Wyrd Sisters

himself up to his full height, or what would have been his full height if that part of him of which the word “height” could have been applied was not lying stiff on the floor and facing a future in which only the word “depth” could be appropriate.
    “I am a king, mark you,” he said.
    WAS , YOUR M AJESTY .
    “What?” Verence barked.
    I SAID WAS . I T’S CALLED THE PAST TENSE . Y OU’LL SOON GET USED TO IT .
    The tall figure tapped its calcareous fingers on the scythe’s handle. It was obviously upset about something.
    If it came to that, Verence thought, so am I. But the various broad hints available in his present circumstances were breaking through even the mad brain stupidity that made up most of his character, and it was dawning on him that whatever kingdom he might currently be in, he wasn’t king of it.
    “Are you Death, fellow?” he ventured.
    I HAVE MANY NAMES .
    “Which one are you using at present?” said Verence, with a shade more deference. There were people milling around them; in fact, quite a few people were milling through them, like ghosts.
    “Oh, so it was Felmet,” the king added vaguely, looking at the figure lurking with obscene delight at the top of the stairs. “My father said I should never let him get behind me. Why don’t I feel angry?”
    G LANDS , said Death shortly. A DRENALIN AND SO FORTH . A ND EMOTIONS . Y OU DON’T HAVE THEM . A LL YOU HAVE NOW IS THOUGHT .
    The tall figure appeared to reach a decision.
    T HIS IS VERY IRREGULAR , he went on, apparently to himself. H OWEVER, WHO AM I TO ARGUE ?
    “Who indeed.”
    W HAT ?
    “I said, who indeed.”
    S HUT UP .
    Death stood with his skull on one side, as though listening to some inner voice. As his hood fell away the late king noticed that Death resembled a polished skeleton in every way but one. His eye sockets glowed sky blue. Verence wasn’t frightened, however; not simply because it is difficult to be in fear of anything when the bits you need to be frightened with are curdling several yards away, but because he had never really been frightened of anything in his life, and wasn’t going to start now. This was partly because he didn’t have the imagination, but he was also one of those rare individuals who are totally focused in time.
    Most people aren’t. They live their lives as a sort of temporal blur around the point where their body actually is—anticipating the future, or holding onto the past. They’re usually so busy thinking about what happens next that the only time they ever find out what is happening now is when they come to look back on it. Most people are like this. They learn how to fear because they can actually tell, down at the subconscious level, what is going to happen next. It’s already happening to them.
    But Verence had always lived only for the present. Until now, anyway.
    Death sighed.
    I SUPPOSE NO ONE MENTIONED ANYTHING TO YOU ? he hazarded.
    “Say again?”
    N O PREMONITIONS ? S TRANGE DREAMS ? M AD OLD SOOTHSAYERS SHOUTING THINGS AT YOU IN THE STREET ?
    “About what? Dying?”
    N O , I SUPPOSE NOT . I T WOULD BE TOO MUCH TO EXPECT , said Death sourly. T HEY LEAVE IT ALL TO ME .
    “Who do?” said Verence, mystified.
    F ATE . D ESTINY . A LL THE REST OF THEM . Death laid a hand on the king’s shoulder. T HE FACT IS , I’ M AFRAID, YOU’RE DUE TO BECOME A GHOST .
    “Oh.” He looked down at his…body, which seemed solid enough. Then someone walked through him.
    D ON’T LET IT UPSET YOU .
    Verence watched his own stiff corpse being carried reverentially from the hall.
    “I’ll try,” he said.
    G OOD MAN .
    “I don’t think I will be up to all that business with the white sheets and the chains, though,” he said. “Do I have to walk around moaning and screaming?”
    Death shrugged. D O YOU WANT TO ? he said.
    “No.”
    T HEN I SHOULDN’T BOTHER, IF I WERE YOU . Death pulled an hour-glass from the recesses of his dark robe and inspected it closely.
    A ND NOW I REALLY MUST BE GOING , he said. He turned on his heel, put his scythe over his shoulder and started to walk out of the hall through the wall.
    “I say? Just hold on there!” shouted Verence, running after him.
    Death didn’t look back. Verence followed him through the wall; it was like walking through fog.
    “Is that all?” he demanded. “I mean, how long will I be a ghost? Why am I a ghost? You can’t just leave me like this.” He halted and raised an imperious, slightly transparent finger.