Mort (32 page)

Mort circled him, chopping and thrusting and dully aware, even through the red mists of fury, that Death was following his every move, holding the orphaned scytheblade like a sword. There was no opening, and the motor of his anger wouldn’t last. You’ll never beat him, he told himself. The best we can do is hold him off for a while. And losing is probably better than winning. Who needs eternity, anyway?

Through the curtain of his fatigue he saw Death unfold the length of his bones and bring his blade around in a slow, leisurely arc as though it was moving through treacle.

‘Father!’ screamed Ysabell.

Death turned his head.

Perhaps Mort’s mind welcomed the prospect of the life to come but his body, which maybe felt it had most to lose in the deal, objected. It brought his sword arm up in one unstoppable stroke that flicked Death’s blade from his hand, and then pinned him against the nearest pillar.

In the sudden hush Mort realized he could no longer hear an intrusive little noise that had been just at his threshold of hearing for the last ten minutes. His eyes darted sideways.

The last of his sand was running out.

S
TRIKE
.

Mort raised his sword, and looked into the twin blue fires.

He lowered the sword.

‘No.’

Death’s foot lashed out at groin height with a speed that even made Cutwell wince.

Mort silently curled into a ball and rolled across the floor. Through his tears he saw Death advancing, scytheblade in one hand and Mort’s own hourglass in the other. He saw Keli and Ysabell swept disdainfully aside as they made a grab for the robe. He saw Cutwell elbowed in the ribs, his candlestick clattering across the tiles.

Death stood over him. The tip of the blade hovered in front of Mort’s eyes for a moment, and then swept upwards.

‘You’re right. There’s no justice. There’s just you.’

Death hesitated, and then slowly lowered the blade. He turned and looked down into Ysabell’s face. She was shaking with anger.

Y
OUR MEANING
?

She glowered up at Death’s face and then her hand swung back and swung around and swung forward and connected with a sound like a dice box.

It was nothing like as loud as the silence that followed it.

Keli shut her eyes. Cutwell turned away and put his arms over his head.

Death raised a hand to his skull, very slowly.

Ysabell’s chest rose and fell in a manner that should have made Cutwell give up magic for life.

Finally, in a voice even more hollow than usual, Death said: W
HY
?

‘You said that to tinker with the fate of one individual could destroy the whole world,’ said Ysabell.

Y
ES
?

‘You meddled with his. And mine.’ She pointed a trembling finger at the splinters of glass on the floor. ‘And those, too.’

W
ELL
?

‘What will the gods demand for
that
?’

F
ROM ME
?

‘Yes!’

Death looked surprised. T
HE GODS CAN DEMAND NOTHING OF
ME
. E
VEN GODS ANSWER TO ME, EVENTUALLY
.

‘Doesn’t seem very fair, does it? Don’t the gods bother about justice and mercy?’ snapped Ysabell. Without anyone quite noticing she had picked up the sword.

Death grinned. I
APPLAUD YOUR EFFORTS
, he said,
BUT THEY AVAIL YOU NAUGHT
. S
TAND ASIDE
.

‘No.’

Y
OU MUST BE AWARE THAT EVEN LOVE IS NO DEFENCE AGAINST ME
. I
AM SORRY
.

Ysabell raised the sword.
‘You’re
sorry?’

S
TAND ASIDE
, I
SAY
.

‘No. You’re just being vindictive. It’s not fair!’

Death bowed his skull for a moment, then looked up with his eyes blazing.

Y
OU WILL DO AS YOU ARE TOLD
.

‘I will not.’

Y
OU’RE MAKING THIS VERY DIFFICULT
.

‘Good.’

Death’s fingers drummed impatiently on the scytheblade, like a mouse tapdancing on a tin. He seemed to be thinking. He looked at Ysabell standing over Mort, and then turned and looked at the others crouching against a shelf.

N
O
, he said eventually. N
O
. I
CANNOT BE BIDDEN
. I
CANNOT BE FORCED
. I
WILL DO ONLY THAT WHICH
I
KNOW TO BE RIGHT
.

He waved a hand, and the sword whirred out of Ysabell’s grasp. He made another complicated gesture and the girl herself was picked up and pressed gently but firmly against the nearest pillar.

Mort saw the dark reaper advance on him again, blade swinging back for the final stroke. He stood over the boy.

Y
OU DON’T KNOW HOW SORRY THIS MAKES ME
, he said.

Mort pulled himself on to his elbows.

‘I might,’ he said.

Death gave him a surprised look for several seconds, and then started to laugh. The sound bounced eerily around the room, ringing off the shelves as Death, still laughing like an earthquake in a graveyard, held Mort’s own glass in front of its owner’s eyes.

Mort tried to focus. He saw the last grain of sand skid down the glossy surface, teeter on the edge and then drop, tumbling in slow motion, towards the bottom. Candlelight flickered off its tiny silica facets as it spun gently downward. It landed soundlessly, throwing up a tiny crater.

The light in Death’s eyes flared until it filled Mort’s vision and the sound of his laughter rattled the universe.

And then Death turned the hourglass over.

Once again the great hall of Sto Lat was brilliant with candlelight and loud with music.

As the guests flocked down the steps and descended on the cold buffet the Master of Ceremonies was in non-stop voice, introducing those who, by reason of importance or simple absentmindedness, had turned up late. As for example:

‘The Royal Recognizer, Master of the Queen’s Bedchamber, His Ipississumussness Igneous Cutwell, Wizard 1st Grade (UU).’

Cutwell advanced on the royal couple, grinning, a large cigar in one hand.

‘May I kiss the bride?’ he said.

‘If it’s allowed for wizards,’ said Ysabell, offering a cheek.

‘We thought the fireworks were marvellous,’ said Mort. ‘And I expect they’ll soon be able to rebuild the outer wall. No doubt you’ll be able to find your way to the food.’

‘He’s looking a lot better these days,’ said Ysabell behind her fixed grin, as Cutwell disappeared into the throng.

‘Certainly there’s a lot to be said for being the only person who doesn’t bother to obey the queen,’ said Mort, exchanging nods with a passing nobleman.

‘They say he’s the real power behind the throne,’ said Ysabell. ‘An eminence something.’

‘Eminence grease,’ said Mort absently. ‘Notice how he doesn’t do any magic these days?’

‘Shutuphereshecomes.’

‘Her Supreme Majesty, Queen Kelirehenna I, Lord of Sto Lat, Protector of the Eight Protectorates and Empress of the Long Thin Debated Piece Hubwards of Sto Kerrig.’

Ysabell bobbed. Mort bowed. Keli beamed at both of them. They couldn’t help noticing that she had come under some influence that inclined her towards clothes that at least roughly followed her shape, and away from hairstyles that looked like the offspring of a pineapple and a candyfloss.

She pecked Ysabell on the cheek and then stepped back and looked Mort up and down.

‘How’s Sto Helit?’ she said.

‘Fine, fine,’ said Mort. ‘We’ll have to do something about the cellars, though. Your late uncle had some unusual – hobbies, and . . .’

‘She means you,’ whispered Ysabell. ‘That’s your official name.’

‘I preferred Mort,’ said Mort.

‘Such an interesting coat of arms, too,’ said the queen. ‘Crossed scythes on an hourglass rampant against a sable field. It gave the Royal College quite a headache.’

‘It’s not that I mind being a duke,’ said Mort. ‘It’s being married to a duchess that comes as a shock.’

‘You’ll get used to it.’

‘I hope not.’

‘Good. And now, Ysabell,’ said Keli, setting her jaw, ‘if you are to move in royal circles there are some people you simply must meet . . .’

Ysabell gave Mort a despairing look as she was swept away into the crowd, and was soon lost to view.

Mort ran a finger around the inside of his collar, looked both ways, and then darted into a fern-shaded corner near the end of the buffet where he could have a quiet moment to himself.

Behind him the Master of Ceremonies cleared his throat. His eyes took on a distant, glazed look.

‘The Stealer of Souls,’ he said in the faraway voice of one whose ears aren’t hearing what his mouth is saying, ‘Defeater of Empires, Swallower of Oceans, Thief of Years, The Ultimate Reality, Harvester of Mankind, the—’

A
LL RIGHT, ALL RIGHT
. I
CAN SEE MYSELF IN
.

Mort paused with a cold turkey leg halfway to his mouth. He didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to. There was no mistaking that voice, felt rather than heard, or the way in which the air chilled and darkened. The chatter and music of the wedding reception slowed and faded.

‘We didn’t think you’d come,’ he said to a potted fern.

T
O MY OWN DAUGHTER’S WEDDING
? A
NYWAY, IT WAS THE FIRST TIME
I’
VE EVER HAD AN INVITATION TO ANYTHING
. I
T HAD GOLD EDGES AND RSVP AND EVERYTHING
.

‘Yes, but when you weren’t at the service—’

I
THOUGHT PERHAPS IT WOULD NOT BE ENTIRELY APPROPRIATE
.

‘Well, yes, I suppose so—’

T
O BE FRANK
, I
THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO MARRY THE PRINCESS
.

Mort blushed. ‘We talked about it,’ he said. ‘Then we thought, just because you happen to rescue a princess, you shouldn’t rush into things.’

V
ERY WISE
. T
OO MANY YOUNG WOMEN LEAP INTO THE ARMS OF THE FIRST YOUNG MAN TO WAKE THEM AFTER A HUNDRED YEARS’ SLEEP, FOR EXAMPLE
.

‘And, well, we thought that all in all, well, once I really got to know Ysabell, well . . .’

Y
ES, YES
, I
AM SURE
. A
N EXCELLENT DECISION
. H
OWEVER
, I
HAVE DECIDED NOT TO INTEREST MYSELF IN HUMAN AFFAIRS ANY FURTHER
.

Really?

E
XCEPT OFFICIALLY, OF COURSE
. I
T WAS CLOUDING MY JUDGEMENT
.

A skeletal hand appeared on the edge of Mort’s vision and skilfully speared a stuffed egg. Mort spun around.

‘What happened?’ he said. ‘I’ve got to know! One minute we were in the Long Room and the next we were in a field outside the city, and we were really us! I mean, reality had been altered to fit us in! Who did it?’

I
HAD A WORD WITH THE GODS
. Death looked uncomfortable.

‘Oh. You did, did you?’ said Mort. Death avoided his gaze.

Y
ES
.

‘I shouldn’t think they were very pleased.’

T
HE GODS ARE JUST
. T
HEY ARE ALSO SENTIMENTALISTS
. I
HAVE NEVER BEEN ABLE TO MASTER IT, MYSELF
.

B
UT YOU AREN’T FREE YET
. Y
OU MUST SEE TO IT THAT HISTORY TAKES PLACE
.

‘I know,’ said Mort. ‘Uniting the kingdoms and everything.’

Y
OU MIGHT END UP WISHING YOU’D STAYED WITH ME
.

‘I certainly learned a lot,’ Mort admitted. He put his hand up to his face and absentmindedly stroked the four thin white scars across his cheek. ‘But I don’t think I was cut out for that sort of work. Look, I’m really sorry—’

I
HAVE A PRESENT FOR YOU
.

Death put down his plate of hors d’oeuvres and fumbled in the mysterious recesses of his robe. When his skeletal hand emerged it was holding a little globe between thumb and forefinger.

It was about three inches across. It could have been the largest pearl in the world, except that the surface was a moving swirl of complicated silver shapes, forever on the point of resolving themselves into something recognizable but always managing to avoid it.

When Death dropped it into Mort’s outstretched palm it felt surprisingly heavy and slightly warm.

F
OR YOU AND YOUR LADY
. A
WEDDING PRESENT
. A
DOWRY
.

‘It’s beautiful! We thought the silver toast rack was from you.’

T
HAT WAS
A
LBERT
. I’
M AFRAID HE DOESN’T HAVE MUCH IMAGINATION
.

Mort turned the globe over and over in his hands. The shapes boiling inside it seemed to respond to his touch, sending little streamers of light arching across the surface towards his fingers.

‘Is it a pearl?’ he said.

Y
ES
. W
HEN SOMETHING IRRITATES AN OYSTER AND CAN’T BE REMOVED, THE POOR THING COATS IT WITH MUCUS AND TURNS IT INTO A PEARL
. T
HIS IS A PEARL OF A DIFFERENT COLOUR
. A
PEARL OF REALITY
. A
LL THAT SHINY STUFF IS CONGEALED ACTUALITY
. Y
OU OUGHT TO RECOGNIZE IT
–
YOU CREATED IT, AFTER ALL
.

Mort tossed it gently from hand to hand.

‘We will put it with the castle jewels,’ he said. ‘We haven’t got that many.’

O
NE DAY IT WILL BE THE SEED OF A NEW UNIVERSE
.

Mort fumbled the catch, but reached down with lightning reflexes and caught it before it hit the flagstones.