They camped in a grove of VapoRub trees on the far bank of the Styx, spending nearly 12 hours sleeping, eating, and taking care of other necessities. George and Alain were generous with their food and Kurt shared from the stash of imported snacks and beverages that Mick had packed for him.

After the food and the rest, George and Kurt stripped to their underwear and headed for the river's muddy bank. "I never would have pictured you as a tighty whities guy," Kurt said as he walked behind George.

"You pictured me in my underwear," George asked.

"No, I..."

"You said you never pictured me as a tighty whities guy, so you must have pictured me some other way. Boxers? Commando?" George paused. "Were you picturing me going commando?"

"I..."

A dirt clod came flying from behind Kurt and hit George at the base of the skull. "Stop screwing with him," Alain said.

George chuckled and continued on. Kurt followed in his boxer briefs, the redness in his face fading. He felt a little stupid, but he also realized George was treating him like one of the guys instead of some outsider, and that made him feel better. Even so, when they got to the mud, he'd be damned if he asked George for help spreading it on his back.

---

Kurt's clothes and boots were either in his pack or tied to it, and he held it by the strap in one hand as he fell. The mud had been thin and wet, and it had been decided he and George would air-dry on the way down rather than wait to dry before jumping. Kurt hadn't been too keen on that, thinking that if demons awaited them at the base of the next cliff, he'd be trying to fight in his underwear, but he got outvoted two-to-one.

He yelled "cannonball" as he jumped off the fifth ring and fell for a while in a standing position to maximize speed and the amount of air blowing on him. As he rolled out into a prone position to get more airflow across his chest, he got his first view of the sixth ring.

The object that grabbed his attention first was small from this distance, but he could swear it was... No, he thought, rubbing his eyes and looking down at it again. Nothing had changed. It was a ferris wheel. A little to the side of that, a dot sped around a mountain, running in and out of it. A roller coaster? Kurt's mouth opened, the slight wind rushing in. They were dropping into Hell's amusement park.

Looking farther, Kurt saw a large pavilion containing three statues, each at least fifty feet tall, all on one large pedestal. They were women with snakes for hair and what looked like a multi-headed snake wrapping around each of their waists. Their hands were at their chests and their fingers dug into their breasts, the nails piercing the skin, fountains of red liquid falling and pooling below them in a pond that surrounded the pedestal's base.

Landing just outside the walls of the park, Kurt looked up to see the name of it inscribed on an arch above an entry gate. "Welcome To Gorgon World," it said. "Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter" was written below it in smaller letters. The gate was open and no ticket taker stood guard.

"Everybody okay," Alain asked, shrugging off his backpack.

Kurt moved his joints to get a quick status report from his body. Everything reported back normal. He quickly started getting dressed.

Alain looked Kurt and George over once they were dressed. "Rub some dirt on your clothes. It looks weird with your skin covered in dirt and your clothes being clean."

Kurt and George did as they were told. Now they not only felt grubby, they looked it too. It wasn't too uncomfortable, though. The thin mud of the 5th ring had dried dusty instead of hard, so there was very little cracking and flaking to contend with.

Once Alain was satisfied that they looked dingy enough, he had Kurt trade packs with him. Now they were just a vampire and his damned-soul servants out for a stroll, and Alain led the way through the gate.

The entry into the park was like a museum of grotesquerie. Damned souls were arrayed in mini dioramas, tortured in all sorts of ways. There was the traditional flaming pitchfork and boiling in oil at the beginning of the walkway. Midway, a diorama featured a damned soul being rotisserie cooked, while another displayed a man with his feet pushed up behind his head, a red-hot poker repeatedly invading him through a very sensitive orifice. Closer to the end was a soul coated in honey and fire ants, and another soul lay on what looked to be a bed of nails, though the nails turned out to be lit cigarettes.

Some of the weight from Alain's pack had been shifted to George's. Still, it was damn heavy. Kurt thought the red dirt made them look more like Martians than damned souls, but as they entered the midway, the demons who pitched the games didn't give them a second look.

"Agonize the apostate of Freedonia," one of the demons shouted, waving a cane. "Three fireballs for a coin."

"Ignite an irresolute skeptic," another called. "One measly coin for a quiver of flaming arrows. Test your skill. Shoot out an eye and win a prize."

Each booth featured damned souls, their heads poking through openings in the back, macabre stuffed animals hanging on the walls. Kurt thought the demons, unlike the hulking doorman on the second ring, looked like huge versions of the evil Mogwai from Gremlins. Ridged brows topped teardrop shaped eyes with cat-like irises. Ears like bat wings extended out from the head. Spindly limbs branched out from narrow chests and ended in claws. And the whole package was covered in weather-beaten lizard skin. They were the unholy offspring of a tequila-fueled affair between a chimp and a velociraptor. Completing the unnerving effect, each demon wore a red and white striped coat and a straw hat, like an early 20th century carnival barker.

"What's going on here," Kurt whispered out of the side of his mouth.

"Sixth ring," Alain said, pausing to think. "They burn heretics here."

"Sir," a demon shouted from a booth, calling to Alain. "Sir."

"Oh shit," George said under his breath.

Alain put on a brave front, smiling at the demon as they approached. "Yes?"

"Sir," the demon said, leaning forward over the counter, a curtain hiding the back of his booth. "How'd you like to warm up a witch's day? We've got one, just newly arrived from Earth. You'd be her first. Just one coin." The demon winked knowingly.

Alain was stoic, reaching into his pocket, pulling out a quarter and handing it to the demon. The demon lay three water balloons on the counter. "Napalm," he said, winking again. "Highest quality."

Alain picked up one of the balloons, seeming to test its weight as the demon went back and took hold of the curtain string to reveal some unfortunate soul. Kurt felt sadness and fear for the poor woman who looked pleadingly at Alain, his arm moving back to throw the balloon. Heaving his arm forward, the balloon hit the wall, four feet to the left of the woman's head, and bounced off unbroken, splattering on the floor and making the demon dance back as smoking trails of liquid reached for his feet.

"Oh, sir," the demon said, picking up another balloon and handing it to Alain, "that couldn't be your best, could it?"

"Sorry," Alain said, looking bashful. "I was beating my servants during the fall from the fifth circle, wasn't looking where I was going, and landed on my shoulder. It's still a little tender."

"Of course, sir," the demon said as he looked at Kurt and George. "I fully understand. Perhaps you'd like me to throw the balloon for you?"

"No," Alain said, hefting the balloon as if he were testing its weight "I'll get it this time." Alain stepped back into a baseball pitcher's stance and launched the balloon like a rocket. It hit even farther to the left, near the corner of the booth, its contents splattering away from the witch and igniting a couple of the closer stuffed mutations. The demon grabbed a fire extinguisher from under the counter and rushed over, putting out the flames quickly.

"Sir," the demon panted as he returned, "I would really suggest that you let me throw the balloon for you this time." The demon put the fire extinguisher away and straightened up. "You do want a prize don't you," he asked, waving a long arm at the row of plush monstrosities.

"Are you implying I can't throw a simple balloon at a fucking witch," Alain asked angrily, picking up the balloon and holding it like he was going to throw it at the demon.

"No, no," the demon said, bowing and retreating a few steps. "I suggested nothing of the sort. It was just my concern for your shoulder. Perhaps you'd like to rest a few minutes while it finishes healing. I'll be more than glad to wait."

"No," Alain said determinedly as he turned to the side and set his jaw, squinting as he aimed. Kurt thought he was overacting, but the demon bowed and nodded some more, believing every bit.

As Alain brought his arm forward, he let the balloon go too soon, sending it high. It hit the tent's top three feet before the witch and drops of napalm showered the floor as the roof caught fire. The demon grabbed his fire extinguisher and tried to put the fire out at an angle, the napalm that dripped from the tent's top making it impossible to get right below the blaze as it gradually ate a hole in the cloth. "Whoops," Alain said, adjusting the lapels of his coat and clearing his throat. "I guess you were right." He turned and waved Kurt and George forward. "Come along, you miserable pieces of shit."

"I think he's enjoying this," Kurt whispered as they walked.

"No talking," Alain said, loud and imperious, "or I shall beat you both again."

Kurt and George both pressed their mouths shut, more to keep from laughing than anything else.

---

Crossing through a concert plaza about a mile out of the midway, Alain spotted a demon running toward them. Actually, it wasn't really running, more like a strange kind of limping lope. Unlike the other demons, it was fully clothed in a dark suit and it sported a set of horns, somewhat like those of a ram, but a young ram at best.

"Sir," it shouted as it ran, waving an arm over its head, pointing its index finger in the air. "Sir!"

Alain stopped, Kurt and George stopping behind him. "What is it," he asked as if annoyed, straightening his posture and standing at least half a head taller than the demon.

"Sir," the demon said in what sounded like a clipped British accent, though it was partially obscured by his panting. "I'm so sorry to bother you, but I need to speak with you about a small... ummm... fire you caused earlier." With it standing in front of them, they were able to get a better look at its clothes. The black suit was ill-fitting, covering a white shirt and a thin black tie, making the demon look like a reject from the casting call for a Quentin Tarantino film.

"And who are you," Alain asked, looking down at him.

"Ahhh," the demon said, extending a hand, "Nybras. Executive assistant to Lord Asmodeus."

Alain looked at Nybras' hand and then back at Nybras. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, there are many matters at hand, the most pressing of which would of course be the fire. Ummm... Would you mind accompanying me to the park office? I promise... it'll only take a little bit of your time."

Alain looked at his watch and made a show of weighing the decision, stroking his chin as he scowled at Nybras. "Well, I can spare a few minutes, but make it quick."

"Of course, of course," Nybras said. "If you'll just follow me, Mister... ummm..." Nybras cocked his head.

"Stark," Alain said. "Avery Stark."

"Of course, Mister Stark. If you and your... ummm... bearers? If you'll all follow me, please."

Nybras stepped to the side, turning and waving Alain ahead, taking up position beside him as he walked deeper into the park. "If I might ask... ummm... where did you get your bearers?"

"I picked them up in the first ring," Alain said. "You don't think I'm going to carry my packs this whole way, do you?"

"Oh, no," Nybras said with an overly apologetic laugh, "but it's... it's just a rule we have here... ummm... well, it's... generally prohibited to remove condemned souls from their native rings... but, ummm... of course, exceptions can be made. If you don't mind my asking, though... ummm... Why are they red?"

"They looked too clean, so I dirtied them up a little." Alain looked straight ahead, never dignifying one of Nybras' questions enough to look at him as he answered it.

"Of... of course," Nybras said, seasoning it with another one of his laughs, "of course. Perfectly sensible. Perfectly sensible... ummm... just a little farther now."

Reaching the edge of a building, Nybras put a hand on Alain's back to guide him around the corner, eliciting a growl from Alain. Nybras quickly retracted his hand, clasping his hands behind his own back. Ahead of them, Alain saw a golf cart, something reminiscent of Mr. Roarke's cart from "Fantasy Island", complete with the striped top. "Ummm... we can take this the rest of the way," Nybras said, stopping and waiting for Alain to get in. "Your... ummm... bearers... can run behind us if that's all right."

Alain walked around front, getting in on the passenger's side of the front bench. "I'd prefer they ride. You know how clumsy these souls are. If one of them tripped and damaged my possessions..."

"Of course, of course. Get in there you lot," Nybras shouted at Kurt and George, raising a menacing hand. "Don't dawdle. Don't dawdle."

Kurt and George scrambled into the back seat, taking off their packs and holding them between their legs. Nybras got behind the wheel and flicked a switch on the dash. "Ready, are we," he asked. "Then let's proceed."

The cart took off with a jerk, but then accelerated into a smooth glide, whizzing through the park. Nybras was quiet, apparently intent on his driving, and Alain was glad of it. He'd gotten himself into some deep shit and taken Kurt and George with him. Right now he was pulling it off, but what about when they checked on Avery? Avery was clean, not one kill. As far as Alain knew, Avery had never even tasted blood.

Alain caught himself. It was no time for memory lane. He had to set his mind on extricating himself, George, and Kurt from things present, namely this situation. He was too close, too much lay in the balance to get tripped up now.

"That's the office, up ahead there," Nybras said, interrupting his thoughts, pointing toward the giant fountain with the three gorgons. As they approached, Alain could see that there was a door in its base, a thin concrete path leading across the pool of blood to it. Nybras screeched the cart to a halt in front, causing them all to lurch forward. "And we're here."

Stepping out, Nybras waited for Alain, George, and Kurt to get out of the cart. "It's just this way please," Nybras said, walking off toward the path. Kurt gave Alain a questioning look as he slipped the backpack on, but all Alain could do was shrug. Setting himself back in his imperious composure, Alain strode forward, Kurt and George trailing him.

The blood in the pool moved thickly in small waves, falling from the wounds in the Gorgons' breasts and draining into holes in the pool's rim. A strip of concrete about five feet wide ringed the base. Reaching the door, Nybras opened it, allowing Alain into the hallway beyond, and then stepped in front of the door. "Your bearers can wait here, please," he said.

Stepping inside, Nybras shut the door, leaving Kurt and George outside without waiting for permission from Alain. "If you'll just come this way, I'm sure we can have everything taken care of shortly," he said, walking around Alain and further down the hall.

---

"We're fucked," Kurt said, removing his pack and sitting down, leaning his back against the wall. George removed his pack and sat next to him.

"How many Cokes do you have left," George asked, ignoring Kurt's doom-and-gloom pronouncement.

"One, but it's in my pack and Alain's got it."

"Snickers too?"

"Yup."

"Damn." George rummaged around in his pack. "Thank Jesus and the Jeezettes," he said as he seemed to find whatever it was he was seeking.

George set his prize on the concrete between him and Kurt. Two cans of Starbucks Doubleshot Frappucino and a bag of peanut M&Ms. He popped open a can and handed it to Kurt, then opened the bag and held it out. Kurt held out his free hand and George poured a few candies into it.

They sat there, sipping their drinks and chomping their candy. There were so many questions Kurt wanted to ask. He was curious about George, about all the things George knew about Alain, about all the things George knew about this trip, but George seemed in no mood to talk.

Kurt looked into the distance. It was frustrating to wait like this, the situation out of their hands. All they could do was wait and hope Alain pulled it off. George didn't seem too concerned. Kurt hoped it wasn't an act.

---

The hallway terminated at a curved wall that had a door leading into the center of the base, a large golden A on it. The door to Nybras's office was 10 feet before it on the right side.

His office was small, but not absurdly so, a curved wall running along the arc, a door in it leading into the center office. Nybras walked to the far end, taking a seat behind a desk on which sat some scattered papers, a phone, and a computer terminal.

"Please sit," Nybras said, waving his hand to indicate the two chairs by the desk.

Alain sat, laying his hands in his lap and trying to appear nonchalant.

"Now..." Nybras turned toward the computer, his fingers clacking away on the keys. "Stark, was it? Avery?"

"Yes."

Nybras typed a few more characters, looking intently at the screen. "Here we go... Stark, Avery. Undead inception date, July fourteenth... Ah, Bastille Day... nineteen hundred and sixty two... in the," Nybras paused to giggle, "year of our Lord." Nybras paused again, peering at the readout on the screen. "This can't be right. It says 'kills, zero.'"

Nybras punched a few keys and squinted. "No... that's right. Zero kills." Nybras turned and looked at Alain expectantly.

This was the moment of truth. Alain realized his fate rested on how he reacted. His original thought was to leap up, shouting about how preposterous it was, but he stifled it. Liars protested vehemently. "Your computer's wrong," Alain said, coolly, crossing one leg over the other, relaxing in the chair.

Nybras turned back to the screen, inspected it, and turned back to Alain. "It says zero kills."

Alain uncrossed his legs and sat up in the chair. "Are you accusing me of lying," he asked calmly.

"Ummm... no," Nybras said, "but..."

"Can you honestly tell me you've never received a wrong answer from a computer?"

Nybras hunched his shoulders, his fingers tapping nervously on the desk. "Well," he said, pausing and thinking, "we're in the midst of switching over from Windows to Macintosh. Apparently Satan got an iPod for his birthday and now he's all Mac this and Steve Jobs that." Nybras stifled a low growl. "Ummm... we could be having problems with the... transition, or migration, or transmigration of the data... whatever it's called."

"There's your answer," Alain said, leaning back in the chair, re-crossing his legs.

"Of course," Nybras said emphatically, banging his hand against the desk. Standing, Nybras leaned forward and bowed his head. "How silly of me. I do apologize."

Alain nodded his head and waved his hand dismissingly. "These things happen. Not your fault."

"I should say not," Nybras said, straightening his posture.

"Now," Alain said, "as to the matter of the tent I damaged."

"Oh, yes... yes... of course. Tent and stuffed animals." Nybras sat down. "I'll only be a moment." Reaching under his desk, Nybras pulled out a large three-ring binder and started flipping through the pages. "Now you do understand, of course," he said as he scanned through the book, "ummm... we're very well off in terms of precious metals... gold, silver, that sort of thing... iron, aluminium, concrete, rocks... rocks..." Nybras looked up from the notebook, staring at the door, a look of disgust forming on his face. "Lots of rocks... piles and piles of rocks..."

"I see," Alain said, interrupting his reverie.

Nybras buried his attention in the notebook again. "Yes... umm... as I said, we're very rich in those things but..." He looked up from the book, turning his head toward Alain. "Most textiles have to be imported."

"So I'm not going to get off this one cheap, huh," Alain said, smiling.

"I'm afraid not," Nybras said. Turning back to the book, he flipped another page, drawing his finger along a column of figures, eventually stopping about three quarters of the way down. "Here we go," Nybras said, running his finger horizontally across the page. "Item sixty-six fifty-two. Carnival tent, red and white... striped." Nybras punched a few keys on his calculator, then flipped a few more pages. "Booth animals, stuffed..." he punched in another figure, then hit the total key a couple of times.

"What's the damage?"

Nybras cringed, lowering his head between his shoulders. "One hundred and thirteen dollars... ninety-seven cents... American."

Alain had deliberately not brought his wallet. He didn't want to have any identification on him that might contradict whatever lie he told if caught. But he had brought a money clip, figuring that money might come in handy even in the afterlife. He'd loaded it with $2300 (20 hundreds, 13 twenties, and 8 fives). He peeled off a hundred and three of the fives and casually tossed them onto Nybras's desk. "Keep the change," he said.

Grabbing the bills while Alain put his clip away, Nybras took them and counted them quickly, laying them within easy reach before he pulled out another notebook. With a few quick strokes of his pen, he made some notations on one of the pages, then put the notebook back under his desk and opened his top drawer, sweeping the bills inside. "There," he said, slamming the drawer shut, "all finished."

Alain cleared his throat to get Nybras' attention. "My receipt?"

Nybras cocked his head and smiled a demonic smile. "Can't slip anything past you, can I?" He pulled a receipt book from the desk, scrawled out a receipt, tore it from the book and handed it to Alain.

Alain stood, folding the receipt and putting it in his coat pocket. "If there'll be nothing else."

"Well," Nybras said, standing, "I have an appointment at Pandaemonium early tomorrow. If you were not adverse to missing some of the... ummm... sights, you and your bearers could travel with me."

"Well," Alain said, acting as if he was considering his options. "I was looking forward to seeing the Phlegethon..." He didn't want to spend any more time with this demon than absolutely necessary.

"Yes, of course," Nybras said. "Perhaps I could at least give you a lift to the edge of the ring."

Alain couldn't think of a reason to turn him down. "You're too kind."

"I am not kind!" Nybras slammed his fist on the desk. "I was being polite, following the rules of etiquette and offering you my hospitality, and you insult me by calling me kind?!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't know."

Nybras did not seem mollified by the apology. "Politeness is done out of obligation, rules of conduct! Kindness is done out of the goodness of your heart! How dare you accuse me of having goodness in my heart? How dare you?! Get out of my office! Get out now! I have no more obligation to you!"

Alain casually buttoned his coat, took one last look around the office, and headed out.