from “Devil’s Revenge”, a random chapter

My mood is a black as soot this morning.  Somehow the entire finished manuscript of “The Nightingale’s Song” has been dropped from computer.  Hopefully, Nick in Australia has a copy but it’s not the rewritten one.  That was just finished a month ago, and I was careful to save it.  However, too many techies were working on the original computer and the new laptop and something happened.  I’ve spent hours looking for it and no show.  I’m posting this silly chapter just for nothing.  But at least this novel (all over the map and unfinished….) hasn’t disappeared.  It has its moments.

Lady Nyo

 

Bucon and Obadiah…. CHAPTER   From, “Devil’s Revenge”

 

“Father”.

 

Obadiah and Bucon sat before a smoky fire, two pairs of legs stretched out towards the low  burning logs. Boot leather was drying and cracking from the heat like fried pork skins. Bucon was packing a white clay pipe with tobacco and leaned to the hearth to pick up a red coal with his fingers. The smell of burning flesh did not seem to alarm him.

 

An Arch Duke of Hell, Chief Demon of Hatred, Bucon looked through the haze of pipe smoke at his youngest son. Secretly Bucon was proud of Obadiah. He exhibited the important issues of venality and depravity that dovetailed with his own. He definitely was a chip off the old block.

 

Ah, humanity had gone flat, become flabby, uninteresting. Since the French Revolution the ground had gone fallow. Hatred was hard to sow right now, these early years of the 19^th century. A kind of prosperity with this Industrial Revolution had begun to spread amongst citizens. Perhaps it was too early to tell, but there was hope in future conflict and overwork in these new mills and factories. Father’s daughters leaving their homes and spinning wheels had promise.   Money was certainly the root of all evil, but this new evil would have to fester a while. Hope for a better life did not leave much consideration for the growth of hatred. It would take time.

 

Bucon sighed, sending a black, tarry smoke from his lungs. The crusades were long over but what a wonderful time that was! Such invigorating events…all steeped in violence and contention. Religion certainly kept those fires burning amongst mankind.

 

Bucon had five invisible eyes and with the two glittering black ones on his face he could see all activity of humanity on the seven continents. Spreading hatred and contention was fine, but what really got the bile going was interfering with the natural sentiment between men and women. He could spend all day and night sowing discord and disgruntlement, jealousy and malice between a man and his wife but he had to be careful. Jealously was the domain of some particularly nasty Jewish demons and although they were all in this world (and others) together, there was still a question of overstepping territories. When done, well, they tended to act as their natures dictated. In heated spades.

 

“Father”.

 

Bucon looked over at Obadiah and thought: “What a fop”.

 

Dressed in a black wool suit with spit polished boots, a shirt and cravat whiter than virgin snow, Bucon sneered at him. Bucon’s own linen was always limp and dingy, his boots regardless of polish dull and the pores of his face pitted with the black leavings of sin. Bucon wondered if Obadiah really was of his seed.

 

“Father, what do you counsel here?”

 

If Obadiah’s clothes were a better cut, his heart certainly belonged to Daddy.

 

“Well, son, tell me again. Exactly what is it you are seeking? Is it this mortal mortal woman you are clamoring about? I already told you you could have a million of them with the snap of your clean fingers.”

 

Bucon looked at his own hands. He had bitten them to the quick and dried blood encrusted his fingers. Sowing hatred was hard work. A thought occurred to Bucon.

 

“Have you fallen in love, Obadiah?”

 

His son’s eyes flashed and an elegant sneer appeared on his countenance.

 

“Love? Do you think that possible, Father? Am I not your own son?”

 

Bucon spat into the fire, his stream of spit becoming a little snake screaming as the flames consumed it.

 

I wish those little devils wouldn’t do that. It always startles me..

 

Bucon was old as sin, older than original sin. But he wondered. He had seen a lot in his endless time. Not only mankind was changing. Even demons could be effected by outside forces.   Obadiah was certainly his son, but influences surrounding him could have made some inroads into his thinking. This would do the trick. Or better, could undercut the natural ‘trickery’ embedded so deeply in such fellows.

 

Bucon sat and thought over the options. He spit again but slammed down his foot on the snake, crushing it. No scream from beneath his boot.

 

Influences such as the Enlightenment, the Romantics in literature, music, could give pause to a waffling demon’s natural tendencies. This ‘turn the other cheek’ of this Christian God was only a tremor in the bedrock of their natural existence. Better the ‘eye for an eye’ of the Old Testament. At least that would keep the wars flowing.

 

Ah, Evil might be banal but it’s still hard work.

 

Bucon had a thought. “Gettin’s is keepin’s, son?”

 

Obadiah’s tight smile showed he understood the reference. Bullfinch’s words interpreting a scene between Agamemnon and Achilles.

 

“Perhaps, Father. This other is the target. The women only stands between us.”

 

Ah, thought Bucon. That Obadiah didn’t blast her away said reams. Yes, his son was smitten, was softening. Some Demon. Any further weakening would lead to defeat.

 

“Well, son, what is it you want from me?”

 

Obadiah stared into the fire. “I have to figure out who to trust, who to gather in for this fight.”

 

Bucon thought his choice of words was interesting. “Trust” wasn’t exactly a stable word to use when referring to demons.

 

“Well, you know who your opponent is gathering in?”

 

Obadiah didn’t immediately answer, and Bucon thought perhaps his son didn’t.

 

“I do know he’s consulted with Abigor already. Heard some word about Andras.. and he’s researching possibilities in Celtic mythology.”

 

“That would be natural, son. Your opponent has his roots there. But if he’s dealing with Druids, he won’t get much help from them. Those folk see Demons as offshoots of Christianity. Rather a narrow bunch, I’d say.”

 

(to be continued….)

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2007-2014

Tags: a novel, despair, Devil's Revenge, Devils and Demons, evil computers, Industrial Revolution, Jane Kohut-Bartels, Lady Nyo, Morality, soot, writing snafus