Mort

Mort swallowed. “This could be unwise,” he said.

“Why?”

“Well, I won’t like it, for one.”

“You’re not supposed to like it, you’re supposed to—die,” said the thief, advancing.

“I don’t think I’m due to die,” said Mort, backing away. “I’m sure I would have been told.”

“Yeah,” said the thief, who was getting fed up with this. “Yeah, well, you have been, haven’t you? Great steaming elephant turds!”

Mort had just stepped backwards again. Through a wall.

The leading thief glared at the solid stone that had swallowed Mort, and then threw down his knife.

“Well, — me,” he said. “A —ing wizard. I hate —ing wizards!”

“You shouldn’t — them, then,” muttered one of his henchmen, effortlessly pronouncing a row of dashes.

The third member of the trio, who was a little slow of thinking, said, “Here, he walked through the wall!”

“And we bin following him for ages, too,” muttered the second one. “Fine one you are, Pilgarlic. I said I thought he was a wizard, only wizards’d walk round here by themselves. Dint I say he looked like a wizard? I said—”

“You’re saying a good deal too much,” growled the leader.

“I saw him, he walked right through the wall there—”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“Right through it, dint you see?”

“Think you’re sharp, do you?”

“Sharp enough, come to that!”

The leader scooped his knife out of the dirt in one snaky movement.

“Sharp as this?”

The third thief lurched over to the wall and kicked it hard a few times, while behind him there were the sounds of scuffle and some damp bubbling noises.

“Yep, it’s a wall okay,” he said. “That’s a wall if ever I saw one. How d’you think they do it, lads?”

“Lads?”

He tripped over the prone bodies.

“Oh,” he said. Slow as his mind was, it was quick enough to realise something very important. He was in a back alley in The Shades, and he was alone. He ran for it, and got quite a long way.

———

Death walked slowly across tiles in the lifetimer room, inspecting the serried rows of busy hourglasses. Albert followed dutifully behind with the great ledger open in his arms.

The sound roared around them, a vast grey waterfall of noise.

It came from the shelves where, stretching away into the infinite distance, row upon row of hourglasses poured away the sands of mortal time. It was a heavy sound, a dull sound, a sound that poured like sullen custard over the bright roly-poly pudding of the soul.

VERY WELL, said Death at last. I MAKE IT THREE. A QUIET NIGHT.

“That’d be Goodie Hamstring, the Abbott Lobsang again, and this Princess Keli,” said Albert.

Death looked at the three hourglasses in his hand.

I WAS THINKING OF SENDING THE LAD OUT, he said.

Albert consulted his ledger.

“Well, Goodie wouldn’t be any trouble and the Abbott is what you might call experienced,” he said. “Shame about the princess. Only fifteen. Could be tricky.”

YES. IT IS A PITY.

“Master?”

Death stood with the third glass in his hand, staring thoughtfully at the play of light across its surface. He sighed.

ONE SO YOUNG…

“Are you feeling all right, master?” said Albert, his voice full of concern.

TIME LIKE AN EVER-ROLLING STREAM BEARS ALL ITS…^{8}

“Master!”

WHAT? said Death, snapping out of it.

“You’ve been overdoing it, master, that’s what it is—”

WHAT ARE YOU BLATHERING ABOUT, MAN?

“You had a bit of a funny turn there, master.”

NONSENSE. I HAVE NEVER FELT BETTER. NOW, WHAT WERE WE TALKING ABOUT?

Albert shrugged, and peered down at the entries in the book.

“Goodie’s a witch,” he said. “She might get a bit annoyed if you send Mort.”

All practitioners of magic earned the right, once their own personal sands had run out, of being claimed by Death himself rather than his minor functionaries.

Death didn’t appear to hear Albert. He was staring at Princess Keli’s hourglass again.

WHAT IS THAT SENSE INSIDE YOUR HEAD OF WISTFUL REGRET THAT THINGS ARE THE WAY THEY APPARENTLY ARE?

“Sadness, master. I think. Now—”

I AM SADNESS.

Albert stood with his mouth open. Finally he got a grip on himself long enough to blurt out, “Master, we were talking about Mort!”

MORT WHO?

“Your apprentice, master,” said Albert patiently. “Tall young lad.”

OF COURSE. WELL, WE’LL SEND HIM.

“Is he ready to go solo, master?” said Albert doubtfully.

Death thought about it. HE CAN DO IT, he said at last. HE’S KEEN, HE’S QUICK TO LEARN AND, REALLY, he added, PEOPLE CAN’T EXPECT TO HAVE ME RUNNING AROUND AFTER THEM ALL THE TIME.

———

Mort stared blankly at the velvet wall hangings a few inches from his eyes.

I’ve walked through a wall, he thought. And that’s impossible.

He gingerly moved the hangings aside to see if a door was lurking somewhere, but there was nothing but crumbling plaster which had cracked away in places to reveal some dampish but emphatically solid brickwork.

He prodded it experimentally. It was quite clear that he wasn’t going back out that way.

“Well,” he said to the wall. “What now?”

A voice behind him said, “Um. Excuse please?”

He turned around slowly.