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It was not working.
That was unusual. Sir Pentious was an inventor, quite possibly the most accomplished within the Pride Ring, and he had not become an inventor by way of his inventions not working. As a matter of fact—if he might be so bold as to make outlandish claims—he had become an inventor by way of his inventions working, and as the little mechanical spider sat on his table, mocking him with its lack of proper movement, Pentious felt… he felt…
Well, he felt pissed off.
Heaving a sigh that did little to quell the burgeoning and directionless anger within him, Pentious slumped down until he was coiled on the ground, his arms folded on his work bench and his chin resting on the edge of the wood. “If I threw you at the wall,” he hissed, “you would burst into a fantastic rain of a thousand tiny screws and tens of little springs. You would scatter everywhere, your bits rolling to and fro, likely never to all be gathered in the same place again. You would cease to exist as you are now, and whatever comes of your disparate parts would be wholly new, not a reconstruction of yourself. Do you understand that?”
The little mechanical spider did not understand that, quite clearly, as it did not immediately rectify its behavior and begin working the way it was so obviously intended to. Inanimate objects were so frustrating. If only he—
“No,” he said aloud, straightening back up and throwing his hands down in front of him. “No, it is precisely that line of thinking that created my eggies, and I cannot handle another group of sentient minions.”
A knock on the door set his hood to flex behind him, and he hissed, spinning rapidly to face it and whatever interloper had dared encroach on his territory. “Who knocks?!” he shouted at the knock, the tip of his tail vibrating almost independently of his own thoughts. “I will destroy you!”
“Oh, please don’t, it’s just me!” Charlie called through the heavy wood. “You’ve been down here for a while, I… thought you might be hungry.”
Instantly abashed, Pentious felt himself deflate. His first instinct was to apologize, and his second was to shout a bit more, but in the two months since he had arrived at the Hotel and the precise way Charlie had been so kind to him… “Of… of course. My apologies, Miss Charlie.” He almost told her to enter, then realized she was likely carrying something, so instead quickly slithered over to the door and pulled it open himself.
It was a good thing, too, because Charlie was carrying an entire tray that she held up with her usual bright smile; it had sandwiches, a plate of chopped fruit, and an entire tea set that was likely older than Pentious himself. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice full of that aching sincerity Pentious was certain she had no idea was there. “Can I come in?”
“Of course,” Pentious said, aware he was repeating himself but unable to do anything about that now as he moved back and held one arm out in invitation. Charlie swept past him, her eyes immediately moving over every inch of the basement room he had commandeered for a laboratory shortly after the nastiness with the Vees had been sorted. “You can just… there, on the table,” Pentious added, pointing to the workbench that held his precisely placed tools across the back and the little, immobile mechanical spider.
“Oh! Is this what you’ve been working on?” Charlie asked as she set the tray down carefully, her eyes on the infuriatingly uncooperative device.
“To say I have been working on it suggests it is working,” Pentious said, looking at it distastefully. “As it is, the thing is as unruly and insubordinate as something without sentient thought can be.”
Oddly, Charlie giggled. “I see. Mmm…” She tilted her head, looking up at Pentious. “What’s it supposed to do?”
“It is supposed to gather information through a series of minute sensors placed strategically about its form as it moves through locations unnoticed,” Pentious said. “As it is, however, all it does is…” A demonstration would be better than an explanation, he supposed, so he reached out and tapped the device in the center of its body.
Instantly, the thing whirred to life, wiggling a little as its sensors activated and began taking in the surroundings. It swiveled one way, then the other, before it seemed to take notice of the tray. It began marching resolutely towards it, and when Charlie made a move as though to remove any obstacles, Pentious held out his hand to still her. The mechanism, of course, took note of none of this. Instead, it continued its focused and dedicated trek across the table, crawling onto the tray and beginning to trudge across it. It missed the teapot and the sandwiches by virtue of them simply not being immediately in its path, but it stomped straight through the sliced fruit and emerged on the other side of the plate with a cube of melon stuck on one of its spindly little legs. As though unencumbered, it marched onwards, off the tray and then straight off the table where it landed on the rug that Pentious had moved beneath the workbench for this very reason. It laid there on its back, legs waving silently through the air as though its journey had not completed, and Pentious’s phone beeped at him.
He pulled up the app he had created, showing Charlie the results. “According to our dear little friend, it has successfully navigated through a sandstorm, detected several frogs, and is currently moving directly up a wall that appears to be made of honeycomb.”
“Oh dear,” Charlie said, looking at the device again. “So… the sensors aren’t working?” she guessed.
“Not to put too fine a point on it.” Pentious leaned down and picked up the little spider, deactivating it and relieving it of its position as makeshift fruit kabob. “They were created in the Lust Ring. I have used similar devices from there before, but I’ve never had them malfunction this badly. Theoretically, I could simply begin again with more, but that will neither tell me what the problem is, nor how to fix it.”
“Hmm…” Charlie tapped her chin. “…normally I’d ask Uncle Ozzie for his advice, but he’s been pretty tied up with his latest, uh, projects.” It took a moment for it to register that, by the casual moniker ‘Uncle Ozzie’, she was referring to Lord Asmodeus himself. “So I dunno if… …oh!” She clapped her hands together so suddenly that Pentious startled, his hood flexing again. “Sorry! But I had a thought! What kind of tech do the sensors use? It’s a form of magitech, right?”
Pentious frowned at her, folding his arms. “Yes,” he said, unable to help a mildly begrudging note from slipping into his voice. As a man of science in life, he had always struggled with the idea of the preternatural, and even after having been dead for more than a century he still disliked to give any credit to magic. “Construct transmutation, specifically. Why?”
“Well… I know somewhere that you could definitely go to get more information on that,” Charlie said. “There’s an overlord in the city who collects books, all kinds of them. He’s been doing it for as long as he’s been in Hell. I’m sure he would be willing to lend you something that would help with your project, and he loves meeting creative people.”
Pentious raised one eyebrow at her, and he could practically hear his hat doing the same. “You are already well aware that I do not exactly… get on with the overlords of this city.”
Charlie smiled, waving her hands. “Oh, no no, he’s nothing like the Vees, and he isn’t… well, he does like scaring people, but he’s not that much like Alastor, either.”
“…I see.” Pentious sighed. “Oh, very well, if you insist. Who is this friend of yours, exactly?”
“His name is Zestial. Have you heard of him?”
Initially, Pentious barely registered her question, as the name had instantly sent a shock of horror across his flesh. “What— have I heard of him?! Of course I’ve heard of him! He was the oldest functioning overlord in all of Pentagram City all the way back when I died! Are you— you want me to just go to Zestial and ask him for a book?!”
Charlie, oddly, didn’t seem to realize what a ludicrous idea she had just proposed. “Well… yes,” she said, tilting her head. “Why not? He has so many, and he always told me that books were meant to be read. You aren’t…” She frowned a little. “You aren’t scared, are you, Pen?”
“Of course not!!” Pentious’s declaration came out as something significantly closer to a screech, and he cleared his throat, straightening his jacket before he continued. “Of course I’m not afraid. That would be ludicrous. It is— it’s simply— I’m not afraid,” Pentious repeated, because he didn’t know what it ‘simply’ was.
Charlie smiled at him. “Oh, good, I’m glad! I’ll let him know you’re coming so he’ll be home and expecting you. Oh, but you should eat first!”
She seemed blissfully unaware of anything that had just transpired as she waved, letting herself out of the laboratory. Pentious waved back on something of a reflex, watching her leave, before he glared at the construct in his hand. “This is all your fault.”
•••
How does one speak to the oldest overlord in Hell?
Pentious had, of course, spoken with overlords before. Primarily, he had only interacted with Vox (which he wasn’t eager to repeat again) and Alastor (who he was still definitely going to absolutely demolish one of these days, redemption be damned), but they were… well, they were media personalities, and despite the fact that Pentious had no experience with “celebrities” of their sort, he knew well enough that they were handled far differently than what one normally thought of as a higher social class.
Pentious himself wasn’t unfamiliar with such things; in life, he had lived in London as a doctor, and while it was true that in those days such a profession wasn’t precisely glamorous or even considered generally commendable, he did often interact with the lower rungs of nobility both through his practice and by way of the arguments masquerading as meetings of the Board of Governors for the hospital at which he conducted his residency. This would be simple if he could think of this meeting as nothing more than that: a proposal to the Board of Governors to conduct new research, except that in this case, the Board of Governors was Hell’s oldest overlord and the new research proposal was a request to borrow arcane knowledge.
Yes. It is exactly the same. What could Charlie possibly thinking? Perhaps she’s trying to orchestrate my destruction before I can betray the hotel.
Pentious dismissed the thought before it even had a chance to take root. The Princess of Hell was absolutely riddled with problems, but deceit was not among her myriad flaws and even he couldn’t pretend she would purposefully do something so underhanded. That being said, he wasn’t positive she had the same scope of understanding as… well, as everyone else. After all, the Devil himself was her father, and Pentious had to imagine that would skew one’s perspective a bit. The fact remained that Charlie seemed to hold no true fear for the horrors that surrounded her, and as such, her incessant declarations of ‘everything will be fine’ were incredibly difficult to take to heart.
Then again, if the Christians were right after all, she was the Antichrist. Pentious supposed he would have been more disturbed if she was afraid of the denizens of Hell.
The address Charlie had given him was in a somewhat remote section of Pentagram City, the area rich with ancient power that seemed to lie somewhat dormant in the years since its construction. Pentious followed his instructions to a house, one that he could only call… odd. It was grand, certainly, with an impressive facade of marble and dark slate that stood above the other buildings in the area as any good manor should, nestled in an overgrown garden landscape that sat past a set of old wrought-iron gates that complained noisily as Pentious pushed through them. Like many places in Pentagram City, there were eyes on the very structures of carved stone that dotted the unkempt lawn of the bizarre house, and it was strange simply because it didn’t appear to belong to any one particular time. Architecture was something of a special interest of his, and Pentious saw influences from years after his own time all the way back to antiquity, as though the house itself was as ancient as the city and had simply amassed new pieces and rooms as it grew over time.
It felt… alive, somehow, even more than the Hazbin Hotel did when wandering the hallways late at night.
The doors stood tall and black as pitch as Pentious approached, the knocker a little higher than his own head and the archway at the top of the doors further than he would be able to reach were he to uncoil his body and somehow stand upon the very tip of his tail. Steeling himself and trusting that Charlie had, in fact, contacted the overlord beforehand, Pentious raised one hand, gripped the brass ring, and knocked sharply.
Hardly a second passed after the three knocks and Pentious releasing the knocker; there was a click somewhere deep within the wood, followed by a low and aching creak as the door slowly swung itself open. Pentious hardly expected to see Zestial himself, but assumed he must have staff of a sort, wondering briefly at their attentiveness before he realized there was no one there. It was as though the door had opened itself, the red light of Pride’s sky pouring in through the door to cast its glow on the dark wood flooring that stretched into shadow before him.
Pentious hesitated, wondering if he should knock again in case this was some kind of mistake, but he was certain that click had been the releasing of a lock. He frowned, but slowly crossed the threshold, glancing around for any movement at all. “Hello?” he called to no one, his voice echoing in a room that must have been cavernous (in a lack of furnishing, if not in size) but that was too dark to truly judge. Pentious entered further, willing his eyes to adjust to better allow him to see, when the door creaked behind him and then closed itself.
The entrance hall was thrown into absolute darkness for only a moment. Some distance before him, wall sconces gently began flickering to life, their flames a rich emerald that did little to illuminate and more to simply indicate a path. Pentious knew an invitation when he saw one, at least, and began to follow the sconces as they lit one by one, leading him deeper into the manor.
At some point, he realized he must have passed through a doorway, as the floor beneath him turned from polished wood to a plush rug that slowed him briefly. No further sconces directed him forward, and so he came to a stop, peering around once more. Though his eyes had begun to adjust to the dark, the simple fact of the matter was that there wasn’t any real light to see by, leaving most of his surroundings to be shadow on shadow.
Charlie did mention he enjoys frightening people.
The moment that thought passed his mind, Pentious heard a sound behind him, like the gentle rustle of fabric against itself. Tensing, he slowly turned, looking up to see four narrow eyes and a sharp, smiling mouth, all of them glowing a brilliant green. Pentious felt his heart l jump into his throat immediately, and he moved backwards in a motion that would have been a stumble if he still had his legs and still sent him crashing back onto the rug.
“So,” a deep, resonant voice asked, with little concern for his alarm, “thou art the one of whom Charlotte spoke, is that correct?”
Pentious opened his mouth, his lips working uselessly for a moment before he rediscovered his voice. “Yes,” he said, astounded that his words came out steady. “My name is Sir Pentious. I’m in need of information, and she… tells me you have a collection of books.”
Above him, Zestial chuckled, and Pentious wasn’t sure what the precise source of his amusement was. “Ah, knowledge. Quite a worthy pursuit, indeed. Tell me, Sir Pentious, dost thou know upon whose floor thou currently curl? Passage into these halls, which lieth ‘twixt Pride’s false light and the true tenebrae of the Underworld, is rarely taken through freedom of will.”
Pentious could see why; coming into this place felt like walking into death again, and he couldn’t imagine many people choosing to do that themselves. “I know I’m in your home, Lord Zestial,” he said. “I apologize if my intrusion was somewhat presumptuous, but when your door unlocked for me, I thought that it unlocking was an invitation.”
Zestial’s eyes narrowed in what seemed to be further amusement. “Thy skill in perception seems quite astute,” he said. Pentious couldn’t tell if it was sarcasm or not. “It hath been long indeed that my abode housed what one could call… a guest. Such a moment could almost be called auspicious.”
Almost as soon as he completed his sentence, light flared to life around them. Pentious had only a moment to see that Zestial was unaffected by the sudden brightness before he was forced to cringe away, shielding his eyes with one arm as they were assaulted. He didn’t permit himself long, however, before he was forcing his eyes open and blinking away the pain to take in his surroundings.
The light, it seemed, came only from a fireplace on the longest wall that was now crackling merrily with a fire that was as close to ‘normal’ as Hell ever saw. The room seemed to be some sort of private study, a few chairs near the hearth and a desk set to the side with bookshelves built into the walls both across from and either side of the fireplace. Above him, Zestial stood, his face still unblinking and focused in that enigmatic smile. Pentious could see why those who had seen him likened him to a spider, though Pentious would never have compared him to Angel Dust; where his fellow resident was a jumping spider, Zestial was a black widow, black and spindly and undeniably dangerous.
Pentious righted himself, straightening his jacket and tamping down any feelings of lingering embarrassment. After all, he knew there were sinners who would rather set themselves on fire than stand in Zestial’s presence, and for that, he thought he was doing quite well in only falling over. “Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Zestial,” he said. “What do you ask in return?”
“In return?” Zestial echoed curiously, tilting his head at a dramatic angle; Pentious knew nothing about him, but even so, he thought the overlord seemed absolutely delighted by every moment of this encounter thus far. “Thou doubtless refer to the use of my library?”
“Naturally,” Pentious said. “I had no intention of taking advantage of your hospitality while providing no recompense.”
“Such courtesy. A rarity indeed within this pit of despair,” Zestial observed, leaning down a little and putting himself more at eye level with Pentious. He felt like the overlord was studying him, much the way he himself used to study creatures kept beneath glass domes. “Tis long since fate hath granted me any opportunity to expand my knowledge of what became of life beyond my own years. If thou wishest an offer of reciprocity, perhaps thou wouldst willingly part with the tale of thy demise?”
Pentious’s eyebrows shot up. “You… want to hear how I died?”
“Tis a natural curiosity, is it not?” Zestial asked, as though people discussed their deaths every day. The truth of the matter was, however, that very few people (if any) ever discussed the gruesome details of their own passing, to the point that many in Pentagram City considered the question quite the social taboo. And no one—not even anyone in the hotel—had ever asked Pentious about his death… nor, in fact, about his life. Unaware of Pentious’s thoughts, Zestial continued, “Death and its many strange and malleable forms hath greatly enchanted my mind since time so long past, memory no longer serves to recollect it. If it pleases thee, I wouldst grant thee leave to peruse any text thou desire, simply to hear the beauty of thy passing as perceived by thine own eyes.”
Pentious couldn’t help smiling at that, a small laugh escaping him; this was too ridiculous to be real. “I have no reservations, but I would imagine you would have heard many more interesting tales of death than what I could offer you.”
Zestial chuckled in response. “Tis of little matter. In truth, many show great reluctance to engage with me in any sort of friendly conversation; few such stories have been presented to me, even in so long a time.”
“…alright, then,” Pentious said.
“Splendid.” Zestial gestured to his bookshelves. “My library is at thy disposal.” As Pentious went to the shelves and began examining the spines, Zestial continued, “How long hath Hell’s hand gripped thy soul?”
“Almost one hundred and forty years now,” Pentious said, removing a promising looking book from a shelf and flipping to the index. “I was born in London, and in London, I died. I suppose I should ask… do you know of London?”
“Twas no such place in my admittedly short years amongst the living,” Zestial said. “But the name does bear familiarity to me. What sort of town was London, when thou didst walk beneath warm and open skies?”
“Terrible,” Pentious said without hesitation. “It was overcrowded, filthy, full of disease… the bubonic plague had reached England by then, though fortunately, it was not what killed me.” This book is not helpful, he thought, putting it back and searching for another.
“Ah, yes, that malady is quite well known to me,” Zestial said, with a note in his voice almost like fondness. “Thou didst not fall prey to it?”
“No,” Pentious said. “I have always had a great interest in engineering, but I was a physician by trade, and as such, I knew quite well how to avoid the disease… at least, as well as the science of the time permitted. Unfortunately, I met my end at the hands of Scotland Yard. The law enforcement,” he added, by way of explanation. He could see Zestial nod out of the corner of his eye. “But had they not killed me, I have little doubt the mercury poisoning would have.”
Pentious had always been something of an expert at multi-tasking (as much as a human mind was capable, in any case), and answering questions was one of his favorite pastimes, which meant the overlord’s surprisingly inquisitive nature did nothing to detract from his search for information. Each answer Pentious gave seemed to give rise to three more questions in Zestial’s mind, and Pentious found himself explaining everything from the effects of mercury poisoning to the problematic condition of the Thames to what, precisely, it was that he did as a physician as he looked through each book that caught his eye.
When he finally located what he was searching for, Zestial graciously allowed him to take the book with him, simply requesting he return it in person. Pentious thanked him, and as he left, the fact that he had apparently been in that house long enough that the sun had set entirely surprised him.
It wasn’t until he returned to the hotel that he registered that Zestial had never once asked him what, exactly, it was he wanted the book for.
•••
“Our kinship hath grown immeasurably in the time since our first meeting, wouldst thou not agree?”
“I would.” Carmilla wasn’t looking at Zestial, her eyes on the long metal table in her private workshop as she pieced together what seemed to be some sort of new firearm, likely a prototype for Carmine Industries to begin distributing before the coming extermination. “Why do you ask?”
“I seek insight, preferably that of an objective mind, and experience speaks true that thy perception hath long been unencumbered by… sentimentality,” Zestial said, standing near the large windows looking out over Pentagram City. He wasn’t truly looking at the landscape, however, his gaze instead watching the form of his old friend as she continued her work with a passive expression.
“Why are you fishing?” Carmilla asked.
Zestial almost frowned, turning his head just slightly. “What is thy meaning?”
“You’re trying to gauge my mood,” Carmilla said, lifting the firearm and raising it to check the sights before lowering it to the table again and picking up another delicate tool. “This kind of indirectness isn’t like you, Zestial. I expect it from Alastor or Vox, but you are usually much more forthright.”
Zestial didn’t answer her for a long moment, and she didn’t press. “I am… uncertain as to how I might phrase my query,” he admitted.
“Did something happen?”
“Recently, I hath found myself with… a regular visitation.”
That, at least, made Carmilla turn just slightly on her stool. “None of the other overlords, I take it?” Zestial shook his head. “…Zestial, are you trying to tell me that you made a friend?”
“Would that I were so confident in such a term.” Zestial moved away from the window, slowly gliding to the other side of the workshop. “Doth the name Sir Pentious bear any significance for thee?”
“I’ve heard of him,” Carmilla said, her tone guarded in a way that suggested either wariness or a simple desire to keep her thoughts from being known. “A sinner with aspirations towards becoming an overlord but without the drive to possess the souls needed to achieve such a position. He used to engage with turf wars with Alastor not infrequently, as well as Vox and Valentino before VoxTek was founded. Not, of course, that the three of them will acknowledge his existence. …why?”
“I confess that I have found his company quite fascinating, as of late.”
Carmilla’s voice became colored by the frown that he could not see but was positive she wore. “Are you telling me that Sir Pentious has been… what, coming to your home? Whatever for?”
“At the start, ‘twas for nothing but access to my library, on recommendation of the Princess Charlotte. He proved receptive to intellectual curiosity, however, and I confess that I may have somewhat interrogated the boy before releasing him back into the dark night. He returned with a book I lent him, and at my behest, he remained for several hours before once again taking leave. Tis many times we have conversed, these past three fortnights, and I find I have been somewhat preoccupied with thoughts of our conversations.”
Carmilla was staring at him with an unreadable expression, and for the death of him, Zestial could not begin to imagine what she was thinking. Finally, after a false start, she said, “Are you telling me that—… no,” she murmured, clearly to herself, before continuing, “What, exactly, is it that you’re wanting an objective assessment of?”
“It hath been long indeed since fate hath granted me the gift of a new… conversational partner,” Zestial said; the words did not feel adequate, but he could come up with nothing more fitting. “But by my troth, never hath any such encounter brought me such vexation whilst always carrying with it an air of such delight I cannot begrudge him the arguments.”
Carmilla fully turned to face him. “…he frustrates you, and he argues with you, and he’s still living?”
“Indeed. Of course, Sir Pentious seems able to quarrel with a stone over the matter of its own weight; I have little doubt what hesitation he possessed in challenging me vanished the moment he perceived an error.”
For several moments, Carmilla said nothing, and Zestial was hardly surprised. Even figures like Alastor minded their tongue in his presence, at least as far as those like Alastor were able; back in the days when the King of Hell was more active, Lucifer himself had seemed hesitant to risk Zestial’s anger. And while Sir Pentious had indeed been quite terrified at first, intellectual curiosity had melted that fear and it seemed to have never resolidified.
When Carmilla seemed to remember where she had left her speech, she said, “If I didn’t know better, I would say you were infatuated with him.”
“Infatuated?” Zestial echoed; the word tasted foreign on his tongue, but not unwelcome. “What a strange thought. Memory fails in pursuit of the last time I could ever describe an interest so. …interesting.”
Carmilla frowned at him. “Interesting?” she repeated, the word far more flat in her mouth than in his own.
Zestial chuckled at her doubt. “Sinners we may be, but sinners are human souls, are we not? And the human soul craves connection. …I think I shall invite him to return for tea. Thou hast my gratitude, my friend.”
“Zestial, hold on…!” Carmilla was getting to her feet, but Zestial wasn’t listening, melting down into the shadows of the floor and vanishing into the night, intent on returning to his home to pen the perfect invitation.
•••
Carmilla stared at the place on the floor where Zestial had just been standing, her mind simultaneously feeling as though it were spinning wildly and frozen still.
Zestial… has a crush on someone?
It was unthinkable. …almost, in any case. It was true that he never sneered at the idea of romance, and always listened almost indulgently as Rosie would lay out every messy detail of the romantic follies of Cannibal Town before meetings. He was the first who… identified… the precise nature of Vox’s relationship with Valentino, as well as the first who posited the idea that perhaps Alastor simply held no interest in the entire affair. And when Lilith and Lucifer finally parted ways, he was so unsurprised, he had to have been expecting it.
…come to think of it, he seemed to speculate on the love lives of other sinners quite a lot.
Carmilla turned back to her table, staring at the half-completed gun that expectantly gleamed in the light, waiting for her to finish it.
And she would. But first, she really needed a drink.
•••