by clouds, white and puffed, unlike the black and swollen things that gathered above Hell and periodically burst in vicious downpours. Heaven smelled of flowers and clean earth and something fresh and subtly sharp, like the breath of healthy trees. It was warm, the air gentle on Fool’s skin, and he sighed, feeling himself relax, feeling clean, trying not to think of the foulness he accompanied and the ugliness painted and scored across his skin.
“So this is Heaven,” said Catarinch, its voice contemptuous.
“Of course,” said an angel, stepping alongside them and looking down on the crowd, smiling. “You have reached your destination after a journey that I have no doubt was hard and unpleasant.”
“It was fine.” Catarinch again. “It was a simple journey, that’s all. Now, can we get on?”
Catarinch’s voice made Fool look around, peer closely at the demons of the Delegation. He had been too busy watching the crowd, experiencing Heaven, to pay them any attention before. The scribe had hunched down, wrapping its long arms around its legs and making itself small, Wambwark was standing and dripping maggots onto the clean earth, and Catarinch was standing tall, shoulders back and chin jutting forward in a pose Fool recognized from all the humans in Hell: if you can’t be small, if you
have
to be seen, be seen as large as possible, be intimidatingly large.
The demon was looking around, eyes leaping rapidly about it, taking in the movement and the people and the angel, and Fool suddenly understood:
It’s never been to Heaven before, it’s never seen an angel before!
It’s scared.
It made Fool smile. The angel saw the smile and returned it, broadening his own. Catarinch saw it, too, and scowled, brows knitting low over eyes that glowed a dark, burning red. Trouble, he supposed; Catarinch would have noted his amusement, and would make him pay for it later.
Foolish Fool,
he thought,
silly foolish Fool forgetting to keep low, keep unnoticed.
“I’m Benjamin,” said the angel, “and you are all most welcome. Heaven is grateful for your presence and extends its hospitality. Thomas Fool, you are in particular a welcome guest. Heaven remembers the service you performed for it and the kindnesses you have shown.”
Fool didn’t know how to respond, so said nothing. He had known two angels previously, Adam and Balthazar, and Benjamin was both like and unlike them. He was as pure and beautiful as they had been, his face handsome, his eyes smiling as much as his mouth. His hair was long, swept back from his unlined face, wings folded but stretching up above him, their upper edges curved in so that they formed a shade above his head. He was shorter than either of the other angels had been, and his only clothing was a tight loincloth. No, not a loincloth, Fool realized, feathers; the angel had a thick growth of white feathers around his groin covering his genitals. Did they have genitals? he wondered. Fool couldn’t remember, wasn’t sure he’d ever known. The skin of Benjamin’s chest and legs and arms was hairless, as smooth as planed wood or marble, his color a deep brown.
When Benjamin moved, it was with a grace that made Fool feel clumsy and half formed, as though his angles were wrong and the angel’s were absolute, and absolutely perfect. There seemed to be no effort in his movement, just a
flow
from one place to another, and it made the angel alien in his beauty.
“Excuse me,” Benjamin said, “I have to close the door and then I’ll take you to your quarters.”
Benjamin left them and returned to the doorway. As Fool watched, the black space started to crumple in on itself, the edges rippling and blurring. The angel pushed and stroked the edges of the frame, narrowing the gap farther and diminishing Fool’s view of the creatures. The angel’s hands were swift and careful, his fingers pinching and pulling, describing intricate arcs and movements around the doorway, making it smaller and
“So this is Heaven,” said Catarinch, its voice contemptuous.
“Of course,” said an angel, stepping alongside them and looking down on the crowd, smiling. “You have reached your destination after a journey that I have no doubt was hard and unpleasant.”
“It was fine.” Catarinch again. “It was a simple journey, that’s all. Now, can we get on?”
Catarinch’s voice made Fool look around, peer closely at the demons of the Delegation. He had been too busy watching the crowd, experiencing Heaven, to pay them any attention before. The scribe had hunched down, wrapping its long arms around its legs and making itself small, Wambwark was standing and dripping maggots onto the clean earth, and Catarinch was standing tall, shoulders back and chin jutting forward in a pose Fool recognized from all the humans in Hell: if you can’t be small, if you
have
to be seen, be seen as large as possible, be intimidatingly large.
The demon was looking around, eyes leaping rapidly about it, taking in the movement and the people and the angel, and Fool suddenly understood:
It’s never been to Heaven before, it’s never seen an angel before!
It’s scared.
It made Fool smile. The angel saw the smile and returned it, broadening his own. Catarinch saw it, too, and scowled, brows knitting low over eyes that glowed a dark, burning red. Trouble, he supposed; Catarinch would have noted his amusement, and would make him pay for it later.
Foolish Fool,
he thought,
silly foolish Fool forgetting to keep low, keep unnoticed.
“I’m Benjamin,” said the angel, “and you are all most welcome. Heaven is grateful for your presence and extends its hospitality. Thomas Fool, you are in particular a welcome guest. Heaven remembers the service you performed for it and the kindnesses you have shown.”
Fool didn’t know how to respond, so said nothing. He had known two angels previously, Adam and Balthazar, and Benjamin was both like and unlike them. He was as pure and beautiful as they had been, his face handsome, his eyes smiling as much as his mouth. His hair was long, swept back from his unlined face, wings folded but stretching up above him, their upper edges curved in so that they formed a shade above his head. He was shorter than either of the other angels had been, and his only clothing was a tight loincloth. No, not a loincloth, Fool realized, feathers; the angel had a thick growth of white feathers around his groin covering his genitals. Did they have genitals? he wondered. Fool couldn’t remember, wasn’t sure he’d ever known. The skin of Benjamin’s chest and legs and arms was hairless, as smooth as planed wood or marble, his color a deep brown.
When Benjamin moved, it was with a grace that made Fool feel clumsy and half formed, as though his angles were wrong and the angel’s were absolute, and absolutely perfect. There seemed to be no effort in his movement, just a
flow
from one place to another, and it made the angel alien in his beauty.
“Excuse me,” Benjamin said, “I have to close the door and then I’ll take you to your quarters.”
Benjamin left them and returned to the doorway. As Fool watched, the black space started to crumple in on itself, the edges rippling and blurring. The angel pushed and stroked the edges of the frame, narrowing the gap farther and diminishing Fool’s view of the creatures. The angel’s hands were swift and careful, his fingers pinching and pulling, describing intricate arcs and movements around the doorway, making it smaller and
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