Mort

going?”
    “To my father’s country,” shouted Ysabell, above the wind of their passage.
    “Have I ever met him?”
    “I don’t think so. You’d have remembered.”
    The top of the palace wall scraped Binky’s hooves as, muscles straining, he sought for more height. Cutwell leaned backward again, holding on to his hat.
    “Who is this gentleman of which we speak?” he yelled.
    “Death,” said Ysabell.
    “Not—”
    “Yes.”
    “Oh.” Cutwell peered down at the distant rooftops, and gave her a lopsided smile. “Would it save time if I just jumped off now?”
    “He’s quite nice if you get to know him,” said Ysabell defensively.
    “Is he? Do you think we’ll get the chance?”
    “Hold on!” said Mort. “We should be going across just about—”
    A hole full of blackness rushed out of the sky and caught them.
    The interface bobbed uncertainly, empty as a pauper’s pocket, and carried on shrinking.

The front door opened. Ysabell poked her head out.
    “There’s no one at home,” she said. “You’d better come in.”
    The other three filed into the hallway. Cutwell conscientiously wiped his feet.
    “It’s a bit small,” said Keli, critically.
    “It’s a lot bigger inside,” said Mort, and turned to Ysabell. “Have you looked everywhere?”
    “I can’t even find Albert,” she said. “I can’t remember him ever not being here.”
    She coughed, remembering her duties as hostess.
    “Would anyone like a drink?” she said. Keli ignored her.
    “I was expecting a castle at least,” she said. “Big and black, with great dark towers. Not an umbrella stand.”
    “It has got a scythe in it,” Cutwell pointed out.
    “Let’s all go into the study and sit down and I’m sure we’ll all feel better,” said Ysabell hurriedly, and pushed open the black baize door.
    Cutwell and Keli stepped through, bickering. Ysabell took Mort’s arm.
    “What are we going to do now?” she said. “Father will be very angry if he finds them here.”
    “I’ll think of something,” said Mort. “I’ll rewrite the autobiographies or something.” He smiled weakly. “Don’t worry. I’ll think of something.”
    The door slammed behind him. Mort turned to look into Albert’s grinning face.
    The big leather armchair behind the desk revolved slowly. Death looked at Mort over steepled fingers. When he was quite certain he had their full, horrified attention, he said:
    Y OU HAD BETTER START NOW .
    He stood up, appearing to grow larger as the room darkened.
    D ON’T BOTHER TO APOLOGIZE , he added.
    Keli buried her head in Cutwell’s ample chest.
    I AM BACK . A ND I AM ANGRY .
    “Master, I—” Mort began.
    S HUT UP , said Death. He beckoned Keli with a calcareous forefinger. She turned to look at him, her body not daring to disobey.
    Death reached out and touched her chin. Mort’s hand went to his sword.
    I S THIS THE FACE THAT LAUNCHED A THOUSAND SHIPS, AND BURNED THE TOPLESS TOWERS OF P SEUDOPOLIS ? Wondered Death. Keli stared hypnotized at the red pinpoints miles deep in those dark sockets.
    “Er, excuse me,” said Cutwell, holding his hat respectfully, Mexican fashion.
    W ELL ? said Death, distracted.
    “It isn’t, sir. You must be thinking about another face.”
    W HAT IS YOUR NAME ?
    “Cutwell, sir. I’m a wizard, sir.”
    I’ M A WIZARD, SIR , Death sneered. B E SILENT, WIZARD .
    “Sir.” Cutwell stepped back.
    Death turned to Ysabell.
    D AUGHTER, EXPLAIN YOURSELF . W HY DID YOU AID THIS FOOL ?
    Ysabell curtsied nervously.
    “I—love him, Father. I think.”
    “You do?” said Mort, astonished. “You never said!”
    “There didn’t seem to be time,” said Ysabell. “Father, he didn’t mean—”
    B E SILENT .
    Ysabell dropped her gaze. “Yes, Father.”
    Death stalked around the desk until he was standing directly in front of Mort. He stared at him for a long time.
    Then in one blurred movement his hand struck Mort across the face, knocking him off his feet.
    I INVITE YOU INTO MY HOME , he Said, I TRAIN YOU , I FEED YOU , I CLOTHE YOU , I GIVE YOU OPPORTUNITIES YOU COULD NOT DREAM OF, AND THUS YOU REPAY ME . Y OU SEDUCE MY DAUGHTER FROM ME, YOU NEGLECT THE DUTY, YOU MAKE RIPPLES IN REALITY THAT WILL TAKE A CENTURY TO HEAL . Y OUR ILL-TIMED ACTIONS HAVE DOOMED YOUR COMRADES TO OBLIVION . T HE GODS WILL DEMAND NOTHING LESS .
    A LL IN ALL, BOY, NOT A GOOD START TO YOUR FIRST JOB .
    Mort struggled into a sitting position, holding his cheek. It burned coldly, like comet