The Philosophical Strangler(72)
Even the Terrible Talon hadn’t lasted but a minute, once Greyboar hit his top speed. But Hildegard! After two minutes, the crazy woman rang the bell again! By now her face was black, her tongue was writhing like a huge worm, her eyes were almost completely out of their sockets.
Ralph quit. He looked almost dead himself. He started spasming, as if in a seizure. His hideous bat mouth opened, and out came—
The Harmony of the Spheres.
Yeah, Hildegard was right. Like nothing you’ve ever heard. It’s impossible to describe, and you can’t begin to imagine what sort of instruments could produce such music. But you can’t mistake it.
All the composers were now scratching away furiously in their sheets, their expressions combining concentration and awe.
Hildegard wasn’t just crazy, she was absolutely insane. She kept ringing the bell until the fallen angel had run through the entire score three times.
Finally, it was over. After the third run-through, Hildegard stopped ringing the bell and the Big Banjo, after glancing around quickly and seeing the nods of his fellow composers, told Greyboar to let go. The strangler staggered back and crouched over, his hands on his knees. He was gasping, for all the world like he was the one who had been choked. Hildegard leaned forward in the chair, rasping for breath, massaging her throat.
I think she recovered faster than Greyboar did. She certainly recovered faster than Ralph! The fallen angel was truly a fallen angel—flat on the floor, wailing like a lost soul. Don’t blame him, really. Later, Hildegard told me the Old Geister was so furious with Ralph that he turned him into a devil, permanent. Probably worked out for the best, though—at least the guy got a pecker out of the deal.
“Marvelous!” cried Hildegard, when she got her voice. “Oh, just marvelous!”
She turned in her chair and bestowed a look of great approval on Greyboar.
“You were simply splendid, young man! Simply splendid! Gwendolyn was certainly right—I can’t imagine a finer choke. There’ll be quite an excellent bonus for your work today, you can be sure of it.” My spirits perked right up, hearing that. “And I shall certainly not even think of hiring another chokester, should the occasion ever arise again.” She frowned slightly. “Though I can’t imagine it will. I am, after all, the Abbess of the Sisters of Tranquility.”
She turned back and bestowed a very different look on Ralph.
“You may go,” she announced haughtily. A split second later, the fallen angel vanished.
Chapter 15.
Aesthetics and Reason
After it was all over, Hildegard announced that she was going to need a bit of rest before she did anything further. I didn’t doubt that in the least. I was amazed that the woman was still alive, much less that she didn’t really look any worse than someone who was completely exhausted.
So Greyboar and the girls and I spent the rest of the day, and the evening, enjoying an excellent meal and many hours of musical entertainment. And I’ll say for the record that there are worse fates than being in a secluded Abbey with most of the world’s greatest composers having what lowlife musicians call a “jam session.”
The next morning, Hildegard summoned us into her office. After a day’s rest and a night’s sleep, she was looking quite a bit better. Although I noticed she was wearing a scarf around her neck, probably to hide the bruises.
As soon as we walked in, she greeted us with a big smile. So did the snarl on the rug.
I was so preoccupied with keeping an eye on the snarl that I didn’t even notice the size of the casket that Hildegard hauled up from the floor and plunked on her desk. Not until she opened it and my eye caught a glint of the world’s most splendid color. Gold.
All fretting thoughts on the subject of snarl smiles vanished, then. In fact, all thoughts of any kind vanished. I was awash in the bliss that mystics talk about, when they babble about pure emotion transcending the petty limits of apparent reality.
Of course, your mystics always shoot for what you might call the more ethereal emotions. But, me, I’ve always found that plain old everyday stuff works just fine. Greed, for instance.
To be sure, some feeble still-flickering portion of my intellect was probably fumbling around, trying to estimate the actual value contained in that casket. But I had no time for sordid arithmetic, at the moment. I was just awash in the transcendental experience of realizing:
We’re rich! We’re rich!
“As I promised,” Hildegard said, “an excellent bonus for your excellent work.”
Greyboar muttered something decorous, I believe. I tried to follow his example, but the words sort of got lost in the drool. Then Hildegard shoved the casket across the desk toward us and I, ah, advanced to take possession.