Good Omens
That would do it every time.
* * *
The quarry was the calm center of a stormy world.
Thunder didn’t just rumble overhead, it tore the air in half.
“I’ve got some more friends coming,” Adam repeated. “They’ll be here soon, and then we can really get started.”
Dog started to howl. It was no longer the siren howl of alone wolf, but the weird oscillations of a small dog in deep trouble.
Pepper had been sitting staring at her knees.
There seemed to be something on her mind.
Finally she looked up and stared Adam in the blank gray eyes.
“What bit’re you going to have, Adam?” she said.
The storm was replaced by a sudden, ringing silence.
“What?” said Adam.
“Well, you divided up the world, right, and we’ve all of us got to have a bit.. what bit’re you going to have?”
The silence sang like a harp, high and thin.
“Yeah,” said Brian. “You never told us what bit you’re having.”
“Pepper’s right,” said Wensleydale. “Don’t seem to me there’s much left, if we’ve got to have all these countries.”
Adam’s mouth opened and shut.
“What?” he said.
“What bit’s yours, Adam?” said Pepper.
Adam stared at her. Dog had stopped howling and had fixed his master with an intent, thoughtful mongrel stare.
“M.. me?” he said.
The silence went on and on, one note that could drown out the noises of the world.
“But I’ll have Tadfield,” said Adam.
They stared at him.
“An’, an’ Lower Tadfield, and Norton, and Norton Woods.. ”
They still stared.
Adam’s gaze dragged itself across their faces.
“They’re all I’ve ever wanted,” he said.
They shook their heads.
“I can have ’em if I want,” said Adam, his voice tinged with sullen defiance and his defiance edged with sudden doubt. “I can make them better, too. Better trees to climb, better ponds, better …”
His voice trailed off.
“You can’t,” said Wensleydale flatly. “They’re not like America and those places. They’re really real. Anyway, they belong to all of us. They’re ours.”
“And you couldn’t make ’em better,” said Brian.
“Anyway, even if you did we’d all know,” said Pepper.
“Oh, if that’s all that’s worryin’ you, don’t you worry,” said Adam airily, “’cos I could make you all just do whatever I wanted.. ”
He stopped, his ears listening in horror to the words his mouth was speaking. The Them were backing away.
Dog put his paws over his head.
Adam’s face looked like an impersonation of the collapse of empire.
“No,” he said hoarsely. “No. Come back! I command you!”
They froze in mid.. dash.
Adam stared.
“No, I dint mean it.. ” he began. “You’re my friends.. ”
His body jerked. His head was thrown back. He raised his arms and pounded the sky with his fists.
His face twisted. The chalk floor cracked under his sneakers.
Adam opened his mouth and screamed. It was a sound that a merely mortal throat should not have been able to utter; it wound out of the quarry, mingled with the storm, caused the clouds to curdle into new and unpleasant shapes.
It went on and on.
It resounded around the universe, which is a good deal smaller than physicists would believe. It rattled the celestial spheres.
It spoke of loss, and it did not stop for a very long time.
And then it did.
Something drained away.
Adam’s head tilted down again. His eyes opened.
Whatever had been standing in the old quarry before, Adam Young was standing there now. A more knowledgeable Adam Young, but Adam Young nevertheless. Possibly more of Adam Young than there had ever been before.
The ghastly silence in the quarry was replaced by a more familiar, comfortable silence, the mere and simple absence of noise.
The freed Them cowered against the chalk cliff, their eyes fixed on him.
“It’s all right,” said Adam quietly. “Pepper? Wensley? Brian? Come back here. It’s all right. It’s all right. I know everything now. And you’ve got to help me. Otherwise it’s all goin’ to happen. It’s really all goin’ to happen. It’s all goin’ to happen, if we don’t do somethin’.”
* * *
The plumbing in Jasmine Cottage heaved and rattled and showered Newt with water that was slightly khaki in color. But it was cold. It was probably the coldest cold shower Newt had ever had in his life.
It didn’t do any good.
“There’s a red sky,” he said, when he came back. He was feeling slightly manic. “At half past four in the afternoon. In August. What does that mean? In terms of delighted nautical operatives, would you say? I mean, if it takes a red sky at night to delight a sailor, what does it take to amuse the man who operates the computers on a supertanker? Or is it shepherds who are delighted at night? I can never remember.”
Anathema eyed the plaster in his hair. The shower hadn’t got rid of it; it had merely dampened it down and spread it out, so that Newt looked as though he was wearing a white hat with hair in it.
“You must have got quite a bump,” she said.
“No, that was when I hit my head on the wall. You know, when you.. ”
“Yes.” Anathema looked quizzically out of the broken window. “Would you say it’s blood.. colored?” she said. “It’s very important.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” said Newt, his train of thought temporarily derailed. “Not actual blood. More pinkish. Probably the storm put a lot of dust in the air.”
Anathema was rummaging through The Nice and Accurate Prophecies
“What are you doing?” he said.
“Trying to cross.. reference. I still can’t be.. ”
“I don’t think you need to bother,” said Newt. “I know what the rest of 3477 means. It came to me when I.. ”
“What do you mean, you know what it means?”
“I saw it on my way down here. And don’t snap like that. My head aches. I mean I saw it. They’ve got it written down outside that air base of yours. It’s got nothing to do with peas. It’s ‘Peace Is Our Profession.’ It’s the kind of thing they put up on boards outside air bases. You know: SAC 8657745th Wing, The Screaming Blue Demons, Peace Is Our Profession. That sort of thing.” Newt clutched his head. The euphoria was definitely fading. “If Agnes is right, then there’s probably some madman in there right now winding up all the missiles and cranking open the launch windows. Or whatever they are.”
“No, there isn’t,” said Anathema firmly.