Bronte's Inferno XXX (They're Not A L L Mad)

I was beginning to feel a little tired, as I had not taken more than a spoonful of callos, during the meal. I motioned again to the doorway behind me. Charon shook her head again, then held up a hand with fingers and thumb outstretched. I hoped she meant just five minutes more. So far, we had heard nothing that I did not already know, or had not deduced, by performing our disappearing trick. I wondered what revelation was supposed to ensue in the next five minutes. I wondered too, how this trick had been achieved. Was I hallucinating, or were The Unholy Trinity the ones doing the trip? Why was Charon also invisible?

Consequently, I had missed a further exchange between the cat and Woland. Charon's brow was furrowed, perhaps in consternation. I resolved to pay more attention.

'There must always be a ssacrifice, you know that, Woland.' The cat had shrunk a little, no longer filling quite so much of the chair.

'Well, isn't that the problem? Why would anyone in their right mind make the one we ask of them?' Woland rested an elbow on the chair arm and cradled his chin with his hand.

'Isn't that why we choose writers, artists and musicians, Daah-ling?'

'They're not ALL mad, Hella.' Woland let out a breath that flapped his lips. 'At least not before they sign.'

The still shrinking cat's voice was heading towards a light tenor from his original basso profundo, 'Your Mickey B must be thinking he iss around the twist already, by now.'

'I don't know, there's something funny about this one. He's so phlegmatic. Nothing seems to surprise him. Not me, not you two, not Enoch and not even Uncle Tom Kobold and all.'

Hella had produced a cigarette holder the length of a car aerial. The cigarette was already lit. 'It will be fine. Remember the trouble we had with the Wizard Woman?'

Woland sniggered. 'Oh yes. But what a good deal that was. Never have I seen such … Well, you know, the stuff we need to keep going. Our best piece of business in millennia.'

Begemot's voice had reached Hella's contralto range. 'The more there iss, the more we need. The terrible bookss are a great metaphor, truly.'

Hella blew out a smoke ring you could have kicked a football through.

'- and don't forget, booooooys, he thinks that all the terrible books is the worst of it. He will crack and when we have him, well – then all will be well, the status quo will pertain.'

And with that, the three of them, Charon, even the room, all disappeared. And I believed I might have too, whilst hearing a repetitive riff and some inane lyrics about down, down, deeper and down.