Good Omens

smile.
    â€œYou’ll like this,” he said.
    His smile became even wider and more conspiratorial.
    â€œI tied up every portable telephone system in Central London for forty-five minutes at lunchtime,” he said.
    There was silence, except for the distant swishing of cars.
    â€œYes?” said Hastur. “And then what?”
    â€œLook, it wasn’t easy,” said Crowley.
    â€œThat’s all ?” said Ligur.
    â€œLook, people—”
    â€œAnd exactly what has that done to secure souls for our master?” said Hastur.
    Crowley pulled himself together.
    What could he tell them? That twenty thousand people got bloody furious? That you could hear the arteries clanging shut all across the city? And that then they went back and took it out on their secretaries or traffic wardens or whatever, and they took it out on other people? In all kinds of vindictive little ways which, and here was the good bit, they thought up themselves . For the rest of the day. The pass-along effects were incalculable. Thousands and thousands of souls all got a faint patina of tarnish, and you hardly had to lift a finger.
    But you couldn’t tell that to demons like Hastur and Ligur. Fourteenth-century minds, the lot of them. Spending years picking away at one soul. Admittedly it was craftsmanship , but you had to think differently these days. Not big, but wide. With five billion people in the world you couldn’t pick the buggers off one by one any more; you had to spread your effort. But demons like Ligur and Hastur wouldn’t understand. They’d never have thought up Welsh-language television, for example. Or value-added tax. Or Manchester.
    He’d been particularly pleased with Manchester.
    â€œThe Powers that Be seem to be satisfied,” he said. “Times are changing. So what’s up?”
    Hastur reached down behind a tombstone.
    â€œThis is,” he said.
    Crowley stared at the basket.
    â€œOh,” he said. “No.”
    â€œYes,” said Hastur, grinning.
    â€œAlready?”
    â€œ Yes .”
    â€œAnd, er, it’s up to me to—?”
    â€œYes.” Hastur was enjoying this.
    â€œWhy me?” said Crowley desperately. “You know me, Hastur, this isn’t, you know, my scene … ”
    â€œOh, it is, it is,” said Hastur. “Your scene. Your starring role. Take it. Times are changing.”
    â€œYeah,” said Ligur, grinning. “They’re coming to an end, for a start.”
    â€œWhy me?”
    â€œYou are obviously highly favored,” said Hastur maliciously. “I imagine Ligur here would give his right arm for a chance like this.”
    â€œThat’s right,” said Ligur. Someone’s right arm, anyway, he thought. There were plenty of right arms around; no sense in wasting a good one.
    Hastur produced a clipboard from the grubby recesses of his mack.
    â€œSign. Here,” he said, leaving a terrible pause between the words.
    Crowley fumbled vaguely in an inside pocket and produced a pen. It was sleek and matte black. It looked as though it could exceed the speed limit.
    â€œ ’S’nice pen,” said Ligur.
    â€œIt can write under water,” Crowley muttered.
    â€œWhatever will they think of next?” mused Ligur.
    â€œWhatever it is, they’d better think of it quickly,” said Hastur. “No . Not A. J. Crowley. Your real name.”
    Crowley nodded mournfully, and drew a complex, wiggly sigil on the paper. It glowed redly in the gloom, just for a moment, and then faded.
    â€œWhat am I supposed to do with it?” he said.
    â€œYou will receive instructions.” Hastur scowled. “Why so worried, Crowley? The moment we have been working for all these centuries is at hand!”
    â€œYeah. Right,” said Crowley. He did not look, now, like the lithe figure that had sprung so lithely from the Bentley a few minutes ago. He had a hunted expression.
    â€œOur moment of eternal triumph awaits!”
    â€œEternal. Yeah,” said Crowley.
    â€œAnd you will be a tool of that glorious destiny!”
    â€œTool. Yeah,” muttered Crowley. He picked up the basket as if it might explode. Which, in a manner of speaking, it would shortly do.
    â€œEr. Okay,” he said. “I’ll, er, be off then. Shall I? Get it over with. Not that I want to get it over with,” he added hurriedly, aware of the things that could happen if Hastur turned