'Oh.' He looked down at his ... body, which seemed solid enough. Then someone walked through him.
DON'T LET IT UPSET YOU.
Verence watched his own stiff corpse being carried reverentially from the hall.
'I'll try,' he said.
GOOD 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.
DO YOU WANT TO?
he said.
'No.'
THEN I SHOULDN'T BOTHER, IF I WERE YOU.
Death pulled an hour-glass from the recesses of his dark robe and inspected it closely.
AND 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. 'Stop! I command you!'
Death shook his head gloomily, and stepped through the next wall. The king hurried after him with as much dignity as he could still muster, and found Death fiddling with the girths of a large white horse standing on the battlements. It was wearing a nosebag.
'You can't leave me like this!' he repeated, in the face of the evidence.
Death turned to him.
I CAN,
he said.
YOU'RE UNDEAD, YOU SEE. GHOSTS INHABIT A WORLD BETWEEN THE LIVING AND THE DEAD. IT'S NOT MY RESPONSIBILITY.
He patted the king on the shoulder.
DON'T WORRY,
he said,
IT WON'T BE FOREVER.
'Good.'
IT MAY SEEM LIKE FOREVER.
'How long will it really be?'
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