Each of the two discovered that he wasn't the only
celestial in the room at roughly the same time: in
fact, they came to this realization while reaching for
the same sugar packets.
The confrontation that followed went completely
unnoticed by the humans in the room. Indeed, most
angels or demons would have missed all but the most
obvious eye movements as each celestial simultaneously
assessed his opponent, the potential weapons in the
room and the relative positions of everyone around
them. A hypothetical observer might have noted, with
some bemusement, the identical vacant looks that
flickered across the two combatants' faces as they
quickly assessed the Symphonic strains around then ...
but possibly not.
Even a perceptive human would have noted the faint but
unmistakable relaxation as both of the two celestials
stood ever so slightly down. This was not the time
for violence: in fact...
"Word-Truce?" asked Simon, Mercurian Friend of the
Sages.
"Word-Truce," agreed William, Impudite Knight of the
Infernal Hourglass.
Word-Truce is one of those informal yet ironbound
concepts that spring up among field agents of the War.
After all, there are times when intelligence simply
must be gathered, regardless of the natural antipathy
between two particular Words. It is only invoked when
no intervention by either side is planned: someone
asking for Word-Truce is indicating that he or she
will neither attack nor interfere in the Other Side's
observations, for precisely so long as the courtesy is
returned. Those going back on Word-Truce tend to
afterwards have exciting but short lives: neither side
is tolerant of idiots that make their lives more
difficult.
Of course, there's nothing in the unwritten rules
against verbal sniping.
"What, no popcorn?" murmured the angel.
"I was going to bring beer, but I then I realized that
I wouldn't have gotten it past the gate guards,"
replied the demon.
They were both quietly speaking a variant of archaic
Navaho: it was better suited for expressing celestial
concepts than most corporeal tongues, and sufficiently
complicated that even celestials not serving either
Yves or Kronos would have to have a compelling reason
to bother learning it. And as for humans... well,
suffice it to say that the threat of successful
eavesdropping was remote.
The Mercurian drummed his fingers on the chair arm,
looking around as he idly noted the usual complex
interplay between the prison officials, 'real'
journalists and the personal witnesses to the
execution. He turned to the Impudite.
"You must love this."
William grinned. "Of course." In a pig's eye.
"Nothing like a good public execution to polarize the
walking batteries - especially if he turns out to be a
martyr after all. A shame that Nybbas couldn't get
the web feed rights." Oh, the lies I tell in the
service of my Prince: I would feel shame, except I
don't quite know how...
Simon's eyes slightly narrowed. Nice try. The
angel's voice was dry as he replied,
"No matter that these things never work out in the
long run?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, let's face it. The very nature of terrorism
means that their victims are usually chosen for their
shock value, which means that they usually aren't
fodder for Hell. Tell me: how many souls did your
side gather from his" - the Mercurian flicked a chin
at the glass window, currently curtained - "attack?"
"Enough." Three ... and two of those three still had
a couple good decades of nastiness in them, thought
William behind a bland smile. Of course, if we had
been given advanced warning about the attack, we might
have done better. That would, also of course, require
a boss that doesn't think that 'efficiency' means
'forbidding all unnecessary use of Essence'. How he
got his position is beyond me completely - and thanks
to a few indiscreet comments of mine, I'm up here as a
punishment, instead of being at the Welcome Auction.
"Don't insult me: we know precisely how many you got,
and we know how many we got, and how many went back to
the Wheel to try again. And what did he accomplish,
really, besides killing a lot of people? How will his
actions or death further your cause? Once he's gone,
they'll put him in a few books, possibly a movie, and
then he'll fade away and be half-forgotten. And the
world will move on."
"Every little bit helps, angel. Besides, you don't
know that the ripples from his actions won't upset a
boat or two somewhere else. It's amazing what excuses
humans will seize upon to justify their pathetic hates
and fears. Besides..." - the Impudite looked smug -
"leaving beside the tactical issues, my Prince wants
this one. He's already started the auction for the
final disposition of his soul, or so my immediate
superior tells me." Not that the arrogant,
credit-grabbing, moronic bastard has any real feel for
his job.
If Servitors of Destiny have a universal vice, it's
card games: the combination of chance, skill and
chutzpah appeals to them. They play them at every
opportunity, preferably against those who could
normally detect a bluff. There is a room in the
Library where a game of poker has been going on
continuously for the last hundred and twenty years:
almost every Shepherd with a Distinction has sat in on
it at least once.
Simon had played poker with Yves himself, once: not
that he had won, of course, but he did manage to walk
out with his shirt. Thus, it was no real surprise
that his reaction to William's statement was
masterfully controlled. The Mercurian merely gave a
slow nod, then straightened up as the curtain opened.
The man that both celestials had come to see was
already strapped into the device that would end his
life. He looked pale, but maintained a stoic silence
as he looked at his last moments: the Impudite and
Mercurian took special care to match the humans'
expressions as the condemned terrorist locked eyes
with each of the witnesses. As a general rule, both
Mercurians and Impudites disapprove of executions, or
indeed of any form of human death other than old age.
However, both the Choir and Band disapprove even more
of mass murderers, albeit for completely different
reasons, so the celestial observers were able to
maintain a certain equanimity as the execution
proceeded.
However, both of their expressions flickered at what
happened afterwards: one in apparent surprise, and one
in a certain grim pleasure.
William spoke first, stunned amazement in his voice.
"He didn't Go Downstairs." He turned to the angel,
who had finally allowed himself a small smile. "He
didn't Go Upstairs, either. He just - fell apart."
Simon's voice was a trifle light.
"My, my, has Kronos been neglecting to teach his
Servitors? You do realize that sort of thing can
happen when someone achieves neither his Destiny nor
his Fate?"
"168 people," grated William. "The final death toll
was 168. He showed no real remorse. His final
statement was a deliberate exercise in hubris. What
does it take to damn someone, these days?"
"His Fate, demon, his Fate. None of you actually
bothered to check, did you? That fool's Fate was to
start a violent revolution against the United States
of America: that was the first thing we worked out,
when his case came to our attention. We've spent the
last few years nipping that in the bud... and you
never even noticed." The Mercurian chuckled. "I'd
suggest that all of you should work on that sort of
hubris, but frankly we'd be worse off if you did.
"Well, I must be going. Good luck with your report,
you poor bastard: you'll need it." The angel got up
and left, still smiling faintly. William remained
slumped in his chair, his expression still showing a
faint look of dismay... until he was sure that Simon
was gone.
Then he started to smile. Thanks for the wish for
luck, geek, but I actually won't need it: chance
favors the prepared mind, after all.
It was always gratifying to see a hunch pay off.
William was an experienced Servitor of Fate - unlike
my fool for an immediate boss - and the entire
situation had simply felt wrong from the start.
But, of course, thanks to my superior's 'efficiency
policy,' I couldn't be allowed to check, could I?
Mustn't waste Essence on confirming such a notorious
talking monkey's Fate, after all - so I get labeled as
'obstinate' for insisting that we should. Hell, I
even put it in writing. How the idiot laughed at
that!
Well, now the idiot's trying to explain to Kronos why
the guest of honor isn't showing, and the report that
will demonstrate my prescient worries is wending its
way to the Prince's desk. That should be enough to
get the whole case investigated by the BS artists,
especially since it was my boss who squashed the
report in the first place. William openly laughed as
he got up and left. Really, I'm doing Hell a favor
by getting rid of that incompetent. How he got as far
as he did, I'll never know. Well, nothing's perfect.
The most wonderful thing about this is, I won't even
have to lie. I did report my concerns, just like a
proper Servitor of Fate, and I was properly
indifferent of my personal safety while doing so. I
didn't even break any of my boss' idiotic rules in the
process - especially the one where I was actually
forbidden to warn Kronos face to face, in flagrant
violation of my rights as a Knight. All in all, I
feel almost ... well, virtuous.
What an odd sensation.
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