Mort

this time of night. Everyone’s asleep.”
    Mort nodded, and then looked suspiciously at the young wizard.
    “What are you doing up, then?” he said.
    “Um,” said Cutwell, “um, I just thought I’d see if there was anything in the pantry.”
    He shrugged. *
    Now is the time to report that Cutwell too notices that Mort, even a Mort weary with riding and lack of sleep, is somehow glowing from within and in some strange way unconnected with size is nevertheless larger than life. The difference is that Cutwell is, by training, a better guesser than other people and knows that in occult matters the obvious answer is usually the wrong one.
    Mort can move absentmindedly through walls and drink neat widowmaker soberly not because he is turning into a ghost, but because he is becoming dangerously real.
    In fact, as the boy stumbles while they walk along the silent corridors and steps through a marble pillar without noticing, it’s obvious that the world is becoming a pretty insubstantial place from his point of view.
    “You just walked through a marble pillar,” observed Cutwell. “How did you do it?”
    “Did I?” Mort looked around. The pillar looked sound enough. He poked an arm towards it, and slightly bruised his elbow.
    “I could have sworn you did,” said Cutwell. “Wizards notice these things, you know.” He reached into the pocket of his robe.
    “Then have you noticed the mist dome around the country?” said Mort.
    Cutwell squeaked. The jar in his hand dropped and smashed on the tiles; there was the smell of slightly rancid salad dressing.
    “ Already ?”
    “I don’t know about already,” said Mort, “but there’s this sort of crackling wall sliding over the land and no one else seems to worry about it and—”
    “How fast was it moving?”
    “—it changes things!”
    “You saw it? How far away is it? How fast is it moving?”
    “Of course I saw it. I rode through it twice. It was like—”
    “But you’re not a wizard, so why—”
    “What are you doing here, anyway—”
    Cutwell took a deep breath. “Everyone shut up!” he screamed.
    There was silence. Then the wizard grabbed Mort’s arm. “Come on,” he said, pulling him back along the corridor. “I don’t know who you are exactly and I hope I’ve got time to find out one day but something really horrible is going to happen soon and I think you’re involved, somehow.”
    “Something horrible? When?”
    “That depends on how far away the interface is and how fast it’s moving,” said Cutwell, dragging Mort down a side passage. When they were outside a small oak door he let go of his arm and fumbled in his pocket again, removing a small hard piece of cheese and an unpleasantly squashy tomato.
    “Hold these, will you? Thank you.” He delved again, produced a key and unlocked the door.
    “It’s going to kill the princess, isn’t it?” said Mort.
    “Yes,” said Cutwell, “and then again, no.” He paused with his hand on the doorhandle. “That was pretty perspicacious of you. How did you know?”
    “I—” Mort hesitated.
    “She told me a very strange story,” said Cutwell.
    “I expect she did,” said Mort. “If it was unbelievable, it was true.”
    “You’re him, are you? Death’s assistant?”
    “Yes. Off duty at the moment, though.”
    “Pleased to hear it.”
    Cutwell shut the door behind them and fumbled for a candlestick. There was a pop, a flash of blue light and a whimper.
    “Sorry,” he said, sucking his fingers. “Fire spell. Never really got the hang of it.”
    “You were expecting the dome thing, weren’t you?” said Mort urgently. “What will happen when it closes in?”
    The wizard sat down heavily on the remains of a bacon sandwich.
    “I’m not exactly sure,” he said. “It’ll be interesting to watch. But not from inside, I’m afraid. What I think will happen is that the last week will never have existed.”
    “She’ll suddenly die?”
    “You don’t quite understand. She will have been dead for a week. All this—” he waved his hands vaguely in the air—“will not have happened. The assassin will have done his job. You will have done yours. History will have healed itself. Everything will be all right. From History’s point of view, that is. There really isn’t any other.”
    Mort stared out of the narrow window. He could see across the courtyard into the glowing streets outside, where a picture of the princess smiled at the sky.
    “Tell me about the