Chapter Four
Of Books and a Bentley
Prophesy 428:
Ere thee can see the light, thee has't to deal with the darkness
Newt proved himself to be an eager worker. The first report he delivered through Sergeant Shadwell to Mr. Fell was exceptional.
Shadwell had even expressed some amount of surprise in the volumes of a raised eyebrow and had been impressed enough to say to Newt, "Good work, lad. Very good. We'll make a soldier of yeh yet."
Coming from Shadwell, this was praise indeed, almost equal to a badge of honor by his standards.
Fell took the lengthy report over to his desk to read.
He had to admit the number of pages did worry him. If Caudery was involved in illegal activities in any way, did he really want to know? Ignorance is bliss, as they say. Fell put on his reading glasses and made his choice. He needed to know.
Fell's worries subsided as he read. Caudery did travel all over the city and into other parts of the country on a regular basis, but there was nothing to show these trips were for anything questionable. Fell had been with Caudery during a few of these times.
There was a note scribbled in pen on the bottom of the page which caught his eye. It was about speed. The note read as follows:
Doubtful if the subject has ever heard of such a thing as a speed limit. Nearly lost him twice when it appears he was driving over 90 miles an hour, though this exact number must be wrong, as no one can possibly drive a car this fast on Oxford Street during rush hour.
Fell frowned significantly.
No wonder Caudery had served time in the penitentiary. He had apparently not learned anything from the experience.
"Oh, dear, dear," Fell muttered, reading on.
Speeding was one thing. Being homeless was another altogether.
Fell read with great concern that Caudery was sleeping in his car. Nowhere in the report was there any mention of Caudery going home to a flat or house at the end of the day.
Fell sat back. He was shocked that he hadn't noticed it sooner.
Caudery must have been incarcerated longer than he let on. He must have lost his home. Fell shook his head, upset with himself. No wonder Caudery didn't like to talk about his past. The situation explained the houseplants residing in the back of Caudery's car and why he always wore the same suit. After a month had gone by, Fell had begun to wonder.
There was another point of interest attached to the car. It was always parked in a different place, never the same. This could be an unimportant detail of course, but it was in the report. Fell counted the locations. Some of them were full across London. It gave the impression that Caudery was worried about being followed. Perhaps reckless driving and being inebriated weren't the only felonies Caudery had committed.
Fell put down the report. He could try his hand at this. He could boot up his old computer and see if he could navigate through the world wide web. He thought it was called the internet these days.
Fell glanced across the room at the white cube with its dark screen.
How did one do a search for a person?
Fell got up.
He plugged in the power cord and turned on the computer. The screen lit up. Fell pulled out the keyboard and started to type. He figured he would just learn as he went. There was no harm in that.
Caudery was taking precautions against being followed and it wasn't because of Private Pulsifer. Caudery might have noticed Newt and his conspicuous blue car sooner if he hadn't been on the lookout for Hastur and Ligur. Every time he saw a pair of characters, one tall with a slight hunch and the other short and squat, he nearly panicked. Once he drove off the road and twice he hid under parked lorries. So far, all had been false alarms.
After crawling out from under a van, Caudery had to admit this was ridiculous. If Hell really wanted him, they would find him no matter where he was or what he did.
Caudery dusted off his suit. This gloomy attitude didn't fit him. So what if he was in the bad books?1 He'd managed to scrape by for this long and enjoy himself while he was at it. No reason to stop now. He wouldn't let Hastur think he was intimidated by him. Only the cowardly could be intimidated.
Caudery undid his soiled tie and tossed it down a storm drain. A new tie was miracled out of the air with a snap of his fingers. Caudery whistled the tune of Ball of Confusion (that's what the world is today) as he did up his tie.
Caudery remembered that he'd just heard from his editor, who wanted him to cover a story in Edinburgh. Oddly enough, he was also supposed to head there to do a quick temptation. He could do both at once, or at least give the appearance of doing them. He wasn't going to give Hell any business if he could help it. The Times paid him for the articles he wrote, even if they didn't end up being published. Head office from Down Below didn't bother paying him. His current status Down There was lower than a camp counselor, and as apposed to most camp employees, he wasn't a willing volunteer. If he had to compare it to a human equivalent, Caudery would probably think of indented servant-hood, except humans had the option of life after death. Caudery had only eternity.
However, Caudery was still on earth. He still had his human form and his freedom, even if it was something like being on parole. He had to remind himself he was the only demon assigned to earth for the foreseeable present. All he had to worry about was looking like he was up to no good. He knew how to do that well enough. He'd certainly had enough practice. He'd just have to up his game.
Caudery stopped thinking about his worries. He told Fell he'd be out of town for the rest of the week and gave his editor some of his time.
A small blue car followed him all the way to Scotland and back again, much to Caudery's amusement. He went the long route just for the fun of watching the little car try and keep up. Caudery actually laughed out loud. He was enjoying himself immensely.
Fell soon discovered that turning on the computer was one thing, while actually figuring out how the internet worked was something else entirely.
The angel used his computer for doing his accounts and that was all. He didn't know the first thing about browsers, IP addresses, disc fragmentation or the hard drive. He only vaguely knew how the thing worked. It did what he wanted it to do. The internet was a completely foreign concept to him. He didn't even know if his computer was compatible with the web. If a computer was too old, it couldn't work. Fortunately, Fell's model was just new enough. A year earlier and it wouldn't have functioned at all.
It took Fell several hours of consulting the operation manual after his first unsuccessful attempt. Half of what he read he didn't understand at all. Most of the words he read he'd never heard of before, let alone had any idea how to pronounce. He knew what it was he was looking for, but not exactly how to find it.
Finally, near the end of the manual, he found the section headed "World Wide Web."
Fell adjusted his reading glasses and plunged forward.
There was a switch on the the back of the computer monitor. Fell pulled the monitor out. He found the switch and pushed it to the on position.
Then he powered up the computer and had to select a network. The first one he clicked was busy. The next was more promising. Once the network was online and the browser up, (Fell had no idea why it was called that), he opened the search engine.
Fell sat on his stool for a moment, staring at the cursor blinking on the screen. Since the whole point of this venture was to search for Caudery, he did just that.
Slowly and deliberately, Fell typed in Anthony J. Caudery and hit the enter key.
The results were overwhelming, though very few in reality matched. Fell found the address of a flat in Mayfair listed under that name, as well as the title to a black 1934 Bentley sports saloon roadster.2
Near the bottom of the second page of the search, Fell discovered the records of a court case dating from seven months past. Out of interest, he clicked on the link.
The article he read was the same as the story Caudery had told him, though in more words and almost sparser details. The judge appeared to have little to no idea why Caudery had come up before him. Caudery didn't know either and neither did the police officer who had brought him in.
"A very patched-up business," Fell muttered to himself.
He clicked on the link to the Tadfield penitentiary. Out of curiosity, he made his way to the list of inmates. Caudery's profile hadn't been removed yet. He was still listed under the C's.
The profile featured a very unflattering photograph of Caudery without his sunglasses in prison wear. He looked miserable, holding up a number card. The flash of the camera must have caught him, Fell reasoned, as Caudery was squinting, his eyes barely open.
The information on the profile was bare, if anything. No date of birth, no job, no background, no relations, no relatives, nothing. Only height, weight and complication.
The description was one sentence.
"So I got arrested- what else do you want to know?"
Fell had to smile in-spite of himself. That sounded so much like Caudery. He could almost hear him saying it.
Fell used the internet a little longer before deciding he'd had enough of it. Strangely enough, it felt more dishonest to research Caudery on the web then it did to use the witchfinder army. Fell would stick to the old methods. He was familiar with them and they worked just fine. The internet and the twenty-first century would have to wait. He had other hings to do.
Fell put away his reading glasses and turned off his computer. The screen went dark and Fell blissfully left the modern world to go back to his dusty old books once more.
Newt stuck to his assignment with a perseverance a leech would have admired. If there was one ability Newton Pulsifer had, it was determination. He had never failed for a lack of trying, and as this particular job had absolutely zero electronics involved, he felt that his chances of success were significantly higher than usual.
Newt's car had somehow managed to reach Edinburgh in one piece and he was a little amazed to trek back to London without breaking down once. As it was, he only held up traffic. If Newt had known more people, his car would have been famous among his acquaintance for its failures. Gaffer tape and metal clothes hangers were two of Newt's best friends whenever something should go amiss.
Newt noted that the vintage car he was following seemed to have no issues with going around stopped traffic or roadblocks. When Newt tried to do the same, he got honked at. Caudery also didn't pay any tolls. Being the law-abiding citizen he was, Newt did.
At the end of the week, Newt's typed up reports were handed in to Shadwell, who read over them with a grunt and then passed them on to their respective parties.
Newt had very little on the bookshop owner. Compared to Caudery, who dashed about all over the city on a day-to-day basis, Fell was very much a homebody. He was, in fact, a very boring charge to watch.
When Fell wasn't reading books, he was organizing them, and when he wasn't doing that, he was buying books.3
His other activities mainly included writing and eating. Several times a week he left the bookshop for cafes, once including the cafe in the national museum of art. And twice a week, on the two days beginning with a T, Fell would met someone. Newt couldn't get a glimpse of this person. He was often in the wrong position to see anything other than the back of a head. Sometimes Fell and his mysterious associate would met in the bookshop, other times in the parks or the cafes Fell frequented.
Newt was dissatisfied with how his shadowing of Fell was going. In order to gain any useful information, Newt decided he would have to observe Fell more closely.
Maybe he needed help in his shop? It was worth a try.
Newt put on his normal jacket, smoothed his unruly hair and stepped through the bookshop's heavy oak doors to find out. The bell softly dinged as the doors opened.
Newt's first impression of A. Z. Fell and Company was to stand still and stare.
The shop was both quaint and fashionable, and the owner's passion was evident everywhere. Anyone who had any amount of respect for books would be impressed by the sheer volume of books. The shop was filled from floor to ceiling. The tall bookcases and shelves were stuffed from the tiled floor to the curved ceiling overhead with more books than Newt had ever seen in his life. Light poured down from a round skylight window, bathing everything in a warm, golden glow.
Newt forgot why he was there. He was overcome by the beautiful, almost otherworldly feeling around him. It was almost like a spell.
There were a few other people mingling in the shop, but Newt didn't see them. He only had eyes for the old leather bindings. Newt wandered through the stacks, finding himself in the poetry section.
He took down a volume of Sir Walter Scott. Newt had never studied serious literature, but he began to read. At first he read silently, then as he got further into the lengthy poem, he started to quote it softly. He reached the sixth canto.
"Oh, what a tangled web we weave when at first we practice to deceive," he said aloud.
"Sir Walter Scott's Marmion," said a voice.
Newt looked up to see Mr. Fell standing at the end of the bookshelf.
"It's beautiful," Newt said.
The bookshop owner's face changed and he broke into a smile.
"How nice you think so," he said. "I've found most young people these days don't appreciate good literature."
"No, they don't, do they?"
Newt put the book back on the shelf carefully, not shoving it, trying to win more good favor from Mr. Fell. 4
"Your collection is very impressive," Newt went on.
"Thank you." Mr. Fell beamed proudly. "Was there anything specific you might be looking for?"
"Um, well…" Newt quickly racked his brain to come up with a subject. What surfaced was the furthest he could get from what he was really interested in.
"Demonology?"
If Newt had feared an adverse reaction from the bookshop owner, he had no reason to. Fell's smile brightened.
"You've come to the right place, my boy. This way."
Fell led Newt through the maze of bookshelves.
"The section on the occult and supernatural is rather extensive, if I do say so myself," Fell explained. "I have books on angels as well as demons, the Heavens, Hell, witches, warlocks, religion, etc… pretty much any subject one could think of. Along side prophesy, demonology is one of my specialties."
"Oh," said Newt. This was feeling a little like he was back in Shadwell's flat, though Fell seemed more intelligent and was cleaner. He was definitely not as boring as Newt had originally thought. There was a little glint in the shopkeeper's eye. Newt hadn't been alive long enough to classify what it was. Possibly timelessness, he thought.
"Here we are." Fell stopped in front of a shelf. "Both these levels," he said. "The subject you're looking for begins here and ends… here, though if you're looking for both sides of the coin, I would recommend this volume. It covers the supernatural in great depth."
Fell pulled a large old tome down from the middle of the shelf and handed it to Newt. Newt wasn't ready for the weight of the book and very nearly dropped it.
"Wow," he said, studying the cover. If he knew anything about books, he would have to guess the volume in his hands was at least a hundred years old. Newt wasn't sure he should be trusted with it. At least there wasn't a power button. There was less chance he would cause it to explode.
"I have to warn you, there are some… inaccuracies," Fell said. "I wouldn't take the entire text at its face value."
"Be discerning?" Newt ventured.
"Yes, exactly."
Newt looked at the book he was holding with a sense of foreboding. It had to be at least two thousand pages long. "Would it be okay if I read it here and come back regularly?"
"Of course!"
This almost seemed to thrill Mr. Fell. Newt saw his opportunity.
"Look, I was wondering… um," Newt was quickly losing his nerve. "Would you consider taking on an assistant?"
"An assistant?" This was a foreign concept to Fell. He'd never before had any help with his books.
"It is a huge shop," Newt said. "Too big for one person, I would think."
"Hmm." Fell was thinking. He took off his reading glasses and folded them up thoughtfully. "Maybe I could use an assistant," he said. "The afternoons tend to be busier than the mornings…"
"I'm free after eleven," Newt suggested. "If you're looking for someone, that is."
"Really? Well," Fell paused.
Newt waited.
Fell smiled.
"I think that's a marvelous idea," he said.
Newt felt relieved. He removed a hand from the heavy volume to shake Mr. Fell's extended hand.
"Aloysius Fell," the bookshop owner said.
"I'm Newton, Newton Pulsifer," Newt said nervously.
"Welcome to the team, Newton," said Fell. "I suppose two can make a team, can't they? Come through to the back and we'll draw up an agreement of sorts."
"Uh, just Newt is fine, Mr. Fell."
Though Fell had never had an assistant in the two hundred years he'd been running his bookshop, he did not regret his decision to take one on.
Newt proved to be an excellent employee. He made an effort to arrive early every morning before the opening hour, though this proved to be more difficult then he had thought, due to the strange hours of said shop. After the first few days, Fell just told him to come in for nine am.
Newt was also eager to learn and he had a brain that retained anything he learned.5 Fell taught him about the books, the different sections in the shop, (of which there were over twenty), how many books were in each section, and very subtly, how to not sell books. Deception wasn't something Newt was good at by nature, but he did try.
Every lunch break, Newt tackled the book he was "borrowing." He really wasn't interested in the supernatural, yet he desired to stay in Mr. Fell's good feelings.
So read he did.
Newt ingested more information on spiritual beings than he could have ever wanted to know. From gremlins and sprites to hell hounds and demons of various ranks and functions to angels and archangels, cherubim and seraphim. Newt had no idea how much of the book was true. He suspected a good portion was from the recesses of some drunken author's blurred mind. Or from an early copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales at best. However, little did Newt know just how useful the information he was feeding himself was. At some point in the future he might find himself needing it, and it might not be in the very distant future.
In reading the chapter on cherubim, or of cherub angels, Newt pictured a slightly round, slightly short angel in a jumper and tartan bow tie. He didn't do this on purpose, but there was something rather unusual about his employer. Newt just didn't know what it was.
In filing new books, Newt still needed Mr. Fell's help. Fell had started to buy books which had no place to go, mainly because many of them were published after 1929 and Fell had previously abhorred anything newer than 1900.6
Newt had a pile of these latest purchases in his arms and was trying to find an empty space on a shelf, any shelf really, and couldn't. As a last resort, Newt could put the books on a chair in some corner, but he didn't think Fell would like that. At the risk of seeming ignorant, Newt had to go ask Fell.
Newt heard Fell's voice coming from the front of the shop and made his way over. Fell was speaking to someone. Newt almost dropped his pile of books as he tried to shift them.
"Excuse me, Mr. Fell, but where should I put these?" Newt asked, then promptly dropped every single book on the floor.
Standing next to Fell was Mr. Caudery and he was looking directly at Newt.
Newt turned red as he fumbled with the books. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know…"
Perhaps Fell was feeling more relaxed than usual, because Newt didn't get the scolding he was expecting. He didn't get scolded at all.
"No harm done, Newton. Just be more careful."
"Yes, sir." Newt gathered up the last book, trying to not stare at Caudery. Those dark glasses unnerved him.
"Oh, Caudery, this is my new assistant, Newt," said Fell.
"Really?" Caudery's voice chilled Newt.
"Um, pleasure to meet you," Newt forced a smile.
Caudery returned the smile with something of a grin, a grin of a predator with sharp teeth.
"The pleasure is all mine, Newton," said Caudery.
Newt concentrated on keeping his grip on the books. He was fairly certain Mr. Caudery recognized him. Newt wasn't unique in his appearance, but he figured the man could pick him out in a crowd if he had a desire to. The thought made Newt just a wee bit scared. He had a very open face and he hoped his feelings weren't being publicly displayed all over it.7
"I wouldn't worry," Caudery said to him. "You'll find a place to fit those in."
Though this was directed at the books, Newt had a unfriendly feeling the man was referring to Newt's undercover work.
"Yes, sir," Newt stammered. He looked to Fell hopefully, who sighed.
"Put them behind the cookery books. They'll be in nobody's way there."
Newt scurried off, rather like a mouse from the sight of a cat.
Caudery's gaze followed him.
"Jumpy little character, isn't he?" he remarked to Fell.
"Hmm, yes," Fell frowned. "People make him nervous."
"You mean I do."
"No, not you specifically. Anyone."
"If you say so, Fell. Most people tend to get nervous around me."
"I don't see why," Fell said with clear honesty.
Caudery raised an eyebrow at him. "You really don't, do you?"
"No. Should I?"
Caudery didn't answer that question and only said "You should get out more," and changed the subject.
"S-s-so, shall we do Tuesday at the cafe?"
"Oh, absolutely." Fell brightened. "I have a stack of pages written. A few of them might be quite good- so I think anyway."
Caudery smiled at the angel's attempts to remain humble. "I'll let you know if they are."
"Oh, good." Fell smiled. "I did have a thought about the third chapter-"
"Where the hell hound wreaks havoc in the village?"
"Yes. What if the dog ends up being a small mutt-type instead of the huge black kind? Something like a little black and white terrier…"
The voices of the pair faded as they drifted towards the back of the shop. Newt didn't hear anymore from his hiding spot by the grandfather clock. He looked down at the sketchpad where he'd been taking notes.
He was puzzled.
Why would Mr. Fell and Mr. Caudery want each other spied on when they already knew each other in the first place? Perhaps they were rivals in some disreputable business? Newt couldn't picture the ethical Mr. Fell as part of the mafia. Newt's imagination was somewhat limited in this area. Caudery on the other hand, was another story. They didn't seem like rivals, however, more like friends. Why these two complete opposites would be working on a writing project and eating lunch together, Newt couldn't fathom.
He would continue taking notes, writing his reports and stocking the books. The newspaper work he had managed to cut back on except for on the weekends. And if Mr. Fell ever decided to take him on full time, Newt might be able to happily excuse himself from snipping out headlines for the rest of his natural life.
Fell was wondering just how to ask Caudery the question. Etiquette strictly forbid him from directly asking if he was homeless. That would never do. He would have to be very subtle. Just hint at the subject. Ask indirect questions. Inspect the car more closely, and observe Caudery's reactions. Fell was fairly certain he was capable of this. He just needed the right opportunity.
When Caudery offered to drive him to the cafe, Fell accepted. It wasn't without reluctance that he did so, as he really had no desire to be anywhere near that big black beast of a car. He didn't like it.8
But Caudery clearly had a deep affection for the car. Fell had seen it in the way Caudery gently handled it, the way he looked at it and cared for it. The paintwork had not a scratch on it, and the chrome gleamed brightly with a fine polish. As a friend, it seemed to Fell worth losing some of his own comfort for the sake of earning more of Caudery's trust.
Caudery arrived early on Tuesday.
Fell heard the screech of tyres at the kurb outside. He had been occupying himself in nervously reorganizing the books in the prophesy section. Again.
He'd also been wondering if it would be discourteous to fake a headache. Since it would be a lie, probably.
"Ready?" Caudery announced himself as he strode through the shop doors.
"Oh, yes. I suppose so," Fell said, getting his hat and coat from the stand by the door. He glanced in the gold-framed mirror he kept there. He was hoping he didn't look as nervous as he felt.
Caudery was dressed in his usual suit, red shirt, black tie, and chain, but without the fedora. After leaving it at the cafe for the seventh time, Caudery had finally given up on it. He seemed more cheerful today. Fell could only think it had to do with the car. His chance to show it off like.
Fell locked the shop doors behind him and turned to face the nemesis.
"So, this is your car," he said, looking over the black and silver automobile with caution as it very seemed to sparkle in the pale afternoon light.
Fell did have to admit, it was a beautiful car.
"Yup, it is," Caudery said with a grin, leaning his arm on the roof rather proudly, like a bragging parent showing off his child's awards.
Fell didn't have any issues with how the car looked. It was the performance. He distinctly remembered the first day he'd seen the Bentley back in St. James Park. He could also remember the speed with which Caudery had been driving it. Fell was more of the bus-riding, horse-drawn carriage, slower travel sort. Anything over 30 mph was too fast for him. He had to ask.
"Is this the car that you were, um…" Fell paused. "Reckless in?"
Caudery shrugged.
"According to one local police constable and a judge, I'm afraid so."
"You don't still drive recklessly, do you?" Fell asked this with hands clasped anxiously in front of him, working around the brim of his hat.
"I drive fast, Fell, not recklessly," Caudery replied.
The angel was still hesitant.
Caudery opened the passenger door and got in on the other side.
"You'll get used to it and I give you my word I won't get anyone killed."
Fell reasoned it would be rude to refuse after such a declaration and so he gathered up what little drop of courage he found and got in the car. It was very roomy inside, in spite of the various houseplants lopping over from the backseat. Fell had to share his seat with an assortment of music. CDs he thought they were called.
"You can put those in the glove compartment," Caudery said, turning on the ignition, then the radio. Some sort of music Fell didn't know began to play.
Far, far from the light
Here the night creatures call
In the cold breath they howl…
The glove compartment contained several more pairs of sunglasses, which Fell found curious. He squeezed in as many of the CDs as he could and held the rest.
"What's a Velvet Underground?" he asked, looking at a CD case.
"You wouldn't like it," Caudery said. "It's not your type of music."
"Oh, modern stuff," Fell said. "Bebop."
Caudery shook his head while Fell started to search for a seat belt without success.
"It doesn't have any," Caudery said with a devilish grin on his lips, throwing the car into gear.
Fell's eyes grew round, but he hadn't a chance to protest. He gripped the seat as Caudery put his foot down. The Bentley lept away from the kurb, accelerating so fast that Fell's stomach was almost left behind. Fell had no idea how anyone could hit 70 mph in Soho and live to tell about it. Or was it 77?9
"You'll be fine," Caudery calmly reassured him with something like amusement in his voice.
"Fine," Fell mumbled, shutting his eyes. He wasn't so sure he would be.
The song turned noisy with the high hum of electric guitars.
I'll be there, no matter what you're going through
In the dark I care, I'm holding on, I'm hoping on
It's still the same old me inside…
"Why do you keep houseplants in your car?" Fell suddenly blurted out. "Won't they ruin the leather?"
"Nah, you water them right, you don't have a problem," Caudery replied, ignoring Fell's first question.
Fell grabbed the pot of a fern as it zoomed past him towards the windscreen. "But why do you keep them in here?" he cried, hugging the fern to his chest as the car swerved around a pedestrian on a crosswalk.
Fell shut his eyes again and almost didn't catch that Caudery wasn't answering him. Fell opened one eye and glanced sideways at the driver.
Caudery was driving the car with both hands clenched tightly on the wheel, eyes looking straight ahead and grin gone. The cheerful Caudery had been replaced by someone else. He looked haunted.
On and on, searching for the clearer view
Winning and losing an inner war
Wondering what we do it for…
Fell forgot about his stomach and opened both eyes.
"What is it, Caudery?"
Caudery mumbled something Fell didn't hear.
"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that."
"I said I live in my car," Caudery repeated, not taking his eyes from the road.
Fell relaxed his hold on the potted fern. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked sympathetically.
"It's embarrassing!" Caudery took his hands from the steering wheel to demonstrate.
"Watch the road!" Fell exclaimed.
"Sorry," Caudery said, apologizing for the only second time in over six thousand years.10
"Did you have an apartment or someplace before…. ?"
"Before prison? Yeah, I did. Had a flat out in Mayfair. Pretty nice. Didn't really live there, though. Just a place to go back to at the end of the day."
"And I gather you lost it?"
"Possibly," Caudery replied. "Who knows. It's the likeliest of all possible scenarios."
"Oh. Would you- watch out for that lorry!"
Caudery drove on the wrong side of the road to get around it.
"I know what I'm doing, Fell. And no, I wouldn't. Thanks all the same."
No matter where you're going to
I'll be there
I'm holding on, believe it
We'll be walking in the light
'cos there'll be no place left to hide…
Caudery pulled the Bentley to a gentle stop across the street from the cafe. The potted fern was still in Fell's lap. Fell was gripping it like the plant was his firstborn child. Caudery gave him an amused look while he switched off the engine.
"Getting a little chummy with that fern, are you Fell?" Caudery asked with a smile, his sense of humor back.
Fell blushed and uttered something about not wanting the plant to break anything and hastily put it down next to the peace lily. Then he sat for a moment to breath. The car was still and no longer moving. He had survived.
"Okay?" Caudery asked.
"Er- should I even bother asking how fast we were going?"
"No, better not," Caudery replied.
"Good." Fell got out. He was happy to note his legs still worked exactly as they should.
"Jittery?"
Caudery was twirling his car keys on an index finger, casually. He took the whole concept of driving too casually for Fell's comfort. But Fell didn't say so. He just smiled, if a bit queasily and said, "Fine. Just catching my breath."
"Well, don't terry too long. I'm ready for lunch. What do you say to a nice omelet and a fine wine?"
Fell paused, thinking. "Do they even serve anything fancier than pie here?"
"Don't see why not. You managed to get crepes. I can get an omelet. The wine is easy. Come on. And if not," Caudery continued as he and Fell crossed the street, "We can always try the Ritz."
"The Ritz?" Fell said, all questions instantly gone. He adored the Ritz.
"Yeah."
Caudery stopped and turned in the middle of the lane at the sound of delight in the angel's voice.
Fell thought he was controlling his potential excitement rather well. However, he had unconsciously stopped walking across a busy London street and the look on his face gave him away.
Caudery glanced at him and turned back towards the Bentley. "Change of plans. We're going to the Ritz instead."
"We are?"
Fell stared at him like a man in a trance. He was standing completely still in the middle of the road. Traffic was coming directly at him, horns blaring.
"You'll get yourself killed," Caudery said, grabbing Fell by the arm and directing him to safety.
Fell got in the car without a protest.
Caudery was now seeing just how obsessed by food his friend could be, though obsessed might not be a strong enough word. Fell had a separate compartment of his brain set aside for food memories. He could recall exactly what he'd eaten and where he'd eaten it in history.
Oysters in Rome, 41 AD.
Crepes in Paris, 1793 11
Wine tasting in London, 1862
And that is only a very minuscule sample of the angel's food recollections.
The Bentley's stereo continued to play.
We'll be walking in the light,
'cos there'll be no place left to hide...
Back to the light,
Back to the dreams that are paved with gold,
Back to the light,
Back to the land, where the sunshine heals my soul…
Most conveniently, a table for two was available the very instant they approached the Ritz.
Fell was in heaven.
Caudery found himself spending another meal mostly watching Fell eat. It was a constant source of amazement to him just how fascinating it could be to watch someone enjoy food excessively.
Notes:
-All scripture comes from the NKJV and the NIV translations.
-Credit for Back to the Light belongs to Brian May and Queen.
1Not that Hell has any other kind of record book. Heaven has two, the first being the Book of Life and the other the Book of Deeds. Hell only has one book and there was nothing good about it.
2 Fell missed a few important details on these documents. Firstly that the Bentley had been purchased by Caudery the very year it had been built, in October of 1934. The flat had been in Caudery's name since the 1970s, which should have struck Fell if he'd noticed, as Caudery looked no older than his late 30's. Also, there was no record of A. J. Caudery ever having had a drivers license. He'd never thought to register for one.
3An angel should only worship and serve God. Even though Fell didn't exactly worship books, he came very close to it.
4Newt had once mistreated his mother's copy of Joy of Cooking when he'd been small and he could still hear the scolding. He strongly suspected the book he'd just been reading was worth far more than a volume on cooking from the 1970s.
5What many of his school teachers had called 'a brain like a sponge.'
6Every single one of these books was a mystery story. Fell's passion for the crime genre had grown rapidly. His backroom was full of Agatha Christie's works, much to Caudery's amusement. The archangels would be profoundly displeased with Fell, had they known.
7Which they somewhat were, and Caudery was rather good at reading faces.
8Fell harbored a deep distrust of cars and all vehicles in general. It had to do with an incident which had occurred around the turn of the century, when the automobile was just appearing on the scene. While crossing the street one day, Fell had been hit, run over and as a result discorporated. He had viewed cars as a creation of evil ever since.
9The speed the Bentley was going was actually 99 miles per hour, but Fell doesn't need to know about this.
10The first time had been to a certain angel on a rainy afternoon in a cafe so many months ago.
11 Caudery had also been in Paris during the Rein of Terror, but he hadn't been enjoying crepes. He'd been getting completely plastered.
