This chapter contains threats of bodily harm to a certain demon and mentions of drinking and smoking, in amounts only a supernatural entity could handle.
Chapter Eight
Of a Baby and Whiskey
Prophesy 001
All is not as it would seemeth, f'r one of thee doest not speaketh true. The devile lurks on the doorstep, oh celestial one of the Eastern Gate, and lief enow thee shalt knoweth all…
Caudery was setting a record. He was clocking in at 115 mph out of Soho, the fastest he had yet driven in that particular section of London.
It was not a good day, not any longer.
Caudery's presence was requested-no, required.
Hastur had said he would be waiting. Hastur had a way of making even the simplest and shortest of notes read like a death sentence.
Caudery was muttering all manner of things under his breath, mainly curse words he would never dare to say to Hastur's face. Or to even think when he was within hearing distance. 1
"Dear God," Caudery mumbled. "Why now?"
He hit the steering wheel with a fist. Just when everything was going so well. He'd almost forgotten what he was. Now he couldn't hope to forget again. Caudery uttered another swear word and turned the radio on. The CD in the player had been residing in the Bentley for close to three weeks now.
Hey you boy, hey you, hey you boy
Think that you know what you're doing?
You think you're gonna set things to rights…
The sounds of Queen did not soothe his morbid mood. He was too worried.
What did Hastur have to say to him now? What had he done now?
A very unpleasant idea hit him. Head office could have found out what Fell was.
Associating with an angel…
Caudery shook his head. He wouldn't think about that. This was just a meeting, not a trial. Hastur should be alone. It was only when Ligur was with him that Caudery really had a cause to be truly alarmed. Alone, Hastur wasn't as harsh. Still unpleasant, but less so.
You gonna fight from the inside
Attack from the rear, fight from the inside
You can't win with your hands tied
Fight from the inside, fight from the inside
Right down the line…
As he continued to drive, Caudery became more mellow. Not that he was any less agitated, but he stopped thinking of curses. The lights of the city faded as he headed out of London.
Hey you boy, hey you, hey you boy
Think that you know what you're doing?
"It's just a meeting," he reminded himself. "Just a meeting. No big deal. Nothing to worry about. Oh, hell, who am I kidding?"
Caudery wasn't fooling anyone, least of all himself.
He was scared. He was bloody scared.
He turned up the volume and increased his speed to 162 mph.
You can't win with your hands tied
Fight from the inside, fight from the inside
Right down the line…
Somewhere east of Slough, a police car's blue flashing lights began following the Bentley. Caudery ignored the lights, made a gesture at the rear view mirror and drove on, leaving his pursuers behind in the darkness. Through fog and the stillness of the countryside Caudery thundered in the Bentley, scaring most of the awake wildlife on his way.
A gloomy stone church came into view much sooner than he would have wished. The Bentley's headlights shone over the churchyard, full of old and decaying tombstones. The very edge of the lights fell over two figures lurking in the far shadows. One was tall, the other short.
Caudery felt his heart sink down to his boots. Two of them. Couldn't anything good.2 Caudery slowly counted to ten and got out of the car. He weaved his way up the path among the stones. He was greeted by Hastur's raspy voice.
"All hail Satan," he said at Caudery's approach.
Ligur repeated it. Caudery did not. He never did.
"Evening," he said in what he hoped was a vague tone.
"Crowley," Hastur said, rolling a lit cigarette in his grubby fingers. Even in the twilight his black eyes were clearly visible as if it had been day. Ligur's red eyes watched Caudery from under Hastur's shadow. He was twirling a stick in his hands.
Though mostly human in appearance, the two dukes of Hell were far from human. Hastur was far too tall, his skin had a greenish hue, with various odd markings on his face and neck and peeking out from his coat cuffs. Ligur was small, but his size was deceiving. He could easily break bones in half with his bare hands. He looked even less human than Hastur did, with horizontal pupils and a pair of little horns protruding from his curly hair. Both demons had stringy, greasy hair and wore scorched, grimy clothing and the nails on their hands hidden in black fingerless gloves were far too long.3
"Duke Hastur, Duke Ligur." Caudery bent in a slight bow.
"Don't bother with the formalities," Hastur sneered. "They aren't needed."
"Oh?"
"No." Hastur's eyes lingered over Caudery's face. An evil grin came to his lips. "Nice scars," he said.
Caudery swallowed. He was sure the burns from Hastur's hand stood out even more in the glare from the Bentley's headlights. Caudery pulled himself together.
"Well then, er, what's up?" he said. "What's on your minds?"
"You, Crowley."
"Me?" Caudery hoped he didn't sound nervous or guilty. Out of the two, nervous would probably be the worst.
"Yes, you," Ligur grunted.
"Your last report was most interesting," Hastur said.
"In what way?"
"You took credit for something you didn't do, something another demon did. And she's not happy about it. Neither is the boss."
Caudery was biting the end of his tongue. "Really?" he said.
"Yes, really. The boss doesn't like lies from his own, Crowley. You've been lying for a long time now, haven't you? Lying about your activities. How many deeds have you really done over these last one hundred centuries?"
Caudery had no answer ready. None at all.
"So I thought," Hastur said.
"Let's hit him now," Ligur suggested, advancing towards Caudery with the stick.
Hastur put out a large hand on Ligur's filthy coat. "Wait. The boss said not yet."
Ligur grunted, but he did throw away the stick.
Caudery didn't feel any relief. Ligur was eyeing him like he was a punching bag ready to be destroyed. Caudery put on his winning smile.
"In case anyone's interested, I did take out the entire mobile phone network of London this afternoon," he said. "It was quite a job."
The other two demons stared at him unblinkingly.
"So?" Ligur said.
"Think about it," Caudery persisted. "Fifteen million people unable to use their little devices for six whole hours. Fifteen million people all irritated at once. Fifteen million-"
"I killed two people this week," Ligur interrupted. "Did you kill anyone?"
"No," Caudery admitted.
"Did you tempt anyone?"
"No…"
"Shame, manipulate or torment?"
"No." Caudery was losing ground. Fast.
"What even is a mobile phone anyway?" Ligur accused.
"Something the boss thought up," Hastur said, then turned back to Caudery. "You're going to have to be a bit more creative, Crowley. Your craftsmanship is lacking."
"Guess so," Caudery said hopelessly. "Discorporation time, then is it?"
Hastur shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. You're still on the clock. Got a little job for you to do. But, if you fail, it will be goodbye to you, Crowley, and I don't think I will shed a single tear."
"How comforting." Caudery grimaced.
"Don't mock me," Hastur said. "I could demolish you in one breath. However, you have a task to do, and if I kill you now, you won't be able to do it, will you?"
Hastur had such a charming way of putting things, Caudery reflected. 4
"What's the task?"
"This."
Hastur held up a basket Caudery hadn't noticed. He suddenly wished he was dead.
"No," he said, fingers clenched around his tie.
"Oh yes," Hastur said.
"That's the… how did, do I have to?"
"Yes. The boss was quite impressed with your story, Crowley. Very impressed."
"Story?" Caudery squeaked.
"Remember the papers you found me looking through on your desk? The boss liked it so much he decided to add a few embellishments."
Dear God, Caudery thought. He didn't want any part of this.
"Eh, great, but why me?"
"Because it's your idea, Crowley, and you should have the honors."
"Er, um, but- I'm nothing. Why not get a better demon to do it?"
"You are nothing, Crowley, but that doesn't matter. Think of it as the last chance. Your last chance. Do it correctly and Ligur here won't be dreaming of having your hide as his new coat lining. Fail and you don't want to know what will happen."
Caudery swallowed the blood in his mouth from his tongue. He took his hand from his pocket and reached out, taking the basket from Hastur.
"What do I-?"
"You know. Tadfield. You'll be expected."
"Oh."
"Don't disappoint us," Hastur warned. "Otherwise, I will find you and you know what will follow."
Caudery nodded, holding the basket as far away from himself as he physically could.
"If you do fail, it'll be fun for us," Ligur grinned.
"Don't tempt me," Hastur said to his counterpart. "Now go before I change my mind, Crawly."
Caudery swallowed again and left the graveyard without saying another word. He shoved the basket to the far side of the backseat of the Bentley. Caudery didn't let himself breath until he threw the car into gear and gunned the engine, and the old church was far behind him.
The two dukes of Hell watched the taillights of the Bentley fade out of sight.
"That's our job done," Hastur said, lighting another cigarette.
"Yeah. Think he'll really do it?" Ligur asked.
"Doubt it," Hastur sneered.
Ligur laughed an ugly laugh. Hastur joined him.
Over the darkened countryside the Bentley sped through the night.
Caudery's knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel with intensity.
This should not be happening. It shouldn't be possible. He was so not ready for this, so very unprepared. Caudery did not want the world to end. He knew it would some day, the world could not last the way it was going, and Armageddon would come at some point, but not like this. And why did it have to be now? This was all wrong. Caudery was trapped in a nightmare, a nightmare he and Fell had written. And he was terrified.
Caudery cast a glance in the rear-view mirror at the basket on the seat.
Does it really contain a child? he wondered, not sure if he really wanted to know.
The basket was innocent and ordinary in appearance, nothing even remotely demonic about it at all. Who would think it could hold something so full of wicked intent? Well, he could, as he had wrote that line. 5
"Damn," he swore out loud.
"The world is going to hell in a hand-basket" was the phrase Caudery knew only a little too well. Now he had the task of delivering hell in a hand-basket to the world. The parody would have been uproariously funny, if it hadn't been for the black feeling of doom drumming out a beat in Caudery's mind.
He had no choice but to obey. He had to obey, even though every fiber in his being didn't want to. It was wrong, so absolutely implausibly wrong, yet he had to obey. He must obey. If he didn't…
Caudery shook his head. It wasn't worth thinking about.
He could always pull off on some dark track and depose of the basket. No one would need to know a thing about it. He could just disappear, vanish.
No. Caudery hissed at himself. What was he, an idiot? A demon, yes, but not an idiot. He couldn't harm a baby anymore than he could turn into a pillow, even if the baby was diabolical in origin. And all that would do is get him killed faster.
Caudery drove on towards Tadfield as the twilight deepened around him. He suddenly wished Fell was in the car with him, if nothing else than to tell him how fast he was driving. Caudery wanted someone to talk to, someone he could trust.
The Bentley slowed as Caudery eased his foot off the accelerator.
Perhaps he could go back to London and head for the bookshop. Talk this thing over, form a game plan. Do something with the basket. The angel might have some ideas.
Caudery snapped out of his head to swerve around a large dog in the road.6
The basket slid across the backseat and a wail began to issue from it. It was a loud, cold and ugly cry. Nothing even remotely human about it at all.
Caudery shuddered. Behind his glasses his eyes had gone dilated.
He was out of time. He wouldn't be able to make London. He had to do this alone.
Caudery recognized the road he was on. The village of Tadfield came into view in the headlights. Tadfield Manor was just over the bend after the village, just around the last turning before the airfield. No avoiding it now.
He hit the accelerator once more and drove. The roar of the Bentley nearly woke up everyone within two miles as Caudery flew through the village center. He was gone before anyone realized what had interrupted their sleep.
A grand stone structure was on the left. A low wall lined the drive, connected to a tall iron gate which stood open. Caudery pulled in. Gravel crunched under the Bentley's tyres. Caudery parked behind a line of black cars.
He sat for a moment. He was remembering just how close the manor was to the penitentiary.
What if he was recognized? What if he was incarcerated again? What if … ?
The worries were cut off by a wail from the backseat.
Caudery stiffened. He had a job to do.
He threw open the door and got out. He grabbed the basket, then stopped. He had to know. He tipped up one side of the lid with a finger.
Inside the basket was not a baby. It was definitely not a baby.
Caudery shut the lid in a hurry. It was unlikely he would soon forget what he had just seen. He breathed in aggressively through his teeth and headed to the main entrance.
A man was standing around under the entry, working on lighting a cigarette. He looked up at Caudery's approach. Caudery remembered him. He'd been the sobriety officer at the prison. Caudery tried to get past him without speaking. It didn't work.
"Excuse me old man, but you've left your lights on," the man said.
Just like in the book, Caudery thought. He gave a sharp gesture behind him.
The headlights dimmed.
"That's rather clever," the man said. "Does it operate by remote control?"
Caudery had to reply. He refused to repeat the exact lines he'd written.7
"Is it underway yet?"
The man scrutinized him for a moment. His gaze went from Caudery's face to the basket Caudery held.
"Oh- you're the one, are you?"
Caudery felt some panic rising in his throat.
"The one making the delivery?"
Caudery twitched, though only briefly. "Correct," he said. "Where do I take it?"
"I think they're waiting in room three."
"Three, got it."
"Say-" the man took a puff on the cigarette. "You seem familiar. Have we met?"
"I doubt it," Caudery lied. "Not from around these parts." He pointed a finger at the cigarette. "You'll wreak your heart."
He pushed through the door without bothering to wait for a reply.
Even though it had been a monastery, (and therefore was very large) and was bright and open inside, the manor felt cold and claustrophobic to Caudery. He had to get this over with as quickly as possible. So far, he hadn't seen any people. Just a boy of about fifteen, who glanced at him and disappeared before Caudery could say anything.
Then he spotted a nurse. With a soft whistle, he got her attention.
"Oh, hello," she said with a smile. Her eyes naturally lingered over the scars on Caudery's face. "What can I do for you?"
Caudery grunted and held out the basket. She took it from him tenderly.
"Is this it?"
"Yup."
She opened the lid.
"I wouldn't-"
"Don't worry, I won't wake him."
Caudery braced himself.
Instead of the scream he was expecting, the nurse's plump face spread in a smile. "Oh, what a little dear," she said. "Has he got a name?"
"Nope."
"Well, I'm sure we'll come up with one and see he goes to a good home."
That's what I'm afraid of, Caudery thought.
"He has the cutest little toesie-wosies," the nurse cooed, talking to the thing in the basket. "Such a sweet little face and pudgy nose." She looked up. "He doesn't look like you."
"It's not mine."
"Oh. Of course. How silly of me. Do you want to meet the potential new parents?"
"Not my scene. Take it up to room three."
The nurse curtsied. "Room three."
A doctor came around the corner. He looked up from his clipboard and noticed Caudery and the nurse."Ah, Mary-"
"Just taking this little man," Nurse Mary replied, patting the basket.
The doctor came over and peered in the basket, then at Caudery. Though the doctor's expression didn't change, his eyes darkened. Caudery had the distinct feeling the doctor had just looked him over and settled his opinion of him.8
"This the baby?" the doctor asked.
Caudery swallowed.
"Oh, yes, doctor," nurse Mary said. "Isn't he the sweetest?"
"Indeed," the doctor said while looking at the young man in dark glasses instead of what was in the basket. "Thank you, Mr-"
"Skip it." Caudery was feeling sick.
The nurse smiled down at the basket again. "I'd take him myself if I could. Maybe he won't be adopted after all."
"Pray that he does," Caudery said and disappeared as fast as he could.
The sobriety officer was outside admiring the Bentley.
"This roadster yours, is it?" he asked Caudery.
"Obviously," Caudery replied pointedly.
The officer was standing in his path of escape. Unless he hit him, then drove over him, Caudery wasn't getting out of here soon. And Caudery wasn't going to resort to violence unless it was the last option.
"Saw one like this once," the officer continued, twirling his cigarette.
"I'm sure you have." 9
Caudery was shifting his boots uneasily. Would the man just move? He was sorely tempted to make him vanish in a puff of smoke.
The officer did move and turned to Caudery. "You sure we haven't meet before?"
He was studying Caudery a little more closely. He also was looking at the red half of Caudery's face. Caudery really was ready to leave.
"Quite sure and I hope to keep it that way."
Caudery saw his chance. He slipped by the man and jumped in the Bentley. It roared to life, the headlights flooding the courtyard. The Bentley lept forward, missing the officer and the first black car in the line. The officer dropped his cigarette as the Bentley peeled out of the manor's drive.
He suddenly remembered exactly where he had seen that face and the car as both disappeared rapidly down the lane.
Nurse Mary Hodges had been charged with the very simple task of receiving the baby. She didn't know exactly what was in the basket she'd been handed by the young man in the dark glasses. She didn't notice anything particularly odd about it. To her, it looked just like a regular pink infant with a head of curly head. The manor took in babies just like this one all the time, most of them orphans. It's what the manor did.
Mary found a spare bassinet and placed the baby in it. The baby felt quite light for its size and also a bit warm. He looked healthy enough, though. Could just be the drive in the car, Mary decided.10
Another nurse appeared, Nina by name, her face flushed. "Mary, what are you doing? We've been waiting!"
"Just getting this little boy ready," Mary said.
"Well, hurry it up, please. We haven't all night."
"The father said to take him to room three."
"Well, get on with it then," the other nurse said. "They may decide they're not adopting after all!"
She went off in fluster to make tea and Mary wheeled the blond-haired bundle through the hall, happily talking in a soft voice to the baby, who wasn't listening.
Mrs. Young in room three was admiring a little baby girl who had been brought in earlier. She wasn't decided yet. She wanted a girl, her husband wanted a boy.
Nurse Mary brought in baby number two.
"Thought you might like to see this little cherub," she said. "Just in. He's asleep now."
"Oooh," Mrs. Young cooed.
So many babies to chose from. It was almost overwhelming.11
"They're both wonderful," she sighed.
There was a tap on the door and Mr. Young poked his head in, having finished with his smoking break. If his wife was overwhelmed, he was over nervous. He'd never had to decide on a child to take home before. It was far worse than when they had picked out a puppy.
"Hello, I'm the father, no not the father yet, the husband, both."
Mary smiled and Mrs. Young laughed goodnaturedly at her nervous husband.
"Come and look at these two, Arthur. Tell me what you think."
"Twins?" Mr. Young said, looking at both babies. "Deirdre, we never discussed getting twins."
"Oh, they're not related," Nurse Mary assured him. "This is the girl, week old today and this little boy is a newborn."
Mr. Young looked closely at the sleeping bundles. He had set his mind on a boy, but he had to admit the girl was very cute with her strawberry-blond hair and little dimples.
"You can take your time," Mary said. "There's no rush."
"Well-" Mr. Young said, scratching his chin. He was interrupted by a voice from the hall outside.
"Sister Mary?" it called. "Are you here?"
All three adults turned towards the door. A boy of about fifteen had his hand on the handle.
"Oh, sorry," he apologized, "I didn't know you were busy."
"Not at all, Adam," Mary said. "Come in!"
Shyly, the boy slipped inside the room and closed the door.
Mrs. Young forgot about the babies as she became captivated by this newcomer. He was tall and thin, his hair a pale golden ginger that almost seemed to glow, as though it was surrounded by a halo. His round face held piercing green eyes, like the grass of a lush summer field.
Adam smiled at these adults, if not a bit awkwardly. He wasn't used to visiting with people. "Hallo," he said.
"Hello, Adam," Mrs. Young said.
Mr. Young hadn't said anything, but even he was studying this newcomer with interest.
"Do you live here, Adam?" Mrs. Young asked.
Adam blushed and opened his mouth to reply. "Er-"
Nurse Mary swooped in.
"Adam's been here for thirteen years," she said. "He was left on our doorstep as a baby. He's our little foundling."
Mary patted Adam gently on the shoulder. The boy continued to blush.
"Oh." Mrs. Young found herself falling in love with those green eyes. There was something almost heavenly about them.
"Mary!" a new voice called. This time it belonged to a plump nurse named Julie. She was somewhat out of breath, having run down the hall. She curtsied to the Youngs.
"Hello. Adam, dear, what are you doing here?" Not waiting for a reply, she turned to Mary. "Mary, I've been looking for you. Is this the baby?"
"Oh, indeed. We've done with looking at the babies for now, haven't we?" She smiled at the potential parents, with a twinkling eye.12
As far as subtle human communication goes, this was a fairly simple conversation between the two ladies. However, what Nurse Julie was really saying to Nurse Mary was more along the lines of:
"Where the hell have you been? The diplomat's wife is interested in adopting tonight and here you are, with the new baby in the wrong room, with Adam, socializing!"
Mary, of course, didn't interpret Julie's few words as this. To her, Julie had said:
"Ah, Nurse Mary. Got the new baby all cleaned up and ready, has she? Just marvelous! Now show me which child the Youngs are thinking about and I'll take the other one off your hands."
And so, with a wink and a smile, Nurse Julie wheeled out baby number one. Baby number two was forgotten as the Youngs got to know Adam better, wondering, if perhaps, they should consider an older child instead of a baby. The green eyes had convinced Mrs. Young. Her husband took a bit longer.
Half an hour later, they were decided. Adam would be coming home with them.
The diplomat's wife would be taking the strawberry-blond baby back to an official London residence.
Everyone forgot about the second baby. It was as if it hadn't even existed. No one noticed that the bassinet was suddenly quite empty, the child nowhere to be found.
Neither the nurses or the Youngs saw Adam's eyes briefly change to a demonic red and fade back to green.
The Antichrist had found a host and the hospital staff hadn't the slightest idea of it.
The books of prophecy were still in Fell's safe. For months they had sat there, unthought of and forgotten. Fell's time had been taken up by an entirely different kind of book; the one he and journalist Caudery were writing.
It wasn't until Sunday that he remembered.
Sunday was the day Fell always took off from work and the day the shop was always closed, no matter what the weather outside was doing. Perhaps it wasn't very modern for any shop to not be open for business seven days a week, but Fell wasn't very modern in his thinking. It had worked for two hundred years and it could darn well work for two hundred more years.13
It was supposed to be a quiet Sunday, but Fell felt very much disquieted. It was two days after Caudery had found the parchment on his windscreen. The parchment that had burned with hellfire.
Fell had spend the last forty-eight hours fretting. He had been working, but fretting at the same time. He could multitask very well, and the angel thought better when he was busy.
After compiling the orders for the coming week, Fell looked around for his good leather book bag. He always used it when delivering orders. Recently, he had left the all the delivering to Newt, (whom he had indeed decided to take on full-time), but Fell decided he should take these himself, as they were rather valuable books and Newt was still prone to drop things.
Fell did a search of his backroom. It was only when he was going through the cupboard beside his desk that Fell recalled what had happened to the bag. He sat back on his heels and peered over his reading glasses at the safe across the room.
"Of course," Fell muttered.
He tossed things haphazardly back in the cupboard and shut it. It was ridiculous that he was worried about those books. Utterly ridiculous. They weren't going to spring to life. He'd been reading too much fantasy.
Fell took the cloth covering off the safe and turned the dial. With a few twists, the door opened.14 Fell reached in, pulled out the leather bag and recovered the safe with the cloth. He yanked the books out and dropped the bag beside the pile of orders, ready for the next morning. He put the books on the coffee table.
Fell's gaze fell on the prophesy books. On the top was The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter.
The irresistible desire to read it came over him again. It was his day off, he reasoned. He needed to stop thinking about Caudery and the note. And he had nothing else to do, so… why not?
Fell went and made himself a cup of hot cocoa. Then he cleared off his desk and laid the book reverently in the center of it. Fell always treated old books with the utmost of care and this one was no exception. Out came the gloves and on was switched the desk lamp.
Fell sat and for a time could only study the cover. It was a beautiful deep green leather with gold lettering, in pristine condition. That in of itself was enough to stir the bibliographical heart. Then he made himself open to the title page, and then to the very first of the prophesies.
He read it out loud.
Then he read it again.
Fell had known the book was true, it had always been been advertised as such and he'd always wanted to read it for himself, but Fell was astounded. He had just read about himself and Caudery. It was like Agnes Nutter was peering over his shoulder and laughing. It was almost uncanny.
Fell quickly shut the book and leaned back in his chair. To unnerve an angel like Fell took an awful lot and Agnes had managed to do it across four hundred years and with a single paragraph of type.15
Fell drank half of his cocoa in one very inelegant gulp before cautiously opening the book again with a finger. He didn't get any calmer as he read.
The very first prophesy of Agnes Nutter which had so startled this angel reads as follows, in full and unabridged, just as he read it:
Prophesy 001
At which hour yond two opposing sides meeteth, the angel of his shop of other men's books and the one of the dark chariot, then shalt The End beest almost nigh. All is not as it would seemeth, foolish principality, f'r one of thee doest not speaketh true. Open up thy eyes, unstop thy mind to understandeth. The devile lurks on the doorstep, oh celestial one of the Eastern Gate, and lief enow thee shalt knoweth all.
Whenever he said the word demon, Caudery said it with a sort of venom. He did not like what he was. He never had. Not since the very moment he had Fallen. He had once been a creature of Light, pure and without evil, intent only on working for the will of the Almighty.
Now he was Fallen; less than dirt and doomed to an ugly, cold eternity. He was no longer as he had been created. He was no longer an angel, but a demon.
And he hated himself for it.
Caudery slammed the door of his flat, not at all caring who he woke up at this ungodly hour. He threw off his jacket, and undid his tie and waistcoat. He stamped to the kitchen, grabbing what alcohol he had in stock.
He didn't speak of his feelings in so many words out loud. Part of him was afraid someone or something might hear and Down Below would find out.16
Caudery worked his way steadily through a pack of cigarettes and the first few bottles, trying to get his brain to stop racing like a combustion engine.
As much as he disliked his own skin, he was terrified of what might happen to him if he was ever found out. That might very well mean discorporation, imprisonment and endless hours of torment in Hell with no hope of ever escaping. It could even mean complete and total destruction. Caudery didn't want to die and telling Fell might very well lead him to one of those ends.
Caudery snuffed out the cigarette in his hand. Nicotine wasn't helping. He opened another bottle and refilled his glass. He tossed his sunglasses to the table. Over the next several hours, Caudery lay on the sofa and drank. He went through another pack of cigarettes as well. After a few more bottles of whiskey, his body felt like it was made of pure liquid.
Caudery swore and got up, stumbling his way to the bathroom. His system was full of alcohol and his brain wasn't any less occupied. He went over to his record collection. He didn't care what album he listened to, he just needed to break up this cycle of negative thinking. He picked a record at random, (it was by The Seekers), and got it out of the sleeve. He threw it down on the turntable, fixed the needle and dropped himself back on the sofa.
All the leaves are brown,
and the sky is gray…
As soon as the record began to play, Caudery groaned. It wasn't a helpful choice, but he had no energy left to get up and change it. Instead he poured yet another drink and stared at the dark rain beating steadily against the windows. The weather had turned sour. The wind was up, the temperature dropping.
The demon shut his eyes and let the song play.
I stopped into a church I passed along the way,
Oh, I got down on my knees
and I begin to pray…
Caudery flipped on his back and ran a hand over his face, nearly spilling the brandy all over himself.
Oh, why had he gotten involved? Why had he become friends with an angel? Why…It would have been so much simpler, so easier if he had just passed by, let the foolish principality get mugged over the old books and Caudery could have been on his sweet way without a care.
But no. It couldn't have been like that.
Caudery took a large gulp and slammed the glass down on the table in front of him, rattling the empty and partly filled bottles covering it. He wiped his eyes on the back of his hand.
The preacher lights the coals,
he knows I'm going to stay…
No matter what he was, angel or demon, Caudery would always be kind. It was built in, like how a car always comes with an engine. There was no getting away from it. He couldn't deny it or get rid of it. Even the Fall hadn't cut it out.
I stopped into a church I passed along the way,
Oh, I got down on my knees
and I begin to pray…
Caudery sat up, the room seemed to move with him. Getting drunk wasn't going to solve anything. He couldn't deal with this Armageddon business alone.
Caudery stared out at the rain. He was having a bit of trouble thinking clearly. Consuming over ten bottles of assorted brandy and whiskey will do that to you.17
He needed to sober up. He did, flinching as the alcohol left his body and refilled the bottles. A bad taste remained in his mouth as his system was suddenly completely empty.
Caudery stood and headed for the corded telephone on his desk in the office.
He wanted to hide, go curl up in some dark place in snake form, forget about this; the Antichrist, the innocent people involved, all of it. But those would be the actions of a coward.
He grasped the phone in a sweaty hand and dialed Fell's number.
After three agonizing rings, there was a click and the angel's familiar voice.
"I'm afraid we're quite definitely closed-" he said.
"Fell, it's me," Caudery cut him off. "I- we need to talk."
"Oh?" Fell sounded surprised, and maybe a little uneasy. "Is it something that could wait until Tuesday?"
"No, no, it can't wait, Fell. We need to talk now. It can't wait."
"Are you… alright, Caudery?"
"No. No, I'm not. I'll be there in five minutes time."
1 Hastur didn't read thoughts and he didn't need to . He could see them. He was even better at reading faces than Caudery was.
2 Usually Hastur and Ligur only showed up together when a wayward demon needed to taught a lesson. Usually this was Caudery.
3 Even human villains dressed better than the Dukes of Hell did. When you're a demon, you don't have to disguise what you really are. When you're pure evil, it just shows. Whenever he encountered them, Caudery got an urge to go take a hot bath with an entire bottle of soap. There was just something disgusting about them that practically oozed.
4 Before the Fall, Hastur had been a Scribe. He knew how to string words together well.
5 Innocence is not always as it would seem.
6 For a moment, Caudery actually thought the dog was a hell hound. Even though he had made up the idea of hell hounds. They were not real. A real hell hound was just a form of demon in pursuit of a lost soul.
7 Which, for those readers who are acquainted with Good Omens, will know the line to be "Has it started yet?" Though, in the book, the circumstances were a tad bit different. The baby was really a baby for a start. And there were nuns.
8 And so he had. The young man in front of him was exactly as the doctor had pictured him. Feckless, carefree, and far too pleased with himself for his own good. People who wore sunglasses indoors were ridiculous.
9 It was very doubtful that the officer had seen another Bentley of this model, as it was a rare, very expensive car. And there were very few in England, particularly near Tadfield.
10 Could be, but it wasn't. Because it really wasn't a baby. It wasn't even human. It just looked like a baby to humans, as that is what they expected to see.
11 For some of us, having two choices can be overwhelming. The author speaks from experience.
12 She knew what was happening. Adam's sweet charm was working itself on the Youngs.
13 So there. Not that Fell said that out loud. But he did think it.
14 The combination for the safe was a very unimaginative '0000001.' Fell could have picked any other string of numbers and had better security. However, it was easy to remember and reminded him of the day he had first stepped onto earth.
15 Agnes herself would have quite amused at Fell's reaction.
16 Of course, as he was already Fallen, you might ask how much worse could it get? It could be much worse, much much worse and Caudery didn't even want his brain to wander in that direction.
17 Even when you have the constitution of a supernatural entity.
Notes:
-All scripture comes from the NKJV and the NIV translations.
-Credit for Fight from the Inside belongs to Queen and Roger Taylor.
-Credit for California Dreamin' belongs to the Mamas and the Papas, and John Edmund Andrew Phillips, Michelle Gilliam Phillips, as preformed by the Seekers.
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