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“What’s it like? Do you have days off? Weekends? Holidays?”
Kernel laughs. “Sure — two weeks on a beach of fire in the sunny south of Hades, half-price off-season. Of course we don’t have holidays! We don’t fight all the time – we have to rest, and Beranabus occasionally has to do something on this world – but we’re at it most days of any given year.”
“What do you do when you’re not fighting?”
“Recover and relax here.”
“You don’t get out at all? Not even for a day trip?”
“Day trip to where?” Kernel snorts. “I pop up the ladder every now and then for a breath of fresh air. Maybe go for a walk for an hour or two. But it’s boiling by day, freezing by night, and there’s nothing to see or do.”
“Doesn’t Beranabus take you with him when he goes away?”
“Rarely,” Kernel says hotly. “He prefers it if one of us is here when we’re not battling demons, in case anyone tries to contact him. And even when he does take me, it’s only ever on business. We’re in and out as quickly as possible, keeping a low profile, hiding in the shadows.”
He stops. His fingers are trembling. There are hard tears in his eyes, but he’s holding them back. I try thinking of something comforting to say, but can’t. I want to change the subject, but don’t know what to talk to him about. So I ask about his age — not entirely off-topic, but hopefully less of a sore point.
“You said you’d been with Beranabus thirty years, but that can’t be right. You don’t look more than sixteen or seventeen.”
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