Good Omens
The man who put the torch to Agnes Nutter was a Witchfinder Major. They found his hat in a tree two miles away.
His name, stitched inside on a fairly large piece of tape, was ThouShalt.. Not.. Commit.. Adultery Pulsifer, one of England’s most assiduous witchfinders, and it might have afforded him some satisfaction to know that his last surviving descendant was now, even if unawares, heading toward Agnes Nutter’s last surviving descendant. He might have felt that some ancient revenge was at last going to be discharged.
If he’d known what was actually going to happen when that descendant met her he would have turned in his grave, except that he had never got one.
* * * * *
irstly, however, Newt had to do something about the flying saucer.
It landed in the road ahead of him just as he was trying to find the Lower Tadfield turning and had the map spread over the steering wheel. He had to brake hard.
It looked like every cartoon of a flying saucer Newt had ever seen.
As he stared over the top of his map, a door in the saucer slid aside with a satisfying whoosh, revealing a gleaming walkway which extended automatically down to the road. Brilliant blue light shone out, outlining three alien shapes. They walked down the ramp. At least, two of them walked. The one that looked like a pepper pot just skidded down it, and fell over at the bottom.
The other two ignored its frantic beeping and walked over to the car quite slowly, in the worldwide approved manner of policemen already compiling the charge sheet in their heads. The tallest one, a yellow toad dressed in kitchen foil, rapped on Newt’s window. He wound it down. The thing was wearing the kind of mirror.. finished sunglasses that Newt always thought of as Cool Hand Luke shades.
“Morning, sir or madam or neuter,” the thing said. “This your planet, is it?”
The other alien, which was stubby and green, had wandered off into the woods by the side of the road. Out of the corner of his eye Newt saw it kick a tree, and then run a leaf through some complicated gadget on its belt. It didn’t look very pleased.
“Well, yes. I suppose so,” he said.
The toad stared thoughtfully at the skyline.
“Had it long, have we, sir?” it said.
“Er. Not personally. I mean, as a species, about half a million years. I think.”
The alien exchanged glances with its colleague. “Been letting the old acid rain build up, haven’t we, sir?” it said. “Been letting ourselves go a bit with the old hydrocarbons, perhaps?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Could you tell me your planet’s albedo, sir?” said the toad, still staring levelly at the horizon as though it was doing something interesting.
“Er. No.”
“Well, I’m sorry to have to tell you, sir, that your polar ice caps are below regulation size for a planet of this category, sir.”
“Oh, dear,” said Newt. He was wondering who he could tell about this, and realizing that there was absolutely no one who would believe him.
The toad bent closer. It seemed to be worried about something, insofar as Newt was any judge of the expressions of an alien race he’d never encountered before.
“We’ll overlook it on this occasion, sir.”
Newt gabbled. “Oh. Er. I’ll see to it.. well, when I say I, I mean, I think Antarctica or something belongs to every country, or something, and.. ”
“The fact is, sir, that we have been asked to give you a message.”
“Oh?”
“Message runs ‘We give you a message of universal peace and cosmic harmony an’ suchlike.’ Message ends,” said the toad.
“Oh.” Newt turned this over in his mind. “Oh. That’s very kind.”
“Have you got any idea why we have been asked to bring you this message, sir?” said the toad.
Newt brightened. “Well, er, I suppose,” he flailed, “what with Mankind’s, er, harnessing of the atom and.. ”
“Neither have we, sir.” The toad stood up. “One of them phenomena, I expect. Well, we’d better be going.” It shook its head vaguely, turned around and waddled back to the saucer without another word.
Newt stuck his head out of the window.
“Thank you!”
The small alien walked past the car.
“C02 level up 0.5 percent,” it rasped, giving him a meaningful look. “You do know you could find yourself charged with being a dominant species while under the influence of impulse.. driven consumerism, don’t you?”
The two of them righted the third alien, dragged it back up the ramp, and shut the door.
Newt waited for a while, in case there were any spectacular light displays, but it just stood there. Eventually he drove up on the verge and around it. When he looked in his rear.. view mirror it had gone.
I must be overdoing something, he thought guiltily. But what?
And I can’t even tell Shadwell, because he’d probably bawl me out for not counting their ni**les.
* * *
“Anyway,” said Adam, “you’ve got it all wrong about witches.”
The Them were sitting on a field gate, watching Dog rolling in cowpats. The little mongrel seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.
“I’ve been reading about them,” he said, in a slightly louder voice. “Actually, they’ve been right all along and it’s wrong to persecute ’em with British Inquisitions and stuff.”
“My mother said they were just intelligent women protesting in the only way open to them against the stifling injustices of a male.. dominated social hierarchy,” said Pepper.
Pepper’s mother lectured at Norton Polytechnic.
“Yes, but your mother’s always saying things like that,” said Adam, after a while.
Pepper nodded amiably. “And she said, at worst they were just free.. thinking worshippers of the progenerative principle.”
“Who’s the progenratty principle?” said Wensleydale.
“Dunno. Something to do with maypoles, I think,” said Pepper vaguely.
“Well, 1 thought they worshipped the Devil,” said Brian, but without automatic condemnation. The Them had an open mind on the whole subject of devil worship. The Them had an open mind about everything. “Anyway, the Devil’d be better than a stupid maypole.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” said Adam. “It’s not the Devil. It’s another god, or something. With horns.”
“The Devil,” said Brian.
“No,” said Adam patiently. “People just got ’em mixed up. He’s just got horns similar. He’s called Pan. He’s half a goat.”
* During the day. In the evenings she gave Power tarot readings to nervous executives, because old habits die hard.