Reaper Man

wall and a paint pot and he doesn’t know what world he’s in,” said Doreen.
    “He’s only got a choice of two,” said Windle, throwing the trolley wheels across the floor. “Lupine, keep a look-out in case there’s anymore.”
    The wheels had been sharp, like ice skates. He was definitely feeling tattered around the legs. Now, how did healing go?
    Reg Shoe was helped into a sitting position.
    “What’s happening?” he said. “No one else was coming in, and I came down here to see where the music was coming from, and the next thing, there’s these wheels —”
    Count Arthur returned to his approximately human form, looked around proudly, realized that no one was paying him any attention, and sagged.
    “They looked a lot tougher than the others,” said Ludmilla. “Bigger and nastier and covered in sharp edges.”
    “Soldiers,” said Windle. “We’ve seen the workers. And now there’s soldiers. Just like ants.”
    “I had an ant farm when I was a lad,” said Arthur, who had hit the floor rather heavily and was having temporary trouble with the nature of reality.
    “Hang on,” said Ludmilla. “I know about ants. We have ants in the backyard. If you have workers and soldiers, then you must also have a—”
    “I know. I know,” said Windle.
    “—mind you, they called it a farm , I never saw them doing any farming—”
    Ludmilla leaned against the wall.
    “It’ll be somewhere close,” she said.
    “I think so,” said Windle.
    “What does it look like, do you think?”
    “—what you do is, you get two bits of glass and some ants—”
    “I don’t know. How should I know? But the wizards will be somewhere near it.”
    “I don’t see vy you’re bothering about them,” said Doreen. “They buried you alive just because you vere dead.”
    Windle looked up at the sound of wheels. Adozen warrior baskets turned the corner and pulled up in formation.
    “They thought they were doing it for the best,” said Windle. “People often do. It’s amazing, the things that seem a good idea at the time.”

    The new Death straightened up.
    Or?
    A H .
    E R .
    Bill Door stepped back, turned around, and ran for it.
    It was, as he was wonderfully well placed to know, merely putting off the inevitable. But wasn’t that what living was all about?
    No one had ever run away from him after they were dead. Many had tried it before they were dead, often with great ingenuity. But the normal reaction of a spirit, suddenly pitched from one world into the next, was to hang around hopefully. Why run, after all? It wasn’t as if you knew where you were running to.
    The ghost of Bill Door knew where he was running to.
    Ned Simnel’s smithy was locked up for the night, although this did not present a problem. Not alive and not dead, the spirit of Bill Door lived through the wall.
    The fire was a barely-visible glow, settling in the forge. The smithy was full of warm darkness.
    What it didn’t contain was the ghost of a scythe.
    Bill Door looked around desperately.
    S QUEAK ?
    There was a small, dark-robed figure sitting on a beam above him. It gestured frantically toward the corner.
    He saw a dark handle sticking out from the load of timber. He tried to pull at it with fingers now as substantial as a shadow.
    H E SAID HE WOULD DESTROY IT FOR ME !
    The Death of Rats shrugged sympathetically.
    The new Death stepped through the wall, scythe held in both hands.
    It advanced on Bill Door.
    There was a rustling. The gray robes were pouring into the smithy.
    Bill Door grinned in terror.
    The new Death stopped, posing dramatically in the glow from the forge.
    It swung.
    It almost lost its balance.
    You’re not supposed to duck!
    Bill Door dived through the wall again and pounded across the square, skull down, spectral feet making no noise on the cobbles. He reached the little group by the clock.
    O N THE HORSE ! G O !
    “What’s happening? What’s happening !”
    I T HASN’T WORKED !
    Miss Flitworth gave him a panicky look but put the unconscious child on Binky’s back and climbed up after her. Then Bill Door brought his hand down hard on the horse’s flank. There at least there was contact—Binky existed in all worlds.
    G O !
    He didn’t look around but darted on up the road toward the farm.
    A weapon!
    Something he could hold!
    The only weapon in the undead world was in the hands of the new Death.
    As Bill Door ran he was aware of a faint, higher-pitched clicking noise. He looked down. The Death of Rats