The Quite Nice and Fairly Accurate Good Omens Script Book

by Neil Gaiman

Genres: Media Tie-In

Synopsis

Neil Gaiman’s complete original scripts for the highly anticipated six-episode original series, adapted from the classic novel he wrote with Terry Pratchett.

First published nearly thirty years ago, the novel Good Omens has sold more than five million copies worldwide and is beloved by Gaiman and Pratchett fans alike. Collected here are Neil Gaiman’s original scripts for the Good Omens television series, offering readers deeper insight into Gaiman’s brilliant new adaptation of a masterwork.

A tale of good and evil and the end of the world, Good Omens stars Michael Sheen as the angel Aziraphale; David Tennant as the demon Crowley; and Jon Hamm as the archangel Gabriel, as well as Anna Maxwell Martin, Josie Lawrence, Adria Arjona, Michael McKean, Jack Whitehall, Miranda Richardson, and Nick Offerman.

Release date: June 11, 2019

Publisher: William Morrow Paperbacks

Print pages: 512

Sample

Episode One

In the Beginning

 

FADE IN:

 

101TITLE CARD: WARNING: CAUSING ARMAGEDDON CAN BE DANGEROUS

 

TITLE CARD: DO NOT ATTEMPT IT IN YOUR OWN HOME

 

102GOD VOICE-OVER SEQUENCE

 

A simple animation. We see, first, the Big Bang, and SCIENTISTS. The CERN particle accelerator. Over this we hear the Narrator, wise and sensible. Could this be the voice of GOD?

 

GOD (V.O.)

Current theories on the creation of the Universe state that, if it were created at all and didn’t just start, as it were, unofficially, it came into being about fourteen billion years ago. The earth is generally supposed to be about four and a half billion years old.

(beat)

These dates are incorrect.

 

Now we see ancient scholars, working with abacuses, scrolls and scraps of parchment . . .

 

GOD (CONT’D)

Medieval scholars put the date of the Creation at 3760 BC. Others put Creation as far back as 5508 BC.

(beat)

Also incorrect.

 

Now, USSHER and his ASSISTANTS, with a huge genealogical list of the line of Adam, and how long everyone lived . . .

 

GOD (CONT’D)

Archbishop James Ussher claimed that the Heaven and the Earth were created on Sunday the 21st of October, 4004 BC, at 9:00 a.m. This too was incorrect. By almost a quarter of an hour. It was created at 9:13 in the morning, which was correct. The whole business with the fossilised dinosaur skeletons was a joke the paleontologists haven’t seen yet.

 

The glorious universe: Hubble Telescope-like shots of the vast and beautiful stars . . .

 

GOD (CONT’D)

This proves two things: firstly, that God does not play dice with the universe; I play an ineffable game of my own devising. For everyone else it’s like playing poker in a pitch-dark room, for infinite stakes, with a dealer who won’t tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time.

(beat)

Secondly, the Earth’s a Libra.

 

We zoom in on a copy of the Tadfield Advertiser, a smalltown newspaper. And we end on the YOUR STARS TODAY column, as God reads us the Libra entry.

 

GOD (CONT’D)

The entry for Libra in the Tadfield Advertiser on the night our history begins reads as follows: You may be feeling run down and always in the same daily round. A friend is important to you. You may be vulnerable to a stomach upset today, so avoid salads. Help could come from an unexpected quarter.

(beat)

This was perfectly correct on every count except for the bit about salads.

 

103EXT. THE GARDEN OF EDEN – DAY – 4004 BC

 

GOD (V.O.)

To understand the true significance of what that means, we need to begin earlier. A little more than 6000 years earlier, to be precise, just after the beginning. It starts, as it will end, with a garden. In this case, the Garden of Eden. And with an apple.

 

And then over the Garden of Eden:

 

TITLE CARD: THE BEGINNING

 

Almost a montage:

 

A huge black SNAKE slips along a tree branch.

 

The Snake’s head whispers into EVE’s ear.

 

A hand, Eve’s, picks an apple from a tree. She takes a bite. Grins. Passes it to ADAM. (They are both tastefully naked. I would not make them white people.) Adam also takes a bite . . .

 

And then Adam grins lecherously at Eve. Tasteful blackout . . . Time lapse . . .

 

A rumble of supernatural thunder!

 

An angel in white robes, whom we will come to know as AZIRAPHALE (pronounced AzEERafail), holding a flaming sword, gestures impressively towards an exit gate: they have to leave . . .

 

Eve is pregnant. Adam looks miserable. They are wearing fig-leaf-based clothes.

 

Aziraphale looks conflicted. We HOLD on him for a moment, then he runs after them, and hands Eve the sword.

 

104EXT. OUTSIDE THE GARDEN OF EDEN – DAY – 4004 BC

 

The Garden is walled. Inside, a perfect oasis of greenery. Outside, something more like a desert or an African plain.

 

GOD (V.O.)

It was a nice day. All the days had been nice. There had been rather more than seven of them so far, and rain hadn’t been invented yet. But the storm clouds gathering east of Eden suggested that the first thunderstorm was on its way, and it was going to be a big one.

 

Adam and Eve are running, desperately, away from the Garden. Adam is holding the sword. Eve is pregnant and sad.

 

Outside the garden animals roar, and Adam brings up the sword to protect himself.

 

105EXT. ON THE WALL OF THE GARDEN OF EDEN – DAY – 4004 BC

 

Watching Adam and Eve leave are the angel, AZIRAPHALE, and beside him, on a tree, a very, very large black snake. The snake hisses loudly.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Sorry. What was that?

 

The snake transmutes into a male demon whom we will come to know as CROWLEY. He’s dressed in black robes, as opposed to the angel’s white robes, and his eyes look like the eyes of a snake. Crowley’s wing feathers are grey; Aziraphale’s are white.

 

CROWLEY

I said, ‘Well, that one went down like a lead balloon’.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Oh. Yes, it did, rather.

 

CROWLEY

Bit of an overreaction, if you ask me. First offence and everything. And I can’t see what’s so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil, anyway.

 

AZIRAPHALE

It must BE bad, Crawley. Otherwise you wouldn’t have tempted them into it.

 

CROWLEY

They just said, ‘Get up there and make some trouble’.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Obviously. You’re a demon. It’s what you do.

 

CROWLEY

Not very subtle of the Almighty, though. Fruit tree in the middle of a garden, with a ‘don’t touch’ sign. I mean, why not put it on top of a high mountain or on the moon? Makes you wonder what God’s really planning.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Best not to speculate. It’s all part of the Great Plan. It’s not for us to understand. It’s ineffable.

 

CROWLEY

The Great Plan’s ineffable?

 

AZIRAPHALE

Exactly. And you can’t second-guess ineffability. There’s Right and there’s Wrong. If you do Wrong when you’re told to do Right, you deserve to be punished. Er.

(pause)

I don’t like the look of that weather.

 

Low rumble of non-supernatural thunder on the horizon.

 

CROWLEY

Didn’t you have a flaming sword?

 

AZIRAPHALE

Er . . .

 

CROWLEY

You did. It was flaming like anything. What happened to it?

 

AZIRAPHALE

Er . . .

 

CROWLEY

Lost it already, have you?

 

AZIRAPHALE

(mutters inaudibly)

I gave it away.

 

CROWLEY

You what?

 

AZIRAPHALE

I gave it away! They looked so miserable. And there are vicious animals, and it’s going to be cold out there, and she’s expecting already, and I said, here you go, flaming sword, don’t thank me, and don’t let the sun go down on you here . . . I do hope I didn’t do the wrong thing.

 

CROWLEY

(drily)

You’re an angel. I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.

 

Aziraphale does not notice the sarcasm.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Oh. Thank you. It’s been bothering me.

 

In the distance, Adam uses the flaming sword on some poor lion. Aziraphale winces.

 

CROWLEY

I’ve been worrying too. What if I did the right thing, with the whole eat-the-apple business? A demon can get into a lot of trouble for doing the right thing. Funny if we both got it wrong, eh? If I did the good thing and you did the bad one.

 

AZIRAPHALE

No. Not funny at all.

 

The thunderstorm begins in earnest.

 

Buddy Holly’s song ‘Everyday’ plays, beginning with a tick tick tick and . . . Every day, it’s a-getting closer . . .

 

106EXT. SOHO, LONDON – AFTERNOON – 2007

 

TITLE CARD: ELEVEN YEARS AGO

 

Establishing shot of Aziraphale’s bookshop A. Z. Fell & Co., Booksellers. It’s a run-down secondhand/antiquarian bookshop of the kind you used to see lots of in London . . .

 

107INT. AZIRAPHALE’S BOOKSHOP – AFTERNOON – 2007

 

Aziraphale is answering the phone. He has not changed since we saw him as an angel. He looks like a happy, affluent, used-book dealer. He’s a kind-looking gentleman whose sartorial style runs to bow-ties. He thinks a little tartan is nifty, and would use the word nifty with pride. His bookshop is chaotic, crowded, glorious, dusty. He is sitting at a desk piled high with books.

 

AZIRAPHALE

. . . I would need to check the shelves, but I know I have a first edition, 1740, of Past, Present and to Come, Mother Shipton’s Yorkshire prophecies. Red Morocco binding, only slightly foxed. I think I’ve priced it at about four hundred pounds. I also have several later, less desirable editions. I’ll set it aside for you. Well, we do specialise in early editions of books of prophecy. Is there anything else you’re looking for?

 

Aziraphale looks through the window. (The phone conversation continues over this.)

 

Outside on the street, a MOTHER, holding too many bags and dealing with the meltdown of a SMALL CHILD, lets go of the stroller her BABY is in.

 

The stroller is rolling towards the street and the cars.

 

Aziraphale, irritated, concentrates. The stroller loops around and miraculously rolls away from the traffic and back into the hand of the mother, who doesn’t notice anything. Aziraphale looks pleased with himself.

 

AZIRAPHALE (CONT’D)

The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter? I’m so sorry, I can’t help you. Of course I know who she was: born 1600, exploded 1656. But there are no copies of her book available. I’m not holding out on you. You could name your own price for a copy . . . No, I can’t name my price, I don’t have it. Nobody has it.

 

He writes down a phone number.

 

AZIRAPHALE (CONT’D)

There really is no need for that kind of language.

 

108EXT. BT TOWER, LONDON – EVENING – 2007

 

It’s 7:30 p.m. in midsummer; the streetlights are going on, and people are leaving their offices. One person is going to work: Crowley is wearing stylish, very black sunglasses and a very nice suit. He is carrying a clipboard and a Thermos flask. His hairstyle is perfect for somewhere around a decade ago. He glances around a little theatrically. He puts on a day-glow orange donkey jacket.

 

He hangs an identity card on a lanyard around his neck. Then he walks in to the BT Tower building lobby.

 

109INT. BT TOWER, LONDON. LOBBY – EVENING – 2007

 

A security desk. Behind it, a bored female SECURITY GUARD does a crossword.

 

CROWLEY

Rataway Pest Control.

 

SECURITY GUARD

I thought your lot weren’t due in until tomorrow morning.

 

CROWLEY

Preliminary inspection. Traps go down tomorrow. My job’s to tell them where to put them.

 

SECURITY GUARD

I’ll take you up there.

 

She gets up from the desk.

 

SECURITY GUARD (CONT’D)

Don’t touch anything you don’t have to. Lot of important stuff, that floor. Mobile phone services, that sort of thing.

 

110INT. BT TOWER, LONDON. LIFT – EVENING – 2007

 

Crowley and the security guard are in the lift.

 

SECURITY GUARD

It’s terrifying. I put down a tuna sandwich yesterday, never saw it again. Health and safety closed off the top floors as a health hazard until you lot get here.

 

CROWLEY

We’ll soon see them off.

 

SECURITY GUARD

Sunglasses?

 

CROWLEY

It’s my eyes.

 

111INT. TOP FLOOR BT TOWER, LONDON. LIFT – EVENING – 2007

 

The lift dings, and Crowley steps out. The floor is empty. Night lighting. But we hear a SCRATCHING.

 

Crowley looks around.

 

Every surface is alive. A nose. Sharp teeth. A twitch of a tail. RATS. Hundreds of them! Tiny sinister red eyes glowing at us from all over. A beat, then they move – they are coming towards us!

 

Crowley walks forward. He takes out his Thermos, unscrews the top, pours himself a cup of steaming tea.

 

And Crowley . . . smiles.

 

CROWLEY

Beautiful job! Thank you all so much, men!

 

A lady rat chirps angrily.

 

CROWLEY (CONT’D)

And, yes, obviously, ladies too. Nice job! You can all go home. And, yeah, stay cool.

 

112INT. COMPUTER ROOM – EVENING – 2007

 

He walks into a room filled with computer and BT equipment. All of it old-fashioned and out-dated: the computers of yesteryear, and some cables.

 

Lots of green and red lights flashing.

 

Crowley pours his tea onto the unit. Then he pours the rest of the tea from the Thermos.

 

All around the room CONSOLE lights start to flicker. Something electronic buzzes.

 

113INT. COMPUTER ROOM – EVENING – 2007

 

Console lights flickering. And then they start to GO OUT.

 

114INT. BT TOWER, LONDON. LOBBY – EVENING – 2007

 

Crowley exits the lift. The security guard is back at her desk.

 

SECURITY GUARD

That was quick.

 

CROWLEY

Left something back in the van.

 

115EXT. BT TOWER STREET – EVENING – 2007

 

Crowley walks out of the lobby. Quick cuts: on the pavement is a BUSINESSMAN on an old-fashioned pre-smartphone phone.

 

BUSINESSMAN

No, I understand. That’s why we have to close this now. So. Seventy grand. Our final offer. What do you say?

 

And then he shakes the phone. Tries redialling, and we follow Crowley, who is taking off his jacket, past people on the pavement: a WOMAN . . .

 

WOMAN

No, Gavin, you can pick me up here. I’m on the corner of . . . can you hear me? Hello?

 

. . . and a TEENAGE BOY.

 

TEENAGE BOY

Look, I know I kissed her at the party. But I mean, that doesn’t mean I wanted to dump you. I’m really sorry. I’m really . . . hello? Hello?

 

Over this we can hear a telecom voice saying, ‘We are sorry. All circuits are busy.’

 

And Crowley is smiling. What a wonderful day.

 

He reaches his car, a beautiful vintage Bentley sports car, and sees a note – ancient brown paper under the windscreen wiper. Puzzled, he opens it and reads.

 

He looks at his watch. He’s late. It’s no longer a beautiful day.

 

He drives away, at speed, leaving the crumpled note in the gutter, where it begins to burn.

 

116INT. CROWLEY’S BENTLEY – EVENING – 2007

 

He reaches down and finds a CD. We can see the CD label: it’s Mozart. Slams it into the CD deck in the car. A driving song by Queen begins to play . . .

 

And as he drives, we see a TITLE CARD with GOOD OMENS on it, and hear our GOD:

 

GOD (V.O.)

Good Omens. Being a Narrative of Certain Events occurring in the last eleven years of human history, in strict accordance, as shall be shown, with The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter.

 

TITLES SEQUENCE

 

117EXT. A WOOD – NIGHT – 2007

 

A small wood, near a church.

 

GOD (V.O.)

It wasn’t a dark and stormy night, but don’t let the weather fool you. Just because it’s a mild night doesn’t mean that the forces of evil aren’t abroad. They are. They are everywhere.

 

Rising from the ground are two very evil-looking gentlemen: one squat and monstrous, LIGUR; one tall, thin and no less monstrous, HASTUR.

 

They reach down, and, carefully, pick up a wicker picnic hamper. And head for . . .

 

118EXT. A GRAVEYARD – NIGHT – 2007

 

A small country churchyard. Possibly ruined. Rather creepy. We move through it slowly . . .

 

It’s misty, and brrr.

 

GOD (V.O.)

Two demons lurk at the edge of the graveyard. They’re pacing themselves, and can lurk for the rest of the night if necessary, with still enough sullen menace left for a final burst of lurking around dawn.

 

Hastur has been hand-rolling a tobacco cigarette. He puts it in his mouth, lights it with a flame from his fingertip. In the flame’s light, we get a good look at them.

 

They don’t have horns, they wear vintage suits and shabby raincoats, but they aren’t human. Weird eyes. Skin like frogs, or pitted with terrible acne. They are trying hard to pass for human, but not even the fog is helping.

 

LIGUR

Gissa drag.

 

Hastur hands him the cigarette.

 

HASTUR

Bugger this for a lark. He should have been waiting for us.

 

LIGUR

You trust him?

 

Ligur gives the cigarette back.

 

HASTUR

Nope.

 

LIGUR

Good. Be a funny old world if demons went around trusting each other. What’s he calling himself these days?

 

HASTUR

Crowley.

 

119EXT. ROAD – NIGHT – 2007

 

Crowley, still speeding, looks in his rear-view mirror. A police car, behind him, turns on its blue light.

 

CROWLEY

No.

 

And now the siren starts.

 

CROWLEY (CONT’D)

I do not have time for this.

 

120EXT. POLICE CAR – NIGHT – 2007

 

Two POLICE OFFICERS are thrilled to be doing a high-speed chase in the fog. No, really they are.

 

OFFICER FRED

The nutter’s doing a hundred and ten. In the fog. You know what this means?

 

OFFICER JULIA

We get to do a hundred and fifteen. Brilliant. What the hell kind of car is that?

 

OFFICER FRED

Vintage Bentley, I think. Come on, nutter. Pull over.

 

CUT TO:

 

121INT. CROWLEY’S BENTLEY – NIGHT – 2007

 

The noise of the siren is starting to get to him. Crowley, irritated, snaps his fingers.

 

CUT TO:

 

122INT. POLICE CAR – NIGHT – 2007

 

OFFICER JULIA

(into police radio)

In pursuit of a speeding vehicle. Vintage Bentley. And we’re . . .

 

The police car engine makes a whining sound, and then it slows down and stops.

 

OFFICER JULIA (CONT’D)

We’re having mechanical problems. Over.

 

CUT TO:

 

123EXT. POLICE CAR – NIGHT – 2007

 

The police car, on the side of the road. Fog. The car’s steaming. They open the bonnet.

 

We move from Officer Julia to Officer Fred: they look horrified and confused. And now we look at the engine.

 

Where the engine ought to be is . . . staring up at us . . . RATS?

 

124EXT. A GRAVEYARD – NIGHT – 2007

 

Ligur and Hastur, still lurking. Hastur crushes the dog-end under his foot. We can see a little more of the object behind him.

 

A car’s headlights approach in the fog.

 

HASTUR

Here he comes now, the flash bastard.

 

LIGUR

What’s that he’s drivin’?

 

HASTUR

It’s a car. A horseless carriage. Didn’t they have them last time you was up here?

 

LIGUR

They had a man walking in front with a red flag.

 

HASTUR

They’ve come on a bit since then.

 

A car door slams.

 

HASTUR (CONT’D)

You ask me, he’s been up here too long. And he wears sunglasses, even when he dunt need to.

 

We look from Hastur’s TOAD-LIKE eyes to Ligur’s FROG-EYES, and we suspect why Crowley might want to wear sunglasses.

 

Crowley is sauntering up the path. He stops. They stare at him.

 

HASTUR (CONT’D)

All hail Satan.

 

LIGUR

All hail Satan.

 

CROWLEY

Er. Hi guys. Sorry I’m late, but, well, you know how it is on the A40 at Denham, and then I tried to cut up towards Chorleywood—

 

Hastur interrupts him.

 

HASTUR

Now we art all here, we must recount the Deeds of the Day.

 

CROWLEY

(‘We do’? Oh, I remember this.)

Of course. Deeds. Yeah.

 

HASTUR

I have tempted a priest. As he walked down the street and saw the pretty girls in the sun, I put Doubt into his mind. He would have been a saint, but now, within a decade, we shall have him.

 

Ligur makes approving guttural throaty noises, as if this is the best thing he’s ever heard.

 

CROWLEY

(politely)

Nice one.

 

LIGUR

I have corrupted a politician. I let him think a tiny bribe would not hurt. Within a year we shall have him.

 

Hastur hisses approval. They stare at Crowley. Him next. But that’s good, because he has the BEST one . . .

 

CROWLEY

You’ll like this.

 

We look at their faces and know that they won’t.

 

CROWLEY (CONT’D)

I brought down every London-area mobile phone network tonight.

 

There is a baffled silence.

 

HASTUR

Yes?

 

CROWLEY

It wasn’t easy. I had to send rats into the BT Tower, and I had to pour tea into the network controller, while the backup system was offline for maintenance . . .

 

HASTUR

And what exactly has that done to secure souls for our master?

 

CROWLEY

Oh come on! Think about it! Fifteen million pissed-off people? Who take it out on each other? Who take it out on everyone else? Ruined days. Ruined nights. The knock-on effects are incalculable . . .

 

LIGUR

It’s not exactly . . . craftsmanship.

 

CROWLEY

Head office don’t seem to mind. They love me down there. Guys, times are changing. So, what’s up?

 

Hastur reaches down and picks up the object at his feet. Some kind of wicker basket. He hands it to Ligur, who grins unpleasantly . . .

 

HASTUR

This is.

 

CROWLEY

No.

 

LIGUR

Yes.

 

CROWLEY

Already?

 

HASTUR

Yes.

 

CROWLEY

And it’s up to me to . . .?

 

LIGUR

Yes.

 

CROWLEY

You know. This sort of . . . well, it really isn’t my scene.

 

LIGUR

Your scene. Your starring role. Take it.

 

HASTUR

Like you said. Times are changing.

 

LIGUR

They’re coming to an end, for a start.

 

CROWLEY

Why me?

 

HASTUR

‘They love you down there.’ And what an opportunity. Ligur here would give his right arm to be you tonight.

 

LIGUR

Somebody’s right arm, anyway.

 

Hastur has produced a clipboard.

 

HASTUR

Sign here.

 

Crowley writes A. J. Crowley on the clipboard.

 

LIGUR

No. Your real name.

 

Crowley uses the tip of his finger, and writes a sigil which burns where he’s touched it. The entire sheet of paper goes up like flash paper.

 

Ligur holds out the large wicker basket. It could be a dog-basket, but it’s the wrong shape . . . Crowley looks dejected.

 

CROWLEY

Now what?

 

HASTUR

You will receive instructions. Why so glum? The moment we have been working for all these centuries is at hand!

 

CROWLEY

(dully)

Centuries.

 

LIGUR

Our moment of eternal triumph awaits!

 

Crowley is forcing a smile. It does not convince anyone.

 

CROWLEY

(dully)

Triumph.

 

HASTUR

And you will be a tool of that glorious destiny!

 

CROWLEY

(dully)

Glorious. Tool. Yeah.

 

He takes the basket from Ligur.

 

CROWLEY (CONT’D)

Okay. I’ll, er, be off then. Get it over with. Not that I want to get it over with. Obviously. But you know me. Keen.

 

Two implacable demon faces. Crowley backs away down the path.

 

CROWLEY (CONT’D)

So I’ll be popping along. See you guys ar— see you. Er. Great. Fine. Ciao.

 

In the mist. We hear the Bentley car door slam.

 

LIGUR

Wossat mean, ‘Ciao’?

 

HASTUR

It’s Italian. It means ‘food’.

 

125INT. AZIRAPHALE’S BOOKSHOP – NIGHT – 2007

 

A CLOSED sign is on the door. A glass of wine is poured. Now we see an antique gramophone needle descend onto a record.

 

Aziraphale settles himself incredibly comfortably into a chair as the music begins: Schubert’s String Quintet.

 

A huge, happy smile crosses Aziraphale’s face as the melodies wash over him.

 

This is a man at peace.

 

126INT. CROWLEY’S BENTLEY – NIGHT – 2007

 

GOD (V.O.)

Crowley was all in favour of Armageddon in general terms, but it was one thing to work to bring it about and quite another for it to actually happen.

 

Crowley is driving. He looks miserable, stressed and upset. The mystery basket is on the back seat. He turns on the radio.

 

CROWLEY

Oh. Shit . . .

 

NEWSREADER (V.O.)

And the FT index finished up five points today, after vigorous trading.

 

CROWLEY

. . . Ohshitohshitohshit. Why me?

 

And the voice of the newsreader becomes the voice of SATAN . . .

 

NEWSREADER (V.O.)

Because you earned it, Crowley. Didn’t you? What you did to the M25 was a stroke of demonic genius, darling.

 

127INT. HELL, ROOM 515 – 1973

 

Flashback. A very dark room where several demons (including, if possible, BEELZEBUB and Ligur) are sat, watching a presentation by Crowley. Hastur is in the front row and the most unimpressed. Crowley’s in 1973 clothes, giant flared trousers and boots, possibly with a mullet and sideburns, standing in front of a screen.

 

We are looking from their point of view:

 

A big drawing of the M25. Crowley is making changes on it with a pen as he talks.

 

CROWLEY

So thanks to three computer hacks, selective bribery, and me moving some markers across a field one night, the M25 London Orbital Motorway, which was meant to look like this, will, when it opens in 1986, actually look like this, and represent . . .

 

And he replaces the slightly amended M25 picture with the Odegra symbol . . .

 

CROWLEY (CONT’D)

. . . the dread sigil Odegra in the language of the Dark Priesthood of Ancient Mu. Odegra means ‘Hail the Great Beast, Devourer of Worlds!’ Can I hear a wahoo?

 

EVERYBODY

(dutifully)

Hail the Great Beast, Devourer of Worlds.

 

And now we see a map of the South of England with Odegra around London, where the M25 is.

 

CROWLEY

Once it’s built, the millions of motorists grumbling their way around it are going to be like water on a prayer wheel. They’ll grind out an endless fog of low-grade evil that will encircle the whole of London. Yes, Duke Hastur?

 

Hastur has his hand up.

 

HASTUR

What’s a computer?

 

128INT. CROWLEY’S BENTLEY – NIGHT – 2007

 

And the conversation continues.

 

CROWLEY

The M25. Yes. Well, glad it went down so well. Yup. Leave it to me.

 

SATAN (V.O.)

That is what we are doing, Crowley. But if anything goes wrong, then those involved will suffer greatly. Even you, Crowley. Especially you.

 

Crowley nods. He’s terrified.

 

SATAN (CONT’D)

Here are your instructions. This is the big one, Crowley.

 

And Crowley FREEZES for a moment, as information is downloaded directly into his brain. (Perhaps, from behind the dark glasses, his eyes could glow for a moment.)

 

A bad idea to do this while he’s driving, because a lorry is heading towards him in the fog.

 

At the last moment, he gets his brain back, and twists the steering wheel hard, slamming out of the lorry’s way, a manoeuvre that throws the wicker basket across the back seat.

 

And now, for the first time, we can see what it is: a wicker bassinet. And the sleeping NEWBORN BABY inside it opens its eyes, and it wails . . .

 

129INT. JAPANESE RESTAURANT – NIGHT – 2007

 

Aziraphale walks in. The SUSHI CHEF points to his favourite table, kept free for him.

 

SUSHI CHEF

Here is a selection of your favourite rolls, Honoured Aziraphale-San.

(Aziraphale-san no sukina makizushi o tokubetsu ni torisoroete oki mashita . . .)

 

The chef, who puts them, along with a cup of steaming tea, on the table, bows. Aziraphale bows back.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Thank you, chef, that’s very kind of you.

(Taisho, sore wa wazawaza)

 

He sits at his empty table. Smiles as he eats his first nibble. Life is good.

 

And then his smile vanishes. He looks up: in the mirror on the wall, there is someone standing beside him. And we pull back off the mirror to see . . .

 

. . . the angel GABRIEL is indeed now miraculously standing next to Aziraphale. He is tall, fit, handsome and charismatic: a leader of angels, and he smiles angelically at Aziraphale.

 

GABRIEL

Mind if I join you?

 

Aziraphale obviously minds, but he smiles, and says:

 

AZIRAPHALE

Gabriel. What an unexpected pleasure. It’s been—

 

GABRIEL

Quite a while, now.

 

He picks up a piece of sushi, examines it, unimpressed.

 

GABRIEL (CONT’D)

Why do you consume that? You’re an angel.

 

AZIRAPHALE

It’s sushi. It’s nice. You dip it in soy sauce and . . . it’s what humans do, and if I am going to be living here among them . . . well, keeping up appearances . . . tea?

 

GABRIEL

I do not sully the temple of my celestial body with gross matter.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Obviously not. Nice suit.

 

GABRIEL

Yes. I like the clothes. Pity they won’t be around for much longer.

 

AZIRAPHALE

They won’t?

 

GABRIEL

We have reliable information that things are afoot.

 

AZIRAPHALE

They are?

 

GABRIEL

My informants suggest that the demon Crowley may be involved. You need to keep him under observation, without, of course, letting him know that’s what you’re doing . . .

 

AZIRAPHALE

I do know. I’ve been on Earth doing this since the beginning.

 

GABRIEL

So has Crowley. It’s a miracle he hasn’t spotted you, yet.

(a beautiful smile)

I know. Miracles are what we do.

 

130EXT. HOSPITAL – NIGHT – 2007

 

A green Morris Traveller is driving cautiously along the road outside the hospital. Inside the car are DEIRDRE YOUNG and her husband, ARTHUR YOUNG. He is in his forties; she is in her late thirties and hugely pregnant. This is her first child. But everything’s very normal . . .

 

GOD (V.O.)

Meet Deirdre and Arthur Young. They live in the Oxfordshire village of Tadfield.

 

DEIRDRE

Are we there yet? Arthur? Four minutes apart.

 

MR YOUNG

It’s definitely this way. It’s just the roads look all different in the dark . . .

 

DEIRDRE

The nuns said to come in when they were four to five minutes apart.

 

MR YOUNG

It’s a bit, um. Well. Nuns.

 

DEIRDRE

Do we have any egg and cress sandwiches?

 

Deirdre reaches for a sandwich, and as she does so, has a contraction . . .

 

A sirening motorcade zooms past them – an ambulance, followed by three black cars.

 

DEIRDRE (CONT’D)

Arthur. Just follow them.

 

131INT. AMBULANCE – NIGHT – 2007

 

Suddenly RAPID-CUTTING, ultra-adrenaline: the ambulance is going at speed. In it is HARRIET DOWLING, the movie-star beautiful wife of the American Cultural Attaché to London. Very pregnant. Standing near her, and being thrown around, are TWO SECRET SERVICE AGENTS. Holding a video screen, and a video camera. It’s a pre-Skype video hookup from the old days.

 

GOD (V.O.)

Meet Harriet Dowling and her husband, American diplomat Thaddeus Dowling.

 

On the video screen we can see TAD (THADDEUS J.) DOWLING, cultural attaché, back in the US, soon to be presidential hopeful, in a White House meeting. He’s talking to her:

 

TAD DOWLING

Breathe, honey. Just breathe.

 

HARRIET

I am breathing, goddammit, Tad. Why aren’t you here?

 

TAD DOWLING

Honey. I’m with you. I’m just also here with the President.

 

PRESIDENT BUSH

Hey, Harriet. Sorry we had to borrow your husband.

 

TAD DOWLING

Hon, I’d better get back to the strategy conference.

 

HARRIET

You are meant to be with me, you useless sonofabitch.

(contraction)

 

TAD DOWLING

Honey, you’re going to the best place we could find at short notice. The, uh . . .

 

SECRET SERVICE #1

St Beryl’s Convent Birthing Hospital, sir.

 

TAD DOWLING

St Beryl’s. Right. Honey, you just keep on having the baby. They’re recording the whole thing. Birth is the single most joyous co-experience that two human beings can share, and I’m not going to miss a second of it.

 

PRESIDENT BUSH

Tad. If we can return to the matter in hand?

 

TAD DOWLING

I’ll get back to you, honey.

 

And the screen goes blank. Mrs Dowling bites back some really impressive swearing.

 

132INT. ST BERYL’S CONVENT MAIN HALL – NIGHT – 2007

 

An old convent, part of which has been converted into a small birthing hospital. We are looking at a dozen NUNS. The MOTHER SUPERIOR is facing them, with charts behind her. The SATANIC nature of the place is given away by the upside-down cross on the wall beside the Mother Superior, who holds a pointer.

 

On the chart: a stylised mother.

 

MOTHER SUPERIOR

At some point this evening, Mrs Dowling will arrive. She will undoubtedly have secret service agents with her; you will all ensure they see nothing untoward.

 

She sticks a stylised baby on the sheet beside the mother.

 

MOTHER SUPERIOR (CONT’D)

Sister Theresa and I will deliver the Dowlings’ child in Room Four. Once he has been born, we will remove the baby boy from the mother, and give her back our master’s child.

 

She moves the baby to the far side of the sheet, swaps it with an identical baby but with horns, who is now beside the mother.

 

MOTHER SUPERIOR (CONT’D)

Any questions?

 

SISTER MARY LOQUACIOUS begins, hesitating, to raise a hand. A sharp look from SISTER GRACE VOLUBLE and she lowers her hand.

 

MOTHER SUPERIOR (CONT’D)

Very good. Everything is ready. Tonight, it begins.

 

But now SISTER MARY has raised her hand . . .

 

MOTHER SUPERIOR (CONT’D)

Sister Mary Loquacious. You have a question?

 

SISTER MARY LOQUACIOUS

Yes, excuse me, Mother Superior, but I was wondering where the other baby was going to come from, not the American baby, I mean that’s obvious, that’s just the birds and the bees, but the, you know—

 

MOTHER SUPERIOR

Master Crowley is on his way with our dark Lord to be, Sister Mary. We do not need to know more than that. We are Satanic Nuns of the Chattering Order of Saint Beryl. And tonight is what our order was created for. Sister Grace, you’re on duty reception. Sisters Maria Verbose and Katherine Prolix, you are there to assist Sister Theresa, the rest of you know your duties.

 

We can hear the ambulance siren drawing up outside.

 

MOTHER SUPERIOR (CONT’D)

Places!

 

And the nuns begin to move, and as they do, they begin to chat to each other, each one saying whatever’s on her mind.

 

SISTER MARY LOQUACIOUS

Excuse me. Mother Superior. I didn’t get a job. Probably an oversight.

 

MOTHER SUPERIOR

Yes. Yes, of course. You could make sure that there are biscuits. The kind with pink icing. I think we had a tin in the convent larder.

 

Mother Superior reaches out and tips the upside-down cross the right-way up. And she SMILES.

 

133EXT. ST BERYL’S CONVENT – NIGHT – 2007

 

Behind the ambulance and the motorcade of black cars, we see a green Morris Traveller.

 

DEIRDRE

Right.

 

134INT. ST BERYL’S CONVENT RECEPTION – NIGHT – 2007

 

We watch as two things are happening at the same time.

 

Harriet Dowling is wheeled in, followed by a Secret Service man with a video camera, OTHER SECRET SERVICE MEN saying things like ‘Clear!’ into their earpieces, and all is commotion . . .

 

Meanwhile Mr and Mrs Young walk up to the front desk. He’s carrying a little suitcase. Sister Grace Voluble is at the desk.

 

DEIRDRE

Excuse me. Deirdre Young. Contractions now four minutes apart.

 

SISTER GRACE VOLUBLE

Welcome to St Beryl’s, Mrs Young. We weren’t expecting you until next week.

 

Deirdre turns to Mr Young, takes the suitcase.

 

DEIRDRE

Now Arthur will be with me, while I’m in labour . . .

 

SISTER GRACE VOLUBLE

I’m afraid not. We believe fathers just . . . complicate the process for everybody. We’ll let him know when to come up . . .

 

DEIRDRE

But—

 

Mr Young looks relieved.

 

MR YOUNG

Not going to argue with nuns. Nurses. Know what they’re doing, Deirdre. I’ll see you when it’s . . .

 

Deirdre glares at him as she is taken away by several nuns. An ELDERLY NUN looks at Mr Young as he walks out of the door and says,

 

ELDERLY NUN

She’ll be in Room Three.

 

CUT TO:

 

135EXT. ST BERYL’S CONVENT – NIGHT – 2007

 

A vintage Bentley pulls up. Crowley gets out, grabs the hamper with the baby in it and heads towards the cloisters, leaving the car’s lights on, a demon in a hurry with a lot on his mind.

 

GOD (V.O.)

It may help to understand human affairs to know that most of the great triumphs and tragedies of history are caused, not by people being fundamentally good or fundamentally bad, but by people being fundamentally people.

 

He spots Mr Young loitering by a black motorcade car and assumes he is something to do with the US embassy business . . .

 

MR YOUNG

You left your lights on.

 

Crowley snaps his fingers. The lights go out.

 

MR YOUNG (CONT’D)

Oh. That’s clever. Is it infra-red?

 

CROWLEY

Has it started yet?

 

MR YOUNG

They made me go out.

 

CROWLEY

Any idea how long we’ve got?

 

MR YOUNG

I think we were, er, getting on with it, doctor.

 

CROWLEY

Got it. What room is she in?

 

MR YOUNG

We’re in Room Three.

 

And Crowley nods.

 

CROWLEY

Room Three. Got it.

 

GOD (V.O.)

There’s a trick they do with one pea and three shells, or with playing cards, which is very hard to follow, and something like it, for greater stakes than a handful of loose change, is about to take place.

 

136INT. CARD TRICK – NIGHT

 

We are looking from above at a green baize table. A hand puts down three cards, face down.

 

137INT. DELIVERY ROOM THREE – NIGHT

 

Looking at Mrs Young’s face, giving birth . . . She’s smiling, looking proud and exhausted . . .

 

GOD (V.O.)

Deirdre Young is in Delivery Room Three. She is having a golden-haired male baby we will call Baby A.

 

138INT. CARD TRICK

 

The first card is flipped. It has a picture of a baby on it, with a blue blanket.

 

139INT. DELIVERY ROOM FOUR

 

Mrs Dowling, giving birth angry and screaming. Secret Service Men filming. Mother Superior and SISTER THERESA GARRULOUS are in there.

 

GOD (V.O.)

Harriet Dowling is giving birth in Delivery Room Four. She is having a golden-haired male baby we will call Baby B.

 

140INT. CARD TRICK

 

A second card is turned over. It has an identical baby on it, but with a cream blanket.

 

141INT. ST BERYL’S CONVENT CORRIDOR – NIGHT – 2007

 

Crowley comes up some back stairs, and out into a corridor. He’s looking around, trying to find a nun. And he sees one from behind.

 

CROWLEY

Psst!

 

142INT. CARD TRICK

 

The third card is turned face up: a third identical baby, but with a red blanket. It’s flipped face down, or a hand is passed over it. Now when we see the face of the card, it has a drawing on it of something monstrous.

 

GOD (V.O.)

Sister Mary Loquacious is about to be handed a golden-haired male baby we will call the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Prince of This World, and Lord of Darkness.

 

143INT. ST BERYL’S CONVENT CORRIDOR – NIGHT – 2007

 

Sister Mary Loquacious, looking down into the picnic hamper. She is carrying a vintage biscuit tin.

 

SISTER MARY LOQUACIOUS

Is that him?

 

CROWLEY

Yup.

 

SISTER MARY LOQUACIOUS

Only I’d expected funny eyes. Or teensy-weensy little hoofikins. Or a widdle tail.

 

She’s taken the baby out of the basket. It’s wrapped in a RED blanket . . .

 

CROWLEY

It’s definitely him.

 

SISTER MARY LOQUACIOUS

Fancy me holding the Antichrist. And counting his little toesy-wosies . . . Do you look like your daddy? I bet you do. I bet you look like your daddywaddykins . . .

 

CROWLEY

He doesn’t. Take him up to Room Three.

 

SISTER MARY LOQUACIOUS

Room three . . . do you think he’ll remember me when he grows up?

 

CROWLEY

Pray that he doesn’t.

 

CUT TO:

 

144INT. CARD TRICK

 

GOD (V.O.)

Three babies. Watch carefully. Round and round they go.

 

The playing cards are pushed around on the table, three-card-monte-style, until we cannot tell which is which.

 

CUT TO:

 

145INT. ST BERYL’S CONVENT MAIN HALL – NIGHT 2007

 

Sister Mary Loquacious, carrying the baby. She puts it into a wheeled bassinet.

 

Sister Grace Voluble notices her.

 

SISTER GRACE VOLUBLE

Sister Mary, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be taking biscuits to the refectory?

 

SISTER MARY LOQUACIOUS

Master Crowley said . . .

 

SISTER GRACE VOLUBLE

Have you seen the civilian husband anywhere? It’s time to send him up, and he’s wandering about the building unescorted . . .

 

SISTER MARY LOQUACIOUS

I’ve only seen Master Crowley, and he said take the baby to Room Three . . .

 

SISTER GRACE VOLUBLE

Well, get on with it, then.

 

CUT TO:

 

146INT. HOSPITAL ROOM THREE – NIGHT – 2007

 

Sister Mary goes in, with the ANTICHRIST BABY in a hospital-style bassinet, to the room in which Deirdre Young is asleep.

 

Mrs Young has BABY A in an identical bassinet sleeping soundly beside her.

 

Sister Mary looks at the two babies. They look quite similar, don’t they? The one already there is in a BLUE blanket; the one she brings in is in a RED one.

 

A hesitant knock on the door. Mr Young.

 

MR YOUNG

Has it happened yet? I’m the father. The husband. Both.

 

MARY

Ooh yes. Congratulations. Your lady wife’s asleep, poor pet.

 

Mr Young looks down at the babies. Baby A and the Antichrist baby in their bassinets. He jumps to a conclusion.

 

MR YOUNG

Twins? Nobody said anything about twins.

 

MARY

Oh, no! This one’s yours. The other one’s . . . someone else’s. Just looking after him. No, this one’s definitely yours, your ambassadorship. From the top of his head to the tips of his hoofywoofies – which he hasn’t got.

 

MR YOUNG

All, er, present and correct, is he?

 

MARY

Oh, yes. Normal. Very, very normal.

 

CUT TO:

 

147INT. DELIVERY ROOM FOUR – NIGHT – 2007

 

Everything in this delivery room is FAST-CUT, with adventurous camera moves and pounding music: we see the sweat on foreheads, sharp lighting. It is a much bigger delivery room, which is good because it has to fit a lot of people. We have our secret service men, one of them with his video camera, one of them holding up a small screen, a couple of MINOR US OFFICIALS, nurse nuns, and Harriet Dowling, who has just given birth to BABY B, loudly and angrily.

 

SECRET SERVICE #1

The Eagle has landed. Repeat. The Eagle has landed.

 

The Mother Superior and Sister Theresa Garrulous give each other SIGNIFICANT LOOKS. Mother Superior moves in.

 

MOTHER SUPERIOR

A beautiful boy. Now we just have to take him away for a minute to weigh him, and, the usual . . .

 

And she goes to put the newborn Baby B in a bassinet . . .

 

TAD DOWLING

A boy. Mr President, I have the honour, sir, to report myself the father of a regular Y-chromosomed son.

 

PRESIDENT BUSH

Yep. Now, about the trade agreement . . .

 

TAD DOWLING

Absolutely. Back to business. Right, Harriet? This father-of-a-male-boy-son is all yours, Mr President.

 

Sister Theresa Garrulous, unnoticed, leaves. More pounding music.

 

CUT TO:

 

148INT. CORRIDOR – NIGHT – 2007

 

As Sister Theresa leaves, two nuns wheel a bassinet away containing Baby B . . . Theresa goes the other way down the corridor . . .

 

CUT TO:

 

149INT. ROOM 2 – NIGHT – 2007

 

Pounding music. In Room Two, two different Chattering Nuns are playing cards, guarding an empty bassinet.

 

Sister Theresa Garrulous bursts in.

 

SISTER THERESA GARRULOUS

Where’s the baby?

 

Nuns look up from their card game. They look blank.

 

SISTER THERESA GARRULOUS (CONT’D)

Satan give me strength.

 

CUT TO:

 

150INT. STAIRWELL – NIGHT – 2007

 

Sister Theresa is heading down a stairwell, as fast as she can. She’s panicking.

 

CUT TO:

 

151INT. ST BERYL’S CONVENT CORRIDOR – NIGHT – 2007

 

Sister Theresa comes down a corridor and encounters Sister Grace.

 

SISTER THERESA GARRULOUS

Do you know where our master’s child is?

 

SISTER GRACE VOLUBLE

Sister Mary Loquacious has him. In Room Three.

 

And Sister Theresa is running in a most un-nun-like fashion . . .

 

CUT TO:

 

152INT. ST BERYL’S CONVENT CORRIDOR – NIGHT – 2007

 

Pounding music. Now Sister Theresa Garrulous isn’t actually running down the corridors, but she is moving as fast as she can, scanning every open room as she passes . . .

 

CUT TO:

 

153INT. DELIVERY ROOM THREE – NIGHT – 2007

 

. . . and Sister Theresa pushes open the door to Room Three. Mrs Young is still asleep. Sister Mary and Mr Young are having a cup of tea each.

 

Sister Mary is presenting Mr Young with a selection of pink iced biscuits.

 

SISTER MARY LOQUACIOUS

Now these are what we call bis-cuits, but you’ll be looking at them and going

(fingerquotes)

‘cookies’!

 

MR YOUNG

I call them biscuits.

 

And Sister Theresa spots the two babies. Sister Mary winks and points to one. Sister Theresa winks back.

 

Freeze frame . . .

 

GOD (V.O.)

As methods of human communication go, the human wink is quite versatile. For example, Sister Theresa’s meant:

 

SISTER THERESA GARRULOUS

Where the hell have you been? We’re ready to make the switch, and here’s you in the wrong room with the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Prince of This World, and Lord of Darkness, drinking tea.

 

GOD (V.O.)

And, as far as she was concerned, Sister Mary’s answering wink meant . . .

 

Sister Mary looks up from her tea, and says, sharp, sexy and out of character (the voice dubbed by Sister Theresa):

 

SISTER MARY LOQUACIOUS

This child is the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Prince of This World, and Lord of Darkness. But I can’t talk now because there’s this outsider here.

 

GOD (V.O.)

Sister Mary, on the other hand, had thought that Sister Theresa’s wink was more on the lines of . . .

 

Sister Theresa is now dubbed by Sister Mary.

 

SISTER THERESA GARRULOUS

Well done, that Sister Mary – switched over the babies all by herself. Now indicate to me the superfluous child and I shall remove it and let you get on with your tea with his Royal Excellency the American Ambassador.

 

Back to reality.

 

SISTER THERESA GARRULOUS (CONT’D)

(to Mr Young)

Extra baby . . . removal . . .


 

She wheels Baby A out of the room, leaving the Antichrist baby behind.

 

SISTER MARY LOQUACIOUS

But I’m wittering on. So where were you before you took up this appointment?

 

MR YOUNG

Swindon.

 

CUT TO:

 

154INT. DELIVERY ROOM FOUR – NIGHT – 2007

 

Sister Theresa takes Baby A out of the bassinet and hands him to Mrs Dowling.

 

SISTER THERESA GARRULOUS

Here’s your little man back. All cleaned up and weighed.

 

The secret service men edge forward nervously. One is still filming: Mrs Dowling shows the baby to his camera.

 

MRS DOWLING

Look, honey. Our son.

 

TAD DOWLING

He’s beautiful, hon. What a little tyke, huh? Seeing him makes me understand what’s important in life. It’s not work. I’m going to teach him to play baseball, and on Sundays we’ll go fishing and . . . sorry hon, I’ll call you back.

 

The awkwardness of the moment is increased as the Mother Superior, whom we had not seen enter the room, says, ominously:

 

MOTHER SUPERIOR

You must name the child.

 

HARRIET

Well, we were going to name him Thaddeus, after his pop. And his pop’s pop . . .

 

MOTHER SUPERIOR

Damien’s an excellent name.

 

HARRIET

Damien Dowling? Too alliterative.

 

MOTHER SUPERIOR

Warlock, then. It’s an old English name. A good name.

 

Harriet looks down at little Warlock.

 

HARRIET

Hello, Warlock.

 

CUT TO:

 

155INT. ROOM THREE – NIGHT – 2007

 

Deirdre Young is still asleep, as is the Antichrist baby. Sister Mary is getting into the naming.

 

MR YOUNG

Damien? No, I had fancied something more, well, traditional. We’ve always gone in for good simple names in our family.

 

SISTER MARY LOQUACIOUS

Cain. Very modern sound, Cain, really.

 

MR YOUNG

Hmm.

 

SISTER MARY LOQUACIOUS

Or there’s always . . . well, there’s always Adam.

 

MR YOUNG

Adam? Hmm. Adam . . .

 

And at that moment the baby wakes, and opens its eyes, and starts to cry . . . and the baby, waking, wakes Deirdre Young.

 

DEIRDRE

Oh. Give him here, Arthur. Come on little one . . .

 

She reaches for the crying baby and prepares to breastfeed.

 

MR YOUNG

You know, Deirdre, I think he looks like an Adam.

 

DEIRDRE

Hello, Adam.

 

CUT TO:

 

156INT. THE CONVENT CORRIDOR – NIGHT – 2007

 

Two nuns are coming towards us, wheeling a bassinet, containing Baby B, the Dowling baby.

 

GOD

It would be nice to think that the nuns had the surplus baby – Baby B – discreetly adopted. That he grew to be a happy, normal child, and, then, grew further to become a normal, fairly contented adult. And perhaps that is what happened. He probably wins prizes for his tropical fish.

 

157INT. CROWLEY’S BENTLEY – NIGHT – 2007

 

Crowley has a hands-free calling system: he’s driving.

 

CROWLEY

Call Aziraphale.

 

CARPHONE SYSTEM

Calling Aziraphale.

 

PHONE SYSTEM

We are sorry. All circuits are busy. We are sorry. All circuits are . . .

 

158INT. THE BOOKSHOP – NIGHT – 2007

 

Aziraphale enters, humming Schubert. Hangs up his coat.

 

The phone on the desk rings . . . Aziraphale glares at it. He wants to let it ring. Then he picks it up.

 

AZIRAPHALE

I’m afraid we’re quite definitely closed.

 

159INT. TADFIELD VILLAGE PHONE BOX – NIGHT – 2007

 

Crowley is standing in the last village phone box in England to have a working payphone in it.

 

CROWLEY

Aziraphale? It’s me. We have to talk.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Yes. Yes, I rather think we do.

 

CROWLEY

Really? Okay. Usual place.

 

AZIRAPHALE

I, um . . . I assume this is about . . .

 

CROWLEY

Armageddon. Yes.

 

He breaks the connection.

 

160EXT. ST JAMES’S PARK DUCK POND – MORNING – 2007

 

It’s morning in St James’s Park. It feels like a spy movie.

 

GOD (V.O.)

Everyone knows the best place for a clandestine meeting in London is, and always has been, St James’s Park. They say the ducks in St James’s Park are so used to being fed by secret agents that they’ve developed Pavlovian reactions to them.

 

There are people around the pond, all pretending that they are not secret agents having clandestine meetings. We can see a Russian and an American having a meeting, a British agent and a Chinese, a French and a Brazilian. In each case, they are actually eating sandwiches and pretending to feed the ducks.

 

RUSSIAN AGENT

(tossing black bread)

Rudnitsky’s gone triple.

 

BRITISH AGENT

(cucumber sandwich)

If the treaty is signed, it will have global repercussions . . .

 

FRENCH AGENT

(baguette)

We will match their offer . . .

 

GOD (V.O.)

The Russian cultural attaché’s black bread is particularly sought after by the more discerning duck. Crowley and Aziraphale have been meeting here for quite some time.

 

Crowley and Aziraphale have been talking for a while when we reach them – talking like spies and feeding the ducks.

 

AZIRAPHALE

You’re sure it was the Antichrist?

 

CROWLEY

I should know. I delivered the baby. Not delivered-delivered it. You know. Handed it over.

 

Aziraphale is tossing a breadcrust to a drake. The drake pecks at it, then squawks, and dies.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Really, my dear, was that necessary?

 

CROWLEY

Sorry.

 

The drake returns to life, quacks and paddles off.

 

AZIRAPHALE

We knew something was going on, of course. I’ve made enquiries. An American diplomat. Really? As if Armageddon were a cinematographic show you wished to sell in as many countries as possible.

 

CROWLEY

The Earth and all the kingdoms thereof.

 

Aziraphale looks at Crowley for the first time.

 

AZIRAPHALE

We will win, of course.

 

CROWLEY

You really believe that?

 

AZIRAPHALE

Obviously. Heaven will finally triumph over Hell. It’s all going to be rather lovely.

 

Crowley starts walking through the park. Aziraphale reluctantly follows him.

 

CROWLEY

Out of interest, how many first class composers do your lot have in Heaven? Because Mozart’s one of ours. Beethoven. Schubert. All the Bachs . . .

 

AZIRAPHALE

They have already written their music . . .

 

CROWLEY

And you’ll never hear it again. No more Albert Hall. No more Glyndebourne. No more proms. No Compact Discs. Just celestial harmonies.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Well . . .

 

CROWLEY

And that’s just the start of what you’ll lose if you win. No more fascinating little restaurants where they know you. No gravlax with dill sauce. No more old bookshops. No more Regency silver snuffboxes.

 

AZIRAPHALE

But after we win, life will be better for everybody.

 

CROWLEY

You’ll be about as happy with a harp as I’ll be with a pitchfork.

 

AZIRAPHALE

We don’t play harps.

 

CROWLEY

And we don’t use pitchforks. You know what I mean.

 

AZIRAPHALE

But it’s part of the Divine Plan. The Four Horsemen will ride out.

 

CROWLEY

Where do they ride out from?

 

AZIRAPHALE

What?

 

CROWLEY

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Their arrival signals the end of days. War, Famine, Pestilence and Death. Where do they ride from? Do they have a stables somewhere?

 

AZIRAPHALE

You ought to know. They work for your lot, don’t they?

 

CROWLEY

Not as far as I know. Independent contractors, I expect. Specialists. In business for themselves.

 

AZIRAPHALE

I heard Pestilence retired.

 

CROWLEY

Really?

 

AZIRAPHALE

Yes. It’s Pollution, these days. I think this is a bit of a red herring. The point is, the Four Horsemen ride out. The seas will turn to blood . . .

 

CROWLEY

The seas are where your sushi comes from. And your herrings.

 

They’ve reached Crowley’s Bentley. He’s parked it on the Mall, somewhere you can’t park.

 

It already has a wheel clamp on it, and a TRAFFIC WARDEN is walking around it, writing things down in his electronic notebook.

 

CROWLEY (CONT’D)

We’ve only got eleven years. Then it’s all over. We have to work together

 

AZIRAPHALE

No.

 

CROWLEY

It’s the end of the world we’re talking about. Not some little temptation I’ve asked you to cover for me while you’re in Edinburgh for the festival. You can’t say no.

 

AZIRAPHALE

No.

 

CROWLEY

We can do something. I’ve got an idea.

 

AZIRAPHALE

No. I. Am. Not. Interested.

 

A breath. Crowley is about to fall apart. But he pulls himself together.

 

CROWLEY

Let’s have lunch. I still owe you one from . . .

 

Aziraphale glares at him. Then softens . . .

 

AZIRAPHALE

Paris. 1793.

 

CROWLEY

Oh, yes. The Reign of Terror. Was that one of yours or one of ours?

 

They get into the car . . .

 

The WHEEL CLAMPS FALL OFF.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Can’t recall. We had crêpes.

 

The traffic warden, who is looking triumphant, is startled when his handheld computer fizzles and sparks as the Bentley drives away. And the clamps are in the road.

 

161EXT. AFRICAN ROAD – DAY – 2007

 

A dusty red-painted truck rumbles along a dusty road that’s little more than a track. African music, African animals. A beautiful establishing shot.

 

GOD (V.O.)

At that time she was selling weapons. She never stuck at one job for very long. Three, four hundred years at the outside. You didn’t want to get in a rut.

 

162EXT. AFRICAN VILLAGE – DAY – 2007

 

A quiet, perfect village. Children run, laughing, through the streets. A woman sits beside her wares in the market. We see a truck stop in the street.

 

The DRIVER gets out and lifts the bonnet: thick smoke comes out. An African PASSER-BY walks over.

 

PASSER-BY

That does not look good.

 

The driver looks up, and we discover that she is a poised woman with the most amazing flame-red hair. She is WAR.

 

163INT. AFRICAN BAR – DAY – 2007

 

War opens a bottle of beer by casually slamming it and her hand against the counter, and drains it. The BARTENDER is a bored African woman in her mid 30s.

 

WAR

I got a truck. The Engine’s shot. Anyone around here repair trucks?

 

BARTENDER

Only Nathan. But he’s gone back to Kaounda to his father-in-law’s farm.

 

WAR

When’s he coming back?

 

BARTENDER

A week. Perhaps two weeks.

 

164EXT. AFRICAN ROAD – 2007

 

The passer-by walks around the truck. Then he peeks inside . . .

 

There are a lot of boxes in there. And the boxes are all stencilled with WARNINGS. High explosive. Ammunition. Guns. Rocket launchers . . .

 

165INT. AFRICAN BAR – DAY – 2007

 

An elderly payphone in the corner. War is talking.

 

WAR

Shipment’s delayed. You’ll just have to wait another two weeks to start your war.

 

There are TWO MEN sitting at a corner table, having an easy-going conversation, drinking and laughing.

 

WAR (CONT’D)

No, you listen to me. No. You may have bought the equipment, but it begins when I get there . . . Really? REALLY?

 

She puts down the phone, sits down at the table with the men.

 

WAR (CONT’D)

Hey. When was the last war in these parts?

 

The two men look at each other.

 

BAR CUSTOMER 1

I don’t think we’ve ever had one.

 

BAR CUSTOMER 2

We don’t go in for things like that here.

 

166EXT. AFRICAN ROAD – DAY – 2007

 

War looks out at the lazy African paradise.

 

WAR

Oh, what the hell. I needed a holiday anyway.

 

TIME SHIFT:

 

167EXT. AFRICAN ROAD – EVENING – 2007

 

It’s 24 hours later. An explosion rocks the street. A GROUP OF MEN in improvised uniforms come charging down the street. A rattling of sub-machine gun fire takes them out. They fall.

 

We follow a grenade behind improvised sandbags. The PEOPLE BACK THERE see the grenade, and look horrified, as it blows up . . .

 

We look at the corpses on the street.

 

And then we see the (now very empty) truck.

 

Several women, one of them the bartender, are up on the truck. They have a rocket launcher.

 

BARTENDER

(fiercely)

If they want war, we will give them war, my sisters . . .

 

They fire the rocket launcher.

 

War strides down the street towards us. Explosions behind her. Nothing’s going to hurt her.

 

She smiles. Something goes BOOM.

 

168INT. THE RITZ – DAY

 

Aziraphale and Crowley are sitting at a table. They are concluding dessert, and Aziraphale is finishing his last bite with enthusiasm.

 

AZIRAPHALE

That was scrumptious. So, what are you in the mood for now?

 

CROWLEY

Alcohol. Quite extraordinary amounts of alcohol.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Is that wise? I suppose it is. But let’s have it back at my place. Waiter!

 

 

169GOD VOICE-OVER SEQUENCE

 

A shot of New York . . .

 

GOD (V.O.)

This is bestselling author of diet books Doctor Raven Sable. He never actually earned the medical degree he claims, since there hadn’t been any universities in those days.

 

170EXT. NEW YORK – DAY – 2007

 

We are on Fifth Avenue: we zoom in on 666 Fifth Avenue, on the big 666 on the side of the building. And move through the window at the top of the building into . . .

 

171INT. NEW YORK, FANCY RESTAURANT – DAY – 2007

 

We pan across a restaurant. It’s a fancy restaurant. Dry ice and liquid nitrogen at tables. Molecular gastronomy. It’s very fancy . . .

 

RAVEN SABLE is dressed in black, and has a slightly sinister beard. He looks rich, classy and clever. He is FAMINE.

 

Sable looks on with approval as a WAITER brings his dining partner, FRANNIE, his accountant and financial manager, a nearly empty but beautiful plate . . .

 

WAITER

Your main course, madam. Chicken froth, on a reduction of broccoli gel, with a mushroom foam. And the chef recommends this, first . . .

 

He hands her a balloon.

 

FRANNIE

What is it? It looks like a balloon.

 

WAITER

A balloon filled with lavender-scented air. It is the first course. Let it waft about you, as you eat your dinner.

 

FRANNIE

I need another glass of wine.

 

WAITER

Of course.

 

They are interrupted by SHERRYL, a fashion model. Horrendously underweight. Beautiful but dear god how can a human being be that thin . . .?

 

SHERRYL

Uh. Dr Sable. I hope you don’t mind me interrupting you. But your book. It changed my life . . . Sherryl. Two Rs. And a Y.

 

She puts the book down on the table. Sable’s photo is on the cover: THE D-PLAN DIET. And the subtitle: ‘SLIM YOURSELF BEAUTIFUL – TERMINALLY!’

 

He signs, saying:

 

SABLE

There. A quote from the Book of the Revelation of St John.

 

SHERRYL

You don’t know how much this means to me.

 

She backs away.

 

FRANNIE

That girl looks like she’s starving to death.

 

SABLE

She is. She’s dying of hunger right now. Bon appetit. So. You saw the latest royalty statement?

 

Frannie is hungry. The molecular gastronomy is lost on her . . .

 

FRANNIE

Twelve million copies sold, Dr Sable.

 

SABLE

C’mon. Eat up. Molecular gastronomy. Amazing, huh?

 

FRANNIE

That’s a lot of copies . . .

 

SABLE

Now it’s time to go corporate. A chain of fast food outlets. Factories. The whole schmear.

 

Frannie has an ultra-thin, ultra-light black laptop. She’s stabbing at it . . .

 

FRANNIE

Already on it. We use the Cayman Islands as a . . . Dr Sable? Are you listening?

 

SABLE

Sorry – it just occurred to me. I’ve never seen a room full of rich people so hungry . . .

 

And he smiles.

 

172EXT. SOHO, AZIRAPHALE’S BOOKSHOP – EVENING – 2007

 

Crowley and Aziraphale are heading down the Soho pavement to the bookshop. They have eaten, and spent a very pleasant day together.

 

AZIRAPHALE

I have several very nice bottles of Châteauneuf-du-Pape in the back. I picked up a dozen cases of them in 1921, and I still have some left, for special occasions.

 

CROWLEY

Lovely. Not very big on wine in Heaven, are they, though? Not going to get any more nice little Châteauneuf-du-Papes in Heaven. Or single malt scotch. Or little frou-frou cocktails with umbrellas.

 

AZIRAPHALE

I told you, Crowley. I’m not helping you. I’m not interested. This is purely social. I’m an angel. You’re a demon. We’re hereditary enemies. Get thee behind me, foul fiend!

 

He unlocks the door to the bookshop.

 

AZIRAPHALE (CONT’D)

After you.

 

173EXT. OIL TANKER – DAY – 2007

 

WHITE is in their twenties. They are beautiful, in a dirty sort of way. Everything about them, overalls, face, hair, is slightly grimy . . . They are mopping a deck of an oil tanker . . . This is POLLUTION. FREEZE on their face.

 

GOD (V.O.)

This one is called White, or Albus, or Chalky, or Snowy. White’s had lots of interesting jobs in lots of interesting places . . . helped design the petrol engine, plastics and the ring-pull can . . . they can turn their hand to anything, White.

 

174EXT. OIL TANKER – DAY – 2007

 

A shot from above: the oil tanker on a blue sea . . .

 

GOD (V.O.)

The tanker is almost entirely automated. There’s almost nothing left that a person can do.

 

175INT. RESTRICTED AREA – DAY – 2007

 

WHITE walks to the Emergency Cargo Release switch. It says EMERGENCY OIL RELEASE, and it’s in the ‘off’ position. There are red lights on it.

 

White touches fingers to lips, as if blowing a kiss to the switch. The lights turn green.

 

White flicks the Cargo Release switch into the RELEASE position.

 

WHITE

(gently, wistfully.)

Oops.

 

176BIRD’S EYE VIEW: THE TANKER – DAY – 2007

 

We see the tanker below us, and, all around it, a huge black oil spill spreading out across the blue of the sea.

 

GOD (V.O.)

Afterwards, there was a huge amount of discussion as to whose fault it was. None of the ship’s officers ever worked again . . .

 

177EXT. TANKER DECK – DAY – 2007

 

A tiny ship, a little steamer, as different as can possibly be from the gleaming huge tanker, is passing in the background.

 

GOD (V.O.)

But no one gave any thought to Able Seaman White . . .

 

178EXT. SMALL SHIP – DAY

 

And there is White, eating crisps on the deck of the steamer. They toss the empty crisp packet overboard. Behind them, we pan up to see, are rusting barrels each stencilled with WEEDKILLER – TOXIC – EXTREMELY DANGEROUS and skull and crossbones . . .

 

GOD (V.O.)

Nobody ever does.

 

179EXT. HOSPITAL – NIGHT – 2007

 

Mr Young drives the car up to the main door. Deirdre comes out, with the baby. A bunch of Chattering Nuns wave goodbye, still chattering.

 

GOD (V.O.)

That night, Arthur and Deirdre Young proudly took the baby they believed was theirs home to the quiet English village of Tadfield. The Antichrist had been on Earth for twenty-four hours.

 

180EXT. AZIRAPHALE’S BOOKSHOP – NIGHT – 2007

 

Establishing shot of the outside of the shop. Soho. A CLOSED sign on the door.

 

GOD (V.O.)

While in London, Soho, an angel and a demon had been drinking solidly for the last six of them.

 

181INT. AZIRAPHALE’S BOOKSHOP, BACK ROOM – NIGHT – 2007

 

We move through the bookshop, listening to their conversation, until we reach the back room. There are a LOT of bottles of wines and spirits on the various surfaces, along with the teetering piles of books and the Regency snuff box display.

 

Crowley is drunker than Aziraphale, but they are both drunk.

 

AZIRAPHALE

So what. Exactly. Is. Your. Point?

 

CROWLEY

My point is. My point is. The point I’m trying to make is . . . the dolphins. That’s my point.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Kind of fish.

 

CROWLEY

Nononono, ’s mammal. Your actual mammal. Difference is . . .

 

Neither of them are very clear on the differences.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Mate out of water?

 

CROWLEY

Don’t think so. Something about their young. Not the point. The point is. Their brains.

 

He pours himself a huge glass of wine. It takes a lot to get supernatural beings drunk.

 

AZIRAPHALE

What about their brains?

 

CROWLEY

Big brains. That’s my point. Size of. Size of. Size of damn big brains. Not to mention whales. Brain city, whales, take it from me.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Kraken. Great big bugger. Supposed to rise to the surface right at the end, when the sea boils.

 

CROWLEY

That’s my point, whole sea bubbling, dolphins, whales, everybody turning into bouillab, bouillab . . . fish soup. Not their fault. Same with gorillas. Whoops, they say, sky gone all red, stars crashing to ground, what they putting in the bananas these days?

 

AZIRAPHALE

All creatures great and small. Poor little, big . . .

 

CROWLEY

And you know what makes it worse? When it’s all over. You are going to have to deal with . . . ETERNITY!

 

Crowley makes a huge gesture and sends a glass and contents flying. It smashes, loudly. Aziraphale gestures, and it reforms, slightly drunkenly.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Eternity?

 

Crowley has found Aziraphale’s collection of theatre programmes.

 

CROWLEY

It won’t be so bad at first. No more Stephen Sondheim first nights in eternity, I’m afraid. But I’ve heard rumours that your boss really loves The Sound of Music. Fancy spending eternity watching that? You could literally climb every mountain over and over and over . . .

 

Crowley walks around the back room . . .

 

AZIRAPHALE

I don’t like it any more than you, but I told you. I can’t disod – not do what I’m told. ’M anangel. I . . .

(pause)

I can’t cope with this while ’m drunk. I’m going to sober up.

 

CROWLEY

Me too.

 

He closes his eyes, and jerks. We watch all the bottles around the room refill with alcohol.

 

Crowley and Aziraphale look like people who have just become un-drunk and don’t like it.

 

182EXT. A HILLSIDE ABOVE THE HOSPITAL – NIGHT – 2007

 

A storm has begun. There’s a motorcade, ready to take the Dowling baby away. Mrs Dowling comes out of the door, with the baby.

 

GOD (V.O.)

Harriet Dowling took baby Warlock to his new home, an official London residence.

 

We pull back. From the top of a nearby hill, Hastur steps from the shadows. The Mother Superior and Sister Theresa Garrulous kneel before him, their faces wet from rain.

 

MOTHER SUPERIOR

Our mission is done, Lord Hastur. The baby is in place, and his parents are none the wiser.

 

HASTUR

No need for the convent any longer, then.

 

MOTHER SUPERIOR

I’m afraid I—

 

HASTUR

Your order is dissolved.

 

MOTHER SUPERIOR

We’re what?

 

SISTER THERESA GARRULOUS

Now hang on a moment. We did everything that was asked of us. What about our rewards?

 

HASTUR

You irritate me. You never shut up, do you?

 

SISTER THERESA GARRULOUS

We are a Chattering order. We say what is on our minds, and right now, what’s on my mind is that you can’t treat us like—

 

Hastur reaches out and puts his hand over Sister Theresa’s mouth, and squeezes. She dies. Hastur looks at the Mother Superior.

 

HASTUR

Do you want to tell them the order is dissolved? Or do you want them all to perish in the fire?

 

MOTHER SUPERIOR

(shaken)

What fire?

 

Hastur gestures. Lightning strikes the roof of the hospital. Now the roof begins to burn . . .

 

The Mother Superior looks at Hastur, and then runs back down the hill. Hastur begins to laugh, and it’s absorbed by the thunder.

 

DISSOLVE TO:

 

183MONTAGE:

 

We move from the fallen body of the late Sister Theresa Garrulous, to the fallen bodies in the African village square.

 

From there to Sherryl, the supermodel from the restaurant, on the floor of her apartment bathroom, dead.

 

From there to the ocean and dead fish, floating in an oil spill . . .

 

And we finish looking back to the weedkiller boat, and we close in on the death’s head on the poison signs.

 

Over all this:

 

GOD (V.O.)

And there’s a Fourth. He’s everywhere, and what he does is what he is. He isn’t waiting. He’s working. Although in a manner of speaking, he’s waiting for everybody.

 

The sign of the grinning skull on the poison sign. We are looking at an image of DEATH.

 

184INT. AZIRAPHALE’S BOOKSHOP, BACK ROOM – NIGHT – 2007

 

Crowley is pacing, impatiently. Putting corks back into wine bottles, perhaps. Aziraphale is agitated. They are both sober. And Aziraphale is coming over to the dark side.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Look! It’s not that I disagree with you. But I’m an angel. I’m not allowed to disobey.

 

CROWLEY

You think I am? My people are only into disobedience in general terms. Not when it applies to them.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Even if I wanted to help, I couldn’t! I can’t interfere with the divine plan.

 

Crowley gets an idea . . .

 

CROWLEY

What about diabolical plans? My lot have put the baby in play, after all. You can interfere with that!

 

AZIRAPHALE

But . . . It’s still part of the overall divine plan.

 

CROWLEY

Then you can’t be certain that thwarting me isn’t part of the divine plan too. I mean, you’re supposed to thwart the wiles of the Evil One at every turn, aren’t you?

 

AZIRAPHALE

Well . . .

 

CROWLEY

You see a wile, you thwart. Am I right?

 

AZIRAPHALE

Broadly. Actually I encourage humans to do the actual—

 

CROWLEY

The Antichrist has been born. But it’s the upbringing that’s important. Influences. And the evil influences – that’s all going to be me! It would be too bad if someone made sure that I failed.

 

A dawning light of comprehension in Aziraphale’s eyes . . .

 

AZIRAPHALE

If you put it that way, Heaven couldn’t actually object to me thwarting you . . .

 

CROWLEY

It’d be a real feather in your wing.

 

Aziraphale looks at him, doubtfully. Then he reaches out a hand, and Crowley and Aziraphale shake hands on it.

 

CROWLEY (CONT’D)

We could be godfathers, sort of. Overseeing his upbringing. If we do it right, he won’t be evil. Or good. He’ll be normal.

 

AZIRAPHALE

It might work. Godfathers. Well, I’ll be damned.

 

CROWLEY

It’s not that bad. Once you get used to it.

 

We hear a crack of thunder . . .

 

CUT TO:

 

185EXT. WARLOCK’S RESIDENCE – DAY – 2012

 

TITLE CARD: FIVE YEARS LATER

 

It’s fancy, and there are SECRET SERVICE MEN outside. We see a Mary-Poppins-style NANNY walking towards the house, with her back to us.

 

The doorbell is pressed. A BUTLER opens the door and Mrs Dowling is watching from the hall. The nanny, wearing dark glasses, reminds us of Crowley. She’s sexy and domineering.

 

NANNY

I understand you need a nanny.

 

Warlock peers past his mother at Nanny.

 

NANNY (CONT’D)

What a delightful child.

 

186EXT. WARLOCK’S BACK DOOR – DAY – 2012

 

The back door is opened. A saintly friar-like GARDENER, big Victorian gaffer sideburns, angelic, with a spade, who perhaps reminds us a little of Aziraphale, possibly chewing a grass-blade, raises his hat and says,

 

GARDENER

They do say as you moight be lookin’ for a gardener.

 

187EXT. WARLOCK’S RESIDENCE, GARDEN – DAY – 2012

 

A small boy in a garden. Brother Francis, the gardener, is feeding the birds . . .

 

YOUNG WARLOCK, aged about 5, wanders over.

 

YOUNG WARLOCK

Hello, Brother Francis.

 

GARDENER

Hello, Young Warlock. My, you’re growing fast. You must be all of . . .

 

YOUNG WARLOCK

Five. I’m five. What’s that?

 

GARDENER

Brother Pigeon. And here’s Brother Snail . . . Sister Slug. Remember, Warlock, as you grow, to have love and reverence for all living things.

 

YOUNG WARLOCK

Nanny says living things are only fit to be ground under my heels, Brother Francis.

 

GARDENER

Don’t listen to her. Listen to me.

 

188INT. WARLOCK’S BEDROOM – NIGHT – 2012

 

Nanny has wound up the spooky music box and the thing that casts scary shadows on the wall. Young Warlock is in bed.

 

YOUNG WARLOCK

Will you sing me a lullaby, Nanny?

 

NANNY

Of course, dear.

(sings)

Go to sleep and dream of pain

Doom and darkness, blood and brains

Sleep so sweet, my darling boy

You will rule, when Earth’s destroyed.

 

YOUNG WARLOCK

The gardener says that I must be kind and nice to everybody. And hug them. Even Sister Slug. And not ever destroy the earth.

 

NANNY

Don’t listen to him. Listen to me.

 

189INT. THE LOBBY OF HELL AND HEAVEN – DAY – AFTER 2012

 

The lobby of a large London skyscraper. Crowley and Aziraphale both walk into the lobby. They ignore each other. Aziraphale takes the up escalator; Crowley takes the down.

 

GOD (V.O.)

There are many doors that will take you to Heaven or to Hell, but when Crowley and Aziraphale report in an official capacity to each of their respective head offices, they take the main entrance.

 

190INT. DOOR 312 – NO DAYLIGHT – AFTER 2012

 

It’s a grubby office. It’s shadowy, which is good, as we do not want to see the entities to whom Crowley is reporting in too much detail. But in the foreground are Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies, who in his body language and with subtle make-up effects reminds us of a fly, and Hastur and Ligur.

 

In my mind, the demons in Hell are more demonic, less human than the versions we see when they are up above. But they are still basically human . . .

 

BEELZEBUB

Tell us about the boy Warlock.

 

CROWLEY

He’s a remarkable child, Lord Beelzebub.

 

HASTUR

Is he evil?

 

CROWLEY

Fantastically evil.

 

LIGUR

Killed anyone yet?

 

CROWLEY

Not yet. But there’s more to evil than just killing people.

 

Vague noises of agreement from hellish entities: Crowley has a point.

 

LIGUR

I s’pose. But it’s fun.

 

BEELZEBUB

Have you encountered any trouble from the . . . opposition?

 

CROWLEY

They don’t suspect a thing.

 

191INT. HEAVENLY OFFICE – DAY – AFTER 2012

 

We’re at the top of a skyscraper, looking out over London. Aziraphale’s meeting is very similar. Nicer decor.

 

The incredibly well-dressed people he’s talking to have faces that seem slightly burned out by light. They include Gabriel, a beautiful, fit and rich archangel, MICHAEL, a slightly more studious archangel, URIEL, a hanger-on, and SANDALPHON, an angelic enforcer. They could be at a conference table or just standing around. (There is a similarity to the angels, although they cross all races and do not necessarily have obvious genders. They all like wearing nice suits.)

 

AZIRAPHALE

I am proud to say that, on a very real level, the Antichrist child is now being influenced towards the light.

 

Gabriel claps, politely. The other angels copy him, moments later.

 

GABRIEL

Very commendable. Excellent work, Aziraphale. As usual.

 

MICHAEL

Yes. But Aziraphale. We will be most understanding when you fail. After all, wars are to be won.

 

URIEL

Not avoided.

 

AZIRAPHALE

But I won’t fail. I mean, that would be bad. If I did.

 

GABRIEL

Aziraphale. What you’re doing is praiseworthy, but obviously doomed to failure. Still, as the Almighty likes to say. Climb every mountain.

 

SANDALPHON

Ford every stream.

 

And we finish on Aziraphale’s face, as he winces.

 

192EXT. LONDON BUS – DAY – AFTER 2012

 

The top deck of a bus. Aziraphale is reading a paper. Crowley sits down next to him.

 

CROWLEY

The boy’s too normal.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Excellent. It’s working. The heavenly influences are balancing out the hellish. A no-score draw.

 

CROWLEY

I hope you’re right. Six years left to go.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Crowley?

 

CROWLEY

Yes.

 

AZIRAPHALE

What happens if we fail? I mean, if he comes into his full power? How do we stop him then?

 

CROWLEY

I’m sure it won’t come to that.

 

Aziraphale shakes his head.

 

193TITLE CARD: THE PRESENT

 

TITLE CARD: MONDAY

 

194INT. HELL, DOG HANGAR

 

Hastur and Ligur. They are standing in a huge aircraft-hangar-like building in Hell. A huge portcullis-like gate behind them. We can’t see the animal in there, but it would appear to be about thirty feet high and terrifying. It growls.

 

They are eyeing it nervously. A JUNIOR DEMON near them eyes it with stark terror.

 

HASTUR

That’s . . . that’s a hell-hound all right.

 

LIGUR

It’s big.

 

HASTUR

It’ll be what he wants it to be. His mind will shape it. You! Get in there. Open the gate!

 

JUNIOR DEMON

Me?

 

HASTUR

You. Yeah. Watch out for his teeth.

 

Hastur and Ligur watch, as the demon vanishes off. Hell-hound growls. The sound of a winching gate lifting . . .

 

Then a scream from the junior demon. Hastur and Ligur wince. Sound of a junior demon being eaten.

 

LIGUR

It’s not like you didn’t tell him to look out for the teeth.

 

HASTUR

I think he was hungry.

 

195INT. HELL, DOG HANGAR

 

LIGUR

The time is upon us. As soon as the boy names the hound, Armageddon will begin. Go! Find your master!

 

They back against the wall, scared, as the shadow of something huge goes past them . . .

 

196INT. DINOSAUR PARK – DAY

 

WARLOCK, a couple of days before his eleventh birthday, is being taken around Crystal Palace Dinosaur Park by his mother. There are a number of rather questionable prehistoric creatures dotted around a lake. A secret service man follows them at a discreet distance.

 

MRS DOWLING

Honey. Look what they used to think dinosaurs looked like. They’re old. And educational.

 

WARLOCK

It’s dumb.

 

MRS DOWLING

It’s not dumb, sweetie. It’s a dinosaur.

 

WARLOCK

A dumbasaur more like. Can we talk about my birthday party? Why can’t we have my party in an escape room?

 

Mrs Dowling drags him over to the next dinosaur. We pull back to see that Crowley and Aziraphale were both watching.

 

CROWLEY

Dinosaurs! What normal kid doesn’t like monsters?

 

AZIRAPHALE

But it’s good he’s not interested in flesh-tearing giant lizards! Isn’t it?

 

CROWLEY

I don’t know . . . You know, I still don’t understand the point of creating a world complete with ancient dinosaur skeletons.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Just one of God’s many little jokes. One that the paleontologists can’t appreciate.

 

CROWLEY

Doesn’t exactly have a punch line, either.

 

AZIRAPHALE

When’s his eleventh birthday?

 

CROWLEY

Wednesday. That’s when it begins. Or, if we’ve done our job right, it doesn’t. The hell-hound will be the key. It’ll show up at three on Wednesday.

 

AZIRAPHALE

You haven’t actually mentioned a hell-hound before.

 

CROWLEY

Well, they’re sending him a hell-hound, to pad by his side and guard him from all harm. Biggest one they’ve got.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Won’t people remark on the sudden appearance of a huge black dog? His parents, for a start.

 

CROWLEY

Nobody’s going to notice anything. It’s reality, angel. And young Warlock can do what he wants, whether he knows it or not.

 

While they are talking, the camera wanders over various stone shapes: the faces of our Victorian dinosaur monsters.

 

CROWLEY (CONT’D)

It’s the start of it all. The boy’s meant to name it: Stalks By Night, or Throat-Ripper or something like that. But if you and I have done our job, properly, he’ll send it away, unnamed.

 

AZIRAPHALE

And if he does name it?

 

CROWLEY

Then you and I have lost. He’ll have all his powers, and Armageddon will be days away.

 

AZIRAPHALE

There must be some way of stopping it.

 

CROWLEY

If there’s no boy, then the process would stop.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Yes, but there IS a boy. He’s over there writing a rude word on a Victorian dinosaur.

 

CROWLEY

There is a boy, now. But that could change.

(he waits for the penny to drop)

Something could happen to him.

(another beat)

I’m saying you could kill him.

 

There’s a pause. Then . . .

 

AZIRAPHALE

I’ve never actually killed anything. I don’t think I could.

 

CROWLEY

Not even to save . . . everything? One life against the universe?

 

Aziraphale is not convinced. He changes the subject . . .

 

AZIRAPHALE

This hell-hound. It will show up at his birthday party?

 

CROWLEY

Yes.

 

AZIRAPHALE

We should be there. Maybe I can stop the dog. In fact . . .

(he’s just had an idea)

I could . . . Entertain.

 

CROWLEY

No. Please, no.

 

AZIRAPHALE

(wiggling his fingers)

I’d just need to get back in practice.

 

Shows a coin. Attempts a French Drop with coin. Drops it. Fumbles around to pick it up.

 

CROWLEY

Don’t do your magic act. Please. I am actually begging you, and you have no idea how demeaning that is. Please.

 

Aziraphale reaches behind Crowley’s ear.

 

CROWLEY (CONT’D)

It was in your finger.

 

AZIRAPHALE

No, it was in your ear.

 

CROWLEY

It was in your pocket and then . . .

 

AZIRAPHALE

It was close to your ear . . .

 

CROWLEY

It was never anywhere near my ear.

 

AZIRAPHALE

You are no fun.

 

CROWLEY

Fun? It’s humiliating. You can do proper magic, you can make things disappear.

 

AZIRAPHALE

But it’s not as fun.

 

CROWLEY

I’ll make you disappear.

 

197EXT. WARLOCK’S PARTY – DAY

 

TITLE CARD: WEDNESDAY

 

We are in a huge tent in Warlock’s back garden. It’s a party! Birthday balloons. We have a couple of dozen ELEVEN-YEAR-OLDS, all very well dressed. Warlock is wearing an 11 badge, the kind you get off a birthday card.

 

We also have some secret service officers. The same ones we saw eleven years ago, just a little older.

 

We have CATERERS, all wearing white food-serving jackets, even Crowley, who seems to be in charge of them, and is waiting by the cake. There are trifles and jellies and such.

 

Crowley looks down in embarrassment.

 

The kids all look bewildered – horrified – saddened. Because, up on a little stage . . .

 

It’s Aziraphale! Dressed in the style of a Victorian conjurer, top hat and tails and all, in clothes he bought a hundred and fifty years ago and has not worn for fifty, and has never dry-cleaned. Proud as punch.

 

THE AMAZING MISTER FELL AND HIS REMARKABLE FEATS OF PRESTIDIGITATION is painted, Victorian-style, on a peeling old canvas in front of him. He has a little collapsible table, a magic wand, and he’s in heaven. Right now, he’s showing them his ancient top hat.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Now you sees my old top hat? ‘Where did you get that hat?’ as you young ’uns do say? Well, you also see that there is nothing inside my perfectly normal top hat such as any of you might wear on a trip to the confectioners. But wait! What is this? Could it be our furry friend, Harry the Rabbit?

 

A rabbit is produced from the hat. The kids are unimpressed.

 

WARLOCK

It was in the table.

 

TRIXIE

You said there were going to be a celebrity magician. I had Penn and Teller at my party. An’ I had a silent disco an’ I got a . . .

 

WARLOCK

You’re rubbish.

 

TARQUIN

Excuse me. Excuse me. He’s right, you know. You are actually rubbish.

 

Crowley is looking around for the black hound. He looks at the clock – two minutes to three. Checks his watch: almost three . . .

 

AZIRAPHALE

(pressing on)

Do any of you young ’uns have such a thing as a thrupenny bit about your persons? No? Well, what’s that behind your ear?

 

Crowley is counting the seconds now. Five, four, three, two . . .

 

198INT. ADAM’S HOUSE – DAY

 

A kitchen. A cake is being iced by Deirdre Young, now eleven years older. The message says HAPPY BIRTHDAY ADAM.

 

Around the kitchen are all the signs of an eleven-year-old boy in occupation. A drawing on the fridge of aliens attacking, for example. Some toys on a windowsill.

 

Mr Young, also older and balder, puts his head around the door.

 

MR YOUNG

He’s not back yet?

 

DEIRDRE

He’s down in Hogback Wood, playing with his friends. I told him to be home by teatime.

 

MR YOUNG

Right. Well, give me a shout when he gets back, and we can light the candles.

 

199INT. WARLOCK’S PARTY – DAY

 

Crowley’s watch says three p.m. Crowley looks around. Nothing.

 

AZIRAPHALE

For my next remarkable illusion, I will need a pocket handkerchief. Does anyone have a pocket handkerchief?

 

Blank kids. They don’t care. Some of them have pulled out their phones and are playing video games.

 

AZIRAPHALE (CONT’D)

I really will need a handkerchief. I . . .

 

He blinks and performs a miracle. Ping! Turns to a secret service agent.

 

AZIRAPHALE (CONT’D)

You, my fine young jack-sauce. If you look in your pocket, I have no doubt you will find a handkerchief.

 

SECRET SERVICE AGENT

M’afraid not, sir.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Actually. You do. Just look. Please look.

 

The agent reaches into his inside pocket, and looks puzzled. Then pulls out an ENORMOUS lace-edged hankie . . .

 

Which, as he pulls it out, snags his shoulder-holstered gun, sending it flying out of the holster.

 

The gun arcs slowly and gracefully and in slow motion through the air. It splashes down in a bowl of trifle near Warlock.

 

The kids applaud. This is more like it!

 

TRIXIE

Not bad.

 

Warlock grabs the gun. Covers the room.

 

WARLOCK

Hands up, scumbuckets! I got a gun.

 

A beat. The guards look around, panicky, and aren’t sure what to do . . .

 

TARQUIN throws a lump of cake at Warlock, who whirls around, and reflexively, squeezes the trigger . . .

 

FREEZE IMAGE.

 

GOD (V.O.)

A .357 hollow point cartridge, shot from a Secret Service Sig Sauer P229 at 1,430 feet per second, will normally leave behind a red mist in the air and a certain amount of Secret Service paperwork.

 

1100INT. WARLOCK’S PARTY – DAY

 

CLOSE UP on Aziraphale’s face. He does a miracle blink, and . . .

 

A stream of water comes from the nozzle of Warlock’s gun, and soaks Tarquin. The gun is now a water pistol.

 

Aziraphale looks rather proud of himself.

 

And then a huge lump of birthday trifle hits him in the face. Guards are (puzzled) firing water pistol guns. Kids are (enthusiastically) firing water pistol guns.

 

Perfectly timed lumps of jelly and trifle and cake are being thrown around. IT’S A FOOD FIGHT!

 

WARLOCK

Best Eleventh Birthday Ever!

 

1101EXT. WARLOCK’S RESIDENCE – DAY

 

The street outside. Crowley is standing, looking worried. Aziraphale joins him. He’s reaching into his sleeve.

 

AZIRAPHALE

It was all a bit of a disaster, I’m afraid.

 

CROWLEY

Nonsense. You gave them all a party to remember. Last one any of them will ever have, mind . . .

 

Aziraphale has removed a dove from his sleeve. He’s prodding it, but it’s dead.

 

AZIRAPHALE

It’s late.

 

CROWLEY

Comes of putting it up your sleeve.

 

AZIRAPHALE

No. The hell-hound. It’s late.

 

Crowley irritably snaps his fingers at the dead dove, which flutters and flies off. He reaches into the Bentley and turns on the radio. It’s Just a Minute . . .

 

NICHOLAS PARSONS (V.O.)

And you have just a minute to tell us all about fish fingers, starting – Hello Crowley. Is something wrong?

 

CROWLEY

Um. Hi. Who’s this?

 

NICHOLAS PARSONS

Dagon. Lord of the Files. Master of Torments.

 

CROWLEY

Yeah. Just checking in about the hell-hound . . .

 

NICHOLAS PARSONS

He was released minutes ago. He should be with you by now. Why? Has something gone wrong, Crowley?

 

CROWLEY

Wrong? No . . . Nothing’s wrong. What could be wrong? I can see it now. What a lovely big helly hell-hound. Hey, great talking to you.

 

He turns off the radio.

 

AZIRAPHALE

No dog.

 

CROWLEY

No dog.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Wrong boy.

 

CROWLEY

Wrong boy.

 

There’s a gunshot.

 

AZIRAPHALE

(not swearing)

Oh sugar! I must have missed one.

 

CROWLEY

Armageddon is days away. And we’ve lost the Antichrist. Get in.

 

Aziraphale just stands there, shocked.

 

AZIRAPHALE

I don’t understand. How could we lose the Antichrist?

 

1102EXT. TADFIELD – DAY

 

Still a beautiful little village in England. We are moving through it. The clock on the village steeple is striking three.

 

1103EXT. TADFIELD: THE ROAD TO HOGBACK WOOD – DAY

 

Look! This is Hogback Wood. It’s a perfect place for kids to play. An area of natural beauty that adults have forgotten. And there’s a lane above it.

 

Birds are singing. A lazy bumble bee buzzes in the flowers at the side of the lane.

 

Down in the wood we can see CHILDREN, four of them, all about eleven, playing.

 

They are a gang of four. They look harmless and sweet and VULNERABLE . . .

 

PEPPER, a girl, has a wooden sword, and is battling BRIAN, a grubby boy with a toy crown.

 

WENSLEYDALE, a thoughtful, bespectacled boy, has a battered book of 1001 Scientific Things a Boy Can Do. He is weighing a potato against a stone on an improvised scales, adding stones to the pan to get them to balance . . .

 

And one of them, who has been up in a tree, comes down a rope: golden-haired, glorious, the ultimate eleven-year-old. It MUST be ADAM.

 

GOD (V.O.)

The right boy was playing in the woods with his friends. After all, it was his birthday. Hogback Wood was their Eden where they could play unbothered by adults. The children called themselves The Them. Pepper and Brian. Wensleydale. And the birthday boy, their leader, who found their den and invented the best games of all: Adam.

 

And now we hear something, as the last of the bell chimes fades away. Something metallic and disturbing, rumbling and nightmarish.

 

A ripping, rumbling noise, and now, LOOK! There’s a beat, and in front of us, on the lane, appears, from Hell . . .

 

The HELL-HOUND.

 

It’s huge: a terrifying monster of a dog. The Hound of the Baskervilles would take one look at this brute and flee, whimpering.

 

It looks at the kids in the woods below, hungrily and evilly . . .

 

And it opens its mouth and growls terrifyingly, showing huge and awful teeth.

 

We want to shoot this sequence like a horror movie, from the point of view of the monster: we KNOW these kids are soon going to be munchies . . .

 

We slowly hear their conversation, as if it’s been going for a while, and the hell-hound is listening.

 

ADAM

It’s my birthday, of course I’m going to get a dog.

 

PEPPER

Nobody actually said you were going to get a dog, Adam.

(to Brian)

Have at thee alien fiend!

 

BRIAN

Your dad’d be complaining about buying dogfood.

(to Pepper)

I’m not an alien. I’m a barbarian.

 

WENSLEYDALE

(without looking up)

They eat privet.

 

BRIAN

Dogs don’t eat privet, Wensley.

 

WENSLEYDALE

Stick insects do. They’re very interesting, actually. They eat each other when they’re mating.

 

PEPPER

That’s praying mantises.

 

ADAM

What’re they praying for?

 

PEPPER

Praying they don’t get married, I expect.

 

Pepper strikes, and Brian falls back. He drops.

 

BRIAN

You win, Pepper, oh mighty warrior. I give you my crown.

 

PEPPER

So are you a barbarian king or an alien one?

 

And now the hell-hound is padding down into Hogback Wood. The kids are getting up from whatever they’ve been doing around the wood, and are getting ready to go home . . .

 

The hell-hound! Its eyes are red. Saliva slathers down from its jaws and burns the leaf mould.

 

PEPPER (CONT’D)

They never get you what you want. I wanted a bike, and I asked for it, and I told them I wanted a razorblade saddle and twelve gears and everything, and do you know what they got me? A girls’ bike. With a basket.

 

WENSLEYDALE

But you are actually a girl, Pepper.

 

PEPPER

That’s just sexist. Giving people girly presents, because they’re girls.

 

She waves her sword to make her point. Adam now looks intent, almost preternatural, as he says, with conviction:

 

ADAM

I want. A dog.

 

Hell-hound’s POV: Adam. Only Adam is important. We hear a back-of-the-throat growling. And it’s coming closer.

 

PEPPER

Oh, right. And your mum and dad are going to get you a big old rottenwiler then, Adam?

 

ADAM

I don’t want a big dog.

 

CLOSE UP on the hell-hound. It tips its monstrous head on one side, and looks puzzled . . .

 

ADAM (CONT’D)

I want the kind of dog you can have fun with. A little dog.

 

From the hell-hound’s POV, a sudden lurch DOWNWARDS. As if something huge has shrunk.

 

ADAM (CONT’D)

I want a dog that’s brilliantly intelligent and can go down rabbit holes, and I can teach it tricks.

 

A rumble of thunder. Our view is obscured . . .

 

ADAM (CONT’D)

And it has to have one funny ear that always looks inside out.

 

CLOSE UP on former hell-hound: now a small black-and-white mongrel with a comically puzzled expression. There’s a POP, and its ear turns inside out.

 

ADAM (CONT’D)

And I’ll call him . . .

 

The former hell-hound looks dangerous. Its eyes glow red. It dribbles onto the ground, and the dribble steams.

 

GOD (V.O.)

And this is the moment. The naming. This will give it its purpose, its function, its identity. This is the moment that sets Armageddon in motion.

 

The hell-hound growls, the sort of growl that starts in the back of one’s throat and ends up in someone else’s.

 

ADAM

I think I’ll call him Dog. Saves a lot of trouble, a name like that.

 

The red glow in the dog’s eyes goes out. And the tail starts slowly to wag.

 

PEPPER

And what, this Dog’s just going to turn up?

 

ADAM

Maybe. Here boy! Come on!

 

And bounding out of the trees, happy and obedient, tail wagging, yipping with delight, comes Dog. And Adam is in heaven . . .

 

1104INT. AZIRAPHALE’S BOOKSHOP, BACK ROOM – DAY

 

In the back room: Crowley and Aziraphale are comparing notes. Aziraphale is pouring them whiskies.

 

CROWLEY

Armageddon is days away and we’ve lost the Antichrist. Why did the powers of Hell have to drag me into this anyway?

 

AZIRAPHALE

Don’t quote me on this, but I’m pretty sure it’s because you kept sending them all those memos saying how amazingly well you were doing.

 

CROWLEY

Is it my fault they never check up? I’m to blame they never check up? Everyone stretches the truth a bit in memos to head office, you know that.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Yes, but you told them you invented the Spanish Inquisition, and started the Second World War, and . . .

 

CROWLEY

So humans beat me to it. That’s not my fault.

 

Crowley looks up, as if he’s hearing something. Crowley looks startled. A spectral growl echoes through the bookshop.

 

CROWLEY (CONT’D)

Something’s changed.

 

AZIRAPHALE

It’s a new cologne. My barber suggested . . .

 

CROWLEY

Not you. I know what you smell like.

 

Crowley looks agitated.

 

CROWLEY (CONT’D)

The hell-hound has found its master.

 

AZIRAPHALE

You sure?

 

CROWLEY

I felt it. Would I lie to you?

 

AZIRAPHALE

Obviously. You’re a demon. That’s what you do.

 

CROWLEY

I’m not lying. The boy, wherever he is, has the dog. He’s coming into his power. We’re doomed.

 

Aziraphale lifts his glass.

 

AZIRAPHALE

Well then. Welcome to the end times.

 

And we . . .

 

FADE TO BLACK.

 

1105

 

Over end credits, Buddy Holly’s ‘Everyday’, done by a boys’ choir, in the style of Carmina Burana.