Page 114 of Katabasis
“You sure? De Sade’s very fun. If not for remorse, then for titillation.”
Gradus held up a hand as he moved past. “We’re fine.”
“Rousseau, then,” called the hawker. “You’ll like that.”
“What’s he mean?” asked Alice.
“He sells confessional texts,” said Gradus. “Saint Augustine, Saint Patrick, and so on. Lots of folks here think that’s the template.”
“So they read for inspiration?”
“Sure. Or to cheat. People like to copy down all the good bits—the part about souls being rendered in two, the fires of guilt burning you up from the inside, blah blah blah.”
“Or divine salvation,” called the hawker. “New translated edition ofCrime and Punishmenthere now, brand-new, excavated in mint condition from a Derbyshire tomb—”
“No, thank you.” Gradus quickened his pace.
“Does that work?” Alice hurried behind him. “Copying down confessions?”
“Oh, never. They always know when it’s not original work. They take plagiarism quite seriously here—somehow folks always forget. A while ago someone copied two sentences from theConfessions of an English Opium-Eaterand they wouldn’t let him touch paper again for fifty years.”
“Gosh,” Alice muttered. “Who wouldn’t do their own work inHell?”
“Everyone,” said Gradus. “Haven’t you ever had writer’s block?”
“Well of course, but—”
“Did someone mention writer’s block?”
Alice ran smack into what felt like a great, meaty wall. She stumbled black. Before her stood a veritable centaur; a man’s head and muscly torso over the indigo-blue bottom of a horse. She would have found him very handsome, in the rugged mountain-man fashion, were his mouth not split in a massive, toothy grin that indicated he wanted to eat her.
“I’m sorry—”
“No apologies necessary.” He dipped his head and forelegs in a low bow that should not have looked so elegant as it did. His head ended up somewhere near Alice’s crotch, which was both startling and titillating. “I am Nessus.” His voice was wonderfully smooth. “Lower chthonic deity, itinerant writing tutor of Dis, at your service.”
“Bugger off,” said Gradus.
Nessus rose and grasped Alice’s hands. “Are you new to the city, love? First time in the bazaar?”
“Yes, I—”
“Never fear!” He squeezed her hands tight. His skin was very warm. “I am here to offer any paper-writing services you need. Proposals, outlines, bibliographies, even entire dissertation chapters if you so desire. Rates are negotiable—”
“Leave her alone,” said Gradus.
“Does that work?” asked Alice, intrigued.
“Of course it doesn’t,” said Gradus. “No one wants those phony essays.”
“Our essays are the best on the market.” Nessus continued to ignore Gradus. Indeed, every time Gradus spoke, Nessus only opened his mouth further, continuing on with his pitch at a deafening shout. “WE HAVE HELPED HUNDREDS OF SOULS PASS THEIR DISSERTATION DEFENSES AND FIND PASSAGE ACROSS THE LETHE ON LONG-AWAITED GOLDEN SHIPS—”
“It’s a complete scam,” said Gradus.
“OUR ESSAY WRITERS HAVE INTIMATE KNOWLEDGE OF THE WORKINGS OF THE UNDERWORLD. MANY HAVE WALKED THE SANDS OF DEATH SINCE THE BIRTH OF THE WORLD—”
“But you’re all deities!” Alice exclaimed. “What can you possibly want for trade from humans?”
Nessus ceased his shouting, looked her up and down, and murmured close into her ear. “A human soul can be useful in more ways than one.”
