Lamb The Gospel According to Biff Christs Childho - By Christopher Moore Page 0,61

of us, illuminated by a light coming from the ceiling somewhere. It smelled of brimstone and stung my nose. Joshua coughed and we both backed against the door as a figure stepped out of the smoke. He - it - stood as tall as any two men, although he was thin. He wore a long purple robe, embroidered with strange symbols in gold and silver, hooded, so we saw no face, only glowing red eyes set back in a field of black. He held a bright lamp out as if to examine us by the light.

"Satan," I said under my breath to Joshua, pressing my back against the great iron door so hard that I could feel rust flakes imbedding in my skin through my tunic.

"It's not Satan," Joshua said.

"Who would disturb the sanctity of my fortress?" boomed the figure. I nearly wet myself at hearing his voice.

"I'm Joshua of Nazareth," Joshua said, trying to be casual, but his voice broke on Nazareth. "And this is Biff, also of Nazareth. We're looking for Balthasar. He came to Bethlehem, where I was born, many years ago looking for me. I have to ask him some questions."

"Balthasar is no more of this world." The dark figure reached into his robe and pulled out a glowing dagger, which he held high, then plunged into his own chest. There was an explosion, a flash, and an anguished roar, as if someone had killed a lion. Joshua and I turned and frantically scratched at the iron door, looking for a latch. We were both making an incoherent terrorized sound that I can only describe as the verbal version of running, sort of an extended rhythmic howl that paused only when the last of each lungful of air squeaked out of us.

Then I heard the laughing and Joshua grabbed my arm. The laughing got louder. Joshua swung me around to face death in purple. As I turned the dark figure threw back his hood and I saw the grinning black face and shaved head of a man - a very tall man, but a man nonetheless. He threw open the robe and I could see that it was, indeed, a man. A man who had been standing on the shoulders of two young Asian women who had been hiding beneath the very long robe.

"Just fuckin' with you," he said. Then he giggled.

He leapt off of the women's shoulders and took a deep breath before doubling over and hugging himself with laughter. Tears streamed out of his big chestnut eyes.

"You should have seen the look on your faces. Girls, did you see that?" The women, who wore simple linen robes, didn't seem as amused as the man. They looked embarrassed and a little impatient, as if they'd rather be anywhere else, doing anything but this.

"Balthasar?" Joshua asked.

"Yeah," said Balthasar, who stood up now and was only a little taller than I was. "Sorry, I don't get many visitors. So you're Joshua?"

"Yes," Joshua said, an edge in his voice.

"I didn't recognize you without the swaddling clothes. And this is your servant?"

"My friend, Biff."

"Same thing. Bring your friend. Come in. The girls will attend to Ahmad for the time being." He stalked off down a corridor into the mountain, his long purple robe trailing behind him like the tail of a dragon.

We stood there by the door, not moving, until we realized that once Balthasar turned a corner with his lamp we'd be in darkness again, so we took off after him.

As we ran down the corridor, I thought of how far we had traveled, and what we had left behind, and I felt as if I was going to be sick to my stomach any second. "Wise man?" I said to Joshua.

"My mother has never lied to me," said Josh.

"That you know of," I said.
Chapter 12
Chapter 12

Well, by pretending to have an overactive bladder, I've managed to sneak enough time in the bathroom to finish reading this Gospel of Matthew. I don't know who the Matthew is that wrote this, but it certainly wasn't our Matthew. While our Matthew was a whiz at numbers (as you might expect from a tax collector), he couldn't write his own name in the sand without making three mistakes. Whoever wrote this Gospel obviously got the information at least secondhand, maybe thirdhand. I'm not here to criticize, but please, he never mentions me. Not once. I know my protests go against the humility that Joshua taught, but please, I was his best