Mort

will you?'

'Mort, I really think you're —'

SHALL I ASK YOU AGAIN?

She fled from the room, white-faced.

Albert squinted at Mort along the length of the sword, and smiled a lop-sided, humourless smile.

'You won't be able to control it forever,' he said.

'I don't want to. I just want to control it for long enough.'

'You're receptive now, see? The longer the master is away, the more you'll become just like him. Only it'll be worse, because you'll remember all about being human and —'

'What about you, then?' snapped Mort. 'What can you remember about being human? If you went back, how much life have you got left?'

'Ninety-one days, three hours and five minutes,' said Albert promptly. 'I knew he was on my trail, see? But I'm safe here and he's not such a bad master. Sometimes I don't know what he'd do without me.'

'Yes, no one dies in Death's own kingdom. And you're pleased with that?' said Mort.

'I'm more than two thousand years old, I am. I've lived longer than anyone in the world.'

Mort shook his head.

'You haven't, you know,' he said. 'You've just stretched things out more. No one really lives here. The time in this place is just a sham. It's not real. Nothing changes. I'd rather die and see what happens next than spend eternity here.'

Albert pinched his nose reflectively. 'Yes, well, you might,' he conceded, 'but I was a wizard, you know. I was pretty good at it. They put up a statue to me, you know. But you don't live a long life as a wizard without making a few enemies, see, ones who'll . . . wait on the Other Side.'

He sniffed. They ain't all got two legs, either. Some of them ain't got legs at all. Or faces. Death don't frighten me. It's what comes after.'

'Help me, then.'

'What good will that do me?'

'One day you might need some friends on the Other Side,' said Mort. He thought for a few seconds and added, 'If I were you, it wouldn't do any harm to give my soul a bit of a last-minute polish. Some of those waiting for you might not like the taste of that.'

Albert shuddered and shut his eyes.

'You don't know about that what you talk about,' he added, with more feeling than grammar, 'else you wouldn't say that. What do you want from me?'

Mort told him.

Albert cackled.

'Just that? Just change Reality? You can't. There isn't any magic strong enough any more. The Great Spells could of done it. Nothing else. And that's it, so you might as well do as you please and the best of luck to you.'

Ysabell came back, a little out of breath, clutching the latest volume of Albert's life. Albert sniffed again. The tiny drip on the end of his nose fascinated Mort. It was always on the point of dropping off but never had the courage. Just like him, he thought.

'You can't do anything to me with the book,' said the old wizard warily.

'I don't intend to. But it strikes me that you don't get to be a powerful wizard by telling the truth all the time. Ysabell, read out what's being written.'