Mort

“But you’re Death,” said Mort. “You go around killing people!”

I? KILL? said Death, obviously offended. CERTAINLY NOT. PEOPLE GET KILLED, BUT THAT’S THEIR BUSINESS. I JUST TAKE OVER FROM THEN ON. AFTER ALL, IT’D BE A BLOODY STUPID WORLD IF PEOPLE GOT KILLED WITHOUT DYING, WOULDN’T IT?

“Well, yes—” said Mort, doubtfully.

Mort had never heard the word ‘intrigued’. It was not in regular use in the family vocabulary. But a spark in his soul told him that here was something weird and fascinating and not entirely horrible, and that if he let this moment go he’d spend the rest of his life regretting it. And he remembered the humiliations of the day, and the long walk back home…

“Er,” he began, “I don’t have to die to get the job, do I?”

BEING DEAD IS NOT COMPULSORY.

“And… the bones…?”

NOT IF YOU DON’T WANT TO.

Mort breathed out again. It had been starting to prey on his mind.

“If father says it’s all right,” he said.

They looked at Lezek, who was scratching his beard.

“How do you feel about this, Mort?” he said, with the brittle brightness of a fever victim. “It’s not everyone’s idea of an occupation. It’s not what I had in mind, I admit. But they do say that undertaking is an honoured profession. It’s your choice.”

“Undertaking?” said Mort. Death nodded, and raised his finger to his lips in a conspiratorial gesture.

“It’s interesting,” said Mort slowly. “I think I’d like to try it.”

“Where did you say your business was?” said Lezek. “Is it far?”

NO FURTHER THAN THE THICKNESS OF A SHADOW, said Death. WHERE THE FIRST PRIMAL CELL WAS, THERE WAS I ALSO. WHERE MAN IS, THERE AM I. WHEN THE LAST LIFE CRAWLS UNDER FREEZING STARS, THERE WILL I BE.

“Ah,” said Lezek, “you get about a bit, then.” He looked puzzled, like a man struggling to remember something important, and then obviously gave up.

Death patted him on the shoulder in a friendly fashion and turned to Mort.

HAVE YOU ANY POSSESSIONS, BOY?

“Yes,” said Mort, and then remembered. “Only I think I left them in the shop. Dad, we left the sack in the clothes shop!”

“It’ll be shut,” said Lezek. “Shops don’t open on Hogswatch Day. You’ll have to go back the day after tomorrow—well, tomorrow now.”

IT IS OF LITTLE ACCOUNT, said Death. WE WILL LEAVE NOW. NO DOUBT I WILL HAVE BUSINESS HERE SOON ENOUGH.

“I hope you’ll be able to drop in and see us soon,” said Lezek. He seemed to be struggling with his thoughts.

“I’m not sure that will be a good idea,” said Mort.

“Well, goodbye, lad,” said Lezek. “You’re to do what you’re told, you understand? And—excuse me, sir, do you have a son?”

Death looked rather taken aback.

NO, he said, I HAVE NO SONS.

“I’ll just have a last word with my boy, if you’ve no objection.”

THEN I WILL GO AND SEE TO THE HORSE, said Death, with more than normal tact.

Lezek put his arm around his son’s shoulders, with some difficulty in view of their difference in height, and gently propelled him across the square.

“Mort, you know your uncle Hamesh told me about this prenticing business?” he whispered.

“Yes?”

“Well, he told me something else,” the old man confided. “He said it’s not unknown for an apprentice to inherit his master’s business. What do you think of that, then?”

“Uh. I’m not sure,” said Mort.

“It’s worth thinking about,” said Lezek.

“I am thinking about it, father.”

“Many a young lad has started out that way, Hamesh said. He makes himself useful, earns his master’s confidence, and, well, if there’s any daughters in the house… did Mr, er, Mr say anything about daughters?”

“Mr who?” said Mort.

“Mr… your new master.”

“Oh. Him. No. No, I don’t think so,” said Mort slowly. “I don’t think he’s the marrying type.”

“Many a keen young man owes his advancement to his nuptials,” said Lezek.

“He does?”

“Mort, I don’t think you’re really listening.”

“What?”

Lezek came to a halt on the frosty cobbles and spun the boy around to face him.

“You’re really going to have to do better than this,” he said. “Don’t you understand, boy? If you’re going to amount to anything in this world then you’ve got to listen. I’m your father telling you these things.”

Mort looked down at his father’s face. He wanted to say a lot of things: he wanted to say how much he loved him, how worried he was; he wanted to ask what his father really thought he’d just seen and heard. He wanted to say that he felt as though he stepped on a molehill and found that it was really a volcano. He wanted to ask what ‘nuptials’ meant.

What he actually said was, “Yes. Thank you. I’d better be going. I’ll try and write you a letter.”

“There’s bound to be someone passing who can read it to us,” said Lezek. “Goodbye, Mort.” He blew his nose.

“Goodbye, dad. I’ll come back to visit,” said Mort. Death coughed tactfully, although it sounded like the pistol-crack of an ancient beam full of death-watch beetle.

WE HAD BETTER BE GOING, he said. HOP UP, MORT.

As Mort scrambled behind the ornate silver saddle Death leaned down and shook Lezek’s hand.

THANK YOU, he said.