Chapter 8. Demon Tourists
1.
Crowley is speaking, seemingly to thin air. Bluetooth.
Adam. We need to talk.
Adam is in his room, getting ready for school. He murmurs quietly to his tablet:
Is it about that angel?
Yes. He has now been joined by a dangerous demon named Hastur. H. A. S. T. U. R. Can you four meet me after school at Tadfield Manor?
Won't that be too late?
No. Unlikely Hastur will be out during the day. I'm taking Aziraphale to London.
(Adam ponders a moment.) We'll be there. Around 3:30.
Go the back entrance. Bring your bikes inside. Small conference room, third door on the right. I'll have Mary provide an early tea. And I'll message you if anything happens during the day. Ciao, kid.
2.
Angel, I have to get to London this morning. Some business that can't wait. Come with me.
Shouldn't I stay . . . to protect the children?
I've warned Adam. They'll be safe in school all day. Very unlikely for Hastur to be out in daylight. We'll return before school lets out.
Very well. I can practice my kendo!
Aziraphale's blue-flaming katana that The Almighty had given him last year was his new obsession. Crowley was not at all surprised when the angel became a member of a kendo dojo and started katana training. When something caught his fancy he pursued it doggedly despite all odds. Maskelyne's magic classes. Riding velocipedes. And that club where the "young gentlemen" met to entertain themselves by learning the gavotte . . . and some other things. Aziraphale was thrilled with his sword, and wanted to know how to use it.
Crowley had been trying for a good while to encourage Aziraphale to get up to speed on the internet, with limited success, until the angel had discovered YouTube and a dojo that offered virtual kendo instruction as well as in person practice sessions. Aziraphale had since become quite competent online – a miracle, that conversion, really and truly. No other word for it. Crowley wondered if it had something to do with being a keen reader, but whatever it was that enabled Aziraphale's computer skills, Crowley was no longer anxious about the angel's online presence and trusted him to set up his little online video training sessions without incident. A large wheeled mirror had been brought into the Mayfair flat, which could be positioned alongside the flat screen in the lounge so Aziraphale could check his posture and movements against his instructor's. They had decided it would not be prudent to duplicate this training setup in the bookshop. That sword had quite a reach, and Aziraphale preferred to use it instead of a wooden one. The angel also preferred to store his tailored traditional hakama and kendogi on a special rack in Crowley's bedroom. Meticulous as always about his clothing, it often took him nearly half an hour to make sure that all the various knots in straps and sash were correctly and neatly tied and the garments perfectly adjusted, even if a session was only going to be hours by himself, watching videos and practicing basics before the flat screen. He could simply magic the garments on, of course, but deemed that unsporting, and so he only used magic for a few quick touch-ups as needed, and to restore his uniform to spotless condition after a practice session.
3.
Sandalphon and Hastur exit a rental agency. An anxious clerk escorts them to a red Mercedes CLA-250 sitting glowing in its spot in the lot ("You just have to keep the smartkey in your pocket, sir.") and then departs in haste back to the office. The two get into the car. It backs slowly and carefully, then crawls out of the lot and out onto the roadway. Sandalphon doesn't know how to use the navigation and route guidance system, but is forced to pull over for a longish stop to study the agency-provided instruction brochure once they find themselves on the outskirts of what is obviously Winchester. The car's climate control system is not dealing well with Hastur's tobacco and sewer stink, adding to Sandalphon's ire. A very surly pair decide to split up for some mutual escape once the red car is finally parked in the straggling dirt driveway adjacent to their derelict cottage on the outskirts of Tadfield. Hastur goes into the cottage, possibly to light a rollup and play solitaire. Sandalphon shrugs his coat to magic away Hastur's smell ("Phew!"), gets out his guidebook, and once again pretends to be a strolling tourist.
4.
A small conference room in Tadfield Manor. The Them are munching through a tea of sandwiches (salmon, cucumber) and scones with cream and gooseberry jam (Wensleydale's favorite. Mary likes kids and remembers a comment he'd made on a previous occasion.). Crowley enters, late, having spent 20 minutes by himself in the café sipping a cappuccino instead. Crowley loathes tea.
Thought I'd better let you four get yourselves outside of some tea first. We have some hard planning ahead of us. Please continue your snack while we talk.
He seats himself on the chair that has been provided for him across from Brian and Wensley. Adam is at the head of the table, Pepper opposite gets up and goes to the trolley, returns with a plate of small cakes and passes it around. Wensleydale hesitates, then takes a delectably irresistible-looking chocolate frosted cake. A tiny microsecond smile flits unnoticed across Crowley's face.
As Young Master Adam has no doubt informed you, Mr. Shadwell learned that the angel Sandalphon now has the demon Hastur as a sidekick, and that they planned to obtain a car. And thanks to Adam's little talent for rifling databases, we now know that they have, against all odds, managed to rent a red Mercedes CLA-250. Adam, you've shown them pictures of what this car looks like?
Adam nods. Crowley grins.
Nothing inconspicuous about a car like that, eh?
The Them all grin in return.
What does Hastur look like, Crowley? I couldn't find any pictures of him on the internet.
Doubtful even the internet could provide that. (Although Crowley does remember a cartoon video floating around the back alleyways of Reddit. About three rabbits, one of which rips off its head mask and then murders another into a pool of blood. ) These days he looks like a tall tramp who's been sleeping rough. Dirty beige raincoat. Scarf. Ragged black fingerless gloves. Black platform work boots. Straggly blond wig. Tries to cover the toad that sits on top of his head. Black eyes. Bad skin. Green slime. If you see him, run. And do not stop running until you are inside either your homes or the bookshop. He also stinks like a sewer, but if you can smell that, you're too close, and it's too late.
Crowley observes that the kids aren't quite realizing the danger Hastur presents. How could they, really? He removes his glasses and slips a bit into Demon mode, gazing at each in turn much as a large king cobra with flared hood might do when considering an imminent strike on a rodent. The four stiffen back into their chairs.
Hastur. Eats. People. And he doesn't need to be within arm's reach to do it.
Adam looks gravely at Crowley.
You know him from Hell, don't you.
Crowley is unable to stop the tidal wave of memories about just exactly how well he knows Hastur. He half turns away from the table, as if about to retch. Struggles to get control. This scares the kids even more than the Demon act. Wensleydale looks frightened, but gets up and walks around the table and stands timidly before Crowley.
Mr. Crowley, can I get you some tea?
Crowley stifles a snarled response, gets a flash of inspiration.
Tea. Tea. Yes. A cup of tea would be good.
Wensley goes to the samovar on the trolley and returns carefully so the generous cupful doesn't slop onto the saucer. Only Pepper notices that the tea in the cup subtly changes color as Crowley takes a long swallow. Their eyes meet. Crowley flashes her a brief smirk. Puts his glasses back on. A faint aroma of scotch wafts across the room.
Brian pipes up:
Crowley, why are they here in Tadfield? What are they after?
They're after Adam.
