The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 107: Honor Among Bastards

Chapter 107: Honor Among Bastards

Shadwell couldn't sleep away his hangover. He'd merely continued his drinking at an even pace as to trick his liver into believing it was just fine. The hangover agreed, and faded away to leave room for thoughts about that blasted safe at Crowley's. Blood was pumping to parts of his brain that wanted a little mischief, or baring that, just a quick exercise.

Sitting and stoking the campfire, Shadwell took a few breaks to relieve himself at a convenient bush and to shake off the snow at the entrance of the cottage before sneaking in to see Tracy. What he found there was more devilry, the three women mucking about with that infernal sword, before he was shooed out. Ach, so be it! Back to the fire and testing out the ol' field skills his younger days. Those days weren't so far behind as he'd like to admit.

Life shifts so quickly. One day you're trekking through the bramble through the pouring rain, alone in the cold night wind, binoculars and pins at the ready, the next you're trying to save the world twice over, upturning your world view in order to do so.

Things weren't so clear. Up and down didn't mean good or bad anymore. Now it was just more bureaucracy. Shadwell didn't like to be the tool for bureaucracy. It's what got him into the clink to begin with.

Back then it'd had just been small hustles and thievery, bouncing and bookkeeping. And then he started to believe his own scam, another world view taking over. Not that it was left in the dust. He'd just got a good shake, was all.

He was starting to see clearly through those rummy eyes, for the first time in his long life.

Because of a rebellious demon and a retired nancy boy angel who fell in love with his world.

And if they could fall in love with it, well, perhaps he should take it less for granted.

He picked up his thermos of coffee, emptied the rest of his flask into it, and regarded the sunrise. And then, very faintly, he picked up on a distant cry, and he turned around.

That blasted bookshop had planted itself firmly in the fields beyond the cottage. Shadwell stopped and peered ponderously at it as the cries became louder.

The thermos fell from his grip as he bolted toward the building.

"Treachery!" he puffed, jogging to a stop at the door. His hands fell on the knob, and he rattled the it, banged on the glass panes as the cries, Crowley's cries, grew louder. Then, his eyes caught a dubious and overtly polite note in tiny writing and it took him five minutes to read it out loud.

"Dear fellows and ladies in our good company: Perhaps you will hear some disconcerting noises from this establishment between the hours of 7 and 8? Please do not be alarmed, we are attempting to resolve a very urgent and private matter and it is vital we be permitted to address the issue unharrassed. We apologize for any inconvenience, and appreciate your patience in the matter, and rest assured it will be settled shortly.

Your friend truly,

Aziraphale.

P.S. Sergeant. Don't bother picking the locks. They are firmly and resoundly miracled against your monkeyshines.

"Monkeyshines, is it?" Shadwell spat loudly. "Why ye pompous, feather-headed, pillow biter! Let me in!" The cries grew louder, into one unending howl, and Shadwell hollered over them, looking for something to break the windows, shouting profanities and threats to the angel as if somehow this was all his fault.

The cry stopped. So did Shadwell.

He stood there, his mouth a perfect O, his eyes wild and rolling slowing, his ears picking up on anything else that might come. And he did pick up one thing, one very odd thing. Crowley....laughing.

The door unceremoniously opened and he fell, the angel catching him and pushing him repugnantly backwards. Aziraphale's face was set in an almost comicaly stern frown. "I did try to be reasonable, Sergeant. You could at least meet me half-way! Or am I being too presumptuous in thinking you own some literacy skills?"

"I canna certainly read when a situation ain't right!" he barked, dusting the snow off his coat. "What ye be doin' up there to that poor creature!"

"Nothing that either one of us, you or I, would particularly take great joy in doing!" the angel expounded firmly. Then he blinked, and sagged. "Shadwell, please. Try to understand."

"I'm listening," he growled, rolling around the previous sentence in his head.

"I'd rather not get into it, but Crowley came back with a sort of...medical issue."

"A demon with a medical issue?"

"You held him when he collapsed once, remember?"

"Aye, aye I did," he conceded.

"When this happens, it takes some strange measures."

"Ones only you can help him with." The angel nodded. Then the old witchfinder tilted his head, "And you na' care for it, what ye have to do, eh?"

"It's just...very trying is all, good fellow. But the results...can have him bounding off the walls once recovering."

"And today?"

"Today is still yesterday, is it not?" the angel muttered, glaring hard.

"Aye. None o' us getting any sleep, and na' rest in sight, ye or I or any o' us." Shadwell looked back at the angel, took in his less meticulous appearance, and the creases growing ever more prevalent on his face. "I won't tarry, then. I suppose breakfast will appear one way or another. I will see ye then." He touched his forelock and made to leave, but the angel cleared his throat and turned.

"May I ask you something, if it's not too forward, Shadwell?"

"Aye?"

"Why are your sympathies placed so much more with Crowley than me?"

"From the moment I met ye I didn't trust ye." Shadwell smiled and chuckled to himself. "Didn't trust him either, really, but I recognized his nature. Ye be a little too clever, too sneaky in yor way." Again, the laugh, "A right bastard, when ye shovel down deep e'nough. Suppose that's why he...loves you...so much."

"I don't deny any of it, my good man."

"Right you are, right you are. Um, anyway, see ye at breakfast." And on the way back, Shadwell somehow felt in a better mood. Bastards. That was firmer ground, there. Gains a person points, in his book.

Especially on admitting it.