The book with the black cover, a tome of demonic magic, was a wondrous and precious artifact, or else the demon Burd wouldn't have used it to tempt Azazel's father that day.
The most curious thing about the book was that anyone could use it. At first glance, the book might only reveal the most basic dark spells. Try to skip ahead to more advanced magic, and you'd find the text incomprehensible, the characters dancing and shifting on the page. But, as one's understanding of the dark arts deepened, as one's magical prowess grew, the demon book would gradually unveil more powerful spells. The unreadable, jumping words would rearrange themselves before your eyes. And the biggest challenge in learning dark magic wasn't finding good teaching materials—it was sourcing the materials for the spells themselves.
These nefarious ingredients were usually an assortment of corpses. On the prime material plane, many zealous black magic practitioners had to resort to grave-robbing—and sometimes even murder—to obtain fresh corpses for their studies. Some of these dark mages managed to survive the onslaught of righteous pursuers, while many others bore witness to the majesty of justice, being purified in flames, mostly by burning at the stake.
For the average person, this was a problem, but not for Azazel. Sigil was a place where death was a daily occurrence, with fatalities of all kinds and from all realms. Devils from Hell, demons from the Abyss, celestial beings, and creatures from the Wilds—this was the City of Doors, after all, where travelers from every corner of the multiverse, along with their corpses, could be found. Though Sigil was neutral territory, that was merely in the streets—what happened in the darker alleys was anyone's guess. The Lady might occasionally save a soul or two, but that was a rare chance and she wasn't always inclined to rescue.
During this time, Azazel also visited the Mortuary a few times, driven by curiosity about how the place handles the dead.
What he found was neither gruesome nor repulsive. The Mortuary was surprisingly clean, spacious, and at its heart lay a vast array of portals.
It was an immense array of transport gates, neatly arranged, leading to all parts of the universe, all kinds of planes. Each gateway was marked with clear signage in the common tongue, indicating their destinations.
There were gates leading to "Mount Celestia," to the Abyss, to Hell, and naturally, to the prime material plane.
The first time Azazel laid eyes on these gates, his cheeks flushed with unhealthy excitement, and a violent coughing fit seized him. Others worried he might cough his last then and there, but he managed to regain his composure. The cough had become more frequent and intense, but Azazel paid it no mind.
Just a minor illness, he thought. I'll see a healer when there's time.
His path home was before him, and he wouldn't let a minor ailment delay him. Azazel struggled to stand straight and then moved slowly toward the gate leading to the prime material plane.
"Hey there, Azazel. Remember who I am?" a mummified corpse blocked his path.
Azazel gazed blankly at the mummy, with its lifeless expression, hollow eyes, and sunken chest—indistinguishable from the others. In the eyes of the living, all corpses looked much the same.
The confusion was fleeting as Azazel noticed something familiar—a maggot crawling out of the mummy's eye socket.
"Cough, cough, how could I forget? You're Caitlin, aren't you? Hi, how have you been?"
Caitlin shrugged, an act that would have been coy in life but now merely tested Azazel's stomach. She complained, "The same as always. Skin tight, perpetually dry, no amount of effort retains moisture. The weather here really is terrible. And to think, you sweet-talker remembered me. Why didn't you come see me after that day?"
"Ah, and why didn't I? Because you're a desiccated corpse! What would I do visiting you? Even a necrophile would detour at the sight of you, so why would I come?" Uttering such blunt truths held no benefits, so Azazel quickly came up with a lie, an excuse. "Oh, yes, why didn't I visit you? I meant to, really, but then I didn't because... cough, cough... I didn't know where you lived, that's why. Yes, that's it."
"By the Seven Hells, how foolish of me to forget to give you my address. My memory is really failing me. Let me tell you, it's—"
Azazel emphatically cut her off, "Right, I just remembered, did you stop me because you have something to tell me? Maybe something you forgot about?" He had no desire to know the mummy's address, especially if it turned out to be nicer than his own shanty.
Caitlin tilted her head, trying to remember, "Forgot something? Let me think... No, can't recall anything. If I really forgot something, it couldn't have been important. Anyway, let's continue where we left off. Now, where were we?"
"You were just about to give me a tour of the Mortuary here, to tell me about its, er, arrangement." Azazel looked around the vacant surroundings with feigned innocence, not spotting any noteworthy decor or setup.
"Oh, heavens, yes, that's right. This is your first visit, isn't it? Let me show you around my workplace. This here is the Mortuary, where the grand collection of Sigil's portals is concentrated. All bodies are sent back to their original planes through these gates. You see, we're in a city here; space is a premium. The Dustmen considered operating burial services, but the cost was too high—the land was just too expensive."
Azazel asked in confusion, "How do you know?"
"Know what?"
"About the higher-ups' thoughts, the high cost, the expensive land. How do you know these things?"
Caitlin laughed, "Oh, my sweet-talker, that's basic economics. Any half-brained creature would know that. Plus, they tried it out on me."
Being called brainless and uneducated—especially in economics—by a mummy whose brain was literally eaten by maggots wasn't a pleasant experience. Azazel wanted to shout, "Do you even know what game theory is? Have you heard of a financial crisis? A mummy dares to discuss economics with someone from 21st-century Earth?" But he held his tongue. Arguing over economic policies with a mummy would be absurd, and Azazel didn't fancy his chances of winning—economic theory wasn't exactly his strong suit.
So he deftly changed the subject, "What did they try on you?"
Caitlin beamed with pride, "They used me as a model. Dug a grave, made a fancy coffin, and buried me in it. My God, you wouldn't believe how exquisite that grave was. I guess the coffin was made of souls' wood from the Seventh Hell. Lying in it felt great. For a moment, I felt centuries younger, like I was back at my burial. That feeling..." Caitlin was too excited to continue.
"Ah, yes, truly unimaginable."
"Indeed, you could never imagine. Only by experiencing it can you appreciate its beauty. The coffin lid closing slowly, the darkness engulfing you, being lowered gently into the pit with such tender care, followed by the sound of earth covering you, and then, silence. I must be the only one in Sigil to have such an experience."
"I agree," Azazel replied. The dead of Sigil couldn't enjoy a proper burial, and the living certainly wouldn't lie in a coffin voluntarily. "You certainly are one-of-a-kind."
"Do you think so too? That's wonderful. Unfortunately, they dug me up later, sold the land to a Yugoloth merchant—such a travesty. But what can you do, life and death are both full of disappointments." (Yugoloths, a race of mercantile demons, not associated with the demons of the Abyss nor the devils of Hell, often claimed neutrality in the Blood War, aiding neither side, although they tended to assist the weaker party, profiting from the chaos of war.)
Azazel simply nodded, not wanting to extend the conversation with Caitlin any further. It was time to return to his study of the demonic book and ponder the enigma that was Gideon, growing feebler within him. Would Gideon die? What was his true identity? Was he truly Gideon, and what was his surname? These questions might forever remain unanswered.