Limbo 56 by Mike Morris (ereader iphone txt) 📖

bank, maneuvering past a gaggle of employees who surrounded the prone form of a recently deceased bank manager. Arthur folded the legal documents appointing him a member of Jimmy’s team of recruiters with sole and full responsibility for Limbo56. “I forgot to tell you,” he said. “The Angels are waiting for you to deliver one hundred goodly souls.” He gave Jimmy the co-ordinates. “True,” he said, answering Jimmy’s question, “they don’t exist, but I’m sure you’ll come up with a satisfactory explanation.” He waved at the recruiter and started back towards the gateway.

Back in Limbo, he examined his new-found confidence and locked himself in his quarters. He read everything about the Governorship that he could lay his hands on. He was wild-eyed and exhausted when Shadrach finally came banging on his door. “I told you it was impossible,” the big man said, looking at the unwashed, hollow eyed Governor. “Here,” He Pulled a bottle of vinegary whisky from his pocket and poured them both a hefty slug.

“I have some ideas,” Arthur told him, then “Oh, you mean Jimmy Wheeler?” He pulled out the contract and waved it in Shadrach’s face. Shadrach read the document and sat down with a bump.

“That’s impossible,” Shadrach was still saying a little later. “I can’t believe you got him to sign this,” he re-examined the contract. “How did you manage it?”

“I offered him tit for tat,” Arthur said grinning. “He was going to make a complaint, have me tried by the Eternal Powers. I told him that two could play that game, and that I too was entitled to complain. Naturally, my complaints were frivolous, as the Powers would discover within minutes. But…”

“It usually takes at least a century to convene the court,” Shadrach finished for him.

“And, whereas a century in a Limbo gaol would probably postpone my descent into Hell for 99 years, a century in a Limbo gaol would be Hell for a successful recruiter.” Arthur drank the whisky and grimaced. “That, and the prospect of me following him round and hitting him in the face until they dragged me to gaol convinced him.”


Chapter 5 – Settling down
“So now you are our new recruiter,” Shadrach said. “Tell me when you’re going to find time to recruit.” He ticked a couple of points off on his fingers. If you don’t prepare perfect paperwork in triplicate, if you don’t order for Limbo in correct quantity, if you don’t balance the books, if your output drops below a certain point, if you don’t do a thousand other useless, bureaucratic things, boom, you’re in front of the council. You hand in your ledgers, say hello to the devils, go to gaol for a century or so, and then go downstairs for the rest of eternity.” Once again, Shadrach shook his head. “It’s impossible to do both jobs, believe me; I’ve been trying to run this place for a couple of weeks.” He bit his lip. “On top of that, Jimmy Wheeler has been cutting away at us for several years now. We’re close to being shut down completely.”

“What happens then,” Arthur asked.

Shadrach thought for a moment. “Then, we’re all shipped off to a giant version of a Limbo prison to await final disposal, which for most of us will be Hell.” He looked at Arthur. “The accepted wisdom is that, if we’re not capable of running a simple little Limbo, we can hardly qualify for Heaven. He sighed. ”With your contract you can visit the real world and recruit. I can govern, so long as no-one upstairs or downstairs finds out, although I’ll only be able to work part-time in the foundry.” Shadrach sighed. “The problem is, we don’t have any reserves. Everyone is fully occupied here.”

“That’s not exactly true,” Arthur said thoughtfully. “What about all those failed Governors, loafing about in gaol? They can help me govern”

“They can’t get out,” Shadrach reminded him. “Remember that glass wall you ran into a while back. You can’t move the foundry inside the gaol.”

That night, Arthur went through the voluminous prison records. Obtaining them was simple. He picked up the old telephone, said ‘Administrative, prison,’ and opened the box that doubled as a table in the corner of his room. For once, the huge volume of paperwork imposed on Limbo was an advantage. Naturally, most of the Governors had been labourers or gravediggers, or factory workers. Few had any executive experience. Arthur came across an accountant and underlined his name. One had been a politician; Arthur drew question marks around the name. There were a few shopkeepers, and a career criminal; Arthur drew a thoughtful question mark next to that one. By the next morning, he was ready to visit the prison. He carried the records of three of the inmates and a plan of the gaol.

Once again, he dragged Shadrach along. “They know you,” he said, “most of them”. The gaol was a large cube, accessed by a perfectly ordinary door. Arthur looked at Shadrach, who shrugged. Inside, they met a man who had been staring at the ceiling. “How did you get in?” he asked. Arthur pointed at the door, now a hazy blemish on the wall. “Ah,” the man said, and went back to looking at the ceiling.

“I know him,” Shadrach said, “He was the Governor before you. They tend to move in towards the center cells as they stay longer.” He looked around restlessly. “Look at this cell that we’re in. I daresay it appears quite comfortable, but, as you can see, there is nothing here apart from 3 chairs, 1 bed, and 1 table. I suppose the three chairs are to emphasize the fact that, in the cell, there’s only one person – alone. I hear that the cells are all the same, they never change.”

“I was counting on that,” Arthur said. “What I’m concerned about now is how we get from this cell to the others.”

“All I’ve ever visited,” Shadrach said, “is this cell. Came in through the door, dropped a Governor off, and left through the same door. It’s back again,” he said pointing.

“The door is in a different place,” Arthur said. We came in over there.” They walked through the door into an identical cell. The inmate, huddled in a corner, singing hymns, ignored them. “The accountant is nearest to us,” Arthur said, “I think.” He pointed at the table, and a door obediently appeared. “Come on,” he said.

Shadrach took the prison plan from him. “You’re holding this upside-down,” he said, “and the furniture is on a different wall from the previous cell. I’ve had some experience reading plans, and maps,” he added. Arthur raised his eyebrows. “When I was a coach driver,” Shadrach said.

“What about reading plans?”

“Comes in handy when you’re a professional burglar,” Shadrach answered.

“You were a coach driver and a professional burglar?”

“Drove the coach to escape from the Peelers,” Shadrach said, straight-faced. It was obvious that he was not going to talk about himself, but Arthur realized from the reference to Peelers, rather than Bobbies, that the man was close to being a contemporary. Shadrach pointed to a blank wall, they moved through the door, and after a few maneuvers, they arrived at the cell of the Accountant, by which time Arthur was completely lost.

The Accountant was apparently reasonably sane. When they popped out of the wall, he let out a screech and threw a chair at them. “I’ll not go to Hell,” he screamed.

Shadrach thrust his face at the prisoner. “Remember me,” he said. “We’re here to talk to you.”

The Accountant looked at him, puzzled. “Yes,” he said. “You are one of the foremen in the foundry. But who is he?” he asked, pointing to Arthur.

“He’s the new Governor, and he has questions for you,” Shadrach told him, and the accountant looked up interestedly.

“Are you here to pardon me? I’ll tell you everything,” the accountant babbled. “I’ll say anything you want. Just tell me who you want to blame.”

“I can’t pardon you,” Arthur told him. There are a great many laws about what I can and cannot do. However, I can help.”

It took a while to persuade the accountant, but it was obvious from the beginning that he could not wait to get back to his beloved figures. “We had the best documented failure rate of all the Limbolands,” Shadrach muttered disgustedly.

“I thought we weren’t allowed to do anything in here,” the accountant said. “We’re supposed to look at the walls and go crazy. Did you change the rule?”

“I told you, I’m not allowed to change the rules.” Arthur said. “Didn’t you read anything when you became Governor?” The accountant muttered something about being only an accountant. “You can repent.” Arthur told him. “You can have paper and writing materials to write down your sins and repent. Take an hour a day doing that and you may have them all recorded by the time your hundred years is up.”

“What about my accounting?”

“You shall have as many ledgers as you require. As an extra penalty, I’m forcing you to improve your accounting skills.”

“Improve,” the accountant exploded. “I’m perfect. I never make mistakes.”

“Good,” Arthur told him. “Because, purely as an exercise, you’ll be getting the books of Limbo56 daily, starting from when the number one shift finishes…”

“No,” the accountant interrupted. “Starting with shift three, it has to be shift three.”

“Fine,” Arthur said hastily, “whatever you say. We can’t do anything about the past week…”

“Yes we can,” the accountant told him. “Just bring me everything you can, about the foundry, the Artisans, the Pubs, House construction, food distribution…”

“But we don’t build houses, or distribute food,” Arthur said.

“Paper houses, paper food,” the accountant said and Shadrach muttered agreement. “Also bring details of our trade with the outside world and our black market with hell,” he continued.

“Some of these will need to be recorded in special ledgers,” Arthur said hastily.

“Of course,” the accountant said contemptuously. “You think I don’t know my business?”

“What have I done?” Arthur said, as Shadrach pointed towards a new door.

The Politician was lying uncomfortably on his back across the table. “Take a seat,” he told them, as if his first visit in two years was a perfectly normal occurrence.

“So,” he said after a few minutes. He sat up, bones cracking. “The coup has succeeded. Did you bring my Generals uniform?”

“Crazy as a Loon,” Shadrach said, getting up.

“Wait,” Arthur told him. “Yes the coup Succeeded,” he said to the politician. “My faction is in charge now. Some of my colleagues wanted your cell sealed off completely until you are shipped to hell.” The politician sagged. “But I persuaded them differently. You used to be a lawyer,” he continued. “We may call on your services from time to time. Since you are a politician, you can be allowed back into Limbo, under strict supervision, to interact honestly with the citizens in furtherance of your rehabilitation. In the meantime, take a look at this.” He tossed a copy of the Jimmy Wheeler contract on to the desk.

“You really want to visit the career criminal?” Shadrach asked when they had finished with the Politician. “He’s recent, and he doesn’t like me.”

“Why not?” Arthur asked the big man. They were in an empty cell, and Shadrach sat down, sighing, enveloping one of the small chairs.

“He was acquiring a lot of scrip,” he answered, “but none of