After that, things moved pretty quickly. Hildegard rose and
ushered us out of her study and down to the music salon. There, we found that all the great composers were already set up at tables scattered against the various walls, pens in hand and blank composers' sheets spread out in front of them. It suddenly dawned on me why they had all come to the Abbey.
There was a single chair sitting in the middle of the big room, with a small side table next to it. The only thing on the side table was a little bell. The kind that looks like a cow bell only it's smaller. Hildegard marched up to the chair and took a seat, her head lifted high and her back ramrod straight. She motioned Greyboar to come around and stand behind her.
Jenny and Angela and I stayed off to one side, near the table where the Big Banjo was sitting. Despite my better judgment, I found myself getting interested in the affair. Never been part of such an operation before. I'd made it a point, in fact, to keep my distance from angels—fallen or otherwise.
The main thing that surprised me was how simple and straightforward it all was. I'd rather expected a much more elaborate affair. Drawing of pentacles, guttering torches, bell, book and candle, long incantations in an unknown tongue, naked witches leaping about. (The only part I'd been looking forward to, that last. Except I was a little nervous that Jenny and Angela would insist on participating.)
Instead, Hildegard stuck two fingers in her mouth and whistled. Very loudly. When my ears stopped ringing, there was the fallen angel. Squatting in the middle of the floor.
"What took you so long?" demanded Hildegard.
The fallen angel sneered. "For you, I should hurry?"
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."
Hildegard looked at him, once again, as if he were a moron. "But, my dear man, it's obvious! You will release the choke when Ralph coughs up the Harmony of the Spheres." She frowned briefly, then added: "Actually, to be on the safe side, you'd best wait until he repeats it. Even the world's greatest composers will have difficulty recording this harmony, and it's essential that we get every note down properly."
Greyboar was still frowning.
"Oh, stop worrying, young man!" snapped Hildegard. "You'll have no difficulty recognizing the score of the Harmony of the Spheres! You've never heard it before, of course. No mortal has. But it's quite unmistakable, really it is. And besides, we've all agreed that the Big Banjo will announce when the score is completely recorded."
Greyboar threw up his hands in frustration. "You are the most impossible woman!" he bellowed. "I'm not worried about that! How will I know when you want me to let up because you're about to die? That's the problem!"
Hildegard's look now conveyed the certainty that Greyboar was dumber than a moron.
"My dear man, the question simply won't arise. I intend to have the score, and that's that. Now, please! I'm a tolerant woman, but you are, after all, my employee. Do as you're told!" The Schoolmistress From Hell, like I said.
Greyboar exhaled a deep breath. Then, stepped up and stood just behind Hildegard. Meanwhile, Ralph had been following the exchange with a look of growing confusion on his bat's face.
"What's going on here?" he demanded. "And who's this big gorilla?"
"Name's Greyboar," rumbled the strangler.
The fallen angel looked suddenly interested. "Is that so? Well, I'll be damned. Never knew what you looked like—although I should have guessed. Know who you are, of course, even though you don't send much business our way."
He paused, pondered, then: "Actually, I don't think you've ever sent any business our way. But the devils are tickled pink with you. Talk about you all the time. 'Best supplier in the business,' they say."
"Glad to hear it," said Greyboar pleasantly. He placed his hands around Hildegard's throat. As huge as they are, his hands barely went all the way around. She was such a feminine woman, Hildegard, that it was easy to forget what a giantess she was. Most people's necks, even on great muscular bruisers, look like pipe-stems in Greyboar's hands.
Ralph was now totally confused. "Hey, what gives? What's the—"
The ringing of the bell cut him off. Greyboar started squeezing. Well, not really. I know what a real Greyboar squeeze looks like, and this was just a faint imitation.
Hildegard began ringing the bell impatiently, like she was a ranch woman summoning shepherds to the dinner table. And kept ringing. And kept ringing.
Greyboar's shoulders slumped. He really wasn't enthusiastic about the job, I could tell. Then he shrugged, took a deep breath, and really went to work.
Hildegard's face turned bright red. Her tongue popped out of her mouth. Yet—I swear it!—her face mostly conveyed deep satisfaction. She even stopped ringing the damned bell.
Ralph winced. "Boy, that's a horrible sight," he muttered.
But he was a tough fallen angel, I'll give him that. He took a deep breath and stared right at Hildegard's face, without even blinking. And there it remained for the next five minutes, Hildegard and Ralph staring each other down. The woman must have had lungs like a whale, I thought to myself.
After five minutes, Hildegard started ringing the bell again. Greyboar tightened up further. He was scowling fiercely, his great shoulder muscles bunching up, the tendons in his forearms like so many steel cables.
Hildegard's face was now bright purple. Her tongue was out a mile. Her eyes began protruding like a toad, except a toad's eyes don't show that horrid network of bright red veins in the eyeballs.
Ralph wasn't looking much better. His complexion was now gray. His horns were starting to curl in. His cloven hoofs were crossed. Drops of oily sweat were pouring down his bat's face.
Five more minutes went by. Hildegard rang the bell again. Greyboar went into overdrive. His shoulders hunched up like a bison's. The enormous muscles in his arms were rippling like a nest of anacondas. His own face was red, and sweat was pouring off his forehead.
I was flabbergasted. Only once before had I ever seen Greyboar throw this much into a choke. That was three years before, at the Barbarian Games, when he faced the Terrible Talon in the finals. Been champion at the Games for six years running, Greyboar had—ever since he started competing, in fact—and the Terrible Talon was the only one ever really gave him a run for the title. Would have made a great rematch. Of course, rematches are unheard of in the choking event.
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.