Chapter 8
Say "Hi" to a new player...
-oOo-

"Sir?...Sir?...Um?...Oh, oh. Sorry, forgot...Your Maj'sty?"

"Better...Well? What is it?"

Crowley was sat on his throne, legs crossed at the ankles, one elbow resting on the arm of the throne, with his chin cupped in the palm of his hand as he looked blandly over at the small daemon sitting at his appropriately down sized workstation in front of his PC. Crowley curled up one side of his top lip when he recalled earlier seeing a plastic wobbling hula-hula girl doll, jiggling merrily to herself on the confined area of the daemons' desk space. Right now he could see signs of a pink glow outlining the monitor. The upper lip curled up further. Crowley remembered the sight of the unlit miniature string of pink fairy lights plugged directly into a USB port, and then sticky tac'd around the edges of the daemon's monitor. The little daemon had obviously decided it was time to switch them on. Crowley fake coughed loudly, and waited for the daemon to glance his way, before inclining his head in the direction of the pink glow.

"A little...Festive...Don't you think?"

The daemon blushed and glanced at his pretty light show.

"I...They're...But I...Yes, My Kingnessty...Sorry."

The creature hurriedly, and sadly, unplugged his little fairy lights.

"Thank you. Now...I believe you had something to tell me?"

-o-

For a fraction of a second, the daemon appeared confused, then his eyes widened in happy recollection.

"Yes! Yes, Your Majessness sir. The Four Horsemen. They've all gone out...All of 'em."

Uncrossing his legs, Crowley leaned forward slightly, more interested suddenly in the little daemon's news.

"You mean, together all of them?"

The daemon wriggled slightly on his office chair, his bare feet swinging a few inches off the ground.

"Um. A bit, My Highnesty. First one went, then another one, then another two went an' another two went with them."

The daemon wasn't bright, a perfect attribute when required to sit for long hours every day, staring at an uninteresting computer screen, monitoring the movements of a few individually coloured circles and being ready to report if ever a specific set of given parameters were triggered by any or all of the circles. Crowley rolled his eyes. The fact that the small creature didn't even manage to qualify as a descent sized fire log was the sole reason he hadn't ordered the little chap be burned long before now for being both as dumb as a doughnut and brain drainingly irritating.

"And, adding all that up with the help of your tiny little fingers and your tiny little toes, how many does that come to altogether?"

The daemon wriggled a touch more enthusiastically.

"Six. It come to six!"

"Correct. Six. Final question now. The Horsemen is the short name, do you know the proper long name for them all?"

The daemon smiled a happy toothless smile. This quiz was too easy, he was sooo going to win! He wondered excitedly what his prize would be?

"The proper long name, Your Myness, is...The Four Horsemen of ... The ... A...Poop! ...Um...?"

The daemon performed a further quick count up, ending by frowning at his hands and feet in confusion. Crowley, bored of tormenting the minion, had turned his attention to the computer monitor. At a flick of his finger, the image on the monitor began to rewind, showing a selection of differently coloured circles moving around, and then becoming stationary. Another finger flick started the replay. Each horseman was represented by the colour which "Bible Bashers", (a human phrase Crowley had instantly adopted), had down as being the colour of each rider's horse back in the day, and which was the colour of each rider's car in the present day. Red was for War, black indicated Famine, green identified Pestilence and a white filled circle represented the Pale Rider himself, Death. Also showing on the monitor were a further two circles, both yellow in colour. They represented Famine's carers. A term Crowley particularly liked to use when Famine was around to hear it. These, then, were the height restricted daemon's extra two "Horsemen".

-o-

The fact that the Horsemen were all gathered together at Death's place was neither unusual, or a problem. However, as Crowley watched, sure enough, the coloured circles began moving around the monitor and, one by one, they each blinked out of existence. Despite their staggered departures times, it was still possible that they all had the same destination in mind. and were riding out as The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Crowley could only presume that they either were privy to information he was somehow lacking in; or they were acting in direct defiance of the written protocol which clearly stated that, the only time all four should be seen together was when the Apocalypse to end all other Apocalypses...Or should that be Apocalypsi? Maybe Apocalypsum?...Was due. Nowhere on his "To Do" list forthat day had Crowley written Order Horsemen to go Herald The (final) Apocalypse!

-o-

Crowley had to know what the Four Pains-in-the-Arse were up to. He needed a scouting party. He shouted out a curt instruction at the half pint daemon.

"Locate them!"

Reaching down, Crowley picked up a small brass hand-bell from the floor by his throne. He gave it a small shake, and the ear quaking, brain vibrating sound of a huge bell clanging, rolled and spread throughout every level of Hell. Crowley sat back and waited.

-o-

Within a short time six daemons that Crowley was confident fully supported his Kingship were lined up neatly before him, arms, if they had any, behind their backs. Heads, if they were blessed with necks, held high; each of them proud to be of service to The King of Hell, each hoping for big rewards. Crowley smiled with genuine pleasure as he stood facing the daemons. He was no fool, he had many enemies in Hell who would love to see him over-thrown; fortunately, most were too cowardly to do it themselves. It was, then, always good for his self esteem to be in the company of loyal subjects.

"Excellent, excellent! I have a mission for two of you. None engagement, deep cover. It would appear the Four Horsemen are about to have an illegal gathering. I want to know why? What are they up to? This mission calls for discretion, stealth. And good listening skills. The two volunteers I choose will go gather the intell., then return here and report directly to me. Nobody else...Understood?"

There was a unified response of Yes Sire!

Crowley's gaze travelled along the line up.

"Now, let's see...You, and...maybe? No...Yes, you. Step forward."

The two who had been chosen stepped out from the line up.

"The rest of you, diss...Missed. Ah, but do try not to stray too far."

-o-

Once the rest had marched out of the chamber, Crowley turned to his volunteers.

"Right. You'll need to find yourselves a meat suit each, a woman out walking her dog should do it. Then you go to the co-ordinates the short arse over there better find soon. Either of you pick up something useful, get your dutiful arses back here...Excuse me, would you?...Oi! You. Tiny Tim!...Why am I still waiting for their location?

-o-

The little daemon's face, was pale and he point blank refused to look in Crowley's direction, an obvious fear induced reaction which had allied itself with the tremor wracking the daemon's whole body. The Hell creature's terror was such that it had developed a complete inability to produce any sound to compliment it's lip movements. Luckily, Crowley could lip-read. On gleaning what the daemon was trying to say, Crowley's gaze turned towards Heaven.

"Great! Truly great. Yeah, go on, laugh. You just take the piss while you still can! You can't evade being found forever, twat, and once you're dragged out of the woodwork, mate, I'll be sure to come and have a word."

He turned again to his chosen volunteers.

"Right, listen carefully. Seems there's two bloody big flies in this ointment. Our Horsemen have decided to have their mother's meeting close to the damn Winchester Bunker. And by close I mean, if their place had windows? You'd be watching them shower! So, extra care needed, I'd rather you didn't shuffle off this immortal coil. At least one of you better make it back; I have to know why the Horsemen are hanging out in the same neighbourhood as those two jackasses! Right children, off you go, chop, chop, hurry back. Missing you already darlings.

-oOo-
Chick xxx