The Book of Doom - By Barry Hutchison Page 0,46

all-seeing,” said Argus. He did another twirl. His flabby torso undulated like a lava lamp.

“Why do they call you that?” asked Angelo.

Herya answered for him. “Legend says he’s got a hundred eyes.”

Argus nodded. “Very good! It does say that, doesn’t it? But legend, it is a fool. It knows nothing.”

“You haven’t got any eyes,” said Angelo, who had no intention of looking at any part of Argus below the neck, thank you very much.

“Ah, not here, maybe,” conceded the demon, tapping a manicured finger against his temple, “but everywhere else. Downstairs. Outside. All across Hades and all through the other Afterworlds.”

“Nipples,” blurted Herya. She was staring at them, apparently having just noticed them for the first time.

“Ah, yes!” Argus said. He puffed up his chest proudly. “You like?”

Herya faltered. “Not really.”

Argus grabbed two rolls of flab and made the belly-face again. “Oh, that is not vewy nice,” he said. Then he laughed, spun on the spot, and trotted over to an antique globe that stood just a little away from the fireplace. The lid flipped open and smoke billowed out from within.

Reaching inside the globe, Argus pulled out a foil-wrapped bundle. “Febab?” he offered. “My own creation. It is kebab meat and the Feta cheese, all wrapped together with chilli sauce.” He gave his belly a rub. “Hot. Spicy. Very nice.”

“I’m all right,” said Zac. He glanced along the couch to the others. “I think... yeah, we’re all OK for now, thanks.”

Argus shrugged and dropped the foil bundle back into the concealed barbecue, before closing the lid. “Where was I?”

“You were telling us you see everything,” Zac prompted. “All the Afterworlds.”

“Aha! Not just the Afterworlds,” Argus corrected. His empty eye sockets turned towards Zac. “Have you ever felt that tingle up your spine telling you ‘Hey! What is this? I am not alone!’? Have you ever had the feeling that someone was watching you? Like when you were in your bedroom, let us say, just before the Monk killed you?”

Zac thought back. The rooftop along the street. He thought he’d seen someone watching him just before he closed the curtains.

Argus saw the realisation spread across the boy’s face. “Yes, yes. That was me. You see, no matter what legend says, I am not having a hundred eyes. No, no. I am having a hundred billion of them. Watching. Always watching everything and everyone.”

Steropes leaned over him. “But not in a creepy way or that,” he reassured.

“Oh no,” said Argus. “Not in a creepy way.” He slapped a drumbeat on his belly before speaking again. “This is how I knew you were coming. And I must say, your antics in Asgard made for most amusing viewing. And you,” he said, fixing Angelo with an approving look, “you were the biggest treat of all.”

“I was?”

“You are – how you say? – remarkable, do you know?”

Angelo grinned. “I am?”

“Enough small talk,” interjected Zac, before the demon could give away what had happened in Asgard. “Can we get down to business?”

“Ah, yes, we must press on, I think,” said Argus. “But first, drinks. I have taken the liberty of preparing your favourites.”

Steropes recognised his cue. He scuttled over to a bar at the back of the room, then returned carrying a tray. Two glasses sat on it, both resting atop little paper doilies.

“For you, Zac, lemonade, just the way your grandfather makes it. You like this, yes?”

“Ha!” laughed Herya. “Lemonade. You’re such a child.”

“And for you, Herya of the Valkyries, yak’s milk, warmed to five degrees above room temperature.”

It was Zac’s turn to laugh. Herya blushed. “You’ve made a mistake,” she told Argus. “I drink ale.”

Argus frowned. “Oh. My apologies. I did not know this. I have watched you many, many times – almost every moment of your life – and I have not once seen you drink ale.”

“Well, I do,” she insisted. “Gallons of it.”

Zac patted her on the arm. “You know, there are organisations who can help you with that. Admitting you have a problem – that’s the first step.”

“Funny guy,” she said, and she flicked milk in his face.

“What about me?” asked Angelo. “I’m thirsty too.”

“Ah, yes,” nodded the demon. “We have a real treat in store for you, I think.”

Steropes set down the yak’s milk beside Herya, who made a point of ignoring it completely. He scurried over to the bar again. They all watched as he pulled a welder’s mask over his head and slipped thick gauntlets over each hand.

“We cannot be too careful, yes?” Argus said. The Cyclops