Jezebeth, Spreader of Falsehoods and Lies, lifted his voice above the growing din of the assembled Lords.
‘What would Lucifer suggest we do to rectify this situation?’ he asked.
‘Lucifer suggests we all do our bloody jobs,’ replied Abaddon. ‘The overall direction of Perdition is guided by Lucifer’s shining light; the annoying, finicky details are our problem. Each Lord is required to submit a detailed proposal on how we can fix this mess we find ourselves in at an assembly one week from today. Lucifer himself will be present to pass judgement.’
The announcement brought instant silence to the boardroom. It was almost unheard of for the Light Bearer and Son of the Morning to attend a meeting.
‘He would like to see outside of the box thinking on this one. I have been advised that Lucifer is willing to send one Lord to the Mortal realm to implement their plan, should it be worthy and require such an outlay of resources. If none of your plans are solid he may take what works from each of them and send the best Lord for the job. If even that is not an option, you and your families will be tortured then executed. I hope Lucifer’s presence at the meeting and the lengths he is willing to go to demonstrate the urgency and importance of your task. Meeting adjourned.’
In the shock caused by Abaddon’s final revelation, Mastema rushed out of the boardroom as the Lords began to launch into discussion. Samael was stupid and smelly but he was also cruel and immensely powerful. Mastema had no inclination to stay in the same room with the brute less than five minutes after angering him. He walked back to his office shoulder-barging any minion foolish enough to pass by him. Not only did he have extra work to do, but the punishment for failure was severe and the incentive was no better.
Whilst the other Lords were no doubt relishing the chance to enter the Mortal realm, Mastema knew better. He had been there centuries before and found the limitations placed on a Demon in that place unbearable. It was the speed that annoyed him the most: everything moved so slowly in the Mortal realm. A demon’s strength in mortal form was great, but a shadow of what it was in Perdition and they were just as easy to kill as the humans when in their world. Upon that death, they would be sent back to Hell in a weakened state, which was painful, very unnerving and potentially dangerous; especially if one counted Samael amongst their enemies. Worst of all, the soul cost of opening a link to the Mortal plane was so high that being killed before completing your assigned tasks received the very harshest of punishments.
Mastema had a very large problem and only one week to find a solution. He needed, for the sake of brandishing his success over the heads of his fellow Board members, to present the best plan to Lucifer. He also needed it to involve someone else going to the Mortal realm so he could avoid the horrid duty himself. This in itself presented other problems, for although there would be no shortage of Lords clamouring to go to Earth, the plan had to be masterful. Should they fail, the fault could only be seen as theirs. Mastema entered his office and gathered his briefcase. He looked longingly at his golf clubs but there would be no time for playing in the next week. With a snarl, he headed home.
Behind every great Demon-Lord was a long-suffering wife; in Mastema’s case that was Deumos. Stunningly beautiful by Demoness standards, she had long hair, black as pitch, and almond-shaped eyes to match, a noble nose and slight chin. Her porcelain-white, razor-sharp teeth were framed in voluptuous blood-red lips and her figure was svelte, even after eons of marriage and spawning fifteen children, large boys no less. Most of her friends had to shape shift to some degree to maintain their pre-marriage and -childbirth appearance but Deumos was, to their ire, all natural.
She was preparing dinner when she felt the presence of her husband on his return journey. Deumos sighed; even at a distance his anger was apparent and she knew she was in for a long night of complaints about work, the other Lords or both. With the last touches finished, she placed the meal in the oven, poured herself a glass of wine and sat at the table, waiting for her husband to enter and begin his ranting.
Less than halfway through her glass, Mastema stormed in, face contorted with barely suppressed fury. Deumos sat quietly as he put his briefcase away in his den and walked into the dining room, muttering the whole time. She refrained from asking him how his day had been, as she usually did to provoke Mastema when he was in a foul mood. Something seemed different; the rage was palpable and she was eager to see what turn of events had brought about such a level of anger. Deumos listened graciously as he recounted the meeting and his views on being sent to the mortal realm.
Mastema told her he had been listing the various strengths and weaknesses of the other Lords, to see if he could mould something around them, but none had traits that stood out as a solid foundation for a masterful plan. Although an hour had barely passed since the conclusion of the meeting, Mastema wanted the task completed as soon as possible; apparently so he could complete his other work. Deumos took that, correctly, to mean golf.
The wives of the Lords often discussed their husbands’ annoying tendencies to bring work home with them. The story was always the same; when a problem proved too challenging for one of the mighty and powerful Board members their wives were always consulted for advice. No Lord would ask for assistance outright but complaining and snarling until their better half ventured a solution was considered one and the same. The problem, the women had decided, lay in their husbands’ views of themselves and their roles. They thought and acted like hammers but not all problems were nails.
‘I’m tempted not to help you at all,’ said Deumos during a break in his tirade ‘The only reason you are having a problem is your unwillingness to travel to the Mortal realm. You are the smartest of the Demon Lords-’
A self-satisfied smirk crept across Mastema’s face.
‘Wipe that smug look off your face; “smartest” in a group containing the likes of Samael is hardly an accomplishment. As I was saying, you are the smartest of the Demon Lords and if you did away with the condition that someone else had to be seen as the ideal candidate for travel this would not be a problem at all.’
‘I know you, though, Mastema,’ Deumos continued before he could reply. ‘This complaining will not stop until you have a plan and none involving you going to the Mortal realm will be suitable. I should let you batter your head against the wall your stubbornness has built, but in the interests of not having you moping and moaning for the next week I will help you.’
Mastema did his best to turn his scowl into a look of surprise.
‘My dear wife, I was only looking for your comfort and support after a trying day in the office. Do not trouble your pretty head with the challenges of a man’s world. I will, no doubt, think of something.’
As Deumos turned to leave the room, Mastema added quickly, ‘Of course, if you have already thought of a potential solution I wouldn’t want your effort to have been wasted. Your wise counsel is always welcome, my beloved.’
‘Kaarl,’ Deumos replied.
‘What does that worthless waste of my seed have to do with this?’
‘Kaarl has spent his life studying every aspect of the Mortals; he finds them fascinating. You and your fellow Lords are so entrenched in the old ways and that is why you are losing souls. The last time any of you walked amongst the Mortals they thought the Earth was flat and you could sail off the end of it. Humanity has changed and your strategy needs to change with it.’
Mastema considered his wife’s advice for a moment. Whilst it sounded good in principle, the fact that it involved Kaarl, Mastema’s youngest son, was a concern. Kaarl