Azzie stared. Dared an imp talk back to him? "Do it or join them," he said.
"Yes, sir! Bracing material going right up, sir!" The imp ran off, shouting orders to his work crew.
It had started out as another typical day in one of the Pits of Hell. But it was to change dramatically, unexpectedly, in another moment. So it is with change! We go about our accustomed ways with lowered head and hangdog eye, tired of our accustomed round, sure it will go on forever. Why should it change when there is no change in sight, no letter, no Federal Express, not even a telephone call presaging a great event? So you despair, never realizing that your messenger has already been dispatched, and that hopes are sometimes realized, even in Hell. Indeed, some would say, hopes are especially realized in Hell, since hope itself is counted by some as one of the diabolic torments. But this may be an exaggeration of the churchmen who scribble about such things.
Azzie saw that the imps were beginning to perform satisfactorily. He only had another two hundred hours to work on his shift (days in the Pit are long) until he could get his three hours' sleep before beginning again. He was just about to return to that comfortable - relatively comfortable - spot he had just abandoned when a messenger came running up.
"Are you the demon in charge of this Pit?"
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.