The Truth

he said.
    Death waved a hand through the air. Along the arc described by the bony fingers appeared a line of hourglasses.
    I UNDERSTAND YOU ARE A CONNOISSEUR, M R . T ULIP . I N A SMALL WAY, SO AM I. Death selected one of the glasses and held it up. Images appeared around it, bright but insubstantial as shadow.
    “What are they?” said Tulip.
    L IVES , M R . T ULIP . J UST LIVES . N OT ALL MASTERPIECES, OBVIOUSLY, OFTEN RATHER NAIF IN THEIR USE OF EMOTION AND ACTION, BUT NEVERTHELESS FULL OF INTEREST AND SURPRISE AND, EACH IN ITS OWN WAY, A WORK OF SOME GENIUS . A ND CERTAINLY VERY…COLLECTABLE . Death picked up an hourglass, as Mr. Tulip tried to back away. Y ES . C OLLECTABLE . B ECAUSE, IF I HAD TO FIND A WORD TO DESCRIBE THESE LIVES , M R . T ULIP, THAT WORD WOULD BE “SHORTER.”
    Death selected another hourglass. A H . N UGGA V ELSKI . Y OU WILL NOT REMEMBER HIM, OF COURSE . H E WAS SIMPLY A MAN WHO WALKED INTO HIS RATHER SIMPLE LITTLE HUT AT THE WRONG TIME, AND YOU ARE A BUSY MAN AND CANNOT BE EXPECTED TO REMEMBER EVERYONE . N OTE THE MIND, A BRILLIANT MIND THAT MIGHT IN OTHER CIRCUMSTANCES HAVE CHANGED THE WORLD, DOOMED TO BE BORN INTO A TIME AND PLACE WHERE LIFE WAS NOTHING BUT A DAILY HOPELESS STRUGGLE . N EVERTHELESS, IN HIS TINY VILLAGE, RIGHT UP UNTIL THE DAY HE FOUND YOU STEALING HIS COAT, HE DID HIS BEST TO—
    Mr. Tulip raised a trembling hand.
    “Is this the bit where my whole life passes in front of my eyes?” he said.
    N OW, THAT WAS THE BIT JUST NOW.
    “Which bit?”
    T HE BIT , said Death, BETWEEN YOU BEING BORN AND YOU DYING . N O, THIS …M R . T ULIP, THIS IS YOUR WHOLE LIFE AS IT PASSED BEFORE OTHER PEOPLE’S EYES…

    By the time the golems arrived, it was all over. The fire had been fierce but short-lived. It had stopped because there wasn’t anything left to burn. The crowd that always turns up to watch a fire had already dispersed until the next one, reckoning that this one had not scored very high, what with no one dying. The walls were still standing. Half the tin roof had fallen in. Sleet had began to fall, too, and now it hissed on the hot stone as William picked his way cautiously through the debris.
    The press was visible in the light of the few fires still smoldering. William heard it sizzling under the sleet.
    “Repairable?” he said to Goodmountain, who was following him.
    “Not a chance. The frame, maybe. We’ll salvage what we can.”
    “Look, I’m so sorry—”
    “Not your fault,” said the dwarf, kicking at a smoking can. “And look on the bright side…we still owe Harry King a lot of money.”

“Don’t remind me…”
    “I don’t need to. He’ll remind you. Us, rather.”
    William wrapped his jacket around his sleeve and pushed aside some of the roof.
    “The desks are still here!”
    “Fire can be funny like that,” said Goodmountain gloomily. “And the roof probably kept the worst of it away.”
    “I mean, they’re half charred but they’re still usable!”
    “Oh, well , we’re home and dry, then,” said the dwarf. “How soon do you want the next edition?”
    “Look, even the spike…there’s even bits of paper that are hardly charred!”
    “Life is full of unexpected treasure,” said Goodmountain. “I don’t think you should come in here, miss!”
    This was to Sacharissa, who was picking her way across the smoldering ruins.
    “It’s where I work,” she said. “Can you repair the press?”
    “No! It’s…done for! It’s scrap! We’ve got no press and no type and no metal! Can you both hear me?”
    “Okay, so we’ve got to get another press,” said Sacharissa evenly.
    “Even an old scrap one would cost a thousand dollars!” said Goodmountain. “Look, it’s over . There is nothing left! ”
    “I’ve got some savings,” said Sacharissa, pushing the rubble off her desk. “Perhaps we can get one of those little handpresses to be going on with.”
    “I’m in debt,” said William. “But I could probably go into debt another few hundred dollars.”
    “Do you think we could go on working if we put a tarpaulin over the roof, or should we move to somewhere else?” said Sacharissa.
    “I don’t want to move. A few days’ work should get this place in shape,” said William.
    Goodmountain cupped his hands around his mouth. “ Hellooo! This is sanity calling! We have no money .”
    “There’s not much room to expand, though,” said Sacharissa.
    “In what way?”
    “Magazines,” said Sacharissa, as the sleet