Reaper Man

BE IN THE SPACE BETWEEN LIFE AND AFTERLIFE .
    “Bill, it looked as though the thing it was riding…I thought it was a proper horse, just very skinny, but…”
    I T’S A SKELETAL STEED . I MPRESSIVE BUT IMPRACTICAL . I HAD ONE ONCE BUT THE HEAD FELL OFF . “A bit like flogging a dead horse, I should think.”
    H A . H A . M OST AMUSING , M ISS F LITWORTH .
    “I think that at a time like this you can stop calling me Miss Flitworth,” said Miss Flitworth.
    R ENATA ?
    She looked startled. “How did you know my name? Oh. You’ve probably seen it written down, right?”
    E NGRAVED .
    “On one of them hourglasses?”
    Y ES .
    “With all them sands of time pouring through?”
    Y ES .
    “Everyone’s got one?”
    Y ES .
    “So you know how long I’ve—”
    Y ES .
    “It must be very odd, knowing…the kind of things you know…”
    D O NOT ASK ME .
    “That’s not fair, you know. If we knew when we were going to die, people would lead better lives.”
    I F PEOPLE KNEW WHEN THEY WERE GOING TO DIE , I THINK THEY PROBABLY WOULDN’T LIVE AT ALL .
    “Oh, very gnomic. And what do you know about it, Bill Door?”
    E VERYTHING .
    Binky trotted up one of the town’s meager handful of streets and over the cobbles of the square. There was no one else around. In cities like Ankh-Morpork midnight was just late evening, because there was no civic night at all, just evenings fading into dawns. But here people regulated their lives by things like sunsets and mispronounced cock-crows. Midnight meant what it said.
    Even with the storm stalking the hills, the square itself was hushed. The ticking of the clock in its tower, unnoticable at midday, now seemed to echo off the buildings.
    As they approached, something whirred deep in its cogwheeled innards. The minute hand moved with a clonk, and shuddered to a halt on the 9. A trapdoor opened in the clock face and two little mechanical figures whirred out self-importantly and tapped a small bell with great apparent effort.
    Ting-ting-ting.
    The figures lined up and wobbled back into the clock.
    “They’ve been there ever since I was a girl. Mr. Simnel’s great-great-grandad made them,” said Miss Flitworth, “I always wondered what they did between chimes, you know. I thought they had a little house in there, or something.”
    I DON’T THINK SO . T HEY’RE JUST A THING . T HEY’RE NOT ALIVE .
    “Hmm. Well, they’ve been there for hundreds of years. Maybe life is something you sort of acquire?”
    Y ES .
    They waited in silence, except for the occasional thud as the minute hand climbed the night.
    “It’s—been quite nice having you around the place, Bill Door.”
    He didn’t reply.
    “Helping me with the harvest and everything.”
    I T WAS … INTERESTING .
    “It was wrong of me to delay you, just for a lot of corn.”
    N O . T HE HARVEST IS IMPORTANT .
    Bill Door unfolded his palm. The timer appeared.
    “I still can’t work out how you do that.”
    I T IS NOT DIFFICULT .
    The hiss of the sand grew until it filled the square.
    “Have you got any last words?”
    Y ES . I DON’T WANT TO GO .
    “Well. Succinct, anyway.”
    Bill Door was amazed to find she was trying to hold his hand.
    Above him, the hands of midnight came together. There was a whirring from the clock. The door opened. The automata marched out. They clicked to a halt on either side of the hour bell, bowed to one another, and raised their hammers.
    Dong.
    And then there was the sound of a horse trotting.
    Miss Flitworth found the edge of her vision filling with purple and blue blotches, like the flashes of after-image with no image to come after.
    If she jerked her head quickly and peered out of the tail of her eye, she could see small gray-clad shapes hovering around the walls.
    The Revenooers, she thought. They’ve come to make sure it all happens.
    “Bill?” she said.
    He closed his palm over the gold timer.
    N OW IT STARTS .
    The hoofbeats grew louder, and echoed off the buildings behind them.
    R EMEMBER : YOU ARE IN NO DANGER .
    Bill Door stepped back into the gloom.
    Then he reappeared momentarily.
    P ROBABLY , he added, and retreated into the darkness.
    Miss Flitworth sat down on the steps of the clock, cradling the body of the girl across her knees.
    “Bill?” she ventured.
    A mounted figure rode into the square.
    It was, indeed, on a skeletal horse. Blue flame crackled over the creature’s bones as it trotted forward; Miss Flitworth found herself wondering whether it was a real