Authors: Terry Pratchett

Mort (3 page)

BOOK: Mort

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The horse entered the square by the Hub road, steam curling off its huge damp white flanks and sparks striking up from the cobbles beneath it. It trotted proudly, like a war charger. It was definitely not wearing a straw hat.

The tall figure on its back was wrapped up against the cold. When the horse reached the centre of the square the rider dismounted, slowly, and fumbled with something behind the saddle. Eventually he – or she – produced a nosebag, fastened it over the horse’s ears, and gave it a friendly pat on the neck.

The air took on a thick, greasy feel, and the deep shadows around Mort became edged with blue and purple rainbows. The rider strode towards him, black cloak billowing and feet making little clicking sounds on the cobbles. They were the only noises – silence clamped down on the square like great drifts of cotton wool.

The impressive effect was rather spoilt by a patch of ice.

O
H
,
BUGGER
.

It wasn’t exactly a voice. The words were there all right, but they arrived in Mort’s head without bothering to pass through his ears.

He rushed forward to help the fallen figure, and found himself grabbing hold of a hand that was nothing more than polished bone, smooth and rather yellowed like an old billiard ball. The figure’s hood fell back, and a naked skull turned its empty eyesockets towards him.

Not quite empty, though. Deep within them, as though they were windows looking across the gulfs of space, were two tiny blue stars.

It occurred to Mort that he ought to feel horrified, so he was slightly shocked to find that he wasn’t. It was a skeleton sitting in front of him, rubbing its knees and grumbling, but it was a live one, curiously impressive but not, for some strange reason, very frightening.

T
HANK YOU
,
BOY
, said the skull. W
HAT IS YOUR NAME
?

‘Uh,’ said Mort. ‘Mortimer . . . sir. They call me Mort.’

W
HAT A COINCIDENCE
, said the skull. H
ELP ME UP
,
PLEASE
.

The figure rose unsteadily, brushing itself down. Now Mort could see there was a heavy belt around its waist, from which was slung a white-handled sword.

‘I hope you are not hurt, sir,’ he said politely.

The skull grinned. Of course, Mort thought, it hasn’t much of a choice.

N
O HARM DONE
, I
AM SURE
. The skull looked around and seemed to see Lezek, who appeared to be frozen to the spot, for the first time. Mort thought an explanation was called for.

‘My father,’ he said, trying to move protectively in front of Exhibit A without causing any offence. ‘Excuse me, sir, but are you Death?’

C
ORRECT
. F
ULL MARKS FOR OBSERVATION, THAT BOY
.

Mort swallowed.

‘My father is a good man,’ he said. He thought for a while, and added, ‘Quite good. I’d rather you left him alone, if it’s all the same to you. I don’t know what you have done to him, but I’d like you to stop it. No offence meant.’

Death stepped back, his skull on one side.

I
HAVE MERELY PUT US OUTSIDE TIME FOR A MOMENT
, he said. H
E WILL SEE AND HEAR NOTHING THAT DISTURBS HIM
. N
O, BOY, IT WAS YOU
I
CAME FOR
.

‘Me?’

Y
OU ARE HERE SEEKING EMPLOYMENT
?

Light dawned on Mort. ‘You are looking for an
apprentice
?’ he said.

The eyesockets turned towards him, their actinic pinpoints flaring.

O
F COURSE
.

Death waved a bony hand. There was a wash of purple light, a sort of visible ‘pop’, and Lezek unfroze. Above his head the clockwork automatons got on with the job of proclaiming midnight, as Time was allowed to come creeping back.

Lezek blinked.

‘Didn’t see you there for a minute,’ he said. ‘Sorry – mind must have been elsewhere.’

I
WAS OFFERING YOUR BOY A POSITION
, said Death. I
TRUST THAT MEETS WITH YOUR APPROVAL
?

‘What was your job again?’ said Lezek, talking to a black-robed skeleton without showing even a flicker of surprise.

I
USHER SOULS INTO THE NEXT WORLD
, said Death.

‘Ah,’ said Lezek, ‘of course, sorry, should have guessed from the clothes. Very necessary work, very steady. Established business?’

I
HAVE BEEN GOING FOR SOME TIME, YES
, said Death.

‘Good. Good. Never really thought of it as a job for Mort, you know, but it’s good work, good work, always very reliable. What’s your name?’

D
EATH
.

‘Dad—’ said Mort urgently.

‘Can’t say I recognize the firm,’ said Lezek. ‘Where are you based exactly?’

F
ROM THE UTTERMOST DEPTHS OF THE SEA TO THE HEIGHTS WHERE EVEN THE EAGLE MAY NOT GO
, said Death.

‘That’s fair enough,’ nodded Lezek. ‘Well, I—’

‘Dad—’ said Mort, pulling at his father’s coat.

Death laid a hand on Mort’s shoulder.

W
HAT YOUR FATHER SEES AND HEARS IS NOT WHAT YOU SEE AND HEAR
, he said. D
O NOT WORRY HIM
. D
O YOU THINK HE WOULD WANT TO SEE ME
–
IN THE FLESH, AS IT WERE
?

‘But you’re Death,’ said Mort. ‘You go around killing people!’

I? K
ILL
? said Death, obviously offended. C
ERTAINLY NOT
. P
EOPLE
GET
KILLED
,
BUT THAT
’
S THEIR BUSINESS
. I
JUST TAKE OVER FROM THEN ON
.
AFTER ALL
,
IT
’
D BE A BLOODY STUPID WORLD IF PEOPLE GOT KILLED WITHOUT DYING
,
WOULDN
’
T IT
?

‘Well, yes—’ said Mort, doubtfully.

Mort had never heard the word ‘intrigued’. It was not in regular use in the family vocabulary. But a spark in his soul told him that here was something weird and fascinating and not entirely horrible, and that if he let this moment go he’d spend the rest of his life regretting it. And he remembered the humiliations of the day, and the long walk back home . . .

‘Er,’ he began, ‘I don’t have to die to get the job, do I?’

B
EING DEAD IS NOT COMPULSORY
.

‘And . . . the bones . . . ?’

N
OT IF YOU DON
’
T WANT TO
.

Mort breathed out again. It had been starting to prey on his mind.

‘If Father says it’s all right,’ he said.

They looked at Lezek, who was scratching his beard.

‘How do you feel about this, Mort?’ he said, with the brittle brightness of a fever victim. ‘It’s not everyone’s idea of an occupation. It’s not what I had in mind, I admit. But they do say that undertaking is an honoured profession. It’s your choice.’

‘Undertaking?’ said Mort. Death nodded, and raised his finger to his lips in a conspiratorial gesture.

‘It’s interesting,’ said Mort slowly. ‘I think I’d like to try it.’

‘Where did you say your business was?’ said Lezek. ‘Is it far?’

N
O FURTHER THAN THE THICKNESS OF A SHADOW
, said Death. W
HERE THE FIRST PRIMAL CALL WAS, THERE WAS
I
ALSO
. W
HERE MAN IS, THERE AM
I. W
HEN THE LAST LIFE CRAWLS UNDER FREEZING STARS, THERE WILL
I
BE
.

‘Ah,’ said Lezek, ‘you get about a bit, then.’ He looked puzzled, like a man struggling to remember something important, and then obviously gave up.

Death patted him on the shoulder in a friendly fashion and turned to Mort.

H
AVE YOU ANY POSSESSIONS, BOY
?

‘Yes,’ said Mort, and then remembered. ‘Only I think I left them in the shop. Dad, we left the sack in the clothes shop!’

‘It’ll be shut,’ said Lezek. ‘Shops don’t open on Hogswatch Day. You’ll have to go back the day after tomorrow – well, tomorrow now.’

I
T IS OF LITTLE ACCOUNT
, said Death. W
E WILL LEAVE NOW.
N
O DOUBT
I
WILL HAVE BUSINESS HERE SOON ENOUGH
.

‘I hope you’ll be able to drop in and see us soon,’ said Lezek. He seemed to be struggling with his thoughts.

‘I’m not sure that will be a good idea,’ said Mort.

‘Well, goodbye, lad,’ said Lezek. ‘You’re to do what you’re told, you understand? And – excuse me, sir, do you have a son?’

Death looked rather taken aback.

No, he said, I
HAVE NO SONS
.

‘I’ll just have a last word with my boy, if you’ve no objection.’

T
HEN
I
WILL GO AND SEE TO THE HORSE
, said Death, with more than normal tact.

Lezek put his arm around his son’s shoulders, with some difficulty in view of their difference in height, and gently propelled him across the square.

‘Mort, you know your uncle Hemesh told me about this prenticing business?’ he whispered.

‘Yes?’

‘Well, he told me something else,’ the old man confided. ‘He said it’s not unknown for an apprentice to inherit his master’s business. What do you think of that, then?’

‘Uh. I am not sure,’ said Mort.

‘It’s worth thinking about,’ said Lezek.

‘I
am
thinking about it, father.’

‘Many a young lad has started out that way, Hemesh said. He makes himself useful, earns his master’s confidence, and, well, if there’s any daughters in the house . . . did Mr, er, Mr say anything about daughters?’

‘Mr who?’ said Mort.

‘Mr . . . your new master.’

‘Oh. Him. No. No, I don’t think so,’ said Mort slowly. ‘I don’t think he’s the marrying type.’

‘Many a keen young man owes his advancement to his nuptials,’ said Lezek.

‘He does?’

‘Mort, I don’t think you’re really listening.’

‘What?’

Lezek came to a halt on the frosty cobbles and spun the boy around to face him.

‘You’re really going to have to do better than this,’ he said. ‘Don’t you understand, boy? If you’re going to amount to anything in this world then you’ve got to
listen
. I’m your father telling you these things.’

Mort looked down at his father’s face. He wanted to say a lot of things: he wanted to say how much he loved him, how worried he was; he wanted to ask what his father really thought he’d just seen and heard. He wanted to say that he felt as though he stepped on a molehill and found that it was really a volcano. He wanted to ask what ‘nuptials’ meant.

What he actually said was, ‘Yes. Thank you. I’d better be going. I’ll try and write you a letter.’

‘There’s bound to be someone passing who can read it to us,’ said Lezek. ‘Goodbye, Mort.’ He blew his nose.

‘Goodbye, Dad. I’ll come back to visit,’ said Mort. Death coughed tactfully, although it sounded like the pistol-crack of an ancient beam full of death-watch beetle.

W
E HAD BETTER BE GOING
, he said. H
OP UP
, M
ORT
.

As Mort scrambled behind the ornate silver saddle Death leaned down and shook Lezek’s hand.

T
HANK YOU
, he said.

‘He’s a good lad at heart,’ said Lezek. ‘A bit dreamy, that’s all. I suppose we were all young once.’

Death considered this.

N
O
, he said, I
DON
’
T THINK SO
.

He gathered up the reins and turned the horse towards the Rim road. From his perch behind the black-robed figure Mort waved desperately.

Lezek waved back. Then, as the horse and its two riders disappeared from view, he lowered his hand and looked at it. The handshake . . . it had felt strange. But, somehow, he couldn’t remember exactly why.

Mort listened to the clatter of stone under the horse’s hooves. Then there was the soft thud of packed earth as they reached the road, and then there was nothing at all.

He looked down and saw the landscape spread out below him, the night etched with moonlight silver. If he fell off, the only thing he’d hit was air.

He redoubled his grip on the saddle.

Then Death said, A
RE YOU HUNGRY
,
BOY
?

‘Yes, sir.’ The words came straight from his stomach without the intervention of his brain.

Death nodded, and reined in the horse. It stood on the air, the great circular panorama of the Disc glittering below it. Here and there a city was an orange glow; in the warm seas nearer the Rim there was a hint of phosphorescence. In some of the deep valleys the trapped daylight of the Disc, which is slow and slightly heavy
^*1, was evaporating like silver steam.

But it was outshone by the glow that rose towards the stars from the Rim itself. Vast streamers of light shimmered and glittered across the night. Great golden walls surrounded the world.

‘It’s beautiful,’ said Mort softly. ‘What is it?’

T
HE SUN IS UNDER THE DISC
, said Death.

‘Is it like this every night?’

E
VERY NIGHT
, said Death. N
ATURE’S LIKE THAT
.

‘Doesn’t anyone know?’

M
E
. Y
OU
. T
HE GODS
. G
OOD
,
IS IT
?

‘Gosh!’

Death leaned over the saddle and looked down at the kingdoms of the world.

I
DON’T KNOW ABOUT YOU
, he said,
BUT
I
COULD MURDER A CURRY
.

BOOK: Mort

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