Good Omens

looked Tibetan,” said Newt. “Saffron robes, bald head … you know … Tibetan.”
    â€œOne of mine spoke quite good English. It seems that one minute he was repairing radios in Lhasa, next minute he was in a tunnel. He doesn’t know how he’s going to get home.”
    â€œIf you’d sent him up the road, he could probably have got a lift on a flying saucer,” said Newt gloomily.
    â€œThree aliens? One of them a little tin robot?”
    â€œThey landed on your lawn too, did they?”
    â€œIt’s about the only place they didn’t land, according to the radio. They keep coming down all over the world delivering a short trite message of cosmic peace, and when people say ‘Yes, well?’ they give them a blank look and take off again. Signs and portents, just like Agnes said.”
    â€œYou’re going to tell me she predicted all this too, I suppose?”
    Agnes leafed through a battered card index in front of her.
    â€œI kept meaning to put it all on computer,” she said. “Word searches and so forth. You know? It’d make it a lot simpler. The prophecies are arranged in any old order but there are clues, handwriting and so.”
    â€œShe did it all in a card index?” said Newt.
    â€œNo. A book. But I’ve, er, mislaid it. We’ve always had copies, of course.”
    â€œLost it, eh?” said Newt, trying to inject some humor into the proceedings. “Bet she didn’t foresee that!”
    Anathema glowered at him. If looks could kill, Newt would have been on a slab.
    Then she went on: “We’ve built up quite a concordance over the years, though, and my grandfather came up with a useful cross-referencing system … ah. Here we are.”
    She pushed a sheet of paper in front of Newt.
    3988. Whene menne of crocus come frome the Earth and green manne frome thee Sky, yette ken not why, and Pluto’s barres quitte the lightning castels, and sunken landes riseth, and Leviathan runneth free, and Brazil is vert, then Three cometh together and Four arise, upon iron horses ride; I tell you the ende draweth nigh. [. . . Crocus = saffron (cf.2003) . . . Aliens … ?? . . . paratroops? . . . nuclear power stations (see cuttings Nos. 798–806) Atlantis, cuttings 812–819 . . . leviathan = whale (cf.1981)? South America is green? ? 3 = 4? Railways? (‘iron road,’ cf.2675)]
    â€œI didn’t get all of this one in advance,” Anathema admitted. “I filled it in after listening to the news.”
    â€œYou must be incredibly good at crosswords in your family,” said Newt.
    â€œI think Agnes is getting a bit out of her depth here, anyway. The bits about leviathan and South America and threes and fours could mean anything.” She sighed. “The problem is newspapers. You never know if Agnes is referring to some tiny little incident that you might miss. Do you know how long it takes to go through every daily paper thoroughly every morning?”
    â€œThree hours and ten minutes,” said Newt automatically.
    â€œI EXPECT WE’LL GET a medal or something,” said Adam optimistically. “Rescuing a man from a blazing wreck.”
    â€œIt wasn’t blazing,” said Pepper. “It wasn’t even very wrecked when we put it back rightside up.”
    â€œIt could of been,” Adam pointed out. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t have a medal just because some old car doesn’t know when to catch fire.”
    They stood looking down at the hole. Anathema had called the police, who had put it down to subsidence and put some cones around it; it was dark, and went down a long way.
    â€œCould be good fun, going to Tibet,” said Brian. “We could learn marital arts and stuff. I saw this old film where there’s this valley in Tibet and everyone there lives for hundreds of years. It’s called Shangri-La.”
    â€œMy aunt’s bungalow’s called Shangri-La,” said Wensleydale.
    Adam snorted.
    â€œNot very clever, naming a valley after some ole bungalow,” he said. “Might as well call it Dunroamin’, or, or The Laurels.”
    â€œâ€™S lot better than Shambles, anyway,” said Wensleydale mildly.
    â€œShambala,” corrected Adam.
    â€œI expect it’s the same place. Prob’ly got both names,” said Pepper, with unusual diplomacy. “Like our house. We changed the name from