Good Omens

The Lodge to Norton View when we moved in, but we still get letters addressed to Theo C. Cupier, The Lodge. Perhaps they’ve named it Shambala now but people still call it The Laurels.”
    Adam flicked a pebble into the hole. He was becoming bored with Tibetans.
    â€œWhat shall we do now?” said Pepper. “They’re dipping sheep over at Norton Bottom Farm. We could go and help.”
    Adam threw a larger stone into the hole, and waited for the thump. It didn’t come.
    â€œDunno,” he said distantly. “I reckon we should do something about whales and forests and suchlike.”
    â€œLike what?” said Brian, who enjoyed the diversions available at a good sheep-dipping. He began to empty his pockets of crisp packets and drop them, one by one, into the hole.
    â€œWe could go into Tadfield this afternoon and not have a hamburger,” said Pepper. “If all four of us don’t have one, that’s millions of acres of rainforest they won’t have to cut down.”
    â€œThey’ll be cutting ’em down anyway,” said Wensleydale.
    â€œIt’s grass materialism again,” said Adam. “Same with the whales. It’s amazin’, the stuff that’s goin’ on.” He stared at Dog.
    He was feeling very odd.
    The little mongrel, noticing the attention, balanced expectantly on its hind legs.
    â€œâ€™S people like you that’s eating all the whales,” said Adam severely. “I bet you’ve used up nearly a whole whale already.”
    Dog, one last tiny satanic spark of his soul hating himself for it, put his head on one side and whined.
    â€œâ€™S gonna be a fine ole world to grow up in,” Adam said. “No whales, no air, and everyone paddlin’ around because of the seas risin’.”
    â€œThen the Atlantisans’d be the only ones well off,” said Pepper cheerfully.
    â€œHuh,” said Adam, not really listening.
    Something was happening inside his head. It was aching. Thoughts were arriving there without him having to think them. Something was saying, You can do something, Adam Young. You can make it all better. You can do anything you want . And what was saying this to him was … him. Part of him, deep down. Part of him that had been attached to him all these years and not really noticed, like a shadow. It was saying: yes, it’s a rotten world. It could have been great. But now it’s rotten, and it’s time to do something about it. That’s what you’re here for. To make it all better.
    â€œBecause they’d be able to go everywhere,” Pepper went on, giving him a worried look. “The Atlantisans, I mean. Because—”
    â€œI’m fed up with the ole Atlantisans and Tibetans,” snapped Adam.
    They stared at him. They’d never seen him like this before.
    â€œIt’s all very well for them ,” said Adam. “Everyone’s goin’ around usin’ up all the whales and coal and oil and ozone and rainforests and that, and there’ll be none left for us. We should be goin’ to Mars and stuff, instead of sittin’ around in the dark and wet with the air spillin’ away.”
    This wasn’t the old Adam the Them knew. The Them avoided one another’s faces. With Adam in this mood, the world seemed a chillier place.
    â€œSeems to me,” said Brian, pragmatically, “seems to me , the best thing you could do about it is stop readin’ about it.”
    â€œIt’s like you said the other day,” said Adam. “You grow up readin’ about pirates and cowboys and spacemen and stuff, and jus’ when you think the world’s all full of amazin’ things, they tell you it’s really all dead whales and chopped-down forests and nucular waste hang-in’ about for millions of years. ’Snot worth growin’ up for, if you ask my opinion.”
    The Them exchanged glances.
    There was a shadow over the whole world. Storm clouds were building up in the north, the sunlight glowing yellow off them as though the sky had been painted by an enthusiastic amateur.
    â€œSeems to me it ought to be rolled up and started all over again,” said Adam.
    That hadn’t sounded like Adam’s voice.
    A bitter wind blew through the summer woods.
    Adam looked at Dog, who tried to stand on his head. There was a distant mutter of thunder. He reached down and patted the dog