The Book of Doom (17 page)

Angelo unfolded himself and slid on to a wooden bench at the front of the boat, just as it began to drift down the river. “Bye, Steropes,” he called, waving enthusiastically. The firing-up of the boat’s motor cut off the Cyclops’s reply.

“You know,” Angelo said, “I’m going to miss him.”

“Her,” Zac corrected.

“Her. Right.” The same shudder ran down Angelo’s back. “I forgot.”

“I wish I could,” Zac muttered, then he steered the boat towards the centre of the river and
chug-chug-chugged
off in the direction of Hell.

HE RIVER
S
TYX
was one of those things that cropped up in all sorts of different religions and legends. It was first mentioned in Greek mythology, where the ferryman Charon would transport the dead to the underworld on his boat, provided they’d remembered to bring the correct change, and weren’t too concerned about the lack of toilet facilities.

Later, the river appeared in Christian tales. According to these stories, sinners would be drowned in its murky waters prior to being sent into Hell itself, like a small starter portion of suffering before the main course of eternal damnation.

And on and on the waters flowed, through other tales of other underworlds from countless other faiths.

Although
flowed
probably wasn’t the right way to describe the river’s movement. It oozed like treacle through the desolate landscape. The water – for want of a better word – clung to the sides of the boat, making progress slow and steering sluggish. Zac watched the surface closely, but the constant bubbling made it difficult to detect any movement beneath the waves.

“Hey, look, people.”

Zac looked in the direction Angelo was pointing and saw a crowd lining the shore. They stood like zombies, their mouths hanging open, their arms drooping limply by their sides. They gazed at the boat and through it as it crawled along.

“Coo-ee!” yelled Angelo, giving the figures on the shore a wave. They didn’t wave back, just watched with mournful eyes and groaned with mournful mouths until they were swallowed by the gloom.

“Well, they weren’t very friendly, were they?” Angelo said as the boat continued down the river.

Zac grunted. “Can’t imagine why.”

“It’s all right, this, isn’t it?” said Angelo.

There was a moment of stunned disbelief from Zac. “Well, I’ve had better days.”

“Yeah, but right now. It’s all right. Just hanging out on a boat. I’ve never been on a boat before.” Angelo reached for the rudder. “Can I drive?”

“No, you can’t. Sit down,” Zac told him.

Angelo deflated with a sigh, then slumped back on to the bench. “I wish Herya was here,” he said. “I liked her. Did you like her?”

Zac stayed tight-lipped and focused on the river ahead.

“I liked her,” said Angelo again. “I know she wasn’t a proper angel, but she was nicer than a lot of the ones I know.” His face went pale. “I shouldn’t say that, should I? I could get into trouble.”

“We’re already going to Hell,” Zac said. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

They chugged along for a few metres until Zac finally added, “And yes, she was OK.”

“Do you think we’ll see her again?”

“I don’t know if we’ll see anyone again,” Zac said.

Angelo considered this. “That would be a shame. For you, I mean. People would miss you. I don’t know if anyone would miss me. Not even my mum.”

He didn’t say it like he was looking for sympathy – just like it was a matter of fact.

“What about your dad?” asked Zac, trying to be as tactful as possible. “Have you ever met him?”

Angelo shook his head. “He’ll be well dead by now. Humans don’t live very long. Um... no offence.”

“Right, right... humans,” Zac said. “But don’t you know anything about him? Anything at all?”

There was a pause before Angelo replied. “No one’s told me anything about him, but sometimes... Sometimes it’s like I can feel him. Like I can sort of sense him somehow, and it’s like I
do
know him then, and he’s... nice. And I can imagine him sitting with me, down at the end of my bed, reading comics to me while I fall asleep.”

He coughed softly, then blushed. “Pretty stupid, huh?”

“Well... who knows?” said Zac, noncommittal.

Angelo took a deep breath, then blew it all out in one go. He turned away so he could wipe his eyes on the cardigan sleeves. Zac pretended not to notice.

“Do you think we’ll find the book?” asked Angelo, changing the subject.

“I think we’re supposed to,” Zac said. “I have a feeling finding it isn’t going to be a problem. Argus said Haures wants us to come.”

“Why would he want that?”

“I don’t know, but all I can think is that it sounds like a trap.”

“So... why are you doing it?” Angelo asked.

“Because it might not be. And because I don’t have any choice.”

“I suppose. You can’t save the world without making some sacrifices,” Angelo said. “You know where I learned that?”

“Jesus?” Zac guessed.

“Well, I was going to say
Superman II
, actually, but Jesus as well, I suppose.”

Zac laughed. This made Angelo smile. “Look, sorry if I’ve been hard on you,” Zac said hesitantly. “I’m not really a people person.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Angelo said. “So are we friends now?”

“Let’s just do what we’re here to do,” Zac said. “And we’ll see what happens.”

“So that’s like
a date
to become friends,” Angelo beamed. “That’s like us making a plan to become friends once we’ve saved the world.
Best
friends, probably.”

“Well, we’ll see. I’m not really worried about the world. I’m worried about my granddad.”

“Gabriel said he’d look after him.”

“Yeah. That’s what I’m worried about.”

“What about your mum and dad?” Angelo asked. “What happened to them?”

Zac gave a disinterested shrug. “They left. Dumped me with my granddad when I was a few months old and went travelling. Never wanted kids, apparently. Left us alone in a dirty little flat with no money and no income. Haven’t heard from them since.”

Angelo shook his head sadly. “Parents, eh? Yours sound even worse than mine.”

Zac paused. “Well, that’s probably open to debate.”

“Did you want to get back at them?” pressed Angelo. “Is that why you started stealing?”

“No. I started stealing so my granddad and I could eat. And so we could get out of that flat before the damp killed us both.”

Angelo nodded. “Right,” he said slowly. “It’s probably still wrong, though.”

“Yeah,” admitted Zac. “Probably.”

They carried on in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Other figures stood dotted along the shores. Angelo waved to the first few, but when none of them waved back he stopped. Eventually he avoided even looking their way as the boat crept on through the sludgy, slow-moving Styx.

A cold wind whispered across the surface of the water, forcing Angelo to pull his borrowed cardigan tighter around him.

“Bit chilly, isn’t it?” he chittered.

“Ssh.”

“What? Why? What’s the—?”

Zac put his finger to his lips and glared. Angelo silenced himself by clamping his hand over his mouth and the two of them sat quietly, listening for whatever Zac had heard to come again.

Eventually, Angelo moved his hand away. He was about to speak when—

DONK
.

They both looked down at their feet. The sound had been faint, but it had been unmistakable. Something had bumped against the underside of the boat.

Zac cut the engine and it coughed to a stop. The boat slowed, but the oozing flow of the Styx carried it onwards. In the near silence that followed, the only sounds were the lapping of the gloopy waves against the boat’s wooden hull, and the distant groaning of the people on the shore.

“What was it?” Angelo whispered as quietly as he could.

Zac shrugged and pressed his finger to his lips again. The sound may have been nothing. The boat could’ve bumped against a rocky outcrop beneath the water, or a particularly lumpy wave might’ve made the knocking sounds. But he wasn’t taking any chances.

“What do we do?” Angelo mouthed.

Zac looked across to the banks of the river. On one side was a throng of ghostly figures, all gawping eyes and gaping mouths. On the other a vast tangle of tall trees all but blocked the way.

“Nothing,” said Zac softly. “Let’s just wait and see what happens.”

Angelo nodded. “OK.”

The boat kept moving along the river, the wood creaking and groaning as the currents pulled it on.

“Can you swim?” Zac asked.

“What? Why are you asking that?” said Angelo, his eyes widening a little in panic.

“Just in case.”

“In case what?”

“In case we have to swim to shore.”

“Swim? In that?” Angelo whimpered. “Are you crazy? We can’t swim in that.
Aquaman
couldn’t swim in that! Look at the way it’s bubbling. It’s too hot for a start!”

“Quiet,” Zac hissed. “Calm down. It’s not hot, it just looks like it is. I felt it earlier. And no, I don’t want to swim in it, either, and hopefully we won’t have to. I was only asking if you could swim
just in case
something happened.”

“Like what?” asked Angelo.

There was a
thud
from below and the boat lurched wildly from side to side. A few metres ahead of them something frothed the surface of the water, then sank quickly out of sight.

“Like that,” Zac whispered.

Angelo’s face was the colour of snow. His hands were gripping the bench he sat on, his fingernails digging grooves into the old wood. “What was it?” he whimpered. “
What was that?
”

“How should I know? Just stay quiet. Shut up and let me think.”

“Maybe we should pray.”

“I am
not
going to pray, so get that idea out of your head right now,” Zac growled. “Just... just shut up for a minute.”

There was a low drone from under the water, like the blasting of a foghorn, or the mournful cry of a wounded whale. Something splashed behind the boat. Zac turned, but all that remained was an expanding ring of ripples on the water’s surface.

“I’m going to start the engine again,” he said softly.

“What? Why? If you do that, it’ll know we’re here.”

“It already knows we’re here.”

Zac took hold of the motor’s ripcord and braced his foot against the wooden bench. He yanked hard on the cable. The motor growled once, then fell silent. Zac pulled again. There was another growl, another splutter, then more silence.

A few metres off the boat’s port side, the surface of the Styx began to froth. Cursing below his breath, Zac tore at the cable, yanking it sharply again and again, trying to force the engine into life.

“Come on,” he hissed, pulling the cord again. “
Come on!
”

Over the sputtering of the misfiring motor he heard Angelo draw in a breath. His eyes went to where the water had been foaming, even as his arm pulled back once more.

The water was no longer frothing. Something that might have been a tentacle and might have been a neck coiled above the surface of the Styx. At its tip, claws or teeth snapped together as it snaked slowly towards the boat.

“
Now
should we pray?”

“No!” Zac bellowed as the squirming shape drew closer. He tightened his grip on the ripcord handle and pulled. “I am
not
going to—”

With a roar, the motor came to life. There was another groan from the thing down below as the boat shot forward, spraying gloopy black liquid in its wake.

“Hallelujah!” cried Angelo, clapping his hands with relief.

A spout of water erupted right ahead of them, forcing Zac to lean hard on the rudder. Angelo grabbed the bench and clung on tightly as the boat leaned left.

“I’m going to fall in!” he wailed.

“No, you’re not,” Zac hissed. Another tentacle or neck or whatever the Hell it was stabbed up through the froth, forcing Zac to put more weight behind the rudder.

“I am!”

“You’re not!” insisted Zac. “Trust me, you are
not
going to fall in.”

Angelo fell in.

A moment later, so did Zac, as a third appendage struck the boat from beneath, flipping it over.

The water wasn’t hot, but it wasn’t too cold, either. It didn’t take Zac’s breath away. It didn’t make his limbs cramp up. It just clung to him like runny tar, thick and gloopy and dragging him down.

The mournful thing beneath them groaned once again. Zac felt the sound more than heard it as the sludgy Styx vibrated all around him. Angelo flapped and flailed his arms, and took deep, unsteady breaths as he fought to keep his head above the surface.

“You didn’t answer me,” Zac said, dragging himself closer to the boy. “Can you swim?”