Good Omens

“It doesn’t matter!” snapped the Metatron. “It’s the same thing, surely!”

Surely? thought Crowley. They don’t actually know. He started to grin like an idiot.

“So you’re not one hundred percent clear on this?” said Aziraphale.

“It’s not given to us to understand the ineffable Plan,” said the Metatron, “but of course the Great Plan—”

“But the Great Plan can only be a tiny part of the overall ineffability,” said Crowley. “You can’t be certain that what’s happening right now isn’t exactly right, from an ineffable point of view.”

“It izz written!” bellowed Beelzebub.

“But it might be written differently somewhere else,” said Crowley. “Where you can’t read it.”

“In bigger letters,” said Aziraphale.

“Underlined,” Crowley added.

“Twice,” suggested Aziraphale.

“Perhaps this isn’t just a test of the world,” said Crowley. “It might be a test of you people, too. Hmm?”

“God does not play games with His loyal servants,” said the Metatron, but in a worried tone of voice.

“Whooo-eee,” said Crowley. “Where have you been?”

Everyone found their eyes turning toward Adam. He seemed to be thinking very carefully.

Then he said: “I don’t see why it matters what is written. Not when it’s about people. It can always be crossed out.”

A breeze swept across the airfield. Overhead, the assembled hosts rippled, like a mirage.

There was the kind of silence there might have been on the day before Creation.

Adam stood smiling at the two of them, a small figure perfectly poised exactly between Heaven and Hell.

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s arm. “You know what happened?” he hissed excitedly. “He was left alone! He grew up human! He’s not Evil Incarnate or Good Incarnate, he’s just … a human incarnate—”

Then:

“I think,” said the Metatron, “that I shall need to seek further instructions.”

“I alzzo,” said Beelzebub. His raging face turned to Crowley. “And I shall report of your part in thizz, thou hast better believe it.” He glared at Adam. “And I do not know what thy Father will say … ”

There was a thundering explosion. Shadwell, who had been fidgeting with horrified excitement for some minutes, had finally got enough control of his trembling fingers to pull the trigger.

The pellets passed through the space where Beelzebub had been. Shadwell never knew how lucky he had been that he’d missed.

The sky wavered, and then became just sky. Around the horizon, the clouds began to unravel.

MADAME TRACY BROKE THE SILENCE.

“Weren’t they odd,” she said.

She didn’t mean “weren’t they odd”; what she did mean she probably could never hope to express, except by screaming, but the human brain has amazing recuperative powers and saying “weren’t they odd” was part of the rapid healing process. Within half an hour, she’d be thinking she’d just had too much to drink.

“Is it over, do you think?” said Aziraphale.

Crowley shrugged. “Not for us, I’m afraid.”