Good Omens

underneath, surrounded by suitable passages from the Cabala. The angel lit seven candles, which he placed ritually at certain points around the circle. Then he lit some incense, which was not necessary but did make the place smell nice.
    And then he stood in the circle and said the Words.
    Nothing happened.
    He said the Words again.
    Eventually a bright blue shaft of light shot down from the ceiling and filled the circle.
    A well-educated voice said, “Well?”
    â€œIt’s me, Aziraphale.”
    â€œWe know,” said the voice.
    â€œI’ve got great news! I’ve located the Antichrist! I can give you his address and everything!”
    There was a pause. The blue light flickered.
    â€œWell?” it said again.
    â€œBut, d’you see, you can ki—can stop it all happening! In the nick of time! You’ve only got a few hours! You can stop it all and there needn’t be the war and everyone will be saved!”
    He beamed madly into the light.
    â€œYes?” said the voice.
    â€œYes, he’s in a place called Lower Tadfield, and the address—”
    â€œWell done,” said the voice, in flat, dead tones.
    â€œThere doesn’t have to be any of that business with one third of the seas turning to blood or anything,” said Aziraphale happily.
    When it came, the voice sounded slightly annoyed.
    â€œWhy not?” it said.
    Aziraphale felt an icy pit opening under his enthusiasm, and tried to pretend it wasn’t happening.
    He plunged on: “Well, you can simply make sure that—”
    â€œWe will win , Aziraphale.”
    â€œYes, but—”
    â€œThe forces of darkness must be beaten . You seem to be under a misapprehension. The point is not to avoid the war, it is to win it. We have been waiting a long time, Aziraphale.”
    Aziraphale felt the coldness envelop his mind. He opened his mouth to say, “Do you think perhaps it would be a good idea not to hold the war on Earth?” and changed his mind.
    â€œI see,” he said grimly. There was a scraping near the door, and if Aziraphale had been looking in that direction he would have seen a battered felt hat trying to peer over the fanlight.
    â€œThis is not to say you have not performed well,” said the voice. “You will receive a commendation. Well done.”
    â€œThank you,” said Aziraphale. The bitterness in his voice would have soured milk. “I’d forgotten about ineffability, obviously.”
    â€œWe thought you had.”
    â€œMay I ask,” said the angel, “to whom have I been speaking?”
    The voice said, “We are the Metatron.” 32
    â€œOh, yes. Of course. Oh. Well. Thank you very much. Thank you.”
    Behind him the letterbox tilted open, revealing a pair of eyes.
    â€œOne other thing,” said the voice. “You will of course be joining us, won’t you?”
    â€œWell, er, of course it has been simply ages since I’ve held a flaming sword—” Aziraphale began.
    â€œYes, we recall,” said the voice. “You will have a lot of opportunity to relearn.”
    â€œAh. Hmm. What sort of initiating event will precipitate the war?” said Aziraphale.
    â€œWe thought a multination nuclear exchange would be a nice start.”
    â€œOh. Yes. Very imaginative.” Aziraphale’s voice was flat and hopeless.
    â€œGood. We will expect you directly, then,” said the voice.
    â€œAh. Well. I’ll just clear up a few business matters, shall I?” said Aziraphale desperately.
    â€œThere hardly seems to be any necessity,” said the Metatron.
    Aziraphale drew himself up. “I really feel that probity, not to say morality, demands that as a reputable businessman I should—”
    â€œYes, yes,” said the Metatron, a shade testily. “Point taken. We shall await you, then.”
    The light faded, but did not quite vanish. They’re leaving the line open, Aziraphale thought. I’m not getting out of this one.
    â€œHallo?” he said softly, “Anyone still there?”
    There was silence.
    Very carefully, he stepped over the circle and crept to the telephone. He opened his notebook and dialed another number.
    After four rings it gave a little cough, followed by a pause, and then a voice which sounded so laid back you could put a carpet on it said, “Hi. This is Anthony Crowley. Uh. I—”
    â€œCrowley!” Aziraphale tried to hiss