The Mammoth Book of Angels & Demons (Mammoth Books)

by Paula Guran

  “‘I left the Hall, and . . .’ he broke off. He was small, for an angel. His light was muted, but his eyes were vivid and bright. I mean really bright. ‘Poor Carasel. How could he do that to himself? How?’

  “‘You think his destruction was self-inflicted?’

  “He seemed puzzled – surprised that there could be any other explanation. ‘But of course. Carasel was working under me, developing a number of concepts that shall be intrinsic to the universe when its Name shall be Spoken. His group did a remarkable job on some of the real basics – Dimension was one, and Sleep another. There were others.

  “‘Wonderful work. Some of his suggestions regarding the use of individual viewpoints to define dimensions were truly ingenious.

  “‘Anyway. He had begun work on a new project. It’s one of the really major ones – the ones that I would usually handle, or possibly even Zephkiel.’ He glanced upward. ‘But Carasel had done such sterling work. And his last project was so remarkable. Something apparently quite trivial that he and Saraquael elevated into . . .’ He shrugged. ‘But that is unimportant. It was this project that forced him into non-being. But none of us could ever have foreseen . . .’

  “‘What was his current project?’

  “Phanuel stared at me. ‘I’m not sure I ought to tell you. All the new concepts are considered sensitive until we get them into the final form in which they will be Spoken.’

  “I felt myself transforming. I am not sure how I can explain it to you, but suddenly I wasn’t me – I was something larger. I was transfigured: I was my function.

  “Phanuel was unable to meet my gaze.

  “‘I am Raguel, who is the Vengeance of the Lord,’ I told him. ‘I serve the Name directly. It is my mission to discover the nature of this deed, and to take the Name’s vengeance on those responsible. My questions are to be answered.’

  “The little angel trembled, and he spoke fast.

  “‘Carasel and his partner were researching Death. Cessation of life. An end to physical, animated existence. They were putting it all together. But Carasel always went too far into his work – we had a terrible time with him when he was designing Agitation. That was when he was working on Emotions . . .’

  “‘You think Carasel died to . . . to research the phenomenon?’

  “‘Or because it intrigued him. Or because he followed his research just too far. Yes.’ Phanuel flexed his fingers, stared at me with those brightly shining eyes. ‘I trust that you will repeat none of this to any unauthorized persons, Raguel.’

  “‘What did you do when you found the body?’

  “‘I came out of the Hall, as I said, and there was Carasel on the sidewalk, staring up. I asked him what he was doing, and he did not reply. Then I noticed the inner fluid, and that Carasel seemed unable, rather than unwilling, to talk to me.

  “‘I was scared. I did not know what to do.

  “‘The Angel Lucifer came up behind me. He asked me if there was some kind of problem. I told him. I showed him the body. And then . . . then his Aspect came upon him, and he communed, with the Name. He burned so bright.

  “‘Then he said he had to fetch the one whose function embraced events like this, and he left – to seek you, I imagine.

  “‘As Carasel’s death was now being dealt with, and his fate was no real concern of mine, I returned to work, having gained a new – and, I suspect, quite valuable – perspective on the mechanics of Regret.

  “‘I am considering taking Death away from the Carasel and Saraquael partnership. I may reassign it to Zephkiel, my senior partner, if he is willing to take it on. He excels on contemplative projects.’

  “By now there was a line of angels waiting to talk to Phanuel. I felt I had almost all I was going to get from him.

  “‘Who did Carasel work with? Who would have been the last to see him alive?’

  “‘You could talk to Saraquael, I suppose – he was his partner, after all. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .’

  “He returned to his swarm of aides: advising, correcting, suggesting, forbidding.”

  The man paused.

  The street was quiet now; I remember the low whisper of his voice, the buzz of a cricket somewhere. A small animal – a cat perhaps, or something more exotic, a raccoon, or even a jackal – darted from shadow to shadow among the parked cars on the opposite side of the street.

  “Saraquael was in the highest of the mezzanine galleries that ringed the Hall of Being. As I said, the universe was in the middle of the Hall, and it glinted and sparkled and shone. Went up quite a way, too . . .”

  “The universe you mention, it was, what, a diagram?” I asked, interrupting for the first time.

  “Not really. Kind of. Sorta. It was a blueprint; but it was full-sized, and it hung in the Hall, and all these angels went around and fiddled with it all the time. Doing stuff with Gravity and Music and Klar and whatever. It wasn’t really the universe, not yet. It would be, when it was finished and it was time for it to be properly Named.”

  “But . . .” I grasped for words to express my confusion. The man interrupted me.

  “Don’t worry about it. Think of it as a model if that makes it easier for you. Or a map. Or a – what’s the word? Prototype. Yeah. A Model-T Ford universe.” He grinned. “You got to understand, a lot of the stuff I’m telling you, I’m translating already; putting it in a form you can understand. Otherwise I couldn’t tell the story at all. You want to hear it?”

  “Yes.” I didn’t care if it was true or not; it was a story I needed to hear all the way through to the end.

  “Good. So shut up and listen.

  “So I met Saraquael in the topmost gallery. There was no one else about – just him, and some papers, and some small, glowing models.

  “‘I’ve come about Carasel,’ I told him.

  “He looked at me. ‘Carasel isn’t here at this time,’ he said. ‘I expect him to return shortly.’

  “I shook my head. ‘Carasel won’t be coming back. He’s stopped existing as a spiritual entity,’ I said.

  “His light paled, and his eyes opened very wide. ‘He’s dead?’

  “‘That’s what I said. Do you have any ideas about how it happened?’

  “‘I . . . this is so sudden. I mean, he’d been talking about . . . but I had no idea that he would . . .’

  “‘Take it slowly.’

  “Saraquael nodded.

  “He stood up and walked to the window. There was no view of the Silver City from his window – just a reflected glow from the City and the sky behind us, hanging in the air, and beyond that the Dark. The wind from the Dark gently caressed Saraquael’s hair as he spoke. I stared at his back.

  “‘Carasel is . . . no, was. That’s right, isn’t it? Was. He was always so involved. And so creative. But it was never enough for him. He always wanted to understand everything – to experience what he was working on. He was never content to just create it – to understand it intellectually. He wanted all of it.

  “‘That wasn’t a problem before, when we were working on properties of matter. But when we began to design some of the Named emotions . . . he got too involved with his work.

  “‘And our latest project was Death. It’s one of the hard ones – one of the big ones, too, I suspect. Possibly it may even become the attribute that’s going to define the Creation for the Created: if not for Death, they’d be content to simply exist, but with Death, well, their lives will have meaning – a boundary beyond which the living cannot cross . . .’

  “‘So you think he killed himself?’

  “‘I know he did,’ said Saraquael.

  “I walked to the window and looked out. Far below, a long way, I could see a tiny white dot. That was Carasel’s body. I’d have to arrange for someone to take care of it. I wondered what we would do with it; but there would be someone who would know, whose function was the removal of unwanted things. It was not my function. I knew that.

  “‘How?’

  “He shr
ugged. ‘I know. Recently he’d begun asking questions – questions about Death. How we could know whether or not it was right to make this thing, to set the rules, if we were not going to experience it ourselves. He kept talking about it.’

  “‘Didn’t you wonder about this?’

  “Saraquael turned, for the first time, to look at me.

  “‘No. That is our function – to discuss, to improvise, to aid the Creation and the Created. We sort it out now, so that when it all Begins, it’ll run like clockwork. Right now we’re working on Death. So obviously that’s what we look at. The physical aspect; the emotional aspect; the philosophical aspect.

  “‘And the patterns. Carasel had the notion that what we do here in the Hall of Being creates patterns. That there are structures and shapes appropriate to beings and events that, once begun, must continue until they reach their end. For us, perhaps, as well as for them. Conceivably he felt this was one of his patterns.’

  “‘Did you know Carasel well?’

  “‘As well as any of us know each other. We saw each other here; we worked side by side. At certain times I would retire to my cell across the City. Sometimes he would do the same.’

  “‘Tell me about Phanuel.’

  “His mouth crooked into a smile. ‘He’s officious. Doesn’t do much – farms everything out and takes all the credit.’ He lowered his voice, although there was no other soul in the gallery. ‘To hear him talk, you’d think that Love was all his own work. But, to his credit, he does make sure the work gets done. Zephkiel’s the real thinker of the two senior designers, but he doesn’t come here. He stays back in his cell in the City and contemplates; resolves problems from a distance. If you need to speak to Zephkiel, you go to Phanuel, and Phanuel relays your questions to Zephkiel . . .’

  “I cut him short. ‘How about Lucifer? Tell me about him.’

  “‘Lucifer? The Captain of the Host? He doesn’t work here . . . He has visited the Hall a couple of times, though – inspecting the Creation. They say he reports directly to the Name. I have never spoken to him.’

  “‘Did he know Carasel?’

  “‘I doubt it. As I said, he has only been here twice. I have seen him on other occasions, though. Through here.’ He flicked a wingtip, indicating the world outside the window. ‘In flight.’

  “‘Where to?’

  “Saraquael seemed to be about to say something, then he changed his mind. ‘I don’t know.’

  “I looked out of the window at the Darkness outside the Silver City. ‘I may want to talk with you some more later,’ I told Saraquael.

  “‘Very good.’ I turned to go. ‘Sir? Do you know if they will be assigning me another partner? For Death?’

  “‘No,’ I told him. ‘I’m afraid I don’t.’

  “In the center of the Silver City was a park – a place of recreation and rest. I found the Angel Lucifer there, beside a river. He was just standing, watching the water flow.

  “‘Lucifer?’

  “He inclined his head. ‘Raguel. Are you making progress?’

  “‘I don’t know. Maybe. I need to ask you a few questions. Do you mind?’

  “‘Not at all.’

  “‘How did you come upon the body?’

  “‘I didn’t. Not exactly. I saw Phanuel standing in the street. He looked distressed. I enquired whether there was something wrong, and he showed me the dead angel. And I fetched you.’

  “‘I see.’

  “He leaned down, let one hand enter the cold water of the river. The water splashed and rolled around it. ‘Is that all?’

  “‘Not quite. What were you doing in that part of the city?’

  “‘I don’t see what business that is of yours.’

  “‘It is my business, Lucifer. What were you doing there?’

  “‘I was . . . walking. I do that sometimes. Just walk and think. And try to understand.’ He shrugged.

  “‘You walk on the edge of the City?’

  “A beat, then ‘Yes.’

  “‘That’s all I want to know. For now.’

  “‘Who else have you talked to?’

  “‘Carasel’s boss and his partner. They both feel that he killed himself – ended his own life.’

  “‘Who else are you going to talk to?’

  “I looked up. The spires of the City of the Angels towered above us. ‘Maybe everyone.’

  “‘All of them?’

  “‘If I need to. It’s my function. I cannot rest until I understand what happened, and until the Vengeance of the Name has been taken on whosoever was responsible. But I’ll tell you something I do know.’

  “‘What would that be?’ Drops of water fell like diamonds from the Angel Lucifer’s perfect fingers.

  “‘Carasel did not kill himself.’

  “‘How do you know that?’

  “‘I am Vengeance. If Carasel had died by his own hand,’ I explained to the Captain of the Heavenly Host, ‘there would have been no call for me. Would there?’

  “He did not reply.

  “I flew upward into the light of the eternal morning.

  “You got another cigarette on you?”

  I fumbled out the red and white packet, handed him a cigarette.

  “Obliged.

  “Zephkiel’s cell was larger than mine. It wasn’t a place for waiting. It was a place to live, and work, and be. It was lined with books, and scrolls, and papers, and there were images and representations on the walls: pictures. I’d never seen a picture before.

  “In the center of the room was a large chair, and Zephkiel sat there, his eyes closed, his head back.

  “As I approached him, he opened his eyes. They burned no brighter than the eyes of any of the other angels I had seen, but somehow they seemed to have seen more. It was something about the way he looked. I’m not sure I can explain it. And he had no wings.

  “‘Welcome, Raguel,’ he said. He sounded tired.

  “‘You are Zephkiel?’ I don’t know why I asked him that. I mean, I knew who people were. It’s part of my function, I guess. Recognition. I know who you are.

  “‘Indeed. You are staring, Raguel. I have no wings, it is true, but then my function does not call for me to leave this cell. I remain here, and I ponder. Phanuel reports back to me, brings me the new things for my opinion. He brings me the problems, and I think about them, and occasionally I make myself useful by making some small suggestions. That is my function. As yours is vengeance.’

  “‘Yes.’

  “‘You are here about the death of the Angel Carasel?’

  “‘Yes.’

  “‘I did not kill him.’

  “When he said it, I knew it was true. ‘Do you know who did?’

  “‘That is your function, is it not? To discover who killed the poor thing and to take the Vengeance of the Name upon him.’

  “‘Yes.’

  “He nodded. ‘What do you want to know?’

  “I paused, reflecting on what I had heard that day. ‘Do you know what Lucifer was doing in that part of the City before the body was found?’

  “The old angel stared at me. ‘I can hazard a guess.’

  “‘Yes?’

  “‘He was walking in the Dark.’

  “I nodded. I had a shape in my mind now. Something I could almost grasp. I asked the last question: ‘What can you tell me about Love?’

  “And he told me. And I thought I had it all.

  “I returned to the place where Carasel’s body had been. The remains had been removed, the blood had been cleaned away, the stray feathers collected and disposed of. There was nothing on the silver sidewalk to indicate it had ever been there. But I knew where it had been.

  “I ascended on my wings, flew upward until I neared the top of the spire of the Hall of Being. There was a window there, and I entered.

  “Saraquael was working there, putting a wingless mannequin into a small box. On one side of the box was a representation of a small brown creature with eight legs. On the
other was a representation of a white blossom.

  “‘Saraquael?’

  “‘Hm? Oh, it’s you. Hello. Look at this. If you were to die and to be, let us say, put into the earth in a box, which would you want laid on top of you – a spider, here, or a lily, here?’

  “‘The lily, I suppose.’

  “‘Yes, that’s what I think, too. But why? I wish . . .” He raised a hand to his chin, stared down at the two models, put first one on top of the box, then the other, experimentally. ‘There’s so much to do, Raguel. So much to get right. And we only get one chance at it, you know. There’ll just be one universe – we can’t keep trying until we get it right. I wish I understood why all this was so important to Him . . .’

  “‘Do you know where Zephkiel’s cell is?’ I asked him.

  “‘Yes. I mean, I’ve never been there. But I know where it is.’

  “‘Good. Go there. He’ll be expecting you. I will meet you there.’

  “He shook his head. ‘I have work to do. I can’t just . . .’

  “I felt my function come upon me. I looked down at him, and I said, ‘You will be there. Go now.’

  “He said nothing. He backed away from me toward the window, staring at me; then he turned and flapped his wings, and I was alone.

  “I walked to the central well of the Hall and let myself fall, tumbling down through the model of the universe: it glittered around me, unfamiliar colors and shapes seething and writhing without meaning.

  “As I approached the bottom, I beat my wings, slowing my descent, and stepped lightly onto the silver floor. Phanuel stood between two angels who were both trying to claim his attention.

  “‘I don’t care how aesthetically pleasing it would be,’ he was explaining to one of them. ‘We simply cannot put it in the center. Background radiation would prevent any possible life forms from even getting a foothold; and anyway, it’s too unstable.’

  “He turned to the other. ‘Okay, let’s see it. Hmm. So that’s Green, is it? It’s . . . not exactly how I’d imagined it, but . . . Mm. Leave it with me. I’ll get back to you.’ He took a paper from the angel, folded it over decisively.

  “He turned to me. His manner was brusque, and dismissive. ‘Yes?’

  “‘I need to talk to you.’