Horrid ugly thing, it was. If this creature was an angel, I definitely didn’t want to meet a devil, I’ll tell you that. Colored a kind of nauseating yellow. A twisted face like a giant bat. Horns, cloven hooves, barbed tail, the works. Actually, I found out later that fallen angels take on the appearance of devils. Part of the punishment. Only difference, actually, is that fallen angels don’t have—well, bit delicate, this—but let’s just say that the Old Geister, being as He is a righteous God, doesn’t believe it’s proper for His angels (even fallen ones) to have, you know, sexual organs. Real devils have them, of course—that’s why they’re called devils, don’t you know? Hung like moose, your real devils. Which is probably why they get into so much trouble.
Other than that, however, this fallen angel was the spitting image of a devil. All the way down to his temperament.
“Which one are you?” demanded Hildegard.
“Ralph,” responded the angel, looking like his feelings were hurt.
“I can never tell,” said Hildegard. “Angels all look the same to me. It’s ridiculous, anyway, giving you names. You’re all just figments of the Old Geister’s imagination.” She shook her head regretfully. “And He’s got such a limited imagination.”
The angel snarled. “You better watch your mouth, lady! You’re already on the Boss’—well, you know what.”
“I’ll not stand for vulgarity from the likes of you!” snapped Hildegard.
“Is that so?” sneered Ralph. But he did seemed a bit cowed. Don’t blame him, actually. When she’s in the mood—which she was—Hildegard could be called The Schoolmistress From Hell.
“I don’t have to take any guff from you, lady,” he whined. “You’ve been excommunicated by the Popes.”
Hildegard snorted. “And so what? I’m still the Abbess of the Sisters of Tranquility. Who cares what those shriveled-up old geezers think?”
“They’re God’s chosen authorities on Earth!” shrilled Ralph.
“And so what? Is that my fault? I told Him to get rid of the Popes. Dozens of times, in fact. The Popes are going to infuriate Joe when he gets back, leave aside everything else.”
“Joe’s dead and gone!” shrieked the angel. But he couldn’t meet Hildegard’s gaze. Like a bar of iron, that gaze.
“The Boss says you’ve been excommunicated,” groused Ralph. “So that’s that.”
“What cheek!” exclaimed Hildegard. “It’s just like Him to make a mess of things and then blame me for it. No better than a six-year-old Brat trying to stick His little sister with the punishment.”
“You can’t talk about the Boss that way!” protested Ralph. “I won’t stand for it!”
Hildegard laughed. It was a beautiful clear laugh, like a chime, except that no chime you’ve ever heard could produce that sound of total contempt.
“And how do you propose to stop me?” she demanded. The fallen angel glared at her, but said nothing. I’m no expert on the fine points of theology, but even I could figure out that if the Lord Almighty couldn’t shut the woman up, His stooge sure as hell wasn’t up to the job.
“What d’you want?” growled Ralph. “You didn’t summon me here to chat. Not that I mind, of course”—here he ogled Jenny and Angela—“the view’s nice.”
Angela blew him a raspberry. Jenny sneered: “Dream on, dickless.”
“I summoned you here in order to obtain the score for the Harmony of the Spheres,” said Hildegard.
The fallen angel collapsed to the floor, howling with laughter.
“What a chump!” hooted Ralph. “What a silly old biddy!” Hildegard kept quiet, but she bestowed upon him the look which all schoolmarms bestow upon their least favorite pupil.
Eventually, Ralph composed himself enough to sit back up. Wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, he said: “And just how do you propose to get that out of me? Going to practice great austerities, are we? Oh, how wonderful! How was I so blessed, to be allowed to watch while the great Abbess Hildegard starves and beats herself?”
He convulsed to the floor again. “Be still my trembling heart!”
“Impudent rascal!” snapped Hildegard. Then she turned to Greyboar. “Are you ready?” she asked. Greyboar shrugged.
Hildegard plucked the bell off the side table. “I will remain seated here at my desk. You will stand behind me to apply the choke. Whenever I ring the bell, you will tighten the choke. Is that clear?”
Greyboar scratched his head. “Well, sure, except for one thing. How will I know when you want me to let go? You won’t be able to say anything. Believe me, you won’t.”