"Forget it," Agrippa said. "That's an angel and he's not for the likes of you."
It was a fact that demons were always lusting after angels, who, it is said, were flattered by the attention. This occasion of the Awards Dinner was one of the few times they were able to mingle freely with each other.
Waiters hurried back and forth with trays of food and drink. Many of them wore the ethnic masks which were so popular in celestial circles. Their masks matched the type of food they were serving. Italian angels served tiny pizzas, Vietnamese angels had eggrolls and Pho soup, and Arab spirits bore silver trays with kebabs piled high on them.
The food was good, of course, but Moondrench was more interested in strong drink. "Pass the ichor," he told a tall skinny spirit diagonally across the table from him. Agrippa was getting a good start, too. Moondrench considered joining a group of devils off by themselves in a corner, where they drank ichor out of each other's shoes and giggled immoderately. At a different part of the table, a fat demon in a clown's outfit cut into a large pie, releasing four-and-twenty blackbirds, which fluttered around the heads of the guests.
"Having a good time?" Agrippa asked Moondrench.
"It isn't bad," Moondrench said. "But who is that over there waving his hands?"
"That's Asmodeus," Agrippa said. "He's in charge of this section of the banquet."
"And the dark lady beside him?"
"That is Hecate, Queen of Night. If they look in your direction, just smile and raise your glass. They are very important."
"You don't have to tell me how to behave. What is Asmodeus doing? He seems to be reading something. But I didn't know that Lord Demons could read."
"Very funny," Agrippa said. "If he hears you saying things like that, you'll see how humorous he'll feel." Agrippa peered more closely. "He seems to be studying the notes for his speech."
"What speech?" Moondrench asked. "You didn't say anything about the speeches."
"I thought you understood what this is all about."
"Just some sort of big party, isn't it?"
"Rather more than that," Agrippa said. "This is the occasion when they announce the winner of the Millennial contest which determines the quality that will dominate men's lives for the next thousand years."
Moondrench said, "Is it so important, this matter of human destiny? "
"Not to us, perhaps," Agrippa said. "But to them it means quite a lot."
A Nameless Horror stalked by, reeking of deep reptilian musk. Its companion, a model of the Pickman variety, asked, "Did you hear what happened to Good's entry?"
The Nameless Horror grunted in the negative.
"The whole damned thing fell down! Made a beautiful crash -with those stained-glass windows and all. Too bad about the gargoyles, of course."
"How come?" the Nameless Horror growled.
"Something to do with buttressing and flying-I'm not clear on the mechanics. Guess Good wasn't either. Har! Har!"
"I want some more to drink," Moondrench said. "You promised me I'd have lots of fun."
"Here comes the waiter with the ichor," Agrippa said. "Please don't act silly."
"I shall drink as much as I please," Moondrench said, helping himself to a flagon of ichor. "And I shall probably drink a lot. Drinking to excess is never silly."
There was a disturbance at the rear of the hall. A fox-faced demon had entered and was making his lurching way forward, colliding with waiters, bumping against diners, knocking dishes from tables as he passed. Murmurs rose as he went by:
"How rude!"
"Isn't that ...?"
"Is that... ?"
"Looks like Azzie."
"Didn't he have an entry in the contest?"
"Wonder what happened."
"Hey, Azzie! You okay?"
"I heard he screwed up a big one."
"I thought he was still in the Pits."
"Looks soused to the ear tufts."
"Watch it there, fella!"
"What else can you expect from a drunken demon?"
"What'd he want with a glass mountain, anyhow?"
"Give 'em hell, Azzie!"
"Yeah! Hell! Brimstone and all that!"
Moondrench was being difficult. Agrippa no longer considered him as attractive as he had before. And now the banquet was in full swing. More food kept arriving, brought in on silver platters by demons in black tuxedos. There were some unusual dishes. Suckling chimaera, for example. And there were all sorts of dishes with little handwritten signs on them telling the diner what he was getting into. A few of the dishes were even able to enunciate. "Hello," the stewed turnips said, "we're delicious."
The sound of all those beings conversing was beginning to grow deafening. In order to reach anyone more than two or three seats away, you had to use the seashell telephones located beside each setting.
On a sort of boardwalk which extended over the dining table, a tableau of great hits of the past was being presented, highlights of the macabre and the virtuous. As new guests arrived, each had to have his lineage and accomplishments announced by the white-furred majordomo.
Azzie continued to push his way forward, on the crest of an advancing wave of chaos.
Then Asmodeus got up. He was fat, and his white skin had a greenish cast. His lower lip protruded so far that a saucer could have balanced on it. He wore a bottle-green coat, and when he turned around, his twisted pig's tail was visible.
"Hello, friends," Asmodeus said. "I think we all know why we are here, don't we?"
"To get drunk!" an ugly spirit off to one side said.
"Well, yes, that, of course," Asmodeus said. "But we are getting drunk tonight for a purpose. And that purpose is to celebrate the eve of the Millennium, and to announce the winner of the contest. I know you're impatient to find out who it is, but you'll just have to wait a little longer. First we are going to have some special appearances."
Azzie moved to the front of the hall.
Asmodeus began to call out names, and various spirits got up to take bows. They grinned and smirked, scraped and bowed to the enthusiastic audience. The Red Death was introduced and stood up. He was tall, and wrapped from head to foot in a bloodred cloak. Over his shoulder he carried a scythe.
"Who's that couple over there?" Moondrench asked. "The big blond angel and the dark little witch?"
"The angel is named Babriel," Agrippa told him. "The witch is Ylith - a good friend of Azzie's, one of our more interesting and active demons. I believe he just went by."
"I've heard of him," Moondrench said. "He was doing something special for this year's festivities, wasn't he?"
"So it's been said. There he is now, down front. Looks like he got a head start on the rest of us. I wonder what he's up to?"
Azzie climbed onto a table, to the consternation of the diners who surrounded it. He swayed. He breathed smoke and struck sparks as he moved.
He made as if to say something several times but failed. Finally, he plucked a flagon from a diner's talons, raised it, and drained it.
"Fools! Pigs! Bastards!" he roared then. "Ye less-than-sentient things! I address myself particularly to my so-called brothers of Darkness, whose champion I have been, betrayed utterly by your indifference. We could have won it, boys and girls! We had the chance! My conception was glorious, unprecedented, and it could have worked!"
He paused and coughed. Someone passed him another flagon, and he sipped from it. The hall had grown quiet now.
"But did I get any cooperation?" he went on. "Not a bit! The fools in Supply acted as if I were doing this for my own personal aggrandizement, rather than the greater glory of us all. Why, damn it! I got more help from that fool Babriel, the stupid-faced observer from the Powers of Light, than I got from any of you. And you call yourselves evil! You are living proof, all of you, of the banality of bad! And now you sit here and celebrate and await the announcement. I tell you, friends, Evil has grown boring and stupid in this day and age. We of Darkness have lost the ability to steer the destinies of humanity."