The surroundings were… well, the most accurate word for it would probably be raw. Yes, that was it everything looked as if it had not been completed entirely, or as if the builder, or the carpenter, of the decorator, or all three of them, had experienced a change of heart in the middle of their works. The place looked like a great hall in a palace that looked like a plain that looked like a yard with a scaffold. The whole scene had a vague medieval coating on it, so you could say that there was at least some sense of unity.

At least the scaffold was plain to see so was the fact that it had all the accessories, comprising of an executioner, an axe, a wooden block and of course, an executed-to-be.

The executioner looked like any ordinary executioner – or maybe, all of them at once. He stood near the block, the tool of his trade close at hand.

The executed-to-be was crouching in front of the block. He was a middle-aged and rather stout man. Either he had dressed in a rather shoddy way, or his appearance had been treated the same way as everything else around him : he had a long, white and modest shirt, but also a few pieces of clothing – furry boots, a belt, a small coat – that conveyed an impression of richness and luxury.

While the executed-to-be had a look of dignified misery, the executioner looked perfunctorily neutral.

Both of them had been keeping the same position for the last few minutes it seemed that they had been expecting something, like a signal or a confirmation. And yet, they were perfectly alone in the room that was also a plain that was also a yard with a scaffold in it.

That is, they had been alone so far but then, in a portion of the scenery that obviously belonged to the hall part, a tapestry was raised, discovering an opening, and an angel entered the premises.

On seeing the scene in front of him, he exhaled a slight sigh of relief and smiled.

He walked towards the scaffold since he was an occult – no, sorry, an ethereal being, he managed to make himself invisible, and neither the executioner nor the executed-to-be could even sense his presence.

The angel raised his hand, about to perform something but then, time appeared to freeze.

That was because it had really frozen.

Both humans were now completely motionless. The angel, seeing an effect he had definitely not been the cause of, frowned with candid puzzlement.

Then he heard « Oh » behind him, and turned back immediately.

Where he had stood previously, now there was a demon.

Obviously, both of them could perfectly see – and hear – each other.

"Crowley !" exclaimed the angel.

"Aziraphale", said the demon as he nonchalantly ambled towards him.

"What on Earth are you doing there ?"

"Same as you, I suppose."

"Surely you mean, the opposite ?"

"Fine, fine. Same thing, though. Different side, that's all."

"Well", said Aziraphale with an air of stiff reprobation, "I must say I am very much surprised that your side would want to have anything to do with any of this."

"Well, since your side takes such an interest, why shouldn't mine ?"

"Is that why you are here ? asked the angel, more curiously than diffidently. To thwart me ?"

"No, I don't think so. I had no idea you'd even be here. I must say I am…"

The angel looked at him, his round face silently inviting him to go on.

"Rather not unpleased to find you, said Crowley carefully."

"Yes ! said Aziraphale, whose face brightened. So am I. Long time no see, dear boy."

"We very nearly missed each other, though, said Crowley. On my way here, I had contrived a very cunning plan to explore the whole perimeter of this castle."

"How do you mean ?"

"Er… I… well, I got lost", Crowley admitted sombrely.

"Oh, me too. I have been running down corridors for quite a long time before I got there. And", he added wistfully, "I didn't even have the luck to hit upon a kitchen or a cellar of some sort."

"Doubt you would have found much to your taste here", retorted the demon with a grimace.

"And yours."

"I suppose that, at best, the chef in these places will have mastered the high art of mashed potatoes."

"Oh !" exclaimed the angel.

"What is it ?"

"Er, nothing. Sorry, I…" – Mild concern was written all over Aziraphale's confused face. – "It's just that it's the name of a dance that I had been willing to learn for quite a few years, and, oh, I keep forgetting about it. That's all."

But Crowley didn't want to get side-tracked, not even down a lane that was called « There's a dance named Mashed potatoes » and that included a path that read « And the angel wants to learn it. »

"Anyway", Crowley said, moving his hand like a snake towards the group formed by the maybe-executioner and the maybe-executed-to-be. "What about these two ? Should we let them carry on ? Allowing the execution to proceed ? Or should we put an end to all this ?"

"Obviously", Aziraphale said gravely, "one of us wants to keep this lord alive."

"And one of us", Crowley said in a light tone, "wants him to be killed."

"But we can't have him dead and alive at the same time."

"And have him become Schrödinger's looord ?" said Crowley, lingering on the last word.

"That would certainly be very awkward."

They looked at each other.

"Which means", Aziraphale said slowly, "that one of us has to subside."

"Yep."

"That's unusual. Normally, I perform both of our tasks – or you do. I remember when you successfully convinced Leonardo da Vinci to paint The Last Supper. Only to make him agree to paint it in a building full of moisture."

Crowley tucked his head backwards and grinned reminiscently.

He had made friends with Leonardo and had walked away with a drawing of The Gioconda.

"Right then", he said. "Shall we play heads or tails about it ?"

"Wha– No !" Aziraphale exclaimed. "Out of the question", he added, shuddering with undisguised dread. "The last time we did this, I lost and had to ride all the way from London to Edinburgh."

"What's wrong with Edinburgh ? I thought it was your favourite creation."

"There's nothing wrong with Edinburgh !" replied the angel pointedly. "It is the riding that is a perfect nightmare."

"I'd say, that's hardly a risk you face here. Unless you really want to take the stupidly long and chivalrous way."

"Anyway, I am not taking chances with you."

"What do you propose, then ?"