On A Pale Horse (23 page)

Yet he realized that this misfortune had a perverse enchantment. He had been somewhat diffident about approaching Luna, for he wasn't sure whether Death should date a mortal woman, or whether a Magician's daughter would have anything to do with the likes of him when not compelled by magic, or how he felt about a person who had been used by a minion of Hell. Now, with the awareness of her mortality, he knew such diffidence could not be afforded. Whatever she could be to him, she had to be now—for there would be no tomorrow.

“But you could disassociate immediately, sparing yourself sorrow,” she pointed out.

“No, that would be like a rat leaving a sinking ship.” Then he did a mental double take. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

“I inherited more than Truthstones and Lovestones and Deathstones,” she said teasingly. “The right spellstones can enable a person to do anything, even read minds.”

“But you aren't using black magic now, because it—”

“Brings me closer to the demon,” she finished for him. “You're right—I'm not using magic. I merely have a pretty good notion of the nature of your thinking.”

“How? You don't know me that well yet.”

“Did you desert your mother when she needed your help?”

“That's different—” He paused, reconsidering. “No, I guess it isn't. I have much evil on my soul, but I don't desert sinking ships.”

“So you are a mixed person, with good as well as evil, as I am. I am selfish to come to you in this fashion, when I did not do so before.”

“Yes, you did. You offered—”

“My body. The least valuable aspect of me. Now I offer more.”

“I'll take it.”

“This self-serving manner of coming to you will further burden my soul. But since my father left, there has been a void in my life that even the most potent equilibrium magic does not entirely abate. I had thought I was prepared, for I knew he was destined to die, but the shock of the actuality was worse than I anticipated.” She paused, examining her feeling. “There was a presence that perhaps I took somewhat for granted. Now there is not. I feel unbalanced, falling into the gap that was the support my father provided. How does one counter the emptiness?”

“Maybe some other support—”

“And you are the closest man for me to lean on. I want to enjoy my remaining time in life before it is gone forever. Before I must go to the demon.”

“The demon still lurks for you?” Zane asked, dismayed. He had thought that was over.

“Yes. But he can't reach me in life unless I summon him, and that I will never again do. But when I go to Hell, I will be in his power forever.”

“You must not go to Hell!” he protested. “You must improve your balance so you will go to Heaven!”

“In less than a month?” She shook her head sadly. “I have stones that measure good and evil, even as you do, and some of them operate by white magic, so I can use them as I wish, though they do not work well for me. I know my score. I am too deep in debt to Satan to escape at this point.”

“There has to be a way! You can do a lot of good, contribute to worthy charities, think angelic thoughts—”

She shook her head. “You know better, Death. Good deeds done for such a purely selfish reason do not count. I had to redress my evil before I learned I was about to die. Now it is too late.”

“What—what is to be the cause of your death?” Zane asked, fearing the answer.

“I don't know. I'm not ill, and I'm not accident-prone. Maybe someone is going to murder me.”

“Not if I can help it,” Zane muttered grimly. He resolved, as soon as this date with Luna was over, to go to Purgatory and look up the relevant records. If he could find out what was slated to kill her, he might arrange to block it. He already knew that a scheduled demise was not necessarily immutable; he had changed several such schedules himself. Meanwhile, if she stayed at home, her invisible moon moth should protect her well.

“Pearl Harbor!” Molly said. “See the airplanes! They caught the defenders with their spells down. That launched the United States of America into World War Two.”

Zane wasn't sure how the cart had traveled all the way across the great Pacific Ocean to this island, but remembered it was a ghost vehicle not subject to the normal laws of physics.

Already the cart was moving on to the next display. “The preemptive nuclear strike that launches World War Three,” Molly said with a certain zest. “This one generates a lot of ghosts, believe me!” And it was as if they trundled through the heart of the sun, with blinding light everywhere.

“World War Three?” Luna asked. “That hasn't happened yet!”

“We ghosts aren't limited by time the way living folk are,” Molly explained. “We see everything.”

“When is World War Three happening?” Zane asked somewhat nervously.

"You'd have to ask Mars that; he's been working on it for a long time, his crowning achievement. I think the time is not precisely fixed, because the Eternals can't agree. Satan wants it when the balance of evil favors him;

God is holding out for His own side. Right now the balance is so close they can't be certain where the majority of now-living folk would go if all their souls were released today. So neither side dares provoke the final war. But if any significant shift occurs, either way—"

“The world is in balance, like an individual human soul?” Zane asked. “That's some situation!”

“Is that all God or Satan cares about the world?” Luna demanded. “Which one gets the most souls when it ends?”

“That's the way it seems to us,” Molly said. “Of course, we're only ghosts, who aren't privy to the motives of the Eternals. But it does stand to reason that whoever gets the most souls has the most power. Souls are wealth in the region where gold can't go.”

“It can't be that way,” Zane said, troubled. “Maybe Satan is soul-grubbing, but God has to want the genuine welfare of man.”

“Then how come God never helps man directly?” Molly demanded. “Satan has minions all over, sowing dissension, making mischief, publishing commercials for Hell. God remains aloof.”.

“God is honoring the Covenant,” Luna said. “Satan is cheating. There should not be any supernatural interference. Man is supposed to make his own destiny, by the type of life he lives when given free will.”

“If you believe that,” Molly said, the accent of the gutter where she had been raised in life coming through more strongly, “you must also believe the Tooth Fairy is queer.”

Luna was startled. “That's a serious charge.”

The ghost laughed. “See? You argue the case!”

The cart passed through an invisible curtain and emerged at the carnival grounds. “That was quite a tour,” Zane said politely, though he had not paid it much attention.

“That's just the beginning!” Molly said, hauling them off to the ghostly, ghastly Horror House. The experience was, of course, awful, for the ghosts really knew how to horrify mortal people, but Luna took advantage of the darkness to sneak in a passionate kiss that horrified the ghosts. At least Zane thought it was Luna.

They had ghostly cotton candy and visited the Dinosaur Petting Zoo—the larger carnivores were muzzled, which annoyed them visibly—and tried to win a valuable invisible doll by catching a smoke ring on a glass lance. It didn't work; the ring shattered and the lance puffed away as vapor. They concluded with the Tunnel of Love—and here Molly had to let them go alone, for the boat held only two.

By this time Zane was quite satisfied to be alone with Luna. Maybe it was the hypnotic effect of the constant noise and color of the carnival, or the knowledge of her brief time remaining, or that she was soft and pretty—for whatever reason, he found himself dizzy with delight at her propinquity, and as close to love as he had ever been. They drifted down the calm channel of water; as the quiet darkness closed in, they held hands and kissed again, and that was more pleasant than anything else he might have contemplated with any other woman. Then, it seemed like only half a moment later, they were emerging from the long tunnel, the journey over.

It was enough. They unloaded Molly Malone's wheelbarrow from the car and got in for the drive back to Kilvarough. It had been a good date

A light was flashing on the dash. That meant Mortis had something to tell Death. “Brace yourself,” Zane told Luna. “We're about to be on the Death horse.”

“I love horses,” she said. “I'm a girl at heart.” He pressed the button, and they were on the stallion, Luna sitting behind him. “What is it?” Zane asked. “My countdown is turned off; I'm pretty well caught up on my backlist, and I don't begrudge my upcoming clients a few more hours of life.”

The horse neighed urgently and swished his tail. “Idiot—turn on your translator,” Luna murmured. Zane hastily set the language gem in his left ear. It was uncomfortable to wear continuously, as he had never gotten his ear pierced so he could use it as an earring, and he normally removed it during off hours. He hadn't realized it could be used to talk to Mortis!

“Nature summons you,” the neigh-voice said.

“I can wait till I get home,” Zane muttered, conscious of Luna's presence.

“The Incarnation Nature,” the horse clarified. “Gaea. She says to dally only long enough to pick up one soul.”

“Nature—the person? If she wants to talk to me, why doesn't she come herself, as the other Incarnations have?”

“She is the Green Mother,” Mortis neighed, and there was an undertone of equine respect. “She governs all living creatures. Do not annoy her, Death.”

“You had better go,” Luna said. “I don't know which of you Incarnations has the most power, but Nature surely is not to be trifled with. You can drop me off anywhere near Kilvarough, and—”

“Do not go near Kilvarough!” Mortis warned. “Operate from the ghost world.”

“But I can't leave Luna among the ghosts!” Zane protested.

“Bring her.”

“I'd like that,” Luna said. “Is it permitted?”

“I'll do it regardless,” Zane decided. “I'm not going to leave you in any strange place unprotected.” He turned on the Deathwatch countdown. It showed nine minutes. He oriented on the client, using the special gems of his bracelet. He nudged Mortis, aiming the stallion in the right direction. “Take us there,” he directed.

The horse leaped away from the carnival. Clouds wafted by, and the cosmos was inchoate. “Ooo, lovely!” Luna breathed, hugging Zane from behind.

Then Mortis landed in a great dance hall in the city of San Diego. Magic clothed the walls with royal trappings and made the floor resemble solid silver. It did not at all look like a place of death.

“So this is what your job is like,” Luna murmured. “You must enjoy it well.”

“It varies,” Zane said. “Parts of it are not fun.”

They dismounted, and Mortis stepped into the background. No one noticed that he was a horse, for he was protected by the magic of his own office.

The watch showed four minutes. Zane went to the spot indicated by the gems. It was a section of the dance floor. Dancers crossed it and moved on, doing the Squirm; he could not tell who was fated to be there when the time came.

There were two empty seats beside a young woman who was not dancing. Zane and Luna took them.

Two young men walked along the edge of the dance floor, engaged in animated conversation or moderate debate. They halted abruptly near Zane. “Well, then, let's try it!” one exclaimed. “Random selection, yours against mine.”

“Done!” the other agreed. “Winner takes them both. A disinterested judge.”

The first turned to a seated youth who was drinking a beverage from a bottle. “Do you know how to play a guitar?”

The youth laughed. He set down his bottle and stifled a burp. “Me? I'm tone deaf! I can't even play a triangle!”

“He'll do,” the second man said. He turned to Luna. “Do you dance well, miss?”

“Excellently,” Luna said.

“No good.” The man focused on the other girl. “Do you dance well?”

“No,” the girl said shyly. “I've got two left feet. I only come to watch the others dance.”

“She'll do,” the first man said.

“Do for what?” Luna asked, annoyed about being passed over for whatever it was.

“And you can be the judge,” the second man said to her.

Zane looked at his watch. The countdown timer showed two minutes. Who was going to die here, and how?

The first young man produced a nondescript guitar and pushed it into the hands of the tone-deaf lad. “When I give the signal, play.”

“But I told you I can't—”

“Precisely. It's an excellent test.”

The second man brought out a pair of dancing slippers. “Put these on and dance,” he said to the left-footed girl.

Suddenly Zane had an awful notion. “Luna!” he cried. “Get out of here! It may be your death we're here for!” The watch showed ninety seconds,

“Don't be silly,” she said, “You brought me here. That wouldn't have been necessary if I were the client. You could simply have pushed me off the horse in mid-air. Anyway, I'm not in balance; I can make it to Hell without your assistance. I'm not on your calendar.”

Zane had to admit that was true. The death belonged to someone else. But to whom?

“Begin!” the first man ordered.

The youth put his fingers to the strings with a what-can-I-lose smirk and played an excellent chord. “See? Pure junk,” he said.

“Not so,” Luna told him. “That sounded nice.”

Astonished, he played again, watching his hands—and a fine melody commenced. His left fingers flew along the frets, while his right hand strummed out an authoritative tune. The hands seemed to possess lives of their own.

The left-footed girl stood up, wearing the slippers. “You'll see,” she said. “I'm no good at all.” Her right leg did look slightly deformed, perhaps by some childhood injury; it was unlikely she could move it well.

She began to dance—and her feet flashed like those of a ballerina. Her mouth dropped open. “The slippers!” she cried. “Magic!”

Both young men turned to Luna. “Now you watch and listen, beautiful,” the first one said. “Tell us which is better—the music or the dancing.”

Luna smiled. “I shall. I'm in the arts myself; I can give an informed opinion, though these are two different forms of expression.”