Mort

There was no opening, and the motor of his anger wouldn’t last. You’ll never beat him, he told himself. The best we can do is hold him off for a while. And losing is probably better than winning. Who needs eternity, anyway?
    Through the curtain of his fatigue he saw Death unfold the length of his bones and bring his blade around in a slow, leisurely arc as though it was moving through treacle.
    “Father!” screamed Ysabell.
    Death turned his head.
    Perhaps Mort’s mind welcomed the prospect of the life to come but his body, which maybe felt it had most to lose in the deal, objected. It brought his sword arm up in one unstoppable stroke that flicked Death’s blade from his hand, and then pinned him against the nearest pillar.
    In the sudden hush Mort realized he could no longer hear an intrusive little noise that had been just at his threshold of hearing for the last ten minutes. His eyes darted sideways.
    The last of his sand was running out.
    S TRIKE .
    Mort raised the sword, and looked into the twin blue fires.
    He lowered the sword.
    “No.”
    Death’s foot lashed out at groin height with a speed that even made Cutwell wince.
    Mort silently curled into a ball and rolled across the floor. Through his tears he saw Death advancing, scytheblade in one hand and Mort’s own hourglass in the other. He saw Keli and Ysabell swept disdainfully aside as they made a grab for the robe. He saw Cutwell elbowed in the ribs, his candlestick clattering across the tiles.
    Death stood over him. The tip of the blade hovered in front of Mort’s eyes for a moment, and then swept upwards.
    “You’re right. There’s no justice. There’s just you.”
    Death hesitated, and then slowly lowered the blade. He turned and looked down into Ysabell’s face. She was shaking with anger.
    Y OUR MEANING ?
    She glowered up at Death’s face and then her hand swung back and swung around and swung forward and connected with a sound like a dice box.
    It was nothing like as loud as the silence that followed it.
    Keli shut her eyes. Cutwell turned away and put his arms over his head.
    Death raised a hand to his skull, very slowly.
    Ysabell’s chest rose and fell in a manner that should have made Cutwell give up magic for life.
    Finally, in a voice even more hollow than usual, Death said: W HY ?
    “You said that to tinker with the fate of one individual could destroy the whole world,” said Ysabell.
    Y ES ?
    “You meddled with his. And mine.” She pointed a trembling finger at the splinters of glass on the floor. “And those, too.”
    W ELL ?
    “What will the gods demand for that? ”
    F ROM ME ?
    “Yes!”
    Death looked surprised. T HE GODS CAN DEMAND NOTHING OF ME . EVEN GODS ANSWER TO ME, EVENTUALLY .
    “Doesn’t seem very fair, does it? Don’t the gods bother about justice and mercy?” snapped Ysabell. Without anyone quite noticing she had picked up the sword.
    Death grinned. I APPLAUD YOUR EFFORTS , he said, BUT THEY AVAIL YOU NAUGHT . S TAND ASIDE .
    “No.”
    Y OU MUST BE AWARE THAT EVEN LOVE IS NO DEFENSE AGAINST ME . I AM SORRY .
    Ysabell raised the sword. “You’re sorry?”
    S TAND ASIDE, I SAY .
    “No. You’re just being vindictive. It’s not fair!”
    Death bowed his skull for a moment, then looked up with his eyes blazing.
    Y OU WILL DO AS YOU ARE TOLD .
    “I will not.”
    Y OU’RE MAKING THIS VERY DIFFICULT .
    “Good.”
    Death’s fingers drummed impatiently on the scytheblade, like a mouse tapdancing on a tin. He seemed to be thinking. He looked at Ysabell standing over Mort, and then turned and looked at the others crouching against a shelf.
    No, he said eventually. No. I CANNOT BE BIDDEN . I CANNOT BE FORCED . I WILL DO ONLY THAT WHICH I KNOW TO BE RIGHT .
    He waved a hand, and the sword whirred out of Ysabell’s grasp. He made another complicated gesture and the girl herself was picked up and pressed gently but firmly against the nearest pillar.
    Mort saw the dark reaper advance on him again, blade swinging back for the final stroke. He stood over the boy.
    You DON’T KNOW HOW SORRY THIS MAKES ME , he said.
    Mort pulled himself on to his elbows.
    “I might,” he said.
    Death gave him a surprised look for several seconds, and then started to laugh. The sound bounced eerily around the room, ringing off the shelves as Death, still laughing like an earthquake in a graveyard, held Mort’s own glass in front of its owner’s eyes.
    Mort tried to focus. He saw the last grain of sand skid down the glossy