a psychic fair in Port Tawny and she had managed to help many people to contact departed loved ones, and so, in that regard, she considered the trip a success. Unfortunately the people she had been able to help had been, without exception, incredibly poor. Consequently few had been able to pay the medium anything more than a couple of pennies, which was why the doctor considered the trip to be an unmitigated disaster. But the doctor didn't understand the responsibilities that came with her gift, and as much as she had tried to explain, the doctor still failed to totally comprehend her calling.
The doctor jumped into the air and flapped his arms up and down. 'It isn't even autumn yet!' he complained, as he changed tactics and stamped his feet in a vain attempt to get the blood circulating around his toes, which felt like... well, like they weren't actually there. 'I'll be glad to get back to the city, though where we're going to stay I don't know.'
Annabel let out a low rumble.
'Or, for that matter, what we're going to do,' the doctor continued. He turned to look Annabel in the eye, having to lean back in order to do so. As well as being the world's greatest medium Annabel was also the biggest. Not so much a medium, you might say, as an extra large. 'It's been weeks since we've earned any decent money,' the doctor grumbled.
'Are you saying we don't have enough money for lodgings?'
'Only enough for a couple of nights,' Dosodall replied.
'Well, that will suffice for now.'
'What do you mean, for now?'
'Something will come up, I'm sure of it.'
6
For all that Wacchus was now a god, as opposed to a God, and had therefore lost most of his omni-ness[7], he had found that he could still be very persuasive should the need arise. And it had certainly helped when, somewhat surprisingly, he had discovered Zammael had an unexpected weakness when it came to hard liquor.
Wacchus wasn't sure what time it was, as there was no day and night in Abaddon, only endless afternoons in which to nap, but whatever time it was Zammael was half-cut. Maybe even five-eighths, the god reckoned.
'So, you were saying?' Wacchus prompted.
Zammael grinned lopsidedly. 'Dunno,' he slurred, 'can't rememberer...er...'
'You were talking about resurrection...' encouraged Wacchus with a nod.
'S'not allowed!' Zammael insisted. 'S'against the Lore!'
'I know,' Wacchus replied. 'But-'
'S'protibihied... tropitibied...'
'Prohibited?'
'S'right.'
'Of course it's prohibited,' Wacchus agreed smoothly. 'And rightly so.' He knew that Zammael lived and breathed the Lore and would never knowingly break it. Words like anal, jobsworth and, for some strange reason, servant and civil came to mind when one thought about Zammael, so Wacchus knew that he had to play this very carefully. 'But,' he continued conspiratorially, 'if you tell me how it's done, I can help you in ensuring none of the other Gods-'
'Not Gods! S'gods! Small 'g',' Zammael insisted.
'-gods try anything,' Wacchus continued without pause. 'After all, you haven't got eyes in the back of your head... Oh, I see you do.'
'S'a hard job, keeping your eyes on you lot. That's why I have... a few extra,' Zammael giggled.
'Very useful, I'm sure.'
'You'd think so, wouldn't you,' Zammael sighed. 'But right now I can see... quadruple.'
'Shame,' the ex-god commiserated, 'but back to that resurrection thingy-'
Wacchus knew that this may be his only chance and he couldn't waste it. When he had been a God he had had innumerable powers but now that he was more impotent than omnipotent he had to rely on other characteristics such as charm, persuasion and downright deviousness. He craved his lost power with all his (once supreme) being and resurrection now remained as his sole raison d'être.
'Scriptures!' Zammael suddenly shouted.
'Criptures?'
The warden shook his head. 'No,' he cried. 'Scriptures!'
'Ah, sorry... didn't notice the lack of apostrophe after the initial S.'
'Them too!'
'What too?' asked a confused Wacchus.
'Apostrophes. You need them too. You know, followers, disciples.'
'You mean apostles?'
'S'what I said!' Zammael insisted.
'Sorry, you've really lost me now.'
The Keeper shook his head. Surprisingly it cleared somewhat. 'Look,' he said, concentrating hard. 'In the beginn'n', right, was the Word, right? Actually a word, rather than the Word, seein' as each and everygod had one. S'like a birthright, sort of thing. S'actually, bas'cally, in a nutshell so to speak, whatever the very first word that that partic'lar god ever uttered...' - Zammael ran the sentence through his mind again - '...was.'
'Okay,' said Wacchus slowly. Now he was getting somewhere. 'So in the beginning each god had a word?'
'S'right.'
'And the word was?' he gently prompted.
'Good-'
'The word was 'good'? Are you sure?'
Zammael waved a hand. 'Why don't you lemme finish and stop innerruptin'. What I was about to say was good stuff that ambrosia. Got any more?'
'In a minute,' Wacchus replied, 'but first I want to get this straight. In the beginning there was the word-'
'A word!'
'-a word, right?' But which word?'
'Depen's on which God we're talking about.'
'Right... so each God had a different word?'
'S'right.'
'Okay,' said Wacchus, 'why don't you just use an example?'
'God!' said Zammael.
'What?'
'Don't you ever list'n? I said 'God!''
'God?'
'S'right.'
'So the word was God?' asked Wacchus bemusedly.
'Sure was!'
'So who said that particular word?'
'God.'
'No, I want to know who said... oh, you mean GOD, do you? You mean...Dad?'[8]
'Uh-huh!'
'GOD said 'God'. You're telling me that the first thing that GOD said was his own name?'
'S'lutley!' Zammael slurred, 'tho' only after creatin' himself first, o' course.'
'So why did he say God?'
'Parently he hit his thumb with a hammer.'
7
The sun was high in the sky by the time Annabel and the doctor reached the outskirts of the city, and had, at some point during the morning, decided to do its job and radiate some heat. The chill of early morning had given way to pleasant warmth and the doctor had long ago discarded his cloak.
The Port Tawny Road entered the city through the Shambling Gates, upon one of which a fading sign was pinned:
"Wel me to M asmus, De ignited City of C ture 1212, Popn. 127,144. Please walk car fully."
The gates swung gently back and forth in the light breeze of mid-day, creaking disinterestedly upon rusted hinges, as the doctor and Annabel strolled through. They attracted curious glances, but no-one attempted to prevent them from entering the city.
'We need to find the cheapest lodgings we can,' the doctor declared, yawning. 'And soon,' he added. 'I need some sleep.'
'You always need sleep,' Annabel replied, but without malice. The doctor, it had to be said, was constantly drowsy and, when drowsy, grumpy. But for all that he was loyal, protective and street-wise. Besides he had one characteristic that, to Annabel, was invaluable - he could talk to the animals[9]; or rather he possessed the much more impressive ability of listening to the animals. When he could muster up the energy, that is.
And it was this ability that had led to his collaboration with Annabel, who just happened to be an elephant.
'Can I help it if I have a low metabolic rate?' asked the doctor. 'Anyway, I suggest-'
'You're going to propose we stay at the Golden Griffin, aren't you?'
'Well, it's cheap.'
'That's because it's awful.'
'Yes, but it's just about all we can afford for now,' the doctor replied. 'And beggars can't be choosers.'
'I know, b
ut the Griffin!'
8
'Okay,' said Wacchus, scratching his head. 'So 'God' was GOD's word, right?'
'Uh-huh,' the inebriated warden replied.
'Okay, I get that each God had a word. But what has the word got to do with resurrection?'
Zammael rubbed his temples. It was becoming difficult to think. 'Lis'n, if a believer says the word at the first place it was ever uttered, at a partic'lar time, then the God will be res'rected!' He shook his head, but this time to no avail - it remained fuzzy and full. 'Or rather belief will be revived,' he continued, 'and if the belief is strong enough then, well, res'rection is possible. But o' course I can't possibly tell you that. S'against the Lore, you know!'
Wacchus smiled to himself. He felt that he was finally getting somewhere. 'Of course not, Zammael; as you say it's against the Lore. But let's just say, Zammy, hypothetically of course, what with it being against the Lore and all that, that a god, any old god, no god in particular, manages somehow to discover exactly what the word attributed to that god is.'
Wacchus looked up to see that Zammael's face was blank and realized the demon was struggling to keep up. The god forced himself to slow down. Even with Zammael as drunk as he was, he couldn't afford to give the warden any cause for suspicion. He took a deep breath before continuing.
'And let's also say that that god also manages to discover where exactly the first utterance of that particular word actually took place-'
'Yeah?'
'Then how exactly,' Wacchus continued, as slowly as his cautiously mounting excitement would allow, 'just as a matter of interest of course, would that particular god go about, you know, actually reviving the belief, so to speak, and thereby, you know, achieve resurrection?'
It took the Keeper a moment or two to process the sentence.
'Purely as a theological exercise, of course; absolutely no ulterior motive-' Wacchus went on.
'Ah, well in that case, what you'll be needin' is the Awakener,' Zammael stated eventually, whilst peering at his empty glass.
'The Awakener?'
'Mmm, my glass-'
'What about it?'
'I can see right through it.'
'That's because it's made of glass, the striking property of which is its see-throughness... oh, I see, you mean it's empty. No problem, allow me to top you up. Now, where were we?'
'Um... I think you mentioned the Awakener,' said Zammael, before taking a huge draught of ambrosia. All of a sudden his head felt a whole lot better.
'Easy there Zammael, old friend. Actually, it was you who was telling me about the Awakener.'
'Was it? Are you sure? Could have sworn it was th'other way around. Anyway, what would you like to know?'
Wacchus leaned forward. 'Who, or what, is the Awakener?' he asked.
'Oh, I can't tell you that,' Zammael replied. 'S'more than my job's worth.' He rolled his tongue around his mouth. His head may have been feeling better but it was still proving difficult to make his mouth work.
Wacchus pressed his fingertips together and conjured up a concerned expression. 'I'm just trying to help you, Zammy. Sometimes you need to talk, you know. Relieve the stress. After all, yours is a job that comes with massive responsibility, right?'
'S'right!'
'So, consider me as someone to talk to, someone you can unload on. A trouble shared is a trouble halved and all that...'
Zammael paused to consider this and, much to the ex-god's surprise, seemed to accept it.
'Okay,' the warden said, 'Well, each gen'ration, you see, throws up a... somebody who is granted the power to... well, awaken gods who are like-'
'Like?'
'Well, like you really. You know... retired.'
'What else?'
Zammael shook his head, which caused him to wince. 'S'all I know,' he said, rubbing his forehead. 'S'got to be the Awakener who utters the word in the first place it was uttered.'
'That all sounds a bit, well, complicated,' Wacchus murmured. 'Sort of...bureaucratic. Downright daft, actually.'
'S'not meant to be easy,' Zammael replied, a hint of officiousness creeping into his voice. 'It is the Lore, after all.'
'Bloody officialdom,' Wacchus muttered under his breath. 'Okay, okay, let's cut to the chase then, shall we? More ambrosia first though, eh?'
'What? Oh yes, please.'
9
The landlord of the Golden Griffin, who gloried in the name of Cleat, had, in