Since the job was done, the pair decided to walk away. Instead of going back through the innumerable and absurdly crowded corridors, they escaped through the plain bit of the scenery, that appeared to be nicely extending away towards the horizon. The sky was a luminous, pleasant grey, which suited them both.
"So, what do you think happens to Mr Martin now ?" asked Crowley.
"Well, I suppose that, now that he has as good as completed the story for the first opus of the series, all he has to do now is to get the final pages done, and then to find a publisher. Which shouldn't take too long. The plotting and the writing of the rest of the books, on the other hand, will take much more of his time."
"Makes sense."
After a brief hesitation, Aziraphale asked :
"Crowley… Will you promise me that you will do nothing to alter what I did after I am gone ?"
"Why would I do that ?"
"Well, you're a demon. You… thwart."
"I've already told you I wouldn't !"
"All right, all right", said Aziraphale, who felt a bit ashamed.
"You have won, fair and square. Your beginning is your beginning."
"Yes. Thank you, Crowley."
"But you never said anything about the ending."
An expression of sudden concern flickered across Aziraphale's face.
"About the… ?"
"Yes. Oooh, yes !" exclaimed Crowley who looked like a hound upon a very hot and very exciting trail. "Now that's my kind of thing."
"And how… how exactly do you propose to…"
"Same as you", replied Crowley brightly. "I'll wait a bit, and then come back to tamper with the author's ideas, and that's all."
"I will ask again : how exactly…"
"Well, I assume that, in his story, there must be a prize of some sort. There always is. A Holy Grail or a ring or a throne, or something. Well, I thought that, in the ending, I could have this writer give it to the underdog."
Aziraphale was bewildered.
"But, my dear boy, that would be a good thing."
"Why not ? You started it all with a bad one."
"And, pray, how would that suit your evil purposes ?"
"Easy. The readers, and the watchers… they would hate it."
Aziraphale tried to grapple with this idea.
And failed.
"No, they wouldn't."
"Yessss, they would."
"I don't quite see why."
"I bet you don't !" the demon exclaimed with a snort.
"Good fictions make people happy."
"Just as bad ones make people feel miserable and frustrated, until they give vent to this frustration on pretty much everyone else. Trust me. I've been studying them for 6000 years. And what I have in mind will make this TV show look horribly bad, especially if it gives everyone the impression that they have been wasting their time for hours and hours, while the solution that awaited them was nothing but a terrible diminuendo. And I don't mean a very foggy risky pun."
"Let's make things a bit clearer. When you say "underdog"… who or what exactly do you have in mind ?"
"I don't really know. Just some very improbable winner in a long story intitled A Song of Ice and Fire. Someone disabled and who hasn't fought a battle for centuries, for instance. Or a dwarf."
"A fantasy dwarf ? Like, for instance, in Terry Pratchett's books, then."
The angel was on the verge of adding : « They are actually quite a lot of fun. Oh, it is just a shame that reading is not your cup of tea ».
The reason he never said it was that Crowley was replying, as if it were an automatic response :
"Personally, I'm more of a Neil Gaiman sort of reader."
Then he understood that, as backfiring goes, he had just shot himself in the foot with a machine-gun.
"That is", he hurriedly corrected while turning a frozen face towards the angel, "I w- I would be. If I read books. Which I don't. As you know."
Aziraphale stared at him.
It dawned on him that he now had lots of ideas of presents for Crowley.
And, as he did not want to embarrass the demon any further, he added in a light tone :
"Oh, you could discover some of their stories through other media, anyway. I have heard that a couple of them had been adapted for the radio. Actually, maybe you have already picked a few bits of them."
"Nope."
Crowley had grimaced and was shaking his head.
"Whyever not, my dear ?"
"For the very simple reason that I never listen to the radio."
"You don't ?" said Aziraphale quite surprised. "Well, I thought…"
"I never do, because I never can", Crowley said in a sullen voice. "Do you know what it's like when you turn your radio on, and all of a sudden, your boss is talking to you ? Same on the TV, really, except that on a screen, I can literally see it coming. But the radio ! It is like I am stranded on a very cursed and very deserted island, and all I pick is BBC Radio 9 Hells."
"Gosh. I am really sorry."
"Anyway", said Crowley. "For the ending : yes, a dwarf, but… I meant, a little person. But then, I suppose I had best leave the details to the writer himself. After all, you know what they say. Well, he corrected himself, you know what they don't say, but should say. "Humanity devises all the best cock-ups"."
"I don't think you're right."
"About humanity ?"
"No, no. You have nailed it to the point, I am afraid. But… You are sure you will win that one, then."
"Definitely."
"Well… I am sure you will lose, that is all."
"Qui vivra verra."
"Wait…" said Aziraphale incredulously. "You speak French ?"
"Yeah", replied Crowley, who was sauntering away with a mad grin. "But only when I want to sound like a prat."
Aziraphale could not help but smile, with a mixture of leniency and confidence.
"Can I deduce", asked Crowley, "from your reaction and your smug air, that you will not intend to thwart me, when I make it back here ?"
"Absolutely. The ending you concoct", the angel insisted, "will not have the effect you foresee. It will seem surprising, and new, and, yes, quite rewarding after everything. And the good will prevail. As it should."
And Aziraphale stared at Crowley with a bright, hopeful and I-know-best kind of expression.
Crowley looked at him for some time.
"Oh, angel", he said softly.
And he drew closer to him.
"I gather you don't see it. Only there's a huge factor you are dismissing here."
"What is it ?" Aziraphale asked with a somewhat puzzled expression.
"Something that, I agree, is not nearly as important as fiction. Well, most of the time, anyway. Problem is, people usually make the mistake of assuming it's the other way around."
"I… I'm afraid I don't quite follow you."
Crowley lowered his glasses.
His golden eyes were fixed on Aziraphale, who had the surprise to read something beautifully sad and… yes, and tender in them.
"It's reality, angel."
The end