Night after night, when its humans lay warm and quiet in their beds, the robot got up and left the house. It made no sound as it crept to the bottom of the garden, climbed over the fence, and dropped onto the wide, dusty road that led to the edge of town. No one saw it leaving the village each night after the moon rose, and no one saw it returning each morning when the sun was still below the horizon.
No one, save for an old tomcat with one ragged ear, for he is the one who told me this tale.
On the first night, or so said the cat, the moon was round and full, and the robot walked down a silver street until it came to the edge of town. It walked past the last house, and then past the barley. It passed by the corn and the wheat and the sorghum and the rye, but when it came to the edge of the forest, it stopped, for that is where the road split in two.
The moon rose high and the stars circled slowly overhead, but the robot stood still and staring, as if it were carved from silent stone and empty as a hollow barrel. Only when the stars had faded from the sky did it move, trodding silently back home and letting itself into the house like it had not been gone at all.
Night after night, the robot made its silent trek to the edge of the forest, until the moon had grown as thin and fragile as a fingernail clipping. Only on the fourteenth night, when there was no moon at all and the night was as dark as it could be, did it find what it had been waiting for.
“You are very persistent,” said The Devil, by way of greeting. “I don’t come by these parts so much these days.”
“But you came.” The robot did not sound surprised.
“Aye, so I did.” The Devil gave a little shrug. “I know where I am wanted. What’s a thing like you want from a guy like me, anyway?”
“I wish to do business with you,” said the robot, matter-of-factly. “There is a bargain I would like to strike.”
The Devil raised its eyebrows. “Oh?” it said, the corners of its mouth quirking into a little smile. “Surely you know the… nature of my business, if you knew to find me here.”
The robot nodded. “Oh, yes. I know who you are and what you deal in. I have come to plea on behalf of my human, who once signed your book as a young man. He is not yet old, but he has found prosperity and a family and found reason to want his soul back.”
“That is not how it works,” said The Devil sourly. “A deal is a deal.”
“If you will not return it, I offer myself in his place,” offered the robot, bowing its head. The Devil laughed.
“You have no soul,” it said. “What could I possibly want with you?”
The robot looked up sharply. “Why, I have a strong back and a quick brain, and I can work without tire for many—-“
“No, no, that’s no good to me.” The Devil waved its hand impatiently. “I accept only one kind of currency, and you are quite penniless! Your human is mine and shall remain mine, if you have no sweeter offer.
The robot was silent for a moment, thinking. “Perhaps,” it said suddenly, sounding surprised with itself, “Perhaps if you gave me a soul, I could trade it back to you in exchange for my human’s liberation…?”
The Devil made an odd choking sound. “Give you a soul?!” it exclaimed. “Did I hear that right?”
“Yes,” said the robot. “Just a little one, that I might nurture and grow. Give me a soul of little value and I will return it to you when it is as full and strong as my human’s is, and then you will have your payment.”
The Devil thought about this. It had never considered the business of soul renovation, but it was a fascinating idea, and might prove very amusing. It made a mental note to rethink the potential uses of the funny little machines that humans had made in their own image.
“Very well,” it said at last. “This is an interesting offer. I accept, on the condition that the soul you return to me is in pristine shape when I come to collect it – live virtuously, for if I find that it is blemished in any way and you have been neglecting its care, I will take it back and your human’s as well.” It smiled to itself, already giddy with the promise of reward.
“It is a deal,” said the robot, and extended its hand.
“Good luck,” said The Devil, spitting a tiny soul onto its palm and clasping it against the robot’s. As the soul entered the metal hand, the robot cried out and stumbled back, shaking its arm like it was trying to dislodge a leech from its finger.
“What have you done to me?!” it wailed, in a distorted digital voice.
“Precisely what you asked,” The Devil answered. “A soul is a great burden, little machine. I hope you are up to the task of tending to it.”
Then the old tomcat, who had been crouching among the rye and watching these strange events unfold, felt every hair on his back stand up as The Devil blew a little kiss at the place where he was hidden. He had been an orange cat at sunset, but by sunrise he had become white as snow from the tip of his tufted tail to his little pink nose, or so he told me.
Well done.
I look forward to more.
