So I walked around Hell. Down the streets buzzing with energy and life. Through the melees and quarrels and street brawls that seemed to rage on every second corner. Past the restaurants offering the hautest of haute cuisine and the clubs that pulsated with the sounds of live music, tempting me to abandon my search for the undoubted pleasures within. Yet I stood firm, and after I’d walked for an hour or so, I reached my destination.

A huge castle towered before me. It looked like a diabolical mirror image of God’s palace back in Heaven, with soaring towers topped by thin spires. But where God’s palace glistened and gleamed, this castle . . . unglistened and ungleamed. It was so black that light seemed to disappear into it, as if it were being consumed. I knew as I looked at it that this had to be the home of the Devil. Even the welcome mat reeked of evil.

I examined the massive door to the castle. On the right side there was a small black button, carved in the shape of a hideous face. I pressed the button. A deep bell reverberated through the walls above me. And then the door slowly swung open.

I walked through the forbidding gateway and found myself in a large hall. To call it a little bit gothic would have been like saying the Taj Mahal was a little bit shiny and marbly. Arched vaults soared above my head and grotesque faces peered out from every surface, their faces leering in the shimmering candlelight. The only thing missing was the spooky organ music.

At the far end of the hall, at the foot of a broad staircase, a figure stood. Slowly, the figure turned towards me, revealing a face so gruesome it made the gargoyles all around look like catwalk models. The skin was an angry shade of red. The eyes were pinpricks that glowered beneath thick, dark brows, and the mouth was thin and cruel. A pair of sharp horns extended from the top of the head, while under the chin, a small, pointed goatee jutted out. I guessed immediately who the bearer of this ghastly visage must be. Surely I had come face-to-face with the Prince of Darkness himself.

I looked at him. He looked at me. Never before had I experienced a gaze of such pure malevolence. Never before had I faced such utter and unadulterated wickedness. For a moment, my instinct was to turn tail and flee from this castle of terror. But before I had a chance, a door opened at the side of the hall and another figure emerged.

He was a tall man in a dark suit. I recognised him immediately as the one I’d seen in Sally’s mansion.

“Mr Jimmy Clarenden,” he said. “How splendid to see you. I’ve been expecting you.”

Chapter 11

THE MAN IN THE SUIT had dark hair and pale skin. His eyes shone keenly, like fluorescent white beads, but his smile had all the warmth of a beach resort in Antarctica. The suit encasing his lean, angular frame had clearly not been selected from off the rack. It had been fitted so well that when he moved, the suit mirrored those movements exactly, as if the two of them were a single unit.

At that particular moment, both man and suit were waving dismissively to the demonic creature I’d first encountered. Straightaway, the figure I was certain was the Devil scuttled away through a side door on the opposite side of the hall. As he disappeared, I swore I could see the swishing of a long, forked tail.

“Now, if you would be so kind as to join me, I’d love to have a chat,” said the suited man, in a voice that was deep and rich like a tureen full of gravy, but with an undercurrent that set my nerves on edge like fingernails scraping on a chalkboard.

He motioned me towards the door through which he had first appeared. I followed uncertainly and found myself in a room that couldn’t have been more different from the one I had exited. It was a large and slickly appointed office, with the sorts of fittings that were created by celebrity designers with unpronounceable names. The desk in the middle of the room didn’t look like a desk. The chairs arranged around it didn’t look like chairs. The cabinets that lined the walls didn’t look like cabinets. The whole thing was more like an art installation than an actual office.

The man led me towards the desk.

“Please take a seat, Mr Clarenden.”

I regarded one of the chairs, unsure where I was meant to place my posterior. Eventually, I hazarded a guess that seemed to work. I found myself facing the right way, with most of my parts in the right place.

Meanwhile, the man in the suit was making his way over to one of the cabinets along the wall. He opened a cupboard, took a bottle, and poured two drinks.

“Scotch whiskey. The finest single malt, I can assure you.”

He handed a glass to me. I took a small sip, letting the liquid kiss my lips, caress my tongue, and heartily embrace my throat.

The man registered my obvious satisfaction.

“Nothing but the best for my guests.”

He strolled back around the desk, oozing confidence like an oil slick oozed thick, black crude. Who was this man, so smooth and self-assured? Who was this person who could order even the Devil around?

“Who are you?” I said, sounding about as smooth as a chainsaw.

“Who am I?” The man was taken aback by my lack of recognition. “Who do you think I am?”

“At the moment, I don’t think anything,” I said, trusting that a few extra sips of single malt might help to smooth my voice a little.

“I would have thought it was obvious. I’m the man in charge. The guy who runs the place.”

“I didn’t ask for your resume. I just want to know who you are.”

The man sat down behind the desk and leant back. “But who else could I be? I’m the Devil.”

“You’re the Devil?”

He nodded. “Satan, Beelzebub, Lucifer, Old Nick, the Prince of Darkness. Whatever you want to call me.” That smile was still on his face, warming the room like a six-pack of icicles.

“But if you’re the Devil, then who was . . . ?” I pointed to the door back to the hall.

“Him? Oh, that’s just Sid.”

“Sid?”

“Sid is my accountant. Don’t be embarrassed, Mr Clarenden. It’s a mistake nearly everybody makes.”

“But he looks exactly like . . . ”

“I know. He looks exactly the way you’d expect me to look.” The Devil chuckled. “It’s not a coincidence. Sid is my logo.”

“Sid is your logo? Are you the Devil or are you selling breakfast cereal?”

“A bit of both, I suppose. I consider myself first and foremost a businessman, and like any businessman, it’s important that I market my business as effectively as possible. I need to find a brand that people can relate to. Now, I could have used my own likeness to front my campaigns. It might even have been moderately successful. But I think you’ll agree that when it comes to looking diabolical, I can’t hold a candle to Sid.”

“He’s really that evil?”

“Hardly,” said the Devil, the laughter still in his voice. “Sid is probably the sweetest fellow you could ever meet. It’s just that he has a rather striking appearance. Using his likeness has helped me to really nail my brand. It’s allowed me to project that aura of absolute evil that has been instrumental to my success over the centuries. But you haven’t come all this way to discuss marketing strategies. So how may I be of assistance to you?”

I decided to cut to the chase. “What were you doing at Sally’s house?”

“So now you wish to know about my personal activities too?” The Devil’s eyebrows were raised but he was still smiling.

“Do you have any personal activities you’d rather I didn’t know about?”

“As it happens, no I don’t. If you must know, I was helping Sally with her Feng Shui.”

“I would prefer if you answered me in English.”

“Sally has just finished doing some renovations to her house,” said the Devil. “She asked me to come in and offer my opinion.”