Vol. 4 Chap. 35 Naaah!

Vol. 4 Chap. 35 Naaah!

Truth flat out refused to believe it. His world had become a very strange place in the last year or so, but that was a bridge too far. Botis, Earl of Notoriously-Bad-Place HELL, was a good guy who was apparently famous for reconciling enemies.

And yet, not one Goetia he had read mentioned that. He started scrabbling through the pile of books to find the Goetia he had pulled. He flipped to the section on Botis. Foresight, public speaking, swordsman, check, check, check. Reconciliation- no check. There hadn’t been anything about it in the Goetia he had read in Siphios either, so it wasn’t just a Jeon thing.

He started flipping through the books with longer sections on Botis. The reconciliation thing was practically the first thing they mentioned. Merkovah never mentioned it. Why?

Truth stood and disguised himself as a plumber trying to better himself. The identity came annoyingly easily. He found a librarian.

“I was wondering if you could explain something to me?”

“I’m just here to help you find books.” The librarian shook her head, clearly traumatized by previous experiences trying to explain things.

“No, I found the books, I think. Look, why do the books on demons talk about things not even mentioned in the Goetia entries? That’s all I want to know.”

“Oh. Well. That I can actually explain.” The librarian looked torn between her desire to not, in fact, explain, and her desire to show off all the amazing things her books had to offer.

“The Goetias are a catalog, essentially. They tell you the kind of services you might demand from a demon, as well as any notable characteristics about them. That being said, they are catalogs. They are just recording available options, and maybe trying to sell you on recruiting some particular demon.”

“Wait, Hell is doing promotional work?”

She shrugged. “Some of ‘em are. The really powerful ones don’t bother, of course.”

“Sure. I can see that.”

She nodded and turned away. Truth continued to stand where he was. The seconds ticked past. Eventually she sighed and turned back. In a slow voice she said- “The books have more time to talk about things, so they talk about more things.”

“Got that. But why leave out what sounds like a pretty major characteristic of a demon?”

“Probably because it’s not a reason most people would want to summon that particular demon? Demonology isn’t my field.”

“Oh? What is your field?”

“Library sciences.” She gave him a look, but Truth flat out refused to believe he was the asshole here.

“Makes sense. Whole entire parts of the Demon’s power set, though.”

She visibly sighed and indiscreetly checked the time until closing. She was a long way off from relief. Wilting, she forced herself to continue.

“Look, just... flip through the Goetia for a minute. Any of them, it makes no difference. You are going to see a couple of things really quickly- the demons offer surveillance, treasure finding, the ability to communicate with birds and animals, “love” spells,”

They shared a look at that one, then she continued. “The ability to slay your enemy or ruin their crops or any kind of other nasty thing. It’s all variations on the same stuff.”

“Okay?”

“So the books, which need to sell based on their deeper looks at things, focus on the stuff they don’t all have in common, whereas the Goetia, which knows people are just looking for a quick contractor, just gives the popular, mass market stuff. Combine it with the fact that a load of demons have different “aspects,” and ALL the Goetia’s have limited space per-demon, and you get this.”

“Nobody is summoning Astaroth for a quick anything, though. I mean, they just aren’t.” Truth was determined to deny it. It would just be too annoying if it was true.

“Bet you a wen? Cops call on him more often than they visit their moms. Check the Goetia.”

Truth flipped to the rather lengthy entry. Teaches mathematics, philosophy, handicrafts, can teach you to communicate with snakes, turn people invisible, find buried treasure, can answer any question asked.

>

Truth nodded. He didn’t have a better idea.

He stood, rolled his shoulders, and reached the curb in a single step. The energy drain took a big chunk out of him. Earth Folding Step took even more out of him on a city street in the daytime than being hunted in the suburbs at night. Truth looked around the busy street and didn’t see what might be causing the problem.

It was the usual street scene- people walking around, carriages and wagons rumbling along the street, advertisements covering every flat surface, recording talismans on every corner of every building. Nothing out of the ordinary.

He would figure it out. There was a sign pointing towards a hospital. Good enough place to start. He got jogging.

Truth arrived at the hospital, and not wanting to make his life excessively difficult, he simply broke into the scrubs vending machine, stole a set, repaired a short that was making the light inside the machine flicker annoyingly, and got changed. The sheer freedom and joy of throwing his clothes into a spatial ring was hard to overstate.

“How. HOW did I manage to live without you?” Truth murmured, looking at the wooden ring. He was tempted to kiss it, but that seemed a little weird.

Scrubs on, he set out to assume his persona. An embarrassing number of attempted specialities later, he was startled to learn the universe would accept him as a bonesetter. Sometimes, bones were out of alignment. Sometimes, even usually reliable spells did astonishingly upsetting things to people’s bones. Sometimes, you just needed a bonesetter, instead of something fancy.

“Hey, Bone-Bro, can you cover intake?” Truth found himself ambushed by a doctor almost as soon as he left the locker room.

“Wha?”

“Come on, Bone-Bro. You can’t run away again. I really, really need someone to do rounds at the ER.”

“The ER? Bro, no, Bro.” Truth shook his head violently. He didn’t know what was going on here, but his instincts were screaming at him to run.

“Come on! I have a patient with six functioning nephrons, a sodium imbalance and some absolute nitwit of a emergency medicine doctor wants to start dialysis. Total disrespect for the highly capable surviving nephrons. I NEED you to cover Intake!”

Truth slowly blinked. “Bro. What? That’s not a bone, Bro.”

The high strung doctor sighed dramatically. “Against all available evidence, I happen to know you passed med-school. At least well enough to identify things that are, and are not, emergencies.”

“I do bones, Bro. I don’t do wet stuff. Or teeth. That’s the Teeth-Bone-Bro.” Truth shook his head and started slowly backing away.

“I’ll tell you what. You just stand around in your scrubs. Hold this clipboard.” It was jammed into his hands. “You can just list problems as “Bone,” “Not-Bone,” “Examine with Demon Eye,” or “Cast ANCEF.”

“But Salt Bro, what if it’s the wrong thing? And my name is on it?”

“By the time someone figures it out, your shift will be over and therefore not your problem. Or my problem.” The doctor spun Truth around and shoved him towards a pair of swinging doors. “Now go out there and do some medicine!”

Truth found himself propelled through the doors. By the time he looked back, the doctor had vanished more swiftly and completely than even the Earth Folding Step could manage.

“Oh is it your shift?” A passing nurse asked. “I thought Keppler was on duty.”

“Salt-Bro had a thing with a guy?” Truth grasped for the right words to explain what happened. The nurse nodded understandingly.

“Sorry you got caught. Well it’s a pretty slow day.” She smiled and started flipping through her notes.

“We have a severe burn, six undetermined-source infections, five of which are patients over ninety years old, one of which is fifteen days old, three carriage accidents that are currently being patched up by emergency medicine, eight stabbings of varying severity being patched up by ER nurses until emergency medicine can see them, someone who claims they have the plague and does present with a wet cough producing sputum, a woman complaining of “discharges,” an old lady who refuses to understand that we cannot treat her parakeet, three O.D.’s, one case of the DT’s, twenty psychiatric complaints ranging from depression to suicidal ideation to psychopathic aggression, four of which are juveniles, fifteen STD’s, an elderly patient that presents severely malnourished but cannot respond to verbal interrogation well enough to explain why they are in the hospital, four juveniles who claim to have been blinded but cannot explain how they became blind, eight very loud women who demand to speak to whoever is in charge of the demons because it is morally wrong to use air demons to clean the hospital, despite Clark the janator standing right there with a bucket, mop and talisman in hand, two very nearly as loud men demanding to speak to whoever is in charge of the demons because it’s discrimination and putting patient’s lives at risk by not summoning demons to do the cleaning, and Ms. Gashlip, everyone’s favorite Code 553.”

She smiled up at him. “Average Tuesday afternoon, really.”