Eric

them on the beach, the next…nothing.
    That left only two other places.
    Fortunately he chose the wrong one first.

    “Even some stars would be nice,” said Eric.
    “There’s something very odd about all this,” said Rincewind. “I mean, do you feel cold?”
    “No.”
    “Well, do you feel warm?”
    “No. I don’t feel anything much, really.”
    “No hot, no cold, no light, no heat, no air,” said Rincewind. “Just bill. How long have we been here?”
    “Don’t know. Seems like ages, but…”
    “Aha. I’m not sure there’s any time, either. Not what you’d call proper time. Just the kind of time people make up as they go along.”
    “Well, I didn’t expect to see anyone else here,” said a voice by Rincewind’s ear.
    It was a slightly put-upon voice, a voice made for complaining in, but at least there was no hint of menace. Rincewind let himself float around.
    A little rat-faced man was sitting cross-legged, watching him with vague suspicion. He had a pencil behind one ear.
    “Ah. Hallo,” said Rincewind. “And where is here, exactly?”
    “Nowhere. S’whole point, innit?”
    “Nowhere at all?”
    “Not yet.”
    “All right,” said Eric. “When is it going to be somewhere?”
    “Hard to say,” said the little man. “Looking at the pair of you, and taking one thing with another, metabolic rates and that, I’d say that this place is due to become somewhere in, well, give or take a bit, in about five hundred seconds.” He began to unwrap the pack in his lap. “Fancy a sandwich while we’re waiting?”
    “What? Would I—” At this point Rincewind’s stomach, aware that if his brain was allowed to make the running it was in danger of losing the initiative, cut in and prompted him to say, “What sort?”
    “Search me. What sort would you like it to be?”
    “Sorry?”
    “Don’t mess about. Just say what sort you’d like it to be.”
    “Oh?” Rincewind stared at him. “Well, if you’ve got egg and cress—”
    “Let there be egg and cress, sort of thing,” said the little man. He reached into the package, and proffered a white triangle to Rincewind.
    “Gosh,” said Rincewind. “What a coincidence.”
    “It should be starting any minute now,” said the little man. “Over—not that they’ve got any proper directions sorted out yet, of course, not them—there.”
    “All I can see is darkness,” said Eric.
    “No you can’t,” said the little man, triumphantly. “You’re just seeing what there is before the darkness has been installed, sort of thing.” He gave the not-yet-darkness a dirty look. “Come on,” he said. “Why are we waiting, why-eye are we waiting?”
    “Waiting for what?” said Rincewind.
    “Everything.”
    “Everything what?” said Rincewind.
    “Everything. Not everything what. Everything, sort of thing.”

    Astfgl peered around through the swirling gas clouds. At least he was in the right place. The whole point about the end of the universe was that you couldn’t go past it accidentally.
    The last few embers winked out. Time and space collided silently, and collapsed.
    Astfgl coughed. It can get so very lonely, when you’re twenty million light-years from home.
    “Anyone there?” he said.
    Y ES .
    The voice was right by his ear. Even demon kings can shiver.
    “Apart from you, I mean,” he said. “Have you seen anybody?”
    Y ES .
    “Who?”
    E VERYONE .
    Astfgl sighed. “I mean anyone recently .”
    I T’S BEEN VERY QUIET , said Death.
    “Damn.”
    W ERE YOU EXPECTING SOMEONE ELSE ?
    “I thought there might be someone called Rincewind, but—” Astfgl began.
    Death’s eyesockets flared red. T HE WIZARD ? he said.
    “No, he’s a dem—” Astfgl stopped. For what would have been several seconds, had time still existed, he floated in a state of horrible suspicion.
    “A human ?” he growled.
    I T IS STRETCHING THE TERM A LITTLE, BUT YOU ARE BROADLY CORRECT .
    “Well, I’ll be damned!” Astfgl said.
    I BELIEVE YOU ALREADY ARE .
    The Demon King extended a shaking hand. His mounting fury was overriding his sense of style; his red silk gloves ripped as the talons unfolded.
    And then, because it’s never a good idea to get on the wrong side of anyone with a scythe, Astfgl said, “Sorry you’ve been troubled,” and vanished. Only when he judged himself out of Death’s extremely acute hearing did he scream his rage.
    Nothingness uncoiled its interminable length through the drafty spaces at the end of time.
    Death