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I could tell that the Old One was feeling a certain and no doubt very unfamiliar sense of chagrin. For beings widely supposed to be omnipotent and omniscient, the sense that they were not totally aware of events in the wider world would have been immensely embarrassing. I had already concluded that, as had happened once before to my certain knowledge, there was something was going on which was hidden from the all-seeing eyes of the denizens of the Hells. I lit a cigarette and sat back, blowing smoke through my nose and waiting patiently for the Old One to speak. "You have been of some small assistance in the past," the Old One began at last. "Thank you," I acknowledged self-deprecatingly, "It was nothing really." "Perhaps, perhaps not," the Old One demurred, "But we do recognise efficiency, and diligence, and insight. And we can reward these traits, if we are pleased with the results they achieve. You should be reassured on this point." My translation of this was: we want you to do a job, an assignment which we cannot achieve ourselves. And we are prepared to pay you for your services. Of course, I had absolutely no idea what form that payment might take. And it didn't sound like I really had a choice anyway. "I shall strive to give complete satisfaction from my undertakings," I replied formally, "So how can I help?" "We have a situation," he said, giving every impression that he didn't really want to talk about the situation, "In short, one of my friends and compatriots has, well, disappeared." My mind raced at the enormity of this statement and my jaw probably flopped around of its own accord. After a while, I got both under control and was able to formulate a coherent question. "Disappeared? Not dead?" The Old One looked grave, as only a fifty-foot fire-breathing flying lizard can. "No, not dead. Our kind live for a very long time and, at the moment of an individual's death, there is a flash of communciation in our minds. It's quite distinctive. And we did not feel it. So, we conclude that our friend is still alive." I shook my head in confusion. "But I though your kind are in constant contact with one another, wherever you are," I said, my cigarette burning forgotten in my fingers. "We are," the Old One confirmed, "We constantly feel the thoughts and presence of all. And that contact just stopped, suddenly. Our kind has never experienced anything like it before." "When did this happen?" The Old One specified a time and date more than twelve days in the past. "Two weeks?" I said, squeaking with surprise, "Your comrade has been gone two weeks? What have you been doing for all that time? Why didn't you call me in before?" "We have been searching everywhere," the Old One rumbled, sounding annoyed, "We have left no stone unturned. We did not believe that anyone could hide such a thing from us for long." "And now, as a last chance, you've brought me in," I huffed, "And you've let the trail go cold." "Perhaps we should have reacted sooner," the Old One demurred, "But we are not the kind of beings to ask for help lightly." I could see the point. But all too often, clients come to see me weeks after the significant event, when memories have faded and traces erased. It makes my life so much harder. "Okay, okay. I'll see what I can do," I said, trying to regain the poise of a professional investigator, "Do you know where your comrade was when they disappeared?" Once again, the Old One appeared to be shifty and uncomfortable. "Well," he said eventually, "They were on the surface."
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Part 6