In Nomine - Charity Auction
[All is busy in NYBBAS' headquarters in Perdition. Eager demons hang on his every word, and
a 40-part soundtrack plays in the background]
NYBBAS : Okay, guys. Minions. Cute slave-like entities. Best buds. Do we have the
okay on the moolah?
CHROME BALSERAPH : [ticks off item on his clipboard] Moolah is go, Boss.
NYBBAS : Location?
CHROME BALSERAPH : [ticks off another item] Location is go, Boss.
NYBBAS : [striding up and down] Cameras?
CHROME BALSERAPH : Coming out the wazoo, Boss.
NYBBAS : Public pronouncement. Pipe this over the overhead network. You can never
have too many cameras.
[demons type frantically on the computer banks at the wall, and suddenly alll the television screens
show NYBBAS' face intoning, "You Can Never Have Too Many Cameras," on infinite loop]
NYBBAS : Invitations?
CHROME BALSERAPH : [ticks off another item] All typed and ready to be sent out,
Boss.
NYBBAS : Guest of honour?
[all demons snicker sycophantically]
CHROME BALSERAPH : Target of opportunity coming up in fifteen seconds,
Boss...
NYBBAS : Someone get me a live video feed.
[a dozen demons leap to obey his command, and the television screens dissolve to give a view
of...]
---
[Splendid explosions taking out an entire office block and the neighbourhood, in the utmost good
taste, leaving only desolation and tacky Christmas decorations behind]
---
[The Seraphim Council, in Heaven. Everyone except JANUS and MARC is present and looking
very worried]
NOVALIS : But surely he must have told someone where he was going.
MICHAEL : Did he, hell. Have you any idea how much trouble it's being propping up
the Euro in his absence? I've had to give the signal for three assassinations and five duels so
far...
[everyone else stares at him]
MICHAEL : ...though of course I could be meaning that in a purely figurative
sense.
DOMINIC : Hrm. [makes note]
YVES : What will be, will be. The Euro is as a great wheel, that rises and falls to rise
again.
MICHAEL : If we could just leave aside the Euro for a moment, has anybody
seen Marc since that explosion yesterday?
LAURENCE : I blame the Ethereals.
BLANDINE : [sotto voce] How unusual.
LAURENCE : [drawing sword] Upon my blade, I do swear that I will liberate Marc
from whatever foul stronghold he may be immured within, and the stern edge of honour shall lay
waste to those who would hold him! [sheathes blade] Now, about coordinating an strike on the
Far Marches...
[general disturbance as JANUS enters]
JANUS : Hi hi hi! Hey, people, I've got some kinda weird news...
MICHAEL : So have we. Marc's been kidnapped. War council time.
JANUS : No, this is sort of related, but sort of totally different, if you get my drift.
DAVID : No.
JANUS : [flops in a chair] You see, I have this kind of email address mixup, which
sometimes in a totally unrelated way means that I get email meant for an entirely different person
which in no way should be at all construed as evidence of disloyalty on my part or considered that
I could be at all connected to the person who got the email...
MICHAEL : All right, who's been spamming Valefor this time?
JORDI : [who has been reading it over his shoulder] I do not understand these human
concepts. What is the television event of the Millenium and why is the "Archangel Charity
Execution Auction Live" associated with it?
JEAN : I calculate a 99.99 per cent probability that this is associated with the
disappearance of Marc.
DOMINIC : [sarcastically] You are not certain?
JEAN : There is always the possibility that he is hosting it.
LAURENCE : [leaning across table] Does this email by any chance include an
address?
JANUS : Oh, yes, the whole kit and kaboodle. Location, invitation... [blinks innocently]
You've just given me the most incredible idea. I could masquerade as this Valefor chappie. I'd
never have thought of that on my own!
[general expressions of disbelief around the table, coughing behind hands, raised eyebrows, and
so forth]
JANUS : Which would give me the chance to sneak a few of you in.
MICHAEL : Good point. I seem to recall someone swearing a mighty oath a few
minutes ago.
LAURENCE : Excellent! This calls for the utmost stealth and secrecy. Jean, I'll need
you to handle any technical problems.
JEAN : [looks up from palmtop computer] You are taking along the greatest scientific
mind of the era to handle *technical problems*?
LAURENCE : Nobody else could do it better.
JEAN : A good point.
JANUS : Well, I can sneak you in round the back, if we take care to do it subtly,
secretly, and stealthily...
[LAURENCE and JEAN, in unison, pull out mirrorshades and don them, sitting back in their
chairs]
JANUS : ...that'll do it.
---
[The 40th floor of the Telecom Tower in London, the entire floor being a revolving restaurant
looking out over the city below. The place is packed with Demon Princes, bodyguards and
"secretaries", and imps with cameras. At the centre is MARC, Armani suit pristine, doing his best
to look elegant and lounge in chains and collar, sitting under a large electronic scoreboard
(recognisable as the one from the Oval, clearly borrowed for the occasion). NYBBAS stands
beside him with a microphone]
NYBBAS : And we will just take this opportunity to pause in the bidding for a moment.
Refreshments are available in all the latest product flavours, and we would be grateful if you'd fill
in the appropriate questionnaires afterwards, concerning texture and taste and bodily harm, thank
you very much, Perdition appreciates the assistance. May I remind you that currently at the head
of the bidding is [checks scoreboard] Baal, with a bid of, hm, twenty trained Calabim, seventy
Impudites, and the military dictatorship-to-be of Guatemala, and with the target of [checks again]
ripping out our favourite Archangel's guts with a pair of spiked gloves. Do I hear any advance on
that?
BAAL : [gives bland top-that glance to the other Princes]
MAMMON : Raise my bid by fifty accountancy-trained Djinn.
MARC : [lazily] Really, Mammon, old chap, I'm disappointed in you. Don't tell me
you've forgotten that time I bought the entire economy of Phoenicia out from under you? Still,
I suppose you always were a second-rater...
MAMMON : [snarling] Sixty Djinn. And change my proposed target to involve a ton
of live leeches. Time for Marc to meet a few of his old friends.
KRONOS : [raises an index finger fractionally]
KOBAL : Wait, I want to change my target again.
NYBBAS : So that's a raise by Mammon, and by Kronos, and... what's your proposed
target now, Kobal baby?
KOBAL : [smirking] I just want to watch Marc jump off a high-rise building, after
having lost everything in the biggest crash the world has ever known.
NYBBAS : Okay, okay, we're making a note of it. [looks around] Any other raises?
MARC : [raises chained hand] I demand a higher price! Fifty more Seraphim. Anything
less is a gross mark-down.
LILITH : I suppose I could use a new secretary. I'll throw twenty more Lilim into the
pot - oh, and the entirety of the Berlin Wall.
MARC : That's more like it.
[ANDRE scribbles a note, kisses it lingeringly, and signals a minion to take it up to NYBBAS.
NYBBAS opens it, reads it, and his eyebrows rise as he signals a raise on the scoreboard. He
passes it on to MARC, who blenches]
HAAGENTI : I'm putting in the EEC beef market. Want to know what Archangel tastes
like. [pats KOBAL on the back] You can share!
KOBAL : I'm lost for words.
NYBBAS : And it's all for a good cause, so give generously!
[VALEFOR (it's JANUS, of course) enters, sweeping down the steps, clapping Princes on the
back and removing the odd wallet]
VALEFOR : Hope I haven't missed anything?
NYBBAS : The bidding's just hotting up.
BELIAL : I'm raising my bid by fifty new state-of-the-art flamethrowers! Target stays
the same.
MARC : [aside, to NYBBAS] He's so unimaginative.
NYBBAS : Tragic, isn't it, baby? I mean, he's not even going to do it photogenically.
By the way, want to do a last interview?
MARC : Oh, not yet, surely.
NYBBAS : Suit yourself. I'll have the makeup team standing by.
VALEFOR : [soliloquising to himself] I'm supposed to be letting the other Archangels
in through a back door. Then again, what sort of Prince... that is, Archangel... would I be, if I
didn't make a profit on the occasion?
BAAL : [who is standing next to him] I beg your pardon?
VALEFOR : [raises a hand] Place your bets, mesdames, monsieurs! Yes, this is your
chance to bet on how Marc will meet his grisly and untimely end! God save the mark!
[he is nearly crushed by the mob of money-waving Princes]
---
[outside, it is dark, and LAURENCE and JEAN are waiting outside the back door on the street
in mirrorshades and MIB black suits. It is also raining]
LAURENCE : Something's wrong. They must have spotted him!
JEAN : There is no need to worry. We have only been waiting forty-seven point five
minutes. It is entirely conceivable that something has prevented him from coming to open the
door.
LAURENCE : Hrmph. [reaches inside trenchcoat to fondle sword]
JEAN : There is always an alternate approach.
LAURENCE : Which is?
JEAN : This. [steps forward and knocks on door]
[there is a pause, then a clearly low-grade-Impudite opens the door]
IMPUDITE : Yes?
JEAN : We're the plumbers. Where's the leak?
IMPUDITE : Well, all I can say is, it's about time. I don't know, we've been waiting a
fortnight now since it was reported, and all it does is drip, drip, drip, it's enough to drive you
totally crazy, it's a real mess, and I don't know how we're going to get rid of the stain, let
alone the marks on the ceiling below, it's such a complete and utter disaster, and hell knows I told
the Djinn to send for someone earlier, but no, you couldn't make her listen to a word you said,
she'd just stare at it as if she was totally convinced it'd clear up on its own, but you know what
I say, I say to always call in the plumbers once you can see it's dripping, it's for the best in the
end...
LAURENCE : Show us the tap and I will mercifully execute it.
IMPUDITE : [blinks]
JEAN : It's method therapy.
IMPUDITE : Oh, right. Just follow me.
[JEAN and LAURENCE go in, and the door closes behind them]
---
[The 40th floor restaurant, with bidding still continuing]
NYBBAS : [to the cameras] And the excitement is mounting. The tension's so high
people can hardly breathe!
[in fact, the only person having problems breathing is MARC, as some clearly Vapulan demons
are busy taking his measurements for unspecified purposes]
NYBBAS : I'm sure that when this gets broadcast live across Hell, people are going to
say it's the television event of the Millenium!
BELETH : Not Heaven too?
NYBBAS : Oh, they only get the reruns.
VALEFOR : Well, I've got all the bets in now - unless anyone else wants to put a few
souls on? Basically, nearly everyone's putting their money on a horrible death, except for a small
but surprising syndicate...
SAMINGA : Wannnt to raiiise biddd. Put in one fiffth of soul smellter productssss.
Make Archangelll zombieee.
MARC : [puts head in hands] Saminga, you idiot. This is the last time I go into a
business consortium with a Shedite.
VALEFOR : [cheerfully] You aren't going to welsh on your bet, Marc, are you?
MARC : [through gritted teeth] My estate will honour it, I'm sure.
NYBBAS : Hey hey, Marc, no getting annoyed now, I want you all smiles for your
interview!
MARC : Ever have one of those days, Nybbas?
NYBBAS : Have them, no. Televise them - all the time, baby!
[JEAN and LAURENCE enter, still in mirrorshades, both carrying trays of wine glasses - this
cunning disguise entirely fools all onlookers]
NYBBAS : Vapula, technician of reality, you got that scoreboard running the totals yet,
baby?
VAPULA : Almost. [applies screwdriver to electronic entrails of scoreboard]
LAURENCE : [thrusts tray at VALEFOR] Ahem.
VALEFOR : You want to do something for that cold, kid. Here, have a throat
sweet.
JEAN : [approaching on other side] Ahem.
VALEFOR : I should have guessed. We're in England. Everyone gets the flu.
LAURENCE : [leans in close to mutter]
VALEFOR : [eyes going wide] NUCLEAR BOMB?
NYBBAS : What was that, baby?
VALEFOR : [covering fast] I just wanted to change my target to strapping Marc here
to a nuclear bomb, size no object.
NYBBAS : Sure, sure, no problems.
JEAN : [mutters]
VALEFOR : FIVE MINUTES?
[at this moment the scoreboard chimes loudly, and everyone turns to look]
NYBBAS : And it is my great pleasure to announce that the winner is ... VAPULA!!!
[crowd cheering noises go off in background, everyone turns to look at VAPULA in a hostile and
disbelieving manner. VAPULA stands by the scoreboard and smirks, twirling his
screwdriver]
VAPULA : Electronics cannot lie!
NYBBAS : [patting MARC on the shoulder] Which means that Marc here - a big hand
for our victim, everyone - is going to be executed by the very latest from Vaputech - just as soon
as we can get it installed here! Please will you all take the seats allocated to you, and we can
promise you all a front-row view. Recordings will be distributed after the execution is over, and
we hope that you will all patronise Nybbas Enterprises in future.
[the Princes applaud mockingly, and MARC assumes the look of a noble aristocrat about to face
the guillotine. VALEFOR meanwhile goes whiter and whiter as JEAN and LAURENCE mutter
to him]
NYBBAS : [waves to bodyguard demons] Just escort our guest of honour backstage
a moment, will you? Keep the cameras on him. These last few minutes of failing dignity and
despair are going to be prize-winning television!
VALEFOR : [hastily] Just a moment, old boy. Can I have a private little word with
Marc about paying up on his bets? [flexes knuckles meaningfully] I've had some ... experience ...
on collecting debts.
NYBBAS : Sure, sure. Can we get that on film too?
VALEFOR : No problemo. I figure, you know, start with a kneecap, move on to the
fingers...
MARC : Excuse me. Can I...
VALEFOR : [carrying on over MARC's protests] ... rip off the fingernails, smash the
elbows, black those eyes, mess up his camel-hair overcoat...
MARC : NO! Not my overcoat!
ASMODEUS : Valefor, I do believe that I have been underestimating you all these
years.
VALEFOR : I hide my light under a bushel. [looks around, waves vaguely at
LAURENCE and JEAN] You two come along with me. I need two unbiased signatures on his
will - when he feels like signing it.
[MARC is dragged out by the bodyguards, struggling, while VALEFOR, LAURENCE and JEAN
follow]
KRONOS : [sighs, and consults his watch silently]
NYBBAS : Hey, Kronos baby? What are you waiting fo...
[a gigantic explosion takes out the entire scene]
---
[In Heaven, all the Archangels are sitting round the Council table, watching a televised
explosion]
MICHAEL : And this is currently going out live across Hell?
LAURENCE : Given all the preparations Nybbas had made, it seemed a shame not to
use it. [piously] Hard work is good for the soul.
JANUS : Pity about the Oval scoreboard, mind. What are the English going to do, come
the next Test Match?
DAVID : [sotto voce] Lose?
JEAN : On the whole, a most efficient operation, leaving us definitely on the credit side
- to borrow our brother's phraseology. [nods to Marc]
MARC : Which reminds me. Janus, old boy, I believe you owe me.
JANUS : I do?
MARC : Am I alive?
JANUS : [blinks, suddenly realises] Well, technically...
MARC : [extends hand] Pay up.
---
FINIS
---
In Nomine