Lawrence went down to dinner. Dinner was questionable vegetables and grains imported from the Glutton Corporation. Jabba’s Diet was their real name, but Lawrence thought someone was mistaken. Devilish Delights was better. Wicked Whiskey, Devil’s Den Diner, Devil’s Food Bakery. Regardless, their hat was the sin of gluttony. Their estates grew food supplies on the third circle, Tears. A network of airship truckers brought those supplies up to Tempest and then to Emptiness.
Whatever façade Uncle Winter wore in the mortal world was a lie. In Hell he was a bird demon called an avian. He’d leveled his Species Job high enough to Rank Up to a two-headed eagle called a Gandaberunda. Lawrence’s impression was ‘powerful lord lusting for political advancement.’ If his personality in the mortal world was somewhat nice, here he was a stranger.
“In the mortal world you had everything handed to you, boy. Here in Hell a man gets what he deserves. You will not be treated any different from the other apprentices. If you succeed, you may get to survive.” Winter bent one head to drink the iliaster broth a servant made.
“I am the equal of any existing apprentice,” Lawrence stupidly tried to argue. His remark earned him a fierce glare, which quelled his objection. He found the apprentices table and sat.
“So,” a pretty girl with said. “You know Lord Master Winter?”
“He’s my uncle,” Lawrence said. “What’s your name?”
“Laney. Laney Lello.”
“Nice to meet you Laney Lello.” Lawrence let the conversation die. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“How old are you, kid?” another apprentice asked. He looked old.
“Fifteen.”
“I’m sixteen,” Laney said.
“I’m forty-two,” the old man said. “My name is Joe.”
“Laney and Old Joe,” Lawrence mused. “I’ll try to remember.”
“Hey, I’m not old.” Joe stopped eating. “Forty-two is not old. I’m middle-aged. You’re not old until you’re fifty. I’m still in the forty to forty-two bracket.”
Lawrence did not respond. He wondered if Joe had ever filled out one of those little Tell Us About Yourself cards. He’d have to check the box marked 40-50. Anyway, Lawrence counted thirteen students, all mortal, and six masters.
“Looking at the headmasters?” Old Joe asked.
“Mm hmm.” Lawrence nodded. “Where are the teachers?”
“Those are the teachers. You already know Master Winter, he’s a master through sheer power. He’s the reason Infernal Innovations hasn’t attacked us again, the demons’ sorcerer-corporation. Sort of a liaison-provost. The current headmaster is Weatherly. That’s him on the left, in the graduation gown. He’s a crusty, stuffy old British professor from the 1800’s. Next to him, the lady in white covered in jewelry is Lucrezia. She’s from Renaissance Venice. Has a thing for masks and loves drama. She used to be part of the Delightful Choir, but no one knows why she left.”
“The rumor is that she had an affair with a Cenobite duke,” Laney whispered. “The pain corporation. Juicy stuff.”
“Next to her is Boose, another old fart,” Joe lowered his voice. “He’s going senile. His soul is Contracted to several demons. After death he’ll get bound in a soul cage milked for iliaster by Infernal Innovations or their mortal-patsies Order of Malificer. He’s good to know if you want something, because he’s a simple and traditional old fool. Which means he’s easy to manipulate but it’s almost impossible to get back into his good graces once you’re out of them.
“The fourth guy is Mike. Mid-fifties. He’s part of the Black Rose, a faustian order supported by the Usurper Corporation called Thug Swarm. And then there’s Monki.” He jerked his head toward an elderly woman with silver hair. “Goetic Order, which is the most ethical sorcerous order. She doesn’t do much teaching. Too busy trying to summon Nimue and the other masters from I.I.’s estates.”
Lawrence repeated their names in his head. He stared at the masters. Mike was the youngest…. None of the masters were people he liked.
“Lessons start on the quad at eight. Breakfast is at six. Meals are every six hours. Hell is on a forty-eight hour day. Summonings are restricted to the top floor of the summoning tower. Don’t leave the fortress unless you have permission from Lord Master Winter. And stay out of the masters’ quarters.”
“What is the curriculum like?” Lawrence finished his food.
“We don’t have curriculum.” Laney said. “The first thing they’ll teach us are the 3 Basics. Summoning, warding, and binding. We master those, all demons will consider us equal with hellkin, meaning they won’t shell us at first sight. After we master those, the masters teach us the rest in whatever order they like. There is no set path to becoming a faustian. You just master the three basics and then study whatever you want.”
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“All the information is in the library tower,” Joe said. “So what do you think? Are you going to stay?”
Lawrence shrugged. Not like he had a choice. After dinner he went to the library tower. It consisted of three small, circular floors. The upper half was destroyed. There was no librarian. No one cared if he picked up a book. He skimmed the shelves. Most of the “books” were pamphlets with few pages. The tower contained more information on hellish history and geography than anything. Lawrence found a bestiary. On paper they were nice books, but powerful rituals were the real prize.
Binding 4 and Warding 5 were the most powerful rituals in the library. Both rituals were tier 15. Lawrence could cast them. He put the books back where they went, disappointed. Mom once mentioned the ritual of immortality was tier 25. All the powerful rituals started at tier 20. Lawrence thought the masters might know more. He resolved to ask after classes began.
“The first thing you’ll learn are the three basic rituals,” Weatherly said the next morning. “Make sure you’re wearing your robes, because they’re not just for warmth. They give a bonus to any ritual you’re trying to cast. The fuel for your spell is your iliaster, or soul juice. Before you cast the spell, you must use the Preparation ritual, or Greater Preparation, if you know it.”
Weatherly drew a circle on the ground using chalk. He drew a series of geometric symbols inside and around the circle. “This is required for all your spells. You draw the circle using magical materials, then sing the sacred words while solemnly walking in a circle.”
He relinquished all pretensions of respectability following this statement with its action. He shrieked in gibberish like a man possessed and danced in a crude circle around his drawing. His movements were wild and jerky. Lawrence eventually recognized snippets of Russian dialects in the nonsense, which seemed to poetically blend several similar-sounding languages. On paper, and recited like a normal person, his spell may have had a measure of poetry. With him performed an excellent impression of a deranged cultist, the words sounded like gibberish. The dancing and screaming continued for a good hour while the students sat on the green lawn and watched.
“PREPARATION COMPLETE.” Weatherly stopped without warning. He made some complicated motions with his hands. His face turned beet-red in seconds while his entire body tensed. He had the expression of a man trying real hard to evacuate his bowels. Something must have popped out of his sphincter because he exhaled and relaxed. A small cloud of white stuff appeared in his hand. “Iliaster manifested! Now for the summoning!”
He began chanting in gibberish, but this time it was a repeating phrase. The soul stuff in his fist vanished. In the summoning circle, a shadow appeared. Lawrence counted the seconds. Six seconds of chanting later, the shadow became a humanoid. Six more seconds passed, and the humanoid became a female cubi, one of the nude succubi the school kept bound, Contracted, and on-call (because of course). She stood on the circle staring at an empty space in the air. She had an empty, gray-faced expression like one of the death camp survivors from the Holocaust, as if she was half-dead shell already.
“How may I serve you, master?” the succubus said. Real succubi sounded seductive, interested. This one sounded like a broken voice synthesizer. She reached for the ecstatic Weatherly.
“I did it,” Weatherly crowed. “I succeeded. HA. Take that you old bins! Students! This is how you perform a summoning. Mind that you do not summon anything larger than you can handle.” He made grabbing, cupping motions with his hands in the direction of the demon’s exposed chest. “Would you excuse me?”
Weatherly seized the succubi’s wrist with one gnarled hand. He dragged her into the dormitories. She did not resist.
“That was your first lesson,” Weatherly called over his shoulder. “Someone else will be along to teach you squirts in a few hours. Class dismissed!”
“Wow,” Laney said.
“He’s always like that,” Old Joe said. “Normally he forgets who he’s trying to summon or screws up their names and gets someone else. Once, he got a cyborg dwarf with an artificial—” he glanced at Laney. He cleared his throat. “Well, that’s it. The main thing is you draw the circle. You increase your casting power with a preparation ritual. Then you sing and dance while saying the demon’s name. The whole thing requires iliaster, and it always works.”
“Unless the demon resists or the sorcerer is too weak,” Lawrence said. “He would have done better to use the summoning tower. He should have used a Hanging Ritual to pre-cast a Greater Preparation and hold it in reserve. Then cast a second Greater Preparation using the first as a boost. Then he could have tried his summoning, being able to reel in something high level. Offering a gift is important, because not doing so is considered an insult. The summoned demon might resist, or try to kill the summoner. If you do all the prep work beforehand, it should take no more than ten, fifteen minutes.”
All the other students looked at him.
“What?”
“Lawrence, can you cast a summoning spell?” Laney asked. “How?”
“My mom has been teaching me for years. Can’t you do it?”
“No.” Multiple people shook their heads. Joe explained, “People come here knowing nothing. They spend up to five years learning before taking the test in the old tower. Usually, people come from barbarian tribes or the free cities. Or maybe someone goes to the mortal world and brings someone back. It takes years to do what Weatherly just did.”
Lawrence blinked.
“Lawrence,” a familiar voice called. Lawrence turned his head and saw Lily striding across the quad. She raised a hand in greeting. “There is a problem. Please follow me.”
“Uh. Okay.” Lawrence jumped up. Lily took off without a backward glance. Lawrence looked at the other students. He threw up his hands, helpless, and hurried after her. “What’s this about?”
Lily marched toward the walls. She waited until they were out of earshot of the students before speaking.
“Do you know where the Tower gets its food supplies?”
“The gluttons, right? Corporation… Hellish Delights, I think?”
“Hrmph. Yes, the gluttons. The fat ones. Well, there is a problem. We are getting a shipment of food from Blood Well. They control the fortress that owns the land we live on, and they’ve protected the school in the past. They are sending us a shipment of food, but something happened.”
“Okay?”
“I—Lord Winter—needs you to go take care of it. As his nephew, you speak with his authority. I’ll show you where their fortress is, but it’s on you to fix the problem. Find out what it is, fix it, and deliver the food. You’ll be representing the school; therefore, make sure you’re on your best behavior.”
Lily unlocked a barred gate. She opened it. It spun on rusty hinges. She led Lawrence through. He shoved the gate shut behind himself. He heard it lock. Lily unlocked and opened a second gate on the curtain wall’s exterior. Lawrence followed her through. He heard the gate lock with a snap.
“Why can’t you do it?” Lawrence asked.
“I’m just an [Opener].”