“Iaaan!” cried Jamie. The little demon hissed.

  Montague allowed Ian to push her out of the room, but she didn’t keep going. “We could probably use his help, you know.”

  “A healer and a medic. Very useful, but he wouldn’t come with us.”

  “I meant here, resolving your contract.”

  “You’re really set on that?”

  Montague grinned widely. “After all, Mr. Blackwing, I do know ye t’be honorable and honest in yer—”

  “Oh shut up.” Ian pointed at the imp and sent a spark of lightning towards it, blasting it out of Jamie’s hair. “You do realize we were only afraid of you because there were hundreds, right? One imp is harmless.” Harmless enough that he was yelling at smoke. The Boy had fallen over. There was a drop of red on his collar. “Oh get up. Let us take a look.”

  The wound was a pinprick. “Does that count as a sting, really?” asked Montague.

  “Doubtful. Do you feel dizzy or lightheaded at all?”

  “I-I don’t think so.”

  “And it’s not discolored. You’re fine. Get your supplies ready. Stay in front of me and behind Montague.”

  “Ah, ladies first, is it?” the Captain said with a grin.

  “People with swords first,” Ian said with a roll of his eyes, “People who insist on doing this first. People who haven’t just nearly died and aren’t completely tapped of magic first.”

  “Oh, fine. But where is it I’m goin’ to first?”

  Ian crossed his arms and looked down at Jamie. The young acolyte looked from one to another as they waited expectantly. “I don’t know what you’re looking for!”

  “Weren’t you down here to deal with the demonic infestation?”

  “No! I came down here to do research, and then I got chased in here by demons.”

  Examining the Boy carefully, Ian once again noted how exhausted he looked. “When was that?”

  “I have no idea. There’s no clock or windows in here.”

  “Minutes,” said Ian impatiently, “hours, days?”

  “…days, I think.”

  “Nobody came for ya in that time?” asked Montague, her eyebrows nearly shooting off her face, “Nice place.”

  “Well, p-people don’t come down to the basement every day,” said Jamie, a little defensively.

  “The high priest knew you were down here,” said Ian, “He told me. That’s how I almost knew your name.”

  Jamie’s face fell. “Oh. Well. I mean, he’s very important and I’m sure he was busy with, well, with…” his voice trailed off and for a few moments there was silence.

  Montague, of course, broke it. “Still don’t know where I’m leadin’ the way to,” she reminded them.

  “Jamie, where did they come from?”

  “I’m not—”

  “Where did you hear strange noises, strange smells—rotten eggs, maybe?”

  “Rotten eggs?” Montague asked curiously, “Why would there be eggs?”

  “There wouldn’t be. But distinctive stench of rotting eggs comes from sulfur, also known as brimstone, which is associated with demons. So if Jamie thought he smelled rotting eggs where there weren’t any, he may actually have sensed demons.”

  “Huh,” said the Captain, “I never knew—wait, I seem t’recall picking up that scent before, on an island my crew explored. Does that mean it was infested with--”

  “Was it volcanic?”

  “Er, well it didn’t erupt while we were there, but we did leave quickly enough, on account of the stench an’ all.”

  “Brimstone does occur naturally, especially near volcanoes. That may be why demons are associated with brimstone. Fire from out of the earth, something volcanoes and imagery of Hell have in common.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Wait, but I thought you said that association was real?”

  “It is, but it may not always have been,” Ian shrugged disinterestedly, “Demons are spiritual beings. It’s possible they’ve been shaped by people’s beliefs over the centuries, especially if they’re widespread. It’s possible that people believed that demons were associated with brimstone, and eventually it became true. All I can say for sure is that it’s true now.

  “Anyway, Jamie!” he snapped as though the Boy was the one wasting time, “Did you smell brimstone? Or any other unusual signs?”

  “Th-the vaults, I think.”

  “Oh good,” said Montague, “I suspect we’d need y’to open that f’r us anyhow?”

  “Um…” Jamie looked apprehensively at the woman who’d already commented on how she was willing to rob the place.

  “I saved your life, Jamie,” said Ian impatiently, “The high priest sent me. And we need to do something about those demons, which is something we’re doing for you. Well, for your temple, anyway.”

  “An’ if it comes to it,” said Montague, “If I’m tryin’ to rob ya, I’m perfectly capable of making you open it up by threatening you.”

  “True enough,” Ian nodded, “I understand you’re not much of a fighter, and you’re entirely exhausted and drained of magic besides. Show us where to go.”

  Jamie stumbled forward uneasily, and Ian thought he caught something about “saved your life first.”

  “And more times, yes,” Ian agreed, “but guilt trips don’t work on me. Let’s go.”

  JAMIE JOINED THE PARTY!

  Sulky, Jamie pointed the way and Montague lead the small party. The tunnels down here were confusing. Intentionally so? If Jamie wanted to lose them, he could do so easily. Maybe they shouldn’t have coerced him. Not that he especially cared about the young acolyte’s feelings; it was merely a tactical consideration, like the decision to save him in the first place.

  Ian’s fears were laid to rest. Jamie did not lead them astray.

  “It’s really quite dim back here,” Montague mused, “not even any torch sconces. Are those crystals on the wall s’posed to be magical lights? They’re not workin’, then.”

  “Well, uh,” Jamie blushed, “they are, but they’re not self-powered. They need you to put a little magic into them. Priests who can’t do it need to bring their own light, but I can use them. Well, normally I can, but, well…”

  “Does the type of magic matter?” Jamie shrugged, and Ian touched one. He focused on the crystal, and it and the others all down the hallway blazed to light.

  “Ah!” Montague shielded her eyes against the sudden flash, then lowered her arm and blinked, “Well, why didn’t y’do that earlier, Mr. Blackwing?” She turned the door handle.

  “I locked that,” said Jamie, aghast, “I’m sure I did.”

  “Aye lad, I’m sure y’did,” Montague agreed.

  “I was going to open it!”

  “My way’s faster.” She shoved open the door.

  Inside the vault was a blackness that the light could not penetrate. The room smelled of rot, rotten eggs certainly, but also rotting flesh. The walls opposite them, and most of the floor, were covered in a deep black liquid that, in places, was indistinguishable from a hole that opened onto nothingness that went on forever. The room was infested with imps. They perched on every surface, and fluttered around the room. The shelves and safes that held the temples valuable treasures seemed largely to have vanished into the darkness, and something much larger than the imps was breathing.

  Captain Montague closed the door again, and then took a moment to gag on the smell. “Well, that’s more’n imps then,” she said brightly.

  “What the Hell was that?” cried Jamie, wheeling back and only stopping because he’d smacked into the wall.

  “Er, yes, exactly,” Ian answered him, “I think. Hell. A window into it. Miranda what were you doing down here?”

  “Sister Miranda did this?” Jamie said, distraught. His voice quavered and his hands shook. He slid down the wall to the floor.

  “No no, none of that now.” Montague scooped him up under an arm and dragged him to his feet.

  “I’m not sure,” Ian said, “Someone did it. Imps couldn’t do that on their own. Someone summoned something and didn’t properly seal their circle. Or something like that.” He shrugged. “I assume it was Miranda. She was a demonologist, after all.”

  “She was a priest of the holy powers,” Jamie cut in sharply, “who studied demons. Not someone who trafficked with them!”

  “Yuh-huh,” Ian agreed, “sure, if you say so.”

  “What did they offer you again, Mr. Blackwing?” the Captain asked him.

  “Not enough to compensate for this,” he answered her.

  “Right then,” said Montague, “Seems you were correct, as I’m sure you’ll say is usual, Mr. Blackwing. Let’s be on our way, then.” She sheathed her sword and made to leave.

  “You-you can’t just leave!” Jamie cried, his eyes wide and pleading, “We need your help!”

  “I surely can, lad,” Montague answered. But Ian thought she might have some difficulty with that, as she looked from one dim corridor to the next. If she asked Jamie to lead her out, would he do it? Ian thought he probably would. The nice ones would do whatever you asked, even if they didn’t want to.

  Unfortunately, “I’m not sure we should do that.”

  “And why’s that, Mr. Blackwing?”

  “First of all, that kind of infestation, left unchecked and uncontrolled, will continue to spread. It could consume the temple, even the port.”

  Jamie started tearing up again. Ian had no idea how he had that much water in him to begin with.

  “I fail to see how that’s a concern of ours. That’s hero business.”

  “Unfortunately, there don’t seem to be any of them around. And you do need the port, don’t you Captain?”

  “Mmm. Well, it really is the only place to land for a good ways.”

  “And by the time heroes show up to vanquish the demonic invasion, it’ll be much more powerful. It’ll attract stronger heroes.”

  “Oh. Well. We can’t have that, now can we?”

  “Why wouldn’t we—” Jamie started, but the Villain ignored him.

  “And then we’ll have those powerful heroes on my doorstep, but the port will have to be rebuilt entirely. That could take decades. Besides, I think I can counteract the portal without going into the room.”

  “That’s fine. Doesn’t seem to be aught left to take of value that hasn’t fallen into Hell, so I’ve no need to go back in there.”

  “You said you weren’t going to—” Jamie started, indignantly, but the Captain ignored him.

  “But y’said that were only yer first reason, Mr. Blackwing?”

  “True,” Ian said, with a nod, “There do seem to be two other concerns. One of them is my associate, Sister Miranda, whom I know to be dead. The other is the true high priest, Brother Juliard Gray—”

  “Julius Graham,” Jamie corrected him.

  “—who I’ve been assuming was dead.”

  “Why would he be—” Jamie started.

  “What about them, then?” asked Montague.

  “One of them appears to be standing at either end of this corridor, blocking our way.”