Summary

This witty and splendidly macabre spin on the classic Faustian legend introduces a strikingly original new novelist. Johannes Cabal, a brilliant scientist and notorious snob, is obsessed with raising the dead. Tormented by a dark and harrowing secret, he travels to the fiery pits of hell to retrieve his soul, long ago sold to the Devil. Satan, incredibly bored and hungry for a challenge, proposes a little wager: Johannes has one year to persuade one hundred people to sign over their souls or he will lose his forever. To keep things interesting, he generously throws in a traveling carnival to help Johannes collect on the bargain. With little time to lose, Johannes raises a crew from the dead and enlists his brother, Horst, a charismatic vampire, to be his right-hand man. Once on the road, Johannes and his troupe of reprobates cause mayhem at every stop. But are his tricks enough to beat the Devil at his own game? Combining the chills and thrills of old-fashioned gothic tales, the rollicking humor ofWicked, and the sophisticated charms ofJonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, JOHANNES CABAL THE NECROMANCER turns the oldest tale in the world into a fresh and irresistible adventure.

Author Biography

JONATHAN L. HOWARD is a computer-game designer and scriptwriter. He coscripted the first three Broken Sword adventure games and published an acclaimed story about Johannes Cabal in H. P. Lovecraft’s Magazine of Horror. He lives near Bristol, England.

In Which a Scientist Visits Hell and a Deal is Struck	p. 1
In Which Cabal Practices His Map-Reading and Meets an Old Acquaintance	p. 18
In Which Cabal Covers Old Ground and Gets the Show on the Road	p. 36
In Which Cabal Applies Himself With Mixed Results	p. 55
In Which Cabal Plays With Dolls and Horst Broadens His Vocabulary	p. 71
In Which Cabal Makes an Unplanned Stop and Talks About the War	p. 96
In Which Cabal Discovers That Hell Comes in Different Flavours and That One Should Always Make Time	p. 113
In Which Cabal is Educated in Business Affairs and Undertakings are Undertook	p. 134
In Wich I Go to the Carnyval and See Stuff	p. 153
In Which the Carnival Reaches Journey's End and Difficulties Present Themselves En Masse	p. 169
In Which Cabal Preys Upon Misfortune and There is Unpleasantness	p. 182
In Which Cabal Discovers Some Places are Nice to Live in But You Really Wouldn't Want to Visit	p. 198
In Which the Carnival of Discord Opens Its Gates for the Last Time and Things Go Terribly Wrong	p. 214
In Which Needs Must When the Devil Drives	p. 231
In Which Midnight Strikes and Dawn Breaks	p. 251
In Which a Scientist Returns to Hell and a Deal is Broken	p. 270
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Excerpts

Chapter 1
* in which a scientist visits hell and a
deal is struck
Walpurgisnacht, the Hexennacht. The last night of April. The night of witches, when evil walks abroad.
He stood at a desolate and lonely place where there would be no interruption, no prying eyes. The air smelled metallic with freshly spilt blood; the body of a decapitated virgin kid goat lay nearby. He had no alloyed metal about him but for a thin-bladed sword of fine steel he held in his right hand; that arm was naked, his shirt sleeve rolled up to the biceps. A silver coin wrapped in paper nestled in his waistcoat pocket. Before him burned a fire of white wood.
His name was Johannes Cabal, and he was summoning a demon.
". . . Oarios! Almoazin! Arios! Membrot!" The chanted names faded into the unusually still night air. Only the crackling of the fire accompanied him. "Janna! Etitnamus! Zariatnatmix . . . and so on." He drew a deep breath and sighed, bored with the ritual. "A. E. A. J. A. T. M. O. . . ."
There was hidden meaning in the names he must call, the letters he must chant. That didn't mean he had to approve or even be impressed by them. As he recited the Grand Conjuration, he thought that some magicians might have better served the world by writing crossword puzzles.
Then space distorted, and he was no longer alone.
The demon's name was Lucifuge Rofocale. He stood a little taller than Cabal's six feet, but the bizarre fool's cap he wore--three flopping horns, or perhaps tentacles, ending with arrowheads--made his height vary from moment to moment. In one hand he held a bag containing, at least symbolically, the riches of the world. In the other, a golden hoop. He wore a segmented, studded leather skirt rather like a Roman soldier's. Beneath it, _fur-_covered legs ended in hooves. He had a fat anteater's tail, and a silly little Hercule Poirot moustache. As is often the case with demons, Lucifuge looked like an anatomical game of Consequences.
"Lo!" cried the demon. "I am here! What dost thou seek of me? Why dost thou disturb my repose? Smite me no more with that dread rod!" He looked at Cabal. "Where's your dread rod?"
"I left it at home," replied Cabal. "Didn't think I really needed it."
"You can't summon me without a dread rod!" said Lucifuge, appalled.
"You're here, aren't you?"
"Well, yes, but under false pretences. You haven't got a goatskin or two vervain crowns or two candles of virgin wax made by a virgin girl and duly blessed. Have you got the stone called Ematille?"
"I don't even know what Ematille is."
Neither did the demon. He dropped the subject and moved on. "Four nails from the coffin of a dead child?"
"Don't be fatuous."
"Half a bottle of brandy?"
"I don't drink brandy."
"It's not for you."
"I have a hip flask," said Cabal, and threw it to him. The demon caught it and took a dram.
"Cheers," said Lucifuge, and threw it back. They regarded each other for a long moment. "This really is a shambles," the demon added finally. "What did you summon me for, anyway?"

The Gates of Hell are an impressive structure. A great adamantine finger of rock a mile in diameter and two miles high punches through the surface of the cracked and baking desert plain of Limbo. On one side of this impenetrable edifice are the Gates themselves: massive iron constructions hundreds of feet wide and a thousand high. Their rough, barely worked surfaces are pocked and pitted with great bolts driven through in ragged lines, huge bands of brass running across in uneven ranks. One could be forgiven for thinking Hell's a popular place to get into.
Perhaps surprisingly, it is.
On the outside, one wonders what happens once you pass through that terrible, cruel portal. Some believe that all

Excerpted from Johannes Cabal the Necromancer by Jonathan L. Howard
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