I sat back on the bench, and the night was warm, and I looked at my watch: it was almost one in the morning. In England a freezing new day would already have begun: a workday would be starting for those who could beat the snow and get into work; another handful of old people, and those without homes, would have died, in the night, from the cold.
"Sure," I said to the man. "Sure. Tell me a story"
He coughed, grinned white teeth-a flash in the darkness-and he began.
"First thing I remember was the Word. And the Word was God. Sometimes, when I get really down, I remember the sound of the Word in my head, shaping me, forming me, giving me life.
"The Word gave me a body, gave me eyes. And I opened my eyes, and I saw the light of the Silver City.
"I was in a room-a silver room-and there wasn't anything in it except me. In front of me was a window that went from floor to ceiling, open to the sky, and through the window I could see the spires of the City, and at the edge of the City, the Dark.
"I don't know how long I waited there. I wasn't impatient or anything, though. I remember that. It was like I was waiting until I was called; and I knew that some time I would be called. And if I had to wait until the end of everything and never be called, why, that was fine, too. But I'd be called, I was certain of that. And then I'd know my name and my function.
"Through the window I could see silver spires, and in many of the other spires were windows; and in the windows I could see others like me. That was how I knew what I looked like.
"You wouldn't think it of me, seeing me now, but I was beautiful. I've come down in the world a way since then.
"I was taller then, and I had wings.
"They were huge and powerful wings, with feathers the colour of mother-of-pearl. They came out from just between my shoulder blades. They were so good. My wings.
"Sometimes I'd see others like me, the ones who'd left their rooms, who were already fulfilling their duties. I'd watch them soar through the sky from spire to spire, performing errands I could barely imagine.
"The sky above the City was a wonderful thing. It was always light, although lit by no sun-lit, perhaps, by the City itself; but the quality of light was forever changing. Now pewter-coloured light, then brass, then a gentle gold, or a soft and quiet amethyst…"
The man stopped talking. He looked at me, his head on one side. There was a glitter in his eyes that scared me. "You know what amethyst is? A kind of purple stone?"
I nodded.
My crotch felt uncomfortable.
It occurred to me then that the man might not be mad; I found this far more disquieting than the alternative.
The man began talking once more. "I don't know how long it was that I waited in my room. But time didn't mean anything. Not back then. We had all the time in the world.
"The next thing that happened to me, was when the Angel Lucifer came to my cell. He was taller than me, and his wings were imposing, his plumage perfect. He had skin the colour of sea mist, and curly silver hair, and these wonderful grey eyes…
"I say he, but you should understand that none of us had any sex, to speak of He gestured toward his lap. "Smooth and empty. Nothing there. You know."
"Lucifer shone. I mean it-he glowed from inside. All angels do. They're lit up from within, and in my cell the Angel Lucifer burned like a lightning storm.
"He looked at me. And he named me.
" 'You are Raguel,' he said. 'The Vengeance of the Lord.'
"I bowed my head, because I knew it was true. That was my name. That was my function.
" 'There has been a…a wrong thing,' he said. 'The first of its kind. You are needed.'
"He turned and pushed himself into space, and I followed him, flew behind him across the Silver City to the outskirts, where the City stops and the Darkness begins; and it was there, under a vast silver spire, that we descended to the street, and I saw the dead angel.
"The body lay, crumpled and broken, on the silver sidewalk. Its wings were crushed underneath it and a few loose feathers had already blown into the silver gutter.
"The body was almost dark. Now and again a light would flash inside it, an occasional flicker of cold fire in the chest, or in the eyes, or in the sexless groin, as the last of the glow of life left it forever.
"Blood pooled in rubies on its chest and stained its white wing feathers crimson. It was very beautiful, even in death.
"It would have broken your heart.
"Lucifer spoke to me then. 'You must find who was responsible for this, and how; and take the Vengeance of the Name on whosoever caused this thing to happen.'
"He really didn't have to say anything. I knew that already. The hunt, and the retribution: it was what I was created for, in the Beginning; it was what I was.
" 'I have work to attend to,' said the Angel Lucifer.
"He flapped his wings once, hard, and rose upward; the gust of wind sent the dead angel's loose feathers blowing across the street.
"I leaned down to examine the body. All luminescence had by now left it. It was a dark thing, a parody of an angel. It had a perfect, sexless face, framed by silver hair. One of the eyelids was open, revealing a placid grey eye; the other was closed. There were no nipples on the chest and only smoothness between the legs.
"I lifted the body up.
"The back of the angel was a mess. The wings were broken and twisted, the back of the head staved in; there was a floppiness to the corpse that made me think its spine had been broken as well. The back of the angel was all blood.
"The only blood on its front was in the chest area. I probed it with my forefinger, and it entered the body without difficulty.
"He fell, I thought. And he was dead before he fell.
"And I looked up at the windows that ranked the street. I stared across the Silver City. You did this, I thought. I will find you, whoever you are. And I will take the Lord's vengeance upon you."
The man took the cigarette stub from behind his ear, lit it with a match. Briefly I smelled the ashtray smell of a dead cigarette, acrid and harsh; then he pulled down to the unburnt tobacco, exhaled blue smoke into the night air.
"The angel who had first discovered the body was called Phanuel.
"I spoke to him in the Hall of Being. That was the spire beside which the dead angel lay. In the Hall hung the…the blueprints, maybe, for what was going to be…all this." He gestured with the hand that held the stubby cigarette, pointing to the night sky and the parked cars and the world. "You know. The universe."
"Phanuel was the senior designer; working under him were a multitude of angels labouring on the details of the Creation. I watched him from the floor of the Hall. He hung in the air below the Plan, and angels flew down to him, waiting politely in turn as they asked him questions, checked things with him, invited comment on their work. Eventually he left them and descended to the floor.
" 'You are Raguel,' he said. His voice was high and fussy. 'What need have you of me?'
" 'You found the body?'
" 'Poor Carasel? Indeed I did. I was leaving the Hall-there are a number of concepts we are currently constructing, and I wished to ponder one of them, Regret by name. I was planning to get a little, distance from the City-to fly above it, I mean, not to go into the Dark outside, I wouldn't do that, although there has been some loose talk amongst…but, yes. I was going to rise and contemplate.
" 'I left the Hall, and…' he broke off. He was small, for an angel. His light was muted, but his eyes were vivid and bright. I mean really bright. 'Poor Carasel. How could he do that to himself? How?'
" 'You think his destruction was self-inflicted?'
"He seemed puzzled-surprised that there could be any other explanation. 'But of course. Carasel was working under me, developing a number of concepts that shall be intrinsic to the universe when its Name shall be Spoken. His group did a remarkable job on some of the real basics-Dimension was one, and Sleep another. There were others.