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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Satan and the Comrades, by Ralph Bennitt
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Satan and the Comrades
+
+Author: Ralph Bennitt
+
+Release Date: February 22, 2010 [EBook #31349]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SATAN AND THE COMRADES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks, Barbara Tozier and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+    This etext was produced from Fantastic Universe, September
+    1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the
+    U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
+
+
+
+
+    _It is not always easy to laugh at Satan, or take pleasure in
+    his antics. But when the Prince of Darkness goes on a vacation
+    or holds a mirror up to human nature at its most Luciferian
+    chuckles are certain to arise and follow one another in
+    hilarious profusion. Here is a yarn contrived by a craftsman
+    with ironic lightning bolts at his fingertips, as mordantly
+    compelling as it is jovial and Jovian. If you liked _SATAN
+    ON HOLIDAY_, and were hoping for a sequel you can now
+    rejoice in full measure, for Ralph Bennitt has provided that
+    longed-for delight._
+
+
+
+
+SATAN AND THE COMRADES
+
+_by ... Ralph Bennitt_
+
+
+    Lucifer wasn't sure that just the right improvements had been
+    made in Hell. So he used a dash of sulfur with Satanic skill.
+
+
+Nick felt almost good-humoredly buoyant after his year's holiday as a
+college boy. About a second after leaving Earth he slowed his
+traveling speed down to the medium velocity of light by shifting from
+fifth dimension to fourth. Though still a million miles above the
+wastes of Chaos and twice that distance from the gates of Hell, his
+X-ray eyes were quick to discern a difference in the road far below
+him.
+
+Sin and Death had built that broad highway eons before. On leaving
+Hell, presumedly forever to carry on their work among men, they had
+done a mighty good job of the original construction. But time had
+worked its ravages with the primrose-lined path, and it was not
+surprising that on starting his sabbatical leave, Nick had ordered his
+chief engineer to repair the road as a first step in his plan to
+modernize Hell.
+
+Apparently, old Mulciber had done a bang-up job, and Nick roared in
+laughter at evidences of the engineer's genius and those of wily
+Belial, the handsome court wag. The Propaganda Chief had added
+advertising at numerous new roadhouses along the way, and unwary
+shades traveling hellward gazed at beautiful scenes of lush vegetation
+instead of a dreary expanse like the Texas Panhandle. This "devilish
+cantraip sleight" also changed the raw Chaos climate to a steady 72°F
+and gave off a balmy fragrance of fruits and flowers.
+
+Ten thousand drachmas, a fictitious unit of currency established by
+foxy old Mammon, was the flat fee for use of the road. Blissfully
+unaware of this "Transportation Charge," or how it would be paid,
+numerous phantom pilgrims were sliding down the steeper hills--and
+having a swell time. Their shouts of glee reached Nick's largish ears
+despite the lack of air as mortals know it. Clever old Mulcie had
+installed freezing plants here and there to surface the road with
+glare ice.
+
+Nick poised above a party of phantom men and girls sliding downhill on
+their _derrieres_ and ending in a heap at the bottom. A nice change
+from traveling under their own power. Their maximum speed while swift
+and incomprehensible to mortals, seemed relatively slow to one of
+Hell's old timers. Only Nick and his best scout, Cletus, could move at
+thought speed--"Click-Click Transportation."
+
+Drifting on, a pleased smile on his red, bony face, Nick paused
+several times to read Belial's welcomings.
+
+"Die and see the original Naples in all its natural beauty," said one
+sign. "Try our hot sulphur springs and become a new soul." Gayest
+pleasures were promised to all and golfers had special attention.
+"Register with the pro at your favorite golf club so you can qualify.
+No charge for pro's services who'll teach you to break 80. Free lunch
+and drinks at all Nineteenth Holes."
+
+No fool shade would wonder what he'd qualify for, nor suspect he'd
+have to shovel eighty million tons of coal and ashes before his
+handicap would be lowered enough to earn him a set of golf clubs or
+that the free lunch and drinks were chunks of brimstone, the
+sulphurous air and Styx River water which is always just below boiling
+point at 3,000°F.
+
+Hell's thousand of new golf courses, gambling joints and bars would be
+available only after downtrodden souls had worked a millennia or two
+at common labor jobs. A shady deal, indeed, but all a part of Nick's
+master plan to get him and his legions back to Heaven.
+
+By modernizing Hades he hoped to annoy "The Big Boss Upstairs" while
+diverting the attention of those two vigilant celestial watchers,
+Michael and Raphael, from the main idea. In a series of bold moves,
+known only to Nick and his Board or Inner Council, mankind would be
+wiped off the earth--and thus bring The BBU to time. Or so Nick hoped.
+
+As a first step, he had spent a year as Pudzy, a college boy, studying
+electronics and modern skills of all kinds. He had enjoyed the holiday
+on Earth though it irked him to recall that he'd been obliged to do
+good here and there. The thought of these satanic lapses caused him to
+frown, but his jolly mood returned when he saw the familiar gates of
+Hell wide open in obedience to his whistle.
+
+The whistle's high frequency waves also awakened Cerberus, the
+three-headed watch dog, besides actuating "The Dingus." This
+electronic device Nick had stolen to operate the three ponderous
+triple-fold gates of adamantine, brass and iron.
+
+He slowed to supersonic speed, brought back his great red wings and
+made a neat three-point landing without injuring the needle-sharp dart
+at the end of his long, black tail. Still feeling jovial, he kicked
+all three of Cerberus's heads, then zoomed down through the tunnel to
+the north bank of the River Styx.
+
+There he halted to view the ten-lane suspension bridge Mulciber had
+thrown across the steamy black water. Nick was wondering how the old
+genius had accomplished such a feat when a thick black wall dropped
+across the bridgehead.
+
+"Cost you five thousand rubles to cross, mister," Charon called in a
+thick voice.
+
+The old riverman who had ferried new shades across the earth-hell
+boundary for eons of time, had just returned after a year's vacation
+in Moscow.
+
+He hid a bottle under his brimstone bench, then straightened a gaudy
+red tie as he weaved forward. A changed devil, Charon. His year in
+Redland had done more than put him into a natty summer suit. Although
+not very bright, he had unusual powers of observation. He liked to ape
+the odd speech of his customers, especially American prospectors.
+These truculent but harmless old timers worked at odd jobs around the
+nearby palace grounds, and in the ferryman they found a kindred
+spirit.
+
+Nick eyed the loyal old fellow's red tie with amazement. "What, for
+St. Pete's sake, are you drinking, Char?"
+
+"Vodka," Charon gasped. Recognizing the stern voice, he tried to focus
+his bleary eyes. "'Scuse it, Your Majesty. I've come a long way and
+alone. Your substitute, Pudzy, gimme a bottle 'fore he returned to
+Ameriky, and it's durn cold up there in Musk-Cow, and so I took a few
+nips, and I felt so goldurned glad to git back I polished off what was
+left, so I didn't recognize Your Majesty when you came zoomin' along,
+and if you'll sort of overlook--"
+
+Nick patted the frightened old fellow's scrawny shoulder. "Better
+check in and sleep it off, Char."
+
+"Gosh, stoppin' _you_!"
+
+"You let everybody in till I tell you different. Forget the toll
+charge too, you old conniver."
+
+"Yeah, and look!" Chortling with glee, Charon tottered back to his
+station and put one hand across the beam of a photo-electric eye. The
+ponderous gate slid silently upward. "It weighs fifteen hundred tons,
+Mulcie says, and I don't even push a button."
+
+"You still smell like a Communist, Char," Nick said, sniffing the good
+sulphurous air. "How come you're on the job as bridgekeeper if you've
+just returned from Moscow?"
+
+"Orders from Beelzebub, and it's nigh a half hour by now since this
+fella came across the bridge. I'm sauntering home, friends with
+everybody, I am--"
+
+"What fellow?"
+
+Charon scratched his grisly thatch. "Come to think of it, I never see
+'im afore this. I'm standing back there, looking down at my old skiff
+and wondering about my job, when this fella comes up. 'This is for
+you, Charon,' he says, and held out your official incombusterible
+letterhead with the cross-bones and dripping blood--"
+
+"Yeah, yeah. What does this stranger look like? What's his name? Who
+signed the paper?"
+
+"Beelzebub signed it. I guess I know the John Henry of your Number Two
+devil even if I am a dumb ferryman." Perhaps sensing he had blundered,
+Charon almost wept. "This paper appoints me head bridge-tender from
+now to the _end_ of eternity, and, bein' worried about my job, I
+hopped right to it. You're the first--"
+
+"Which way did he go? What's he look like?"
+
+Charon almost said "Thataway," as he shook his head and pointed a
+trembling finger to the distant shore. "Lemme see. He wore neat
+clothes about like mine, and he zoomed off like the upper crust shades
+do when in a hurry--which ain't often. He has mean little eyes, sort
+of pale blue, is built wide and short, and talks American good as I
+do. Now't I think of it, he had an impederiment in his speech, and he
+smelt like a bed of sweet peas."
+
+"Very good, indeed." Scanning the paper, Nick smiled as he recognized
+a forgery of the Beelzebub signature. He drew out his pen which writes
+under fire as well as water, and scribbled "Nick," then put the
+document into the eager hands. "This gives you the job forever--or
+till I revoke the appointment."
+
+"Boydy-dumb-deals!" Charon shouted. "Boss, you oughta hear about my
+adventures in Redland. I had a real gabfest with the new Premier,
+Andrei Broncov, and his Minister of Culture, Vichy Volonsky."
+
+Nick grinned sardonically. "I heard a little about the most recent
+changes in the Kremlin. Are my old sidekicks well? And are they having
+any particular trouble since liquidating the old gang?"
+
+"How come you call that fat crumb, Broncov, your sidekick?" Charon
+frowned, trying to collect his wits in the dread presence. "He didn't
+ask about you. He took me for an illegitimate son of Joe Stalin's, so
+how would he know you and I are pals? I bought this red tie and hired
+a sleeping dictionary to catch onto the language better, and--"
+
+"Your dictionary probably spilled things to the MVD."
+
+"Not while my gold held out. Anyhow, those punks are way overrated.
+Tricky, maybe, and they lie good. They'd rather bump you off than eat
+breakfast."
+
+"Purge is the word. The old comrades Broncov threw out a month ago now
+fully understand its meaning. How is the comrade?"
+
+"Gosh, boss, I'm sick of hearing that word. They say it just before
+they knife you. Broncov's been busy, all right. Since taking over the
+Number One job he's been sending a lot of his best friends down this
+way. To keep Joe Stalin company, he told me. He looks fat even if Bill
+Shakespeare says this new lot--"
+
+"I suppose he and his pals plied you with liquor," Nick said.
+
+"They tried to drink me under the table." Charon cut a laugh in half.
+"Gosh, I durn near forgot. Y'know what the sidewinder, Bronco, babbled
+'fore he passed out? Top drawer stuff. Only he and this Vichy
+Volonskyvich know about it. Seems Bronco learned, somehow, about your
+taking a vacation, so he's been torturing a lot of his friends into
+confessing they plotted agin 'im. He promised them an easy death if
+they'd carry on down here. How you like that?"
+
+"The fools. What's his plan?"
+
+"I ain't sure I got it all as his tongue got thicker from the vodka.
+But I learned Hell's full of comrades who've sworn to their god,
+Lee-Nine, they'll toss you to the wolves. They aim to pull Joe Stalin
+off his clinker-picking job and make him secretary here."
+
+"Go on," Nick urged in ominous tones. "How?"
+
+"They've swiped some new secret weapon and figure to obliterate you
+and every devil in authority so things will be organized nice and cozy
+when they finally get here. The Dumb--"
+
+"Good report, Char." The new weapon did not bother Nick much, but from
+his profound studies of atom smashing he decided anything can happen
+these days even to a top devil. He continued briskly: "Hereafter,
+sniff all your customers and make sure they don't _smell_ like a Red.
+You know the aroma by now--sweet peas with an underlying stink--so
+keep your nose peeled. When you spot a comrade, radio-phone the guard.
+Those lads will know what to do you can bet your last ruble."
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+The rousing welcome home Nick received as he climbed the hill to his
+great palace would have warmed his heart if he'd owned one.
+
+"Thanks, boys and girls," he intoned in his best golden voice. "It's
+swell to be back among you. I haven't time for a speech now, but tune
+in to Channel Thirteen tomorrow evening for my fireside chat."
+
+He wanted to take off for Moscow immediately, but decided to start the
+war by calling The Board. Also, the boys would be hurt if he didn't
+inspect what they'd done during his absence. After a hasty,
+Russian-style dinner of caviar, cabbage and cold horse with a gold
+flagon of vodka, he ordered Azazel, Flag Bearer and Statistician
+Chief, to call a meeting in the throne room.
+
+Little Cletus waylaid his big boss. The scout among the celestials
+looked like a chubby cherub what with his dimpled cheeks and curly
+black hair, but he'd proved to be the trickiest imp south of the
+pearly gates. Knowing that Raphael had cajoled the little imp into
+revealing something of the improvements in Hades, Nick suspected
+treachery by one of his most trusted scouts.
+
+"I hear you've been seeing Raphael!" he barked.
+
+"Aw, I told 'im a pack of lies," Cletus scoffed. "Maybe Rafe figured
+out something; he's a smart apple. I told 'im everybody here is hot
+and unhappy like you ordered me to say if they ever caught me. I said
+our air-conditioning system goes haywire and that we were ripping out
+a thousand old boilers and coolers. Stuff like that."
+
+"Don't lie to me, you ornery little brat. Okay to anybody else but not
+to me. I happened to hear Rafe talking to Mike, and they're wise to my
+plan of making Hell attractive."
+
+"Well, hell," Cletus protested, "they saw Mulcie's gangs fixing the
+road. If Rafe and them extra-extrapopulated that dope to figure out
+the truth, why blame me?"
+
+"We'll forget it," Nick said, vastly relieved to believe his scout had
+not betrayed him. "I have a job for you. I'm going to Moscow and I
+want your help. Light out as soon as you can. Requisition as much gold
+as you can handle by the usual translation method, and include a sack
+of polished diamonds and rubies. I'll tell Mammon it's okay when I
+arrange for my own supply."
+
+"Okay, boss. Where do we meet? And what am I supposed to look like,
+and do?"
+
+"Make yourself bellhop size and register at the Droshky Hotel as
+Prince Navi from Baghdad with fifty Persian oil wells to sell. Let 'em
+see your gold and jewels. And, remember, you'll account for any dough
+you toss away to women and bribes. Get going!"
+
+Nick could see into the _near_ future, at least, and he chuckled after
+Cletus vanished through the wall. "The little devil doesn't know
+what's in store for him."
+
+In the throne room, sage old Beelzebub sat at the right of His
+Majesty's chair; huge Moloch with his evil grin and snaggle teeth, at
+the left. Tall, prissy Azazel, always acting important, planted
+Satan's flag and then sat down at a table opposite wide-shouldered
+Mulciber and handsome Belial. Charter members all of the original
+organization booted out of Heaven some eighteen million years ago when
+Nick's first but not last rebellion flopped.
+
+After the customary ritual of renewing their vow to get back to
+Heaven, the gang sat down. Nick rapped the arm of his throne and
+glared at Chemos, the lustful one.
+
+"Cheme," he said, "if you will quit flirting with Astarte, The Board
+will take up business."
+
+Belial snickered when the culprits' red faces grew even redder, and
+after a wink at the court wit, Nick went on: "I intend to take off for
+Moscow after a quick look about with Mulcie and Belial. Incidentally,
+my compliments on the good work you did on the road."
+
+"Egad, boss," Moloch complained, "why can't you stay home more and
+line things up for us?"
+
+"Time enough--" Nick sniffed, scowled, then pointed toward a thick
+pillar near the rear of the big room. "I smell an interloper. Thammuz,
+Dagon, drag 'im up here! Beel, I fancy he's the one who forged your
+signature."
+
+Beelzebub rose in anger when a shadowy figure darted for the door. The
+intruder moved as fast as any wraith but the two former gods were too
+quick for him. A brief struggle, then they dragged the eavesdropper
+before the throne where they held him upside down.
+
+"It's the Paperhanger!" Beelzebub roared.
+
+"I guessed that from Charon's description," Nick said calmly. "He's
+siding with the Reds again--Smell him? Stand up, Adolf, and hear your
+sentence!"
+
+"I didn't do a thing, Your Majesty," Hitler began, but the hot,
+glowing eyes were too much to face. His knees buckled and he sank,
+groveling, on the floor. "Didn't I send you millions of customers?" he
+wailed. "Haven't I done a good job of sweeping out and collecting
+garbage? Have a heart, Nick. I came in here to sweep, and how would I
+know about this private conference?"
+
+"You talk about hearts?" Nick flared. "You hung around to listen. You
+forged Beelzebub's signature on my official paper, then put Charon in
+charge of the bridge, thinking he's too dumb to report any Commies
+coming here."
+
+"I can prove--"
+
+"You get the same chance at that which you gave people in Berlin. Down
+the chute with him, boys!"
+
+The chute, connecting with a main one leading down to the burning
+lake, has a flap which Belial gleefully lifted. Since shades have no
+mass worth mentioning, the long duct acts like a department store
+vacuum tube.
+
+"Oh, my beloved emperor, forgive me," Adolf yelled as he felt the
+suction. "I only wanted to organize a counter-revolution against the
+Communists and--"
+
+"Ratting on your pals again, eh?" Nick sneered. "You stay in the
+burning lake a thousand earth years. You'll have plenty of time and
+company for your plotting. Let 'im rip!"
+
+"No! I'll be forgotten--"
+
+"No one remembers you now except as a dung heap." Nick turned a thumb
+downward, and the screeching shade vanished.
+
+"Like a paper towel in a gale," Belial said as he let the flap clang
+shut. "How'd that creep get a job where he could snoop?"
+
+"My fault," Beelzebub admitted. "He's a smooth talker. I saw him not
+long after you left, Your Majesty, when I went out to inspect the
+garbage incinerator. He had shaved off his dinky mustache and changed
+the color of his eyes, but I recognized him."
+
+"It's okay, Beel." Nick patted the heavy shoulder of his top
+assistant. "The punk did us a left-handed favor in bringing things to
+a head." He told of how Charon had discovered the Red plot, then
+outlined his general plan.
+
+"Those Commies can't stand ridicule," Nick summed up. "While I'm gone
+I want every Communist son tossed into the burning lake. Alarm all
+guards and tell them how to identify them--the fragrance of sweet peas
+with an underlying stink. No one in the USSR has used up a cake of
+soap in twenty years, and the perfume they add can't quite cover the
+BO."
+
+"Must be a lot of Commies here," Mulciber commented. "How many guards
+have we, Azzy?"
+
+Azazel, Statistics Chief, glanced at a roll of incombustible
+microfilm, and cleared his throat. He liked being called upon, and
+since he had the history of every shade while on Earth, he was the
+second most feared devil in Hades.
+
+"After promoting the last batch who qualified for better jobs during
+the minimum millennium at common labor," Azazel said, "and adding--"
+
+"Never mind the commercial!" grouchy Moloch roared. "Boss, how do we
+know all our guards are to be trusted?"
+
+"We don't," Nick said. "When did we ever trust anybody? But our system
+of checkers, checkers checking the checkers, super-checkers on up to
+charter members, hasn't failed yet."
+
+"If His Eminence, The Corpse-Snatcher, is satisfied," Azazel said,
+smoothing his sleek black hair, "I shall answer Prince Mulciber's
+polite question. We now have on the guards' roll exactly thirteen
+million four hundred--"
+
+"That's close enough." Plainly pleased with his title, Moloch grinned
+at the big engineer. "Mulcie, why not build a chute straight up into
+Moscow? Save the boss trouble. He could take along a few gorillas and
+toss all those troublemaking stinkers straight into a hot bath."
+
+Nick joined in the laughter. "Trouble with that, Molly, The BBU
+wouldn't stand for it. Only Death can give the final sting, and even
+he has to wait for the call. Our game is to play it cagey, stick by
+the few rules The BBU laid down, and stay out of trouble."
+
+"How do you aim to handle those fellas?" Belial asked.
+
+"Tell you after I do it." Nick guessed the fun-loving Propaganda Chief
+wanted to go along, but decided Cletus would be a better assistant in
+a plan already formulated. A boon companion, Belial, for any nefarious
+project. True, he had the quickest wit of the lot, but had worked
+over-long in the advertising racket, and many of his schemes resembled
+those of a hen on a hot griddle.
+
+Nick turned to the secretary. "If you have all this down, Asta, I'll
+consider a motion to adjourn."
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+It was an hour short of midnight and snowing in Moscow when Nick
+landed in the printing room of Pravda, the official Red journal. As he
+had calculated, several sample newspapers had been run off.
+
+Vichy Volonsky, a short, roundheaded man, had held up the rest of the
+issue while he studied the content through his nose-glasses. Editor
+Blochensk and the mechanics anxiously awaited the great man's verdict.
+An unfavorable one meant the concentration camp for everybody. As
+Minister of Culture, Volonsky previewed all news personally when not
+running errands for Andrei Broncov at a meeting of the Inner Council.
+
+The Number Two ranking man in the Kremlin clique frowned most
+frighteningly, then, moved by an odd compulsion, walked into a
+sound-insulated telephone room. He closed the door and stared at it
+stupidly while looking through the invisible Nick.
+
+"Why did I come in here?" he said. "There's only the usual bilge in
+the sheet, nothing to telephone the fat slob about. Yet something made
+me."
+
+"I did," Nick said, suddenly visible. "When I finish, Pravda will
+never be the same again. Lie down, Vichy!"
+
+Volonsky opened his mouth, but Nick wiggled a finger, and no yell came
+out. In the wink of an eye, he squeezed out the Minister's shade and
+took its place.
+
+"Pretty cramped and smelly quarters," Nick told himself, "but do or
+die for good old Hades."
+
+"What? Who are you?" Volonsky's phantom teeth chattered. "You must be
+Nick, himself."
+
+"Russia's patron saint till you amateurs took over. I have business
+with your boss. I mean Andrei Broncov. Not that it matters, but who
+conceived the idea of deposing Satan? Talk, _mujik_, and tell the
+truth. All of it."
+
+"Blame Broncov, not me," Volonsky pleaded. "It was his scheme to kill
+off several thousand loyal party comrades. They got a choice: Be
+tortured to death, or die quickly and work for a revolution in Hell as
+soon as they arrived. Naturally--"
+
+"I've heard enough, rat." Nick spat contemptuously, and a puff of gray
+smoke spread rapidly over walls, ceiling and floor. "That will hold
+you," he jeered, and opened the door. Aping the Minister's important
+waddle, he walked over to the great press.
+
+Editor Blochensk stared with fear-bulged eyes. "Anything--anything
+wrong, Your Excellency comrade?" he asked shakily.
+
+"Nothing I can't fix."
+
+"Oh!" The editor clutched his throat. "Thank--uh--uh--"
+
+"Never mind, I know Who you mean." Muttering words in Hell's silent
+language, Nick walked completely around the press. "It's perfect,
+Blochy. Don't let the content worry you. It's part of The PLAN. Roll
+out your papers and deliver them fast. Don't question anything. Orders
+from--you know."
+
+Only minutes ahead of the new Volonsky, Cletus had entered the lobby
+of the Droshky Hotel on Red Square. The cherubic scout had obeyed
+orders and made himself bellhop size, large size. He didn't exactly
+resemble the one in the cigarette ad but he had the kid's twinkle in
+his dark eyes. And he had already latched onto a luscious blonde; or,
+more likely, Nick concluded, the reverse.
+
+Having just registered as a Persian prince, Cletus again clanked down
+a large sack of gold pieces and a smaller one of jewels. "Put these
+diamonds and rubies into your best safe," he ordered in perfect
+Russian.
+
+The clerk's eyes began popping, so did the blonde's and those of a
+score of spectators, including four hard-faced MVD boys.
+
+"And I'll take care of you, Honey-Navi," the blonde said.
+
+"Ah, you just love me for my two billion dollars," the imp retorted,
+and winked at her. As did Nick, Cletus could plainly see the twist
+operated on the MVD payroll as well as in her own interests.
+
+"I'm selling out my fifty oil wells," he announced, "and I've come to
+town to see the head man, whoever he is today. I thought I'd let you
+dumb _mujiks_ bid for the wells before I practically give them to
+Super-San Oil company for a measly two hundred million dollars."
+
+"Of course, Prince Navi," the clerk said loudly. He nodded toward the
+four tough lads who, likewise, had not yet noticed the great Volonsky.
+
+Nick rapped on the counter with his six-carat diamond ring. "How about
+a little service here, comrade?"
+
+"One moment, comrade," the clerk said nervously.
+
+"What you mean, one moment?" Nick roared. "I haven't flown all the way
+from New York to have a two-bit clerk tell me to wait. I represent
+Super-San Oil and I'm here to meet a Persian Prince Navi."
+
+"Quiet, Amerikaner, till--Oh, Your Excellency Comrade Vychy Volonsky!"
+The mouth of the astonished clerk fell open. Then, fearful of making a
+wrong move in the Red game of dirty politics, he failed to guess why
+the great one should act as a miserable capitalist. "A thousand
+pardons, Your Excellency Comrade. What can I do for the beloved
+comrade? I didn't recognize you--"
+
+"Hush, fool!" Nick looked toward Cletus just then gazing into the
+blonde's blue eyes.
+
+The four MVD agents went into a quick huddle, then the one with a
+broken nose bowed to the fake Volonsky. "If Your Excellency Comrade
+will step aside with us, we'll explain this fool's mistake."
+
+"Put him in the can and question him tomorrow," Nick snarled. "Anybody
+can see he's working for the filthy capitalists."
+
+"Of course, Your Excellency Comrade." Broken nose and his three pals
+escorted Nick to a chair beside a column. "I'm Lieutenant Putov of the
+MVD," he whispered. "We picked up this Prince Navi the instant he
+entered, and have been watching him."
+
+"Skip the commercial," Nick said, almost laughing as he gave Moloch's
+favorite expression. "How come you didn't spot him at one of our
+airports?"
+
+"He must have landed on an abandoned field in his private plane, Your
+Excellency Comrade." Lieutenant Putov glanced at the other three
+equally worried looking plug-uglies. "He's a prince, all right. Look
+at the gold and jewels he tossed to the clerk, several million dol--I
+mean, several billion rubles. We haven't checked his story, but he
+claims he's here to sell fifty Persian oil wells."
+
+"I know _that_, idiot. Our spies in Baghdad advised us yesterday.
+That's why I pretend to be with the stinking Super-San--Wggh!"
+
+"What are Your Excellency Comrade's wishes?"
+
+"Get him away from that blonde before she ruins our plans."
+
+"Ah, that's Nishka, one of us." Astonishment widened Putov's watery
+blue eyes. "Have you forgotten the night you and she drank--"
+
+"You talk too much, Putov." Nick flapped a hand. "Get a car to take me
+and the prince to the Kremlin. Hurry it! Comrade Andrei Broncov and I
+have a Council meeting at midnight. You three, bring the prince to me
+here."
+
+Cletus and Nishka had withdrawn to a sofa in an alcove off the lobby.
+Without effort, Nick could see them and hear the female agent saying:
+"How do I know you have all that money, Navi-Honey? I'll bet you
+brought gilt lead and fake jewels just to impress me."
+
+"No, but I've been to America," Cletus bragged, knowing well his boss
+would be listening. "So be nice and I'll prove they're real. I've been
+everywhere but this lousy place. I even lived in Egypt."
+
+"Talk some Egyptian for me," Nishka wheedled.
+
+"I've forgotten most of it," Cletus said, cannily dodging the trap.
+"But I once made a study of the ancient language." He ripped out a
+stream of what had once been his native tongue. Then, partly at least
+to test Nishka's knowledge, he added in English, "How's for looking at
+my room before we go out on the town?"
+
+"Wha-at? Why, you bad boy!" The girl winked at her three fellow agents
+coming toward them in a crablike walk, then spoke in Cletus' ear:
+"It's the LAW, Navi-Honey, but don't let them worry you. Little Nishka
+will stay with you--to the limit."
+
+Cletus leered at her and rose to accompany the MVD to the front of the
+lobby. He and Nick put on an act, then went to the street followed by
+a chattering crowd.
+
+Once inside the sleek car Putov had conjured up, Nick said: "The heap
+is wired so we'll talk only in Hell language."
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+It wasn't far to the grim walls of the Kremlin, and as the big car
+purred across the snowy, radio-stricken square, Nick gave Cletus the
+main points of his plan. Obviously warned, the police gave a snappy
+salute and let the car enter the courtyard. A few moments later,
+Hell's emissaries were zooming through long corridors and up to the
+second floor; walking the last fifty yards.
+
+Six husky guards armed with sub-machine guns opened the great doors to
+the Premier's private study. "He's been asking for you," a huge guard
+whispered.
+
+"He would, the brainless pup," Nick snarled, reading the big fellow's
+thoughts. A Volonsky man called Gorkzy. "Don't announce us."
+
+Inside the great room, at a desk almost large enough for a roller
+skating rink, Andrei Broncov appeared to be studying a document. True
+executive, he went on reading till Nick coughed.
+
+"Your Excellency Comrade Broncov, I have brought Prince Navi. Where is
+the rest of the Council?"
+
+"Ah!" Broncov's plump face widened in a smile for Cletus. "This is an
+honor, Your Highness. I trust you will pardon my preoccupation with
+affairs of state. They're in a mess--as are all capitals when the old
+order departs. I supposed you'd be announced." Andrei Broncov glared
+at the pseudo Volonsky and whispered in a dialect, "The Council is
+waiting below, fool."
+
+"Nuts," Cletus said. "Talk English, will you? I can hardly understand
+your outlandish language. Or, speak Persian."
+
+"My knowledge of your native tongue is not good, but I'm quite at home
+in English or Amerikaner. A Russian invented--"
+
+"Yeah, he knows," Nick cut in. "Forget the malarkey, Bronco. This lad
+is here on business and has no time for our phoney hooptedo. From his
+grandfather, the old Shah, he inherited fifty of the richest oil wells
+in Asia, and he's giving us a chance to bid on them instead of
+carrying on a, quote, cold, unquote, war, and steal--"
+
+"I understand," Broncov said through his big teeth. His lips tightened
+in his rage over Volonsky's direct speech, but he managed to say
+fairly suavely: "Your Highness, we appreciate your giving us a chance
+to buy your wells. Surely, a banquet is in order."
+
+"No, I want to get out of this place. It's too cold."
+
+Nick peered over his Volonsky nose-glasses. "How much, kid? No
+fooling."
+
+"Volonsky!" Broncov barked. "Mind your speech. I'll handle this little
+deal. You're excused."
+
+"Uh-uh." Nick grinned. "I stay for _my_ cut."
+
+"You both look like a couple of crooks to me," said the young prince.
+"I want two hundred million dollars--in gold."
+
+Broncov's hand shook as he reached for a row of buttons. "How about a
+bit of tea and cakes, or, perhaps something stronger before we discuss
+this matter with the Council? They're waiting just below us, and I'd
+like to present the deal already consummated."
+
+"Got any Old Style Lager around?" Cletus asked.
+
+"We have some good Bavarian beer, a stock we--ah--bought some time
+ago."
+
+"I've heard how much you paid the Heinies. The beer I want is made in
+Wisconsin, USA, so I think I'll fly over there tonight. Super-San Oil
+keeps begging me to visit their country. Offered me two hundred
+million for my wells but only half in gold. I want all gold, and I
+won't discuss any other terms."
+
+"Bungler!" Broncov whispered in dialect. "Why didn't you get him
+drunk, first? Without oil we can't carry on this cold war or kid the
+peasants much longer. Where in hell could we get even two hundred
+dollars in gold?"
+
+"Go to hell and find all you want," Nick said with a wicked grin.
+
+"I understood what you high-binders said," Cletus put in. "My cousin
+told me before I left home Communist clucks don't savvy Saturday from
+Sunday. Everybody knows you top boys have stolen everything not nailed
+down, and have stashed it away against the time your own people kick
+out Communism for good."
+
+"Oh, come, Prince Navi, I don't understand how such an evil story
+started. Our people wouldn't dare--"
+
+"Wouldn't they?" Cletus laughed nastily. "We have spies too, and we
+know your common herd would settle for anything else. Most of them
+want their church and their Tsar back, bad as he was."
+
+"Bah! The capitalist press started that myth."
+
+"Why, Bronco," Nick protested, "you can read that story in Pravda,
+'The Organ of Truth.'" The fake Minister of Culture cleared his throat
+to keep from laughing when the glowering Premier began thinking of
+various ways to torture unsympathetic comrades. In silent Hell
+language, Nick added: "Good work, Cleet. I'll take it from here."
+
+"Lies put out by the war mongerers of Wall Street," Broncov shouted.
+He continued raving, but Nick no longer listened.
+
+Sounds outside the window told him time had begun pressing. He shook
+the hat he'd been carrying. "Gold, is it you want, Prince Navi? You
+think we have none? How about this?"
+
+A glittering gold piece tinkled on the floor and rolled toward the
+amazed Red Premier. Puffing, he bent over and scooped up a newly
+minted coin the size of the American gold eagle. "It's a new
+issue--I--never mind. We have lots more where this came from, haven't
+we, comrade Vychy?"
+
+"I'll say," Nick said. "Watch!"
+
+Gold pieces continued falling from the hat, one by one, then in a
+steady stream. Stunned, Broncov clutched his throat, muttering: "It
+can't be true. Miracles don't happen."
+
+He watched in silence while his Minister of Culture made a pile of
+gold coins four feet high. When the floor timbers began creaking, Nick
+made another similar heap; then, others, till the thick walls began
+bulging inward.
+
+"Stop!" Broncov cried. "A couple of tons is enough." Eyes now popping,
+he waved his arms as the floor sagged under fifty times that weight.
+"There's the two hundred million for you, Prince. The rest is for--us.
+We'll sign the papers in another room."
+
+Ignoring frightened cries, Nick made more piles of gold next to the
+windows. Outside on Red Square, people were running in all directions,
+shouting and waving newspapers. A cannon roared. A hundred or more
+machine guns began rattling. Plainly, the bullets were not fired at
+any one, for the people were laughing and weeping, singing and
+dancing.
+
+"Come here and have a look, Bronco," Nick suggested.
+
+"It's--a trick, a revolution," Broncov panted. "Damn you, Volonsky,
+you started it." He snatched a heavy revolver from his desk and fired
+it at Nick without warning.
+
+The false Volonsky laughed when five of the slugs bounced off the
+invisible shield around him. A sixth bullet splintered the window
+glass. The other five returned and struck the raging Red boss, cutting
+his face and arms enough to bring streams of blood. He dashed for the
+door but collided with the six guards who burst into the room.
+
+Broncov wiped off some of the blood running into his eyes well enough
+to see all six waving copies of Pravda. "What's going on here?" he
+screamed.
+
+"Read about it in Pravda," bellowed Gorkzy, the huge guard. "It always
+prints the truth--you've taught us."
+
+"What truth?" quavered the Premier. "Put down those guns!"
+
+"Oh, no. Pravda says you were shot trying to escape, and for once it
+really told the truth." Implacably, the big guard brought up his
+Tommy-gun and let it rattle.
+
+The stricken Red leader took two steps backward and fell to the floor
+as the other five guns opened up on him in a hell's chatter of death.
+His falling weight added the last straw to the overstrained floor
+timbers. They gave way in a roar, and a hundred tons of yellow gold
+streamed downward in a cataclysmic wave of wealth and death to the
+Council members below.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Poised on air, Nick and Cletus became invisible to mortal eyes. "That
+wraps it, Cleet. Let's see how the boys take it."
+
+The six guards were peering down into the ruin below, and at some of
+the fortune still clinging to the slanting floor.
+
+"Great Nicholas!" Gorkzy yelled. "Gold!"
+
+"Just like Pravda says," howled another man. "Listen! It says:
+'Volonsky and the mysterious Persian prince have disappeared. Broncov
+executed by heroic guards. All members of the once-feared Inner
+Council crushed almost beyond recognition when floor crashed upon them
+from the weight of the gold brought by the prince.'"
+
+"And look at this!" roared the big Gorkzy. "'All soldiers and police
+throw down their arms. Refuse to shoot the people shouting they want
+their Tsar and church back. Satellite countries freed of the odious
+Communist yoke. Concentration camps, collective farming, and slave
+labor abolished. All spies and saboteurs recalled to Moscow for trial
+and punishment. Ivan, the Tsar, to issue proclamation.'"
+
+"What Tsar?" The six stared stupidly at one another.
+
+One man picked up a shiny gold piece and tested it with his teeth.
+"The Bolsheviks murdered the old goat and all his family. How can this
+be?"
+
+"He probably left plenty of bastards," another man hazarded.
+
+"I get it," Gorkzy shouted. "Prince Navi is a grandson. His name is
+N-a-v-i--Ivan spelled backward. Why, the smart little devil! And now
+he's here some place to reign over us."
+
+"Oh, no," Cletus protested as he and Nick slithered through the wall.
+"You aren't going to make me rule over these dopes, boss. Have a
+heart. It's cold here, and the whole country stinks."
+
+"That's your punishment, m'lad, for letting Raphael and Michael catch
+onto you. You can't prowl around Heaven just now so you'll have to
+work here in Hell's Rear Annex for a while. Look!" Nick thumbed one of
+the gold pieces. "Your image stamped on all of them. Also 'Ivan--Tsar.
+In God We Trust.'"
+
+"Okay," Cletus said, shuffling a little, then brightening. "Anyhow,
+I'll have Nishka."
+
+"Not if the common folks find out she worked for the MVD." As if to
+punctuate Nick's prophesy, a dozen bombs exploded inside police
+headquarters.
+
+"Heck!" Cletus shrugged resignedly. "Well, lend me that hat, and
+conjure up a couple million tons of soap--not perfumed."
+
+Roaring with laughter, Nick promised to spread soap over the entire
+country, then watched the little imp zooming back and forth across Red
+Square--sprinkling the snowy pavement with Ivan-Tsar pieces of gold.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Satanic laughter lasted till Nick had whizzed half way across
+Chaos. "That caper," he told himself gleefully, "will fool The BBU
+about my plan. Or, will it? Great Hades! I did a _good_ deed."
+
+A million miles above the wastes of Chaos, he remembered he still wore
+Volonsky whose shade would still be imprisoned in the Pravda room.
+Nick shucked out of his unpleasant quarters, halted to watch the thing
+spinning downward.
+
+"Cheer up, Vych," he laughed. "Next century I'll gather up what's left
+and give it back to you--maybe."
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Satan and the Comrades, by Ralph Bennitt
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+	<title>Satan and the Comrades, by Ralph Bennitt.</title>
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+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Satan and the Comrades, by Ralph Bennitt
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Satan and the Comrades
+
+Author: Ralph Bennitt
+
+Release Date: February 22, 2010 [EBook #31349]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SATAN AND THE COMRADES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks, Barbara Tozier and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+<div class="transcriber_note">
+	<p>This etext was produced from Fantastic Universe, September 1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.</p>
+</div>
+<div id="the_beginning">&nbsp;</div>
+<div id="editorial_note">
+	<p>It is not always easy to laugh at Satan, or take pleasure in his antics. But
+       when the Prince of Darkness goes on a vacation or holds a mirror up to human
+       nature at its most Luciferian chuckles are certain to arise and follow one another
+       in hilarious profusion. Here is a yarn contrived by a craftsman with ironic lightning
+       bolts at his fingertips, as mordantly compelling as it is jovial and Jovian.
+       If you liked <cite>SATAN ON HOLIDAY</cite>, and were hoping for a sequel you can now
+       rejoice in full measure, for Ralph Bennitt has provided that longed-for delight.</p>
+</div>
+<div id="title_page"><a class="pagenum" id="page113" title="113">&nbsp;</a>
+	<h1>SATAN
+	AND
+	THE
+	COMRADES</h1>
+	<p id="author">by … Ralph Bennitt</p>
+	<p id="prolog">Lucifer wasn’t sure that just
+    the right improvements had been
+    made in Hell. So he used a dash
+    of sulfur with Satanic skill.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<div id="story">
+	<p class="first_paragraph"><span class="first_word">Nick</span> felt almost good-humoredly
+	buoyant after his year’s holiday
+	as a college boy. About a second
+	after leaving Earth he slowed his
+	traveling speed down to the medium
+	velocity of light by shifting
+	from fifth dimension to fourth.
+	Though still a million miles above
+	the wastes of Chaos and twice that
+	distance from the gates of Hell,
+	his X-ray eyes were quick to discern
+	a difference in the road far below
+	him.</p>
+
+	<p>Sin and Death had built that
+	broad highway eons before. On
+	leaving Hell, presumedly forever
+	to carry on their work among men,
+	they had done a mighty good job
+	of the original construction. But
+	time had worked its ravages with
+	the primrose-lined path, and it was
+	not surprising that on starting his
+	sabbatical leave, Nick had ordered
+	his chief engineer to repair the
+	road as a first step in his plan to
+	modernize Hell.</p>
+
+	<p>Apparently, old Mulciber had
+	done a bang-up job, and Nick
+	roared in laughter at evidences of
+	the engineer’s genius and those of
+	<a class="pagenum" id="page114" title="114"> </a>wily Belial, the handsome court
+	wag. The Propaganda Chief had
+	added advertising at numerous new
+	roadhouses along the way, and
+	unwary shades traveling hellward
+	gazed at beautiful scenes of lush
+	vegetation instead of a dreary expanse
+	like the Texas Panhandle.
+	This “devilish cantraip sleight�
+	also changed the raw Chaos climate
+	to a steady 72°F and gave off a
+	balmy fragrance of fruits and flowers.</p>
+
+	<p>Ten thousand drachmas, a fictitious
+	unit of currency established
+	by foxy old Mammon, was the flat
+	fee for use of the road. Blissfully
+	unaware of this “Transportation
+	Charge,� or how it would be paid,
+	numerous phantom pilgrims were
+	sliding down the steeper hills—and
+	having a swell time. Their
+	shouts of glee reached Nick’s
+	largish ears despite the lack of air
+	as mortals know it. Clever old
+	Mulcie had installed freezing
+	plants here and there to surface
+	the road with glare ice.</p>
+
+	<p>Nick poised above a party of
+	phantom men and girls sliding
+	downhill on their <em lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">derrieres</em> and
+	ending in a heap at the bottom. A
+	nice change from traveling under
+	their own power. Their maximum
+	speed while swift and incomprehensible
+	to mortals, seemed relatively
+	slow to one of Hell’s old
+	timers. Only Nick and his best
+	scout, Cletus, could move at
+	thought speed—“Click-Click
+	Transportation.�</p>
+
+	<p>Drifting on, a pleased smile on
+	his red, bony face, Nick paused
+	several times to read Belial’s welcomings.</p>
+
+	<p>“Die and see the original Naples
+	in all its natural beauty,� said one
+	sign. “Try our hot sulphur springs
+	and become a new soul.� Gayest
+	pleasures were promised to all and
+	golfers had special attention. “Register
+	with the pro at your favorite
+	golf club so you can qualify. No
+	charge for pro’s services who’ll
+	teach you to break 80. Free lunch
+	and drinks at all Nineteenth
+	Holes.�</p>
+
+	<p>No fool shade would wonder
+	what he’d qualify for, nor suspect
+	he’d have to shovel eighty million
+	tons of coal and ashes before his
+	handicap would be lowered enough
+	to earn him a set of golf clubs or
+	that the free lunch and drinks were
+	chunks of brimstone, the sulphurous
+	air and Styx River water which
+	is always just below boiling point
+	at 3,000°F.</p>
+
+	<p>Hell’s thousand of new golf
+	courses, gambling joints and bars
+	would be available only after
+	downtrodden souls had worked a
+	millennia or two at common labor
+	jobs. A shady deal, indeed, but
+	all a part of Nick’s master plan
+	to get him and his legions back to
+	Heaven.</p>
+
+	<p>By modernizing Hades he hoped
+	to annoy “The Big Boss Upstairs�
+	while diverting the attention of
+	those two vigilant celestial watchers,
+	Michael and Raphael, from the
+	main idea. In a series of bold
+	moves, known only to Nick and
+	<a class="pagenum" id="page115" title="115"> </a>his Board or Inner Council, mankind
+	would be wiped off the earth—and
+	thus bring The BBU to
+	time. Or so Nick hoped.</p>
+
+	<p>As a first step, he had spent a
+	year as Pudzy, a college boy, studying
+	electronics and modern skills
+	of all kinds. He had enjoyed the
+	holiday on Earth though it irked
+	him to recall that he’d been obliged
+	to do good here and there. The
+	thought of these satanic lapses
+	caused him to frown, but his jolly
+	mood returned when he saw the
+	familiar gates of Hell wide open
+	in obedience to his whistle.</p>
+
+	<p>The whistle’s high frequency
+	waves also awakened Cerberus, the
+	three-headed watch dog, besides
+	actuating “The Dingus.� This
+	electronic device Nick had stolen
+	to operate the three ponderous
+	triple-fold gates of adamantine,
+	brass and iron.</p>
+
+	<p>He slowed to supersonic speed,
+	brought back his great red wings
+	and made a neat three-point landing
+	without injuring the needle-sharp
+	dart at the end of his long,
+	black tail. Still feeling jovial, he
+	kicked all three of Cerberus’s
+	heads, then zoomed down through
+	the tunnel to the north bank of
+	the River Styx.</p>
+
+	<p>There he halted to view the ten-lane
+	suspension bridge Mulciber
+	had thrown across the steamy black
+	water. Nick was wondering how
+	the old genius had accomplished
+	such a feat when a thick black wall
+	dropped across the bridgehead.</p>
+
+	<p>“Cost you five thousand rubles
+	to cross, mister,� Charon called in
+	a thick voice.</p>
+
+	<p>The old riverman who had ferried
+	new shades across the earth-hell
+	boundary for eons of time,
+	had just returned after a year’s
+	vacation in Moscow.</p>
+
+	<p>He hid a bottle under his brimstone
+	bench, then straightened a
+	gaudy red tie as he weaved forward.
+	A changed devil, Charon.
+	His year in Redland had done
+	more than put him into a natty
+	summer suit. Although not very
+	bright, he had unusual powers of
+	observation. He liked to ape the
+	odd speech of his customers, especially
+	American prospectors. These
+	truculent but harmless old timers
+	worked at odd jobs around the
+	nearby palace grounds, and in the
+	ferryman they found a kindred
+	spirit.</p>
+
+	<p>Nick eyed the loyal old fellow’s
+	red tie with amazement. “What,
+	for St. Pete’s sake, are you drinking,
+	Char?�</p>
+
+	<p>“Vodka,� Charon gasped. Recognizing
+	the stern voice, he tried
+	to focus his bleary eyes. “’Scuse it,
+	Your Majesty. I’ve come a long
+	way and alone. Your substitute,
+	Pudzy, gimme a bottle ’fore he
+	returned to Ameriky, and it’s durn
+	cold up there in Musk-Cow, and
+	so I took a few nips, and I felt so
+	goldurned glad to git back I polished
+	off what was left, so I didn’t
+	recognize Your Majesty when you
+	came zoomin’ along, and if you’ll
+	sort of <span class="keep_together">overlook—�</span></p>
+
+	<p>Nick patted the frightened old
+	<a class="pagenum" id="page116" title="116"> </a>fellow’s scrawny shoulder. “Better
+	check in and sleep it off, Char.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Gosh, stoppin’ <em>you!</em>�</p>
+
+	<p>“You let everybody in till I tell
+	you different. Forget the toll charge
+	too, you old conniver.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Yeah, and look!� Chortling
+	with glee, Charon tottered back to
+	his station and put one hand across
+	the beam of a photo-electric eye.
+	The ponderous gate slid silently
+	upward. “It weighs fifteen hundred
+	tons, Mulcie says, and I don’t even
+	push a button.�</p>
+
+	<p>“You still smell like a Communist,
+	Char,� Nick said, sniffing
+	the good sulphurous air. “How
+	come you’re on the job as bridgekeeper
+	if you’ve just returned from
+	Moscow?�</p>
+
+	<p>“Orders from Beelzebub, and
+	it’s nigh a half hour by now since
+	this fella came across the bridge.
+	I’m sauntering home, friends with
+	everybody, I <span class="keep_together">am—�</span></p>
+
+	<p>“What fellow?�</p>
+
+	<p>Charon scratched his grisly
+	thatch. “Come to think of it, I
+	never see ’im afore this. I’m standing
+	back there, looking down at
+	my old skiff and wondering about
+	my job, when this fella comes up.
+	‘This is for you, Charon,’ he says,
+	and held out your official incombusterible
+	letterhead with the cross-bones
+	and dripping <span class="keep_together">blood—�</span></p>
+
+	<p>“Yeah, yeah. What does this
+	stranger look like? What’s his
+	name? Who signed the paper?�</p>
+
+	<p>“Beelzebub signed it. I guess I
+	know the John Henry of your
+	Number Two devil even if I am a
+	dumb ferryman.� Perhaps sensing
+	he had blundered, Charon almost
+	wept. “This paper appoints me
+	head bridge-tender from now to
+	the <em>end</em> of eternity, and, bein’
+	worried about my job, I hopped
+	right to it. You’re the <span class="keep_together">first—�</span></p>
+
+	<p>“Which way did he go? What’s
+	he look like?�</p>
+
+	<p>Charon almost said “Thataway,�
+	as he shook his head and pointed
+	a trembling finger to the distant
+	shore. “Lemme see. He wore neat
+	clothes about like mine, and he
+	zoomed off like the upper crust
+	shades do when in a hurry—which
+	ain’t often. He has mean little
+	eyes, sort of pale blue, is built wide
+	and short, and talks American good
+	as I do. Now’t I think of it, he
+	had an impederiment in his speech,
+	and he smelt like a bed of sweet
+	peas.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Very good, indeed.� Scanning
+	the paper, Nick smiled as he recognized
+	a forgery of the Beelzebub
+	signature. He drew out his pen
+	which writes under fire as well as
+	water, and scribbled “Nick,� then
+	put the document into the eager
+	hands. “This gives you the job
+	forever—or till I revoke the appointment.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Boydy-dumb-deals!� Charon
+	shouted. “Boss, you oughta hear
+	about my adventures in Redland.
+	I had a real gabfest with the new
+	Premier, Andrei Broncov, and his
+	Minister of Culture, Vichy Volonsky.�</p>
+
+	<p>Nick grinned sardonically. “I
+	heard a little about the most recent
+	<a class="pagenum" id="page117" title="117"> </a>changes in the Kremlin. Are
+	my old sidekicks well? And are
+	they having any particular trouble
+	since liquidating the old gang?�</p>
+
+	<p>“How come you call that fat
+	crumb, Broncov, your sidekick?�
+	Charon frowned, trying to collect
+	his wits in the dread presence. “He
+	didn’t ask about you. He took me
+	for an illegitimate son of Joe
+	Stalin’s, so how would he know
+	you and I are pals? I bought this
+	red tie and hired a sleeping dictionary
+	to catch onto the language
+	better, <span class="keep_together">and—�</span></p>
+
+	<p>“Your dictionary probably spilled
+	things to the MVD.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Not while my gold held out.
+	Anyhow, those punks are way overrated.
+	Tricky, maybe, and they lie
+	good. They’d rather bump you off
+	than eat breakfast.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Purge is the word. The old
+	comrades Broncov threw out a
+	month ago now fully understand
+	its meaning. How is the comrade?�</p>
+
+	<p>“Gosh, boss, I’m sick of hearing
+	that word. They say it just before
+	they knife you. Broncov’s been
+	busy, all right. Since taking over
+	the Number One job he’s been
+	sending a lot of his best friends
+	down this way. To keep Joe Stalin
+	company, he told me. He looks fat
+	even if Bill Shakespeare says this
+	new <span class="keep_together">lot—�</span></p>
+
+	<p>“I suppose he and his pals plied
+	you with liquor,� Nick said.</p>
+
+	<p>“They tried to drink me under
+	the table.� Charon cut a laugh in
+	half. “Gosh, I durn near forgot.
+	Y’know what the sidewinder,
+	Bronco, babbled ’fore he passed
+	out? Top drawer stuff. Only he
+	and this Vichy Volonskyvich know
+	about it. Seems Bronco learned,
+	somehow, about your taking a vacation,
+	so he’s been torturing a lot
+	of his friends into confessing they
+	plotted agin ’im. He promised them
+	an easy death if they’d carry on
+	down here. How you like that?�</p>
+
+	<p>“The fools. What’s his plan?�</p>
+
+	<p>“I ain’t sure I got it all as his
+	tongue got thicker from the vodka.
+	But I learned Hell’s full of comrades
+	who’ve sworn to their god,
+	Lee-Nine, they’ll toss you to the
+	wolves. They aim to pull Joe Stalin
+	off his clinker-picking job and
+	make him secretary here.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Go on,� Nick urged in ominous
+	tones. “How?�</p>
+
+	<p>“They’ve swiped some new secret
+	weapon and figure to obliterate you
+	and every devil in authority so
+	things will be organized nice and
+	cozy when they finally get here.
+	<span class="keep_together">The Dumb—�</span></p>
+
+	<p>“Good report, Char.� The new
+	weapon did not bother Nick much,
+	but from his profound studies of
+	atom smashing he decided anything
+	can happen these days even to a
+	top devil. He continued briskly:
+	“Hereafter, sniff all your customers
+	and make sure they don’t <em>smell</em>
+	like a Red. You know the aroma
+	by now—sweet peas with an underlying
+	stink—so keep your nose
+	peeled. When you spot a comrade,
+	radio-phone the guard. Those lads
+	will know what to do you can bet
+	your last ruble.�</p>
+
+	<h2 id="chapter_2"><a class="pagenum" id="page118" title="118"> </a>II</h2>
+
+	<p><span class="first_word">The rousing</span> welcome home
+	Nick received as he climbed the
+	hill to his great palace would have
+	warmed his heart if he’d owned
+	one.</p>
+
+	<p>“Thanks, boys and girls,� he
+	intoned in his best golden voice.
+	“It’s swell to be back among you.
+	I haven’t time for a speech now,
+	but tune in to Channel Thirteen
+	tomorrow evening for my fireside
+	chat.�</p>
+
+	<p>He wanted to take off for Moscow
+	immediately, but decided to
+	start the war by calling The Board.
+	Also, the boys would be hurt if he
+	didn’t inspect what they’d done
+	during his absence. After a hasty,
+	Russian-style dinner of caviar,
+	cabbage and cold horse with a gold
+	flagon of vodka, he ordered Azazel,
+	Flag Bearer and Statistician Chief,
+	to call a meeting in the throne
+	room.</p>
+
+	<p>Little Cletus waylaid his big
+	boss. The scout among the celestials
+	looked like a chubby cherub what
+	with his dimpled cheeks and curly
+	black hair, but he’d proved to be
+	the trickiest imp south of the pearly
+	gates. Knowing that Raphael had
+	cajoled the little imp into revealing
+	something of the improvements in
+	Hades, Nick suspected treachery by
+	one of his most trusted scouts.</p>
+
+	<p>“I hear you’ve been seeing
+	Raphael!� he barked.</p>
+
+	<p>“Aw, I told ’im a pack of lies,�
+	Cletus scoffed. “Maybe Rafe figured
+	out something; he’s a smart
+	apple. I told ’im everybody here is
+	hot and unhappy like you ordered
+	me to say if they ever caught me.
+	I said our air-conditioning system
+	goes haywire and that we were
+	ripping out a thousand old boilers
+	and coolers. Stuff like that.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Don’t lie to me, you ornery
+	little brat. Okay to anybody else
+	but not to me. I happened to hear
+	Rafe talking to Mike, and they’re
+	wise to my plan of making Hell
+	attractive.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Well, hell,� Cletus protested,
+	“they saw Mulcie’s gangs fixing
+	the road. If Rafe and them extra-extrapopulated
+	that dope to figure
+	out the truth, why blame me?�</p>
+
+	<p>“We’ll forget it,� Nick said,
+	vastly relieved to believe his scout
+	had not betrayed him. “I have a
+	job for you. I’m going to Moscow
+	and I want your help. Light out as
+	soon as you can. Requisition as
+	much gold as you can handle by
+	the usual translation method, and
+	include a sack of polished diamonds
+	and rubies. I’ll tell Mammon it’s
+	okay when I arrange for my own
+	supply.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Okay, boss. Where do we meet?
+	And what am I supposed to look
+	like, and do?�</p>
+
+	<p>“Make yourself bellhop size and
+	register at the Droshky Hotel as
+	Prince Navi from Baghdad with
+	fifty Persian oil wells to sell. Let
+	’em see your gold and jewels. And,
+	remember, you’ll account for any
+	dough you toss away to women
+	and bribes. Get going!�</p>
+
+	<p>Nick could see into the <em>near</em>
+	<a class="pagenum" id="page119" title="119"> </a>future, at least, and he chuckled
+	after Cletus vanished through the
+	wall. “The little devil doesn’t
+	know what’s in store for him.�</p>
+
+	<p>In the throne room, sage old
+	Beelzebub sat at the right of His
+	Majesty’s chair; huge Moloch with
+	his evil grin and snaggle teeth, at
+	the left. Tall, prissy Azazel, always
+	acting important, planted Satan’s
+	flag and then sat down at a table
+	opposite wide-shouldered Mulciber
+	and handsome Belial. Charter
+	members all of the original organization
+	booted out of Heaven some
+	eighteen million years ago when
+	Nick’s first but not last rebellion
+	flopped.</p>
+
+	<p>After the customary ritual of
+	renewing their vow to get back to
+	Heaven, the gang sat down. Nick
+	rapped the arm of his throne and
+	glared at Chemos, the lustful one.</p>
+
+	<p>“Cheme,� he said, “if you will
+	quit flirting with Astarte, The
+	Board will take up business.�</p>
+
+	<p>Belial snickered when the culprits’
+	red faces grew even redder,
+	and after a wink at the court wit,
+	Nick went on: “I intend to take
+	off for Moscow after a quick look
+	about with Mulcie and Belial. Incidentally,
+	my compliments on the
+	good work you did on the road.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Egad, boss,� Moloch complained,
+	“why can’t you stay home more
+	and line things up for us?�</p>
+
+	<p>“Time <span class="keep_together">enough—�</span> Nick sniffed,
+	scowled, then pointed toward a
+	thick pillar near the rear of the
+	big room. “I smell an interloper.
+	Thammuz, Dagon, drag ’im up
+	here! Beel, I fancy he’s the one
+	who forged your signature.�</p>
+
+	<p>Beelzebub rose in anger when
+	a shadowy figure darted for the
+	door. The intruder moved as fast
+	as any wraith but the two former
+	gods were too quick for him. A
+	brief struggle, then they dragged
+	the eavesdropper before the throne
+	where they held him upside down.</p>
+
+	<p>“It’s the Paperhanger!� Beelzebub
+	roared.</p>
+
+	<p>“I guessed that from Charon’s
+	description,� Nick said calmly.
+	“He’s siding with the Reds again—Smell
+	him? Stand up, Adolf, and
+	hear your sentence!�</p>
+
+	<p>“I didn’t do a thing, Your
+	Majesty,� Hitler began, but the
+	hot, glowing eyes were too much
+	to face. His knees buckled and he
+	sank, groveling, on the floor. “Didn’t
+	I send you millions of customers?�
+	he wailed. “Haven’t I done
+	a good job of sweeping out and
+	collecting garbage? Have a heart,
+	Nick. I came in here to sweep, and
+	how would I know about this private
+	conference?�</p>
+
+	<p>“You talk about hearts?� Nick
+	flared. “You hung around to listen.
+	You forged Beelzebub’s signature
+	on my official paper, then put
+	Charon in charge of the bridge,
+	thinking he’s too dumb to report
+	any Commies coming here.�</p>
+
+	<p>“I can <span class="keep_together">prove—�</span></p>
+
+	<p>“You get the same chance at that
+	which you gave people in Berlin.
+	Down the chute with him, boys!�</p>
+
+	<p>The chute, connecting with a
+	main one leading down to the
+	<a class="pagenum" id="page120" title="120"> </a>burning lake, has a flap which
+	Belial gleefully lifted. Since shades
+	have no mass worth mentioning,
+	the long duct acts like a department
+	store vacuum tube.</p>
+
+	<p>“Oh, my beloved emperor, forgive
+	me,� Adolf yelled as he felt
+	the suction. “I only wanted to
+	organize a counter-revolution
+	against the Communists <span class="keep_together">and—�</span></p>
+
+	<p>“Ratting on your pals again,
+	eh?� Nick sneered. “You stay in
+	the burning lake a thousand earth
+	years. You’ll have plenty of time
+	and company for your plotting.
+	Let ’im rip!�</p>
+
+	<p>“No! I’ll be <span class="keep_together">forgotten—�</span></p>
+
+	<p>“No one remembers you now
+	except as a dung heap.� Nick
+	turned a thumb downward, and the
+	screeching shade vanished.</p>
+
+	<p>“Like a paper towel in a gale,�
+	Belial said as he let the flap clang
+	shut. “How’d that creep get a
+	job where he could snoop?�</p>
+
+	<p>“My fault,� Beelzebub admitted.
+	“He’s a smooth talker. I saw him
+	not long after you left, Your
+	Majesty, when I went out to inspect
+	the garbage incinerator. He had
+	shaved off his dinky mustache and
+	changed the color of his eyes, but
+	I recognized him.�</p>
+
+	<p>“It’s okay, Beel.� Nick patted
+	the heavy shoulder of his top assistant.
+	“The punk did us a left-handed
+	favor in bringing things to a
+	head.� He told of how Charon had
+	discovered the Red plot, then outlined
+	his general plan.</p>
+
+	<p>“Those Commies can’t stand ridicule,�
+	Nick summed up. “While
+	I’m gone I want every Communist
+	son tossed into the burning lake.
+	Alarm all guards and tell them
+	how to identify them—the fragrance
+	of sweet peas with an underlying
+	stink. No one in the USSR
+	has used up a cake of soap in
+	twenty years, and the perfume they
+	add can’t quite cover the BO.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Must be a lot of Commies
+	here,� Mulciber commented. “How
+	many guards have we, Azzy?�</p>
+
+	<p>Azazel, Statistics Chief, glanced
+	at a roll of incombustible microfilm,
+	and cleared his throat. He
+	liked being called upon, and since
+	he had the history of every shade
+	while on Earth, he was the second
+	most feared devil in Hades.</p>
+
+	<p>“After promoting the last batch
+	who qualified for better jobs during
+	the minimum millennium at common
+	labor,� Azazel said, “and <span class="keep_together">adding—�</span></p>
+
+	<p>“Never mind the commercial!�
+	grouchy Moloch roared. “Boss, how
+	do we know all our guards are to
+	be trusted?�</p>
+
+	<p>“We don’t,� Nick said. “When
+	did we ever trust anybody? But
+	our system of checkers, checkers
+	checking the checkers, super-checkers
+	on up to charter members,
+	hasn’t failed yet.�</p>
+
+	<p>“If His Eminence, The Corpse-Snatcher,
+	is satisfied,� Azazel said,
+	smoothing his sleek black hair, “I
+	shall answer Prince Mulciber’s polite
+	question. We now have on the
+	guards’ roll exactly thirteen million
+	four <span class="keep_together">hundred—�</span></p>
+
+	<p>“That’s close enough.� Plainly
+	<a class="pagenum" id="page121" title="121"> </a>pleased with his title, Moloch
+	grinned at the big engineer. “Mulcie,
+	why not build a chute straight
+	up into Moscow? Save the boss
+	trouble. He could take along a few
+	gorillas and toss all those troublemaking
+	stinkers straight into a hot
+	bath.�</p>
+
+	<p>Nick joined in the laughter.
+	“Trouble with that, Molly, The
+	BBU wouldn’t stand for it. Only
+	Death can give the final sting, and
+	even he has to wait for the call.
+	Our game is to play it cagey, stick
+	by the few rules The BBU laid
+	down, and stay out of trouble.�</p>
+
+	<p>“How do you aim to handle
+	those fellas?� Belial asked.</p>
+
+	<p>“Tell you after I do it.� Nick
+	guessed the fun-loving Propaganda
+	Chief wanted to go along, but
+	decided Cletus would be a better
+	assistant in a plan already formulated.
+	A boon companion, Belial,
+	for any nefarious project. True, he
+	had the quickest wit of the lot,
+	but had worked over-long in the
+	advertising racket, and many of his
+	schemes resembled those of a hen
+	on a hot griddle.</p>
+
+	<p>Nick turned to the secretary.
+	“If you have all this down, Asta,
+	I’ll consider a motion to adjourn.�</p>
+
+	<h2 id="chapter_3">III</h2>
+
+	<p><span class="first_word">It was an</span> hour short of midnight
+	and snowing in Moscow
+	when Nick landed in the printing
+	room of Pravda, the official Red
+	journal. As he had calculated,
+	several sample newspapers had
+	been run off.</p>
+
+	<p>Vichy Volonsky, a short, roundheaded
+	man, had held up the rest
+	of the issue while he studied the
+	content through his nose-glasses.
+	Editor Blochensk and the mechanics
+	anxiously awaited the great man’s
+	verdict. An unfavorable one meant
+	the concentration camp for everybody.
+	As Minister of Culture, Volonsky
+	previewed all news personally
+	when not running errands for
+	Andrei Broncov at a meeting of the
+	Inner Council.</p>
+
+	<p>The Number Two ranking man
+	in the Kremlin clique frowned most
+	frighteningly, then, moved by an
+	odd compulsion, walked into a
+	sound-insulated telephone room.
+	He closed the door and stared at it
+	stupidly while looking through the
+	invisible Nick.</p>
+
+	<p>“Why did I come in here?� he
+	said. “There’s only the usual bilge
+	in the sheet, nothing to telephone
+	the fat slob about. Yet something
+	made me.�</p>
+
+	<p>“I did,� Nick said, suddenly
+	visible. “When I finish, Pravda
+	will never be the same again. Lie
+	down, Vichy!�</p>
+
+	<p>Volonsky opened his mouth, but
+	Nick wiggled a finger, and no yell
+	came out. In the wink of an eye,
+	he squeezed out the Minister’s
+	shade and took its place.</p>
+
+	<p>“Pretty cramped and smelly
+	quarters,� Nick told himself, “but
+	do or die for good old Hades.�</p>
+
+	<p>“What? Who are you?� Volonsky’s
+	<a class="pagenum" id="page122" title="122"> </a>phantom teeth chattered.
+	“You must be Nick, himself.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Russia’s patron saint till you
+	amateurs took over. I have business
+	with your boss. I mean Andrei
+	Broncov. Not that it matters, but
+	who conceived the idea of deposing
+	Satan? Talk, <em>mujik</em>, and tell the
+	truth. All of it.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Blame Broncov, not me,� Volonsky
+	pleaded. “It was his scheme
+	to kill off several thousand loyal
+	party comrades. They got a choice:
+	Be tortured to death, or die quickly
+	and work for a revolution in Hell
+	as soon as they arrived. <span class="keep_together">Naturally—�</span></p>
+
+	<p>“I’ve heard enough, rat.� Nick
+	spat contemptuously, and a puff
+	of gray smoke spread rapidly over
+	walls, ceiling and floor. “That will
+	hold you,� he jeered, and opened
+	the door. Aping the Minister’s important
+	waddle, he walked over to
+	the great press.</p>
+
+	<p>Editor Blochensk stared with
+	fear-bulged eyes. “Anything—anything
+	wrong, Your Excellency comrade?�
+	he asked shakily.</p>
+
+	<p>“Nothing I can’t fix.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Oh!� The editor clutched his
+	throat. “Thank—uh—<span class="keep_together">uh—�</span></p>
+
+	<p>“Never mind, I know Who you
+	mean.� Muttering words in Hell’s
+	silent language, Nick walked completely
+	around the press. “It’s perfect,
+	Blochy. Don’t let the content
+	worry you. It’s part of The PLAN.
+	Roll out your papers and deliver
+	them fast. Don’t question anything.
+	Orders from—you know.�</p>
+
+	<p>Only minutes ahead of the new
+	Volonsky, Cletus had entered the
+	lobby of the Droshky Hotel on
+	Red Square. The cherubic scout
+	had obeyed orders and made himself
+	bellhop size, large size. He
+	didn’t exactly resemble the one in
+	the cigarette ad but he had the
+	kid’s twinkle in his dark eyes. And
+	he had already latched onto a luscious
+	blonde; or, more likely, Nick
+	concluded, the reverse.</p>
+
+	<p>Having just registered as a Persian
+	prince, Cletus again clanked
+	down a large sack of gold pieces
+	and a smaller one of jewels. “Put
+	these diamonds and rubies into
+	your best safe,� he ordered in perfect
+	Russian.</p>
+
+	<p>The clerk’s eyes began popping,
+	so did the blonde’s and those of
+	a score of spectators, including four
+	hard-faced MVD boys.</p>
+
+	<p>“And I’ll take care of you,
+	Honey-Navi,� the blonde said.</p>
+
+	<p>“Ah, you just love me for my
+	two billion dollars,� the imp retorted,
+	and winked at her. As did
+	Nick, Cletus could plainly see the
+	twist operated on the MVD payroll
+	as well as in her own interests.</p>
+
+	<p>“I’m selling out my fifty oil
+	wells,� he announced, “and I’ve
+	come to town to see the head man,
+	whoever he is today. I thought I’d
+	let you dumb <em>mujiks</em> bid for the
+	wells before I practically give them
+	to Super-San Oil company for a
+	measly two hundred million dollars.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Of course, Prince Navi,� the
+	clerk said loudly. He nodded toward
+	<a class="pagenum" id="page123" title="123"> </a>the four tough lads who, likewise,
+	had not yet noticed the great
+	Volonsky.</p>
+
+	<p>Nick rapped on the counter with
+	his six-carat diamond ring. “How
+	about a little service here, comrade?�</p>
+
+	<p>“One moment, comrade,� the
+	clerk said nervously.</p>
+
+	<p>“What you mean, one moment?�
+	Nick roared. “I haven’t flown all
+	the way from New York to have a
+	two-bit clerk tell me to wait. I represent
+	Super-San Oil and I’m here
+	to meet a Persian Prince Navi.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Quiet, Amerikaner, till—Oh,
+	Your Excellency Comrade Vychy
+	Volonsky!� The mouth of the astonished
+	clerk fell open. Then,
+	fearful of making a wrong move
+	in the Red game of dirty politics,
+	he failed to guess why the great one
+	should act as a miserable capitalist.
+	“A thousand pardons, Your Excellency
+	Comrade. What can I do for
+	the beloved comrade? I didn’t recognize
+	<span class="keep_together">you—�</span></p>
+
+	<p>“Hush, fool!� Nick looked toward
+	Cletus just then gazing into
+	the blonde’s blue eyes.</p>
+
+	<p>The four MVD agents went into
+	a quick huddle, then the one with
+	a broken nose bowed to the fake
+	Volonsky. “If Your Excellency
+	Comrade will step aside with us,
+	we’ll explain this fool’s mistake.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Put him in the can and question
+	him tomorrow,� Nick snarled.
+	“Anybody can see he’s working
+	for the filthy capitalists.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Of course, Your Excellency
+	Comrade.� Broken nose and his
+	three pals escorted Nick to a chair
+	beside a column. “I’m Lieutenant
+	Putov of the MVD,� he whispered.
+	“We picked up this Prince
+	Navi the instant he entered, and
+	have been watching him.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Skip the commercial,� Nick
+	said, almost laughing as he gave
+	Moloch’s favorite expression.
+	“How come you didn’t spot him at
+	one of our airports?�</p>
+
+	<p>“He must have landed on an
+	abandoned field in his private
+	plane, Your Excellency Comrade.�
+	Lieutenant Putov glanced at the
+	other three equally worried looking
+	plug-uglies. “He’s a prince, all
+	right. Look at the gold and jewels
+	he tossed to the clerk, several million
+	dol—I mean, several billion
+	rubles. We haven’t checked his
+	story, but he claims he’s here to sell
+	fifty Persian oil wells.�</p>
+
+	<p>“I know <em>that</em>, idiot. Our spies
+	in Baghdad advised us yesterday.
+	That’s why I pretend to be with
+	the stinking Super-<span class="keep_together">San—Wggh!�</span></p>
+
+	<p>“What are Your Excellency
+	Comrade’s wishes?�</p>
+
+	<p>“Get him away from that blonde
+	before she ruins our plans.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Ah, that’s Nishka, one of us.�
+	Astonishment widened Putov’s
+	watery blue eyes. “Have you forgotten
+	the night you and she
+	<span class="keep_together">drank—�</span></p>
+
+	<p>“You talk too much, Putov.�
+	Nick flapped a hand. “Get a car
+	to take me and the prince to the
+	Kremlin. Hurry it! Comrade
+	Andrei Broncov and I have a
+	Council meeting at midnight. You
+	<a class="pagenum" id="page124" title="124"> </a>three, bring the prince to me here.�</p>
+
+	<p>Cletus and Nishka had withdrawn
+	to a sofa in an alcove off
+	the lobby. Without effort, Nick
+	could see them and hear the female
+	agent saying: “How do I know you
+	have all that money, Navi-Honey?
+	I’ll bet you brought gilt lead and
+	fake jewels just to impress me.�</p>
+
+	<p>“No, but I’ve been to America,�
+	Cletus bragged, knowing well his
+	boss would be listening. “So be
+	nice and I’ll prove they’re real. I’ve
+	been everywhere but this lousy
+	place. I even lived in Egypt.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Talk some Egyptian for me,�
+	Nishka wheedled.</p>
+
+	<p>“I’ve forgotten most of it,�
+	Cletus said, cannily dodging the
+	trap. “But I once made a study of
+	the ancient language.� He ripped
+	out a stream of what had once been
+	his native tongue. Then, partly at
+	least to test Nishka’s knowledge,
+	he added in English, “How’s for
+	looking at my room before we go
+	out on the town?�</p>
+
+	<p>“Wha-at? Why, you bad boy!�
+	The girl winked at her three fellow
+	agents coming toward them in a
+	crablike walk, then spoke in Cletus’
+	ear: “It’s the LAW, Navi-Honey,
+	but don’t let them worry you. Little
+	Nishka will stay with you—to the
+	limit.�</p>
+
+	<p>Cletus leered at her and rose to
+	accompany the MVD to the front
+	of the lobby. He and Nick put on
+	an act, then went to the street followed
+	by a chattering crowd.</p>
+
+	<p>Once inside the sleek car Putov
+	had conjured up, Nick said: “The
+	heap is wired so we’ll talk only in
+	Hell language.�</p>
+
+	<h2 id="chapter_4">IV</h2>
+
+	<p><span class="first_word">It wasn’t far</span> to the grim walls
+	of the Kremlin, and as the big
+	car purred across the snowy, radio-stricken
+	square, Nick gave Cletus
+	the main points of his plan. Obviously
+	warned, the police gave a
+	snappy salute and let the car enter
+	the courtyard. A few moments later,
+	Hell’s emissaries were zooming
+	through long corridors and up to
+	the second floor; walking the last
+	fifty yards.</p>
+
+	<p>Six husky guards armed with
+	sub-machine guns opened the great
+	doors to the Premier’s private
+	study. “He’s been asking for you,�
+	a huge guard whispered.</p>
+
+	<p>“He would, the brainless pup,�
+	Nick snarled, reading the big fellow’s
+	thoughts. A Volonsky man
+	called Gorkzy. “Don’t announce
+	us.�</p>
+
+	<p>Inside the great room, at a desk
+	almost large enough for a roller
+	skating rink, Andrei Broncov appeared
+	to be studying a document.
+	True executive, he went on reading
+	till Nick coughed.</p>
+
+	<p>“Your Excellency Comrade Broncov,
+	I have brought Prince Navi.
+	Where is the rest of the Council?�</p>
+
+	<p>“Ah!� Broncov’s plump face
+	widened in a smile for Cletus.
+	“This is an honor, Your Highness.
+	I trust you will pardon my preoccupation
+	with affairs of state.
+	They’re in a mess—as are all capitals
+	<a class="pagenum" id="page125" title="125"> </a>when the old order departs. I
+	supposed you’d be announced.�
+	Andrei Broncov glared at the
+	pseudo Volonsky and whispered in
+	a dialect, “The Council is waiting
+	below, fool.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Nuts,� Cletus said. “Talk English,
+	will you? I can hardly understand
+	your outlandish language.
+	Or, speak Persian.�</p>
+
+	<p>“My knowledge of your native
+	tongue is not good, but I’m quite
+	at home in English or Amerikaner.
+	A Russian <span class="keep_together">invented—�</span></p>
+
+	<p>“Yeah, he knows,� Nick cut in.
+	“Forget the malarkey, Bronco.
+	This lad is here on business and
+	has no time for our phoney hooptedo.
+	From his grandfather, the old
+	Shah, he inherited fifty of the
+	richest oil wells in Asia, and he’s
+	giving us a chance to bid on them
+	instead of carrying on a, quote,
+	cold, unquote, war, and <span class="keep_together">steal—�</span></p>
+
+	<p>“I understand,� Broncov said
+	through his big teeth. His lips
+	tightened in his rage over Volonsky’s
+	direct speech, but he managed
+	to say fairly suavely: “Your Highness,
+	we appreciate your giving us
+	a chance to buy your wells. Surely,
+	a banquet is in order.�</p>
+
+	<p>“No, I want to get out of this
+	place. It’s too cold.�</p>
+
+	<p>Nick peered over his Volonsky
+	nose-glasses. “How much, kid?
+	No fooling.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Volonsky!� Broncov barked.
+	“Mind your speech. I’ll handle this
+	little deal. You’re excused.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Uh-uh.� Nick grinned. “I stay
+	for <em>my</em> cut.�</p>
+
+	<p>“You both look like a couple
+	of crooks to me,� said the young
+	prince. “I want two hundred million
+	dollars—in gold.�</p>
+
+	<p>Broncov’s hand shook as he
+	reached for a row of buttons. “How
+	about a bit of tea and cakes, or,
+	perhaps something stronger before
+	we discuss this matter with the
+	Council? They’re waiting just below
+	us, and I’d like to present the
+	deal already consummated.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Got any Old Style Lager
+	around?� Cletus asked.</p>
+
+	<p>“We have some good Bavarian
+	beer, a stock we—ah—bought some
+	time ago.�</p>
+
+	<p>“I’ve heard how much you paid
+	the Heinies. The beer I want is
+	made in Wisconsin, USA, so I
+	think I’ll fly over there tonight.
+	Super-San Oil keeps begging me
+	to visit their country. Offered me
+	two hundred million for my wells
+	but only half in gold. I want all
+	gold, and I won’t discuss any other
+	terms.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Bungler!� Broncov whispered
+	in dialect. “Why didn’t you get
+	him drunk, first? Without oil we
+	can’t carry on this cold war or kid
+	the peasants much longer. Where
+	in hell could we get even two
+	hundred dollars in gold?�</p>
+
+	<p>“Go to hell and find all you
+	want,� Nick said with a wicked
+	grin.</p>
+
+	<p>“I understood what you high-binders
+	said,� Cletus put in. “My
+	cousin told me before I left home
+	Communist clucks don’t savvy
+	Saturday from Sunday. Everybody
+	<a class="pagenum" id="page126" title="126"> </a>knows you top boys have stolen
+	everything not nailed down, and
+	have stashed it away against the
+	time your own people kick out
+	Communism for good.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Oh, come, Prince Navi, I don’t
+	understand how such an evil story
+	started. Our people wouldn’t
+	<span class="keep_together">dare—�</span></p>
+
+	<p>“Wouldn’t they?� Cletus laughed
+	nastily. “We have spies too,
+	and we know your common herd
+	would settle for anything else. Most
+	of them want their church and their
+	Tsar back, bad as he was.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Bah! The capitalist press started
+	that myth.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Why, Bronco,� Nick protested,
+	“you can read that story in Pravda,
+	‘The Organ of Truth.’� The fake
+	Minister of Culture cleared his
+	throat to keep from laughing when
+	the glowering Premier began thinking
+	of various ways to torture unsympathetic
+	comrades. In silent
+	Hell language, Nick added: “Good
+	work, Cleet. I’ll take it from here.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Lies put out by the war mongerers
+	of Wall Street,� Broncov shouted.
+	He continued raving, but Nick
+	no longer listened.</p>
+
+	<p>Sounds outside the window told
+	him time had begun pressing. He
+	shook the hat he’d been carrying.
+	“Gold, is it you want, Prince Navi?
+	You think we have none? How
+	about this?�</p>
+
+	<p>A glittering gold piece tinkled
+	on the floor and rolled toward the
+	amazed Red Premier. Puffing, he
+	bent over and scooped up a newly
+	minted coin the size of the American
+	gold eagle. “It’s a new issue—I—never
+	mind. We have lots more
+	where this came from, haven’t we,
+	comrade Vychy?�</p>
+
+	<p>“I’ll say,� Nick said. “Watch!�</p>
+
+	<p>Gold pieces continued falling
+	from the hat, one by one, then in
+	a steady stream. Stunned, Broncov
+	clutched his throat, muttering: “It
+	can’t be true. Miracles don’t happen.�</p>
+
+	<p>He watched in silence while his
+	Minister of Culture made a pile of
+	gold coins four feet high. When
+	the floor timbers began creaking,
+	Nick made another similar heap;
+	then, others, till the thick walls
+	began bulging inward.</p>
+
+	<p>“Stop!� Broncov cried. “A couple
+	of tons is enough.� Eyes now
+	popping, he waved his arms as the
+	floor sagged under fifty times that
+	weight. “There’s the two hundred
+	million for you, Prince. The rest is
+	for—us. We’ll sign the papers in
+	another room.�</p>
+
+	<p>Ignoring frightened cries, Nick
+	made more piles of gold next to
+	the windows. Outside on Red
+	Square, people were running in all
+	directions, shouting and waving
+	newspapers. A cannon roared. A
+	hundred or more machine guns
+	began rattling. Plainly, the bullets
+	were not fired at any one, for the
+	people were laughing and weeping,
+	singing and dancing.</p>
+
+	<p>“Come here and have a look,
+	Bronco,� Nick suggested.</p>
+
+	<p>“It’s—a trick, a revolution,�
+	Broncov panted. “Damn you, Volonsky,
+	you started it.� He snatched
+	<a class="pagenum" id="page127" title="127"> </a>a heavy revolver from his desk and
+	fired it at Nick without warning.</p>
+
+	<p>The false Volonsky laughed
+	when five of the slugs bounced off
+	the invisible shield around him. A
+	sixth bullet splintered the window
+	glass. The other five returned and
+	struck the raging Red boss, cutting
+	his face and arms enough to bring
+	streams of blood. He dashed for
+	the door but collided with the six
+	guards who burst into the room.</p>
+
+	<p>Broncov wiped off some of the
+	blood running into his eyes well
+	enough to see all six waving copies
+	of Pravda. “What’s going on
+	here?� he screamed.</p>
+
+	<p>“Read about it in Pravda,� bellowed
+	Gorkzy, the huge guard. “It
+	always prints the truth—you’ve
+	taught us.�</p>
+
+	<p>“What truth?� quavered the
+	Premier. “Put down those guns!�</p>
+
+	<p>“Oh, no. Pravda says you were
+	shot trying to escape, and for once
+	it really told the truth.� Implacably,
+	the big guard brought up his
+	Tommy-gun and let it rattle.</p>
+
+	<p>The stricken Red leader took two
+	steps backward and fell to the floor
+	as the other five guns opened up
+	on him in a hell’s chatter of death.
+	His falling weight added the last
+	straw to the overstrained floor timbers.
+	They gave way in a roar, and
+	a hundred tons of yellow gold
+	streamed downward in a cataclysmic
+	wave of wealth and death to the
+	Council members below.</p>
+
+	<hr class="thoughtbreak" />
+
+
+	<p class="post_thoughtbreak">Poised on air, Nick and Cletus
+	became invisible to mortal eyes.
+	“That wraps it, Cleet. Let’s see
+	how the boys take it.�</p>
+
+	<p>The six guards were peering
+	down into the ruin below, and at
+	some of the fortune still clinging
+	to the slanting floor.</p>
+
+	<p>“Great Nicholas!� Gorkzy yelled.
+	“Gold!�</p>
+
+	<p>“Just like Pravda says,� howled
+	another man. “Listen! It says:
+	‘Volonsky and the mysterious Persian
+	prince have disappeared. Broncov
+	executed by heroic guards. All
+	members of the once-feared Inner
+	Council crushed almost beyond
+	recognition when floor crashed upon
+	them from the weight of the
+	gold brought by the prince.’�</p>
+
+	<p>“And look at this!� roared the
+	big Gorkzy. “‘All soldiers and police
+	throw down their arms. Refuse
+	to shoot the people shouting they
+	want their Tsar and church back.
+	Satellite countries freed of the
+	odious Communist yoke. Concentration
+	camps, collective farming,
+	and slave labor abolished. All spies
+	and saboteurs recalled to Moscow
+	for trial and punishment. Ivan, the
+	Tsar, to issue proclamation.’�</p>
+
+	<p>“What Tsar?� The six stared
+	stupidly at one another.</p>
+
+	<p>One man picked up a shiny gold
+	piece and tested it with his teeth.
+	“The Bolsheviks murdered the old
+	goat and all his family. How can
+	this be?�</p>
+
+	<p>“He probably left plenty of bastards,�
+	another man hazarded.</p>
+
+	<p>“I get it,� Gorkzy shouted.
+	“Prince Navi is a grandson. His
+	name is N-a-v-i—Ivan spelled
+	<a class="pagenum" id="page128" title="128"> </a>backward. Why, the smart little
+	devil! And now he’s here some
+	place to reign over us.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Oh, no,� Cletus protested as he
+	and Nick slithered through the
+	wall. “You aren’t going to make
+	me rule over these dopes, boss.
+	Have a heart. It’s cold here, and
+	the whole country stinks.�</p>
+
+	<p>“That’s your punishment, m’lad,
+	for letting Raphael and Michael
+	catch onto you. You can’t prowl
+	around Heaven just now so you’ll
+	have to work here in Hell’s Rear
+	Annex for a while. Look!� Nick
+	thumbed one of the gold pieces.
+	“Your image stamped on all of
+	them. Also ‘Ivan—Tsar. In God
+	We Trust.’�</p>
+
+	<p>“Okay,� Cletus said, shuffling a
+	little, then brightening. “Anyhow,
+	I’ll have Nishka.�</p>
+
+	<p>“Not if the common folks find
+	out she worked for the MVD.�
+	As if to punctuate Nick’s prophesy,
+	a dozen bombs exploded inside
+	police headquarters.</p>
+
+	<p>“Heck!� Cletus shrugged resignedly.
+	“Well, lend me that hat,
+	and conjure up a couple million
+	tons of soap—not perfumed.�</p>
+
+	<p>Roaring with laughter, Nick
+	promised to spread soap over the
+	entire country, then watched the
+	little imp zooming back and forth
+	across Red Square—sprinkling the
+	snowy pavement with Ivan-Tsar
+	pieces of gold.</p>
+
+	<hr class="thoughtbreak" />
+
+
+	<p class="post_thoughtbreak">The Satanic laughter lasted till
+	Nick had whizzed half way across
+	Chaos. “That caper,� he told himself
+	gleefully, “will fool The BBU
+	about my plan. Or, will it? Great
+	Hades! I did a <em>good</em> deed.�</p>
+
+	<p>A million miles above the wastes
+	of Chaos, he remembered he still
+	wore Volonsky whose shade would
+	still be imprisoned in the Pravda
+	room. Nick shucked out of his unpleasant
+	quarters, halted to watch
+	the thing spinning downward.</p>
+
+	<p>“Cheer up, Vych,� he laughed.
+	“Next century I’ll gather up what’s
+	left and give it back to you—maybe.�</p>
+</div>
+<div id="the_end">&nbsp;</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Satan and the Comrades, by Ralph Bennitt
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Satan and the Comrades
+
+Author: Ralph Bennitt
+
+Release Date: February 22, 2010 [EBook #31349]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SATAN AND THE COMRADES ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks, Barbara Tozier and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+    This etext was produced from Fantastic Universe, September
+    1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the
+    U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
+
+
+
+
+    _It is not always easy to laugh at Satan, or take pleasure in
+    his antics. But when the Prince of Darkness goes on a vacation
+    or holds a mirror up to human nature at its most Luciferian
+    chuckles are certain to arise and follow one another in
+    hilarious profusion. Here is a yarn contrived by a craftsman
+    with ironic lightning bolts at his fingertips, as mordantly
+    compelling as it is jovial and Jovian. If you liked _SATAN
+    ON HOLIDAY_, and were hoping for a sequel you can now
+    rejoice in full measure, for Ralph Bennitt has provided that
+    longed-for delight._
+
+
+
+
+SATAN AND THE COMRADES
+
+_by ... Ralph Bennitt_
+
+
+    Lucifer wasn't sure that just the right improvements had been
+    made in Hell. So he used a dash of sulfur with Satanic skill.
+
+
+Nick felt almost good-humoredly buoyant after his year's holiday as a
+college boy. About a second after leaving Earth he slowed his
+traveling speed down to the medium velocity of light by shifting from
+fifth dimension to fourth. Though still a million miles above the
+wastes of Chaos and twice that distance from the gates of Hell, his
+X-ray eyes were quick to discern a difference in the road far below
+him.
+
+Sin and Death had built that broad highway eons before. On leaving
+Hell, presumedly forever to carry on their work among men, they had
+done a mighty good job of the original construction. But time had
+worked its ravages with the primrose-lined path, and it was not
+surprising that on starting his sabbatical leave, Nick had ordered his
+chief engineer to repair the road as a first step in his plan to
+modernize Hell.
+
+Apparently, old Mulciber had done a bang-up job, and Nick roared in
+laughter at evidences of the engineer's genius and those of wily
+Belial, the handsome court wag. The Propaganda Chief had added
+advertising at numerous new roadhouses along the way, and unwary
+shades traveling hellward gazed at beautiful scenes of lush vegetation
+instead of a dreary expanse like the Texas Panhandle. This "devilish
+cantraip sleight" also changed the raw Chaos climate to a steady 72 deg.F
+and gave off a balmy fragrance of fruits and flowers.
+
+Ten thousand drachmas, a fictitious unit of currency established by
+foxy old Mammon, was the flat fee for use of the road. Blissfully
+unaware of this "Transportation Charge," or how it would be paid,
+numerous phantom pilgrims were sliding down the steeper hills--and
+having a swell time. Their shouts of glee reached Nick's largish ears
+despite the lack of air as mortals know it. Clever old Mulcie had
+installed freezing plants here and there to surface the road with
+glare ice.
+
+Nick poised above a party of phantom men and girls sliding downhill on
+their _derrieres_ and ending in a heap at the bottom. A nice change
+from traveling under their own power. Their maximum speed while swift
+and incomprehensible to mortals, seemed relatively slow to one of
+Hell's old timers. Only Nick and his best scout, Cletus, could move at
+thought speed--"Click-Click Transportation."
+
+Drifting on, a pleased smile on his red, bony face, Nick paused
+several times to read Belial's welcomings.
+
+"Die and see the original Naples in all its natural beauty," said one
+sign. "Try our hot sulphur springs and become a new soul." Gayest
+pleasures were promised to all and golfers had special attention.
+"Register with the pro at your favorite golf club so you can qualify.
+No charge for pro's services who'll teach you to break 80. Free lunch
+and drinks at all Nineteenth Holes."
+
+No fool shade would wonder what he'd qualify for, nor suspect he'd
+have to shovel eighty million tons of coal and ashes before his
+handicap would be lowered enough to earn him a set of golf clubs or
+that the free lunch and drinks were chunks of brimstone, the
+sulphurous air and Styx River water which is always just below boiling
+point at 3,000 deg.F.
+
+Hell's thousand of new golf courses, gambling joints and bars would be
+available only after downtrodden souls had worked a millennia or two
+at common labor jobs. A shady deal, indeed, but all a part of Nick's
+master plan to get him and his legions back to Heaven.
+
+By modernizing Hades he hoped to annoy "The Big Boss Upstairs" while
+diverting the attention of those two vigilant celestial watchers,
+Michael and Raphael, from the main idea. In a series of bold moves,
+known only to Nick and his Board or Inner Council, mankind would be
+wiped off the earth--and thus bring The BBU to time. Or so Nick hoped.
+
+As a first step, he had spent a year as Pudzy, a college boy, studying
+electronics and modern skills of all kinds. He had enjoyed the holiday
+on Earth though it irked him to recall that he'd been obliged to do
+good here and there. The thought of these satanic lapses caused him to
+frown, but his jolly mood returned when he saw the familiar gates of
+Hell wide open in obedience to his whistle.
+
+The whistle's high frequency waves also awakened Cerberus, the
+three-headed watch dog, besides actuating "The Dingus." This
+electronic device Nick had stolen to operate the three ponderous
+triple-fold gates of adamantine, brass and iron.
+
+He slowed to supersonic speed, brought back his great red wings and
+made a neat three-point landing without injuring the needle-sharp dart
+at the end of his long, black tail. Still feeling jovial, he kicked
+all three of Cerberus's heads, then zoomed down through the tunnel to
+the north bank of the River Styx.
+
+There he halted to view the ten-lane suspension bridge Mulciber had
+thrown across the steamy black water. Nick was wondering how the old
+genius had accomplished such a feat when a thick black wall dropped
+across the bridgehead.
+
+"Cost you five thousand rubles to cross, mister," Charon called in a
+thick voice.
+
+The old riverman who had ferried new shades across the earth-hell
+boundary for eons of time, had just returned after a year's vacation
+in Moscow.
+
+He hid a bottle under his brimstone bench, then straightened a gaudy
+red tie as he weaved forward. A changed devil, Charon. His year in
+Redland had done more than put him into a natty summer suit. Although
+not very bright, he had unusual powers of observation. He liked to ape
+the odd speech of his customers, especially American prospectors.
+These truculent but harmless old timers worked at odd jobs around the
+nearby palace grounds, and in the ferryman they found a kindred
+spirit.
+
+Nick eyed the loyal old fellow's red tie with amazement. "What, for
+St. Pete's sake, are you drinking, Char?"
+
+"Vodka," Charon gasped. Recognizing the stern voice, he tried to focus
+his bleary eyes. "'Scuse it, Your Majesty. I've come a long way and
+alone. Your substitute, Pudzy, gimme a bottle 'fore he returned to
+Ameriky, and it's durn cold up there in Musk-Cow, and so I took a few
+nips, and I felt so goldurned glad to git back I polished off what was
+left, so I didn't recognize Your Majesty when you came zoomin' along,
+and if you'll sort of overlook--"
+
+Nick patted the frightened old fellow's scrawny shoulder. "Better
+check in and sleep it off, Char."
+
+"Gosh, stoppin' _you_!"
+
+"You let everybody in till I tell you different. Forget the toll
+charge too, you old conniver."
+
+"Yeah, and look!" Chortling with glee, Charon tottered back to his
+station and put one hand across the beam of a photo-electric eye. The
+ponderous gate slid silently upward. "It weighs fifteen hundred tons,
+Mulcie says, and I don't even push a button."
+
+"You still smell like a Communist, Char," Nick said, sniffing the good
+sulphurous air. "How come you're on the job as bridgekeeper if you've
+just returned from Moscow?"
+
+"Orders from Beelzebub, and it's nigh a half hour by now since this
+fella came across the bridge. I'm sauntering home, friends with
+everybody, I am--"
+
+"What fellow?"
+
+Charon scratched his grisly thatch. "Come to think of it, I never see
+'im afore this. I'm standing back there, looking down at my old skiff
+and wondering about my job, when this fella comes up. 'This is for
+you, Charon,' he says, and held out your official incombusterible
+letterhead with the cross-bones and dripping blood--"
+
+"Yeah, yeah. What does this stranger look like? What's his name? Who
+signed the paper?"
+
+"Beelzebub signed it. I guess I know the John Henry of your Number Two
+devil even if I am a dumb ferryman." Perhaps sensing he had blundered,
+Charon almost wept. "This paper appoints me head bridge-tender from
+now to the _end_ of eternity, and, bein' worried about my job, I
+hopped right to it. You're the first--"
+
+"Which way did he go? What's he look like?"
+
+Charon almost said "Thataway," as he shook his head and pointed a
+trembling finger to the distant shore. "Lemme see. He wore neat
+clothes about like mine, and he zoomed off like the upper crust shades
+do when in a hurry--which ain't often. He has mean little eyes, sort
+of pale blue, is built wide and short, and talks American good as I
+do. Now't I think of it, he had an impederiment in his speech, and he
+smelt like a bed of sweet peas."
+
+"Very good, indeed." Scanning the paper, Nick smiled as he recognized
+a forgery of the Beelzebub signature. He drew out his pen which writes
+under fire as well as water, and scribbled "Nick," then put the
+document into the eager hands. "This gives you the job forever--or
+till I revoke the appointment."
+
+"Boydy-dumb-deals!" Charon shouted. "Boss, you oughta hear about my
+adventures in Redland. I had a real gabfest with the new Premier,
+Andrei Broncov, and his Minister of Culture, Vichy Volonsky."
+
+Nick grinned sardonically. "I heard a little about the most recent
+changes in the Kremlin. Are my old sidekicks well? And are they having
+any particular trouble since liquidating the old gang?"
+
+"How come you call that fat crumb, Broncov, your sidekick?" Charon
+frowned, trying to collect his wits in the dread presence. "He didn't
+ask about you. He took me for an illegitimate son of Joe Stalin's, so
+how would he know you and I are pals? I bought this red tie and hired
+a sleeping dictionary to catch onto the language better, and--"
+
+"Your dictionary probably spilled things to the MVD."
+
+"Not while my gold held out. Anyhow, those punks are way overrated.
+Tricky, maybe, and they lie good. They'd rather bump you off than eat
+breakfast."
+
+"Purge is the word. The old comrades Broncov threw out a month ago now
+fully understand its meaning. How is the comrade?"
+
+"Gosh, boss, I'm sick of hearing that word. They say it just before
+they knife you. Broncov's been busy, all right. Since taking over the
+Number One job he's been sending a lot of his best friends down this
+way. To keep Joe Stalin company, he told me. He looks fat even if Bill
+Shakespeare says this new lot--"
+
+"I suppose he and his pals plied you with liquor," Nick said.
+
+"They tried to drink me under the table." Charon cut a laugh in half.
+"Gosh, I durn near forgot. Y'know what the sidewinder, Bronco, babbled
+'fore he passed out? Top drawer stuff. Only he and this Vichy
+Volonskyvich know about it. Seems Bronco learned, somehow, about your
+taking a vacation, so he's been torturing a lot of his friends into
+confessing they plotted agin 'im. He promised them an easy death if
+they'd carry on down here. How you like that?"
+
+"The fools. What's his plan?"
+
+"I ain't sure I got it all as his tongue got thicker from the vodka.
+But I learned Hell's full of comrades who've sworn to their god,
+Lee-Nine, they'll toss you to the wolves. They aim to pull Joe Stalin
+off his clinker-picking job and make him secretary here."
+
+"Go on," Nick urged in ominous tones. "How?"
+
+"They've swiped some new secret weapon and figure to obliterate you
+and every devil in authority so things will be organized nice and cozy
+when they finally get here. The Dumb--"
+
+"Good report, Char." The new weapon did not bother Nick much, but from
+his profound studies of atom smashing he decided anything can happen
+these days even to a top devil. He continued briskly: "Hereafter,
+sniff all your customers and make sure they don't _smell_ like a Red.
+You know the aroma by now--sweet peas with an underlying stink--so
+keep your nose peeled. When you spot a comrade, radio-phone the guard.
+Those lads will know what to do you can bet your last ruble."
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+The rousing welcome home Nick received as he climbed the hill to his
+great palace would have warmed his heart if he'd owned one.
+
+"Thanks, boys and girls," he intoned in his best golden voice. "It's
+swell to be back among you. I haven't time for a speech now, but tune
+in to Channel Thirteen tomorrow evening for my fireside chat."
+
+He wanted to take off for Moscow immediately, but decided to start the
+war by calling The Board. Also, the boys would be hurt if he didn't
+inspect what they'd done during his absence. After a hasty,
+Russian-style dinner of caviar, cabbage and cold horse with a gold
+flagon of vodka, he ordered Azazel, Flag Bearer and Statistician
+Chief, to call a meeting in the throne room.
+
+Little Cletus waylaid his big boss. The scout among the celestials
+looked like a chubby cherub what with his dimpled cheeks and curly
+black hair, but he'd proved to be the trickiest imp south of the
+pearly gates. Knowing that Raphael had cajoled the little imp into
+revealing something of the improvements in Hades, Nick suspected
+treachery by one of his most trusted scouts.
+
+"I hear you've been seeing Raphael!" he barked.
+
+"Aw, I told 'im a pack of lies," Cletus scoffed. "Maybe Rafe figured
+out something; he's a smart apple. I told 'im everybody here is hot
+and unhappy like you ordered me to say if they ever caught me. I said
+our air-conditioning system goes haywire and that we were ripping out
+a thousand old boilers and coolers. Stuff like that."
+
+"Don't lie to me, you ornery little brat. Okay to anybody else but not
+to me. I happened to hear Rafe talking to Mike, and they're wise to my
+plan of making Hell attractive."
+
+"Well, hell," Cletus protested, "they saw Mulcie's gangs fixing the
+road. If Rafe and them extra-extrapopulated that dope to figure out
+the truth, why blame me?"
+
+"We'll forget it," Nick said, vastly relieved to believe his scout had
+not betrayed him. "I have a job for you. I'm going to Moscow and I
+want your help. Light out as soon as you can. Requisition as much gold
+as you can handle by the usual translation method, and include a sack
+of polished diamonds and rubies. I'll tell Mammon it's okay when I
+arrange for my own supply."
+
+"Okay, boss. Where do we meet? And what am I supposed to look like,
+and do?"
+
+"Make yourself bellhop size and register at the Droshky Hotel as
+Prince Navi from Baghdad with fifty Persian oil wells to sell. Let 'em
+see your gold and jewels. And, remember, you'll account for any dough
+you toss away to women and bribes. Get going!"
+
+Nick could see into the _near_ future, at least, and he chuckled after
+Cletus vanished through the wall. "The little devil doesn't know
+what's in store for him."
+
+In the throne room, sage old Beelzebub sat at the right of His
+Majesty's chair; huge Moloch with his evil grin and snaggle teeth, at
+the left. Tall, prissy Azazel, always acting important, planted
+Satan's flag and then sat down at a table opposite wide-shouldered
+Mulciber and handsome Belial. Charter members all of the original
+organization booted out of Heaven some eighteen million years ago when
+Nick's first but not last rebellion flopped.
+
+After the customary ritual of renewing their vow to get back to
+Heaven, the gang sat down. Nick rapped the arm of his throne and
+glared at Chemos, the lustful one.
+
+"Cheme," he said, "if you will quit flirting with Astarte, The Board
+will take up business."
+
+Belial snickered when the culprits' red faces grew even redder, and
+after a wink at the court wit, Nick went on: "I intend to take off for
+Moscow after a quick look about with Mulcie and Belial. Incidentally,
+my compliments on the good work you did on the road."
+
+"Egad, boss," Moloch complained, "why can't you stay home more and
+line things up for us?"
+
+"Time enough--" Nick sniffed, scowled, then pointed toward a thick
+pillar near the rear of the big room. "I smell an interloper. Thammuz,
+Dagon, drag 'im up here! Beel, I fancy he's the one who forged your
+signature."
+
+Beelzebub rose in anger when a shadowy figure darted for the door. The
+intruder moved as fast as any wraith but the two former gods were too
+quick for him. A brief struggle, then they dragged the eavesdropper
+before the throne where they held him upside down.
+
+"It's the Paperhanger!" Beelzebub roared.
+
+"I guessed that from Charon's description," Nick said calmly. "He's
+siding with the Reds again--Smell him? Stand up, Adolf, and hear your
+sentence!"
+
+"I didn't do a thing, Your Majesty," Hitler began, but the hot,
+glowing eyes were too much to face. His knees buckled and he sank,
+groveling, on the floor. "Didn't I send you millions of customers?" he
+wailed. "Haven't I done a good job of sweeping out and collecting
+garbage? Have a heart, Nick. I came in here to sweep, and how would I
+know about this private conference?"
+
+"You talk about hearts?" Nick flared. "You hung around to listen. You
+forged Beelzebub's signature on my official paper, then put Charon in
+charge of the bridge, thinking he's too dumb to report any Commies
+coming here."
+
+"I can prove--"
+
+"You get the same chance at that which you gave people in Berlin. Down
+the chute with him, boys!"
+
+The chute, connecting with a main one leading down to the burning
+lake, has a flap which Belial gleefully lifted. Since shades have no
+mass worth mentioning, the long duct acts like a department store
+vacuum tube.
+
+"Oh, my beloved emperor, forgive me," Adolf yelled as he felt the
+suction. "I only wanted to organize a counter-revolution against the
+Communists and--"
+
+"Ratting on your pals again, eh?" Nick sneered. "You stay in the
+burning lake a thousand earth years. You'll have plenty of time and
+company for your plotting. Let 'im rip!"
+
+"No! I'll be forgotten--"
+
+"No one remembers you now except as a dung heap." Nick turned a thumb
+downward, and the screeching shade vanished.
+
+"Like a paper towel in a gale," Belial said as he let the flap clang
+shut. "How'd that creep get a job where he could snoop?"
+
+"My fault," Beelzebub admitted. "He's a smooth talker. I saw him not
+long after you left, Your Majesty, when I went out to inspect the
+garbage incinerator. He had shaved off his dinky mustache and changed
+the color of his eyes, but I recognized him."
+
+"It's okay, Beel." Nick patted the heavy shoulder of his top
+assistant. "The punk did us a left-handed favor in bringing things to
+a head." He told of how Charon had discovered the Red plot, then
+outlined his general plan.
+
+"Those Commies can't stand ridicule," Nick summed up. "While I'm gone
+I want every Communist son tossed into the burning lake. Alarm all
+guards and tell them how to identify them--the fragrance of sweet peas
+with an underlying stink. No one in the USSR has used up a cake of
+soap in twenty years, and the perfume they add can't quite cover the
+BO."
+
+"Must be a lot of Commies here," Mulciber commented. "How many guards
+have we, Azzy?"
+
+Azazel, Statistics Chief, glanced at a roll of incombustible
+microfilm, and cleared his throat. He liked being called upon, and
+since he had the history of every shade while on Earth, he was the
+second most feared devil in Hades.
+
+"After promoting the last batch who qualified for better jobs during
+the minimum millennium at common labor," Azazel said, "and adding--"
+
+"Never mind the commercial!" grouchy Moloch roared. "Boss, how do we
+know all our guards are to be trusted?"
+
+"We don't," Nick said. "When did we ever trust anybody? But our system
+of checkers, checkers checking the checkers, super-checkers on up to
+charter members, hasn't failed yet."
+
+"If His Eminence, The Corpse-Snatcher, is satisfied," Azazel said,
+smoothing his sleek black hair, "I shall answer Prince Mulciber's
+polite question. We now have on the guards' roll exactly thirteen
+million four hundred--"
+
+"That's close enough." Plainly pleased with his title, Moloch grinned
+at the big engineer. "Mulcie, why not build a chute straight up into
+Moscow? Save the boss trouble. He could take along a few gorillas and
+toss all those troublemaking stinkers straight into a hot bath."
+
+Nick joined in the laughter. "Trouble with that, Molly, The BBU
+wouldn't stand for it. Only Death can give the final sting, and even
+he has to wait for the call. Our game is to play it cagey, stick by
+the few rules The BBU laid down, and stay out of trouble."
+
+"How do you aim to handle those fellas?" Belial asked.
+
+"Tell you after I do it." Nick guessed the fun-loving Propaganda Chief
+wanted to go along, but decided Cletus would be a better assistant in
+a plan already formulated. A boon companion, Belial, for any nefarious
+project. True, he had the quickest wit of the lot, but had worked
+over-long in the advertising racket, and many of his schemes resembled
+those of a hen on a hot griddle.
+
+Nick turned to the secretary. "If you have all this down, Asta, I'll
+consider a motion to adjourn."
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+It was an hour short of midnight and snowing in Moscow when Nick
+landed in the printing room of Pravda, the official Red journal. As he
+had calculated, several sample newspapers had been run off.
+
+Vichy Volonsky, a short, roundheaded man, had held up the rest of the
+issue while he studied the content through his nose-glasses. Editor
+Blochensk and the mechanics anxiously awaited the great man's verdict.
+An unfavorable one meant the concentration camp for everybody. As
+Minister of Culture, Volonsky previewed all news personally when not
+running errands for Andrei Broncov at a meeting of the Inner Council.
+
+The Number Two ranking man in the Kremlin clique frowned most
+frighteningly, then, moved by an odd compulsion, walked into a
+sound-insulated telephone room. He closed the door and stared at it
+stupidly while looking through the invisible Nick.
+
+"Why did I come in here?" he said. "There's only the usual bilge in
+the sheet, nothing to telephone the fat slob about. Yet something made
+me."
+
+"I did," Nick said, suddenly visible. "When I finish, Pravda will
+never be the same again. Lie down, Vichy!"
+
+Volonsky opened his mouth, but Nick wiggled a finger, and no yell came
+out. In the wink of an eye, he squeezed out the Minister's shade and
+took its place.
+
+"Pretty cramped and smelly quarters," Nick told himself, "but do or
+die for good old Hades."
+
+"What? Who are you?" Volonsky's phantom teeth chattered. "You must be
+Nick, himself."
+
+"Russia's patron saint till you amateurs took over. I have business
+with your boss. I mean Andrei Broncov. Not that it matters, but who
+conceived the idea of deposing Satan? Talk, _mujik_, and tell the
+truth. All of it."
+
+"Blame Broncov, not me," Volonsky pleaded. "It was his scheme to kill
+off several thousand loyal party comrades. They got a choice: Be
+tortured to death, or die quickly and work for a revolution in Hell as
+soon as they arrived. Naturally--"
+
+"I've heard enough, rat." Nick spat contemptuously, and a puff of gray
+smoke spread rapidly over walls, ceiling and floor. "That will hold
+you," he jeered, and opened the door. Aping the Minister's important
+waddle, he walked over to the great press.
+
+Editor Blochensk stared with fear-bulged eyes. "Anything--anything
+wrong, Your Excellency comrade?" he asked shakily.
+
+"Nothing I can't fix."
+
+"Oh!" The editor clutched his throat. "Thank--uh--uh--"
+
+"Never mind, I know Who you mean." Muttering words in Hell's silent
+language, Nick walked completely around the press. "It's perfect,
+Blochy. Don't let the content worry you. It's part of The PLAN. Roll
+out your papers and deliver them fast. Don't question anything. Orders
+from--you know."
+
+Only minutes ahead of the new Volonsky, Cletus had entered the lobby
+of the Droshky Hotel on Red Square. The cherubic scout had obeyed
+orders and made himself bellhop size, large size. He didn't exactly
+resemble the one in the cigarette ad but he had the kid's twinkle in
+his dark eyes. And he had already latched onto a luscious blonde; or,
+more likely, Nick concluded, the reverse.
+
+Having just registered as a Persian prince, Cletus again clanked down
+a large sack of gold pieces and a smaller one of jewels. "Put these
+diamonds and rubies into your best safe," he ordered in perfect
+Russian.
+
+The clerk's eyes began popping, so did the blonde's and those of a
+score of spectators, including four hard-faced MVD boys.
+
+"And I'll take care of you, Honey-Navi," the blonde said.
+
+"Ah, you just love me for my two billion dollars," the imp retorted,
+and winked at her. As did Nick, Cletus could plainly see the twist
+operated on the MVD payroll as well as in her own interests.
+
+"I'm selling out my fifty oil wells," he announced, "and I've come to
+town to see the head man, whoever he is today. I thought I'd let you
+dumb _mujiks_ bid for the wells before I practically give them to
+Super-San Oil company for a measly two hundred million dollars."
+
+"Of course, Prince Navi," the clerk said loudly. He nodded toward the
+four tough lads who, likewise, had not yet noticed the great Volonsky.
+
+Nick rapped on the counter with his six-carat diamond ring. "How about
+a little service here, comrade?"
+
+"One moment, comrade," the clerk said nervously.
+
+"What you mean, one moment?" Nick roared. "I haven't flown all the way
+from New York to have a two-bit clerk tell me to wait. I represent
+Super-San Oil and I'm here to meet a Persian Prince Navi."
+
+"Quiet, Amerikaner, till--Oh, Your Excellency Comrade Vychy Volonsky!"
+The mouth of the astonished clerk fell open. Then, fearful of making a
+wrong move in the Red game of dirty politics, he failed to guess why
+the great one should act as a miserable capitalist. "A thousand
+pardons, Your Excellency Comrade. What can I do for the beloved
+comrade? I didn't recognize you--"
+
+"Hush, fool!" Nick looked toward Cletus just then gazing into the
+blonde's blue eyes.
+
+The four MVD agents went into a quick huddle, then the one with a
+broken nose bowed to the fake Volonsky. "If Your Excellency Comrade
+will step aside with us, we'll explain this fool's mistake."
+
+"Put him in the can and question him tomorrow," Nick snarled. "Anybody
+can see he's working for the filthy capitalists."
+
+"Of course, Your Excellency Comrade." Broken nose and his three pals
+escorted Nick to a chair beside a column. "I'm Lieutenant Putov of the
+MVD," he whispered. "We picked up this Prince Navi the instant he
+entered, and have been watching him."
+
+"Skip the commercial," Nick said, almost laughing as he gave Moloch's
+favorite expression. "How come you didn't spot him at one of our
+airports?"
+
+"He must have landed on an abandoned field in his private plane, Your
+Excellency Comrade." Lieutenant Putov glanced at the other three
+equally worried looking plug-uglies. "He's a prince, all right. Look
+at the gold and jewels he tossed to the clerk, several million dol--I
+mean, several billion rubles. We haven't checked his story, but he
+claims he's here to sell fifty Persian oil wells."
+
+"I know _that_, idiot. Our spies in Baghdad advised us yesterday.
+That's why I pretend to be with the stinking Super-San--Wggh!"
+
+"What are Your Excellency Comrade's wishes?"
+
+"Get him away from that blonde before she ruins our plans."
+
+"Ah, that's Nishka, one of us." Astonishment widened Putov's watery
+blue eyes. "Have you forgotten the night you and she drank--"
+
+"You talk too much, Putov." Nick flapped a hand. "Get a car to take me
+and the prince to the Kremlin. Hurry it! Comrade Andrei Broncov and I
+have a Council meeting at midnight. You three, bring the prince to me
+here."
+
+Cletus and Nishka had withdrawn to a sofa in an alcove off the lobby.
+Without effort, Nick could see them and hear the female agent saying:
+"How do I know you have all that money, Navi-Honey? I'll bet you
+brought gilt lead and fake jewels just to impress me."
+
+"No, but I've been to America," Cletus bragged, knowing well his boss
+would be listening. "So be nice and I'll prove they're real. I've been
+everywhere but this lousy place. I even lived in Egypt."
+
+"Talk some Egyptian for me," Nishka wheedled.
+
+"I've forgotten most of it," Cletus said, cannily dodging the trap.
+"But I once made a study of the ancient language." He ripped out a
+stream of what had once been his native tongue. Then, partly at least
+to test Nishka's knowledge, he added in English, "How's for looking at
+my room before we go out on the town?"
+
+"Wha-at? Why, you bad boy!" The girl winked at her three fellow agents
+coming toward them in a crablike walk, then spoke in Cletus' ear:
+"It's the LAW, Navi-Honey, but don't let them worry you. Little Nishka
+will stay with you--to the limit."
+
+Cletus leered at her and rose to accompany the MVD to the front of the
+lobby. He and Nick put on an act, then went to the street followed by
+a chattering crowd.
+
+Once inside the sleek car Putov had conjured up, Nick said: "The heap
+is wired so we'll talk only in Hell language."
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+It wasn't far to the grim walls of the Kremlin, and as the big car
+purred across the snowy, radio-stricken square, Nick gave Cletus the
+main points of his plan. Obviously warned, the police gave a snappy
+salute and let the car enter the courtyard. A few moments later,
+Hell's emissaries were zooming through long corridors and up to the
+second floor; walking the last fifty yards.
+
+Six husky guards armed with sub-machine guns opened the great doors to
+the Premier's private study. "He's been asking for you," a huge guard
+whispered.
+
+"He would, the brainless pup," Nick snarled, reading the big fellow's
+thoughts. A Volonsky man called Gorkzy. "Don't announce us."
+
+Inside the great room, at a desk almost large enough for a roller
+skating rink, Andrei Broncov appeared to be studying a document. True
+executive, he went on reading till Nick coughed.
+
+"Your Excellency Comrade Broncov, I have brought Prince Navi. Where is
+the rest of the Council?"
+
+"Ah!" Broncov's plump face widened in a smile for Cletus. "This is an
+honor, Your Highness. I trust you will pardon my preoccupation with
+affairs of state. They're in a mess--as are all capitals when the old
+order departs. I supposed you'd be announced." Andrei Broncov glared
+at the pseudo Volonsky and whispered in a dialect, "The Council is
+waiting below, fool."
+
+"Nuts," Cletus said. "Talk English, will you? I can hardly understand
+your outlandish language. Or, speak Persian."
+
+"My knowledge of your native tongue is not good, but I'm quite at home
+in English or Amerikaner. A Russian invented--"
+
+"Yeah, he knows," Nick cut in. "Forget the malarkey, Bronco. This lad
+is here on business and has no time for our phoney hooptedo. From his
+grandfather, the old Shah, he inherited fifty of the richest oil wells
+in Asia, and he's giving us a chance to bid on them instead of
+carrying on a, quote, cold, unquote, war, and steal--"
+
+"I understand," Broncov said through his big teeth. His lips tightened
+in his rage over Volonsky's direct speech, but he managed to say
+fairly suavely: "Your Highness, we appreciate your giving us a chance
+to buy your wells. Surely, a banquet is in order."
+
+"No, I want to get out of this place. It's too cold."
+
+Nick peered over his Volonsky nose-glasses. "How much, kid? No
+fooling."
+
+"Volonsky!" Broncov barked. "Mind your speech. I'll handle this little
+deal. You're excused."
+
+"Uh-uh." Nick grinned. "I stay for _my_ cut."
+
+"You both look like a couple of crooks to me," said the young prince.
+"I want two hundred million dollars--in gold."
+
+Broncov's hand shook as he reached for a row of buttons. "How about a
+bit of tea and cakes, or, perhaps something stronger before we discuss
+this matter with the Council? They're waiting just below us, and I'd
+like to present the deal already consummated."
+
+"Got any Old Style Lager around?" Cletus asked.
+
+"We have some good Bavarian beer, a stock we--ah--bought some time
+ago."
+
+"I've heard how much you paid the Heinies. The beer I want is made in
+Wisconsin, USA, so I think I'll fly over there tonight. Super-San Oil
+keeps begging me to visit their country. Offered me two hundred
+million for my wells but only half in gold. I want all gold, and I
+won't discuss any other terms."
+
+"Bungler!" Broncov whispered in dialect. "Why didn't you get him
+drunk, first? Without oil we can't carry on this cold war or kid the
+peasants much longer. Where in hell could we get even two hundred
+dollars in gold?"
+
+"Go to hell and find all you want," Nick said with a wicked grin.
+
+"I understood what you high-binders said," Cletus put in. "My cousin
+told me before I left home Communist clucks don't savvy Saturday from
+Sunday. Everybody knows you top boys have stolen everything not nailed
+down, and have stashed it away against the time your own people kick
+out Communism for good."
+
+"Oh, come, Prince Navi, I don't understand how such an evil story
+started. Our people wouldn't dare--"
+
+"Wouldn't they?" Cletus laughed nastily. "We have spies too, and we
+know your common herd would settle for anything else. Most of them
+want their church and their Tsar back, bad as he was."
+
+"Bah! The capitalist press started that myth."
+
+"Why, Bronco," Nick protested, "you can read that story in Pravda,
+'The Organ of Truth.'" The fake Minister of Culture cleared his throat
+to keep from laughing when the glowering Premier began thinking of
+various ways to torture unsympathetic comrades. In silent Hell
+language, Nick added: "Good work, Cleet. I'll take it from here."
+
+"Lies put out by the war mongerers of Wall Street," Broncov shouted.
+He continued raving, but Nick no longer listened.
+
+Sounds outside the window told him time had begun pressing. He shook
+the hat he'd been carrying. "Gold, is it you want, Prince Navi? You
+think we have none? How about this?"
+
+A glittering gold piece tinkled on the floor and rolled toward the
+amazed Red Premier. Puffing, he bent over and scooped up a newly
+minted coin the size of the American gold eagle. "It's a new
+issue--I--never mind. We have lots more where this came from, haven't
+we, comrade Vychy?"
+
+"I'll say," Nick said. "Watch!"
+
+Gold pieces continued falling from the hat, one by one, then in a
+steady stream. Stunned, Broncov clutched his throat, muttering: "It
+can't be true. Miracles don't happen."
+
+He watched in silence while his Minister of Culture made a pile of
+gold coins four feet high. When the floor timbers began creaking, Nick
+made another similar heap; then, others, till the thick walls began
+bulging inward.
+
+"Stop!" Broncov cried. "A couple of tons is enough." Eyes now popping,
+he waved his arms as the floor sagged under fifty times that weight.
+"There's the two hundred million for you, Prince. The rest is for--us.
+We'll sign the papers in another room."
+
+Ignoring frightened cries, Nick made more piles of gold next to the
+windows. Outside on Red Square, people were running in all directions,
+shouting and waving newspapers. A cannon roared. A hundred or more
+machine guns began rattling. Plainly, the bullets were not fired at
+any one, for the people were laughing and weeping, singing and
+dancing.
+
+"Come here and have a look, Bronco," Nick suggested.
+
+"It's--a trick, a revolution," Broncov panted. "Damn you, Volonsky,
+you started it." He snatched a heavy revolver from his desk and fired
+it at Nick without warning.
+
+The false Volonsky laughed when five of the slugs bounced off the
+invisible shield around him. A sixth bullet splintered the window
+glass. The other five returned and struck the raging Red boss, cutting
+his face and arms enough to bring streams of blood. He dashed for the
+door but collided with the six guards who burst into the room.
+
+Broncov wiped off some of the blood running into his eyes well enough
+to see all six waving copies of Pravda. "What's going on here?" he
+screamed.
+
+"Read about it in Pravda," bellowed Gorkzy, the huge guard. "It always
+prints the truth--you've taught us."
+
+"What truth?" quavered the Premier. "Put down those guns!"
+
+"Oh, no. Pravda says you were shot trying to escape, and for once it
+really told the truth." Implacably, the big guard brought up his
+Tommy-gun and let it rattle.
+
+The stricken Red leader took two steps backward and fell to the floor
+as the other five guns opened up on him in a hell's chatter of death.
+His falling weight added the last straw to the overstrained floor
+timbers. They gave way in a roar, and a hundred tons of yellow gold
+streamed downward in a cataclysmic wave of wealth and death to the
+Council members below.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Poised on air, Nick and Cletus became invisible to mortal eyes. "That
+wraps it, Cleet. Let's see how the boys take it."
+
+The six guards were peering down into the ruin below, and at some of
+the fortune still clinging to the slanting floor.
+
+"Great Nicholas!" Gorkzy yelled. "Gold!"
+
+"Just like Pravda says," howled another man. "Listen! It says:
+'Volonsky and the mysterious Persian prince have disappeared. Broncov
+executed by heroic guards. All members of the once-feared Inner
+Council crushed almost beyond recognition when floor crashed upon them
+from the weight of the gold brought by the prince.'"
+
+"And look at this!" roared the big Gorkzy. "'All soldiers and police
+throw down their arms. Refuse to shoot the people shouting they want
+their Tsar and church back. Satellite countries freed of the odious
+Communist yoke. Concentration camps, collective farming, and slave
+labor abolished. All spies and saboteurs recalled to Moscow for trial
+and punishment. Ivan, the Tsar, to issue proclamation.'"
+
+"What Tsar?" The six stared stupidly at one another.
+
+One man picked up a shiny gold piece and tested it with his teeth.
+"The Bolsheviks murdered the old goat and all his family. How can this
+be?"
+
+"He probably left plenty of bastards," another man hazarded.
+
+"I get it," Gorkzy shouted. "Prince Navi is a grandson. His name is
+N-a-v-i--Ivan spelled backward. Why, the smart little devil! And now
+he's here some place to reign over us."
+
+"Oh, no," Cletus protested as he and Nick slithered through the wall.
+"You aren't going to make me rule over these dopes, boss. Have a
+heart. It's cold here, and the whole country stinks."
+
+"That's your punishment, m'lad, for letting Raphael and Michael catch
+onto you. You can't prowl around Heaven just now so you'll have to
+work here in Hell's Rear Annex for a while. Look!" Nick thumbed one of
+the gold pieces. "Your image stamped on all of them. Also 'Ivan--Tsar.
+In God We Trust.'"
+
+"Okay," Cletus said, shuffling a little, then brightening. "Anyhow,
+I'll have Nishka."
+
+"Not if the common folks find out she worked for the MVD." As if to
+punctuate Nick's prophesy, a dozen bombs exploded inside police
+headquarters.
+
+"Heck!" Cletus shrugged resignedly. "Well, lend me that hat, and
+conjure up a couple million tons of soap--not perfumed."
+
+Roaring with laughter, Nick promised to spread soap over the entire
+country, then watched the little imp zooming back and forth across Red
+Square--sprinkling the snowy pavement with Ivan-Tsar pieces of gold.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Satanic laughter lasted till Nick had whizzed half way across
+Chaos. "That caper," he told himself gleefully, "will fool The BBU
+about my plan. Or, will it? Great Hades! I did a _good_ deed."
+
+A million miles above the wastes of Chaos, he remembered he still wore
+Volonsky whose shade would still be imprisoned in the Pravda room.
+Nick shucked out of his unpleasant quarters, halted to watch the thing
+spinning downward.
+
+"Cheer up, Vych," he laughed. "Next century I'll gather up what's left
+and give it back to you--maybe."
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Satan and the Comrades, by Ralph Bennitt
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