Free Clovenhoof by Heide Goody, Iain Grant Page A

Pius.
    “Joan of Arc,” said Michael.
    St Peter tutted.
    “We let her sit in on the Hell Project. Now this? Does she have political ambitions?”
    “This committee always welcomes fresh perspectives,” said Michael smoothly.
    “Yes, it would be good to have a woman about the place,” said Gabriel.
    Michael looked down at Mother Teresa to see if she reacted but she was too busy over the spelling of ‘perspectives’.
    “I shall invite her to the next meeting then,” said Michael, making a personal note. “Now, onto the subject of earthly visitations. This is definitely an area in which we do need a rota.”
    “Is there a pwoblem?” asked St Francis.
    “I’ve had complaints about a certain donkey manifesting itself to the faithful on earth.”
    All eyes turned to St Francis.
    “There are many donkeys in heaven,” he said indignantly.
    “But only one which makes spontaneous appearances on earth,” said Michael.
    “And is there a pwoblem with that?”
    “Er, yes,” said Michael.
    “He was as faithful a servant and as good a Chwistian as one could ever hope to sit upon. He cwied at my deathbed, you know.”
    “We know.”
    Gabriel frowned.
    “What spiritual or theological message are the faithful supposed to take away from a visitation by your donkey?” he asked.
    St Francis pondered for a while.
    “Be nice to animals,” he decided. “Especially donkeys.”
    “I think any future apparitions by the blessed - angelic, human or animal – need to be run by this committee first,” said Michael.
    “But what about the Holy Mother?” said St Francis frostily. “Where is she at the moment? Appearwing on a tea towel in Mexico? Making statues weep in Tokyo? She’s never here. Are you going to tell Mary to wun her plans past this committee?”
    Michael shook his head.
    “Are you?” he said pointedly.
    “No,” said St Francis quietly.
    “Next order of business?”
    “The Thwone.”
    “Actually,” said Peter, “I wondered if we could skip over that for now as I am keen to hear how the adversary is getting on in his new home.”
    Michael smiled with genuine pleasure.
    “Satan – or Jeremy Clovenhoof, his nom d’exile – has taken to his new situation very well. He’s been relocated exactly as suggested and looks ready to settle in for the long term.”
    “I thought he’d kick up a big fuss,” said Gabriel.
    “Your adversary prowls around like a roaring lion,” Paul self-quoted, “seeking someone to devour.”
    “Actually,” said Michael, “he was last seen in a supermarket, buying frozen ready meals. Hardly a roaring lion.” He clicked his fingers in recollection and turned to St Francis. “We must have a word about your lions-laying-down-with-lambs project, Francis.”
    St Francis winced.
    “Teething pwoblems. That’s all.”
    “Actually, I think the teeth are the problem.”
     

Chapter 3 – in which Clovenhoof discovers Heavy Metal, takes to the stage and becomes a rock god
     
    Clovenhoof tried to ignore the sounds coming from the stairway outside his flat, the dull flat thumps and the sharp juddering snaps. He also successfully ignored the hissed reprimands and the wheedling replies but it was the loud crash followed by a long and inventive curse that piqued his interest.
    He opened the door and looked out.
    Nerys stood, fists on hips, staring furiously at Ben and the large upright parcel perched on the stairs, a parcel that was threatening to crush Ben and bear his remains down to the ground floor.
    Clovenhoof cleared his throat.
    “What the hell is this?”
    Nerys gave him a bright smile.
    “This is my New Year’s resolution.”
    “To kill Kitchen?”
    “No, it’s –“
    “It’s admirable,” said Clovenhoof. “Worthy, even. Best of luck."
    He began to close the door.
    “I think Ben could do with a hand,” said Nerys.
    “I’d love to,” said Clovenhoof, “but I’m not really a problem solver .”
    “Just do it,” said Nerys.
     
    By the time the parcel was