Chester missed the last part of the news program, which mentioned something about a woman complaining about her neighbors who had recently adopted a large amount of ducks, because Chester had already grabbed his keys and headed out the front door. Four hours later, he arrived in London.
At that particular moment, the former body of Raymond Miller was having the time of his life. All the people whizzing by provided such fabulous entertainment for Gerald that he almost completely forgot about his hangover. Rupert the cab driver had been going on and on about the different kinds of soaps he'd collected from hotels around the world, but neither passenger listened, which didn't seem to impair his enthusiasm for speaking in the slightest.
Death, on the other hand, was pondering as only an Angel of Death can. Something about this whole situation wasn't really making too much sense. God was always in the mood for a practical joke; Death fondly remembered when He had created the platypus: half duck, half beaver, laid eggs. God thought that was hilarious. But this seemed a little farfetched, as the world had been tossed into chaos. The human mind wasn't equipped to deal with things like angels and dead people getting up and walking around.
"There was this one place in Las Vegas," went on Rupert, "all the soaps were in these little heart shapes, very classy, I thought."
The question that was really nagging away at Death was, why had God let him quit if he'd known it would cause all this craziness? If there was one thing Death knew, it was that God didn't do anything without good reason. There was always something behind it all, some underlying theme, or question, or reasoning. But Death couldn't put his finger on it, and then there was the man sitting next to him who used to be a penguin. Aside from all the other strangeness about Gerald, he always remembered who Death was, and that was not a human trait, as holding any memory of Death in a human's mind was like trying to collect a beach full of sand using a pair of tweezers. It was too much work for the mind, so it always ended up giving up, which was why no one ever remembered seeing angels.
"The thing about soap, ya see, is that it never depreciates," said Rupert.
Death looked over at Gerald.
"Gerald?" said Death.
"Yes, Death," said Gerald, still glued to the window.
"Did you really used to be a penguin?"
"Yup."
"A real penguin, black and white, flippers, little waddle, the whole bit?"
"Yes," said Gerald and nodded enthusiastically.
"Hmm," said Death, and carried on pondering.
"The last hotel I went to was a right disappointment," said Rupert, "no bars of soap, just liquid soap, didn't stay there for very long."
"Death, why don't people remember you?" asked Gerald.
The question caught Death by surprise, as so far, Gerald's questions had been all Earthly-based: Why is the sky blue, what's this for, why is it doing that, how come that woman is sticking her middle finger up at me?
"Well, it'd be very hard for us to move around and complete our tasks if people could see us all the time. So instead, we just fade from people's memories."
"What kind of tasks?"
"Well, it varies depending on the Angel's function. My job was to guide dead souls to the afterlife. Some help people, a little nudge here, word of encouragement there. Other Angels simply watch and document human lives."
"Even when they're in the bathroom?"
"Yes."
"Hmm. And no one gets to see you guys?" asked Gerald.
"They see us, but they forget quickly."
"Hmm," said Gerald, turning back to the window, "must get pretty lonely."
"Yes," said Death solemnly.
"Then again I suppose if you didn't complete your tasks, the world wouldn't really work anymore, would it?" suggested Gerald. "How come I can see you anyway?"
Death smiled.
"I think it's because you used to be a penguin."
"Ahh," said Gerald, "so, who's this God fellah we're off to see?"
Death leaned over the front seat.
"Here! Stop here!" Death turned back to Gerald and pointed across the street, "He's the creator of the universe and sometimes he works as a wine waiter at that restaurant. Let's hope he's working today."
Jeremiah floated upside down in his bowl; he didn't know why, he just enjoyed the sensation of everything being the wrong way up. He giggled, as only a fish can giggle, at his castle that leaned a little to the left while hanging from the ceiling.
The feeling that suddenly reached out and gripped him was like nothing that he had ever felt before, although it did feel familiar in a distant kind of way.
A blurry knowledge of foreboding and impending doom settled itself around Jeremiah's bowl, causing him to hide in his castle. The messages, premonitions, and feelings that Jeremiah normally experienced always had a purpose for someone else and the little fish sensed this, which was why he always flung them out of his head instantly.
The deep dark sensation surrounding him felt different; Jeremiah knew that this sense of fear wasn’t for someone else. It was for him. He shivered a little bit and looked out from the castle window as if something could jump out of nowhere at any second and take him away. The moment passed, and the feeling slid from his mind, leaving him wondering why he was floating in a castle and shaking like a leaf as only a fish can.
Twenty-Seven.
"No, no, no, you insipid ape-descended creature!"
The cat formerly known as Fuzzbucket, who was the fluffy vessel for a currently irate Prince of Darkness, shouted at Big Ernie with as much anger and indignation as his body would allow.
"Pick up the shovel, the shovel! It's the flat scooping device right there!"
Big Ernie was no rocket scientist. His brain had never been equipped to deal with anything unusual, and an angry cat shouting at him was a bit much for him to handle.
"Err, Satan, umm, your grace, master," said Itch while offering a sort of bow, "I don't want to, uhh, question your judgment but couldn't we just pick up a couple of generators or something?"
The Devil turned his attention from Big Ernie, who was scooping lemons into the large box trailer, and fixed his eyes on Itch. It had already occurred to the Devil that Itch had a better grasp on the situation than Big Ernie and was obviously the smarter of the two. Fuzzbucket had explained his master plan to both of them. Big Ernie just stared blankly, as if someone had slapped him with a wet salamander. But the Devil could see the wheels turning behind Itch's beady little eyes and had no doubt that Itch was probably thinking how to turn the situation to his advantage. He was obviously underhanded and devious, and the Devil couldn't help but admire the ugly little man.
"If that was even remotely possible," said the Devil, "don’t you think I would have done something about it already?"
He swished his tail for effect, and then began cleaning behind his ears. He had found the constant preening to be a severe hindrance at first, but the more time he spent inside the cat, the more he enjoyed it.
"Well, uhh," said Itch, "I just thought it might save us some time, um, your majesty."
"Indeed it would, my fiendish-minded little servant, but unfortunately it is not an option. Lemons are the only way! "The Devil turned back to Big Ernie. "Shovel faster, you giant ape!"
"But, umm, your magnificence, there must be easier ways to make e—"
"Look here," yelled the Devil, "this is my plan. I know exactly what's what and you will do as I say or I will reduce you to nothing more than a small amount of dust. And furthermore—"
The Devil looked past Itch across the runway. The three of them were currently outside an old hangar. A hand-drawn sign taped to the door read Temporary Lemon Storage. A hundred feet away from the hanger, a construction crew worked on a new section of runway. What caught the Devil's eye was the bright yellow front-end loader busily moving dirt from one spot and placing it in another.
"Hmmm," said the Devil slyly, "I have an idea. Come with me."
It took the Devil only four
and a half minutes to convince the driver of the front-end loader that he'd gone completely mad, as he was talking to a cat and the cat was matter-of-factly talking right back to him, so obviously he couldn't be sane.
The construction worker then solemnly decided, at the Devil's urging, that this type of work really wasn't his cup of tea and that he should pursue his original career choice of being an astronaut.
Five minutes later, Itch wrestled with the controls of the machine as he loaded the remaining lemons into the truck's trailer. The Devil looked on with mild satisfaction and fought the urge to take a quick nap. "The time has come," he decided, "to get out of this damn body!"
The bistro was void of all patrons when Death and Gerald entered; the quaint chairs were the only things sitting around the equally quaint tables. The kitchen door at the back of the restaurant swung open, and the waitress walked out carrying a tray of appetizers. She walked right up to Death and Gerald, handed Death the tray, then pointed upstairs.
"Hello, dears, he's waiting for you just upstairs. Give me a shout if you want anything to drink" And with that, she vanished.
Death felt stupid for thinking that their visit would come as a surprise; of course He anticipated it, probably saw it a mile away.
Gerald helped himself to some food from the tray and munched away, happy to have something other than airline peanuts.
Death and Gerald proceeded upstairs. Heinrich sat in the same spot Nigel had sat and was staring out the window, a whimsical smile playing on his face. He stood up and turned to greet the two visitors. He swept Death up in a big hug, almost causing him to lose his tray of food. Death felt a colossal surge of warmth run through his body, and, for a brief moment, everything seemed right with the world.
Heinrich released him and waved to a seat at the table.
Gerald still had a mouth full of food when Heinrich shook his hand.
"Lovely to finally meet you, Gerald," said Heinrich. "Won't you please have a seat?"
Gerald sat down and looked at the hand Heinrich just shook; an oddly pleasing sensation crept over him.
Heinrich sat down across from the pair and poured all three of them a glass of wine.
"So," said Heinrich, "How's things?"
"Fabulous," said Gerald, feeling immediately at ease with the man who sat across from him.
"Not going all that well, actually," said Death, almost sheepishly.
"What's on your mind?" asked Heinrich.
"Absolutely nothing," said Gerald enthusiastically, not realizing that the question wasn't meant for him. He picked up the wine in front of him, drained half the glass, and felt extremely pleased for the thousandth time today that he was no longer a penguin.
Death looked Heinrich right in the eye.
"I'm sorry about all this, I really am."
Heinrich waved off the obvious concern in Death's voice.
"Think nothing of it, not your problem anymore; I'm sure it'll sort itself out. You need not feel any responsibility for it."
"That's just it though," said Death, "I do, I totally feel responsible. I quit and now look what's happening!"
"Death, my old friend," said Heinrich, "why do you feel responsible? You quit to get away from this job, didn't you? The loneliness, the repetition, yadayada."
"Yes, but it's who I am. I'm the Angel of Death, it's what I do."
"Did," said Heinrich, "past tense."
"You're playing with me, aren't you? You know it drives me crazy when you do this," said Death.
"Not at all," laughed Heinrich. "Just out of curiosity, though, what made you quit?"
"Well, I have to admit I'd had a bit to drink."
"I'd noticed," said Heinrich.
"What gave it away?"
"You kept calling me Nancy."
"Ahh. Well, everything was getting a bit much for me, I suppose I felt underappreciated, and then I got thrown out of a pub because no one believed who I was."
"Naturally," agreed Heinrich.
"And then a cat talked . . . me . . . into . . . quitting."
The words he spoke were like a kick in the crotch to Death's mind. How in the world had he not thought about the cat? Cats can't talk!
"Ahh yes, a talking cat," said Heinrich, "Are you sure it wasn't just the beer?"
"That's impossible," said Death, amazed at his own blindness, "cats can't talk."
"That's not entirely true. I mean, this fine fellow sitting next to you was once a penguin."
Death looked at Gerald and then back at Heinrich. "What's going on? I know you know, and you know that I know that you know. You should really just tell me what you know. You're always doing this to me," said Death.
Heinrich laughed and took a sip of wine.
"Of course I know what's going on. It's actually all quite simple, in a confusing sort of way." Heinrich topped up Gerald's glass, as it was now empty.
"Well, what is it?" demanded Death.
Heinrich leaned across the table, a twinkle in his eye.
"Let's open another bottle and I'll explain everything."
Twenty-Eight.
Somewhere across the city, in the powerless buildings of Majestic Technologies, a man, a woman, and an elf ran through the hamster-maze-like corridors in search of the security centre. They moved as quietly as possible in order to avoid any marauding elves they might come across.
So far, the entire place seemed deserted.
After ascending one floor and then turning so many corners that Nigel fully believed they couldn't even be in the same building anymore, they came to a room with large double doors with friendly letters above them that read Security Centre.
They entered the room and blocked the door from the inside.
The Security Centre was nothing more than a small room with a bank of television screens and some complicated buttons that might or might not light up. Everything was currently dead, as there was no power.
"Ah," said Celina.
"What?" said Nigel.
"No power. Oh, wait a sec."
Celina reached under the control panel with the fancy buttons and started pulling out wires.
"Hey you, Eggnog, can you come over here, please?"
Eggnog, who had been standing idly in a corner, was happy to have something to do and skipped over to Celina.
She turned the elf around and lifted up his shirt to reveal what looked to Nigel like a plug socket in the centre of Eggnog's back.
"The elves have a super-charged lithium ion battery that can recharge itself when they're on down time," said Celina. "Eggnog here should be able to power the security system and cameras for up to a good couple of hours if I can hotwire this thing."
There was a crackling sound as Celina pulled out two wires and inserted them into Eggnog's back. The control centre monitors flickered and came to life.
"It'll take a while for all the cameras to switch on, but we can look at what happened before the power went out." Celina pressed a few buttons, turned a couple of knobs, and sneezed.
"Bless you," said Nigel.
"Thank you," said Celina.
The monitor in the centre of the console flicked on and displayed the front security gate of Majestic Technologies. It looked to be early morning, as the sun was still low in the sky.
"Okay, this is it," said Celina and hit the slow button.
A black shape moving fast enough to blur slightly on the screen climbed up the fence and jumped over the razor wire, landing effortlessly on the other side.
"Pause it!" said Nigel and leaned closer to the screen. "I know exactly what that is."
"What?" said Celina, squinting at the screen.
"I'll bet you anything that's Fuzzbucket," said Nigel.
Celina looked at Nigel, and an expression, as if she suddenly realized that she knew absolutely nothing about this man and that he could very well be an escaped mental patient, crossed her face.
"I think you should explain yourself," said Celina.
Nigel considered how
crazy what he was about to say would sound to this rather beautiful woman who probably thought he had lost all his marbles already. He never had any luck with women, so there was obviously no harm in telling the truth. He took a deep breath.
"This will all sound crazy but earlier this morning I visited an elderly woman who claimed that her cat had been possessed by the devil and had ran off to take over the world. Then, as a result of a bad gambling habit, I was also fired from my job. Then I got your phone call and my goldfish may have been telling me all day that I should beware of elves, not to mention that I used to be telekinetically gifted and I think it all ties in together somehow but I honestly can't figure it out."
Clearly, Celina wasn't sure whether to be terrified, confused, or just plain happy that someone was having as weird a day as she was.
"You're right," she said, "that does sound crazy."
At that moment, the cameras flicked on and displayed various locations around the factory. Several things caught Nigel's attention. Firstly, in a large warehouse sort of area, he saw a lot of people, technicians, and various other workers, all wrapped in duct tape or bubble wrap. Secondly, he noticed a large laboratory area cluttered with different mechanical equipment, but what was strange, aside from the amount of deranged-looking elves all over the place and the large sleigh with what looked like reindeer attached to it, there was also a large table.
The table was not unusual. It was the large man dressed as Santa Claus who lay on the table that was unusual.
The third thing that Nigel noticed was on the screen that showed the front security gate: a large truck and trailer crashed through the fence and hurtled on through the complex.
"Okay," said Nigel, "if we're going to deal with this I think we should start at the beginning."
Heinrich leaned back in his chair and stared thoughtfully at his glass of wine, which quickly turned into water and then rapidly became wine again.
"Showoff," said Death, with a grin.
"Oldest tricks are always the best," said Heinrich.
"So who's this Devil fellah again?" asked Gerald.
Heinrich took a sip and put the glass down.
Death, the Devil, and the Goldfish Page 15
