Clarence the spider was finishing her web, thereby concealing the entrance to the void. Everyone was trying to call out to one another—everyone except Tonton Maxime, who knew the effort was almost certainly futile, nearly desperate, and quite fruitless. At last, a great weariness came over them, as though each of them had regained a body within absolute nothingness. Before long, they all fell into a deep sleep, snoring—including the angel, who was sleeping for the first time in his existence.

The void seemed empty…

The silhouettes could not be seen.

Yet a first dreamlike intuition emerged.

— Hello! I’m speaking to whoever wishes to dream me! It’s me, Henri! Is no one saying anything? I feel nothing… I dream that I’m searching for you in this absence of everything. I’ve understood something! We are nothing inside the void.

— When we are nothing, it is only natural not to feel anything anymore. What am I saying?! To feel. I was waiting for one of you to begin dreaming in this non-place, so that I could speak to them, reassured Tonton Maxime, very much at ease in the void and in dreams.

— Greetings to you! It’s Peels! We have a sensation of levitation, like a supreme state of grace! Sleeping is interesting, dreaming even more so. Are we all asleep? thought the angel insatiably within this strange dreamlike telepathy.

There was a long silence… as though their dreams were drifting. Henri suddenly gave voice to his concern, since Marilyn had not answered.

— Marilyn! Marilyn!… Where are you?… Answer me!… Has anyone heard Marilyn dreaming?… Has she communicated with either of you?

— No! We have received no telepathic call, replied the angel.

— Speak for yourselves… we! This is becoming tiresome. To think that you are the spokesman for all your freezing… What am I saying?! Your congregation… We over here, we over there…

— You forgot Marilyn? I don’t understand. She was the first to jump into your beak, Uncle. What happened? Have you ever lost anyone in this lost hole? Henri fired off anxiously.

— No! Never. You must understand that I have complete trust in my dear little void.

— Am I dreaming you, or are you a pale nightmare?! she suddenly interjected, reassuring them.

She was immediately bombarded with questions by her three unfortunate companions.

— Marilyn, your silence affected us deeply, and our stained wings trembled. Why were you silent?

— Yes, why didn’t you say anything… What am I saying?! Why say nothing.

— I felt a kind of peace in remaining discreet. Do not forget that I may be burdening my paradisiacal future with an idiot, said Marilyn, whose fear had resurfaced and was inevitably affecting her character. I admit that at the moment there is something I like about Henri: the emptiness in his head. I would even say that the void must be jealous of it, she added, blaming him for the whole debacle.

— You know, the void and you belong to the same family tree, don’t you? Oh! And thank him for me. You are even more charming when I cannot see you.

— My dear Henri, may I affectionately call you an asshole?

— You’re lucky that mere nothingness stands between us!

This charming verbal outburst came to an end when Tonton Maxime, who felt as though ulcers were being born in the void, reminded everyone to come back to order.

— Silence! — an imperative that echoed like a sound within the others’ dream. — We must remember that the devil… What am I saying?! The devil has invaded paradise.

— If that old goat truly controls Eden, I fail to see the point of leaving this place, said Henri, who was beginning to find the void comfortable.

— I have a question... What am I saying?! A suggestion. Would you like some light?... Yes or no?… asked the hybrid rather blandly.

— How are we to understand that?… You warned us that perceiving anything in the void was impossible, and now you are offering to light things up to make us comfortable! interrupted Marilyn, who was beginning to experience her dream more and more like a vision producing… cold sweats.

— Did I say moonlight… What am I saying?! Light… I did indeed mean shedding light on the situation, clarified Tonton Maxime with a faint sigh of discouragement.

— I don’t know whether you share my opinion, dear angel… but I have the feeling that these two souls are truly fond of one another. After all, we recognize the perfect match only once the two have fused together. Right?

Henri coughed… He even pretended to indulge in the independence of his dream.

— Come now, Uncle! Let us stop stretching eternity any further. What do you suggest?

— Do you remember the little hole that Clarence covers with a web?... To the outside world, it is nothing. But for us, now, it is an opening into the void, a possible exit. Well... I can move that hole, revealed the guardian of the absolute void.

— So what?... they dreamed together, steeped in disbelief.

— The void has the peculiarity of always being everywhere... in the same place. But one may easily move its point of access—that is to say, the little hole hidden by Clarence. So, go to hell!... What am I saying?! Let us go to the devil’s place. Let us show him what we are made of! he surprised himself by declaring, every bit as cocky as Henri.

— Aren’t you bold, Uncle, they all said together.

— When the devil is away, the damned dance. Rose des Vents is no longer in hell, but in the thick of the action with the good fire... What am I saying?! In the thick of the action with the Good Lord. Therefore, the way is clear for us to play him a good trick. Do you give me the green light to move the hole?...

— What do you have in mind, Uncle Maxime? We shall burn in the flames before we can even say “ouch!” Marilyn feared.

— The void cannot burn, and it will never become a hot-air balloon driven by a firestorm. So I can decide where we stop, with minimal risk, he replied without flinching, proud of himself.

The hybrid’s plan was quite simple: to find something Rose des Vents cared about. Perhaps an old memory, or even the first flame of hell itself! Marilyn even doubted that such a thing existed. Tonton Maxime added that a being like Rose des Vents must surely be a confessed materialist.

Without the others noticing, Tonton Maxime had already moved that tiny opening—smaller than a thousandth of a pinhead—which gave access to the rest of the world.

— Here we are. It is the first time I have come here... I break the ground at the same time as you. What am I saying?! The ice, he said in fright.

— I hope it won’t melt too quickly. What? Already! What do you see in the devil’s stronghold? How is the fire?... Hot?... asked Henri fearfully, his voice muffled and raspy with astonishment.

Panicked, and suddenly convinced that he was about to burn away the remainder of his days… he found that this detour through hell was, in its own way, disconcertingly brief.

— There is indeed fire, but no smoke. However... these flames! Nothing to contain them... What am I saying?! Nothing to stop them from growing excited! described Tonton Maxime.

The angel Potato Peels, though still asleep, suddenly seemed to display an almost scientific interest.

— We ask what energy fuels this fire? he inquired.

— Judging by its color... I would guess propane gas? What am I saying?! Profane... But... Oh! What a disaster! What am I to do? whimpered Tonton Maxime, like a panting ventriloquist.

— What is wrong? continued to dream Potato Peels, Marilyn, and Henri.

— How tragic! By looking too closely, I have become caught in my spider’s web. My poor friend... she... she has fallen into a flame! I dare not look anymore, he said sorrowfully, giving voice to all his despair.

— We share your sorrow, Uncle. Pull yourself together, Marilyn comforted him, trying within her dream to imagine the tears of the guardian of the void. Diamonds? Water? Nothing at all?...

Henri quickly tried to reassure his astonishing companions. He guessed that distracting the hybrid would be the best solution.

— Why stop describing it? Can’t you look any longer? Find the place where we could get out... I mean, where we could land without burning off our toes.

— You are right. I must set aside my feelings, my emotions, in order to save us all. At the very least, I shall continue exploring in memory of my tender and faithful spider!

Uncle Maxime recovered his courage and sniffed the air of escape.

— Ah! The little rascal! exclaimed Uncle Maxime, overflowing with joy and more explosive than ever.

— What is it? Have you just seen a flower demon?

— No! My little spider is alive! Wonderful!... You will never guess what she is doing! he dreamed, peering through the tiny hole that opened onto hell. You know, Potato Peels, she will always surprise me. The flames do not affect her. You may not believe me. She is weaving a web over the flames in order to trap them. Prepare to wake up. I am going to get us out with my zirgouille.

None of them had time to react before they were all expelled from the void.

— You see! She does not suffer from hell. And it seems to me that neither do we.

Surprisingly, the ground was not burning, but merely warm. Clarence’s webs served as thermal insulation. Hell seemed rather hot, but not scorching. This did not fail to surprise Potato Peels, and of course to reassure Henri. All the schemes devised since the dawn of time, all the imaginings of hell, were collapsing like dominoes.

Yet the environment was metallic and noisy. No screams, no complaints, no futile cries for help: only the sounds of creaking pulleys, clanking metal, the friction of mechanical parts and gears insufficiently greased, insufficiently oiled. No suffocating smell of sulfur, but instead the invasive scents of diesel and overheated rubber. Very little smoke, but plenty of dust. Like an old factory in desperate need of renovation. There was almost no color. The dominant tone: rust. All four of them stopped near Clarence, who was trapping one flame after another.

She wove with unsettling speed.

Uncle tried to coax his spider into returning home in a syrupy, almost obscene tone.

— Come, my beautiful Clarence, come here to your little cozy ceiling, he said, offering her his wide-open beak.

Clarence paid him no attention whatsoever and continued spinning multiple webs. She worked at a pace that could only be called infernal. It was true Bruges lace, silk both stronger, more intricate, and more refined. She was drawing a path for them. In the celestial world, the phenomenal proceeds by intuition.

— Let us go! said the companions with faint courage, advancing through the flames held back by Clarence’s webs.

Sharp, piercing noises—like long slides of pointed nails over slate—reached the group. These sounds were produced by the birth of new vices.

They moved slowly through the corridors lined by the arachnid’s work. Around them stretched labyrinths of complex structures composed of pipes, levers, twisted beams, and endless screws, like the set of an apocalypse; fear made them shudder.

Before them… a gigantic hall with an atmosphere poisoned by damp dust. Like a filthy gray laboratory, hellishly sweating from its walls. A few little devils were busily excreting future sins. Dressed in red latex and black vinyl with a sadomasochistic flair, they were attempting to invent temptations not yet in use. Meanwhile, they listened to the shrill sounds they themselves had created.

Henri noticed that these chemists of evil kept flames in their pockets. A somewhat stingy habit. Probably greed. They frequently stopped to count them. By accident, one little devil stepped on a flame that had fallen to the ground. Since tongues of fire tickle demons, he twisted himself with laughter. The others all tugged at one another, each trying to steal the precious and amusing flame.

However, it seemed to Uncle Maxime, the Toutrec-Monroe pair, and the angel, that these workers—frail-looking yet tough, these little technicians of evil—were constantly seeking to confront and provoke the head of the laboratory. With each order given, the little devils consulted one colleague in particular, always the same one. This representative of the horned comrades would then check a grimoire to see whether infernal procedure had been properly followed. Then, according to his interpretation of the chaotic convention, he would or would not jab the laboratory chief in the backside with the points of his own trident. These inventors of moral tortures complained about everything and nothing, especially the conditions of their research. The more they protested, the more complicated the tasks became.

Henri heard their chief remark: “Why make it simple when you can make it infernal?” Marilyn, who had everything translated for her, naively concluded that hell was going off the rails, like anything that becomes too bureaucratic.

The devils’ commotion became so intense that they abandoned their little work altogether and all went off to have a drink a little farther away.