Bezejel's mood flipped as if
someone had turned a switch. Kodrob would come to see this as one
of her defining characteristics. She placed her hands lightly on
her hips, swishing her elegant dress and taking in the figures of
his squad who were standing as still as chess pieces.
'All right, listen up all of you
and pay attention. Bezejel is in a good mood today, thanks to your
dashing captain. I can't be bothered with being grumpy when there's
work on. It's not productive. It's time to have a fireside chat and
get acquainted. We're going to do words and looks around the table,
not burns and hooks on the wall. We'll be all cosy and matey-like,
how does that sound?'
S he
walked around the room, picking up fallen chairs and patting down
the collars of relieved Marauders while administering gracious
smiles to all. Gone was the killer wolf-mother and in had come the
drawing room princess paying court to her favourite
nobles.
'So much to be done and so little time
to do it,' she chatted amiably. 'I just don't know where the day
has gone.'
But no-one doubted that she could
switch back just as easily.
'Now sit down all of you while I explain
what we're about.' She set herself in the most comfortable chair in
the room and motioned them to gather round her in a
semi-circle.
Gog and Magog, who had remained
impassive throughout, stood guarding the door. No-one was
leaving.
Kodrob and his subordinates took
their seats awkwardly. They expected to be bullied by a senior red
priestess like Bezejel, not seated with her as though almost
equal.
'You're all under orders to keep
this information absolutely secret,' she began quietly but firmly.
'You don't share this with anyone. Not your mates and not your
whores.'
They all nodded in unison, 'Yes
ma'am.'
Bezejel took out a knife and
tumbled it through her fingers. 'Every few hundred years on Earth
someone comes along who's very special. Very special indeed. In
Earth's twentieth century we got lucky and had a couple of great
supporters. Both took a long time to get going. One was an
uneducated peasant with a drunk for a dad. The other was a homeless
orphan who often slept rough.'
The Marauders nodded, knowing very
well who she was speaking about. Kodrob
looked around the table. This was a new experience for them. His
boys were used to being treated like dogs by senior officers. But
here they were being given the inside track, the full political
philosophy of Hell from a female right at the top. This mission
must be really important.
Bezejel continued. 'Tyrants don't
start out powerful. They become that way through circumstances. The
important thing is this: both of those men came from shattered
beginnings. Broken-down families are our friends. They bring us
many recruits. Those men set out to piece the world together.
Instead they broke the world in pieces and brought us many
fortunate souls in the process.' Bezejel's eyes had gone black,
like a cat before the pounce. 'Sadly, they overreached themselves
and burnt out too quick.'
She looked across at the wall. The
charcoal Leader gazed back, inspiring her.
'Civilisation recovered quickly
and they've had peace and order on an appalling scale. It's
distressing to watch s o many children
growing up without ever having to fight for their lives. We watch
them being sold the emptiness of unadventurous prosperity and being
told the lie that it's good to look after the weak. Look at me
closely, while I spell this out.'
The squad looked reluctantly into
her intense, beautiful eyes. She held up the knife and shook it in
front of them to reinforce her point.
'Charity only helps the weak
survive. It's the road to decline. What does it teach the strong
about survival?' Bezejel paused for effect. 'Nothing. It was
millions of years of fighting, kicking and dying that taught
humanity how to survive, nothing else.'
Now Kodrob understood her. None of the
demons in Inferno were there by choice. If they opened the gates of
Hell, every soul would choose