Good Omens Read Online Free PDF Page B

pleasures of the world. Especially after a heavy meal. He'd slept right through most of the nineteenth century, for example. Not because he needed to, simply because he enjoyed it. [Although he did have to get up in 1832 to go to the lavatory.]
    One of the pleasures of the world. Well, he'd better start really enjoying them now, while there was still time.
    The Bentley roared through the night, heading east.
    Of course, he was all in favor of Armageddon in general terms. If anyone had asked him why he'd been spending centuries tinkering in the affairs of mankind he'd have said, "Oh, in order to bring about Armageddon and the triumph of Hell." But it was one thing to work to bring it about, and quite another for it to actually happen.
    Crowley had always known that he would be around when the world ended, because he was immortal and wouldn't have any alternative. But he'd hoped it would be a long way off.
    Because he rather liked people. It was a major failing in a demon.
    Oh, he did his best to make their short lives miserable, because that was his job, but nothing he could think up was half as bad as the stuff they thought up themselves. They seemed to have a talent for it. It was built into the design, somehow. They were born into a world that was against them in a thousand little ways, and then devoted most of their energies to making it worse. Over the years Crowley had found it increasingly difficult to find anything demonic to do which showed up against the natural background of generalized nastiness. There had been times, over the past millennium, when he'd felt like sending a message back Below saying, Look, we may as well give up right now, we might as well shut down Dis and Pandemonium and everywhere and move up here, there's nothing we can do to them that they don't do themselves and they do things we've never even thought of, often involving electrodes. They've got what we lack. They've got imagination. And electricity, of course.
    One of them had written it, hadn't he ... "Hell is empty, and all the devils are here."
    Crowley had got a commendation for the Spanish Inquisition. He had been in Spain then, mainly hanging around cantinas in the nicer parts, and hadn't even known about it until the commendation arrived. He'd gone to have a look, and had come back and got drunk for a week.
    That Hieronymous Bosch. What a weirdo.
    And just when you'd think they were more malignant than ever Hell could be, they could occasionally show more grace than Heaven ever dreamed of. Often the same individual was involved. It was this free.. will thing, of course. It was a bugger.
    Aziraphale had tried to explain it to him once. The whole point, he'd said.. this was somewhere around 1020, when they'd first reached their little Arrangement.. the whole point was that when a human was good or bad it was because they wanted to be. Whereas people like Crowley and, of course, himself, were set in their ways right from the start. People couldn't become truly holy, he said, unless they also had the opportunity to be definitively wicked.
    Crowley had thought about this for some time and, around about 1023, had said, Hang on, that only works, right, if you start everyone off equal, okay? You can't start someone off in a muddy shack in the middle of a war zone and expect them to do as well as someone born in a .. castle.
    Ah, Aziraphale had said, that's the good bit. The lower you start, the more opportunities you have.
    Crowley had said, That's lunatic.
    No, said Aziraphale, it's ineffable.
    Aziraphale. The Enemy, of course. But an enemy for six thousand years now, which made him a sort of friend.
    Crowley reached down and picked up the car phone.
    Being a demon, of course, was supposed to mean you had no free will. But you couldn't hang around humans for very long without learning a thing or two.
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        Mr. Young had not been too keen on