Mort

happen to rescue a princess, you shouldn’t rush into things.”
    V ERY WISE . T OO MANY YOUNG WOMEN LEAP INTO THE ARMS OF THE FIRST YOUNG MAN TO WAKE THEM AFTER A HUNDRED YEARS’ SLEEP, FOR EXAMPLE .
    “And, well, we thought that all in all, well, once I really got to know Ysabell, well….”
    Y ES, YES , I AM SURE . A N EXCELLENT DECISION . H OWEVER , I HAVE DECIDED NOT TO INTEREST MYSELF IN HUMAN AFFAIRS ANY FURTHER .
    “Really?”
    E XCEPT OFFICIALLY, OF COURSE . I T WAS CLOUDING MY JUDGEMENT .
    A skeletal hand appeared on the edge of Mort’s vision and skilfully speared a stuffed egg. Mort spun around.
    “What happened?” he said. “I’ve got to know! One minute we were in the Long Room and the next we were in a field outside the city, and we were really us! I mean, reality had been altered to fit us in! Who did it?”
    I HAD A WORD WITH THE GODS . Death looked uncomfortable.
    “Oh. You did, did you?” said Mort. Death avoided his gaze.
    Y ES .
    “I shouldn’t think they were very pleased.”
    T HE GODS ARE JUST . T HEY ARE ALSO SENTIMENTALISTS . I HAVE NEVER BEEN ABLE TO MASTER IT, MYSELF .
    B UT YOU AREN’T FREE YET . Y OU MUST SEE TO IT THAT HISTORY TAKES PLACE .
    “I know,” said Mort. “Uniting the kingdoms and everything.”
    Y OU MIGHT END UP WISHING YOU’D STAYED WITH ME .
    “I certainly learned a lot,” Mort admitted. He put his hand up to his face and absent-mindedly stroked the four thin white scars across his cheek. “But I don’t think I was cut out for that sort of work. Look, I’m really sorry—”
    I HAVE A PRESENT FOR YOU .
    Death put down his plate of hors d’oeuvres and fumbled in the mysterious recesses of his robe. When his skeletal hand emerged it was holding a little globe between thumb and forefinger.
    It was about three inches across. It could have been the largest pearl in the world, except that the surface was a moving swirl of complicated silver shapes, forever on the point of resolving themselves into something recognizable but always managing to avoid it.
    When Death dropped it into Mort’s outstretched palm it felt surprisingly heavy and slightly warm.
    F OR YOU AND YOUR LADY . A WEDDING PRESENT . A DOWRY .
    “It’s beautiful! We thought the silver toast rack was from you.”
    T HAT WAS ALBERT . I’ M AFRAID HE DOESN’T HAVE MUCH IMAGINATION .
    Mort turned the globe over and over in his hands. The shapes boiling inside it seemed to respond to his touch, sending little streamers of light arching across the surface towards his fingers.
    “Is it a pearl?” he said.
    Y ES . W HEN SOMETHING IRRITATES AN OYSTER AND CAN’T BE REMOVED, THE POOR THING COATS IT WITH MUCUS AND TURNS IT INTO A PEARL . T HIS IS A PEARL OF A DIFFERENT COLOR . A PEARL OF REALITY . A LL THAT SHINY STUFF IS CONGEALED ACTUALITY . Y OU OUGHT TO RECOGNIZE IT—YOU CREATED IT, AFTER ALL .
    Mort tossed it gently from hand to hand.
    “We will put it with the castle jewels,” he said. “We haven’t got that many.”
    O NE DAY IT WILL BE THE SEED OF A NEW UNIVERSE .
    Mort fumbled the catch, but reached down with lightning reflexes and caught it before it hit the flagstones.
    “What?”
    T HE PRESSURE OF THIS REALITY KEEPS IT COMPRESSED . T HERE MAY COME A TIME WHEN THE UNIVERSE ENDS AND REALITY DIES, AND THEN THIS ONE WILL EXPLODE AND…WHO KNOWS ? K EEP IT SAFE . I T’S A FUTURE AS WELL AS A PRESENT .
    Death put his skull on one side. I T’S A SMALL THING , he added. Y OU COULD HAVE HAD ETERNITY .
    “I know,” said Mort. “I’ve been very lucky.”
    He put it very carefully on the buffet table, between the quails’ eggs and the sausage rolls.
    T HERE WAS ANOTHER THING , said Death. He reached under his robe again and pulled out an oblong shape inexpertly wrapped and tied with string.
    I T’S FOR YOU , he said, PERSONALLY . Y OU NEVER SHOWED ANY INTEREST IN IT BEFORE . D ID YOU THINK IT DIDN’T EXIST ?
    Mort unwrapped the packet and realized he was holding a small leather-bound book. On the spine was blocked, in shiny gold leaf, the one word: Mort .
    He leafed backwards through the unfilled pages until he found the little trail of ink, winding patiently down the page, and read: Mort shut the book with a little snap that sounded, in the silence, like the crack of creation, and smiled uneasily .
    “ There’s a lot of pages still to fill,” he said. “How much sand have I got left? Only Ysabell said that since you turned the glass over that means I shall die when I’m