The Book of Joby (26 page)

“Ah yes. . . . My
lengthy preparations
.” Lucifer smiled coldly. “Had I not taken time to observe our quarry unhindered in his own element, would we have discovered his true spiritual lineage, or that of his friends? Had I bowed even then to calls for hastier action, we would certainly have missed the subtler snares laid for us in
Taubolt.
” He swept the gathering with a challenging
look. “While I appreciate the exemplary patience you’ve all demonstrated, I believe the time to act has finally arrived.”

“Well, I second
that
!” huffed Trephila.

“My own exhaustive observation and analysis,” Lucifer continued, pointedly ignoring her, “has revealed a few particularly useful insights regarding our target. During his furious assault on Lindwald, Joby demonstrated an unexpected and deeply encouraging aptitude for rage, which may turn out to be key. In addition, while some sympathetic resonance with their former lives seems, happily, to have them already heading down the same tragic path they followed last time, Joby’s severe integrity and intense desire to be an agent of
good,
as our Oppressor defines it, opens him beautifully to the self-blame, perfectionism, and blind trust that helped undo him last time.”

“That Arthur!”
Tique laughed. “Always leaping into the fire for any pea-brained pauper with a sob story.” He slapped the tabletop, grinning like an idiot. “I’m glad he’s back! This is gonna be a
riot
!”

Fortifying his patience, Lucifer indulged the small spate of laughter that followed.

“Unfortunately,” Lucifer continued when he had their attention again, “there are some worrisome pitfalls to be aware of. Despite the pervasive shallowness and cynicism we’ve cultivated in the world of late, the child still exhibits an astonishing capacity for imagination and faith. As Lindwald so stupidly proved, he cannot be counted upon to deny his own experience and explain away our careless slips, as most will these days, so we must still proceed with utmost caution and stealth.”

“If he’s so alert to the truth about us,” Tique interrupted, “why not just torment him openly? It’s not like anyone else would believe him if he sought help.” He rolled his eyes. “All this
careful
skulking about is such a
bore
!”

“What you suggest might work, were this not
Arthur returned,
” Lucifer said with barely suppressed irritation. “A soul like his is not broken by handing it the very adventure on which it thrives. On the contrary, the most devastating assault against a child who feels the call to greatness in his very blood is a life of relentless mediocrity. To our great good fortune, no other time or place in history better lends itself to that purpose than this one. We need do little, in fact, but smooth the boy’s way of meaningful challenges until his life offers no hope at all of any least meaning or achievement.”

“Smooth his way!”
Eurodia protested. “We’re just to spend the next twenty-five years making him
comfortable
?”

“This is going to be
no fun at all
!” Tique groaned.

“Bloody ashes!”
Lucifer yelled. “I said
nothing
about making him
comfortable
! Could I have made that any
clearer
?”

“Well, if we’re to
smooth his way,
” Trephila demanded, “how are we to—”

“Of
meaningful challenges,
Trephila . . . not of
meaningless miseries.
That he must
never
be allowed anything truly interesting or important to do doesn’t mean we shouldn’t bury him in empty busywork and pointless obligations. While we avert any major crises in his
own
life, those
around him
ought to suffer terribly in ways he is utterly powerless to alter. Whenever he trusts, I want that trust betrayed, but only in ways too petty to pursue. His brightest achievements must never be opposed, only dismissed with empty applause followed by suffocating indifference.

“When he is reduced to ghostly impotence, defeated by no enemy he can point to but himself, left with no shred of faith in anything whatsoever or any meaningful contribution to make, despising his own existence even as he berates himself for ingratitude in the face of so many blessings, then, and only then, will I be able to
remake
him in
our
image. This is the one course our Enemy is unlikely to have anticipated. Now, does everyone understand?”

“I am
so
relieved!” Eurodia laughed. “You had me quite worried, Bright One.”

“Beyond all this, I trust it is
obvious,
” Lucifer continued, barely suppressing his impatience with all of them, “that having discovered our opponent’s invasive coastal sanctuary, Joby must be allowed nowhere near the coast again at any time for any reason. We need waste no valuable time parsing the Creator’s convoluted strategies there if they are just allowed to rust unvisited. Is that clear?”

“Do you take us for simpletons?” Tique asked.

Resisting the temptation to answer, Lucifer merely turned to Kallaystra and said, “I want you to start fanning his parents’ troubles back into flame, of course. Nap time’s over. Get that teacher into position, and make sure our long-suffering priest doesn’t despair of Joby’s eventual return to the fold. Richter still has a part to play.

“Malcephalon,” he said without waiting for her reply, “I want you whispering that wise counsel you’re so renowned for into Joby’s ear night and day. Teach him everything there is to know about shame, self-loathing, and despair. And by all means, let’s do unravel his Roundtable now that it serves no further purpose. Lindwald may be of some use to you there.

“Tique, Eurodia, Trephila. A flood of petty misfortune and frustration will
be very useful now. I imagine you’ll enjoy that. But remember,
nothing meaningful
enough to get his teeth into.

“Lindwald, your good fortune in winning Joby’s confidence saved you once, but speak
one syllable
to him which Malcephalon or I have not dictated, and you’ll grace Hell’s dinner table faster than you can say, Pop-Tart. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Williamson,” Lucifer said, as if in afterthought, “you may continue as our security camera.”

Williamson, whose face had long ago gone purple, said nothing.

“Are we finished?” Trephila asked impatiently.

“For now.”

“Good!” she cackled, suddenly the hag again.

Eurodia and Tique resumed their ruder forms as well.

“I get first shot at his bicycle!” Tique exclaimed.

“You only claimed that because
I
want his bicycle!” Eurodia whined.

Their voices were the last part of them to vanish.

Williamson left the meeting consumed in a fury like few he’d ever known. “Lowly functionaries!”
Little bugs!
That might apply to nitwits like Lindwald, but Lucifer’s damn campaign would have crashed and burned
months ago
if not for
himself
! Hadn’t
Williamson
been the one to inform Lucifer of Lindwald’s screwups in time to remedy them? Hadn’t
he
alerted Lucifer to Joby’s hidden lineage? Hadn’t
Williamson
been the one to connect Taubolt with the Creator’s dream of “Camelot”?

His
“own exhaustive observation and analysis”? Williamson thought in outrage.
How dare he?! Their security camera indeed!
This was the
last straw
! It was time Hell’s whole useless ruling class learned a lesson about those
little bugs
they relied on to keep the dirt from under their own celestial nails. If it took him years, he’d find some way to win Lucifer’s precious wager
all by himself.
Let them call him a bug
then
!

California’s Indian summer had been canceled this year. August’s dry heat had surrendered overnight to September’s crisp chill, as if summer were just too tired to fight about it. That was pretty much how Joby felt too, as he rode toward school for his first day of fifth grade. There’d been trouble at his dad’s construction site almost the moment they’d returned from Taubolt. The people who’d hired his father’s company weren’t happy anymore, and his
dad was being held responsible. His father had been grumpier than ever, always telling Joby he should “stand on his own two feet, and be a man,” as if Joby were standing on his
hands
or something. His parents were angry at each other half the time now too, and Joby didn’t understand that either, though more and more often it seemed to be his fault somehow.

A week after their trip to Taubolt, his dad had backed over Joby’s bike while leaving for work one morning, smashing it completely. His parents had been furious, and threatened not to replace it. No one had believed him when he’d sworn to having no idea how it got there. Joby had loved that bike! It had still been practically new! Why would he have dumped it right under the wheels of his father’s truck where any idiot could’ve seen it would get run over? He’d even asked Benjamin if he’d borrowed it without asking, but Benjamin had sworn he’d never touched it. Eventually, his dad had broken down and gotten him another one, mostly because they were tired of driving him around, but the new bike was only a crummy three-speed, and an ugly yellow color at that.

Since then, Joby had tried harder than ever to be good, but he couldn’t seem to make it through ten minutes without tripping on something, or tearing his clothing, or bumping his head. At first, his mother had just smiled and called it “growing pains.” But after he’d smashed a few juice pitchers and dinner plates, she had stopped smiling, and begun to act as if he were doing it on purpose. So much for her “perfect little boy.” In fact, his mother had become so nervous and irritable that by now Joby automatically tiptoed whenever she was around. She didn’t seem even to want Joby going out of the house anymore. Just this morning she’d tried to insist on driving him to school, then told him, “You be careful on that bike!” at least twenty times.

No doubt about it, Joby was glad to have someplace to go again besides his house. Now that everyone was back at school he’d get the Roundtable going like it had been, and that would fix everything else. He wasn’t sure how, but he felt sure it would.

Approaching an intersection two blocks from school, he pulled his back brake handle to slow down, but nothing happened. He instinctively pulled the front brake handle, and that did nothing either. He looked back in surprise to see what was wrong with his brake shoes, momentarily forgetting the intersection.

A loud screech brought his gaze back around in time to see a beaten old town car on the cross street
accelerating
straight toward him! Joby turned his bike so sharply that he nearly flipped over, but the huge car clipped him
anyway as it roared by without slowing down. Against a vague, astonished fear, and a barely conscious struggle to reclaim control of his body as it flew toward the sidewalk, Joby had only one clear thought: His parents would
never
get him another bike.