Two Sides of the Coin

"Two sides of the same coin, you and me." The speaker sat scuffing his heels on a cloud top, sorting through a bag of sandwiches and trying his best not to listen to the attempts of his companion to master a relatively simple piece for harp and solo falsetto.

Galadriel paused in his efforts, much to the relief of anyone within hearing distance. Even just 16 bars in, cracks had begun to appear in the nearer walls of the Many Mansions and Hephaestos was glaring at them with bile and a pile of acro-props. "And how do you work that out, then Zelzebub?" Galdriel asked, fingering a string and casting a suspicious ear at it. "Here's me in charge of one of the Gates of Heaven ..."

"... back gates," interrupted Zelzebub, quite reasonably.

"... and there's you, Apprentice Demon ..."

" ...first class, actually," Zelzebub broke in. "I get my own shovel next week. You can come to the inauguration if you want."

"What? And get this dirty?" Galadriel brushed at his dazzling white robe. "Why are you up here bothering me again anyway? Haven't you got some souls to fry?"

Zelzebub yawned and stretched. "Just skiving off for a bit if it's all the same to you. Thought I'd take myself off for a picnic. I quite like it here. Makes a bit of a change looking out over those Elysian fields. All the view I've got down there is one shovel length front and back. And that's Forever - or at least until Old Nick sees fit to grant me my Indentures. Which will be sometime never. Slave driver."

"And how do you keep getting in here? You're going to get me demoted," Galadriel complained.

"To what, exactly? Is there anything lower than a deputy gatekeeper to a back door to Heaven? And one with tin ears as well, who's too busy trying to strangle the life out of that harp to see to the maintenance. That fence is full of holes."

Galadriel looked scandalized, gesturing to his pristine raiment. "Does this look like overalls to you? Anyway, you haven't answered my question. What do you mean 'two sides of the same coin'? We couldn't be any more different!"

"You sure about that? This is a back gate, don't forget. Your clientele don't get all the horn fanfares like Gideon puts on at the Pearlies, I bet. Your customers could just as well turn left as right when they shuffle off the mortal and nobody would know any different."

If Galadriel had been any more incensed he could have passed muster for a smoking thurible, and he spluttered, lost for words.

"Oh, come on!" Zelzebub said. "How long have we known each other? We've got deluded souls down there who are pretty pissed off finding out where they've ended up, just like you've got chancers up here who inveigled their way past you and can't believe their luck. Have you had an inventory of the silver lately? Anyway," he continued. "I quite fancy my own chances up here if I'm honest. Shovelling souls into a furnace isn't all it's cracked up to be, even if most of them deserve it. I'm better than that."

Galadriel could hardly believe his ears and was just about to utter a few choice epithets when a cherub dropped out of the sky and balanced precariously on top of Galadriel's harp. It looked askance at Zelzebub reclining at Galadriel's feet and munching on a sandwich and said ominously (or at least , as ominously as a baby voice can emote) "The Old Man wants to see you. Now!"

Galadriel gulped and glared at Zelzebub, hissing, "See? This is your fault. Why don't you clear off back and do some more shovelling!"

In response, Zelzebub reached out a lazy hand, shook the harp vigorously, dislodging the cherub who fell spluttering into the cloud top and said, "No! You know what? There's no time like the present. I'll tag along and put my case. How long is it before you get a pair of wings? I quite fancy a pair of wings."

-oOo-

"I'll be no trouble, honest," said Zelzebub trotting to keep up with his companion's larger stride and trying to stow away his picnic at the same time."At least, as honest as I can be. All I want is a chance to prove myself. I'm very capable"

"Capable of what is the worry," muttered an increasingly agitated Galadriel, striving to shake off his irritating friend tagging along at his heels like an excitable puppy dog. "Why I ever agreed to this I do not know. I'm probably in enough trouble as it is. You don't get summoned into The Presence for nothing."

"You just capitalised!" Zelzebub enthused. "I like it when people capitalise. It really means something. I want to be something before the universe collapses in on itself."

Galadriel snorted. "You might find that it has very shortly," he said drawing up at a gigantic set of iron-bound doors.

Zelzebub looked up until his neck cricked and his jaw gaped. "Are these them - the Gates?" he breathed in awe.

Galadriel scoffed. "No! This is just the Inner Sanctum," he said, swinging the bell rope that hung by the side. Somewhere out of sight there was a peal of bells like Armageddon's Overture and, when the echoes had died away and Zelzebub's heartbeat had returned to something like normal, a small wicket gate at the bottom of one of the doors swung open. Seeing Zelzebub's surprise Galadriel explained. "Design fault. It takes a small army to open these so we had this put in two or three millennia ago. More cost effective."

Once inside it smelled of moth balls and camphor, the latter emanating from a bottle of lotion the Old Man was rubbing on his knees. He looked up. "Arthritis," he croaked through his beard. "Oh, vot it is to be old. And these," he said holding out his gnarled and bare feet, "these you don't vont!" He motioned them in, raising a bit of a sceptical eyebrow at Zelzebub, and bade them sit. "Straight to the point Galadriel. Ve've had complaints. Oyy my life have ve had complaints!"

Galadriel shuffled on his chair. "Look, if it's about the holes, I can explain..."

The Old Man looked surprised. "Holes? Vot holes? No, it's the harp. I got Hephaestos in my ear every day. He's had to rebuild 10 walls since last week. It's got to stop my boy, or ve'll have to take it away, and vot's an angel vithout a harp? Even these silly little cherubim got lyres."

Galadriel looked crestfallen. "In my defence," he said, "Lyres are a lot easier to play - they've only got one octave."

"That's as may be," said the Old Man, "but there's still the voice." He winced. "My life, is there the voice?" He patted Galadriel's knee. "Still, I expect you'll find plenty to occupy your time. I see you've got a pet, now," nodding at Zelzebub who was gazing about in awe. "Vell trained too, without a lead. Vot is it?"

Seeing Zelzebub beginning to bridle, Galadriel jumped in. "It's not a 'vot' - sorry, 'what' - it's a potential convert."

The Old Man looked quizzical. "Convert? Looks like it's already had too many conversions to me. Does it bite?"

Hurriedly, Galadriel interposed himself between the Old Man and Zelzebub who had just started to roll up the sleeves of his grubby jerkin. "No! Not if you stop it ... err, him. I mean. He really wants to convert. He's a ... he's a ...demon."

"Vot?" the Old Man exploded. "Never mind destroying the Many Mansions you bring in a demon to finish the job! Vere's my cross," He said, rummaging in his desk "I had it this morning. Oyy, the memory!"

Zelzebub bent down and picked something up. "This you mean?" he asked proffering it.

The Old Man did a double take. "Vy isn't that burning your hand?" he asked, suspiciously.

Zelzebub shrugged. "Never has done," he said simply. "Personally, I think that's why Old Nick's holding my indentures back. Sees me as a bit of competition in the future, I reckon. If you want my opinion," he continued confidentially, "I think I may be something of a love-child. Your lot are known for it apparently. Everybody down there calls me ‘that little bastard’ anyway so there must be something in it. That's why I've got more of a feel for up here rather than down there. It's what I've just been telling Galadriel: two sides of the same coin him and me - give it a quick flip and who's to say which is what? Good or evil - well, not exactly evil in my case, just not quite so good. Thank goodness for the holes in that fence, I'd go stir crazy otherwise. Can I stay here, please? I'll be good."

As a speech and a plea for absolution, it wasn't much but it didn't seem to matter. The Old Man simply turned to Galadriel and repeated, "Vy isn't that burning his hand? That should be burning his hand."

It was as much a surprise to Galadriel who was looking at Zelzebub with a new found respect tinged with awe."Why isn't that burning your hand?" he asked.

Zelzebub looked from one to the other in perplexity. "What?" he said.

The Old Man looked at him and began "But that should be ..."

Zelzebub jumped in, "All right, all right I'll put it down! " he said, testily. "For people who swear by miracles you've got a very low threshold of belief."

The Old Man looked him up and down, mostly down given Zelzebub's stature and said, "And for little devils that vont to become little angels maybe you should start by showing a bit of respect for your elders and betters, not to mention your Maker, although vy I bothered I'm beginning to wonder!"

He turned to Galadriel. "All right," he said. "I like a challenge. Leave him vith me. I'll take him through the basics and see if there's anything there worth saving There's usually a little bit of good in everyone.It just needs nurturing. Never let it be said that ve have a closed mind." So saying he dismissed Galadriel with a further admonition to tone down the caterwauling and, after he had gone, turned to Zelzebub. "And talking about nurturing, it's long past dinner time. Vot vill you have? There's a plate of Manna sandwiches over there, or I can get in some hot coals if you'd rather." He smiled benignly at the witticism.

Uncharacteristically, Zelzebub didn't rise to the bait, but produced his picnic bag. "No, it's all right, I brought my own," he said rummaging around inside."Here, have one of mine. Share and share alike, eh?"

-oOo-

Returning to the back door station Galadriel had hardly settled himself when, with a rush of wind, two burly guards whizzed by propelling a wildly protesting Zelzebub between them. Unceremoniously they threw him bodily down the stairs to the nether regions, slamming the gate shut and bolting it. "And don't come back," the burliest guard said, before they stomped off.

Bemused, Galadriel put down his harp and wandered over as the guards set about welding shut the holes in the fence "Well, that was short lived," he said. "What happened"

Zelzebub pressed his face to the bars of the gate. "Search me," he said. "All I did was offer him a bacon sandwich."