In that first lesson, he did little more than confuse me on the subject of time, but at least I learned the words of the Great Compact. In Heaven, everyone is required to know it by heart. Long ago, Kettle said, all of Vernier did. Then he began to quote, almost chanting:
We, the people of Vernier, in order to preserve the wisdom of our ancestors from the dark of ignorance, our goods from the dark of night, our liberties from the dark of tyranny, our minds from the dark of superstition, and our children from the darknesses of inequality and intolerance, violence and oppression, do hereby enter into Compact together, for ourselves and our descendants forever.
He paused, looking reverent, which was not easy with a face so much better suited to registering mirth.
“That’s it?”
“That’s just the beginning. It goes on to describe ‘the college,’ which is Heaven, and ‘the instructors,’ which we now call angels—”
“Why? Why change the names?”
“I have no idea!” The solemnity slipped slightly, and his eyes twinkled. “There is an old tradition that it started as a joke. A heaven is a place where a god lives, and the Great Compact bans all gods from Heaven. Let me tell you the rest of it…”
And so he did. But then and later, he left many questions unanswered and many hints unexplained, and in time he had me begging for reading lessons so that I could find out for myself, which is probably what he had intended from the start. Probably I wanted to show that herdmen and reading were not incompatible…and Quetti was learning too, of course.
After that first session with Kettle, though, I returned to Cloud Nine with my head full of wonders and my belly empty. I discovered a near riot in progress because the seraph cook had been removed to attend to more urgent business. The cherubim were solving the problem with beer and loud indignation. Feeling too hungry for such behavior, I headed for the kitchen to set to work on my specialty, an all-inclusive stew.
My news of an angel slave had rocked Heaven as if all the snortoises had taken up dancing. Michael was planning a force of forty men, which meant at least fourteen chariots, and no such effort had been mounted since the mission to the herdfolk, back in my childhood. Everyone became involved. I was to see learned saints wielding paintbrushes and archangels sewing sails. The seraphim were run to exhaustion.
Technically I was only a guest, but I did not escape the preparations. Angels were too busy now to instruct, while senior cherubim were frantic to win their wheels before the war party departed. Quetti’s stories must have found gullible ears. A blushing cherub asked if I would give him some tips in archery. Then it was marksmanship, although I had not shot a gun since I ran out of ammunition in the crocodile swamp. Then horses. Soon I was as insanely overworked as everyone else, and mostly I was training angels, which I found ironic. In exchange, I demanded lessons in dogsledding and snowshoeing, so I could make my own way around Heaven without needing help all the time.
Then Sariel invited me along to meet some traders, and I found myself haggling on Heaven’s behalf. The traders did not appreciate my intervention. Sariel was appalled at the difference it made.
But I am getting ahead of my story… About the second or third time I was playing cook in Cloud Nine, Michael sent a seraph to fetch me. He wanted only to chat, but Michael’s whim was Heaven’s law.
I refused the seraphs dogsled and set off on my own snowshoe-shod feet. The sky was black, with a murderous cold wind coming from Nightside, and I was red-faced and breathless by the time I arrived at Throne. Michael made me welcome, apologizing for having taken so long to call me back. He led me into a small and very cozy office, where lantern flames danced happily and logs crackled in a tubby iron stove.
The chairs looked soft and difficult. I chose to settle on the floor with my back against a wall. Michael fetched some shabby old cushions for me, and then he proceeded to warm dulcified wine on the stove and to roast beef nuts. He was being charming again, and that put me on guard.
But I seemed to have misjudged him. He was amused and excited at having a real live son turn up in Heaven. To console him in his old age, he said with a laugh that came close to a cackle. We must get to know each other. Tell me about your childhood. Have some more wine. Have you heard the story…?
He was bright and inexhaustible, witty and irascible by turns. I was weary after a long series of lessons given and taken. I sat there, and we talked until my neck sagged and my eyes glazed. Finally he relented.
“You’re weary!” he said, as if that had not been obvious for a long time. “I was hoping the weather would clear. Well, I can summon a dogsled—unless you’d care to stay here?”
I looked up at him blearily. “Would that be wise?”
He sulked for a moment. “No, I suppose not. There would be more gossip.” Then a flash of humor: “You make me feel like a maiden guarding her reputation!” And a pout: “Such pettiness!”
“Can they throw you out?”
The blue eyes narrowed. “Certainly not! Oh, it’s been done a few times—Michaels who became too old, or went mad, or became corrupt… I’ve done nothing to provoke that. But they can stop me from experimenting with new things that need to be done—like trying to enlist herd-men. No angel wants to be the first, in case it doesn’t work out.” He paused, thinking. “If we suffer serious losses against the ants, then they might pull me down, I suppose.”
He sighed in exasperation and rose from his chair. “Well, I have enjoyed our chat. We’ll have time for lots more, I’m sure.”
Relieved, I levered myself away from the wall on my seat. “You’re coming… You’re coming along to lead the mission in person?”
“Eh? No, I’m not going! Who would I blame if it failed? I’m not going, and neither are you!”
I had been about to do my rollover and double-up maneuver. “I’m not going? But I’m the one—”
“A war party is no place for a cripple.” He folded his arms and was suddenly big. Partly it was a trick of the giant shadow dancing on the wall behind him. Partly it was his bulky white gown, and of course, I was sitting on the floor looking up, but the little man did look big, suddenly. I saw that I was not going to accompany the angels’ attack on Hrarrh’s nest.
“Damn! I can shoot as well as—”
“So I’ve heard. Uriel admits that you’re a better all-rounder than most of the cherubim and, he says, many of the angels. So’s your young friend, and I suppose you trained him.”
“Well, then—”
“He can’t be an angel until he can read and write. He needs some book learning, but in fieldwork he’s ready. Don’t tell him, though.” Michael had not moved. Only his shadow writhed and swayed.
“And me?”
That surprised him, and suddenly he showed caution. “You said you were not a pilgrim. Not a candidate, you said.”
“I wasn’t. But I want to go on this war party, and—”
“No.” He sank down on his chair again, which happened to put his face in shadow. “Don’t you understand, Knobil? Hasn’t Kettle explained?”
“Explained what?”
“Why you can’t be a cherub or an angel as long as I’m here in Heaven. You shouldn’t be here at all.”
“Because you’re my father.”
“Yes. But that’s not the scandal. Angels make bastards all the time. We encourage it! It spreads the genes around… I mean, it reduces the inbreeding, and that’s a bad problem in many areas. Groups don’t mix much, but seamen angels visit the deserts and treefolk angels the wetlands—the more angelbrats, the better! But we never know who they are. And—hasn’t Kettle explained the Great Compact?”