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King Aššurbanipal was a bit of a tyrant, now and then. Every so often. Maybe three or four times a week. But he had a very good library and was committed to improving it, so he wasn't all bad. He was at least aiming at self-improvement. And he gave employment to a lot of Assyrian and Babylonian scholars. Admittedly the Babylonians were chained to their positions, but it was the thought that counted.*

*Work, or be disembowelled.

All in all, it was a pleasant place to work, if you weren't a prisoner, and had time to actually read what was being written. Aziraphale puttered around, sorting the tablets into poetry, astrology, poetry about astrology, astrology in the form of poetry, lists of omens (good), lists of omens (bad), lists of omens (written on tablets in the shape of sheep's livers), guidebooks for haruspices, laws (in the form of poetry and otherwise) and miscellaneous. Then he took several old, crumbling copies of ancient law codes in Sumerian and took himself off to a nice, quiet spot with some fresh clay and sharpened reeds to make new, readable copies. The shadows were getting longer when he realised it wasn't the fact that the sun was going down that made it more difficult to see. Someone was inconsiderately standing in his light and had been for a while. He peered up, seeing at first only a tall figure wearing a taller hat, the dim daylight in the library edging him all around like a low-wattage halo.

"Hello, Aziraphale," Crowley said, sounding amused. "Are you enjoying sitting down there in the dust?"

"I'm writing," he said.

"Looked like you were reading, to me," Crowley said. "Seeing as how your stylus was on the floor and you were chortling over the dirty bits in whatever that is."

"It doesn't have any dirty bits," Aziraphale said with dignity. "It's the Law Code of Eshnunna. And I wasn't chortling."

Crowley held out a hand, his fingers adorned with rings. "Come on, up you come." He hauled Aziraphale to his feet and shook his head sadly. "You're dressed like it's still the Old Babylonian empire.”

"Oh, I am not. I'm just not dressed like, like –" Aziraphale waved a hand in Crowley's general direction. The scarlet and gold long tunic was wrapped around with a fringed bright blue and scarlet shawl covered with elaborate embroidery, and the hat sitting on his oiled and curled long hair looked like a model ziggurat. It was probably very fashionable and the sort of thing that young men of good breeding, too much money and too little sense wore. He blinked as the full effect sank in.

"That's quite a beard."

"Luxuriant," Crowley said, stroking the dark curls, his teeth framed white and sharp in a smile. "That's the word you need to invent for your word lists. Haven't you been paying attention to what people wear even a little bit? Look at the carvings on the palace wall once in a while. Men here enjoy outward shows of their masculine beauty and virility. Give yourself a beard and curl it, angel. You look like one of the palace eunuchs."

"I am one of the palace eunuchs," Aziraphale said. "I can go just about anywhere I want."

"So can I, I just make myself invisible. Why do you never change your hair or facial hair?"

"Ugh. Too much bother, my dear. I can tell that you look very up-to-date, though."

"No, you can't," Crowley muttered. He looked Aziraphale's plain, clay-marked tunic up and down, and sighed in despair. "Come on, O Wise Scholar. I seek wisdom, and also wine."

"But I'm copying tablets! My clay will get dry!"

"Oh, for Blessed Nidaba's sake," Crowley muttered and made an occult gesture. "Your clay will stay nice and soft through earthquake and fire now. Future archaeologists will be very confused."

"That's not really –" Aziraphale started, and sighed. "Please don't invoke false gods around me."

"Just fitting in, angel. Hey, nice sandals! It's good to see you're keeping up with some sort of fashion."

"Oh, do you like them? One of the younger eunuchs thought they'd be just the thing, make my ankles look their best and so on, so I bought a pair when I went shopping with him last week. I must say, he was right; they're much more comfortable than you'd think, and –"

"Who is this young eunuch?" Crowley interrupted. "Why are you letting yourself get chatted up by other peo- by humans? Never mind, I'm here now. Er. Let's just get blindingly drunk, OK? I need a legal opinion."

"What?" Aziraphale said, trying to follow Crowley's train of thought. He felt he'd have more success if current technology allowed at least for steam power.

Crowley towed him, protesting, across the library floor, both the crumbling old tablets and his damp copies still in hand. It felt a bit like a kidnapping, or perhaps an Assyrian method of gathering scholars together (i.e., kidnapping).

"Stop whinging," Crowley said, pausing near to one of the chained and miserable scholars. "Hey, you, Babylonian. Take these, would you?"

"I have a name, thank you very much," the Babylonian scholar snapped, pausing in the endless task of saving his life via writing down everything he'd ever been taught.

"I'll bite," Crowley said, or perhaps warned. "What is it?"

"Tabubu-tukultī son of Šarrum-Adad."

"I'm so sorry I asked. Catch."

He tossed Aziraphale's tablets in the scholar's general direction and borrowed Aziraphale from the library without further ado. The sunshine outside was blinding, reflecting back from the whitewashed walls and making Aziraphale squint in a way he felt was quite undignified. He narrowed his eyes further at the young, bare-chested human wearing a gaudy skirt and possessed of truly ridiculous eyelashes who fell in behind Crowley. He didn't look any older than eighteen and was clearly the human equivalent of an expensive racehorse.

"And this is?" he said.

"Pretty, isn't he?" Crowley said, taking his fashionable walking stick from the youth's slender hand and twirling it. "A man of my status needs attendants. Nice-looking ones. This one's a trouble-maker, I should warn you."

Aziraphale looked the young man up and down. Nice-looking was putting it mildly; he must have cost Crowley a fortune.

"You're an Elamite, aren't you? What's your name, dear?"

"Indattu-Napiriša, sir."

"Who has time to say such a foreign mouthful since their land was conquered?" Crowley grinned. "Datti, you don't have to sir him, he's just a eunuch servant, same as you."

"Yes, Master," Indattu-Napiriša said politely, adding an aside to Aziraphale, "I'd never disrespect one who worked in the palace, sir."

"Good boy," Aziraphale said, patting his arm. "What a trial for you, working for this appalling creature. All right, you old serpent, I believe you promised me some wine?"

They strolled off, Indattu-Napiriša on their heels. Aziraphale wasn't at all surprised to be led towards a part of the city with large, prosperous houses. As they walked, Crowley summoned Indattu-Napiriša to his side.

"Run ahead, have cooled wine waiting," he said. "Don't attract attention to yourself."

"At once, Master."

"Enjoying the view?" Crowley said slyly as Aziraphale watched the young man sprint off.

"I do hope you leave that poor boy alone. You shouldn't treat humans as accessories; I'd hate to think of him being tormented by you. He's little more than an infant."

"Jealous, are we? What if I told you he satisfied my demonic lusts from morning to night?"

"I'd assume you meant he kept your wine cup filled," Aziraphale said cheerfully. "I mean, what else do you look lustfully at?"

Crowley gave him an odd look, stared into the sun until he went quite red with sunburn, and then walked along in actual silence for so long that Aziraphale thought he'd hit a sore point.

"I didn't mean I think you're a lush –" he started as Crowley said,

"So, about your friend, the sandal-fancier –"

"Um," Aziraphale said.

"Er," Crowley said. "Hey! I'm not a lush!"

"Did you want to know where I got the sandals? I really do think that Mutaggil-Ea was right, you know? He said they make my ankles look both slender like a tamarisk and yet sturdy like the manliest of cedar trees, and my feet like –"

"That's quite enough about your foot-fetishist friend," Crowley said, holding up a hand. "If he proposes any tree-climbing I'd suggest you decline, angel." He shrugged. "Your business. I'm going to change the subject now. I hope you're hungry, because I'm tempting you to dinner at mine."

"Wine, dinner and legal opinions," Aziraphale said. "You really must be in trouble."

"Let me get you drunk first," Crowley muttered. He looked so downhearted that even a couple of Holy Girls of Ištar who'd come over to chance their luck with such a finely-dressed fellow caught his mood and went off moping, vowing to swear themselves to eternal confinement and celibacy as naditu of Šamaš instead. Aziraphale patted his hand and consolingly linked arms with him.

Crowley's house was everything Aziraphale had expected. It was indeed in the better part of town, with high blank walls around the house and courtyard. The walls were in good repair: recently plastered and white-washed, and the gate was freshly painted. A bright striped awning provided shade on the roof for people to catch the breeze and sit in comfort.

"No protection against demons at your door, I see," Aziraphale said, hoping to jolly Crowley into a better humour.

"Huh," Crowley said. "That'd be pretty stupid, wouldn't it? Hi, I'm home- oh, shit, I'm stuck in a demon-trap on my own threshold. I'd never live it down." The tiniest of smiles crept onto his face. "I didn't actually check when I first bought the house. I have never been so embarrassed, angel. I had to change so many people's memories."

"Oh dear," Aziraphale said. "How did you get out?"

"Ah –" Crowley looked somewhat shamefaced. "Story for another day." He rapped on the door with his walking stick. "Open! The Master is home!"

The door was opened immediately by a strapping Cimmerian, undoubtedly employed for his bulk rather than his intellect, Aziraphale thought. As with most of Crowley's possessions, the man was pleasant to look on as well as impressive. The wide belt about his waist emphasised his muscular frame, and he gave the impression that he could move rather quickly, for all his large size. Aziraphale thought the shortness of the kilt about his hips and mighty corded thews was a little too much, but the sight was certainly arresting.

"Welcome, sir," the man said in a deep voice as Crowley swept past, pulling Aziraphale after him.

Indattu-Napiriša hurried out of the house into the courtyard, a jug beaded with moisture and two tall metal cups on the tray he carried.

"Sir," he said, handing one cup to Crowley and the other to Aziraphale, "may your return be blessed by all of heaven."

"Ugh," Crowley said, nose-deep in the cup. "Yeah, yeah. Make my guest Ilum-emūqī-ikūn comfortable and bring us our dinner."

"I mostly claim to be Judean and just leave the name in Hebrew," Aziraphale said when they had been seated and Indattu-Napiriša hurried off to fetch a large bowl and ewer of clean water.

"Put a little effort into your work for a change, why don't you?" Crowley muttered. "You're so predictable. It's the same every century. Where is he? I ask myself. Where's the largest collection of books, complete with a pudgy bookworm who never ever disguises his name? I answer."

"Pudgy?"

Indattu-Napiriša came back with a jug of fresh water and clean cloths, and forestalled any further discussion on the topic by removing their sandals and washing their feet. Aziraphale looked up to find Crowley's yellow eyes fixed on his ankles.

"Yes?"

"Erm. Ah. Just wondering what your tree-fancier fellow actually says about your feet."

"He told me they were as delicate as the grass-flowers on the great steppes, and as soft as the deep moss in the forests guarded by Humbaba."

"He what – you are absolutely shameless, you know that?"

Aziraphale smiled. "Nonsense. It's just a bit of extravagant horticultural imagery between friends."

"Right. I'd suggest not going into unobserved gardens alone with him. Or maybe you should – what do you think, Datti?"

"I'm sure I couldn't comment on master Ilum-emūqī-ikūn, sir," Indattu-Napiriša said cheerfully. "May I bring your dinner?"

"Quickly, before I have to hear any more scandalous plant-talk."

Crowley led the way to a shaded part of the large courtyard, where several small trees stood in huge terracotta pots about a table, making a small enormously expensive grove in the middle of the city. Aziraphale shook his head over the amount of effort that had to be required to properly water the pots,* and smiled as Indattu-Napiriša politely helped him onto one of the couches beside the table before retreating far enough to be out of ear-shot and near enough to be easily summoned.

*In fact, Crowley just assumed the trees would be fine and they of course were. He was particularly proud of his horticultural skills in keeping an exotic Douglas fir doing so well in Mesopotamia.

Aziraphale sipped at Crowley's excellent wine and picked at Crowley's excellent finger-food. Crowley watched him eat with a sort of indulgent amusement, lying back against the head of his couch with his skirts pulled up to reveal pale, shapely calves, and his ankles crossed neatly in a way that Aziraphale felt sure was meant to be making some sort of point, although he couldn't for the life of him work out what that was.

"This is all very good! Your cook has put a lot of effort into this."

"My cook knows what I like; she's had enough practice."

Crowley leant over and dipped a finger into a small dish of wobbly set custard topped with burnt honey, licking it off with a meditative expression.

"Try this – I doubt you'll have tasted it made properly for at least a century. I taught her how to make it."

"Have you been in Nineveh long?" Aziraphale asked, doing just that. Delicious. Crowley really did employ an excellent cook. He resolved to make sure the recipe was never lost again.*

*And so crème brulee has never gone out of fashion.

"Ehh, a while. A couple of decades? I suppose you were in the middle of a good clay tablet and just didn't notice."

"Your house seems very nice."

"Fashionable, angel. It's fashionable. Like these potted plants. It's not just the king who decorates his gardens with plants from all over the empire these days, you know, it's also humans like the sort of human I'm pretending to be."

"Ah. And what is that, precisely?"

"Well, you know. Up and coming young man about town, really. From a good family. Everyone's sure I'm from a good family."

"You were."

"Don't get personal. Want a tour of the house? The private rooms are inlaid with rare woods, and the bed has expensive coverlets of scarlet and purple, while the women's quarters –"

"Hold on, hold on," Aziraphale said, sitting upright. "Why on earth do you need women's quarters?"

"The house came with them," Crowley said, as if it was obvious. "You know, walls, roof, women's quarters - And anyway, the sort of person I seem to be would obviously have women in his household for . . . stuff."

Aziraphale gave him a horrified look, and then refilled his cup to the brim to give himself strength.

"Tell me you haven't been up to anything like that."

"Of course not! As far as anyone remembers, my dear wife sadly shuffled off this mortal etcetera and I am too heartbroken to remarry or to make a move on any of her slave girls. Who do necessary household things like weaving, cooking, and so on."

"And now you're in trouble with the law? The human law?"

Crowley ran his fingers through his beard and shrugged as if being a criminal were an accomplishment.

"The shekel stops with me, anyway. How are you on the laws on receiving stolen goods?" He looked rather embarrassed.

Aziraphale frowned. How very peculiar.

"What have you been doing?"

"Nothing! But suppose that theoretically a fellow's slave took in a runaway, and that hypothetically the runaway's master showed up yelling about eye-for-an-eye or in fact attractive-slave-for-slave and sod your compensation money, you devilishly handsome young man from a good family?"

"The slave's automatically guilty of receiving stolen goods and I would have to say that the owner is in trouble as well for not alerting the authorities or the property's – er – runaway's owner."

"Yes," Crowley sighed, "so the lawyers I've spoken to so far tell me."

"Just tell me, would you?"

"Some young idiot without any sense," Crowley said, looking sourly over at Indattu-Napiriša, "smuggled another young idiot without any sense into my house. Ergo, if you'll pardon my Latin, stolen goods and harbouring a runaway. I never noticed because I don't ever go into the women's quarters. But her owner tracked her down and now he's suing me for theft of his concubine. Whom I have installed in my women's quarters. And he doesn't just want money."

"What does he want?"

"He'd quite like to have his girl handed back, me paying a hefty fine and one of my slaves handed over as compensation so that I can learn my lesson and keep my hands off other fellows' property. The bastard's been complaining to so many people that I've lost track - I'd never be able to round them all up to make them forget. I need to beat this in court, Aziraphale! All your reading has to be some use: tell me a way to come up smelling of roses."

"Are you telling him, sir?" Indattu-Napiriša called out politely.

"None of your business, you trouble-maker!"

"The complainant wants me as compensation, sir," Indattu-Napiriša said to Aziraphale. He drifted closer. "The master says you can get anyone out of any legal trouble."

"Does he, now?" Aziraphale said, imagining how much scribal material he could buy with legal consultancy fees. "You don't want to go to this other man's household, Indattu-Napiriša?"

"Just call him Datti, he'll start expecting everyone to waste time saying that."

"The complainant says he's going to ravish me in revenge for the master's violation of his concubine, sir," Indattu-Napiriša said, "and then have all the men of his household, slave and free, do likewise. I'd rather stay here where I just have a day-job."

"I'd like to point out that as an upstanding member of the elite I take advantage of my property and make Datti satisfy my carnal urges night in, night out," Crowley said, draining his goblet and holding it out for a refill.

"As you say, sir," Indattu-Napiriša said, pouring him more wine. "The master's virility is like that of a wild bull on the steppe," he said, perfectly straight-faced, to Aziraphale.

"A certain amount of bull is involved, anyway, I'm sure," Aziraphale said, sniggering. "Why did you hide this girl in the house, dear boy? Is she your sweetheart? A relative?"

"No, sir," Indattu-Napiriša said. "Neither." He looked down at his feet, which were, Aziraphale had to admit, far more slender and delicate than his own. "I heard her speak to another of her master's women in the market and knew she was an Elamite like me. I spoke to her in our own tongue, from homesickness, and she begged me to help her escape."

"You see," Crowley interjected. "I told you all this scattering them abroad on the face of the earth and confusing their languages would cause trouble! And it has! For me!"

"I don't make policy," Aziraphale said. "I want to see this young lady," he said decisively.

"Knock yourself out," Crowley said. "I'm not entering the women's quarters - dead wife, heartbreak, etc - but you two are eunuchs. Just get ready to swear in court I've never laid so much as a finger on her. Go on, Datti, show my honoured guest where you've stashed your contraband."

Indattu-Napiriša bowed. "This way, sir," he said. He led Aziraphale into the house, through a cool entrance room painted with trees and streams, and another with images of antelopes being stalked by leopards. It was all very modern. From a short corridor a door led to a more private, tiny courtyard. Aziraphale could see steps leading up to the roof. Another door was firmly closed. Indattu-Napiriša knocked on it.

"Nabu-zamar? Nabu-zamar, it's Datti."

"You should use your actual name," Aziraphale said.

"The master has named me thus," the young man said politely. "Ah!" The door opened a little and an elderly eunuch looked out. "Nabu-zamar, this gentleman is master Ilum-emūqī-ikūn, the master's guest. We'd like to come in."

Nabu-zamar regarded them both with suspicion. "You're not a pervert trying to get at decent women, are you?" he said to Aziraphale.

"What? No! Certainly not."

"I take my job seriously," Nabu-zamar said. "The girls depend on me."

"Everyone praises you for your diligence," Indattu-Napiriša said. As Nabu-zamar opened the door and turned away he whispered to Aziraphale, "He suspects everyone. Most days he finds it difficult to walk. Please don't say anything about him being in his dotage, sir."

"No, indeed. Nabu-zamar, have you been in your master's service long?"

"Since I was a boy, sir."

"You see? He's forgotten that he worked for the master's father! Or grandfather, more like."

"I'm not deaf, Datti," Nabu-zamar said with a scowl, and pulled back a curtain. "Girls, we have visitors. Datti's here to be spoilt, as usual, and he's brought a friend of the master's."

Aziraphale waved at the women in the pleasant, but somewhat plain room before him. They all got to their feet and curtsied, peeping up at him, and very obviously relaxing when they saw that he appeared to be a eunuch. Crowley's female staff wasn't quite giving the impression of the young man-about-town that he pretended: two of the women were in their fifties at least, another was younger but rather plain, and only two could be in any way described as young and comely. All of them had been spinning wool into thread as he entered. The youngest was still holding her spindle as if it would protect her. Aziraphale looked queryingly at Indattu-Napiriša, who nodded.

"That's Nahhunte-Utu," he said, beckoning her forwards.

She crept up to them and curtsied again. She was perhaps eighteen, much the same age as Indattu-Napiriša, Aziraphale thought, and quite as pretty as him too. She was also pregnant, which made the legal situation so much worse. Oh, dear.

"I'm here to offer advice on this household's trouble with the courts," he said, and everyone perked up. "First, let's deal with the easiest solution. My dear, do you think you could see your way to returning home? Perhaps a fine and an apology –"

"Oh, no, my lord, please, my lord," she said. "I can't go back there. Please let me stay here."

" . . . right. Well, it was just a thought. Why did you run away?"

She went pink and looked down, saying nothing. Aziraphale sighed. Perhaps another tack.

"Perhaps we can argue that you crept in here and no one realised you weren't part of the household." His voice died away as he surveyed the mostly middle-aged female servants.

"Or perhaps you evaded the fading sight of the aged harem eunuch with ease –"

"There's nothing wrong with my sight!" Nabu-zamar said in outrage, squinting more or less in his direction.

Aziraphale frowned. It had taken Crowley some time to realise the girl was even here. Surely one of the other slaves would have said something –

"How did these two silly young people manage to get her into the women's quarters without you knowing?" he said to Nabu-zamar. "Surely you could count these ladies and realise there was one too many of them? It doesn't seem like there are too many places to hide, after all. And you, ladies? Didn't you realise?"

There was a general mulish silence.

"Oh, good Lord, you all colluded," he said, throwing up his hands. "Honestly, this really does look more and more like a cut-and-dried case of theft, with the whole household working to get your master what he wanted."

"The master's got nothing to do with it," the oldest of the slave women said. "Me and Nabu-zamar tried to take the fall, 'cos we knew he wouldn't do anything to us except get dramatic, but Datti's too honest for his own good."

"I confessed everything," Indattu-Napiriša admitted. "I had to. One of Nahhunte-Utu's fellow slaves saw us together in the marketplace and snitched. It took a while for her master to track me down, but he did." He paused. "The master got very dramatic."

Some of the ladies sniggered.

"The law's very clear," Aziraphale said. "The complainant has a right to his child." He smiled carefully at the girl. "Do you know you're expecting?"

She nodded, looking worried. "Sir – my lord – oh, please help me!"

She tried to throw herself full length on the ground and the other women stopped her, glaring at Aziraphale as if he'd attacked the girl.

"Master Temti-Inšušinak called in a loan he made to my father and said he'd accept me a payment. He said it was a good bargain as my parents wouldn't have to give me a bride price! But, but there was a young man of my heart, Pala-lahurati, who already had offered for me, and we, we'd already –" She took a deep breath. "My master will know the baby isn't his, and he'll kill me for adultery."

"Oh. I see," Aziraphale said. "I'll talk to the master – this household's master, not yours," he clarified as Nahhunte-Utu paled. "We'll see what we can do."

"Do something! Us slaves have to stick together," the oldest woman said.

"Ah. I'm not actually one of the palace slaves, dear lady. I'm free."

"Aren't you lucky. You still need to stick with us. We need help, sir."

Aziraphale nodded sadly, and went back to drink more of Crowley's excellent wine.

"Might the esteemed Temti-Inšušinak be receiving visitors?" Aziraphale said the next morning. The doorkeeper facing him was as tall and muscular as Crowley's, but looked decidedly more unfriendly, although that might just have been the longer skirt.

"Who's asking?" the lump of brawn said.

"I work in the palace, dear," Aziraphale said with a smile. "My name's Ilum-emūqī-ikūn."

"In the palace," the doorkeeper said, looking at him closely. "You do look sort of posh . . . my lord. Please step in out of the sun and I'll inquire if the master's at home."

He indicated a bench by the wall just inside the door, and hurried away. Aziraphale sat, twiddling his thumbs, and watched slaves scurry back and forth. There seemed to be a lot more kept in this house than in Crowley's, and they all made sure their eyes were cast down as they rushed about their tasks. After a short time the doorkeeper came back in the company of a well-dressed, harried-looking man who bowed slightly.

"Please come this way, sir. The master will see you."

Aziraphale was led into an opulent room to find a man in his late forties sitting on a prettily upholstered couch glaring at him.

"Palace, my arse!" the man snapped. He waved a slave forwards. "Is this him?"

"Yes, master," the man said, never quite looking up.

"Good. You can go. You! I'm having that scoundrel Iqarārre-ṣerru's house watched in case he tries to do a flit," Temti-Inšušinak (or so Aziraphale assumed) said. "You were seen going in there with him yesterday and rolling out full of wine when it was almost dark."

"I did not 'roll out'," Aziraphale sniffed. "And I do in fact work in the palace. I'm one of the royal librarians. Iqarārre-ṣerru's retained me to give him legal advice."

"Oh, so you're his lawyer, are you? Well, tell him to hand over his catamite and my concubine, and let him know I'm going to bankrupt the bastard."

"Actually, he's sent me here to offer you three mina of silver in consideration of your distress – without admitting the presence of any person other than his own household within his wall - and asks that you drop the case," Aziraphale said. He'd argued a lot with Crowley about saying he'd asked for anything. The outrageous sum of money looked pretty contrite; he had some hope of the case being dropped.

Temti-Inšušinak sat back and looked at him coolly. "Three mina of silver. That's a lot of money, isn't it, Itti-bel?"

"Yes, master," the harried man said. "It's far more than the loan to the Elamite girl's father which he paid off with her servitude."

"Do you think I should take this compensation, Itti-bel?"

"No, master," the man said. "You're a man of honour, and this fellow thinks he can buy the ravisher of your concubine freedom from due process. It's an insult to your good name, master."

"See how smart Babylonians are?" Temti-Inšušinak said. "My steward doesn't think I can be bought off, and he's right. You tell your client to stick his three mina up his arse: we're going to court. Itti-bel, in consideration of this . . . person's . . . status, escort him to the gate."

"Sir," Itti-bel said, indicating the door.

Aziraphale stamped out and sulkily marched back to the gate.

"Some help you are," he said at last.

Itti-bel just looked at him, his face expressionless. "It's my duty to help my master, not you," he said. "I'm not getting myself whipped for insolence by agreeing with his enemy's lawyer."

Aziraphale made a less than courteous noise and stepped into the street before he could be ejected. He supposed the man had to live in the same house as his bad-tempered owner, but really. Crowley had made a very generous offer. Back to the damp tablet, he supposed.

"What's Plan Beth?' Crowley asked. "Or are we further down what I wish was a damn Aleph-beth in this neck of the woods?"

"I've been looking over some legal codes in the library," Aziraphale said cheerfully. "I'm sure I can trounce this fellow in court."

He laid a series of tablets out on the ground between them, all neatly covered with miniscule cuneiform notes. Crowley's shoulders sagged.

"Do I have to read all that?"

"Heavens, no," Aziraphale said tartly. "I assume that's what you wanted my help with. Do you ever read anything Crowley?"

"Some of the hymns describing Ištar's charms are worth a read," Crowley said, waggling his very fashionable eyebrows. "Have you ever been to one of her soirées?"

"No," Aziraphale said. "I do wish you wouldn't consort with, with –"

"Colleagues?"

"Hmph."

Aziraphale wasn't sure who he wished Crowley would consort with, really. Honestly, it wasn't as if he couldn't keep the silly creature company; it would be much better for both of them than hanging around with false gods. Crowley picked up a tablet and squinted at it, as if he had a headache, then leant out from the awning's shade to call down into the courtyard.

"Datti? Datti! I need wine if I'm to face an afternoon of literary criticism!"

"Coming, master!" Indattu-Napiriša's voice wafted up.

Suitably fortified, Aziraphale dived in to his legal suggestions.

"It's true that the laws on runaway slaves aren't really in your favour," he said. "Most documents I found would suggest that anyone who can prove you're harbouring a runaway – well, you can be put to death if you don't return them."

Crowley dropped back on his cushions. "I'm paying you to avoid this fate, angel! I like this material form, I like this house, I like this city. I don't want to have to put in a request for a new body! Who knows when I'd get one?" He sighed, putting a hand to his head in a pose that Aziraphale had seen in wall paintings to suggest despair. It looked very dramatic: he could see why Crowley's maids had been amused.

"You're not actually paying me at all," he said, looking away from the way Crowley had draped himself picturesquely on the cushions. The old serpent was a terrible creature and the enemy, but he'd never forgive himself if anything actually happened to him. "Death sentences for well-to-do people like yourself are usually commutable to a fine. Did anyone actually see the poor girl come here?"

"As far as I know they just saw her plotting with Datti in the market, and tracked him down," Crowley said. "So I just have to brazen it out? I'm good at that!"

"Unless one of Temti-Inšušinak's spies breaks in and sees her, or he manages to get a search warrant somehow," Aziraphale said. "Or your neighbours tell tales. One of them probably saw something."

"Have search warrants been invented yet?" Crowley said in alarm. He snaked about as Indattu-Napiriša came up the stairs. "Datti, hide everything!"

"Yes, master."

"There's a Hittite law that maybe we could use – it would argue for a twenty-five shekel fine for every year you harboured the girl."

"Bargain!" Crowley said in delight, then frowned. "Hittites, huh? Who's paid attention to them for centuries? Find something better, angel."

Aziraphale picked up another tablet. He didn't want to think of the possibilities on it, but forewarned was forearmed.

"Based on what he said to me, Temti-Inšušinak's going to add a charge of rape," he said. "It's bad enough from his point of view if you were just hiding a runaway, but she's his concubine and he thinks the child is his. He really should be demanding one of your slave-concubines as part of the compensation, but he's going after Indattu-Napiriša as your catamite. And because he was the one who took the girl away, of course."

"I really don't mind if you call me Datti, sir," Indattu-Napiriša murmured.

Crowley looked up at him sourly. "You're such a troublemaker."

"I'm sorry, master."

"Yeah, yeah. Anything else on those bricks of yours?"

"When the child's born too early he probably will kill Nahhunte-Utu for adultery," Aziraphale sighed. "Her pregnancy is probably the only thing preventing him from doing it the moment she's back in his clutches. He seems very big on preserving his reputation."

"I'd understand all this better if she was your sweetheart," Crowley groused at Indattu-Napiriša. "All this helping people just because they need help; it's very –"

"Human?" Aziraphale suggested, and smiled at the look that came his way.

"Thank you, sir," Indattu-Napiriša said. "More wine?"

"Shoo," Crowley said, and waited until they were alone on the roof again. "I'd begun to think it would be easiest to hand the girl back," he said. "But I'm not doing it, and I'm certainly not handing Datti over."

"Of course not," Aziraphale said, beaming. "I knew there was good inside you –"

Crowley waved it off with an elegantly-ringed hand. "I may be a demon," he said, "but I'm not a piece of shit."

The library was a welcome respite from Crowley's legal problems. He'd come back to the legal problems in the morning with a clear mind, Aziraphale decided, and threw himself into copying some damaged tablets annotated as being legible only to the goddess of writing. Frankly he didn't see what the fuss was about, he thought, carefully writing out the damaged sections in full. It was all perfectly clear, and Nidaba needn't boast so much about her ability to decipher bad handwriting. Not of course that he usually chatted with false gods, but it was so nice to find someone as dedicated to the written word as himself, even if they were one of Crowley's lot.

"You've given up on reading laws, then?" Tabubu-tukultī said, stretching as best he could from his position chained to the floor. He'd been looking more than usually glum over the past while, and hadn't been writing as quickly as usual. The pile of tablets by his side was really quite meagre.

"They were making my eyes cross," Aziraphale said. "I needed a break."

"Don't we all," Tabubu-tukultī muttered, and took up his reed stylus, lifting the cloth off the damp blank tablets to pick one that was almost indistinguishable from the others. Every move of his was slow and considered. "This needs to be sharpened," he said, waving his stylus. "Can I borrow a penknife?"

"I'll do it for you," Aziraphale said. The king was quite clear. If they fell into despair the captive scholars weren't to be given the chance to kill themselves before he'd got everything he wanted from them.

His stylus with a fresh new edge, Tabubu-tukultī bent silently over his work again. Aziraphale set his own tablets out to dry and lifted an indifferently-copied set of the laws of the empire to read about the terrible things men were allowed to do to their wives if adultery was proved. He supposed concubines couldn't possibly fare any better.

He went to his own pleasant little set of rooms in the palace complex for the afternoon to think, and was surprised when a messenger came to find him to say a visitor was waiting in the outer courtyards. The man who stood in the shade of a portico looked clever and slightly condescending as he took in Aziraphale's appearance.

"You're the lawyer for Iqarārre-ṣerru?" he said. "I'm Temti-Inšušinak's. I thought we might be able to settle this without going before the judges."

"Although my client has never seen the girl at the heart of this matter," Aziraphale said frostily, "he offered your client a gift, as one Assyrian citizen to another, to help ease his heart and show him how highly all of Nineveh still regards him. He was rudely rebuffed."

"Ah, yes. Three mina of silver. Very generous. Truly the mark of an innocent man. Come off it, pal. How many cases have you actually argued in the gates? I've never seen you before. Advise your client to hand the girl and his catamite over, and we'll assess a fair fine. Otherwise it'll be his arse on the line as well. My client forgot to inform him that the girl's not his concubine, she's actually a wife. Seeing as your client doesn't have a wife to hand over, according to reports, if this goes to court I'll be arguing that reciprocal justice be carried out on his person." He smiled a shark-like grin. "I'll make mincemeat of you. Be sensible. Get your client to see what's in his best interests. May all the gods give you a good day; you won't have many more."

He strolled away, leaving Aziraphale thin-lipped and angry behind him. In fury he made himself invisible, spread his wings, and flew as fast as he could to Crowley's house where he became visible and banged on the door.

"Open up! I must speak with your master!"

The Cimmerian answered the door, a heavy club in his hand.

"See here – " he started, then dropped the club, alarmed. "Your pardon, sir! The master says you may come in at any time! Only, he's not here. He took Datti and went out for a walk."

Aziraphale wavered: should he find Crowley or try to get new information that might help?

"I'll wait for him," he said at last, stepping through the door. "I need to speak with Nahhunte-Utu."

"The women are working in the private courtyard, sir," the Cimmerian said. "We weren't expecting anyone –"

"Oh, stop worrying! I'll be chaperoned by the harem-eunuch, won't I? And I'm a eunuch too!"

The man bowed, still looking worried. There was clearly a difference between being let into the house and being given access even to super-annuated slave women. Aziraphale strode off before he could decide to stop him.

He found the women working and laughing together in the private courtyard, one pitting dates, one grinding herbs to a paste, one forming dough into small loaves and stamping little designs on them, two others making minced meat into small balls to be filled with fruit. He thought of the lawyer saying he'd make mincemeat of him, and took a decisive breath. These peaceful ladies' lives were at risk.

"Ladies," he said, and they all looked at him in surprise.

Nahhunte-Utu drew the end of her head covering across her face, but the young woman partnering her in making the meatballs put a hand out, whispering for her to stop, she wasn't free any longer.

"Where's your guardian?" Aziraphale said, looking around and seeing only women.

"He's having a nap," the oldest woman said. "Don't you blame him, sir, it's a hot day and none of us are as young as we used to be."

Aziraphale nodded, thinking of the elderly Nabu-zamar, and looking at the mostly middle-aged women. Crowley'd kept them all safe a long time and he'd be – well, he'd be damned if he did any less.

"My dear," he said to Nahhunte-Utu, "I need to know everything about when you became your master's slave. Did he ever draw up a contract of wifehood for you?"

"It was because my father owed him money, like I said," she said. "I never heard about any contract! The only marriage contract there was would have been with Pala-lahurati and his family."

Aziraphale perked up. "Where exactly does your family live, my dear?"

A few minutes later he was sprinting back for the outer door. He collided with Crowley, coming back from his walk. The demon seemed oddly happy to have an angel run into him, and held on until Aziraphale was steady on his feet again.

"You're in a rush! Have some wine!"

"I can't! Crowley – er, Iqarārre-ṣerru, I've got a lead!"

He freed himself from Crowley's arms and eeled out the door, haring off down the street as Crowley called out behind him,

"See you later, then?"

Aziraphale was soon seated in the small but respectable home of Tem-kitin, a potter. His workshop was filled with delicate and beautiful utensils, and his two apprentices mixed and applied glazes that came out of the kiln in sparkling bright colours.

"You have word of my daughter?" Tem-kitin said eagerly. "Bel-natatum, quickly, quickly!"

His wife joined them and they both stared at Aziraphale with such longing that he felt quite unable to tell them the truth.

"You haven't heard anything?" he said.

"Nothing," Bel-natatum said. "I blame myself every day, sir!"

"We needed money for a doctor," Tem-kitin said. "My wife hasn't really been well since our home-town was deported. I expected to repay the loan quickly, but then one of my apprentices also became ill –" He sighed. "He's better now, and we're back to producing higher quality pottery, but when the loan was called in –" He hung his head. "I asked him to take me as a slave for the usual three years, but he insisted on having Nahhunte-Utu."

"But you'd already arranged her marriage, hadn't you?"

"We were starting to," Bel-natatum said. "It was all going nicely, and Pala-lahurati's family had sent some gifts, but we hadn't had the contract drawn up by scribes. Both families were waiting for the next lucky day." Tears filled her eyes. "Our families knew each other from back home, and it seemed like life might be back to normal at last."

"Oh," Aziraphale said, his hopes dashed. "Well, at least I can assure you that your daughter is safe and well. Do you think that her young man might still want to marry her if she were freed?"

"Oh, they were crazy about each other," Tem-kitin said. "I can't see how either family could keep them apart."

Aziraphale smiled vaguely, and went off to research laws on marriage.

"Back on the laws are you?" Tabubu-tukultī said, dragging his gaze back from the middle distance. He hadn't written anything for an hour or more.

"Yes, I've got an interesting problem," Aziraphale said. "One that might result in a friend being killed for harbouring a runaway slave, adultery, rape, theft and who knows what other specious charges his enemy can pile on."

Tabubu-tukultī looked at him dully. "Is he harbouring a runaway?"

"Erm. Yes. But none of the other stuff's true."

"We all end up in the dust of the Underworld eventually," Tabubu-tukultī said in a morose voice. "Maybe it's your friend's time."

"It most certainly is not. Why are you so glum?"

"I'm running out of things to write down. Even if I stretch it out I only have another couple of tablets in me at most. Then I'm just a useless leftover from a conquered city."

"Ah. Sorry." Aziraphale held out his notes. "Here, distract yourself and read this over. You'll be useful to me!"

Tabubu-tukultī took the tablet and read it, frowned and read it again. "Your friend is dead according to all of this," he said.

"Oh dear. That's what I thought."

The tablet was read a third time. "What's this stuff about the loan, and the previous marriage arrangements? You don't make it clear."

"The fathers never signed the marriage contract, though the groom sent some presents to his intended. Then she was seized as collateral when the loan came due."

"But her father said he was willing to become the creditor's slave," Tabubu-tukultī said musingly. "You know, if you argue this according to the king's law it's a lost cause. It's terrible for women. You need to argue this according to Babylonian law, and bamboozle the court away from the whole runaway slave angle."

"What? But it's a runaway slave case at heart! And, if you'll excuse me saying this, you yourself described Babylon as a conquered city. Who'll accept a case argued by its laws?"

Tabubu-tukultī looked at him in irritation, actual expression in his face for the first time in days. "Do you even know what I've been writing, here?" he said, and threw a tablet full force at Aziraphale, who caught it.

It was a detailed transcript of a court case: a woman accused of hiring hitmen to take out her husband, with notes on the theory of law that each argument by the lawyers and judges showed. He was writing hundreds of examples of Babylonian law in action from memory.

"You're a lawyer," Aziraphale squeaked.

"I was a judge," Tabubu-tukultī said. "Your plaintiff should have either taken the whole family into debt slavery for three years, or a contract showing the monetary worth of the girl should have been drawn up to indicate she had formally been sold as a perpetual slave to cover the debt. Neither of those things happened. Moreover, the marriage was clearly almost concluded if her family had accepted bride gifts – against this we have the problem that the law clearly states that a woman who gets married without a contract isn't a wife. But I think that's easy enough to fudge."

"That's it, that's the legal argument!" Aziraphale said joyfully.

Tabubu-tukultī shrugged. "Make no mistake, as far as the law goes my expert opinion is that this argument is horseshit. But – " He smiled in a way very like Temti-Inšušinak's lawyer. "Get me out of here and I'll win your case for you. These Nineveh hicks have never seen a real Babylonian professional talk in court."

Aziraphale sat back on his heels. "You'd represent my friend? I should warn you that he's the one who was rude to you a while ago."

"I'll do it for my freedom. You take me away from here and I will devour your enemy and his legal team where they stand."

Aziraphale regarded him critically. He'd been a downtrodden unhappy fellow when he first arrived* and hadn't improved much since, just getting dustier and more unkempt. His back was straighter and his gaze more direct than it had been for months.

"Done," Aziraphale said, and the shackles fell from Tabubu-tukultī's ankle.

*Having your home city sacked and then being dragged cross-country in chains will do that to you.

On the day of the court case Aziraphale paced up and down in his rooms, watching one of the palace hairdressers who owed him a favour curl Tabubu-tukultī's freshly washed and oiled hair and beard. The man was wearing Aziraphale's best tunic and cloak, and his best sandals, the ones that made his feet look so good. A few days of soaking the grime of captivity away and proper feeding had given Tabubu-tukultī a new lease of life, and he'd taken to ordering Aziraphale around as if he were a clerk of court.

It would be worth it. Aziraphale had assembled all the witnesses, made sure that Crowley hadn't got drunk the night before and would be presentable, and just had to play his own part in the case. It would all be fine. He hoped. He half-listened in to the hairdresser, wishing they'd hurry up, and also wishing that the time to go to the gates would never arrive.

"Hot weather we're having," the hairdresser murmured.

"Mmm, that does happen in summer," Tabubu-tukultī said.

"Doing anything special for the weekend?"

"I thought I might just enjoy life as a free man again."

"Oh, that's nice."

Aziraphale sank into his notes and read them until they were even more engrained in his memory than they already were. It was finally time for his hair to be made respectable: he sat on the low stool and closed his eyes as the hairdresser combed oil through it and then curled it section by section with a hot iron.

"There now, all done. Knock 'em dead."

"That's the plan," Tabubu-tukultī said, and turned to Aziraphale. "You made it clear to the witnesses and the client that they had to be on time?"

"Yes! Shall we go?"

"Let's," Tabubu-tukultī said, a look on his face like he was going into battle.

The sky was growing pale as they neared the courthouse set into the gates of the massive city wall. Tabubu-tukultī looked around him with pleasure, as if newly appreciating the sights and sounds of a city coming to life once more after the night. Aziraphale prodded his shoulder.

"There! That's Crow- er, Iqarārre-ṣerru! And his entire household, how surprising – did you want him to bring all of them?"

"Not really," Tabubu-tukultī said, raising an eyebrow. "What's all this?" he said to Crowley.

"You said you wanted Datti," Crowley said, "And I brought Conan in case Temti-Inšušinak's guys tried to rough him up, and then Nabu-zamar and the girls are providing a proper level of escort for my unexpected guest." He indicated the heavily veiled form in the middle of his slave women.

"I don't think I knew your name before now," Aziraphale said to the Cimmerian.

"It's actually Taiu-aspa," he shrugged.

Aziraphale looked Crowley up and down. The demon had clearly decided to pull out all the stops in his going-to-court outfit. A good, deep black dye was hard to achieve and expensive, so the long undertunic of darkest black was a definite statement of how respectably wealthy Crowley was. It was covered in jet beading that some skilled worker had ruined her eyesight for, and the fashionable fringed shawl draped over one of his shoulders and then wrapped and belted around his narrow waist was of actual imported silk. The tall, cylindrical hat on the carefully waved and set dark hair was a marvel of deep purple and gold. The whole effect was of a man who could buy the best justice going.

"Like what you see, angel?" Crowley said with a wink.

"Ye- it's quite flashy, isn't it?"

"You just have no sense of fashion."

Another party of far more modestly dressed people hesitantly approached.

"Sir?" Tem-kitin said. "Are we late?"

"Father!" the veiled form shrieked. "Mother!"

"Oh, no you don't," Tabubu-tukultī said, and grabbed her arm as she tried to bolt for her parents. "You stay in the middle of your chaperones! I'm not having you even look like you're back in your father's custody if your master can possibly argue the debt still needs paying."

"Be still, daughter," Bel-natatum said, wiping her eyes. "This gentleman will see us all right."

Nahhunte-Utu went very quiet, staring at the young man standing behind her parents. With shaking hands she raised her veil.

"Pala-lahurati," she whispered.

"My dove," he said, "these gentlemen say they will bring us back to one another –"

"I hope your human can keep these promises," Crowley whispered. "I don't want to have to actually work at wriggling into high society all over again."

"He says he's good."

"Ugh, the last thing I need."

"You know what I mean."

Crowley gave him an odd smile. "Yeah, I know. I just don't want to end up on the other side of the known world starting from scratch. Who knows when we'd see each other again?"

"I didn't know you cared," Aziraphale said archly, to try to cheer him up. It seemed to make Crowley more despondent. "Oh, look. The sun has risen, and the judge has arrived."

The judge, a richly dressed man, had seated himself on the raised dais before the gates and was nodding as Temti-Inšušinak's lawyer introduced himself. Aziraphale and Crowley drifted closer as Tabubu-tukultī marched forwards.

"Who's this?" Temti-Inšušinak's lawyer said suspiciously. "I wasn't expecting a new lawyer." He glared over at Aziraphale.

"Tabubu-tukultī, representing Iqarārre-ṣerru," Tabubu-tukultī said. He inclined his head to the judge who waved his hand, giving him permission to begin. "My client's innocence will be easily proven, my lord. Let us first consider the legal basis under which this case is examined. While none can doubt the wisdom of the great king, the king of kings, the king of the four quarters of the world, the Vice Regent of Aššur, King Aššurbanipal,* the fact remains that the king's law depends utterly on the laws of the king of Babylon, King Hammurabi, and so the case should be examined –"

*Although he was laying it on a bit thick, the Babylonian accent disguised the exact amount of sarcasm used in the mention of the king's wisdom.**

**Approximately as much as modern barristers can insert into references to "my learned friend" when the evidence favours them.

"How dare you impugn Assyrian law?" Temti-Inšušinak's lawyer yelled. "Babylonian law? My lord, this charlatan must be driven from the gates! Find for my client at once!"

" - should be examined under the code of the aforesaid King Hammurabi," Tabubu-tukultī went on. "Was this code not given to the king by the God, the great God, the God Šamaš, who looks down on this court and all courts to safeguard justice? Should not all men seek to return to the age of gold of yore, rather than be content with today's age of iron?"

He was hitting a good rhetorical stride, Aziraphale had to admit, even if he was leaning on false gods.

"Other than his piety, on what basis should I hear arguments based on the laws of King Hammurabi of Babylon?" the judge asked. "Do you really claim that Assyria, mightiest of empires, has cogged its laws from another land's legal documents?"

"My lord," Tabubu-tukultī said looking like he was enjoying himself a great deal, "I am but a humble lawyer –"

"Yes," the judge said in a considering tone of voice, "I have heard your name before."

"Wait," Temti-Inšušinak's lawyer said. "He's that Tabubu-tukultī?"

Aziraphale belatedly wondered exactly who or what he'd got to defend Crawley. A quick scan assured him that Tabubu-tukultī really was just a human.

"Being skilled only in the practice of law," Tabubu-tukultī said, a slight smile on his face, "I must depend on the wisdom of others. I therefore call, my lord, an expert witness, Ilum-emūqī-ikūn, scribe, eunuch and freedman, a scholar in the library of the great king Aššurbanipal."

That was his cue. Aziraphale stepped forwards and bestowed a happy smile on the whole captive audience. Crowley groaned as if he knew what was coming.

"My lords, ladies and gentlemen," Aziraphale said, taking out his tablets of notes. "Let us first begin with the concepts of 'genre' and 'literary style' –"

The case was very satisfactory, Aziraphale thought: by the time witness after witness had been produced to lay a bewildering amount of evidence of the supposed marriage of Nahhunte-Utu and Pala-lahurati, and Tem-kitin's impassioned testimony of his willingness to have been a debt slave, the judge was giving hard stares at Temti-Inšušinak's team. Crowley's actually truthful testimony that he'd never laid eyes on the girl before that day was somehow believed, which led Aziraphale to think a certain amount of infernal influence was at play. The coup de grace came when Tabubu-tukultī called a scribe who had recorded the value of Pala-lahurati's gifts to Nahhunte-Utu and her family. The man ceremoniously broke open a clay packet and read out the date on the revealed tablet - a full month before Temti-Inšušinak had seized her as his slave.

"I need hear no more," the judge said, even as Temti-Inšušinak's lawyer was yelling about no marriage contract between the young couple ever actually existing and his client's complete right to reclaim an errant slave, a father's right to sell an unmarried daughter, and why no one should be allowed to retain Babylonian lawyers anyway.

"Nahhunte-Utu is the wife of Pala-lahurati," the judge said. "It was unlawful to detain her for her father's debt as she had either passed or was passing to her husband's household. This is not a case of a runaway slave, but of a man who lies with another's wife. By harbouring her Iqarārre-ṣerru has not committed an offence against Temti-Inšušinak, and so neither he nor his slave Datti are liable to claim. The slave Datti will not be handed over for vengeance."

Crowley punched the air, whooping, and Aziraphale applauded the judge's wisdom. The judge held up a hand for silence and went on.

"There is no evidence that Nahhunte-Utu fought against her fate, and so the law may find her to be an adulteress and liable for punishment. A slave, however, may not refuse her master - Nahhunte-Utu's youth has confused her and she did not understand her duty to Pala-lahurati outweighed that to her father."

"What's happening?" Temti-Inšušinak said urgently. His lawyer was pale and starting to sweat.

"Pala-lahurati, you may forgive your wife but if so Temti-Inšušinak will suffer no penalty," the judge said, "or you may cut off her nose, and Temti-Inšušinak will be castrated."

"What?" Temti-Inšušinak shrieked.

"My lord –" Tabubu-tukultī said.

"We will proceed for this part of the case now on Assyrian law," the judge said.

"I want my wife back," Pala-lahurati said quickly and Nahhunte-Utu ran into his arms.

"Do you wish to lodge a case against Iqarārre-ṣerru for hiding her in his home?"

"My lord, I account him her rescuer."

"Let the judgment be recorded," the judge said to the court scribe and stood he stretched, nodded at them all and walked away.

Temti-Inšušinak beat his cowering lawyer around the head. Crowley gave Aziraphale a triumphant thumbs up.

"It does seem a bit unsatisfactory that such an annoying fellow didn't face any penalty at all for causing you such worry," Aziraphale said, as he and Crowley strolled away in search of brunch and a nice spot of relaxation on Crowley's ostentatious cushions.

"So much for your friend being a good lawyer," Crowley grinned.

"He said we were lucky to get so much as a threat out of the judge," Aziraphale sighed. "Assyrian law lets the man just swear he didn't know the woman was married and he's exonerated at once. And to be fair, she wasn't actually married, not under Assyrian law, not under Babylonian. Tabubu-tukultī just talked so much no one noticed."

"I'm going to buy him a house," Crowley said decisively.

"I say! That's awfully charitable of you!"

"I might need him in future and I want to know exactly where he is."

" . . . I see."

Crowley grinned at him, then the sharp smile softened.

"Thanks, Aziraphale. I knew I was right to ask you to find a way out of this mess. I was this close to opening the earth up under that idiot's house, but it would have caused so much tablet-work. And frankly, my cuneiform is terrible."

"It was my pleasure," Aziraphale said, feeling his ears going pink. How lovely to know that Crowley appreciated his efforts.

"I've been inspired by this whole thing," Crowley said as they strolled through the increasing crowds, the whole collection of Crowley's household behind them. "I'm going to make a resolution about my behaviour from now on."

"You're going to turn over a new leaf?" Aziraphale said, casually healing a leprous child. "You're going to forsake evil?" He beamed at the wonderful effect he'd had on the demon, and it had only taken a couple of thousand years!

Crowley gave him a pitying look from under the remarkable hat.

"Obviously not. I'm going to be more careful and not get caught, is what I mean."

"Why do I even try?" Aziraphale muttered.

Crowley grinned.

"Because you like me."

"No, I don't."

"Heh."

Aziraphale smiled unwillingly as Crowley sniggered. Honestly, the demon was so infuriating. And yet such pleasant company.

"I'll send Datti on ahead to set out the wine," Crowley said, and turned to his slaves. He paused. "Where's Datti?"

All the slaves shrugged. It did Aziraphale's heart good to see their total lack of both fear and respect faced with their lord and master. He looked around and a benevolent, mild smile broke out on his face.*

*Or as truthful passers-by might have more accurately described it, a malicious grin.

"Are you serious about not getting caught, dear boy?"

"Huh?"

"I've found your missing little lamb." He pointed across the intersection in which they stood. "And he appears to be in urgent conversation with another Elamite slave girl."

Crowley's expensively-clad shoulders sagged. He watched Indattu-Napiriša pointing back at them and then giving him a cheerful thumbs up. The girl curtsied, her face full of hope.

"Tell your lawyer friend I'll buy him a house with a garden," he said wearily, dropping his face into his hands. "And a swimming pool."