The Book of Doom - By Barry Hutchison Page 0,57

point,” Zac replied. “I thought that was why you lured her out?”

“I wasn’t luring anyone out, I was just having a laugh!” Angelo yelped. “I didn’t know you were planning to shoot her in the face the minute she stepped outside!”

“It’s just a tranquilliser. She’ll be fine.”

“You hear that, missus?” asked Angelo, leaning over the woman and raising his voice. “It’s just a tranquilliser. You’ll be fine.” He watched her motionless body for a few more seconds. “Oh, look, that’s perked her right up, that has.”

Zac turned away and made for the doors. “Come on,” he muttered.

“Shooting a woman in the face,” Angelo tutted, following behind. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

They stepped through the doors and found themselves in a small reception area. The walls were painted in shades of lilac and lavender. The carpet was lime green with a darker green zigzag pattern running through it. When Zac looked at it, the pattern seemed to move. The effect made him queasy, so he tried not to look any longer.

A tidy desk stood just inside the doors. A pair of knitting needles and some wool sat on top of it, alongside a glossy magazine called Your Hellhound. On the magazine’s cover was a demonic child hugging what looked to be a bear with all its skin torn off. Magma drizzled from the animal’s snout, much to the apparent delight of the child.

On the wall behind the desk was a colourful laminated notice. It read: YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE DAMNED TO WORK HERE – BUT IT HELPS!!!

“Well, I’ll be honest,” said Angelo, “this isn’t what I was expecting.”

“No,” agreed Zac. “Nor me.”

“I expected it to be... hotter. And, you know, more screaming and stuff.”

“Give it time.”

There were three doors leading out of the room. They had just walked through one, so Zac concentrated on the other two. The first was painted in gloss white, with a small black and silver sign attached to it that read ARRIVALS. He went to this door and pressed his ear against the wood.

“Hear anything?” Angelo asked.

“Yes, you. Shut up.”

Angelo kept quiet while Zac listened. After a moment, Zac stepped away from the door and shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. He gripped the handle. “I’m going to take a look.”

He pulled the door open a few centimetres. The reception area was filled with screaming and wailing and the crackling of an endless fire. Zac quickly closed the door and silence returned.

“Let’s try the other one,” he suggested.

Angelo nodded. “Good idea.”

The third door opened without the fanfare of horror. Zac peeped out and saw a long corridor curving away from the door on both sides. There was no wall across from him, only a waist-high barrier of frosted glass, allowing him to see all the way round in both directions.

There was nobody in sight, so he stepped out of the reception area and into the corridor. It formed a complete circle, covering an area about the size of a football pitch. Doors stood along the wall at two-metre intervals, each one blank and unremarkable.

Music was being piped in from somewhere. It was soft and quiet and would’ve been completely inoffensive had it not been so irritatingly catchy and just ever so slightly out of tune. It reminded him of a tune he knew, but it was as if someone was playing all the right notes in the wrong order, and just a little faster than they should have been played. It was music, Zac thought, designed to drive people mad.

Angelo emerged from the room and ran over to the glass barrier. The corridor was a ring with a vast circular space in the middle. Angelo leaned over the barrier and gave a low whistle of wonder.

“It goes down a long way,” he said. Zac joined him in looking over the edge. He counted eight more ringed corridors below them. At least the next four had a similar number of doors to this one. After that, the angle made it impossible to see more than a few centimetres of floor at the edge of each storey.

On the ground floor the space in the middle of the ring was carpeted in the same jarring zigzag pattern. A gargoyle-shaped fountain stood slap bang in the centre, spewing red liquid from its mouth and eyes.

“Nine circles,” Zac said. “It’s the nine circles of Hell.”

“It’s nicer than I thought,” Angelo said. “You know, apart from the fountain.”

“Where’s the tenth?” Zac asked himself. “There’s supposed to be ten.”

From below they