Crowley hurled the map onto the back seat and started the engine again.
“Perhaps we should ask someone,” said Aziraphale.
“Oh, yes,” said Crowley. “We’ll stop and ask the first person we see walking along a—a track in the middle of the night, shall we?”
He jerked the car into gear and roared out into the beech-hung lane.
“There’s something odd about this area,” said Aziraphale. “Can’t you feel it?”
“What?”
“Slow down a moment.”
The Bentley slowed again.
“Odd,” muttered the angel, “I keep getting these flashes of, of … ”
He raised his hands to his temples.
“What? What?” said Crowley.
Aziraphale stared at him.
“Love,” he said. “Someone really loves this place.”
“Pardon?”
“There seems to be this great sense of love. I can’t put it any better than that. Especially not to you.”
“Do you mean like—” Crowley began.
There was a whirr, a scream, and a clunk. The car stopped.
Aziraphale blinked, lowered his hands, and gingerly opened the door.
“You’ve hit someone,” he said.
“No I haven’t,” said Crowley. “Someone’s hit me.”
They got out. Behind the Bentley a bicycle lay in the road, its front wheel bent into a creditable Mobius shape, its back wheel clicking ominously to a standstill.
“Let there be light,” said Aziraphale. A pale blue glow filled the lane.
From the ditch beside them someone said, “How the hell did you do that?”
The light vanished.
“Do what?” said Aziraphale guiltily.
“Uh.” Now the voice sounded muzzy. “I think I hit my head on something … ”
Crowley glared at a long metallic streak on the Bentley’s glossy paintwork and a dimple in the bumper. The dimple popped back into shape. The paint healed.
“Up you get, young lady,” said the angel, hauling Anathema out of the bracken. “No bones broken.” It was a statement, not a hope; there had been a minor fracture, but Aziraphale couldn’t resist an opportunity to do good.
“You didn’t have any lights,” she began.
“Nor did you,” said Crowley guiltily. “Fair’s fair.”
“Doing a spot of astronomy, were we?” said Aziraphale, setting the bike upright. Various things clattered out of its front basket. He pointed to the battered theodolite.
“No,” said Anathema, “I mean, yes. And look what you’ve done to poor old Phaeton.”
“I’m sorry?” said Aziraphale.
“My bicycle. It’s bent all to—”
“Amazingly resilient, these old machines,” said the angel brightly, handing it to her. The front wheel gleamed in the moonlight, as perfectly round as one of the Circles of Hell.
She stared at it.
“Well, since that’s all sorted out,” said Crowley, “perhaps it’d be best if we just all got on our, er. Er. You wouldn’t happen to know the way to Lower Tadfield, would you?”
Anathema was still staring at her bicycle. She was almost certain that it hadn’t had a little saddlebag with a puncture repair kit when she set out.
“It’s just down the hill,” she said. “This is my bike, isn’t it?”
“Oh, certainly,” said Aziraphale, wondering if he’d overdone things.
“Only I’m sure Phaeton never had a pump.”
The angel looked guilty again.
“But there’s a place for one,” he said, helplessly. “Two little hooks.”
“Just down the hill, you said?” said Crowley, nudging the angel.
“I think perhaps I must have knocked my head,” said the girl.
“We’d offer to give you a lift, of course,” said Crowley quickly, “but there’s nowhere for the bike.”
“Except the luggage rack,” said Aziraphale.
“The Bentley hasn’t— Oh. Huh.”
The angel scrambled the spilled contents of the bike’s basket into the back seat and helped the stunned girl in after them.
“One does not,” he said to Crowley, “pass by on the other side.”
“Your one might not. This one does. We have got other things to do, you know.” Crowley glared at the new luggage rack. It had tartan straps.
The bicycle lifted itself up and tied itself firmly in place. Then Crowley got in.
“Where do you live, my dear?” Aziraphale oozed.
“My bike didn’t have lights, either. Well, it did, but they’re the sort you put those double batteries in and they went moldy and I took them off,” said Anathema. She glared at Crowley. “I have a bread knife, you know,” she said. “Somewhere.”
Aziraphale looked shocked at the implication.
“Madam, I assure you—”
Crowley switched on the lights. He didn’t need them to see by, but they made the other humans on the road less nervous.
Then he put the car into gear and drove sedately down the hill. The road came out from under the trees and, after a few hundred yards, reached the outskirts of a middle-sized village.
It had a familiar feel to it. It had been eleven years, but this place definitely rang a distant bell.