NOW BEFORE THE DARK BY SAM HOOKER EXCERPT
Consider this a warning: There is no understanding Infernal Bureaucracy. Even the executive bureaucrats on the 8th circle have no idea what’s going on beneath them, for the very reason that it is beneath them. You don’t get to where they are by wasting your time with hard work and expertise. It’s mostly schmoozing over cocktails or golf, which was invented on the 44th circle for the specific purpose of ruining large swaths of nature with minimal effort.
The largest Infernal bureaucratic system capable of being understood in the slightest is the delivery network. In a central bullpen on the 50th floor, a team of half-mad demons works as diligently as permitted to maintain the maximum allowed level of efficiency of interdepartmental communication, which is nearly half a percent. They managed the various pneumatic tubes, imp messengers, scheduled prophecies, tea leaf readings, etcetera which worked together—so to speak—in the worst example of symbiosis in the universe to deliver messages from one department to another. Occasionally.
An envelope that had originated in Requests decades ago had recently been fished out of sewage and placed on the desk of Barbarella Sarcophage, a middle management demon in Interments and Exhumations on the 23rd level.
“He says you have to sign for it,” said Ms. Sarcophage’s assistant, a well-dressed talent demon who was working his way up. As luck would have it, he spoke sewer imp.
“I’m not signing anything, Scabrot. Get that wretched thing out of here!”
The nerve! Asking a middle management demon to give the shape of her name to a piece of paper! Not one of the demons who’d spawned from her clutch had ever signed anything unless threats were involved, and she wasn’t about to be the first.
Scabrot adjusted his silk cravat, which he shouldn’t have been able to afford on his salary, which he didn’t have. Ms. Sarcophage suppressed a smile of approval for the young demon’s ingenuity, not that she approved of that sort of thing, but she thought fondly that it must have been embezzlement. All of the most sartorial demons are either cunning embezzlers or the Prime Evils, who embezzle better than any of them.
“It’s not that simple, ma’am,” said Scabrot.
Good, thought Ms. Sarcophage, considering herself a proud casualty in the righteous war on efficiency. “Why not?”
“You’re not going to like it.”
“When do I ever?”
Scabrot sighed. “He’s got a knife, ma’am.”
“What? No, he hasn’t!”
The imp cackled and said something that must have been a swear word.
“He insists that he does, ma’am.”
“Straight to threats, then?” Ms. Sarcophage threw up her hands in frustration. “I’m entitled to bribery before coercion, it’s in my contract!”
Copyright © 2020 by Sam Hooker
0 comments:
Post a Comment