"How long did Gilgamesh say it took for the floodwaters to dry up?"
"Seven days."
Crowley let out a long groan. "Somehow I think we'll be here longer than that."
Three days had passed since the storm had stopped, but the rejoicing that greeted this fact soon shifted into increasingly dipping morale for Noah's family. Food was going stale and the air was musty; meanwhile, Shem persisted in his hunt for his missing flute. Aziraphale wavered between spending more time with the humans in order to shed a calming essence over them, and avoiding them as much as possible.
Crowley and Aziraphale were currently perched on the gentle slope of the ark's roof, peering out over the sea-green water that stretched into the horizon. Crowley was right: it would be far more than seven days before all of this evaporated, even given the intensity of the rays the sun was extending over earth with unprecedented vigor.
As they sat quietly, straining their eyes to catch any hint of treetops or hillcrests among the flat expanse of waves, Aziraphale's ears pricked up at the sound of an enraged shout.
"Oh, dear," he sighed. "That would be Shem."
"Guess you have to check in on them," Crowley said without moving a muscle.
"I suppose I must," Aziraphale agreed, and descended down the hole they'd made in the roof, back into the stuffy atmosphere of the ark. Drat these humans. They needed so much supervision.
"Confess!" Shem was shouting. "I found it in your quarters!"
"What were you doing going through my things anyhow?" Ham's voice. Aziraphale upped his pace, hurrying down the boat's narrow passages towards the chaos.
"Recovering my property, clearly!" Shem roared back; Aziraphale turned a corner and the two men entered his line of vision in time for him to see Shem towering over his younger brother, brandishing the flute in the air like a weapon.
"I told you, I didn't steal it." Ham was making an effort to keep his voice level, but his brow was taut with anger. "Why would I, brother? You know I can't play it."
"Because it's an heirloom!" Shem shouted. "Because you have always been jealous of my things, and of me!"
"I give you my word I did not take it," Ham insisted, hands clenched at his sides. "Do you doubt my word?"
"If not you, who then? …That brat of yours?"
One of Ham's fists twitched, as if itching to punch the man in front of him. "You dare accuse my son of thievery?" he demanded, raising his voice at last.
"It was you or the boy, Ham. And I will have justice, I —"
"Ahem."
The two men whirled and caught sight at last of the angel observing their argument.
"My lord," Ham said quickly, approaching Aziraphale with deference and desperation in his eyes, "please, will you tell my brother I did him no wrong?"
"Master angel," Shem thundered from behind his brother, "tell my brother that he will pay for his crime!"
"Silence, both of you!" Aziraphale commanded; and silence fell. He massaged his temples, and when he spoke again his voice was calm, soothing. "I knew two brothers, much like yourselves, back when the world was new. They were both good men, with a good father — but envy ate away at one brother's heart, and soon enough, he slayed the other."
"Good my lord," Shem interrupted, "we know of this tale alread —" Aziraphale held up one hand, and Shem's mouth closed.
"Brothers ought not quarrel; it goeth against God," he continued. "And when bitterness poisons a family, surely it cometh from an insidious source. A serpent winds through your midst, and just as that jealous brother was told long ago, I say to you: you must not let sin strike, but rather you must subdue it. Ham did not take your flute from you, Shem: an evil presence did. So I will hear no more of this argument." He imbued his last statement with heavenly authority.
Shem did not look convinced, but after a final angry look at his brother, he nodded. "You will hear of it no more," he conceded, and withdrew from the chamber.
"Thank you, holy one," Ham said gratefully. He gave an awkward jerk of his waist, as if he was unsure whether or not to bow, and exited after his brother.
Aziraphale made his way out of the chamber as well. He found a few other humans standing just outside it, including Ham's boy, Canaan, and several women. They didn't say anything, merely lowered their heads in deference as he passed.
"Back so soon?" The demon looked over languidly as Aziraphale stuck his head through the opening in the roof and drew in a deep breath of sun-warmed air.
"The humans were upset, but it was nothing some angelic intervention couldn't solve," he replied matter-of-factly as he settled himself on the roof. "Shem found his missing flute in Ham's quarters," he added, watching the demon's face.
Crowley's expression gave nothing away. "Imagine that," was all he said, his eyes closed and his body relaxed.
"I told Shem to let it go," Aziraphale continued. "No need to blame other humans when there is a serpent in our midst."
Crowley's face twitched oddly, as if he were about to open his eyes but thought better of it. "Hmm. Typical heavenly nonsense metaphor." His voice was carefully casual, but his muscles had gone taut, ready to spring up and defend himself if necessary. "I suppose the humans ate it right up."
"Crowley." Aziraphale heaved a sigh. "I know it was you. But no matter — if that's the worst mischief you get up to on this voyage I suppose I should be glad."
The demon did not reply, but his body relaxed again.
Aziraphale looked out across the unbroken expanse of water, enjoying the wind that ruffled his dark curls. He had no idea when the earth would finally dry out, and Heaven did not seem forthcoming with any answers. But — he glanced over at the demon sprawled catlike in the sun, dark hair swirling in the breeze — part of him hoped it would be a while yet.