Little Demons (15)

Chapter 15

          Straight after debriefing and the well deserved congratulations from 'Sir',  Anarchy and Bert parted company and Bert headed home.

          He welcomed the intense heat like a basking lizard in the midday sun, as he stepped outside the building onto the grey cobbles, turned left and walked to the tram stop at the corner where Plague Close met Dysentery Avenue. He only had to wait for a few minutes before the black and red vehicle came trundling into view. He stepped on to the back, waving his pass at the conductor (You could tell he was the conductor because he had the ticket dispensing machine hanging around his neck) and took the first empty double seat available.

          Bert didn't like public transport, he didn't enjoy being crammed into small spaces with unknown demons pressed against him on all sides. He liked his personal space to remain personal. However, the journey home was too far to walk, so twice a day he gritted his teeth and suffered the twenty two minute journey in silence. Other demons who also regularly took the tram to and from work had at some point attempted to strike up a conversation with him. They didn't try a second time!

          Exactly twenty-two minutes after climbing aboard Bert alighted at Pumice Place. Living up to its name, the rows of houses built on three sides of the square were set into a wall of frothy black rock, each with an identical rectangular black metal door and a small, black framed rectangular window to the left. The only difference between them was the shiny silver number in the middle of each door just above the delivery slot.

          Wearily Bert walked up the grey cobbled path and put his key in the lock of number 615 and breathing a long sigh of relief, he gently closed the door behind him.

          He had been ecstatic when he was finally allocated his own house, having been forced to live with a vast brood of demons up until then and even though this was the norm for all demons, he had hated every minute of it from his first conscious thought. He remembered, even as a cub, that he had tried to find a secluded spot away from the noise and the smell and the mere presence of another living creature. He would hide in dark corners, in boxes, under his desk but none of these were a match for the comforting solitude he found beneath one of the six tiered bunk beds in his dorm. Sliding on his tummy into those few centimetres of pitch blackness below the bottom bed; he was always at his happiest wedged between those wiry springs and the hard lumpy floor.

          Now he had a whole house in which to relish solitude and seclusion. No unexpected noise, nothing moved out of place and no one to get in his way. Freedom to do what he wanted, when he wanted, how he wanted.  And right now he wanted hot food and an even hotter bath.

          Making his way down the narrow hallway, lit only by the ruddy light coming from the street lamp outside the hall window, Bert headed to the narrow kitchen with its continuously burning coal pit in the centre of the floor, over which hung a small black cauldron. A pungent aroma accompanied by tendrils of steam emanated from the murky interior, which contained a mixture of unidentifiable lumps of meat stewing in a thick greyish gravy. Bert took out a large earthenware bowl, from the only cupboard in the room, and filled it to the brim using a long handled wooden spoon. 'Not much left.' thought Bert, peering into the cauldron. 'I'll have to top it up this evening.' He poured himself a flagon of mineral water, placed both the flagon and bowl on a tray and carried it through to the lounge diner.

          This was also small but Bert didn't own much furniture so it still appeared spacious. There was a grey two-seater sofa against the wall opposite the fireplace where the remains of a roaring fire flickered weakly. 'That will need stoking.' thought Bert as he walked past it to the small round table by the far wall, where he put down his tray, pulled out the wooden chair and sat down to enjoy his tasty meal in blissful silence.

          Forty five minutes later, with a comfortably full stomach, a washed up bowl and spoon standing on the draining board and half a shuttle of coal added to the fire, Bert walked out of the front door back into Pumice Place.

          As with most of the squares in this precinct, the houses were built around the standard recreation area which contained an ornamental lava fountain  at the centre with a few benches dotted around it where demons could sit and socialise. There was also a wide gravel path around the edge and some newly added static bicycles at the end furthest from route 16, which ran along the fourth side of the square.  Needless to say, Bert did not frequent the park and was content with the knowledge that he had never been forced to converse with any of his neighbours in the one year, five months, two weeks and nine hours he had lived there.

          Turning right Bert walked briskly down to route 16, where he turned right again and walked along the footpath that followed the course of the busy road where the rush hour traffic was building up. Black and red trams, full to bursting, rumbled past in both directions alongside a multitude of smaller grey vehicles containing one or two demons and occasionally a long, sleek, highly polished executive vehicle glided past with a gently hum, the occupants hidden behind dark curtains pulled across the glassless windows.

          The path, and route 16, lead through a low murky tunnel into the next square, Granite Gardens. Around the standard central recreational park there were the usual rows of almost identical houses built into two of the rock walls,  however, along the third wall there was a row of open fronted shops selling a variety of wares.  The vendors' loud banter mingled with the voices of potential customers as they crowded around the trestle tables complaining about the extortionate prices and trying to persuade the retailer to throw in a free bag of blood worms with the frog steaks or a free chopping board with the gutting knife. 

          Bert made his way hastily past the discordant disorder and stopped outside the last shop. There was one long table outside the open shop window covered in lidless pots, each one containing a different variety of meat: mainly mole, rat, snake, bat and lizard although there were also pots of the usual assortment of worms, grubs and beetles.

          Meat had always been the staple diet of demons. There had been a vegetable fad many millennia ago but that was extremely short lived when it was discovered that when added to long stew, (this was started when a demon took up residence in his own house and was just added to on a regular basis until he moved out, if he moved out. Some long stews had been on the go for decades) the vegetables just dissolved into a sodden mush at the bottom of the cooking pot where they stuck solidly and burnt. This ruined many a vintage stew and consequently vegetables had been discarded in favour of more suitable ingredients such as salted slugs or peppered earwigs.

          About three and a half thousand years ago, when international trading had begun, there was a massive trade in new foods, which had since been integrated into the traditional cuisines of most Hells around the underworld. Bert's favourite ingredient was a juicy scotch hornet which gave his stew a bit of a bite.

          Rather than having to make a decision today, Bert purchased the value meat selection pack which he unwrapped as soon as he got home and, with a soggy plop, added it to his one year, five month, two week and nine and a half hour old long stew. He poured in a litre of brine, chucked in a handful of peppered earwigs for added flavour, gave it a quick stir then left it to simmer over the red hot coals.

          Knowing he had an early start the following morning and a long, detailed report to write up, Bert decided to get an early night.  He climbed the steep, narrow stairs where he ran a hot sulphur bath in his small bathroom. After a quick, refreshing soak he stood in the thermal vent, than ran through a corner of the bathroom, for ten minutes until his fur was thoroughly dry, rubbed in some volcanic ash, brushed his pointed yellow teeth,  then climbed between the coarse knitted bedcovers on the narrow metal bed that stood against one wall of his  small dark bedroom and fell asleep almost instantly.