There were shouts, voices challenging one another as they fell toward the fourth ring. There were too many to make out any distinct words, but as they drew closer, they could see the almost honeycombed surface was actually composed of many arenas in which damned souls stood behind lines of cars, one car occasionally jumping out of line, pushed by a mass of souls toward the other, impacting and pushing the opposing line back, like a bizarre game of Red Rover. Some of the impacts were accompanied by cheers, possibly meaning that a car had broken through. All the impacts were accompanied by the anguished screams of souls.

The fourth ring, Alain thought, where the avaricious and prodigal are divided into two camps and roll stones against one another. "Steer toward the walls," Alain shouted to Kurt and George. Each arena butted up against the other and no passageways between them were obvious. If they fell into one, Alain wasn't sure they'd be able to get out.

Kurt and George followed him, angling their descent to come down along the top of one of the walls, which appeared to be 10 feet wide. Alain didn't stop for pleasantries as they landed. He moved out immediately, taking point as George ushered Kurt in behind him, then fell in behind Kurt. "Keep together, move fast, and don't fall off," Alain told them.

The roof of the cavern was now so far above them that figuring out its slope was going to be difficult. But the big red jet of flames could be seen directly ahead. All they had to do was aim for it.

As they moved along the wall, Kurt peered down into the arenas. The cars were luxury models — BMW, Lexus, Mercedes Benz — and the screams they heard came from the hapless souls who were strapped to their fenders and grilles, getting crushed as the cars crashed into the opposing lines.

Every time Kurt or George stopped to watch the cars roll, Alain came back and ushered them along. He didn't like being on top of the wall. There was no cover, making them sitting ducks, three dark spots moving along a white path. They were moving at a good clip when George called a halt. They stopped and George pointed behind them. "What in Hell is that thing?"

Approaching them, they saw the unholy offspring of a street sweeper and a snow plow, fed growth hormones since birth. It was tipped in front with two eight-foot-tall push broom heads, angled into a flying wedge. And it was coming at them... fast.

To Kurt, its purpose was obvious. It made sure any stragglers got swept off into the arenas. He was already five feet past Alain before Alain thought to shout "run!"

Alain and George were obviously faster than Kurt was, but this thing was faster than any of them, and Kurt knew he wouldn't win in a race of pure speed. At the very first corner, he slowed, whipped around it, and sped up again. He figured a zig-zag along the arena walls was going to be the only way to slow it down, because if that thing took the corners at speed, it would flip over.

Kurt looked back and watched Alain and George speed past his corner, staying on the straightaway, and then came the horrendous machine, turning the corner without slowing down, and coming straight for him. He poured on as much speed as he could, hearing Vinnie's voice in his head, jeering "physics, dumbass" as Kurt ran for his life.

---

Alain noticed as soon as the sweeper turned the corner. He and George had sped down the straightaway specifically to lure the machine off Kurt. The math made no sense. He and George were two targets. Kurt was one. Why did the machine go after Kurt?

He didn't have time to ponder it. He stopped, shucked his pack, and took off running as fast as being a vampire would allow. Despite the urgency and panic of the situation, pushing himself this hard felt good. The more he used his power, the stronger he felt, and this was giving him a sort of exercise high.

From behind the sweeper, he leapt up into its open-air cab. There was a readout screen showing Kurt within cross-hairs, but there were manual controls too. The problem was that the machine was a few seconds from hitting Kurt and Alain didn't know what any of the controls did. Sometimes the simplest solution is the best, he thought to himself, grabbing the steering wheel and yanking it to the left.

The steering wheel was tight, the autopilot fighting his pull. Alain pulled harder, summoning every ounce of strength he had.

He felt the wheel move a fraction of an inch, but that was enough. On the straight, narrow walls, the wide sweeper's wheels began to move over the edge, just a few inches at first, but once one wheel lost contact with the concrete, the process sped up rapidly. Alain jumped clear of the machine as it fell sideways over the wall and into one of the arenas below, followed by a wild chorus of shouts.

Kurt slowed down, hearing the crash, and came back to stand next to Alain. He bent over, panting, tried to say something, but found himself too out of breath. Unable to speak, Kurt reached sideways and patted Alain on the arm in an almost absentminded gesture of thanks, more of his concentration going to trying — once again — not to barf.

---

"Bouncin' Beelzebub," the boatman said, "you're alive."

The remainder of the fourth ring was uneventful and the trio had reached the edge. Unwilling to wait for another sweeper to show up, they jumped quickly. Now, on the banks of the Styx — the river running through the fifth ring — they found themselves getting in another boat piloted by another boatman.

If you took Charon, fed him a couple of sandwiches, sandblasted him clean, washed and styled his lice-ridden head, and put him in a pair of canvas deck pants with a heavy wool sweater, he might look like someone this boatman had taken pity on. Phlegyas had the build of a professional wrestler and his observation that Kurt and George were alive was followed by him wrapping them up in a huge three way bear hug, bouncing them up and down on the floor of the boat.

"Nice to see you too," Kurt said as Phlegyas released them.

"You do not understand," Phlegyas said, laughing. "The last mortal to pass this way who wasn't some sort of black mage was that Italian poet. That was centuries ago. It is so boring here. Who am I going to talk to... the burbling bastards who were so angry and cruel in their lives they ended up in this ring?"

Alain coughed, getting Phlegyas's attention. "If you don't mind, how did you know we were alive?"

Phlegyas waved a hand as if this was something everyone should know. "For the first thing, you are all the wrong color. Eh? The souls are dull and pasty. Second, how many souls have you seen with backpacks since you got here? Third, if you have a soul inside you instead of merely being a soul, you glow."

"You," he said to Alain, "not so much. I figure you're a vampire, right?" Before Alain could reply, he was on to George.

"You," he said waving a hand at George, "more."

He turned to Kurt, spreading his arms open wide with joy. "But you, there is so much life in you. You are a great hero, right?" Phlegyas wrapped Kurt up in another bear hug and then kissed him on the head. "You have the soul of a mighty warrior." He released Kurt and turned back to Alain and George. "You two are his servants? You carry his packs while he performs a great quest?"

"Yes," Alain said quickly, "we are his servants." George tried to contradict him, but Alain reached out and pinched George's arm, following it with the universal just play along hand gesture and eye bulge.

"Tell me," Phlegyas asked, "what is this noble quest? Do you come to rescue a comrade in arms, perhaps your lady love? There have been far too few rescues since they sealed the tunnel."

"His lady love," Alain said quickly. "If you will begin our journey across the river, I will tell it as we travel. I am his minstrel. I record his deeds so that I might someday compose an epic poem of his quest."

Phlegyas clapped his hands together and rubbed them with glee. "Start your tale, minstrel," he said, kicking the engine into gear and guiding it out into the waters of the Styx.

---

"And that is how my master defeated the evil den of thieves known as Al Qaeda."

"Magnificent," Phlegyas boomed, slapping his hand against the steering wheel. The boat bumped against something that scraped along its bottom as the boat passed over. Kurt had no need to look out the back of the boat to know they'd just run over another soul. Apparently the newer ones weren't sunk deep enough in the mud, so they got bumped and bashed by the boat as it passed.

It was a slow boat and a wide river. George was sacked out on the bench, getting some more sleep, but the repeated bumps kept Kurt awake, plus he was finding Alain quite the entertaining storyteller. In the last story, Kurt seduced a beautiful Pakistani girl to get her to betray the whereabouts of Osama bin Ladin, then led Alain and George on a daring daylight raid that ended in the death of bin Ladin and twenty of his closest lieutenants. If you believed Alain, Kurt was a perfect gene splice of Chuck Norris and James Bond. Kurt just had to smile and play along, trying to look aloof, as if these tales of his deeds bored him.

"There's the far bank," Phlegyas announced, a hint of sadness in his voice as he swung the boat around to butt up sideways against a small, rickety dock. Alain shook George awake while Phlegyas wrapped an arm around Kurt.

"You're a hero after my own heart," Phlegyas said, thumping his chest with his free hand.

"I'm afraid Alain may have exaggerated a bit in his stories," Kurt said, sheepishly.

"Oh," Phlegyas said, leaning in conspiratorially, "you've as much killed a terrorist as I've fondled Aphrodite's breasts. But heroism is subjective."

"Like Disneyland," Kurt said.

"Exactly! In the coming days, you will be called upon to make hard decisions, my friend." Phlegyas put his hand on Kurt's chest. "Trust this hero's heart."

"Now," Phlegyas said, releasing Kurt so he could step back and address the group. "When you get to the bank, you two mortals strip and coat yourselves in river mud; feet to follicles. It'll hide your color and hide your glow. You'll need it to cross the rings between here and Pandaemonium."

"What is Pandaemonium," Kurt asked.

Phlegyas hunched in on himself like he was telling a campfire ghost story. "It is the lair of the king of Hades," he said in an almost awestruck whisper. "They say not even the palace of Caesar could match its grandeur and opulence."

"Well, thank you," Alain said, shooing Kurt and George out onto the dock. "You've been a great help and a great friend."

Alain stepped onto the dock and Phlegyas kicked the boat into gear, swinging it back out toward open water. "Remember me, my friends," Phlegyas shouted as he waved broadly. The boat dissolved into mist and it was gone.