The angel crashed down in a shower of water, having missed his intended landing by several feet. Hastily he recovered himself and scrambled to shore. The moment he touched solid earth he had his sword out and shining, ready for battle. From his training in the Guardian Corps, he had assumed he would be set upon by hordes of infernal beings the moment he touched down in the mortal realm.
No infernal beings presented themselves. The duck pond in which he had landed remained placidly quiet. Even the ducks were taking no notice of him. The angel blinked. “Right,” he said aloud, “Any minute now.” Perhaps the devil’s forces were simply hiding in the bushes, preparing to spring out and attack. He had to remain vigilant. Perhaps they were lulling him into a false sense of security, then they would spring!
He waited. Nothing happened. Not even a human was in sight. Finally, after several hours of nothing continuing to happen, the angel tapped his halo. “Ah, excuse me?” he said. “I’m not sure if I’m in the right place. I was assigned to-“
“Please hold for the Archangel Michael,” came the cool harmonious voice of the angel dispatcher. Then a decidedly less harmonious voice barked over the halo. “Yeah, this is Mike, what’s your problem?”
“Sir!” the angel saluted so fast that he knocked his hand on his own halo. “Arnie, Guardian Corps, Angel Third Class, no problem, sir! Just wondering where the infernal legions were, sir! The area appears to be vacant, sir!”
“Calm down, tiger,” Michael said. “It’s your first posting, right? We are not gonna send you off to fight the Big Bad types. Apollyon, demon locusts, all those my-name-Legion-for-we-are-many guys, that kinda thing takes years of prep, kid. We’re talking archangel stuff, AF1 at most, with squads of backups.”
“Sir, yes, of course, sir,” Arnie said, a little deflated. “But, sir, if I may ask, what exactly am I fighting here, sir?”
Michael’s sigh was audible over the halo. “Today you’re fighting Gormley.”
“Gormley, sir?”
“Yeah. Minor demon, third class. I think he’s third; their way is nowhere near as, whatchacall, systematic as ours. Anyway, this guy hates ducks.”
Arnie paused, wondering if he had heard correctly. “Ducks, sir?”
“Yeah. Likes to pull their tail feathers, throw rocks at ’em, just goes at the poor things no end. Been doing it forever. Your job is to make him stop.”
“So I’m to protect the ducks,” Arnie said. “From a demon.”
“Exactly. Better get to it, kid. Mike out.”
Silence fell over the duck pond. Arnie looked at the ducks. They looked back at him, seeming less than confident in his abilities. One of them gave a hesitant quack.
The angel sheathed his sword. “Okay, then, as you were,” he said to the ducks, trying hard to muster the same confident tone he had before. “I’m here to protect you!”
The ducks resumed their paddling, but Arnie got the distinct sense they didn’t believe him a bit. In their defense, he wasn’t sure he believed it either. This was clearly not the most plum assignment in the ranks of the Guardian Corps, and what that said about how he was viewed by his superiors (especially The superior) he didn’t like to think. On the other hand, as he looked around he didn’t see any signs of the minor whatever-class demon of which the archangel had spoken. Maybe this would be an easy one, a sort of further training assignment.
Then a little eddy in the duck pond began to bubble ominously. “Oh dear,” Arnie said, drawing his sword again. "Gormley, is that you?”
The eddy froze. “No,” it said.
Arnie gulped. “Look, I know it’s you! Come on out!”
With a sickly bloop, Gormley emerged. “You look new,” he said. “And pathetic. Why don’t you fly back up there and go sing in your choir or somethin’ while I have a little fun with m’ ducks?”
Arnie planted his feet, raised his golden sword, and stared the demon down. “They’re not your ducks.”
“Yeah?” Gormley said. “Well, I say they are! What’re you gonna do about it, angel?”
Inwardly Arnie wished the demon would just shut up and go away. Gormley struck a sore point; Arnie had hoped he would be assigned to the choir. He’d loved music back on Earth; he’d even had an all-too-brief post himself as a countertenor. Yet now, instead of singing wonderful Alleluias in the unending clouds of Heaven, here he was in the dirty mortal realm in a duck pond, no less, defending its feathered occupants against the predations of a demon who might have been third class and maybe wasn’t even that.
Arnie’s wrath boiled over. Lightning cracked across the duckpond. Gormley was gone before he even knew what hit him.
As the ducks scattered for cover, squawking in dismay, and the thunder rolled back in dull astonished echoes, Arnie’s halo chimed. “Yes?” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Yeah, hey, kid. It’s Mike. We gotta talk.”