Chapter Text
The Present Day, 6 days until Asparageddon
The first knock came at 9.00 pm. It was created by a frail but suitably disgruntled fist as it banged at the vicarage door. Mrs Savage had only managed one knock before it opened and an equally disgruntled face appeared behind it. Several small peas rolled down the front steps.
‘Vicar! I am so glad you are still up, I have a matter of utmost importance to discuss with you -’ the visitor began before briefly glancing down ‘- did you know there are peas on the floor?’
The vicar rubbed her eyes behind her glasses ‘Yes I’m afraid Mike’s taken to being quite violent with his food. Mrs Savage, is there any possibility this could wait until morning, perhaps after the service? I do have some last sermon points to write up.’
‘It’s is a case of an actual attack on the fabric of this community,’
Not another one - thought the vicar.
‘I am speaking of occultish witchcraft. Vicar, I believe that someone - something - that pretends to be a man but is in fact inhuman among us lives...’ and she lowered her voice to a whisper ‘... a demon’.
‘Oh goodness’ the Reverend Rachel Acres was famous at theology college for her the not-very-subtle sarcasm in the face of some of the more out-there literal readings of scripture. And this is the tone she adopted when she asked: ‘And what, oh what, might this demon be seeking to do in our peaceful village of North Mundham’
Mrs Savage leaned forward conspiratorially ‘ To ruin the Mundham & District Gala & Flower Show’
There came a whooping cackle from the other room. The vicar stuck her head into the living room doorway behind her and hissed at her wife to be quiet. It was, alas, too late. She turned to see Mrs Savage shaking with more indignation than she had arrived with.
‘I would have thought someone with learning such as yourself, Vicar, would see the evil right under your nose!’ Mrs Savage began ranting while the cackling quietly continued from the other room. ‘But I see! Oh yes! I see everything ! That demon next door, casting his spells! You should see them - how his courgettes shake as if possessed in the middle of the night when he comes out and speaks to them. Only witchcraft could make them as grousemly large as they are! I knew something was wrong the moment those two moved into that house. Now! Ah! I can see what you’re thinking vicar and I’m no homophobe! As you know I have been nothing but supportive of you as our vicar- ’ (this was half true, as she had not initially been) ‘- but there is something more than strange about those two. And I don’t know WHY they want to ruin our beloved flower show, but have no doubt, I am going to find out, Vicar!’
‘Could it be,’ said the vicar after a pause ‘potentially that you are….’ she stopped and thought carefully about the wisdom of utterring her next few words.
‘That I am what’ Mrs Savage folded her wrinkled wiry arms menacingly. The vicar did not finish her sentence.
‘That you’re jealous of the size of Anthony’s courgettes!’ came the voice from the other room - which began laughing at full volume once more. The voice did not get a chance to see the effect of it’s words, but the vicar did. Such quivering indignation the likes of which she had never seen - even in all of her years being a vicar in rural english villages.
*****
The second knock came almost a quarter of an hour later, two thirds of a mile east of the vicarage. The hand that knocked was a lot more timid, and barely tapped the door of East Gate Cottage. It did not tap again. It waited.
There was eventually sound behind the door. Steps and then a shushing noise. The latch turned slowly and the door opened barely a slither. Just a thin line of face, a flash of dark red hair, and the gleam of dark glasses were visible through the door and frame. It froze as it took in the image of it’s guest.
‘Oh dear ,’ the voice eventually hissed from behind the door ‘you’ve made a mistake showing up here.’
The visitor was a small, quivering, darkly dressed, fake-eyelashed man. If he was a man, of course, which he was not. He was a demon.
A big problem in hell was remembering names. In general - hell was not a place you’d even ask or care about someone else’s name - especially if they weren’t particularly important. Unfortunately when the situation came about that someone actually needed to use a name to refer to someone else they’d seen hanging about for 6000 years or so - it was too late to ask.
‘D-demon C-C-Crowley?’ the visitor stuttered
This whole situation was made so much more embarrassing when only one party knew the other’s name.
‘...heard of the guy, yeah.’ Said the demon Crowley ‘Heard he keeps a bottle of holy water by the door… for unwanted guestsss…’
The nameless demon visibly shuddered and stepped back
‘I’m no harm, I promise, I shouldn’t even be here. They don’t know I’m out. They don’t know I’m talking to you - I’ve come to give you a warning.’
Crowley opened the door wider, now the new arrival was at a safer distance. He wore a dark red quilted dressing gown with black trim, and slippers. The visiting demon - who had actually appropriated much of his own style from Crowley himself, momentarily let down his guard.
‘Great robe!’ he exclaimed
From behind the door, out of sight, came a satisfied ‘ah!’ and a clap. Crowley snapped his face towards the sound and slammed the door shut. There was the murmuring and rustling of a small argument, and the door opened once more.
‘...thanks. So,’ he said ‘a warning?’
‘Yeah so’ began the demon ‘I don’t exactly know what it means. I’ve, um, seen bits of paperwork but they don’t really make sense but maybe, well I was hoping, hey, this might make sense to you, so -’
‘What’s it say?’
‘Um, well.’ he took out a scrap of paper from his back pocket and read it out loud ‘Neave cup, hag’s cucurbita, use dewalt.’
‘... ok.’ He looked at the demon with expectation, and the demon looked back at him with a mirrored expression. ‘Did it, uh, say anything else?’
‘Oh, yes, but I didn’t have time I only managed to copy down that bit, I knew it was a code I thought you would know what it meant. It’s about here - this village. Your village, where we’ve been told we are under no circumstances allowed without special permission’
‘And you came anyway, did you?’ Crowley reached out and took the scrap of paper ‘Why?’
‘Please please, don’t tell them I warned you. ’ pleaded the demon, as he backed off warily into the darkness and started to run.
‘But wait a sec wh-’ but the demon was gone. ‘Fine.’ Crowley said. He couldn’t grass the guy even if he wanted to - he was not exactly on speaking terms with the dark council. That, and he still didn’t know the demon’s bloody name.
‘Well! A secret rebel messenger from hell - with taste!’ exclaimed the angel in the corridor as the door swung shut. He was too was wearing a quilted dressing gown - but in cream. Crowley handed over the scrap of paper.
‘What do you make of that then?’
Aziraphale took his glasses out of the robe pocket and scrutinised the note with a little too much glee than was required for the situation.
‘It’s like old times, deciphering the Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnus Nutter! Oh how exciting, I do wonder what it means.’
‘It won’t mean anything good, angel. This is still the forces of hell we’re talking about’ Crowley continued to squint out the window for any further signs of demonic activity (other than his own, of course).
The message was hastily scrawled on a ripped piece of greasy office printer paper. Just as the demon had said, it read:
Neave cup, hag’s cucurbita, use dewalt.
‘Ah, yes well, naturally. But let's see here, the message is simple enough - if only we knew what any of the words meant. Dewalt - perhaps it’s a name? Neave is a name I believe and certainly rings a bell but I will have to look up what a cucurbita is - it sounds rather latin’
‘Pumpkin’
‘Yes, dear?’
‘Wh-NO not you! A cucurbita pepo means pumpkins, sort of! Butternut squashy-gourd things!’
‘Ahh!’ exclaimed the angel as he looked again at the riddle. His face fell ‘Oh dear. Oh Crowley… you don’t think…’
‘Occasionally I do, thank you’
‘...Crowley, the Mundham & District Gala & Flower Show is in two weeks’
‘...and?’
‘And, as it seems hell is out to sabotage it, I rather think you need to win it.’