Eric - Terry Pratchett [45]
“Not these,” sneered Vassenego. “Such trivial things. No, sire. I was referring to your elevation.”
“Elevation?” said Astfgl.
“Your promotion, sire!”
A great cheer went up from the younger demons, who would cheer anything.
“Promotion? But, but I am the King—” Astfgl protested weakly. He could feel his grasp on events beginning to slip.
“Pfooie!” said Vassenego expansively.
“Pfooie?”
“Indeed, sire. King? King? Sire, I speak for us all when I say that is no title for a demon such as you, sire, a demon whose grasp of organizational matters and priorities, whose insight into the proper functions of our being, whose—if I may say so—sheer intellectual capabilities have taken us to new and greater depths, sire!”
Despite himself, Astfgl preened. “Well, you know—” he began.
“And yet we find, despite your position, that you interest yourself in the tiniest details of our work,” said Vassenego, looking down his nose at Rincewind. “Such dedication! Such devotion!”
Astfgl swelled. “Of course, I’ve always felt—”
Rincewind pulled himself up on his elbows, and thought: look out, behind you…
“And so,” said Vassenego, beaming like a coastful of lighthouses, “the Council met and has decided, and may I add, sire, has decided unanimously, to create an entirely new award in honor of your outstanding achievements!”
“The importance of proper paperwork has—what award?” said Astfgl, the minnows of suspicion suddenly darting across the oceans of self-esteem.
“The position, sire, of Supreme Life President of Hell!”
The band struck up again.
“With your own office—much bigger than the pokey thing you have had to suffer all these years, sire. Or rather, Mr. President!”
The band had a go at another chord.
The demons waited.
“Will there be…potted plants?” said Astfgl, slowly.
“Hosts! Plantations! Jungles!”
Astfgl appeared to be lit by a gentle, inner glow.
“And carpets? I mean, wall to wall—?”
“The walls have had to be moved apart especially to accommodate them all, sire. And thick pile, sire? Whole tribes of pygmies are wondering why the light stays on at night, sire!”
The bewildered King allowed himself to have an expansive arm thrown across his shoulder and was gently led, all thoughts of vengeance forgotten, through the cheering crowds.
“I’ve always fancied one of those special things for making coffee,” he murmured, as the last vestiges of self-control were eroded.
“A positive manufactory has been installed, sire! And a speaking tube, sire, for you to communicate your instructions to your underlings. And the very latest in diaries, two eons to a page, and a thing for—”
“Colored marker pens. I’ve always held that—”
“Complete rainbows, sire,” Vassenego boomed. “And let us go there without delay, sire, for I suspect that with your normal keen insight you cannot wait to get to grips with the mighty tasks ahead of you, sire.”
“Certainly, certainly! Time they were done, indeed—” An expression of vague perplexity passed across Astfgl’s flushed face. “These mighty tasks…”
“Nothing less than a complete, full, authoritative, searching and in-depth analysis of our role, function, priorities and goals, sire!”
Vassenego stood back.
The demon lords held their breath.
Astfgl frowned. The universe appeared to slow down. The stars halted momentarily in their courses.
“With forward planning?” he said, at last.
“A top priority, sire, which you have instantly pinpointed with your normal incisiveness,” said Vassenego quickly.
The demon lords breathed again.
Astfgl’s chest expanded several inches. “I shall need special staff, of course, in order to formulate—”
“Formulate! The very thing!” said Vassenego, who was perhaps getting just a bit carried away. Astfgl gave him a faintly suspicious glance, but at that moment the band struck up again.
The last words that Rincewind heard, as the King was led out of the hall, were: “And in order to analyze information, I shall need—”
And then he was gone.
The rest of the demons, aware that the entertainment seemed to be over for the day, started to mill around and drift out of the