Clovenhoof 03 Godsquad

by Heide Goody

  Francis gave Joan a puzzled glance.

  “I think he’s into cartoons and inflatables,” she whispered across the table.

  “I am an expert on souls,” St Thomas corrected her loudly. “And I can tell you all that the situation described by our mythical saint here is impossible. The soul or anima exists in all living things, be it plant, animal or human, but only humans possess an immortal soul. Ensoulment takes place within the womb, at the fortieth day of pregnancy in boys, on the eightieth day in girls.”

  “Really?” frowned Joan. “Why do girls get theirs later?”

  St Paul sat forward to speak, although his eyes were fixed firmly on the Rubik’s Cube in his hands.

  “And if you’re going to say anything sexist,” said Joan quickly, “I will stick this sword where the sun doesn’t shine.”

  “Scotland?” said Francis.

  St Paul humphed.

  “All I was going to say – fiddlesticks! Now the blue one’s gone round to the other side! – was: ‘the Lord formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed into him the breath of life’—”

  “The pneuma, the spirit, the soul,” agreed St Thomas.

  “—‘and the man became a living being.’”

  “Indeed,” said St Thomas. “To have a soul is to be alive. To be alive is to have a soul. One without the other is impossible.”

  “I think we can all see the serious problem we’re facing,” said Gabriel. “Either—” He paused and looked down at the meeting minutes. “No, Teresa, it’s a silent ‘p’. P – N – as in… well, as in ‘pneuma’. I don’t make the rules, do I?” The archangel struggled to remember where he was up to.

  “Either?” said Joan.

  “Yes, either there is a person called Simon who has no soul which then contradicts Heaven’s understanding of all reality, or Simon does have a soul and Heaven cannot see it.”

  “Or Simon doesn’t exist at all,” suggested Francis.

  “Which means Heaven has gone crazy and is inventing people to talk to.”

  “Whatever the case, Heaven’s infallibility is at stake,” agreed Pius solemnly.

  “There is one more thing,” said Christopher. “Simon’s prayer was actually directed to a specific individual.”

  “Who?” asked Francis.

  “Mary. The Blessed Virgin.”

  “For crying out loud!” shouted St Paul.

  Everyone looked at him. St Paul held up the puzzle cube.

  “Look! I’ve just got the red side sorted and I’m putting the green one together and now this one’s right over here! How am I going to get it back?”

  “Where is the Holy Mother?” asked Joan.

  Gabriel dragged his stony stare away from St Paul.

  “We don’t know,” he said. “She’s refusing to respond to our calls. She’s hiding.”

  “Refusing? Hiding?”

  The look on Gabriel’s face was one of embarrassment, coupled with annoyance and overshadowed by worry.

  “Mary is a law unto herself.”

  “But no one is above Heaven’s control.”

  “She is the Mother of God, Joan. Only the Almighty stands above her. Do you think we give her dispensation to do all those visitations and apparitions? She’s all over the shop.”

  There were general murmurs of agreement around the table.

  “That time she appeared on a slice of toast,” said St Francis disapprovingly.

  “Or in that bush in Philadelphia,” agreed Pius.

  “What about that image in the oil spill in Milan?” said St Thomas.

  The others nodded in good natured condemnation.

  “Very silly,” said Pius.

  “So where was the Divine Mother the last time we looked?” asked Francis.

  “Northern Europe,” said Gabriel. “Holland, we think. Possibly Amsterdam.”

  “Never heard of it,” said Francis.

  “A city of canals and florists,” said Pius with a dismissive wave of his hand. “An insignificant backwater. Nonetheless, it is clear that someone must go there.”

  “Is it?” said Francis.

  “Whether she holds any answers to this mystery or not, it is high time that the Holy Mother be made aware of her responsibilities. Someone should go to Amsterdam, find Mary, and either bring her back here or take her directly to Toulon to resolve this issue with this impossible Simon character.”

  Several people started speaking at once.

  “Twavel across the Earth like mortals?”

  “We cannot act on this without consulting the Almighty.”

  “Two sides! I’ve got two sides!”

  Mother Teresa’s minutes became, for a moment, a frenzied spasm of incomprehensible squiggles.

  “Please,” said Gabriel, waving his hands for calm. “Please. First of all, I have already taken this matter before the Throne of the Almighty and, as is his wont, He has kept his counsel to Himself.”

  “He said nothing at all?” said St Francis.

  “Silence itself is an answer,” said St Thomas.

  “Secondly,” said the archangel, “I think Pius’s suggestion is a good one.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And I think Joan should be the one to find Mary and bring her back.”

  Joan sat bolt upright with a dull clank.

  “What?”

  Gabriel smiled at her. The smile of an angel could be a beautiful and terrible thing.

  “You did say you wanted to get out and ‘do’ something,” he said, slinging air quotes around the significant verb.

  Francis watched the teenage saint’s mouth work silently for a moment or two.

  “I did,” she said slowly.

  “Sadly, we’d have to manage without you while you were away,” Gabriel’s voice appeared tinged with regret. “Someone else might have to manage your vital projects in your absence.”

  “I mean, I could go,” said Joan, warming to the idea. “But Amsterdam? Toulon? I’ve never been to these place and I was never a well travelled person. Will there be wildernesses to cross? Forests and mountains and such? Wild beasts to contend with?”

  “Wild beasts?” said Francis, his interest piqued.

  “Then perhaps some suitably qualified individual should go with you.”

  St Christopher coughed gently and smiled.

  “I could go,” said Francis.

  “Really?” said Gabriel. “This mission appeals to you?”

  “As some members of this committee are so dispawaging about my Heavenly work with the Lord’s cweatures” – he fixed Pius with a hard stare as he said this – “then perhaps I should weturn to Earth to observe animals in the wild once more. Wefwesh my perspectives, or whatever it is people say these days.”

  Christopher coughed again, louder this time.

  “It is clear that our Joan needs a most experienced traveller with her —”

  “I went on a pilgwimage to Jewusalem in 1212,” said Francis.

  “Your boat sank,” said Christopher.

  “But I made a journey to Mowocco the following year,” Francis countered.

  “Which you called off because the Spanish food disagreed with your delicate constitution.”

  “But I later went to spwead my gospel in Fwance.”

  “But the pope refused to let you leave Italy.”

  “I’ve still twavelled more than you!”

  “I’m the bloody patron saint of travel!”

  “You were! And a fat lot of good you did me when I needed you!”

  “Enough!” shouted Gabriel.

  Francis and Christopher fell silent. Gabriel looked to Mother Teresa.

  “I think it’s one ‘r’ and two ‘c’s. We should really invest in a dictionary for you.”

  The committee waited patiently for Teresa’s pen to catch up. Apart from the scritch-scratch of her quill, the only sounds were the furious clicking of St Paul’s Rubik’s Cube and the quieter sound of the Wolf of Gubbio shredding St Francis’s pocke
ts in search of biscuit crumbs.

  “So, I think it’s decided then,” said Gabriel finally.

  “It is?” said Joan.

  “Yes. You are to go as soon as is practicable and both St Francis and St Christopher are to accompany you.”

  The three saints looked at one another.

  “Any objections?” said Gabriel.

  St Paul screamed in fury and flung the Rubik’s Cube far away, and then got up almost instantly afterwards to retrieve it.

  “Good,” said Gabriel. “That’s settled then.”

  St Christopher did his best to contain his excitement, fearing that if he let anyone see his joy at escaping the NSPAU call centre and treading the good honest Earth once more, they would somehow snatch it away from him. During the days of preparation, he forcibly maintained a blunt and surly demeanour and only burst into a toothy grin and heavy-footed tap dance when no one was looking.

  He was so buoyant that he even managed to enjoy much of St Thomas Aquinas’s seminar on what to expect of Earth in the twenty-first century.

  St Thomas had brought the three saints to one of Heaven’s many public theatres. This particular one was small with plush red velvet seats and a screen in front of the stage for showing moving picture shows. Joan had brought with her a blonde-haired woman he did not recognise. Christopher assumed it was a woman, although she appeared to be wearing the dog collar of an Anglican priest, which made no sense at all.

  St Thomas, wobbled out onto the stage and pointed at the blonde woman.

  “Who is this?”

  “Evelyn Steed.”

  St Thomas pulled a face and shrugged.

  “She is my friend,” said Joan. “And she is one of the recently deceased.”

  “But she’s not going with you,” said St Thomas.

  “But, as one of the recently deceased, she might have some insights to offer at this discussion,” said Joan.

  St Thomas frowned.

  “This is not a discussion, mademoiselle. This is a seminar. As in seminary. I am going to plant the seeds of knowledge in your minds. I shall inseminate you and you will be grateful that I have.”

  The woman, Evelyn, sniggered and immediately apologised.

  “I’m sorry. Mind in the gutter. Do go on.”

  St Thomas scowled at her for a moment and then waved to the projection booth at the back of the theatre. A colourful map of Europe appeared on the screen.

  “This is Holland,” said Thomas, pointing with a long cane. “Mary’s last known location.”

  “A war-torn region in my lifetime,” said Joan. “The Hooks and the Cods and then that nasty business with the Burgundians and the Habsburgs.”

  “Holland is now ruled by a vast empire known as the European Union or EU,” said Thomas.

  “Not an empire as such,” said Evelyn.

  “An empire,” said St Thomas firmly, “with its capital in Brussels.”

  “And who is their emperor?”

  “It is hard to tell for certain,” said St Thomas as a picture of various men and women in tight-fitting suits appeared on the screen. “It might be this Belgian. Or this Spaniard. Frankly, it could be any of the people in this picture.”

  “How can people not know?” asked Francis.

  “Because Europe is a democracy,” said Evelyn. “It changes.”

  “Democwacy?” said Francis with a sour look on his face. “Like the ancient Gweeks?”

  “Democracy or not,” said St Thomas, “many regard this Hamburg woman as the de facto empress of Europe.”

  Joan snorted.

  “The Germanic peoples have always had a thirst for power,” she said.

  “That’s not true,” said Evelyn.

  A fresh picture appeared on the screen. Evelyn sighed.

  “Well, yes, Hitler. Of course, Hitler. You’d have to bring him up, wouldn’t you? But not all Germans are like him.”

  “Holland, France and all of Western Europe have been at peace for over half a century,” said St Thomas. “The last war was started by this man.”

  “Ooh! Ooh!” said Joan excitedly. “I know this one! That was the one when all the Jews hid inside wardrobes.”

  Evelyn glared at her friend.

  “I loaned you that book, about possibly the darkest moment in all human history and that’s what you took away from it? I despair.”

  “However,” said St Thomas, loudly, “despite the peace, the weapons of war that these countries possess grow ever more powerful.”

  “Spears with extra spiky bits?” suggested Christopher.

  “Bigger bows?” offered Francis.

  “Cannons,” said St Thomas. “Guns.”

  “Guns?”

  The saints recoiled as a cacophony of noise and violence exploded across the screen. Christopher could not even comprehend what was happening to the helmeted men and the fiery metal amulets in their hands. Francis squealed and covered his ears.

  “Weapons that cause disease,” continued St Thomas. “Alchemical poisons. And, most terrible of all, explosives of devastating force.”

  The roars and bangs were gone, the screen now displaying scenes of a city, utterly destroyed.

  “You’ve just segued from The Matrix to the aftermath of Hiroshima,” muttered Evelyn.

  “Is there a problem with that?” said Joan.

  “I couldn’t even begin to explain.”

  “The great powers of Earth possess enough of these nuclear weapons to kill every living thing on the planet,” said St Thomas.

  “Impossible,” said Christopher.

  “They must all be sick with wowwy,” said Francis.

  “There’s more to worry about than that,” said Evelyn. “The Earth is heating up. The ice in the far north and south are melting. The sea is rising up and drowning the low lying regions of the world.”

  “What is causing this?” asked Joan.

  “Sin, I’d reckon,” said Christopher.

  St Thomas nodded.

  “I concur. The unnatural heat of human sinning.”

  “No, you great pillock,” said Evelyn. “It’s caused by the increase of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere.”

  “What is ‘carbony upside’?” asked Joan.

  “It’s a kind of pasta,” said Francis.

  “Not a sin?” said Christopher.

  Evelyn got to her feet and turned to address them all.

  “Carbon dioxide is a gas. It’s causing the Earth to heat up. The planet is now continually wracked by freak weather events. Storms. Droughts. Floods.”

  “Are the storms caused by sin?” asked Christopher.

  “No.”

  “Are you sure? I hear there’s a lot of nudity on Earth these days. That generally causes people to feel hot and tempestuous.”

  “No.”

  “So, they’re all wowwying about the floods and the storms and that,” said Francis.

  “Well, no, most of them are worrying about guarding what little they have,” said Evelyn. “There are over seven billion people on Earth and not enough resources to satisfy them all.”

  Christopher laughed along with Francis.

  “Now, dear woman,” said St Thomas, “we can all tell when you’re pulling our legs. Seven billion. That’s impossible.”

  “Continual population growth. And, yes, that is possibly caused by sin. Some of it.”

  “But there are natural forces to keep the population in check,” said St Thomas. “Disease. Plague.”

  “Man has medicines to deal with most of those. Bubonic plague is no more. No one’s contracted small pox in decades.”

  “So, there is no more disease?” asked Joan.

  “Well, no. We still have some old favourites and a few new ones. Oh, and before anyone even says it, I will beat to a bloody pulp anyone who says they are caused by sin.”

  “Wasn’t going to say anything,” said Christopher hurriedly.

  “If there’s any root cause to the suffering and poverty on Earth,” said Evelyn, “it’s
the inequality between the haves and the have-nots. Fortunately for you, Holland and France are in the technologically advanced and generally safe land of the haves.”

  “Ah, yes,” said St Thomas. “If you’ll take a seat, woman, I was going to say a few words about the advances in engineering and the natural sciences.”

  Christopher tried extraordinarily hard to follow St Thomas’s explanation of the great inventions and leaps in understanding that mankind had made in recent centuries. Laszlo Biro’s never-ending writing stick was astounding. The Breville sandwich toaster seemed both an obvious idea and yet simultaneously magical. He got a little lost when St Thomas talked about the slinky and an argument erupted when Evelyn contested that the slinky was not invented by Barnes Wallis to blow up German dams in World War Two. Following that, Christopher was utterly lost, and had no idea what the purpose of the pogo stick was or whether the Dustbuster was a weapon or an essential item for the maintenance of Furbies (whatever they were).

  “And, of course, modern man can no longer survive without the aid of the internet,” said St Thomas.

  “What’s that?” said Francis.

  “It’s the repository of all human knowledge. It’s where I acquired the images for this presentation.”

  “So it’s like a libwawy? Or a picture gallewy?”

  “Yes, but one that is simultaneously in all places at all times.”

  “I can get in on my tablet,” said Joan, waving her magic moving mirror at Christopher.

  “It looks like witchcraft to me,” said Christopher.

  “And what is this internet thing made of?” asked Francis.

  “Cats,” said St Thomas, “Mostly cats. And naked women.”

  “Earth is insane!” Christopher declared, his confusion close to tipping over into terror. “Show us something we can comprehend. What of transport in the third millennium?”

  “Most people drive horseless carriages or ‘cars.’” St Thomas clicked one on the screen.

  “Right,” said Christopher, slowly regaining his calm. “I know about these.”

  “Everyone has one,” said St Thomas. “They are very fast but can be dangerous.”

  “And produce a lot of harmful carbon dioxide,” added Evelyn.

  “That’s the sinful pasta that’s causing all the storms?” said Christopher.