The Devil You Know

The Devil You Know

The greatest philosopher of all time is offering to sell his soul to the Devil. All he wants is twenty more years to complete his life’s work. After that, he really doesn’t care. But the assistant demon assigned to the case has his suspicions, because the philosopher is Saloninus–the greatest philosopher, yes, but also the greatest liar, trickster and cheat the world has yet known; the sort of man even the Father of Lies can’t trust. He’s almost certainly up to something; but what? "Parker generates a fair degree of suspense... an accomplished performance." -- Gary K. Wolfe (for Locus Magazine) "Parker cheerfully stays one step ahead of the reader until the last moment." -- Publishers Weekly Starred Review Having worked in journalism, numismatics and the law, K. J. Parker now writes for a precarious living. He is the author of Devices and Desires , Evil for Evil , The Devil You Know , and other novels, and has won the World Fantasy Award twice. Parker also writes under the name Tom Holt. The Devil You Know By K.J. Parker, Jonathan Strahan Tom Doherty Associates Copyright © 2016 Tom Holt All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-0-7653-8789-9 Contents Title Page, Begin Reading, About the Author, Also by K. J. Parker, Newsletter Sign-up, Copyright Page, CHAPTER 1 I DON'T DO EVIL when I'm not on duty, just as prostitutes tend not to have sex on their days off. My ideal off-shift day starts with a hot bath and the scent of black tea, followed by an hour on my balcony with a good book; then a stroll through the busy streets to view an art exhibition, hear a sermon or a philosophical debate, or simply admire the mosaics in the Blue Temple; lunch on the terrace beside the river with a friend or two (not work colleagues); an afternoon with no plans or commitments, so I can be totally spontaneous; a light supper; then to the theatre or the opera, and so to bed. A really bad off-shift day starts before sunrise, with an urgent message to say that something's come up, it's so delicate and important that the other shift can't handle it, and I'm to report to some hick town thirty miles away, dressed, shaved, and ready for business in twenty minutes. You may argue that I get days like that because I'm so good at what I do, better than anyone else in the department, so really it's the nearest our organisation can get to a pat on the back and a well-done. Maybe. It doesn't make it any less annoying when it happens. You don't have to enjoy your work to be good at it. Frankly, I don't like what I do. It offends me. But I'm the best in the business. * * * "Quite a catch," the briefing officer told me. "We need more intellectuals." That was news to me. "Do we? Why?" "To maintain the balance. And to demonstrate the perils of intellectual curiosity taken to excess." "Is that possible?" I asked, but he just grinned. "That's the line to take," he said. "And you say it like you mean it. I guess that's what makes you such a star." Of course, I have no input into policy. "From what the brief says he doesn't need any persuading," I said. "Do you really need me for this? Surely it's just a case of witnessing a signature and writing out a receipt." "You were asked for. Specifically. By name." I frowned. "By Divisional Command?" "By the customer." I don't like it when they call them that. "Are you sure?" "By name," he repeated. "A well-informed man, evidently." "Nobody's heard of me." "He has." I changed my mind about the assignment. I've remained obscure and pseudonymous all this time for a reason. "And he's all ready to sign?" "We didn't approach him. He came to us." Oh dear. "Has it occurred to you," I said, "that the whole thing could be a setup? A trick? Entrapment?" He smiled. "Yes," he said. "Take care, now. Have a nice day." * * * Oh dear cubed. Entrapment is not unknown in my line of work. As witness Fortunatus of Perimadeia, a great sage who was active about four hundred years ago. Fortunatus conjured a demon, trapped him in a bottle, and distilled him into raw energy. Likewise the stories about Tertullian, who challenged the Prince of Darkness to a logic contest and won. Both apocryphal, needless to say, but stories like that give people ideas. What more prestigious scalp to nail to your tent-post, after all, than one of us? I read the brief again. I insist on having one, written on real parchment with real ink; physical, material. It's regarded as an eccentricity, but because of my outstanding record I'm allowed to have them. I find that reading words with mortal eyes gets me into the right mind-set for dealing with human beings. Attention to detail, you see. Proverbially I'm in it, so why not? * * * The appointment wasn't till two o'clock, which gave me the morning. I decided to make the most of it. I walked up the Catiline Way to see the spring flowers in the Victory Gardens, then spent a delightful hour or so at the Emilian House, where a very promising young artist sponsored by the