apologetically. “I’m afraid not.”

Catalina continued looking around and stared at the empty shelves. “You must be doing very well if half of your shop has already been sold.”

“Ah, well, I just bought the place. Doing a stock take right now,” said Muira.

“How long have you had it?” asked Joanna.

“A couple of weeks.”

“It must have been rough when they found that body just next door,” said Joanna. She watched Muira closely.

“Yes, it happened the day after I opened the shop,” said Muira. She tensed up and peered at Joanna suspiciously. “His location wasn’t public knowledge.”

“I think if your business has been a little slow then it’s more public than you would care for.”

Muira glanced at Catalina. “The shawl looks good on you.”

“I’m …”

“Interested in buying it,” said Joanna.

“… Yes,” said Catalina, though that was far from the truth.

Muira stared back at her customers and waited silently. Joanna dug into her purse, pulled out a single silver coin, and handed it over to Muira.

“You’ll have to talk to Muwali next door,” said Muira. “He found the body. I didn’t know a thing about it until I came into work. By then it was gone.”

“Was your shop broken into?” asked Joanna.

Muira looked Joanna up and down and squinted. “Who are you?”

“Joanna York.”

Muira’s eyes widened in surprise and she looked her customer up and down, taking in every detail. “No!”

“Yes,” said Joanna. She was relieved to have a positive reaction from Muira.

“I knew it! I knew you lot were back in Limbo!”

“So you’ve read the books?” asked Joanna.

“No, I’m more of a non-fiction reader,” said Muira. She continued to beam at Joanna. “Well, well. Joanna York, in my store, asking about a dead billionaire. Perhaps you would like a shawl yourself.”

“I think I would,” said Joanna.

Muira walked off to the back of her shop, rummaged around, and returned with an off-white shawl. Joanna paid for that as well.

“I’m still getting my head around all of the security enchantments,” said Muira. “I spend half my time trying to break the previous ones so I can install my own. But no one has told me if I was broken into or not. The scouts had a look at my inventory but there wasn’t anything suspicious on there. The problem is I bought this place from someone else. Whatever was listed on his inventory was hardly accurate to what was actually in the store. Hence my need to do a complete stock take now. It’s going to take me another month to complete.”

“Was anything obviously missing?” Joanna asked.

“Are we talking about the previous owner, or the trouble with the dead guy?”

“The dead guy,” Joanna said.

Muira shook her head. “I don’t think anything was taken, but there was a section over there that had been rummaged through. I told the scouts about it.”

Joanna glanced over and found the shelves had been cleared. “What was the thief looking for?”

“I had several vials of Tristram’s Fire.”

“What’s that?” asked Joanna.

“Teleport powder. You’re not familiar with it?”

“No, we’ve not had to teleport yet,” said Joanna.

“Well, when you see it, you’ll know it. It’s blue and teleports you within Limbo.”

“But none of that was taken?” asked Joanna.

“No,” said Muira. She squinted at Joanna and Catalina.

So obviously Limbo wasn’t the final target, Joanna thought. “How would you teleport to another realm?”

Muira quickly nodded. “Nekirin’s Fire. It’s purple.”

“And you had none of that?”

“No,” said Muira. “But if I had to guess, that’s what the thief was looking for.”

Joanna felt a burst of intrigue run through her chest and she knew someone had been trying to hide Georgiadis as quickly as possible. “That’s … a little troubling.”

“It is,” said Muira. “That’s what I told the scouts.”

And yet that wasn’t in the report I read, Joanna thought. She then supposed it was only Muira’s opinion. Still, she knew Kingston would have a field day with that information.

“Can anyone use Nekirin’s Fire?” Joanna asked.

“Sure,” said Muira. “But it’s hard to come by and very expensive.”

“Who do you think killed him?” asked Catalina.

Muira squinted at the pair. “You two ask a lot of questions for just a couple of shawls.”

Joanna did her best to not roll her eyes. “What would you recommend for my boyfriend?”

“A pair of black fluffy handcuffs,” said Muira.

Joanna went wide eyed while Catalina’s jaw dropped open. Catalina quickly crossed herself and did her best to recover.

Realising that she may have deeply offended her customers, Muira looked away. “Sorry. Uh … like you were saying about the flayed guy, according to The Chronicle everyone he ever knew wanted him dead.”

“So what do you think happened?” asked Joanna.

“I think someone from Hell flayed him and was able to teleport him to Limbo in the half a second before he died, then they broke into my store. They couldn’t find what they were looking for and the body was discovered before they could teleport him away. So, they left.”

Joanna thought it over and saw Catalina shudder at the imagery Muira had planted in their minds. She then looked over the two shawls and smiled at Muira. “Well, thank you for your time. If you could keep this conversation to yourself I’d appreciate it.”

“Because this is like one of your books?

“More so because I’m investigating someone’s murder.”

Muira peered at Joanna again, then glanced towards the rest of the shop.

Joanna got the message and held back a sigh. “Okay, let’s see this sass you have on offer.”

Kingston’s workload increased quicker than he expected. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was the new guy and everyone was dumping their projects onto him, or if it was because Sarrack knew he was snooping around. Either way, all of his assignments and reports now had deadlines.

Since Kingston had little intention of continuing to work in the bank after he uncovered every last secret, he decided he could find more practical uses with his time. Every morning he sat back with a newspaper and caught up on the happenings of Limbo. He went through some of the back issues to see how the fall out of the uprising was covered. He jotted down a few names of journalists and where their interests lay.

Within a couple of days, Kingston had narrowed in on one particular reporter to hassle. Kevin Van Heuten. Just by reading those articles Kingston felt a revulsion of stupidity run through him. Van Heuten was an awful writer, asked several questions in each article and never bothered to answer them, and yet he had managed to find a way to stay in Limbo. At the end of Kingston’s day, he dropped an anonymous tip to Van Heuten and went to see the man for himself. It was time to push these secrets up to the surface and find out who knew what.

At one end of Limbo was a large circular arena, used just once a decade. As such, it was one of the few quiet places in Limbo where no one bothered to check out. Kingston followed Van Heuten from The Chronicle’s offices and was glad to see that the reporter could follow some basic instructions in the hope of getting a scoop.

Kingston thought Van Heuten was a poorly dressed and sweaty man. He walked with hunched shoulders and seemed to thump every foot into the ground as he moved. When Van Heuten arrived at Gate Twelve of the arena he turned to find Kingston walking up to him. Van Heuten spied Kingston carefully, unsure of who this man was or why he had been summoned, but the prospect of uncovering more secrets intrigued him.

“Most people would teleport,” said Van Heuten, eyeing Kingston suspiciously.

“They probably would. Kevin Van Heuten?”

“That’s right.”

Kingston held out his hand. “Kingston Raine.”

A flash of impossibility crossed Van Heuten’s face and he pulled back in surprise. Still, he took Kingston’s hand and shook it vigorously. “No kidding.”

“No kidding. I’ve read your articles.”

Van Heuten looked nonplussed. “Oh yeah? What do you think?”

“I think you’re playing an angle because sensationalism gets you noticed more than straight journalism,” said Kingston, with a slight shrug. He had expected the question and decided not to insult Van Heuten in the first thirty seconds of meeting each other, although it was a struggle to resist.

“Smart answer,” said Van Heuten. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m investigating Vasili Georgiadis’ murder,” said Kingston.

Van Heuten arched an eyebrow. “You? They have seers and psychics for that.”

“I know. I was hoping we could settle on a truce first. There’s someone out there capable of killing people within Limbo, so I don’t want anything written about our meeting until after they’ve been caught. But I can give you a full exclusive when we’re done.”

Van Heuten winced and looked away. “I don’t know, that kind of thing could burn me later on. I mean, if whoever did it went into solitary confinement for a hundred years in Hell and later found me in Hell at the end of my contract, then what kind of misery would that put me in?”

“Fame and glory, Mr Van Heuten. But I need help in unearthing some dirt. I’m sure a journalist has heard a few things.”

Van Heuten eyed Kingston carefully, working through the logistics of helping someone unravel the only murder to have ever occurred in Limbo. “You sure you’re Kingston Raine?”

“Very sure,” said Kingston.

“You could be a devil in disguise.”

Kingston shrugged. “Fine. I think your writing is trite and pathetic. You aim for the lowest common denominator. Your breath is awful. If I was a devil I would smell like sulphur. I would also be trying to charm you into helping me, instead of calling you a hack. You’re not a moron, which is surprising, and I actually think you are quite bright. Something you do very well is dig up a few misguided facts and piece them together as though one link connects to another. They seldom do, but every so often you stumble upon the truth without realising it. Then you joyfully move on without knowing what you just unearthed. None of your peers were able to do that about the uprising. You came closer to the truth than you realise. So here’s what I want. I need every piece of evidence you have on Georgiadis, your theories on how he died, as well as the more popular beliefs surrounding his death, and whatever dirt you can dig up on the library.”

Van Heuten arched his head to one side. “The library?”

“Yes. Georgiadis spent most of his time in Limbo in the library. I want to know why. Not just what he was doing there, but why of all the locations did he choose to spend his time there?”

Van Heuten looked as though he was capable of providing that kind of information quickly. “In exchange for …?”

“A full exclusive interview with me,” said Kingston. “You can ask me about the uprising, how I helped to overthrow it, why I’m investigating Georgiadis, anything.”

“I will need some of your time before we get started,” said Van Heuten. “Perhaps we can work on this investigation together.”

“Perhaps,” said Kingston. “Are you able to help?”

Van Heuten broke into a smile. “I do have something on the library.”

“Like what?”

Van Heuten quickly shook his head. “First tell me about why you’re investigating Georgiadis.”

Kingston sighed, but he knew he had to give Van Heuten something to ease his curiosity. “I was hired. Even if I hadn’t been, I would have looked into it, because it’s an impossible death. Clearly it’s not impossible and someone knows how it happened. Hell and Limbo have been relying on psychics, seers, and scouts for too long. They’ve lost the ability to actually investigate. They just seek out the fastest way to find an answer and this one has been blacked out so no one knows how or why this whole mess came to be. For my whole life I’ve been investigating the impossible. This is right up my alley. That’s why I’m investigating. What do you know about the library?”

Van Heuten nodded. “In 1950 there was a panic and the general master fell on his sword, so to speak. He retired and was given protection in Hell. You know how when someone dies they meet a handler and a sorter?”

Kingston listened closely and hoped this link wasn’t one of Van Heuten’s far off theories. “Yeah?”

“Well, the handler is the grim reaper and the sorter reads over the paperwork, your life story, really. That’s how they determine who goes where. Some of the recently departed end up staying here and working in Limbo. So what happens to their life stories? Their files? They are stored in vaults beneath the library. In 1950 it was discovered that every file of every resident to ever live in Limbo had gone missing.” Van Heuten smiled, allowing his eyes to stretch as wide as they could go, and it showed off quite a few wrinkles around his eyes. “How’s that for dirt?”

“A little out dated, but pretty good,” said Kingston. In truth, he was flabbergasted by the news. He was met with an equal bounce of sympathy for any kind of mishap, along with a surety that this was a deliberate theft. “Did they recover the files?”

“The originals? No,” said Van Heuten. “At the next Limbo election, Death didn’t run. He was sure the files were lost in Hell, somewhere. He didn’t run for office to spite Hell. Satan had to deal with a human president. That guy quit after four months. Death didn’t replace him. There was another election and Death again didn’t run. The guy lasted six months. Same story, over and over, until there was election fatigue and no one was willing to take the job. Satan apparently begged Death to return to office. Death did so on the proviso that Hell uncover the lost files. Satan agreed. But to this day there has been no report on whether those files have been returned. Pretty good, yeah?”

Kingston felt a smile cross his face. “That is pretty good.” It was a long stretch, but it was possible that the Bank of Limbo was involved in the missing files. He just wasn’t sure how. Nor was he sure if any of that was connected to Georgiadis. Either way, he knew that Limbo was not as tightly run as it was supposed to be and something strange had been going on for quite some time.

“Do you have anything on Georgiadis?” Kingston asked.

“Not really. It went quiet very quickly.”

“The only murder to have ever occurred in Limbo went quiet very quickly?”

“The thing is … he couldn’t have been murdered here. He was just dumped in Limbo. And if you’ve read up on him you know he had it coming. No one thinks the murderer is actually in Limbo.”

“What do you think happened?” Kingston asked.

Van Heuten shrugged. “One of a hundred billion people in Hell really didn’t like him. There’s no point investigating anyone from Limbo. They would be caught immediately. Once in a while there’s a theft or some kind of arson. Whoever is responsible is caught within an hour. So no one up here did it.”

“You think no one from Limbo murdered Georgiadis because no one has been caught yet?”

Van Heuten winced and knew that was a shaky argument, but he eventually shrugged with a nod. “Yeah?”

Kingston returned to Inhuman Resources and saw an unusual sight. Joanna had fallen asleep at her desk. Kingston tapped on the door and saw Joanna startle herself awake.

“Are you okay?” Kingston asked.

“Fine. Um … fine,” said Joanna. She began stacking her notes into piles to distract herself from Kingston. “How was your day?”

“Productive, I think. I met with a reporter. Kevin Van Heuten. He gave me some dirt on the realm.”

“Oh,” said Joanna. She stared off into the distance while fiddling with her desk.

Kingston passed on the information he had learned from Van Heuten. Joanna did not seem as receptive to this intrigue as Kingston had hoped for. For a moment he wondered if he had left out some crucial detail. “Is something the matter?” he asked.

Joanna wearily shook her head. “No. Why?”

“I was expecting your reaction to be a little more than a shrug.”

“It was a long day,” said Joanna. “Cat and I spoke to Muwali Iba, the guy who found Georgiadis. He had no new information other than what was in the official report. We met the apothecary next to where Georgiadis was found and our best guess is that someone tried to teleport his body out of Limbo but couldn’t.”

“Any idea where to?” asked Kingston.

“I can’t rule out North, but that seems very unlikely, unless someone up there could have revived Georgiadis after some freak accident caused him to lose his skin. So that leaves Life and South. But since he had already been sorted into South, teleporting him from there to here and then back down again … it might explain how he died. Still a little weird, though.”

“Not as weird as teleporting him to Heaven,” said Kingston.

Joanna shrugged. “So then we looked around the shops in the area and I didn’t get any weird vibe from any of them. They were all full of gossip and theories, but nothing seemed to click.” She slow blinked at Kingston, making it look like she was about to fall asleep at her desk. “It’s good that you’re branching out. All that stuff about the records and the library is interesting, though right now I can’t process everything without it all dribbling out of my brain.” She yawned, slow blinked again, and stared off towards the door. “I’m going to go have a shower and head off to bed.”

“Want me to come with you?” Kingston asked, with a sly grin.

She offered him a weak smile and squeezed his shoulder, then against every instinct she had she asked him: “All those years ago, why did you chase after me?”

Kingston cocked his head to one side and was caught unprepared. After all that time, he still hadn’t expected her to ask him this. And, he also realised just how long of a day she must have had if all of her defences had been broken down. He hung his head and gave it some thought. “You were as complicated as they came and that rocked my world. Plus, you laughed at jokes that would have us both burning in Hell.”

Joanna offered another weak smile, but it was accompanied with a look of resignation. “I need something more than that right now.”

Kingston squeezed her hand. “Just how tough of a day was it?”

Joanna tried to smile again, but the tiredness in her eyes made her look as though she was about to cry. “Why did you go after me?”

Kingston thought it over some more. “I guess there have only been two or three people in my life who were able to utterly ruin me. All it would take from them was a certain phrase or gesture. Anyone else doing the same thing? Wouldn’t bother me. But those two or three meant something more and that as a weakness. So I did the most sensible thing I could do and avoided all contact with them completely. Then you came along. I knew exactly how to play you. You were putty in my hands. One day I saw you smiling and I realised I was the only one who could see that you were screaming in quiet misery. And because you were my opposition back then, I seized on that. Somewhere along the line I went from ‘I must crush this person’ to ‘She’s kinda useful to have around.’”

Joanna lowered her head and stared through Kingston’s chest.

Kingston pulled her in for a hug. “Are you feeling any better?”

“No,” mumbled Joanna.

Kingston held onto her for a moment longer, then brought her along memory lane. “I remember in Nice, it was pouring with rain, we were hiding on the rooftop, holding each other, trying not to tear ourselves to pieces. We had just too much aggression that day, everything had gone wrong, and people were trying to kill us. We were seconds away from never seeing each other again and I was so close to telling you that I loved you. This would have been the first time. But before I said it you looked at me with devastated eyes. Instead of saying ‘I love you’ I said ‘I’m sorry.’ It was like you had never heard me say that before. And honestly that’s probably true. I asked if you wanted me to leave. Instead of giving me a straight answer, you said ‘You’re my best friend.’ And just like that the world stopped turning.”

Joanna squeezed him tightly and didn’t let go.

“What’s on your mind?” Kingston asked.

“I said ‘You’re my best friend’ to keep you from leaving,” said Joanna.

“At least it was the truth,” said Kingston.

Joanna pulled back and kissed Kingston on the lips. “I love you, and I’m in love with you.”

“I know,” said Kingston, smiling cheekily.

“Now I really have to go to bed,” said Joanna.

Kingston arched an eyebrow at her. “And …?”

“And sleep!” Joanna said. “You boys and your one track mind.” She dragged her feet off to their bedroom.

While Joanna slept, Kingston went to the library to see if anything sprung to his attention. He still toyed with Van Heuten’s revelation that all of the employee files had gone missing. It seemed as though there were more conspiracies rippling through Limbo than he ever imagined. But, more troubling than that, was seeing Joanna in a moment of weakness. Kingston knew that something must have affected her quite deeply. Since he had remained on his best behaviour since landing in Limbo the only culprit remaining was Joanna herself. Something in her own mind had rattled her and she was stubborn enough to try and keep it a secret.

She’s hiding again, Kingston told himself. He thought it over to see if there was an anniversary that had come or gone that held some significance. Or, perhaps she realised that her life in Limbo was not all that she hoped it to be. Then, as Kingston glanced around the volumes of books lining the shelves, it dawned on him.

She’s been reading up on us.

Kingston felt a chill run over his shoulders and dive down his sides, knowing full well that he and Joanna had been quite brutal to one another in first few years. They actively tried to destroy each other. And, they had never been entirely honest. Kingston’s heart sunk, then he admitted that Joanna reading those books was only fair, since he had already read them as well. It would level everything out, but there were enough lies and betrayals in there to resurrect long forgotten grievances.

Everything fell away as Kingston looked up and saw Rickland Carson strolling about. Kingston smirked, got back into his invulnerable persona, and headed on over. “Mr Carson, good to see you again.”

Rickland did his best not to shudder. “Mr Raine. I wasn’t aware you were due here this evening.”

Kingston shrugged. “Well, this is more of a spur of the moment thing, but I was looking for the general master of the library.”

Rickland stared back at Kingston. “I’m sure you could find him by speaking to one of the clerks.”

“Oh I could, I could. I was trying to locate some old records of past employees. It appears that some of them still hold vaults and yet they moved on to Hell back in the early 1900s. The problem is, I can’t seem to find any of the employee files from that era, or any preceding that, so I was hoping there were some records here.” Kingston held onto Rickland’s expression to see if there was any knowledge there, but Rickland didn’t seem to register anything sinister behind those missing files.

“It’s possible. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”

“Of course,” said Kingston. He followed Rickland towards one of the inner doors. “Before you go, perhaps we can keep this problem to ourselves? It would be quite embarrassing if the public found out that the library may have misplaced some of the bank’s records.”

Rickland paused and gritted his teeth, especially since Kingston had no authority over at all. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“I’d appreciate that. I’ll drop by tomorrow to see if there has been any progress.” Kingston smiled at the befuddled man and walked away, knowing full well that he was about to cause some kind of panic within the system.

Death loosened his tie, untucked his black shirt, and threw off his jacket. He stretched his arms into the air and gave a shudder, which was one of the longest mental vacations he’d had since the election campaign started. He bounced up and down to try and get some energy back into his body. He had become stuck writing his newest speech for the upcoming debate against Manuel Hands, his only political opponent. The problem was not so much a lack of things to talk about, but rather that Death had given so many of these speeches in the thousands of years since Limbo became a republic that he was running out of new things to talk about. Worse still, with every election the public wanted a pay rise, more security, greater freedoms, and further guarantees about not being sorted into Hell at the end of every contract. They were the same concerns the public had ten thousand years ago and they were no different now. The people wanted a utopia and they were frustrated that Death still hadn’t delivered.

The intercom buzzed, breaking Death’s concentration. He sighed and returned to his desk. “Yes?”

Michelle sounded very stiff on the other end. “Reception have just called. Satan is downstairs with someone in a sack. He’s also with Manuel Hands.”

Death groaned and rolled his eyes. “Send him upstairs, please.”

“Are you sure?”

“Not entirely, but better to do these things in private.”

Five minutes later, Satan strolled into Death’s office with a sack slung over his shoulder. Clearly there was someone inside it, squirming about and demanding to be released. Manuel Hands, the twenty year old former mechanic from Puerto Rico, and current rickshaw driver, stumbled in after Satan.

Satan beamed a smile at Death and held one finger out to prevent Death from interrupting him. “Before you say anything … I’ve bagged a conspirator!” Satan released his grip on the sack and the man inside landed on the ground with a hard oomph.

Death looked over at the squirming mess. “I’d say that’s more of a sack than a bag.”

“What if I put some zips on it?”

“Still looks like a sack,” said Death.

“Fine, be a sourpuss. Do you want to know who’s inside?”

Death looked at Satan with an expression of utter boredom. “Is it Mr Wong, one of the lawyers from the recent uprising?”

Satan looked down onto the sack in surprise. “Oh is that who he is? Actually, that would make sense. I didn’t quite get his name. But you know this one, don’t you?” Satan thumbed towards Manuel. “Your newest revolutionary?”

Death glanced over to Manuel and nodded. “I do.”

“Bet you’re wondering what these two have in common.”

“I’m wondering, quite frequently these days, how you’re able to come up to Limbo so often as if you have no work to do in Hell. Your population outnumbers mine two hundred and fifty thousand to one, and I’m always swamped with work.”

Satan grinned at his old friend. “I have what people call a gift for management. You know how a lot of professionals in Life read that little book by Sun Tzu? The Art of War? It inspires them towards better leadership. I happen to have Sun Tzu working in my morale department. Anyway, I caught these two meeting and speaking in hushed tones. You know what must be done.”

Death glanced over to Manuel. “I’m sorry if he scared you. Did he do his fiery eyes thing?”

“He did,” mumbled Manuel.

“So what were you doing?” Death asked.

“Mr Wong has been helping me with my speeches,” mumbled Manuel. He tried not to look at either Satan or the squirming sack.

“See?” said Satan. “The revolution is alive and well. I recommend a swift decapitation of all lawyers, just to be safe.”

The sack stopped squirming.

“And we can turn their heads into soup bowls,” said Satan.

“Not my thing,” said Death. “Luc?”

Satan nodded back to his friend. “Grim?”

“Did it occur to you that Manuel needs all the help he can get in this upcoming election?”

Satan glanced at Manuel, looking puzzled. He then glanced back to Death with the same expression, then back to Manuel, then back to Death again. “You’re helping your opponent try to beat you?”

“I’m trying to not destroy every fibre of self confidence he has,” said Death.

Satan snapped his fingers together and smirked at Death. “I see what you’re doing there. Leading him on towards an even greater fall. I like it.”

“Cut it out, you’re not usually like this.”

Satan feigned confusion. “I’m not?”

“No, you’re playing it up because people are watching you. You go out of your way to scare the crap out of every political opponent I’ve ever had.”

Satan thought it over for a moment, then turned to face Manuel and spoke in a very controlled, and slow, voice. “Do you really think I am being threatening towards you?”

Manuel’s eyes lit up in fear and he was desperate to look away. “No,” he mumbled.

“When we answer people, we look them in the eye,” said Satan.

Manuel did his best to maintain eye contact with Satan. He was again able to mumble a, “No.”

“You’re not being confident enough in your delivery.”

“Luc?” said Death.

Satan held his attention on Manuel. “If you win then you and I will have a long and enduring business relationship. There’s no need to think of me as Lucifer, the fallen angel, the lord of utter darkness, the unrivalled ruler of torment and misery, the governor of souls until the moment the sun explodes and wipes out the rest of Earth. No. Think of me as just a friend.”

Death rolled his eyes towards Satan. “Are you done?”

“Death’s friend, not yours,” added Satan.

“May I go?” mumbled Manuel.

“Yes,” said Death.

“No,” glared Satan.

“Yes, you may go,” said Death.

“I think you should stay,” said Satan.

Manuel was caught between two impossible decisions, and for a moment he looked like a gulping goldfish. Then, he glanced towards the sack. “He was only helping me! I swear! My speeches have been crap! My friends all said I would be good at this. I can talk no problem in front of them, but in front of a crowded café? That’s completely different. So Mr Wong revised some of my speeches to make them a little more coherent! I swear! I don’t know anything about a revolution. I don’t want to run against you! I just want to go back to my job of pulling rickshaws around. Please, let me withdraw! I’ll do anything! Just name it and I’ll do it!”

“I want the name of your friends,” said Satan, glaring at Manuel.

“Don’t tell him,” said Death. “Manuel, it’s okay. Just have a seat over there. Relax a little.”

“He’ll piss on your sofa,” said Satan.

“He won’t do it on purpose.”

“He might.”

“Don’t encourage it,” said Death.

“If I do my demon voice …”

“I like that sofa.”

“All the more reason to keep him from sitting on it,” said Satan.

“I like my carpet as well.”

“Then -”

“Leave him alone,” said Death. He sighed and rubbed his forehead, then looked back to Mr Wong in the sack. “Okay, so why did you bag the lawyer?”

“Ah! You said it was a sack!” cried Satan.

“And if I said, ‘Why did you sack the lawyer,’ it would have had a different meaning, right?”

Satan paused, thought it over, and nodded at Death. “I didn’t think that one through. Okay, the lawyer. Well, I saw them two cavorting over some coffee. Manuel here was having a mocha, of all choices. The lawyer was having a skinny chai latte, which is a red flag immediately. Then when they saw me they looked very guilty. Guiltier than usual, especially this one.” Satan gave a slight kick to the sack. “I knew he was a lawyer and that most of the lawyers in the realm were involved in the uprising a few months ago. All I did was say: ‘So you were in the thick of things with Eve?’ Well, that got a reaction. So I stuffed him into a sack and brought him here to be interrogated.”

“Why should he be interrogated?” Death asked.

“Admittedly, you’re kinda pulling my authority out from under me. Now that you’re stupidly cool with this whole usurper helping out your rival thing it seems like less of a big deal, but this lawyer has never been tried for his actions as a revolutionary.”

“I was trying to avoid a trial during the election in case it favoured me,” said Death.

Satan turned his head at an angle and looked puzzled again. “So, you’re going to let these people wander about, stirring up trouble, and you’re not going to do anything about it until after the election? This must be a hippy paradise up here, because how else can you be so soft on criminals?”

“Eve was overthrown, the revolution was crushed,” said Death.

“But it hasn’t been forgotten. I’d be willing to bet that this whole other mess, you know, the one with what’s his name without his skin …”

“Yes, that was very cryptic of you.”

“And all of those connections … if you came down hard on these usurpers then I bet you would find most of your problems went away, since they’re the ones likely to be causing all of your problems.”

Death thought it over. He knew Satan had a point, but he couldn’t just go about sending every last lawyer off to Hell, or even get any coherency within a trial to know who was guilty of breaking the laws of the realm, of which there were many, especially when the lawyers were careful to avoid outrightly breaking them.

“I just don’t get it,” said Satan.

“The lawyers, right now, are running scared,” said Death. “I know who they are, they know how much trouble they are in. Their guilt can be quite valuable later on. They know I can strike whenever I want. They just aren’t aware of the timeline you and I work on. Ten years is nothing to us. A hundred years can go by in the blink of an eye. So really, they have until the end of their contracts in Limbo to make it up to me, whereas I can extend their contracts into the far reaches of eternity and really make them suffer.”

Satan grinned at his friend and started clapping his hands together. “That’s more like it! All this time I thought you were going soft! But no! I like this return to the badass Grim Reaper. Welcome back, my old friend.”

“Ta,” said Death.

“So, should I let him go?” Satan asked.

“By all means. And let him help Manuel in the election. No doubt it is the scariest thing Manuel has ever done, so there’s no need to crush him before he’s conquered his demons.”

Satan looked over to the trembling Manuel and shook his head. “You’ve had better opponents.”

“I know. Some have even beaten me.”

“You could throw the election,” said Satan.

“Nah.” Death leaned over his desk and peered again at the sack containing Mr Wong. “Just out of curiosity, what would you do to Mr Wong if you had him, or his cohorts, in Hell?”

“Ah! I’m glad you asked. Have I ever told you about the towers of hammocks?”

“Yes,” said Death, nodding in approval.

Satan looked down to the sack and could tell that Mr Wong hadn’t heard of it before. “See, there are these high wooden beams, held together with clamps, so you have beam stacked vertically onto another beam stacked onto even more beams, hundreds of them all sitting on top of another, held together by nothing more than flimsy clamps, with a set of wooden ladders and a narrow platform between one ladder and the next. Connecting these beams are hammocks. That is where these people live. In a hammock. Potentially ten kilometres in the air. It swings, it creaks, it feels like the hammock is always slipping or coming apart. It’s awesome. From a distance it looks like giant chopsticks sticking up in the air. Every ten hammocks up, there is a wooden out-house lavatory. It’s communal, and there’s never enough toilet paper. There’s always some, but never enough. And you’re so high up that you can’t feel comfortable. It doesn’t help that people all around you are miserable and they can’t relax either. You have this one hammock to store all of your possessions and clothes. So really, it feels like Damocles, where there is a sword dangling over the throne of the king. You know that at any moment the sword, or in this case the hammock, can drop. Because every so often, it does drop. You know it’s happened before and that it will happen again. You just don’t know when. That is what awaits the lawyer who first rats out his friends, because everyone he rats out will experience something far, far worse.”

Death smiled in return. “I like it. You have my approval.”

“Good,” said Satan. He looked back down to the sack. “Should I take him with me, or leave him with you?”

“I’ll get Michelle to call someone up, they can bring him back to his apartment.”

“Fair enough. Anyway, I think the café is still calling out my name for my coffee. I shouldn’t keep them waiting any longer, because you know what happens if they stop calling my name and throw my coffee out?”

“Yes, I know,” said Death.

“Take care,” said Satan. He then kicked the sack. “See you soon, Mr Wong.” As he walked out of the office he glared at Manuel. “You and me, son. We have some catching up to do.” Satan left.

Death looked over to Manuel. “I suppose you can release Mr Wong and bring him back downstairs. Be quick about it.”

“Yes, sir,” said Manuel. He leaped into action and did exactly as Death instructed, and left Death’s office as quickly as he could.

Michelle wandered back into Death’s office. “Kingston has filed another report.”

“Do we know who killed Vasili Georgiadis yet?”

“Not yet,” said Michelle. “But there is something interesting that he mentioned. Rickland Carson is working for the library.”

Death arched an eyebrow at that one. “No kidding?”

“No,” said Michelle, with a smile. “And Little John was the first to notice him. Since then they’ve been keeping a close eye on him.”

“Why?”

“Intuition.”

Death gave John a nod of admiration. “Leave the report on my desk.”

XIII

Sure enough, Kingston’s foray into the library rattled a few members of the bank. Two days later, Benedict Shaw, one of the senior loss prevention managers from the following shift, came to work early just to speak with Kingston.

“You should have passed this onto me before going straight to the library,” said Benedict.

It was the first time Kingston had met the man, and his general opinion was that Benedict had just been chewed up by his boss and was still shaken from the encounter. But it also looked as though Benedict had been blindsided by what happened in 1950 and knew nothing about it.

“I was granted the authorisation to recover the files,” said Kingston. One of the benefits he found in not actually caring about his career was that he also didn’t have to care if his boss ever shouted at him. “And it’s only for six former employees, two of whom were merely janitors, and none of whom have been with us in the last seventy years.”

Benedict bowed his head apologetically. “Well, you do have the authorisation, but this is hardly the most pressing issue, is it?”

“We need to make sure the books are balanced at the end of the day,” said Kingston. “As long as these six accounts remain open we’re leaving ourselves vulnerable.”

“I’m sure it’s just a glitch in the system, but thank you for bringing it to our attention. I’ll take it from here. If I could just have your paperwork on the matter.” Benedict held out his hand, waiting for Kingston’s research. Kingston happily obliged.

“It seems like the recovery of these employee files is quite important,” said Kingston.

Benedict nodded. “If you have any other queries, feel free to jot them down and I’ll get back to you. It’s good to see you on the team, Mr Raine, even if your reputation is a little unsettling.”

Kingston smiled at his boss. “Just trying to make ends meet now that I’ve found myself in Limbo.”

“Mmm. Yes.” Benedict turned and left Kingston in peace.

Kingston smirked and knew that trouble was brewing. He also knew the easiest way to locate the enemy was to pretend as though he knew exactly who they were and allow them to come to him. He didn’t suspect Benedict Shaw to be involved in Georgiadis’ murder, or that he was even with the Nobles of Montague, but whoever had chewed him out was certainly involved and Benedict had just been exposed as a pawn in their game.

He leaned back in his chair and considered Benedict’s role carefully. There were only five or six people in the bank who held seniority over Benedict and one of them had to have had enough power to haul him into work early and on an emergency like this. Kingston decided to pay closer attention to Van Heuten, considering he was clearly onto something with the missing files.

A few hours later, Kingston settled down for lunch in the executive dining room and was surprised when Sarrack sat down across from him.

“May I?” Sarrack asked.

“By all means, sir,” said Kingston. He felt rude by eating his lunch in front of his boss, while Sarrack had only a drink in his hand, but Kingston was sure that this was another power play by Sarrack to throw Kingston off.

“I just had a meeting with Mr Shaw,” said Sarrack. “I’m concerned that your banking experience, as extensive as it is, may not be in keeping with reality. You do come from a fictional world, after all. Today’s meeting did highlight some autocratic tendencies that are quite different from the world that the rest of us grew up with.”

Kingston nodded and felt the sting hit him slightly, but he was also flattered that Sarrack narrowed in on him as an adversary. “How would you like me to address your concerns, sir?”

“We may have to get you into a few entry level training programs,” said Sarrack. “Also, those books on your shelves? They’re training manuals. There are processes that we do have to follow. Be sure to read them.”

“I will consult the manuals before getting ahead of myself.”

“Good,” said Sarrack. He leaned back and looked over Kingston carefully. “I’m still hoping that your unique background can be an asset to us. Nevertheless, can you see where I’m coming from?”

“I can,” said Kingston. He tried to get a reading on Sarrack to see just how rattled he might have been, but the man kept his thoughts clearly to himself. Sarrack timed it well, giving himself a two day grace between Kingston stirring up trouble in the library and now meeting with him over lunch. It also told Kingston that the Limbo arm of the Nobles was a small operation.

“Do you feel as though you are up to the challenge of integrating yourself into the real world?”

“Yes,” said Kingston. “There is a learning curve, obviously. I am used to computers and smart phones, of which there don’t seem to be any here.”

“I’ve heard about them,” said Sarrack. “I’m sure they will arrive one day. Now, from what I’ve read, it was Death who was able to rescue you from your travels through Fiction. I’d hate to think that he will need to rescue you again from your position in the bank.”

Kingston smiled and gave a slight nod to calm Sarrack down. There was more to Sarrack’s statement than just the words on the surface. Kingston knew he would turn the whole encounter over in his mind until he locked onto the truth. “Some say I was able to rescue him.”

Sarrack thought it over and allowed Kingston to stew for a moment. “Perhaps. It does seem as though you ran away from trouble and jumped back into your own world the moment you had the chance.”

“I heard about the coup and decided it wasn’t my fight.”

“It seems as though someone had other ideas.”

“I can’t exactly speak for someone else,” said Kingston.

Sarrack nodded, glanced around the dining room, and leaned in towards Kingston. “I was given a copy of your official history. It says you teleported into Dracula.”

Kingston held his breath steady and knew that was unusually calculated for Sarrack. He would have to unlock that one as well. “I did, yes.”

“Most the people working here are from that era. I’m hoping you were able to gain some insight into the workings of the time that you can employ here.”

“I wasn’t there for long and I didn’t meet with any bankers,” said Kingston. “But I do see your point. I will ask around and learn by their example.”

“We would appreciate that,” said Sarrack. “After all, you come from a different world than your colleagues. It’s better if you adjust to their ways than making them adjust to yours.”

Kingston bit back on his pride and knew that Sarrack revelled in making that point. “I’ll do my best.”

“Good,” said Sarrack. He got to his feet. “I’ll have someone deliver the training modules to you. We’ll go over the results at the end of the month.” Sarrack fastened his jacket button, did not give Kingston a courteous nod, and left.

Catalina tapped on Joanna’s office door and saw her drop a book away as quickly as possible.

“Hey! What’s up?” asked Joanna.

“That looks suspicious,” said Catalina.

“No, it’s uh … sorry, what can I help with?”

Catalina across the office and eyed Joanna carefully. “Did you want to try that again?”

“I just spaced out. What have you got?”

Catalina stared back at her. “I was looking over the bounty hunter guilds. A lot of them were chasing us not too long ago and some of them might be resentful that we got away. So I’m seeing what they can legally get away with now that we’re back in Limbo.”

Joanna gave her a nod. “That’s good thinking.”

“I thought so.” She then peered back at Joanna. “That wasn’t one of the Kingston Raine books I saw you with, was it?”

Joanna froze, then groaned in defeat.

“Ay! Joanna, why would you do that to yourself?”

“It’s not like that!”

Catalina almost sank to the floor as she groaned.

“Seriously! Everyone I meet has read the stupid books already and they know the greatest secrets I’ve ever had. I need to find out what’s actually mine and what’s public knowledge.”

Catalina shrugged. “Does Kingston know about this?”

“No, and if we could keep this to ourselves I’d appreciate it.”

“Ay! Why Joanna? Why?”

“Because … he uh … it’s complicated?”

“No, it’s really not,” said Catalina. “Are you that paranoid?”

Joanna reeled back in shock. “I’m not paranoid!”

“Defensive?”

“And I’m not defensive either!”

Catalina fell quiet and looked as though Joanna was about to make the biggest mistake of her life. “You’re going to find every lie he ever told you, and every one you told him.”

“… Yeah,” said Joanna.

“And that was years ago. You’re not the same person now as you were back then. You love him, he loves you, and you’re both trying to find faults with each other! Can’t you two ever be happy?”

“We are!”

“But you’re keeping secrets from each other.”

“He’s already read the books!”

Catalina groaned and walked away.

“I know what I’m doing!” Joanna called out. She shook her head, picked up the Escape of the Shanghai Werewolf, and continued on from where she left off.

This book was harder to digest, where the young Joanna actively sabotaged her relationship with Kingston whenever possible. She also found an explicit scene where Kingston looked over Joanna’s naked body, describing it in some detail, as well as how she slept, and how she often talked to herself while in the shower. The lies and paranoia started to creep in through the story. It was like reading her own file from a psychiatric analysis, listing all of her strengths and weaknesses.

Even though the events of the story happened to her five years ago they were brought back in an instant. She was responsible for accidental deaths which she hadn’t been aware of. She had avoided a brutal attack one night because Kingston had hired someone to watch over her. That watchman was killed at midnight.

Then she felt the world crumble around her. She read how Kingston was going to propose to her, that he dreamed of leaving Bridgeworks behind forever, and Joanna walked out on him before he had the chance to drop to one knee and ask her to marry him. She didn’t see him again for another two years. It was only when Bridgeworks faked each other’s deaths did it pull them both back together.

An hour before Kingston and John came back from work, Joanna picked herself out of her misery, headed into the shower to wash away all of her running mascara, and made herself as presentable for her boyfriend as she could manage.

“Hello!” Kingston called out.

No one answered. He tapped on Joanna’s office door but she wasn’t there. After some hunting around he found her in the kitchenette wearing her fluffy bathrobe with a towel wrapped around her head.

“Good evening,” Kingston said.

Joanna came over and gave him a tight hug. It went on for almost a minute without her releasing her grip.

“Is everything okay?” Kingston asked.

“I missed you,” sniffed Joanna.

“I wasn’t gone for long,” said Kingston, trying to smile but realising that something serious must have just happened while he was away.

Joanna pulled back and did her best to force the tears away. “I know. And when we didn’t see each other for two years? I missed you. Everyday. It burned in my chest and it didn’t go away.”

Kingston cocked his head to one side, as though he had been dropped into the middle of a conversation without knowing how it began. “What? You …” And then it dawned on him. “Ah. You’ve read book three.”

Joanna sniffed and nodded.

“Don’t worry, we get back together,” said Kingston, with a cheeky smile.

Joanna stepped in for another hug. “I didn’t see you for two years and you have no idea how awful I felt, or how difficult it was to breathe.”

Kingston took both of her hands in his and pulled them against his chest. “It’s okay honey, it’s all behind us now.”

“But I never told you how much I missed you! And I didn’t know you were going to … you know … at the end of the book?”

Kingston had to force a smile, bringing back one of the hardest things he had ever forced himself to accept as a bad idea. “Yeah. I was going to propose to you.”

“And I left before you had the chance,” sniffed Joanna.

“I remember,” said Kingston, with a simple nod.

“I didn’t know that,” said Joanna. “And now I feel like such a bitch. Everyone around us knows that I stomped on your heart and that I had no idea about it.”

Kingston kissed the side of her neck and remembered just how crushing it was to read about the most miserable time of their lives. “I know, and it sucks. But that’s the world we live in, where we can’t control the secrets people know about us. We just have to do the best we can, and, sometimes, be a little naive about it.”

Joanna pulled away from him but kept her eyes lowered. “So what happened to the ring?”

Kingston bit his lower lip and braced himself. “I’m not sure if this is the right time.”

“Tell me.”

Kingston sighed. He knew he had practiced this conversation a hundred times and yet it felt as though he wasn’t as prepared as he should have been. “I tossed it off the side of a building. I then flew to Finland and got slobberingly drunk.”

Joanna turned away. “I’m sorry. Again, I feel like such a bitch.”

“It worked out in the end. I got you, you got me, and I’m sure if I asked you back then you would have just run off and I would never have seen you again.”

Joanna blanked out for a moment, wondering just how she might have reacted. She wondered what Kingston wanted to hear in that moment. “Why didn’t you ask me again?”

Kingston felt a thump in his chest harder than he expected. A split second of panic shot through him as he wondered if Joanna was asking him to propose to her. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as poker faced as he would have liked.

Joanna looked away, tensing her shoulders and feeling the need for another shower. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

“No, no, no, no … let’s start that bit again.”

“I don’t want to force you into anything.”

“You’re not, so let me just say: I didn’t ask you again because you made it clear that you would run as far away as you could if anyone ever asked you. I was just setting myself up for disaster.”

Joanna sniffed again. “I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.”

“You said it out loud a few times,” muttered Kingston. “But anyway, it’s all in the past.”

“The past is affecting us right now.”

“True. But we are better people now, richer and wiser because of the whole experience.”

Joanna reached for the box of tissues and wasn’t sure if she should sit down or run off crying again.

Kingston came in and wrapped his arms around Joanna. Even though she resisted, Kingston pulled her in tightly. “There is actually a great deal about our lives that wasn’t written down.”

“What, all of the boring old conversations?” She then realised what she had just said. “I didn’t mean that our conversations were ever boring.”

“I know. I mean, do you remember the first time you said ‘I love you’ to me?”

Joanna sighed and rolled her head. “I can always double check the Escape of the Shanghai Werewolf, but it was in the car crash on our way to Monaco.”

Kingston smiled and shook his head. “Nope. Two months after we met.”

Joanna snapped back. “What? It was three years after we met.”

“No. Two months.”

“Impossible.”

Kingston smirked at his delightfully dopey girlfriend. “You had been drugged and I hid you in a hotel room.”

“Well that doesn’t count!” cried Joanna.

“Sure it does. I asked if you remember the first time you said ‘I love you’ to me, not necessarily the first time you think you meant it. So you had been drugged, you started crying, you were shaking, you knew you had been drugged and you apologised for anything embarrassing that you were about to say.”

Joanna stood wide eyed in fright, wondering what else Kingston remembered of that evening, or if any of this was even true.

“And you looked me in the eyes and said: ‘I love you.’ It’s not mentioned in any book. Don Keaton never wrote the specifics in anything he published. All that’s said about it is the next morning when you asked if you had said anything weird. You had, but I didn’t tell you. So there. Not every thought you’ve ever had has been written down for people to read. And I was relieved to find that entry wasn’t in there, because it meant a lot to me and it was only for us.”

Joanna slapped Kingston across the shoulder. “And this is the first time you tell me this?”

“We lead complicated lives where things rarely make sense,” said Kingston. “Case in point, we’re the main characters in a story that is haunting us right now and we’re having this discussion in the kitchenette of Inhuman Resources, in Death Inc., in Limbo.”

Joanna sighed and knew Kingston was right about their complicated lives, but it did little to ease her fears. “Is there anything you’d like me to do?”

Kingston looked around the kitchenette for inspiration. He knew they needed a break from the banking world and they were both suckers for comfort food. “You know what we haven’t done in a while? An English fry. I could really go with some sausages, bacon, beans, scrambled eggs, and toast. Especially toast cut into little triangles. And on the side? Oxtail soup. Then, you and I can depoof. I can give you a foot rub, you can laugh at my fluffy bunny slippers … something nostalgic like that.”

Joanna felt a smile creep across her face. “I can work with that.”

“Good,” said Kingston. “Then let me jump into my bathrobe and … we don’t have any fluffy bunny slippers, do we?”

“This is Limbo, honey. Things are a little more practical here than catering to your sense of humour.”

“I’ll have to get them custom made,” said Kingston. Several specialty stores popped into his mind. “Never mind, the slippers aren’t the most integral part of the evening. Food is. Give me a few minutes to freshen up?”

“Of course.”

Kingston leaned in, gave Joanna a kiss, and headed off for a shower. Joanna, meanwhile, went to her office, took the list of all the lies Kingston had told her in the first three books, then ripped it up and threw it away. However awful they had treated each other in those first couple of years, she realised that in the end she did get the man of her dreams. Bringing up every dark secret from the past would only stab at their wounds instead of trying to heal them.

The next day, John was busy staring at the fluffy white cat, working through Simon’s instructions. “What would Snowflake do?” he muttered. He turned his head to one side to see if he could catch Snowflake off guard. “He’s a stupid cat! What does he do? He does cat things!”

John sighed at the same time as Snowflake. That caught John by surprise. “Did we just do the same thing at the same time?”

Snowflake leaned forward, rested his chin on the top of the sofa, sighed again and closed his eyes.

“You’re saying I should take a nap?” John said, then thought it through. “Or, are you unhappy that I called you a stupid cat?”

Snowflake began furiously licking the back of one paw.

“Okay, you’re not a stupid cat, just a cat,” said John. “But I’m supposed to do what you do … I’m not licking the back of my hand.” He glanced up to the ceiling and drifted away. “Or is it philosophical? It’s not the actual act of licking one’s body clean, but to remain clean? And comfortable?”

There was a tap of shoes coming down the stairs, causing John to lean around. It didn’t sound like Simon, nor Kingston. John’s heart leaped through his chest as he realised someone new was coming downstairs. John jumped to attention and went to intercept the new arrival. His heart dropped when he saw Sarrack coming down and looking around.

“John Nottingham,” Sarrack said. “Good to see you again.”

“Likewise, sir,” said John. He had no idea why but he felt the desperate need to make sure his tie was still in place. Then he remembered he was wearing his overalls and a tie would make one hell of a fashion faux pas. This only convinced John that another piece of his clothing was out of place.

“How’s work going?”

“Very well, sir.”

“The team has welcomed you accordingly?”

“Accordingly, yes,” said John.

“Good. And they’ve been keeping you busy?”

“Very busy.”

“Good to hear,” said Sarrack. He checked his pocket watch and nodded to himself. “You’ve been busy for three and a half hours.”

“Oh, very busy,” said John, nodding quickly.

“Good. So let’s have the tour,” said Sarrack, while looking around inquisitively.

“Certainly,” said John. All of a sudden everything he ever learned escaped him. “Uh, well, here, as you can see, is the entry to the janitorial department. Along here is the reception area.”

Sarrack started to lead the way and didn’t look back over see if John would join him. “Is there much use for this area?”

“Oh yes. We use it to come in and out,” said John.

“But is there much work done down here?”

“It has been essential to my OJT, sir.”

“OJT happens upstairs, not down here,” said Sarrack.

That felt like a punch in the guts for John. He wished he could glare at Sarrack, but Sarrack was his boss, and he had a rare quality about him where John knew he should just shut up and let the man speak. “The practising part happens down here, so that when I go upstairs I have mastered the necessary skills,” said John, thinking as quickly as he could.

“Glad to hear,” said Sarrack. “What’s next?”

“As this is my first time showing my boss around, I’m not exactly sure what you are looking for.”

“Well, just walk me through your typical day,” said Sarrack, nodding politely.

“Very well. I come into the bank at a few minutes before eight o’clock, come down here, walk through there …”

“Show me.”

John headed towards the changing room and Sarrack followed. “I come in through here, past these lockers. This one is mine. I put on my uniform.”

Sarrack glanced over the names on the lockers and nodded to himself. “How are the other janitors treating you?”

“Everyone I’ve met so far has treated me well,” said John. He hoped like hell that Sarrack couldn’t read his mind to see that Simon was, in fact, the only other janitor John had met.

“That’s encouraging. Where to next?”

“I come back out here to the reception and find Simon. I ask him what to do for the day and he gives me a list of tasks to do.”

“May I see this list?” Sarrack asked.

“… It’s a verbal list.”

“Ah. Carry on.”

“I then sweep floors, wash windows, or do whatever it is I’m supposed to do. At eleven o’clock I come down for a short break.”

Sarrack pointed to the small kitchen. “In there?”

“Yes, sir. There are bagels available, some tea and coffee.”

“Lovely. And then you get back to work?”

“Yes, at eleven fifteen on the dot.” John then fell into a deeper moment of distress when he realised that it was now eleven thirty and he had yet to return to work.

“Good, good.” Sarrack glanced over at Snowflake and peered at him inquisitively. He then looked back to John as though it was nothing to be concerned with. “So how does it feel, being part of our family for the next hundred years?”

“Uh … it’s an exciting opportunity?”

Sarrack grinned at John. “Mr Nottingham, you don’t have to say what you think I want to hear. You can actually say what you want to say, no one’s stopping you.”

John nodded, but had a look of suspicion that he couldn’t quite shake. “My girlfriend says that as well. Sometimes she’s right. Sometimes it’s a trap.”

“Sounds like you have a smart girlfriend. What’s her name?”

John felt the first moment of caution burst through his chest. He reminded himself that Sarrack was one of the men suspected in Georgiadis’ murder. “Catalina.”

“It’s a nice name,” said Sarrack. “Spanish?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. How did you two meet?”

John paused and knew this was going to be a long story that his boss probably didn’t want to hear about. “We met in Spain, sir.”

“Ah, do you speak Spanish?”

“No,” said John, feeling even more awkward than ever. “No, that’s just where we met.”

“And you and Mr Raine brought her with you,” said Sarrack, with a gentle nod.

John froze and realised that his cover was blown.

“It’s okay, Mr Nottingham. Secrets are very hard to maintain in the afterlife. There were countless bounty hunters after you three and they have a habit of complaining loudly. Whose idea was it to travel to Spain in the first place?”

“I think it was an accident,” mumbled John.

“Oh don’t tell me bringing Catalina along as well was an accident,” said Sarrack.

“No, she came voluntarily,” said John.

“I’m glad to hear. I’m also very impressed that you managed to escape from so many of those morons. That’s no easy feat. Quite a few of them were bemoaning of how surreal it was that you and your friends kept escaping from one story to another.”

John felt a burst of panic, that Sarrack knew far too much about John’s past.

“How did you give them the slip?” Sarrack asked.

“We jumped from one story to another.”

“Huh. And you three could go to any story you wanted, while the bounty hunters couldn’t.”

“Well, they were only trying to follow us, so they went wherever we went,” said John. He wished he was better at thinking on his feet in front of his intimidating boss.

They were interrupted by Snowflake hissing. Sarrack glanced around the reception area as though he was quickly becoming bored. He finally looked back at John, dead in the eye as though he was reading John’s mind. “Do you have a mentor down here?”

“Simon, sir.”

“Oh yes, Simon. He’s a little peculiar.”

“He’s my boss, so I really couldn’t say,” said John.

Sarrack smiled at that answer. “Since you may be lacking in a little leadership down here, I have a few words of advice my father gave me. They are actually applicable to every situation. Sometimes you win, sometimes you learn. Keep that in mind. One day you could be running the bank, or even running the realm. I’d also recommend getting yourself and your girlfriend up to speed by reading a few books in the library, so that the next time you fill out a résumé you won’t have to lie about your credentials.” Sarrack smiled at John, forcing John to lower his eyes.

“In the meantime, take more pride in your work. Give my regards to your Catalina.”

John watched Sarrack head back upstairs. It felt like he had just been kicked in the guts. He dropped his shoulders and stared at the ground.

“Life was easier in the forest,” John muttered to himself. He went back into the kitchen, deciding that he needed something to cheer himself up with. He was not in the slightest bit surprised to see Simon there, scrubbing a teaspoon clean with a tea towel.

“Good timing,” said Simon. “I was just about to pour maself a cuppa.”

“Mr Sarrack was just here,” John said, gloomily. He hoped to earn some sympathy from Simon.

“Oh? Did he bring down some milk?”

John shook his head. “No, I mean, Sarrack, the executive? He came down for an inspection.”

“Ah. Well, they do that from time to time.” Simon raised the teaspoon up to the light to see if it was clean enough, decided that it was, and went over to the kettle. “Just the right time for ma tea.”

“He told me to take more pride in my work,” said John.

“Hmm, well, Snowflake takes great pride in his work. You could learn a thing or two from him.”

John felt himself glare at the back of Simon’s skull. “Learn from Snowflake.”

“Exactly.” Simon poured the hot water into the teapot and added the tea leaves. “Some tea for you?”

“Sure. How, exactly, do I learn from Snowflake?”

“Have you asked yourself what would Snowflake do?”

“I have,” said John, through gritted teeth.

“Then there you go,” said Simon.

John groaned, felt a lot of tension rise through his chest, and had an idea spring into his mind. He left the kitchen quickly, went and found Snowflake, and carried him back to the kitchen. “Here. I have Snowflake. Snowflake? What should I do?”

Snowflake stared back at John and murmured.

Simon poured two cups of tea and passed one over to John. “Perhaps a good cuppa will sort you out.” Simon took his own teacup and sat down at the round table.

John stared at Snowflake. Snowflake murmured another meow. “How do I find the problems with the bank?”

Snowflake blinked and looked away.

John, ever hopeful, looked to what Snowflake was looking at, but the cat was simply averting his gaze from John’s and didn’t provide any clear line of sight to any mystery within the bank. John sighed and released the cat.

“Have some tea,” said Simon.

John fell into a chair opposite Simon and did as he was instructed.

“You need to pace yourself,” said Simon. “Too many go-getters are too eager when they begin. They make mistakes. They curse themselves without learning anything. You will burn yourself out. I’ve seen it happen a hundred times. Stevenson was just like you. Warpole too. They both got tired and slowly went mad.”

“I haven’t met any other janitor, except for you,” said John.

Simon bobbed his head in a mixture of surprise and admiration. “Dedicated to the job, I bet.”

“Or, they just don’t work here,” muttered John.

“Of course they work here. They’re on the roster.”

“What if they’re on the roster but just not turning up to work?”

“Preposterous,” said Simon. “That’s against their contract, for starters. Think of their KPIs! They all have their reviews coming up and you can’t fool a review.”

“Who does the review?”

“Well, as the senior janitor, me.”

John tried to run with a theory of his. “I’m starting to think that Snowflake makes his own luck.”

Simon took another sip of tea. “That he does. He’s more observant than most people give him credit for.”

John wasn’t so sure that making one’s own luck and being observant had much to do with each other, but he was sure that none of the other janitors actually worked there, and that Simon was utterly bonkers. “I was thinking of having a get together with the other janitors. Perhaps poker, or something.”

“Oh yes? Gambling is frowned upon in Limbo, although once in a blue moon there are games, where it becomes somewhat legal.”

“Maybe not poker, then. Either way, I would like to send an official invitation. Can I have a list of their full names so I can send them a letter?”

“By all means, but you could just drop their invitations in their pigeon holes. It would be a bit rude to have a letter drop to their feet while they’re working, you see.”

“I’ll send it after hours,” said John.

Simon spluttered for a moment. “If you insist.”

John found the names in a large filing cabinet, scribbled out a few words on parchment to the effect of ‘Hi, I’m John Nottingham. I work at the bank. I haven’t met you yet, but would like to. What time is suitable for you?’ He copied the letter out several times, and sent it out to Shaugnassy, and Kevinson, and Cartwright, and Whistlethwaite, and Berkins. Then he waited.

And waited.

Until he realised that no reply was coming.

“I bet they aren’t even in the realm anymore,” John muttered to himself. He slumped down on the sofa next to Snowflake and thought over Sarrack’s quip about his credentials.

I don’t exactly need a degree to sweep floors, do I? he told himself. He then considered another angle: perhaps improving his credentials would allow him to take on a better job.

All right, from tonight onwards I will spend one hour a day in the library, he thought, then he decided just thinking it wasn’t enough. “Starting today, I will spend at least one hour everyday in the library.”

He nodded to himself, but he still had the sinking feeling that his education was outdated by at least a thousand years. That was one hell of a disadvantage.

John came away from Sarrack’s encounter feeling dejected, and downright depressed after having tea with Simon. He was left wondering how he went from a somewhat peaceful upbringing in the woods to scrubbing floors in a marble monstrosity. He shrugged when he remembered that the woods weren’t always peaceful. There were the frequent encounters with the sheriff’s men and bounty hunters. Then there were days where food was scarce and it rained so constantly that keeping a fire going was difficult. And the winters were bitingly cold. He always offered his sheep-skin blanket to his niece whenever she started to shiver, allowing John to brave the cold through sheer stubbornness. But he was made to feel grateful that he was qualified to sweep a floor.

“Show pride in your work,” John muttered. “I always show pride. But a floor is still just a floor and only the timid stare at it. The cock-sure always look ahead.”

Then he saw Kingston walking up to him. Kingston beamed with a smile. “All good?”

“Crap, actually,” said John.

Kingston saw the look of anguish on John’s face and had never seen the giant look so small before. “What happened?”

John gave a feeble shrug. “I was made to feel useless by Sir Sarrack.”

“Oh,” said Kingston. “He tries the same thing on me everyday.”

“Is there a quick way of feeling great again?” John asked.

“There is, actually,” said Kingston. He looked over his shoulder to make sure no one could over hear them. “I looked into the names of the other janitors and I don’t think any of them have actually shown up to work in years.”

John exhaled and shook his head. “Lazy buggers.”

“Maybe not,” said Kingston. “Janitors are supposed to remain invisible. As long as the work gets done you never really pay attention to them.”

“Gee, thanks,” said John rolling his eyes.

“This can be used to your advantage,” said Kingston. “I need you to rummage through the records from earlier this year. Do you have a key to access the records?”

John shrugged. “Simon does.”

“Good. While you’re in there I’d like you to go through the paperwork for February. Specifically from the seventeenth until the twenty fifth. That covers Georgiadis’ time in the afterlife. I’d like to see which vaults were accessed, who took out a loan, or who deposited a large amount of cash into their account. Start with the bank’s employees. Especially, Sarrack. Then look at Harold Kantz, Benedict Shaw, Sebastian Burrows, and the missing janitors.”

John raised his eyes in surprise. “That’s a lot of paperwork.”

“I know,” said Kingston. “But if you can get a copy of the key to the room I can help.”

John sighed. “I’ll try.”

“Good. And thanks for all of your help,” said Kingston. He patted John on the shoulder and walked away.

John grumbled, wondering if Kingston was on his way to another martini. John shook it off and checked the time. He had a break in half an hour. He could potentially get the key off Simon then. Until then it was back to sweeping the floors of empty offices.

“Not even Inhuman Resources requires this much cleaning,” he muttered. He arched his back and stared at the bookshelf, which looked like it weighed a tonne in leather bound tomes. One of the books, though, was covered in a glossy, coloured finish.

The Business Mind. How to influence people and rise to the top.

John glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching him. He looked back and pulled at the red and white covered book and saw a picture of a sixty year old man in a suit pointing at the reader with a determined look on his face. John read over the back and caught the blurb. It spoke about climbing the corporate ladder, being the person you want to be, and being admired by your colleagues and superiors.

His inner voice told him to return it, but after Sarrack’s encounter John was determined not to be walked all over again by anyone shorter than himself. John stuffed the book into his waist band and finished sweeping the office.

XIV

Kingston had another rendezvous with Van Heuten by the arena. Unfortunately the reporter had spent more time coming up with questions about Kingston’s personal life and very little about the missing files.

“What did you expect?” Van Heuten asked, as he twirled his pen between his fingers. “The files are missing and still haven’t been found. Now, onto you and Joanna York. Considering all of the misery you’ve put each other through, how are you still together?”

Kingston glared at the snivelling little reporter. “So you have nothing useful for me?”

“We agreed to a full exposé and this has to be a two way street. I already provided you with some information, so how about keeping up your end of the bargain? How did you talk your way into keeping her around?”

Kingston hated to ask but he felt his defences flare in an instant. “What exactly are we talking about?”

“Well, I read your books cover to cover. You had a string of ladies while you two were an item. And, she had a string of lovers as well.”

Kingston gave Van Heuten a bored look. “Really? This is the most important thing you have to ask me?”

“Everyone’s into a good love story. Failing that, they love a good scandal.”

“Screw you,” said Kingston. He started to wish John was there to scare the wits out of Van Heuten and keep everything on a somewhat professional level. “Who was in charge of recovering the files?”

“I don’t have those details,” said Van Heuten. He glanced back to his notes and Kingston caught a moment of intrigue in that gesture. Van Heuten was panicking. “Perhaps you can tell me how you teleported from one book to another?”

Kingston studied Van Heuten for a moment and then fell back into an automatic bored look.

He jumped from a love story to personal scandal and now to teleporting, Kingston thought. Someone is influencing his questions.

“I closed my eyes and teleported,” said Kingston. “I had no control in where I ended up.”

“It was completely random?” Van Heuten asked.

“Yes,” said Kingston. He remained noticeably silent, pressuring Van Heuten to abandon his line of questioning.

“Thank you,” said the reporter. “So when you did, actually, rescue Joanna, after abandoning her, how did you manage to trust each other again?”

Kingston smiled an award winning grin at Van Heuten. He was used to forcing an informant to jump from one tangent to another and it was interesting to see it reversed for a change. “Because we were meant to be.”

“Surely there are easier people to fall in love with.”

“You don’t choose who you fall in love with, it just happens.”

“I’m just saying, you have easier options. So does she.”

Kingston tried his best to remain stoic. Then he smiled at the thought of John slamming his fist down on top of Van Heuten’s skull. “I can’t compare my life with anyone else’s. And considering all of the unusual people you have no doubt fallen for, you shouldn’t be too judgemental on who I fall in love with.” Kingston leaned in and flashed Van Heuten with a look to get the man back on track. “Do you see what I’m saying there?”

“Yeah,” said Van Heuten. He looked like he had just stepped through a ghost.

“So!” said Kingston, returning to his exuberant self. “Tell me about these missing files.”

“Ah …” Van Heuten looked away and dropped his notepad to his side. “I don’t actually have anything new on that front.”

“I see,” said Kingston, with a deep glare.

“They’ve been missing for decades. Limbo has had the best scouts and seers looking for them, so it isn’t likely that I’ll uncover them in just a couple of weeks.”

Kingston shook his head. “Keep looking. And find anything else you can about Limbo and the strange things that go on here.”

“I will,” said Van Heuten.

“Contact me when you have something,” said Kingston. He walked away, gritting his teeth, and needed an hour of solitude before he had reconquered his inner Zen.

The following day, Kingston came to the realisation that his foes knew more about his operating methods than he cared for. That put him at a serious disadvantage. He checked with Joanna to make sure it was okay and she agreed that their friends might as well know who they were partnered with. They found John and Catalina preparing dinner for the foursome.

“Heyyyya!” said John, in a comical bass tone. “How was work?”

“Great!” said Kingston. “Aside from the actual work part, which was only ten minutes long. That itself wasn’t so great. The rest of the day, though, was snooping and spying, a little bit of almost getting caught, so that was a relief. Anyway, I’ve …” He glanced over to Joanna and corrected himself. “We’ve got a favour … request … sort of thing to ask.”

Joanna rolled her eyes at her boyfriend. “Or suggest.”

“Or suggest, right,” said Kingston.

“Even recommend.”

Kingston turned to Joanna. “Did you want to handle this?”

“Not at all, honey. You’re doing fine.”

John and Catalina glanced at each other and weren’t sure that ‘fine’ was actually what Joanna meant.

Kingston looked back to John and Catalina. “I think it’s time everyone reads the Kingston Raine series.” He looked back to what he just said and shuddered. “That may not have been the most pompous thing I’ve ever said, but it was close.” He paused and glanced back to Joanna.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You were thinking something.”

“I’m always thinking something,” said Joanna.

“And you were thinking that something very loudly.”

John peered at Kingston carefully. “Do you two practice this sort of thing when we’re not around?”

“That actually brings us to a good point,” said Kingston. He paused to see if Joanna was going to interrupt him again. She simply waved her hands out as though guiding him to continue. “Anyway, it seems as though everyone at the bank has read the series and they’re picking at some inside jokes at my expense. And Joanna’s expense. So I think it’s a good idea that we’re all up to speed on the stories so we know what they’re talking about. We may have to read them a few times to pick up on every last detail.”

John shrugged. “It’s about time. I’ve been wanting to read them for ages.”

“It’s a bad idea,” said Catalina. “Knowing too much about the people you live and work with … it’s going to end in disaster.”

“Perhaps,” said Kingston, handing over a pair of Shanghai Werewolfs to John and Catalina. “But we need to be informed. I’ll leave it to your discretion if you actually want to read them or not. It may help our investigation by picking out our common traits and avoiding our usual mishaps.”

John looked over the book and turned to the back. “This won’t suck me into your world, will it?”

“Not literally, no.”

“Are there any dead billionaires in here?”

“There are several, actually, but that isn’t the purpose of that story,” said Kingston.

John flipped through the number of pages. “You know, in my day we didn’t have books of this size. Stories were smaller. Simpler. Easier to digest.”

Joanna smiled at John. “Wait until I’m a main character. Then the books get longer.”

“We had a small library,” said Catalina. “My father read everything he could. They cost a fortune as well.”

John turned to page one of Kingston Raine and the Shanghai Werewolf. “‘Chapter One. An Unexpected Visitor. Munich. Hasslehaun’s bloodied hand slipped from the wound in his neck and landed on the briefcase he had stolen just four hours earlier.’” John nodded. “Not bad.”

“No, it’s certainly not … bad,” said Kingston. “Not great either.”

Joanna shuddered. “And it’s awkward standing here watching you two read about our lives, so I’m going to hide in shame.”

John flipped through the pages and paused when one phrase caught him by surprise. “‘Joanna lay naked in front of Kingston.’” John glanced back to the pair in question.

Joanna groaned and hung her head. “Yeah, that happened sooner than I expected.”

“Are you sure we should be reading this?” asked Catalina.

Joanna winced and raised her hands in defence. “I’m just going to back away and leave you two to read that at your discretion.”

“Me too,” said Kingston.

While Joanna retreated back to her office, Kingston decided to have a shower to ease the stress of the day away. He kept waking up at all hours of the night, wondering if someone was spying on him at that moment. It frustrated him to know that someone could be in the same room as him and simply remain invisible. At least in Life he knew how to handle spy cameras and hidden microphones, but special powers granted by an Eternal of the Realm? That was still a struggle to wrap his head around.

He stood under the shower, trying to remember what a peaceful thunderstorm sounded like. It used to be his go-to way of destressing. He would lie on a sofa with his headphones on and just listen to a recording of a storm. Something about the rain and soundscape eased him and if that didn’t work then he would sit back with a sketch pad and doodle while listening to tribal drums. Since there was little to mentally lock in to with both forms of audio, Kingston found it would quieten his mind.

Joanna came into the large shower room and caught sight of Kingston amid a steam of hot water. “Sorry,” she said. “You didn’t leave the sign on the door.”

Kingston shook his head and realised that he had forgotten to warn anyone that came along that the shower room was in use. “By all means come in.”

Joanna made sure to put the sign on the front of the door and closed it behind her. She smiled at Kingston but it was a heavy smile, and she was dead tired. She dropped her bathrobe onto the row of sinks, bundled three towels on top of it, and stripped off her clothes. “You know, I keep thinking someone’s going to pounce on me the moment I step into the shower,” Joanna said.

Kingston nodded. “I’ve been thinking the same.”

Joanna took the shower head next to Kingston’s and blasted the hot water. She held her eyes closed and allowed the water to shoot into her face, temporarily blinding and deafening her. She pulled back and smiled weakly at Kingston. “I think it’s time for another trip to the spa.”

“All that lying around, doing nothing?” Kingston said.

“It takes about half an hour to unclutter your mind. After that everything feels great,” said Joanna. “How’s work?”

Kingston gave a weak shrug. “They keep dumping me with a mountain of reports to distract me. Now there are training procedures, which is encouraging. There are a few of the more perceptive employees who keep to themselves. Very much small talk people, and only small talk.”

“Well, I did say that you can find out more in ten minutes of socialising outside of work than a month’s worth of chit chat in an executive dining room,” said Joanna. She smiled at Kingston. “Maybe it’s time to actually have a party.”

“Give them a chance to show off their girlfriends,” said Kingston, with a flimsy shrug.

“Sure, let’s hang out with fifty trophy wives while we try to find a reason to keep on living,” said Joanna, hiding an exaggerated laugh.

Kingston stared off into the wall as an idea hit him. “Actually, they do have girlfriends. Is there any chance you and Catalina can befriend them?”

Joanna saw that look in Kingston’s eye and shrugged. “It’s not the first time I’ve hung out with mob wives. I’ll get Catalina in on it as well and see what we can do.”

“Of course, if Sarrack knows about this party thing then he won’t let anyone involved in his little scheme attend.”

“Oh well, you get the names of the girlfriends, I’ll get dirt on who complains about who.”

They both fell silent and allowed the hot water to work its way into relieving their aches and tiredness. The sound of the water splashing all around them helped Kingston to imagine a peaceful thunderstorm while Joanna was able to use the pressure of the water to massage the base of her neck. After a couple of minutes of having her eyes closed and giving in to some sort of relaxation, Joanna stood up taller and opened her eyes.

“It seems a little pointless to try and bribe a sorter to get you into a better place in Hell,” said Joanna.

“Yeah,” said Kingston. “I mean, I’m sure it happens, but what’s in it for the Nobles once the rich and famous are actually in Hell?”

Joanna tried to work through the problem. “I know, it’s more of a get-rich-quick scheme for Limbo, not Hell.” She shook the idea out of her mind and refocused herself. “Okay, you arrive in the afterlife, how would someone make a fortune from you?”

They thought it over for a moment. Kingston realised he wanted his privacy again. “I’d pay them to lock every copy of the Kingston Raine series in a vault so that no one can ever read them again.”

“Me too,” said Joanna. “And erase it from people’s minds.”

They fell quiet again, slowly putting things together and working through the problem. “Someone like Vasili Georgiadis would have ruined a lot of lives. And he would have had dirt on politicians, the Mafia, and rivals. Some of them would love to make his life a misery in Hell.”

“And he’s been used to a life of privileged treatment. There’s no way he would want to be treated like a commoner,” said Joanna.

“So the Nobles come along and offer protection. They’ll keep you safe in Hell and try to keep your secrets hidden away.”

“In exchange for …?”

Kingston shrugged. “He’ll know how to blackmail a lot of his friends and enemies. But still, that doesn’t provide the Nobles with a lot of money.”

“Not unless he actually works for them,” said Joanna. “They give him a job and take every penny he should earn. He’s nothing but a slave for a hundred years, or a thousand, or until he eventually become useless and they boot him off to freedom.”

Kingston shuddered. “Yep, that sounds like Hell.”

“Yeah, it does. And I guess it makes sense. Your secrets are supposed to die with you. When you’re resurrected they are as well.”

“Okay. So Georgiadis is a prime candidate to be blackmailed and to blackmail everyone he knows. He is completely at the Nobles’ mercy. Why would they kill him?”

They both fell quiet, trying to think through any kind of sensible motive. “To scare others?” Joanna suggested.

“Perhaps. I guess he was worth more to them dead than alive.”

“Or he was too much of a risk to keep alive.”

“And Satan says that sort of thing can’t happen in Hell.”

“That he knows of,” said Joanna.

“And Death says it can’t happen in Limbo.”

“And it’s not likely to happen in Heaven, either,” said Joanna.

“And there’s no way he would be accepted into Heaven.”

“So the only place he could have been killed was in Life.”

Kingston and Joanna fell quiet yet again, turning everything over in their minds to see what made sense and what didn’t. “Or it happened while he was travelling between the planes.”

“He was flayed. That’s a time consuming process,” said Joanna.

“Not if you have the magic granted by an Eternal. Could be pretty quick.”

“I could understand him dying while travelling and his body falls wherever it may be. But that would leave his body intact. He was flayed. That was on purpose.”

“All right, so it happened somewhere in Life,” said Kingston. “And Satan and Death both think that there’s a link between Georgiadis and the Bank of Limbo. So, when Georgiadis arrived in Limbo he had a lot of secrets that he would like to keep out of everyone else’s hands, so he made a deal with the Nobles of Montague. Perhaps Sarrack talked to him while in Limbo and scared him into signing his life away, so to speak. So Sarrack made a deal to keep Georgiadis out of harm’s way, then he’s put in protective custody, or the equivalent. Maybe he’s just put in a corner of Hell where no one from his past could ever find him.”

Joanna drummed her fingers against her thighs and saw that Kingston had run out of his line of thinking. “So obviously something went wrong.”

“Maybe he refused to sign his life away and was punished.”

“Someone brought him back to Life only to have him killed again?” asked Joanna.

“Yeah,” said Kingston. He dismissed the idea. “They don’t need him to blackmail anyone else. They’ll have all the information they need the moment someone sits down with a sorter. Everything is already in that file.”

Joanna worked through the idea. “Then maybe he was brought back to Life because the Nobles were trying to blackmail him … and it wasn’t working.”

Kingston cocked his head to one side and found something intriguing in what Joanna had just said. “One more time.”

“Georgiadis was brought back to Life because … they were blackmailing him …” Joanna thought it over and felt her senses almost sing to her. “Wait …”

Kingston snapped his fingers together. “He was blackmailing them.”

Joanna froze, thought through every logical avenue, and ran with the idea. “So he knew about the Nobles while he was still alive?”

Kingston leaned back as a brainwave fell upon him. “It’s possible. What if he actually sold his soul? What if he was able to get the right contacts in Life and blackmail everyone else because the Nobles had access to every secret everyone has ever done?”

Joanna held back a laugh. “And then he tried to blackmail them?”

“Yeah,” said Kingston, beaming with a grin.

“All right, that does sound like him,” said Joanna. “And sure, why not? They’re a secret organisation. The most important rule is to remain a secret, because if everyone knows what you’re up to then you’re a target.”

“Good. So he’s about to reveal everything he knows about the Nobles in Life, which would be terrible for business because over here we have people who can track the Nobles down and put an end to their schemes. So, they panic. They bring him back to Life, make him open up his accounts, his safes, try to find all of the information he had on them …”

“And they decided to kill him,” said Joanna.

Kingston and Joanna both raised themselves up and felt a rush of excitement come over them, realising their theory fit everything they had been working towards.

“Of course, we don’t have any proof,” said Joanna.

Kingston nodded and tried to bury an unsettling thought. Sarrack was involved in this mess. And Sarrack knew that Kingston was the investigating kind of person. He had a chance to refuse Kingston a job at the bank but instead he allowed him to be hired.

Either they’re trying to find out how much Death knows about them, or they see a benefit in keeping me around. It made him think through everything he could offer them if he was turned to their side. Apart from his celebrity status there didn’t seem to be much they could use.

Although, Sarrack did question me during the interview about what happened to the insurrection and how Eve was deposed. Perhaps they want to rescue her or stage another coup.

“What’s on your mind?” Joanna asked.

“I’m now a little concerned as to why Sarrack allowed me to be hired in the first place.”

“Because he didn’t have a choice,” said Joanna.

“Perhaps. Or the Nobles are trying to find a way to use me to their advantage.”

Joanna leaned in and gave Kingston a kiss. “We could always quit the investigation and go back to being bored in Florence.”

Kingston smiled and returned the kiss. “So you were bored?”

“I was going stir crazy.”

“Catalina did think you were going mad a little earlier.”

Joanna smiled at Kingston. “Let’s not talk about Catalina too much while we’re both in the shower.”

Kingston grinned. “I’m sure John would hurry in as well.”

“Yeah, and then I’d leave you!”

Kingston chuckled to himself. “I could set you up with one of the bankers.”

“I’m guessing you would start with whoever had the most outrageous beard.”

“Well of course!” said Kingston. “And you know, I’ve been thinking about growing an evil genius goatee.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“It’s to blend in, honey. All the other bankers are doing it.”

Joanna rolled her eyes and sighed. “Of all the people I had to fall in love with …”

“I know. You’re like putty in my hands.”

Joanna arched an eyebrow at Kingston. “Well there’s a euphemism if I ever heard one.”

XV

“Ah ha!” cried John. He then dropped his voice quickly and looked around the basement of the bank, afraid that someone had heard him. Thankfully, there was no one in sight but the cat.

John stared back at the paperwork he had pulled from the library and nearly danced with joy. It proved that Shaugnassy and Berkins were still in Limbo and it doubly proved that they were both lazy buggers. They had each taken out a loan worth a thousand gold pieces back in February.

“Make me do all of the work, will ya? Well, not any more,” muttered John. Then he glanced at the date the loans were withdrawn. The twenty fifth of February. That was the day Georgiadis was found dead in Limbo.

John cocked his head to one side and realised that he had just unearthed the start of a paper trail.

Kingston finally had to start bringing home some work so that he could catch up with the endless number of reports and training programs given to him. He had been at it for three hours when Joanna knocked on his office door and offered a comforting smile.

Kingston look up, weakly. “Please tell me we’ve cracked the case open and I don’t have to do any more work.”

“Wish I could, but no,” said Joanna. She walked inside and handed over a list of names and dates.

“What’s this?” asked Kingston.

“Catalina and I did a little more research on Georgiadis,” said Joanna, still with a big grin across her face. “He inherited his father’s company when he was thirty one. At the time it was worth twenty five million dollars, US. But it was heavily in debt and badly run. And then within a year Georgiadis bought out his competition, merged the two companies, cleared half of his debt … and I say ‘cleared’, because he didn’t pay it off. He just brokered a deal to make the debt go away. Convenient, huh? Then he had unusual success in buying other companies for quite a lot less than what they were worth. So I looked into that.” Joanna grinned and tapped the sheet of paper she had given to Kingston. “The companies that Georgiadis bought have something in common. The owners were crooks and they all had a few devastating secrets. Drugs, prostitutes, illegitimate children, murder, tax evasion, that sort of thing. But Georgiadis didn’t know them and they didn’t really know each other. So what else did they have in common? Someone well known to these CEOs died. Within three months of that happening Georgiadis stepped in and made an offer they couldn’t refuse. Soon enough he had their companies and the former CEOs went into retirement.”

Kingston looked over the list of names and dates and smiled. “So, someone who had inside dirt on one of these CEOs died, told everything they knew to the Nobles of Montague, the Nobles told Georgiadis, Georgiadis then blackmailed the CEOs.”

“Exactly,” said Joanna.

Kingston glanced up to the ceiling. “So what’s the end plan for the Nobles? They get some guy rich in Life, and then …?”

“They could play both sides against each other in Hell,” said Joanna. “If everyone has a job down there like they do in Limbo, then it’s simple. They keep Georgiadis rich and powerful in Life, where he can ruin a hundred people’s lives …”

“… And then the Nobles have a hundred people who would pay to have their revenge on Georgiadis,” said Kingston, grinning broadly. “Actually, that’s kind of cold.”

“Sure is. But …”

“But it’s all just a coincidence with no actual proof?”

“Yeah,” said Joanna. “He certainly blackmailed these people. Whether he had help from the Nobles is a little tricky to uncover.” She grinned back at Kingston. “We’re getting closer.”

Kingston’s first month of working at the bank had allowed him to meet just half of the executives. There were only a third working at any given time, but Kingston mingled as much as he could and listened to the stories that each executive was eager to tell him. Naturally, there were competitive executives trying to one-up each other, and burnt out executives who were in no mood to retire, since retirement in Limbo led to a life in Hell. Then there was Kantz, who always had a drink in his hand and only appeared in his office during the few minutes that Coren Haro made his rounds to see who was hard at work. Those few minutes were always a stressful time for Kantz, who had to hurry from the executive dining room and was terrified of being late. Ten minutes later, Kantz returned to the dining room, wiping his brow, and admitting to another close call. And like clockwork Kingston held out a brandy upon Kantz’s return.

“Ah, good man,” said Kantz, taking the glass.

“I’d say you earned it,” said Kingston.

“Too right.” He took a swig and then nudged Kingston. “What were we just talking about?”

“Last month two of the janitors took out a loan, each worth a thousand gold pieces. The loan was paid back within two days.”

Kantz shook his head and leaned in to have a quiet word with Kingston. Kantz’s breath reeked of brandy. “Those janitors are a strange bunch. But they do a spectacular job. I just wish they could find a way to unclutter my desk, though.”

Kingston held back from laughing. “I’m sure they leave that kind of thing to you. The thing is, a thousand gold pieces is an incredible about of money for a janitor. It’s worth three years of their salary.”

“Ah, it happens,” said Kantz. “Sometimes an apartment comes up for grabs quickly and you need the down payment in a hurry. But if someone beats you to the punch then what are you going to do with all of that money? Well, you give it back to the bank. If you do it soon enough you don’t have to pay off any interest.”

Kingston knew that was a reasonable answer, except the two janitors hadn’t been seen in Limbo in decades. He spied Kantz carefully and decided to see if he had any inside knowledge on the Nobles. “I guess if anyone asks, I’m not remotely close to figuring out who did what or why.” Kingston studied Kantz’s reaction, trying to see if the man was close to loosing his cool or even confessing any secret held within his drunken mind, but he seemed too sober to give anything up quite that easily.

But he’s also not trying to maintain a poker face, Kingston thought.

Kantz let out a brandy burp and scratched his stomach.

Maybe he genuinely has no idea what’s going on. Kingston decided to rapid fire a few jarring questions to see how Kantz reacted. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Kantz smiled and glanced away. “Cora.”

“How long does it take to get approved for a loan?”

Kantz shrugged and was immediately pulled back into reality. “I don’t know, I work with the vaults. Never needed a loan.”

“And how is Cora?”

Kantz glanced away again. “Good.”

“What does she do?”

“She runs Cora’s Bakery on Demeter Lane.”

“A baker? Really?”

“Oh yes,” said Kantz, smiling broadly.

“Has she ever met Sarrack?”

Kantz paused and turned slowly to face Kingston. “I don’t think so. Why?”

Kingston’s instincts were telling him that Kantz was being honest, as well as baffled by Kingston’s line of questioning. He fired back an award winning smile. “Limbo’s a small world. You eventually meet everybody, right?”

“I suppose,” said Kantz. “Hey, have you heard of the Indian rope trick?” Clearly, Kantz wasn’t expecting an answer from Kingston, as he continued on with or without Kingston’s approval. He was again very animated with wild gestures. “A little boy climbs up a rope, hanging in the air by magic. He gets to the top and plummets to his death. That’s not the funny part.”

That certainly wasn’t the same version of the story Kingston heard the first time. “So what’s the funny part?”

Kantz stared at Kingston as though the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. “There is no funny part, a boy just plummeted to his death! Show some compassion, my good man.”

Kingston was relieved when Sebastian Burrows waddled up to them.

“How’s the brandy?” Burrows asked.

“It’s pretty good,” said Kingston.

“Well, don’t go making too much of a habit out of it. Mr Haro still needs everyone functional and working.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed there’s not a lot of working going on around here,” said Kingston.

“Shhh!” said Kantz. “You’ll ruin a good thing.”

Burrows smiled at Kingston and gave him a sympathetic nod. “I see you’re from a different era.”

“I’m afraid so,” said Kingston.

“See, the bank requires a quota of employees to residents. And executives to employees. And we get paid for our time here, not for the actual work we do. There is some work to do, obviously, otherwise that would just be wasteful. Our main job is to keep the bank afloat. We handle that quite well, don’t we Mr Kantz?”

“Ay!” cried Kantz, raising his glass in recognition of Burrows.

Kingston saw a golden opportunity in Burrows and the very drunk Kantz. “Forgive me for asking, but how does the bank make its money?”

“Oh, we don’t need to make money,” said Burrows. “We earn a salary as do all residents of Limbo. We pay the salaries, naturally.”

“So although you don’t need to make money, I’m sure the bank does make money.”

“Oh, here and there,” said Burrows. “Through loans, mostly.”

“And sometimes vaults,” burped Kantz.

Kingston held onto Kantz’s response and pretended to ignore it. “I’ve looked over the loans and interest rates. It’s a fascinating business, really.”

“Oh, I’m glad you agree,” said Burrows. “That’s actually my division, you know?”

Kingston did know. “No kidding? So you’re in the middle of all the action, so to speak.”

“Oh yes, it can be quite thrilling, let me tell you. Having to judge the rate of return on an individual basis, depending on if it’s a personal loan or a business loan, going through someone’s past debts … I myself don’t handle the giving of loans, but I am instrumental in setting up the template on how to arrive at the final percentage that the customer is required to return.”

“It certainly has its busy times,” mumbled Kantz. “The vaults too can be quite hectic.”

“Here and there,” said Burrows, while trying not to roll his eyes.

“It’s true! See, we provide storage for rare items that people have come into possession. Now, our crime rate in Limbo is quite low, but there is still a threat, see. Especially with all these people heading off to Hell. Obviously they were bad seeds in their day.”

“Obviously,” said Kingston. “So which of you two has the more glamorous job?”

“I do,” Burrows and Kantz said at the same time, then they glared at each other.

“My division actually makes money,” said Burrows.

“Your division is loan sharking,” said Kantz. “The vaults provide peace of mind.”

“It provides a lot of dust,” said Burrows.

“How - dare - you! The vaults are spotless!”

“And when was the last time you scrubbed them clean?”

“The vaultiers do a thorough and regular job,” glared Kantz.

Kingston peered in. “Don’t the janitors ever go into the vaults?”

“No,” snapped Kantz. Then he realised who he was speaking to. “Sorry old boy.”

“Cleaning all day and nothing ever goes missing,” snided Burrows.

“HOW - DARE - There has never been anything reported!”

“Reported, no.”

“There has never been a need to report anything!” cried Kantz.

Bingo, thought Kingston. Secrets and grievances had just been unearthed.

Kantz was now even redder in the face. “My team are made up of honest men doing an honest job. They are hand picked.”

Burrows looked over to Kingston. “Mr Raine. You’ve dealt with banks in the past. Where are problems more likely to arise from? The loans or the vaults?”

Kingston raised his hands in defence. “Gentlemen, I would be a fool to get in the middle of this. But, Mr Burrows, you have clearly upset Mr Kantz. If you have something tangible, some written testimony on one of the vaultiers being a little too liberal with his cleaning of the vaults, then I’m sure Mr Kantz would come down hard on the scoundrel.”

“Damn right,” muttered Kantz.

Kingston turned to Kantz. “And Mr Kantz, Mr Burrows does a necessary and important job within the bank, and loans are a vital part of the banking world. Banks are rarely popular, but without them we wouldn’t have any money at all. If you have some evidence of unscrupulous dealings I’m sure Mr Burrows would also come down hard on the scoundrels responsible.”

“Certainly would,” said Burrows.

“I’m sorry that we have come to a heated moment so early in the day, but I do need to return to my office. I shall, of course, see you gentlemen at lunch time.” Kingston headed back to his office and expected one of them to give him some inside gossip by the end of the day.

It took just an hour. Burrows knocked on Kingston’s door and let himself in. “Mr Raine, I apologise for my behaviour earlier. The moment got the better of me.”

Kingston’s eyes glanced down to the folder Burrows held in his hand. “Not at all. Please have a seat.”

“Thank you,” said Burrows. He sat down and held out the folder. “I was somewhat mistaken earlier. There have been reported vault issues which were rarely actioned or held accountable.”

Kingston reached over and took the folder. Inside were ten bundles of loose pages. They appeared to be an inventory list of different vaults. The top page of each bundle listed what was lodged and the date given. The second page highlighted items that had gone missing, and the date they were noticed to have vanished.

Burrows rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling. “I’m not saying that Mr Kantz is a poor worker. I just couldn’t tell you when he last cleaned out his inbox. While these discrepancies are rare they do cast an unfavourable light on us all. You should know, you’ve looked into banks before. And you said in the Return of the Shanghai Werewolf that there is a mountain of secrets inside every vault. If you pick the right one you can topple someone’s empire.”

Kingston felt a heavy weight press against his chest, knowing that he was now being quoted for something that was said during a private conversation. He flipped through the pages to see if Georgiadis’ name appeared at all, but the vaults were unnamed. “I can’t imagine the reaction of the owners of these vaults.”

“Oh, I can imagine,” said Burrows, seething as he spoke.

Kingston leaned forward and pointed to one page in particular. “This vault was last active a hundred years ago.”

Burrows leaned forward to check as well. “Oh, well that does happen. Some residents reach the end of their contract in Limbo and are sorted into Hell. They don’t always clear out their vaults when they’re done. The most common reason is that they owe the bank money and need to repay it before getting access to their vault.”

“So what happens to the contents if the owner is in Hell?”

“We put it up for auction,” said Burrows. “It’s a thriving business, actually. It’s legal and well advertised.”

“Do the grim reapers ever have vaults?” Kingston asked.

Burrows turned his head to one side. “I can’t see why they wouldn’t. If they wanted one, they can have one. Why do you ask?”

Because they can travel freely to Life and steal from the recently deceased, Kingston thought. “Just getting my head around the logistics of it all.” And then Kingston went for it. “You know, Mr Kantz had to come in earlier and apologise as well.”

Burrows reeled back in surprise. “Did he?”

“I’m afraid so. He still had some steam to blow off. He’s not wild about some of the reports coming from your department.”

Burrows looked away and quickly shook his head. “Problems are always going to arise, Mr Raine.”

“I know, but in your department in particular …”

Burrows sighed and leaned back in his chair. “This is all unofficial, of course.”

“Of course. And you can call me Kingston if you like.”

“Thank you, Kingston. See, all of the residents here need to have a contract of employment before they are able to take out a loan. Unfortunately, human error does arise from time to time. We have measures to ensure that when a problem is uncovered we are able to deal with it accordingly.”

“Like the two recent loans taken out by janitors who were charged no interest rate?”

Burrows gave a weak shrug. “Something like that. One of the clerks just made a mistake, that was all. The loans were repaid in full a few days later. It’s good to see that we actually have honest people working here.”

Kingston returned to the paperwork Burrows had given him. “A lot of these accounts are from before 1950.”

Burrows nodded.

“I heard about the employee files being stolen,” said Kingston.

Burrows waved his hand in the air. “Oh that’s just an urban legend. The library will always have copies, it’s what they do. No one even believes that anymore.”

“Really?”

“Nah, but everyone loves a good mystery,” said Burrows. He looked around the office awkwardly. “I should get back to work.” He left, allowing Kingston the rest of the day to go through the file that Burrows had given him. It unearthed a few interesting clues.

The month of research in Limbo had left Joanna and Catalina feeling restless and damn near exhausted. Joanna had to grit her teeth at the finale of the sixth Kingston Raine book, when she had been held captive and Kingston managed to escape, leaving Joanna behind. He returned a couple of hours later, with John and Catalina, and that was when Joanna’s world was finally turned upside down by revealing that they were fictional characters. But officially Don Keaton was writing the seventh book. Somewhere in there Joanna was still a prisoner being interrogated. Kingston would be trying to figure out how to rescue her. Neither of them had left their series to help the Grim Reaper investigate his own bank.

Joanna turned the final page of Kingston Raine and the Curse of the Shanghai Werewolf and sighed. She now knew every secret and lie they had told each other over the years. It dawned on her that they had both built up quite a few defence mechanisms. Even her interrogator had picked apart her faults. Those were now open for the entire population to read. Autocratic, perfectionist, fragile, untrusting, possibly cyclothymic, and at times both the smartest and dumbest person in the room.

Joanna shuddered and pushed the book away. He said that to break you down. You don’t have to believe a word he said.

She went to make herself a cup of tea and stared into the distance as the kettle came to a boil.

Weird. Don Keaton wrote a lot of sex scenes about you, and that doesn’t bother you nearly as much as being labelled ‘fragile’.

Catalina came into the kitchenette and smiled at Joanna. “Good morning,” she said.

“Morning,” said Joanna, with a smile. She got to work on the tea leaves. Around her, Catalina moved from one cupboard to the next, pulling out left over apple crumble that she had made for John, and pouring herself a glass of mango juice. She rinsed off a plate and some cutlery, took a slice of crumble over to the table, and glanced back towards Joanna.

“Okay, what is wrong with you?” snapped Catalina.

Joanna turned around in surprise. “Nothing, why?”

Catalina waved her hand in dismissal. “I’ve heard better lies come from toddlers. I’ve seen more convincing looks of ‘I’m okay’ from drunken fools whose wives have just left them for someone else.”

Joanna’s face dropped into shock, and she started to shy away. “Really, I’m …”

“You’re not,” said Catalina, shaking her head in annoyance. “I saw you go mad in Florence when you were stuck in that hotel room. I can see you going mad right now. So come on. We’re going outside.” Catalina grabbed onto Joanna and pulled her along.

“Where are we going?” Joanna asked.

“Out. Like I said.”

“But, where, exactly?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead yet,” said Catalina.

Fifteen minutes later, Joanna and Catalina were in a shoe store on Adlivun Way. Joanna was trying on a pair of high heels when it dawned on her that these could not have been native to Limbo.

“So, where do you get them?” Joanna asked.

“From our supplier,” said Katie, the shop assistant, with a bubbly sense of humour.

“But they weren’t made in Limbo, were they?”

“These were, yes,” said Katie.

“And where did they get the raw materials?”

Katie’s sense of humour faltered for a moment and she bit down on her lower lip. “I really shouldn’t say.”

Joanna sighed and felt the obvious coming along. “They’re from Hell, aren’t they?”

“That’s what I heard,” said Katie, dropping into a whisper. “But they are truly divine, aren’t they?”

Joanna glanced over the high heels in suede and gave Katie the benefit of the doubt. “So, how does Hell get their supplies?”

“They grow them,” said Katie.

Joanna shook her head with that one. “What? How?”

Katie checked over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening in on them. “Well, no one can say for sure. I mean, we only get a crowd from Hell up here once every ten years or so. If you get enough drinks into them they do start to open up a bit, even though they shouldn’t. See, in Hell, you won’t die of starvation, but you can starve. But a long time ago, the … you know … the guy who runs that place …”

Joanna bowed almost apologetically. “You mean -”

“Please don’t use his name,” said Katie, as she broke into a glare.

“Fair enough,” said Joanna. She kept her mouth shut.

“So, him. He got fed up living on a lava, rocky surface, breathing in all of this dirt and decay, seeing everyone around him crippled over in agony, and being generally miserable. And back then they were all farmers or quarrymen. So he had his people go to Life and bring back a few plants and they started to grow and farm everything. That was back then. Nowadays there are universities down there, shipwrights, and even astronauts. People tend to keep doing what they’re really good at, even if that’s making shoes.” Katie fired off another smile.

Joanna looked back at the shoes she was trying on and had to wonder if Katie’s best attribute in Life was as a salesman. Now it was time to see how desperate Katie was to earn a commission. “You said no one dies in Hell.”

“Uh huh,” said Katie, beaming and nodding again.

“I heard there was a man found dead not far from here.”

Katie’s expression dropped. She looked as though she was now being overheard by everyone in the realm, and that if she made the slightest mistake then she would burst into flames and suffer for an eternity. “Whatever he did, he must have deserved it.”

“I heard it was supposed to be impossible,” said Joanna, matching Katie’s expression to sympathise with her. Meanwhile, she was on full photographic memory mode, taking in every detail and nuance. If Katie flinched away from one direction, Joanna would lock in on it and investigate further.

“Only him … the guy who runs that place … would be capable of that,” said Katie.

Joanna realised she had hit a stumbling block with Katie, which wasn’t surprising. She and Catalina had run into the same issues at every café in the realm, and every tailor’s, and every store they could find. They were now masters of small talk, yet everyone seemed to be afraid of any news surrounding Georgiadis. “But why would he bother to kill someone? And then to leave him here?”

Katie shrugged. “He does what he wants.”

Somehow, the idea that Satan was behind the murder of Georgiadis didn’t feel right. From what Joanna knew of him, he didn’t really care what anyone did in Hell. He allowed them to sort through their own problems without his interference. This felt more like a human act of revenge. Still, Joanna and Catalina had just crossed another small business off their list as suspicious. Hopefully they would find the culprit soon, because all of this small talk was getting expensive.

Kingston burst back into Inhuman Resources and excitedly hunted everyone down. All he could find was John, sitting in his office, reading a business management book.

“Hey, where are the girls?” Kingston asked.

John held up a scribbled sheet of paper. “They’ve gone researching.”

“We’re back!” cried Joanna. She and Catalina strolled down the corridor while showing off their new shoes. “What do you think? Aren’t I just more me than I’ve ever been before?”

Kingston smiled at Joanna and swept in for a hug and a kiss.

“What was that for?” Joanna asked, after she landed back on her feet.

“It’s been a good day,” said Kingston. “What did you find out?”

“Not much,” said Joanna. “We went from one shop to the next, but there are still thousands of them. We’re getting really good at talking to sales people.”

“You know you don’t have to buy everything you see,” said Kingston.

“I know! Anyway, we have no new leads. What about you two?”

“Nothing,” said John.

“I might have something,” said Kingston. He started pacing back and forth while he talked excitedly. “I had an interesting meeting with Burrows from work today. He’s in the loans department. You remember two of our janitors who took out large loans the moment Georgiadis appeared flayed in Limbo? Well, according to Burrows, it was just a mistake by one of the clerks. But here’s the thing: the maximum amount you can withdraw without getting one of the executives to personally approve the amount is …?”

“A thousand gold pieces?” John asked.

“Exactly,” said Kingston. “Georgiadis was found at sixteen thirty on the twenty fifth of February. Joanna tells me that he had been in Limbo for three hours by that time. Halfway between his arrival and his discovery, two thousand gold pieces were withdrawn from the bank. In cash. What does that tell us?”

“That bribes were needed,” said Joanna.

“Exactly,” said Kingston.

“And that they were withdrawn by underlings,” said Joanna.

Kingston smiled back at Joanna. “This is why I love you.” Joanna returned the smile.

Catalina shook her head. “I’m lost.”

“Okay,” said Kingston. He focussed on Catalina and John. “Let’s assume that the Limbo arm of the Nobles of Montague don’t have many senior members. Let’s also assume that, up here, Sarrack is the leader. Perhaps he’s out of town for a few days handling an emergency. The emergency is probably the death of Georgiadis, and Sarrack is trying to explain things to his bosses down in Hell. Either way, he’s not in Limbo. The body of Georgiadis arrives and the underlings realise that they need to get rid of him quickly. But they don’t have any strict leadership. This emergency requires bribes, or a lot of expenses, but bribes is most likely. They have to get the body out of Limbo as quickly as possible and this whole thing is very illegal. Realising that this is truly an emergency that will burn them alive if they screw it up, the underlings take matters into their own hands and get the money themselves by using the IDs from two of the janitors who don’t actually work there anymore. They get their loan, they pay off whoever they must to get rid of Georgiadis, but Georgiadis is found before they could actually get rid of him. The loans are repaid two days later. Maybe the bribes were repaid, or maybe Sarrack withdrew the money from a vault used by the Nobles. Everything is hushed up and the Nobles go into damage control.”

Catalina looked around the room and saw John working through everything that Kingston had just said. He nodded as he considered all of the options. When he was done he gave an approving look to Kingston and Joanna. “Okay.”

Catalina hesitated before asking: “And we’re excited about this?”

“Oh yes,” said Kingston. “Burrows also gave me some dirt on the vaults.” Kingston cleared his throat. “Most of the residents in Limbo end up getting a vault sooner or later. Sometimes they move on to Hell and they don’t close up the vault, for whatever reason. After a certain amount of time the contents of the vault become property of the bank, with the sole purpose of selling the contents at an auction. Before everything is sold it has to be inventoried, which should always be checked off from the previous list. Things don’t always add up. So far it’s nothing exceptional. It could either be sloppy paperwork or someone pinching a few things when no one is looking. The exceptional thing I found was that you can sign the deeds to a vault over to someone else. They take on the cost of keeping the vault and any debt associated becomes theirs. Now, we’ve had quite a few celebrities and secret keepers come through Limbo in our time. Some of them have been granted amnesty for up to ninety days. I say ‘celebrities’, because what I really mean are vicious dictators. The bank offers them a loan while they live in amnesty and it opens up a vault in their name, on the proviso that everything is squared away before they head off to Hell. And every single time … success. Everything is faultless. They’ve got their best people on the job making sure that nothing goes wrong.” Kingston paused, allowing himself a moment to smirk. “I had a look at some of these vault numbers.”

“Do they all end in a three?” Joanna asked bluntly.

Kingston paused again, then sighed. “You kinda killed my moment of glory there, honey.”

“Oh, so I’m right?” Joanna asked, now beaming with a smile.

“Yes, you are right. Kinda.” Kingston turned away from Joanna and focussed on John and Catalina. “A lot of the vaults these lunatics are assigned to have a number three somewhere in the vault number. 1074-083, for example. A three is very easy to change into an eight. So 1074-083 becomes 1074-088. The 083 vault is spotless when the dictator heads off to Hell. It’s spotless because nothing ever went in there, or very little did. Whatever was most important to our madman went into the 088 vault.”

“Who owns these?” Joanna asked.

“No idea,” said Kingston, shaking his head. “But I’m sure Death will be pleased to hear about it in my report.”

“And signing over the deeds to the vault?” Joanna asked.

“This is covered in the area of loss prevention,” said Kingston. “When a madman comes to Limbo and receives a loan he’s going to spend every penny he has with no intention of ever paying it back. The bank knows this, the bank accepts this, and yet the bank still offers them a loan because it’s the way things work here. The senior loss prevention executive and the general master of the bank have to approve the loan because of the risks associated. Curiously, Sarrack has never applied to the role of loss prevention. And I’m willing to bet he makes a tonne of money whenever a new madman applies for a loan. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to write all of this up before my brain explodes.” Kingston smiled and headed off to his office.

Catalina waited until Kingston was out of ear shot. “He really does prattle on a lot, doesn’t he?”

Joanna grinned at the feisty Spaniard. “Did you really just say ‘prattle’?”

Catalina shrugged. “I’m surrounded by three English people all the time.”

John gave Catalina a tight squeeze. “And this is why I love you.”

Rickland Carson sat in Cleaver Hall, turning an envelope over in his hands while his knees bounced up and down with nervous energy. There was only one other person in the room. That man nodded a farewell to Rickland and left. Rickland looked around as the room fell deathly quiet. It did little to quell his fears. The door finally opened again and Sarrack stepped inside. Rickland rose to his feet.

“Someone’s been following me,” said Rickland.

Sarrack closed the door behind himself and arched an eyebrow at Rickland. “Did they follow you here?”

“I don’t think so. Peters was able to teleport me here.”

Sarrack nodded and glanced at the envelope in Rickland’s hand. “What do you have for me?”

“Kingston Raine is investigating you,” said Rickland. He held the envelope across and Sarrack wearily took it.

“I know.”

“And there’s a reporter he’s been speaking with.”

Sarrack opened the envelope and read over the paperwork inside. “I know about Kevin Van Heuten.” Sarrack thought through every potential problem that may come his way. “I did expect Mr Raine to have higher standards than that.”

“He’s talking to a reporter,” Rickland said, pressing the issue further.

Sarrack pocketed the envelope. “One of our bounty hunters met with Van Heuten a while ago. We have him running scared. I wouldn’t worry about what Kingston says to him.”

Rickland pulled his shoulders back and had to dig deep to find an extra ounce of courage. “I don’t think I’m cut out for this job.”

Sarrack peered over Rickland again. “I thought your time as a special forces sniper would have provided some training in keeping your cool while under pressure.”

Rickland leaned back and his eyes almost shot out of their sockets. “What? I was never in the special forces.”

“Clearly,” said Sarrack, through gritted teeth.

“I thought I was supposed to meet and greet the elite from Life,” said Rickland.

Sarrack looked over Rickland carefully and squinted. “And you will. I did take a leap of faith in hiring you, Mr Carson. Satan refused you entry into Hell and that piqued my curiosity. Kingston Raine arrived into Limbo for a second time and was immediately recommended for a job at the bank. That too piqued my curiosity.” Sarrack fell quiet and stared back until Rickland eventually broke.

“That reporter has been looking into missing janitors, or something like that.”

Sarrack sighed and shook his head. “You just keep doing your job of being my eyes and ears at the library.”

“But Kingston’s friend is always there and always watching me.”

“Yeah. I have someone watching him,” said Sarrack, now growing irritated. “And if you really want to score some points and become my best friend for the rest of eternity, why not go over to the giant and find out how he and his merry men were able to teleport through Fiction. You get me that information and I’ll pay you ten thousand gold pieces.”

Rickland stepped back in surprise. “Ten … thousand?”

Sarrack gave Rickland a single nod. “That’s right. And the first person to get me that information wins. Personally? I think his girlfriend is the weakest link of the group. Easy to crack. But getting her on her own is proving to be difficult.”

Rickland looked back at Sarrack until he realised Sarrack was staring him down. Rickland looked away and some distant memory came to light. He had seen John and Catalina whispering in the library. “She’s terrified of Hell. And of losing her boyfriend.”

The squint in Sarrack’s eye faded and was replaced by a grin that spread from ear to ear. “She’s terrified of Hell?”

“Very much so,” said Rickland.

“Interesting,” said Sarrack.

XVI

John sat in the library, closed the book over, and absorbed the last three hundred pages of information. The Business Mind. How to influence people and rise to the top, had not been a disappointing read. He looked over his scribbled notes to the side and knew that he had mastered several of them already due to his upbringing.

Always present yourself taller. John had snorted at that one, given that he was seven feet tall when he was fifteen years old.

Speak in a deeper voice. John mastered that when he was sixteen.

People are always drawn towards strength. John had a chuckle with that one, considering his unusual ability to hurl things across vast distances and chop down trees in just a few strokes of an axe.

Still, he found some other points quite interesting. When asking for a favour, speak as though you are expecting the listener to agree, and cap it off with ‘thank you’ as though the listener has given their approval.

John decided to test that one out himself. He stood up, picked a book at random from the shelves (A Brief History of Chaos, part one), and found a short man standing one aisle over. The short man was looking through the books with great care, reading every title clearly. John walked up to him and cleared his throat. When the short, middle aged man looked up at the hulking size of John, he almost quivered with fright.

“Can you return this book to its correct location? Thank you.” John pushed the book into the man’s hands, nodded, and walked away.

Favour accepted, John thought to himself. He went away with a smile. One day you might end up running the Bank of Limbo.

He glanced over and saw Rickland heading into one of the rear offices. John checked the time and made a note of where Rickland was going.

Catalina headed into Cora’s Bakery on Demeter Lane.

Cora perked up with a smile. “Catalina!”

“Cora!” cried Catalina, matching the level of enthusiasm. “How are you?”

“Oh fine, fine. And you?”

“Couldn’t be better,” said Catalina, while lying through her teeth. “My boyfriend can’t get enough of your bear claws.”

Cora smiled at the compliment. “Harold loves them as well.”

“I can see why,” said Catalina. “How is he?”

Cora hesitated. “Fine.”

Catalina squinted. “You don’t look so sure.”

Cora shrugged, then remembered that her staff members were all within ear shot of her. “He’s fine.”

Catalina was quick to read between the lines and she checked the time. “I’m free for lunch.”

Cora considered it, looked away for a moment, and dropped into a whisper. “Sure.”

Two hours later, Catalina headed back to Joanna to give her the update on Harold Kantz’s girlfriend. Unfortunately, whatever problems existed between the couple were limited to those of a typical relationship. Even though Catalina had spent weeks charming Cora, she was still no closer to getting any inside dirt on the bank. Even more unsettling was the idea that someone was still spying on her while they were invisible.

The only thing Joanna had managed to accomplish that day was locating Rickland Carson’s application for permanent residency.

Kingston sat at his desk in office eighty seven and stared into space. There was a great mess of problems with investigating Georgiadis and the bank at the same time. He knew he should be close to a revelation. He just wasn’t sure how to beat an organisation that had existed in secrecy for so many years. At times he wasn’t even sure if Georgiadis and the bank were connected. With just fifteen minutes into his shift, Kingston fired off a laugh when he wondered, what would Snowflake do?

Yes, a fine question to start out the day. I’ve spent the last week looking over office plans and banking history, all to end up thinking about the white fluffball of a cat.

He leaned back in his chair and sighed. He had some paperwork prepared to rattle the bosses, and he hoped it would be enough to spring a trap around him. After weeks of investigating he had come to the conclusion that the best way to reveal the Nobles of Montague was to force them into a panic, which in turn would lead them to exposing themselves.

He needed a distraction. Not surprisingly he found Kantz in the executive dining room.

“Have you heard of the Indian rope trick?” Kantz asked, leaning in with a broad smile on his face.

“Yes. How exactly is it an Indian rope trick?” Kingston asked.

Kantz looked flustered for a moment, then glanced back into his drink as though it was going to provide him with some kind of answer. “Well, see, there’s this Indian rope.”

“Hanging in the air by magic,” said Kingston.

“Yes, and …”

“And a boy climbs up,” said Kingston.

“He does, and …”

“Then he should be congratulated,” said Kingston. He saw Kantz pause, as though he was trying to remember which version of the story they were telling each other. “I mean, he climbs up a magical rope. That’s quite impressive, isn’t it?”

“Well, I suppose it could be,” said Kantz, blinking profusely.

“And he learns a valuable lesson, doesn’t he?”

Kantz mentally scrambled to figure out what that lesson might be. “Uh …”

Kingston then patted Kantz on the side of the arm. “Have you heard of the Swiss Cow Problem?”

The change of pace was almost too much for Kantz to handle. “The uh, Swiss Cow … Problem.”

“Yes, it’s quite brilliant,” said Kingston. He then looked away as though that was the end of the topic. In the corner of his eye he saw Kantz trying to figure out if Kingston was going to elaborate, or if Kingston had already told him about the Swiss Cow Problem and that Kantz was simply too drunk to remember hearing about it. Kantz opted to remain quiet.

At that moment, Burrows entered the room. Kingston excused himself from Kantz and headed over to his new friend.

“Sebastian,” said Kingston, smiling at Burrows.

“Oh, uh, Kingston. How are you?”

“Good, good. Listen, I hate to bother you but I’m still getting my head around a few things. We have a loss issue with some of the former employees of the bank.”

Burrows looked back in surprise. “You don’t say.”

“It looks as though we actually overpaid some of our janitors. I know! Can you believe it? Some of them have even taken out a loan, despite no longer being in Limbo.”

Burrows raised both eyebrows in surprise. “That is unusual.”

“And some of them still have active vaults even though they’ve been sorted into Hell decades ago.”

“Ah, well, that’s more of Kantz’s area than mine. I can certainly look into the janitor situation.”

“I’d appreciate that,” said Kingston. He shook Burrows by the hand and returned to Kantz.

The trap is closing, Kingston thought.

“You seem to have him wrapped around your finger,” said Kantz.

“Nah, I’ve just inspired him,” said Kingston.

“So what was it about those janitor vaults?” Kantz asked.

Kingston glanced over his shoulder and dropped to a whisper. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Humph,” snorted Kantz. “I manage the vaults. Believe me, I can keep a secret.”

“Good,” said Kingston. He felt the trap closing even further. “There are vaults within the bank that are still active, despite the employees no longer living in Limbo.”

Kantz rolled his eyes at Kingston. “That’s not unusual. You can sign a vault over to someone else before you leave Limbo. The transfer fee is usually less expensive than opening up a brand new vault for yourself. Sometimes if you know you’re heading off to Hell you rack up quite a few debts and can’t be bothered paying them off. So instead of having all of your possessions within the vault auctioned away to clear your debts, you just sign it over to someone else, leave in debt, and your friend is able to claim all of your possessions as their own. It’s quite common.”

“Oh,” said Kingston. He was hit by a slap of disappointment. “So what happens if, say, an employee hasn’t turned up to work in fifteen years but is still on the payroll and was able to take out a loan of a thousand gold pieces, and return it quickly, and they have a vault which is actively used, but this person hasn’t even been seen in Limbo in over ten years?”

Kantz shrugged it off. “Then he’s a lazy git.”

Kingston nodded and could see how the bank was open for widespread misuse if all of the executives were as complacent as Kantz seemed to be.

A couple of hours later, Kingston went to check up on what Burrows had discovered. It looked as though the man had spent the whole day working up a sweat. His collar was soaked through and his hair was a greasy mess.

Kingston recognised that look of executive fear. He had caused enough of it through his whole working life. “What’s up?” he asked.

Burrows spluttered at the mountain of paper in front of him. “I’m sure I’m missing something here, because too much of this just doesn’t add up.” He looked up to Kingston as though he was begging for this to be a practical joke. “How did you find all of this?”

Kingston came and sat down in front of Burrows’ desk. “You know that liaison to the library?”

Burrows glanced to the side and strained. “Carland?”

“Carson. Rickland Carson. You know what he used to do in Life?”

Burrows shook his head and hoped that Kingston wasn’t about to take him another roller coaster of a tangent. “Tell me.”

“He was a literary critic,” said Kingston. “I suppose that kinda fits, except that he’s still not a resident. He’s applied for it, but until he gets it he’s just a volunteer without status. Anyway, a few weeks ago I learned that two of the janitors took out a hefty loan which was paid back straight away. That caught my attention. And then I found that neither of them have actually been in Limbo for years. So I went to have a closer look to see if that was actually accurate. I had to transfer some files out of the library to see what went wrong. As you can see, there have been paycheques going to people who aren’t around anymore and vaults that are being used quite frequently when the owners have all disappeared from Limbo.”

Burrows nodded, shook his head, and ran a hand over his tired face. “How does this fit in with Carson?”

“I requested some paperwork from the library archives and there was a mix up. If Rickland had given me what I wanted then I probably would never have found all of these loose ends.” Kingston gave Burrows a sympathetic smile, while on the inside he was aglow with pride as Burrows ate up every last lie Kingston told him.

“I don’t know much about the vaults, it’s not really my area. The payroll … we would be missing …” He rummaged through the paperwork to find his notes.

“From what I found this morning, about a hundred thousand gold pieces,” said Kingston.

Burrows sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Yeah. Six current employees. Seventeen more receiving ongoing benefits, all for the last eighteen years.”

“I’d say it’s time to shut it down,” said Kingston.

“I’m not sure if I have the authority for that,” said Burrows.

“Coren Haro does.”

Burrows leaned back in dismay. “A problem of this magnitude and no one else has even noticed it? Over this many years? It’ll look as though we’re all either incompetent or in on it.”

Kingston shrugged it off. “Yeah. Well, except for me, because I found the problem straight away. But yes, you all look very guilty.”

Burrows held his hands tightly and fell to a whisper. “What’s your plan?”

Kingston reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “I was hoping you would corroborate my findings, so I wrote up a report saying that you and I have found a sizeable discrepancy. It should clear you of any suspicion of mismanagement. I’ve also asked for the authority to retrieve the missing money and to investigate these vaults further. I’d like your signature at the bottom of the page.”

Burrows’ eyes nearly shot out of his head. “Can I read that first?”

“Of course,” said Kingston. He handed the page over and studied Burrows carefully. He watched the man’s eyes move across the page, taking all of the information in and watching him nod without realising it. Kingston waited until Burrows signed the bottom of the page. “I think we should tell Sarrack.”

Burrows looked up and seemed lost in confusion. “Why?”

You’re not involved with the Nobles of Montague, Kingston told himself. He was sure that if Burrows knew of Sarrack’s connection then he would have reacted with a lot more caution. “He’s one of the senior executives. He should be advised.”

“This is something for the general master,” said Burrows.

Good, Kingston told himself.

Burrows handed the report back to Kingston and failed at keeping his hand from shaking. “I should come with you. To help explain.”

“You might want to sort through all of this paperwork first,” said Kingston. “You’re going to have to explain it to a lot of the executives later on.”

“That might be something you’re better at,” mumbled Burrows.

Kingston smiled. “Either way, they’re going to ask you a lot of questions.”

“Wait,” said Burrows. He rose to his feet. “Be careful of Sarrack.”

Kingston dropped to a look of concern to match Burrows, while inside he was doing a mental dance of joy at whatever Burrows was about to reveal. “Why is that?”

“He’s … connected.”

“And he’ll have me killed?” asked Kingston.

“People have disappeared from Limbo in the past,” said Burrows. “I mean, it looks as though the janitors are disposable.”

Kingston nodded to himself and knew it was time to warn everyone he knew. “Then Haro must see this before the end of the day. I need to tie up a few loose ends and I suggest you do the same, or else we’re going to look like idiots when we’re grilled in front of the seniors.” Kingston rose to his feet.

Burrows spluttered. “You’re coming back, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” said Kingston. “And if I don’t, hand that form into Haro.”

XVII

Kingston headed through The Chronicle’s front door and was ignored by most of the staff inside. He pulled his shoulders back, stood taller, and looked around the room as though he owned the place. Sure enough, he was then noticed.

“Can I help you?” asked one of the clerks.

“I’m looking for Kevin Van Heuten,” said Kingston.

The clerk looked Kingston up and down nervously, then he tried to step away. “I’m afraid we’re busy. If you want to leave your business card or something …”

And another thread of chaos comes into play, Kingston thought. He had seen the look on the clerk’s face before. The people here were being watched and they knew it. Kingston strode forward and knew everyone was stealing a glance towards him, yet they were careful to avoid making eye contact. “I’m guessing you’re not usually this … busy,” said Kingston. He eyed the clerk down and knew the boy would crack in just a few seconds.

“Surprise,” spluttered the clerk, and he instantly regretted saying that. “I mean yes. Busy. I can … maybe … pass on a message?”

“By all means,” said Kingston, as he walked around trying to find out where Van Heuten was hiding. “I’ve been doing my research,” he said, loudly. “The missing files …” Kingston checked one office door and didn’t see Van Heuten in there. “The files within the Library of Limbo, even all the rumours surrounding the Bank.”

One of the office doors opened. Van Heuten appeared, looking sweaty and nervous. “Mr Raine?”

Kingston peered at the reporter and knew a guilty tone when he heard one. “How noble of you to see me,” said Kingston. He saw a slight twitch in Van Heuten’s eye. He recognised the clue Kingston had just dropped into the conversation.

Van Heuten stiffened, grabbed his jacket, and walked towards the front door. “Perhaps outside?”

“By all means,” said Kingston. He followed Van Heuten down the stairs. “What happened?”

“Nothing. We’re just busy.”

Kingston raised his hand quickly towards Van Heuten’s face. Van Heuten jumped back in surprise, terrified of being hit in the face. “I see,” said Kingston. “You dug too deep and someone threatened you. Now you’re on edge and it has something to do with me.”

Van Heuten dropped his shoulders. “You don’t understand what will happen to me if I’m seen talking to you.”

“Have you tried speaking to Death?” Kingston asked.

Van Heuten shook his head as though Kingston was speaking in a foreign language. “Death? Why would I speak to him? He’s the freaking president. You don’t go to the president with every minor problem in your life.”

“Why not? I do,” said Kingston.

“Well, life works out better for the rich and famous,” Van Heuten muttered.

“I need a lead. I know you wouldn’t have dropped this research without stumbling onto something worth of my attention.”

Van Heuten stiffened. “I need to get back to work.”

Kingston caught something that he shouldn’t have. The shift in Van Heuten from complaining about his day to suddenly needing to get back to work was too quick, as though someone had snapped an order at him. But Kingston had also paid close attention to his eyes, and it wasn’t from something that Van Heuten saw. It had to be something that he heard, yet Kingston was so close to him that he should have heard it as well, but didn’t. Van Heuten walked away. Then it occurred to him.

Someone is invisible and they’re standing very close to me. He looked around to find any other clue. Just before Van Heuten stepped back into The Chronicle Kingston went for broke.

“I checked with Rickland Carson about those files as well.”

Van Heuten paused, then shook his head. “I really have to get back to work.”

“He didn’t know anything about it. Even at the bank they said it was nothing more than an urban legend.”

“Well … that’s what they say.”

“But I did find out something from Benedict Shaw, which was most unusual.”

Van Heuten paused. His reporter instincts kicked in, but his desire to keep on living in relative peace was fighting back. “I’m not familiar with the name.”

“He’s one of the few guys who actually does any work at the bank. Some of the executives have been slacking off and they left him to pick up the pieces. Sometimes he gets so bogged down that he has to delegate. Only, sometimes, he doesn’t actually realise that what he’s delegating is directly related to the troubles of Limbo.”

Van Heuten froze. Kingston could see the cogs in his mind firing quickly. There was someone standing nearby, and Van Heuten knew this invisible creature was desperate to hear everything that Kingston was saying. “Like what?” Van Heuten asked.

Kingston glanced around to make sure the coast was clear. It also gave him some time to bullshit his way into finding out as much as he could from Van Heuten. “This stays between us, right?”

“Of course,” said Van Heuten. He was more fidgety than usual.

“First … what did you find out about those missing files?”

Van Heuten shook his head in surprise and spluttered. He was not as quick at thinking on his feet as he thought he was. “What? Nothing. What was … sorry, what was his name?”

“I know you found something,” said Kingston, trying to remain as serious as he could. “Tell me that, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know about what the vault numbers all have in common. I can also tell you which ones have been used exclusively for the rich, powerful, and famous. There’s a pattern there. It will trigger the downfall of everyone associated with … well, you’ll see. And with a scoop like this your career will be set. Now, tell me about what happened with those missing files.”

Van Heuten looked from side to side as he tried desperately to think on the spot. “Like I said before. Every employee in Limbo had their files stolen.”

“So what else did you learn since we last met?” Kingston asked.

Van Heuten’s eyes drifted away for a moment. Kingston was sure that Van Heuten was listening to someone whispering in his ear. “I tracked down a few of the former employees from Limbo. Some of them are now in Hell, living peaceful lives.” He glanced to the side, waiting for more, but nothing came. It was now up to him to make a judgement call about how much to reveal and what to keep hidden. “One of the sorters had something to say. One day she was quickly promoted to an entirely new department, she met a man, fell in love, and nearly forgot all about that one small incident that may have triggered the theft of every employee file on record. She said in 1944 a Russian soldier was brought to her and she went about the paperwork as usual, except he asked to speak to someone and he knew them by name. Now, something like that isn’t too uncommon from the recently departed. They might often want to speak to ‘Gary’ or ‘Bob’. Something nondescript. Except this was an unusual name. Two years later she heard that name again, this time from a former German soldier. She didn’t remember enough about the Russian soldier so she started digging through her old records. The next day she was promoted out of there and she never had time to file a report. So I asked her what she think really happened.” Van Heuten fidgeted again. “You want to take a guess at what she told me?”

“Was the name Sarrack?” Kingston asked.

Panic shot through Van Heuten’s eyes as he revealed himself to be a terrible liar. “No.”

“Worth a try,” said Kingston. He shrugged it off. “So she thinks she was promoted to stop herself from digging around some old files and finding a link between these two soldiers who should never have met each other. I’m guessing this man she fell in love with fell out of love with her after it seemed as though she was no longer in danger of revealing everything to the public.”

Van Heuten nodded. “That’s exactly what she said.” He shifted awkwardly and looked over his shoulder to see if there really was someone standing close by. “So what about these vaults?”

“Hang on,” said Kingston. “When was she transferred to Hell?”

“First of December, 1950.”

“Right when the files went missing.”

“It was classified as a filing mishap,” said Van Heuten. “So what did you find about the vaults?”

“That some of the vaults remain active long after their owners have gone to Hell,” said Kingston. He started counting off random numbers. “1061-938, for example. And 2134-281. Their owners should have closed them down years ago, yet they remain open and active. I’ve got an official form from Shaw as well, one that he didn’t realise he sent to me. He must have been so stressed out from the workload that he put my name on the top. It gave me authorisation to go into the vaults. You won’t believe what I’ve already found.” Kingston tapped Van Heuten on the shoulder. “I’ll keep you posted if you’re still interested.”

And all Van Heuten could manage was: “Er …”

“Let me know if you find anything else,” said Kingston. He turned and gave Van Heuten a moment to hurry after him, but the reporter was too scared to even call his name.

Kingston hurried along Upper Styx, climbed the stairs to the Bank of Limbo, and strolled inside as though he was king of the land ready to survey his subjects. Inside, his heart was beating like a madman as he knew Van Heuten’s spy was contacting Sarrack and the Nobles as quickly as he could. Kingston rounded the corner, headed down to the janitor department, and was met with silence.

“John?” Kingston hurried from one door to another and called out for his friend. “John? Are you down here?”

John stepped forward, shot a smile at Kingston and had a delighted look of confidence in his face.

“John!” cried Kingston.

“Kingston!” bellowed John. He shook Kingston’s hand with renewed strength.

“Why are we shaking hands?”

“You are my superior and I am shaking your hand,” said John. He pulled his hand back and smiled, knowing that Kingston was about to ask for a favour. “What can I do for you?” John asked.

“It’s game time!” said Kingston, beaming with joy.

John’s bravura dropped in an instant and a devilish grin crossed his face. “We know who killed Georgiadis?”

“No!” said Kingston. “But we’re about to be ambushed in the vaults by the Nobles of Montague.”

“Good. Why?”

“Because the wonderful thing about criminals is that they are often paranoid about their secrets getting out. You ready for a fight?”

John winked at Kingston. “Lead the way.”

“First … do you have a spare set of janitor overalls?”

“I don’t, but I’m sure you can borrow one from the layabouts who never come to work.”

“Good,” said Kingston. “And you may want to get suited up under those overalls as well. We’re going to want to look out best if anything goes wrong.”

John cocked his head to one side. “Is something going to go wrong?”

“It usually does with us,” said Kingston. “And we need something to carry. Any old junk.”

“How exactly is this going to spring the trap?” asked John.

“I’m hoping they’ll believe that we are about to bust open one of their prized vaults and they’ll come to stop us. When they do, you punch them, and we’ll drag them up to Death. Case closed.”

“I see some flaws in this plan.”

“As do I,” said Kingston.

Ten minutes later, Kingston and John were carrying boxes of old files and were stopped at the first locked door to the vaults by Penton Flick. Penton looked over the two men, recognised John, but didn’t seem so sure about Kingston.

“These boxes are kinda heavy,” said John. He shot Penton with his most powerful and resonating voice he had. “And there are more to come.”

Penton looked over the paperwork John handed him and nodded. “If you will follow me.” He led them through the vaults and passed many rows of blank number plates. It impressed Kingston that this young man knew exactly which vault to head towards, considering that Kingston was having a hard time just keeping up with all of the lefts and rights they were taking.

They stopped at one of the vaults and Penton typed in the vault number into a machine that looked like turnstile calculator. Kingston was sure it was Limbo’s version of a keypad. A beep went off and Penton swivelled the numbers around again, putting in his employee ID number. The vault door swung open and Kingston peered inside. It was a long room with shelves of boxes containing old files.

Kingston kept an ear out for anyone invisible who might be following them. “Perfect,” he muttered, trying to bluff anyone who was listening. He and John carried their boxes inside and took their time in pulling out other boxes for sorting. Penton kept out of the way, preferring not to look inside the vault.

John glanced over his shoulder and leaned in towards Kingston. “If they lock us in here …”

“No one dies in Limbo,” said Kingston.

“All the same, I’d rather not spend the next hundred years in here. No offence.”

“Then carry one of these boxes out and wait for me.”

John did so and waited in the corridor while Penton grew impatient. Kingston flipped through all of the boxes to see if there was actually anything useful he could use, but with the dozens of boxes to sort through he didn’t think it was at all likely. Penton cleared his voice in an obvious attempt to get Kingston hurry up.

“The organisation in here is terrible,” said Kingston. “Seriously, who put these in order?”

“Probably my predecessor,” said John.

Kingston hoped like hell that someone was actually listening in. He knocked the lid off one box of files, rummaged inside, and stood up straight in an instant. “Bingo,” he muttered. What he took was a generic contract of employment. Kingston tucked it quickly into his overalls as though it was the contact details of every member of the Nobles of Montague in existence. Kingston fixed the lid to the box again and stepped back into the corridor.

“All done,” said Kingston.

Penton closed the vault door. Kingston shot a quick nod and smile to John. John picked up his box of useless records and they headed back upstairs. All the while, Kingston kept an eye out for anyone who was about to ambush them, hoping like hell that his rouse would force someone into action.

It didn’t come.

At least, not in the way that Kingston expected. He and John returned to the janitor’s department a little deflated, though Kingston was doing his best to maintain the aura of victory.

“We’ve got them by the balls,” said Kingston.

“I sure hope so,” said John.

“We should head back and tell the girls.”

“Good.”

Kingston and John quickly pulled off their overalls, headed up to the surface walked out into the open air when they were met by Van Heuten. Kingston cocked his head in surprise and then saw that Van Heuten did not want to be there. He was being forced out of his comfort zone and Kingston knew in an instant that this was how the Nobles were going to spring their attack.

“Mr Raine?” Van Heuten said, with more than just an air of uncertainty.

“Yes,” said Kingston. He pointed to John. “This is my associate, John Nottingham. His bite is actually worse than his bark.”

“So I’ve heard,” said Van Heuten. He stood stiffly. Even though he was about to pass along sensitive information he didn’t bother to check over his shoulder to make sure if the coast was clear. There was no need, because he knew he was being watched at that very moment. “I found the location of the missing files.” He held out a thick sheet of parchment with an address scrawled along the top. “You should bring back up.” Van Heuten then nodded towards John. “Him, for example.”

Kingston smiled and knew that this was the trap. He took the sheet of parchment and held onto it tightly. “Thank you. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

Van Heuten looked at Kingston apologetically and walked away as a defeated man. He trundled down the steps, avoided the teleportation circle completely, and headed back towards the library.

Kingston watched Van Heuten carefully and kept his senses primed for anyone who was about to attack him.

John felt it as well. “You know, I might have left the kettle on,” said John.

“Yeah,” said Kingston, knowing that springing this kind of trap was going to be dangerous. “Yeah.”

“And maybe we should go and get more back up.”

Kingston tightened his stomach muscles as hard as he could, bracing himself for a punch in the guts. “It’s a good thing we found what we were looking for,” said Kingston.

John grinned and knew what Kingston was playing at. “We’ll have them on their knees before dinner.”

“Yes we will,” said Kingston, beaming with a smile.

John gave a quick nod to Kingston and burst into a rage, roaring with fury and hurling his arms all around him trying to find that invisible bounty hunter. Kingston did the same. After a solid fifteen seconds of hitting nothing but air Kingston and John settled down. They received quite a few looks of concern from the residents heading in and out of the bank.

“Well, now I feel like an idiot,” said John.

“Yep. You warmed up?”

“Yeah.”

“If you need to do any last minute stretching, this would be a good time to do so.”

“I’m good,” said John.

“Then let’s take this enchanted sheet of parchment with a vague address written on the top and walk over the teleportation circle that Van Heuten was so careful to avoid.”

“Right,” said John. He nodded grimly. “And if anyone is listening, a scout for example, who has come back in time to see what actually happened to us, please pass on the message that I love Catalina. In particular I like the way she bounces up and down on her toes in excitement when I wink at her.”

Kingston smiled and patted John on the back. “And I guess if Joanna hears this, I read those six books cover to cover and I’m still in love with her.” He looked John up and down and started to unbutton his jacket. “I was once met on the street by a guy with a machete. He was crazy and about to attack me. I had enough time to remove my jacket and use it as a whip, or a flail, or whatever you want to call it. But it allowed me to whack him in the face before he was able to see what I was doing. I suggest you brace yourself as well.”

John removed his jacket and the two men folded them over their hands while keeping a firm grip on the sleeves.

“Let’s wait half an hour. Keep them on their toes,” said Kingston.

“Works for me,” said John.

Twenty nine minutes later, they headed down the stairs, braced themselves for whatever was about to come, and stepped into the teleportation circle. The sheet of parchment burned with energy and bristled in Kingston’s hand. In a quick burst he and John were gone from Limbo.

XVIII

Kingston swayed to the side and knew that was no ordinary teleport. He was dizzy, on the verge of falling to one side as gravity got the better of him, and he saw John stagger to regain his balance. It looked as though they were in an abandoned building with the sun trying to punch through blackened and cracked windows.

Upon seeing the sun, Kingston realised they weren’t in Limbo anymore.

All at once they were surrounded by shouting.

“They’re here!” called a loud voice.

It was a rough American accent. Kingston couldn’t see where the voice was coming from but it felt like there were at least five of them from every direction, and they were all aggressive. Kingston snapped his jacket out and swung it around at eye level. He felt someone get slapped by the sleeve and Kingston knew he had his first target. He stepped in quickly and thumped the man in the ribs as hard as he could, then tried desperately to find his attacker’s foot so he could drop him to the floor.

Behind Kingston, John flew into a berserker rage. He roared at the top of his lungs: “YOU WON’T KNOW WHAT PAIN IS!” and the volume startled Kingston so much that even he cowered from the frightful presence of his friend. Two bodies fell to the ground in a heavy thump and two more were thrown against the wall. Kingston heard the unmistakable sound of a gun hitting the ground and he knew exactly what that trap had been intended to do.

Through the dim light, Kingston saw a doorway. “John! Let’s go!” Kingston pulled the door open and knew John was about to barrel him over if he didn’t get a move on. They sprinted into the corridor and thundered along a set of wooden floorboards towards a narrow stairwell. The whole building smelled as though it was condemned, used as a refuge for the homeless. Most of the windows were boarded up but there was still a trickle of light every now and then as Kingston and John ran down one floor to the next.

Five storeys later, Kingston and John burst through the front door and stepped out into the sunlight. It took them a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness, but there it was, the first time they had seen the sun in months. Kingston scanned left and right and saw a gang member sitting against his car smoking a cigarette. He looked up at Kingston and John and knew what must have happened.

“Hit him!” Kingston shouted.

John roared, covered four paces in just two steps, and slammed his fist down on top of the young man’s head, knocking him out and sending him slumping to the ground.

“This way,” said Kingston. He led John across the street and around the corner as quickly as they could.

John panted and looked over his shoulder. “Do you know where we are?”

Kingston recognised the license plates on the cars, saw a sign for Cypress Avenue, and then saw a white van with the words ‘Bronx Plumbing’ written on the side. “We’re in New York,” said Kingston. He felt the sting of the cool air and he pulled his jacket back on. John did the same.

“Is there anything I should know about this place?” John asked.

“It’s one of the largest cities in the world,” said Kingston. “It has a reputation for being hard and tough, but that’s all relative. I mean, I had a downright comfortable life compared to you living in the forest, despite me being chased by a hail of bullets every couple of years. But if you pick a fight with the wrong person it will go very wrong for you quite quickly, as we just saw.”

John glanced back the way they had come. “So those guys were trying to kill us?”

“Probably,” said Kingston. “And they knew we were coming. So, the Nobles were able to pay off some morons to do their dirty work. Interesting. And, welcome to Life, which is unfortunately the one place that might actually be able to kill us.”

“I see,” said John. “Is this where they killed Georgiadis?”

“This is the realm they did it in, yeah.”

“So how do we get back to Limbo?” John asked.

“I have no idea,” said Kingston. He stopped, held onto John’s arm, closed his eyes, and tried to teleport them back home.

John felt the squeeze on his arm. “It’s not working,” he said.

Kingston opened his eyes. “Yeah, I was hoping for the best. From what I’ve heard, even the best of teleporters can only move about within their chosen realm.” Kingston dug into his pockets and pulled out the useless sheet of paper he took from the vault and started scribbling a note to Joanna. He hoped that if the paper was from Limbo then it might actually hold some power to it, but when he dropped it to the ground it simply spluttered to the pavement and nearly blew away in the wind.

“That … should’ve worked,” said Kingston. “The last time we were here …”

“That was Fiction, not Life,” said John. “And being fictional you probably have more power in that realm than over here.”

“Perhaps,” said Kingston. “So we have no obvious way of contacting Limbo.” “How long will it take the Nobles to realise that we are still alive?” asked John.

“I’m sure they’ll know within the hour.” Kingston looked south, weighed up his options, and tried to figure out where they were.

“Have you been here before?” John asked.

Kingston pointed into the distance. “Manhattan, yes. Here exactly? No. But it’s a short walk into town and … I don’t know, I’m kinda making this up as I go along.”

John shrugged. “So the girls will know that we’re missing, right? They’ll figure it out and come rescue us.”

Kingston smiled weakly at his friend and knew it was really the only plan they had.

Joanna checked her notes and knew this was yet another one of a thousand options for the Nobles of Montague to meet in secrecy. She stood outside a book repair store, which on the surface would make sense if the Nobles were connected to the Bank of Limbo through the library, but Joanna had learned that most of the library books were in fact repaired within the library.

Still, it’s the same trade, she told herself. She looked over to Catalina and was grateful that she had come along, even if Catalina still looked up and down the street with frayed nerves. Joanna was dressed in tight black jeans and a purple buttoned shirt that hugged her frame, with the sleeves rolled up. It was as casual as she was willing to go. Catalina wore a sapphire low cut tee and a long flowing white skirt. Joanna had selected it especially because it showed off Catalina’s cleavage, which they had discovered had some benefits since Catalina was in her early twenties and most of the residents in Limbo died while north of middle aged.

“Remember,” said Joanna. “Confidence, pizzazz, and sass.”

“You do the sass, I’ll do the flirty,” said Catalina.

“Fair enough.” Joanna pushed open the door and heard the little bell above the shop ding as they entered. The shop front was short and narrow. The bulk of the repairs were done behind the scenes, which left Joanna and Catalina pressed against each other, shoulder to shoulder, waiting for … Joanna checked her notes again.

Trond Skurnig, Joanna told herself.

Joanna and Catalina waited for someone to greet them. There was minor scratching and breathing coming from the back of the shop. Joanna cleared her throat, then heard scribbling of a fountain pen against some paper.

“Hello?” Joanna called out.

No one came to greet them. Catalina rolled her eyes at Joanna and they shared a look of mutual groaning.

“Trond Skurnig?” Joanna called out.

Ten seconds went by before they had an answer. “Is someone there?” a man whispered.

“Yes, someone is here,” said Joanna, irritated at the poor customer service she was receiving.

A sixty year old man looked around the corner of his workshop and stared at the ladies. He wore a tacky knitted jumper that did little to hide his belly, and he looked as though he had spent more of his life with books than interacting with people. He stared blankly at the two women in his shop. The two women, meanwhile, realised that flirting with this guy would be a lost cause.

“I’m here to pick up a book,” said Joanna. “Is it ready?”

Trond cocked his head to one side and knew that he had never seen either of these two ladies before. “What’s the name of it?”

“Great Expectations,” said Joanna. A smile curled up at the side of her mouth. She knew this guy would be perfect at hiding anything through layers of boredom and apparent ineptitude.

Trond stepped back into his workshop and rummaged around. He emerged a moment later with a ledger. “I don’t see the book in here. What date was it submitted?”

“The twenty fifth of February, under the name Kanter, Sloane, and Wells Incorporated.”

Trond hesitated for a moment too long.

Joanna smiled again, realising that she and Catalina had just stumbled onto Trond’s little secret. “You know, the Nobles of Montague.”

Catalina felt the rush as well and they saw Trond start to twitch.

Trond tilted his head to one side and stared at the women. “Who are you?”

“The Ladies of Capulet,” said Joanna, with half a smile.

They were interrupted by a burst of flames, the smell of sulphur, and the coughing of a man wreathed in black smoke. Joanna and Catalina jumped back in surprise and fell against the wall. Whoever had just appeared was standing between them and the front door. As the smoke cleared the women saw the angry look of Veli, the man from Hell who had been caught spying on them before. He lunged at Joanna and Catalina, grabbed them both by the arm, and the three of them were caught in another burst of flames.

Joanna and Catalina had the disorientating feeling of being overwhelmed by sulphur, unable to breathe, and being dropped through the air with a constant shifting of which way was up and which was down. Joanna landed and fell to one knee, gasped as she inhaled a lungful of clean, cool air. She was in a dark room surrounded by tall, grey statues, and blood red drapes. Catalina was by Joanna’s side and wobbled on her feet. Veli remained upright, stepped back from the women, and nodded to his supervisor.

“This is Joanna York and her friend,” said Veli.

Joanna looked up and did a quick scan of the room. The floor was the same dark granite grey as the walls and ceiling, and was inlayed with a set of black, concentric rings and patterns. The statues were all four metres high and were of stylised humans with broad, generic features. They did not appear to be sentient. The room had the same feeling as Death’s teleportation circle, and Joanna was quite sure that she and Catalina were now in Hell.

“Very good,” said Veli’s supervisor. He was a man of average height with Mongolian features. He wore a navy grey suit with an open collar and no tie. He pulled out a pocket watch and checked the time. “The premises should be free by now. Bring them inside.” The supervisor turned and headed along a dark corridor, then he disappeared around a corner.

Veli turned back to Joanna and Catalina. “There is no escape from here. All we’re going to do is talk. If you don’t cooperate then we will have to get inventive. I’m sure you know where you are. I’m sure you know there is a universe of creative ways to make you tell us everything we want to know. You will come this way.” Veli headed down the same dark passageway his boss took, leaving Catalina trembling and Joanna reaching for her hand.

“No …” mumbled Catalina. She was on the verge of hyperventilating. She spun around and saw everything in the room start to zoom in on her. “No … not here …”

“It’s okay Catalina,” said Joanna.

“Take us back home!”

Joanna focussed with all her might and closed her eyes, pictured the main entrance to Death Inc., and willed herself and Catalina to leave. She had studied the practises of bounty hunters and understood the theory behind teleporting, but she knew she had never been granted access to those powers. She focussed again and squeezed Catalina’s hand. They remained in the cold grey room.

“Please,” mumbled Catalina. Her eyes started to swell with tears.

“I don’t think I can do it,” said Joanna.

Catalina sniffed and thought of John, coming home and not knowing what had happened to her, and being unable to ever find her again. “I don’t want to be in Hell.”

“Me neither,” said Joanna. They were now alone in the room with only one way in and out. Joanna thought back to all the times she had been trapped with no escape, yet she had always managed to get out of there alive.

But that was a fictional world where everything worked in your favour, she told herself.

Joanna pulled her shoulders back and got into character. Out came the thundering confidence, the quick wit and sharp tongue. She had been through interrogations before and she had out-thought most of the fools who were unfortunate enough to have to deal with her. She knew that delaying her interrogator would only force him to regain his power over her, so the sooner she knew what she was up against the sooner she could find a way to escape.

“We’re going to be okay,” Joanna said, smiling to Catalina.

Catalina sniffed. “We’re in Hell.”

“We certainly are.”

“How will John and Kingston rescue us?”

Joanna laughed it off. “My dear Catalina, they won’t need to rescue us, because we’re getting out of here on our own.”

Catalina didn’t seem so sure.

“Trust me,” said Joanna. “You and I have met Satan. We know that Satan has a crush on me. Imagine what he’s going to do when he finds out we’ve been kidnapped.”

“And if he’s behind the kidnapping?” Catalina asked.

“Well then, you might have to kiss me,” said Joanna. She winked at Catalina. “Let’s see what Veli has to say.” Joanna took Catalina’s hand and headed down the dark corridor.

It stretched on for forty metres with several towering, granite doors on either side. The third door on the right was open and a light came from within. Joanna peered inside and saw a small living room. There were two sofas facing each other. One was a three seater with an ottoman sitting in front of it, the other was a two seater. There were pictures hanging on the walls in large, old frames, showcasing tea sets and cottages, as though they had been picked up in a garbage bin garage sale. Veli was sitting inside on the two seater sofa and he waved his hand over to the sofa in front of him.

“Have a seat,” said Veli. “I would ask for you to remove your shoes, please.”

Joanna glared at Veli and glanced down to the ground. She saw his pair of shoes next to the door and knew this would be an issue if she decided on a quick escape. Joanna and Catalina eased out of their Lucille Croxton spring editions and came to sit on the sofa opposite Veli. The large granite door slid closed behind them, taking out the last gasp of fresh air in the room.

“So who wants to begin?” Veli asked, glancing from Joanna to Catalina.

“I think you should,” said Joanna.

“It’s customary for the guests to speak first. And I insist. You know why we’re interested in you and why you’re here.”

Joanna sighed in boredom, glanced around the room, and looked Veli up and down. He sat comfortably and in confidence. He had broad shoulders and a buzz cut hair style. Joanna knew he wasn’t afraid of a fight, and that this likely wasn’t his first interrogation. Given the polite nature, she was sure that he would allow them to use the bathroom, or to have something to eat and drink if they requested it. He wouldn’t shout or raise his voice. He was there to establish his authority and gain trust from the weaker of the two women. There would no doubt be sleep deprivation, which is why he struck late into the day. Joanna had been through those types of interrogations as well and had been kept awake for three days straight with pulsing loud music and irritating bright lights.

And he would have read the books, Joanna told herself. He’s found the best way to get answers out of me. He will know what works and what doesn’t. That’s why he’s so confident in here. But this is his interrogation and he has a lot to lose if he screws it up.

It was time to see if Veli was at all neurotic and paranoid. “I can’t imagine your superiors were pleased that you were caught spying on us by Ezekiel,” said Joanna. “Now that Satan knows about you I’m surprised you’re still working here.”

“Perhaps you have me mistaken for someone else,” said Veli. He kept his reaction neutral.

“Oh please, if we’re going to play that game then perhaps all of my truthful answers will be mistaken.”

Veli carefully nodded and chose his words carefully. “All right. Truthfully.”

There’s no way his superiors would be mistaken that he was caught, Joanna thought. The only reason he would say that is because he thinks he can use it to his advantage and make me believe that, if he’s telling the truth, then I will as well.

Joanna looked over Veli in greater detail, picking out every highlight and flaw. She thought back to his black leather shoes which were recently polished, but they were old and worn. No doubt he had gone to great lengths to impress his boss during the interrogation. They had also been bulky around the toes, leading Joanna to believe that they were steel capped. Even though he now wore just socks, Joanna made a note to watch out for any kick that came her way. His trousers were freshly pressed but not by a professional. They were baggy enough to give him as much room to fight in as possible. His shirt was loose, the knot around his tie was perfect, which convinced Joanna that it was a clip on. Again, that would be to his advantage in a fight. His fingernails had not been recently cut, and his hands were worn and used to hard labour.

His posture was of genuine command. He wasn’t cocky, but rather he was in control of himself. Veli had likely seen some very harsh days and had been forced to learn from his mistakes. Joanna was sure that she and Catalina were a prized catch for him and his associates, so Veli had some kind of seniority. His boss had enough faith in their man to allow him to interrogate the women, but not enough trust to let him do it on his own. After all, Veli’s boss had been in the teleport room when they all arrived. That act alone undermined Veli’s authority in working alone.

“Why did you kidnap us?” Joanna asked.

“We are here to get some answers out of you,” said Veli. “As soon as we’re done you’ll be released.”

Joanna rolled her eyes. Of course they would be released. Or rescued. The rolling of her eyes was to see just how Veli reacted to her disbelief.

“You will find that I’m telling the truth,” said Veli.

He’s used to dealing with the recently departed, Joanna told herself. In Life, not being released was a serious concern, and a kidnapping could easily lead to murder by necessity. But in the afterlife, where being murdered was almost an impossibility, the departed had a somewhat different outlook on their future. Joanna knew this. She didn’t quite feel it yet, but she certainly knew she wasn’t likely to die.

“There are easier ways to get our attention,” said Joanna, gritting her teeth and giving Veli a blast of indignation.

“And there are easier ways to get answers out of you,” said Veli. “So I’ll start simple. You are Joanna York, of the fictional Kingston Raine series?”

Joanna gritted her teeth again, this time feeling the indignation and not just faking it. “Yes.”

Veli looked over to Catalina. “And you are Catalina of Catalonia, from Don Quixote?”

“Yes,” mumbled Catalina, focussing her attention on her knees.

“I’ve read Don Quixote cover to cover. I don’t remember your character,” said Veli.

Catalina continued staring at her knees. The longer she stared the more Joanna praised her for making Veli feel like an idiot.

“Are you mentioned in the book?” Veli asked. Joanna was overjoyed that he looked irritated that Catalina had to be asked directly, rather than just answering a suggested question.

“I haven’t read it,” said Catalina.

“You haven’t read your own story?” Veli asked, giving Catalina a curious look.

“I haven’t read it,” Catalina said again.

Good girl, Joanna thought.

“And what you’re doing is illegal,” said Catalina.

Veli shifted his attention back to Joanna. “How is it that any of you are alive?”

Joanna looked up to the ceiling to give her answer some thought, then returned to Veli. “I don’t know what kind of answer you’re expecting with that one. I think therefore I am?”

“I mean, how did you pop out of your own book and walk around Limbo, and now Hell, as though you were actually born on Earth?”

“Death and Satan teleported us out of Florence and we arrived in Limbo,” said Joanna. “Satan was very eager to meet us. He said if I ever needed a favour then I should contact him.”

“Lucky you,” said Veli.

“There is a time limit to our kidnapping. Do you have any kind of idea what Death and Satan would do to you and your people when they find out what happened here?”

“I’m quite aware of potential repercussions,” said Veli. “Which is of no concern to you, just me. Like I said, you will be released when we’re done.”

“I imagine Satan will say the same thing to you one day,” said Joanna. She gave her kidnapper a curt smile.

“Perhaps,” said Veli. “And on the topic of Satan, why was he interested in bringing the four of you into Limbo?”

“You would have to ask him,” said Joanna.

“‘You would have to ask him,’ yes. You’re not an idiot, Miss York. Why was he interested in bringing the four of you into Limbo?”

Joanna shifted and crossed her legs, giving Veli a look of spite. “From what I understand, he and Death are friends, and Satan likes to help out his friends. Whatever was happening in Limbo interested Satan, especially with how the four of us came to exist.”

“And what was happening in Limbo that caused him such interest?”

“I daresay your business,” said Joanna.

“Which is?” Veli asked.

“Vasili Georgiadis.”

Veli dipped his head for a moment. “Yes, that did stir up some passion.”

“Death insisted that Georgiadis’ death could only have happened in Hell. Satan disagreed. The four of us were brought in to find the real answer.”

“And what have you found?”

Joanna grinned as she knew Veli’s superiors would be listening closely. “We caught you spying on us. You then told us about the Nobles of Montague.”

Veli didn’t look all that bothered. “They know what I said. They know word for word.”

“And they still trust your judgement? They must be dumber than I thought,” muttered Joanna.

“That might cost you,” said Veli, shifting his glare from Joanna to Catalina.

Joanna expected no less. “I imagine they’re an old line, steeped in history, with their fingers in the greater moments of the past.”

“They would be flattered to hear that,” said Veli.

“Then you may be aware that intelligence has grown throughout history, so that your ancient order is occupied by members of an inferior IQ. It’s all related to diet and education. If the point is lost on you, I’m calling you and your bosses morons.”

Veli took a moment to get himself back on track. “Things are a lot more complicated here, in Hell, than in the Shanghai Werewolf.”

“Ah, so you can read. Bravo.” Joanna topped it off with a polite clap. “It’s just that reading is such a new thing and wasn’t all that common from your era.”

“Women knew their place in my era,” said Veli.

“Yes, picking up the pieces of their men who were so drunk from insecurity that they pissed themselves every night in some tavern.”

Catalina smiled at that one.

Veli did his best to shrug it off, but it was clear to everyone the interrogation was not going according to plan. “I suppose Death has agreed to return you to your own series when you are done with your investigation.”

“You can suppose as much as you want,” said Joanna.

“What’s the answer?”

“We haven’t discussed it.”

Veli glanced towards Catalina. “You haven’t discussed returning to Don Quixote? Or even Robin Hood?”

“No so much,” said Joanna.

“That must be a terrible burden on the four of you, all from different times, different sensibilities, with no chance of ever seeing home again.”

“Again, you can suppose as much as you want, it’s not going to make you any less wrong.”

Veli leaned back and took a deep breath in, buying himself some time. “It is not wise to try and anger us.”

“So you’re getting angry? Good. Anger and stupidity go hand in hand in making mistakes.”

“We can harm you,” said Veli. “And we can separate you.”

“It was against your best interests to kidnap us,” said Joanna. “I hope that someone weighed the consequences against the flimsiest of chances that you might learn something you didn’t already know, against the risk of being caught by Death or Satan. It will be our testimony to those two which will determine just how awful the rest of your existence will be. For all of you. I can only believe that you already knew this when you kidnapped us, and that you, Veli, knew it was a bad idea but you were only following orders. So now you’re in the thick of things and the only hope you have is by confessing everything you know to Death and seeking amnesty in Limbo.”

“In the grand scheme of things, one flayed billionaire wouldn’t interest Death all that much,” said Veli.

Joanna rolled her eyes. “I’ve actually had this conversation with Death. It does interest him. As does your organisation.”

“I do have some bargaining with Death, you know,” said Veli. “If I surrendered to him I would make the condition of my confession that you four are returned to your own series and never see Limbo, or each other, again.”

“Ha!” cried Joanna. “There’s no way that would work.”

“Your being here is against the natural laws,” said Veli.

“I’d say your understanding of the natural laws is faulty. Honestly? I’m not that surprised with your faulty thinking. But one thing that is crystal clear is that karma’s going to bite you in the ass,” muttered Joanna.

Veli rolled his head towards a laugh. “Unless you’re talking about an actual person, karma doesn’t exist.”

“Oh, I’m not talking about some kind of mystical force that rewards or punishes people based on how they behave themselves, I’m talking about the type of karma that inspires others to treat you the way you deserve to be treated. If you’re a good person and do good things for other people, you often get rewarded. If you treat people like scum, you’re going to be treated the same way.”

Veli dismissed Joanna’s theory with a simple wave of the hand. “This is Hell, not some fantastical paradise you think you live in.”

“We’ll see,” said Joanna, as she leaned back into the sofa.

“So how was your husband able to jump from one book to another?” Veli asked.

That caused a shift in tension that ran across Joanna’s chest. “He’s not my husband. And you would have to ask him.”

“I’m asking you.”

“You’re asking me, someone who has never teleported on her own, how someone else teleported from one spot to another?”

“Yes, I am. You would have asked him. What was his answer?”

Joanna sighed. “He said he wasn’t sure.”

“And you accepted such a short answer?”

“Of course not. But he didn’t know. I imagine it had something to do with him being fictional in the first place, that it was easier to move from one fictional realm to the other.”

“Have you ever teleported into another book?”

“No.”

“But Catalina has,” said Veli. “So I will now ask her.” He turned his attention to Catalina and glared at her. “How did you teleport from Don Quixote to the Kingston Raine series?”

Catalina glanced towards Joanna. Joanna gave her a simple nod. “We held hands and the world shifted around us,” said Catalina.

“Did you use a seer?”

“No.”

“A psychic?”

“No.”

“It was just you, John, and Kingston?”

“Yes,” said Catalina.

“All the time?”

“Not all the time. There …” Catalina hesitated, realising that she thinking back to a muse who helped to guide them to their next location.

“Tell me,” said Veli.

Joanna held her attention on Veli as tightly as she could. She had assumed that Veli was focussed on this line of questioning purely to break the ice and get to the core of Kingston’s investigation into the bank and the Nobles. Except …

Joanna shifted her eyes and kept her body as still as possible. Maybe this was Veli’s main interest. At first it baffled her to wonder how teleporting from one book to another could be at all advantageous. Then an answer appeared to her.

The Nobles of Montague deal with money, secrets, and security. There is a great deal of all three within fiction. They could claim untapped resources, use the books as a tourist destination, or meet imaginary celebrities. And, they could hide there. She looked over Veli and realised that the Nobles saw this as a business opportunity of a lifetime.

We’re here to make their fortune, she told herself.

“Tell me,” Veli said again.

“We met a wizard,” lied Catalina. “It was only once.”

“How did you teleport the other times?”

“We had a stack of books,” said Catalina.

“Then why did you need a wizard to help you?”

“Because we were usually thrown off course.”

Veli’s impatience started to get the better of him. “But how -”

Joanna interrupted him. “It won’t work.”

Veli drew in a sharp breath, annoyed at being interrupted. He turned his attention back to Joanna. “What do you mean by that?”

“There were more than six beings that teleported in and out of Fiction,” said Joanna. “Not just Kingston, John, the pair of us, Death, and Satan, but countless bounty hunters, seers, and psychics. Now, you’re too weak to ask Death and Satan how they managed to do it, and you’re too gutless to come straight out and ask us directly. You would have asked several of the bounty hunters by now, because they would be easier to talk to and far less conspicuous than the two of us, who are celebrities and well known to Death and Satan. So obviously you’ve asked the bounty hunters how they managed to teleport through Fiction and whatever answer they’ve given hasn’t worked when you’ve tried it. So, whatever you’re trying to accomplish here, it hasn’t worked, it’s not going to work, and you don’t have access to a Plan B.”

Veli squinted at Joanna and gritted his teeth. “We can make it worth your while.”

Joanna let out a laugh and sighed. “Fine, I’ll bite. Make me the best offer. Not a flimsy one, but the holy grail of all offers. No need for negotiations, just the best deal you can possibly give me.”

Veli pulled back and squirmed. “I am not authorised for that.”

“Then why the hell am I speaking to you?” Joanna asked.

Veli glared at Joanna and took a moment to remind himself of the power he held over her.

“This is ridiculous,” said Joanna. “We’re leaving.” She leaned forward and was stopped just in time by Veli.

“Our psychics have looked into you and Mr Raine,” said Veli, finally coming to a smug expression. “And our seers, of course.”

“Weren’t the six Kingston books enough?” Joanna asked.

“Apparently not,” said Veli, now beaming with a smile. “You were relieved when you got to the end of book three. There was a secret in there that you held, and you were grateful that it wasn’t mentioned in that draft. So as far as you knew, no one in Limbo would ever find out that you had an affair while seeing Mr Raine.”

Joanna froze in a dead glare against Veli. Her breathing shortened, and she could feel Catalina turn slowly to face her.

Veli smiled at the thought of finally breaking Joanna down. “You were trying to break up with Mr Raine and you just couldn’t seem to get it together, so you forced yourself into a situation where he would have no choice but to leave you. You reasoned that it would save his life, because you knew these people would hunt you down and kill you, and Mr Raine would be there to try and stop them. It’s a strange concept, having an affair to try and save someone else’s life. Only, the man you were seeing on the side ended up dying prematurely and Mr Raine was none the wiser. The guilt you felt over both men was enough to bring one of our seers to tears for days. They felt your pain. Literally every feeling you felt during that time was shared by a seer down here. Your secret was spared from all of Life and Limbo because of one single friend your author had. She read what was supposed to be the final draft of an overly long book and suggested that Don Keaton delete your affair because it seemed out of character. It fell into the background of the story so that it could be revealed in a later book. It was simply hinted at. But you know it happened.”

Joanna’s breathing didn’t return to her so easily. She could feel Catalina glaring at her, and she realised that she had dug her nails into thighs.

Veli caught that sight as well and it pleased him. “There are other secrets of course. Not just yours, but Mr Raine’s. He’s done far more sinister things than you’re aware of, and is a very morally grey character. Do you want to know where he is right now?”

Joanna leaned back into the sofa and refused to take her eyes off Veli, wishing a painful death upon him.

“He and his friend,” Veli quickly pointed to Catalina, “her fella, are walking through New York City, in Life. They went there on their own accord. How little faith do you think he has in you if he just wandered off like that with his sidekick and didn’t bother to tell you? You can insist that you’re both as independent as you want, but he just doesn’t seem to care enough to let you know that he’s about to go off on a wild adventure that will likely kill him before the day is done. If you help us teleport in and out of Fiction we will bring Kingston and John back alive and well.” Veli fell quiet, observing Joanna carefully, knowing that she was wrestling with trying to regain control of the situation. Veli revelled in knowing that Joanna was incapable of beating him. And, as far as Veli knew, Kingston and his friend were already dead and riddled with bullets. That was the Nobles’ fall back plan in breaking Joanna and Catalina apart.

Then, much to their surprise, Catalina spoke. “I used to work in a bar.”

Veli glanced over. “Yes, I know.”

“I had to deal with a lot of trouble makers, a lot of philosophers, a lot of policemen, and even a bounty hunter from Limbo. So I’ve learned how to deal with different types of people.”

Veli looked as though he still wasn’t sure where Catalina was going with this. “Uh huh?”

“And you’ve been ignoring me for the last ten minutes.”

“It was more like three minutes,” said Veli.

“Big mistake,” said Catalina, psyching herself up. In a flash she launched herself from the sofa, flew across the room with her nails at the ready, and slashed at Veli’s face. The speed at which she moved surprised Veli so much that he was only able to get his arms up to protect his chest. Catalina ripped through his cheeks and forehead in a blur of aggression. “Help!” she screamed.

Startled by the sudden rush of violence, Joanna scrambled forward to Catalina’s rescue.

“Grab him! Bite him!” shouted Catalina. “Scream at him!”

When Veli pushed back against Catalina, Joanna wrestled with his arms and saw Catalina clawing away at him until Veli yelped in agony. His body tensed up and Joanna felt what was coming. He was fleeing by any means possible. The whole room spun into darkness and Joanna felt herself flung through the void. She hit the ground, heard Veli tumble to the floor from the imprecise landing, and saw Catalina thump on top of Veli.

Joanna glanced up and was surprised to see that they had all arrived in what looked like a one bedroom apartment in Hell. There was a chewed up sofa nearby, a large gold emblem of a circle with three arrows engraved in the wall, a cluttered dining table, and, most importantly, a front door.

“Come on!” shouted Catalina. She grabbed Joanna’s wrist and ran for the door. They snapped the lock open, pulled the door inwards, and ran out into the apartment corridor.

“Left!” shouted Joanna, seeing the staircase down that direction.

They hurled themselves down the stairs, reached the ground floor, and ran out into the road below. The sight of being in Hell finally caught up to them. The city looked as though it was a shanty town surrounded by volcanoes. There were several grey and burnt stone buildings rising a few storeys into the air, while the majority of homes and buildings were wooden frame struts held together by rope and discoloured heavy canvas that flapped in the wind. Hundreds of people were in the square where Joanna and Catalina had run out into, a square that operated as a combination of open market, hospital, restaurant, and prison.

The sight froze Catalina to the core. Hundreds of people stared at her nice clothes, knew that she didn’t belong there, and knew that she was so out of breath that she wouldn’t be able to fight back.

But, it was enough of a shock to get Joanna back to her senses. She had escaped through crowds before and she knew that all she had to do was move around like she owned the place. There was still the problem of Veli and his cohorts. Joanna closed her eyes and focussed as hard as she could on a way out.

“Biggins! Biggins! Lord Henry Biggins from Limbo!” Joanna opened her eyes, hoped like hell that Biggins would appear right in front of them and guide them to safety, but she was out of luck. She grabbed onto Catalina’s arm, breaking the fear-like-trance that had caught hold of her. Since they already stood out from the mob Joanna pulled Catalina into a run.

They ducked through the market stalls that felt like a poverty stricken version of Florence, ran through the crowd that reminded her of every music festival she had gone to, grabbed a pen and ledger that an old man was using to check off his inventory, and hurtled through the people before the Nobles of Montague could catch up to them.

When Joanna and Catalina were finally out of breath they had to slow down to regain their strength. “Are you okay?” Joanna asked.

“Fine,” said Catalina, though she was doing her best to not breathe in her surroundings.

“How are your feet?”

“I need shoes,” said Catalina, as she hobbled about on the rough surface of Hell.

“Thanks for getting us out of there.”

“He tried to run before. The last time he teleported in front of us. That’s his defence mechanism.”

“That was smart thinking,” said Joanna.

Catalina stared at her bloodied nails. “That really hurt.”

“It will be worse for him,” said Joanna. She opened up the ledger and turned to a blank page, then began scribbling a note to Biggins.

“What are you doing?” Catalina asked.

“Trying to send a letter so someone can come and get us.” Joanna tore the sheet of paper free from the book, folded it over, addressed it to Lord Henry Biggins of Limbo, and dropped it into the air. It fell straight to the ground.

“Oh come on!” Joanna cried. She picked it up, tried again, then tried to reword the intended recipient. Then she scribbled out the name completely, and wrote Death. That didn’t work either. She tried Satan, but the paper just fell to the ground like before.

Joanna grumbled to herself. “Well there goes Plan A, and Plan B is going to suck.”

“What’s Plan B?” Catalina asked.

“We track down Satan and hope that he will teleport us back to Limbo.”

Catalina looked away as a pit of agonising fear took over her senses. There was no escaping it now. She was in Hell. Her first impressions had lived up to her expectations. Worse still was that the plan was to look for Satan, instead of trying to avoid him.

Joanna looked around and had no idea which direction was better than the rest, except that in the distance there appeared to be a pebbled road that led away from whatever city they were in right now. As she squinted, she thought she could make out a large sign post with arrows pointing in different directions. “I guess we’re going that way,” she said.

XIX

Satan strolled around the corner and was met by a puzzled Michelle.

“Evening, Michelle,” said Satan, beaming with a smile.

“Good evening Satan. He’s not in right now.”

Satan glanced over to Death’s office doors. Now it was his turn to be puzzled. “What do you mean he’s not in? Where is he?”

“Not in there,” said Michelle.

“We’ll see about that,” said Satan. He marched forward and pushed Death’s office doors open. “Grim? You in here? Grim?” The office appeared to be empty. He glanced into the boardroom and that, too, was empty. He stopped, then turned back to Michelle. “When’s he due back?”

“He didn’t say. Is there something I can help you with?”

“There is, actually. One of my better psychics … well, I say ‘better’ loosely … He said that Death was finally going to come and visit Hell.” Satan almost bounced on his tiptoes with excitement.

Michelle leaned back in her chair and looked suspiciously to one side. “That doesn’t sound like him.”

“I know!” said Satan. “So I couldn’t wait. I made sure that we were talking about the same Death, and not just some moron from Life whose street name is Death, because if they ever tried to pull that on me, well …” Satan’s train of thought faded away for a moment. “You know, the details don’t really matter. Where’s Grim?”

“Running for re-election, meeting and greeting, that sort of thing,” said Michelle.

Satan chuckled to himself and came towards Michelle. “You know, if you were to ever run against him, I would vote for you.”

Michelle’s eyes shot open as wide as they could go in surprise. “What? You wouldn’t have me eternally tortured over a spit roast?”

“Ha! No. You, definitely no. You have class.”

Michelle laughed at the sound of that.

Satan cocked his head to one side and saw a little more of Michelle than she expected. He smacked his lips and realised that she had just surprised him more than she would ever know. “I never asked how you died.”

A fire roared through Michelle and she looked away in an instant. “No need to talk about that.”

“You died in 1201, right?”

Michelle snapped her fingers and pointed at Satan. “You’re being a dick. If you ask me again about how I died you and I are going to have long term problems.”

It was Satan’s turn to lean back in surprise, which he did as he lowered his head. “Yeah, that wasn’t polite of me. Michelle, I am sorry for offending you. I sometimes forget that I don’t rule over everyone, so …”

Michelle nodded and looked away.

“Are we okay?” Satan asked.

“It’s too soon to say,” said Michelle. Instead of working on her filing, Michelle glared at Satan.

Satan stepped back and looked towards Death’s office door. “I’ll just wait in there for the big guy.”

Michelle shook her head. “I think not. You can wait in his dining room.”

Satan pulled a face and nearly sneered. “In the dining room?”

“Or how about in the main entrance of the building, where you are supposed to wait? You can stand there while everyone walks by, knowing who you are, and that you’re in trouble with the big guy. Think quickly because you’ve already wasted enough of my time.”

Satan rolled his shoulders back and looked over to Death’s private dining room. “Very well.” He strolled away, and took a seat at the head of the long wooden table.

Twenty minutes later, Satan heard Death coming by. He then heard Michelle saying loudly: “The pompous ass is waiting for you in the dining room.”

“I see,” said Death. “Did you want to put him in a time out corner as well?”

“No, I think that would be childish.”

Death poked his head into the dining room. “Lucifer.”

Satan had spent the last twenty minutes staring at the wooden dining table, trying to figure out when he had last been kept waiting five minutes, then ten minutes, then fifteen, then finally twenty. In that time he had decided to find out exactly how Michelle died, to see if it was as troubling as she made it out to be, and then he shifted his position and decided that she had her reasons and that, ultimately, he did actually like her enough to respect her privacy.

Satan stood and smiled weakly at Death. “Grim. I have good news. I was talking to one of my psychics and he told me that you were going to come down to Hell. So now that it’s official I thought I would surprise you with a whole afternoon of sight seeing.”

Death waved his hand in dismissal. “I’m busy.”

“No, you’re not. If you cancel this farce of an election you will have twice as much free time as before, you won’t be stressed out, and you’re always complaining about the need for a decent vacation. Well this is it! Come to Hell for a top up of sanity. It’ll do you good.”

“I’m not cancelling the election,” said Death. “And you’ve put my favourite human into a bad mood.” He came around and pried open the hidden liquor cabinet.

Satan went wide eyed with surprise. “That was hidden there the whole time?”

“Well, yeah. I told you about it when I had it installed.”

Satan shook his head. “No, I would’ve remembered something like that.”

“It was your idea to begin with,” said Death, as he poured two tumblers of whiskey.

“I’m not really going to forget a thing like that,” said Satan.

Death put the stopper back into the bottle and glanced up to the ceiling. “Oh, that’s right. I put an enchantment on this room so people don’t go snooping around.”

Satan sat up and feigned anger. “I’m being enchanted right now?”

Death smiled at the opening to a snappy retort, clicked his fingers, and pointed towards Michelle’s desk. She remained quiet, though, leaving the moment to die. Death shrugged it off. “All right, I thought she was going to insult you. So, did your psychic say why I would come to Hell?”

“I asked. He didn’t say.”

“He’s not a very good psychic, then,” said Death. He took a seat next to Satan and laid their glasses down on the table.

“It would be nice to see you down there,” said Satan. “There are some sights and wonders to behold.”

“Well, I’m curious about these hammocks that go for miles into the air,” said Death.

Satan beamed with a smile. “Oh yeah? You want to see them?”

“Not especially. I’m just wondering why the occupants of these hammocks don’t just leave and find somewhere better to live.”

“We take their shoes and the ground is unusually hot,” said Satan. “I daresay you could hobble away for the first hundred metres. It would be hot but bearable. And then it gets hotter and hotter. But it’s not a bad living, in the hammocks. There are shops there, all in hammocks, of course. It’s a bit awkward living on top of your stock and inventory. People trade and barter, all vertically, but they get used to it.”

“And no one ever leaves?” Death asked.

“I’m sure they do. It’s mostly about the psychology. They’re all convinced that it’s in their best interest to stay. Besides, I govern over a hundred billion souls. The hammocks house just a couple of thousand, so it’s not exactly the most pressing issue on my mind.”

“I see,” said Death.

“So how’s everything going with Rickland Carson?” Satan asked. “Have you worked out the kink in your psychics telling you that he’s bad news?”

“Not as such. My last report said that he’s taken a temporary job filing paperwork for the library. I have received a special request to allow him to join the board of directors for the opera house.”

“How exciting for him,” said Satan, rolling his eyes.

“At least he’s keeping himself busy,” said Death, smiling.

Satan caught that expression and smiled in return. “Something’s going on.”

“Yeah. He appeared in one of Kingston’s reports.”

“Ohhhhh,” said Satan. “What else is going on? Tell me.”

Death shrugged. “It’s too soon to say.”

“You know, I suppose I could take him off your hands. I do have a special place for literary critics.”

Death arched an eyebrow at his old friend. “Do I really want to know?”

Satan smirked and nodded. “Whatever they write down has a good chance of being erased, or lost under a bundle of loose papers.”

“That seems rather tame,” said Death.

Satan shrugged. “I had to go easy on them. My assistant, Edmonds, used to be a literary critic. There were only so many paper cuts he could endure before it started to bother me.”

“So you’ve softened up?” asked Death.

Satan sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I’m not the same person as when we first met.”

Death laughed and gave Satan a shrug. “I guess.”

“I’m serious! You were always complaining about needing a good vacation, that you liked Tibet, or Hawaii, or hanging out with some remote tribe in South America and letting them finish their rituals. Well, I built those things for you in Hell.”

Death’s mouth fell open at the sound of that and he turned slowly towards Satan. “You built me a vacation spot?”

“Of course!” cried Satan. “I thought we could hang out, go fishing, or see some of the wonders of Hell. We have caves and caverns that are breath taking. There is a waterfall of beer. Beer! And you’re probably thinking it must be American beer because it comes from Hell, but no! I tried it. It’s spectacular!”

Death shook his head in a moment of confusion. His face had wrinkled to a look of impossibility and he was sure this was the first time Satan had ever mentioned it. “You really did all of that for me?”

“Well … I got bored. I told one of my old assistants to build me a waterfall of beer and it happened. I then told them to build an exact replica of Uluru and it happened.”

“And does your population get to visit these places, or is it off limits to any mortal?”

“They can visit,” said Satan. “The tower of hammocks is mostly a mental thing. When my new residents arrive they are usually punished for four days. After that they can leave whenever they want. It’s not like I take much of an interest in them anyway. The weird thing is, most of them don’t realise they can leave. It’s like a dead end relationship, you stay well past the obvious point of departure. Besides, humans make their own hell. So, all of those vacation spots were supposed to be a surprise for when you visit. Now that you know what’s available, when are you coming on down to see me?”

Death sighed and shook his head. “I can’t make any promises.”

Satan rolled his eyes. “I know that tone. You’re not coming.”

“No, I’m not,” said Death.

“But … my psychic said you were coming.”

“Did he say when?”

“He said, ‘soon.’”

“Well, it won’t be today,” said Death.

“You know, I could find a way to convince you,” said Satan.

Death poured another whiskey for his old friend. “Or, you could help me finish this bottle.”

Satan sighed and dropped to a whisper. “Fine.” He took a gulp and gave the drink an admiring nod. “Damn that’s smooth.”

“One of Life’s finest,” said Death.

Satan leaned forward and kept his voice low. “So, Michelle …”

“Careful,” said Death. “There are times when I trust her more than you. If you do anything to hurt her …”

“Okay,” said Satan, being as sympathetic as he could.

“I’m serious.”

“I know. I won’t look into her background.”

“Good,” said Death.

Satan took another gulp. “And uh, I’ll take Rickland Carson off your hands by the end of the day.”

“That’s a relief,” said Death.

“But I want to grab him while he’s at work. Let him scream a little.”

“No.”

“I could ride in on a chariot as well.”

“No.”

“Pull him in with my whip.”

“I’m not going to let you terrorise my population.”

“And I can bellow: You thought you could hide forever? And then I’ll snap my whip at him.”

“No. I’ll have him meet you in the Departures Area and he can go quietly.”

“Oh yeah, because that sounds like more fun than using my chariot. I never get to use that damn thing any more. I don’t suppose you want to buy it?”

“How much?”

“A thousand gold pieces.”

“No.”

“What about if I throw in a couple of slaves as well?”

“Absolutely not,” said Death. He resumed drinking.

Kingston and John strolled towards Central Park. Kingston was deep in thought, considering every angle the Nobles of Montague could be playing between Life, Limbo, and Hell, while John stared at the surrounding buildings in wonder.

John eventually broke the silence. “You know …”

“Hang on,” said Kingston. He held his hand up to quiet John down and stared off into the distance as though he was almost on to something.

“It might help to voice these things out loud,” said John.

“Too slow,” said Kingston.

“I did score a ninety three on my residency exam,” said John. “I’m not just devilishly handsome, I do have the brains to hold my own.”

Kingston sighed and bowed his head. “You’re right, sorry. I wasn’t having a go at you, I was only trying to clear some of the clutter in my mind.”

“Like what?”

“You spent a while in the library, right?”

“Yeah,” said John. “Just reading up on history and the like.”

“You didn’t happen to get the feeling that someone was standing next to you, and that they were invisible?”

John reeled around in surprise. “I did! I mean, I shuddered a few times, but it felt like someone was breathing too close to me. When I looked around no one was there. I was sure it was just the wind, or the butterfly effect of all these people moving around.”

Kingston was surprised that John had read up on the butterfly effect. He then realised that he had been so absorbed in his own world that he had neglected to stay up to date with what was happening with John. And Catalina, for that matter. “I had that feeling as well whenever I was out on the street, like my ears would prick up and I was sure that someone was watching me.”

“Try working in a nearly deserted basement,” mumbled John. Then he cocked his head to one side. “You know, it went away whenever that cat was around.”

“Did Snowflake ever hiss at thin air?” Kingston asked.

“Once or twice.”

Kingston smiled. “Maybe he knew someone was there.”

“I guess.” John slowed his pace and dropped into a far away look. “Hang on, have people been watching us the whole time?”

“I think so,” said Kingston.

John stopped walking and froze. “The whole time?”

“Probably,” said Kingston.

“Catalina as well?”

“Yep.”

John gritted his teeth. “I’d like to find out who.”

“Then we’re going to have to figure out how to get back into Limbo. Now, Georgiadis was in the library as well, and I’m sure someone was watching him like they did with us.”

“I did ask around,” said John. “I mean, I was there everyday for almost a month. For the most part he just read editions of newspapers from Life and didn’t like what he found.”

“He was probably reading up on himself,” said Kingston.

“Yeah, because he didn’t read the whole newspaper cover to cover. He skipped over large sections and re-read the one entry as many times as he could. A couple of times he rose out of his chair as though he was about to hurl some abuse. Then he sat down quickly and kept his mouth shut.”

“He doesn’t seem like the type who would come to that decision without some outside influence,” said Kingston.

“I guess his watcher was telling him to shut the hell up.”

“Someone like Georgiadis is a control freak and more than a little paranoid. He would want to keep as much power in his hands as possible. But the Nobles are used to dealing with these kinds of people and they knew how to push him to reveal everything they wanted. Considering he was angry for most of his time in Limbo, and that they kept putting newspapers from Life in front of him …”

John shook his head. “I read those newspapers. There wasn’t much about him. A few exposés, but nothing of real significance.”

A smile crossed Kingston’s face. “Then he was looking for something that should have been written that wasn’t.”

“You read those articles as well,” said John. “What was missing?”

“Foul play,” said Kingston.

“What’s that?”

“That he was murdered. Or, at the very least, he thought he was murdered. If the Nobles had a powerful madman holding onto that many secrets and they needed him to help blackmail everyone he knew, then telling Georgiadis that he was murdered would force him to go crazy with revenge. He would spill dirt on everyone. They just needed to keep him simmering for long enough until he was ready to explode. So they kept him in the library and gave him one newspaper after the next until he was ready to play along.”

“But everyone he knew wanted him dead,” said John.

“Yeah.” Kingston stopped, looked around at the skyscrapers of New York, and smirked at John. “By the way, this is New York.”

“I suppose if Joanna was born here her last name would be New York?”

Kingston shook his head. “That’s not really how it works.”

“Is there a city called Raine?” John asked.

“No, but there is a Kingston.”

“So, what’s so special about New York?” John asked.

“It’s a port city and one of the major business hubs in the world. Vasili Georgiadis was a billionaire shipping magnate. I’m willing to bet that he had either an office here or business contacts.”

“So we’re going to go and talk to his friends?” John asked.

“Of course. They’re the ones he probably had dirt on.”

John looked around and took a deep breath. “I’m getting kinda hungry.”

“Me too, actually.”

“But we have no money. I could sing for spare change,” said John.

“Yeah, or …”

And ten minutes later Kingston had picked forty dollars from the pocket of a Wall Street executive.

“Have you ever had a hot dog?” Kingston asked.

John peered at Kingston as though that was the strangest question he had ever been asked. Five minutes later, Kingston had also taken someone’s phone. He scrolled through the Internet and searched for every business connected to Georgiadis and his many companies. “Can you write down a few of these details?” Kingston asked.

John did his best, but there were many foreign names with bizarre spellings, which slowed the whole process down when Kingston had to spell everything. “Sorry,” said John.

“Nah, you’re doing well,” said Kingston. He looked up to see where they were, then tried to figure out who to hassle first. “It’s almost three o’clock, so we don’t have much time.”

John paused, then shook his head at Kingston. “You sure? It should be closer to ten o’clock.”

“Limbo works on Greenwich Mean Time. New York runs four hours behind.”

“Wouldn’t it make more sense if everyone used the same time?”

Kingston tried to figure out if that would even work and the sheer lunacy rattled his mind. “No. The sun rising at one in the morning would be far too confusing.”

“You’d get used to it,” said John. He then looked over the six business names and guessed they were all scattered around Manhattan. “So how are we going to do this?”

Kingston rolled his shoulders back and looked around. “I guess we’re going to say we’re from the Nobles of Montague and see who starts to freak out.”

“And if no one has heard of these people?”

“Then we tell them Vasili Georgiadis was murdered and again see who starts to freak out.”

John held the list of names out to Kingston. “Are any of these people Greek?”

“Not obviously.” Kingston began searching online to see which of the names had some sneaky business practises tied to them. It wasn’t easy on such a small phone when he had always done most of his research on a computer. “Central Park West has two businesses tied to Georgiadis. There’s a picture of him with the CEO of one of those two companies.”

“Then let’s pay that one a visit,” said John.

Twenty minutes later, they found that the CEO wasn’t in town, and was in fact in Connecticut.

“When is he due back?” Kingston asked.

“Tuesday,” said the receptionist. “Did you have an appointment with him?”

“We did,” said Kingston, expressing his displeasure as regretfully as possible. He turned to John. “That’ll be the last time he does that to us.”

The receptionist sensed some kind of emergency and checked the online register to see if there had been an appointment booked in. She didn’t find one, but she wasn’t willing to tell that to Kingston in case she was the one responsible for not filling it in. “Our general manager is here. Would you like me to see if she can see you?”

Kingston shot through the chances of success. Even though he didn’t find it likely he gave his approval.

“Can I ask where you gentlemen are from?”

“Kanter, Sloane, and Wells Holdings,” said Kingston. “We’ve taking over Vasili Georgiadis’ interests since his death.”

The receptionist got a hold of the general manager, sent Kingston and John upstairs, and twenty minutes later Kingston knew it was a bust. The general manager didn’t know anything about Georgiadis that was of any use. Kingston and John headed back outside and tried the next business on their list. It had relocated its premises and was now on West 42nd Street. Kingston rolled his eyes at that one.

“Is that far?” John asked.

“It’s going to suck if we have to walk it,” said Kingston. He looked around to see if there was another contact who was closer. “Brecken Loomis,” he said. “Park Avenue.”

Down in Hell, Joanna and Catalina came to one of several forks in the road. This one looked as though it shot off in six different directions, with some of the pathways going high up a cliff, and others sweeping around various caverns. In the distance were several more forks in the road. Catalina’s shoulders dropped at the idea of getting completely lost in just a few minutes.

“Should we turn back?” Catalina asked.

“No, we’ll ask for help,” said Joanna. She pointed to a group of people coming their way.

“I’m not great with directions,” Catalina whispered.

“Not a worry. You remember the first two things they say, I’ll remember the next two, yes? Then when we get stuck again, we’ll ask someone else. It shouldn’t be too difficult getting people to help us.” Joanna glanced down at Catalina’s top and drew in a sharp breath. “Maybe if you were out a little more.”

“Ay, for the love of … This is Hell, not the kind of place I want to be even more exposed than usual.”

“Okay. If they start getting rude with us I’m going to pinch your bum.”

Catalina stepped back and glared at Joanna. “Why?”

“You do it to John all the time and he pays attention whenever you do it. Come on.” Joanna darted across the pathway towards the oncoming mass of people, leaving Catalina spluttering in surprise.

“That doesn’t really answer my -”

“Come on!” said Joanna, waving her hand at Catalina to hurry her along.

Catalina stiffened her shoulders and tried to put on her best first impression, but even she knew it was strained. The sight of the crags and dripping limestone surrounding her did not look at all encouraging. Plus, the mass of people approaching looked more like a group of hobbled lepers than anyone who could actually get them out of Hell. There were two wooden carts among them but no beasts of burden, just people pushing and pulling them along. They were wearing ripped and battered clothing and some were covered in boils, causing Joanna’s stomach to turn on itself.

Joanna put the physical deformities to the side and instead beamed a smile at the travellers. “Hello there!”

One of the men in the lead glanced at the ladies. “Oh yeah?”

Joanna took that as her cue to step forward. “My friend and I are a little lost. Does anyone know the way to where the Devil lives?”

The man cocked his head to one side and squinted at Joanna. “Which devil?”

“Satan,” said Joanna. Behind her Catalina shuddered.

The man peered over his shoulder a couple of times and looked far into the distance. “You know, he can live anywhere he chooses.”

“Does he have a palace, or a capital city?” Joanna asked.

One of the old ladies walked by and rolled her eyes at the old man. “She means Pandæmonium, you fool.”

The man glanced over his shoulder and quickly nodded to Joanna. “Oh, right. Pandæmonium. Of course. Eh, are you looking for the one with the spire? Or the one with the cliff?”

Catalina dropped her head and stared at the ground, sighing loudly.

“Which is closer?” Joanna asked, struggling to maintain her enthusiasm.

“Oh, the spire, certainly,” said the hobbled man. The rest of the people travelling with him slowed but continued to pass, listening in for as long as possible. The carts creaked past and some of the older people struggled along the uneven terrain. They also glared at the attractive women who were slowing their pace. “It’s the spire you’ll want to reach,” said the hobbled man. “The cliffs are, well, not all that exciting. And they’re a thousand days’ walk from here.”

“At least a thousand,” mumbled another old woman passing them by.

“How might we get there?” Joanna asked.

“Oh it’s easy. Once you get to the Shadow of Mevrik it isn’t hard to find.”

“The Shadow …”

“Mevrik, that’s the one,” said the hobbled man. “Can’t miss it.”

“Riiiiiight. So I just go down this path?”

“Oh no, that will take you to Dandelog. You can’t go down this path. You need the path three over.”

Catalina bit on the inside of her cheeks to keep herself calm and she looked up to face the crowd. “Three over to our left?”

“Well, my left, but yes.”

Joanna sighed. “Okay, from where we’re standing, right now, how do I get to Pandæmonium, the one with the spire?”

“Well I certainly wouldn’t recommend cutting across the rock face, no. Too many folks try that and live to regret it, mark my words. You need to stick to the roads and pathways.”

Joanna saw Catalina ball her hand into a fist and, for a moment, was sure that she was about to punch the hobbled man square in the face. Joanna quickly pinched Catalina in her arse, releasing a surprised yelp from Catalina. “Sir, I’m sorry, we’re new to the area. If I go down this pathway, the way you lot came, can we get to Pandæmonium from farther down there?”

“I suppose you could,” said the hobbled man. “I reckon once you get to the Pit of Kevin it shouldn’t take you more than two days.”

“Perfect,” said Joanna, realising that this man was as hopeless as ever. She felt the desperate urge to move along and hoped someone else would be more helpful after a short walk.

“Mind you, the best way to Pandæmonium is from the kiln. And you’ll have to turn off before you get to the crossing of laxen.”

“Well of course,” said Joanna.

“What’s a crossing of laxen?” Catalina asked.

“Little creatures,” said the hobbled man. “They migrate this time of the year. Quite a sight to see, really. Thousands of ’em.”

“How would we know if we went too far?” Catalina asked.

“Oh that’s easy. You know that feeling in the pit of your stomach that you’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere but you’re not sure where? Down here you won’t have that if you’re on the wrong path. You’ll get it on the right path, though.”

“But only in spring,” mumbled another passer by.

“Right. Only in spring,” said the hobbled man. “Otherwise you just get paranoid and think you’re somewhere else when you’re not really. Makes sense?”

“Not in the slightest,” said Joanna. She could see Catalina steaming out of the corner of her eye and knew that she was about ready to scream. “For future reference, are all the directions in Hell like this?”

“I’d hope not,” said the hobbled man. “Some of them might just lie to you.”

“Of course. And, if I may be so bold, do you have a particular destination in mind for your group?”

The hobbled man shrugged. “Nothing solid. But it’s been a while since we’ve gone this way. Sometimes we see new things, like new stalactites or new rivers. And sometimes we see familiar travellers along the way. We might see you again in the future.”

Catalina shuddered and crossed herself with her eyes closed.

“You never know,” said the hobbled man. By now his party had left him and had returned to their usual speed. He nodded, feeling sure that he had just done his good deed for the day, and he hurried after his friends. “I hope to see you again one day!”

“Giving those kind of directions should be made illegal,” muttered Catalina. She and Joanna turned away and felt the need to purge the last ten minutes of their lives.

XX

Joanna and Catalina were onto their fourth group of passers-by and so far they had all given them roundabout answers. The only thing about this group that gave Joanna some kind of confidence was seeing the features of a devil among them. She had pointed ears, a spiked blue tongue, and an aura of soot. Joanna hurried over.

“Excuse me! Excuse me? Yes, ma’am? Hi?”

The devilled woman finally turned around and looked Joanna up and down. “Hello?”

“Yes, hi,” said Joanna. “I’m a little lost and I’m looking for Satan’s office. What’s the quickest way there?”

The devilled woman squinted, drew in a deep breath, and looked off into the distance. “The quickest?”

“Yes please.”

“Are we talking teleporting quickest, or walking quickest?”

“Do you know someone who can teleport us?” Joanna asked, beaming with hope that this woman would have those abilities.

The devilled woman did a quick double take. “Us? Who’s us?”

“Oh, my friend and I,” said Joanna, pointing to Catalina. “I’m Joanna, by the way. Joanna York.”

“Oh yeah?”

“And this is Catalina,” added Joanna.

“No last name?” the devilled woman asked.

“Not exactly,” said Joanna, hoping the woman would stay on topic longer than all the previous people who tried to help them.

“An old one, then? From when last names were not necessary. Or is she royalty?”

“The former,” said Joanna. “So Catalina and I need to get to Satan’s office in a hurry.”

“Well, we’re all in a hurry,” said the devilled woman. “Quickest way? Teleport.”

“Teleport! Excellent! Are you able to teleport us there?”

“Ha! Me? Not for another million years. Well, a million minus a hundred and twelve years next February. I had my privileges revoked,” said the devilled woman. “It’s a long story. It might make a good book one day, or a bad musical. Walking to Satan’s office will take you a couple of years from here, but it’s in that direction and across a few oceans.”

Joanna winced. “Is there anyway I can get there today? Maybe someone you know could teleport us?”

The devilled woman shrugged. “You might try that town back down the road. There are always devils and demons looking to make a little extra cash on the side so they can use it for the upcoming Games. Ask around and you’ll be pointed to someone who can help.”

“Excellent! Thank you,” said Joanna, beaming with a gracious smile. “So the town is … that way?”

The devilled woman pointed, correcting Joanna. “It’s not far. A day and a half at a brisk pace.”

“A day and a half a day?” Joanna repeated, obviously pained by such news.

The devilled woman shrugged it off. “Well, if you start from the Crags of Chett if shouldn’t take you more than an hour.”

“Of course,” Joanna said, doing her best to not roll her eyes. “Is there anyway I can start from the Crags of Chett?”

“Perhaps if you met me yesterday, near the Steeple of Hör Dir, then we would have been an hour away from the Crags. Then it would only take you two hours to get to the town.”

“What’s the town called?” Joanna asked.

“It doesn’t have a name.”

“Okay, but everything else does?”

“Mostly,” said the devilled woman. “Now, from here, to the town with no name, past Hör Dir and the Crags of Chett, it should be pretty much dead straight, just a couple of lefts and rights here and there, nothing too dramatic. If you reach the black river you’ve gone too far.”

“Black river, okay,” said Joanna, wishing she had a map.

“Do you know where the tilted rock is?” asked the devilled woman.

Joanna shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Oh. Well, you should be able to see the town from there. If you happen to see the tilted rock you know you’re close. Once you get there you should be okay, unless you’ve gone too far and reach the black river.”

“Black river, right,” repeated Joanna. “And it will take a day and a half.”

“At a brisk pace, yes. Do you two need to sleep?”

“We are both fans of sleeping, yes,” said Joanna.

“Oh. Perhaps you would be best to save that for when you’re in town. Or if you’re lucky you might find a caravan, if you can afford one, but I daresay you’d be saving your sterling for the teleport.”

Joanna winced again and drew in a sharp breath. “About that. We don’t actually have any money.”

The devilled woman arched an eyebrow, blinked a few times, and then as the full weight of the information hit her she rolled her head to the side. “You don’t have money?”

“Not even a penny,” said Joanna.

“Not even a single sterling?”

“Nothing.”

The devilled woman looked Joanna up and down again. “But your clothes!”

“Do you like them?” Joanna asked. Then she hoped the woman didn’t take that as an invitation to buy what she was wearing.

“They’re so expensive! Were you mugged?”

“Abducted,” said Joanna.

“Even so, you should still carry some money with you, otherwise the best you can hope for is …” the devilled woman then realised what was in store for Joanna and Catalina, turned her nose up and pushed her hands out to have as much distance between herself and Joanna as possible. “Sorry. I don’t talk to the poor!” The devilled woman started walking away.

“Please?” Joanna called out.

“All the poor have to deal in are favours of the sexual kind, so no thank you.” The devilled woman picked up her pace and joined the rest of her companions.

Catalina sidled up to Joanna. “Did she just call us whores?” Catalina asked.

“I think she did,” said Joanna.

“Stuck up bitch,” said Catalina.

Joanna sighed, faced the dreaded path towards Chett and the black river, and tried to ignore what the devilled woman had insinuated.

John looked down at Kingston. “So what are we looking for?”

“277 Park Avenue,” said Kingston, looking over his notes.

“And Brecken Loomis works there?”

“That’s what it says here,” said Kingston.

John nodded and looked around the crowded street of Manhattan. “So which way is it?”

“Beats me,” said Kingston. “I’ve been to New York once.”

“There’s a lot of people here,” said John.

“Yeah. It’s about the size of Limbo with more than ten times the population.”

John whistled in surprise. “Wouldn’t that get annoying?”

“Hell yeah. Now, we need to find someone to help us.”

John looked over and saw someone dressed in a dark blue uniform. “That guy will help. He’s standing around not doing anything important.”

Kingston looked over. “That’s a police officer.”

John arched an eyebrow at the news. “Is that so?” And then he walked over and bellowed at the officer in uniform. “My good man! I am looking for 277 Park Avenue! Brecken Loomis works there! Where can I find it?”

The officer looked back at John, startled for a moment, then just before he decided to make a situation out of it he caught Kingston motioning apologetically to his ear, waving his hand about, to indicate that John was a little hard of hearing. The officer rolled his shoulders back and grunted. “Two blocks that way is Park Avenue.”

“Good!” cried John. He turned and walked away.

“Thank you,” whispered Kingston to the officer. “And sorry.”

The officer glared as Kingston and John walked away.

“That wasn’t very polite,” said Kingston.

John shrugged his indifference. “I’m trying a new thing, because sandwiching doesn’t make any sense.”

Kingston stared at John as though he had just grown a second head. “You what? It makes total sense. You give someone a compliment, a negative to work on, and another compliment. They come away feeling good about receiving a negative.”

“I’m seven feet tall. If someone is offended I can always throw a fence at them. Besides, the whole sandwich concept is faulty. The sweet part is the middle, dripping in sauce, surrounded by two boring pieces of bread, so really it should be a negative, a positive, and then another negative again.”

“In America they often have sweet bread sandwiches,” said Kingston.

John arched an eyebrow and nodded. “Well, that does answer a few things.”

Kingston glanced off into the distance. “Then again, they also have burritos.”

“Ah, so they do,” said John. “You can’t exactly burrito someone. That sounds rude.”

“Sure does.” Kingston glanced up the street and saw the large 277 numbers written in gold. “Here we are. 277 Park Avenue. Office to one Mr Brecken Loomis.”

“And you think this guy is actually going to know who flayed Georgiadis and why?”

“It would be a miracle if he did. Right now I’m hoping to find out why the Nobles would deal with businessmen from Life.”

They headed inside and were greeted by a high and wide foyer, complete with sculptures, walls of green foliage and flowers, and security guards.

“That guy over there is giving me the evil eye,” said John.

Kingston glanced over and caught the look of one of the guards. “No fencing. Just keep your shoulders back, walk with a purpose, and in we go.” Kingston led the way. There were a dozen office workers coming and going, mostly on their phones stressing out if they were heading back into the office, or relaxed and chatting if they were leaving. Kingston and John made it to the elevators just as they were intercepted by the guard that had caught John’s eye.

“Excuse me gentlemen, I’ll need to see some ID,” said the guard.

Kingston glared at him. “Now is not a good time.”

The elevator doors pinged open, allowing Kingston and John to step inside. The guard, stunned by having his authority taken from him so quickly, was left speechless. The elevator doors closed. Kingston and John were safely on their way.

“I like wearing a suit again,” whispered John.

“You can go anywhere when you look the part,” said Kingston.

“How high up are we going?” asked John.

“Floor twenty two.”

“Nice,” said John, nodding in agreement. He looked over to the number panel and whistled at how far up the elevator actually went. “What’s the highest you’ve ever been?” he asked.

Kingston smirked at the double meaning. “Oh, in a building? A hundred and ten floors in Tokyo. That was quite a sight, looking around at all the dense buildings, wondering what it would be like if an earthquake struck while that high up. But the actual highest I’ve been? Probably forty thousand feet in a plane. You’re so high up you can’t make out individual buildings. Everything is just a blur.”

“How high is forty thousand feet?” John asked.

“Almost high enough to touch the moon,” said Kingston, giving himself a laugh. Then he saw John was being serious. “No, it’s not that high. It’s probably forty of these buildings stacked one on top of the other. And, despite popular belief, the moon is not made of cheese.”

John pulled a face as though he was sure he heard Kingston correctly, yet was caught in a loop of double checking every variance in meaning. “Who thinks the moon is made of cheese?”

“Some people,” said Kingston, with a shrug. “I thought your people, back in the day, thought it was made of cheese.”

“What? Of all the things it could have been made out of, you thought we decided it had to be made out of cheese?”

“Well, when you put it like that …”

“That there is a great big ball of cheese hanging in the sky for no other purpose than to just sit there? All day in the sun, without getting bigger or smaller, without smelling or going bad, and without changing colour? A ball of cheese? Are you serious?”

“So what did you think it was?” Kingston asked.

“I was told it was a mountain that was broken off from Earth and kept looking for its original spot, but could never find it. Either way, it’s a big grey mountain.”

“Huh. A mountain that is looking for its home,” said Kingston. “Somewhat accurate, from what I’ve heard. And what about the sun? Does that revolve around the Earth, or does the Earth revolve around the sun?”

“My uncle Willem said the Earth revolves around the sun. He was a bit thick at times. He’d just stare at the stars all evening with a stupid look on his face, one as though he’s about to sneeze and it never comes? You know the one. Every so often he would come to us at dinner and say ‘So the Earth revolves around the sun,’ or ‘What happens if you go so far south that you can’t see the North Star any more?’ Weird guy.”

The doors pinged as Kingston and John had reached their floor. Kingston did a quick look around and figured out where Brecken Loomis’ office was located.

“So we’re hoping that this guy knew Georgiadis?” John asked.

“Exactly. Are you ready to give him something of a heart attack?” Kingston asked.

John grinned and gave a nod.

“But you can’t kill him,” said Kingston.

“You what? I have to kill him but not kill him?”

“I mean, a heart attack is fine, but you can’t beat him to death.”

“Really?” asked John. “I’m pretty sure if someone like me was beating the snot out of him he would probably have a heart attack.”

“I imagine Death wouldn’t like you too much if you killed a guy,” said Kingston.

“Fair enough,” said John. “I’ll … use my charm.”

They headed around the corner and found ‘Loomis and Associates’ emblazoned on an oak door. Kingston tried the handle but it was locked. There was a buzzer to the side.

Kingston looked up to John and smiled. “We’re going to mention the Nobles of Montague in front of him. If he looks like he’s panicking, he’s heard of them. If he has no idea what we’re talking about, we’ll bid him a good day and see if anyone else on our list has actually met Georgiadis.”

“Got it,” said John. “So we’re going to be scary?”

“Very much so,” said Kingston. He pressed the buzzer.

A male voice answered. “Loomis and Associates. How may I help you?”

“Hello,” said Kingston, dropping into his American phone voice. “I am Alan Stanley from the mayor’s office. I’m here to see Brecken Loomis.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Yes, my secretary made one last week for four thirty today.”

“I’m sorry sir, I don’t see anything on the calendar.”

“Oh for crying out loud,” said Kingston. “Did you reschedule the appointment?”

“No, sir. It’s just -”

“Then when is the appointment supposed to be?”

The young man looked as though he was about to have a stress induced aneurism. “I’m sorry sir, I don’t see any appointment here.”

“Did you spell ‘The mayor’s office’ correctly?” Kingston asked.

“I haven’t got anything for four thirty, sir.”

“So you’re wasting my time, is what you’re saying?”

“No, sir, I’m not wasting anyone’s time, it’s just -”

“I’m standing out here like a jackass arguing about whose secretary is more incompetent, mine or Loomis’, and you’re telling me you’re not wasting my time?”

“I’m sorry sir, I can -”

“Have you tried buzzing Mr Loomis to see if he remembers, or is the calendar so gospel that you never dare question it?”

“I’ll just call him,” said the young man.

Kingston and John rolled their eyes at each other and did their best to remain in character, knowing that there could be other methods of surveillance that they hadn’t yet noticed.

“So what’s this Loomis guy like?” John asked, trying to copy Kingston’s accent, which didn’t work too well.

“From what the mayor says, he is a joke,” said Kingston, playing along with John’s obvious attempt to undermine the guy who was no doubt listening in. “He’s going to have a hard time with taxes this year,” Kingston added.

A moment later, the young man’s voice came back through the buzzer. “He’ll see you now, gentlemen.”

The door buzzed open, allowing Kingston and Little John to walk inside. John took one look around the office and sniffed. “I’m not impressed.”

There were several oak doors in sight and it looked as though the whole business could fit into a single bedroom apartment. The young man sitting by the door stood up and smiled at Kingston and John. He glanced nervously from one man to the other, trying to figure out who was in charge. Kingston looked him over and came up with a quick summary.

Twenty one years old. Intern. In over his head. Can’t tie a tie correctly. Frightened twitch comes from either an abusive home or an abusive work place, probably both.

The intern did his best to welcome Kingston and John inside. “Gentlemen, Mr Loomis is currently tied up in another meeting. I’m afraid he wasn’t expecting you.”

John rolled his eyes. “He’s making us wait, isn’t he?”

“Certainly feels like it,” said Kingston.

John locked eyes onto the intern. “Then what’s your coffee selection like?”

“Uh … regular, I think,” said the intern.

Kingston knew John wouldn’t be much good at picking out individual brands, so Kingston took over with another look of disapproval. “Regular Arabica? Colombian? Duante?”

The intern went wide eyed with fear. “Uh …”

“Would you be making it?”

“The machine would,” said the intern.

“God help us,” said Kingston, shaking his head at the intern. “No coffee. Just tell us when Loomis will be out here.”

“Can I ask what this is about?” the intern said.

“Do you want the real story or the cover story?” Kingston asked.

The intern blanked for a moment.

“Fine, fine,” said Kingston. He glanced down at the intercom and saw the light was on, and he knew that Loomis was listening in. “The cover story is that we’re here from the mayor’s office. Specifically the treasury department. The real story is that we’re here from the Nobles of Montague. Are you writing this down?”

The intern shook his head. “No.”

“Sir,” said Kingston. “A little politeness wouldn’t go amiss. We’re from the Nobles of Montague and we’re here about Vasili Georgiadis. Brecken Loomis had some dealings with him, and he had some dealings with us. Things have been going badly. We’re here to save his life. Have you got that all memorised or would you like me to write it down for you?”

The intern looked bewildered and was quite sure he had no idea what a lot of those words meant. Luckily for him, one of the office doors swung open and an average sized sweaty man with red splotches on his cheeks appeared.

“I am Brecken Loomis,” he said, amid a frightened voice.

“We’re from the Bank of Limbo,” said Kingston. “And we are not happy to see you. Let’s step inside.”

“Things are a little busy right now …” said Loomis.

“They sure are. John? With me.” Kingston headed into Loomis’ office, pushed past the man in question, while John waved Loomis into his own office.

“I wasn’t expecting a visit,” said Loomis.

“One rarely does,” said Kingston. “At least the Spanish Inquisition gave you thirty days notice. We just drop in to see how our investment is doing.”

“Investment?” queried Loomis.

“You,” said Kingston. “I presume you heard about what happened to Georgiadis.”

Loomis looked over and saw John close the door behind them. It wasn’t a distant look that caught Kingston’s attention, but one where Loomis was unusually aware of Georgiadis. “He died.”

“Certainly did. He came back to close up a few affairs and to try and safe guard some of his secrets. Those secrets are owned by the Nobles of Montague upon his death, not him. He was trying to cover his ass in front of us. Bad move. Do you have a gun in here?”

Loomis leaned back for a moment and stalled. “A what? No.”

“Don’t give us that, Brecken,” said Kingston, still exhibiting a brave face while mentally scanning the room for obvious hiding places for a gun. “It is an especially bad move if you compromise your own safety. And ours. You’ve heard of Hell. You know it’s real. You know that we have the power to decide which part of Hell you go to. So you will not be threatening the pair of us, and you will not be doing anything stupid because there will be consequences that you will not be able to escape from. I’d like you to say that back to me. There will be consequences …”

“I get it,” said Loomis.

Kingston repeated himself more forcefully. “There will be consequences …”

“I said I get it,” said Loomis.

Kingston glared at Loomis and remained silent until Loomis felt the tension rise to such a point where he was forced to say something.

“It’s just -”

Kingston snapped a finger to silence the room. “No.”

Loomis suffered through another few seconds of silence. “No what?”

“We came in here discussing consequences, Brecken, and you throw it back into my face like an idiot. You are ignoring us as though you know better. Have you actually been to Hell?”

Loomis bit the inside of his cheeks and gave a slight shake of his head. “No.”

“My friend and I have,” said Kingston. Since Loomis wasn’t questioning the existence of Hell, he assumed that Loomis was more connected with Georgiadis than he let on. “So pay attention, because this is for your benefit, not mine,” said Kingston. “This business with Georgiadis has been nothing but grief. Because of that, we’ve been re-thinking some of our high profile clients. Georgiadis tried to cover his tracks as much as possible but we still own his secrets. We own your secrets as well. Your allies are soon going to turn against you and we are left to weigh up who to give our priorities to. Them? It’s possible. They hold an advantage in being kept around. We can be swayed into keeping you under our protection. We do, after all, have an agreement, don’t we?”

“Yes,” mumbled Loomis.

Good, Kingston thought, knowing that Loomis was playing into his hands. “Vasili Georgiadis died on February the seventeenth. Did you see him after his death?”

“No,” said Loomis.

“When was the last time you met him?”

“January,” said Loomis.

“Did he warn you about the Montagues?” Kingston asked. He had no idea if such a thing would exist, but as long as Loomis remained on the back foot and struggling to win Kingston’s favour, then all the better.

“No,” said Loomis, which didn’t give Kingston anything to work with.

“Did you warn him?” Kingston asked.

“No!”

“But he still died.”

“Of a heart attack,” said Loomis.

“No, he was murdered.”

“The newspapers said he died of a heart attack.”

“Of course they would,” said Kingston. “But I’ve been on the other side of Limbo and Georgiadis was quite sure that he was murdered. And you last saw him in January.”

“I didn’t kill him,” said Loomis, looking incredulous at the thought.

“No, you’re more of a reactionary killer than a proactive one,” said Kingston.

“I’ve never killed anyone!”

“But you can see what kind of a problem it is for us. On one hand we have Georgiadis revealing every secret he’s held onto since birth. Your name keeps popping up. It provokes a review of your status and makes us less eager to help you.”

“We have a contract!” snapped Loomis.

“And if you were an honest man, full of integrity, we wouldn’t need to have any business with you. Yet here we are. Now, if you keep giving me attitude, Mr Loomis, then I’m going to go back to the Nobles and tell them that you aren’t willing to cooperate at all. I’d say you would have a single day to live after that …”

“No …” mumbled Loomis, his look shifting towards deep remorse.

“At which point we enact our contract and you’ll have to live, so to speak, with the consequences of your attitude right here and right now. You were thinking about using a gun on me, Mr Loomis.”

“I was not!”

“Save it,” said Kingston, glaring at Loomis and closing the trap around him. Now that the man was sweating profusely and worried for his eternal soul he was ready to play like a good little boy.

John had remained stoic for the whole meeting, watching Kingston manipulate Loomis into a quivering ball of insecurity. It was an eye opening experience for John, who had always managed to intimidate people with his size, yet Kingston intimidated a man with his mind. John saw that with the pair of them working together they made a formidable team.

Kingston waved Loomis to one of the chairs in front of the desk. Kingston sat across from him. Loomis, though, held his position. Kingston glanced towards John before looking back to his foe. “You met with Georgiadis a month before he died. Why?”

“It was nothing, it was -”

John grunted and stared at Loomis, then rolled his eyes towards the seat across from Kingston.

“I’d rather stand,” said Loomis. “This is my office, after all.”

“For now,” said Kingston. He reached into his jacket pocket and looked over the generic employee contract. He handed it over to Loomis. “We have an amendment to your contract.”

“What kind of amendment?” Loomis asked.

“Oh, no need to be concerned, it’s just perfectly one sided in our favour, not yours, as you’ll see in a moment.”

Loomis stared at it, trying to make out the scribbled writing, the series of bizarre acronyms, and he couldn’t make any sense out of it. “This is all gibberish,” said Loomis.

John pulled the paperwork into his hand, glanced over it, and casually handed it back to Loomis. “Well that’s all straight forward. Upon death you will be working for us. You will accrue an SPS, or Service Penalty Sum, for a number of infringements, such as if you’re late SOD, or Start of the Day, or if you take an unauthorised ELT, Extended Lunch Time, or even an EBT, Extended Break Time, as per your TAC, Terms and Conditions, of your contract, which protects both you and the company you’re working for. In those cases, your Service Penalty Sum will increase until you reach a certain threshold outlined in your contract. If you reach that ceiling then you will incur a penalty to your income, or your ROP, which is your Rate of Pay. This is all covered in OJT, and during orientation you will learn of certain contracts which were POD, Payable On Death, which it turns out is not only applicable on Earth, but in Limbo and Hell as well. They’ll present you with a CD, Certificate of Deposit, as well as your handy little signature, and by EOD, End of the Day, Hell’s ROI, Return on Investment, starts paying off as you realise just how screwed you are. No SLA will help you uncock up your life, and some devil is dancing delighted because he’s just met his KPI for killing you off. ETA, five minutes, End of Message: EOM.” John glanced back to Kingston and gave a functionary nod.

“And what the hell does that mean?” cried Loomis.

“It means you’ll be working for us,” said Kingston. “And a lot earlier than you were expecting.”

“How earlier?”

“Depends on your attitude. You remember us having a chat about consequences? Well, you’re not doing very well in that regards. So if you try to kick us out, we’ll be claiming your soul, meaning that you will die of a mysterious heart attack before my colleague and I have even left the building.”

Loomis started to tremble. He spluttered and looked from Kingston to John. “You’re telling me that I’m as good as dead?”

“Pretty much,” said John. “I think the most important thing to ask yourself is: what would Snowflake do?”

Loomis went wide eyed, looking from John to Kingston and back again. “You what?”

John gave a single, solemn nod. “In this case, Snowflake would listen to my friend here.”

“He would,” said Kingston, staring at Loomis. “Have a seat. We can leave this contract business for later. Maybe ten years later, maybe fifty years later.”

Loomis got the hint and sat down.

“So what did you and Georgiadis talk about in January?” Kingston asked.

“Nothing. Just business. Nothing about the Nobles at all.”

Kingston stared Loomis down and thought through his next line of questioning with care. “You know, Georgiadis was quite chatty when he arrived in Limbo. And he was even more chatty when he arrived in Hell. I can forgive you for thinking that once a man is dead on Earth that he is gone for good. But when a man turns up in Hell and accuses his closest friends and rivals of his murder, it makes your statement seem a little weak.”

Loomis shifted in his seat and glanced down to his knees. “I didn’t kill him.”

“You’re saying that so often that I’m starting to question it.”

“Well don’t you have people in Hell who tell you who killed who? Ask them! Ask him even! He’ll tell you I didn’t have anything to do with it!”

Kingston raised his fingers to his lips to form a steeple. “When was the last time you had contact from him?”

Loomis gritted his teeth and shook his head, working through an eternity of second guessing that made him feel like a fool. Kingston held onto the silence until he saw Loomis glance towards John, and his office door, at which point Kingston quickly raised his fingers to hold John still. It was a move that Loomis recognised - that at the slightest command Kingston would unleash John and Loomis would be spending the next few weeks in the hospital. Loomis caved. “The last week of February.”

“The twenty fifth?”

Loomis shrugged. “I can’t remember exactly when.”

Kingston did his best to absorb the implication of everything he heard. It was the day Georgiadis was flayed. Six days after he had supposedly died in Vienna. “How?”

“I received an email. We met in January and he was sure someone was trying to kill him. If he died he wanted the world to burn. No one was going to get his money, his property, or legacy. He said he was going to take all of his secrets with him when he went. He was pissed off when I told him I had a similar deal.”

Kingston nodded, allowing Loomis to finish, but he needed prompting. “You know you’re not supposed to tell anyone about this contract.”

“I know. I was doing what I could to keep him from telling the world about it.”

“So who got to him?” asked Kingston.

“I don’t know. He had enemies in every corner of the world, and not simple acquaintances that you’ve rubbed the wrong way, but enemies. The amount of people he blackmailed or ruined, I’m sure he would have kept that going in Hell.”

“Hell has a way of balancing things out,” said Kingston. He added a few possibilities to his list of theories on why Georgiadis was flayed. “So what was in this email after his death?”

“He said he would be waiting for me in Hell,” said Loomis.

“That’s it?” asked Kingston.

Loomis nodded his head. “And the newspapers reported that all of his money was shipped overseas to hidden bank accounts, no one knows exactly where it all went. He defaulted on loans.”

John arched an eyebrow. “A billionaire defaulted on loans?”

“Why risk your own money when you can risk someone else’s? There was also an attachment in the email. It was corrupted and unreadable.”

Kingston arched his eyebrow at that one. “You should have brought that to our attention.”

“It was so small, just a few kilobytes. My company logo is the same size.”

“I don’t suppose you still have it?” Kingston asked.

Loomis shook his head. “I didn’t want to keep it. Good or bad, I didn’t want it on my computer.”

Kingston leaned back in the chair and thought through everything that Loomis had described. He tried to put a different spin on everything to see what came out of the mix. “Were you the only one who received this email?”

“I doubt it.”

“And you’re sure he sent it?”

Loomis shrugged. “It came from his email address.”

Kingston wondered if someone else had been sitting in front of Georgiadis’ computer and that they sent it. “If he wanted the world to burn, as you said, then he would have mentioned his contract with Hell and the perks surrounding it.”

“I suppose,” said Loomis. “But we’re forbidden from talking about it to anyone not from the afterlife.”

“Writing it as well?”

“Yeah. Even at my most drunken, I can’t find the words to tell anyone that I signed a contract with Hell. The words just don’t seem to exist. It only works if you people are here.”

Kingston leaned back and rolled his fingers over his chin. “So did Georgiadis find a way to tell people what he was up to?”

“Kind of,” said Loomis. “Whenever a newspaper headline came along that said something about the kind of contract he had signed, like ‘Sold His Soul,’ or ‘Banking Hell,’ he would have his secretary cut out the article or headline. He told her to rearrange all of the words, or chunks of sentences. If she got it wrong he would tell her no. If she got it right he wouldn’t be able to tell her anything. He said he put these details into vaults and safe deposit boxes with the instructions to be released after a few years. He never told me much of the specifics but he was sure the Nobles of Montague were going to betray him and if that happened then he would expose everything he knew about them.”

“Hmm,” said Kingston. “You know what happened to him after his death?”

Loomis nodded. “I heard they found some of his blood in his mansion, but that was after he died. The police weren’t sure what to make of it.”

“He was flayed,” said Kingston.

Loomis winced in sympathetic agony.

“It’s almost impossible to kill someone once they’re dead,” said Kingston. “It’s also almost impossible to reveal secrets about Hell and Limbo when you’ve been sworn to secrecy. Looks like both sides found a way around it.” He thought it over and knew that Loomis had given a lot away. If Kingston pressed on any further he would only raise more suspicions. “Thank you, Mr Loomis. Obviously we have some gaps in our security that we will need to look into. Your cooperation has been most valuable. Your previous handler wanted to drop you as a client.”

“He did?” Loomis asked, looking fearful.

“Oh yes. Clearly he was too hasty.” Kingston looked over Loomis’ desk, found a pen and paper, and he scribbled a few words down. “There are procedures to follow and he failed them. I’m writing up a quick letter of complaint. Nothing fancy. There won’t be any repercussions towards you for this, only that we were going on his recommendation and he didn’t think too highly of you.”

Loomis leaned away from John, intimidated by his size. “So … what happens to me when I die?”

“A grim reaper will escort you to Limbo,” said Kingston. “Few people remember the experience. You will then meet your sorter. Most people are sorted into Hell. It’s just the way it is.”

“So … no chance of going to Heaven?”

“You’re well past that,” said Kingston, glancing up with a smile. Kingston read over what he had written and found it lacking. “Do you remember the date when you first met with your handler?”

“Yeah. My thirtieth birthday. June 19, 2001.”

“Did he give you his full name?”

“Only Carin.”

“Carin,” repeated Kingston. He thought over everything he had ever read or heard, looking for the name, but he came up blank. “You work in a small world. You knew that Georgiadis had a similar contract to you. So who recommended you to the Nobles?”

Loomis hung his head and took a deep breath. “My granddad was in Leningrad during the Second World War.”

Kingston felt his pulse shudder as he thought back to Van Heuten telling him that two soldiers, one Russian and the other German, appeared in Limbo asking for the same unusual and specific name.

“He never said a word about it,” said Loomis. “But Carin told me. There were bombs, snipers, waves of human shields, military incompetence. My grandfather’s whole company survived when they shouldn’t have. War was a good time for the Nobles, he said. When people are scared they will sell everything they have to survive. One of your guys came along and made a fortune, so much so that when the war ended he wasn’t even disappointed, because he had so many souls under his belt that he became an executive within the Nobles. They were promised that regardless of what happened to them during the war, their families would be okay. They would have connections. They would have access to money. And it was true. When the war ended my granddad and his whole company became well to do. One guy found money that had been buried for three years. Someone else instantly became the second in command at a clothing factory. For years they all had remarkable luck.”

Kingston felt his skin start to crawl at the thought. A name kept popping into his mind, someone who would be able to charm people into signing their lives away.

Loomis shrugged. “Anyway, my granddad died in early 2001. As soon as Carin told me what happened to him, it was like a giant jigsaw finally fell into place.”

“Any idea who your granddad’s handler was?”

“Serrick, or something,” mumbled Loomis. “Carin said it in passing. I don’t even know if that’s a real word or not. Or a real name.”

“Sarrack,” said Kingston, realising that his instincts were correct, and that Sarrack had convinced countless soldiers to sell their souls so they could get out of the Second World War alive. It seemed unusually sleazy, but Kingston knew that you had to act quickly in war time to capitalise on the opportunity. But now he had a link to the afterlife and an actual witness against Sarrack.

He also knew that the Nobles would have learned that he and John were still alive. They were standing on borrowed time.

“Thank you, Mr Loomis,” said Kingston. “When you die, be sure to tell your sorter all of this. Ask to speak to a scout by the name of Biggins. Remember: a scout by the name of Biggins.” Kingston rose from his seat and turned to John. “Was there anything else?”

“Not off the top of my head,” said John.

“Good.” Kingston turned back to Loomis and, for a moment, considered shaking his hand. Then he remember that Loomis was dripping with sweat and that imagery put Kingston off. “Thank you again. I’ll have Carin reported. Sarrack was a little distasteful in his handling of your grandfather’s case.”

Loomis took a deep breath in and couldn’t find the words that would make it all feel better.

“Take care of yourself,” Kingston said. “If you live a good and long life, you may get out of Hell early. But, if you follow exactly in Georgiadis’ footsteps you’ll be in agony the moment you set foot in Limbo. Good day.”

John pulled the door open. He and Kingston headed out into the corridor, past the intern, and buzzed the elevator. Kingston turned around to make sure no one was sneaking up on them.

“Did you forget something?” John asked.

“No. I’m keeping an eye on him,” whispered Kingston. “After you shake someone’s foundation like that, and after knowing that he has a gun, it’s best to make sure we leave the building alive.”

John shivered and turned around as well. The elevator doors pinged and John backed himself inside. Kingston slipped in as casually as he could and hit the button for level two.

“We’re not going to the lobby?” John asked.

“That’s where security is. Level two gives us options.”

“So why not go to level one?”

“Level one is the lobby,” said Kingston.

“I thought the ground floor was the lobby.”

“Ground floor is level one.”

John breathed in to argue but Kingston simply shrugged.

“I know, but this is America. Level two is one floor above the ground.”

John rolled his eyes, then he wished his jacket was a little more giving. He flexed his arms and braced himself for a fight.

Thankfully, Loomis was too terrified to call security. By the time Kingston checked out the lobby it was calm as usual. He and John slipped through the doors and were back onto Park Avenue with the breeze in their face and the sound of cars in their ears.

“So what are Loomis’ chances of surviving this?” John asked.

“Dreadful. I’m sure Death will find a way to keep him out of harm’s way, but there’s no telling how far the Nobles can reach once Loomis is dead.”

“So, case closed?” John asked.

“We know Sarrack and Carin are guilty of some morally questionable activities, so if Death interrogates them it might be enough to break through to the Nobles of Montague.”

“And what of Georgiadis?”

“We know he was trying to bring them down, we know he was flayed in his mansion eight days after he should have died.”

“So how do we get back to Limbo?”

Kingston glanced up and down the street, then shook his head. “I have no idea.”

XXI

Michelle’s workload increased during every election. She had to help coordinate Death’s new schedule, which meant organising every meet and greet the public could stomach. Michelle also had to organise the never ending line of reporters, union representatives, concerned citizens, and company department heads, as they all wanted to know how Death’s policies had changed in the last ten years. His policies had hardly changed in the last thousand years, let alone ten. At times Death’s attitude and philosophies seemed uniquely ancient, which should have been no surprise to anyone in the realm since the Grim Reaper was as old as mankind itself. At the same time Michelle understood that Death had pushed himself to look after the residents of Limbo as people he should care for, rather than a necessary pest.

The only saving grace about the election was that Michelle was always due for a holiday afterwards. She remembered how dopey Joanna and Catalina looked when they returned from the spa and Michelle knew she wanted the same look on her face. Then, the thought of Joanna and Catalina made Michelle sit up and look towards the corridor. She furrowed her brow as she realised it had been a while since she last saw any of Limbo’s celebrity guests.

Michelle pushed her holiday request form into the in tray for Death to look over later, and she went to see how Kingston’s investigation was going. She headed down the long corridor into Inhuman Resources and checked their offices. All were empty. She tapped on their bedroom doors, only to find no answer. She went to the kitchenette and all of the plates and cutlery were bone dry.

Sitting on the kitchenette counter was a copy of Kingston Raine and the Return of the Shanghai Werewolf, bookmarked to page 104. Michelle remembered John saying that he had just started the book, and that was … Michelle counted off the days on his fingers … four days ago. It was possible that John was a slow and careful reader, but even so …

Now that Michelle thought about it, she realised she hadn’t seen any of them in days. Kingston gave regular reports and updates, and now there was nothing. Michelle’s instincts twitched towards concern and she walked steadily down the corridor, back to her desk.

She called for a scout and was grateful to see two men hurry around the corner just seconds later.

“Lord Henry Biggins, ma’am,” said the shorter of the two men, as he gave a deep bow. He was also quite out of breath.

“Junior Lord Joaquin Harvest, ma’am,” said the taller and younger of the scouts.

“How’s the traineeship going?” Michelle asked.

Harvest nodded a little too enthusiastically. “It’s awesome!” He then caught sight of Biggins’ disdain and quickly dropped back into a more formal approach. “I mean, I find it quite enjoyable and Lord Biggins is a gifted mentor.”

“I sure am,” said Biggins, rolling his eyes at Harvest. He turned his attention back to Michelle. “How can we help?”

“I have a concern about Kingston, Joanna, John, and Catalina. It could be just paranoia getting the better of me, but I don’t think I’ve seen any of them in a few days. Perhaps they’re deep undercover, perhaps they’ve set up their own apartments, it’s just that given their penchant for getting themselves into trouble I wonder if you could check up on them. Quietly, though.”

“Of course,” said Biggins. He turned to his trainee. “We will walk and talk.” Biggins led Harvest away. “You can search for the men, I will search for the women. The men should be easier to find as they are more famous. Explain to me the procedures in tracking someone down.”

“First you double check their names and IDs so you’re looking for the right person,” said Harvest.

“Good. And how would you check their ID numbers if we are walking away from the person who has them?”

Harvest glanced back to Michelle and gave her an awkward smile. “Em …” Harvest ran back to Michelle’s desk and gave her another polite nod. “Ma’am, uh … would it be possible to have their ID numbers?”

“It would take a couple of hours to process your clearance level. These IDs are well guarded,” said Michelle. “I’d like you to find Kingston and John the sneaky way. It’ll be quicker.”

Harvest blinked a couple of times and hurried back to Biggins. “She said -”

“I know what she said, I have excellent hearing! Now come this way, we’re going to do something illegal.”

“Should we be so loud about that in front of Death’s office?” Harvest asked.

“I don’t know, should we?”

“I think not.”

“Good!” said Biggins, and he led Harvest away.

Half an hour later, Harvest crept back around the corner and removed his goggles.

“You took your time,” said Michelle.

“Sorry, ma’am. Em, is Lord Biggins up here?”

“No,” said Michelle.

“Has he been up here since you last saw us together?”

“No,” said Michelle.

“Oh my. I’m not sure if I should wait for him, it’s just I’ve been waiting for ten minutes already.”

“How did it go?” asked Michelle.

“Not well, I’m afraid,” said Harvest. “I was able to track down their IDs. That was unsettlingly easy. I tried to locate Kingston Raine and John of Nottingham. I did it right three times but was blocked. So I tried another method and used the letters to locate them. Dropped them straight onto the ground and there they landed.”

Michelle sat forward at the sound of that one. Her concerns flared in an instant.

“I know, it was most peculiar,” said Harvest, shifting his posture from holding his hands in front of himself to holding them behind his back. It was clear that he wasn’t used to having such a powerful person lock eyes with him, especially when he was this close to Death’s office and discussing matters that were mostly illegal. “So I tried another under-handed approach and I went to a seer. I spent a few minutes there listening to him babble some nonsense, and it really was gibberish. Like he was speaking in tongues. I got fed up with him and I went to see a psychic. I asked about Kingston and she said it was going to rain on Tuesday. I thought maybe Kingston and Joanna were together. I mean, Mr Raine and Miss York. So then I asked about Mr Of Nottingham, hoping that he was with Miss Of Catalonia.”

“No ‘of’, just Miss Catalonia,” said Michelle. “Though, now, she might be using Rivera.”

“Okay. Thank you, ma’am. Couldn’t locate Mr Nottingham either. So, then, I went and did something I’m not all that proud of. I went to find another scout and told them of my predicament. I was told that I was an idiot and no such person existed. This was for Miss York, ma’am. And I got the same story for Miss Catalonia. But I had their ID numbers, and the scout, I’d rather not say who, but she was a bitch … bit of a … an … unhelpful person.”

Michelle shook her head. “So the four of them aren’t in Limbo?”

“I can’t confirm that until Lord Biggins returns, but I have tried several routes to find them, and … you know, I’m probably just over reacting. Perhaps I got their ID numbers wrong.”

“Where is Lord Biggins?” asked Michelle.

“That’s just the thing, ma’am. He’s usually no more than five minutes. It’s been half an hour and even a trainee like myself was able to complete his task. Or, come to a crashing halt against a dead end. I should go and check up on him, he might be waiting for me downstairs.”

“Hold it,” said Michelle, raising one finger to keep Harvest where he was. Michelle buzzed the intercom.

“Yes?” said Death.

“Sir, situation involving Kingston and company. It has raised my concerns.”

“One moment,” said Death.

Harvest’s face went ashen. He glanced from Death’s door to Michelle and back again. “I’m not really needed here. If you could pass on my regards …”

“Stay put. You’re going to repeat everything to Death.”

“But I’m just a trainee!” said Harvest.

“Welcome to the deep end, Junior Lord Harvest.”

The mighty door swung open and Death stepped into the outer office. He sized up Harvest in an instant, saw the look of paralysing fear on Harvest’s face, and of the concern on Michelle’s. “I take it they’re in trouble?”

“That’s right, sir,” said Michelle. “I’ve had Lord Biggins and Junior Lord Harvest search for them.”

“And from our young Lord’s appearance they came up empty handed,” said Death. He stepped forward and stood in front of Harvest. “When was the last time they were in Limbo?”

Harvest’s eyes went wider still. “Em … I didn’t look into their past, sire, just their present.”

“‘Sir’ will do, Lord Harvest. ‘Sire’ is more of a Satan styling. Report back when you’ve located their last moments in Limbo.”

“Yes, sir!” said Harvest. He hurried out into the corridor and less than thirty seconds later he hurried back, now completely out of breath. “Sir! I can … report … whereabouts … Miss York and Catalonia.”

“And?”

“Yesterday. 14th April, 1554 hours. Outside. Strange, I couldn’t make out what street they were on. The two ladies were talking together, saying cheeky things, and they stopped walking. Then everything fell dark and misty. I couldn’t see or hear anything. The darkness lingered for ten minutes. That was the last time they were in Limbo.”

Death and Michelle exchanged a quick look. “Someone’s enchanted the building they went into,” said Death.

Harvest gave Death a quick bow. “I also have a last sighting of Misters Raine and Nottingham. Both were sighted exiting the Bank of Limbo, both at 1432. Same day, sir. 14th April.”

Death glanced to Michelle and arched an eyebrow at her. “Your concerns are right. Four people disappearing on the same day.”

“We seem to have also lost Lord Biggins,” said Michelle.

Death looked back to Harvest. “Is that so?”

“I haven’t tried looking for him, sir,” said Harvest, again spluttering with stress for not thinking of everything that could be asked of him.

“Report back quickly then,” said Death.

“Yes, sir!” cried Harvest. He turned and ran for the corridor.

“Any ideas?” Michelle asked. “And don’t say ‘several.’”

Death closed his mouth and sighed. Michelle had just beaten him to the punch. “I’d say the four of them have been abducted and are presently in Hell, being held against their will, in a dungeon which doesn’t allow scouts to penetrate.”

“And what of Lord Biggins? He’s never this late.”

“He’s probably been caught and is being interrogated as we speak,” said Death.

Michelle stepped back in surprise. “And Junior Lord Harvest?”

“Is likely to blunder into the situation as well,” said Death.

Michelle looked back into the corridor and hoped the young man would return quickly. She listened out for any scuffling of shoes, any rapid fire foot prints or a pop from the teleport. But it didn’t come. She waited thirty seconds and Harvest failed to materialise. She waited a full minute, then two, and still Harvest did not return. Michelle finally looked back to Death. “Sir?”

“Bring out the seers, the psychics, and the scouts. Then, summon every executive in that bank and tell them to meet me here immediately.”

Kingston and John headed into the Grand Central Library on East 46th Street. Kingston had fallen into a far off look and he held it until John clicked his fingers in front of Kingston’s face. Kingston jumped back to attention. “Huh? Sorry, did I miss something?”

“I was about to ask the same thing,” said John, peering over Kingston carefully. “You keep staring off into space.” John then did his impersonation of Kingston, and his eyes drifted apart.

Kingston scowled in return. “I don’t look like that.”

“Oh yeah? Ever stare off into the distance while looking in the mirror? I’ve tried, while in the bank instead of mopping floors. It isn’t easy. So what made you stare off like that?”

“I was thinking about verifying Loomis’ story about his granddad and implicating Sarrack in the process.”

John rolled his eyes. “Oh. And all this time I was thinking about how to get us back to Limbo.”

“How’d you go with that?” Kingston asked.

“Poorly. It involves going to a hospital and waiting for someone to die. Then we keep talking over and over while a grim reaper comes and collects the new soul and hopefully he recognises us.”

“I don’t like our chances of getting in to see a random dying person,” said Kingston.

“Me neither. But it’s what I came up with.” John looked around the large library and it paled in comparison to the one in Limbo. “So what are we doing here?”

“Free Internet,” said Kingston. “I’ve been missing it like crazy. I thought we could check Loomis’ history, and about the war, maybe come up with a few names. We can have Hell’s people check them out and then implicate Sarrack in the whole mess.” He glanced around and saw a free computer. “This might take a while.”

“I figured.” John peered over his shoulder and the city reminded him of something he had picked up. “Is it true that if you can make it here you can make it anywhere?”

“I doubt it,” said Kingston. He sat down, flexed his fingers, and began searching through everything Loomis mentioned in the Second World War.

John rolled his shoulders back and fell into his corporate persona. “So while you’re busy I have a theory to test.” He walked off, leaving Kingston distracted by scenes of Leningrad in 1944.

Kingston pulled out a pen and a scrap piece of paper and began jotting down some of the names and sources. Five minutes later, John returned, collapsed into the seat next to Kingston, and loosened his tie.

“What does it mean, ‘to make it’?” John asked.

Kingston smirked at his friend and recognised that look of mild humiliation. “What did you try to do?”

John quickly checked over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening to them. “I picked a book at random from the bookshelves and gave it to some middle aged woman with bad breath. I told her to put it back on the bookshelf, thanks, and then I started to walk away. She threw it at me! It hit me square in the back and she said, ‘Put it back yourself!’ Then she walked away. Stupid cow. So I tried someone else. I went with a young guy wearing a strange top. It had a saggy back thing attached to the top of the neck, like a shopping bag or something.”

Kingston quickly searched online for the word ‘hoodie,’ and pointed it to John. “Was it that?”

“Yes! That weird thing. I tried the same line on him … he didn’t even take the book! I was standing there, holding a book out to him, and he just stood there, staring at me like I was a nutter. And then he walked around me without saying a word. I could throw a bookshelf at him and he just walked around me.” John leaned back into his chair and sighed in defeat.

“So, I guess you haven’t made it in New York,” said Kingston.

“I bloody well made it in Limbo and that’s a tougher crowd, let me tell you. Not as tough as my gran, though, but tough enough.”

Kingston knew that if they ever made it back to Limbo then everyone would want to know what he and John got up to. He wondered if this moment of insight would ever make it into an interview. He was sure Van Heuten would love to hear every juicy detail, but Kingston would have to try his best to focus on how he managed to disrupt the Nobles of Montague. Assuming, of course, he was ever successful.

Kingston sat up all of a sudden with a brainwave.

John’s eyes went wide with surprise. “You have an idea!”

“I have an idea!” cried Kingston.

“I knew it!”

“We email bomb every reporter we can find!” Kingston then dropped his voice. “Perhaps I shouldn’t say ‘bomb’ in one of New York’s finest public buildings.”

“Why not?” John asked.

“There’s a history …”

John realised he wasn’t going to get much more out of Kingston on that topic, so he swivelled around to face a computer and began typing in the words ‘bomb’ and ‘New York.’ Then his jaw dropped open. “There have been two hundred and eighty six million bombs in New York!”

“No, there are two hundred and eighty six million search results for the phrase,” said Kingston.

“There are pictures as well.”

“No need to click …”

“And videos.”

Kingston fell into another far away look. “Maybe the reporters will just ignore me. I need to find another group of easy believers.” Coming to the next logical conclusion was laughably quick. So quick, in fact, that Kingston laughed. He began typing as quickly as he could.

“No way …” mumbled John, staring at the screen in disbelief. “Have you seen this video?”

“Probably,” said Kingston.

“Can I borrow that pen of yours?”

Kingston pushed it across, with the sheet of paper, and continued typing like a madman. John, meanwhile, scribbled down all the new words he could find and searched for their meaning.

“Oh, that’s just horrible,” mumbled John. He fell quiet for a moment, knew he didn’t like what he was looking at, and decided that he had seen enough. “What’s a guaranteed thing I can look for that will cheer me up?”

“Search for cats doing funny things. That seems to be what half of the Internet is made for.”

John began typing and instantly roared with laughter.

An hour later, Kingston had completed his masterpiece. “There! This will get us rescued. Or imprisoned. It all depends on who gets to us first.”

John eased back on his laughter, wiped a tear from his eye, and looked over to Kingston. “What have you done?”

Kingston shot him a smug smile. “I’ve emailed bombed every religious nutjob I could find and told them that I come from the afterlife, that Vasili Georgiadis was ambushed by the Nobles of Montague and was murdered, that Rickland Carson is now working for them in the Library of Limbo, that Sarrack earned his dues by going through World War Two signing up everyone who was sure to die, and I posted it to a blog, several social networking sites, several conspiracy theorists sites, and even the journalists.” He checked the time. “All within one hour. Not bad.”

“And you emailing crazy people will get us rescued?”

“Hopefully. And besides, who on Life is going to believe them?”

John shrugged. “I liked my idea of going to the hospital and waiting for someone to die.”

“Considering all of the psychics and seers that are looking for us, I’m sure one of them would have picked up on this. I say we will be rescued within half an hour.”

John squinted at Kingston and weighed up the odds. “One silver piece says it will be longer than thirty minutes.”

Kingston shot his hand across and the two guys shook on the deal. “Done.”

At that moment there were a dozen bursts of flames and smoke around Kingston.

One of the customers saw the explosion and screamed at the top of her lungs. “BOMB!”

The smoke settled and Kingston saw one acutely angry Sarrack staring him down, surrounded by several bounty hunters. “Mr Raine,” he said, through gritted teeth.

John glanced back at Kingston with a smug look on his face. “This is not a rescue. I haven’t lost the bet.”

Kingston smiled at Sarrack. “I guess it’s going to suck to be you for a while.”

“Briefly. But considering I know how to kill someone from Limbo, and from Hell, then I would be more concerned about your own safety than for mine.”

Kingston gave John a nod. “It’s fencing time.”

“FWAAAAAH!” In a blur, John roared, jumped to his feet with the table in his hands, and swung it around like a massive club, taking out half of the bounty hunters standing next to Sarrack before the computers even hit the ground. John roared again and hurled the table at three of the remaining bounty hunters, leaped forward, and clobbered the last with his fists. He finally shot his hand out and grabbed Sarrack by the throat.

Kingston rose from his chair and smirked at his captive. “We have only a couple of minutes before the police burst in here and ruin our days. So tell me, why did you have Georgiadis murdered?”

Sarrack gasped at the tightness around his throat. “I can keep a secret.”

“Well, from what I’ve gathered, he probably did something similar to what I just did. He named names about the Nobles of Montague when he shouldn’t have. He was trying to tell the world and find a better bargain for himself. That’s certainly the theory I’m going with. You can nod if I’m correct.”

Sarrack merely glared at Kingston.

“I see. You know, there’s only so much I really need to do, because we’ve caught you and your band of merry men standing in such a pile of crap that ties together so many problems Limbo has gone through in the last few decades, and probably even centuries. All Death has to do is sit you down and wait until you start to blubber like a little boy.”

Sarrack shook his head. “Joanna.”

Kingston felt his insides start to burn and he saw John’s grip tighten around Sarrack’s throat.

“Catalina as well,” said Sarrack.

John growled into Sarrack’s ear. “What about them?”

“We have them. In Hell,” said Sarrack.

Kingston and John glanced at each other. They knew it was possible, but then it was more likely that Sarrack was just trying to find a way to regain control over the situation.

“What are you planning to do with them?” asked Kingston.

“That all depends on you,” said Sarrack.

Kingston cocked an eyebrow at their prisoner. “You tried to have us killed in Life. You had us teleport here and land in a trap.”

“We can do the same to the women,” said Sarrack.

Kingston looked over to John and knew his friend was desperate to snap Sarrack’s neck. “We have more clout than you do. Death and Satan are both eager to hear from us. Satan in particular wouldn’t like anything to happen to Joanna. So here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to tell me who killed Georgiadis, why, and why he was dumped in Limbo. Then we’ll let you go before the police arrive. Speak quickly because I can start to hear their sirens, and New York cops don’t take many chances.”

“I’ll be revived,” said Sarrack.

“Thump him,” said Kingston to John.

John raised his left hand and pounded his fist into the top of Sarrack’s head, dazing him.

“Who killed Georgiadis?” Kingston asked.

Sarrack’s eyes went wide and he lost control of his senses. “Burning powder …” he mumbled.

“That’s how he was flayed?”

“Yes,” gasped Sarrack.

“Why?”

“He started telling people in Life about us,” mumbled Sarrack.

Kingston leaned forward. The sirens were closing in on them now and they only had a few seconds of peace remaining. “Why was he dumped in Limbo?”

“Because Djaga screwed up,” said Sarrack, through gritted teeth.

“Who’s Djaga?” Kingston asked.

Sarrack glared back. “An old friend of yours.”

There was a screech of tyres outside the library. The police were here. Kingston rummaged through Sarrack’s pockets and found a small vial of purple powder inside. He popped the stopper open and held it under Sarrack’s nose. Sarrack sneered at him as though Kingston had no idea what the powder was for.

Kingston tilted the vial over and held a small pinch between his fingers. Fearing that this was going to flay someone alive he threw the pinch of powder onto the desk and saw the computer burst into a cloud of smoke. When the smoke cleared the computer had vanished, and Kingston knew it had teleported to Limbo.

Kingston looked back up to John. “Let’s take him back home.”

John looked at the vial suspiciously. “That’s not going to burn us, is it?”

Kingston looked down to Sarrack. “Since you’re going to suffer the effects of this as well, is this going to teleport us back to Limbo?”

“Yes,” sneered Sarrack.

“Good.”

Just as the first officer entered the library, Kingston doused himself, John, and Sarrack with the powder. They burst into smoke and disappeared from Life.

The landing was not as smooth as Kingston or John had been expecting. They fell against the inside of a narrow corridor to a book repair shop and John lost his grip on Sarrack’s throat. Sarrack tumbled out of the way, sprung from the ground and teleported away in an instant.

Kingston and John looked around in dismay. “Ah well, at least we know he’s guilty,” said Kingston. He looked over their location and knew that Sarrack was running to tell the Nobles of the situation. Back up would be on its way and Kingston knew he wouldn’t be able to talk himself out of that confrontation.

“Where are we?” John asked, looking around.

“Somewhere Sarrack felt safe,” said Kingston. He felt a burst of pride as he realised that this could be the Nobles’ headquarters in Limbo. He headed down the corridor and found a single door leading into a reasonably large room. Cleaver Hall. There was no one inside, just a few arm chairs and a couple of tables. It looked like a gentleman’s smoking lounge. Kingston closed the door and walked back the other way, saw the sixty year old shop owner peer at them, who then hurried out the door as quickly as he could. Kingston knew a guilty face when he saw one.

“Time to go,” said Kingston. He led John past the works in repair and learned enough in those two seconds to know how this place would have been ideal to link the bank and library. They headed out the front door and looked up at the Trond’s Book Repairs sign in faded lettering. “We better be careful,” said Kingston. “You ready for a fight?”

John grinned. “Always.”

“Good. Because -”

A burst of air surrounded Kingston and John. They both felt a hand drop down onto their shoulders. In another instant, the air swallowed them whole and they were teleported away.

Kingston and John landed better this time, but it didn’t help that their kidnapper then punched them both in the back of the kidneys as hard as he could. Kingston fell forward, hit the ground, and felt a jolt of agony run through his body. He realised he had fallen onto the floor of a rocky desert in the glaring heat, with the sun nearly blinding him. He heard John stagger to his knees and saw him grip the side of his back.

Kingston turned to see who they were up against. In an impossible moment he recognised the scarred, tattooed man in the black leather jacket that he previously knew as Monty. He was a bounty hunter, one who had chased Kingston and John before. In an instant, everything clicked. “Djaga, I presume,” said Kingston.

The bounty hunter grinned, exposing his yellowed teeth. “So you remember me?” He stepped back, dusted off his hands, and looked around in quiet victory. “I got it right this time.” He gave a slight salute to Kingston, closed his eyes, and teleported away.

John stood, ready to face another attacker, but no one was there. After resigning himself to a loss, he helped Kingston to his feet. “I remember that asswipe,” said John.

“Yeah, he followed us through London and Spain.”

John looked around and saw the distant hills of desert rock and knew they were both in trouble. “Any idea where we are?”

Kingston winced as he gripped his back and grimaced at the sight around them. This was going to be a real fight to survive. “If I had to guess, we’re back in Fiction.”

“What makes you say that?”

“For a while I thought Sarrack was making small talk about how we travelled from one book to the next. Considering all of the bounty hunters who were able to follow us around, I never thought it was a big deal. But if you had to get rid of a body so that it couldn’t be found in Hell, Limbo, or even Life, then wouldn’t Fiction be the best place?” He looked around their bleak existence and knew this was going to become a matter of life or death very quickly.

John stared at the horizon and sighed. “So that is a reasonable assumption and I look forward to hearing more about it. Unfortunately we’re almost certainly going to die out here unless we come up with something brilliant. But brilliance is in our genes and it’s what we’re good at.”

Kingston stared at John. “Did you just try to sandwich me?”

John nodded. “Did it work?”

Kingston looked at the ground and saw where his shadow lay. He tried to pick out a significant mountain in the distance. “Let’s go that way. We’ll have the sun to our backs and not in our eyes. If you’re ever stuck in a desert you want to head north or south because that will offer a quicker change in climate than going east to west.”

“Fair enough,” said John. He dusted himself off and followed Kingston as they headed off towards the distance. “So you think they tried to dump Georgiadis in Fiction?”

“Yeah. Clearly they failed.”

John popped the collar to his jacket up to shield the back of his neck. “And now the Nobles of Montague want to travel through Fiction?”

Kingston shrugged. “Why not? You can meet anyone you’ve ever wanted, go anywhere you desire, recruit the best, the brightest, and the sexiest. And when that doesn’t work you can drop them off here and let them die.”

“But … Djaga was able to follow us before.”

“Me, more likely, because I was the one who linked Fiction to Limbo. I’m guessing it worked out for Djaga this time because I was here with him.”

“And it won’t work again?”

“I’m sure they’re getting better at figuring out how to do it,” said Kingston.

John held one hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. “But that’s just a guess?”

“Just a guess,” said Kingston. “But I’ll bet you five gold pieces it’s true.”

“Done,” said John. He and Kingston shook hands. “So I hate to break this to you but your suit is a little dusty, I’m getting hungry again, and we’re surrounded by miles of certain death.”

Kingston sighed and walked faster.

XXII

After sixteen hours of walking, Joanna and Catalina arrived in the unnamed Hell city, though the locals referred to it as Vertigo. The whole city was grown from black, organic rock. It was packed with towers and impossibly narrow pathways. Walkways stretched from one building to the next high overhead, and like the statues of Limbo there were sentient gargoyles and grotesques watching over the mortals below.

By now Joanna and Catalina were exhausted. Their feet were blistered and they hadn’t had anything to eat in almost a day. They had also endured a dozen more groups of people who were terrible at giving directions. Joanna stopped at the first person she met in the city and wearily tapped the young man on the shoulder. “Excuse me, where can we find a devil to teleport us to Pandæmonium?”

The young man looked Joanna up and down, muttered that she was crazy, and pointed her to a narrow road along the left. “You’ll have to ask someone else when you get to the square.”

Joanna wasn’t sure if that was the name of some landmark or even a person, but soon enough she and Catalina came upon a large open market in the shape of a square. Again, she asked the first person she could find.

“Down that street, then down the second on your right. You’ll have to ask someone else when you get to the end.”

Sure enough, Joanna and Catalina came to a T-Junction with more buildings of black rock towering above them. The pathways were barely a metre wide, sometimes less, and even Joanna felt the sting of claustrophobia whenever a crowd of people pushed by.

“How are you holding up?” Joanna asked Catalina.

“I think I’ve been felt up by everyone who’s passed us.”

They came to another set of directions.

“Around this dog leg of a corner, keep going until you see a large broken bell lying in the middle of the road. Ask someone else when you get there.”

As Joanna and Catalina followed their instructions, Catalina had to ask, “How does everyone know where this devil is?”

“Hopefully it’s the only devil in town,” said Joanna, as she ducked under a low hanging second floor.

They came upon a large broken bell and asked again. After another set of twists and turns, another square, another market, and another hour of walking, Joanna and Catalina were at breaking point. They finally came to a small shop front with a crudely drawn message on the window that read, ‘the only devil in town. established 1066.’

Joanna shrugged and pushed the door open. The two women stepped inside and were surprised to see several carved and painted wooden faces, all with a finger raised to their lips in silence. There was no one else in the store, not even the famed only devil in town. Joanna was about to call out a ‘Hello’, until she saw a small wooden frame sitting on the shop counter.

‘By entering this shop you agree to the following:

You will not say a single word. For every word you do say, you will forfeit one item of clothing of my choice.

Every customer will wear one of the provided blindfolds for the duration of business.’

There were several black blindfolds lying on the shop counter. Joanna felt her feet killing her from the day long walk and hoped that this was going to work quickly. She fixed one blindfold around Catalina’s eyes and then one around her own. When she was done she drummed her fingernails on the shop counter.

A similarly blindfolded female devil with a long ponytail opened the rear door and glided towards Joanna and Catalina. “I am the only devil in town. You will not speak.”

All of a sudden, Joanna and Catalina turned to face the devil. Joanna had heard that voice before and knew it immediately. It belonged to her mother, Cynthia York. Likewise, Catalina was convinced the devil spoke with her own mother’s voice. It wasn’t just a replica of the accent, but every detail was identical, right down to the intonation, rhythm, and emphasis on particular sounds. Joanna almost snorted when she remembered that her mother had never existed and that this was simply a trick. A well played trick, but a trick nonetheless.

The devil took one of Joanna’s hands into her own and held it for a full minute. She then did the same with Catalina. “You wish to travel to Pandæmonium to meet with Satan,” said the devil. “But you have no form of money. You are not residents of Hell, so taking a loan or an IOU won’t work. The only thing you can trade are the clothes you are wearing, so it will have to be that.”

Catalina drew in a sharp breath and was about to let the devil have a piece of her mind when she felt Joanna grab onto her wrist.

“Good,” said the devil. “You were about to forfeit your clothes. That would have left you without any way to pay me. I will give you both a sack to wear. Wait here.”

Catalina growled under her breath and Joanna grunted for Catalina to keep quiet. The devil returned and put a sack into the hands of Joanna and Catalina.

“I have cut holes in there for your arms and head. Be quick. You never know when more customers will come in.”

Catalina felt another moment of rage engulf her. She was sure she could swipe at this devil’s face like she did with Veli.

“I should warn you,” said the devil. “Those blindfolds can not be removed until the end of our transaction. Our transaction has begun, because I have agreed to take you to Pandæmonium so you can meet with Satan. Should you fail to honour your half of the deal, those blindfolds will never come off. You’ve no doubt seen enough of Hell to know that I am probably telling you the truth.”

Joanna grumbled and got to work removing her black jeans and purple buttoned shirt. Catalina struggled with her sapphire low cut tee and long, flowing white skirt, and resented every moment of it. Both ladies threw themselves into the itchy sacks and were relieved that the material went down to their knees.

The devil gathered up the clothes and dumped them into a basket. “Good. I will sell these at the thrift store down the street. New clothes are hard to come by down here. Wait one moment.”

The devil disappeared into the back of her shop. Not for the first moment that day Joanna was sure that they had just been robbed, or screwed over, and that the devil had no interest in fulfilling her end of the bargain. Joanna listened out to every detail of the shop to see if anyone else was watching them. She knew the Nobles of Montague would still be searching for them and she was curious as to why she and Catalina still remained free. Joanna started to think that this devil might be sending the Nobles a message, since she obviously had some kind of telepathic ability.

The minutes dragged on. Just before Joanna was about to swear she heard a man’s voice speak to them. “Uh, can I help you?”

Joanna tugged at her blindfold and was relieved to find it came loose. The first surprise she had came when she realised that she and Catalina were no longer in the devil’s shop. The second was that they were in the open air, surrounded by hundreds of marbled buildings, canals, bridges, air ships, and floating islands that were home to tropical resorts. The third surprise was the man standing in front of them, wearing a pin stripe suit with spats.

Joanna nudged her friend on the arm. “Catalina? You can take it off now.” She looked back to the man standing in front of them. “Hi, sorry, we were looking for Pandæmonium.”

“This is it,” said the man.

Catalina had her first look around and she gasped when she saw the floating palaces high in the air. It was far from the dank city of Vertigo, and nothing at all like the crags and shanty town they arrived in. Pandæmonium was a sight of magnificent decadence. It put the cleanliness and marvel of Limbo to shame. Catalina knew in an instant that this had to be the capital of all capital cities.

“We’re looking for Satan,” said Joanna.

The man looked the ladies up and down. “You’re sure you want to be wearing that when you meet him?”

“He knows us,” said Joanna. “I’m Joanna York. This is Catalina Rivera.”

The man arched an eyebrow at that news, then squinted at the two ladies as he tried to pick out their features. “John Edmonds. I’m Satan’s senior personal assistant.”

“Excellent!” cried Joanna. “We need to meet with him as urgently as possible.”

Edmonds looked away for a moment. “I bet it was Nikki. She always drops newcomers in on me like this, right when I’m about to go and have lunch.”

“Sorry if we ruined your lunch, but we’re kind of in a hurry,” said Joanna. “We have news about the murder of Vasili Georgiadis.”

“And the Nobles of Montague,” said Catalina.

“We were abducted from Limbo. Satan said that if we ever needed a favour then we should just ask him.”

Edmonds looked at the sacks again. “You’re certainly going to need a few of them.” Edmonds sighed and looked away. “She always does this on my lunch break. Right, come this way.”

Edmonds doubled back and Joanna and Catalina followed him through the splendour of Pandæmonium.

Edmonds led Joanna and Catalina onto the grounds of the Sylath Crei, the palace of Satan. Catalina whimpered as they walked through the main golden gates, while Joanna had to keep her jaw in check from falling open. Edmonds glanced over his shoulder and smiled at the ladies.

“First time seeing the palace?” Edmonds asked.

“Yeah,” said Joanna. She felt a gentle breeze kiss her cheek and she double checked that her sack still covered her legs. She looked across the silver lawns and rows of lilac flowers, saw the many perfectly carved fountains, then she looked over to where they had just come from. The outer wall was a perfect circle several kilometres in diameter. Joanna was sure it had been inspired by the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. Then she readjusted her thinking and presumed that the Hanging Gardens may have been inspired by the palace. There were five tiers of green marbled brick with flowing trees, vines, and flowers sprouting from every direction. There were hundreds of statues in sight, all of great warriors and poets from history.

In front of them was the sprawling palace of Sylath Crei, which shifted in colour depending on the time of day. It was currently a gentle purple, much like the lilacs nearby. Several great cylindrical towers rose out from the building, complete with grand bay windows with balconies. It appeared to be just three storeys high, though Joanna could see that each floor was at least ten metres high. She was sure the building held more within. What she couldn’t see was that the entrance was the narrowest part of the building and the rest stretched out for kilometres, built in a Venetian style with canals, lakes, bridges, and nymphs running about.

Joanna worked up the courage to say something. “It’s a little … excessive, isn’t it?”

Edmonds shrugged it off. “He has access to every great builder and architect from all of history, with an unlimited budget.” He led them through the main doors, passed several guards who all did a double take when they realised that Joanna York had just entered the building, and whatever had been impressive on the outside was just the appetiser to the interior of the palace. There were large red silk drapes lining the ceiling with rose petals falling into pools of water. Surrounding the pools were black polished pebbles that crunched under foot. There were servants dressed in near transparent blue garbs with a hood over their eyes. The rest of their attire left little to the imagination. They walked around in barefoot and Joanna had to look away the moment a muscular servant bowed to her.

Catalina was not quite as graceful. “I can see his …”

“I know,” whispered Joanna.

“It’s …”

“I know!” whispered Joanna again.

“I mean, well done, but …” She looked to Edmonds. “Doesn’t this get a little distracting?”

“A little. He’s from Barcelona, you know,” said Edmonds.

Catalina felt a shiver run down her back. She looked back to the servant and tried to pick out his facial features. She slipped into Catalan. “Is that true?”

The servant spoke as though his voice was made of honey. “It is, and I am delighted to be of service to you. If there is anything at all you require I am only happy to oblige.”

Catalina gasped and a short wheeze of surprise escaped her. She reached out and grabbed onto Joanna’s wrist. “We have to find Satan. Quickly.”

Edmonds leaned forward. “We are in the palace of temptation.”

“Satan. Now.”

“Follow me,” said Edmonds. He looked back to the servant. “No need to follow us, you can go back to your duties.”

The servant bowed, turned, and walked away.

Catalina squeezed Joanna’s wrist again. “I hate Satan.” She glanced back to the servant and looked away in a hurry. They followed Edmonds down a long, wide corridor, past many impeccable works of art, golden chandeliers, and blue jade statues.

“Who’s his decorator?” Joanna asked.

“Maurice,” Edmonds said. That was the end of that line of conversation. They reached the first ante-chamber to Satan’s office, which was a large circular room with a single wooden chair pushed against the far side of the wall. Next to it was a book stand with just one book. It gave the distinct impression that Satan didn’t like to have visitors and that a single chair could be ignored. Edmonds led Joanna and Catalina through the corridor into the second ante-chamber. Here stood three desks. Only one was manned, this one by a young man who looked up in surprise.

“Joanna York and Catalina of Catalonia to see the Dark Lord,” said Edmonds, and he stopped by his own desk. “Is he in?”

“Is he expecting them?” asked Asari.

“Not exactly,” said Edmonds. He knocked on Satan’s door, turned the handle, and popped his head inside. “Joanna York is here to see you, sire.” Edmonds nodded and closed the door, then smiled back to his guests. “He’s just wrapping up some business. He’ll be with you in a moment.”

“Thank you,” said Joanna.

Edmonds went to his desk and sat down.

Catalina leaned in towards Joanna and dropped to a whisper. “Of all the bad ideas we’ve had, seeing Satan in his own palace is the worst.”

“We’ll be okay,” Joanna whispered.

“You’re not exactly psychic, so that’s just wishful thinking.”

The door opened and Satan appeared wearing dark blue jeans and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He smiled at Joanna as though he was trying to ignite every ounce of passion within her soul. He dropped his usual baritone voice an octave lower. “My ladies, how are you?”

“We’re doing well,” said Joanna. She was trying her best not to come off as stiff as she felt. “We were kidnapped by an agent known as Veli, someone who works for the Nobles of Montague, who themselves are associated with Kanter, Sloane, and Wells Incorporated within Hell. They are responsible for killing Vasili Georgiadis and they’ve been blackmailing new arrivals with all of the bad things they did in Life. We believe Georgiadis didn’t play ball and they flayed him, in Life, because such things are impossible in Hell and Limbo.”

Satan glanced up and down. “And they took your clothes?”

Joanna shifted in her sack. “We exchanged them to have us teleported to someone who could help us. That brought us to Mr Edmonds.”

Satan looked to the side and appeared to be puzzled. “Asari, Edmonds … I don’t suppose any of our psychics picked up on the arrival of Joanna and Catalina?”

“Not that I’ve heard of,” said Asari.

“Me neither,” said Edmonds.

“Hmm. Well, there’s nothing like a good ol’ fashioned surprise. Edmonds, go fetch some clothes for the ladies.”

Catalina nearly spluttered in shock and Joanna came to their rescue. “Actual clothes, if you could. Not the see through outfit.”

Satan smirked at Joanna. “My dear …”

“Don’t say you can see through sacks!” said Joanna, a little louder than she expected.

“Me? No …” said Satan, shaking his head and barely containing a laugh. Then he pointed to Edmonds and Asari. “But these two can. And the guards. And my servants.”

“Ay, Déu meu,” mumbled Catalina.

Satan looked back to Edmonds. “And shoes as well. Joanna is a hundred and seventy five centimetres tall, Catalina is a hundred and sixty six.” He looked back to Catalina. “You’re quite tall for a seventeenth century Spaniard.”

“Well … yes?” said Catalina, though she had to look away just to work up the courage to talk back to Satan.

Satan nodded to Edmonds. “Joanna. Eighty three, fifty eight, eighty three. Shoe size twenty five and a half centimetres. Catalina. Ninety six, sixty three, ninety one. Shoe size twenty four and a half.”

Edmonds nodded, then glanced up to the ceiling to remember all of those numbers.

Satan smiled when he saw Joanna and Catalina stare back in absolute horror. “And … something in pearl for Joanna, emerald for Catalina, I think. For luck.”

Edmonds started to boggle with all of that information, so he gave a quick nod and walked off before anyone could distract him.

Joanna, meanwhile, stared back at Satan suspiciously. “I’d prefer black and red.”

“You can always hand the clothes back when you leave,” said Satan. He snapped his fingers at Asari. “Three grande cappuccinos.”

Catalina glared at Satan. “I will pass.”

“Are you sure? It’s the finest coffee you will ever have.”

“No thank you.”

Asari glanced up to Satan, saw the signal from his boss, and went to get them all a drink.

“So what can I actually do for you two?” asked Satan, looking to Joanna.

“Take us back to Limbo, arrest Veli for kidnapping us, arrest the Nobles of Montague for the murder of Vasili Georgiadis, and return the employee files from Limbo that were stolen in 1950.”

Satan cocked his head to one side. “You heard about that?”

“We did,” said Joanna.

“Did you also hear that we don’t know where they are?”

Joanna arched an eyebrow at Satan. “I find it hard to believe that such files can not be recovered. But we’ve given you several names to track down and I’m willing to bet that you will find the files through those avenues of questioning.”

Satan felt a grin coming along. “You’re willing to bet? I’ll take you up on that.”

“It’s a figure of speech,” said Joanna.

“How about I let you do the questioning?” Satan asked.

“How about your people do it and Catalina and I return to Limbo?”

“Well, that’s all very good for you two, but -”

In that moment, Catalina snapped. “Just take us back to Limbo already!”

The silence settled in the ante-chamber. Catalina realised that she may have made a slight mistake. Satan looked over to Asari. “Send word to Michelle. Tell her Joanna and Catalina are here.”

“Yes, sire,” said Asari. He scribbled the details down on some parchment.

Satan looked back to the ladies. “Who in Limbo do you suspect is the ring leader of the Nobles of Montague?”

“Sarrack,” said Joanna. “He works at the Bank of Limbo.”

Satan snapped his fingers at Asari. “Write that down as well. I recommend a quick arrest.” He returned to Joanna. “Anything else to help Death catch the right people?”

“They were using Trond’s Book Repair as a meeting place, or a hide out, or something about it is linked to them.”

“Good,” said Satan. “We have names and locations. What about down here? To where were you abducted?”

“The first place we went to was indoors …” Joanna cocked her head to one side and peered off into the distance. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you can locate our shoes?”

“There is,” said Satan.

“Good. Because that’s where we left them,” said Joanna.

Satan smiled with intrigue. “What else?”

“We were then teleported to a shanty town. It was cramped, full of stalls, open hospitals next to street vendors.”

“There are several of those down here,” said Satan.

“There was a symbol on the wall,” said Catalina. She grabbed a sheet of paper from Edmonds’ desk and quickly drew a circle with three arrows crossing through it. “We saw this in Veli’s apartment.”

Satan looked over the drawing and smirked. “This is an ancient symbol of warriors and horsemen.”

“‘Sloane’ is Irish for warrior,” said Joanna.

Satan peered at Joanna inquisitively. “You sounded a lot like Kingston right then.”

Joanna shrugged. “I could also tell you that ‘kanter’ -”

“I get it,” said Satan. He pulled his shoulders back and looked over to Asari. “You have all that?”

“Yes, sire,” said Asari, as he scribbled frantically.

“Good. I think it’s time to pay Veli a visit. Alert the stables.”

Asari hesitated for a moment, then he picked up a handset that looked like a hundred year old telephone.

Joanna’s instincts flared in an instant and she feared the worst. “The … stables?”

Satan nodded. “We’re going to make an entrance.”

Joanna hung her head. “Do we have to?”

“Don’t worry,” said Satan. “If anything can scare a kidnapper into spilling his guts it’s going to be Augustus.”

Even Catalina closed her eyes with the sound of that one. “Please let Augustus be a pony. Please let Augustus be a pony.”

Somewhere across a vast desert, Kingston and John wandered away from the sun with their jackets over their heads. They had been walking for hours already, and John had to stop to remove a pebble from his shoe.

“I don’t like it here,” John mumbled.

“Neither do I,” said Kingston. “I am definitely a city person.” He looked at his watch and tried to back track their day. “We’ve been walking for thirteen hours. Before that, we were in Limbo for just a couple of minutes. Before that we were in New York for five hours. Before that we were in Limbo, working our usual shift. We’ve done a hell of a lot of walking today.”

“Yep,” said John, as he cleared his shoe and tied his laces again. “So, I’m thinking that Catalina and Joanna would know that we’re not back by now, and that we must be in trouble.”

“Yeah,” said Kingston. “I am totally okay if they want to come and rescue us.”

“Me too,” said John. He looked across the endless desert and sighed. They started walking again. “But, supposing they don’t, what are our chances of getting out of here?”

“The horizon is fourteen and a half kilometres away. I’m pretty sure those hills over there are twenty or thirty kilometres from here. It’s going to take another five or six hours of walking just to get that far and I don’t see any vegetation along the way. We’re already dehydrated. In six hours we’re going to be very groggy. In twelve hours we’re going to be in trouble. In twenty four hours we’re going to need a week in a spa and a couple of martini’s just to ease the misery of it all.”

“Yeah,” mumbled John, as though he knew that Kingston was just trying to keep their spirits as high as he could, but he was aware that they faced certain death. “Yeah. I suppose there’s no point in them sending a couple of bounty hunters to kill us.”

“Nah,” said Kingston. “We have a habit of beating their bounty hunters and escaping. Better to leave us out in the open with no hope of rescue.”

John knew what that one meant as well. “So something’s happened to Catalina and Joanna?”

“Yeah,” said Kingston. “I felt the first pang of guilt in New York, about three hours after we arrived.”

“Not to worry. Catalina will look out for them.” John grinned at Kingston.

Kingston recognised that look. John was nervous, but he knew that Joanna was going to keep an eye on Catalina no matter what happened. “Yeah. Catalina will keep Joanna out of harm’s way.”

“Brace yourselves!” cried Satan. He pulled back on the reins and Augustus shot around the low cavern ceiling, then barrelled across the plains towards the shanty town of Cudgel Nim. Catalina shrieked and held her eyes closed as tightly as she could while gripping onto her saddle and restraints with such force that she was sure she would never be able to let go. Joanna kept both eyes open and silently squealed at the delight of riding on top of an eighty tonne dragon at break neck speeds. Augustus had a zebra-like pattern of black and white stripes covering his body and he was by far the largest of dragons in Satan’s stables.

Satan leaned over and shouted towards Joanna. “Does any of this look familiar?”

Joanna looked up ahead and recognised the crags, the cavern ceiling, and the decrepit buildings that she and Catalina had escaped from the day before. “That looks like it!” she shouted.

“Good!” cried Satan. “Hey, after we’re done with Veli I know a good place that does gelato.”

“I’d rather go home and have a bath with my boyfriend!” shouted Joanna.

Satan looked back to Catalina. “What about you, seÑorita? Are you up for a gelato?”

“I don’t know what that is but I’m sure I don’t want it!” she shrieked.

“Fair enough,” said Satan. “Ah, they know we’re coming. Can you hear the screams?”

Joanna could. The crowd in Cudgel Nim saw the ferocious dragon heading their way and they started to run for cover.

Satan reached out and tapped Augustus on the shoulder. “Soft landing please, not like the last time.”

Joanna grimaced at what Satan meant by ‘last time’ and hoped that she wasn’t about to lose her lunch all over her new pearl shirt, black jeans, and black leather jacket. Or that Catalina wouldn’t do the same over her nearly identical outfit, except she wore an emerald shirt instead of pearl. “You okay, Cat?”

“No!” shrieked Catalina. “I am definitely not okay!”

“She’ll be fine,” said Satan. “Once you get over the shock of doing three hundred nautical miles an hour it feels like a pleasant stroll through the park.”

“I’m pretty sure I heard a sonic boom earlier,” said Joanna.

Satan pulled back on the reins. “Okay Augustus! As light as a feather!”

Augustus spread his wings out as wide as they could, slowed himself down while flying up towards the cavern ceiling, then puffed his chest out and glided to the ground as though he weighed nothing at all. He touched down, tucked his wings into his chest, and lowered his head down to the ground.

Satan looked back over his shoulder to Joanna and Catalina. “This next bit can be a bit bumpy with passengers, so we should step off for a moment.” He smiled at Catalina, who still held onto her harness with dear life. Satan unclipped her buckle. He did the same for Joanna and walked them along Augustus’ neck, across his head, and stepped off to the ground via the snout.

Joanna didn’t realise how shaky her legs were until she tried standing straight. She had to help Catalina regain her balance and she held onto her for more than just moral support. Satan looked around the open square and saw that it was utterly vacant of people. Just sixty seconds before it had been packed with thousands of residents. He shrugged and smiled at Joanna. “See? We made it.”

Joanna pointed up to the building she and Catalina escaped for. “Veli lives up there.”

Satan peered up through the stone building and shifted his focus. Then he shook his head. “He’s not there now.”

Joanna felt the first stab of uncertainty. “How do we find him?”

Satan reached into his pocket and removed a small canvas bag. He dug inside, pulled out a handful of purple powder, and threw it on the ground in front of Augustus. “Veli!” he shouted. The moment the powder hit the surface it burst into smoke, and a man appeared in the middle. It was Veli, and it looked like he had been caught in the middle of walking. Augustus slammed his paw on top of the kidnapper, pinning him to the ground. Veli shrieked in surprise. Augustus pried his toes apart to reveal Veli’s face.

Satan leaned over and smiled at his prisoner. He then looked back to Joanna and Catalina. “Is this him?”

“That’s him,” said Joanna.

“He’s got quite a few scratches on his face,” said Satan.

“Yeah, that was us,” mumbled Catalina.

“Hmm.” He looked back to Veli and smiled. “You kidnapped my friends. When you kidnapped them there was another gentleman in the room. Joanna thinks he is of Mongolian decent. What’s his name?”

Veli struggled to remain quiet but the glare of Satan was over powering him.

“Curious. You’ve taken a vow of secrecy.” Satan looked over to Joanna and waved her over. “You want a go?”

Joanna stood over Veli and couldn’t help but feel a smile come over her. “Welcome to karma, my dear kidnapper.”

Satan rolled his eyes at her and shook his head. “You’re too English for your own good. If an Italian was in your place? Hoo boy, we would hear an interesting combination of adjectives.”

“Well, he is trapped under a dragon, next to Satan, in Hell, and he looks like he’s about to have a panic attack,” said Joanna.

Satan looked over to Catalina. “How about you? Do you have some Spanish flair you want to impart on your kidnapper?”

Catalina stepped over and glared at Veli. “You will never be able to run fast enough, or get far enough away from my boyfriend. When he finds out what you did to me he is going to hit you so hard you will lose the ability to see colours. The afterlife is a small place and one day you will be walking down the street and you will look over your shoulder and you will see a seven foot tall woodsman striding up to you. You will teleport away and he will find you. You will teleport again and still he will find you. And then you will wish that you had confessed everything to Satan and begged for complete forgiveness, because my boyfriend will ruin you! He is relentless! He will destroy you so many times that when you see him you will crumble in fear and beg for his mercy! Beg!” Catalina shook her head and lowered her tone. “You disgust me.”

“Not bad,” said Satan. He reached into the canvas bag again, pulled out another handful of powder, held it in a fist up to his mouth, and whispered a command. “Bring me the last person who spoke to Veli.” He threw the powder onto the ground and another burst of smoke appeared. Much to his surprise, Lord Henry Biggins appeared, wrapped in chains.

“Biggins?” Joanna asked.

Biggins coughed and spluttered, then saw Veli trapped under Augustus’ paw. “Arrest him!”

Satan nodded. “Augustus? Swallow him.”

In one quick gesture, Augustus scooped Veli into the air and shovelled him into his mouth. He then swallowed. Catalina gasped in horror.

“Don’t worry, he won’t die,” said Satan. “He just won’t be able to teleport out of there.” He looked back to Biggins. “Did you see anyone other than Veli while down here?”

“Yes. Mongolian. Well dressed.”

With another pinch of powder the Mongolian appeared. He too was slammed to the ground by Augustus.

“Well, well,” said Satan. “Ligdan. Are you part of the Nobles of Montague or of the Kanter, Sloane, and Wells persuasion?”

Ligdan stared back at Satan. “I can keep a secret.”

“No, you can’t. And neither can Veli,” said Satan. He looked over to Joanna and waved her over. “You can have a go, if you like.”

Joanna perked up and stepped forward. “What’s happened to Kingston Raine?”

Ligdan squirmed under the mighty paw of Augustus. It was clear he was trying to teleport away but couldn’t. “He’ll die unless you release me.”

Biggins tried to free himself from the chains. “They kept asking how I could teleport in and out of Fiction.”

“Yeah,” said Joanna. “I’m guessing they’ve been trying for a while and haven’t succeeded.” She then saw the slightest of grins from Ligdan. That answered it. She looked back to Satan in a hurry. “They’ve figured out how to teleport in and out of Fiction. Kingston’s in trouble.”

Kingston and John reached the edge of the first hill in the desert and looked around in dismay. There wasn’t a single bush in sight, nothing that would indicate the presence of water. The sun was starting to edge towards the horizon now. Soon it would be too dark to travel safely.

“I’m not enjoying this any more,” said John. He could feel his throat almost seize from the dust and dehydration.

“Next time I’ll pack a water bottle,” said Kingston.

“Maybe use one of those little flasks I see the businessmen walk around with.”

“Yeah,” said Kingston, and he carried on forward.

“Wait,” mumbled John. He turned and had to sit on the ground. “I’m not usually one for needing to rest, but aside from that hour of looking at cats in New York I haven’t sat down since getting out of bed.”

Kingston stared at the ground and wrestled with the idea. He knew it would feel glorious to ease his feet for a few minutes, but he was also sure it would take them half an hour to get back up again. He decided he couldn’t argue with John, so he sat down next to him.

John peered off into the distance, to where they had come from. He glanced up at the moon and smiled at it. “Thankfully, we’re somewhere on Earth. I have no idea what I would have done if we had ended up on a distant planet with giant sand slugs or something.”

Kingston smiled at that, and was grateful for the small wonders as well.

“And pretty soon the stars will come out. We’ll find out if we have the North Star or the South Star.”

“There isn’t a South Star,” said Kingston.

“Well that’s just stupid,” said John. “But you know the constellations, right?”

Kingston shrugged. “I know a few, but it’s not really my area of expertise.” He pulled out a pen and paper and began scribbling a few things down.

John looked over. “Not to be pessimistic or anything, but that looks an awful lot like your final wishes.”

“It is,” said Kingston. “They’ll find us, sooner or later. I’m just giving a run down of our final few days, who we spoke to, and hope that someone can piece it together.”

“This sounds like the tightest spot you’ve ever been in.”

“Almost. Give it another couple of hours and we’ll be in real trouble. The worst happened when I was fourteen. I was on a boat caught in a storm. It capsized. I don’t actually remember what happened. It’s become one of those memories that fragmented and started overlapping itself. I know there were other survivors but I don’t remember who they are. After a few days we were rescued.”

John rolled his eyes. “That’s a crap story.”

“Yeah. I asked Don Keaton about that when we were imprisoned in Limbo. He said it actually happened to him. He lost his brother. I guess it’s a crap story because it’s real.”

John nodded and then shrugged it off. “Well, my friends and family were about to be imprisoned and probably executed until we were rescued by you with a scythe. Now that was a weird sight, let me tell you.”

Kingston smiled, then sighed. “Should we get going?”

“We could,” said John. “Or we could see what that thing over there is.”

Kingston looked back the way they had come. He tilted his head to one side and feared exactly what he thought that thing was.

“Either that thing is going to kill us, or it’s going to save us,” said John. He flexed his knuckles again and braced himself for a fight. “But the moment it starts breathing fire, I’m calling dibs.”

Kingston’s jaw dropped open as he realised he was looking at a dragon, and that it was flying towards them. Every instinct within him screamed to run for cover, but there was no cover to be found.

“Come on,” said John. “You don’t want to be caught on your arse. If you’re going to fight to the death, you might as well do it standing up while you’re wearing your best suit.” He got to his feet and pulled Kingston up beside him.

They watched the dragon fly towards them, then saw it circle overhead, spread its wings out, and glide gently towards the ground. With a gentle touch it landed, and Joanna beamed at the two befuddled men as she held onto the reins of Augustus. “So today I learned how to fly a dragon. What did you do?”

Kingston and John picked their jaws off the ground and glanced at each other for a moment. John then sighed with relief as he caught sight of Catalina sitting next to Joanna.

“His name is Augustus,” said Joanna as she patted the dragon on the shoulder. “We’ve bonded.”

“Could this be a case of people carrying, rather than dragon riding?” Kingston called out.

“Nope. You see these?” Joanna jiggled the reins. “These mean I’m in control.”

“I guess all of those riding lessons as a kid helped,” Kingston called out. “Is that a new jacket?”

“Yeah. There’s a story in that. Are you two going to come and get rescued or what?”

Kingston shrugged and he and John wandered over to Augustus. “How do we get up?”

Joanna called out to her ride. “Augustus? Kingston and John are coming for a ride, okay?”

Augustus laid his head down and rested his chin on the ground.

“Climb up over his nose,” said Joanna.

Kingston felt the sticky breath of the dragon and hoped this thing wasn’t about to spew fire out through those nostrils. He and John climbed up and along his neck, then sat down next to Joanna and Catalina. “So … you’ve found a dragon,” said Kingston.

“Yep. Right now he has two prisoners in his belly who are rethinking their lives. And do you remember last year when you told me that doing two hundred and ninety five k’s an hour along the Autobahn in an Aston Martin was the greatest thing ever?”

Kingston was pretty sure he knew where this was going. “Yeah?”

“Not even close.” She leaned in and kissed Kingston. “How have you been?”

“Good! I think we’ve cracked the whole Sarrack thing wide open.”

“Excellent. Consider yourself rescued.”

Kingston smiled, glanced over his shoulder, and saw John with his arm tightly around Catalina.

Joanna patted Augustus on the shoulder again. “Augustus? Take us to Limbo!”

The mighty dragon stretched his wings out wide, punched them down, and shot himself into the air.

XXIII

BAM!

The force of Augustus teleporting into Limbo was so strong it sent a sonic boom across the realm. The dragon appeared in mid air, beating its wings, above the Radium Nocturn, the only site in Limbo capable of accepting a creature teleporting in and out of the realm of that size. It was located on the northern most point of Limbo, and a lowly arrivals clerk sitting at her desk shrieked at the sudden appearance of Augustus and his passengers. The clerk slammed her hand against the centuries’ old panic button, alarmed at the unauthorised dragon, and held her breath in fright as Augustus shot through the air towards central Limbo.

“Where to?” shouted Joanna, fighting against the rush of air in her face.

“To the bank!” cried Kingston.

Augustus flew at such speed that John had to lean back to stop Joanna’s hair from whipping him in the face. He held onto Catalina’s hand tightly to let her know that she was still safe, and he heard her mumbling a plea that she would never have to endure such an experience again. They flew over the first batch of buildings, then over Death Inc. headquarters. Soon the grand boulevard of Upper Styx was in sight, with the long, white Bank of Limbo laid out in front. Joanna locked onto the large teleport circle out in front and patted Augustus on the shoulder.

“That’s where we want to go!” Joanna shouted.

Augustus levelled out his wings, angled them backwards as a wind break, and glided to the ground. Many of the locals shrieked at the sight of the striped dragon and knew it was Satan’s mightiest steed, so they teleported out of danger before it was too late. The rest of the bystanders hid in the nearby shops and cafés, desperate to see what was happening. Some were worried that this was the start of another coup. Augustus landed on the ground, blocking the entire teleport circle, and he allowed his passengers to climb off.

Kingston gathered his strength, glanced at the bank, and then he hurried over to the nearest café he could find.

“Where are you going?” Joanna called out.

Kingston stepped inside amid the gasps of onlookers, grabbed two bottles of complementary water, and smiled at one of the waiters. “I will definitely come back later and buy something.” He hurried to John and handed one of the bottles over. They then each guzzled almost the whole thing without taking a breath. Kingston finally offered some to Joanna.

Joanna shrugged. “Sure, just kill an entrance why don’t you?”

Kingston turned to face the bank and bellowed. “Sarrack! It’s over!”

John leaned forward, steadied his legs from the rush of flying, and whispered to Kingston. “How dumb would he have to be if he was actually in there?”

“Oh, very,” said Kingston. “This is more for show than anything else.” He looked around the hundreds of faces lining the street and knew everyone would be paying close attention to what he had to say. “You are under arrest for flaying Vasili Georgiadis! You are also under arrest for your involvement in the theft of all employee files from Limbo in 1950. Surrender!”

Kingston waited ten seconds in silence, though he didn’t expect Sarrack to be in the realm any more. He looked over to Joanna. “It’s nice to see you again, by the way. How exactly did you find a dragon?”

“It belongs to Satan. We were abducted by that stupid bounty hunter from Hell, we escaped, travelled on foot for who knows how long, and eventually found the guy in charge and he helped us find one of the senior partners of the Nobles, who happens to be a Mongolian called Ligdan. And the symbol of the group is an ancient one belonging to a group of warriors.”

Kingston arched an eyebrow and nodded in surprise. “How about that. Irish origins?”

“Possibly. How did you end up in the desert?” Joanna asked.

“We were forced into New York City where a gang tried to kill us, we found that Sarrack was guilty of World War Two shenanigans, then we teleported back here for all of fifteen seconds, there upon we were abducted by Monty the bounty hunter who chased John, Catalina, and myself across Spain and who promptly dumped us in a fictional desert.”

“Oh,” said Joanna. “You know, Augustus did swallow Veli and Ligdan. I’m willing to bet that Ligdan has some access to the vaults in the bank. Just throwing that out there.”

Kingston smiled at Joanna and was pleased to see her wink at him. “All right. Let’s bring him out.”

Joanna turned to Augustus and smiled at him. “Can you spit out Ligdan, please?”

Augustus leaned back, looked as though he was convulsing for a moment as he figured out which of the two bodies in his stomach belonged to the man Joanna was referring to. Augustus spat Ligdan onto the ground. Ligdan was covered in spit, slime, and goo. As bad as it was to sit on top of a flying, teleporting dragon, it looked as though it was a hundred times worse being inside a flying, teleporting dragon.

Kingston smirked at Ligdan, and dropped into his impersonation of Satan. “‘Now then, how about we go inside and jog your memory a little, hmm?’”

Joanna shuddered at the voice and looked back to Kingston. “I assume you know some specific vault numbers that are being used by the Nobles of Montague?”

“Sure do,” said Kingston. “Who wants to come inside and stir up some trouble?”

John grinned, Joanna nodded, and even Catalina was able to shake her fears away for a moment. “I’m not getting left alone out here,” said Catalina.

“Good,” said Kingston. “In we go.”

John pulled Ligdan up onto his feet and held onto him with a powerful fist. Kingston led the way and four of them climbed the stairs up to the bank. Ligdan refused to walk, but John was strong enough to drag him along. Ligdan’s toes hit the edge of every step and at least one of the thumps looked dangerously painful.

A crowd had gathered inside the bank, all stunned by the arrival of Augustus, and even more stunned by Kingston marching inside with what looked like a prisoner at his beck and call. Kingston glanced over the many faces and knew that absolutely no one was working in the bank at that moment.

“It’s okay, folks,” called out Kingston. “I am Kingston Raine, one of executives of loss prevention.” He looked over to Craig. “I don’t suppose Sarrack is here right now? Because if he is, he’s under arrest.”

Craig mumbled and shook his head.

“Pity,” said Kingston. He turned to John and the others. “To the vaults.” They marched forward and disappeared around the corner. Meanwhile, the hundred customers were stuck in an impossible situation; could they risk staying inside the bank while something catastrophic was obviously about to happen, or should they make a run en masse towards the mouth of that dragon? Most opted to stay inside. The rest hurried out to the pillars and hid from Augustus.

Kingston headed along one of the corridors and caught sight of nearly every drunken executive coming out of the dining room. Kantz spluttered when he saw Kingston, John, Joanna, Catalina, and the unknown prisoner.

“You mean it’s true?” Kantz asked.

“Could be, if I knew what you were talking about,” said Kingston. “Mr Kantz, I have a favour to ask of your department. We need to find our way to a specific few vaults that Mr Ligdan here will open up for us.”

Kantz’s jaw dropped open and he spluttered again in surprise. “My instincts are telling me to decline your request. Not that I want to be eaten by a dragon.”

“I understand,” said Kingston. “But if you see Sarrack, let him know that he’s under arrest for flaying Vasili Georgiadis. Cheers.”

Kantz’s jaw dropped open again, which earned Kingston another smile.

Joanna leaned forward and whispered. “Honey? Death is here.”

Kingston turned around and saw Death marching along the corridor with his scythe swung over his shoulder. Hurrying behind him was Biggins and Harvest.

“Kingston?” boomed Death.

In an instant, Kingston felt his nerves betray him, as though he was a school boy hearing his father’s voice after meeting with the principal. Even Joanna must have felt it, because she gripped Kingston’s hand and wouldn’t let go. “Death! Good news.”

Death stopped in front of the group and peered over Ligdan. “There’s a dragon in the driveway. I wish that was just a figure of speech.”

Joanna leaned forward. “That’s Augustus, sir.”

“And it looks like you’ve kidnapped a citizen of Hell.”

Kingston glanced at Ligdan and knew it was time to pull from his reserve of quick excuses. “We’ve rescued him from the belly of that dragon.”

“And as an act of kindness you’re going to use him to break into any vault you like?” Death asked.

Kingston gave a quick nod. “He was going to assist us with our investigation into the illegal practises of the Nobles of Montague.”

Death sighed and looked over to John. “Release him.”

John loosened his grip. Ligdan stepped forward, re-adjusted his suit, and sneered at Kingston.

Death looked down to Biggins. “This is he?”

“Yes, sir,” said Biggins, and he glared at his kidnapper.

Death turned to face Ligdan. “We’re taking you in for questioning. And if someone had read the rules and regulations on bounty hunting perhaps they would have brought you in before making a spectacle of things.”

“You won’t get anything out of me,” said Ligdan.

Death tapped Ligdan with the end of his scythe and Ligdan disappeared from the bank. Death turned to face Biggins. “Have someone impartial do the questioning.”

“Yes, sir,” said Biggins. He pulled Harvest along and the two scouts ran off to Death Inc.

Death glanced back to Kingston. “My psychics did say that you would be a lot of trouble.”

“Did they also say I would get the job done?” Kingston asked.

Death gave Kingston a slight nod. “They did. So what happened to you lot?”

Kingston reached into his pocket and pulled out his final words. “I had a feeling John and I weren’t going to be able to return, but that we would eventually be found. Here’s a brief outline of what we went through, who we spoke with, and what we found out.”

Death glanced at the sheet of paper and looked back up to the group. “Trond’s Book Repairs?”

“It’s where we were abducted from,” said Joanna.

“And it has a secret headquarters kind of feel to it,” said Kingston. “What should we do about Sarrack?”

“And Djaga,” said John.

“I’m sure Augustus can find them, if they are in Hell. If not, we have our own bounty hunters.” Death looked over Kingston, Joanna, John, and Catalina, and shook his head. “So I hired you to investigate the bank …”

“And we did,” said Kingston. “I found many flaws and lazy abuses of power.”

“And there are missing janitors,” said John.

“Who are still on the payroll,” said Joanna.

“And probably suffering in Hell,” said Catalina.

“And they have vaults downstairs which are still being used,” said Kingston.

“And it might be a good idea to see what’s inside them,” said John.

Death nodded and thought it over, and at last he sighed. “What of Vasili Georgiadis?”

Kingston smirked as his moment to shine came to a head. “Flayed in Life by Sarrack because Georgiadis was about to reveal to the world everything he knew about the Nobles of Montague. Djaga was then, presumably, hired to dispose of the body in Fiction, couldn’t, and dumped the body in Limbo next to Muira’s Apothecary, where he tried to find something that would help him with teleporting the body into Fiction. But there wasn’t anything useful there so I’m guessing he went to look elsewhere. That’s giving him the benefit of the doubt, otherwise he dumped the body because the first place he went to was a bust and he couldn’t be bothered finding somewhere else to hide Georgiadis.”

Death waited to see if they had anything else to add, but he could see the foursome were stiff with everyone in the bank trying to listen in. They also looked as though they hadn’t slept in days.

“Okay then,” said Death. “I’d like a full report from each of you in four hours, so we can question everyone you’ve found in your investigation.”

“And what of the missing janitors?” John asked.

“We’ll have them located,” said Death. “Four hours. And someone send Augustus back home.” He turned and headed out the front door.

Kingston turned to Joanna and gave her a weak smile. “Victory?”

“Well, we didn’t die, so that’s always a bonus,” said Joanna.

Kingston looked over the hundred faces packed into the corridor and shied away. “I guess it’s time for another round of paperwork.”

“And I’ll tell Augustus to go back to Sylath Crei.”

Kingston cocked his head to one side. “What’s that?”

“Satan’s palace.”

Kingston looked over Joanna and Catalina’s clothes. “So how come you’re wearing that new outfit?”

Joanna smiled at Kingston and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m sure I can tell you all about it over dinner.”

Catalina looked up to John and smiled. “Are you okay?”

“We went to New York,” said John.

Catalina smiled and glanced over to Joanna. “Where she’s from?”

“See? That’s exactly what I was saying,” said John.

Kingston led the group outside, dismissed Augustus, and returned to Inhuman Resources, where he wolfed down as much food as he could and clumsily wrote up a report on the most recent few days of his life.

Two days later, Sarrack stirred in his hammock. He was awoken by a growl from the grotesque standing guard.

“What do you want?”

“Trade,” said the weak human voice.

“He is off limits.”

“For how long?”

“He’s in hiding,” said the grotesque.

Sarrack rolled his eyes. What was the point in remaining hidden away if his guard told everyone he came across that he was in hiding?

“I’ll be quick,” said the weak human voice. “I have things he can buy. A telescope. Sweet cakes. An embroidered handkerchief.”

Sarrack groaned and looked away. He shuddered in an instant as his hammock slipped an inch on the post, then it settled. He refused to move onto the platform because that would provoke a barrage of exciting deals from the salesman below.

“He is hiding. You do not know he is here,” said the grotesque.

Sarrack then felt a poke in his back.

“Stop that,” said the grotesque.

“You there!” called out the weak human voice. “I live only three hammocks below you. I have things I can trade.”

“I said stop it,” said the grotesque.

Sarrack felt the poke again and he finally snapped. “What? What could you possibly have that I would want to own?” He caught sight of the weak human, who seemed to tremble at the sight of the grotesque blocking his way. The whole tower of hammocks swayed and the human grabbed onto the ladder for support. He didn’t dare look down.

“I have gloves,” said the human.

“I’m not interested,” said Sarrack, and he looked away.

“Go back to your hammock,” said the grotesque.

“Can I come back later?” asked the human.

“No.”

“I’m sure I can find something he’ll want.”

“He’s in hiding,” said the grotesque.

“I’ll come back tomorrow,” said the human.

The area went quiet for several minutes, allowing Sarrack to finally close his eyes. He tried not to think back to the agonising climb up all of those ladders with his backpack full of emergency supplies. He tried not to think of the dizzying height that kept him prisoner. All he focussed on was that no one would ever find him in the tower of hammocks, because it was too ludicrous of a place for a fugitive to hide.

In the back of his mind, something about that seemed odd. He had prepared himself for a villa, or even a lavish apartment in Pandæmonium, and now he was hiding in a hive of scum. But the Nobles were now on the run and they all had to lay low until the hunt shifted onto someone else. In the mean time, Sarrack would have to wait.

“I have news,” said the grotesque.

Sarrack groaned. He had almost drifted off to sleep.

“It’s about Djaga.”

Sarrack remained quiet. Unless Djaga was there to rescue him, he didn’t care. Or unless he had information letting Sarrack know how long he would have to remain in hiding, he didn’t care.

“He fell from one platform after coming out of the lavatory. He fell past two more platforms before he hit one of them. He has broken one leg. He will rest in his hammock until he is healed.”

Sarrack looked away and gritted his teeth.

“I have news from Kanter,” said the grotesque.

Sarrack finally looked over. “What is it?”

“He recommends you stay put. It is too dangerous to move about right now.”

“How long will I have to stay put?”

“They will let you know,” said the grotesque.

Sarrack rolled back into his hammock and was too agitated to fall asleep. He listened to the groans of whimpers from the thousands of people below him. He heard the continual flushing of toilets from the many distant towers of hammocks. All the while he couldn’t help but feel as though this was the very worst of hiding places.

Curiously, whenever Sarrack tried to leave on his own, his ladder slipped from its place and fell to the ground. It took several days for a new one to be passed up and fitted securely, though it was no better than the one before it. Then, whenever Sarrack gathered all of his possessions, the grotesque informed him that yet another member of the Nobles of Montague had been caught. Sarrack then unpacked his meagre possessions and laid back in his hammock, hoping that his days of hiding would not turn into years.

“I have news from Rickland Carson.”

“What of it?” asked Sarrack.

“He has testified against you. He will be put into protection.”

Sarrack gritted his teeth and wished he had never have trusted Rickland. Worse still was that the former critic would be given a villa as part of his plea deal, while Sarrack would have to lay low until he was no longer hunted.

Eventually, he came to wonder if the grotesque had been lying to him the whole time.

“Of course,” said the grotesque. “I am here to keep you safe. I can’t leave the tower.”

“But I can!” shouted Sarrack.

“But then I won’t be able to keep you safe,” said the grotesque. He pushed the ladder off the platform and watched it shatter on the ground several kilometres below.

“Why the hell did you do that?” shouted Sarrack.

“I have news,” said the grotesque. “Kanter has been arrested. Sloane says to stay put.”

XXIV

Kingston stood in Coren Haro’s office, convinced and delighted that he was about to be fired. Coren was looking over the incident report filed against Kingston and John. He had just finished reading Kingston’s own version on the situation, which detailed everything from how he was hired by Death to infiltrate the bank, why he lied on his résumé, how he actually scored very well on the residency exam, and how he picked apart all of the wasteful habits of the executives during work hours. Then came the long list of rules broken, laws bent, and vaults broken into.

Coren dropped the file onto his desk, looked up at Kingston, and considered his options. He then pulled out a form that was sitting on his desk, scribbled in the date, his name, Kingston’s name, looked up to the ceiling as he did some quick maths, and jotted down the rest of the details. He filled out two more forms that were identical to the first, stamped them all, and handed them over to Kingston.

Kingston smirked at the moment of being fired, until he actually read what he had been handed. “I’m being suspended?”

“Yes,” said Coren. “For twenty five years without pay. When you return your contract with the bank will be unfrozen and you will continue working until the expiration of your renewed contract, which will be this day in one hundred and twenty five years, minus the thirty three days you’ve already worked here.”

Kingston took a moment to regain himself and nearly stammered his rebuttal. “I was expecting to be fired.”

“I’m not in the habit of firing people,” said Coren. “And your role is in loss prevention. You prevented loss. You did so with flagrant disregard to the codes of practise by this institution. Because of that you are being suspended and not fired.”

“Then I wish to resign,” said Kingston.

“Denied,” said Coren. “On this day in twenty five years you will resume your post and carry out your duties in a professional manner. Please sign each of those pages acknowledging just that. You may keep one of the pages, I will take the other two.”

Kingston felt a moment of nerves rise through his chest as he realised he still actually had a job. Then again, twenty five years was long enough to figure out how to get himself really fired from the bank. “What of John Nottingham?”

“This meeting is about you, not him,” said Coren. “Please read through the paperwork carefully and sign at the bottom.”

Kingston grumbled to himself, read over what he was in for, and saw that he was still contracted to return to work for a lowly wage and he had years to fret about being a professional banker. Knowing that he would be working in this building for a century made him shudder. “I don’t think I can sign this,” said Kingston.

Coren sighed and held out his hand. “Then hand everything over. You’ve read it, you understand it, you’re still suspended, we will send you a reminder in twenty four years. You are dismissed.”

Kingston stepped back in surprise and was still uncertain by the processes the bank used to force an employee into an action that the employee didn’t agree to. “Quick question.”

“I’m not interested,” said Coren. “You are dismissed. Go.”

“I’d rather be fired, or be allowed the opportunity to resign.”

“How archaic,” said Coren. “This is the afterlife. You’re not always going get your way. Please leave.”

“But …”

“We’re done here. Please leave.”

Kingston went back to Inhuman Resources feeling a mixture of defeat over his suspension and delight that he and his friends had managed to break one of the biggest events to ever happen in Limbo. He rounded the corner and saw Joanna throw her hands into the air.

“You’re free!” cried Joanna.

“For the next twenty five years, yes,” said Kingston.

Joanna paused, cocked her head to one side, and Kingston explained to her what had just happened. Then, John returned, looking equally puzzled. Catalina ran in to hug him, squeezed, and muttered, “Are you okay, my love?”

“What happened?” Kingston asked.

“I was suspended for fifteen years,” John muttered.

Kingston arched an eyebrow in surprise. “Really?”

John must have misread Kingston’s expression, because he started to feel hopeful. “Is that good? Because it sounded kinda bad when Sir Haro told me.”

“It’s somewhere in the middle,” said Kingston. He sighed and looked around at Joanna, John, and Catalina.

“Weird day?” Joanna asked.

“Little bit,” said Kingston.

“Well, it’s going to get weirder. The four of us are now unemployed, and kinda homeless, but with one saving grace.”

Kingston felt a grimace take over and he saw a familiar look of determination on Joanna’s face. She was about to offer something that Kingston had been trying to avoid for a while. “Only one?”

“Only one,” said Joanna. She went to her desk and returned with a large sheet of parchment. “You know what this is?”

Kingston eyed it carefully. “A charter, by the looks of things.”

“It qualifies you to be the head of a guild of bounty hunters. And it allows you to hire your three closest friends to also be bounty hunters. I ran the numbers and we have enough money from defeating Sarrack to be able to rent two small apartments for the next two years, as well as a dinky little office on Anubis, also for two years, and to have enough money to live conservatively for … six months. I think it’s time to cash in on your celebrity status. Plus, it will bump us up a couple of pay grades. You’ll be a three. The rest of us have to start at a ten. I’m sure you will feel generous enough to spread the wealth around as equal partners.”

Kingston sighed and knew it made sense. “Perhaps we should go out and celebrate first?”

“First? No. We celebrate second,” said Joanna. “Catalina and I have been working for the cause without pay. We had to go to Hell and deal with a hundred morons because we all took this job. And we had to rescue you two from dying in a desert. You’re giving us a job. End of story.”

Kingston smiled at the sight of his girlfriend telling him what to do. Then he looked over to Catalina. “Are you two comfortable with this?”

Catalina shrugged and gripped onto John even tighter. “I’m not leaving him.”

“I’m not leaving her,” said John. He squeezed Catalina in return.

Joanna smiled at Kingston. “The books on union building and the rules of bounty hunting are in your office, honey,” said Joanna. “Sign this first, read them quickly, and while you’re doing that Catalina and I are going to the spa.”

“Can I come?” John asked.

“By all means,” said Joanna.

Kingston glanced over the sheet of parchment, grabbed a pen, and looked back up to Joanna. “So we’re staying in Limbo?”

“Apparently so.”

“And not going back to Fiction?”

Joanna leaned in towards her boyfriend. “By signing this guild into action it will grant us the power to teleport. Into anywhere we want to go.”

Kingston leaned back in surprise, looked over the parchment again, and read through everything as carefully as he could. “Really?”

“I’ve read it over a dozen times already,” said Joanna. “Trust me on this.”

Kingston smiled at Joanna, John, and Catalina, offered them a shrug of acceptance, and scribbled his signature onto the bottom of the page. “There we have it.”

Joanna threw her arms around Kingston and gave him a tight hug. “One thing, though.”

“Name it,” said Kingston.

“You and I are going to sit down and open up every dark secret we’ve ever held onto, and we’re going to find a way to actually trust each other, okay?”

Kingston smiled at her. “Okay.”

“Because I love you.”

“I know,” said Kingston. “I love you too.” He looked over to John and saw the giant extend his massive hand.

“So we’re now business partners?” John asked.

“Yeah. We now all work together,” said Kingston.

“Good. While I have you here, I’ve been hearing some good things about paid vacations,” said John.

“And study programs at university,” said Catalina.

Kingston and Joanna both turned to Catalina in surprise.

Catalina shrugged. “What? If I’m going to be here for another hundred years I might as well study something.”

“What’d you have in mind?” asked Joanna.

“I was thinking law,” said Catalina. “I figure, the amount of trouble you three find yourselves in, you’ll eventually need someone like me.”

John wrapped his arm around Catalina and hugged her tightly. “I need you.”

Kingston smiled at the pair. “Fair enough.” He turned to Joanna. “Is there something you want to study?”

“How about sarcasm, because I never really got the hang of that,” said Joanna. She winked at her boyfriend. “Mostly I’d like you to learn some massage therapy skills, because after walking through Hell barefoot only a professional will be able to properly heal me.”

“Noted,” said Kingston. “Right, I’ll just hand this to Michelle to be processed and we’ll be done.”

The foursome headed out of Inhuman Resources, passed Michelle’s desk, and headed into Limbo, where they were promptly mobbed by everyone asking how they had managed to steal a dragon from Satan and rob a bank in broad daylight.

It turned out, living the quiet life was no longer an option.

Death won the election, 800,732 votes to Manuel Hand’s 6.

Thank you for reading!

Being an independent author has quite a few perks. One in particular is that I can spend all day in fluffy slippers if I want. Sometimes, though, I have to ask for help: if you could find it within you to write a review, even just a few words, you would really be helping me out a lot. Honest reviews is one of the hardest things to get as an independent author. It’s also invaluable for being able to afford to write the next book.

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Kingston Raine and the Grim Reaper

Kingston Raine’s world is turned upside down in just one second as he goes from trying to rescue his girlfriend to waking up in Limbo … utterly dead, and facing a baffled Grim Reaper who tells Kingston that he is completely fictional and didn’t even exist until just a few moments ago.

Having never experienced this problem before, the Grim Reaper isn’t sure about what to do with his fictional celebrity. Satan has a few suggestions, but none of them are at all appealing.

If that wasn’t bad enough, Limbo is facing an uprising designed to kick the Grim Reaper out of the realm, and news of Kingston’s death is exactly what the uprising needs to topple Limbo’s ancient government.

Before the day is even over Kingston finds a way to escape reality, where he nearly loses his head to Macbeth, rescues Little John before Robin Hood can save the day, and does everything he can to get back to his own universe before Limbo’s bounty hunters can catch up to him.

Read More

Kingston Raine and the Arena of Chaos

Spending an eternity in the afterlife can be pretty dull, so in order to prevent the population of Limbo from going mad Death has introduced an inter-realm battle royale in a tournament designed to reward ingenuity and integrity. But deep down The XIX Games are about cheating as much as possible without getting caught, and where winning is simply an after thought.

Kingston Raine and his friends sponsor a team in the hope of out-thinking, out-stealing, and out-cheating everyone around them. And while they certainly have a few tricks up their sleeves none of that will do them any good if they can’t get their master builder to play along and actually build the golem that is supposed to win them fame and money.

Read More

Kingston Raine and the Starlight Muse

Kingston Raine is at his wits’ end as he tries to protect the most dangerous prisoner to have ever escaped from Hell: a Scottish muse driven mad by one of Satan’s devils.

The muse has been chased across the realms by millions of bounty hunters, leaving Satan and Death to decide her fate in a political tug of war. Kingston and his friends do their best to track down the devil responsible for driving her insane while also keeping the muse far out of harm’s way, but they soon realise just how supernaturally persuasive she can be, which becomes tricky when Kingston is expected to keep her in his sights at all times.

Read More

Kingston Raine and the Lost Angel

Inevitability, Kingston learns that Satan has an illegitimate child on Earth, and the mere existence of this kid is likely to cause the apocalypse. Right now the child remains hidden in secrecy, but it’s only a matter of time before Satan learns of his offspring in Life.

Can Satan be distracted long enough so that everyone else can figure out what to do about hiding his kid? Can the afterlife survive the great unravelling of its origin? And can Kingston ever enjoy a quiet moment where the fate of Limbo does not rest on his shoulders?

Coming Soon!

Last Words

Dear all paranoid Internet conspiracy websites: explain to me what the hell is going on in this world. Yesterday I went to bed and everything was fine.

Now there are zombies.

The US is bombing everything in sight, the dead are talking back to people, and every time I try to head home I seem to end up going farther away than when I started!

Read More

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

From what I can gather, “How’s the new book coming along?” is asked only out of sheer politeness.

“I’m stuck!” I often cried out. “Satan keeps hitting on my protagonist’s girlfriend, the Spaniard seems to be the only voice of reason, and I put so many in-jokes and references in the first draft that got deleted in the second and I’m trying to remember if any of them were all that important for the third."

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out by the next book.”

“I don’t even know what that one is about yet! You must have an idea, right? Something that’s funny? Tell me!”

“… This really isn’t my area of expertise.”

“Aaaagh! I have three more books to write after this one! Why do I do these things to myself?!”

To Amanda, who had to endure years worth of emails reminiscent of what is written above: thankyouthankyouthankyou! I can only imagine how awful this book would have been if it wasn’t for your input.

To Deirdre, thank you for your careful eye and patience while reading these silly stories.

To Karen, whose nit picking helped to unearth more errors than I care to acknowledge. Cheers.

To everyone else, I did finally come up with an idea for book three, so perhaps my screams of anguish and working only under last minute pressure paid off. So thanks for listening.

Copyright © 2014 Jackson Lear

All rights reserved.

ISBN 978-0-9924320-3-4