"Roger Zelazny & Robert Sheckley - Bring Me the Head of Prince Charming" - читать интересную книгу автора (Zelazny Roger)

The questioner was a violet-winged Efreet, one of the old Baghdad crowd, now mainly working courier
service since the Evil Powers of the Upper Council liked their gaily colored turbans.

"I am Azzie Elbub," our demon said. "And yes, I am in charge of this particular subpit."

"Then you're the one I'm looking for." The Efreet handed Azzie an asbestos document inscribed in letters
of fire. Azzie drew on his gloves before handling it. Such documents were used only by the High Council
of Infernal Justice.

He read, "Know all demons by these presentiments that an Injustice has been done; namely, a human
has been brought to the Pit before his time. The forces of Light have already made remonstrations on his
behalf, since, if he were to live out his allotted days, he would still have time to repent. The betting against
this taking place is on the order of two thousand to one, but the chance exists, albeit but mathematically.
You are there-fore requested and ordered to take this man out of the Pit, sponge him off, and restore him
to his wife and family on Earth, and there remain with him until he has adjusted sufficiently to get his own
living, since otherwise we are responsible for his upkeep. After that, you will be released to normal
demonic duties on Earth. Sincerely, Asmodeus, Head of North Pit Sec-tion of Hell. P.S. The man
answers to the name of Thomas Scrivener."

Azzie was so elated that he embraced the Efreet, who stepped hastily back, adjusting his turban and
saying, "Take it easy, buddy."

"I was just excited," Azzie said. "I'm going to get out of this place at last! I'm going back to Earth!"

"A disappointing place," the Efreet said. "But to each his, her, or its own."

Azzie hurried off to find Thomas Scrivener.
 He located the man at last in row 1002WW. The Pits of Hell are laid out like amphitheaters. Every
location can be traced. A master plan exists. In practice, however, what with the imps carelessly
throwing people onto piles and the piles falling over onto other piles, people's locations in the Pits are
known only approximately.

"Is there a Thomas Scrivener here?" Azzie asked.

The mound of sinners at location 1002WW turned away from their discussion and looked at him, those
whose heads were faced in the right direction. Instead of repenting their sins, they considered Pit time a
social occasion, a chance to get to know neighbors, exchange opinions, have a few laughs. Thus do the
dead continue to deceive themselves, just as in life.

"Scrivener, Scrivener," an old man in a middle position said. He turned his head toward his armpit with
difficulty. "Sure, he's here. Any of you fellows know where Scrivener is?"

The request was carried up and down the great mound.

Men turned from their preoccupation with sports (there are plenty of sports in Hell, but the home team
always loses-until you bet against them) to say, "Scrivener, Scrivener, sort of a tall skinny loony fellow
with a cast in one eye?"

"I don't know what he looks like," Azzie said. "I assumed he answered to his name."