...This was a terrible bother to Cameo. Worse than running back and forth. Worse than showing his I.D. Worse than stumbling on a spinal column. Now he had to make up a reply so the master would have something to read and respond to. Cameo grumbled at the thought. He would have to have a quiet place to think of a message, and there were few quiet places to be had.
He found an alcove near the Steaming River and thought.
He was so disgruntled by his fall, and by the fact that the cavern manager had no reply, that he couldn't think of anything except how mad he was. He hated the cavern manager. He hated loose bones. He hated inquisitive gargoyles. He hated messages. He hated pools of boiling water. He hated it all. No, that wasn't true. He usually enjoyed his job. Being the head minion was a prestigious post. He didn't mind livwing in hell--after all, he was accepted here--and he didn't mind doing the bidding of Master Lucifer. Yes he did. He minded a lot. He was sent on errand after errand while satan sat on his throne of bones and polished his pitchfork.
Oh, Cameo, had a pitchfork too, mind you, but his was so smal that it was mostly only for show.
He was a happy minion as far as minions go, and everyone liked him. Today was just one of those days.
He scribbled a quick message that said roughly:
Thank you... all is well... the tunners are deeper than before... only one dozen have weakened and died... praise be to Satan... don't bother writing back... more news later... blah blah blah...
Cameo handed the letter to the Master fearfully, but it was accepted and Cameo breathed a sigh of relief.
A loud crash and screams of despair filled the air. The new shipment of the Unworthy had arrived. Satan and Cameo climbed into the stealthy hearse and made their way up to the Gates of Hell.
Sure enough, there was another trainload of the Unworthy. Every Thursday afternoon at 2:53 for all eternity, a train of screaming lunatics arrived. Always on Thursday, always at 2:53, simply because Master Lucifer decided Thursday afternoons were boring.
Oh, how Cameo hated counting these imbeciles. Cameo checked off the name of the first one while a henchdemon attached a tag to its head by means of a railroad spike and a hammer, and sent him screaming on his way. And so it continued for the next hour and 47 minutes.
Satan sat back and watched, not helping much at all. When they finished up and got back in the hearse, Cameo sat on his tail wrong and it jabbed him annoyingly. For fear of upsetting Satan, he sat uncomfortably all the way back to the palace.
Satan then had him write threatening hate mail to all the angels that continued to throw their halos through the palace windows. Cameo had to write the letters in blood, of course, and that required a source.
Satan picked the sacrifice...
To be continued