Good Omens

words. Then his automatic systems cut in. “Funny old world isn’t it and no mistake I mean you go all over the world delivering and then here you are practically in your own home so to speak, I mean I was born and bred ’round here, sir, and I’ve been to the Mediterranean, and to Des O’ Moines, and that’s in America, sir, and now here I am, and here’s your parcel, sir.”
    Party name of Chalky took the parcel, and took the clipboard, and signed for the parcel. The pen developed a leak as he did so, and his signature obliterated itself as it was written. It was a long word, and it began with a P, and then there was a splodge, and then it ended in something that might have been— ence and might have been— ution .
    â€œMuch obliged, sir,” said the delivery man.
    He walked back along the river, back toward the busy road where he had left his van, trying not to look at the river as he went.
    Behind him the man in white opened the parcel. In it was a crown—a circlet of white metal, set with diamonds. He gazed at it for some seconds, with satisfaction, then put it on. It glinted in the light of the rising sun. Then the tarnish, which had begun to suffuse its silver surface when his fingers touched it, spread to cover it completely; and the crown went black.
    White stood up. There’s one thing you can say for air pollution, you get utterly amazing sunrises. It looked like someone had set fire to the sky.
    And a careless match would have set fire to the river, but, alas, there was no time for that now. In his mind he knew where the Four Of Them would be meeting, and when, and he was going to have to hurry to be there by this afternoon.
    Perhaps we will set fire to the sky, he thought. And he left that place, almost imperceptibly.
    It was nearly time.
    The delivery man had left his van on the grass verge by the dual carriageway. He walked around to the driver’s side (carefully, because other cars and lorries were still rocketing around the bend), reached in through the open window, and took the schedule from the dashboard.
    Only one more delivery to make, then.
    He read the instructions on the delivery voucher carefully.
    He read them again, paying particular attention to the address, and the message. The address was one word: Everywhere.
    Then, with his leaking pen, he wrote a brief note to Maud, his wife. It read simply, I love you .
    Then he put the schedule back on the dashboard, looked left, looked right, looked left again and began to walk purposefully across the road. He was halfway across when a German juggernaut came around the corner, its driver crazed on caffeine, little white pills, and EEC transport regulations.
    He watched its receding bulk.
    Cor, he thought, that one nearly had me.
    Then he looked down at the gutter.
    Oh, he thought.
    YES, agreed a voice from behind his left shoulder, or at least from behind the memory of his left shoulder.
    The delivery man turned, and looked, and saw. At first he couldn’t find the words, couldn’t find anything, and then the habits of a working lifetime took over and he said, “Message for you, sir.”
    FOR ME?
    â€œYes, sir.” He wished he still had a throat. He could have swallowed, if he still had a throat. “No package, I’m afraid, Mister … uh, sir. It’s a message.”
    DELIVER IT, THEN.
    â€œIt’s this, sir. Ahem. Come and See .”
    FINALLY. There was a grin on its face, but then, given the face, there couldn’t have been anything else.
    THANK YOU, it continued. I MUST COMMEND YOUR DEVOTION TO DUTY.
    â€œSir?” The late delivery man was falling through a gray mist, and all he could see were two spots of blue, that might have been eyes, and might have been distant stars.
    DON’T THINK OF IT AS DYING, said Death, JUST THINK OF IT AS LEAVING EARLY TO AVOID THE RUSH.
    The delivery man had a brief moment to wonder whether his new companion was making a joke, and to decide that he wasn’t; and then there was nothing.
    Red sky in the morning. It was going to rain.
    Yes.
    WITCHFINDER SERGEANT Shadwell stood back with his head on one side. “Right, then,” he said. “Ye’re all ready. Hae ye got it all?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œPendulum o’ discovery?”
    â€œPendulum of discovery, yes.”
    â€œThumbscrew?”
    Newt swallowed, and patted a pocket.
    â€œThumbscrew,” he