Mort

“Well, it—look, either you’re having fun or you’re not, you don’t have to ask me, you just know, all right? How did you get in here, anyway?” he added. “Are you a friend of the Patrician?”

LET US SAY, HE PUTS BUSINESS MY WAY. I FELT I OUGHT TO LEARN SOMETHING OF HUMAN PLEASURES.

“Sounds like you’ve got a long way to go.”

I KNOW. PLEASE EXCUSE MY LAMENTABLE IGNORANCE. I WISH ONLY TO LEARN. ALL THESE PEOPLE, PLEASE—THEY ARE HAVING FUN?

“Yes!”

THEN THIS IS FUN.

“I’m glad we’ve got that sorted out. Mind the chair,” snapped Lord Rodley, who was now feeling very unfunny and unpleasantly sober.

A voice behind him said quietly: THIS IS FUN. TO DRINK EXCESSIVELY IS FUN. WE ARE HAVING FUN. HE IS HAVING FUN. THIS IS SOME FUN.

WHAT FUN.

Behind Death the Patrician’s small pet swamp dragon held on grimly to the bony hips and thought: guards or no guards, next time we pass an open window I’m going to run like buggery.

———

Keli sat bolt upright in bed.

“Don’t move another step,” she said. “Guards!”

“We couldn’t stop him,” said the first guard, poking his head shame-facedly around the doorpost.

“He just pushed in…” said the other guard, from the other side of the doorway.

“And the wizard said it was all right, and we were told everyone must listen to him because…”

“All right, all right. People could get murdered around here,” said Keli testily, and put the crossbow back on the bedside table without, unfortunately, operating the safety catch.

There was a click, the thwack of sinew against metal, a zip of air, and a groan. The groan came from Cutwell. Mort spun round to him.

“Are you all right?” he said. “Did it hit you?”

“No,” said the wizard, weakly. “No, it didn’t. How do you feel?”

“A bit tired. Why?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing. No draughts anywhere? No slight leaking feelings?”

“No. Why?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing.” Cutwell turned and looked closely at the wall behind Mort.

“Aren’t the dead allowed any peace?” said Keli bitterly. “I thought one thing you could be sure of when you were dead was a good night’s sleep.” She looked as though she had been crying. With an insight that surprised him, Mort realised that she knew this and that it was making her even angrier than before.

“That’s not really fair,” he said. “I’ve come to help. Isn’t that right, Cutwell?”

“Hmm?” said Cutwell, who had found the crossbow bolt buried in the plaster and was looking at it with deep suspicion. “Oh, yes. He has. It won’t work, though. Excuse me, has anyone got any string?”

“Help?” snapped Keli. “Help? If it wasn’t for you—”

“You’d still be dead,” said Mort. She looked at him with her mouth open.

“I wouldn’t know about it, though,” she said. “That’s the worst part.”

“I think you two had better go,” said Cutwell to the guards, who were trying to appear inconspicuous. “But I’ll have that spear, please. Thank you.”

“Look,” said Mort, “I’ve got a horse outside. You’d be amazed. I can take you anywhere. You don’t have to wait around here.”

“You don’t know much about monarchy, do you,” said Keli.

“Um. No?”

“She means better to be a dead queen in your own castle than a live commoner somewhere else,” said Cutwell, who had stuck the spear into the wall by the bolt and was trying to sight along it. “Wouldn’t work, anyway. The dome isn’t centred on the palace, it’s centred on her.”

“On who?” said Keli. Her voice could have kept milk fresh for a month.

“On her Highness,” said Cutwell automatically, squinting along the shaft.

“Don’t you forget it.”

“I won’t forget it, but that’s not the point,” said he wizard. He pulled the bolt out of the plaster and tested the point with his finger.

“But if you stay here you’ll die!” said Mort.

“Then I shall have to show the Disc how a queen can die,” said Keli, looking as proud as was possible in a pink knitted bed jacket.

Mort sat down on the end of the bed with his head in his hands.

“I know how a queen can die,” he muttered. “They die just like other people. And some of us would rather not see it happen.”

“Excuse me, I just want to look at this crossbow,” said Cutwell conversationally, reaching across them. “Don’t mind me.”

“I shall go proudly to meet my destiny,” said Keli, but there was the barest flicker of uncertainty in her voice.

“No you won’t. I mean, I know what I’m talking about. Take it from me. There’s nothing proud about it. You just die.”

“Yes, but it’s how you do it. I shall die nobly, like Queen Ezeriel.”

Mort’s forehead wrinkled. History was a closed book to him.

“Who’s she?”

“She lived in Klatch and she had a lot of lovers and she sat on a snake,” said Cutwell, who was winding up the crossbow.

“She meant to! She was crossed in love!”

“All I can remember was that she used to take baths in asses’ milk. Funny thing, history,” said Cutwell reflectively. “You become a queen, reign for thirty years, make laws, declare war on people and then the only thing you get remembered for is that you smelled like yoghurt and were bitten in the—”^{21}

“She’s a distant ancestor of mine,” snapped Keli. “I won’t listen to this sort of thing.”