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Crowley had a ridiculous new contraption and outfit to match, and Aziraphale strongly suspected that her ability to balance on the thing was truly miraculous.
“What, angel, never seen a bicycle before?” she asked, jumping from her perch and landing with her hip cocked and legs spread, knickerbockers on full display. “Surely you’ve noticed them, they’re all the rage.”
“Yes, I have seen the various kinds of velocipedes being driven around,” Aziraphale said testily, “but my dear girl, that is not a bicycle.”
“’Tis. They’re calling them penny-farthings. Fastest bike on the market! Never have to ride a horse again!”
“Or a hansom, I suppose? Though in that getup, I doubt any reputable cabbie would allow you in his vehicle.”
“Oh, don’t get your crinolines in a twist, angel. It’s called fashion.” Crowley lowered her glasses and raked her eyes over Aziraphale’s more conservative dress, which was made by the same seamstress currently styling the Lady Edmondstone, thank you. “Not that you seem to have heard of it. Did you borrow that bustle from the Queen Mother?”
“She passed thirty years ago, you old fiend.”
“My point exactly, you old killjoy,” Crowley retorted, but she had clearly become distracted. “Aziraphale, what on earth is that thing? You said you were bringing your bike.”
“No, I said I was bringing my velocipede,” she corrected, feeling a bit smug. “This is a ‘foldable safety tricycle, convenient for the needs and pursuits of the modern urban woman,’ my dear. Much more practical than your ha’penny.”
Crowley had already taken it from her, experimenting with the little levers and hooks that allowed it to fold and to hold steady while unfolded. “Penny-farthing, angel, do you ever listen to a word I—no, no you’re doing it on purpose and I’m not responding. Aziraphale, how in the world is this death trap at all convenient? Are you trying to get discorporated?”
Aziraphale bristled. “The tricycle has excellent balance and steerage and ample room for cargo—for me to transport my books, Crowley—and its being foldable allows me to store it in the bookshop without disturbing—”
“Since when do you make book deliveries?” Crowley interrupted.
“Books I buy, Crowley, do keep up,” Aziraphale said, now slightly irritated. “It’s a waste of miracles to transport them that way, I have a reprimand from Michael telling me so, and I prefer not to entrust their care to non-experts.”
Crowley raised her eyebrows. “And this gets you across London in good time, does it?” she asked, refolding the tricycle and returning it to Aziraphale.
“It does, rather,” she said, mollified.
“Well, angel. We’re here, we have our ‘velocipedesssss.’ Nobody ‘round to tell us off.” Crowley smiled brightly and climbed up on her penny-farthing, her hips and legs not quite operating the way human ones were supposed to and managing even less grace than she showed mounting horses; it was incredibly charming. “Race you to the city gates!” She took off pedaling, cackling as she disappeared down the lane, and Aziraphale watched her go for a moment before she scrambled to unfold her own velocipede.
