The Black Tattoo (27 page)

Patience!
 
said Gukumat's voice in Jack's head.
 
Your patience,
 
please!
 
There are enough Chinj for each and every one of you.
 
You'll all receive your share in good time!

The first "Chinj" to land on Jack's table was having a hard time dodging the various limbs and appendages that whipped out to grab it.
 
Jack realized it was coming in his direction.

In the context of what Jack had seen of Hell's inhabitants so far, the Chinj was surprisingly pretty.
 
Its daintily folded leathery black wings were batlike, but it was bigger than any bat Jack had ever seen or heard of, and much more solid looking:
 
its glossy, fat little body reminded him of those large furry microphones on sticks that you sometimes see when people are being interviewed on TV.
 
The creature had a button nose and a small, perfectly heart-shaped mouth.
 
Its large furry ears looked endearingly ridiculous.
 
Its big dark eyes were wide and trusting, and — as with soft thumps that rapidly became a thunderous rumble, more and more of its fellows landed on the tables around it — it walked straight up to where Jack was sitting, looked up at him, and smiled warmly.

"Good evening," it said, not taking its big black bush-baby eyes off Jack for a moment — even as impatience and outrage finally overcame the blancmange monster opposite and the Chinj had to dodge a slicing grab from a quivering pink pseudopod.
 
Calmly refolding its umbrellalike wings, the Chinj came back to earth just behind Jack's bowl.

"You're new to all this, aren't you?" it said in its clear, musical voice, and its eyes took on a winsomely sympathetic expression.
 
"I can tell."

"Er, yeah," said Jack.

"It's no problem," said the Chinj.
 
"There's nothing to it, I assure you.
 
Perhaps," it added, taking a step toward him, "you'd be so good as to put out your hand."

"Why?" asked Jack.
 
He'd just caught sight of what was going on around the rest of the table and was a bit distracted.

"No, look at me," commanded the creature, then smiled coyly as Jack did as he was told.
 
"You're much nicer than the others," it said, still looking up at him through long, furry eyelashes.
 
"I know we're going to get on famously, if you'll only just trust me.
 
Put out your hand."

"Well, okay," said Jack, then, "What?
 
OW!"

With a movement that had been too fast for his eye to catch, the little creature had ducked forward and fixed its fangs into his thumb, hard.
 
The Chinj's jaws tightened:
 
Jack felt the liquid slither of its tiny tongue and the unmistakable beginnings of a powerful sucking action.
 
It was drinking his blood!
 
He struggled to escape, but the chair he was sitting on had somehow changed shape, and more of that hateful jelly stuff he'd first encountered in the Emperor's throne room now had his body and both his arms in an inescapable grip.
 
Plus, weird things — as in, even
more
weird things — were now going on all around him.

All over the room, and to the obvious delight of the howling company of assembled demons, the small winged creatures were
being sick
.
 
To either side of Jack, a neat line of Chinj stretched all along the table, and every single one (except his own, obviously) stood bent, heads over the bowls, quietly but comprehensively regurgitating as if their lives depended on it.
 
It was this that had distracted Jack earlier.

"What are you doing?" he yelled weakly at the Chinj that was sucking his blood.
 
In actual fact, the pain had lessened after the initial bite, and the sensation of having his blood drained was really not much worse than getting an injection at the doctor's, but still some yelling was in order.
 
"Get off me!"

It did.
 
As suddenly as it had bitten him, the bat thing relinquished its grip and sat up.
 
A tiny blob of ruby-red blood dripped from its mouth and hit the shiny black surface of the table.
 
Now it too took up its position behind Jack's bowl — but all its earlier grace was gone.
 
It moved uncertainly, with shuffling steps, and it was beginning to look unmistakably ill.

"There," it wheezed.
 
"Sorry."
 
Its small bulging chest pumped in and out, and words were clearly a struggle.
 
"Had to — take a sample," it gasped, "before — I — 'scuse me."

It broke off, bowed over the edge of the bowl — and let fly.

The way the little creature was being sick wasn't at all like the way that people do it.
 
When human beings "blow chunks," "shout soup," or "do a Technicolor yawn," it comes out a bit at a time.
 
The way the Chinj was doing it (or
were
doing it — for they were all at it) was in a constant stream, its mouth wide, its head back, projecting a pouring torrent into Jack's bowl like water out of a high-pressure hose.
 
The small creature looked perfectly serene, its eyes closed.
 
The stuff coming out of its mouth was pale pink, the consistency of smooth porridge, and — unlike what you'd normally expect from the contents of someone's stomach — it smelled surprisingly sweet.

Now, one by one, all over the room, the bat things were straightening up, their job done.
 
Presently, Jack's Chinj too suddenly stopped — the torrent cutting off as quickly as it had started.
 
A little stiffly, it drew itself up to its full height (its eyes were about level with Jack's chin) and passed a dainty wingtip across its lips.

"There," it said, its large, dark eyes shining with obvious pride.
 
Its furry body had shrunk considerably, and it was huddling its leathery wings around itself as though to keep warm.
 
"Enjoy your meal, sir," it said.

"Oh," said Jack, realizing.
 
"Er, thanks."

The creature smiled and unfurled its wings, ready to take off — but then it stopped, looked up and down the table, and made a beckoning gesture with one of its tiny front claws.
 
Much to his own surprise, Jack found himself leaning closer to hear what the small creature had to say.

"We're not supposed to know about things like this," said the Chinj, in a voice that lost none of its conspiratorial quality for the creature's having to speak quite loudly to make itself heard over the surrounding din.
 
"But between you and me, sir, I think your number's up."
 
It smiled up at him delightedly. "I think you're going to be in the games this time!
 
Isn't that exciting?"

"Yeah?" said Jack.

"You're a very lucky fellow," enthused the Chinj.
 
"I
do
so hope it goes well for you.
 
Now, have you got your boon all worked out?"

"My what?"

"Your boon.
 
Your favor to ask of the Emperor.
 
You know," it prompted, its eyes flashing joshingly, "if you win!"

"Oh," said Jack.
 
"Right.
 
Yeah."

"The best of luck, sir!" squeaked the creature.

"Thanks," Jack repeated.

"And may I just say how
delicious
 
you are," the Chinj added, glancing up at Jack coyly.
 
"I do so hope we'll meet again soon."

"Sure," said Jack.
 
"Likewise, I guess."

"Well, must dash," said the Chinj, unfurling its wings and shaking itself a little, preparatory to liftoff.
 
"Goodbye — and good luck."

"Thanks," said Jack.
 
"See you."

But the Chinj had already leaped into the air and was arrowing its way back up to wherever it had come from.
 
In another second, it had vanished from sight.

Jack's arms I and most of the rest of his body, in fact) were still firmly held by the jelly chair.
 
When he looked round, he could see that all the gladiators were similarly restrained.
 
The jelly chairs of the blancmange monster and the octopus were having serious difficulty keeping their charges in check, so impatient were they to get a their bowls.
 
But then the massive echoing hiss of the gong came again.

Jack's arms were released.

And as each and every gladiator except Jack lunged forward and tucked straight into their dinner, all the cheering and baying and yelling cut out completely, and the massive room went suddenly, eerily quiet.

Jack looked around.

Inanna had taken her bowl up in both her skull-crushing hands and was gulping the contents:
 
the impressively large blob of her Adam's apple pulsed up and down on her thick blue neck.
 
Shargle's heads butted and hissed at each other, making digusting gurgling and bubbling noises whenever one of them managed to stick itself under the surface and slurp at the substance within.
 
Jack's eyes returned to what was sitting on the table right in front of him.
 
His own bowl of Chinj chunder.

He looked at the weird pink goo and the faint wreaths of fragrant steam that still rose from its depths and found to his horror that his stomach was rumbling.
 
With a sense of resignation, he reached for the bowl with both hands.

It felt warm.

It smelled sweet and creamy.

So he held his breath, lifted the bowl to his lips—

—and took the first sip.

A shiver ran down his back, part revulsion and part something else.

Pleasure.

The stuff tasted absolutely
delicious
.
 
Like cauliflower soup, only sweeter.
 
Milky, with a hint of coconut — only the consistency was quite thick, more like a puree than a liquid.
 
As he took a gulp, then another and another, the stuff ran over his tongue with a weird, oaty, floury texture, and little clumps and threads of it clung to his teeth.

He was drinking
sick
:
 
a pat of him knew this, a large part.
 
But the stuff was warm and nourishing, and it was making him feel better than he'd felt in a long time.
 
The warmth of the stuff spread down his insides, making him tingle all over.
 
He found himself tipping the bowl back, getting it all down, and as the flow slowed to a dribble, he ended up shaking the bowl to dislodge the last few drips.
 
He wished he could have had more.

But suddenly, the gong was sounding again.

Pray silence
, the voice intoned sonorously,
for the keeper of the pits.
 
The invincible,
 
The awesome... LORD SLINT!

Something large and heavy shifted in the massive bonfire at the hall's center, releasing a shower of upward sparks, and the room was suddenly bathed in an unearthly glow.
 
Jack looked up.
 
High up on the wall on one side of the great hall, between two of the observation decks, a bright rosette of light unfurled as a circular tunnel opened.
 
The light that came from within was blindingly bright, but as suddenly as it had appeared, it was blotted out:
 
the immense and sinuous shape of the giant flying shark slid through it and out into the air beyond.

Tremble, supplicants
, Gukumat announced,
as you discover whom among you is to meet their doom at tomorrow's games, and what for that doom is to take.

The giant shark made a swirling circuit of the hall, just above the heads of the crowd on one of the observation decks, eliciting an appreciative chorus of oohs and aahs.
 
The jelly chair tightened around Jack again, as if anticipating trouble — and that was when he realized that the shark was not alone.

It was surrounded by something that looked, at first, like a strange kind of golden cloud.
 
As, in wide, lazy circles, the shark descended through the air, Jack saw that the cloud was made up of a shoal of tiny creatures a little like, well, fish.
 
They looked like angelfish, with the same strange, flat, almost triangular bodies and the same, long, elegant whiskers pointing and trailing above and below.
 
Their colors were very beautiful:
 
alternating vertical stripes of glossy black and glittering gold that caught the light of the great fire and flashed it back and forth until the walls of the great hall shone with spots of light like a gigantic mirror-ball effect.
 
There must have been hundreds of them, glittering and shimmering and whisking through the air around their master's every movement like a golden, hazy halo.
 
And each one, Jack could see, held something in its mouth.

Plink!

Something had dropped and landed in the bowl of one of the gladiators further up Jack's table.

Plink!

Another of the silvery objects flashed down through the air, to land in the bowl of the black mantis creature.
 
They were falling all over the room now, like the first spots of a strange, tinkling rain — and the watching demons on the observation decks were howling and cheering again.

"Who'd you get, Qat?
 
Who'd you get?" chorused both Shargle's heads at one.

The mantis clicked its slimy black jaws together and reached one of its alarmingly large claws into the bowl.
 
It pulled out a small shiny disc with a word printed into the center.
 
The word was like no word Jack had ever seen; it seemed to swim before his eyes for a second before it resolved itself into what, he guessed, was a name:
 
something like —