'A lot hangs on what?' Zane asked, perplexed again. 'Did my daughter Luna reward you for your consideration?' 'Aren't you avoiding my question?' 'Aren't you?'
Zane smiled. 'Your daughter offered, again, but I declined, again.'
'But you mustn't decline!' the Magician-robot protested. 'Luna is for you. I left you the Love stone.'
'If you wanted me to meet her, there must have been some better way than bringing me to your own death.'
'No,' the robot said. 'No better way. Pay no attention to her protestations; she will do what I wish her to.'
'She didn't protest! I protested! It just isn't — '
'Go after her. Death. She is worth your while.'
'She's not interested in me!' Zane said. 'Why should I force my attention on her, by magical or nonmagical means, when I am such a personal nonentity? She surely deserves much better, and can get it.' That, Zane realized now, was part of his objection. He could not afford to get emotionally hooked on a woman who would surely leave him soon for a better man.
'You must,' the Magician insisted. 'It is essential.'
'Why?' Zane was quite curious now.
'I can't tell you.'
'That's what you said before! And Fate tends to speak in riddles, too. That annoys me.'
'The rest doesn't matter. Luna is a good girl,' the Magician said somewhat lamely. 'Good reason for her not to be taken by Death.'
'I must get on to my chore,' the Magician said, his metallic gaze resting on the desk. 'What is your chore?'
'Obviously I must tote up the balance of good and evil on my soul myself. These are the tote-forms.' The metal hand touched the pile of papers. 'One for every day of my life.'
Zane looked at a form. 'Enter sixteen percent of balance from Form 1040-Z on Line 32-Q,' he read. 'If figure is greater than that on Line 29-P of Schedule TT, subtract 3.2 percent of Line 69-F. If less than amount shown on Line, vT5 on Schedule 11, go to Form 7734 Inverted.' He looked up, his mind spinning. 'This is almost as bad as an income tax form!'
'Almost,' the Magician agreed wearily. 'Where do you think the Revenue Department gets its inspiration? It will take me eternity to get through this paperwork.'
'How do you think it will come out when the final total has been figured. Will you go to Heaven?'
'By the time I complete the final form, I will have to start searching for errors,' the robot said. 'That will take a few more centuries.'
'Maybe there won't be any mistakes,' Zane suggested.
'Such forms are designed to be impossible to complete correctly the first time,' the Magician said. 'What would be the point if they were comprehensible?' He picked up a feather quill, dipped it in a pot of red ink, and commenced his labor. Soon oily sweat beaded his metal brow.
Zane left the robot to his endless labor. Such a task would drive any normal person crazy, but perhaps the Magician had special resources.
He dropped the baby soul off with the receptionist on the way out. 'Oh, good,' she said, this time showing some human animation. 'We need new personnel!'
Zane wondered how a tiny baby would be able to perform, but decided not to inquire. Purgatory surely had ways to facilitate such things and, of course, it had eternity to do so.
Chapter 5
LUNA
His horse still grazed outside. 'Hey, Mortis!' Zane called, and the gallant Death steed trotted across to him. What a beautiful animal!
He mounted. 'Take me home, wherever that is.' The horse trotted to the edge of the green plain and stopped before a handsome funeral home with white columns on a spacious front porch. The name on the mailbox was DEATH.
It Figured. Where else would Death live but in a mortuary?
Zane looked at the horse. 'Is it okay for me to stay here a while? At least long enough to familiarize myself with the premises?'
Mortis flicked an ear forward affirmatively.
'Do you have a stable or something here? Do I need to provide you with feed, gasoline, or anything?'
The horse told him neigh, and wandered away to graze some more. The pasture looked exceedingly rich; it was probably all Mortis needed. There was a small lake nearby, so water was also available. This was a nice region.
So Death had a mailbox! Who would be writing to this office? Zane walked to the box and opened it. There were four letters inside. He took them out, noting that the return addresses were Earthly. Interesting.
He turned to the front entrance of the Death house.
Should he ring the bell? Not if this drear mansion was now his home. Still, he was new here. He rang.
A toll like that of doom sounded inside. In a moment the door opened. A black-clad butler stood there. 'So good to see you again, sir. Let me take your cloak.' He moved around to ease off the garment.
'I — I've changed,' Zane said somewhat awkwardly. 'I'm not the same man.'
'Of course, sir. We serve the office, not the man.' The butler hung the cloak in the hall closet and bent to touch Zane's feet. Zane realized the man intended to remove his protective shoes. Well, if he wasn't safe here, where else could he be safe? He acquiesced, and soon shoes and gloves joined the cloak, while Zane stood in comfortable robe and house slippers.
He smelled something strange. 'What is that odor?'
'That is myrrh, sir,' the butler replied. 'This mansion is scented with it traditionally.'
'The House of Death has to be scented?'
'Myrrh is associated with the office, sir.'
Now Zane remembered lines from a Christmas carol:
Myrrh is mine, its bitter perfume Spells a life of gathering doom. Suffering, sighing, bleeding, dying, sealed in this stone-cold tomb.
'Well, substitute something more pleasant,' Zane said. 'And change that death-knell doorbell. If I have any real influence, Death is going to develop a new image.'
The butler conducted him to a pleasant sitting room deep in the building. 'Please make yourself at ease, sir. Do you care for an aperitif? Television? A restoration spell?'
Zane sank down heavily in the overstuffed chair. He did not feel at ease. 'All of the above,' he said.
'Presently,' the butler agreed. 'And shall I take the mail, sir?'
'The mail? What for?'
'For destruction, sir, according to normal policy.'
Zane clutched the letters to his breast defensively. 'Absolutely not! I don't care if it's all junk mail, I'll look at it first.'
'Of course, sir,' the butler said smoothly, as if pacifying a child. The television set came on in front of Zane as the man departed.
'Two changes in Purgatory personnel,' the nondescript newscaster said. 'The office of Death has a new occupant. The former Death, having acquitted himself satisfactorily, improved the balance of his soul and went to Heaven. Death is dead; long live Death! The policies of his replacement are not yet clear; he is running behind schedule, has allowed two clients to escape, and is annoying the staff of his mansion by demanding petty changes in routine. An anonymous, highly placed source conjectures that a Reprimand may be issued if improvement does not occur soon.'
Zane whistled. The Purgatory News was really current and specific!
